#the only thing i look forward to is art class and even that is losing my interest

[depressedhatakekakashi]

A Story Book Scene

Words: 4008

Pairing: Kakagai

Prompt: Rain

A beautiful piece of art drawn by @jventureart to start this fic off. Can you guess what’s going to happen? If you read through the whole thing you’ll also find a second, secret picture at the bottom (that will probably make you laugh your butt iff XD)

            “Take the night off. Relax, work on an essay if you really feel the need to do something. Just don’t worry about the shop tonight.”

For the first time in four months, Gai didn’t have to go into work on a Monday night. It was a strange feeling that came with a sudden day off. A mixture of excitement at the prospects of what he could do with this new found time off, and a hint of annoyance.

            “You couldn’t save it for one day?” he asked, his eyes focused on the dark sky above as rain drummed against the classroom window. “A storm on a Tuesday is so much better. There’s nothing to miss on a Tuesday.”

            Monday, though, was his favorite day to work. Not because of the calming quiet that filled the little bookstore only to be interrupted by a single customer every hour, or because he knew he’d be able to go to the café next door on his way in and pick up a cup of apple cider to keep him war.

            It was his favorite day because it was the day he came in.

            The one day a week when Gai got to see the most beautiful person he’d ever laid his eyes upon.

            “Work on my essay,” a flash of lightning lit up the sky just as he spoke, engulfing the school grounds in light for just a second before disappearing. “How am I supposed to work on my essay when I don’t even get to see him?”

            It was a silly concern of course. There were more important questions he should have been asking himself. Like how he was even going to get home in such a terrible storm when it seemed like everything in the village was shutting down.

            Yet, he couldn’t help but dwell on it.

            Kakashi’s visits to the bookshop every Monday were the highlight of his week. The one thing he looked forward to above all other things in his week. It had even taken the top spot of ‘favorite weekly occurrences’ from his father’s weekly visits to his tiny apartment for dinner.

            Losing such an important event in his week was going to make his week even more difficult to trudge through than normal. He’d still do it, of course, but it would take more effort than usual.

            “Alright,” dragging his eyes away from the window he closed his notebook and reached down to grab his backpack. “Can’t hang around too long. Ningame’s probably having a terrible time at home having to listen to this storm.”

            Shoving all of his things into the backpack, he stood up from his seat and stuck his arms through the straps and waited for the familiar weight to settle against his back before heading for the door. The walk home was only ten minutes, but it was ten minutes in which he would be faced with a complete downpour.

            Weather so terrible that it was almost guaranteed to ruin his clothes, his bag, and everything inside of it.

            “I’ll just have to carry it in my arms.” a smile tugged at his lips as he thought it over. Anyone who saw him running through the rain with his bag clutched against his chest was sure to laugh at him, but he didn’t care. All of his notes from the last week of classes were in that bag, and his mid term was coming up.

            He couldn’t risk losing anything.

            Stepping out into the hallway he watched as it lit up with a blinding flash of light, followed closely by the sound of thunder crashing through the air.

            “I’ll run,” pushing forward, he headed for the nearest exit he could remember. “A ten minute walk turned into a five minute run. three minutes if I really push myself. It’ll be no time at all before I’m back home with Ningame.”

            The house he was renting with Genma and Ebisu was just outside the University grounds, and lucky for Gai all of his classes were in the building closest to the house. He didn’t need to deal with crossing the giant field in the center of the school to get home.

            Stopping in front of the door he slipped his backpack off and wrapped his arms around it, holding it tight against his chest. “Ok,” he took a deep breath and braced himself. “It’s just a bit of water, Gai. It can’t hurt you.”

            As if challenging his words, the sky lit up with lightning once more. A beautiful display of power that no human could ever hope to take on.

            Using his shoulder to push the door open, he stepped outside and was greeted by the torrential downpour of rain that had caused every business in the town to close down for the day. Without hesitation he broke into a run, his back held tightly against his chest and the sound of thunder cracking pushing him to run faster than he had ever run before.

            Fumbling with his keys, Gai listened to the rain assaulting the patio roof just above his head. The run home had proved to be more difficult than he’d anticipated, with the wind blowing against him every step of the way and rain soaking into his clothes weighing him down.

            Just as he found the key he was looking for the door knob began to turn and the door swung open, revealing Genma standing on the other side in his favorite yellow PJ pants and the shirt Gai had gotten him for his last birthday that said “How do you give a ninja directions? Across the top and “Don’t worry, he’ll find you!” At the bottom with a cartoon ninja in the center.

            “You look like you’ve had a good time,” he smirked. “What’s the password?”

            “Genma’s a loser?”

            “No, that was last weeks password,” he sighed.

            Gai frowned. “the password changes on Tuesdays.”

            “Usually, yes,” his friend confirmed. “But I got inspiration for a new password today.” Sighing, Gai crossed his arms over his chest and waited for his friend to fill him in. “What, you’re not even going to try?”

            “I’m soaked, Genma,” he whined. “I want to change and cuddle up to Ningame and you’re in my way. Tell me the password.”

            Rolling his eyes, Genma stepped off to the side and waved to the inside of the house. Not willing to miss his opportunity, Gai bent down to grab his bag and stepped forward into the comfortable warmth of the house.  “It’s ‘weirdo in the rain’ by the way.”

            Gai was mid step when Genma spoke, and for some reason he stopped. He wasn’t sure why, but he was certain he’d heard something strange in the way Genma had told him this weeks new password. It hadn’t come out in the same joking tone he always had when he informed Gai and Ebisu of the new password, but instead was spoken with what sounded like amusement.

            “Weirdo in the rain?” he asked, frowning when Genma nodded his head. “What kind of password is that? Why would you- wait…” Genma’s words repeated in his mind. “You said you got inspiration for this password?”

            “I did,” Genma confirmed. “And not just because the last one Ebisu chose was boring.”

            “It was not!” Ebisu called out from the kitchen.

            “Anyways,” waving Gai in, Genma sighed when he was met with a firm look. “I was on my way home just as the storm was starting up and I saw some weirdo standing in the middle of the field staring up at the sky.”

            Stepping out of the kitchen, Ebisu made his way to Genma’s side and elbowed him in the side. “Not just any weirdo,” he insisted. “It was Gai’s weirdo, wasn’t it?”

            “I don’t know that for sure!” Genma argued, returning Ebisu’s jab with a solid punch to their friends arm.

            Glancing between the two, Gai felt the frown on his face deepening. “What do you mean ‘my weirdo’?” he asked.

            “You know the one,” Ebisu insisted while he rubbed the area of his arm Genma had assaulted. “That guy you never shut up about. He has silver hair and a scar on his eye.”

            “I wasn’t close enough to see a scar,” Genma clarified. “but he did have spiky silver hair and there was a pug sitting on his shoulder, and you said the guy who visits your bookstore always has a pug with him.”

            Realizing just who they were talking about, Gai dropped his bag beside the shoe rack, snatched up the dripping wet umbrella that one of his roommates had left propped up against the shoe rack, turned on his heel, and headed right back out the door,

            “Hey!” Ebisu called after him. “Gai, where are you going!?”

            “To make sure he’s not still standing outside in this weather!” He called back as he headed straight back toward the school.

            The umbrella he’d stolen did little to stop the rain from assaulting him. With every step he took, Gai could feel the wet fabric of his clothing rubbing uncomfortably against his skin. Still, he kept walking.

            Continued to push forward, ignoring every complaint running through his mind.

            When he reached the edge of the large field in the center of the school he peered out through the rain in search of a familiar figure. Only two seconds after beginning his search he spotted it.

            A tall figure with a small lump on his left shoulder standing to the left of the field, just a few steps away from the University Library. So close to the warmth of the library, safe from the onslaught of rain. Yet, as Gai watched him he made no movements.

            He simply stood there allowing the rain to fall upon him.

            “You’ve really done it now, Gai,” he sighed as he began the long walk toward that lone figure. “You had to choose that one, huh? The guy who stands outside in a storm just waiting to get sick? That’s the one you want?”

            Yes.

The answer came almost immediately, from somewhere deep inside of his soul. It wasn’t a response crafted by his brain where his options were well thought out and carefully selected. No, it was a desire. An answer that came straight from his heart and overrode any sense of logic.

            ‘This one’ it reminded him as he came closer to the other man, that spiky silver hair he had admired since the first day they met finally visible in the darkness of the storm. ‘who else would I choose?’

            Shaking his head Gai chuckled.

            A few months ago he’d dared to ask himself why it was his heart had chosen Kakashi. What it was about the man that he stood out to him above all others, and he had been unable to come up with an answer.

            No matter how much he dwelled on it, how much he tried to find an exact reason to his feelings, he’d been unable to.

            There was no logic to his feelings, and he couldn’t help but think that it was perfect.

            Whatever it was he felt for Kakashi, it couldn’t be argued for or against. It simply was.

            Kakashi was the person who had gone and stolen his heart, and not even seeing the man standing outside in the rain had done even the smallest amount of damage to that affection he felt.

            “You…” he came to a stop at Kakashi’s side and moved the umbrella so that it was now hovering over his head, doing as much to block out the rain as it had done for Gai on his journey here. “Are ridiculous, you know that?”

            Turning his head, Kakashi stared at Gai with dark black eyes, a sparkle of excitement shinning when he saw just who it was now standing at his side. Now that he was closer Gai could see just how much damage the rain had done, and it was a much more beautiful sight than he had prepared himself for. Kakashi’s usual spiky hair was plastered against his forehead, and there was rain soaked into the cloth mask that he always wore. A normal person would worry even more about Kakashi’s health just looking at him.

            Gai wasn’t normal, though. He knew he should be concerned with Kakashi’s health, but all he could think about as he stared at the soaking wet man in front of him was just how handsome he was.

            How his eyes seemed to light up when lightning came crashing down from the sky, or how calmly he moved as he took a step back so that the umbrella Gai had placed over his head was no longer blocking the rain at all.

“I’ve been told,” he confirmed with a cheerful note in his voice. “Not that you have much right to speak. You’re out here too.”

            “I’m out here because someone has to make sure you don’t get sick.” reaching out with his free hand, he watched as Pakkun stretched out and gave his hand a sniff before bumping his head against his palm. To Kakashi’s credit he did see a little rain suit covering Pakkun, though he wasn’t sure how much it was protecting him from the cold.

            “You came all the way out here for me?” Kakashi’s eyes sparkled, but this time there was a different expression Gai noticed in them. An expression he’d only seen once before, when Kakashi had insisted that there was no one in the entire town who knew as much about Romance novels as he did.

            Arrogance.

            An annoying expression to see on anyone else turned into something beautiful when it was Kakashi who was wearing it.

             Turning his face away, he muttered out a restrained ‘thank you’ to the storm for providing him with cover so that Kakashi couldn’t see the way his eyes darted around searching for something other than Kakashi to focus on, or how he pulled his lips into a tight, thin line.

            “Gai,” Stepping around him, Kakashi closed his eyes in that adorable smile of his. “Did you really come out all this way for me?”

            “Yes,” He confirmed, sighing when Kakashi began to laugh. “You’re standing outside in a storm, Kakashi. A storm, might I add, that has caused every single business in town to close down for the night.”

            “Ah, is that it?” taking a step back Kakashi tilted his head back and stared up at the sky. “You’re worried about me because of a little rain?”

            Watching as the rain splashed against Kakashi’s face, he couldn’t help but laugh a little. The whole situation seemed absurd. Everyone else in the town was either tucked away safely in their homes, or on their way home. They’d found shelter away from the rain as soon as they could.

            Everyone except for Kakashi, and now Gai.

            “So,” he lowered the umbrella, no longer interested in wasting his energy on trying to keep Kakashi dry when that was clearly the opposite of what he wanted. “You like the rain?”

            “Like?” Kakashi lowered his head to stare at him once more. “Gai, I love the rain.”

            ‘I love the Rain’

A Kaleidoscope of butterflies came bursting to life in Gai’s stomach when he heard that. Fluttering around knocking against every wall so that his stomach felt like it was about to explode with joy.

 In all of the time he’d known Kakashi he’d never been blessed with the sound of him saying that he loved anything.

            He could gush about every single romance novel he read, of course, and there was no doubt in Gai’s mind that the man respected a lot of people including some of his professors and friends like his friend Tenzo who he dragged to the bookshop at least once a month, claiming that he needed to ‘get out of the greenhouse once in a while’.

            But Love was a word that Kakashi used very sparingly.

            “Love,” he smiled, swallowing down the response he wanted to give. The one where he told Kakashi how that word so perfectly described his feelings for him. Instead, he pointed at Pakkun. “More than you love him?”

            Glancing over at the Pug that was still sitting so patiently on his shoulder, Kakashi reached over, gently lifted him off of his shoulder, and held him out in front of him. “what do you think, Pakkun?” he asked, chuckling when the pug answered him with a bark. “You’re right. There’s very little in this world I love more than you.” With that said he pulled his arms in and hugged Pakkun tight against his chest as another streak of lightning cracked through the sky.

            Gai stayed glued in his spot, his smile growing as he watched Kakashi openly hugging his dog and the butterfly’s still crashing around in his stomach.

            Earlier, when his boss had given him the day off to avoid the storm he’d felt annoyed. Upset that he wouldn’t be able to see Kakashi on the one day a week he was usually guaranteed to see him. Now, standing in front of Kakashi as the rain soaked through their clothes, he was thankful for his boss’ kindness.

            If he hadn’t given him the night off, he may have missed out on the best thing he could have possibly experienced.

            “Oh,” Kakashi’s eyes focused on him once more. “but you’re soaked! You’re going to get sick if you stay out here.”

            Gai’s eyes widened for a moment, and then the next second he was laughing. A bright, boisterous laugh that seemed to fill the air around them. “you-“ he swung his umbrella up and gently tapped it against the top of Kakashi’s head, earning himself a rather unimpressed glare from the other man. “Have I told you that you’re ridiculous?”

            “You said that when you arrived, yes,” reaching up, Kakashi swatted the umbrella away.

            “Well, you are,” allowing the umbrella to drop back to his side he turned on his heel and directed himself back toward his house. “Come on, I have hot chocolate at my place. Or, if that’s too sweet for you I’m sure I can steal some of Ebisu’s tea.”

            “Tea?” Glancing back at him, Gai watched as he thought the offer over. “A cup of tea would be nice.”

            “I might even have a romance book for you to borrow,” he continued. “It’s not the same as the books at the shop, but-“

            Before he could finish what he was saying Kakashi showed up at his side and grabbed hold of his hand. “Not that I’ll turn down a book if you’re offering it,” he began, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “But I think even you can agree that this, right here, is a much better romance.”

            A streak of lightning lit up the sky at that moment, lighting up Gai’s face just as his eyes went wide with shock. In the span of two seconds everything he knew about the quiet, reserved Kakashi had been thrown right out the window in favour of a brave, upfront romantic.

            His eyes darted down to Kakashi’s hand holding onto his. For months he’d wondered what it would feel like to hold Kakashi’s hand in his, and now he had his answer.

            It felt warm.

            Like he was holding the most precious object in the world.

            His fingers curled around Kakashi’s hand as a smile spread across his face. “You really are something,” he chuckled. “Did you learn that one from one of your books?”

            “Fireworks in Osaka,” Kakashi confirmed, the name falling from his lips with ease. “When Akiri takes Sakura out for a ramen date it begins to rain and…well,” his eyes flickered up to the sky. “Akiri offers to take her to the bookstore where they can wait out the rainstorm and Sakura can choose a romance book for her collection. Sakura answers that-“

            “I think even you can agree that this, right here, is a much better romance,” Gai repeated the words, the butterflies in his stomach fluttering around so much that he was beginning to feel nauseous with love.

            “Ya,” Returning his gaze to Gai, Kakashi chuckled. “it’s cute, isn’t it?”

            “It is,” tugging on Kakashi’s hand, Gai reached out with his other arm and wrapped it around his back, careful not to hit him with the umbrella that he was still holding. As he did he heard Kakashi gasp as his body collided against his, their faces now so close that their noses were touching. “I can think of something cuter, though.”

            “Of course you can,” Kakashi grinned back at him. “Pakkun is adorable after all.”

            As lightning crashed through the sky, lightning up the field for one precious moment, Gai was gifted with the most beautiful image. Kakashi’s eyes scrunching closed as he laughed, his soaking wet hair pressed against his forehead with droplets running down from his forehead, over his nose, and down to his chin.

            Releasing Kakashi’s hand, he lifted his hand up to that beautiful face and gently cupped his cheek. “He is,” he agreed, watching as those beautiful black eyes opened and focused on him. “But I was talking about you.”

            His next movement wasn’t planned. He didn’t really know what he was doing until he was already moving, and by that point he had no intention of stopping.

            Kakashi’s mask was soaking went against his lips, but there was a warmth to the kiss that overrode that scratchy feeling of cloth rubbing against his lips. A comfort that came with Kakashi’s hand settling on his back, fingers curling into the wet fabric of his shirt.

            Gai had kissed many people in his lifetime, and all of them had been real, proper kisses. No fabric between them blocking him from feeling the softness of their skin.

            Yet, none of them compared to this kiss. None of them brought such joy to his heart that he struggled to pull back, even when his lungs burned with a need for air. Not one of those kisses, no matter how wonderful they had been, came close to comparing to this one.

            “See?” Kakashi chuckled when they finally pulled away, his eyes still focused on Gai’s face. “Rain really is the most romantic weather.”

            “Maybe,” running his thumb along Kakashi’s cheek, he smiled. “I might need another kiss to confirm that, though.” He began to lean down, but before he could touch his lips against Kakashi’s again a finger settled against his lip.

            “Perhaps a proper kiss would serve better?” as quickly as the words left his mouth Kakashi had removed the mask that covered the lower half of his face, allowing Gai the rare opportunity to see just what lay under neither.

            An opportunity he was certain anyone else would take advantage of, but which he didn’t bother to dwell on. As soon as the mask was off he swooped in to kiss Kakashi once more, this time the warmth of the kiss no longer just a feeling inside of his soul, but an actual sensation against his lips. Kakashi’s lips were warm. His skin was warm, even in the cold of the rain.

            The first kiss they had shared had stood above all others, but this one-

            There was nothing in the world that could compare with the feelings that ignited inside of Gai’s heart when he kissed Kakashi a second time.

            Rain really was the most romantic weather. That was a sentence Gai could now confirm was true without a shadow of a doubt. Sunshine was brilliant, but rain had given him the greatest gift he could have asked for. It had allowed him the opportunity to see Kakashi, the man he’d always known as being reserved and quiet though a bit of an arrogant shit at times, in his true light.

            As the romantic dork he always seemed to bury inside of his books.

            Rain had provided Kakashi with the perfect opportunity, and for that Gai would happily make it his new favorite weather.

[strawberrycakelove]

In defense of Chichi

ChiChi gets very little credit and recognition as a martial arts teacher and martial artist herself, just look at how Goten is not only well trained but apparently has much better emotional training than Gohan. Both Piccolo, who is from the Namekian warrior class, and Goku, who is a Saiyan (and now after the film Broly we discover that he is also from the warrior class, as the film shows that there are Saiyans who are not of that class, will that side " Gohan's nerd" came from this characteristic of Saiyans?), they hope that Gohan, being half-Saiyan, discovers his warrior instincts on his own and with him comes an instinctive willingness to fight and he an emotional control, which apparently, none of the two needed training, as it is innate to them, and both assumed wrongly, each in their own time, that Gohan would have it. And even though Goten is a child - 7 years old - during the Buu saga, despite being younger than Trunks and having less strength (by a very small margin) and not knowing how to fly, he has more emotional control and better controls his impulsiveness, better than Trunks, who has been shown to be worse at this than his Future counterpart even. Future Trunks isn't exactly excellent at doing this, he also shows this trait of impulsiveness that present Trunks has, so much so that much of his apparent "control" is very well portrayed as a product of reluctant and hasty anxiety (read : trauma) - the same one that makes him step forward and attack Cold and Frieza before Goku arrives and retreats in the face of Vegeta's stupid decisions - it is very well characterized that he only "controls himself", in an unstable way, because he was pressured by necessity to survive, because of his brutal reality, and because he has not been properly trained, his "control" is a result of trauma and the need to survive that his present counterpart does not have (and it is funny to see how exactly by not being anxious like future Trunks is, that present Trunks is so impulsive LOL). And Trunks' decision-making process is as bad as Vegeta's, the difference is that he makes terminal decisions because he doesn't have the desire Saiyan for battle and because killing quickly is the only safe decision he knows, All of the rest he is not sure of absolutely anything, insecurity that present Trunks does not know, he is sure of everything, because he is rich, spoiled and has everything, which is why his impulsiveness runs wild. ChiChi gets very little credit for how well Goten is trained and disciplined, especially emotionally, as he doesn't have the insecurity about fighting that Gohan had. It is true that he was not pressured by the need to survive and learn to fight in a hurry like Gohan and Future Trunks, and it is exactly this pressure that harmed their ability to make decisions in moments of pressure, which Goten did not do in the Buu saga, when ChiChi died, he wanted to take revenge, but he quickly recovered and accepted Piccolo's guidance, to train more and become stronger. He is not taken by the fear of inexperience and not knowing what to do in a battle, the moment arrived and he did not lose his there, not even when he was already pressured by Gohan's apparent death and after ChiChi's death when Buu killed in front of your eyes. As I don't have the patience to make prints of manga scans, and there would be MANY IMAGES, if you want to check them out, the chapters will be listed below, read them and draw your own conclusions: 354 - Future Trunks impulsively attacks the androids when Vegeta has his arm broken, scaring Piccolo and putting his life at risk, he does the same thing as his 8-YEAR-OLD counterpart from the present

~466 (Buu Saga) - His present counterpart does the same thing, but it's more understandable, here Trunks is 8 YEARS OLD compared to his future counterpart's 17/18 years

381 - Vegeta makes the stupid decision to let Cell complete himself by attacking Trunks, Krillin here is no better, and Trunks only decided to act when it was too late, even though he knew that Vegeta was terrible at making decisions.

383 - Trunks at least considered himself stronger than Vegeta and Krillin says he knows too, as he has more experience in sensing the power of others, but Trunks decided not to interfere in the battle and kill Cell before he was perfect because he didn't want to hurt his pride. Vegeta, and it was disastrous, because once Cell found 18 he was very efficient and Trunks didn't stand a chance. here Krillin even points out his subservience to Vegeta. (which lack of affection doesn't do, it clearly shows your lack of emotional control)

384-Trunks showing a little more how bad he is at making decisions, and only because he wants to preserve Vegeta's Pride.

Boo Saga

488 - Here it shows how Gohan, when he loses control with the Supreme Kai, and almost wastes the ritual (and only calms down because he sees that the old man wasn't bluffing), and being older, has less emotional discipline than Goten, who in the same chapter sees ChiChi die right in front of him and manages to control himself after hearing Piccolo's warning (Goten is still able to follow instructions here, when Gohan barely does so and his later fight with Buu only proves this) and begins his training immediately, while Trunks is more bothered by food, it shows how ChiChi trained Goten very well (and Gohan already went through a similar experience on Namekusei),

Goten is 7 years old and doesn't lose control at the risk of ruining everything, and it's not because he's more mature or makes better decisions or has more experience (as shown by Gotenks), it's because he has emotional control and has been well trained by Chichi. Chichi deserves more recognition!

Bonus:

366 - Read this chapter, it shows that Chichi is not as irrational as TOEI made her seem, she allows Goku to train Gohan and asks him to make him as strong as possible.

371 - Check out the cover, LOL. Future Trunks is just as rude as his present counterpart LOL, the animation makes him very "clean" and polite, but he's not so much LOL, he's just submissive.

377 -Read this chapter, Goku ISN'T DUMB, he learns when it suits him, he even remembers details when it's about things that interest him.

387 - Here he demonstrates all his experience and accumulated knowledge as a martial artist

Buu Saga

470 - I love Bulma's parents, they love animals and wouldn't leave them behind. It has nothing to do with it, but I couldn't help but notice it!

479 - Goku's dirty deal, LOL, he is neither innocent nor stupid LOL. The Supreme Kaioshin here talks about the 25-hour ritual! LOL, Gohan can spend hours studying yet another ritual he can't handle. LOL. Goku is a terrible decision maker, but he knows how to get what he wants.

492 - Goku teasing Shin LOL, he makes fun of anyone when he can.

[netherfeildren]

Someone's Wife in the Boat of Someone's Husband .7

Series Masterlist : Moodboard

(Joel Miller x F!Reader)

Content Warnings: Angst, Discussions of child abandonment, Discussions of child neglect; Family dynamics; Mention of abortion; Jealousy; Possessive behavior

Rating: Explicit 18+

A/N: There are much happier times ahead after this, I promise. I hope you enjoy <3

Word Count: 6.8K

Read on AO3

.7

Grief is different. Grief has no distance. Grief comes in waves, paroxysms, sudden apprehensions that weaken the knees and blind the eyes and obliterate the dailiness of life. 

Joan Didion, The Year of Magical Thinking

As the turn of the season marches its way into the city, the leaves bloom the crisp, bright colors of autumn. Austin comes alive with the burning colors of fall: reds and oranges and yellows, so beautiful. It makes you feel nothing. You usually love the change of the weather into the colder months, but this year it all feels – meaningless. Empty – like you. 

And yet, life continues, work continues, and at the end of October you and your fellow art teacher plan a field trip to one of the city's parks for the children to paint the colors of the changing leaves. It should be something to look forward to, despite the stress of having to organize a group of twenty first graders and wrangle them in a large, open space, you usually look forward to things like this. You love your job, it’s always made you happy, but somewhere along with the part of you that he’d stolen away, you’d slowly gone by losing other smaller parts of yourself, discarding them in the wake of your grief. Your ability to smile, to enjoy the things that had always previously made you happy, all gone away with him. All you can focus on now is how much you miss him. How much you hate all the decisions you’ve ever made, and how much you resent your history, your parents, for leaving you this broken, wanting thing that could not seem to find happiness – that would not let yourself be happy. No matter how hard you try.

But above the wailing cacophony of your grief, your longing for him ringing in your ears, there is the overwhelming resounding cry of your past screaming at you: you can’t let this go, you can’t let this go, you can’t let us go. Your parents, their history, the tragedy of their demise, the painful solitude of your childhood, the sight of your father wasting away for years and years and you, a child, unable to do anything, unable to help him, to save him, to bring her back so that he could be okay. 

But you also can’t let him go. It was, you now knew, an impossibility. As futile as forgetting your own name, how to breathe, how to be alive. Holding on to him now is an intrinsic part of you that you’re sure you’ll live with for the rest of your life. 

And so, the real question now is, what are you more willing to hold on to? But no, that isn’t right either, the better question is: what do you have to hold on to? What do you need to survive? What can you not live without? What would leave you only half a person if you were to let it go – the past or him?

You’re sure you know the answer, but are only too afraid to admit that all you’d put the two of you through throughout all this, had been pointless. So pointless and so needlessly painful. 

All you want now is to talk to him. No, you don’t even have to talk. If you could just get the chance to see him, even if from a distance, it would make everything better. You just want to see that he’s okay, that he’s not as miserable as you are. That he hasn’t been left as desolate as you seem to have ended up. 

The day is gorgeous, despite your mood, and the class has been good so far, calm and cooperative. The kids all sitting across picnic blankets you’d spread out on the grass amongst the fallen leaves. They’re all chattering and painting, engrossed in their task, when you hear your name being shouted from across the park in a high pitched little voice, and like a fucking revelation from above or your worst nightmare, your deepest desire come alive from the bottom of your heart – there they are. Sarah, running at full speed towards you from the far side of the park. Joel stalking a few paces behind her – his face like stone. You start to move towards them in a daze. 

You take in the sight of him from afar – massive, so tall, and so beautiful. His hair is longer, his dark curls brushing the back of his collar and curling along his temples. Weeks since you’d last seen him, since he’d last touched you, since that horrible moment in that restaurant bathroom. Your cunt clenches, empty and desperate, around nothing, just at the sight of him. He has on a dark green flannel that brings out the warmth in his eyes, you can see it, even from all the way over here. He looks so big, so strong, and you have a sudden, savage vision of him forcing you to the ground right here, in the middle of the park, and taking you for himself, forcing your legs open and ravishing you. Your head goes slightly woozy, dizzy, at the intensity of it, and you stumble, holding your hand out towards Sarah. You can see his eyes tracking your movements, your unsteadiness. His cheeks are bright red, flushed with the crisp autumn air, or perhaps, with anger. 

She squeals your name as she runs towards you, throwing herself into your legs, wrapping her arms around you when she slams into you. Your breath whooshes out of you at the impact, and you’re forced to take a step back as her body rocks into yours. Careful, Sarah. Be gentle, he calls.

 “Sarah,” you gasp, “Hi, baby. How are you?”

“I missed you,” she says, and her face is so sincere, so full of genuine happiness at seeing you, despite the fact that she’d only met you a couple times, that it brings tears to your eyes now, but you aren’t sure what kind of tears they are. Perhaps, from the pain of seeing your past self reflected in her fervor. The devastation of being confronted with him again. The most sublime elation because look at this little girl and how special and wonderful she is, and she’s happy to see you. She’s so in need of the attention and comfort of a maternal figure, and she reminds you very, very much of yourself at her age. It breaks your heart to feel her innocent desperation. You cannot even consider looking up at her father, you know that if you do, you’ll break down entirely, sobbing at his feet, begging him to forgive you, to love you back as much as you love him. “We– we should go play in the water again. I liked it so much when we did that. I had so much fun.” There’s such earnest pleading in her voice, but it gets just the tiniest bit smaller and quieter when she says the last part, as if she’s unsure if you’ll feel the same, if you’ll reciprocate her feelings. You close your eyes and take a deep breath in through your nose and let it out through your mouth as you hug her closer to you.

When you open your eyes again and look down at her upturned face your voice is slightly steadier, “We can go whenever you want, sweet pea. I had so much fun, too,” but you lose the battle at the end, voice cracking slightly. You can feel his hovering presence at your periphery like a blazing inferno, demanding attention, and you finally look up at him.  He has a slightly unhinged look in his eyes, taking you in from head to toe, gaze manically roving your form, like a man starved, parched – desperate and ravenous. 

“I had to go to the doctor,” Sarah says. “Look,” she shows you a bandaid on her little bicep, “I got a Sailor Moon sticky, but it hurt really bad.”  She pouts and you rub her hair, cooing at the small hurt. 

You look back up at him then, “Joel,” you croak. He doesn’t say anything, and you can see a slight tremble in the lines of his arms. He turns his face away from you, looking across the park, and you watch the ripple of muscles in his throat as he swallows several times, the flare of his nostrils as he takes his own set of deep, calming breaths. “Please, say something,” you beg. 

You hate the look in his eyes, you hate it, you hate that you’re the reason he looks like this right now. He doesn’t deserve this. He deserves your love. He deserves to be loved. He’d told you once that you weren’t some secret to be kept, hidden, that you deserved to be cherished out in the open, you realize, in this instant, that he deserves the same, and that what you’re doing to him is wrong. But how to stop it? How to change the most integral part of your mind, of your belief system, and that which it all hinges on, your past, your history? An impossible feat. 

“What are you doing here?” he finally says. His voice is rough and deep, and the mere sound of it makes everything deep in your tummy clench painfully. 

You’re still hugging Sarah to yourself, and she tightens her arms around you, looking up between the two of you as if she can tell that something isn’t right. “Field trip.” You hook your thumb back towards where your kids are still being watched over by the other chaperones. 

He finally turns back to look at you, and the fire in his eyes is terrible for all the desperation and pain you recognize in it. “It’s been weeks,” he whispers.

“I know.” You rub Sarah’s shoulders gently, feel her nuzzle into your thighs. 

“I went to look for you at the school.”

“I know.” Your voice sounds almost like a cry. Despite everything, despite telling you that this was hurting him, he’d still come to look for you again. He hadn’t given up on you, no matter how many times you’d pushed him away.

“I knew you’d seen me,” and he looks so hurt as he says it, that it sends a spear of fire through your chest. You can tell he’s holding on to his control by tenterhooks, trying his best not to let his anger out and scare you or Sarah. An irrational part of you wishes he’d lose control, throw you over his shoulder and force you to go with him. 

“Daddy?” Sarah’s little voice.

“Are we just never going to speak again? Is this the way you want it to stay?”

“No,” you croak, “I don’t– I don’t know,” a violent shake of your head, “I mean– yes, of course we are. I just can’t do this right now.” Your kids are waiting for you. You’re supposed to be working right now, not watching the rest of your future crumble brick by brick before your eyes, the only thing you’ve ever truly wanted for yourself angry beyond words at you. He scoffs, runs a shaking palm over his mouth and beard. 

You hear the other teacher call your name from behind, and as he comes up next to you, he puts a hand on your shoulder, perhaps sensing the tension or a fight brewing. “Everything alright over here?” he asks you gently, not sparing a glance at Joel. 

The entire right side of Joel’s face spasms furiously. “We’re in the middle of a fucking conversation here,” he spits, taking an aggressive step forward, eyes zeroed in on the hand touching you. You shrug it off immediately.

“Joel–” you warn, at the same time that Sarah’s high, anxious voice cries, “Daddy, why are you mad?” Her voice seems to snap him out of it, he looks down to her, his eyes going slightly wider for a second before he squeezes them shut and shakes his head once, quick. 

“I’m not, baby. I’m sorry–”

“I’m fine, thanks,” you murmur to your coworker. “Can you give us a minute? I’ll be right there.”

As he retreats, you say again, “I can’t do this now, Joel. But maybe–”

He shakes his head, ignoring you, crouching down to Sarah’s level. “Let’s go home, baby.” He places a gentle palm on her slight back. You can see the tremble of his hand, and it makes a sharp pain start up behind your left eyeball. 

“No, I don’t want to go with you!” she says muffled into your thighs.

“Sarah, baby, please. We need to go home,” he begs her. 

“Joel–” He continues to ignore you. 

“I don’t want to go yet,” she looks up at you, her little face pleading, “I want to stay with you, please.” Her eyes are starting to fill with tears. “Don’t you want me to stay with you? You said you had fun with me.” The tears start to fall, your own pool in your eyes.

“Sarah, it’s okay, baby. We’ll play another time,” there’s a begging lilt in your voice too. What are you doing? This is all your fault, you’re hurting the both of them. 

Joel stands to his full height now, finally meeting your eyes again, and his voice is hard and angry, patience come to an end as he says, “Sarah, it’s time to go. Say goodbye. I’m not gonna ask you again.”

“No! I don’t want to go with you! You’re being mean!” She turns her tear streaked face to him now, pulling on your clothes as if trying to scramble up your body. “Please, Daddy, please, I want to stay here.”

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, “Sarah, please.”

“Why do I never get to play with girls? Where’s mommy? Why hasn’t she come back? I’m tired of just being with you, Daddy!”

He flinches at that. If you hadn’t been watching him so closely, you’d have missed it. If you hadn’t memorized his face so well, you wouldn’t have seen the muscle under his left eye twitch. He freezes as she starts to sob loudly, and you’re at a loss, writhing in agony for the both of them. 

He crouches down again at the sound of her very real and anguished sobs, and his voice is gentle and coaxing again, when he says, “Let’s go home, baby girl. It’s alright, come on. I’ll get you an ice cream. How does that sound? With the rainbow sprinkles we like, okay?” He pries her off you gently, not turning to look at your face again, taking extra care to not touch you even a little bit, but you feel the heat of his hand against your thigh as he grabs her, and it has a jagged shock moving through you. You desperately wish he’d take you with him too.

He wraps her in his arms and picks her up, “I’m sorry, Daddy,” you hear her sniffle as she hides her face in his neck, a safe place. You wish you could hide from the world there too. 

“I know, baby.” He rubs soothing strokes along her back as she wraps her little arms around him to clutch at his hair. 

“When’s mommy coming back?” she mumbles as they walk away. He does not turn back to you. 

-

The encounter in the park makes everything worse. Much, much worse. Like your heart had been ripped clean out of your chest that day and had gone off with Sarah and Joel, leaving you behind to float in the rotten pool of your misery. 

“I heard a strange rumor recently.” Your mother’s voice, soft but discerning, comes through the phone – first call in six months. It makes dread coil in your belly. Nothing good ever follows that tone. 

“Oh? What’s that?” She doesn’t call often, but when she does, it’s usually to ask for something, you’d already promised to send her a few hundred dollars, or to share news of a new boyfriend or trip or something equally self involved.

“You remember my friend Betty? From when you were growing up – she lived down the street from us. Well, she’s in Austin now too, has been for some time–” Fuck, “And you wouldn’t believe, but her daughter’s a doctor now, there in Austin too, very impressive.” She’d always hated that you’d become an art teacher – not glamorous enough for her. “Maybe you remember her, too? Little blonde thing, very cute… and well, she said she was at a birthday party recently,” No, no, no, no, please, no. “And she said she’s almost sure she saw you looking pretty cozy with some man, who she has on good authority, is married.” There is a sharp and cruel vein of satisfied glee in her voice, “And you know, I really couldn’t believe it when she said so, and I told Betty, ‘My daughter? She’d never get herself involved with a married man.’ I mean, you’ve always cast me as the worst sort of woman for leaving my own unhappy marriage for another man. So, how could it be that my saintly little girl has now fallen into my own footsteps? I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it?” You’re shocked speechless. Of course, of course, she’s found some way to hear about this. She’s always had a way of finding out everything about you, as long as you’d go without speaking or seeing each other, she always finds a way of sniffing out the things in your life you want to keep hidden from her, as much as she claims she doesn’t care what you do or what becomes of you. “Nothing to say?” she croons.

“It–” your throat is tight, filled with tears already, confessing this to her will break you in a way you don’t think you’ll be able to recover from. “It’s not like that – it’s not like… you,” I’m not like you, I’m not, I’m not. “It wasn’t something– something done purposely,” you whisper. “It just happened.”

She laughs at that, long and loud, “Yes, well… it usually does happen like that. Unintentional. One doesn’t often set out to ruin a life, do they? Sometimes it just happens, I suppose, no? What do you think?”

“I haven’t – I haven’t ruined a life,” you blink furiously, shaking your head even though she can’t see you.

“Oh, no? You’ve always taken yourself to be so high and mighty – always so holier than thou, and now? What? You’ve ended up just like me. Brought low, down to my level, after you’ve always judged me so harshly. How does it feel? To have ended up just like me? Scum like mommy.”

“I didn’t ask to be this…” you cry, “This– this hideous thing I’ve turned myself into–” like a creature of cracked skin and painful faultlines, “But this is what you made me, this is all you left me with, an inability to escape you, an inability to have a normal relationship.” You know she can hear the tears in your voice, and that she’ll be all the worse for it, crueler for subjecting her to your weakness, but you can’t help it. She hates it when you cry, your tears have always reminded her of her own weaknesses.

“Baby girl, that’s just what you tell yourself to make yourself feel better. And sure, if it helps… if it works, go on. You tell yourself that. But you’ve made your own choices. I can’t be held at fault for what you do with your life.”

“I’ve never seen anything else but the wrong kind of love. A– a  painful kind of love–” you think of your past words to Joel – his worry that he and Eva had only ever given Sarah the wrong example of what it is to love, and your reassurance that the love he gave her was all that mattered. You’d never had that, you’d never had that sort of steady, reassuring presence that he was able to provide his daughter, and so how could you have turned out any way other than gnarled and wrong? And yet something in you rebelled at that thought, for you felt, deep inside, that despite the circumstance, the way you felt about Joel was anything but wrong. If anything, it was the only thing in your life that made sense, the only thing that was truly right. “How could I have turned out any other way…?”

She’s quiet for a moment after that, and when she speaks again, the venom in her voice is gone, and the mother you hold so sacredly in your memory, the one she only lets you see on occasion, makes a rare appearance. Her voice gentled now, she says: “I know… I know it wasn’t always right, that I wasn’t always right,” she huffs a breath of laughter and it sounds… almost sad, “But I did love you.” Did love – the past tense spears you through the heart and silent tears drip down your chin, “I’m sorry that I’ve made you believe otherwise, but I did.” And you know, part of you recognizes the truth in her words, despite the pain they bring, you know that she had loved you, she’d just never known how to show you – it was always the wrong way, the wrong kind of love, but it was love. The love of a mother who’d never really wanted to be a mother. 

“I know,” you tell her quietly. 

You were always fighting with her in your sleep. Unable to let the wound close. But you were so tired, you needed to let it go, you now thought. You needed to move on, couldn’t let it rule your life and your relationships anymore. 

You can’t help but think that a broken home is such a funny and strange thing that spits out equally funny and strange people. At once, fractured, disjointed, painful, but at the same time, still a family, still desperate for all those things that make a family, a family. Despite not really knowing what that truly means. Still held together by that obligation of blood, love, need, childhood. Something inescapable, and even yet, in many ways, unbreakable. For you can never truly break a thing like that. It would always live with you, in some manner. You would never be able to forget it, and even if you cast it away, left it behind, forgave, memory was not a thing so easily let go of. It would stay with you regardless of what you did or who you became. Keep its claws in you. But you didn’t think you had to let it rule you anymore, subjugate you. You could forgive your parents for their faults and their let downs, for being human, for being bad parents. If you could not forget, then you could forgive, let go, move on, stop letting their memory dictate you.

She was never a good mother, but she was still your mother, and you’d always known that despite everything, you’d always loved her anyways. You always would. 

You wonder what it was about some women who were able to find such comfort, purpose, stability in motherhood, as opposed to others who saw it only as a prison, a grave. Was it paradox, nature, nurture, personality, fate? Nothing meaningful at all, no reason, it just was? You wished there was a set equation that could tell you what you would be, who you would be, what kind of mother you would turn into, were you to become one. 

And then, in opposition – the plane of fatherhood and all it entailed. What was it that made a man a good and caring father, as opposed to one who drank themselves to death, and left their already very alone child, even more alone? What was it to have a good mother and a bad father or vice versa? To have both of the same? What were the implications, and what sort of creature would it turn you into once their influence had been wrought upon you?

What were the implications of having had bad parents, and then, when the time came for you to become one yourself, wanting desperately to be a good one? How did you do that when you’d had only poor examples? 

How did you escape faithlessness?

You had to wonder, would your father have always become what he had, even if she had never done what she did, if your mother had never left, never been unfaithful? You didn’t think that you could cast all the blame on her anymore. After all, a marriage was a strange and intimate thing, only looked upon in its true form by the two people within it. No one could turn a thing into something it was never meant to be. No one could turn you into someone you didn’t already have within you. This was true for yourself, as well. You supposed, the same could even be said for Joel and Eva. People were what they were. Nature versus nurture, again and again and again. 

You had been so staunchly stuck upon the fact that you couldn’t be the thing to break their marriage apart, when he’d told you, time and time again, that there was already nothing to be broken, that there had never been anything to break in the first place. The marriage, too, had always been what it was. Had you, in your fear and fractured history, tried to make it into something that it had never been for fear of it turning you into that very history you were so frightened of? There were different realities to category, different things held different significance and not everything was the same in perpetuity. 

Categories, labels, titles – husband, wife, lover, mother, father, daughter – was it all useless fodder people ascribed to a thing to be able to bend a person or a feeling to their will? You didn’t think you could tell anymore. The ideas that had always been so securely held in your mind seemed to have all been shifted askew by a man who, in his own right, was beyond category. A title did not make a thing real. But love – that was its own category, of this you were sure. That was a pillar all on its own, its own realm which opened up possibilities and necessities that you were now coming to realize were uncontainable. 

And so, what of you and Joel? Did that count for nothing merely because of a lack of category for what you two had? No. Impossible. Because in many ways, what existed between the two of you was a marrying of your very souls, a melding of them – as if he’d stolen it straight out of your chest. Its own category ascribed to its position in your reality, and thus directing all your actions for the simple fact that you were in love with him, and it could not be swallowed any longer. 

What is it to feel before category? 

Were the labels useless until there was feeling behind them?

All your life labels, titles, promises, promises, promises had never meant a single thing to anyone around you. Not your parents' promises to each other: husband, wife; not their promises to you: mother, father, daughter, family. None of it had ever meant anything, so how could you ever be expected to have faith in the promise of category? 

How did you escape faithlessness? How?

You and Joel loved each other – real. That was its own category, its own faith, in a way. The feeling behind category.

What was it to feel before category? Possibility.

What was it to feel after category? Promise.

There was a real sort of promise in love – no guarantee, surely, for love could be wrong, but intention, for it could also be right. Joel and Sarah and everything he’s done solely for her sake – committing himself to a marriage he’d not wanted, had known would never work. There was a promise in that. A father telling his daughter that he would do anything to give her what a child could need: a family, a home, togetherness, security. He’d sacrifice anything for that. 

You’d always known you recognized something in him, but what was that thing? You’d thought that you couldn’t say, or didn’t want to say, didn’t want to admit it, for too long. Part terror, definitely, part desire, unfortunately –  most horrifying of all, and that which had been your first realization where he was concerned: yourself, kindredness. You saw yourself in him – a great and unbearable knowing. The two of you were the same. And so, it was only then, love. And oh, there it was. Perhaps you could admit it after all. 

For at the end of everything, the simple reality you were now forced to accept was that to know was to love, and you’d known Joel from the first first moment you’d met him, as he’d known you. A thing was what it was, and no matter what category you tried to force it into, it would remain as it had been born as. Recognition was, you thought, what ascribed value, what made the decision in the end. 

-

“You’re cold, Joel. You push people away, hold them at arm's length.” Hours of this interminable back and forth between the two of them. His temples were throbbing. All he wanted to do was fall face first into bed and not resurface until tomorrow morning. But she was getting at something – restless and coiled all day – she was getting ready to make her decision. Eva was leaving.“What woman would ever want to stay for that? You aren’t unlovable… you just won’t let yourself be loved.” He shakes his head at that, not looking at her. Not true, he wants to say. Despite everything, he still thinks there’s a part of you that loves him, you love him, you love him, he knows it. Even if you can’t let yourself be with him, or don’t want to be with him. “And anyways,” she continues, “It was never supposed to be me. I was never supposed to be the one to love you, we both know that. It was never us. We never had a chance. We never loved each other.”

“Did we ever even like each other?” sardonic – and she laughs, high and rueful, at that. 

“You know what your real problem is?” Her voice takes on that especially vicious tone she likes to use sometimes, the one that makes his bones itch inside the confines of his skin. “You’re selfish, Joel. You– you just want me here–”

Now that makes him laugh.“I’ve told you many times… you’ve got no obligation to me, Eva.” He sits heavily on the sofa, elbows braced on his spread knees, staring unseeingly ahead. He thinks that his voice sounds so tired, so unlike the sort of man he wishes he was, a creature he hardly even recognizes anymore. “If you wanna go, then go. I won’t stop you. I won’t hold you back. I won’t resent you for it. I won’t turn our daughter against you afterwards. I’ll respect your decision.”

“That’s not true! You forced my obligation to the two of you when you let me come back. You should’ve never taken me back, you knew it wasn’t what I really wanted. I–”

He shakes his head, “You’re talkin’ nonsense. You can’t cast the blame of your guilt on me because I– I– what? Because I let you come back into our daughter’s life after you abandoned her? That makes no fuckin’ sense, and you know it.” He points a finger down the dark hall towards the room where Sarah sleeps, peaceful and unaware. “You will always have an obligation to that little girl – no matter how far you go or what you do or what you think of me. You will always have an obligation to her. Even if you don’t see it through… even if you leave – it’ll always be there, by virtue of the simple fact that you’re her mother, and no matter how badly you’d like to escape that, you never can.”

“You think I wanted to give up my freedom again? Once I’d gotten it back? But I– I, I felt so – like I was supposed to be here – like it’s what the world expected of me. So here I fucking am – miserable and stuck with you.”

“Evie, darlin’, I’ve never wanted you miserable,” he says softly, reverting back to that nickname he sometimes called her, when they were trying especially hard to get along, when things weren’t, in the rare occasion, so terribly fraught between them. “I told you from the very start of all this, that what happened would be up to you. The decisions were yours to make, and I’d support you in whatever you wanted. I never wanted to force you to do anything you didn’t want to.”

“Well, I didn’t want to have a baby with you!”

He clenches his jaw tight. “Then you shouldn’t have.” He is trying very, very hard to keep a controlled grip on his anger.

“So, what, I should’ve gotten an abortion? Is that what you would have preferred? Gotten rid of her?” He feels very close to rage, hearing her talk of Sarah like this, but he forces deep breaths in and out of his lungs. Tries to remain calm and rational. 

“If that’s what you wanted – I told you that if that was what you wanted I’d have supported you.”

She laughs, cruel and broken. “Please, you would’ve fucking hated me.”

“And?” That wipes the jagged smirk off her face. “I wouldn’t have – I would’ve understood, of course I would have – we were fucking strangers, but even if I did hate you – what the fuck does it matter? I didn’t even know you. What would it have mattered?”

She’s silent at that, almost stunned, for it’s the truth. They’d been complete strangers then. In many ways, they still were now, even after the birth of a child together, after three years of marriage. They didn’t really know each other, not in the intimate or tender ways that made up a real marriage. 

“That wasn’t an option for me.”

“I know. And I accepted that.”

“You should’ve never asked me to marry you.”

His eyes flutter shut, frustration surging again. “I felt it was the right thing to do at the time.”

“But now?”

“What do you want? You want to hear that I regret it? That this was the worst mistake of my life? You want me to tell you that I’ll stay with you forever? What do you want to hear? I don’t– I don’t know how to make this better for us anymore.” He is terrified that his most terrible and painful truth is that he would force himself to remain trapped in this purgatory with her, despite everything else, for Sarah. He is the man that he is, after all. One who is acutely aware that when you try to force yourself into a shape you were never meant to be, it turns you into an angry thing – embittered, cruel, despondent. It’s what they had done to each other. 

She goes quiet, almost deflates, “No. I’m miserable. You’re miserable. You’re in love with another woman.”

He can’t say anything at that – the mention of you in this terrible space they’re creating with their words and their anger feels wrong. You don’t belong here. Although, he has the sudden flash of a thought that part of him wishes very much that you were here right now anyways, sitting in that chair in the corner, if only so that he could turn to look at you, find comfort and strength in your warm gaze. All he can do is nod. 

Suddenly, all the fight and venom seems to leak out of her, and she says very quietly, very sadly: “I don’t want to be with you for the rest of my life, trapped here in this place I never should have ended up in, in the first place. I don’t want to be here at all.” 

He nods, “It’s your decision. I won’t condemn or judge you for it.”

“Wouldn’t you like to make any decisions for yourself? 

“I made my decisions. I’m living with them now.”

“You sound like you’re being punished.”

“Maybe in some ways I am.” You don’t want to be with him anyways, what difference does it make?

“Wouldn’t you like to decide to be with her? Because honey, with three of us it’s a sideshow. You think I don’t know how you feel about her? That I haven’t seen the way you look at her? I’ve known since the start, and I’m glad for you.” And he knows that despite all the rest, she is sincere in this. 

“Just three?” he laughs, ignores the rest. “Surely there’s more of us than that.”

“Oh, suddenly you’re funny?”

“You really think there’s anything about this I find funny?” he spits, anger surging up inside of him again, hot and bright. “I suppose it’s laughable. We sure have turned ourselves into one big fuckin’ joke. But I don’t think we’re the ones that should be laughing.”

“No… you’re right… we’ve turned each other into such sad and terrible creatures,” she says then. 

“Maybe. If so, I’m sorry for that. It’s not what I wanted.”

“No– me either. None of this was.” And he knows she means Sarah. She’d never wanted Sarah, but he can’t focus on that now or perhaps, ever. Sometimes it was just easier to not look at a thing, to swallow it and pretend it’d never existed. He closes his eyes and brings a shaking hand up to drag down his face. 

“This is a broken marriage,” she says. 

And he knows it is true. “Yes.”

“No true marriage at all.”

“No.”

“It is no great loss.”

“But it still hurts.” Also the truth. It hurts him for his daughter, for the breaking of a family – even theirs, as elusive or damaged as it was. 

“Only because you hate to fail at anything.” There is so much resentment in her eyes, and he can’t tell whether it’s for him or for herself or for the entire fractured thing. He so wishes that he could have done things differently, that things had happened differently. But then, if things had happened differently, he, perhaps, would not have Sarah now, and she was worth all of this, she had always been worth all of this.

He shakes his head. “Because we have a daughter together.” He feels so interminably sad for the both of them. For all they cannot and have not had. For all Sarah will not have.

“Was it really ever together? She’s yours. She’s always been more yours than she ever was mine. I don’t feel bad or wrong saying that. Some women aren’t meant to be mothers. Some women have children when they aren’t meant to be mothers. This is not a sin. I am not made evil by my lack of maternal instinct. I love her. I do. Despite whatever you may think, I do, I always have. But I was never supposed to have children. I was never supposed to be a mother. It was never in my nature. And anyways, it’s why she has you. She’s never needed me because she’s always had you.”

He looks down the dark hall towards his little girls room. They’d put up those glowing sticky stars on her bedroom ceiling this afternoon and construction paper butterflies they’d cut out together, hanging from fishing line between the stars. When she woke up tomorrow he didn’t think she’d have her mother here anymore, would not have her by her side, probably, for a very long time, if ever. How was he supposed to tell her that? How was he supposed to help her through that? He didn’t know if he had the strength, the intelligence, to navigate such a difficult thing. But he didn’t have a choice either. He’d have to find everything she needed from him somehow, somewhere – he would. 

“Every little girl needs her mom… but she also needs structure in her life, stability – she deserves to have that. You need to make a decision, a real one, for her sake. I won’t have her waiting by the phone, watching out the window for you for years and years.”

“I won’t be coming back this time,” and although he was expecting it, already knew, he still flinches, like a bullet punching through the space in his heart where he holds Sarah. He nods anyway. “I do– please, I do want you to know that I’m sorry. That I wish it was different. Please, tell her that, tell her to forgive me.”

He wonders why it is, that in the equation of crime and absolution, forgiveness is always the faction that is most readily expected – demanded even? Despite the hurt being something so, so terrible. But he promises that he will, anyway. 

Eva’s gone the next morning. 

Two weeks later, he gets divorce papers in the mail, and he tells Sarah that her mother will not be returning this time – cradles her little body in his arms with equal measures of as much gentleness and strength as he can muster while she cries.

Chapter .8

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

[fandomsaligninstories]

Year Two: Sick Day

Chapter List WC: 1,655

16th December, 1992, Wednesday

No one could find Violet the following morning.

When Hannah, Aimee, and Caroline got up for breakfast, they'd found Violet's bed already made up. Her bag and all of her things were exactly as she'd left them the night before. Caroline brushed it off, while Aimee and Hannah were more concerned.

They'd hoped Violet had just left early for breakfast, but when they got the the Great Hall, she wasn't there either. They grew more suspicious as the meal went on, wondering where the girl could be. Even Cedric had no idea where she was.

By the end of the meal, Aimee had become so concerned that she rushed to the back of the hall, only stopping when she was in front of Professor McGonagall.

"Professor!" Aimee exclaimed, "Violet's missing!"

"What?" The Professor leaned forward, "What do you mean missing?"

"We haven't seen her all morning!" Aimee was quickly becoming a nervous wreck, thinking about what could've happened to her friend, "What if something happened? What if she got petrified?!"

"If I may," Madam Pomfrey moved to stand beside McGonagall, who had sprung up from her chair in panic, "Ms. Ellis came to me late last night not feeling well. She's resting in the hospital wing- Ah, ah!"

Aimee had begun to back away, wanting to run to check on her friend, but Madam Pomfrey stopped her, "Please leave her to rest, Ms. McCall, I fear she needs it. She'll be fine in a day or two."

"Oh," Professor McGonagall sighed and collapsed back into her chair, her complexion oddly pale.

"Okay..." Aimee nodded, "Thank you, Madam Pomfrey."

Aimee rushed back to her friends to inform them of what she'd found out. Madam Pomfrey fussed over McGonagall, asking if she was alright or needed anything. McGonagall only waved her off, stating she was just concerned for her student. Madam Pomfrey knew it was more than that; she'd begun having the same thoughts and concerns about Violet as McGonagall.

Pomfrey had spent five year with the boy they knew, patching him up and helping him through some of his darkest moments. She'd seen the way Violet reflected so many of his physical attributes, from her brunette hair to her ivory skin. Even the way they carried themselves was so similar, with their shoulders hunched and head down, but always with a soft smile.

It wouldn't be long before Pomfrey and McGonagall would speak about the girl and their suspicions and what they would mean if they were true...

▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔

Draco didn't know where Violet was. He looked for her all throughout breakfast, he looked for her in the halls between classes, he looked for her at lunch. He didn't know where she was, or why she'd suddenly disappeared. He knew it was likely because of what had happened the previous night, which made him feel worse about himself.

He'd been beating himself up over his behaviour, for how poorly he'd treated her. He felt nothing but regret, guilt, and anger at himself. He wanted to apologize, to make it up to her, but he couldn't do that if he couldn't find her. Not that he knew what to say or do if he did. This was entirely new to him; meaningful apologies and wanting to make someone else feel better? He'd never done that before.

By the time he arrived to Defense Against the Darks Arts that afternoon, he was ready to crawl out of his own skin. His friends had started questioning him, wondering what he was constantly looking for and why he was so on edge. He only dismissed their questions, not wanting them to know about Violet. He was becoming more and more protective of her, and he knew if he'd told his friends about her, she would no longer be just his. Besides, if the Slytherins found out Draco was rapidly becoming obsessed with a Hufflepuff? He'd lose all respect and become the biggest joke of the house.

For the entire three hours of D.A.D.A, Draco contemplated how he could get one of Violet's friends alone to ask what they knew about her disappearance. He hadn't heard a single person talk about another petrification, so while he was terrified something had happened to her, he didn't think it was that. He just wanted to know if she was okay.

When the bell rang to dismiss class, Draco was across the room and gripping Aimee's arm, pulling her away from her other friends before she even stood from her chair.

"Hey- Hey! Let go of me!" She shouted, though it was lost in the noise of the departing students.

Once at the back of the room, Draco dropped her arm and looked around. Her friends were watching them from the front of the room, but hadn't made any move to defend her.

"Malfoy!" Aimee snapped, pulling his attention back to her, "What was that?!"

He stuttered, suddenly realizing what he'd just done was incredibly stupid, "Uh..."

Aimee squinted her eyes at him, scrutinizing every move he made and word he said.

"I just-" He sighed, exasperated at his own anxiety, "Do you know where she is?"

"Where who is?" Aimee's frustration suddenly morphed into confusion, "Do you mean Violet?"

Draco only nodded, avoiding eye contact.

"She's in the hospital wing-" Draco's entire body tensed up, fear shocking his system. Aimee could see the change, so she reached out and grabbed his arm before he could run, "She's fine! Just wasn't feeling well."

Draco tore his arm out of her grip, staring at the spot on his arm as if it had burned. Slowly he looked at Aimee, his voice a near growl, "Don't ever touch me again."

"Oh, for Godric's sake!" She shouted in his face, causing him to flinch back, "You're the one that dragged me back here! What do you even care anyway? She's nothing to you!"

"You're wrong." He snapped, but refused to elaborate further.

He stormed off before Aimee could say another word. She stood there, staring after the boy as if he'd lost his sanity. Perhaps he had, because after he left the classroom, he sprinted across the castle to find the one professor he knew could help him. Whether or not she would, he wasn't convinced, but he had to try anyway.

▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔

The entire castle was quiet. It was well after nine, so most students were in their common rooms or dorms, settled in for the night. Draco couldn't rest, though, too full of nervous energy. After dinner, he'd been able to collect the things he needed, but was told to wait until later in the evening to do what he'd planned to do.

So, when the nine o'clock bell chimed, Draco made his way out of the Slytherin basement and across the castle, not slowing down until he reached the hospital wing.

Madam Pomfrey knew to expect him, so she didn't bother scolding him when he arrived so late in the evening. There wasn't a single other person in the room, aside from Violet. She was laying on a cot at the end of the wing, facing one of the many windows. He feared she may be asleep, as Madam Pomfrey had warned him that she'd been asleep most of the day.

He stopped at the end of her cot, staring down at her. She was staring out the window, watching the stars and moon move slowly across the sky. Even in the dim light, he could tell she wasn't feeling well. Her chest moved so slowly, he feared she was hardly breathing. And her skin was several shades paler than normal, with a slight sheen to it.

He briefly considered leaving, sneaking away before she could notice him, but when her head slowly turned towards him, he was frozen in his spot. Her eyes were so dark and sunken, but even given her poor state, one side of her lips quirked up.

"Hey," Her voice was rough, barely a whisper.

Draco moved to sit on the chair beside her bed, moving to sit as close as he could. He kept his voice low to match hers, "Violet? What's wrong?"

She settled back into the cot, her eyes closed, "Migraine. I get 'em sometimes. Worse when 'm stressed."

"I'm sorry..." His guilt tripled. He'd been part of her stress.

"Don't be." She could barely keep her eyes open, wanting to go back to sleep. The throbbing in her temple had spread down to her jaw, and the draught Madam Pomfrey had given her was wearing off.

"I just wanted to see you. I... Didn't see you today."

She hummed, her eyes taking in his appearance. He was as put together as always, aside from his hair being messy and tie loosened.

She was losing the fight to stay conscious, but she couldn't help her curiosity, "Worried?"

Draco's instinct was to lie, or make a joke, but he was tired of hiding from her. He promised himself he'd try, so he told her honestly, "Yes. Scared you were petrified, or something."

"Didn't think you cared." Draco knew it was time for him to leave by the way her words were being to sound jumbled together.

"I care. A lot, evidently." He stood up from his seat, suddenly remembering the glass vase in his hands that he'd been clutching, "Oh, I brought you these."

Violet's eyes opened then, focusing on the vase, "Violets? Where'd you find those?"

Draco's cheeks tinted pink; he was glad it was too dark for her to notice, "Professor Sprout. She's got all sorts of flowers. I wasn't sure what you liked, so I hazard a guess..."

Her eyes had closed again, but she smiled softly, "I love 'em."

He sat the vase on the side table, his finger brushing the soft violet petals as he turned away. He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to Violet's temple, murmuring, "Feel better soon." Before he rushed away.

She'd already fall back asleep, but when she woke the next morning, her migraine thankfully gone, the sight of the light purple flowers left her with a permanent smile for the day.

━⊱༻ ༺⊰━ TAGLIST: @stellarlune-love

[datastate]

do you have any hcs about mishima and nao?

SOOO MANY! BUT for now, i'll stick with a small one on their beginning friendship :D

nao used to be very quiet in a lot of her classes; a nice person, certainly, and easy to talk to! but rather closed off unless you tried to pry, where even that would just be rude and she'd say as much.

but of course, there were small things here and there she'd share with her friends should you happen to overhear. usually, it'd be anime/manga that she'd recommend to others (usually horror with interesting concepts, though she wasn't immune to well-written 'slice of life's) - which resulted in hana (her best friend) actually buying her a keychain for her bag!! nao doesn't usually wear/buy merch, as she fears she'll lose/damage them, but... since her friend got it, she felt she'd be disappointed if she didn't show it off.

&...! this is the spark for professor mishima to actually prompt her on her interests; one of the few things she'd end up rambling on about... and he has enough context to keep her going!

it was nice getting to see her actually relax a bit, if a bit surprising to realize that she liked horror so much... and of course, it was when she inevitably brought it back to art (she was inspired to become an artist from such a silly thing, though mishima assures he understands) that she started getting nervous again; as much as she loves it, she can't draw it well. it doesn't feel like it could fit her style much at all - she intimidates herself out of drawing it.

however! mishima does not lose hope so easily. he encourages her to keep trying & experimenting with her art. after all, art is something she should have for herself if nothing else...

although mishima doesn't typically work with horror, he does have plenty of pointers on how to incorporate characters into a backdrop (it provides variation + reflects his current views too... people being a part of something larger, connected through means they don't quite realize); he had a similar start to nao in that he often relied heavily on portraits/character focus, but for that reason can help lead her along into slowly branching out.

a lot of what nao likes is the eerie - something that you have to really look at to realize how off it is. working on backgrounds such as these definitely helps with integrating characters in a more natural manner! and helps improve her work altogether, too...!! she's having more fun than she used to with her personal projects, where she previously felt stagnant but couldn't pinpoint why (and felt guilty to ask hana, as the response would always be a well-meaning "but i like your art! i don't think that at all" rather than critique she wished for), so it was...!! really nice for her to have <3

and... getting to show a trusted adult that, too, made her very happy. her parents didn't often see art as something that'd work out... but she finally felt pride in her work, and had something else to look forward to when it came to classes, rather than simply skirting by day-to-day. it took about a year and a half of school to get here, but... it makes it feel worth it.

it's also around this late time of the year, too, that mishima casually mentions he's trans.

one of the other students is complaining about the cold, and he agrees a bit too personally that skirts are awful in this weather before offering his usual advice... and it's this moment that stays in nao's mind. combined with previous comments here and there about the dysmorphia in horror...

despite this near-confirmation... nao waits until the very end of the year before she admits to the professor that she's trans. she hasn't really socially transitioned yet, only a few friends know, and she's still a bit afraid she might've misunderstood that he's trans... but it all turns out well by the end of it <3

however, since she's about to enter her last year with people who mostly knew her as a boy, it's only when she graduates that mishima offers to help put word in to adjust her uniform; which she greatly appreciates... also, throughout her last year, they get to actually discuss how it is to be mixed & that is when he offers to learn arabic with her. she was never taught it, and is too embarrassed to ask her parents, so he's taken it upon himself to help her with that too... here and there, still as her mentor and friend even after their time in school :'D

[iamfreelikeariver]

Ten Things I've Learned in Ten Runs

The past month of April has been the first time that I've exercised consistently in my adult life. My mental health was taking a hit due to my lack of movement, so I decided to make a change! This has been a massive learning experience for me, and I've only ran 10 times so far! Here's what I've learned :)

1. Progress is NOT Linear

Some days feel easier than others. Some days I don't feel like running. Some days I can run fast and some days I can't. That doesn't mean that something is wrong... it means I'm human.

2. Routine is Key

I run every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Even though I've only been running for a month (well... almost four weeks), my Mondays/Wednesdays/Fridays don't feel complete without a run! For me, I can't stick with sporadic exercise. My routine helps me stay consistent.

3. Running is Hard

Yep, you've heard it here folks. It makes me sore, and it makes my knees hurt a little. I can't run very fast or for a long time. For someone who's coming from zero exercise (me), it's going to be hard! Running is supposed to be hard! Don't get discouraged.

4. We All Need Help

It's normal to not know how to get started. I certainly didn't despite being a runner in middle/high school. I actually use an app on my phone. After searching the app store, I mostly found expensive subscription-locked apps like Couch to 5K. Finally, I found Just Run. It's a completely free, 9-week program that eases you into running. I really REALLY recommend it!

5. There are Benefits to Running

My whole life, I've heard about the benefits of running. Sure, I believed it, but I had never felt those benefits in real life. After 10 runs, I'm finally feeling it. I have more energy, and I generally feel better. I've dealt with chronic fatigue and chronic illness for a long time, but running has helped me feel a lot better!

6. Food Tastes Better?!

I'm a pasta lover. One of my recent hobbies has been experimenting with making different pasta sauces from scratch. Before I started running, the big pasta dinners wouldn't make me feel bad per se, but it felt very heavy on my stomach. With exercise, a heavy dinner fits a lot better in my stomach. After a run, my body really wants pasta, and the pasta tastes even better!

7. It's a Confidence Boost!

Before I started running, I was pretty down on my body. A lot of women (and/or AFAB people) experience a sort of "second puberty" in their twenties. This is often characterized as a change in hormones, weight gain, and other body changes due to high fertility (like widening hips). Now that I'm an adult, I have an adult woman's body! I didn't start running to lose weight, but that was one of my goals. After 10 runs, my body doesn't look any different, but I don't care about that anymore! Running has helped me love my body as it is. I see it in a new light, and I feel strong.

8. It's Nice to be Outside!

I run outside in my neighborhood. Gyms, tracks, and treadmills are not for me. Running outside has let me spend time in the sun. I've gotten to see lots of dogs, cats, and native birds. I know the details of my street and the houses on either side. I've waved to neighbors and had moments of solidarity with fellow runners. It's nice!

9. Running Time IS Me Time

I'm a very busy person. Between class, work, family responsibilities, having friends and a partner, and more, I don't have a lot of time for myself. I was worried that running would just add one more thing to my long To-Do list. However, running does not feel like work. It is as fulfilling as doing art or playing guitar. My runs are only 30 minutes so they fit perfectly into my day.

10. I Like Running

My whole life, I've always said "I hate running." I didn't think running was fun or helpful or good for my life. In just 10 runs, my mindset has changed. I like running now because it makes me feel good in so many aspects of my life! It's not for everyone, but it's for me as it turns out! I look forward to continuing this journey.

[stargazer-sims]

Eden + Toy + Drink + Bearded (I know this is three words but I'm curious to see what you come up with. Plus I got these words randomly from a writing app I have.)

I’m working my way back to the rest of these @dandylion240. Here’s the next one. I had fun with this 😃

—————

Eden Seong is tired of group skating classes, he’s tired of his cousin Yi-Joon calling him by his Korean name, and most of all, he's tired of people thinking he needs a babysitter.

He's ten years old — practically a teenager — and he doesn't understand why someone can't just drop him off at the rink and pick him up again after. That's what the other kids’ families do. But no... stupid Yi-Joon has to sit there the whole time with his tall caramel macchiato or whatever and watch Eden practice like he actually knows something about skating.

Eden is just so... mad. About everything.

It's bad enough that Mommy can't bring him to the rink for his Saturday group class because it conflicts with Charlie and Sadie's art lessons, but now Dad can't bring him either because he decided it would be a good idea to join a community theatre group. So, that leaves his eighteen year old cousin, Yi-Joon as the only adult available to take him to the rink.

Yi-Joon came from South Korea back in the summer, and he's supposed to be living with Eden’s family for a year. It's February, which means Yi-Joon's time with them is only half over. Eden's not sure if he can put up with him for another half a year.

Eden grabs an orange safety cone and starts to push it around the ice. These silly orange pylons are another thing he dislikes. It's so babyish to have to skate around them like a beginner. He can already do a bunch of double jumps, and he’s secretly taught himself to do a triple toe loop, even though his coach said she didn’t think he was ready for it. He's so far ahead of everyone else in the group class, he feels embarrassed on their behalf.

His coach, Beth-Anne, isn't here yet. No one is, except for him and Yi-Joon. HIs cousin is obsessed with not being late for anything, so they're usually at least thirty minutes early for everything, and it's annoying.

Keeping one hand on the pylon, Eden rotates himself around it. Then, he picks it up and pretends he's ice-dancing with it.

"Yeon-Jin! That's not a toy!" Yi-Joon shouts from the stands, where he's sitting with his drink from the fancy coffee place he insists they have to stop at every Saturday.

Eden puts the pylon down and turns to glare up at his cousin. "My name is Eden!" he yells. "And stop telling me what to do! You're not the boss of me!"

"I am when your parents aren't here," Yi-Joon says.

"You are not!"

Frustrated, he spins around and kicks at the pylon. He's not sure how it happens, but he somehow loses his footing in the process of swinging his leg forward, and ends up landing on his bum. He yelps, startled by the impact.

He doesn't mean to cry, but Yi-Joon is laughing. He calls down to Eden, asking if he's okay, but the amusement in his voice completely wipes out any kind of concern he might've been trying to show. Eden can think of a thousand mean things he'd like to scream at his cousin, but he can't make any of them leave his brain and make their way to his mouth. He's crying too hard for that.

It's in this state that his coach finds him. He doesn't realize she's there until he hears her say his name. There's a lot more empathy in Beth-Anne's voice than had been in his cousin's.

He swipes his hand across his eyes and then looks toward one of the gates that opens onto the ice surface. Beth-Anne is there, and she has somebody with her; a slender, bearded man with glasses and floppy brown hair. The man is dressed in athletic pants and an oversized blue sweatshirt as if he's going to skate, but he obviously isn't going to because he's on crutches.

"Eden, are you okay?" Beth-Anne asks as she begins to glide toward him. "What happened?"

Eden scrambles to his feet and skates directly into her waiting arms. He sobs for all he's worth, heedless of the gaze of Yi-Joon or the bearded man. Beth-Anne hugs him tight. She's really the best at hugs, maybe even better than his mother.

"Everything is awful!" he manages to get out.

"Now, I wouldn't go that far," Beth-Anne says. "Everything can't be awful. There's got to be something that isn't."

"No... everything."

"Are you sure?" she asks. “What about grilled cheese? And ballet?"

Eden has to pause for a second to consider her words. He sniffles, and concedes. "No."

"There. You’re not awful either, and I’m pretty sure I’m not. So, everything's not awful. Just certain things."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Can you tell me why you're crying?"

"I fell.”

“Did you hurt yourself?”

“No.”

“Is there anything else that’s upsetting you?”

“I don't want to do agility with the cones any more," he says. That's only part of it, but he can't tell her the whole thing. Not with Yi-Joon there, and not with a stranger standing nearby. "I don't like group class. It's too easy and boring."

"I've been thinking about that, actually,” Beth-Anne says.

Surprised, Eden pulls back so he can see her properly. He’s pretty much done crying, and he rubs his eyes to clear them of tears. "Really?"

"Hmm..." She lets go of him and straightens up. "You'll start competing in the Novice division next season."

"Yeah," he says.

"I'll need to talk about it with your parents, of course, but I agree with you. I think you've outgrown group classes, and I think if you really want to keep skating competitively, you should have individual coaching all the time."

"Will you do it?" he asks. He hadn't expected this particular plot twist, and he suddenly forgets all about being angry and upset. Instead, he's excited. "I want to keep skating and maybe even get to the Olympics some day, and if you were my coach, that'd be awesome."

"I'll be your coach for the next couple of years, if that's what you and your parents want," Beth-Anne tells him. "When you're ready for Junior division, you might need somebody who can give you more time and attention."

"Somebody?" he echoes, curious. He can't imagine not having Beth-Anne as his coach. "Like who?"

"We'll have plenty of time to figure that out, but maybe this guy." She gestures at the bearded man. "You know, if he learns everything I'm going to teach him about coaching, and if the two of you get to know each other and decide you can get along."

Eden shifts his attention to the man. "Do you even know about skating?"

The man looks entertained. "I might know a thing or two."

Beth-Anne smiles. "Eden, this is Nikolai Pavlenko. He won gold at Worlds last season." She gestures at Eden and continues, "Nik, meet Eden Seong."

Nikolai Pavlenko. Eden scrunches his brow in concentration as he studies him. He recognizes the name, but... "My parents let me stay up to watch a bunch of stuff from Worlds last season. I watched your free skate, but you look different than you did when I saw you on TV."

Nikolai strokes his chin. "Maybe it's the beard. It's new."

"I like it. You think I can grow one some day?"

"Probably when you're older," Nikolai says.

"I'd look cool with a beard." Eden strokes his own chin, trying to imagine himself older and with facial hair. "If you were my coach, could you teach me to do quads?"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Beth-Anne says. "You can't even do a triple yet."

"Yes, I can!" Eden retorts, and then quickly claps a hand over his mouth when he realizes he's just tattled on himself. "Um, I mean... Triple? What's that?"

Nikolai laughs out loud. "Oh, I already like you."

Really?"

"Beth-Anne, remember the back flip?" Nikolai says.

"Oh, lord..." Beth-Anne groans. "Don't give him ideas."

"Back flip?" Eden inquires.

"Never mind," says Beth-Anne. "Forget you heard that."

"Can you really do a triple, Eden?" Nikolai asks.

For a second, he panics because he doesn't know how to answer without getting in trouble. He glances at Beth-Anne, trying to guess how she might react.

It's almost like she's reading his mind. She shrugs. "If you can, you can. Never mind that I told you not to try it."

"I can," he confesses. "A triple toe loop."

"You don't become a champion without taking risks," says Nikolai. "You told me that, Beth-Anne. Remember?"

"You were my first student. What did I know back then?" she says.

"Eden, how old are you?" Nikolai wants to know. "You're starting Novice next season, so ten or eleven, right?"

"I'm gonna be eleven in May," he says.

"And you can do a triple already. Nice." Nikolai meets Beth-Anne's gaze. "Can he show me?"

Beth-Anne spreads her hands ln a gesture that Eden decides must mean basically tne same thing as shrugging. "Does it look like I can stop him?"

"You really wanna see it?" Eden says. "Beth-Anne, can I show him right now?"

Beth-Anne waves him back toward the centre of the ice. "You might as well go for it. Move a few of those cones first, though."

Eden grins, thrilled by this new turn of events. He pushes the pylons off to the side, one by one, making sure to get Yi-Joon's attention as he moves them around. Yi-Joon is frowning, as if he's the one who's mad now because Eden got to play with the cones after all and didn't get scolded for it by his coach. He feels a kind of wicked pleasure over that.

Once the pylons are all out of the way, Eden prepares himself for his jump. He pretends he's at a competition and that the stands are filled with spectators. Even if it's only in his imagination right now, his music is playing and he times his strides to the rhythm in his head, building up momentum.

Beth-Anne always tells him to picture his body as a spring, coiled tight and ready to unfold as he jumps. When he's ready, he leaps, spins...

One rotation. Two. Three.

Yes!

The landing isn't great, but he doesn't fall or stumble as he touches down. In his imagination, the crowd goes wild, cheering for him. The pretend spectators toss teddy bears and bouquets of flowers onto the ice.

In real life, Nikolai Pavlenko actually does cheer, and Beth-Anne lets out a breathless, "Well done!"

Eden skates back to them and gets rewarded with another hug from Beth-Anne. Still exhilarated from what he's just done, he exclaims, "Did you like it? Was I awesome?"

"You were awesome, sweetheart," she says. "I'm not letting you do that again for a while though, understand? You're brilliant, but it's not a good idea to rush you along. There'll be plenty of time to work on triples and quads when you're really ready, okay?"

He nods. "Okay."

"All right. Your friends are going to start showing up for class soon, so it's time to start putting the cones back. I'm going to help Nikolai find a place to sit, and then I'll help you set them up. Sound good?"

"Sounds good," he agrees.

He can't help showing off a little as he slides one the pylons back to the middle of the ice. He stops every few seconds to do footwork around it, and checks for Yi-Joon's reaction. He thinks he notices Yi-Joon mouth the words, "I'm telling your mother."

Eden sticks out his tongue at him and goes back to dancing with his cone.

Behind him, he distinctly hears Nikolai say. "When we're both ready, yeah. I definitely want to be his coach."

[awrldalone]

24th September 2023, 8.21pm

The library at Centre Pompidou is open until late at night. I look out the window and my reflection stares back, wearing a yellow v-neck sweater. I bought it recently, it's soft and it was cheap. I bought it used, hesitantly, because the weather turned unexpectedly cold after two weeks of extreme heat and I had not yet received the rest of my winter clothes from Italy. They came two days ago, in big heavy boxes, and while I was putting them away, neatly folding them on my bed to then store them in the drawers under the mattress, I realized how much I hated them. 

On the metro I was wondering if, perhaps, my love for clothes, my fascination with fashion, is not just another attempt at controlling what I look like. There's only so much you can do to tailor your looks - cutting your hair, losing or gaining weight, taking care of your skin - but it all does not matter in front of your genes, your bones. I will not settle for what my genetics have given me. It's such a childish thought, but sometimes childish delusions are what you need to keep going forward (shoot for the stars and maybe you'll land on Mars, at least). I see a lot of eccentrically-dressed people here, and I wonder if they'd agree. Clothes do in fact go beyond the restrictions of your ribs and clavicles, of your hips and femora, but the same exact reasoning could be applied to coats and corsets, sweaters and shirts: underneath all the fabric is the naked skin. 

I still struggle with comparisons. I wish I could move on to different rhetorical devices, but before I know it I catch myself red handed staring at a boy's jaw without him noticing, at his curls, at the way his nose cuts the air, at the whiteness and regularity of his teeth. I never look away, I just close my eyes for a few seconds. It's such a persistent thought, regardless of who I am with or of what I am doing. It catches me off guard. My heart drops. Yesterday night, after ditching a boring party, we went at An.'s, and while lying in her bed I realize I was obsessively measuring my looks with Th.'s. Does that make me shallow? I can drown on the shore. I always think I'm getting better and then I see someone's profile picture on twitter, or a boy's post on instagram, or just a stranger's face on the street. So irrational. It's irrational to think looks do not matter, but it's even more irrational to think they matter this much. I am more than my face, than my body.

While waiting for class to start I was talking with Ca. and she confessed she was scared about our exams, in January, because she's used to getting good grades. I told her the obvious, that grades are not all that makes up who she is. But now I have to admit that this kind of rhetoric is leaky, full of holes. My grades, my looks, they are not all that there is to me, I am much more; but I am more in the sense that besides those things I am other things, in the sense that I am those things, I am my grades, my academic performance, my looks, because if I started liquidating as not important every aspect of my life that begins to fail I would end up devoid of everything. My looks don't define me. My grades don't define me. My clothes don't define me. My inability to write something worth reading doesn't define me. My struggle with French doesn't define me. My well-hidden anxieties, my fears, they don't define me. But then what does? The things I like? The books I read? The music I listen to? Is there really nothing to me besides the media I consume, art created by other people? Quite the opposite, I think everything is defining. Everything is a different color, and we are polychromatic. Attractiveness, our tests and essays, numbers, the art we create, the art we enjoy, it all makes up our ego. We just need to accept when our ego fails, that it's inevitable, but acceptance is impossible because we believe to know ourselves so well that, when presented with a faulty version of ourself, one that lacks a specific identifying attribute, we refuse to believe it. We simply cannot. 

Today is the last day of my first week of university here. It was hectic. I like that word, the way the tongue bends in the mouth. I still have to get used to living so far from the faculty, going back and forth, running to catch the correct metro. 

So far I enjoyed almost every class. A few were disappointing, especially History of Ancient Art, for which I was extremely excited and then extremely let down. It disappointed me twice, once at the tutorial, where the professor – a sweet-looking lady that reminded me of my elementary school math teacher – seemed underprepared, anxious, agitated. She barely looked at us, she kept glancing at her powerpoint, reading the lines as if it was a script. The second time was at the plenary session, where the professor – with whom I'd gladly drink a coffee, but from whom I doubt I will learn anything – confessed he essentially wants to do what they used to do last year in the Netherlands. It angered me, so I drank water in silence. 

Other courses were a surprise. My professor for Introduction to Private Law is amazing, which balances out the fact I hate the subject. The professor for History of Art of the Renaissance is also good. The one for Methods of Archeology is a bald, buff Italian man who speaks French with the mannerism, cadence and accent of an Italian. He's charismatic. A great talker. My friend said his accent is charming.

I finally figured out how to move around in that concrete maze. 

While I was going to class every day, Ma., the one who came to middle school with me, was staying at my apartment. I casually offered it to her, and then she actually decided to come. I was serious when I told her she could come, I just was not expecting she would. She's the reason why my last entry cuts off so abruptly, as I needed to stop writing to go pick her up at the bus station. 

She striked me as unprepared. She is starting her thesis very soon, and she should be finishing her bachelor's this coming year, but throughout her holiday I realized how behind she is. It's not her fault, and it's not a race, and frankly I am grateful to have had the chance to do all that I've done and learn all that I've learnt. We went all the way to the top of the Tour Eiffel, even though we were one hour and a half late when reading the time written on our entry ticket. Years ago my parents told me it was not worth it, that from that high up you can barely distinguish every building, that you might as well go up until only the second floor. They lied. Perhaps they had just not been able to book the ticket to get to the top, but I remember taking the stairs so vividly, walking between the brown iron webbings of the tower all the way to the second floor. This time, Ma. insisted on taking the elevator and on going on the top. She freaked out when we were late, and I just told her we should try to see how far we would get by acting as if nothing was wrong. The answer to the question is anywhere, you just need to put up a charismatic smile, at times make up a lie, and go ahead with a confident walk. We recognized every building from above the clouds. We even tried finding my building, but it was indistinguishable among the others, past the Arc de Triomphe. 

I started reading The Year Of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion. Every page breaks my heart. I read it standing still, one hand gripping the metal bar of the metro and the other holding the book. 

-c.

[lovinkiri]

Undercover Wild Cat, Chapter Nineteen

Description: The group's plan goes into motion. There are a couple of disagreements, and not only are feeling revealed, but so are intentions.

Warning: None.

Art Credit: @.jabberwockyface

OC Credit: @jix-the-dragon

<<< × >>>

Izuku and Yaoyorozu were understandably serious as they made their way over to the other three, but it calmed no one’s nerves. Even when they stood before them, the air was heavy, and no one spoke for a moment.

Eijirou, Sasha, and Todoroki exchanged a few glances with each other. The question was hanging in the air, and they were growing anxious. Were Izuku and Yaoyorozu on board with their plan? Though both of them wanted Bakugou back badly, there was no way of telling if they’d agree to risk it all to save him. The worst-case scenario was the villains find them and they lose their lives. The best-case scenario was they save Bakugou and face punishment from the school and the commission. Either way, they’d be glad to take the risk if it was to save Bakugou was saved.

“So, how about it?” Eijirou asked, leaning forward. If he were sitting down, Sasha was sure he would be sitting on the edge of his seat. “Will you do it?”

“Just know that even if you don’t, we’re not holding it against you. We’ll just find another way. Though your help would make things go a lot easier.” Sasha said. She couldn’t blame Eijirou. She was just as nervous as him. She just wanted her friend to know that she could also understand their fears and worries.

Yaoyorozu paused before answering, looking at the ground between her and her friends. It was obvious that this decision had been tough on her, and Sasha felt a bit guilty, but she knew it was worth asking. After a moment, she began speaking, “I think that-”

Sasha heard footsteps and turned her head to Iida before he could say a word. “Iida...” She said, frowning. “... I’m sorry about how things went down in there, but…” She was going to say that their plans hadn’t changed, but he’d already known that.

Everyone seemed surprised to see Iida, obviously not having expected him to come out and meet them. Sasha had figured he would, having seen him listening in when Eijirou told Izuku where to meet them tonight.

“Why are you here...?” Izuku asked though he assumed it was to convince them not to go through with their plan. Sasha and the others had come to the same conclusion, preparing themselves for another quarrel. Sasha would only let this quarrel last for so long though, they didn’t have all night to fight.

“Hold it right there…” Iida said, clenching his fists. “You. Why did it have to be you two of all people?” He asked, and Sasha knew he was speaking to Todoroki and Izuku. They’d gotten closer and had fought against Stain with him. The commission had been the ones to inform Sasha of that. “The ones who stopped me when I acted recklessly. Who received amnesty with me after Hosu. Why are you trying to make the same stupid mistakes I made? Didn’t you learn?”

“What are you talking about?” Eijirou asked, walking up to Iida with a confused expression. Todoroki placed a hand on the redhead’s shoulder and shook his head.

“We’re still just students,” Iida started again, unable to look the group in the eyes. “And UA’s in a bad position as it is. Anything we do will reflect on our school! Don’t you get that?” He exclaimed, his voice cracking a bit.

This time, it was Izuku who walked up to Iida, and no one stopped him. “Iida, we have to do this. I know you don’t like breaking the rules, but-”

Before he could finish, Iida punched Izuku, almost knocking him down. As the others watched in shock, Sasha ran to Izuku’s side, making sure he wouldn’t fall over. “Iida! What are you doing?!” She looked at him.

“I’m frustrated too! And concerned, obviously! I’m the class rep, damn it! I’m worried about my classmates! Not just Bakugou!” He seemed to be looking straight at Izuku. “When I saw your injuries, all I could think about was my brother in the hospital! What if your bodies end up irreparable, just like his because I didn’t step in?! Didn’t you stop to think about the position I’m in?!”

Sasha looked back at Yaoyorozu, Eijirou, and Todoroki. Iida’s pain was obviously weighing on them, and it hurt Sasha too. She didn’t want to place all of this pressure on Iida either.

Iida grabbed Izuku’s shoulders and shook him a bit. Izuku stood there and let him, listening to everything Iida had to say and letting him finish. “Or do you just not care about how I feel?”

Izuku waited as if trying to see if he had more to add, then spoke quietly. “Of course, I care...”

“Iida...” Shoto said, gaining his attention. “You’ve got it wrong. We don’t expect to fight them head-on and win. We want to get him back without fighting, and we will.”

“Yeah, we’ll be stealthy,” Eijirou added, trying to reassure Iida. “I’m talking covert ops here. We won’t be caught, and we won’t end up fighting. We can rescue him without breaking the rules, I know it.”

“I trust in Todoroki’s judgment, but...” Yaoyorozu said, holding a closed hand to her chest with a worried expression. “Still. Things could always go wrong. So I’ll join you as backup. I’ll stand behind my classmates.”

Everyone looked at her in shock, Eijirou not being able to stop the grin on his face. “You’re the best!” Eijirou said, Sasha smiling softly at Yaoyorozu’s devotion to her friends. It was obvious that Iida wasn’t pleased by this, looking at her as if he’d just been ignored. “Are you being serious right now?”

Then, everyone was looking at Izuku, as he’d begun speaking. “I know that I’m injured. But if I can still move at all, I can’t just sit still. I have to reach out and do something. Because all I can think about is saving him.” He looked up to meet Iida’s eyes, his voice calm and quiet. 

Sasha nodded in agreement. “Bakugou is our friend. We won’t abandon him. I’m sorry that we put you in this position, Iida...” Iida looked at her, showing that he was listening to her. “But this just isn’t something we can give up on.”

There was a pause as if everyone was trying to collect their thoughts and let everything that had been said sink in. A lot had been thrown out. A lot of feelings, a lot of concerns, and a lot of fears. Sasha wished she could have done something to calm her classmate’s worries, but she couldn’t. The best thing she could do was ensure their safety.

She couldn’t deny that what they were doing was dangerous and risky. She felt a lot of pressure to keep them safe, not just because they were her classmates, not just because she was an agent, but because they were her friends. Her only friends. She’d do her best to make sure nothing happened to them, and to save Bakugou, but even she was scared that her will to save everyone wouldn’t be enough. Still, it wouldn’t stop her from trying.

“I can see that we aren’t going to reach an agreement,” Iida said, now considerably calmer than he was just before. “So, I’m going to come with you.” He said to the group, sounding just as determined as they had in their decision.

Just like with Yaoyorozu’s decision, everyone seemed surprised, maybe even more so. Iida, who’d just been yelling and trying to convince them to change their minds with every fiber in his being, was now joining. Though Sasha knew he still wasn’t completely okay with their plan. Still, she was glad to have him by their side. Being divided wouldn’t do anything good for them anyways.

“We should get going then,” Sasha said, nodding to Iida to acknowledge how thankful she was for his huge compromise. “If everyone is on board, we shouldn’t waste any time.”

The others seemed to be in agreement, and they began leaving the hospital. Sasha was wondering how Izuku and Yaoyorozu had been able to slip away so easily. They were either really stealthy or they were somehow able to convince the staff to let them out themselves. Either way, she was just happy they’d made it, though she knew Izuku would end up here no matter what.

Eijirou wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer, and she looked at him curiously. He smiled down at her and rubbed her shoulder reassuringly. “I’m really glad that you’re okay. And thanks, for doing this with me. I wish Kaminari was here, but I don’t blame him... You think he’ll be mad at us?”

She laid her head against his shoulder and sighed, taking a couple of seconds to think before answering. “Maybe. I think he’ll be super worried. But it’ll be all worth it when we get Bakugou back, right? He’ll understand... I think.”  She answered, an ear cocking down as she thought about it. She hoped Denki would understand. She knew he wouldn’t hate them, but they’d definitely get a scolding from Denki, something she never thought would happen.

“Midoriya.” Iida started, making Izuku turn to look at him. “I shouldn’t have hit you back there. I’m sorry. Forgive me.” He said, bowing to make his point. Izuku seemed like he didn’t know what to do, not having expected it. “Hey, it’s fine, you don’t need to apologize!” Izuku said.

Sasha shook her head. “Just let him, Izuku. You shouldn’t punch your friends.” She smiled, watching Iida deepen his bow. “But it’s great that Iida acknowledges that. He really is a great class rep.”

Iida straightened up and returned Sasha’s smile, and Sasha sighed as she felt the tension between them melt away all at once with that exchange. She didn’t want to fight Iida, and though they weren’t the closest, she cared for him. He was still her friend.

“I still have some concerns, Iida,” Yaoyorozu said, looking at him. “Like why did you change your mind so quickly? I had the rest of the day to make my decision, but you...” She trailed off.

“To be clear, I’m coming because I don’t condone your behavior, it’s as simple as that. If there’s even a hint that we’ll end up going into physical combat, I’ll make you all retreat immediately. So, in other words…” He pointed to Izuku. “I’m your watchman!” 

Sasha hummed softly. “I guess if anyone here needed a watchman, it'd be Izuku, right?” She pointed out, laughing under her breath with Eijirou. “You’re right. Midoriya is always ready to fight for his friends, not that it’s a bad trait in my opinion.” He agreed.

“I agree with Iida. Saving Bakugou is the pro’s job. Objectively speaking, there’s no reason for any of us to go after him. However, I understand how each of you feels, so I’m compromising.” She said, reaching behind her and then pulling out a tracker.

Sasha nodded. “And we appreciate both you and Iida for the compromise. But keep in mind, I’m an agent. I’m not planning on being involved in combat, but I will do what I have to in order to complete my goal, Bakugou’s safety. Also, I have my license and I’m authorized to fight villains.” She could feel their stare on her, especially Eijirou’s. She could feel his worry, but she continued. “I just wanted you guys to know where I stand. No matter what I have to do, his safety is my responsibility.”

“Hey...” Eijirou stopped her, watching her worriedly. “Let’s just think about this some more, okay?” He suggested, and Sasha felt guilty. She wasn’t a normal student, she felt a lot of responsibilities, both personal and professional. As much as she loved her friends, Bakugou’s safety was at risk. She wouldn’t lose him, no matter what.

When everyone had made their intentions clear, they continued on their journey. Sasha was confident, but she was also scared. This was her first time going against the commission. The people who, despite everything, had promised to help her figure out what happened with her parents. They’d given her that opportunity, which is why she’d remained loyal even though she knew they were using her as a child soldier. She’d completed every mission they gave her because they’d also been giving her leads on All For One. 

But how could they expect her to abandon everything now? How could they expect her to abandon Bakugou when he needed her the most? Maybe this was the difference between being an agent and being a hero. As an agent, you simply do what you’re told. As a hero, you do what you know needs to be done. How interesting, it seemed like she’d been thinking a lot more like a hero than an agent lately. She’d been acting with her heart, something she was taught not to do, but something she knew heroes did something. Maybe she was meant to be a hero deep down. But would she be able to completely separate from the commission?

Looking at Eijirou, she couldn’t help but smile. His determination truly astounded her. She was used to being in harm’s way, but he wasn’t. Yet he was still so brave, so willing to risk it all. Sure, he was a hero in training, but his resolve wasn’t something that could be taught. It was something deep within him, something she loved about him.

The thought made her blush and she looked at her feet. She’d just used the word “Love” to describe Eijirou for the first time. She wasn’t sure if she loved him, it was a bit early to tell. But she loved his resilience. She loved his kindness and his respectful nature. She loved his jokes and the way he held her hands. She couldn’t say she loved him for sure, but she loved everything about him, and that was a fact.

She knew that if Bakugou were there, he’d end up making fun of them. He’d tell them to get a room, and probably call them idiots for not getting together sooner. He’d scoff and roll his eyes, but he’d still end up grinning when he thought no one was looking. Sasha figured that’s why he tried to push her buttons so much because he knew she was looking. Of course, she was. He was one of her first best friends. She wouldn’t let a rare Bakugou smile go unnoticed, not in a million years.

Thinking about him and her friends was good for her. This way, she’d fight even harder if it came down to it. She knew the others wanted to avoid a fight, and she agreed with them. But if it came down to it, she’d fight All For One himself if it meant saving Bakugou and her friends. She wouldn’t let a single thing touch a hair on their heads, let alone harm them at all. She’d already felt like she let Bakugou down in those woods, and she wasn’t going to do it again.

The group found their way to the train station and onto the train. They took their seats, Sasha right next to Eijirou. She leaned into his side, letting him pull her into him. They gave each other comfort in this complicated, scary situation. No matter what, they were doing this together. He was her rock, so to speak, and she was his.

“The coordinates indicate Camino Ward, Yokohama City in Kanagawa Prefecture. We’ll end up betting there in about two hours, so everyone use this time to think.” Yaoyorozu said to them, looking down at the tracker in her hands. She’d been hoping through all of this that the group would change their minds as they got closer to their objective. She wanted them to realize how unrealistic their plan seemed and wanted them to leave this to the pro heroes.

“So, we should arrive at around ten o’clock tonight. We’re only two hours away from saving him.” Sasha said, earning a nod from Yaoyorozu.

“So, um…” Izuku started, speaking to Todoroki but gaining everyone’s attention. “Did you guys tell the rest of the class about this? Do they know what we’ll be doing tonight?” He asked with a worried expression.

Todoroki nodded and leaned back against his seat, shutting his eyes. “Yes. And they tried their best to talk us out of it.” He admitted. Eijirou swallowed what he was eating and added to what Todoroki had said. “Oh yeah, even Uraraka ganged up on us and tried to get us to change our minds.”

Sasha could see that conversation happening. Not only was Uraraka just a caring person in general, but Sasha could also see that she and Izuku had something going on. Well, she had something going on with Izuku at the very least. With Izuku being injured, she could only imagine how worried she must be. Uraraka has always had so much compassion for others, Sasha wished they didn’t need to make her, or any of her classmates, worry like this.

Izuku looked down looking crestfallen. It was obvious he felt the same way as Sasha, not wanting to make the others worry. He could only imagine how his mom would feel when she found out about this. He hated breaking her heart, but he couldn’t quit now. He wouldn’t let Bakugou slip from his grasp again.

“Just to make sure, you know we’re going against everyone’s wishes,” Todoroki crossed his arms, watching them closely. “And being completely selfish by doing this. We can call this off if we want to.”

Eijirou leaned forward. “Does it look like I want to turn back? Bakugou wouldn’t think twice about going after the villains if he were here.” He spoke. Sasha nodded, tapping the claw of her pointer finger against the soft armrest. “Exactly. He’d do the same for us. We’ve already come this far.” She added.

She knew he was right. Knowing Bakugou, we wouldn’t hesitate on a decision like this. Though he seemed like he didn’t care for them, she had been hiding her feelings long enough to know that he cared more than he showed. And when Bakugou cared about something, he went after it. That showed in how he went for his dreams so hard. 

“How are you feeling about all of this, Izuku?” Sasha asked, looking at the freckled boy in front of her. He was there when they’d lost Bakugou, running to reach for him right by Sasha’s side. The both of them had reached for Bakugou together and both of them were too late. She knew he was just as broken up about it as she was, if not more, having been Bakugou's childhood friend. 

Izuku looked up to meet her eyes. “... He’s my friend.” He went into thought for a moment, as if he were reflecting on something or choosing his next words. Then his gaze hardened. “I refuse to turn back.”

Sasha smiled slightly and leaned forward. “Thank you, Izuku.” 

He tilted his eyes, his eyes softening at her grateful tone. “Huh? For what...?” He asked in confusion, furrowing his eyebrows. 

“Well, when everything went down in those woods, you didn’t doubt me. You trusted me and believed in me. That meant a lot to me.” She said, looking down at her hands. She’d been meaning to thank him for a while, but she hadn’t been able to with him being in and out of consciousness. And of course, they’d devised a plan to save Bakugou as soon as he woke up.

He blinked owlishly before returning her small smile. “You don’t have to thank me, Sasha. I didn’t believe for a second that everything was fake. Maybe you were an agent, and it kinda hurt that you lied about that, but you had to.” He chuckled a bit, shrugging. 

Eijirou nodded, nuzzling Sasha. “Yeah, exactly. I knew there was no way you didn’t care about us. The way you fought with us, the memories we shared…” He pulled away to meet her amber eyes. “I held onto that because I trust you.”

Sasha leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek, touched by his words. “Thank you, Eij. For so much. I’m happy that I met you, to be here with you. With everyone, honestly.” She said, kissing his cheek once more. 

He returned her smile. “I’m happy you’re here too, Sash.” He said, but his smile slowly began to fade, his expression getting serious. “That’s why I need you to be careful. I need you to come with us if things go bad.”

She shook her head, looking down at her lap. “I can’t do that, Eijirou. I’ve been fighting my whole entire life; I won’t stop now. Not if I have to.” She sighed, her gaze fixed on her palms. “I’m not looking for a fight. But if things do go bad, rely on me. I know you’re worried, but you guys are students. Worst comes to worst, you’ll have to retreat.” 

She took a breath and looked up with resolve. “But not me. So instead of trying to convince me to run, please put your faith in me to fight. And I promise that if things come to that, I’ll find my way back to you all. As long as my friends are relying on me, I feel like I can’t fail. So, depend on me.”

A silence took over, something that had been happening a lot tonight. There were plenty of mixed emotions among the group, but it was obvious no one wanted to leave Sasha behind. Still, they wouldn’t deny her request. If Sasha was dead set on this decision, they’d support her and cheer her on.

“It won’t get to that if all goes well. So, don’t worry. Trust us to make sure it doesn’t come to that.” Todoroki spoke, surprising her. She and Todoroki never spoke much, but they’d always had a mutual respect for each other. They acknowledged each other’s strength and persistence. Another thing they had in common was their strong bond with Izuku. 

Iida nodded. “I know it’s weird for us to treat you like a normal student, but we care for you. Like I said, I’m the class rep and I want to keep my classmates safe. That includes you, Sasha.” He sighed. “I admit, I had a hard time believing in you when we heard that announcement in the woods, but… Now that I know the truth, I’ll put my trust in you. So put your trust in us.” 

Sasha sat with her mouth agape before she slowly nodded. “Yeah, okay. Let’s put our faith in each other.”  She said, leaning back into the cushions of her seat.

Once that conversation was closed, Sasha allowed herself to withdraw into her mind. It was a tradition to get lost in her thoughts on her way to a mission. Technically, this wasn’t a mission. It wasn’t handed to her, in fact, the commission specifically told her not to handle this. But still, a personal mission was still a mission.

All of the talk of things going bad had made her think of Naomasa. She knew he would be disappointed, and worried sick. All he ever wanted was for her to be safe, and to tell him if she was going to do something risky. She couldn’t risk telling him this though. As much as she trusted him, what they were doing was wrong, at least according to the pros, the commission, and the police. According to all of the adults, in fact. He would definitely stop her, if not because it's his job, he’d do it to keep her safe. 

Still, the worst-case scenario was she never came back home, just like her parents. She wouldn’t even be able to say goodbye. She didn’t want to leave him with the grief she’d been feeling for so long. Just thinking about how heartbroken Naomasa would be if something happened to her, there was no way she’d let that happen. 

She was going to return home after all of this was over, and all of them would end up back home with their loved ones. And that included Bakugou.

- Camino Ward, Kanagawa Prefecture -

“So this is Camino Ward?” Izuku asked, looking around curiously.

Sasha nodded. “Yeah, pretty busy, right?” She hummed softly. It wasn’t her first time being here, she’d come to this area for a mission or two once before. The crowd could be quite annoying sometimes, even now, Sasha had to turn down her hearing pieces. Missions would have been a lot easier if she’d had these earpieces a long time ago.

“The villains are hiding somewhere around this city, right?” Eijirou said, clenching his fists. “Just tell me where to go!”

“Wait for a second!” Yaoyorozu yelled after him, Sasha quickly wrapped her arms around his waist to stop him. “Woah, hold your horses, Eiji!” The leopard girl said, holding back a chuckle as he immediately stopped running in her arms. He turned in her arms, looking at them curiously.

Yaoyorozu looked at all of them, pointing a finger up to make her point. “From now on, we need to be extremely careful. After all, the criminals already know what we look like, right?”

Sasha nodded. “Definitely. If not from the woods, then from the Sports Festival, so they’ll know our quirks too, so we should be careful of where and how we use them.” She pointed out.

Izuku nodded at them. “Yeah, you guys are right.” He struck a pose, using his arms to make an “X” over his face. “Stealth mode.” He said quietly, crouching a bit.

Sasha couldn’t help but snort in laughter at the pose he’d pulled. She knew they were supposed to be serious, but in her defense, that was the least serious thing Izuku could have done.“I think you’re standing out even more Midoriya.” Todoroki said, looking at him. 

Iida placed a hand on his chin. “This is going to be difficult, you know. We won’t be able to scout if we’re recognizable.” He looked down as if thinking. Yaoyorozu spoke up, her cheeks a bit pink. “I actually have an idea, though it’s kind of old school.” She said, pointing to a shop behind her.

- 35 Minutes -

They all came out in their disguises. Sasha wore a black hoodie with a long black wig, also wearing sunglasses to hide her familiar amber eyes. She hummed softly, looking at herself. “I don’t look too bad.”

“Right?” Eijirou said, grinning at himself in the mirror. He fixed the jacket he wore, pulling at his sleeves a bit. “I kind of dig it, you know?”

As they left, Sasha couldn’t help but giggle as Izuku began putting on this “tough guy, gangster” act. “Watch it, you punks! Get lost!” He shouted, hands in his pockets. As Eijirou began critiquing his performance, Sasha grinned. It seemed he had drawn inspiration from Bakugou.

Todoroki asked Yaoyorozu why she hadn’t just made the disguises herself, and she began talking about how if she started making everything, it would impact the economy badly, and that it was their civic duty to “ensure the flow of commerce”.

“So, she just loves to go shopping.” Sasha smiled, shaking her head. “She’s honestly kinda adorable.” She thought to herself. She’d never seen Yaoyorozu get so animated about something, but it was nice to see.

When she was calm, Yaoyorozu began leading the way. “Come one, it seems we’ve got to go this way.” She said, making the others follow. 

“Woah, it’s UA high!” 

The others jumped and quickly turned to see what the ruckus was about, only to see everyone looking at a giant screen.

Sasha sighed in relief, knowing they were closer to saving Bakugou. Their mission was almost complete. The best thing she could do was do her best and hope that things turned out according to plan. On the screen were Principal Nezu, Vlad King, and Aizawa.

“Looks like they have an announcement to give,” Sasha said, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “This is unexpected. I wonder what they have to say…”

“We are here to apologize,” Aizawa said, making Sasha frown as he continued. “A recent incident allowed harm to come to 27 first-year heroes. We staff were ill-prepared. We take full responsibility for any trauma caused by our negligence.” The three of them bowed to make sure their message got across. “Our job is to train heroes, but also to protect heroes in training.”

“This is crazy. He hates being on TV.” Eijirou spoke, craning his neck to stare up at the screen with the rest of them. Sasha nodded in agreement. Everyone knew that “Eraserhead” didn’t like being in front of cameras. He was kind of like an agent working under the commission in that way, doing his job under wraps.

A reporter began talking about how so many attacks had occurred with the first-year students, pointing out how there were quite a few students injured this time. He concluded by asking how they explain these instances to the parents.

Izuku, who was clenching his fists, began to speak but trailed off. “They’re treating them like…” 

“Villains.” Sasha finished for him, glaring at the screen. While it was true that the students were under UA’s watch and responsibility, she knew that it wasn’t all their fault. It was more her own fault than theirs, but Sasha also knew she was following orders. It seemed like everyone was paying the price, with guilt and press conferences. Everyone except…

“I really didn’t want to go as far as I did. I wanted to stop after what happened at the mall. But I had my orders,” Sasha said, narrowing her slitted eyes.  It didn’t make sense how everyone looked down on her, on UA. But no one thought to look down on them. “So why aren’t the ones who gave me orders taking responsibility? Don’t tell me... Am I a fall guy?”

[alyjojo]

Advice to Work on Yourself 🦄 in March 2023: Sagittarius

Ace of Wands - 8 Cups rev - Judgement

Regarding: 4 Swords

You’re having to deal with a repeated situation, which may be karmic in nature with Wheel of Fortune here, and relating to work. I don’t know what specifically, but there are a lot of ending cards and energies here. 4 Swords is taking a break, possibly forced, along with 2 Pentacles rev just not being able to handle everything that’s thrown at them. Some of you are losing a job, or that could be how it played out the first time you went through this cycle, because whatever this is, it’s repeated. Deja vu.

8 Cups rev shows having to come back to a situation that’s hurt you before, rocked you to your core, pulled the rug out from underneath your feet…the first time. Now when this happens again, you’re ready, you’ve been through enough to where this situation may not even stress you in the least, and you’ll have no problems confronting this head on. You’ve grown a lot wiser (and probably older) in the period between then and now. The only advice, don’t just sit idly by, speak your piece, take action, get information.

Animal Oracle: Camel 🐪

“Trust that you have the resources to get through the challenges before you.”

Sometimes it feels like you’re journeying across a vast, lifeless desert that stretches behind the horizon with no end in sight. Journeying across this seemingly barren landscape before you, your thirst for comfort and solace during these times can most readily be satisfied by looking to your inner resources. All the experiences you’ve had in your lifetime, the challenges you’ve successfully faced, and the wealth of knowledge you’ve accumulated can be called on not only to cope with any type of adversity that presents itself, but to help you move forward with courage and determination. First, identify where you want to go and then proceed slowly, steadily, and deliberately toward that objective. As you move along, cast away your fears, doubts, and hesitations whenever they arise, letting the four winds lift them up to the sun to be burned away. Ease your mind and heart, and know that all is well and you’re protected at all times. Call upon your helping spirits who have assisted you up through this point in your journey. You have what it takes, you will get through this!

Artist Oracle: FRIDA KAHLO

- Convalescence lasts a lifetime. You don’t spell painting without pain.

- Art is your most loyal companion.

- Externalize your internal world.

Advice:

- Be Well-Read and Well-Rounded

- Attend a Yoga Class

- Break Your Sugar Addiction

Charms:

Alice 🐇 on Death could show this previous event happening to you as a child, or less literally, it could be a part of your childhood is ending in some way, and you’re having to release it. This can be anything, family/friend related, work is here, places you used to go or things you used to do, something is ending in a way that leaves you feeling vulnerable to nostalgia. There doesn’t seem to be any choice in the matter, it’s not up to you.

Broken Heart 💔 on The Tower is the past event that came out of nowhere and pulled the rug out from under you, changed your entire life and broke your heart too. There’s a before and an after this happened time period of your life, that’s how Towers work. 8 Cups rev could show this as a person or the situation is coming back around, and this time you’ll have to face it head on.

Starfish ⭐️ on Judgement is regeneration, everything in this row shows you’re a lot stronger now than you were in the past, you’re not even stressed. You may still be cutting with your communication and quick to charge ahead & take action. You may also cut something off before it becomes an issue because you can see it coming. Either way, you’ve got this 💯

[stupidkidcrazyradical]

This!

I'm Czech, my parents and grandparents lived in socialist Czechoslovakia - a USSR satellite state! It sucked! And it's absolutely horrid seeing leftists INSIST that it was a functioning state, let alone some sort of a utopia, when you grew up hearing stories about just how horrid it was.

And my ancestors didn't even have run-ins with the state or authorities at all - it was the completely standard, non-rebellious living that already sucked. Absolutely zero supply or anything, waiting hours in line for something like a dishwasher and still very likely not getting it because they made like 5 of them and they're only available at this one local supermarket so good luck, not being able to express individuality in absolutely anything because they would make one kind of lunchbox or school bag or purse and the next day everyone would own exactly that cause there was nothing else. This isn't a cry about how you couldn't be materialistic - this is a cry about how you literally had no choice, if you wanted to get anything for yourself, be it a necessity or a "luxury" like a bag or clothing, good luck cause now you look the same as everyone else and it's exactly what the government wants - for you to lose all sense of individuality. Dolls or other toys were my parents' generation wildest dreams mostly, and if they got lucky they'd get a banana or an orange for Christmas thanks to our country's relations with Cuba.

In 1953, there was a monetary reform which made the currency go 5:1, with no warning. One day, it was just suddenly announced that 50 "old" crowns (currency) would be worth 1 "new" crown. So obviously, suddenly no one could afford anything anymore, cause they had to turn in the majority of their money. Days before, state officials were on radio announcing that there was going to be no such reform and people spreading such information were class enemies. And yet. My elementary school teacher told us the story of a woman she knew (I think it was her grandmother or aunt or such, it was a long time ago that she told us), who'd been saving up to buy this cabinet set for years, always coming to check whether it's been bought yet, she looked forward to that cabinet set, that was her ambition. Store clerks and such were informed of the reform the day before. The clerk at the store with the cabinets understandably felt sorry for the woman and let her know of the reform in advance, very likely risking loosing his job and even getting in trouble with the state police. She had almost saved up for the entire set at that point and came in to buy it the day before the reform, only not being to afford a single one of the cabinets. She never made enough to even get that one missing cabinet.

Not to mention the fact that people who's kiss the soviet's ass would get higher up positions, bonuses, better pay, the possibility to travel abroad, and so on. Practically it wasn't just a life of rebelling that sucked in the socialist countries, but even a life of staying neutral. Anything but adoring and openly praising the system uncritically sucked.

And that's just normal people - there's no shortage of artists and activists that were imprisoned, executed or had to flee due to their art being too controversial or critical. Even those that weren't persecuted outright were under strict rules and there are several artists regarded as the best of our literature whose writing dipped extremely low in quality thanks to the censorship. Writer Milan Kundera, songwriter Karel Kryl or filmmaker Miloš Forman all had to flee the regime to escape prison time and very likely, execution. And they weren't exceptions in the slightest. They didn't do anything at all wrong - just made art. Granted, sometimes it was art that depicted or criticized the reality of living in their country, but that art is found under all regimes and in all societies in all periods ever since making art was a thing.

Said anything at all bad about the country, government or god forbid the USSR? State police on your ass. Didn't attend a may 1st celebration, or you did and didn't seem enthusiastic enough about it? State police on your ass. Created or attended to art that didn't praise the system? State police on your ass. You went to *gasp* a church? You guessed it. State. Police. On. Your. Ass.

Some of our politicians have a working for the state police during the past regime - and it's hugely frowned upon because that's just how inherently horrible the state police was as an extension of the regime.

Now, granted, it wasn't all exclusively bad. For example, we were one of the first countries to decriminalize homosexuality in 1961. And it was achieved through the soviet regime trying to present itself as the antithesis to fascism - the people pushing for it used the fact that punishing people for something they couldn't control was inhumane and not fit for a regime priding itself in its humanity. But this was done AGAINST the wishes and orders of the USSR, and its quite obvious if you look at the fact that to this day many post-soviet countries have no queer rights, even going so far as to constitutionally define marriage as being between a man and a woman, making same-sex unions impossible.

For most people who lived through the regime, the soviet regime is a huge, painful scar on the past of their country and their own lives. It kept them from pursuing their hobbies, going to university, pursuing their dream career or even just a good one, traveling, listening to foreign music (i.e. things like rock or jazz, the Beatles records for example were brought in and sold illegally).

Note, in all this, I focused on ordinary people. I didn't even mention the ones getting sent to work camps (be it just to work in the mines in Moravia for example or straight up being deported to a gulag never to be seen again, without so much as a trial), the hugely corrupt judicial system and practically fake trials where they would torture people into confessing to things they didn't commit before executing them (see for example Milada Horáková).

I'm heartbroken for my ancestors and their broken hopes, ambitions and all that they had to abandon for the sake of their and their families safety, retaining their privacy, their children being able to go to university, putting food on the table, every time I see someone claiming to be a leftist waving around a hammer and a cycle, or even defending anything the USSR did.

The thing is, I have nothing against socialism or communism as a political ideology; trust me, I'm as anti-capitalist as they come. The leftism is really not the problem here.

The problem is when in their leftism, people – Americans, really, and western Europeans – use the ussr as this sort of goal, this complete antithesis to the modern capitalist society, this almost-utopian place to live. They use hammer and sickle symbol, the ussr anthem; sometimes, as a joke, sometimes, not so much.

Not only that clearly shows that they know absolutely nothing about the ussr – it's also spreading russian propaganda, whether it's on purpose or not, which is especially insidious now, when russia is literally committing a genocide.

The ussr wasn't a socialist utopia where everyone is equal. It was a totalitarian dictatorship, responsible for colonisation and genocide of multiple people and cultures. Just like the russian Empire before it. Just like modern russia continues to do now.

For many Eastern European and Central Asian people, hammer and sickle is not just a symbol of a political ideology. It's the symbol, under which people were starved to death, imprisoned or executed for daring to write in their own language; in which cultures were erased, people – forcefully assimilated, stripped of their own national identity.

It's the propaganda of being "the same people, the same nation" that russians love to use; that westerners love to believe, for the sole reason of the oppressed daring to look similar to the oppressor; for the sole reason of Americans being unable to look past their own history and realize oppression comes in many shapes and forms.

By using the ussr symbols in your political movement, you're denying the atrocities commited under that symbol and spreading russian propaganda, whether it's on purpose or not.

It's not "progressive" to wave around a hate symbol.

Do your research.

[apexart-journal]

Hanna Saarikoski in NYC, Day #3

It's dark and warm, I'm getting used to the sounds of the city, the window is open to let in the evening air and the humming, beeping, sirens and distant music. Last night I finally got enough sleep, which is a relief, when I'm too tired I have trouble sleeping at all, and I don't know how to enjoy and absorb or even survive when that happens. 

I arrived here one day later than expected. Due to a technical problem the connecting flight from Manchester was canceled and I had to stay there overnight. On Tuesday morning the journey continued via Dublin and an adventurous airport race here. I arrived at the apartment around 6pm and after unpacking I walked around the block and bought some food just to get a first impression of the neighbor. I tried not to fall asleep too early, and I succeeded, but unfortunately I woke up at 4am. I guess it takes a while to get used to the time difference. 

The next morning Nia came over and introduced me to the gym, laundry room and other good-to-know tips.

We took the metro to apexart and had lunch with Steven. It was interesting to hear their opinions on politics, the mechanics of the art world, and much more. The afternoon was more discussions: first about literature with Nia and then at the therapist's appointment. I hope I'll be able to express myself better in the next sessions, I was so tired that I jumped here and there and couldn't find the words. But it felt natural and good to talk and I'm really looking forward to next week's appointment. In the evening I had another activity, an intro meeting at SGI-USA. I didn't know too much about their practice before, but it felt good to chant with them, and everyone was very friendly and welcoming.

Today I've been exploring Union Square and learning some Argentine tango. In Union Square I was supposed to play chess, but I never got that far when I found the most interesting and thought-provoking book stand right next to the chess tables. There were many, many books, carefully curated and displayed so that the books together created a sense of larger context and aroused curiosity. And there was a sign announcing that the books were not for sale. I asked what this was all about, and ended up in a very long, deep discussion with the woman behind the project and the bookshelf. It's true that books are much more than objects you can buy. At some point the police came to talk to her. It seems that she has a problem with them because she doesn't have a permit to be there, but there are actually rules for those who sell things on Union Square. She had really good points about the law, the role of the individual in shaping the law, including situations where individual morality and ethical choices override a mechanical interpretation of the law. At some point I had to leave, but I promised to come back and continue the discussion. I really hope that the administration has the flexibility and understanding for her project and that she can stay as long as she wants. 

Dancing is very scary for me, I need a lot of time alone to learn the steps, and in the middle of strangers I lose track completely. It doesn't matter if I make a fool of myself, but I feel sorry for my dance partner. So tango in Sutton Park was number one on my fear list. Fortunately, the happenings in Union Square somehow put my feelings in perspective, and I went with light steps. I wasn't the only beginner, and it was safe to practice with a great teacher and in a supportive atmosphere. I was lucky enough to dance with a partner who was so experienced and kind that I thought he was a member of the dance school or something, and it made everything so much easier for me. Before the class started, I chatted with a charming lady who hadn't danced for a long time, but had decided to start again. After the class was over, I asked her if she planned to come back next week, and she said she would. As a surprise to myself, I said that I'd come too, if I had the time. It would be great to learn more, I really enjoyed the lesson.

[casspurrjoybell-33]

Wreakless - Photography Exhibition

*Warning Adult Content*

Emmett Locke

We're having a perfectly nice meal on Thursday evening when I mention the exhibit that's being put on tomorrow. It's been on my mind all week but I'm ready. 

The canvases are all dropped off and I can finally look forward to it instead of just being nervous.

Strike that, I'm still nervous but there's some excitement along with it instead of just fear.

There are two other people the class that I'm really excited about seeing their work and even if the exhibit tanks... I have learned a ton.

"Tomorrow?" Finnegan gasps, then pulls his cell-phone from his pocket.

"I thought it was Saturday. What time?"

"Three to six, why?"

What is that look for?

"I can't with you sometimes, Emmett. Why?"

This boy really knows how to scoff.

That is a massive eyeroll.

Looks painful.

Oh.

"You don't have to come or anything, darling."

Again, a look.

Oooh, his nose is into it now, he's squelching it up at me and those eyes are not happy.

What?

"Do you not WANT me to come?"

No, no.

"You're welcome, of course Finnegan but I know you're starting production Monday and I remember what happened last time so I don't want you to worry about it."

"I'm worried because you're telling me this now. If you had mentioned it before I could have scheduled around it. I'm gonna tell Megan this is your fault."

Anything but that... I need Megan on my good side so that I can sneak into his office for fun lunches. Yesterday was really, really nice.

"Finnegan, really, you don't have to come."

"Because? No, no, don't answer that. I'm coming."

"It's just photography, Finnegan."

I know how he feels about it and museums so I don't expect him to be interested.

"Just because we're together doesn't mean you have to do shit you don't enjoy."

He reaches out and grabs my hand.

"I don't care if you're smearing shit on the walls and setting it on fire, Emmett Locke... this is your thing and I will support your thing."

Okay, he's scary now.

"You ever watch dance moms? You're scaring me, darling."

"No, I have no time for foolishness. And for the record... I enjoy your photography quite a bit. Is this about the 'art' comment at the Walters? Look, I apologize and even if I don't think it's art, that doesn't mean I can't appreciate it. I don't think golf is a sport but I have no problem with people playing it, Emmett. You can be really good at something that's not... Okay, bad example but whatever. Ugh, you. What is with you tonight?"

Then he mocks me, faking my voice.

"It's only this hugely important exhibition that I've been wanting to do for years. Why would you, my boyfriend, want to come?"

I'm laughing, I can't help it.

He even pushes fake hair out of his face.

I get up and take our dishes to the sink.

"Oh stop."

"No, you stop. I'm coming no matter what you say."

Now it's his turn to blush.

"That sounded SO dirty."

"Yes it did and I may have to teach you a lesson, darling."

When I turn around he's smiling and walking towards me.

"I love lessons and I'm sure you have some pent up energy with tomorrow and all, don't you?"

"I do. We can't have me going into the exhibition all pent up, as you so eloquently put it. We're gonna hammer some of that out right now."

Finnegan Walker

We have a fault on the line and the circuit boards aren't passing.

I wanted to be out of here ten minutes ago to head over to Emmett's exhibition and instead I'm on the floor talking to my engineers.

They seem to have a solid plan, thankfully.

"Look, tweak it and run it again. I'll be back."

I've never been to this campus but the building they're holding the exhibition in is massive and there are a million cars here.

I'm way overdressed so I lose my jacket and take off my tie.

Better.

Still, better to be overdressed than under although it's getting really hard to be under dressed anymore.

Seriously, the things people wear outdoors shocks me.

I wouldn't wear half of that in front of Marten, much less other people.

I sign in and go through the double doors and am taken aback.

It's fancy and really well done and there's a ton of variety.

I pass by six large photographs of faces but they've been edited so all the colors are strange.

It's hard to describe.

A section of small black and white cityscapes ends abruptly and the next student's photos are all of nudes.

Everything is covered, mostly but I'm struck by how angry all of the subjects look.

I see Emmett's now, he has the large corner at the end of the first path.

"Hi, darling."

He gives me a hug and I know he doesn't mind me being here. 

It makes rearranging things today more than worth it. 

"Thanks for coming," he whispers into my ear.

The first picture I notice is my car.

Well, my old roadster.

The bumper and headlight is smashed in and there's no doubt that he took this right after the accident.

"You photographed this?" I ask, reaching towards it.

"Don't touch the photographs," a guard yells and I yank my hand back.

"Sorry."

Emmett just puts his hand around my waist to reassure me.

"I did. The before and after. That's the theme of my collection," he tells me.

I spend a few minutes looking at all of them and though I recognize two, the rest are all new to me.

"These are really good, Emmett. Not that I'd know but..."

"Thank you. I actually talked to a guy, he wants to buy the rights to the beach one. They supply hotels and doctor's offices, stuff like that."

He's smiling and sounds really proud of himself.

I don't know exactly what that entails but...

"Congratulations, Emmett." 

I'll get my lawyers to look over whatever they send him.

"Thanks. He's talking a ridiculous amount of money for a photo. Maybe I can go down to part time at the garage and have more time to take care of you and do some photography."

"More time for photography definitely sounds good to me and I'm not gonna argue with the other part either, Emmett. I'm behind you one hundred percent, do whatever makes you happy."

My cell-phone chirps and I have to check it. 

Looks like we're up and running. 

"Crap, it's work. I really need to go back soon. I'm sorry."

"Don't be, I didn't expect you at all, really."

I've circled back and I'm staring at the wreck that started it all.

"At the exhibit or in your life, Emmett?"

"Both but I'm really glad you're here. Who knew that you turning on red would be such a good thing for me?"

"It was yellow," I hiss

"But you're right, it was definitely worth it... air bag trauma and all." 

Someone important is trying to get his attention and I step back.

"I'm going to go. I'll take you out to dinner to celebrate."

"That sounds good...and darling?"

"Yes?"

I love when he calls me that.

I love that he does it in public.

I love that he loves every single part of me.

I'm a lucky, lucky man.

"Drive safe."

I always do.

**** THE END ****

[romans-artblog]

Starting from scratch.

It’s been a while since I’ve needed to type on a computer; I used to work in an office job and use computers every day, but now I work in luxury fashion and it’s more hands on – a lot less computer usage. I used to write nearly every day when I was studying at university as well, but it’s been over a year since I graduated now.

I’ll start by introducing myself. My name is Roman, I’m 23, 5’2”, and a Scorpio. I’m from Liverpool, though my scouse accent is not that thick. I have an educational background in art and economics and studied Fine Art at university – I graduated with a 2:1. I’m predominantly a painter, inspired by the Italian renaissance and baroque periods, but in the last couple of years I have found myself experimenting with more modern styles when using art as a form of therapy, and these works seem to have a much more pop art visual inspiration. I enjoy collage and quick sketches to resolve personal feelings that I can’t just mentally work through.

While I studied Fine Art at university, during my 3-year stint in higher education I discovered that my real passion was not the practical production of artwork itself (although I do still enjoy making art when I have the time), I found that the theoretical and historical review of artworks was where I really found my groove. Every semester my grades in the ‘art history modules’, as we called them, would exceed that of the more practical courses. If I’m very honest, in my first year I thought about asking my course leader whether I could change paths and instead pursue the History of Art degree that my university provided in the same building – the course leader for that degree hosted our theoretical module lectures on a Tuesday, so I already had somewhat of a relationship with her. Ultimately, I didn’t make the change as, and looking back on this now I feel my reasoning was a foolish mistake, I had already made friends on the fine art course. I didn’t want to miss out on the social aspect of university either.

I graduated July 2022, and since then I have been working in luxury fashion, as already mentioned. I won’t go into this too much, but it was more an opportunity that fell into my lap during a desperate time rather than an active decision to go into the premium industry, and while I’ve always had a love for designer fashion, it’s not where I want to stay for the rest of my life. I plan on doing my MA soon (next year or two perhaps?) but there are no university’s that do an Art History course that I could reliably commute to everyday within the vicinity of Liverpool, so it will require me to move to a different city, and I’m not very good at dealing with change.

So, in the meantime, I’m trying to get back into the swing of writing about art – sometimes critically, sometimes just expressing my own opinion. I guess it’s just so I don’t fall out of practice. I spent 3 years and over £27,000 on my degree, I don’t want to lose the critical writing skills that I paid such a high price for. The last real piece of writing I did about art was my ‘dissertation’. I use that word rather loosely as that wasn’t what it actually was – my university ditched dissertations for the fine art course a few years before it came to me writing mine, but we still had to complete a 5,000-word essay on any topic of our choice. As my educational background before university was in art and economics, I decided to write my paper on the financial underworld of art forgeries and the ethics of selling fakes. This paper is still one of my greatest achievements if I’m honest. It was the only module in my final year that I got a first-class grade in. I’ll be posting it after this, just as a starting point.

It’s the first day of 2024, and this year I’d like to make some steps forward in my career, even if it’s just the odd post to this blog. Actually, I’m going to write a little list of goals for 2024:

Write more about art. Does NOT need to be volumes, just the odd thing here and there.

Decide whether I’d like to set up my own website for my writing (dependent on goal 1, not much point of a website if I’m only going to make 1 post a year)

Decide when and where I am going to do my master’s degree.

Become more active in the local art scene. Never let anyone tell you that there is no art up north. I made quite good friends with 2 girls on my university course who are now the new stars in the Liverpool art scene, so perhaps I should see whether they’d be responsive to me witing about their shows.

Quit smoking. Not art related but just as important all the same.

And that’s a little bit about me. Like I said in my goals, I’m not too sure how often I’ll be writing or posting. Honestly, other than doing my master’s degree, I don’t even know where to start to try and get my foot in the door of the world of writing critically about art, but I need to start somewhere, so this is better than doing nothing.

(Every post prior to this was made during my time at university - during first and second year we had to keep a blog where we made posts about our own artwork as well as visiting lecturers works. I was never good at writing about my own artwork and it was rare that I actually enjoyed the visiting lecturers works, so I never really did the blog thing successfully. I want to keep the posts up regardless, as it also gives a bit of insight into my past.)

[amanitaphalloides]

ok it's really hard finding resources to get through winter because people will be like "i love winter, i just veg out without guilt and relish that there's no pressure to go sit in a beer garden somewhere!" (quote from reddit) and like i'm happy for you but our brains are diametrically opposed so that is useless to me. so if anyone is curious or doing this same activity here is my annual winter survival plan. as an extrovert who hates vegging, is not a home body, wants to be outside doing activities, and for whom sitting in a beer garden with friends is almost heaven. my biggest struggle and reason i always make a plan is because i am happiest when i'm getting out and about but my motivation is so low in the winter i really need to give myself assignments in advance to whatever extent is possible. also i realize this may sound crazy but i have used asana to plan activities that keep me from losing it for the past several years and that works well for me #projectmanagement 👍

Reminders

Standard time lasts from November 3 to March 9, ie 126 days

The time between November 3 and December 21 is only 48 days!

My goals

Establish a sustainable morning routine that gives me a sense of personal time before work and ideally involves getting some sunshine first thing

Establish a sustainable after-work routine that signal sto my brain that work is over and re-centers me and prepares me to have a nice, present evening

Plan weekly activities. This is not meant as a strict schedule but as guidelines for myself as someone whose executive function nosedives in winter and needs stricter plans to make myself do things that will make me feel good.

Plan monthly things to look forward to

Make sure I am socializing at least twice a week

Daily Routine Planning

Most important things to do daily

Go for a walk

Happy light

Take vitamins

Move my body

Get out of the house

Connect with friends in a way that feels individual and meaningful

Also very helpful daily practices

Gratitude journal (or articulate and reinforce gratitude in another way)

Pick up house

Draw or paint

Dress in a way that makes me feel good

Daily routine mock up - WFH

6:30-7am: Wake up, get dressed

7-8am: Write

8-9am: Take a walk even if it's just 5 minutes, read

9-9:30am: Happy light while getting started at work, have breakfast, take vitamins

Lunch break: Take a walk or bundle up and read on the porch

5pm: IMMEDIATELY take a post-work walk around the block. Do not overthink this just go unless it’s storming on that level that’s it’s dangerous to be outside.

After work: Do one of my rotating weekly activities

Evening: Pick up house for 15 minutes, 30 mins yoga, pick out outfit for next day so I don’t have to depressingly fumble in the dark

Daily routine mock up - in office

6:30-7am: Wake up, get dressed, have breakfast + vitamins, head to office

7:30-8:30am: Workout 

Lunch break: Take a walk even if it's just around the building

Evening: Do one of my rotating weekly activities

Before bed: Pick up house for 15 minutes, stretch, pick out outfit for next day

Weekly Routine Planning

Weekly post-work schedule mock-up:

Monday: Writing group, take a bath, chillax in an intentional and cozy way. Plan week. Who are you hanging out with? What's for dinner? What new recipes are you gonna try? 

Tuesday: Invite myself to a friend’s house. Do not postpone. If you don’t socialize on Monday or Tuesday you will go insane. 

Wednesday: Go to a class

Thursday: Host or attend friend movie or game night. If this doesn't pan out force yourself on a friend again.

Friday: Go to happy hour or dinner or a movie depending on how weekly budget is looking

Periodic and one-off activities to toss in:

Parties

Weekend trips

Dinner parties

Concerts

Da club

Events at local establishments

Friend art night

it's that time of freaking year again who's creating their little personal winter survival plans and guides

[casspurrjoybell-28]

Alpha's Temptation - Chapter 16

*Warning: Adult Content*  

I get to class and find Jay in the seat next to mine.

He asked the teacher to switch spots earlier in the week so we can 'study together' but mostly we just end up talking.

He's also been walking with me to art every day and we sit there together too.

But I'm a little concerned about him sitting next to me in math because one thing he's really good at is distracting me and math takes a lot of brainpower and concentration for me to do.

"Hi," I greet him as I sit down.

"Hey. You look like you got negative hours of sleep."

"Oh, is it that obvious?" I ask sheepishly as I press my hands to my face, wanting to cover the dark circles.

This fight of mine with Daemon has a habit of keeping me up at night on top of already having insomnia.

"You're still pretty as always. Just tired looking," he smiles at me and I flush.

I don't know if I've heard him right because I think he just called me pretty.

He must be joking, right?

Yeah, he's probably just 'teasing' me as he said he likes doing.

Because when I looked in the mirror this morning I was tempted to call it quits and just stay home from school because of how atrocious my appearance was.

But Lucien doesn't like me missing school so I forced myself to tear away from the mirror and settled for wearing a hoodie.

"T-thanks," I say, going to focus on my work.

By 4th period I'm feeling totally grumpy and I know it too.

Every little noise and interaction I hear or see from the other students grates on my nerves and I just want to bang my head against a wall.

Well, not literally but I'm pretty close to doing that honestly.

So when I walk into class and realize I'm going to have to deal with Trent's daily harassment I'm not in the least bit looking forward to it.

No later than a second after I sit down am I barraged with a question from the Alpha.

"Why were you absent yesterday?" Trent asks nosily.

"Because I was..?" I reply, wondering why Trent thinks that he will ever be someone that I'll confide in.

Actually, I was absent because of the chronic anxiety stomachache I have that chose to flare up yesterday but Trent doesn't need to know that does he.

Trent scowls, twirling his pencil around on his hand then loses his control of it, sending it rolling off the desk.

He makes no move to pick it up.

"That's not an answer."

"Maybe that's because I don't feel like giving one," I huff, pulling out my notebook and slamming it a little too hard on the desk.

Trent hasn't even said all that much but I'm already on my last nerve.

"Someone's PMS-ing," Trent smirks condescendingly, drumming his fingers on the desk as he eagerly awaits my reaction to his remark.

I cannot do this today.

Is Trent actually dumb?

Why am I even asking that, yes he is.

"You don't even know what that means," I roll my eyes, and from the snarl that comes to his face I know I'm right.

"Hey, watch your mouth, runt," Trent glares. "And pick up my pencil for me."

He motions to the half-used yellow pencil that he's just dropped.

"What?" I look at him like he's crazy.

"I said, pick it up," Trent demands.

I chew my lip, amazed at the audacity of his request.

Then I summon the courage for my response, taking inspiration from Lylah.

Because I'm not going to take Trent's shit any longer.

"No."

Trent raises his eyebrows, shocked that someone disobeyed him.

"What did you say to me?"

"I said no."

I glare at him, clenching my fists.

"Now. Fuck. Off."

I'm shaking as adrenaline courses through me, the only thing powering me forward at this point.

I can't believe what I just did in the heat of the moment.

I've never cursed at someone like that in all my years of living.

And the dark, barely-restrained rage on Trent's face makes me realize my grave mistake.

I rush out of class as soon as the bell rings.

I manage to find my friends without seeing Trent, thankful the cafeteria is so crowded.

But I'm so anxious that I can barely get my food down.

Trent had said nothing more after I told him to fuck off, instead, he got eerily quiet, which was somehow worse than his usual antics.

It's okay.

It's going to be okay.

I'll just avoid Trent until school ends.

Nothing very bad can happen as long I'm in a public space.

And who knows, maybe Trent has cooled off by now.

"Hello? Earth to Ash?" Lylah waves her hand in my face, jerking me out of my stupor.

"Huh? Yeah?"

"We were just talking about Jay. He's like, totally looking over at us right now," Wren says excitedly.

"Really?"

I look around and sure enough there he is, sitting across the cafeteria on top of a table, surrounded by his football jock friends.

When our eyes meet he winks and waves.

Flustered because now all his friends are looking at me, I wave back shyly before subtly ducking behind Lylah.

Okay, it's not so subtle but all the attention on me was too much to handle.

"Oh my God, what was that?" Lylah squeals.

"What? It wasn't anything," I defend myself.

"Jay Rodriguez just waved at you," Lylah exclaims loudly and I quickly shush her.

"Announce it to the entire school why don't you?"

I nervously look around to see if anybody noticed her outburst but everyone is just minding their own business.

Thank goodness.

I love Lylah but one thing she isn't good at is being discreet.

I look over at Wren to see what he thinks about this but he's looking down, strangely quiet.

Is something wrong?

I want to ask him but Lylah is already interrogating me about Jay.

I explain to them that he just wants to be friends since we're in a few classes together.

"A hottie like that escorting me to class sounds like a dream," Lylah stares off at Jay laughing with his friends as one of them explodes a plastic water bottle.

Typical jocks.

"He's not escorting me, Lylah,""

Whatevs. Remember what Mr. Huffman was teaching us about mates last week? Damn, wouldn't it be nice to have Jay as a mate?" she sighs.

Abruptly, Wren stands up, grabbing his lunch tray.

"I-I just remembered I need to go to a photography club meeting today. See you guys later," he says quickly before walking off.

Lylah raises an eyebrow as she watches him leave.

"What's his deal? I didn't think the club met today."

I don't know what to think of him suddenly leaving like that either.

Him not being his usual self also worries me.

He seemed fine at the beginning of lunch but now he doesn't.

I make a mental note to check in on him later because I want to make sure he's okay.

When I reach the auditorium for theater, I let out a breath of relief when I don't spot Trent.

The bell for the start of class rings soon after and the alpha still hasn't shown up.

I pray that he went home early.

The theater teacher, Ms. Harlow, gives us all assignments, doling out their roles in a sing-song voice.

She wants us to clean up the old decorations that are hanging around the auditorium so we can start working on a new set design for the upcoming play.

I'm given the task of sweeping the stage of all the debris and streamers.

I start at the far-left side of the stage behind the curtains, sweeping the pink and green tinseled material off the floor with a broom until I have a huge pile.

Now to find a dustpan to sweep this trash into.

I look around, trying to spot one but I have no luck.

Ms. Harlow did mention there's a supply closet in the back so I decide to go find it.

As I'm walking to the right of the stage I have a weird, ominous feeling in my gut.

Like something bad is...

I hear a sudden whirring noise, the sound of something descending rapidly.

"Ash. Watch out," I hear Jay yell and then I'm being pushed by a strong force to the ground, the Alpha grabbing me.

I don't understand what's happening until I hear a thunderous boom that shakes the entire stage.

From under the shield of Jay's body, I see that one of the giant, heavy sandbags used to counterweight the curtains has fallen barely a foot away from us.

The rope that was holding it up is still attached but the other end is frayed like it was cut.

I nod numbly, still reeling over what just happened.

"I'm f-fine."

Already, students are starting to gather around us, all chattering about what happened and asking if we're okay.

Ms. Harlow is there too, frantic and panicking as she demands to know who let this happen.

And once again I'm the center of attention.

Jay notices my discomfort, gently wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pulling me away from the crowd.

"Are you really fine? You're not hurt?" he asks me as we head to the back of the auditorium.

I shake my head.

"N-no. You got there just in time. You saved me. Thank you," I say gratefully up to him, a strained smile on my face.

I'm relieved things didn't turn out worse but at the same time, I'm still shaken up.

Jay turns a bit pink, hand on the back of his neck.

"No need to thank me. Just doing what anyone would've done."

"Not just anyone. You were a true hero just now," I praise him, trying to show how genuine I am.

Because if he hadn't been there to push me out of the way, well, I don't even want to think about what would have happened.

The weight of that bag falling from such a high place surely would have crushed me.

Jay looks proud of himself when I say that, his chest puffing up.

"So I'm...your hero?" he asks.

I don't really know what he's getting at but I want to be nice because he deserves it after risking himself too in the process of saving me.

"Yes," I agree enthusiastically, seeing the glowing smile that forms on his face in return.

I want the conversation to keep going, anything to keep me distracted and not have to think about what craziness just ensued.

Fortunately, it's like Jay reads my mind and he stays with me until class ends and even offers to walk me to where I'll be picked up.

He's such a good friend.

I gratefully accept because I do not feel like being alone right now.

"I never got to ask if you're okay, Jay. Your arms are bruised," I say worriedly, my brows drawing together as I look at another bruise forming on his forehead.

"Oh, this?" Jay's fingertips graze his elbow tenderly. "It's nothing."

"If you say so..." I say uncertainly.

I feel guilty that it happened because of me.

"Are you worried?"

"Of course I am. You got hurt for my sake. I-Is there anything I can do?"

"Hmm," he thinks for a moment. "You can kiss it better," he smirks down at me as we approach the parking lot.

"W-what?" I squeak, my face going red with embarrassment.

"Y-you're teasing me again aren't you?"

I don't get why he says things like this.

Is he like this with his other friends?

He shrugs, amusement dancing on his lips.

"Maybe."

Even though Jay confuses me sometimes, I'm glad to have someone there for me right now.

We continue to talk until we reach the pick-up area and I find Daemon's black car waiting for me.