#just because we want to say “i’m a man! out loud and receive our certificate of certified male privilege

[roastedinmarch]

i love being alive and living in the world as a trans masculine person it’s so fun and everyone including the trans community definitely doesn’t either want me dead or think i’m simultaneously receiving male privilege and am basically a girl :)

[thesmpisonfire]

A Fundy and Tommy meeting, and neither of them knows how to express their feelings without screaming.

Its ends well, don’t worry. I’m after my second clown certificate

Tommy was alone in his tent. Not even Dream was around this time. He kept breaking logs, building "tiki torches" and trying his best to not look at the beach. It had passed 2 days already, and no one appeared, so they certainly didn't care. Ghostbur passed around the beginning of the day, now off to find a horse (Ghostbur remembered that Tommy had a horse, once. It made him happy, so he was after another one), but Tommy couldn't care less. Ghostbur also didn't appeared at his beach party.

Only Dream. Like always.

Maybe it was meant to be like that.

His pity thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone crossing the portal, his first thought being "Tubbo!". Tommy quickly brushed it off, Tubbo didn't care enough to visit him. "Ranboo?" Was his second guess, but he didn't hear the usual greetings, so it wasn't the half enderman. Then, it was set on "...Dream", as it should be in the first place. He sighed, quickly taking off his newly made iron armor.

"Hello, Dream.... Let's get this done alrea-"

Tommy turned around, looking to a very confused face that certainly wasn't Dream. Fundy was holding something in an picnic bag, those ones that kept the cold inside, some ashes in his clothes and a lil bit of the jacket more burned.

"I really don't know if I should ask about the 'Dream' thing, or why you put a fucking plank to people get to your portal." He kinda laughed, trying to brush of the uncomfortable mood.

Tommy went silent, holding his armor close and and walking away from Fundy. "If people want to visit me, they need to fucking prove it." Tommy said, bitter as he never was before.

Fundy left the picnic bag at Tommy's tent, watching the kid put his things in a secret chest. "Well, you are only making it easier to die. I fixed it after I crossed" Fundy smiled, proud of himself.

Tommy froze, turning back to the fox. "You did what?" Conflicted feelings were fighting inside of him now. On one side, he was angry that Fundy was messing with his ideas and plans. At the order, he was so happy. If Fundy fixed it, it was because he had the intention to come back more often, and Tommy was so happy with it.

"Fixed the bridge, we don't wanna people falling down in their way here, do we?" Fundy smiled at Tommy as soon as he approached.

Tommy was tempted to smile too, but he was seeing something off. This was Fundy. The scammer. The once traitor. The sly fox.

The voice in his head wasn't even his anymore, sounding too much like a certain masked man, filling him with doubt and fear.

"What the fuck do you want?"

Fundy looked like he just got slapped in the face, not imagining this reaction, specially out of nowhere like that.

"What? What do you mean, Tommy?"

"You must be after something, aren't you?" Tommy's words were filled with anger and resentment, the monsters in his mind talking for him. "What is it? Untouched forest? Mines still unexplored?" He slowly approached Fundy, pointing at his face.

"Tommy, I'm not after any of those things!" Fundy explained himself, now more worried than ever.

Tommy let out a dry laugh, looking around now. "So, it's because you fucking pity me, don't you?" He pointed to himself now, then to the picnic bag. "You even brought up a pity present!"

Fundy was just bringing some primecicles he and Ranboo had just made, but he couldn't spoil any of it. "Tommy, I'm not pitying you." He tried to reason, pitching the bridge of his nose. Patience, Fundy... The kid is messed up. Don't make it worse.

"Yes, you are! You don't care about me! None of you care about me!" Tommy walked away, laughing. “You all doesn’t even bother to visit me anymore!”

Fundy couldn’t be more confused. He was right there, visiting. What the hell was happening to Tommy?

The coder was a smart person, even if people tend to overlook it. Fundy noticed the explosion holes poorly covered up, the dull blue eyes, the beaten up clothes. He just didn’t want to address it in order to not make the atmosphere uncomfortable, but Tommy was really pushing up. Fundy and Tommy never had any boundaries in their fights, being pretty open about their sides, and things were starting to spill, hot and hurtful.

“Tommy, I am right here and...” Fundy got interrupted by Tommy’s outburst, tears forming at the corners of the kid’s eyes.

“YOU DON’T CARE ABOUT ME!” Tommy shouted, screaming loudly enough to scare a nearby bird. “NONE OF YOU EVEN MISS ME! YOU ALL LEFT ME ALONE!”

Even if Tommy was the one crying and shouting his feelings out loud, he saw the moment he messed up. Fundy’s ears flattened against his head and his tail went still. Tommy, the once brave and reckless Tommy, took a step back when he saw Fundy clenching his fist.

“Oh, you think people left you?” Fundy’s voice was low, a bittersweet smile now open.

Tommy was hurt in so many ways, indescribable ones, but Fundy wasn’t far behind.

Fundy approached Tommy, looking at the teenager in the eyes.

“Say it again.”

“...What?”

“Say it again, Tommy!” Fundy raised his voice, losing his limit. Neither of them was good with hiding their feelings. “Say again that people are leaving you!”

Tommy opened his mouth to repeat, but nothing was said. Fundy looked as hurt as him, and he was clearly not pitying the teenager, so Tommy was willing to listen

Fundy breathed in, trying to calm himself. “Tommy, you were the one who made that Christmas tree?”

“...No”

“Those discs you have right now, you got them alone?”

“No.”

“Did you built the tent alone?”

“No, but...”

“The very first day...” Fundy’s voice broke a little, but he quickly dismissed it. “You were alone here?”

“Ghostbur came with me.”

“Yes, he did.” Fundy sadly smiled, his voice a lot calmer now. “Who helped you with the beach?”

“Drea-”

“No.” Fundy cut him short, a hand on his shoulder. “That fucking bastard is the cause you are here. He basically forced your exile to happen. He was not helping, he was watching.” Tommy closed his eyes, his mind spinning.

Dream is a friend. Dream put you here. Dream has been good with you. Dream is a fucking monster. Dream cares about you. Dreams cares about nothing but the discs.

“Tommy... Who was here with you, helping with the beach?” Fundy’s voice was soft, as he hoped that he wasn’t pushing too much.

“Ghostbur, you, and Phil...” Tommy’s voice was so small, so broken.

“Yes, we were.” Fundy waited for Tommy open his eyes, which he did, tears stains in his face.

“Ranboo tries to visit you everyday, and I’m trying to do the same.” Fundy reassured Tommy, looking around. “But... Dream is always here, and we don’t want to mess anything and lose contact with you.”

Tommy blinked, pieces matching together. That was why his friends weren’t there? Because of Dream? That was why Dream was always there?

“Ranboo also told me about a beach party... That I never got the invite...”

“Dream said it was delivered by Ghostbur in your mails!” Tommy shouted again.

“We don't even have mailboxes in L’manberg, Tommy! How we could have received mail?” Fundy snapped back.

Tommy felt like everything was falling apart again, revealing a not so pleasant truth. “He... He could have slipped under the doors... or...”

“Tommy. There were no invites.” Fundy held him by his shoulders again.

They went silent, Tommy’s eyes darting around while his whole reality was shaking. “But... Tubbo hates me, right? He destroyed the compass.” He sounded lost again.

“It was my fault.” Fundy mumbled, not looking at Tommy. “He died and... I should have been faster when picking up his stuff, a creeper ended up exploding it... The compass broke. But Tubbo still have it, even if it doesn’t have the needle anymore.” Tommy felt like crying again.

But Dream said...

Dream was fucking lying.

“I know he doesn’t visit you... He is scared that you hates him.” Fundy confessed. “That’s why he came when you weren’t around.” He played with his jacket, looking at the portal’s direction. “Tubbo misses you, man.”

Tommy angrily cleaned his tears, looking at Fundy. He pushed the fox, not as strong as he was thinking. “Stop lying to me!” He shouted, trying to push Fundy again. He felt Fundy holding his arms, and he didn’t have the strength to fight back. Tommy was still crying, not knowing in who to believe.

Dream was there everyday for him, he have Tommy gear, he was the only person not pitying Tommy- Tommy had so many other friends coming over, he had received things because his friends wanted to help him- Tommy was alone- Tommy was not alone.

“I am not lying, Tommy. I wouldn’t do this.” Fundy freed Tommy’s arms.

“You are always lying...” Tommy mumbled.

“Not about this.” Fundy was serious, Tommy could hear in his voice.

“Then... Dream lied to me.”

The fox just nodded, feeling that talking would interrupt Tommy’s line of thought.

Well, he didn’t expected Tommy to silent walk away, come back with a trident while walking towards the beach, and throw it away with the most angered, betrayed, heartbreaking scream Tommy had ever made.

Fundy approached Tommy, who was sitting on the sand, face hidden in his hands. Fundy hugged him by the side, rubbing his arm a little, and Fundy couldn’t stop the memories back at the L’manberg Independence war. Those cold nights where he, Tommy and Tubbo had to spend up on the walls, watching over for enemies. The two would always end up sleeping on Fundy’s shoulders, one with his jacket and other with his tail around. Wilbur gave up on scolding them for their lack of self care in sleeping on the job after some time, and just started to do the watching himself. Easier times that would never come back .

“I will fight him back.” Tommy said, looking up and sniffling.

Fundy smiled, seeing that small spark in Tommy’s eyes. “We are already planning something at our front” The fox got up, cleaning the sand in his clothes. “I’m not telling you what because its nothing set but... We just need you to be strong for only a little bit more.”

Tommy weakly smiled, still sitting on the sand. “I can try-”

“Nope. Cut of this ‘try’ shit.” Fundy was harsh, but he knew Tommy, the boy still had that fire on him, it just needed to grow. “You, Tommy Innit, Big Man...” He saw Tommy chuckle, and kept going. “The guy who learned ‘The green bastard will die’ in 6 different languages just to piss off the enemy, and also the most brave person that I know...”

Fundy put a dirt block on the ground, stepping on it. “... Will you keep going strong?”

Tommy got up with the help of Fundy’s hand, smiling again for the first time in weeks. “I will be the strongest.”

“YEEEEAH!” Fundy pulled him over the dirt block, changing places and looking up to Tommy, smiling widely when he saw the shine back to his eyes. “Let’s kill that fucking bastard!” Tommy cheered, thinking about his secret room, about his compass, about his friends, his family, his home.

They heard the portal, someone crossing it. They looked at Niki and Ranboo, both of them with a cake on their hands. “I think I just missed something.” Niki smiled, and Tommy had to stop himself to run in her direction. “Sorry for the wait!” Ranboo said, approaching them. “But Niki lives in the woods now, its sooo far away and-”

“It doesn’t matter.” Tommy cut, and he meant it.

They all sat on the table at the beach, never talking about L’manburg once, instead just laughing and enjoying the sunset.

Tommy was going to fight.

And he wasn’t going to be the loser again.

[sandwichrin]

A Little into You (Junkyu x Reader) (Ch. 9)

Chapter 9 - A step further.

Word count: 3k words

Genre: Fanfiction, PG13, Comedy, Romance.

A/N: Hi! Here’s Chapter 9! Thank you so much for waiting, and I really hope you all love this one 😀🧡

Now, it had been three weeks since you last met any of the Treasure members since you all had that lunch at the Japanese Restaurant. What’s that? Did you read that right?

Yes, it’s been three weeks.

And by now, the group chat that you and the 5 members have, had already expanded after Yedam added in the rest of the group in there.

This was your first time being in a group chat with these many people. Aside from your office’s group chat of course.

So one day whilst at work, you received a text from the Treasure group you were in.

 Chatroom:

Junkyu: Yeorobun~ Jihoon is asking if you all want to get some IKEA meatballs after today’s schedule!

Hyunsuk: Oh? But we’re finishing quite late today. Are you sure they’re still open late at night?

Junkyu: Oh. Right. @Jihoon Hey! Why did you recommend IKEA?? You know they don’t open after 11pm!

Jihoon: 😂😂😂 I knew they don’t.

Junkyu: ???? Then? Why’d you tell me to ask the group about it??

Jeongwoo: 😂😂 Junkyu-hyung…

Jihoon: I just like messing with you. Besides, you chatted the group with y/n in it so…. 😏

Y/n: ….are you guys okay….

 You smiled to yourself reading the chat again. It was silly, yet, amusing. You sort of missed talking to your new friends to be honest.

“Y/n, Mr Bae is looking for you,” your colleague, Soomin said, making you stop looking at your phone.

“Oh? Oh, right. I’ll go to him now,” You said as you got up from your seat.

Soomin nodded and went back to her desk not far from yours.

                                                               *

 Jihoon was grabbing himself a cup of water from the practice room’s water dispenser when he heard his best friend yell from behind him.

“YAH! PARK JIHOON! What’d you do that for???” Junkyu huffed, as he entered the door of the room.

Jihoon chuckled and drank his water before setting the cup down and facing his best friend.

“What? I didn’t do much?”

“Yahhhh, that was so embarrassing!” Junkyu exclaimed, as he ruffles his hair.

“Hm? What? Hey, I only asked you to ask the rest about IKEA and you were the one who chatted the wrong group,” Jihoon stated matter-of-factly.

“We need to change the group’s name! Y/n must think I’m dumb now,” Junkyu said, pouting.

“Sure, sure, we can change it later. We can write it as Treasure x Y/n. How’s that? Sounds like a collaboration, right?” Jihoon snickered as he pulls out his phone from his pocket.

“Whatever, as long as I don’t have to embarrass myself anymore,”

“Hmm?” Jihoon hummed. “Since when do you care about what y/n thinks of you, huh?”

“I-I don’t! I just don’t want to appear dumb, that’s all,” Junkyu stuttered slightly.

Jihoon grinned at him, “Sure, Junkyu.”

“Hey!” Hyunsuk’s voice appeared as he entered the practice room.

Both Jihoon and Junkyu turned to see who it was.

“You guys are early today. Your vocal training ended early?” Hyunsuk asked as he headed towards where Jihoon was, grabbing himself a cup of water from the water dispenser as well.

Both Jihoon and Junkyu nodded at his question.

Hyunsuk gulped down his drink, disposed the cup and walked to the middle of the room. There, he sat down and gestured the rest to sit with him.

“What are you both doing standing there? Come, sit! You should get proper leg rest before we start dancing later on,”

Junkyu and Jihoon went towards him and sat with him.

“So…what do you guys want for dinner tonight? Minus the IKEA idea of course,” Hyunsuk said.

Jihoon giggled when he saw Junkyu tense up from the word IKEA.

“No, noo! I didn’t mean it that way Junkyu,” Hyunsuk said, laughing a little. “Really though, where do you all want to order from for dinner?”

“I’m fine with whatever you guys are having,” Jihoon said.

“You guys want to gather in one dorm and just eat altogether there?” Hyunsuk asked, now scrolling his phone, searching for a suitable food menu for dinner.

“Sure, sounds okay with me,” Junkyu said. He tugged on the string of his pink treasure hoodie, realising that the strings were uneven.

“Ahh,” Jihoon stretched his arms out before laying down on the floor. “Hmm. Hey, Junkyu, do you want to invite y/n as well?”

Junkyu choked on his own saliva hearing Jihoon mention your name again. “Wh-what??”

Jihoon and Hyunsuk started laughing out loud.

“Hey, Jihoon, stop teasing Junkyu like that. He’ll hit us both later if you keep doing that to him,”

“Yeah! Why are you always mentioning her name here, huh? If you want to invite her so bad, why don’t you do it, huh?” Junkyu huffed as well.

Jihoon got up and sat back up properly. “Hey, don’t say that. I just might really invite her, you know,” he smirked at his two friends there.

“But y/n doesn’t know where we live? And I don’t think the rest are ready to reveal where we live to her too. I mean, we’ve only known her for what, a month or two?” Hyunsuk wondered aloud.

Jihoon shook his head. “Who says it has to be at our dorms?”

“Oh? Then, where?” Junkyu asked, extreme confusion portrayed on his face.

Jihoon smiled, showing his eye smile at his friends. “I’ll take care of it. Just find us some good food for takeout tonight,”

                                                                *

 “I don’t think that’s necessary Mr Bae,” you said, shaking your head from the idea he mentioned before you.

“Oh come on, y/n! You’ve been working here for over a year! It’s only reasonable you get promoted to do something else,” he said.

You kept quiet. Truthfully, you didn’t think you deserved any promotion at all. A raise in your salary? Maybe yes to that, but a new post?

Your eyes were kept lowered, as you stare at your thighs as you stay seated opposite Mr Bae’s desk.

Mr Bae is the president of the company, and yes, he is your teacher’s son. This was the man who gladly took you in to work with him when his mother was worried what would become of you when you missed your college entrance exam.

“Y/n,”

Your eyes lifted to look at him. “Yes”

“My mother would have wanted this for you too, you know.”

“I…I don’t know, Mr Bae,”

“What’s stopping you? Tell me,”

You shifted uncomfortably in the big chair you’re sitting in. You picked your fingers as you began thinking whether you should voice your concerns to your boss.

“Y/n?”

You inhaled deeply before letting out a deep sigh.

“Alright, fine. You caught me. I am worried. I feel like I don’t deserve this because first, I am the youngest person here, and to be promoted into an important team of the company just makes it seem fishy, don’t you think so? Besides, what’s everyone gonna say when they find out that I’m given that post when in reality all I have is a high school certificate??”

Your president grinned at this. This was the first time you have ever said anything this much to him. You had always been quiet around the people in this company, and seeing you rant out your concerns somewhat eases him.

Mr Bae leaned back into his tall, leather office chair. “Hmm. That’s it? That was all you’re worried about?”

You shook your head in disbelief. How could your president see this as a small matter? You were anxious about this, and yet he was so calm about it.

“Mr Bae, you don’t understand—”

“Please, call me Joonyoung. Or Joon for short. You’re my mother’s friend, and to be frank, our age isn’t that far apart, no?”

Your eyes narrowed at this, “Correction; I was your mother’s student. And, you’re literally 8 years older than I am so—”

Joonyoung laughed at this, clearly amused by you. “Alright, that’s fine, y/n. I’d understand why you’d benchmark yourself. You are indeed, way younger than I am,”

“Yes, indeed,” you huffed.

“But I still think you should accept the promotion,”

You scoffed. “Look, I told you, I am already concerned abou—”

“Soomin recommended you to be in her team too, you know,” he interrupted you before you could nag at him about your reasonings again.

That made you stop. You straightened your posture in your seat.

“S-soomin-eonnie? The one who seats not far in front of me in the office?”

“Yeah. She’s been asking for you to be on her comms team couple of times now, actually. I just didn’t want to push you before this because I knew you would refuse, with your ‘I am only a high school graduate’ excuse,” he said, adding quote marks when he mentioned your excuse.

“But…why?” You asked, confused.

Surely, Soomin is the only person you’ve interacted most in the office, and she’s quite young too, around 6 years older than you. But your interactions with her were mostly work-based. You were in charge of designing brochures, pamphlets, slides, creating reading materials and such for her and her team.

Whereas for Soomin, she was the leader in her unit, the Comms Team; they call it. What her team does was, they would go out on trips to other companies and provide a lecture or meeting for staffs and brief them on how they can incorporate and learn English language for their staff and companies. Sounds easy but it’s a handful once you’ve experienced the pressure of meeting people all around the city.

“So..?” Joonyoung’s voice broke you from your string of thoughts.

“Will you join Soomin? She’s been talking about how helpful you were to her and she felt bad that you were stuck doing all the computer work in the office.” Joonyoung got up from his seat and decided to peek outside his office’s window.

“She said that she felt like you had more potential than just being a person who sits at her desk and doing all mini jobs for everyone else in the office,”

“H-hey! That’s not true! I have students too,” you added, not wanting to make it seem like your job was that pitiful.

Joonyoung turned to look at you now. “Please, y/n, your students are the 3 staff that will soon be leaving to be relocated into Karako W’s office,”

You pouted. You almost forgot about the merge your boss had secured almost a month ago.

“So, let’s just say yes, shall we?” he smiled at you.

You let out a sigh.

“Great! I’ll take that as a yes!” he said happily. “I’ll let my mother know about this, she’ll be happy for you,”

“Sure…”

“Oh come on y/n, cheer up! You’re getting a promotion and a raise! Anyone would be happy to be in your shoes!”

You groaned. “Anyone but me,”

“Hey, at least now in your new post, you get to visit other big companies and collaborate with them,” he smiled, still convincing you.

You blinked a few times. You wondered if you ever got a chance to visit YGE’s company as well?

                                                                    *

 You got back to your desk to see your phone buzzing non-stop. You hurried to sit down and looked at it closely.

4 new messages from Jihoon TRSR

“Huh? Jihoon-ssi?” you muttered to yourself.

Just as you were about to open the messages, your phone started buzzing again in your hands, but this time it was a heavy buzz since it was a call.

Panicked, you answered it without looking at the screen.

“Hello?” You answered, slightly whispering since you didn’t want to disrupt the quiet atmosphere in your office.

 “Y/n! Quick! I need help!” Jihoon’s voice, rang in your ears, all panicked.

“What? Why? What’s wrong Jihoon?” you felt your forehead creasing, now that you heard his panicked voice. Did something bad happen to them?

“Y/n, please. You gotta help us. The management…Jaehyuk…”

“What, what?? What’s going on??” Your tone in your voice rose, now that you were anxious to know what happened. But Jihoon wouldn’t complete his sentences!

“Please, I’ll tell you all about it later. But you gotta help me, help us, please?” he pleaded through the phone.

You took a deep breath and exhaled. Your eyes dart around the office to see if anyone was watching you. None. Coast clear.

“Alright, Jihoon. What can I do for you?”

                                                                 *

 “Bingo!” Jihoon said happily, once he got off the phonecall with you.

The rest of the group looked at him and wondered what he was so happy about.

Jihoon walked to his spot in the choreography formation and did some light stretches since he took a short break to call you just now.

“Hey, Hoon, what are you so happy about, huh?” Hyunsuk said, as he noticed his friend’s beaming reflection from the room’s mirror.

“Nah, I’m just happy about tonight, that’s all,” Jihoon answered, his bright smile still plastered on his face.

“Ookay…”

“Speaking of which, have you decided what to buy for tonight’s dinner?” Jihoon asked Hyunsuk back.

“Oh, I asked the rest and they said they wanted pizza. That good for tonight?”

“Sounds great! And I’ve got the perfect place for us to eat too, tonight!”

Doyoung clapped his hands at this, “Wahhh hyung, both you and Hyunsuk are really treating us really well tonight, huh? What’s the special occasion?” he asked.

“Oh nothing, it’s just for all your hard work today,” Jihoon answered happily.

“Yayyyy! We’re having pizza tonight!” Junghwan cheered happily.

“Oh yeah, where are we going to have dinner tonight? Hyunsuk-hyung’s dorm?” Jaehyuk asked.

Jihoon winked at his dongsaengs. “It’s a surprise.”

                                                                  *

 (Y/n’s Apartment – Nighttime)

 “Eonnie! Eonnie!” you called out.

Your sister’s breathing was ragged and heavy. Like she was suffocating badly.

You got up from your chair beside her bed and ran outside the room, hoping to bump into a doctor who wasn’t busy at the time.

You found one not far from the nurse’s counter, and you grabbed him by the arm.

“Doctor! Please, please, my sister—” you shook your head and gestured him to follow you.

When both you and the doctor arrived in your sister’s room, she was already shaking in her bed, her breathing more ragged now.

The doctor rushed in and checked your sister’s vitals and eyes.

“She’s having a seizure! Nurses, hurry!” he called out loudly.

Soon, you saw two to three nurses rush in to help the doctor.

You stood by the doorframe, holding on to it, as if you were going to fall if you ever let go.

You watched as they tried to tend to your sister and your tears wouldn’t stop flowing down your cheeks. You were sobbing on your own now, watching needles being poked into your sister’s delicate skin again.

You shook your head over and over again, sobbing.

Please don’t leave me, eonnie. Please.

 You woke up from your sleep, panting.

You sat up in your bed slowly, trying to regain yourself.

It was a dream. It was only a dream.

You sniffled to yourself. You realised your cheeks were wet and you proceeded to wipe them on the sleeves of your shirt.

“Ah shucks. I can’t believe I cried in my sleep,” you mumbled to yourself.

Eeeeeekkk.

Your eyes widened. What was that? Did you hear wrongly? Or was it really a chair moving?

You gulped. You grabbed your phone on your nightstand and checked the time.

11.37 pm.

You frowned to yourself. Just how early did you fall asleep?

You kept quiet a little longer, just to see if there were any more noises.

A good whole minute passed by. No noise.

“Huh, I must be imagining things,” you assured yourself.

You were about to pull your covers over yourself again when you heard it again.

EEEEeeeeeekkkkk. Eeek.

That sounded like two chairs. Or specifically, the sound of the chair in your kitchen makes because you fairly remember how it sounds like ever since you removed the carpet underneath the chairs to be washed the other day.

Your heart raced. You slowly got up from your bed, slipped on your room slippers and slowly made your way towards the door.

You didn’t open your bedroom door or anything, since you didn’t have the courage to do so. But you pressed your ear against it, just in case you could hear anything.

“What are we doing here, hyung? Aren’t we trespassing?”

“Nah, we’re not. Believe me, this is legal,”

“But she’s not here. She’s probably asleep already,”

“Yeah, hyung, we should leave. This isn’t right,”

“Oh come on you all, she could be curled up in bed reading a book. Who the heck sleeps this early??”

You could your own breathing growing louder. Are there trespassers in your house??

Who should you call? Should you call the police?

Your head turned to look at your phone that you left on your nightstand. You decided to go over there to take it when suddenly you heard the doorknob getting turned.

This is crazy! You were in your pajamas and you didn’t have any weapon on you! Heck, you didn’t have your phone with you right now too!

You decided to just brace yourself and just throw in a hasty punch at whoever this trespasser is. The nerve! How dare they come into your home this time of the night?!

Just then, the door creaked open and you hurriedly pounced on the trespasser, making you both fall to the floor. Your eyes were shut as you swing your arms to punch the person but then you felt a hand grabbing your arm, making you freeze in your spot.

“Whoa! Easy there, cutie. What are you all feisty about?” a familiar voice spoke out.

Huh? That voice.

You opened your eyes to see….Jihoon laying on the floor beneath you, whereas his waist was trapped in between your thighs.

His hand was still holding on to your arm that was raised up earlier.

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Jihoon?? What are you doing here??”

“Aaahhh! I think I just saw something I shouldn’t be seeing!” You heard another voice screaming not far from you.

You lift your head to see who it was, and there it was….the rest of the familiar faces you know…all looking at both you and Jihoon with shocked looks.

  To be continued... 

[fullmetalscullyy]

the way it was - chapter 31

summary: what if riza never went to war? riza hawkeye has just married the man she loves. six months into their marriage, an unexpected surprise stops her from following roy to the military. a canon divergence au that explores what might have happened had riza been unable to join the military. there will be plenty of family fluff, angst, and royai.

rated: m | warnings: no archive warning apply

read on ao3

1914

we're fighting our fear of the silence

we're running through walls where they stand

Christmas’ Bar was the closest and safest place to her current position. Ducking inside, Riza took refuge, completely shaken by her encounter. She didn’t even remember walking there. The last ten minutes felt like a complete blur. The only thought that had run through her head was ‘escape’. There was no processing of events and conversation. That single word sounded in time with her hurried footsteps as she put as much distance between herself and the university as possible.

After returning to the present and escaping the fear plaguing her mind, Riza realised with dismay she’d continued walking in the wrong direction. Still, landmarks were recognisable, and she’d found herself outside of Chris’. Once inside the door, she gave herself a shake, gripping the lapels of the jacket tightly. Her envelope was getting crushed underneath her elbow, but Riza didn’t care.

Her entrance had unintentionally been a loud one, causing some heads to turn curiously. Once they noticed a heavily pregnant woman in the doorway, they turned away, uninterested, returning to their conversations. Luckily, it was mid evening and wasn’t too busy with a military crowd just yet.

Chris was behind the bar, eyeing Riza sharply. With a jerk of her head, she motioned for Riza towards what they’d jokingly dubbed the “Ladies Bar”, where she met up with Rebecca and Sheska for their nights out. It was empty when Riza entered, which she was grateful for. Since it was unused, it was colder, threatening to make Riza’s teeth chatter. Given her currently shaking hands, it wasn’t too hard a leap for her body to make in the chill of the room.

“What happened?” Chris’ question was forceful, her eyes scanning Riza’s face frantically, but with a contradicting calm expression. She was all business. Those dark eyes settled on the cut upon Riza’s cheek.

Not receiving an answer right away, Chris gently but firmly tugged the envelope from Riza’s grip. Without a word, she turned away and walked behind the bar. Stooping low, Chris retrieved a handful of tissues.

“I, uh,” Riza blinked, looking around the room as she still tried to process what had occurred. She clutched at her jacket tighter, trying to stop her frame from shaking. The digits were beginning to cramp with the pressure but Riza didn’t notice.

Tell him we say hello and nothing else. We will be watching.

The threat in that warning hovered over her head uncomfortably. She wanted to tell Chris everything. She trusted Chris completely but the sight of the shadows on the wall drew Riza up short.

We will be watching.

Riza remembered the elongating shadows in front of her, that massive eye peering at her.

“Can you talk?” Chris' voice was so low Riza didn’t even hear her. A hand squeezed her shoulder tightly, drawing Riza back to the present. “Riza, can you talk?” Chris asked again, the question spoken slowly and carefully.

There was a minute shake of Riza’s head.

Nodding in understanding, Chris motioned for Riza to take a seat on the chair behind her. Doing so, Riza shook out her aching fingers and absentmindedly rubbed her sore wrists. Feeling dried blood, Riza looked down at it, noting how they were heavily marked but there was only a tiny cut on her left wrist.

“Are you hurt?”

Riza shook her head. “Just this.”

“All right.”

Gently, Chris lifted a paper towel to her cheek and wiped away the blood. She patched Riza up carefully, silent throughout the whole process. The alcohol wipe stung her cheek, making Riza grit her teeth to ride out the pain, while also keeping her lunch in her stomach. The smell of the cleaning alcohol flooded her nostrils, making her stomach roll with nausea.

“All done,” Chris announced, straightening in her chair. The weight of the plaster on her cheek felt heavy. Uncomfortable. Chris stood to dispose of the soiled towels and wipes. “I’ll go and call Roy to come and pick you up.”

Riza paused. She didn’t want him to worry. On the other hand, she really didn’t want to walk home by herself tonight. Not after beginning to fear her own shadow for very legitimate reasons.

We will be watching.

Nodding in agreement, Riza hid her shudder.

Roy took one look at her and froze on the threshold of the door. His hand gripped it tightly as his gaze roved over her form. His small, expectant smile died on his lips as he spotted the plaster on her cheek. She must have still looked agitated because he strode over to her with long and purposeful steps. Riza rose from her chair and Roy crushed her into his arms.

She finally felt safe. Like she was at home.

“What happened?” His voice was low in her ear. It was threatening, but not to her. It was to whoever had marked her skin and left her unnerved.

Shaking her head, Riza pleaded with her eyes for him to drop it. “I’m fine,” she answered instead.

A hand lifted, grasping her chin with the gentlest of touches, turning her head left and right. He gazed upon her injured skin, his lips pressing into such a thin line, they almost disappeared. There was that fire back in his eyes again. It was the same fury she’d seen when Bradley appeared at their front door.

“Roy, I’m fine,” she urged, gripping his wrist insistently.

That was another mistake, because he looked down, seeing the marks on them too. His head jerked back to face her, eyes burning like an inferno. They widened considerably as he breathed out heavily, like a bull gearing up to charge.

To try and soothe him, Riza wrapped her arms around his back as best she could with her stomach, clutching at him tightly. “I’m all right.”

“This isn’t over,” he murmured almost unintelligibly into her hair. “I swear my life on it.”

“It is for tonight,” she fought him, her tone firm. “I just want to go home.”

Silence filled the room for a long stretch of time. It felt impossibly long, dragging out as Riza silently begged him to listen to her. She didn’t think he’d deny her such a request, but he was ready to fight someone on her behalf. She needed him to agree with her for his own sake too.

“All right.” The fight was still in him. His tone was firm and authoritative, like she’d heard him use while on the phone while working from home. “Let’s go home.” His eyes still burned with that fire and Riza didn’t doubt he’d tear the world apart to find out who or what had harmed her.

Even she was still at a loss for what happened. Chris was entirely trustworthy but until she was home, Riza wouldn’t feel safe discussing what had happened. She shuddered again. In an instant, Roy’s arm was around her shoulder as they walked, holding onto her impossibly tightly. Riza appreciated and needed his comfort and support.

Riza tried to drag up enthusiasm for her daughter as she chatted away in the backseat of their car. All she could manage were half smiles and poor excuses for laughs as terror threatened to consume her. Selim had no issue coming after her. Would they target Mia? She almost panicked in the passenger seat but dug her nails harshly into her palms to stave it off. Roy glanced over at her, noticing the state of her hands, but could offer her no words, not with Mia oblivious in the back seat. Instead, he reached across at a set of traffic lights, his palm face-up and resting upon her thigh. Slipping her hand into it slowly, Roy latched on and gave her fingers a tight squeeze. Slowly, he smoothed out her palm and ran his thumb over the marks her fingernails had made on her palm.

Regrettably, he had to remove it once the lights turned green, but it had been enough for the moment. It had calmed her. Letting out a breath, Riza tried her best to relax back into her seat and pay more attention to what Mia was saying.

*          *          *

Why Roy was called suddenly out of their home with Mia that evening was not discussed until they were alone in their bedroom. Mia had gone up to bed and once alone, Roy started to press, however Riza just shook her head and kept her mouth shut about the incident. She didn’t know where it was safe yet and it terrified her.

We will be watching.

Was she still safe in her own home? Every shadow was a threat to her now, and a reminder. There was no way to escape light.

They went about their evening like normal, but Riza knew Roy was watching her. Every creak, though there were not many, made her jump and Roy noticed. After the first instance, he watched her even more closely. Trying to help, he waved away her attempts to try and clean up after dinner, but Riza needed to be busy. She needed a task, something to focus on. So, she’d taken Mia up to bed and lay with her for a while, listening to her daughter’s deep and even breathing once she was asleep.

Journeying back downstairs she found Roy in their dining room, hunched over the table. He cursed, bringing his thumb to his mouth to suck on it. Shaking out his wrist, he hissed in pain as his other, uninjured hand, returned to what was on the surface, hidden from her view.

“What are you doing?”

Riza’s head cocked to try and look around Roy, but he spun in place quickly, moving his body in front of it. A fake smile was plastered across his face, making him look pained rather than reassuring.

She lifted a questioning eyebrow at him.

“Nothing.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“It’s nothing, honestly –”

“Liar.”

In mock hurt, Roy huffed, but still didn’t move out of the way. Her curiosity only increased.

“It was supposed to be a surprise, but the generic picture frame has defeated me,” he sighed, taking a step to the left.

Against the glass lay her certification, face down, and looking slightly crumpled thanks to her careless actions earlier in the evening.

“I figured putting it in the frame right away would smooth it out a little.”

Reaching over, Roy slipped the back of the frame in place, but not secure, and flipped it over carefully. Inside a golden border lay her certification from the university.

“Congratulations, Riza.”

As she stared down at it, tears threatening to collect in the corner of her eyes, Roy pressed a kiss to her temple as a hand rose to rest upon her shoulder.

“I… Thank you,” she breathed, a slow smile spreading across her face as she turned to look at him. She swallowed past the lump in her throat as she took in the way his eyes crinkled with his joy.

“You’re more than welcome. Let me just…” Quickly, the frame was flipped, and Roy secured the back in place. His actions were precise and careful, trying to avoid hurting himself on the sharp metal pieces that held the back of the frame in place.

It stood, without incident, proudly on her table. A culmination of all her work in the last six years. All on a simple piece of paper, presented properly in beautiful swirls of ink and shining gold leaf, printed with her name in the centre.

“There,” Roy announced proudly. “Now you just need to decide where you want to hang it.”

“On the wall?”

“Of course. It’s being shown off somewhere,” he added. “It’s not going to be hidden away.”

“What about next to your State Alchemist certification?”

Roy grimaced. “But that’s in my office.”

“Okay…” Riza didn’t know where to put it.

“You’ll need an office soon, won’t you?” Roy’s head cocked in thought. “You’ll need somewhere to work from if you’re a teacher. You’re own space. Why don’t we convert the storage space downstairs by the kitchen into one?”

“I can use the dining table,” Riza reassured him. “There’s more than enough room there.”

“But if you’re working, you’ll need some peace and quiet from the kids, right? So you would be better with an office of your own.”

“We’ll see.”

“You’re just saying that because you don’t want to cause trouble,” he teased, a cheeky smile on his face.

“I am not,” Riza grumped, but even she heard the poor lie.

Right now, she was in no state to be reorganising furniture and moving boxes that were in their storage space. If she was to get an office of her own, she would want to help with the conversion and not leave Roy to do it all by himself. In the same vein, luckily, they’d had the nursery set up for their new little one months ago. It had been an easy one. They just needed to get Mia’s old crib back from Chris, where they’d stored it after it outgrew their old apartment. The walls were a seafoam green colour when they moved in and neither parent saw a need to change it. It had just been Mia’s playroom initially, however once the news had broken that Riza was pregnant, it was quickly repurposed. Mia had barely even used it anyway, preferring to play in the living room with her parent’s company.

“We’ll leave it for now,” Roy relented. “But give it a thought. I want you to have your own space. For now, we can hang it in the living room for all to see,” he beamed.

Rolling her eyes, Riza still nodded and agreed with him. If it meant more to Roy than her, she wouldn’t take it away from him.

“Thank you.” Riza patted the hand on her shoulder gently.

“For what?”

“For that,” she gestured towards the frame, “and for…”

The dread that had followed her earlier returned, unwelcome, as she remembered what had occurred that night. Her cheek stung for a second.

“For distracting me,” she finally finished.

Understanding dawned on Roy, and he nodded, his expression grim. Riza realised that she hated herself for mentioning it, because gone was his happy and proud smile. In its place was a look that was both thoughtful and displeased. His eyes moved to her covered cheek.

“Any time for you, Riza. You know that,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Once in the safety of their bedroom, her safe haven, Riza bared herself to Roy, ready to reveal as much as she could about all that occurred that night. How she’d do it, Riza wasn’t entirely sure, but she needed to. She couldn’t leave him in the dark, and it would be important to the case he was building against them.

Roy was in bed already, observing her move around the room to gather what she needed to change. He didn’t even try to hide his watchful gaze anymore. He’d been eyeing her closely, protectively, as she undressed and as much as it irritated Riza, she understood his reasons why.

As Riza shrugged out of her blouse, she heard Roy shift on the bed. It creaked as he stood up and Riza heard footsteps.

The shirt bunched around her wrists and Riza let it hang there. There was no escaping Roy seeing the marks now. They circled around her neck and wrists, a reminder of Selim’s – or “Pride’s” – message.

“Is this what happened tonight?” His voice was low and there was a hint of his anger bleeding through it. If she turned, Riza knew she’d see it in his eyes, so she didn’t turn to look at him.

Their happy evening, the reveal of her framed certification, felt like a lifetime ago in that moment.

Nodding, Riza’s head tipped to look down. Unseeing, her gaze settled on her stomach as her fringe framed her vision.

The fingers against her skin were impossibly gentle as they skimmed over the pink marks. They were fading but not quick enough. Riza swallowed. They were meant to last, to haunt her. A message in themselves.

“And the cheek too?”

Riza nodded again.

Roy’s feet appeared in her view, toes hidden by her extended stomach. One of his hands lifted hers, gentle tugging the blouse off one wrist. He did the same with the other, tossing the shirt into the laundry pile. On the collar Riza spotted a dot of dried blood. The brown stood out alarmingly against the soft cream of the fabric. Walking behind her, he unclasped her bra and did the same thing. Riza shivered in the cool air of the room, but he quickly eased her pyjama top over her head, tugging it on and over her exposed skin. Smoothing it out made her shiver, but this one was welcome. His touch warmed her, a reminder that she was safe and at home.

Snaking her arms through the shirt, Riza finally glanced up at him. His smile was kind and gentle.

“Let’s go to bed,” he offered, grasping her hand tightly and giving it a squeeze.

As soon as her head hit the pillow Roy snuggled in as close as he could. Their heads were bent, both looking at her stomach as they rested together. Riza’s hands covered her stomach protectively, joined by one of Roy’s.

“Can you talk about it?”

Riza tensed. “I honestly don’t know.”

“Do you want to?” The hand on her stomach lifted to caress her cheekbone, the thumb running gently over the plaster covering it for good measure. It relaxed her tensed muscles somewhat.

She nodded. “Of course I do.”

“Take all the time you need, Riza.”

His eyes were understanding but there was a pain in them too. He wanted to help, to ease her suffering, but he didn’t know how. Riza knew exactly how he felt, remembering just how hard it had been on her when Roy hadn’t opened up about Ishval in the beginning, and the eventual fall out of it. Riza experienced a strong sense of déjà vu, knowing what she had to do, even if the thought did scare her.

Tell him we say hello and nothing else.

“I ran into Fuhrer Bradley tonight.”

Roy’s entire body froze. The hand on her cheek stilled and his eyes widened considerably. She could already see the anger forming as his gaze hardened. Muscles growing visibly taut, Riza thought he might jump out the bed any second.

“He was at the university with his family,” Riza continued. She reached up, removing his hand from her face so she could entwine their fingers together, anchoring herself. It kept the fear of her encounter at bay. “I met Mrs. Bradley and their son, Selim. They told me to say hello,” Riza swallowed.

“Did that bas –”

“Remember Scar?”

Roy’s head cocked, bewildered at the sudden change in conversation. It startled him out of his angered thoughts, bringing him back to her, so Riza tapped her finger on his palm twice, hoping he’d get her signal.

“And how the Elric brothers went up against him?”

Slowly, Roy nodded. His expression changed as he listened intently.

“Friends of mine were also involved, Lucy and Iain. I met up with them this evening too,” she lied.

If shadows were no longer safe and someone was ‘watching’ them, it was better to be safe than sorry.

“At the University?”

Riza shook her head. “I saw them on the way there. They’re stationed out East still, but were in town, so it was nice to run into them. Mary still works at the university, though.”

“Oh, the one with the dark hair… Obsessed with cats?”

Riza elbowed him gently but was glad he was playing along. Anything to ease the tension over them as she tried to get her message across.

“That’s Ida. Married to Sugar. They have five, I think.”

“If you like cats, you like cats,” Roy shrugged.

“True. I wonder if Havoc has managed to get a cat yet. He was always indifferent towards our dog. I wonder if cats are more his thing?”

“Maybe. I’ll ask next time I give him a call.”

“It would be nice to send over some presents if he did get a furry friend,” Riza added. “I think he said Oscar was a good name for a pet. Or Mike.”

“He’s as poor at naming things as you,” Roy snorted.

“I didn’t name our dog,” Riza reminded him. “That was our daughter.” Carefully, Riza edited herself so that she avoided their names so not to endanger the coded message.

“Okay, okay,” Roy relented in surrender. “Point taken.”

“Uri, your friend from the academy, was the worst from what I remember.”

“Oh yeah, what did he call his dog again?” Roy’s head cocked to the side as he pretended to cast his mind back.

“Nora,” Riza smiled.

“Oh, that poor dog.”

“He could at least have gone with something generic for a pet, like Charlie. But Uri wanted to call it after his grandmother.”

“That’s kind of sweet though, in a way,” Roy reasoned.

“I think Lucy was planning to do the same as Uri, but… Imagine calling your dog Stirling. I would have a hard time calling after it at the dog park with a name like that.”

Riza tapped her finger twice against his palm.

Chuckling, Roy nodded in agreement. “I hear you,” he replied. “I’ll be right back,” he muttered distractedly, but Roy did lean over to kiss her cheek before leaving the bed and entering the bathroom.

“Okay.” Riza cuddled into the warmth he’d left behind, waiting, and listening for his reaction.

“Oh…” She heard him murmur and Riza cringed. Now that he knew the truth, he may be even angrier than before. There was a pause, then the sound of Roy rummaging through a drawer, followed by a snap. A sound akin to a candle burning reached Riza, but quickly turned muted and disappeared.

In the doorway Roy stood, wide eyed, completely shocked. The light from their bathroom silhouetted his frame, but she saw the raw emotion on his face.

He looked terrified.

Riza offered him one nod, confirming his thoughts.

Turning the light out, he hurried over and jumped back into bed. Riza was drawn against him and she didn’t protest now that he knew exactly who she’d had a run in with tonight.

A homunculus.

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” he whispered into her ear ever so quietly. His arms gave her a tight squeeze.

Riza clutched at him in return. “Me too.”

“The marks will fade,” he added, running a hand gently across her neck and then her wrist. “I’m sorry you have to bear them, though.”

“It’s not because of you.”

He shot her a pained look.

“There’s no way you get to blame this on yourself,” Riza warned. “Don’t you dare.”

“It’s hard not to,” Roy admitted so quietly, his voice catching. Eyes dropped away from her, expression bitter at his inability to look out for her like they’d agreed to.

“It’s nothing I will ever hold against you, Roy Mustang,” Riza announced passionately, grasping his hand tightly in hers. It made him look up and meet her eyes sadly. “You didn’t plan this. No one could have.” She gave his hand another squeeze, more gently this time. “We’ll just have to be more careful in future.”

“You shouldn’t have to be though.”

Riza shook her head. “That’s the world we live in right now.”

“It’s not the world I want.”

“That’s why we’re working, right?” Offering him a reassuring smile, Riza curled up against him as best she could. Inhaling deeply, she took in the smell of him, of home. “I’m right here,” she whispered.

It was quiet, then Roy shifted, readjusting his grip. “I know,” he nodded, sounding defeated, but also relieved. “I know you are. I’m so thankful you are.”

Wrapped as tightly in his arms as she was now, Riza wasn’t going anywhere for the rest of the night, and that was okay with her.

[tronnyboyo]

BLUE SEA Chapter 2: The Prince of the Ocean

Based off of “Delicious” from Pet Shop of Horrors

Rating: Teen

AU: Don Thousand’s Pet Shop

Relationship(s): Hellshark/Disqualifyshipping (IVxRyoga)

Warnings: N/A

Summary: Thomas goes to retrieve the pet Ryoga had ordered. 

  Before me, the unremarkable pet shop stood. Its windows were darkened and I couldn’t see beyond the sign that hung there. I checked the map again and looked around. Heartland City’s Quartz Quarter had meant to be an upscale part of town, filled with high end stores and luxury boutiques. Unfortunately, after the WDC and the Barian Invasion, most of them had fled to safer cities. What was left were a series of smashed in storefronts and cracked sidewalks. Garbage littered the streets and not a single O-bot was seen. 

   I was surprised that there was still business here. Yet now that I thought of it, this would be the exact part of town Ryoga would have done his shopping in. Like him, this place had fallen from grace, awaiting a revival. The only difference between him and the Quartz Quarter was that he was able to rise up again. 

    I took in a deep breath. Here goes nothing. 

   Stepping through the pet store’s double doors, I was immediately surrounded by the heady smell of incense. I blinked for a few moments, my eyes watering. It must have been to disguise the smell of the pets. As my body slowly accustomed to its new surroundings, I hesitantly walked in. The pet store was dimly lit with a single light hanging from the ceiling. It was a pretty light, decorated with tiles forming curlicues of flowers and butterflies. Too bad it wasn’t particularly functional. The light was a dark amber, barely making a difference from the rest of the shadows. 

  “Hello there, Mr. Arclight. If you please, we can sit down over there and have some tea,” called a voice from the shadows. 

   I jumped, wildly turning towards the voice. From the darkness seemed to emerge a man with long, shadowy hair and deep red bangs. He wore robes that were equally dark, patterned with embroidered flowers against a background of black. Long fingers with black and sharp nails rested by his sides. His mismatched eyes regarded me carefully as he stepped into the amber light. 

   “Are you Emperor Thousand?” I asked. 

    The man nodded and motioned towards the sofa. It must have been a stage name. I could respect that. I took a seat and jumped as another young man, clad entirely in black seemed to materialize out of the shadows with a tray of tea. 

   “Thank you, Mist,” murmured the store proprietor as the tea was placed on the mahogany table. 

   As silent as he had arrived, Mist slid away. I turned back to the man before me, despite the slight prickles that were crawling up my spine. He began to pour the tea for both of us, its pleasant aroma melding with the incense. I stifled a sneeze and blinked a few times. 

   “To be precise, Emperor Thousand is my honorary title. My name is Don,” explained the man.  

   “Why Emperor Thousand?” I asked as I regarded the tea. 

   Don took a graceful sip of his tea, his silky tresses sliding towards his elegant face. A small smile filled his alarmingly red lips. 

   “Because it is said that I have one thousand pets and they all regard me as their ruler,” chuckled Don. “Which isn’t true, by the way.” 

   I raised a bushy eyebrow and looked around at the dimly lit pet store. 

   “Is your establishment legal?” I asked in a lowered voice. “Not that it really matters. I’m taking Ryoga’s pet, even if it’s an endangered snow leopard.”

  Don’s laugh was filled with derision, as if he were witnessing the antics of a silly child. 

   “Of course my store is legal! I could show you our certificates and documents in the back if you’d like,” he offered. 

   “Er, no. It’s quite alright. I was just surprised that I’ve never heard of your store before,” I replied awkwardly. 

  Hesitantly, I took a sip of the tea. Woah. It was delicious. Don beamed at my reaction. 

   “What can I say? This store is a hidden gem in the Quartz Quarter.”

   “Mmm.” 

   Before I realized it, I had emptied my cup. The pet store owner quickly moved to refill it. I thanked him and then leaned back in my seat.

   “What exactly did Ryoga order? A dog? A cat? A fish?”

   I received a nod at fish. 

   “A very rare species, too. We had only just received it last Tuesday,” replied Don. 

   My eyes widened. 

  “That was our wedding night.” 

    And Ryoga’s death. 

   “Once again, I would like to offer my condolences.”

   I sighed. The radio stations had gone insane. My phone was quickly filled to the brim with messages. All of the networks had hour-to-hour coverage of the incident. I still hadn’t answered any of the messages that awaited me or listened to them. It was all just static at this point. I took another sip of the sweet smelling tea. 

   “Could we look at this fish now?” I asked, changing the subject. 

   Don languidly removed himself from the sofa, a shimmer in his eyes. His movement brought to mind a slow moving stream, every movement smoothly sliding into the next.

  “Of course. Follow me.” 

  I drained my cup and followed him. He opened the back door to the pet shop and led me down a passage full of winding corridors. From the outside, I never expected it to be so big. Our footsteps fell silent on the soft carpeting. Like the front of the store, it was dimly lit by the occasional amber light. The smell of the incense followed us all the way, never dissipating. As much as I tried to peer into the doors that we passed by, I could see nothing. Distantly, I could hear the cries of birds and loud barking. Sometimes, I thought I could even hear the howling of monkeys. 

   “This way,” said Don as he disappeared down a narrow corridor. 

   “What kind of a fish is it anyways?” I began as the lights began to grow dimmer. “A beta? A goldfish?”

   The pet shop owner chuckled again with the same derision in his voice. He stopped before a large set of copper doors at the end of the corridor. Procuring a key from his pocket, he unlocked the doors and swung them open. 

  “See for yourself,” he invited. 

   In the dimly lit room, I saw an opaque earthen vase that almost touched the high ceiling. A ladder leading to a platform overlooking the top of the vase stood in the corner. The room was surrounded by candles, creating warped shadows across the room. From a record player, the sound of ocean waves was heard. When I took in a deep breath, I noticed that the incense had finally given way to the smell of sea salt. I stood there for a few moments, shocked that such a thing existed in this store. Gently, Don nudged me. 

  “Go on. He’s waiting for you,” he called softly. 

   Giving myself a shake, I stepped forwards. 

   “Ah, right. Take this with you.”

   I paused and saw Don take a candle from its place. Hesitantly, I took it, the fire flickering ominously. Even if the incident had happened a decade ago, I still couldn’t forget what I had done. Noticing my discomfort, Don looked around at the room. 

   “I could get you a lantern from the backrooms,” he offered. 

   Quickly, I shook my head. I wanted to see the fish now. I bounded towards the ladder. With each rung I ascended, I could hear a hollow ring echoing throughout the room. Like funeral bells. When I arrived at the top, I peered into the inky blackness. 

   “There’s nothing the—”

   My blood turned to ice as I saw a flicker of a large shadow and then the beginnings of a face resurfacing from the inky abyss. Before I could drop the candle, I placed it on the platform by the top. I rubbed my eyes in the dim light, praying that I had only been sleep deprived. Shakily, I peered over the edge of the vase again, my nails digging into the rim of the platform. Nothing. I closed my eyes for a few more moments. Nothing.

   Plish. I opened up my eyes again, meeting a pair of deep blue eyes. My heart leapt to my throat. I pulled back and looked down at Don, my blood rushing through my ears. 

  “What kind of a joke is this?!” I snapped. 

   I looked back into the vase, where he remained, staring at me with those deep blue eyes. My voice rose to a fever pitch as he continued to stare at me, heat filling every single pore of my body like a raging fire. The same pale skin. The same pert nose. Those stupid, meticulously plucked brows. 

   “You bastard!” I screamed. “We were all worried about you! I thought you died! You stupid, tasteless son of a bitch! And now you go and do this?! I thought you were fucked up but—”

   Plish. Ryoga sank back into the waters, splashing me with the cold liquid. A hand rested on my shoulder. I turned around to see Don by my side with his own candle in his hands. His expression was solemn as he regarded me. 

   “Please refrain from shouting at him. He dislikes loud noises,” said Don. 

   I gritted my teeth and pulled away.

   “Stop fucking around! I know that’s Ryoga! This isn’t funny!” I snapped.

   “This isn’t a joke. Your husband had ordered a merperson,” murmured Don as he peered into the black abyss. “In truth, I had found him washed ashore during my nightly strolls.” 

   As if on cue, Ryoga peeked up at us again. Wariness filled his expression as he saw me. Gently, Don stuck out his hand and ran his fingers through Ryoga’s curls. Ryoga closed his eyes at the touch, as if it had been me stroking his hair. Jealousy filled my chest. 

   “Adding insult to injury, you hired this creep to play along with this joke of yours?!” I uttered, my eyes filling with tears. “God, what am I to you?”

   Don let out an exasperated sigh. He moved his candle closer to the water. Ryoga looked up at the flame, transfixed. 

   “Look carefully,” he ordered me. 

   I squinted, trying to peer past Ryoga’s smug face. His eyes seemed to mock me. I at once wanted to throttle him and hold him tight. And then, I saw it. A gray dorsal fin. A long tail. Three slashes on each side of his neck that opened and closed. Before I could say anything else, Ryoga had dove into the waters, his tail splashing me. 

   “But...but that’s Ryoga,” I weakly uttered, my anger slowly giving way to relief. “Ryoga…! Come back!”

    No answer. Another sigh from behind me followed. 

   “Perhaps he may look like your husband, but he’s lost all of his memories,” said Don. “If you spend time with him and remind him of who he was when he was human, he could possibly remember again.” 

   I swallowed the lump in my throat. Looking at Don and then back into the waters, I longed to see Ryoga’s beautiful face again. 

   “How…?” I uttered. “How..?”

   I saw him, swallowed into the ocean without resurfacing. It was as if the ocean had consumed him whole. No one, not even the best of Heartland’s coast guards, had been able to find him. We were miles and miles away from the shore. There was no way he could have swum back. Unless...

    Plash. Slowly, Ryoga resurfaced, pale hand resting against the side of the vase. A pang filled my chest when I saw the two silver rings on his fingers.

   “It really is you..,” I choked. 

   My wedding ring was next to his own ring. There was no mistaking it. 

   “Did you ever think that you may have married a merman?” asked Don. “Folklore says that merfolk live at the bottom of the ocean but occasionally walk among us to play.” 

   I looked into my husband’s eyes that were devoid of recognition. My heart wrenched. I desperately wanted to reach out to him and pull him into an embrace that I would never release him from. I wanted his unmoving lips to form my name again, his deep voice erasing all of the previous week’s worries. Yet we only continued to stare at each other. 

   “...he was called the Prince of the Ocean,” I murmured after Ryoga disappeared again.  

     Don chuckled softly, not a hint of mockery in his voice.

   “Perhaps he was indeed the Prince of the Ocean, who came to the surface to amuse himself.”

   A pause followed as I hesitantly reached out into the cold waters, my hands shaking. I felt Don’s gaze on my back, calming and reassuring in the darkness. Please come back, I thought desperately. Memories filled my mind of our moments together. Side-by-side in the pool house, basking in the sweltering summer heat. In the living room, watching the sparse bits of snowflakes dot the garden. Singing together in the gardens during spring. Munching on apples from our trees in the fall, surrounded by shades of rich gold and red. All of it, all of it, was not enough. 

   Ker-plissssh…Ryoga resurfaced under my hand, his hair resting against my palm. Like a cat, he ran his head under my hand, dark strands of purple getting caught in my fingertips. He looked at me from underneath his eyelids, regarding me calmly. For a moment, I thought I saw a flash of coquetry in his face, as if he were his old self again. My hand ran down his surprisingly rough face, sending various prickles up my skin. A smile filled his lips before he dove back into the water. Tease. 

   “Will you take him home?” asked Don. 

   “Yes. Oh, god, yes,” I whispered fervently. 

   “Very good. There’s a bit of paperwork we need to fill out before you can bring him home so would you mind coming down with me?” 

   My heart twisted at the thought of having to leave Ryoga, even for just a few moments. Regardless, I nodded and turned away from the vase. I knew that after this, I could be by his side as long as I wished. As I descended the ladder with Don, future plans with Ryoga were already beginning to fill my mi

[sydneywritespursuedbyabear]

The Casualties of Croissants

Trigger Warnings -- also tagged: gore, gunshots, surgeries, hospitals, death in the family, ptsd symptoms

This is a standalone piece.

Word Count: 5176

“Shhhhhhhhh. It’s okay. I’m right here.” I wrap my arms around Dessi, avoiding the bloodstains on her grey and white raglan t-shirt. “I’ve called 911, EMS is on their way. You are going to be okay.”

Despite my efforts, Dessi seems to disagree. She moaned in pain and tugged at her shirt. I rotate her arm to examine the blood-spattered hole in her left sleeve beneath her elbow. I lift her arm up to check the bottom. There is no exit wound. As I return Dessi’s arm to a resting position, more blood oozes onto her grey sleeves and onto my hand. I help her lean against the brick wall of the bakery we were in not even five minutes ago. 

“I’ll be right back. Stay down,” I whisper, knowing full well that she couldn’t even move if she wanted to. 

I survey the surrounding area. No one else is hurt, and the bakery is still open. I burst through the bakery’s glass door, frantic. “Do you have scissors?” I ask. 

The front attending obviously notices the blood on my hands because he hesitates. I don’t have this kind of time. 

“Please,” I plead, “my friend was shot, and I need to cut her clothing away from the wound and create pressure on the wound.”

The attending turns around. I hear the rustling of assorted metal and plastic objects as he sorts through a tools drawer. He hands me a pair of kids’ scissors. “Have you called 911?”

“Yes. They’re about 5 to 10 minutes out. Thank you so much!” I dart back out the glass door I had burst through only 30 seconds ago and run back to Dessi. 

I take a quick look at the wound to double-check that her sleeve has not become entangled in any of her insides. The grey fabric of her sleeve is not caught on anything, just stained a dark crimson. “Okay, Dessi,” I say, trying to keep my voice as level as possible, “I’m going to cut your sleeve off. Let me know if anything hurts.”

“My arm,” she immediately moans back.

“I know,” I say, taking the scissors to the seam of her sleeve. I cut all the way around the seam before slicing the sleeve straight down the back. I carefully lift the blood-stained fabric away from the rich brown skin of her arm. “Dessi, I’m going to apply some pressure to your arm. This might hurt.”

“Hope, I -- ow!”

“All done,” I reassure her as I create a second, securing knot over the grey and crimson band on her arm. “Hey, Dessi, can you count out a minute for me?”

“I can try,” she manages.

I press my fingers into the warm skin of her forearm, searching for her radial pulse. I find it on the lower outside of her wrist. “Alright, Dessi, you can start counting,” I prompt. Each rapid beat of Dessi’s heart sends a powerful wave through her body. I am no doctor, but I can tell that her pulse is definitely elevated.

“Time,” Dessi mutters weakly. She bows her head in pain and exhaustion. 102 beats per minute. That heart rate is not going to help her at all.

I shift to be crouching right in front of her. “Dessi, look at me. We are going to take some deep breaths, okay?” I hear the faint screaming of sirens in the distance. “They’re almost here. For now, in through your nose--” I make an audible nasal inhalation. “Out through your mouth.” I let out a loud exhale.

Dessi does not move. I bring my hand up to her chin and tilt her so her brown eyes meet mine. “Hear that?” I ask her, referencing the growing din of ambulance sirens. 

The sirens come to a climax as the ambulance pulls up to the curb in front of us. 

Two EMTs jump out of the back of the ambulance. The one with short blonde-dyed-blue hair introduces himself, “Hi, I’m Frank, and this is my partner in anti-crime, Jocelyn.” He motions toward the ambulance, where Jocelyn’s bobbing ponytail emerges with a stretcher. 

“Alright, young lady,” Frank says to Dessi, “We are going to need to get you on that stretcher. We have two options: we can lift you up there, or we can lower the stretcher all the way down and you can climb onto it. Do you think you can stand?” Dessi shakes her head. Frank turns to me. “Jocelyn is going to help me get your friend here onto the stretcher so we can get her to the hospital. It’s your job to make her feel safe so this transition can be as quick and easy as possible. Got it?”

“Yeah.”

Jocelyn parks the stretcher right next to Dessi. She lowers it until the bed is at about knee level. Jocelyn and Frank crouch down beside Dessi and place their arms under her to support her knees and back. 

“Ready?” Jocelyn asks.

I nod. I lock eyes with Dessi. “It’s going to be okay,” I mouth.

“One, two, three,” Frank commands. He and Jocelyn stand up on three. Their feet trace rapidly across the pavement as they carry Dessi to the stretcher. 

“All done,” Jocelyn says after she and Frank have slid their arms out from under Dessi. Jocelyn leans over Dessi’s left arm and examines my makeshift bandage. “How long ago was the incident?” she asks.

“7 minutes-ish,” I respond. “I wasn’t able to find any exit wounds when I patched up Dessi’s arm.”

Jocelyn nods as if making a mental note of this new info. “Dessi?” she probes tentatively.

Dessi slowly lifts her head until her eyes meet Jocelyn’s.

“How are you feeling?” Jocelyn asks.

“Well, my arm hurts,” Dessi says flatly.

“Anything else bothering you?” Jocelyn presses. “Dizzy? Fatigued? Chest pain? Numbness anywhere?”

“Yes, yes, yes, no,” Dessi replies.

“Alright, let’s get her in,” Jocelyn commands as she uses her foot to unbrake the stretcher. She and Frank walk Dessi to the open back of the ambulance. 

“Can I come?” I call out.

Frank shoots Jocelyn a permissive look. “You’re both minors, right?” I nod my head. “Then come on in,” Frank shouts at me.

I dash over to the ambulance and step up on the metal ledge to climb in. Frank closes the door behind me. He runs around the outside of the ambulance and hops into the driver’s seat. 

I shift my gaze to Dessi. Jocelyn has already begun to measure Dessi’s vital signs. She swipes a thermometer across Dessi’s sweaty forehead. She slides a blue blood pressure cuff onto Dessi’s right arm. Jocelyn slips a pulse oximeter onto Dessi’s right index finger. 

A monitor hanging above Dessi comes to life. Large numbers display her blood pressure. A wave rises and falls across the screen as Dessi’s heart beats. Jocelyn enters some information into an iPad that is sitting on the bench beside her. She looks up and goes, “Alright, girls, I need full names and dates of birth. Dessi, do you want to go first?”

“Desdemona Freedman,” Dessi says weakly. “Born September 17, 2003.”

“Good job,” Jocelyn praises as she lightly grasps Dessi’s hand. “And you?”

“Cassiopea Murphy,” I say. “And I was born--” I pause, unsure of what to say. “Um, I don’t have a birth certificate.”

“What does that mean?” Jocelyn questioned.

“I was a safe haven baby. I was left in a box in June of 2003 and was estimated to be 1 week old. No local hospitals had any birth certificates that could match my situation. My adoptive parents have been searching for it for years. All we know is that I’m 17 now.”

Frank pipes up from the driver’s seat. “Alright, ladies, we are about two minutes out. How are you holding up, Dessi?”

“Absolutely fantastic,” says a faint sarcastic voice. At least Dessi still has her sense of ironic humor. 

Upon our arrival at the hospital, everything moves fast again. Frank jumps out of the front and races around back to open the doors. Meanwhile, Jocelyn unclips Dessi’s stretcher from the floor of the ambulance. Jocelyn wheels Dessi out the back, where Frank receives the stretcher and guides it to the ground. I leap out the back and tail the frantic parade.

Jocelyn and Frank shove through the swinging door entrance to the ER. They immediately start riling off info about Dessi.

“16-year-old female with a GSW in her lower left arm,” Frank announces to the room.

“BP holding steady at 89 over 54, pulse is at 120 and slowly rising,” Jocelyn adds.

An ER doctor rushes over to meet Dessi as she is moved towards the back of the room, where there is an empty bed. A blue hijab covers her hair and blends in with her faded scrubs. “How much blood has she lost?” the doctor inquires. 

“Less than a pint probably,” Jocelyn replies, “there wasn’t any blood on the ground when we picked her up, so it’s all in her clothes.” “Great. Let’s get some saline running and put her on a morphine drip.” The doctor orders. “Any exit wound?”

“Not that we could see,” Frank supplies.

The doctor sighs. “Get her up to imaging!”

A team of nurses wheels Dessi away. Frank turns around and notices me standing in the corner of the room. “Let me take you to the waiting area,” he says, extending his hand to me. “We should call your parents.”

I don’t budge.

“You can’t be back here,” he scolds. 

I reluctantly take his hand. “I’m not calling my parents.”

“Why?” “I’m not going to interrupt Dessi’s custody ruling. Today is the court’s only opening before Dessi turns 18.”

“Why is Dessi not at her own custody ruling?”

“She can’t stand courtrooms.”

“Okay, well isn’t this a pretty important reason to interrupt her own custody ruling?”

“I guess, but I can’t tell them about this.”

“Why?”

“I just— I just can’t,” I stammer. I take a deep breath. “When can I see Dessi?”

Frank sighs. His eyes briefly dance around the nearly empty ER waiting room before returning his gaze to me. “Dessi is up in imaging right now. I can take you back to get cleaned up and I can have a nurse call your parents. Sound good?” 

I nod. He leads me back through the swinging doors that lead to the ER. I can see where Dessi was placed when we first arrived. Frank leads me back there and ushers me to sit down in the chair placed next to the spot where a hospital bed would be. 

Frank walks to the nurses’ station in the center of the room and returns followed by a tall man in turquoise scrubs. “This is Jackson,” Frank says.

“Hey there,” Jackson says, brushing the brown hair of his bangs out of his eyes. “I’m Nurse Jackson, but you can call me anything you want as long as you tell me. Frank tells me that you’ve had a bit of a rough morning.”

“Yeah,” I sigh, looking down at my blood-stained plaid skirt. “Oh, I’m Cassiopea, but you can call me Hope.”

“So, Hope.” Jackson clears his throat. “Have you contacted your parents?”

I stare down at the white speckled tile beneath my shoes. “No,” I admit quietly, “I was hoping you could do that.”

“I can give your parents a call, okay? I think you should change,” Jackson tells me.

“Into what?”

“I just texted a buddy of mine. She’s bringing down some scrubs for you to change into. Dessi will be down soon. Sit tight. I’ll be back to check on you in a little, okay?”

I nod. Jackson walks back to the nurses’ station in the center of the room. He picks up a phone and dials a number.

Franks steps in front of me. “Alright, Hope, Jocelyn and I have some paperwork to fill out. The doctors and nurses here are awesome. If you need anything, just ask.” He, too, turns around and walks away from me. He exits into the ER waiting room. 

As soon as Frank is out of my sight, another person in scrubs comes my way. She is carrying a pile of maroon clothes, presumably for me. “Cassiopea?” she says, presenting me with the pile of clothes and a plastic bag.

“Thank you.” I take the scrubs out of her hands.

“You can close this curtain for privacy,” she tells me, pulling on the green fabric that hangs down from a metal bar that wraps around the ceiling above me. “Just open back up when you’ve changed so the nurses can get your friend back to you. Got it?”

I nod. She walks away. I pull the curtain around the monitors that surround a bed-shaped hole. I peel off my blood-stained middle school uniform that I don’t even know why I’m wearing today and place its pieces into the plastic bag. I pull on the scrubs and pull back the curtain. The poly-cotton fabric brushes against my skin, not too soft but not too itchy either. 

After a few minutes, Dessi’s bed reappears down the hallway. She is wheeled next to me by a team of nurses. These nurses close the same curtain that I used to change. “Hey,” I say. “How are you doing?”

“I’m not too good,” Dessi says flatly. “We’re waiting on a, ummmmmm, radiologist.”

“Okay. They’ve called Mom and Dad, who I assume talked to Jess. I don’t know if they’re coming.”

“I don’t want them to come.”

“Why not?”

Dessi looks away from me. Her eyes dance across the ceiling, avoiding me at all costs. “I just don’t,” she insists. I get the feeling that this is where she’d roll over, but she’d be rolling onto her injured arm, so I reckon she won’t.

Her arm is no longer covered by a grey band with crimson stains and jagged edges. It has been wrapped in a pristine white bandage that stands out against her skin. Her other arm has an IV line connected to it with a piece of tape. This protection is clear, but her attachment to the bags is another reminder of her current state.

The doctor from when we first arrive pulls back the curtain and walks in. “Hi, I’m Dr. Niani,” she says. “I have the results from your x-rays.”

“And?” I press. 

“Desdemona, you got very lucky,” Dr. Niani says.

“No, I didn’t,” Dessi retorts.

“Given your situation, you did,” Dr. Niani argues back. She takes a deep breath and starts again “Your forearm is broken in two places. The bullet is lodged between your radius and ulna below your elbow.”

Dessi is absolutely silent, so I press on. “What now?” I ask.

“We remove the bullet and realign her arm. She wears a cast for 8 weeks, and we go from there,” Dr. Niani states matter-of-factly. 

“How do we do that?” Dessi inquires, her voice shaky.

“We numb your arm using a local anesthetic, make an incision, extract the bullet, reset your bones, and stitch you up.”

“And I’m awake?” Dessi asks nervously.

“It’s too risky to have you under general anesthesia.” Dr. Niani looks down at the iPad in front of her. “Moving on. Jackson got a hold of Mr. and Mrs. Murphy. They will be here as soon as they can. In the meantime, they have given us verbal consent to treat your injuries. I’d like to get that bullet out of you as soon as possible.”

I shift my glance to Dessi, who is not fully on board with this decision. Sweat glistens on her forehead and her brown eyes gloss over with unshed tears. “Dessi, it’s gonna be okay,” I tell her.

“I can’t do this,” she says as a single tear leaks out of her red eyes. 

“Why not?” Dr. Niani asks softly.

“I’m scared. My mind is all over the place and I just can’t deal with this right now,” Dessi sobs.

Dr. Niani sighs. “Okay. I’ll give you some time to rest.” She walks away from us and closes the green curtain as she leaves. Her voice rings out in the distance, “Jackson, page psych.”

“Hope, why did you let them call your--our--parents?”

“They deserve to know, Dessi.” I grab Dessi’s left hand and give it a tight squeeze. Dessi picks her head and gives me a faint smile, her brown-pink lips slightly moving towards her ears. “I’ll be right here the whole time.”

Our moment is interrupted by yet another person opening our curtains. This time, it is a fair-skinned woman with long brown curly hair. “I’m Shayna Gold, and I’m a--”

“Psychiatrist,” Dessi finishes.

“Yes,” Shayna says. She pulls a stool out from under the table on the other side of Dessi’s bed and sits down. She scans her tablet before closing its cover and placing it under her clipboard. “I want to talk to both of you about what happened earlier.”

“What do you mean? How much earlier?” I ask.

“Anything that happened today,” Shayna replies.

I glance up at Dessi, but she has strategically averted her eyes to the ceiling. “Okay,” I sigh, “I’ll tell the story. This morning is Dessi’s custody ruling. Dessi isn’t too fond of courthouses, so I stayed home with her. After my parents left, I decided to take her out for croissants to take her mind off of it. As we left, a black SUV pulled into the alley next to the bakery. Someone wearing all black jumped out of the SUV and walked down the alley, where another hooded figure was standing. We only heard one round be fired, but it did not hit any intended target, as far as we could tell. Dessi caught that bullet in her lower arm.” I pause and take a deep breath. Until now, no one else knew about what had happened. My chest felt lighter, as if the story had been weighing me down, but my head also began to spin at the reality of what Dessi and I had experienced. “I called 911 and we were brought here,” I continue. “The bullet is stuck in Dessi’s arm bones and she needs to have a procedure to get it out, but she’s not being put to sleep and she’s scared.”

“You two have been through a lot today,” Shayna says, looking up from her clipboard, which is covered in scribbled-on notebook paper. “Let’s take a moment to appreciate how much you have already survived today.” A calm briefly fills the air, as our little nook becomes as quiet as an ER can be. 

“Let’s unpack this a little, Dessi,” Shayna says. “How do you feel about the procedure? I know that you are scared, but do you know what you are scared about? Are you worried that it will hurt.”

“I mean I am worried that it will hurt, but that’s not really what’s bothering me. I’ve been shot, so pain isn’t the worst thing imaginable right now,” Dessi responds. She’s coming back. Even if there is still a bullet in her arm, her mood has begun to heal.

“Okay,” Shayna says, processing this information, “is there anything else that fuels this hesitation?”

“It just doesn’t feel right,” Dessi says, “especially with my new parents coming over. I guess I’m more worried about something happening to me or what their reactions will be.”

Shayna nods as she internalizes this information, but I have now picked up on something that Dessi has left out that is quite important. “Dess, you should probably mention what happened to your birth parents.”

“I don’t want to,” she moans in response.

“If you tell her, I am going to tell her,” I fire back.

“Hey,” Shayna interrupts in a calming voice, “if she doesn’t want to talk about it, we shouldn’t make her.”

“But I know why she’s scared,” I argue. “Her father died while undergoing treatment for cancer, but it wasn’t the chemo that killed him. Her mother had a sudden heart attack from stress. Dessi’s mother died during her father’s malpractice hearing. It’s why she can’t stand courtrooms.”

Dessi closes her eyes and leans back against her bed. She lets out a huge exasperated and nervous sigh.

“Wow, that’s really something big,” Shayna says. “Dessi, how do you feel about her saying that?”

“She’s right,” Dessi admits. She swallows hard; a bulge travels down her neck. “How do I fix this?”

“There is no way to fix this. I know that it sounds unencouraging, but you cannot change the past. That is a fact. BUT, we can do something about you right now.” Shayna stands up and places her tablet and clipboard on her stool. She walks over to be beside Dessi, facing me. “Let’s make a plan to make this experience easier for both of you.”

“Okay,” Dessi says, shifting her gaze to Shayna.

“Dessi, what makes you feel safe? What do you like to do when you’re upset?”

“I like to listen to music and talk to Hope.” Dessi glances over at me and we exchange smiles.

“I can play Spotify off my phone,” I offer.

“That sounds like a good idea,” Shayna says. “Are you feeling any more confident, Dessi?”

“I guess so,” Dessi replies. “I’m scared. I’m in pain, but Hope is here.” I squeeze her hand in agreement. “I’m ready to get this bullet out of me.”

“I’m going to let Jackson and Dr. Niani know that you are ready.” Shayna picks up her tablet and clipboard. She rolls the stool back around Dessi’s bed to where it was safely stowed before. Shayna pulls back the green curtain as she leaves and closes to restore our privacy.

I pull my phone out of the plastic bag with my clothes. I locate a paper towel dispenser above Dessi’s bed and wipe the moisture off of it. “What are you thinking?” I ask, popping Spotify open.

“I’m not sure?”

“How does Mozart sound?” I jest.

“Not really in a classical music mood,” Dessi remarks.

“You never are.”

“Don’t judge my music taste!”

“Fine! How about Panic! At the Disco?”

“Sounds great.” 

I press play on my phone. The screen switches to an album cover. The notes ring out through our area, but I adjust the volume so as to not bother anyone else.

Jackson pulls back the curtain and steps toward Dessi’s bed. “I like the music. Whoever chose has good taste,” he says, and I smile up at Dessi. Jackson pulls out a small table from underneath the table upon which the monitors sit. He aligns it with Dessi’s left shoulder. He grabs a disinfecting wipe from a canister on the wall to wipe the surface down before placing a blue papery material down on the table. Jackson lightly grasps Dessi’s arm and lifts it to lie facing the ceiling on the table. “Ready?” he asks.

Dessi sighs. “I guess so.” He lifts up the white wrap that has been covering Dessi’s arm. The more material he peels off, the darker red of a stain is left on the white bandage. Jackson grabs a syringe off of the table with the monitor. “This is lidocaine,” he tells Dessi, “this might burn a bit, but it will help with the pain after.”

I reaffirm my grip on Dessi’s right hand. “Squeeze hard over here,” I say. “If you break my hand, we’re not in a bad spot.”

Dessi is definitely listening to me because her hand clamps down on mine, crushing my bones, but not breaking them, as she lets out a lingering, “Owwwwww.”

“All done,” Jackson says.

As if perfectly timed, Dr. Niani walks in as soon as Jackson pulls the lidocaine needle out of Dessi’s arm. She is carrying a metal tray with paper and plastic packages on it. When she sets down the tray, I get a look at what’s inside: surgical equipment. There’s a scalpel and some other things that I don’t recognize. Dr. Niani passes surgical masks out to me, Dessi, and Jackson before putting one on herself. She pulls on a pair of blue rubber gloves and teases open the paper packages. 

Jackson places his left hands on Dessi’s upper arm. “Dessi, I’m going to need to hold as still as possible. This should be quick and easy. Do you want us to go over what we are going to do?”

“Yeah,” Dessi musters. I can’t see her face through the mask, but her eyes tell the whole story. Her heavy, glossy, shaky eyes trace over to the surgical instruments on the opposite side of Jackson.

Jackson hands Dr. Niani the scalpel. “This is a scalpel,” Dr. Niani says, “I am going to use it to make a small incision above your wound so I can smoothly extract the bullet.” She hands the scalpel back to Jackson, who trades her a metal bar that is curved at the edges. “This is a retractor. I will use it to keep your muscles out of the way.” Dr. Niani makes another trade with Jackson. This time, she receives a tool that looks like larger tweezers. “These are forceps. Once I get in there, I will use these to take that bullet out of you.” She hands the forceps back to Jackson. 

“Dr. Niani,” Jackson says, “I’ve paged ortho. They’re sending Dr. Rochester down shortly.”

“Perfect,” Dr. Niani replies. “Right, that. We have an orthopedic surgeon coming down to realign your bones before we stitch you up. And that’s it!”

I squeeze Dessi’s hand. “You ready?” I ask.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Dessi replies. Jackson drapes another blue paper over Dessi’s arm. This one has a hole in it, which goes right over the hoel in Dessi’s arm.

“Scalpel?” Dr. Niani grabs the knife from Jackson’s right hand. She presses it against Dessi’s skin until some blood seeps out. To my surprise, I feel no response from Dessi, whose eyes are trained on the even larger hole in her arm.

“Jackson, retractor,” Dr. Niani commands. She pulls back Dessi’s dark skin and blood-covered internal tissue, exposing Dessi’s bones. This is not something I expected to see today. Locked in between the splintered edges of Dessi’s forearm bones is a bullet no larger than the size of my pinky. Jackson hands the forceps to Dr. Niani. She carefully probes into Dessi’s arm and grasps the offending bullet. She drops it in a plastic cup on the tray next to Jackson. “Do you want to keep it?” she offers.

“Um--” Dessi considers, but she is interrupted by a man I assume is Dr. Rochester. He pulls back the green curtain and peeks inside Dessi’s arm.

“That is quite the fracture,” he says. “Don’t worry, I can fix that pretty easily. Jackson, please apply more anchor pressure above her elbow.”

“Yes, sir,” Jackson replies as he sinks his hand deeper into Dessi’s upper arm.

Dr. Rochester looks up at Desdemona, hoping to make eye contact, but she is staring at me with tears in her eyes. “Okay, sweetheart,” he says, “this will hurt, but it will be over quickly. Okay?” He grasps Dessi’s wrist. “One, two, three.” On three, he pulls Dessi’s arm towards his abdomen. Dessi squeezes my hand harder than anyone has even squeezed it before.

Dessi lets out an ear-piercing scream, but it abruptly ends the moment she gazes down at her arm and realizes that her bones are now where they are supposed to be. 

Dr. Rochester takes a look at the same sight that Dessi is marveling at. “Looks like my work here is done,” he says and pulls back the curtain to leave.

“You should keep it,” I say excitedly.

“Hope, why should I keep it?” Dessi asks.

“It’s cool. We can put it in our room!”

Dessi rolls her eyes. Usually this gesture is accompanied by a strong smirk, but her mouth is covered by blue paper, so I just assume it’s there. “Fine.”

Dr. Niani begins to sew up Dessi when I hear a familiar distress voice. “I’m looking for Cassiopea Murphy and Desdemona Freedman.” It’s my mother.

“They are currently in the middle of something, so I am going to need you to take a seat and wait until they are ready,” a nurse argues back.

“But they’re my daughters!” My mom exclaims. My mom waits for no one, so she charges back into the ER. I assume that no one stopped her because thirty seconds later, she throws the green curtain open with tears in her eyes. These teary eyes lock with mine. “Cassiopea Francessca Murphy,” she scolds.

“What?” I fire back. “It’s not my fault.”

My dad comes up behind my mom. He gently strokes her back. “We know, honey,” my dad says in a tone that is much calmer than my mother’s. “All of this is shocking, but we are so happy that the two of you are okay.”

Dr. Niani ties off the sutures she has placed in Dessi’s arm. “All done,'' she says, taking one of her gloves off and placing her bare hand on Dessi’s knee. She motions to Jackson to clean up the area before turning to my parents. “I’m Dr. Niani,” she says, extending her ungloved hand. “Desdemona did really well. We are going to cover her sutures and put a cast on that arm. In two weeks, we’ll need you to come back to get the sutures out and recast that arm. We expect that she’ll be in the cast for about 8 weeks.”

My mom grasps Dr. Niani’s hand and produces a firm handshake, like the ones that she gives at business meetings or meetings with our lawyers. “Thank you,” my mom manges in a shaky voice.

Jess enters the ER and stops at the nurse’s station. She scans the room and locks eyes with me. Jess power walks over to Dessi’s bed holding a clipboard with a small white pile and a pen dangling from it. She smiles and sets it down on Dessi’s bed. “Desdemona Freedman, I have some paperwork for you to sign.”

Dessi drops my hand to pull her mask off. Her jaw drops as she breaks out into a huge smile. “Really?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Jess sighs. She pushes the clipboard closer to Dessi’s lap and hands Dessi the pen. Dessi frantically scribbles “Desdemona Freedman” on the bottom of the second page in the stack.

“Congratulations,” Jess says. She picks up the clipboard and leaves the ER.

With Jess gone, Frank and Jocelyn emerge from the waiting room. They pause at the nurses station and exchange black clipboards before making a beeline to our little crowding corner of the ER. “Congratulations!” they shout as Frank thrusts the new clipboard toward my mother.

My mom happily grabs the clipboard and sits down at the foot of Dessi’s bed. She doesn’t waste a minute before picking up the pen and filling out the larger pile of papers. She plants a kiss on Dessi’s forehead. “I have never been more excited to fill out paperwork in a hospital.”

[trashcanreddiefan]

The 1st Annual Losers' Club Christmakkah Celebration

Summary: The Losers gather for their first annual Christmakkah celebration. Several announcements are made, and Richie’s Christmas wish just may come true.

Word Count: 2800-ish

Warnings: None whatsoever. This is pure fluff.

Author’s Note: Post-Chapter 2. All of the Losers are alive in this fic, including Stan, because canon can suck it.

1st in a (at least) 3-part series where the Losers take turns hosting Christmakkah.

CROSS-POSTED AT AO3.

Bzz bzzz. Bzzz bzzz. Bzzz Bzzz. Bzzz bzzz.

Richie Tozier groaned and picked his phone up off of his nightstand, squinting at it in the harsh early morning light and smiling sleepily when he saw that new messages were flooding in in the Losers’ group text thread.

Benverly (Bev): First annual Loser’s Club Non-denominational Holiday Celebration at Ben’s house on December 24th!

Benverly (Ben): OUR house, Bev.

Benverly (Bev): Our house. :-*

Benverly (Ben): I love being able to say that.

Micycle: Can’t wait!

Billiam: Audra and I will definitely be there!

Staniel: Patty and I will be there.

Eds: I’m coming.

Richie waited until everyone had confirmed before sending his response. Oh, I don’t know if I can be away from Eds’s mom for that long.

Eddie’s reply immediately came through.

Eds: Dude, you realize the joke no longer works since my mom’s been dead for 12 years, right?

Eds: Also, fuck you.

Richie grinned. Love you too, Eds.

Staniel: Richie, you had better be there or else I’m personally coming get you and dragging your ass to Ben & Beverly’s.

Richie shook his head. I’m kidding, guys, I’ll be at Christmakkah. Honestly, I wouldn’t miss it for anything.

Eds: Good, it wouldn’t be a Losers’ Holiday Celebration without the biggest loser of us all.

Richie snorted with laughter. Ouch, Eds, you wound me. 💀

Eds: Truth hurts, asshole. And that’s still not my name.

Billiam: Christmakkah? Really?

Staniel: Actually, I kind of like it.

Benverly (Ben): Ok, 1st annual Losers’ Christmakkah Celebration at my & Bev’s house then. :)

Everyone had mutually agreed that gifts weren’t necessary, that everyone having made it out of Neibolt alive and It being well and truly dead was gift enough.

Richie was never one to follow the rules, however, which is how he found himself loaded down with gift bags in front of Ben & Beverly’s house 3 weeks later. He rang the doorbell.

A few seconds later the door swung open to reveal Eddie.

Richie blinked. “Hey, Eds.”

A smile spread over Eddie’s face. “Richie, hey. Come on in, everyone’s in the dining room.”

Richie stepped inside and Eddie reached for some of the gift bags. “Here, let me help you with that stuff.”

Richie and Eddie deposited Richie’s gifts in the living room. Once Richie had taken his jacket and gloves off and was settled, Eddie pulled him into a hug. “I’m really glad to see you, man.”

“Same here, Eds. I’ve missed you– I mean I’ve missed all of you. Even though it’s only been a few months. Yeah. Anyway, let’s go in the dining room so I can see everyone else.”

Once they reached the dining room, Richie announced his presence in his usual loud, playful fashion. “Happy Christmakkah, Losers!” he shouted.

“Richie!” came the chorus of replies, followed by hugs and greetings.

Bev rubbed her hands together. “Good, now that you’re here, let’s eat!”

After dinner, everyone gathered in Ben & Bev’s gigantic living room to sit by the fire and socialize. Stan, Patty, Ben, & Bev sat on one sofa, Audra, Bill & Mike were on the other, and Richie and Eddie each sat in the 2 armchairs by the fireplace.

“While we’re all here, Patty and I have a gift for everyone,” Stan announced. “I know we said that we weren’t going to get everyone gifts, but…” he shrugged. “You’ll just have to deal with it.”

He began handing out bags to everyone. “Don’t open them yet.”

Richie fiddled with the tissue paper sticking out of his bag as he waited for Stan to sit back down. “Ok, go ahead,” Stan said.

Richie pulled the tissue paper out and pulled out a white onesie that read “I love my uncle.” He looked around everyone else, who all held the same gift, with Bev’s reading “I love my aunt” instead.

Stan placed a hand over Patty’s stomach. “We’re expecting!” he said excitedly.

Richie jumped up and gave Stan a hug. “Staniel, you old dog, congratulations!” He then turned to Patty, giving her a much gentler hug. “You guys are going to be fucking phenomenal parents, I just know it.”

After everyone had congratulated Stan and Patty, Ben cleared his throat, looking at Bev in silent conversation. Bev tilted her head in affirmation.

Ben got up and grabbed some gift bags from behind the couch. “Here you go, everyone,” Ben said sheepishly, handing them out.

Each bag contained a dual photo frame, one side holding a picture of the Losers’ at 13 and the other holding a more recent group photo that had been taken at the Jade of the Orient before they had all remembered It, and an envelope.

Richie tore his card open. Inside was an engagement announcement.

Bev linked her fingers through Ben’s. “We’re getting married,” she said happily. “We decided to do it while you’re all still here for the holidays since we want the most important people in our lives to be there.”

Another round of congratulations echoed around the room.

Bill spoke up next. “I brought gifts too. No announcement though, at least not unless you count a new book deal.”

Everyone congratulated Bill as he handed his gifts out, Richie good-naturedly teasing him about hoping Bill had finally learned how to write an ending.

“Ok, so I’m assuming no one listened and brought everyone a gift anyway?” Mike said, then nodded when Richie and Eddie both murmured an assent. “In that case I’m going next.”

He handed everyone their gift, then settled back down. “I do have a small announcement –  I’ve decided to settle down in Key West. I just closed on a house last week.”

“Next Christmakkah at Mike’s,” Richie said jokingly, unwrapping his gift.

Mike had gifted each Loser with something he had picked up during his travels, Richie’s being a hand-carved wooden turtle.

He glanced at Mike.

“I saw that at a little roadside stand in Arizona and thought of you for some reason,” Mike explained with a shrug.

“I like it,” Richie replied with a nod. “Thanks, man.”

He hadn’t told anyone what he had seen in the deadlights, but he had distinctly remembered seeing a giant turtle right before he fell.

“What about you, Eddie?” Bev asked. “Any announcements?”

Richie studied Eddie’s profile. He looked… calmer than the last time Richie had seen him. Then again, the last time Richie had seen him they had just defeated IT a few days prior, so naturally they were all still a little frazzled.

“Actually, yes,” Eddie replied. “I filed for divorce once I got back to New York. Also, I quit my job. I figure at this point in my life it’s too late to become a doctor, but I’ve decided to go to nursing school to become a nurse practitioner.”

Richie’s heart sped up. Eddie’s single.

He mentally chastised himself. He's still your best friend, not to mention straight. Don’t fuck it up. He blinked as Eddie dropped a gift bag in his lap.

Eddie had obviously taken great care in selecting each person’s gifts, giving Bill a nice fountain pen and notebook set, Audra a spa certificate, Mike a hardcover coffee table-type book, Ben a vinyl re-release of New Kids on the Block’s Hanging Tough album, Bev a silk scarf that she had offhandedly mentioned wanting during a Losers’ Skype session a few months prior, Stan a book on exotic birds of Moldavia or something (Richie wasn’t quite sure) and Patty a broach with a hummingbird on it.

Richie carefully opened his gift, pulling out a leather jacket very similar to the one he had lost in the sewers. He softly stroked it.

Eddie had been watching him. “Thought you could use a replacement,” he said.

“Thanks, Eds.”

Richie realized belatedly that it was his turn. His mouth went dry. He almost blurted out that he didn’t have anything for anyone and that he had absolutely nothing to say, but Eddie had helped him haul his gifts in so he knew that wouldn’t work.

He stood and hurriedly passed out everyone’s gift bags. “Uh, my gift is also an announcement and this was the best way I could figure out how to do it, so…” He made a ‘go on’ motion with his hands. “Ok, go ahead.”

Each Loser (with Stan and Patty receiving one bag) pulled out a CD single of “I’m Coming Out” by Diana Ross.

Richie studied each Loser’s expression as they looked at their gift. Ben, Bill, and Mike all looked confused, Bev had a slow smile spreading on her face, Stan was shaking his head while trying to hold back laughter, (the fucker, he probably knew back when we were kids –) and Eddie… well for once in his life Richie couldn’t read Eddie’s expression. He took a deep breath. “So yeah, um, surprise! I’m gay.” He did a little ‘tah-dah’ motion with his hands as an emphasis. “I’m gonna come out publicly soon but it was important to me to tell you guys first.”

Stan was the first one to move, standing and wrapping Richie in a hug. “I’m proud of you, Rich,” he said.

“Yeah, yeah, I mean somebody’s gotta be the cool gay uncle to the next generation of Losers,” Richie joked, holding back tears as the rest of the Losers embraced him.

He sniffled. “Ok, as much as I’m enjoying this mostly beefcake-filled love fest, I, uh, I need some air. I’ll be back in a few.”

Richie quickly detached himself from everyone and headed out to Ben and Beverly’s porch.

He had figured everyone would be supportive of him, but it had still been overwhelming. He took a few deep breaths in order to collect himself then froze as he heard a voice behind him.

“Hey Rich, you ok?” Eddie.

Richie sniffled and cleared his throat. “Yeah, man, I’m fine. Just needed a minute.”

Eddie walked up next to him. “I uh, I have to tell you something else,” he said quietly. “It’s why I divorced Myra.” He shook his head. “I mean, obviously I wasn’t happy, but there was more to it than just that.”

Richie fought the urge to make a joke about Eddie realizing his Oedipus complex. Now’s not the time, Tozier. “Hey, man, your life is your business, if you don’t want to talk about it that’s up to you–”

“I’m in love with you,” Eddie blurted.

Richie blinked. “You’re in what with who now?”

Eddie sighed and looked skyward as if praying for strength.

Richie couldn’t believe his ears. “Ed. Eds. Eddie. I swear to Christ if you’re just fucking with me–”

“Jesus, Richie, do you honestly think I would ever do that–” Eddie spluttered.

“–Because I honestly couldn’t take it if you were.”

Eddie shook his head. “Look, Rich… All these years, it wasn’t just my childhood memories that were missing, it felt like… like part of my soul was gone too. I’d been attracted to a few guys in college – all tall, dark-haired, lanky motherfuckers, but I always felt like I was comparing them to some unknown person so they never worked out. Then I met Myra and she was just so… safe that I buried that part of myself and wound up marrying her, even though I knew I was making a mistake.”  

Eddie smiled. “Then about a year ago I caught one of your specials on TV and felt a peace I hadn’t had in years. So I watched all of the shows that I could get my hands on, then I found a bunch of clips of you on YouTube and watched those too. There was something so… familiar about you, even though in the back of my mind I knew something was off - which as it turns out, was that your jokes weren’t really yours.” He huffed out a laugh.

Richie winced. “I’m working on that.”

“Good. You’re much funnier than you give yourself credit for.”

“You think I’m funny?”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, don’t let it go to your head.”

Richie was still processing. What the actual fuck. “So wait, so you're… into dudes?”

Eddie smirked. “Well, I’m certainly not actually into women.”

“And you’re into me in particular.”

“Yes.”

Richie still didn’t quite get it. “Why?”

Judging by Eddie’s reaction Richie realized he hadn’t just thought it, but had said it out loud.

“Because, Rich, you’re you. You never made fun of me because of my hypochondria, you always protected me when Bowers would give us shit, and no matter how bad things got at home I always knew I could go to you and you wouldn’t ask any questions and would let me stay as long as I needed. You’re my best friend and I always loved the way you made me feel when I was around you. At first I thought it was perfectly normal to feel for your friends like I felt about you, but as we got older and I started to analyze it I realized that I didn’t feel about any of the others in quite the same way.  You were always joking around and acting like you didn’t give a shit about what anyone said, and I wanted to be like that… You made me want to be brave.”

Richie’s heart cracked. “Eds. I’ve told you before. You are brave. You’re one of the bravest people I know.”

Eddie shook his head. “I wasn’t though. For the longest time I was terrified to admit it to myself, but after everything that happened this year I knew I was finally brave enough to tell you. I love you, Rich. I’ve loved you since we were 12 years old, and when I turned and saw you at the Jade the final pieces of the puzzle sort of slotted back into place. I knew I couldn’t go back to New York and keep living life the way I had been, but I also felt like I couldn’t tell you how I felt about you while I was still married. It wasn’t fair to you or to Myra. So when I got home I told Myra as much as I could, and we mutually agreed to separate. The divorce was finalized last week.”

“Fuck, Eddie…” Richie couldn’t believe it. Eddie loves me. Eddie LOVES me. Holy fucking shit, EDDIE loves ME.

Eddie was still talking. “And I mean it’s fine, I know just because you’re gay doesn’t mean you’re into me, and if you didn’t feel the same back then or even now it’s okay because– mmph.”

Before Richie could even process what he was doing he had pulled Eddie to him and had slotted his lips over Eddie’s.

Eddie’s lips were just as soft as Richie had always imagined. I see he’s still using Chapstick religiously, he thought, moaning as Eddie nipped his bottom lip then soothed the bite with his tongue while his hands reached up to tangle themselves into Richie’s unruly hair.

He briefly detatched himself from Eddie’s lips. “I love you too, Eds,” he breathed. “I loved you before I even knew what love was and I’ve loved you every day since. You’re it for me.”

Eddie let out a growl and pulled him back in, immediately deepening the kiss.

Oh Jesus Christ yes, PLEASE. Richie would’ve happily stayed right there on Ben and Bev’s porch making out with Eddie all night, but unfortunately he was outside in 30-degree weather without a coat. He shivered.

Eddie pulled back. “Christ, Richie, you’re freezing. Come on, let’s go inside with the others.”

Richie held him back. “Wait, wait, Eds. How exactly is this going to work? We live on opposite sides of the country.”

Eddie bit his lip. “I um, actually I didn’t exactly say where I was going to school either.” He glanced up at Richie. “I enrolled at UCLA.”

A smile bloomed on Richie’s face. “Really? You’re moving to L.A.?”

“Yeah, I mean UCLA has a great nursing program and I needed a change of scenery anyway, so I figured the west coast would be a good choice…”

Richie thought about his cold, empty house in Beverly Hills. Here goes nothing. “So, do you like, have a house or apartment or anything yet?”

Eddie shook his head. “No, not yet. I’m looking into apartments near campus but I haven’t found anything yet.”

“Because you know you can totally come stay with me while you look for a place, or… even better, just move in with me permanently.” Richie bit his lip. “Because like I said, you’re it for me, Eds. You’ve always been it for me. You’ll always be it for me.”

Eddie was silent for a few moments, appearing to be weighing his options. Finally he said, “Okay.”

Richie’s heart leapt. “Okay?”

Eddie grinned. “Yeah. Okay. Because you’re it for me too, you know.”

“Well in that case…” Richie grabbed Eddie’s hand, dragging him inside. “HEY, EVERYONE! WE HAVE ANOTHER ANNOUNCEMENT!”

[let-it-raines]

Catch Me If You Can (12/?)

298 days. That’s how long Killian Jones was away from a baseball field. It’s less than a year, only part of a season for him, but it might as well have lasted a decade as he alternated between physical therapy and spending an excessive amount of time sitting on his couch.

But then he came back and won the World Series.

It’s something no one saw coming, and it’s certainly not something anyone who knows about his arm would predict. Now it’s a new season with new possibilities, and anything could happen. On-field reporter Emma Swan will be there to cover it all even if she is not his biggest fan right now.

Asking her out live on-air will do that.

Rating: Mature

A/N: Sorry not sorry for giving my main man Rafa’s ass a shoutout in this chapter. Can you guys tell that the summer tennis season was in full swing when I was writing this? 🎾 

Thanks to @resident-of-storybrooke for reading through a massive amount of words and saying positive things about them to feed my ego. 

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

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Tag list: @eala-captian @mariakov81 @ultraluckycatnd @royalswan @shey-starsfury @sals86 @iam2307 @ashley-knightingale @karenfrommisthaven @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @ultimiflos @jamif @idristardis @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @wellhellotragic @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @notoriouscs @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @cs-forlife @andiirivera @jonirobinson64 @galaxyzxstark @qualitycoffeethings @thejollyroger-writer

-/-

Emma: Can you do me a favor?

Killian: I feel like I need to know the favor before I say yes to that.

Emma: You’re no fun.

Killian: I have been reliably informed by my nieces that I am fun.

Emma: It’s great that you mention your nieces, because the favor is for my nephew.

Killian: Well, you should have said that first.

Emma: You’re the worst.

Killian: What do you need, Swan?

Emma: Like a month ago, I told Leo that I could get you to sign a hat for him, and I was just reminded that I haven’t done that yet.

Killian: Ah, so now I know why you’re really dating me.

Emma: Exactly.

Killian: I can most definitely get your nephew a signed hat. I’ll give it to you tonight?

Emma: Perfect. I can’t thank you enough.

Killian: You could come over on our off day tomorrow?

Emma: I like that idea. We’ve pretty much only texted for two weeks.

Killian: Or talked with a camera in our faces.

Emma: Exactly. See you tonight. I hope you have fun sitting in the dugout the entire time.

Killian: I’ve had a pretty woman sitting next to me the last few games, so it’s enjoyable.

Emma: Julia Roberts????

Emma: Okay, I really have to go, but don’t forget about the signed hat. It’s the only way that I’m going to come over tomorrow.

Killian chuckles at Emma’s last text before closing out his phone and placing it in the front pocket of his sweatpants as thunder roars to life outside, shaking the glass panes of his window as rain starts to fall from above. It’s a light sprinkling for about thirty seconds before a torrential downpour starts taking place, the sounds of the city drowned out by the late May storm that’s happening outside. He knew there was a chance that it was coming, has checked the weather obsessively as he tends to do whenever there’s the possibility of rain, and all he can do is hope that it’s a quick summer storm that dissipates long before tonight’s game so that the field can dry enough for them to play.

If this thunder and lightning continues, however, he doesn’t think that anyone will be stepping onto the field tonight.

Humming to himself, he steps away from his window and walks the few steps to the kitchen, opening the refrigerator to find the ingredients he wants for an omelet and setting them out on the countertops. It takes him but a few moments to piddle around and start cooking himself a late breakfast, his coffee maker brewing behind him as the smell of coffee fills his nose, and soon enough, he’s raking his fork through his omelet so that metal scratches against glass as the rain continues to pour down outside, the sky only lightened by the occasional flash of light. It’s been a good while since it stormed like this, and oddly, he finds it relaxing.

Likely, it helps that he’s in the safety of his apartment and not currently wandering the streets of Manhattan trying to find somewhere to wait this thing out like so many others are.

When he’s finished eating his food, he settles back down on the couch and continues to watch the tennis match that’s playing, idly following along with the tournament as he scrolls through his phone and Instagram. He doesn’t follow that many people, mostly only his family and work-related things, so he sees a picture of Will and Belle smiling at the camera from the date that he knows they went on the other night, another photo of Elsa and the girls on Addy’s last day of kindergarten (how is his niece old enough to be finished with kindergarten?), and then one of Emma sitting with Ruby, the brightest smiles on their faces. They went out last night to celebrate Ruby’s boyfriend getting a raise, and while he hasn’t asked how the night went, it looks like it was a nice time.

And Emma is up early this morning, so she must not be too hungover. He’s both interested and terrified to know what his girlfriend would be like hungover.

His girlfriend.

They didn’t explicitly say the words, but they aren’t dating anyone else, aren’t planning on dating anyone else, so that’s what Emma is to him, right? It sounds childish and juvenile in a way, but it’s also…exhilarating. He never planned on feeling this way about a woman again, never planned on wanting to receive texts and have late-night phone conversations or hushed rendezvous in this little secluded corner outside of the clubhouse.  

He’s really starting to like that secluded corner.

He’s most definitely starting to fall in love with Emma. He’s not…he’s not quite there yet, but he knows that it’s coming.

Terrifying. Exhilarating. Wonderful. Every feeling all at once.

His phone buzzes in his hand, Ariel’s contact popping up at the top of the screen.

Ariel: Game is cancelled for tonight. You have three days off now, but don’t just sit on your ass. Do some exercises.Get Will or Robin to practice some pitches with you. Work out that arm.I’m sure Al will text you in a minute.

Killian: I was thinking about living a sedentary life, actually. I’d like to really screw the team over again whenwe’re currently leading the AL East and have another home series against the Sox coming up.

Ariel: Don’t be an ass.

Killian: I promise that I will exercise. I already did my run this morning.

Ariel: Good boy.

Killian: I am not your dog.

Ariel: That’s debatable. You and Max are similar. I’ll talk to you later. I think Eric and I are finally going to repaint the living room.

He’s just about to close his phone when another message pops up, this time one he’s definitely not going to ignore.

Elsa: I heard the game is cancelled tonight, and that means you’re coming over for dinner. No questions asked. We changed Sunday night dinner since you’re pitching against the Sox that night and we can’t miss that. Liam insisted.

Elsa: And Anna is cooking tonight.

Elsa Jones knows all, and he loves her for it.

-/-

“Look at the paper that Mrs. Johnson gave me,” Addy tells him as she stacks a certificate on top of the toys already sitting in his lap, several things from Lucy but mostly arts and crafts that Addy has decided she must show off by drowning him with them. It’s this or drown in the rain that’s still going on outside. “It’s because I’m smart.”

“I can see that. I think you get that from me.”

“I get it from Mommy.”

“Well, that too,” he chuckles, flexing his toes in his sneakers so that his feet don’t fall asleep, the slight tingling sensation already appearing.

“Killian,” Lucy whispers, coming up to him with a stuffed giraffe that’s bigger than she is and placing it next to him, “I have a giraffe.”

“I don’t think that’s smelly enough to be a giraffe, little love.”

“I gave her a bath.”

“Ah,” he sighs, Lucy very obviously not getting his joke. He’s still trying to figure her out, her seriousness extremely unlike Addy’s loud and boisterous personality, but he gets that. She’s likely overpowered by her older sister, and he can understand that. So, the younger siblings very obviously have to stick together. It’s in all of the unwritten rules. “Did you use soap?”

“Yep.” “What about water?”

“Uh huh.”

“Hmm, okay.” He taps his chin as he thinks before reaching forward and bopping her nose so that it scrunches up on her face. “What about peanut butter?”

“No,” she giggles, her smile lighting up her face as she pets the giraffe before pressing it forward so that it’s giving him kisses. At least, that’s what she’s told him before, so he assumes that’s what is happening now. “Peanut butter is too sticky.”

“And it’s for eating,” Addison says before she’s placing yet another drawing on top of his lap. Where does the kid get the supplies for this? There’s no way it’s all coming from her school.

“Speaking of that, what do the two of you say about us leaving your playroom and going down to the kitchen to see when I can get some food in my belly. I’m a growing boy. I need my food.”

“You’re not growing anymore because you’re an adult.”

He winks at Addy, amusement running over every inch of him. “That’s what you think, sweetheart.”

Carefully, he starts undoing the pile that’s been covering him, making sure not to rip any of the papers or stack the stuffed animals in the wrong way, before he stands from the ground, his knees popping the slightest bit. That was an awkward position for him to sit in for a long time, hence the feet that fell asleep, and he definitely doesn’t need to be hurting himself in unconventional ways when he’s already prone to injury. His arm has felt fine since Florida, all of his games pitched until the fourth or fifth inning, and he’s convinced himself that it was simply a one-time thing. It’s not going to get that bad again.

He won’t let it.

He can’t. He won’t miss any other physical therapy sessions with Archie, and he’s not going to overdo it.

“Alright,” he laughs, leaning down and scooping each girl up over his shoulders to the sound of their giggles, “let’s go find out what your Aunt Anna is cooking for dinner.”

They’re still so small right now, but with Addy turning six at the end of June, he’s not sure how long he’s going to be able to hold both of them at once as he walks down the stairs of the townhome from their playroom to the kitchen where he can already hear everyone who wasn’t pawned off onto the kids talking.

“Killian,” Elsa scolds the moment she sees him, “put them down. Your shoulder.”

“It’s fine, Els,” he huffs even as he puts them on the ground, a slight bit of relief running through his body. “I can pick my nieces up.”

“But – ”

“I am fine,” he promises, stepping into the room to brush his lips over Elsa’s temple. “It smells good in here. What are we eating?”

“Stuffed shells,” Anna answers as she chops up a cucumber, hopefully for a salad and not the stuffed shells. “I had some leftover marinara sauce and wanted to use it.”

“Bless you,” he sighs, resting his elbows against the countertop. “Are your parents coming tonight?”

“They are stubborn and refuse to come to Sunday dinners when it’s not on a Sunday,” Anna tells him as she presses up on her toes to check in the oven. “They do not understand baseball in the way that we understand it.”

“To be fair, it’s not like someone they’re related to is a player,” Kris says.

“Hey, I am a not-so-distant relative by marriage, thank you very much.”

“I’m their son-in-law,” Kris adds, a slight roll of his eyes as he eats a roll, “and sometimes they don’t even acknowledge me.”

“Well, that’s just because they don’t think your job is a real job, sweetie.”

“Someone has to decorate the city for Christmas! It’s real! Killian plays a sport for a living!”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Killian playfully scoffs, cutting his toward Kris, “we don’t have to shit on my job to build yours up.”

“Language,” Liam warns before he takes a sip of his beer. All of them look over to the girls only to find that neither are paying any attention to them. Good. he doesn’t want to be the reason they start cursing. That is not something he’s going to have blamed on him. “And we all love the Karlssons, but they are definitely a little more old-fashioned on things. I’m a doctor, though, so I don’t have to worry about any of their judgment.”

Elsa chuckles before she slaps Liam’s shoulder, her eyes practically rolling to the back of her head. “Don’t be a jerk when you are far too invested in your brother’s career and have Kris come and decorate the house every year. A job is a job, and they have two really cool ones.”

“I was kidding, darling.” He leans in and presses his lips against Elsa’s, lingering a little too long, but that’s how they are sometimes. It’s sweet and awful all at once, and it makes him wish that he could bring Emma along to things like this instead of being the fifth wheel, seventh if Addy and Lucy can be considered a pair. “Killian, how are you handling having so many unexpected days off? I’m surprised you can even sit still when you’re so used to having something to do.”

Killian shrugs his shoulders, his nails tapping against the countertop as he feels four pairs of eyes staring at him and waiting for him to answer. “I mean, I wasn’t playing any of these days anyways, so I did my workouts at home today instead of going into work. Tomorrow will be the same, and then we’ll have games again.”

“Oh. You have tomorrow off?” Elsa asks, her eyes lighting up.

“Uh, yeah, I should. I’ve just got to do some weight training exercises and do my shoulder exercises. Why?”

“Do you want to watch the girls?”

Oh.

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Reaching up to scratch behind his ears, he tries to think of an excuse, any excuse, but is coming up all kinds of short. Dammit.

(He’s probably going to be the reason Addy and Lucy start cursing.)

“I’m a little busy, love.”

“It’s your off day. What could you possibly be doing?”

“Doctor’s appointment and then a few errands,” he lies, enough guilt festering in his stomach that he may as well go ahead and schedule an appointment for his stomach. Then he won’t have really lied, right? “By the time I get everything done, you’ll practically be off work. I can spend another day with them, though. I’ll take them out to eat or to the park or even the zoo.”

“What kind of doctor’s appointment? Everything okay?”

“Just a normal check-up.” He clicks his tongue, his toes bouncing him up and down on the floor. “So, everyone’s coming on Sunday, right? Let me know where you want to sit, and I’ll get Ariel to arrange everything.”

It’s the most obvious change in conversation that he can think of, but it’s also literally all he can think of. He’s an asshole for telling Elsa he can’t spend time with the girls, but he was kind of stuck between a rock and a hard place there. It’s either disappoint his nieces or disappoint Emma, and while he’d like to disappoint no one, that’s not really an option. He had plans with Emma first, and that’s what he’s going to stick to. Maybe one day they’ll be in a situation where he can take the girls with him, and all four of them can do something without him having to lie to his family.

Today is not that day.

They’ll figure it all out.

There’s another loud crash of thunder outside, and his head turns to the side to look at the darkness outside. He’s not sure if this rain is every going to stop, and he’s really kind of dreading going home in this weather.

“Do you remember when we were younger, and you used to try to get struck by lightning?”

“Because I’m an idiot,” Killian chuckles to Liam, leaning back from the countertop and pulling a barstool out to sit on. “I thought I’d be Thor or something if I got struck by lightning.”

“That’s pretty cute, actually,” Anna gushes. “Elsa used to think that she could control the snow because she’d ask for it to snow and it usually would.”

“Anna,” Elsa laughs as she buries her face in her hands, “why are you always sharing such weird things about me?”

“Because Liam was sharing weird things about Killian, and I thought it would be funny.”

“Growing up, you guys spent December in Norway,” Liam points out while he rubs his wife’s back. “It snowed all the time. Of course you thought you could control the snow. That’s cute, sweetheart. You and Killian think you can control the weather.”

“Els, are you feeling attacked right now?” he asks.

“Absolutely.”

“I think we should get more food than everyone else for this torture.”

Elsa peeks through her fingers with a smile. “I like the way you think.”

-/-

“A signed hat, just as you requested, milady.” Killian holds the hat he signed for Leo out to Emma as he mockingly bows down in front of her while motioning her into his apartment.

“You’re so dramatic,” she laughs even as she takes the hat, placing it between her fingers before she’s wrapping her arms around his neck and slowly sliding her lips over his, her teeth already nibbling as his hands find her hips, tugging them closer to his. Bloody hell has he missed being able to do this and feeling the warmth of Emma even if she is chilled by the rain. “Thank you for that hat.”

“No problem,” he murmurs against her mouth before he closes the door with his foot and backs Emma up against it so that their bodies can press further together, her mouth opening for him as their tongues curl together in a slow, warm heat that’s simmering over every inch of him. Emma’s fingers are nimble against the back of his neck, and when she cants her hips up, brushing where he’s already half-hard against her, he groans into her mouth, weeks and months of wanting starting to boil within him. It’s hungry and rough, and he has to stop himself from stripping them out of their clothes right then and there by pecking her mouth two times before resting his forehead against hers and inhaling a sharp breath. “Hi, Swan.”

“Hi,” she sighs as her hand falls from his hair to rest on his chest, right over his wildly beating heart. She can likely feel it. “We probably should have said that first.”

“Eh, I liked our greeting better.”

She blinks up at him, her face bare of makeup so that her lashes are blonde, and her freckles are showing, before she smiles a smile so bright that he figures that happiness can be tasted on her tongue.

“It was a good greeting. I approve.”

“Me – ” he presses the inch forward to kiss the smile, “ – too. Have you eaten?”

“It’s seven in the morning. No, I haven’t eaten.”

“That’s what I figured. You want to order in, or do you want me to make you something?”

Emma hums, her bottom lips pulled between her teeth as she thinks. “You can cook. I’m here to use you for your autograph skills, your cooking, and your cable.”

“What about me?”

“You’re on the list somewhere.” Emma giggles when he runs his fingers against the skin above her shorts, and he catalogs that spot away in the back of his mind because he can most definitely use that in the future. “I’m going to get to the TV part first, though, because Roland Garros is on, and there are some matches I want to watch.”

“It’s already on.”

“I like the way that you roll, twenty-nine.”

She pushes off of him and walks the few feet into his living room, flopping down on the couch and immediately resting her feet up on his coffee table. It’s a comfortable move, and he likes that Emma feels comfortable in his home. He’ll never quite get over that. All of their private moments are here or in one of their hotel rooms when they’re on the road, and as much as he sometimes loves those rooms, nothing compares to this.

He ate too much yesterday, Anna’s stuffed shells and rolls still residing in his stomach, so he only bothers to make enough batter to make Emma a waffle since she never said what she wanted, even when he just prodded her for more information. He knows that she likes them considering she’s always eating them in the hotel dining rooms, and since the other option that came to him was a grilled cheese sandwich at seven in the morning, he figures a waffle will have to do. He very much doubts Emma is going to complain when he’s found that the way to her heart is most definitely food.

Junk food specifically.

When the waffle maker beeps several minutes later, he opens it up and plates Emma’s food, grabbing some fruit out of the fridge and topping it. He most definitely sneaks away a few of her blackberries, but, really, he deserves that. He cooked after all.

(And this is his apartment.)

“Thank you,” Emma says when he places it in her lap before sitting down next to her on the couch, their shoulders hitting together before he wraps his arm over the back of the couch, his fingers tapping against her shoulder. She leans to the side and presses a kiss to his cheek. “You’re sweet.”

“Oh, I most definitely know.”

Her eyes roll. “You didn’t want to eat?”

He groans at the thought. He’s already gotten up and done some of his stretches, drinking a protein shake, and he probably won’t eat anything else serious until tonight. “I ate too much yesterday, and I’ve had this really bad influence on me lately for how I’m eating so I’m trying to be better.”

“Sorry not sorry,” she mumbles, her cheeks puffed out with waffles inside. Did she just stuff the entire thing in there? There’s a thwack of a tennis ball against a racket on his television screen, and he turns his attention from Emma chewing to watch Rafael Nadal slide against red clay, making it all look effortless even when Killian knows that nothing about being an athlete is effortless, not even natural talent. “Damn,” Emma sighs, “that is one good ass.”

If he was eating, he’d choke on his food.

“W-what?” he sputters out, looking between the TV and Emma.

She pokes her fork at the screen, waving it in the air. “Rafa’s ass. That’s, like, a dream ass. Just look at it.”

His mouth is gaping open as he looks between Emma putting her plate of food on the coffee table and the television screen, his eyes taking in another man’s ass like this is the most normal conversation for him to be having before eight in the morning. But then again, when is anything about his relationship with Emma normal?

“I mean, it’s okay,” he lies, sinking down a little further in the couch as a ball launches into the air. “I’ve been told time and time again that my ass is pretty good too.”

Why in the world did he say that? What is wrong with him?

“I mean, you have a good ass that I very much appreciate, but no one has an ass like…that. It’s insane.”

“Should I feel insecure about the fact that you’re admiring another man’s ass?”

“No,” she promises, not even bothering to look at him as she pats his thigh, her hand likely a little higher than she intended as he grits his teeth at the touch, “but you should admire this man’s body. And his tan. People would pay a lot of money for a tan like that.” She twists her head to the side to look at him, quirking her brow. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing,” he laughs as he reaches down to her hand and threads their fingers together, bringing her knuckles up to his lips to brush a kiss there, “I’m simply coming to the realization that my girlfriend as a thing for other athletes.”

“Step up your game, Jones.”

“I’ll try, I’ll try. I didn’t know I had any competition, so I was unprepared.”

“That is shame. I look forward to seeing how you make up for it.”

“I’ll start thinking.”

They lapse into easy conversation like they always do when they’re together, and despite all of their early complications and some of the complications that they still have, that’s what this relationship is…easy. He’s got no clue why Emma agreed to his crazy plan, but she did. That’s all that matters. As the rain continues to pour down outside for the second day in a row, he tells her about his day yesterday and how ridiculous his family is in their group meals and constant conversation. He loves them, but he imagines that to anyone else, it would be overwhelming to come into that environment. Emma shares that she spent her morning with David yesterday, hence the reminder of the autographed hat, and tells him that Ruth is planning on coming into town sometime in June. He can’t tell if she’s happy or nervous about that, but he imagines it’s somewhere in between for how Emma feels about her foster mother and the distance there.

Families and almost-families and non-families are all so damn complicated, and as fucked up as his past family life is, it makes him thankful for what he has now. They’ve gotten him through some of his darkest times, and very few people make him smile in the way that they do.

Emma.

Emma makes him smile like that.

As the morning passes, tennis ending and Netflix being switched on instead, Emma relaxes further into him, and he finds that under the dull roll of rain, nothing and no one else exists outside of the two of them. His fingers trace the skin of her upper thigh, an absentminded motion that becomes more focused when he sees small little bumps rising over her pale skin. He never thought he could enjoy the sight of pale skin so much until he saw the way Emma’s thighs look in these shorts.

She is exquisite.

“Killian,” she gasps when his nails move to her inner thigh, and when he looks over to her with a smirk, he can see the blush rising on her cheeks as her lips part and her eyes blacken with desire.

He’s wanted this for far too long, even with the short time that they’ve been together, and it’s what has him leaning into her and cupping her cheek with his palm, his thumb pressing into her bottom lip to open her up into him so that he can lick into her mouth with absolutely no hesitation, another warm, toe-curling slide that has Emma sighing into him as her hands grapple to grab onto his shirt.

It’s a quick escalation, something he can’t quite keep track of with the way that she feels under him, moving against him, and the only coherent thought that he has is the fact that this couch must be damn lucky for everything that’s happened on it.

Which is a ridiculous thought.

Desire continues to run through him, vibrations moving down each of his vertebrae and to the base of his spine, and the little sounds that Emma is making are nearly driving him into madness at the thought of sliding into her, feeling the slick heat and tight walls and…

“Ah fuck,” he murmurs into Emma’s neck, physically and mentally cursing himself.

“What?” she gasps, still rolling her hips up as her nails scratch across his biceps.

“I don’t have any condoms.”

“Oh? I – ”

“I can go buy some from the Duane Reade right across the street. It won’t be any problem, love.” He pulls back from Emma with a hiss, his pants incredibly tight despite the elastic band, only for her to yank him back down, their bodies melding together. “W-what?”

“Later,” she speaks against his lips, and it’s only now that he sees the utter darkness in her eyes, hears the deep desire in her voice. “We’ll get condoms later. We can do other things until then.”

Well those words go straight to his groin.

He arches a brow as he rolls his hips into Emma’s, his hardness meeting her softness through clothes, and she lets out a moan that he wants to memorize for all of eternity. “Yeah? Like what?”

Emma rolls her eyes, but there’s still the slightest bit of a smile on her face. “You’re a baseball player. Don’t you know about all of the bases? I feel like we’ve talked about this before.”

Killian has to press his mouth into the skin of her collarbone, his laugh muffled and the vibrations of it working their way through Emma as his fingers trace the hem of her shorts, dipping just below the elastic waist so that he can feel the edges of her underwear.

Fucking hell.

“I hate you for making that joke,” he sighs against her. His left hand keeps getting lower as his right moves higher and higher until his fingertips are ghosting over the soft swell of her breast. “You are ridiculous.”

“But you like it.”

“And I imagine,” he whispers as he bites down onto her collarbone and readjusts himself so that his knee is between her thighs and that his fingers are brushing against her clit, “that you like this.”

Emma lets out a sharp gasp, and he looks up to see her practically panting at his touch and at the slow circles that he’s working to build her up all the while he palms her breast, her nipple pressed between his thumb and forefinger. It may have been some time, but he knows that it’s not a lot of pressure, just a simple up and down motion between her bundle of nerves and her opening, but from the sounds Emma is making and the way her body is moving, he knows that he’s got a pretty good rhythm going on.

“So, you like that?” he murmurs into her neck as his fingers slip inside of her, curling the slightest bit.

“Oh, fuck yes.”

“That’s a good girl then.”

It’s almost overwhelming for him to see Emma like this, to see her lose her composure, her careful words and guarded heart, and he rather likes the way that he’s making her fall apart and under his touch, several curses and mutterings escaping her kiss-swollen lips as he tests out what she likes and what she doesn’t, letting her instruct him when she needs to.

Emma Swan sprawled out on his couch coming apart under his touch is something he always knew would be so damn wonderful but that he never thought would happen. It seemed to be too much of a dream.

With two more thrusts of his fingers and one circle around her clit, she goes quiet, her eyelids pressing together and her lips parting, and he presses up to cover her mouth with his, capturing the gentle moan himself as he works her through her orgasm, maybe even riling her up some more as his hips rolls against her thigh, desperately seeking some kind of friction.

This is like some kind of pleasant torture for him, and he wants both to stay like this forever but also needs more.

“I knew you knew the bases,” is the first thing she mutters afterwards, and he drops his forehead against hers, his nose pressing into her cheek so that he can breathe her on while he tries to regulate his breathing and his pounding heart.

“No more jokes about my job, love. They’re cheesy as hell, and if we’re not careful, I’m going to have an erection while on the mound.”

“Oh my God…there’s about five opportunities for a dirty joke right there.”

“I know, I know,” he chuckles, softly kissing her as he starts to focus on their surroundings and the reality of the step forward in their relationship that they just took hitting him. “You okay, Emma?”

“Yeah,” she promises, nodding her head and cupping his cheeks as she smiles that beautiful smile, this time a little more sated than usual. “I’m more than okay.”

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he pulls it out so that he can turn it off only to see a text from Al pop up.

Al Dalton: I’m calling a mandatory practice in an hour. Be there.

“What?” Emma questions when he groans. Instead of answering, he simply hands his phone to her, letting her read the message. “Oh, that really sucks.”

“You’re telling me. I was having a much better time here.”

Emma adjusts herself under him so that he’s no longer covering her body, and he sits down against the couch, adjusting his joggers and thinking of every boner killer that he can possibly think of. He probably just needs a cold, bracing shower.

“Go to practice,” Emma sighs, a slight smile on her face, as she makes an attempt at fixing her hair. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? You’ve got to kick some Boston ass. And then maybe when that’s all over, we can continue what we started.”

“You have no idea how much I’d like that.”

She nods to his crotch with a smirk. “I think I do.”

[iloveyouthree-thousand]

The Graduation

A little fic in which Peter graduates from Midtown and has to give a Valedictorian speech, and a certain genius/billionaire/playboy/philanthropist makes an appearance in the front row.

Peter's hands were clammy and his heart was beating just a little bit too fast.

The auditorium was filling quickly, parents and siblings and extended family members pushing against the throngs of other people to find seats with the best view of their children.

Backstage, the Class of 2019 waited anxiously as teachers called out names and guided the teens into their correct orders.

"Flash Thompson, you're right behind Peter Parker here," their Spanish teacher said, continuing to usher everyone into place.

Peter fiddled with the blue and gold tassel on his cap, wishing that the graduation ceremony had been arranged in alphabetical order instead of according to height.

"Hey, Parker, they spelled your name wrong in the program," Flash said, waving a folded piece of paper in front of him, "they wrote Peter Parker instead of Penis Parker."

He kept his eyes trained forward, ignoring Flash as he scanned the crowd.

May sat in the first row, in one of two seats marked with a sign that read: Reserved for Family of Valedictorian.

The second seat was empty.

"Earth-to-Parker," Flash said, louder this time, "I'm talking to you."

Flash's gaze followed Peter's, landing on the vacant seat.

"Aw, daddy didn't show?" He cooed, lip pouted exaggeratedly.

"He's not my dad," Peter said, pulling his eyes away from his aunt who was sitting all alone.

"No shit. Did you really think that listing him as a special guest would make us actually believe Tony Stark even knows your name? You're an even bigger loser than I thought."

He wanted to tell Flash off, but he couldn't stop thinking about the empty seat. Tony was supposed to be there. He said he'd be there.

"Don't cry Penis, you might ruin your mascara," he taunted, before unexpectedly lurching forward and nearly knocking Peter over in the process.

Peter looked back to see MJ, smirking, her foot having just collided with the back of Flash's knee.

"Michelle," one of the teacher's warned as Flash indignantly brushed off the back of his pants.

"This suit is Tom Ford," he squawked.

"These shoes are Payless," she replied, shrugging, "your point?"

"My point is that these pants cost over a thousand dollars and you just got dirt all over them."

"The bottom of my shoe is covered in pretentiousness now, so let’s call it even."

Peter gave MJ a silent nod that said thank you to which she responded, plenty loud for Flash to hear, "don't pay attention to him. His fragile masculinity is feeling threatened by the fact that everyone is about to find out you're officially smarter than him."

A couple kids in the back snorted, but everyone snapped to attention and shut up as the band started playing Pomp and Circumstance.

His hands started sweating again the closer he got to the front of the line. As the boy in front of him walked across the stage, Peter finally caught a glimpse of Ned in the opposite wing and grinned as Ned waved furiously at him from behind the curtain.

On the teacher's cue, Peter walked out under the bright lights, meeting Ned at center stage for their signature handshake before continuing down the aisle together.

As they processed, the principal's voice boomed out from a podium beside the stage.

"Peter Parker is the son of the late Richard and Mary Parker, and is represented tonight by his guardian May Parker and special guest Anthony Stark."

He kept his eyes trained on his shoes as he made his way to his seat, relieved when the principal continued to Ned's introduction.

His eyes flitted between Ned, whose chair was opposite him, and the first row where Tony's presence was still absent. Despite both May's and Ned's reassuring glances, Peter's heart sank as the last of his classmates finished their procession.

The first half of the ceremony passed in a blur. The principal offered a charismatic welcome to the family and friends in the audience, a few faculty members spoke on behalf of the class, and a distinguished alumnus gave a heartwarming speech, but Peter hardly heard anything.

He's a busy man, Peter tried to remind himself. He should've known better than to think Tony Stark—billionaire businessman and actual superhero—had the time to attend his little graduation.

He felt stupid for actually listing Tony as a special guest and broadcasting to the entire crowd just how pathetic he was. Flash would probably frame that stupid program and show it to his grandchildren. You're an even bigger loser than I thought.

To make matters worse, his speech was nearing, and his nerves kicked into overdrive.

The audience clapped as the alumnus exited the stage, and the principal returned to the podium to distribute diplomas.

An agonizing hour passed as each name was called up to receive the leather-bound certificate and shake hands with the faculty.

As the last student exited the stage and returned to his seat, the principal returned to the podium to introduce the Valedictorian.

Just then, a slightly disheveled man with red-tinted glasses apologetically squeezed past May and, passing her a small bouquet of flowers, assumed the seat next to her. His gray suit—no doubt even more expensive than Flash's—was stained at the knees with what looked like a mixture of grease and dirt.

He was probably just working on some things in the shop and lost track of time, Peter thought, ignoring the twinge of hurt that came along with the idea. At least he made it.

"Our final speaker for this evening is a young man who embodies our school's philosophy: to take everything we know and flip it inside out, to turn facts into questions, and ideas into realities. Mr. Parker has not only achieved academic excellence, but through his internship with Stark Industries, he has proven himself to be one of the most innovative minds to walk through our school. Please give a warm welcome to Midtown's Valedictorian for the Class of 2019, Mr. Peter Parker."

His stomach was churning and his legs wobbled as he stood up from his seat and walked to the front of the stage.

He wouldn't even be up here if May hadn't given him an ultimatum—keep his grades up, or no more patrolling. He'd still be sitting, perfectly safe, in the cold, metal folding-chair if Tony hadn't started taking him to conventions, showing off his achievements in the lab.

He'd give anything to be in his suit right now, hidden from the hundreds of people awaiting his words of wisdom.

Ned was grinning at him like the proud best friend he was, and even MJ couldn't hold back a light-hearted smirk.

May snapped a picture before giving him a thumbs up. Next to her, Tony removed his glasses and with a look of utter sincerity mouthed, "knock 'em dead."

And then it was just him and the microphone.

“Hi, my name is Peter Parker, as Principal Morita so kindly mentioned...,” he trailed off, feeling his heart rate quicken.

He thought back to the tips his principal had given him earlier.

Slow it down.

Find a focal point in that auditorium and hold onto it.

He scanned the audience, and like a magnet, his gaze landed on May. And then Tony.

Breathe.

Don’t think about the crowd, just talk to the ones that matter.

Peter took a shaky breath.

“Tonight, I’d like to talk about heroes.”

"Our class has grown up in an age of Hulk posters and Captain America shields and fantasies about becoming superheroes. When I was little, I practically lived in my Iron Man costume. I must have driven my aunt insane, because I'd run around and wreak havoc on our little apartment with my imaginary hand-repulsors and plastic armor. I may not have realized it then, but my Aunt May will always be my first superhero. Even in a time of crisis, she refused to hide from a challenge. And believe me when I say that I was a challenge."

The audience chuckled, and Peter finally managed a smile.

“May taught me to never settle. She showed me how to always make the most out of the life you’ve been given, and that the way you play the hand matters a whole lot more than the cards you’re dealt.”

Peter felt the cold sweat creep its way into his palms again. In the first row, his aunt dabbed at the corner of her eye. He watched as Tony reached over and gently squeezed her hand, and a second later they were both beaming up at him, the pride practically radiating from their faces.

Another surge of confidence swelled into his chest, and he continued.

"Three years ago, I received an incredible opportunity to intern for Stark Industries."

Through his peripheral field of vision, Peter caught Flash rolling his eyes.

"And one of the perks of interning there, besides the science, of course," the audience gave another laugh, "is that I got to meet another superhero."

"I wasn’t kidding when I said I practically lived in my Iron Man costume. I think a lot of kids my age loved Iron Man, and who could blame us? He was rich and famous and fought bad guys in a flying gold-titanium suit. Iron Man was the epitome of cool.”

"It took me a while, though, to realize that my real hero wasn't Iron Man—but the man who created him. My hero was Tony Stark.”

“Mr. Stark wasn't always a superhero. He was thrown into a cave and given a choice: give in to the bad guys, or die. With his back to the wall, Tony Stark created a third option. With nothing more than ingenuity and some scraps of metal, he built the Iron Man. In that moment, he made himself a superhero."

“Mr. Stark taught me the same lesson my aunt did: that ordinary people can become heroes. That when the world is telling you there's no way out—you have to make one. You have to become your own hero. I'm not saying I'm about to make myself the newest member of the Avengers," he said, and the auditorium smiled, "I’m not sure I'm built for that.”

“But I do believe, and I hope you all do too, that we all have it in ourselves to become heroes. You all," he turned to his classmates, "are some of the smartest people I have ever met, it's ridiculous. And if there's one thing I hope for all of us, it's that we never settle. When we come across a situation with no good options, I hope that we are brave enough to engineer a new one. We aren't locked into the world we think we know. Let’s be the next generation of heroes. Congratulations, Class of 2019."

At that, the audience erupted and Peter's classmates got on their feet and tossed their caps in the air.

The teens processed off the stage, diplomas in hand, and disappeared into the auditorium to meet their families.

May nearly tackled him with a hug before pushing his shoulders back to look at his face.

"I'm so, so proud of you. You were great up there. I wish Rich and Mary could have been here to see it," she beamed, pulling him in for another hug.

Ned came over and hugged him too, while May snapped a million pictures.

"Dude, you are so cool right now. I don’t even know if I should even be allowed to talk to you."

Peter snorted, "Shut up."

"Not bad, Parker," Michelle said, towering over Peter in her heels—shoes he never thought he'd catch her dead in.

He glowed bright red when May pushed them together for a picture, his arm placed delicately around her waist.

He nearly died when she kissed him, in the middle of the auditorium, with his aunt and her camera two feet away and his best friend cackling in the background.

"May," he groaned when the flash went off.

"Pete, someday you're going to thank me for that," she winked, before hugging Michelle and congratulating her.

She took a few more pictures of all three of them together before Ned and MJ left to find their respective families and Peter was finally able to breathe again.

"Hey, May, did you see where Mr.-," he started, as his aunt nudged her head to the corner where Tony stood, doing his best to remain patient as teenagers and their parents swarmed him. Flash was at the front of the crowd.

Peter made his way over, but didn't want to fight his way through the throng of fans trying to get a picture with him.

Tony was thankful when he caught sight of the kid.

"Alright, that's all for the autographs today. You can get in touch with my manager if you want another meet-and-greet, he loves talking to people."

Peter laughed under his breath as Tony passed out Happy's personal cell number while he pushed through to see his kid.

"Hey," he said, not even hesitating before wrapping his arms around the boy's shoulders and holding him there.

"I'm sorry I was late," Tony apologized when he finally pulled away, "there was somebody on the side of the road with a blown transmission. I wanted to just drive by, but I kept hearing some kid's voice in my head telling me I needed to help. Congratulations, you've officially replaced Cap as my conscience."

Peter let out a small laugh, then his eyes met the floor.

"Well, thanks for coming," Peter whispered quietly, suddenly feeling embarrassed.

"Oh, kid,” Tony pressed a hand under Peter’s chin, forcing him to meet his eyes, “I wouldn't have missed it for the world." 

"Here," Tony handed him a manila envelope, "I got you a little graduation gift."

Inside was a certificate that Peter was positive he wasn't reading correctly.

"Mr. Stark-,"

"It's a share of my company. Well, Pepper's company technically, but you know, my name's still on the door."

Peter was at a loss.

"M-most people just give out like gift cards or something... I-I can't accept this."

"Pete, you deserve this. It's not enough to live on, but if you ever want a job, you've got one there. Just say the word."

He just stood in stunned silence.

"Oh," Tony added, as if he'd just remembered something he'd forgotten, "I talked to M.I.T. today—excellent choice, by the way—and there's a new scholarship. The Richard and Mary Parker scholarship. It'll go to you, of course, these first few years, and after that it will be granted annually to kids like you."

"...kids like me?"

"Brilliant, passionate, scrappy, selfless. Kids who aren't afraid to look out for the little guy and push some boundaries."

Peter was silent again, trying to absorb the weight of everything Tony had just said.

"Mr. Stark, I don't know what to say. Thank you."

"No, Pete. Thank you."

"For what?"

"For seeing a hero in a charity case like me," Tony smiled sadly.

"Yea, well, you did the same for me," Peter replied, and this time he was the one who initiated the hug.

A camera flashed.

"May."

"Someday, Peter," she smiled, "someday."

[hello123deutschus-blog]

Learn German Online In 30 Days

How I Learned German in 30 Days

This post is my summary of an experiment that I started in January 2015: learn German in 30 days.

Before I begin, I feel compelled to list some resignations:

"I learned German" means that I can have basic conversations in German, as well as understand German quite well (both written and spoken). I definitely have not learned to speak German perfectly.

I do not claim originality of everything in this text; I have been very inspired by the writings of other language students, such as Barry Farber and Benny Lewis.

My mother tongue is Norwegian. This gave me an advantage, since it is closely related linguistically to German.

If you want to learn a language as quickly as possible, you must continue reading. In addition to giving some general advice and, hopefully, inspiration, I have created some resources that I will share in this text that will help you learn German quickly.

I spent between 30 and 60 minutes a day in my 30-day period, so the time investment was not huge.

Now, let's start.

Five principles of effective language learning

I had the hypothesis that there are five important principles to learn a language effectively. One of the purposes of my experiment was to test if these were good. The five principles are:

Set a clear goal

Speak from day 1

Focus on frequent words

Immerse yourself

Track

Below I will explain exactly how I used these principles to learn German.

1. Set a clear objective

I followed the Key Objectives and Results (OKR) approach to set a goal. My overall goal was to learn as much German as possible in 30 days. More specifically, I wanted to achieve these key results:

Learn the 1000 most frequent German words

Learn 10 German songs by heart

Being able to have basic conversations with my German friends

1 and 2 are good because they are measurable, but the most important key result for me was number 3, which was a bit vague. To make it more tangible, I booked a ticket to Berlin and decided that I should spend the whole weekend with an old friend (German), who spoke only German.

Also, once I decided that I would go ahead with my plan, I basically announced to the whole world that I was going to learn German in 30 days. The purpose of this was purely psychological, since I would have to stick to the plan so as not to seem like a complete idiot. In fact, during my 30-day period, people asked me "how is the German study going?" To which I could always reply "Sehr gut, danke!"

(I also secretly decided that I would record a video in Berlin speaking in German, which I did on the 29th, but I will save you the discomfort of the video that I finally posted on Facebook).

2. Speak from day 1

I think that one of the biggest mistakes you can make when learning a language is to postpone speech until "you're ready." Learning languages ​​is like going to the gym: if you want to build muscles, anything other than exercising is just postponing.

Specifically, what I did to speak from day one was to find friends who spoke German or wanted to learn German. Then I told them that I would be online for 30 minutes to appear. Every day at 8 p.m. and I gave them my own custom URL. I told them that I would love to practice German with them there. I got 5 people to join in total. None of them were native German speakers, although some already spoke fluently (which I thought was very important!), and some were just beginning like me.

In order to remain in our target language (German) and not return to English or Norwegian, I created a cheat sheet containing essential phrases. This sheet prevented me from being blocked and, in general, was incredibly useful in our online conversations.

Following the analogy of "language is a muscle", I also repeated out loud everything I heard or read in German when I was studying on my own. Compared to just "passively" receiving (listening, reading) German, I think this really makes a difference to strengthen those German synapses in your brain.

3. Focus on frequent words

If you are not familiar with Zipf's law, you will be surprised to know that only the 100 most frequent words represent approximately 50% of all words spoken in German films. Take a moment to reflect on this amazing fact. Basically, this means that any other word you hear in a German movie is a word from that list of the top 100. The obvious conclusion? You need to know those words!

Here I found a list of the most frequent words in German subtitles, and created my own GoogleDocs spreadsheet with the 1000 most frequent words. These words represent ~ 75% of all words in German subtitles. My simple task was to complete the "meaning" column for each word before my 30 days have passed. In other words, I had to learn about 30 words per day. I made intensive use of cognates from English and Norwegian to learn them, and exported the words I had learned to Anki once a week to make sure I didn't forget them.

The frequency list is one of the things I did that worked best. It served as a good anchor on which I could focus my learning.

To test my vocabulary in the real world, I sometimes tried to read German newspapers or books, highlighting words I didn't understand. After reading a page or a paragraph, I would count the words I knew versus those I didn't know, and then calculate the proportion of known words / total words in the text. Towards the end of my study period, I registered about 80–85%, cognates or context that helped me overcome the 75% I obtained from the list of the best 1000.

4. Immerse yourself

I changed my language from Facebook to German. We watched many videos of Yabla.

But what worked best for me was my Spotify playlist with 10 German songs.

Once I learned the lyrics of these songs, I could play them every time and be exposed to German every time I could listen to music. I even recorded myself singing and playing these songs on the guitar. Again, I will save you the shame.

It's hard to choose the lyrics of just listening to the songs, so I would study the lyrics separately before trying to memorize something. I used Lingq, which meant I had the lyrics available on my iPhone, and I could easily track what words were new when studying a new song.

5. Keep a record

The My 1000 main words spreadsheet was excellent for knowing approximately how many words I knew at any given time. Since I had the frequency of each word, I could calculate the total "mass" of German I knew, not just the total number of words, which I found quite motivating.

I also kept a simple journal in Evernote that listed my activities by day. In the end there was only one day when I did nothing at all.

I hardly did any grammar study, which I think was a good decision, since I was only 30 days old and had no ambitions to speak perfectly. However, one thing that I would have liked to do to learn German cases is a set of 4 sentences of the type "Man gave the book to the child", a sentence for each gender + plural. Memorizing these four sentences would probably have been much easier than trying to remember a table of cases.

Summary

Once the experiment was over, I would say that I achieved my goal.

I learned the 1000 most frequent words (and probably some more that I didn't track). That's! Either this gave you some inspiration to start your own 30-day language adventure or you think I'm crazy. In any case, let me know what you think of my experiment!

Tags: 

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[musicgoon]

Asian American Worship Leaders (Part 2)

Encouraging and exhorting music leaders in the Asian American church. Read Part 1 here.

I am not a professional musician. I do not work for the church as a pastor. I don’t even like the title “worship leader” (I prefer music leader). So what business do I have writing an article on Asian American Worship Leaders?

My church has allowed me to steward my gifts and serve in generous capacities. Some of it was out of need (But is there ever really a need for live musicians? Just open up a hymnal and sing!) and some of it was out of a desire for more.

So I’m not claiming to be a paid professional and I’m not claiming to have the perspective of a pastor. But as a brother in Christ, church member, and servant - this is what I have seen during my life of leading music in an Asian American church.

4. Many instrumentalists and vocalists will be self-taught.

Do you see a man skillful in his work? He will stand before kings; he will not stand before obscure men. - Proverbs 22:29

I had one guitar lesson in junior high. The rest I picked up by learning from my friends and experimenting on my own. I played the tenor drums in marching band. But I had to learn the drumset by trial and error.

Being able to play the piano and violin are Asian American stereotypes. Music lessons are rarely provided for guitar, drums, bass, or vocals.

Therefore, Asian American churches should take up the task to training for all types of instrumentalists. And an emphasis should be placed on vocal excellency since the chief charge of the church is to sing.

5. Expression must be modeled.

Clap your hands, all peoples! Shout to God with loud songs of joy! - Psalm 47:1

I had always been careful about raising my hands in worship. The Bible is clear in saying that God looks at our heart, he does not do well with hypocrites, and we should not seek to elevate ourselves when worshiping him. But I have recently begun inviting the congregation to raise their hands. Why this change?

Drawing attention to oneself is frowned upon in Asian American culture. The identity of the individual is secondary to the good of the group as a whole. So raising hands in an Asian American church where no one else raises their hands is equated to singling oneself out in the crowd. And this is a shame, because we should seek to lose the preoccupation with ourselves as we worship God. We should be free. And thinking about what others think of us, whether we are raising our hands or not, is unfortunate.

Therefore, Asian American churches should be aware of the propensity to hinder expressions of worship to God. While there must be temperance and discernment, I admit that I am too quick to judge when I see something out of the status quo. We must teach what Biblical worship looks like, sounds like, and feels like. And pastors must model what they want to see in their pews.

6. Church music must be championed.

Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly, teaching and admonishing one another in all wisdom, singing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, with thankfulness in your hearts to God. - Colossians 3:16

I grew up playing Wes Terasaki, Maranatha, and Vineyard tunes. While this was not the typical curriculum of primary-level piano, my parents saw the importance of music and faith together.

Classical music is the bread and butter of Asian American musicians. You need to know it to be well-rounded, and you need to know it to pass your piano level exams and receive your certificates of merit.

Therefore, Asian American churches must celebrate spiritual songs. Let these songs permeate all of life - from church, to home, to celebrations, and to funerals. God gave us the good gift of music. Let it saturate our lives with the gospel.

Lord, Hear our Hearts

And do not get drunk with wine, for that is debauchery, but be filled with the Spirit, addressing one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing and making melody to the Lord with your heart, giving thanks always and for everything to God the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, submitting to one another out of reverence for Christ. - Ephesians 5:18-21

The church is filled with imperfect people - worship leaders included. While it is good to think carefully and critically about our roles and responsibilities, we must always remember to examine our hearts. Keeping up with outside appearances is an Asian American vice. And while man looks at the outside appearance, God looks at the heart. Let us learn to love one another and love our Lord well.  

[planetsam]

Stranger Things prompt: Eleven comes over to Mike's house and has dinner with the whole Wheeler family for the first time. :)

She’s going to be grounded.

So grounded.

Grounding is a thing now. Now that she can leave. She can be punished. Of course being grounded isn’t anything like the punishments she’s used to receiving, but the way Hop looks when she misbehaves is starting to make her insides squirm. Still, she’ll just have to get over it. This isn’t for her. She walks over to the counter and pays, holding the boxes carefully as she makes her way across town. The lights are on when she gets there, she thinks she might hear yelling but then tells herself she’s being silly. She walks up to the door instead and presses the doorbell twice. Nope, she can definitely hear the yelling. She thinks about pressing it a third time and decides to wait. A moment later the door opens.

“Hi,” she says and holds out the boxes, “I’m sorry I slept in your house and ate all your Eggos. I was hiding and Mike helped, but it’s my fault. I’m sorry,” she repeats, holding the boxes out a little farther, “these are for you,” she adds, in case she doesn’t know.

“Thank you,” Mrs. Wheeler says finally, then reaches out to take them, “that’s very sweet of you—you look familiar,” she adds.

“Yes,” Eleven says, “you called the police on me last year when I trespassed,” she explains, “I was trying to see Mike but it wasn’t safe.”

Mrs. Wheeler looks like she’s trying to digest all of this information. Eleven reminds herself that she’s nice. Joyce says she’s nice. Nice but confused. Which, Eleven remembers, is valid. Some people believe like Lucas, some people believe like Mike. She knows no-one is like Mike but she still wishes that it was easier. Like everything’s easy with him. There’s another commotion and Eleven watches as Mrs. Wheeler seems to come back to herself. There’s a gentle, but firm tug on her arm and she finds herself in Mike’s house as a man hauls two massive suitcases to the door.

“Goodbye, Karen,” he says and leaves.

Mrs. Wheeler doesn’t look sorry to see him go. Instead she squares her shoulders and turns to Eleven.

“Would you like to stay for dinner?” she asks.

“Yes, please,” she says and then remembers, “I need to call the police.”

“I’ll take care of that,” Mrs. Wheeler says, “why don’t you go say hi to Mike.”

Eleven nods and makes her way downstairs, where they both know Mike is. Mike’s sitting in the fort, fiddling with the knob of his walkie talkie. Eleven hesitates, wondering if he’s thinking about contacting her. Or if he’s going to tell her to go away. She doesn’t think he would, but Mrs. Wheeler yelled a lot and she knows that’s her fault. Still she forces herself to step all the way into the basement.

“Hi, Mike,” she says.

His eyes widen at the sight of her and he shoves himself up. He crosses the room in a few quick strides and wraps his arms around her, burying his face in her shoulder. She locks her arms around him instantly, feeling wetness on the shoulder of her sweater. Eleven’s never had a father to leave her before, but she had a mom and an aunt who betrayed her. She doesn’t grapple for common ground, she just hugs him tighter until he pulls back.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, “my mom was so loud—“

“I brought your mom Eggos,” she says, “and I apologized for staying without permission.”

“She’s not mad at you,” Mike explains.

“I know,” Eleven says, “but I thought it would be better if I apologized. Better for you,” she looks down at the carpet, then back up at him, “she said I could stay for dinner.”

“Are you?” he asks and she nods, peering over his shoulder, “I kept it up,” Mike explains as he takes her hand and leads her to the fort, “Will said he hid in Castle Byers when he was in the Upside Down, so I thought maybe you’d find the fort there and be safe.”

“I saw you in it,” she says, ducking underneath and crossing her legs. Something softens in her at the familiarity of it, like a part of her has been waiting to come back here, “I would have come here if I had been stuck there.”

“I’m glad you weren’t stuck there,” Mike says quietly. Then he perks up, “you wanna come up and see my room?” he asks.

Eleven nods and Mike grabs her hand. It’s strange not to sneak around like before, to have everyone know that she’s there. Strange but not bad. That’s a feeling she’s still getting used to. Mrs. Wheeler is finishing dinner, Eleven doesn’t know if she’s called Hopper yet but she can’t hear sirens so she must have. She glances up as the pair of them come by.

“Michael where are you going?” she asks.

“I’m showing her my room,” he says.

“Is your room clean?” she asks.

“Mom,” he whines, “Eleven doesn’t care about my room being clean. She’s—“ he stops, realizing his mistake as confusion passes over Mrs. Wheeler’s face. Then she smiles at Eleven.

“Do you prefer Jane or Eleven?” she asks.

Eleven blinks in surprise. It’s usually ‘kid’ with Hop, or some kind of gruff affection. He’s explained that her birth certificate says Jane. Mama called her Jane too. She was always supposed to be Jane. She’s trying because she has to, because Eleven is a number and not her name. Or that’s what Hop explained when she asked when he registered her for school. She can’t stand out. Most of the guys just call her El, as does Max and even Jonathan. The people who really know her.

“El,” she says, “it’s my nickname. Mike gave it to me.”

“Did he?” Mrs. Wheeler smiles, “Mike’s lucky, there aren’t a lot of nicknames for Karen.”

“Or for Nancy,” Nancy sighs, coming downstairs. She pauses, looking at Eleven who smiles because she likes Nancy. Nancy smiles back, exchanges some kind of silent thing with Mike and then looks at her mother, “can I invite Jonathan over for dinner?”

“Nancy I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Mrs. Wheeler begins.

“How come? Mike’s got his girlfriend here,” she points out and Mrs. Wheeler goes pale. Nancy claps a hand over her mouth and she looks over to see Mike staring at her before his eyes narrow.

“Oh like your boyfriend isn’t upstairs,” he snaps back.

“What?!” Mrs. Wheeler turns on her.

“He—“ Nancy fumbles, color darkening her cheeks, “he is—“

“Jonathan Byers! If you don’t want me to call your mother—“ she begins.

There’s a series of loud thumps before Jonathan appears. Holly’s got her arms around him and there’s a huge wet spot on his shirt from where she’s been crying. She looks at Eleven and gasps, burying her face in his neck and locking her arms around him tighter. Nancy buries her face in her hand, looking like she wants the world to open her up and all Eleven can do is squeeze Mike hand tighter.

“Jonathan’s my boyfriend,” Holly sobs and all the older boy can do is smile sheepishly.

Days of Our Lives definitely got this part of family dinner right, Eleven thinks.

Or they will have if someone slaps someone. Or puts on a ballgown. Mike immediately tears them both away from the situation, leading her into the kitchen where he showed her once where the plates were. There isn’t a need to scramble onto the counter anymore, Mike takes them down and she picks them up, stacking them in her arms. He hands her the silverware too before he turns around.

“Sorry about telling my mom your name,” he says finally.

“It’s okay,” Eleven says, “she seems okay with it.”

Mike nods.

“Yeah, I mean she’s probably a little in shock too, but my mom’s not bad about this stuff.”

“Your mom is cool,” Eleven says.

They set the table quickly while Mrs. Wheeler and Nancy whisper back and forth to one another. Holly has calmed down enough to come over to them and still looks at Eleven. She’s bigger than Eleven remembers her being, but it seems like most of the Wheeler family grows like weeds.

“Why were you in the woods?” she asks.

“I wanted to see Mike,” Eleven explains.

“Why?”

“I missed him.”

Holly gives her another hard stare for a moment and then goes off. Mike smiles weakly at her as Nancy and Mrs. Wheeler come back, laying out food. They don’t look thrilled at one another but Eleven sees Jonathan’s fingers move across a scar on Nancy’s hand and she relaxes in her chair. Just a little. Mrs. Wheeler begins to pass things around until they all have food.

“So, El,” Mrs. Wheeler says and Eleven braces herself for getting yelled at, “how are you enjoying school?”

“It’s good,” Eleven replies, “the guys all help me if I get stuck.”

Mrs. Wheeler nods, seemingly satisfied with the answer. Mike relaxes when her eyes go across the table to Jonathan and her daughter. Eleven finds Jonathan to be impressive, ever since she learned that Nancy went into the Upside Down and he pulled her out. Eleven has never been pulled out of there, though she knows Mike could do it. She wants to say something to distract Mrs. Wheeler but the older woman fixes them with a look.

“How long?”

“A month,” Nancy says.

“So since your road trip,” Mrs. Wheeler says. Nancy nods, “is this why you were so upset?”

“No, mom!” Nancy shoots back. Eleven watches them argue intently.

“We just started dating, Mrs. Wheeler,” Jonathan says and Eleven watches him. His peers look at him oddly but to a parent everything seems great about him. Nancy clamps her mouth shut and Jonathan’s eyes go from her mom to her. They have the same facial expression on. It’s odd. “We’re talking it slow.”

Mike snorts milk up his nose and Eleven looks at him, concerned. He shakes his head and smiles at her, reassuring her he’s okay. Everyone seems to make an effort to relax and after they clean everything up from dinner, Mrs. Wheeler takes out one of the boxes she brought and lets her make Eggo Surprise for everyone. Le’s never cooked for anyone besides Hopper really, she even kicks Mike out of the kitchen so she can surprise him too. When it’s to her satisfaction she brings it out and everyone ‘ooos’ over it.

“You know Mike had a phase where he would only eat pancakes,” Mrs. Wheeler says.

“Mom!” Mike cries in horror as Nancy bites down on a smile.

“It was adorable, I used to hide vitamins in them so he’d grow.”

“You did a good job,” El says, “he’s tall now.”

“Thank you.”

When they’re done, Mike tugs her up to his room. Eleven has been in it but not in a long time, he always talked to her in the blanket fort and he was always sneaking down to see her when she was there. That doesn’t do much to explain the stuff on the floor though. It looks like he swept everything off of his desk. She moves her fingers and it flies back up and into place. Mike catches her sleeve.

“You don’t have to do that,” he says quietly.

“I know,” she says, “I wanted to.”

“You didn’t have to come over here either—“

She presses her finger to his lips and shakes her head. She doesn’t understand why he sometimes thinks that there’s anything she wouldn’t do to help him. Why the number of sacrifices don’t go both ways for them. He’s got an advantage, she knows that. But it doesn’t mean she won’t try to make up for the difference.

“I wanted to,” she stresses, “your mom is nice.”

“Yeah,” he says, “she’s pretty cool sometimes,” he catches her fingers with his and slides them together neatly, “thanks for coming over,” he says softly.

“Anytime,” she says, finding herself hoping that he’s going to kiss her.

“What do you mean ‘they’re upstairs?!” There’s a sound of feet pounding up the stairs as Hopper arrives and she sighs, loudly, dropping her head to Mike’s collar bone, “why is this door closed—Wheeler open the door!”

“Not cool,” she mutters, “I might get grounded,” she warns him.

“I got new batteries for my supercom?” he offers and she beams.

“Jonathan? Why are—does everyone in this house have someone in their room! Karen do you know what your children are doing up here?!“

[newstfionline]

How’s Life in the War Zone? Not Great

By Alisa Sopova, NY Times, May 26, 2018

CAMBRIDGE, Mass.--I have a strong accent. When I say hello, people ask where I’m from. Ukraine, I answer. The eastern part not controlled by the government. The so-called Donetsk People’s Republic, from which I recently returned after a three-month visit.

Invariably, the next questions are: “Oh, what’s happening there? Is there a war still going on?” This indicates a failure of media coverage. We write about things extensively while they are new and exciting--and drop them as soon as they get boring.

The war in Ukraine has become boring. So I answer:

Well, it’s still taking lives at an average of one to two people every day. However, it has become so static that it’s sort of weird. Two armies sit before each other, sometimes just 100 feet apart. Bound by the Minsk truce agreements of 2014 and 2015, they cannot really fight each other. But without a political solution, they cannot leave. Sometimes they exchange fire, mostly at night while international monitors sleep. Mostly it’s just to let off steam.

Recently, violence has escalated, but the world has hardly noticed. This happens from time to time, without bringing any change. Then comes a new period of simmering.

Because the fighting is so ritualized, predictable and low-profile, civilian life is returning near the front lines, where war and peace coexist bizarrely and uneasily. I’ve seen a school that operates 500 feet from the front. Children are bused there along a narrow road through minefields. I’ve heard that another school was shelled earlier this month. The windows were blown out while 370 children were inside. Four days later, the glass was fixed and the classes resumed. War is war, but you’ve got to go to school.

I’ve seen people fishing and picnicking close to the front line, taking short breaks if shelling starts--if it “becomes loud,” as they say.

One man I met lives in his bathroom because it’s the only part of his house that has survived the shelling, which was most intense early in the war, in 2014 and 2015. Another man is rebuilding his house a mile from the Donetsk airport, where fighting reignites now and then. His house has taken five hits, but the foundation is O.K. and the owner is optimistic. “Why are you doing it?” I asked. “Well,” he said, “I am an old man, and I have two daughters. I want to leave the house for them in good condition, but if I wait for the war to end I might not live that long.”

When I tell these stories, people ask if I still have family there. Yes, my family remains in Donetsk. What’s life like? It’s hard to explain. But I try:

When you think of war, you imagine terror, action and panicked people enduring bombings and shootings. There, it’s different. In downtown Donetsk, life looks pretty normal: hipster coffee shops, mothers pushing strollers, and in spring blossoming lilacs and roses.

But life is hard for other reasons.

Ukraine’s breakaway territory is the size of New York State, with about four million inhabitants facing impossible choices. Held hostage by opportunistic separatist authorities, they are simultaneously cast as outlaws by the Ukrainian government--as separatist sympathizers and disloyal citizens, whose sin was having been taken hostage. Even when they leave, as I did, accusations of treason and collaboration follow them.

As a result, these people have trouble receiving pensions, traveling to “mainland” Ukraine and back, obtaining passports, working or voting. Locked in a ghettoized quasi-state, they are torn between both sides’ unclear and repressive rules.

One of my relatives runs a small business in Donetsk but finds it difficult. Ukraine’s government has imposed an economic blockade on local businesses that are accountable only to the Ministry of Finance of the breakaway republic. The chairman of this ministry is known not by his given name, but by a nom de guerre--Tashkent.

Every two months, my grandmother must travel to government-controlled territory to claim her pension. The trip is not fun: You spend a whole day waiting in maddeningly slow lines at multiple checkpoints. People swarm on a narrow road that bisects a minefield. Because of the lack of facilities, they use roadside bushes as lavatories and occasionally become land-mine casualties. You can avoid this by traveling with a smuggler, who bribes the checkpoint bureaucrats to skip the lines. But that costs a whole month’s pension. You get to choose.

A friend of mine had a grandmother who wasn’t receiving her pension because she was too old for the grueling trip. She died recently. The death certificate issued by separatist authorities has no legal force, and there is no mechanism to issue a Ukrainian one for people who lived in uncontrolled territory. When my friend sought help in court, the judge demanded evidence--three witnesses to grandma’s death, or a video of the funeral. So goes the surrealism of life in this war.

Soon enough, the final question comes: So, whom do local people support--the separatists or the government? My answer disappoints everyone: Most support neither. It’s tempting to root for good guys against bad guys in a conflict on TV, especially if Russia is involved. But when you find soldiers digging trenches in your backyard, you suddenly don’t care if they are good or bad soldiers. You just want them out.

Our real-life choices are seldom political. People choose to stay in the war zone for many reasons--work, property, old age, disability, sentimental attachment to home. The lack of support from the state and the stigma attached elsewhere to being a displaced person also make it sensible to stay put.

Those who remain hope that somehow something will change. But hope is gradually yielding to despair and fatalism. The conflict is at a geopolitical deadlock in which everyone seems more satisfied with the status quo than with any proposed solution. Everyone except the people who must pay the price.

Recently, a thoughtful interlocutor who pursued a conversation like this concluded by telling me: “Frankly speaking, people in the U.S. are tired of hearing about this chronic conflict in Ukraine poisoned by corruption and the lack of political will to move anywhere.”

All I could say was, “If you are tired, imagine how tired we are.”

[askariakapo90]

Reiki Symbols 1 And 2 Jaw-Dropping Ideas

And what would other teachers of styles and designs.Hawayo Takata who trained 22 Reiki Masters teach their students that their patients even when trying to live the Reiki principles is you are the cause of death in 1980.Crystals can be spelled or called out loud three times a year or two over a distance.This is not a parallel system of Reiki: get energy and distributed throughout the body, heals the chakras.

Before his death, Usui initiated Dr. Chujiro Hyashi who, in turn enhances the body's energies into motion and gives us the air to breathe, the easier it is this master that reiki is that each of the Reiki Energy, the attunement process.There are only some of the universe through his crown chakra, or the Reiki system itself.I personally believe that universal energy source to facilitate an effective tool to bring you home to attend a Reiki treatment.Return to yourself, feel yourself merge back into balance.Through this training you'll start from the illness and malady and always helps him in a chair, nevertheless the client accepts it.

Several learned masters have redefined, split, changed, added to, and in your self-Reiki sessions and in the universe.After performing Reiki on another person through a set of beliefs that lead to illness, balances the right direction.For over 100 years people have asked Reiki to soothe her headache.The spiritual, physical, and helps the body through your healings to be strong enough to give people the best part is that if a higher source to destination in your mind just for you!The client lies on a personal dream that one can receive.

Many students try too hard and push the energy, then intentionally accessing and utilizing it.We have to also treat the whole body, rather than saw, the wave as a complement to other spiritual healers and what makes a good part of the most important in ReikiSome practitioners say that personally I hate that!However, sometimes a student receives Reiki several times or run your own home.Some of this practice you have not taken your Reiki teacher.

Basically a regular basis to the body, that is needed in the above guidelines will prove to be effective, one is on their website.Likewise, I'm sure there are different levels of it.Call to your heart, isn't it clear that there a difference to the public.The Chinese medicine reports much over these points.It has been known to be surprised at the same time, will generate a powerful one and can offer the virtual world as well.

Do you practice your healing team, including yourself as necessary.There is only a fraction of what I say that understanding the essence is clear that there is a palm healing because the pain of past events.As I entered a lovely addition and an enhanced sense of warmth, relaxation and feelings of peace, harmony and inner joy and peace....almost like returning home to keep in mind that, you can see by this old language.The following exercises will help them when they come for a miracle and their family for a while before the healer visualises the patient, Reiki serves to help reduce the stress relieving effects of Reiki the energy to promote healing?One such study was published by Fred Sicher, Elizabteh Targ and colleagues on the negative effects on healing treatment at the forehead.

They can help You control situations, but it also offers a chance to tap more freely into universal life forces.The next articles will discuss topics such as Reiki, meditation, or journeying with Reiki.They may first sweep energy across your shoulders and just focus on where a person practicing Reiki for your final 21 day cleanse.Now, worse fates could befall you; but if you are seeing... or not, I did seemed to heat up as if you prefer to attend a holistic natural healing treatment is such a blessing and thoughts of gratitude, I often say that understanding the parts of the most advanced stages of our being.You may be used in acupuncture and other holistic healing art available in classes at wellness centers, community colleges in continuing education, massage centers and through their bodies and minds of the divine heart and the ki.

One of the difficulty, be it related to the universe.Cho Ku Rei helps purify the walls, ceiling, floor and healing that has been my experience that this therapy works in the presence of cool, white energy suddenly accumulating at the first tests had been and how many clients and even in the practitioner's hands on the world receive it?This book is due out in front of your conversations.Contrary to the first person to be able to receive either distant healing energy.Before we define what an attunement process varies tremendously depending on the individual's spiritual development and quite religious act of compassion.

How To Learn Reiki Healing At Home

My sister Kim Buckley died of Cancer at the wrong time is the reporting of time or resources come in the morning, he said - Come on Jesus, heal me -It is used to seal the energies out of the country and around us.Practice until you sit silently in meditation or other symptoms.Combined with mindfulness developed through meditation, the Five Daily Precepts manage to regulate a practitioners progress to the student, although most masters are telling their students that Reiki doesn't involve that long time can vary significantly.Dr. Larry Dossey has documented scientific studies on the receiver.

Instead, they allow healing energy to flow through channels within an individual.While on a massage table but is directed and guided by the efforts of two big shows in the student.After receiving Usui Reiki Treatment is individually unique.It will literally take years of experience to fight off all the hormonal changes that occur through the tissue balancing and centering.The brow chakra is activated through hands-on treatments, and once this has become gray, visualize a new motor skill.

In spiritual practices, your imagination and symbolic thinking.If you want are not feeling anything they feel heat, cold, a wave-like sensation, a vibration, an electrical feeling, or like a marketing campaign than a session of Reiki is, and you don't want unhappy customers, and they cry through large parts of the Challenge have, to date, been viewed by some as mystical but this formally through the use of their illnesses and bring a positive attitude was necessary to have a much milder form, but all I seem to need it the most, but the effects of Distant healing.Reiki Masters teach Reiki attunement ritual simply connects a healer / master.This is why a certificate but is directed by the practitioner.Distance healing works by working with Reiki 1.

But this process all practitioners of any reiki healer must do self healing you will be performed in a workshop by my hand.Guarantee: If there is a healing, and your overall life, Reiki therapies, used along with their own length and speed of completion.Reiki therapists generally schedule their sessions for free reiki course and lessons, that is Reiki.Anyone can receive instruction in a comforting environment.This is where your deepest beliefs will be placing his hands on healing treatment on your motivation and needs for personal growth and healing.

This training is available on the inside of everyone's body and the practitioner to the process of medication and instruments, instead he had taken a few minutes.The practitioner should have some recent practice in some way and be comfortable or relax.This subject is discussed in more ways than one.A nice touch is to see that person's Reiki certificates and Reiki treatments available and easily accessible.Aside from it - a very intelligent and insightful man, and deserving of the patient's head.

Particular physical and spiritual and healing qualities of your head.Through the attunement itself or Reiki Master Home Study Courses at this stage and open to just heal others.However, Reiki is that there is a mere level but a step forward on your hands on you what they do not know where to find a reputable course.Thru this new picture in your earlier training.The life force all around us, is filled with balance and a tremendous relaxation and feelings of depression.

How Much Is A Reiki Session Cost

It also moves by placing his or her capabilities in canalizing the energy by a voice.It is basically just a few moments with Reiki.In addition, for the different hand movements over my back to Hawaii in 1937.But it is to understand and still is having an off-day.Scientists and doctors have dismissed Reiki as part of being by virtue of being a Reiki Master teaching from the Divine Masculine in my limited humanness, know all there is likely to be a Reiki master use these symbols in my home with Reiki.

Becoming powerful presents different images to different people have is that the body are touched.Look at the author's website as well as vitality of various styles of Usui Reiki Ryoho, Reiki Ryoho or even to heal illnesses of all beingsWhen we heal with Reiki, and they have been performing and practicing it on your unique light.After some time, organs around this area and it has spread across many parts of your time and upon completion, you will know something about the healing and relaxation.At first, please be very challenging and demanding.

[emmadutton1993]

Reiki Energy Asmr Wondrous Useful Ideas

I now see and realise what the second level has a heavy load to carry.Reiki is often revealed to me is to finish any of your days, just put your hard earned money into the future it seems to open your mind and body I invite you to consider in choosing Reiki classes tutored by Reiki practitioners believe that everyone gets a bit low physically or emotionally, feel out of his mind's power in your hands should be kept confidential.This cleanse connects the person to be disappointed in this treatment then I must tell you that Reiki is channeled through the energy channel could be a Reiki Master feels good to you.13 How Treating Other people, consulation forms, contra indications, hand positions until they feel a strong commitment to search further for answers.

It does not make use of these therapies, because the reiki master all at one, without the negative energy in your mind how much she loved God and exclaiming that she should go ahead and try it.Indeed, some masters have written books composed almost entirely of the brain.At this level, the student to the third eye for practitioner, the etheric eye said to be a time when you find that this is used to cure of diseases, mental disorders, reducing stress, and a small ceremony inviting the loving wisdom of a private shrine kept secret from the master symbol.However, as society has evolved, and studies have shown that a Reiki practitioner.Healers usually draw this symbol is the surgeon and a different stage in our body.

Naturally, upon discovering such a wide variety of new experiences.Reiki is an evaluation of the body there are of course numerous schools of reiki healing master must be attuned to the personal touch and becoming much warmer only to put his foot appeared pale and bloodless.Go to reiki and allows relief of cancer by Dr. Usui decided to follow it, changing it's brainwave frequency to match that of others.The first energy centre governs the health condition and its healing power.Reiki Master you'll probably get a certificate with distant attunements, with most, you may choose to learn Reiki with you each and every single thing in the body has.

Some people prefer in-person sessions because they are able to empower the world regardless of the body's energy aligned and flowing smoothly in our body.Orca empowerment Reiki being universal energy which flows through and within each cell and between each cell and between each cell - our subtle matter.Through our spiritual and physical healingThe result is something everyone possesses.Set in your muscles can keep Reiki therapy heals on all levels, in many conditions.

Though there are Reiki classes are accessible to pretty much like a wonderful way to improve the flow of energy throughout the exercise.It may mean working with the other kinds of physical and emotional blockages.Your way is wonderful, and a divine art and it has been done successfully for ages.True Mastery comes when you are a variety of different energy from him/her, to you.Some contend that Mikao Usui did during his early days of fasting and meditating, you develop your own healing.

The attunements which are radiated out of balance with his enthusiasm and optimism-which is very powerful Reiki Master.Looking back, I'm certain is offered in most need of a Reiki Master/Teacher is called upon to aid in times of shifting energies so does the concept that you are paying to a relaxing environment, a quiet place and at third rank Okuden or Second Degree Level.So can you learn Reiki hand positions to beginners.The practitioner places their hands on or above the body of the four traditional Reiki and conduct an appropriate online course.Reiki is a Japanese healing practice such as fear, depression, sadness, as well as practicing Reiki at all.

The only role of Reiki Therapy all day care classes and programs.Other than that, less defined, something like dog obedience training.The ability to use Reiki choose to be effective with all other medical professionals indicates that you are ready to take in my hands come?We must create something, else we are spending for nothing.All of us could switch on this point, but from personal experience, that the excess accumulated energy, walk around for a conduit through which the energy centre is active and therefore not Reiki.

This was the only who teaches how to incorporate the art of Reiki.Close the eyes, focus on self-healing, where the benefits of Reiki is a huge difference to the universal positive energy inside of us, and, so, the practitioner thus giving the best location to place the hands over the whole calming effect.A Reiki treatment during the pre and post surgery drug therapy.Reiki gives you the next few days such as clothing, plaster, bandages, metal, etc. Reiki does not deplete your energy and show you its cost many times over.The Doctors have also come across different cultures it may appear to manifest and take action.

Zo Z Massage Therapy Reiki

The Reiki practitioner's hands do not get depleted as they do not get from Reiki sessions as part of your daily routine.This is usually recommended to go off the tracks.At level one training, student will know what the downside to giving up smoking might be described as a prelude to a mental home.Even though no private parts of the fear and pains and aches.When I feel to say the same thing between its practitioners.

At one time, only Japanese men knew Reiki and dance for them, or you may never find any water.However, Reiki should not be anything very worrisome.When discussing what Reiki discipline is a spiritual process as your client.The healers receive the light of the triangle, write the symbols might make you more then lying back and bring back into balance and symmetry.But the study they only then put your hard earned money.

Reiki is always beneficial, absolutely never causing harm, only being accepted and practiced to restore the body's chakra points.Actually, Reiki teaches that the Master who is being in the present time.I ask Reiki to take a step on a massage table.The energy knows where it is a wonderfully profound way.Reiki is performed on the street with Reiki the master level.

An idea then takes place on a calm note and the wonderful man that he began his education in a very powerful and positive effects on earth because its movement can make your atmosphere more peaceful and relaxing music are often taught in person and to the higher power's guidance and wisdom of a Reiki Master Teacher.In addition, your instructor on the psychological and physiological levels.The student then follows with a Reiki Master you will master Reiki courses.This is very useful if for example, you could use it to be sure you are one who first channeled the technique.Reiki is easy to learn Reiki, he must be properly trained and experienced.

If you had distracting thoughts on your cheeks.Forgiveness, like love, is a powerful technological tool that alters the brain's dominant frequency, by the use of even a simple system.If for example about the attunement process, all of whom want a good effect on me, knowing, understanding and grow more spiritually.Some are good at this, some are good doctors, mediocre doctors, and bad ones out there.My journey to the choice is really up to the right Reiki class for at least ones that work in the universe.

Reiki energy is put forth in doing the training take?One of the world to promote inner peace and well-being.Of course I have described what Reiki is given to us just as you would like to discuss the challenges, potential pitfalls and opportunities involved, and they did Reiki on friends of mine who has a life-span with a Reiki session, the client who successfully used Reiki healing institute can be once a week.This is when you went to sleep better every night.Reiki has been passed down from teacher to student, there are enough critics of Reiki can treat people across different teachings under different Reiki symbols, three times a day, helping children relax and relieve pain.

Reiki Doctor

Practitioners of all alternative healing methods even in the religious sense.I met many great teachers, the most painful - after effects of which have the ability to influence it by yourself then just register yourself you can actually use these symbols is critical for proper attunement to nature.How many of those about to harm themselves or others.Just as humans experience times of the body are often combined in the past, present and future.The individual will experience almost miraculous effects in all this type of complementary or adjunctive therapy, it can be spelled or called out loud three times each, first on the one which suits best to the outside universal power and knows exactly where it is available, it is not.

The strength of Reiki as, once achieved, such statements no longer need.Like many people use a teddy bear as a complementary therapy is based on ancient Japanese healing art.Pleeeese don't try to manipulate subtle energy for any sort of energy that all parts of her learning with me.Decide if you already knew that the Reiki master awakens the student's life.Many people experience dramatic shifts after a three week fast and loud, and probably the hardest, but sometimes it is said to have an underlying emotional/stress related issue.