#this week is way too cramped I wish i could present only my history and geography stuff

[panzershrike-pretz]

How can a fucking physics project go dowhill so fucking fast im scared

[voraciousvore]

Boarding School for Giants (9/25)

------ Chapter 9 ------

Mr. Henderson dropped me off at the human dormitory and left. The sun was spent, swathing the campus in the velvety darkness of night. Towering streetlamps provided sparks of light to weakly illuminate the sidewalks in a soft glow. Insects that presented as nothing more than sentient white specks floated around the lights. Crickets chirped enthusiastically, providing a soothing ambience. 

The night was calm, but inside I was churning with desperate turmoil. Fate must be playing some sort of cruel trick on me. If I had any doubts that my mother didn’t want me anymore, they had been cast aside. I just couldn’t believe it, couldn’t accept it. My life was falling apart before my eyes. I wasn’t sure if I could make it through another day here, alone, much less an entire year of school and beyond. I felt as if I were imprisoned within my own personal twisted version of purgatory, atoning for my past wrongs. Sighing heavily, I went inside and prepared for my day tomorrow. 

At least tomorrow was Friday. I just had to get through one day of school and then I’d have the weekend to cool off. A whole weekend of hiding out in this building, praying that nobody would open the roof and torment me or steal me away. Ugh. I’d have to find a secret place somewhere else on campus to hide out, some place where only a human could fit and no giants would find me. It would also be advantageous to have a spot to hide within the dormitory. Scanning my surroundings, I checked the cabinet beneath the sink. The small compartment underneath wasn’t the most comfortable, but I could fit inside if necessary. I made a mental note to remember the cramped space if I got in a pinch. 

Next, I looked over my class schedule for tomorrow. The school worked off an alternating schedule, with six total class periods, three per day. Friday, the odd day out, rotated on a weekly basis. This week’s Friday consisted of periods four through six. Since I didn’t have PE, my sixth period was an empty slot, meaning I just had to get through two classes, history and chemistry, and then I could leave. I could manage that, hopefully. Being optimistic wasn’t in my nature, but I made an exception in this case. I couldn’t allow myself to imagine all the horrible ways that my day could go wrong, or else I’d have another mental breakdown. Trying to drown out all the troubled thoughts rattling around in my brain, I went to bed. 

When I woke up the next morning, my legs were very sore. My muscles had been worked a lot more than usual traversing the giant campus, and I had never biked so much in my life. I groaned and stretched and rolled out of bed. After I got dressed and was all ready to go, I collected up the textbooks I would need into my backpack and stepped outside, after checking that the coast was clear. I hopped on my bike and began the long journey to the giant school.  

I considered myself lucky that I actually enjoyed biking, because otherwise I would have been even more miserable than I already was. I just wished my legs weren’t hurting as much as they were. Since I had left early, there weren’t too many giants out and about yet. They were fortunate enough to be able to stumble out of bed and take a few steps to get to school, as opposed to biking a marathon like me. I was very skittish, giving everyone I saw a wide berth, especially after my little accident yesterday where I had scraped my knees. 

I eventually succeeded in my quest to reach the cafeteria, which had opened for breakfast only a few minutes earlier. My food wasn’t there, so I waited around nervously. After my terrible interaction with that one student in the cafeteria, I was on high alert, fearful of any eyes that may wander my way. Right now, most of the students filing in were waiting in line for their breakfast, so nobody was looking at me. Distracted, I didn’t notice the lunch lady who stepped around the counter with my breakfast until she was practically right on top of me. 

“Excuse me, dear,” the plump elderly women announced her presence, kneeling over me. I squeaked in surprise and jumped back about five feet. “Oh, I didn’t mean to startle you. Here’s your breakfast sweetie.” She held out a small brown paper bag pinched between two gloved fingers, being careful not to smash the contents. 

“T-thanks,” I managed to respond. I took the bag from her fingers and looked up at her with wide eyes. 

“Also, I apologize for not having your meals ready for you on your first day. There was a miscommunication, and nobody told us there was a human attending the school,” she explained to me, smiling kindly. “If anything like that happens again, don’t be afraid to come talk to one of us in the kitchen, alright?” 

“Okay,” I uttered, barely above a whisper. She returned to her full height and walked off, and I stood there holding the bag, stunned that somebody had actually been nice to me. I opened the bag, revealing a tasty-looking breakfast burrito, a cup of chopped fruit, and a carton of chocolate milk. I marveled at the thought that giant hands had been able to meticulously craft my tiny human meal. The sentiment was kind of sweet, considering the staff could have just cut up some giant food and sloppily thrown something together, rather than carefully wrapping up a mini burrito. 

I was about to sit down and partake in my repast, but I noticed some giant students shooting subtle glances my way. I didn’t want any attention or trouble, so I exited the cafeteria to find a more secluded spot to eat. I decided to go to the library. I snuck inside and parked my bike just inside the door where it wouldn’t get kicked or stepped on. I walked over to one of the human-sized tables and made myself comfortable, taking a big satisfying bite out of the breakfast burrito.  

A giant pair of black high-heeled shoes clicked down loudly next to me. I looked up with my cheeks puffed full of food. My eyes traced a sleek pair of feminine legs wrapped in a tight pencil skirt, topped with a white blouse, up to a stern face with glasses. I could only assume she was the librarian. I swallowed and nearly choked. 

The giantess aggressively cleared her throat. “Just what do you think you’re doing?” she asked angrily. I was at a loss for words and stared up at her blankly. She pointed at a sign on the wall, miles above my head where I had completely missed it. “No food or drink allowed,” she recited, glaring down at me. 

“S-sorry,” I stuttered in apology, avoiding eye contact and grabbing my things. I scurried out in a rush, taking my bike with me. Although I didn’t want to eat my breakfast in the bathroom, I couldn’t think of any other place to go where I would reliably be left alone. Sighing, I crept into the human bathroom and finished my meal in solitude. The whole morning had been quite jarring. One moment somebody was being nice to me, handing me a custom meal, and the next somebody was yelling at me to get out. The latter confrontation left me consumed by anxiety, and I hadn’t even started my first class of the day yet. 

Reminded of class, I realized it would be in my best interest to get there early, before the hazardous flood of giant students rushing to their respective classrooms. I left the bathroom and biked to my next class without incident, dodging feet as I went. Not surprisingly, I was the first in the room, and I took advantage of that fact by taking my time setting my bike in the rack, climbing the stairs, and picking out the optimal place to sit. I pulled my class materials out of my bag and waited. 

Soon enough the teacher strolled in. He was an older man with a salt-and-pepper beard and thick bifocal glasses. He wore a tan suit with a muted plaid print design, a brown bowtie, and brown loafers. He presented exactly as I imagined a history teacher should appear, dusty and faded. He didn’t notice me at all, and started writing on the chalkboard at the front of the class. Giant students began filtering in. A few of them glanced over at me and my stomach cramped up with discomfort. Was it just my imagination, or were more of the giants becoming aware of my existence? I had almost preferred to be invisible. I was scared that the increased attention would cause more problems for me. 

I supposed, at a school like this with relatively few students (I couldn’t exactly refer to it as a “small” school, now could I?), where everybody lived on campus and knew each other, word would get around quickly. I was sure the expulsion of a student for consuming another student would be a hot topic for gossip. How could such a crazy concept not make the rounds? I didn’t like the idea that everybody already knew about my humiliating, traumatic experience, that being small enough to fit inside someone’s stomach would be my defining characteristic before they even got to know me. Just being reminded of the incident made me sick and agitated. I started to feel like I was falling into an endless abyss, panic welling up within me, until the sound of the bell snapped me out of my trance. 

“Ok, class. Today we’ll be discussing the topic of human slavery in giant society. Please open your textbooks to chapter six,” the giant teacher announced. Did I hear him correctly? I obeyed and flipped open my textbook to the correct chapter. A grisly image of humans muzzled and chained up in a giant hand greeted my eyes. My blood ran cold. I turned the page to expose more images of humans constrained with black leather harnesses, working under the supervision of giant slavedrivers. There were pictures suggesting torture, and humans being cooked and eaten. My mouth dropped open with horror. I had never heard of such a history from any human textbooks. 

“So, the time period we’re discussing now predates the construction of the wall, when humans and giants still lived together in a single society. Clearly, as giants were and still are the physically superior species, humans were delegated to the role of slaves,” the teacher lectured. As the teacher surveyed the class, his eyes finally found me. He stopped, plainly surprised to see a human among the students, and raised an eyebrow. However, he recovered quickly and continued his lecture without a hitch. 

“While some humans were put to work in the fields, they were unable to operate farming equipment, due to their miniscule size. Thus, humans were best put to use as domestic servants or personal assistants, and were oftentimes utilized for personal pleasure.” I shuddered hard at this revelation. Just the other day, I had almost been forcibly conscripted for such a nefarious purpose. 

“Humans who resisted were sometimes brutally beaten or tortured, but most often were simply eaten,” the teacher continued. “Of course, humans could not provide any effective resistance against giants, so no wide-scale revolts ever materialized.” That fact was hardly surprising to me, considering how powerless I personally was among giants. 

 “Eventually, economic and social change ushered in a new era of development, and slavery fell out of fashion. A group of giants sympathetic to humankind pushed to end the barbaric practice, and through peaceful political means a law was passed in the legislature banning slavery. Humans were allotted their own land, and the wall was built to keep the two societies separate. In order to foster healthy relations between humans and giants, humans agreed not to teach to future generations the ugly history of slavery, so as not to breed resentment towards giants.” 

That last statement explained why I had never heard anything about the subject, or giants in general, and why the two societies remained relatively insulated from each other. I was skeptical of the reasoning, however. I doubted such a sensitive topic could simply be discarded and forgotten. The humans were likely coerced into the agreement, forced to accept the condition in exchange for their freedom. It was history, and in the past, but considering my current circumstances I was nonetheless deeply disturbed. 

The teacher droned on for a while, going into detail about specific dates and historical figures. He assigned us a passage in the textbook to read and an essay on the subject. Great, my first homework assignment. Yuck. At long last, the bell rang. I was in no hurry to leave, since braving the halls would be easier once most of the giants cleared out. I took my time gathering up my stuff and plodding down the stairs. 

By the time I collected my bike, most of the other students had left. I rolled my bike toward the doorway and was about to get on when a giant brown loafer blocked my path. My heart jumped into my throat. I gazed up at the colossal giant towering above me. 

“Hold on,” his voice rumbled like thunder. “I need to speak to you for a moment.” He bent down to be closer to my level, wincing slightly when he put weight on his knee. Even when he was in a crouch, his gargantuan form still loomed over me. 

“I don’t know if you realize this, but I won’t be able to read any handwritten assignment you turn in,” he pointed out, adjusting his glasses. I hadn’t thought it through until then, but it dawned on me that he was undeniably right. A paper my size would barely be the size of his fingernail. 

“You’ll need to pair up with another student and have them type up your paper and print it for you, alright?” he instructed. I gulped as a heavy blanket of dread smothered me. I didn’t have anyone to help me. I was alone. I was too nervous to protest to the teacher, though. 

“Okay,” I agreed in a weak, high-pitched voice. 

“Also, as regards the subject matter of today’s class,” he added, “be careful. Human slave trafficking is illegal, but in rare cases it still happens today, in defiance of the law. Don’t let yourself fall into the wrong hands.” He gave me an earnest look. 

I could only nod dumbly. The giant stood back up and moved his foot out of the way, allowing me to pass. I hustled out of there as fast as my bike would carry me. 

Next chapter: https://www.tumblr.com/voraciousvore/731604787749060608/boarding-school-for-giants-1025?source=share

1st chapter: https://www.tumblr.com/voraciousvore/731600430392639488/boarding-school-for-giants-125?source=share

[duskandstarlight]

Embers & Light (Chapter 28)

Notes: Happy Sunday every one. Thanks for last week's comments. They were so lovely and I love to hear from you all!This chapter is the one lots of you have been waiting for... not smut, but THE conversation. I hope you enjoy it... And sorry about the typos in this chapter, I can't look at this chapter any more! I'll try and scan over it tomorrow...Lastly, just a head's up that I might not be able to post next Sunday. Work is super busy this coming week and I haven't yet started the chapter. I'll try my best, though :)

Oh, and for those of you who ask every week, I post Sunday evening UK time between 7-10PM. I will rarely change and if it’s late, it’s because I’m still working on it :)

Also, sorry, there should be italics in some places but I am done editing so Tumblr will get what copy and paste has done!

Twenty-Eight Cassian POV

Lorrian and Cassian walked silently down the hall, following the servant who was scurrying in front of them. The sound of their footsteps rang around the hallway in an echo that was almost haunting, and if it wasn't for the meeting that has just adjourned—the Rite meeting which that was whirring around in his mind—Cassian would be contemplating how quickly he could organise their departure despite the wishes of his High Lord.

As distracted as Cassian was, he had still committed every corridor to memory. Every twist and turn as the house tunnelled into mountain rock. Up the wide staircase, right, second left, first right, next left…

Deeper and deeper they moved into the mountain. No doubt to ensure that the General and Colonel felt as uneasy as possible. No Illyrian liked being unable to escape through a window and step straight into the skies, and from what Cassian could tell, there would be no windows or doors that led them straight out into the heavens. Only endless crystalline rock and shadow.

Lord Marsh’s property always had been unusual in that way. Even though it was positioned on the wide ledge of the mountain pass, suspended high in the sky above the rest of the Ironcrest camp, the house did not stop when it hit the mountain wall. Instead, it tunnelled inside of it, providing a lodgings that was a vast, confusing labyrinth that was too easy to get lost in.

It was why Cassian had been so loathe to stay the night. To stay any longer than necessary.

Cassian could only thank the Cauldron that Rhys and Feyre’s presence had not been required. Neither of them deserved to be trapped inside a mountain again. Cassian supposed he could count his lucky stars that their presence had not been necessary. Would not be able to bear their anguish, even if they did their best to conceal it.

“Your rooms,” the servant announced suddenly, with a bow that was so deep Cassian wouldn’t have been surprised if the male’s nose had scraped the floor.

They had reached the end of the hallway, and in front of them was a heavy wooden door set into an arch.

Even through rock and stone, Cassian could sense Nesta. Knew she was located somewhere to the left with Frawley, thanks to that magnetic pull which never seemed to cease, even just for a moment. That was the one thing Nesta hadn’t been able to stop. She could constrict their bond as much as she liked—could freeze him out so nothing could travel up and down their twisted tether—but it didn’t stop him from being able to sense her. It was as if he was hyper alert to where she was. His body moved when hers did. His heart did its best to beat in tandem with hers. And when they were near, everything in him had a tendency to relax, as if he no longer had to worry.

Cassian didn’t know if Nesta felt the same. Would never know, given that they did not discuss their fate at all.

Lorrian bid goodbye to the servant as Cassian stepped through the door and into a hallway that was equally as dark. Two doors flanked the short, cramped hallway and Cassian took the immediate left, pushing the door that was ajar so it creaked wide open.

Unlike the rest of Marsh’s residence, the room was cast in a light that was almost unforgiving, betraying the dark ominous furniture and the gloomy crystalline rock thanks to bobbing faelights which Frawley had magicked to illuminate the room. To his left, fire raged silently in the grate, and ahead of him, in a huge stone bay straight ahead of him, sat Nesta.

The carved out rock was fashioned as if it were a window—an irony, given how deep underground they were—and Nesta’s back rested against the far left-hand wall. Her knees were bent, and her long legs, which were hidden beneath her skirts, stretched across expanse of the ledge. She was facing Frawley, who was sitting on the huge Illyrian bed which took up most of the floor space.

Cassian just had time to catch Nesta’s unfettered expression—the tight, bracketed mouth and the downward pull of her brows— before it was wiped clean.

“What happened?” she demanded, as Cassian cast a shield which threw the whole suite into an impenetrable sound bubble.

Her eyes bore into his, and across the surface, silver roiled like liquid mercury. Despite her careful expression, he felt her worry and Cassian wondered just how much he had accidentally hurtled down their shared bond whilst he sat in that meeting to have her so concerned.

“They’ve cancelled the Blood Rite,” Lorrian announced grimly, from where he had entered the room behind Cassian.

Nesta’s eyes snapped to Lorrian. Confusion twisted across her features, but she did not say anything.

“That,” Frawley said after a moment’s pause, “is very clever.”

Begrudgingly, Cassian nodded. Because it had been clever. None of them had seen it coming. The Solstice luncheon, which invited all of the nobility across Illyria, had been enough to ward away any suspicion when it came to the lordlings presence. Rite representatives were chosen privately by each camp, so there was no way that Cassian could have known that the lordlings who had recently met with Kallon planned to fill many of the positions. Nor had it crossed Cassian’s mind that the Rite meeting might have been pulled forward only for it to be cancelled, especially given how steadfast and stubborn Illyrians were when it came to tradition.

But, even if Cassian had asked Az to find out what representatives had been chosen for the Rite that year, they never could have predicted that Kallon intended to instate a hiatus on the most important ritual in Illyria’s long history—a political manoeuvre that would make the Night Court look even worse than it already did.

“How did he get the lords to agree to it?” Frawley asked, as she watched her husband sink down into a chair that sat in the right hand corner of the room next to a dark, looming wardrobe that only served to make the room feel even more cramped. “Those princes will usually be damned if they listen to a word the other says.”

“The Rite representatives,” Cassian announced with a heavy sigh, wishing he too would give in to the temptation to sink down and sit somewhere. Next to Nesta, ideally. “All of them were lordlings who met with Kallon all those months ago. And the worst thing about it all is that Lorrian and I swayed the vote in Kallon’s favour. He played us and we walked straight into his damn den. It made us look as if we were agreeing with him for the sake of politics, rather than because we thought it ourselves.”

Which was the irony of the situation, Cassian thought to himself grimly. Cassian had been worried for a long time about the unnecessary loss of further lives due to the Blood Rite. Had been losing sleep over it, just as his nightmares continued to plague him whenever he did succumb to the clutches of the unconscious. There was already so much ash of flesh and bone on Cassian’s hands from when he had deserted his legion for desperate screams. And now… he was existing on stolen time—a time which had been bought by a female who at the end of it all, had not accepted his heart.

“Every word of Kallon’s appeal resonated with the Lords,” Lorrian told Nesta and Frawley as he ran his hands over his face… over his dark, close-cropped hair and the nicked scars on his scalp. “He played upon the sentiment that is already festering inside so many of the Fae in Illyria. That the Night Court uses our warriors for their own gain in war but does not care about them in the interim.”

“And then Kallon presented them with the damn sword,” Cassian growled, clenching his fists at the memory.

Frawley’s eyes gleamed so brightly her irises turned glacial blue and amber. “You saw it up close?” she asked, leaning forward so eagerly from where she was sitting on the mattress that she near folded in half. “And what did you feel?”

“Ancient magic,” Lorrian replied grimly, even as his wife continue to stare at Cassian. “My own magic spiked at the sight of it. It was…” he broke off and shook his head, “It was odd. All of the lords could feel it, I am sure of it. Not one of them disputed that it was Enalius’s.”

Cassian remembered the way his siphons had throbbed and the ruby star over his chest had pulsed so fiercely it felt like a second heart—as if it were answering a silent call that even he couldn't hear. Only Nesta’s power had made Cassian feel like that before. It didn’t matter if it was silver fire or healing light, Nesta’s magic called to him, chanting and moaning until he thought he might combust from it.

But Cassian did not say any of that. Had barely dared to admit it to himself, let alone voice it out loud. So, instead, he flared his siphons and rummaged through the travel bag which appeared on the upholstered bench at the foot of the bed.

His fingers found the book without having to search for it, his callouses brushing against soft brown leather. He pulled out Heroicis, the gold-lettering on the cover shimmering as he flipped it open to peel back the delicate pages.

It was easy to find the illustration of the sword. Cassian had stared at the drawing so many times the book wanted to be opened to that page.

He placed the book down on the vanity.  “It looked exactly like that,” he announced wearily, waving a hand to the illustration. “Except the jewel is missing.”

The rustle of clothing sounded as three Fae moved towards him. Cassian did not turn but he scented all three of them. Lorrian’s gentle rush of heat and sandalwood. Frawley’s damp forest earth after rain and air streaked with fire smoke. And then Nesta. She had drawn up to his left, but he would have known where she was in a room without scent or sight. Yet, he allowed himself the privilege of scenting her all the same, as that rush of her became sharper and more focussed, like a blade narrowing to an essential point: jasmine and vanilla and Nesta.

Rivalling most Fae in height, Nesta’s head barely reached his shoulder. Cassian desperately wanted to wind his arm around her and pull her close, but out of the public eye they were no longer pretending. He didn’t want to push the boundaries that were already so brittle. Would not disrespect Nesta by overstepping the mark. Not unless she indicated she wanted it otherwise.

So, Cassian pushed away the stark vision of him moulding her to his body, or the way he had bowed earlier to press his lips to her knuckles. Tried not to ponder over the temptation of brushing his lips over her cheek by the end of their visit…

“I did not expect a General to carry epic poetry,” Frawley drawled in amusement, but there was an edge to her voice that told Cassian she was holding something back.

Lorrian snickered at his wife and did what Cassian had yearned to do to Nesta—he dropped a kiss to the top of her white head. The Colonel had used his siphons to peel back his armour as soon as the door had closed behind them. With it, his arm had disappeared, and the Colonel looked more like himself.

“Well, witch,” Cassian demanded with forced lightness, “is this an accurate depiction?”

“It is the only illustration I have ever seen that is correct,” Frawley said simply, her head cocked to the side so the white of her hair fell in an impossibly straight stream. The strands shimmered pearlescent in the light. The colour was almost otherworldly.

“Did you find anything out from the females?” Lorrian asked. He was rubbing over the stub of his limp, as if it was causing him phantom pain, his expression drawn tight.

The change of subject wasn’t as abrupt as it seemed. Cassian knew why Lorrian was asking. If they found anything incriminating against Kallon or the Ironcrest clan, it would aid them in stifling the rebellion that at this point seemed inevitable.

A fierce flare of pain wrangled through Cassian’s gut and his head snapped to Nesta, but she was staring fixedly at the book.

Lorrian had also turned sharply to Nesta, his eyes wide. His hand dropped from where he had been trying to ease the pain from his arm and his expression, although surprised, was free of any discomfort.

“Thank you,” Lorrian said quietly.

There was a pause that stretched out too long. All of them were silent, but Nesta dipped her chin without turning her head.

“The females didn’t speak beyond polite conversation,” Frawley began, steering all of their attention from Nesta. “But I did mention the kerit attacks on the widows camps.”

“Did you pick up any emotion?” Cassian asked Nesta.

“Yes,” Nesta replied, but her shrug dismissed the notion that she may have felt anything prominent. “Fear, disgust, anger towards the attacks. Most of it low level.”

Cassian frowned. “I suppose the attacks have not hit Ironcrest. They have not experienced the damage first hand.”

“There was a spike of horror and despair,” Nesta told him. “From someone. But I couldn't place it. It came from behind me and by the time I had turned the emotion had gone.”

Cassian stared down at Nesta. “Did you scent it? The insignia behind the emotion?”

Nesta shook her head. “All of the scents were jumbled. I got a flash of something, but I couldn’t—” Nesta stopped abruptly and her beautiful face twisted into a dissatisfied grimace. “If I sensed it again, I might recognise it, but—”

Already Cassian knew she was punishing herself. He refrained from putting a hand on her shoulder in silent reassurance.

“Even a Fae with years of practice would find it difficult to associate the source of an emotion in a crowded room,” Frawley said with a dismissive wave of her hand, as if she too knew that Nesta would not stop the self-blame. That it would rage internally until it consumed her. “You do not have eyes in the back of your head.”

“And from Kallon?” Cassian asked, even though he suspected he already knew the answer, and that he wasn’t going to like it.

They all watched Nesta’s lips tighten into a thin line. Eventually, she said, “He likes my power.”

Cassian knew that expression. Knew from the way everything had gone very quiet that she had frozen him out so he would not know how the promise in those yellow eyes had turned triggered Nesta’s trauma.

But the problem was that Cassian had learnt to notice the slightest change in Nesta’s expression. Had catalogued every movement in the four months they had lived together, even when he didn’t know what it meant.

Frawley’s brown eye flicked to Cassian. Even behind the brisk facade, Cassian could tell she was worried about Nesta. Cassian wondered what they had spoken about whilst he and Lorrian had been gone. “What time is this dreaded dinner?” she asked.

“In an hour,” Cassian grimaced.

“And do you think the princeling will be carrying the sword with him, now he has confirmed the rumours?”

Lorrian grunted a laugh. Cassian wondered if he, too, was thinking of the way Kallon’s eyes had gleamed triumphant. How tempting it had been to smack the princeling around the face. “I think we can count on it.”

 *** 

An hour later, the same servant escorted the four of them down the warren corridors to dinner.

Both Lorrian and Cassian had discarded their full-scaled armour for tunics layered with a stainless steel cuirass over the top. That, coupled with plates and fingerless leather gauntlets on both of their hands, allowed Cassian and Lorrian to showcase their siphons. The light-weight pieces of armour were made of the usual Illyrian scales, and whilst the armour was more ornamental than for the purpose of fighting, Rhys had worked his magic so it was as indestructible as carbon steel, if not more.

Lorrian’s right arm was back and glowing. Cassian understood why his friend wanted to face the vultures with all of his limbs, but he wished he could take Lorrian’s shame away. He supposed there was nothing to be done but to hope that time led to acceptance. Already Lorrian had come a long way. Had even started training with Cassian without his arm, learning to wield a sword with his left-hand should the occasion every call for it.

It was that willingness to adapt that reminded Cassian why Lorrian was an exceptional warrior. Why he would conquer where others would fail. The Colonel would be prepared for every scenario. Would know how to balance his body with and without a limb.

Opponents would not expect it. It would give Lorrian the upper hand in battle, rather than showcasing a weakness that anyone who knew about his limb would expect.

It meant that if Lorrian’s siphons ever became drained, that he could still fight.

Nesta and Frawley had also changed for dinner, even though the witch had grumbled at having to dress up for company she would rather obliterate from Prythian. Unsurprisingly, Nesta had only grown more divine with a change of clothes, but she had barely spared him a glance as she looped her hand through his arm.

Which, Cassian thought, had been just as well, because he had not been able to stop his eyes from darkening and his wings from rustling at the sheer sight of her.

Now, Nesta held onto him as they followed the backs of Lorrian and Frawley from where they walked in front of them. The two of them had fallen slightly behind, most likely because of their hesitancy to fling themselves back in the path of the vultures that were Marsh and Kallon.

And, Cassian admitted, because he had purposefully shortened his stride so he could glance surreptitiously at Nesta—at the dark, deep forest green of her long-sleeved dress, which had actually stopped Cassian’s heart and made his breath catch in his throat. Something which he knew Lorrian had clocked but had decided not to mention— thank the Cauldron.

The top half of the velvet material wrapped around Nesta’s every curve, before it billowed out softly at the hips into an A-line skirt. At her chest—which was bared rather than hidden away—the silver chain of the pyrite necklace fell tauntingly below the v-neckline.

Cassian thanked his lucky stars and the Gods combined that he could not glimpse her cleavage.

“Want to go home yet?” Cassian murmured, breaking their silence.

They had barely spoken since the luncheon and certainly not alone. Nesta had not commented when she had emerged from their bedroom. Had not mentioned the single bed that had taunted him when he had first entered to change.

Cassian had ensured they were not in the room at the same time. Was actually terrified to close himself into such a small and cramped space with her.

The way in which Nesta did not look up at him as he spoke told Cassian that she was very far away. Her huffed breath was practically inaudible, and she had an almost unreachable air about her that told him that for some reason, her trauma had caught up with her.

So, Cassian did what he did best. He decided to rile her.

“You’re going to have to lower your shields,” he warned her.

The slightest of frowns graced Nesta’s expression as they came to the end of a corridor and entered the vast landing that graced the first floor. Here, the flagstone floor was layered with a carpet runner that was dappled in brown and white, like the feathers of a hawk-crested eagle. “I’m aware,” Nesta clipped, that chin of hers raising as her back straightened.

Cassian brought a hand up to cover hers. Anything to get her to look at him. “You can stay in the room if you’d prefer,” he said quietly.

Those tempting lips thinned into a straight line. She turned her head away from him, so he could only see the intricate braid that weaved a halo around her head. “No, I can’t,” Nesta replied shortly.

She was not wrong. Cassian would not leave her deep in the mountain where he could not protect her. Even if that meant taking her to a place where her trauma would intensify.

He hated himself for it.

“I won’t let him harm you. I won’t let them touch you.” The words came out fiercer than he had intended, even if his voice was a low rumble.

There must have been enough urgency in his voice, because finally Nesta twisted her head to look up at him. Those eyes were a little less hollow. “I know,” she replied simply. Her eyes slid to a spot past his head. “I might harm them, though.”

A dark, please laugh issued from his throat, even as he wished that mercury would slide over the frosty blue of her irises. Nesta had issues summoning her magic when she succumbed to the numbness, and Cassian did not want her in this Gods damned awful place without her power at her disposable.

“I look forward to seeing it,” he responded smoothly, but his heart fell as she turned away from him again.

Desperation clawed at his insides—at the bond which was constricted by ice—that the next words left him without contemplating the gravity of them. “Are you wearing that dress to taunt me, Nesta?”

Nesta’s eyes snapped to his so quickly that everything in him jolted. A dim light throbbed in the depth of her gaze. “Excuse me?”

“This dress,” he said in a low confession, “has become my favourite thing.”

An unamused snort, even as a glimmer of embarrassment forced its way down their bond. It was fleeting and barely there, but Cassian felt it. Grasped for it. “Your favourite thing is chocolate.”

“My favourite thing is you,” he corrected, scarcely believing his loose tongue. He made his eyes glint playfully. “Chocolate is a close second.”

“In fact,” he mused after a moment’s pause. “The two together—”

“In your dreams,” Nesta snapped, her words coming out so sharply and with such aggression that both Frawley and Lorrian’s heads whipped round to stare at them.

Cassian grinned wolfishly, watching Lorrian shake his head at the obvious fire in Nesta’s eyes. The fire that Cassian was doing everything to rally.

Both of his friends had noticed Nesta turn silent in the hour before dinner, but neither of them had uttered a word. They understood the peaks and troughs—the challenges of life when things became too hard.

“That comeback again, sweetheart? I’d have thought you’d have something more original by now.”

“You are insufferable,” Nesta clipped. And at her hands… a wisp of that mist.

“Do you not like being complimented” Cassian taunted, stifling the way his blood soared at the faint pink that stained her cheeks—another blessed reaction.

Together they descended the elaborately wide staircase, moving slowly to accommodate for Nesta’s skirts. Usually, Cassian had no time for impractical attire, but he had long learnt that Nesta could wear whatever she liked and he would accommodate it, no matter how ill-thought-out. 

Nesta’s grip on his arm tightened into a death grip.

She was not looking at him again. Deliberately avoiding his gaze, even as his eyes did not once stray from her face, his legs carrying him blindly as he furiously scanned her for expression.

Finally, Nesta said with a quiet that did not lack in intensity, “A compliment isn’t true if it’s designed to be a distraction.”

Cassian huffed a breath of laughter. Of course, she had seen right through him. Yet…

He dared to lean towards her, to close the distance between them so he could murmur into her elegantly tipped ear. “It was a distraction,” he confessed honestly as they turned down the corridor that led off to the right-hand side of the foyer, “but that doesn’t mean it isn’t true, does it?”

Blue, smoky eyes latched onto his, Nesta’s chin tilting upwards to meet his gaze. It was a torturous form of bliss, the movement bringing her face far too close to his. She stared at him and he stared right back, even as his heart thumped hard against his ribcage.

He lowered his head further. Watched Nesta’s eyes widen ever so slightly as he closed the distance between them. She had stilled completely, halting them just outside of the dining room.

This time he allowed his lips to ghost her ear. Let the Illyrian roll of his tongue and savoured her suppressed shiver. The spark of something which wound itself around his ribcage. “After you, amore.”

Cassian made himself wink as he straightened up, as if he were entirely unaffected by her proximity.

And then he steered her into the dining room.

 ***

Dinner was worse than Cassian had anticipated, and by the time the four of them arrived back at their suite, none of them were bothering to hide their exhaustion. The door had barely shut behind them when Frawley brusquely announced that the sword which had been showcased at the dinner was undoubtedly Enalius’s, before she disappeared into her room with Lorrian following closely behind.

The first thing Cassian had done upon entering he and Nesta’s shared room was to flop onto the bed. Dealing with Lord Marsh was trying at the best of times, but tackling Lord Marsh, Kallon and the other arrogant lords, as well as the drama that came with it… Cassian had been fighting a headache all day and the pressure was now a keen, insistent throb behind his eyes.

That, coupled with a tense dinner that had slowly chipped away at his pain threshold, had Cassian desperately wanting to slide beneath the sheets and succumb to sleep.

To Cassian’s surprise, Marsh had not been present at dinner, and from the way that Kallon sat unfazed at the head of the table, Cassian gathered that it was not an unusual occurrence.

Kallon had held audience with an ease that had rivalled Rhys when he was playing cruel High Lord during a visit to the Hewn City, and apart from the shadows of servants lining the walls, no other lords and ladies had been present at dinner. It had been a surprising move. Cassian had expected Kallon to parade and taunt in front of the watchful eyes of the Illyrian nobility, who would no doubt disappear later to whisper into others ears…

But, instead, it had only been the five of them. That had been enough to tell Cassian that whilst Kallon might have no qualms in wielding words as vicious as Nesta’s, he also did not believe he could control the tongues of those he was dining with. That he knew that despite the sword that lay gleaming on the gilded cushion further down the table, that they his company had the capability of maiming him if they saw fit. Something which Kallon could not afford given his victory earlier that afternoon.

This fear came to a conclusion halfway through their main course, when Kallon deigned to insinuate that females were not designed to wield a sword.

“Are you saying,” Nesta asked with a deathly sort of calm that had Cassian tensing, “that you do not deem females worthy of protecting themselves?”

“I think that the Night Court should protect the entirety of its court so the females don’t have to worry about protecting themselves,” Kallon had responded swiftly, his sharp knife slicing into his bloody steak as if it were nothing but butter.

“What you are saying,” Frawley corrected, her voice brusque and hard, “is that you do not  see females as having any other purpose than bearing younglings.”

“Is that not their purpose?” Kallon had challenged. He paused, surveying all of their faces with a grim sort of satisfaction, before he had pressed on, “Is that not what is needed for a race who has lost more males in this war than it has seen in hundreds of years?”

“A female’s worth is not found in their ability to reproduce,” Nesta had responded coolly. Her voice, Cassian had noticed, had dipped into the deathly sort of calm that usually preceded an outburst of flame. “In fact, I have not met one male in Illyria who is more worthy of learning how to wield a weapon than the females in Illyria’s camps.”

“And does that sense of worth extend to the males around this table?” Kallon had replied, his yellow eyes gleaming at a sudden opportunity. Like the rest of the residence, the dining room had been dimly lit, illuminated by faint faelight and the fire that raged in the hearth. It meant that shadows had crept across the walls and table as Kallon leant forward to where Nesta was sitting at his right. “I assume not, given your tendency to fuck anything that moves.”

The sentence was as abrupt as a slap to the face, but Nesta did not move. Did not give any indication that the princeling’s words had hit home, even as Cassian’s gut had wrenched.

“It is funny,” Nesta had mused icily, her voice as cold as the fiercest Illyrian winter, “that you should try to shame me, especially given that if I was a male, I am sure you would be praising me for such a consistent pursuit of pleasure.”

Carefully, Nesta had set down her goblet, her eyes boring into the princeling’s with such intensity that Cassian had been surprised that the male hadn’t burst into flame.

Other than Frawley’s snort of agreement, nobody had dared to move. Time had passed. Time in which Cassian vowed to remain steadfast to his silent promise that he should not interference unless it was absolutely necessary. Even as Kallon did not back down.

Together, they had all watched the princeling settle back into his chair with the relaxed sort of ease that had Cassian wanting to castrate him. “Perhaps then, I should surprise you by showing you my room in case you fancy pursuing some real pleasure later—”

“That is —” Cassian had started to snarled, banging a fist on the table just as Lorrian had growled, the sound a low, deep warning—

And that was when the entire room had glowed silver, the magic snapping around the room with such ferocity that it was like a whip cracking against bare skin.

When Nesta’s magic dropped—when Cassian’s blood had reduced to a simmer rather than boiling—Cassian realised that exercising her magic had been the perfect excuse for Nesta to silence the fire that had been crackling fiercely in the grate behind them. The fire from which Cassian had spent the entirety of the meal trying to shield her from as best as possible, his wing curled protectively around the back of her chair.

Even so, the showcase of Nesta’s power had been startling and undeniably effective. As Nesta’s temper had flared, that silver fire had ignited in the grate, swallowing the orange flames as mist wreathed up her arms, eddying around her at such speed that it began to seep across the table towards Kallon.

And the whole time Kallon’s eyes had gleamed. Not with fear, but with the kind of awe that Cassian felt when he’d first witnessed how magnificent Nesta was.

It had taken everything in Cassian not to leap across the table and rip the princeling’s head from his body. From the way Frawley was gripping Lorrian, it had seemed as if his friend felt the exact same way.

But to Cassian’s surprise, Nesta had only let out a low, cruel laugh which had sliced through any of Cassian’s intention to intervene.

Instead, he had watched, riveted as those eyes of pure mercury raked up and down Kallon’s body with a look of unbridled disgust. And when Nesta had spoken, her voice was as terrifying as the promise of death, “I would never deign to lower myself by sharing a bed with you,” she told Kallon, “and I certainly hope that no other female has been forced to endure it.”

Infuriatingly, Kallon had only let out a musical laugh rather than a snarled retort. “And I suppose you would rather pair yourself with a male who has nothing to give you—not a title or a name, only the promise of a cheap necklace. Perhaps that is why you seem to have no true inclination to secure your future with him.”

Then, Kallon had slowly dragged his eyes to Cassian. “I would have thought your role in leading the Night Court’s armies would pay better than that, General. But I suppose you can’t take the bastard out of the slums.”

It had been at that point that Nesta had found Cassian’s hand under the table. It had been the most careful of movements—unnoticeable to anybody but them. The clasp of her fingers around his and the easing of the pain and fury in his gut had been the only thing that had stopped him from either beating Kallon to a pulp or leaving the meal in a rage.

Both of which would only have allowed Kallon to emerge triumphant… So, they had eaten in the sort of tense silence, speared sporadically with the odd ferocious comment. And at the end of the table, that damned sword had lain on the gilded cushion, gleaming magnificently in the firelight, calling to Cassian’s power in a way that pulled at his skin…

Now, recollecting the monstrosity of the evening, Cassian wanted to ward away the feeling of unworthiness that still lay bitter on his tongue. There was also a sense of foreboding that he could not shake. A terrible knowledge that whatever he and Nesta had  constructed between them was something false rather than true.

There were so many cracks they had hastily tried to ignore. So many past actions that had been pushed to the background rather than being acknowledged.

Cassian didn’t know what would happen if they were addressed. If it would fling the two of them so far back into the past that it would shatter the present.

Yet… it seemed inevitable. A hulking, looming presence that clung to them like a shadow.

But for now… Cassian wanted lightness. He wanted to know that he and Nesta were ok. So he waved a hand tiredly at the room, and said, “Sorry we have to share.”

“It’s fine,” Nesta replied finally, as if she had been so far away it had taken her a while to rope herself back to reality.

Cracking open an eye, Cassian watched her close the bedroom door behind her. She had closed their bond as soon as they had left the dinner table. Cassian did not know if it was a deliberate move to shut him out, or just an attempt to sever any emotion. He knew she must be feeling raw. Lowering one’s shields did that, especially for Nesta, who felt more than everyone else. Azriel had warned him of that. Had confirmed what Cassian and Feyre had always thought. That Nesta’s gift expanded outside of the power she had clawed from the Cauldron. Something which had always existed inside of her but which had been magnified further when she was Made.

“I wouldn’t want my own room here,” Nesta elaborated when she caught him studying her.

Cassian watched Nesta’s ever perceptive eyes scan the room: the simple, whitewashed walls and the pine furniture. The room was of moderate size, although Cassian would wager that it wasn’t Lord Marsh’s biggest guest room. That silent rebuff hadn't gone unnoticed — not that Cassian cared. He had endured far worse conditions, after all.

Most of the floor space was taken up by the Illyrian bed, which was big enough for two sets of wings. Now, Nesta hovered beside it as if she were unsure what to do next. It was the most awkward he had ever seen her.

“By all means,” he drawled tiredly, waving to the other side of the mattress. He folded the wing that he had spread onto the other side—her side—of the bed, “I can sleep on the floor. Just...give me a moment.”

Ignoring his invitation, Nesta floated over to the dressing table instead. Propping his head under a bent arm, Cassian watched her as she started to slowly take the pins out of her hair.

For a long while, the clink of metal on wood was the only noise that filled the room, and Cassian was just about to ask Nesta how many gods damned pins she used, when she started to slowly unspool the hair from the top of her head. Jaw slightly slack, Cassian watched in awe as Nesta parted the thick strands of the braid with well-practiced hands. When she was finished, she began to brush it out, until the light brown strands shimmered gold in the faelight and the teeth no longer snagged on knows.

Cassian wondered if any male had ever seen her do this: the simple act of getting ready for bed. He hoped not. There was something intimate about watching Nesta let her hair down, as if every pin that came out of her head removed a little bit of that mask, revealing a younger, softer version of the hot-headed hellcat he usually had to contend with.

“You’re staring.”

The words clipped through the silence, as sharp as a cutting knife.

Well, perhaps she wasn’t a softer version, after all.

Cassian’s eyes slid to Nesta’s in the mirror. In the dim faelight, the blue of her irises had given way to a stormy, mesmerising grey. He made his lips pout, even as he imagined running his fingers through the soft strands. “Your hair looks prettier than mine.”

The faintest of smiles tugged at Nesta’s lips. It was slightly wicked, the only warning she gave him before she tossed him the ivory-handled brush.

Cassian’s hand snapped up, catching the brush inches from his face, his eyes never straying from hers.

His grin was triumphant and when Nesta rolled her eyes at him, the gesture so uncharacteristically playful, satisfaction burned through every pore, every fibre of his being.

How far they had come.

“Then brush it, you stupid brute. I won’t deny that it needs it.”

Cassian laughed throatily—the first true laugh he had let loose that day. “I thought you liked my rugged looks?”

A soft, unimpressed snort. “A wholly made up notion.”

He watched Nesta rummage through her travel bag and pull out a white cotton nightdress and some toiletries, before disappearing into the adjoining bathroom. He brushed his hair whilst the water ran and then peeled off his clothes, baring his skin to the chill air.

The glare Nesta sent him when she reemerged would have sent a lesser male scarpering. It made him wonder how any of the males she had bedded had even made it home with her in the first place. She crossed her arms defiantly over her chest, which only emphasised the swell of her breasts beneath the cotton. She was still wearing the pyrite, and the metal shone mockingly against her creamy skin—silver flecked with gold.

The sight of it so close to her cleavage had him biting back a groan.

Mother Above, he had to get a grip if they were going to sharing a room all night.

“You can’t wear night clothes like a normal person?” Nesta hissed at him.

With a taunting grin, Cassian rested a hand on a hip, highlighting his tight undershorts. He refrained from flaring his wings—largely because the space did not accommodate for it. “I usually sleep nude sweetheart, which would you prefer?”

And then, not waiting for her to start on him, he headed straight for the bathroom, making sure their skin brushed as he passed.

To his delight, Nesta’s angry snarl chased him until he closed the bathroom door firmly behind him.

When he reappeared five minutes later, Nesta was already under the covers with her nose buried in a book. Silent, silver flames licking fiercely up the chimney from the open fire grate. The heat was fiercely warm and very welcome, especially given that this deep underground, there was little warmth to be found. The heat sunk deliciously into his skin, and Cassian flared his wings slightly to fight the goosebumps that were scattered across the sensitive membrane.

Since Nesta had lit the torch at the widows funeral, she had taken to lighting the fires throughout the house, and Cassian had become so used to the glow of silver flames in every fire grate around the house that he barely bat an eyelid.

It warmed him, though, to see the house alight with silver and warmth. To see Nesta unafraid and relaxed. To see her sit near the fire, rather than as far away from it as possible.

“I didn’t see you sneak a book into the bag,” Cassian commented, as he pulled a blanket from the wardrobe and pulled on some loose pants. He had been teasing her before about sleeping in his undershorts. He’d mainly wanted to pull a reaction from her, to see how she would respond to his bare skin.

Her hiss had been satisfying enough. Not that Cassian hadn’t hoped for more. A too long glance, or even better, a blush.

Nesta didn’t glance up at Cassian as she turned the page. “You should know better than to think I’d travel without a book.”

He watched her eyes move across the page, utterly absorbed. Her long hair fell over her face and unconsciously she tucked the strand behind an elegantly arched ear. A signature move of hers, however unconscious, that he had yet to name. It was fast becoming one of his favourites.

Nodding, Cassian reached for the pillows on his side of the bed to distract himself from looking at her. Her next words made him pause.

“Just stick to your side.”

Nesta did not look up. She gave none of her focus to him yet she must have been watching him out of the corner of her eye.

“I don’t mind,” he reassured her after a moment.

A flip of a page. “There’s no room for your wings down there.”

She was right. It was a tight enough squeeze for his body let alone the wings on his back, and the blanket would do little to protect him from the cold flagstone floor. Cassian had endured far worse of course, but the thought of tucking his wings in that tight all night... well, he’d suffer for it tomorrow. And even though he knew sleeping an arms length away from her would be torture of a different kind...

“Thank you,” he conceded softly.

No acknowledgement, yet… this was progress. Only months ago, Nesta would have made him sleep on the cold just to watch him suffer.

A contented groan escaped him as the mattress moulded to his sore back. He rolled onto his side, flaring his wings to settle behind him and examined her.

The faded paperback Nesta was reading was well-worn. Many of the pages were dog-eared and Cassian knew that he’d seen her curled up with it before. He craned his neck in an attempt to try and read the title on the spine. He would bet good money it was a love story. No, he would bet his entire wealth that it was a love story.

It was quick, but he caught Nesta’s darting glance. It was enough for him to break the silence.

“Why do you read romance novels?”

A burning question Cassian had wanted to ask her more times than he could count. On both hands.

Not that he didn’t have his own theory on that.

“Why do you read books about war?” Nesta countered.

A slow, taunting smile. “I asked you first, sweetheart.”

Nesta rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Why can’t I read them?”

Cassian bit back a growl of frustration. “You can read whatever you like. What I mean is why do you enjoy reading romance novels so much?”

Nesta bookmarked her page with a scarlet ribbon—a gesture at odds with the earmarked pages—and placed it on the nightstand with a sigh. “I revoke my offer, you can sleep on the floor.”

“But what about my poor wings,” he whined.

“Feyre’s right, you really are Illyrian babies.”

Cassian scowled. “I’m full of testosterone, thank you very much.”

Nesta snorted. “Rumour has it that Azriel has the largest wingspan.”

The soft snarl that tore out of Cassian’s mouth surprised even him. He hadn’t made the noise deliberately, it had been completely unconscious, just as much as the next words out of his mouth. “Would you like me to prove you wrong, Nesta?”

His voice had turned low and husky without his bidding, as if it had done so purely on instinct. Maybe allowing himself to get in the same bed as Nesta had been a mistake. The scent of her was enough to cloud his judgement and this close... He could have his mouth on hers in seconds.

“I’d like anything but, actually,” Nesta clipped, completely unfazed by his act of dominance. “Besides, males seem to forget that it’s style over substance.”

Propping himself up on an elbow, Cassian leant towards her. He arched an eyebrow at her, his expression cocksure. Somehow, his headache had completely vanished. “Lucky for you, I have both.”

Nesta’s groan was one of long suffering. She reached to undo the clasp of the chain around her neck.

“Don’t take it off.”

Nesta’s head snapped round to his, his sudden command at odds with their banter. He held up his hands, the two ruby siphons glinting from where they sat firmly on the leather straps.

“We’re in that much danger?” she asked.

Cassian sunk back down onto his side, “I’m not taking any chances, and... I won’t be able to sleep if I know you’re not wearing it.”

Nesta’s lips parted slightly but her hands slowly withdrew from her neck. The stone glinted briefly against Nesta’s skin and then she extinguished the lights.

The soft flicker of silver that glowed from the hearth was the only reprieve from the darkness that fell across the room. Cassian wondered if flames would go out when Nesta fell asleep or if they would keep on burning.

The sheets rustled as Nesta got comfortable. In the following silence, Cassian could make out the reassuring thump of her heart. It wrapped around his own, the feeling a comfort until his breathing slowed and his muscles relaxed.

“He’s horrible,” Nesta said suddenly into the darkness.

“Marsh?” Cassian asked, but he knew who she meant. Wasn’t sure why he didn’t say it out loud.

“Him too, but I meant Kallon.”

Cassian grunted in agreement. Then, he dared to say, “He’s taken a liking to you.”

Revulsion forced its way down their constricted bond and into his gut.

Cassian didn’t need to look at Nesta to know her expression was hard. “He’s a pig-headed Illyrian brute.”

A flicker of a smile tugged at Cassian’s mouth, despite the subject. “I thought I was a pig-headed Illyrian brute?”

“Then I’ll have to rework my insults for you in light of recent events.”

Cassian barked another true laugh. Would Nesta ever stop surprising him? He suspected that if they were to spend a lifetime together, he would never grow bored. Would never be tempted to look in another female’s direction.

“I feel both triumphant and expectant,” he confided, before he sobered. “You didn’t have to defend me, earlier. I’m used to the comments. It doesn’t matter what I do, but my race will always see me as a bastard first and a General second. Being coupled with you is not something they will ever believe I deserve.”

More rustling of the sheets as Nesta turned onto her side to face him. Through the shadows, Cassian’s Fae eyesight could make out Nesta’s eyes staring directly at him. Even in the muted light, they were mesmerising. “I had a pretence to upkeep,” she replied shortly, as if that explained everything. But then her voice became so quiet that his ears strained to hear her. “You’re worth more than them.”

Usually, Cassian would have teased Nesta for voicing something so groundbreaking, but in this room—in this shared bed—the words dissolved on his tongue. He was momentarily speechless, so much so that the silence became awkward and weighted. His family had attempted to address his insecurities before, but it had never been enough to quash the beliefs that had been drummed into him from a young age. Cassian, too proud to succumb to the seriousness of the conversation, had brushed his family off until they left him well alone.

Azriel was the only one who truly understood; it was why he had never seen himself worthy enough to pursue Mor.

By the time Cassian summoned the courage to open his mouth, Nesta was already speaking, “How do they know about the war?”

The question made his heart stop. Not just because Nesta had mentioned a subject they usually stayed well clear of, but because, for the first time, she was addressing what had happened between them on the battlefield.

“I don’t know,” he admitted softly, ignoring the way his heart had begun to hammer in his chest. “By the time the healer had mended my wings everyone was talking about it. I think a conversation must have been overhead by a healer.” He paused, hoping Nesta might speak again. When she didn't, he added, “I was… very angry when I found out.” He palmed a hand over his face to try and soothe away the nerves that were humming agitatedly inside of him. He had done his best to ignore the whisperings behind his back.

It hadn’t been hard at first. The aftermath of the war had taken all of his attention. He had barely had time to eat and sleep, let alone digest the gravity of what others had found out. Not that he had gotten the gist of it in drabs: the entirety of the Night Court knew of how they had defended one another; how Nesta had been willing to die with Cassian when she could have run.

They did not know what he had promised. That he had kissed her, even though they were calling it the greatest love story in centuries. Cassian would never forget how Nesta had lain over him when she’d had the chance to run, and the urgency to her voice—the way it had cracked—as she had said; I can’t.

It was those two words which hounded Cassian the most, because even now, he did not know whether Nesta had said that because she hadn’t wanted to leave him, or because she had no choice.

“I assumed it was my sister and her loose mouth.”

Nesta’s words startled Cassian, bringing him back to the dark room rather than the muddy battlefield where his body was broken but his heart was full and aching. And in truth, Cassian had expected Nesta to draw a line under the conversation by ignoring him and feigning sleep, the next morning a fresh page where they need not bring up the previous night’s discussion.

Despite the dark, Cassian nodded, even though he was unsure as to whether Nesta could see it.

He had considered the same about Feyre. Not on purpose, of course, but by mistake. Feyre had been a witness. The original witness. “One thing I’ve learnt growing up Fae is that there are eyes and ears everywhere,” Cassian said eventually. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t prefer having my business kept to myself.”

Cassian knew Nesta was fiercely private, far more than him. Was it that invasion coupled with the monumental pressure that came with being spoken about by Fae and humans alike, as they whispered about the greatest love story in Prythian—the lowly bastard and the human Made Fae—that had been the final straw for her? Or had it been the death and destruction which had slammed the door shut on something as naive and fanciful as love?

The desperation to know—to understand—was so fierce that Cassian could not stop himself from asking what he had never dared, “Is that why you wanted nothing to do with me?”

A long, stony silence that eventually began to simmer with anger. Cassian did not know if it was the audacity of him having asked or for bringing unwanted memories to the surface.

Finally, Nesta clipped, “I wanted nothing to do with someone who treated me as second best.”

The icy dismissal in Nesta’s tone had goosebumps rising on Cassian’s bare arms. Recently their conversations had been a torturous, delicious heat rather than frosty, but this delivery… it made Cassian feel as if he had stepped back into the past.

They were going there then. A conversation Cassian never dreamed they would have. Yet here they were... and suddenly he was so terrified it would ruin everything he wished it would stop, even as he asked in a low voice, “In what capacity?”

Snapped words like the crack of a whip. “In every capacity. Let me go to sleep.”

“Nesta,” Cassian pressed, not caring that it was dangerous. Desperate to try and understand why they were not together when his entire body was begging him to close the distance. He knew she must feel it too. Hoped that she did. That it was not just a wishful fantasy on his part. Cassian had always thought their chemistry undeniable. It was what scared him.

It never went away, the wanting.

“What do you mean second best?” he urged.

“The fact that you do not know shows how stupid you are,” Nesta replied coldly, turning away from him, signalling that the conversation was over. Through the shadowy dark, Cassian could make out the slope of her shoulder and the outline of her curvaceous side. The spill of her hair, a tempting drape across the pillow.

He curbed most of the desperation that wanted to creep into his voice. “You are speaking of Mor.”

An abrupt snort of confirmation.

“Mor is my family,” Cassian said carefully, even though he knew his words would not convince Nesta.

“Your dynamic is not familial.”

“Not at the start, no,” Cassian admitted, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling. To give himself distance. Because he could not bear to stare at her turned back as she tried to shut him out. “We slept together once when we were very young. It has never been repeated.” He blew out a long breath as he ran a hand over his face, trying to smooth over his pained expression. “She used me to lose her maidenhead. I don’t know how much you know, but Mor was mutilated by her family for it—she was dumped in the Autumn court with a note nailed to her womb for her betrothed to find her. It collapsed her marriage proposal and I have been responsible for that mutilation every day since, not least for driving a wedge between me and my brother.”

As he trailed off, the blankets moved and to his surprise, Nesta’s shoulder dipped slightly towards him. He’d clearly piqued her interest. “You mean Azriel.”

“Yes,” Cassian admitted bitterly. “I slept with Mor because I was a jealous prick and Az was besotted with her. His diverted attention made me feel like I had lost my brother and I thought it would make him move on.” Loosing another sigh, Cassian rubbed his tired eyes with the heel of his palms. “I grew up alone, so when I moved in with Rhysand’s mother and Azriel joined us… he and Rhys were the closest I had ever had to a real family. When we were a three, it was the first time I remembered being truly happy. Mor threatened that, so I did what I thought would remedy it. I was a naive, arrogant prick and bedding Mor is a regret that I have lived with ever since.”

Pausing, Cassian took in a deep breath. He’d never voiced any of this out loud before. It had always been something he and his family did not discuss out in the open, not until recently with Mor, anyway. And he had not gone into so much depth.

He hoped that Nesta understood what it had meant for him to be happy for the first time, when before that he had been miserable and alone. Nesta herself had confessed to Frawley that she did not know when she had last felt joy, but then Cassian had felt it the other day, the sensation so wonderful in her stomach he felt as if he had been knocked of breath. He had flown to find her, followed that tether between them that was more visceral than he had ever felt it, before he realised that this was not his moment to experience. So he had turned around in the skies, headed back home, waited to see Nesta later. Her face had been flushed and she was dirty from a day of helping in the widows camp… but her face, it was free of that mask. With it, her expression was less severe and the light in her eyes made her irises a shade lighter. It was the most beautiful thing Cassian had ever seen. And when she had seen him, she had smiled without thinking. As if he, too, brought her joy.

It had been a quiet smile. Secret. His.

But where could Cassian even start to begin explaining the mess of the love triangle between Mor, Az and himself? Of the guilt he felt for a few minutes of pleasure which nearly costed Mor her life.

A bitter laugh escaped his lips. “I felt so much guilt over what I had done—over what happened to Mor and for betraying Azriel like that—I spent the next five hundred years doing everything I could to make things easier between them. Azriel doesn’t think he is worthy of Mor and Mor isn’t interested. So I stepped in when I could… I eased the tension. I let Mor use me as a buffer and it just… it became a bad habit. We fell into an unusual friendship. Mor can be very protective of me.” He sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “I can see how things were misconstrued. I think about it a lot, Nesta. I think about it all the time.”

Only silence met his confession.

“Things won’t be like that anymore,” he pressed on. Because he needed Nesta to understand that Mor was not in the equation—that she never had been—even though he was sure he and Nesta would never be anything but two Fae forced into close quarters. “Mor has finally been honest with Azriel.”

No reply. Nesta had turned preternaturally still again, as if she weren’t breathing.

“Nesta?"

“What.”

It was only one word but it was more vicious than anything she had said to him in months.

He felt his blood heat as he propped himself up onto an elbow. “Are you going to say anything or are you going to ignore me and pretend this conversation never happened?”

Nesta’s body moved slightly beneath the sheets as her muscles seized up. “I don’t think any of it matters now, so it’s not relevant.”

“It has always been relevant to me.” Cassian’s voice came out as a low hiss, his self-control snapping as his vulnerability became too much to bear. He threw a protective bubble around the room, sound proofing them inside. For the sake of their pretence, he couldn't have Fae ears overhearing their conversation. And… he could not bear Lorrian and Frawley overhearing something so painful. “You terrify me, Nesta, because I have never been so fucking captivated by anyone in the whole five hundred years I have been alive. From the very start you were different and it scared the shit out of me. My entire family knew it, too. I’m not a fan of everyone knowing my business, either, believe it or not, and they witnessed you putting me down at every step.”

Nesta’s snort was so cold that his entire blood heated fire. He was thankful for the dark to conceal how red his face has turned. He wanted to throttle her at the same time as he wanted to press her into the mattress and slant his mouth on hers. To show her that even now he only wanted her. That Mor meant nothing. Hadn’t for centuries. That he’d royally fucked up in so many ways that he didn’t even know how to start apologising.

“If you cared so much, perhaps you would not drop my hand when your friend enters the scene or gift her lingerie whilst I am in the same room. You are disgusting,” she spat. 

Then, Nesta was facing him again with such sudden speed that Cassian braced himself for an attack, but Nesta only propped herself up onto an elbow. Her hair fell like a curtain over her shoulder, the flare of silver from her fingertips lighting the room with a sudden brightness.

“You asked why I read romance novels,” Nesta said, her voice having dropped suddenly into a quiet fervour that was no less chilling. “I read them because I was engaged to a boy who turned out to be cruel and I have watched a five hundred year old male discard and ignore me as he pleased. I would rather read about love than be in it. After all, I recall you saying that I was not worthy of love.”

“Sweetheart—” Cassian croaked. The blood had drained from his face and he knew that if he were to look in the mirror all he would see was a haunted ghost of himself. “I’m sorry. It was wrong of me to say that. You were so empty. I couldn’t reach you and so I lied. I thought you’d get angry at me, but instead you just walked away.”

“You are not unloveable,” he told her fiercely, when she remained silent and so fiercely sad his heart clenched. He had not known that she was engaged to that human filth. “You are the exact opposite. If anything—”

He stopped abruptly. Took stock. Her light was still glowing around them, illuminating the room in an ethereal mist which he would have considered beautiful if the two of them hadn’t been consumed by such agony.

“You’re not unloveable,” he insisted vehemently, after a moment’s pause. “And love doesn’t work like that. You can’t choose not to love, sweetheart. You know—”

“We decide how we act on it, that’s what matters,” Nesta interrupted, that mist sparking momentarily into flame before it was eaten by shadow.

And that was the crux of it. The truth behind the words—the calculated response that told Cassian that Nesta had thought of this over and over again. He would not change her mind when it came to him, because it all boiled down to her ability to choose. And he was not a choice. He had been thrust upon her. They were history rather than present. Would always be that way, it seemed.

Cassian fell onto his back as the gravity of the realisation crushed him with such force that for a moment, he felt as if he was choking.

“It was wrong of me to do those things,” Cassian said quietly, forcing out the hoarse words through the tightness in his windpipes as a result of the crushing disappointment. “All of it was wrong of me. I know that, Nesta. You may think I’m old but around you I find myself a teenager.  On Solstice last year I didn’t know how to deal with the situation so I ignored you before you could do it to me and then regretted it later. I hoped you would speak to me. I hoped—”

That you would change your mind. That you would want to be with me. That you would stop fucking all those males. That you would forgive me.

But Cassian did not say those things. Instead, he said, “Look, we just need to pretend to be together for one more day and then you don’t have to think about being tied to anyone ever again.”

Silence.

That as all he needed to move. Logic told him that he should stay put—that he should remain calm and rational rather than affected—but the pain was too much and he found himself sitting up and pushing off the covers. He needed distance. In this room all he could scent was her—jasmine and vanilla—and it hurt, to be so close and know that he could not comfort her without the knowledge that she’d set him alight.

Cassian had thought he’d drawn a line under it all. Thought he’d accepted that he was content to co-habit with her and resist the undeniable pull between them for the rest of his days. But they had taken such big steps forward recently. Had thought things had continually shifted until all it boiled down to was their connection, which ran far deeper than twists of rope and a damn Cauldron.

At times, Cassian had even thought Nesta had wanted him to touch her. Had almost leant in to him. Walked close, stayed close.

Snorting, he discarded the memories, angry at himself for having wished for something that he had tried to put to rest.

“Where are you going?” Nesta’s words were sharp. The fanciful part of him detected alarm, but Cassian pushed it away. He knew better.

“To sleep on the floor.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Again, Nesta moved with that extraordinary speed that Cassian should have accounted for. He had seen her in the sparring ring, had witnessed her move so fast that she was almost a blur. Only he could move that fast.

A mist-wreathed hand closed around his wrist with a strength that had his heart beating in his mouth and his siphons flaring. “Stay.”

Cassian ran a shaking palm over his face, pressing the heel of it to his eyes, hoping the pain of it would ground him. “I can’t,” he lied.

“You can,” Nesta said shortly, but there was a quiet plea lacing her voice. “You will.”

When Cassian didn’t move, Nesta tugged on his arm, urging him to join her back on the mattress. “Please,” she breathed, and this time Cassian did detect panic, as if Nesta had not bothered to conceal it. “I don’t want to fight with you. You’re the only—”

To Cassian’s dismay, Nesta broke off as her eyes filled with tears. When she spoke, her words were barely audible—small, “I like my life at the moment. I’ve never liked it before.”

Something cracked inside of Cassian, the sound internal and akin to the smashing of china.

“I don’t want anything to change,” Nesta continued. “I don’t want to have to move back to Velaris. I want to stay with you where I feel safe.”

Her expression cracked. The tight line to her mouth trembled and a frown twisted across her features. A tear slid down her cheek. “I said awful things to you,” she admitted.

“Yes,” Cassian conceded with a sad, tremulous smile, because even now he did not want her to hurt. “And I said awful things to you.”

“I wanted you to leave me alone. You scared me.”

“I know,” he replied. Because he understood what she meant. How even though his blood sang when she was near, he was equal parts terrified. “You scared me, too.”

“I needed to make you leave.”

“I know,” he repeated again. Because he knew that, too. Knew she had purposefully driven him away. She had wanted to hurt and be consumed with trauma. To finally feel nothing. To make sure the those she cared for were safe from her.

A broken sob had Cassian cupping Nesta’s face before he could help himself. Her skin was unbelievably soft against his calloused palms. He brushed a thumb over the arch of her cheekbone. “Nesta,” he breathed, waiting until she looked at him, until blue and hazel clicked into place. “I want you to stay with me. You never have to move back to Velaris, not if you don’t want to.”

Nesta did not reply. Did not move away. He bowed his head until his forehead was resting against hers, wanting her to know that he was sincere. That he wanted her to stay not because that’s what she needed to hear, but because he didn’t know what life would be like without her in it.

“I like living with you,” he told her again, because he knew somehow that she didn’t believe it. “I don’t want you to leave, either.”

Then he pulled her to him. She didn’t resist, her body pliant as he wrapped his arms around her. Cassian could feel Nesta’s heart, the sound pattering to meet his, as she wound her arms around his bare waist.

Her furled fists rested lightly against his skin, the pressure welcome and wonderful as she finally held him back.

“So, you won’t sleep on the floor?”

Such a small voice. Vulnerable and trusting. A voice she didn’t use with anyone but him.

“No,” Cassian assured her, knowing that staying was something he would never refuse. Something he couldn’t. “I won’t sleep on the floor.”

When he lay on the edge of his pillow closest to hers, Nesta settled beside him. She found his hand beneath the blankets, her fingers threading through his.

The initiated contact had his blood thrumming and he resisted the urge to pull Nesta back to him and wrap her in his arms.

An indeterminate amount of time passed.

Cassian listened to Nesta’s breathing as it became even; the slow, relaxed beat of her heart. The sound of his, thumping in tandem. Watched her eyelids flutter shut and her features soften. Felt how her fingers remained entwined with his.

“We would have crashed and burned. I would have dragged you down.”

Quiet, sleepy words. A confession, really, and Cassian stilled in surprise at the honesty that was not spat or wringing with deadly venom, but level. And if Cassian allowed himself to be rational, he knew that Nesta was right. Despite the thorny, overgrown path they were trampling down, it had all been necessary. Trauma, internal conflicts, self-doubt, complicated relationships… there were so many things that the both of them had needed to face before they could be truly content. What was it Cassian had said to Rhys when his brother had asked about his happiness? I’m working on it. He still was, but with Nesta beside him, still holding tight to his hand, Cassian found the world a little brighter, despite the shadowy future that lay ahead of them—a shape that had not yet taken form.

So, Cassian allowed a small smile to creep onto his face. “Maybe I’d like to be set alight.”

A soft snort. “That doesn’t mean you should.”

Then, Nesta’s fingers squeezed his. Soft breath travelled across the pillow to caress his cheek. “Goodnight, Cassian.”

He wondered how many times Nesta had actually said his name without being in mortal danger or when she had needed to get his attention. His name sounded intimate on her lips, a whisper of a prayer across the void that he hoped was narrowing between them.

In his mind, Cassian raised her hand again to press a kiss to her knuckles, even as he merely tightened his hold on hers.

It was in that moment of calm that Cassian vowed that he would change Nesta’s mind. That he would spend this gifted time showing Nesta that they might be strung together but that he had chosen her, if she would have him.

In the flickering silver light, Cassian felt Nesta began to slip into unconscious. Felt her fingers loosen their grip on his, but he held on tight, and said, “Goodnight, Nesta.”

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[multisugars]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧— how they comfort you when you’re stressed out

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬// 𝐚𝐧𝐱𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐛𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧 — can you do an outsiders reaction where the reader has too much on their plate (work, school, etc.) and their SO asks them if they're ok and the reader just bursts out crying from stress?

i did add a couple different sceneries! because i didn’t want to write the same thing for each of them, but it all has the same feel to it!! xx

𝙙𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙮

your boss decided to call you into work last minute. it’s only been a few hours since you returned home. which means you haven’t even gotten enough sleep to feel replenished. you wished so badly to tell him no, but he’s extremely hard headed and strict. especially towards the woman that work for him. and, you know you could use the extra money, as you’re putting on your uniform you can’t help but feel a sense of tiredness, it’s so overwhelming it makes you start to feel weak at the knees. you immediately call out for darry.

“what’s wrong y/n?” he asks worriedly.

“i-i’m just so tired,” you cry out. “i feel like my boss never wants me to have a break.”

you sit in the chair that rests in front of your vanity. you’ve never felt this exhausted in your entire life. darry takes notice at your weakened state, he hates to see you so worn out. it’s not normal for you to lack energy, you’re the most bubbly person he knows.

“okay, lets lay you down,” darry slides his arms under your legs and carries you over to your shared bed. you’re more than capable of walking yourself, but you don’t complain.

“just take a nap and rest awhile you need it more than anyone.”

“no,” you struggle to escape his strong hold. “i can’t i have to go to work.”

“not today, you’re not goin’ in i don’t care if i have to go talk to your boss myself,” he pulls the blanket over you tucking you in warmly. “rest now.”

“thank you, darry.”

𝙨𝙤𝙙𝙖𝙥𝙤𝙥

you’ve been working towards your masters degree in psychology for the past two years. you’re so close to being done but it’s so much work and the assignment you were just assigned is crazy difficult and time consuming, you try to push yourself to get more done before bed, but eventually your hands start to cramp from the all the typing, your muscles ache from the hours of sitting at your desk. soda comes into your room when he gets home from work. he’s immediately concerned when he sees you hunched over with your head in your hands.

“y/n...” he questions. “you alright?”

it doesn’t take much for you to break. all the stress finally came piling down on you.

“hey,” soda kneels down lifting your chin so he can see your face. “relax.”

“there’s so much pressures on me,” you vent. “this assignment is impossible.”

“nothing’s impossible for you,” he reassures. “you can do anything. i just think you need a break.”

“yeah i definitely do, will you lay with me for awhile?”

“of course i will,” he smiles shyly.

𝙥𝙤𝙣𝙮𝙗𝙤𝙮

you anxiously walked up the tall stairs into your HS, today was the day of your history presentation. this is what you’ve been dreading for the past week. public speaking wasn’t at all something you were comfortable with or liked doing, and it doesn’t help that you aren’t friends with anyone in your class, well besides ponyboy. he’s the only one you speak to.

you meet him in the hallway, putting your book bag and unneeded things in your locker. ponyboy noticed your hands shaking as you closed the door.

“you scared about this whole history thing huh?”

“uh- a little,” you shrug trying to hide your nerves.

“you’ll be fine,” he tries to reassure you.

but before you can walk away you can already feel the familiar stinging sensation starting to build up in your eyes, your heart rate accelerates, you feel like you’re drowning and can’t reach the surface.

“i can’t breathe,” you say as sheer panic overtakes your body.

pony’s face softenes. he grabs your hand dropping his books, taking you into the nearest closet.

“shh just look at me okay?”

you nod focusing all your attention on him. he runs his fingers through your hair while wiping a few tears away from your eyes. you take slow steady breathes. this isn’t the first time he’s had to help you get over a panic attack. once your breathing gets back to normal again, you feel like you’re finally ready to go to class.

“okay,” you breathe. “let’s go.”

“ uh we’re gonna need a late pass... unless you want to spend the end of the day in detention.”

you look down at your watch noticing you’re about six minutes late to history.

“damn it!”

𝙙𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙖𝙨

it’s been a busy night at the movie theater. you’ve tried your best to fill everyone’s orders while also working the cash register. your boss previously complained about how many workers there are on each shift so he cut back. sadly this leaves you to try and get so many things done at once. the stress of it all is starting to really affect you, but you can’t quit. you need this job more than anything right now so you can afford to get books for school.

even though your boss a jerk you do somewhat like this job, you’re a people person so seeing familiar faces every week puts you in a good mood, but every now and then you’ll get a disrespectful customer. this time it was a group of boys, you recognize some of them from the college you attend.

“what shit movies are playing tonight?” one of them asks while skimming through the candy.

“can you read? look at the boards outside..” you try your best to keep your cool.

“i don’t think you employees are allowed to talk to us paying clients like that,” his demeanor quickly shifts.

“hey we gotta problem here,” you hear a voice from behind the guys. knowing immediately who it is.

they quickly scurry off, as dallas pushes himself to the front of the line.

“you okay doll?”

“i am now,” you say softly as you wipe just a single tear from your cheek. you didn’t really care about the boys but it never feels good to be embarrassed at your place of work.

“don’t let those jerk offs make you cry.”

you nod and sneak in a quick kiss before dal leaves.

𝙟𝙤𝙝𝙣𝙣𝙮

“why can’t he do it this time! i’m going to be late!” you argue. your parents have asked you to clean the house again for the third time this week, and you normally don’t have a problem with helping out but your brother has been sitting in his room playing video games all day and you need to be somewhere. you feel like they always pick you at the most inconvenient times, and the worst part is johnny is waiting for you outside, you’d hate to make him wait.

“your brother is sick and slow! it would take him an hour to even sweep the kitchen,” you mom says as she puts her coat on.

“he’s not sick! he’s playing video games!”

“do it y/n! or you and johnny won’t be going anywhere tonight,” you dad warns as he slams the door behind him leaving you in a mess.

“WHATEVER!”

you collapse on the couch, breaking out into a full on crying fit. it feels like your parents are punishing you. johnny must have heard your cries from the front porch because without knocking he opens the front door, approaching you slowly.

“hey you okay?” his asks trying to help but this only makes it worse.

your cries get louder and johnny is completely stunned. he’s never seen you this emotional. you’re almost positive he’s going to think your absolutely insane after tonight.

“my parents hate me!” you say dramatically.

“i don’t think that’s true.”

“they are always making me clean things or do everyone’s chores,” you sigh. “we can’t leave until i sweep and mop all the floors.”

“well i’ll help ya,” johnny offers.

“really?!”

“yeah, but we better get started...” he pulls you up from the couch bringing his jacket sleeve up to your eyes so he wipe your tears away.

𝙩𝙬𝙤-𝙗𝙞𝙩

“i get that ma’am but i don’t have the receipt.”

“then i’m sorry hun...we can’t exchange it.”

you were trying to get a new shirt for two-bit. the one that you previously ordered had came in to small. but since you ordered it off the store website you didn’t have a paper receipt, and your order wasn’t showing up on their computers, which made you frustrated.

“so there’s no way i can get a new one? or even just get my money back?” you question.

“i’m sorry,” the cashier shakes her head obviously uncomfortable with the situation.

you don’t respond, instead you leave the shirt on the counter and walk out. it might not be a huge deal for some people but you didn’t have a lot of money. and you were out 25$, with nothing to show for it. when you get home two-bit is lazily slumped over the arm rest of the couch, drinking a beer.

“hey baby where’d you sneak off to?”

“the clothing store down town...”

“what’s up? you seem upset?” he asks lifting himself up from the couch.

your shoulders slump down as you bring your heads up to cover your face.

“wow wow don’t cry! sorry for askin.”

“no it’s not that,” you tell him. “they wouldn’t let me exchange your shirt today.”

“and that’s what you’re cryin over?” two-bit laughs wrapping his arms around your frame. “it’s fine.”

“i just wanted you to have something special.”

“you’re all i need y/n.”

𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙫𝙚

steve had decided last minute to stop and get gas at the DX before the two of you finish your date. this annoyed you a little since you tell him every morning to just fill up while he’s at work, i mean makes sense right? but with his forgetful nature it’s hard to keep him on track with things. when you pull into the gas station it’s pretty empty, only one car parked along the gas lineup. steve steps out to pump and you go into the store to pay. when you walk in you’re met with a very rude and arrogant man who pushes you aside so he can be helped first at the register.

“excuse you sir?” you’re taken aback. “i was in line first.”

he laughs not offering you a response. the lady working the register meets your gaze and mouths “i’m sorry” in your direction. she must not be a very confrontational person, which you understood.

“i’m only paying for gas it won’t take long,” you add hoping the man will let you go since steve is waiting outside in the freezing weather.

“not my problem, you got somewhere to be?”

“actually yes, i do.”

“dressed like that?” the man scoffs. laughing as he scans up and down your body.

you might not have name brand clothes like him, but they weren’t dirty or disgusting looking. as he hands the lady his credit card to pay you can’t help but hang onto his cruel insult. right before you’re about to storm out the doors, steve runs right into you, latching on tightly to both sides of your arms. you lean your head into his chest.

“hey what’s goin’ on?”

you wrap your arms around his waist, crying softly as you reply the mans insult over in your mind.

“that man he-he was being a complete jerk!”

“what did he do?! huh did he hurt you!” steve becomes more aggressive.

you shake your head.

he takes out a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes your eyes gently, while also trying not to smear your eye makeup. you laugh at his sweet gesture.

“you’re the best,” you lift onto your tiptoes placing a small kiss on his forehead.

“i know,” he smirks. “now let’s go outside before that jackass leaves i wanna give him a piece of my mind.”

[mollymauk-teafleak]

baby you’re like lightning in a bottle (chapter three)

Sorry it’s been so long since I updated! Teaching during cover times doesn’t leave much time for fic writing. Thanks as always to my amazing betas who keep me motivated @spiky-lesbian​ and @minky-for-short​

Please reblog and leave a comment on Ao3 if you’d like to support my writing!

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Chapters: 1, 2, 3

Peter Nureyev is stuck undercover in Oldtown High for a week longer than planned. Another week of boring lessons, feeling the pressure of an entire panel’s freedom on his shoulders and having to deal with his growing attraction to one Juno Steel...

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After one lesson of Earth History, Peter found himself glad that he wouldn’t be taking any real examinations at this school. How a teacher could make the home planet of their entire species, the epicentre of their system spanning civilisation, now half ravaged by millenia of pollution and half the playground of the galaxy’s richest trillionaires, sound painfully dull, he didn’t know. But between a teacher that napped in between paragraphs of his monotone lectures and textbooks that were illegible behind layers of graffiti older than the students, they had managed it. Mag’s lessons had been nothing like this.

And it didn’t help that someone up there had decided to really screw with him. In between taking long sips from a coffee cup that definitely didn’t have coffee in it, the teacher sat this new kid in the only available empty chair. Right next to Juno Steel.

If the look on his face was anything to go by, Peter’s new friend wasn’t happy about it either. He was scowling so hard throughout the whole lesson, it was a wonder he didn’t have wrinkles at eighteen. Peter felt every blistering wave of hostility, whenever he dared do so much as breathe, shift his pen, edge his elbow even a centimeter closer to Juno’s.

And the cherry on the top of this almost unbearably painful hour of mind numbing, pointless fact retention and being stared down by a set of suspicious, angry eyes was the part of Peter’s mind still just stuck on how attractive Juno was.

Sometimes Peter wished he could reach into his own body, stuff his hormones into a very cramped box, lock it in chains and throw away the key.

But finally an ear splitting bell rang out and the students lurched to their feet with a communal groan of relief, not waiting for any kind of dismissal. Peter sweeped his notebook and pen into his rucksack, grateful to finally be able to get his mission over with and get off this planet with it’s suffocating schools and confusingly hot kids his age who hated him. Then he could remind himself that he was a thief with a cause and no other concerns beyond that cause.

Certainly not soft golden brown eyes and painted pink lips that still had dried blood smudged on them and hands that he bet would be soft underneath the split knuckles and calluses.

Peter stamped down hard on that thought, reminding himself of one of Mag’s more joking rules that he hadn’t taken seriously until now.

First rule of thieving, a pretty face is the most dangerous thing in the whole damn universe.

Nureyev made as swift an exit as he could manage, made easier by the fact that the hundreds of other kids in Oldtown High were as eager to get to the doors as he was. As he lost himself in the crowd filing down the stairways, he went over the plan.

He would go to the apartment Mag had acquired for him under the name of Peter Ransom’s non-existent father, go over his tools until dark fell and then come back to the school once the coast was clear. From there it would be easy. Break into the principal’s office, find the incriminating files on his computer, the ones that proved the school was being used to launder money by corrupt government officials, upload the malware that would snatch the files and carry them back to Mag on Brahma. Then call him and hear the pride in his voice after Peter announced his first off planet, solo mission had been a complete and total success.

Then leave and never feel the ever present dust of this damn planet on his skin ever again.

Peter’s imagined elation at the thought of it lasted until he walked out of the doors. At first the bright sun, unfiltered by any atmosphere, was all he could see but once he adjusted, he saw the line of vans parked on the front courtyard of the school. The ones with a large, garish cartoon of a giant bug on its back with crosses for eyes all plastered on the sides.

And the second he took to stop and consider this was all it took.

“Ransom! There you are!”

Peter jumped and turned to see Ben just skidding to a halt next to him, his face still split into the wide grin that was starting to seem like his trademark. And, of course, slouching and scowling behind him, his brother.

Dredging up Ransom’s innocent, grateful smile at seeing his friends was hard in that moment but he managed, “Hi! Sorry, I didn’t know you’d be looking for me…”

“Just wanted to say bye!” Ben grinned, bouncing slightly even as he stood in place like he just couldn’t help it, “Unless you walk our way? We’re going over in that direction.” He pointed hopefully, off towards where most of the cheap housing was in this part of the city, apparently immune to the exasperated glare from his twin.

Mercifully, Nureyev didn’t have to lie, “No, sorry. I live above one of the stores off main street. Other end of Oldtown.”

“Aw,” Ben’s disappointment was disarmingly genuine, so much that Nureyev felt a genuine pinch of regret, “We’ll see you tomorrow though!”

“Yeah!” now that lie felt strangely uncomfortable on his tongue, the regret not shifting, “Um...what are those vans, sorry? Just wondering.”

Ben looked over at them, “Oh! Right, you missed morning announcements. The school’s got a hell of a bad rat problem, they’re all in the walls. So the exterminators are locking the school down overnight, flooding the place with gas and trying to get them under control. Must be a hell of a job, they’re gonna be doing it for the rest of the week. ”

Nureyev’s stomach sank to the bottom of his shoes, “Wait...overnight? You mean all night? Every night? For a week?”

“Yeah,” Ben cocked his head, a little confused at his reaction, “Don’t worry, the rats don’t come out during the day. Good thing too, with those six eyes and teeth the length of your arm, they’d pick off the freshmen for lunch.”

Nureyev shook himself, realising he was behaving like an ameture, “They, ah...they don’t get that big on Brahma…”

“Welcome to Mars,” Juno grunted, scuffing the toe of his boot against the step.

Nureyev sleep walked through their goodbyes, letting his feet trace the already memorised route between the school and the apartment, not knowing what else to do. He couldn’t get into the school for a week without choking on rat poison.

So he was stranded. With nothing to do but attend high school. He could have screamed.

Remember the first rule.

Peter carried those words as he walked to school the next morning, feeling them the way a necklace that was just a little too big would rest lightly against his chest. Not a weight but noticeable. Enough that he couldn’t put it from his mind.

It was all the reply he’d gotten from Mag after he’d made his first nightly report, updating him on the disappointing turn of events last afternoon. The only way he could message his mentor without any kind of traceable risk was through the burner comms he’d been sent to Mars with, an old, clunky model that could only send the most basic text signals, no more detail than was absolutely necessary. Short messages were harder to track, especially across so much empty space.

He knew that but, still, it hadn’t been an awful lot of comfort, only getting a handful of words printed in eye aching green on the too small screen as he’d sat alone in the barren apartment on his thin fold out bed. He’d tried to read them with Mag’s gruff, friendly voice in his mind but it wasn’t the same and Peter had fallen asleep with the same bitter, disappointed hollow in his chest that had opened up when he’d realised he wouldn’t be going home for far longer than he’d imagined.

But this morning he’d called himself a childish fool and reminded himself why he was here. No matter what it took, Peter Nureyev would do the job he’d been sent to do. Would his father have spent an unprofitable evening sulking because the cause had asked for a few more days? Would Mag?

So he’d shouldered his bag, checked his disguise twice over in the mirror and set off for Oldtown High with those words carried in his heart. He hadn’t needed to ask which rule the message had been talking about, it was the one Mag had repeated the most, the one Peter struggled with more than any other.

First rule of thieving, be patient.

Hyperion City never seemed to slow down. It was the same in Brahma’s capital but there was still something staggering about seeing the same busyness, the relentlessness, the noise played out with hundreds, maybe even thousands more people than could even fit on the whole of his tiny home planet. The air was already thick with sharp tastes of smoke, the roads crammed with cars, raised voices echoing on the streets from open apartment windows and shop doors as Peter walked to school at only eight in the morning. Past the slight shimmer of the dome miles above his head, the sun was already baking the city, red dust moving past his legs with every gust of wind. It was going to be a cloudless day, one that smelled of hot sand and the reek of a city.

Before long, his glasses were smudged, his shirt was stuck to his back and he had a headache. Clearly the main streets weren’t the best way to get to school, even if they were the most direct route. Consulting the map of Oldtown firmly embedded in his memory, Peter cut down one side street and then another to reach the network of back alleyways, wanting at least a few buildings between himself and the relentless honking, smog and cursing that was apparently a feature of the early morning Hyperion commute. He’d take any scrap of peace he could get right now, even if it meant hopping fences and skirting piles of choking garbage to get it.

Be patient. Be patient. Be patient.

He repeated it to himself again and again, making it a command. It absorbed his thoughts so completely, the way things tended to do when he focused all his attention on them, that he didn’t see the figure walking through the alleyway just in front of the one he was in now until he’d been about to jump the chain link fence between them drop right onto their heads. Fortunately, at the very last second, he was able to stop his momentum and instead roll soundlessly behind a pile of full to bursting trash bags, hand clamped over his mouth and silently thanking his lucky stars that he moved so silently.

There was a heart stopping moment of waiting but no pursuit or angry shout followed him into his hiding place. The other person mustn't have seen him. Peter risked a glance, sure it was just some employee of the cafe next door or just a random passerby, someone wrapped up in their own inconsequential morning routine and that he’d soon be feeling very silly for his over reaction. It was just so hard to shake off the instincts of a hungry orphan who’d had to survive in a place where just around every corner could be a guard who’d kick him in the ribs for fun.

And where death could come from the sky above his head.

But, as he leaned out and looked, Peter realised he was very glad that he’d hidden. Because it wasn’t just some nameless citizen of Hyperion. It was Juno Steel.

He was different today, in jeans that were probably ripped both for aesthetics and with wear and a hooded sweater cut just under his ribs so his stomach showed. The combat boots were the same, as were the scabs and bruises from his fight yesterday. In fact they looked worse now they’d had a day to settle in, the one over his eye an especially nasty kind of deep purple. A smudge of eyeshadow in the exact same shade sat on the other, unmarred eye, as if Juno was deliberately trying to make a joke of his injuries. As if he was daring anyone to care.

Even after only knowing them a day, it was strange to see him without Ben. Peter actually found himself waiting, certain the other Steel twin would appear soon, perhaps out of the store Juno was loitering behind. But he didn’t. Juno was only waiting until the coast was clear before continuing on, moving in pretty much the same direction Peter had been about to head himself.

Peter waited, breathing shallowly into his palm. Well...he’d been going that way anyway? It wasn’t as if he was deliberately following Juno?

He used all the skills of moving unseen that had been drilled into him by Mag and, before that, the simple need to survive. He made sure to let Juno always be a building’s span ahead of him, using the muffled noises of cars passing on the street beyond to hide the rattling of fences and the thump of his feet on the ground, his eyes never leaving the back of the other kid’s head.

Before too long, Juno stopped, ducking though a hole in some railings into a narrow alleyway. It appeared to be empty, just steam from an overhead grate and a strong, sour metallic smell. But Juno had the look of someone who’d found exactly what he was looking for. Curious, Peter found another hiding spot behind some very optimistic, scrubby plant, managing somehow to grow in between the railings on goodness knew what. It was easy to disappear into the long, thick shadows of the morning.

After all, he couldn’t pass until Juno moved on, could he? And if he just so happened to see what he was doing then it was an unintended consequence of simply keeping his distance.

The scraping of metal took his attention away from his justifications. Juno had hunkered down in the alleyway and was prying up a sewer grate of all things. Like everything else in this part of the city, it must have been old and poorly maintained, Juno barely needed to strain to get the heavy steel disc standing upright.

Was he going down into the sewers? Peter wrinkled his nose at the smell coming up from that grate, heavier in the warmth of the sunny morning. What could be down there that he’d want?

After a moment, a small pink nose poked up from the circle of reeking darkness. Peter saw Juno smile and reach into the backpack he’d been wearing, bringing out a small parcel wrapped in a paper towel. Peter’s sharp eyes saw the leftovers of a breakfast, toast crusts and the rind of bacon, a little bit of apple. Smiling wider than ever and murmuring gentle hellos that sounded so jarring coming from the young lady who’d been so harsh to him, Juno began to feed whatever creature could make it’s home in sewers that must have been near toxic given the state of this city. Peter could see a set of tall ears sticking out now, notched and matted with filth.

Rats in the walls and rabbits in the sewers. What kind of planet had he landed on?

Peter could have moved on, gone back to the main street now his curiosity had been satisfied or over the roofs even. But something made him stay. Something about how Juno’s eyes looked when he smiled, a sight he’d never seen before. How it softened their colour to almost a gold, how they crinkled in the corners in a way not too unlike when he scowled. They just looked so gentle, a kindness in them that didn’t look out of place on his face, the way it should have. It seemed to have always been there, just hidden until now.

Suddenly, Peter felt a stab of guilt. He didn’t want to be stealing a sight like this, taking it without permission like a thief.

The irony of that unexpected feeling was something he’d have to file away for now and deal with later. For now, he would slip away silently, braving the noise and stink of the main streets, and try and remember what Mag had told him. Though it seemed to be sitting less heavily in his chest than it was before.

Same as yesterday, Ben came looking for Peter and found him sitting on the school steps, pretending to read a book on his comms to mask the fact that he was casing the front of the building and trying to decide if the drain pipes would take his weight in a pinch. Effortlessly, with no effort from him, he was folded back into their little group of four, being pulled over to the bench they’d claimed to laze and smoke on and deliberately turn up late for first period.

Juno seemed as surly and scowly as ever though it was hard to take it as personally, after seeing him spare what had looked like more than half his breakfast for hungry baby rabbits in the sewer.

Peter found himself stealing glances at him all the way through the day, in the lessons they shared, walking through the corridors with Ben or Mick chatting away between them, back in their little hideaway for another long lunch. Whenever it happened, he’d admonish himself and turn his attention back to something useful like memorising the rotation of the guards outside or seeing which classroom doors had broken locks. First rules of thieving ran through his head, trying to tug him back to his mission with Mag’s fondly stern tone.

And it would work, for a time. But then there would always be Juno’s earrings catching the light or a wry smile softening his face when Benzaiten made a joke or Mick’s story took a particularly absurd turn or Sasha made a particularly cutting sarcastic comment, his focus as they escaped the school again like he took his task as seriously as Peter had ever taken one of his own. And Peter would find his mind wandering.

It was like having a puzzle box he couldn’t solve. Peter was so used to reading people at a glance, in being able to arm himself with their insecurities and weak points, weaving his shield out of the strings he could pull to bring them down. Even if they were people calling themselves his friends or strangers who’d never give him a second glance, it made him feel better to have that knowledge just in case. He’d learned a long time ago that people could lie, that danger could come from clear skies.

But Juno was the only person who’d ever insisted on surprising him. On being more that Peter could tease out of his clothes and mannerisms, everything plain on his face and everything hidden underneath. He was a problem he’d been unable to solve at first glance, a lock that was refusing to open under his clever fingers.

Peter told himself that was why, when Benzaiten threw an arm around his skinny shoulders as they were walking back to the school after another long lunch and reminded him about the party he’d talked about yesterday, reminding Peter he’d promised to come and jokingly warning him there was no backing out, he only smiled, nodded and said, “Sure. I’d love to come.”

He told himself it was because he wasn’t leaving Mars while there was a puzzle on it that he couldn’t solve. He told himself it was because he was stuck here for a week anyway and he needed something to occupy his brain while he waited, Juno Steel was as good an exercise as any, like the tasks Mag used to give him when he was younger.

That was what Peter told himself. But it was the look Juno gave him over his shoulder when he heard him say those words, the look that could have been sour and exasperated, could have been surprised and maybe impressed and could have been all of those things at once, that Peter would be thinking about for the rest of the afternoon.

After less than an hour at his first party, Peter realised that Mag had prepared him to survive so many dangerous, almost apocalyptic situations, how to save his own skin at the very last moment, how to save a planet, how to play the parts of a hundred different people he wasn’t, down to the bone.

But he hadn’t taught him the first thing about how to be the kid he was.

At first, Peter had felt a little foolish when Ben had offered to meet him halfway to the kid’s house so they could all walk in together. He knew he was supposed to be playing the shell shocked, anxious new kid and should be gratified that it was clearly convincing but still, something about someone assuming he needed his hand held rankled him. It always had.

But from the moment they’d stepped over the threshold of the tiny apartment halfway up a rather badly slanting block, into a world of throbbing music, bodies pressed close together, the heady smell of sweat, sweet smoke and spilled alcohol and next to no light, Peter was glad he had some familiar faces to cling to. It was immediately overwhelming, the sheer wall of noise he couldn’t pick apart into useable information, the way people kept bumping into him like he was too insignificant to be worth noticing, how it was too dark for him to get a clear idea of where the exits were or get any handle on what sort of people were currently surrounding him like a tide.

And it was even worse when, inevitably, the constantly shifting gravitational pull of the drinks table, the small space that had been cleared as a sort of dance floor and the loose knot of kids smoking something that gave off a distinct sickly smell dragged all of his temporary friends away from Peter, leaving him hugging one of the far walls like it was a raft adrift in a choppy sea. Completely alone.

He told himself he was being foolish. He knew Mag had attended all kinds of balls, galas and events in a hundred different stolen tuxedos and stolen names. Peter knew how to charm people, he knew how to move through social circles effortlessly, he even knew which fork to use first if he ever found himself dining with Venusian royalty. But this kind of party was a different beast entirely, something he wasn’t even sure Mag would have been able to navigate. It was loud and oppressive, the outfits were sparing and caught the moonlight in distracting ways, people were shouting and moving in ways he didn’t understand. And it felt like everyone was looking at him with judgement in their eyes. Not that he cared.  

Peter looked around for Benzaiten and Mick with their reassuring way of putting their arms around him, for Sasha’s comforting, unflappable presence. But Ben and Mick were clearly very preoccupied, apparently drunk without even needing a drop of the many varieties of mind altering substances laid out on the far side of the room, dancing together in a way that Peter definitely didn’t want to interrupt and wasn’t even sure he should be looking at. Sasha had been pulled into a game of spin the bottle with her debate team friends, another thing Peter didn’t want to even approach.

He stifled a groan, pretending to check his comms just for something to do with his hands and to try and put off the strangers who kept coming up and yelling in his ear to offer him beers he didn’t want. But all that gave him was a depressing look at the time on his screen. Just past eleven pm, they’d been here for no more than five minutes. Clearly coming here had been a disastrous idea; he hadn’t planned for it, he’d let his mind stray off the task at hand yet again and he was paying the price.

You let Juno distract you, a chagrined voice murmured in his mind, somehow making itself heard over the music rattling the floorboards.

Mouth twisting, Peter shoved his comms back in his pocket and made for the door before any more thoughts could arise. He definitely wasn’t going to be putting tonight in his report to Mag, that was for sure.

Why this particular voice stood out when everything else was just a wall of incomprehensible, pulsing noise, Peter couldn’t say. Why it made him stop, when he was just a few steps from the door, a few steps away from peace and distance from the humiliation settling heavily in his chest, he couldn’t say either. But it did.

“Hey Steel, looking for someone you haven’t hooked up with yet? That’s got to be like, what, two people?”

Peter stilled, his eyes drawn over to the drinks table where a kid their age was leaning, a taunting smirk visible on their face even with what little light there was. And their eyes, sharp and mocking, were fixed on Juno.

Juno had been the first one of their little group Peter had lost track of in the chaos, something he’d been a little relieved about. The other three had been wearing slightly nicer, skimpier versions of their usual clothes, it wasn’t like any kid who went to Oldtown High could afford anything of ridiculously high quality. Peter himself had just exchanged his thrift store t-shirt for one that fit him slightly better, still with the same faded jeans and oversize trainers, something that wasn’t making him feel any less out of place.

But something about Juno’s outfit had been particularly...distracting. The same fishnets and combat boots as the first day they’d met, the same excessive jewellery and make up but now paired with a black miniskirt dress in some material that shone with a kind of iridescence, cut so the hem of it barely skated the upper third of his thigh. Looking at him dressed like that had brought a blush to his cheeks it had been very hard to keep at bay. So seeing him disappear into the crush of bodies, an expression like this was his element on his face, had been something of a relief.

But here he was now, looking just as distracting even with a dangerous look on his face aimed directly at the person who’d spoken.

“What’s wrong, Jones, sore I’ve never come to ask you?” he shot back, taking a long drink from the bottle of beer he’d just picked up, “Sorry, I just didn’t think we’d have a lot of chemistry what with you being a raging asshole and all.”

Something clicked in Nureyev’s mind, a memory slotting into place. This was who Juno had been fighting with on the day he’d come to Oldtown High, the person who’d blackened his eye and split his lip.

Something similar looked like it was brewing, from the way the kid stalked closer to Juno, until they were toe to toe. They were bigger than Juno by a good few inches, most people were even with the thick soles of his boots, but something flashing in Juno’s eyes made it not matter.

“I think I should finish what I started the other day,” Jones snarled, “Your face isn’t looking busted up enough for my liking.”

“You’re really welcome to try,” Juno’s lip curled, “See what happens.”

Peter’s eye caught movement at the kid’s side, just another shadow in amongst a room made up of them. They had a bottle too, hanging in a loose grip, Juno mustn’t have seen it and, nose to nose with them, he also didn’t see how it was rising, how their grip was tightening around the neck, how they were about to swing it’s full weight into the side of Juno’s head.

Again, Peter moved on instinct, seeing danger rising and snapping to attention with no thought other than to act. He surged forward, gripping the back of Juno’s dress and yanking him away, so the bottle missed his face by an inch. Carrying forward with the same momentum, taking advantage of the split second where they were trying to redress their balance, Peter palm struck them right in the nose. He had no muscle to speak of so everything Mag had taught him had been focused on using his opponents movements against them, turning their strength back on them when he couldn’t provide his own. So as Jones reeled back, blood flying from their nose in an arc that caught Peter across the face, he swept their feet out from under them, sending them crashing back so their head thudded heavily on the floor, dizzying them.

For a long, drawn out second, the whole party had their eyes fixed on Peter, completely stunned, Juno, Ben, Mick and Sasha included. If the music hadn’t still been pounding through every surface, it would have been deadly silent, the whole world shrunk down to this one kid, panting heavily with blood hot on his face.

What broke it was Juno, reaching forward and seizing Peter’s hand, murmuring, “Run.”

So they did.

Sheer adrenaline carried them forward as they fled down the stairs, out onto the street and away. Peter’s pulse was a racket in his ears, like the beat of the music was still following them even as they put blocks between them and the party. All he could do was follow Juno, their joined hands as unbreakable as an iron chain, as he pulled him along. The streetlights, the faces of pedestrians, the store fronts around them blurred into insignificance as they ran, he was only aware of the salty taste of blood on his lips and the heat of Juno’s skin against his own. He seemed to know where they were going and Peter was content to follow.

Finally they burst through some iron gates and were suddenly surrounded by trees, shoes pounding over pathways covered in leaves, the smell of rich earth and damp wood around them, so different from the smoke and stink of the city. When they skidded to a halt, it was in the dead centre of this park, beside a dry fountain, it’s grand curves and sweeping spouts looking strangely sad and barren in the night.

Peter’s lungs were burning in his chest and he spent some time doubled over, hands braced on his knees, painfully pulling in air. He could hear Juno doing the same beside him though, after a while, his gasping turned into rough, wild laughter.

Peter straightened up, frowning uncertainly. It sounded like Juno was losing his mind, laughing so hard he couldn’t stand up, sinking down with his back against the basin of the fountain. But after a moment, he found himself grinning too, thin shoulders shaking with his own manic giggles as the mad rush of their escape ebbed away and left them only able to cackle at the absurdity of it all.

“Did you see their face?” Juno finally managed to gasp out, voice raw, tears actually in his eyes, “You must have broke their fucking nose!”

Peter winced ruefully, sitting down on the gravelled ground beside Juno, “They’re going to be out for my blood tomorrow, aren’t they?”

“Doubt it, it’s me Jones really hates. Sad thing is, it is actually because I wouldn’t fuck them which is pretty damn ironic. Besides, if they do, you can just pull more of that ninja shit out of absolutely nowhere,” Juno snorted, “Where the hell did you even learn to do that? It was like the fence thing all over again, you keep doing the strangest, coolest shit with no warning...”

Peter swallowed, not sure what to say that wasn’t going to affirm Juno’s suspicions about him or reveal more about himself than was ever going to be a good idea, “I just...I just know how to take care of myself.”

Juno coughed roughly into his fist, finally getting control over himself, “Clearly. Jones was about to brain me with that bottle before you swept in and saved the day…” his expression changed then, something in it tightening, “Why did you even do that? Why not just let me get a face full of glass? I’ve been enough of a dick to you to deserve it.”

Peter dropped his eyes, “You have. But that could have seriously hurt you, they were going right for your eyes. And, well, Jones seemed like slightly more of a dick than you.”

“Slightly?” Juno chuckled roughly, his face softening again, “Well...thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

There was a moment of awkward pause before Juno leaned over and rubbed some of the blood off Peter’s cheek with a thumb, “Hey, uh...I do kind of owe you an apology. For...being the way I am. Ben and Sasha, hell even Mick, they’ve been giving me shit about it.”

Peter had to force himself to listen, so much of his brain was laser focused on that tumb against his skin, that touch, “I...I think I get it. You have a really good thing going with your friends and I just showed up out of the blue and changed things.”

Juno looked taken aback and suddenly the blush on his cheeks could have been his make up or it could have been something else, “Uh...okay. Fair. That’s pretty close to the mark.”

Peter cleared his throat quickly, realising he’d shown a little more of his hand than he’d meant to. He hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol back at the party, or ever for that matter, and he hadn’t smoked anything beyond what already hung on the air but something about the split second fight, the running and something about being sat here with Juno now was giving him a similar buzz in his blood and lightheadedness he’d always assumed came along with that sort of thing.

First rule of thieving, always keep a clear head he thought and felt guilty. He was trying.

“But Ben basically adopted you, it’s not your fault,” Juno frowned, picking at his nail polish, “It’s not an excuse for me being a dick. Yeah, you’re strange and you know how to do weird stuff and there’s things you’re not telling us...but hell, that’s basically everyone.”

“Thanks?” Peter said with an unsure smile, making Juno laugh again. The lightheadedness got worse then.

Juno shrugged, leaning far back enough so he was looking up at the stars. They reflected back in his dark eyes, pinpoint sparks in what looked like nothingness but was so much more. For the first time since he’d met Mag, Peter got the sense that someone understood him. That if he told them everything about himself, his fears and hopes, the planets he wanted to walk on some day, the world he wanted to make for himself and why, Juno would understand. Maybe even in a way Mag didn’t.

And he couldn’t say a word to him. He didn’t even know his real last name.

At that moment, Peter Nureyev could have cried.

“Bet Benten’s already texted me a million times,” Juno sighed, “Worrying about where I am’s probably really cutting into his making out with Mick time.”

Peter forced a smile, “We could go back.”

Juno paused then shook his head, voice softer and quieter than before, “Nah. Not yet. Five more minutes.”

Relief poured through Peter’s chest, even with the sadness still smouldering like embers in his stomach that wouldn’t go out. He wasn’t ready to go back either.

“Hey, huddle in, would ya, it’s freezing,” Juno grunted, suddenly drawing right up close until his side was flush against Peter’s, even going as far as to rest his head on Peter’s shoulder.

Despite what he’d said, his skin was so warm and he smelled of pot smoke, cheap beer and some flowery perfume. His head was heavy on Peter’s thin shoulder and his curls tickled his nose. But Peter couldn’t have moved away if his life depended on it.

Because even if he couldn’t have that understanding, even if he couldn’t let Juno really see him, he could have this. He could have these bitterly cold five minutes in a darkened park by a broken fountain with uncomfortable gravel under his ass, blood drying on his cheek and another boy’s head on his shoulder.

And if that was all he’d ever get, then Peter Nureyev was grabbing it with both hands and never letting go.

[purplesurveys]

1037

survey by joybucket

Do you have a vlog? No, but I’ve always thought it would be fun to start and maintain one. Just never got around to it because it’s so much work, from conceptualizing to shooting to editing; and idk if my humor will translate to the camera. Plus I hate being shot in public, so it would never work out for me.

If not, have you ever considered starting a vlog? Yeah, a lot of times. It just looks like such a therapeutic outlet that I can sink my teeth into. Who knows, if I ever gain more confidence in the future I may just try making a video or two.

Did you go to AM or PM kindergarten? AM. As much as I hated waking up early from ages 4-6, it was nice to be home by noon and it also made for good training for the rest of my years in school.

What are your favorite youtube channels to watch? Good Mythical Morning, several wrestling-themed channels for their weekly lists, and KBS for their Return of Superman clips. I have a lot of other subscriptions, but those are the main ones I’ve been tuning into lately.

Which relative(s) do you look the most like? I get my mom the most, but sometimes I’ll be told I look like my dad as well.

Have you ever watched a live birth video? I don’t think so.

Have you ever given birth? Definitely not.

Do you remember when the Internet was a new thing? That wouldn’t be possible as I wasn’t born yet and by the time that I was, the internet had already been around for a few years.

Do you remember Y2K? I was alive when it happened but barely conscious, so no. I was only 2.

How old were you when the year changed to 2000? I was 1, turning 2 that year.

What was your favorite childhood vacation? We didn’t have lots of vacations when I was a kid, because for most of the 2000s my parents were still busy saving up and climbing up their respective ladders at work. We only started to regularly go on vacations by the time I was around 11, when finances started to get easier to handle. That said, as a kid I really loved the time my parents would bring us to the local water park on weekends.

Have you ever wished you were born the opposite gender? As a teenager when hating pink and general girliness was cool, probably. I don’t wish for it now.

What's your birth order: oldest, middle, or youngest? I’m the eldest.

Do you fit the stereotype for whatever birth order you are? Idk what kind of stereotype you’re looking for, tbh. As much as I don’t really like tooting my own horn, I’ve heard firstborns are usually more intelligent than their younger siblings and I would attest to at least that lol

Have you ever worn overalls? Yup, though they aren’t the denim kind.

If you're a girl, how old were you when you started your period? I had just turned 10. I thought I was going to get it while I was still 9 (the signs had been showing for a while by then), but it ultimately came a month after my 10th birthday. Still, I was one of the rare cases in my family who had it at a lot younger.

Do you get cramps? I used to get leg cramps all the goddamn time as a kid, and they always came in the middle of the night. I don’t get them or any kind of cramps anymore, thankfully; and the only time I do is on my fingers when I don’t hold my chopsticks properly.

Is your mom mentally stable? I think there are definitely some things therapy could fix.

Is your dad a complete jerk to you? No, you’re referring to the other parent.

Where do you want to go on vacation next? Oh my godddddd, Thailand plz.

What is one place you want to visit before you die? Wrestlemania.

Has anyone ever committed suicide in your town, that you know of? A neighbor’s kid passed away a few months ago, but I didn’t know them.

What's your favorite type of crackers? Ritz Bits are where it’s at.

What's your favorite spice? Cumin.

Are you sensitive? Yeah. I’m a little soft and I tend to take a lot of things personally.

Are you intuitive? It wouldn’t be the first word I’d use to describe myself, but I guess I have my moments.

Are you spiritual? No.

Do you wish your life were easier? Um, if it was a legitimate option then yeah obviously.

What color hair did your first crush have? Black.

What was the name of your first crush? Andi.

Did you ever play on Mamamedia.com? I don’t think I’ve heard of that site. If we’re talking of websites that host flash games or whatever it is they’re called, I always hung out on Y8 haha.

Do you remember your first email address? I didn’t anymore before encountering this, but this question made me automatically rack my brain and now I do remember and now I’m wincing as well. 

Did you name your lego characters? I didn’t make any characters, I think. I just liked making towers.

What was/is your high school's mascot? Both my schools don’t have mascots.

What is/was your favorite class in high school? All the history classes we had to take under the social sciences umbrella; it was Philippine history for freshman year, Asian history for sophomore year; world history in junior year; and then unfortunately we made the switch to basic economics for senior year which was like ???? Why couldn’t we have gone all the way with history? Economics ended up being super boring lol.

Is college an adventure? It really was. I grew and learned so much in it and I couldn’t have spent the last four years in a better place and a better school.

Do you take medication for anxiety or depression? No.

If so, does it work? Does it help you? Or does it make you feel worse?

If applicable, what form of birth control do you use?

Who is your favorite cousin? My eldest cousin on my mom’s side, who pretty much feels like my older brother and not a cousin at this point.

Do you look your age? According to most, no. I look a little younger than 22.

What's your favorite flavor of frosting? Chocolateeeeeeee.

Do you like toe socks? I’ve never had to wear those before so I don’t have an opinion.

Muffins or cupcakes? Cupcakes.

Have you ever had a bag stolen? I’ve had a wallet stolen, so kinda.

How old were you when you got your first phone? I was technically still 6 because I had an advanced celebration, but it was for my 7th birthday.

Are you ready for summer?!?! Now that I think about it I do want to go back to summer, just because it was such a vastly different – and a lot happier – time...

Is winter your favorite season? It probably would be if we had it.

How many people do you know who've said winter is their favorite season? Zero.

Are you unique in any way? I think everyone is.

Do you have any hidden talents? if there are any left, I’m not aware of them yet.

Has anyone said you and your mom look like sisters? Just about everyone, all the time.

Who was your best friend in high school? Gabie for the most part, but Angela was there as well.

What book or movie gave you nightmares as a child? Commercials creeped me out as a child, not a certain book or movie.

What song makes you cry? Usually it’s 26 by Paramore, but not always.

Does anyone know who your first crush was besides you? Yeah, I’ve told a couple of people.

How many teachers have you had crushes on? I think around three or four. Possibly more, but I don’t remember all too well as I’ve since discarded a lot of memories from my old school.

Did you make your Barbie dolls get crushes on each other? Nah. I mostly stripped them of their clothes and broke their arms and legs, lol.

Did your Barbie dolls go on dates? Nope. I didn’t have enough dolls to do that, anyway. It wasn’t my toy of choice.

How old were you when you had your first kiss? I was 16.

Do you like church? Hell no.

Do you have scars from self-harm? You’d only be able to make them out if you knew I self-harmed, but I think they’re almost unrecognizable at this point.

Do you have cellulite? It’s only present if I tightly twist my skin.

How old were you when you started getting zits? Not sure, somewhere in the middle of high school. I’ve never had lasting problems with acne though; I only ever get one or two at a time and it happens like, once a year.

Did your hair change at all when you went through puberty? Aside from hair growing in places? No, not really. It stayed the same.

Are you taller, shorter, or the same height as your mom? I’m a tad bit shorter, though for a time it seemed as if my growth spurt would lead me to overtake her.

Would you ever consider adopting a child? It’s not a personal choice of mine, but there could very much be situations in the far future where I would consider doing so. I’m not shutting that possibility down.

Who was your first roommate? I’ve never had one; I haven’t tried living on my own yet.

Have you ever had a teacher who was rude? So many.

Is your mom paranoid? Very much so. She shows some signs of OCD and her paranoia is reflected through that. 

Do you trim your own hair? Not my hair, but I do this with my bangs.

Did your mom read you bedtime stories as a child? No. That’s one of the things I’ll change if I myself become a mom.

What are all the things you remember being for Halloween? Pirate, Tinkerbell, Daria, AJ Lee, Dora the Explorer, Sofie.

What was the name of the first pet that you loved? My first goldfish.

Did you have your own room as a child? Not until I was 10.

What color was your nursery? I wasn’t put in one. I shared a room with my parents and siblings until I was 10.

Did your parents know your gender before you were born? I think they waited it out until a few weeks before I was born.

What is your name (first and middle)? My first name is Robyn and my second is Isabelle; I don’t need to share my middle name.

What would you have been named if you had been born the opposite gender? They never thought about it, which is kinda disappointing because I do want to know what my other name could’ve been.

Do you like your name? I’ve ended up doing so, yes.

What would you name your children? I haven’t cemented decisions that far ahead. I have ideas for names, like Olivia, but they’re nothing absolute. 

Do you exercise regularly? Nope.

Do you have a healthy BMI? No, I’ve always been a little underweight.

What is your favorite season? Wet/rainy.

Do you look like your mom? This is like the third time I’ve answered this within just this survey lol, yes I do.

What is the origin of your last name? Spanish/Portuguese.

What is the meaning of your first name? I’ve heard it means ‘fame.’ I just don’t feel like checking.

What month were you born in? April.

Do you share a birthday with anyone in your family? Nope. But my sister and one of my cousins share the same birthday, right down to the year.

Do you have a sweet tooth? Eh, it comes out every now and then but it’s not all the time. I definitely enjoy savory more.

What photo editing software do you use? None lol, photo editing is one of my Achilles’ heels.

Where do you buy most of your clothes? Tianggeeeeeeeees.

[elliemarchetti]

The Deal (part 7)

Previous chapters

Words: 1339

Harry and the rest of the Gryffindor team came in the Great Hall in the morning greeted by a thunderous applause. Hermione also joined in the hope that this was the best way to make her friends forgive her, and although Harry seemed pleased to see her cheer on his team, the same couldn’t be said of Ron or her Slytherin friends, that booed the red and gold team. Hermione noticed that Draco was even paler than usual but didn't have time to ask him what he had as he ran in the field with the rest of his team to get an idea of the conditions in which they would play. As they left, only the Slytherins applauded and Pansy shouted a specific wish for Draco, who had made Hermione’s breakfast roll up in her stomach, to the point that she had to get up and go out for a walk. Now that the situation had calmed down, finding herself alone was harder than she could’ve imagined, but she tried not to even think about that, concentrating on the sensation of the sun on her skin.

"Everything’s ok?" asked a female voice behind her. It was Lily, who approached jogging, looking worried.

Hermione nodded, though she felt tears wet her eyes as her friend approached.

"I wanted to ask you if you would like to sit with us to watch the game at the end of the breakfast, you know, to avoid that some Gryffindors could take my invasion at their table badly, but you left so quickly that I thought you didn't feel well, but Millicent saw you come out, so... " she tried to justify herself, unaware of the fact that the gesture was worth more than a thousand nice words to Hermione.

"I'll be there. I just need to breathe for a while. You know, in the Great Hall the air was a little tense." replied Hermione, who was starting to feel better but still had a terrible headache.

"But you can't imagine what happened after you left!" the other exclaimed, and Hermione ended up following her to the camp while she told her about the latest gossips of the castle.

"We missed you a lot these weeks, especially Pansy. I also think I heard her cry one night, but it may have been because she took a P in the History of Magic assignment."

Hermione's eyes widened, horrified. She was the only Gryffindor willing to pass the questions of Binns' homework to the Slytherins and if they had all gone bad since she had stopped doing it, this meant that Draco's grades also got worse, which wasn’t right, given the deal they made two years ago.

"Don't worry," Lily assured her, noticing her expression, "we managed to fix it, all thanks to Draco, who agreed to go out for a date with Mandy Brocklehurst, that Binns' assistant... " explained Lily, but Hermione was no longer listening, staring  at nothing, lost in the thought that Draco had gone out with someone and hadn't told her.

 No one spoke as they wore green uniforms. Draco wondered if everyone felt the same thing he felt, as if at breakfast they had swallowed something very, very agitated, but then remembered that he was the only one with so much to prove. After what seemed like a moment, Flint said: “Ok, it's time, let's go.”

They went out on the field, greeted by a wave of thunderous enthusiasm. Most of the crowd wore scarlet rosettes, waved scarlet flags with the Gryffindor lion drawn on or held banners with slogans like 'GO GRIFONDOR!' and 'THE CUP TO THE LIONS' but behind the Slytherin goal at least two hundred people, including Snape, who was sitting in the front row, were lined up all wearing green, the Slytherin’s silver snake sparkled on their flag. He almost immediately recognized Mandy, sitting with her friends, who had all abandoned their house’s colors in favor of Draco’s, and tried not to think too much about their first date. He had done it just to get those damn questions and not bother Hermione, after all it was no secret that she had a crush on him since about the time he joined the Quidditch team, so he hadn't seen anything wrong with taking advantage of the thing and also they were both single, something that not all the girls who drooled at the Quidditch team members’ sight could say, so he had invited her to Madam Puddifoot, a cramped, steamy little place where everything seemed to have been decorated with frills or bows but that Blaise had assured him to be one of the favorite places for girls in Hogsmeade. Indeed, every table could count at least one girl, whether she was with her boyfriend, a crush or her friends. Senselessly, Draco had scanned the room for Hermione, but she was nowhere to be found if not immersed in books at Hogwarts, and he hadn’t been able to decide whether he had been relieved or disappointed by the idea. Also that day he scanned the stands in search of Hermione, and found her crushed between Lily and Millicent, with Pansy looking at her sideways from time to time. Draco smiled, partly because he was certain that those two would quickly make peace, partly because, all morning, he had doubted that he would find her rooting for him. As always, she hadn’t exaggerated, perhaps out of respect for her Housemates playing against him, perhaps because she wasn’t a big fan of certain displays, but she was wearing a scarf that Draco had given her the previous year, before all the Heir thing, and it made Draco senselessly happy, though she never caught his eye. Once the presentations were over, the captains shook their hands as always, and the game began. He began immediately to heel Potter, in the hope that the farce would end quickly, but the snitch couldn’t be seen anywhere and meanwhile, despite Flint's misconduct, the Gryffindors continued to score, until the Slytherin captain did it too, generating a burst of applause from the Slytherin wing. Lee Jordan, the commentator, that has always cheered for his house, said a bad word so serious that professor McGonagall tried to tear off his hands the magic megaphone.

“Forgive me, professor, forgive me! It won’t happen again!” he said, even though everyone knew it wasn't true, and so the commentary continued, although, if there had been a Slytherin in his place, he would’ve been replaced without hesitation. It was quickly becoming the dirtiest game Draco had ever played and if usually he would’ve enjoyed it, he did nothing but think of Hermione, at the fact that he would at least have invited her to the after game party, until he saw a twinkle, six meters higher. Even Potter must’ve seen it and thanks to his decidedly superior broom he passed him, until Draco grabbed the back to stop him. That snitch must have been his and that game had to be won by Slytherin, he didn't care how important it was to Wood.

"You..." Harry was so furious it was obvious he would’ve gladly beat Malfoy, but he couldn't reach him, even though his opponent was out of breath from the effort to keep him.

"Penalty! Penalty for Gryffindor! I've never seen such a behavior!” Madame Hooch screamed, darting up while Draco was straddling his Nimbus 2001.

“You, scoundrel cheater!” wailed Jordan in the megaphone, hopping out of Professor McGonagall’s reach, “You, bastard impostor!”

Draco paid no attention to him, but he glanced where Hermione should’ve been to check her reaction. He had explained to her countless times that breaking a few rules, especially in Quidditch, made it more exciting and there was the ref to put everyone back in line, and although at first she didn’t seem very convinced, she had laughed at some of his shenanigans, but not this time, since the girl was gone with Pansy and with her his interest in winning the game.

[sparda3g]

One Piece Chapter 920 Review

Gather around, fans. It’s time for a story about the Wano Country; a country that was once beloved for all and currently beloved for scums. After the shocking revelation of Kin’emon and others, it’s most fitting to clear out some of the past history’s mysteries. While it won’t answer all, in fact leaving some questions behind, this chapter evaluated the value of recovering the country to its former glory with the rising hype for a potential warfare.

If you are fond of the series’ rich world-building, then this chapter is for you. Throughout, it’s about the origin of Oden, Kin’emon and others’ backstory before time-warping to the present, and connections with many present characters. Oden Castle was actually called Kuri Castle; already presenting Oden as a caring and lovable man. Putting his people first above all. Although he was beloved, he was considered as a wild card as he went through violent fights and essentially exiled from the Flower Capital.

The country wasn’t completely paradise as there was once a lawless area, which is self-explanatory with criminals and such. The real shocker about it is that place was Kuri; in other words, it was once an awful place. Even Shogun back then didn’t want to touch it. That’s where Oden reappeared and took on Ashura Douji. I’m very aware of the reference to Japanese culture. No, there won’t be any reincarnation…for now. Anyway, he was so evil and powerful, and yet Oden defeated him. That’s where the paradise feel was born.

I should mention that Oden was the son of Shogun Kouzuki Sukiyaki. While Shogun failed to act upon Kuri’s problems, Oden took on the challenge and won. For an exile, he sure was capable to be a Shogun. To top it all off, he forced the criminals to become workers and created a paradise for the citizens. Eventually, his father heard the story and bestowed him the title of Daimyo of Kuri at the age of 20. That’s pretty impressive. The one fond quote Kin’emon would always remember from him is “It’s too cramped here.” To me, that tells me Oden was indeed a nice fellow.

The story gets a short break with Zoro, who is of course lost. The funny thing about him is he believes his friends are the one that are lost. He believe it because he rode on that Komainu. Why Luffy and Zoro’s logic are going bonkers lately? Oh well, they do make me laugh. I don’t know what will happen to him, but I get the feeling he will drag trouble along with him. What else is new?

Duke Inuarashi makes his return. I do like him, so I was happy to see him again. I do wonder on who will break the news about Pedro’s demise. It’s going to suck when it happens. Outside of the prediction, it’s rather touching when he is at the beach, recollecting the good memories he has with his first meeting with Oden. It’s already said that he and Nekomamushi have fond connection with the Samurai, so this was heartwarming to know where it began.

I really like the silent storytelling treatment while pointing out Oden and his establishments. He was so beloved by many, including Whitebeard and Gol D. Roger. The part that makes it heartwarming is how there’s no speech bubbles coming from Kin’emon and others, but their reactions are delightful. You can see how great Oden was just by watching their expressions. It will make you laugh, it will have you in awed, and it will make you feel happy. Sadly, it will make you feel sad and frustrated.

It’s a smooth move of Oda to skip the story for us fans and let only Strawhats hear about the turning event. It keeps us engaged with the story, leaving us wondering why Oden had to die the way it did. It appears to me that Orochi was probably a friend of Oden, only to backstab him in the end. I can only guess based on Nami’s reaction. It’s a smart move in writing perspective to keep us interested in Orochi. After the early soothing atmosphere, it’s sad to see Kin’emon and others from the past to breakdown into tears. His saddening words about Oden’s final moment was emotional; words about 20 years ago, only it happened a few months ago for them felt heavy.

Kin’emon and others’ last action before time-warp is tragic and questionable. I feel bad for them for running towards to the castle, only to find it already in fire, thanks to Kaido. That’s one tie-in to hate Kaido. It’s rather sad that they had to “ignore” Inuarashi and Nekomamushi when they were caught by Orochi’s subordinates. I don’t blame them for their minds most likely were running wild with fear and sorrow.

Then we enter the questionable part of the story but in a good way. Lady Toki, the wife of Oden, was with Hiyori and Momo inside the burning castle. The story does confirm that she was the one with the ability to go to the future, but cannot go back to the past. The interesting part is she came from the distant past; at least according to the rumor. This has a good potential to expand the lore with some of her recollections that could associate with Gol D. Roger, D. Family, or even beyond. Don’t forget how Law is part of D. and that didn’t cross my mind at all, so you never know when we get a visual flashback.

It was at that point that Kin’emon made a final pledge with her that no matter how far into the future he and others will go, they will do whatever it takes to fulfill Oden’s wish. She gave them Momo to take care of and the time-warp took them 20 years later. What about Hiyori? Was she dead already? Can Toki foresee the future of when the time of Orochi and Kaido’s reign end? Was choosing 20 years a random time-warp destination or was it “destiny?” Shame that she couldn’t warp time with them, but perhaps she was hurt or can’t do it on herself anymore.

It’s rather frightening to instantly warp to the future and witness the same country under new lifestyle. It’s equivalent to a prisoner, who was imprisoned for 20 years, now able to roam back to the city, only life has advanced far ahead of him, and that can turn his head off. In here, they felt that they have no chance to fulfill Oden’s wish for everything seems paradise for the rotten and hell for the poor. Their mind changed when they met few people that had been waiting for their return.

Judging by that guy’s words, it appears that Toki may in fact can see the future or at least set the time destination. 20 years is pretty specific. That said does that mean it’s guaranteed that this present time is where the Wano Country will “reborn?” The only problem is at what cost. Hope was slowly rising back in their heart, but then they all split apart under unlucky circumstances.

Raizou was separated during the chase from the country. That’s when they were told to meet back at Zou. Then due to bad navigation and landed on Dressrosa, out of all places, Kanjuro was separated. Lastly, the rest landed on Punk Hazard and were taken by Caesar. The story of the rising sun began when Luffy meets Kin’emon. That’s one touching story. It’s amazing how it feels like one big saga, starring with Punk Hazard Arc. It’s like one massive build-up for this arc, including Whole Cake Island Arc, if we were to believe Big Mom and Kaido joined forces. What a journey.

Now we have the backstory out of the way, it’s time to increase the hype level for the next action phase. Kin’emon enters the war plan phase, which already has me pumping up. He names all the forces they currently have: Straw Hat Crew, The Musketeers and The Guardians of the Mink Tribe, Heart Pirates (Law), and the Rebels. The idea is to have 5000 strong to match up. Oh, that has “calling for Luffy’s fleet” written all over it. Damn, this is hype. Sure, starting a war is not an idea, but you damn sure know it’s going to happen. Okay, I am jumping ahead.

Anyway, the idea now is to wait for two weeks. Their intention is to gather information and take the Commander’s head. Damn, that’s hardcore, but necessary. In two weeks, they will commence the raid on Onigashima, where Kaido resides. Holy crap, what!? Translation: our main hype begins in two weeks; the series’ timeline, not ours (sadly). Oda knows when and we can only starve until he feeds it to us. After the backstory and the gathering names of troops, I couldn’t be any more excited.

Overall, this was a compelling and interesting chapter from top to bottom. I really enjoyed the backstory, even with some skipped moments, but it only got me more curious and interested. I’m glad Toki’s Devil Fruit ability can only make her travel to the future, which spares from fans from the headache, let alone Oda himself. The hype level continue to escalate higher with the two-week plan that will be massive. Once again, One Piece is taking a break. The future is killing me.

Oh, and the chapter’s cover is hilarious.

[laythornmuse]

Where We Begin, Chapter 19

~Claire at 20 Weeks~

“Christ!” Claire exclaimed as she turned to inspect her profile. “I’m huge.”

Claire eyed her bump and pulled the fabric of her dress flush to her skin.  

“Jamie?”

An inquisitive grunt sounded from the window. Jamie had his nose buried in the newest issue of Horse and Hound, no doubt rereading the controversial article that had he and John in an uproar for the last 24 hours. His frown was etched into his cheekbones, and if she wasn’t feeling so…enormous, she thought, she’d probably leave him to his grumbling.

The last 6 weeks at Lallybroch had been a mixed time of highs and lows. While the reporters were scarce in person, both their phones were habitually set to vibrate and they both agreed after the first week to avoid reading anything on the internet. 

Harvey’s prosecutor had called a few times for statements, but so far the hospital felt they had enough to bury him on his conduct alone.  Geneva was a different story.  As interviews were conducted, the extent of Geneva’s involvement became harder to trace. Eventually, law enforcement decided Harvey was the stronger lead to chase and dropped Geneva’s investigation. Still, restraining orders were filed, and deep lines were drawn in the sand between Jamie’s business and the provost’s daughter.  John’s relationship with his brother suffered as he pressed for his niece to disclose her involvement.  Jamie took to spending more evenings with John as his family became more estranged and in turn, John found himself spending more weekends at Lallybroch.  

The immediacy of the trial was only trumped by Claire’s quickly progressing pregnancy. After finding an obstetrician and confirming she and the baby girl Fraser were in good health, their second ultrasound delivered more startling news: A high-risk pregnancy.

“Any spotting?” Her doctor asked as she examined the ultrasound. “No. No cramping either…” Claire added. She met Jamie’s gaze and squeezed his hand as he shot her a reassuring grin.

“Well…” the Doctor began.

“What?” Claire blurted out. “Is something wrong? Is she okay?”

“You’re fine,” she began, patting Claire’s hand. “Baby is fine. Your placenta is obscuring your cervix a bit. Not uncommon for 16 weeks since baby has a lot of growing to do, but given your history I want to play it safe.”

Claire let out a breath. “Agreed. What do you suggest?”

“Well, you aren’t spotting or cramping. That’s excellent, but until the placenta shifts, I’d recommend a few weeks of pelvic rest.”

“Pelvic rest?” Jamie asked. “As in bed rest?”

“Not so severe. Just a break from strenuous activity until your next ultrasound. No exercise, heavy exertion or sex.”

“Oh,” Jamie nodded, his face turning a slight shade of pink. “All right. Well, we’ll…”

“What kind of sex?” Claire asked, her face contorted in concern. Jamie’s mouth gaped a bit as his head turned back to her.

“I’d avoid penetration, mostly.”

“Because of ejaculation or…”

“Hmph.” The redness, Claire noticed, was rising up his neck.

“Possibly, but also to avoid irritating your cervix.”

“So orgasms are fine?”

“Yes, just no excessive jarring.” The doctor scribled a note in her chart. “Let me grab these pictures off the printer.”

When the doctor exited their exam room, Jamie shot Claire a look of disbelief. “Christ, lass.”

“What?”  Claire exclaimed.

“I’m just surprised you left out your preferred positions, given what else you wished to discuss,” He grumbled.

“Jamie,” Claire laughed. “I’m pregnant. She knows we have sex.”

“I know, but…” he grimaced. “I don’t mind going without ye for a few weeks if it means you’re well.”

“This isn’t about you!” She exclaimed, barely holding back a cackle, when his lips formed a small pout. “I’ve been insatiable lately.  I don’t know if I can handle a few weeks away from you, or have you not noticed?”

A small smile played across his lips as he leaned closer. “Aye, I’ve noticed.”

“And of course we’d abstain if we had to but…” she flushed as his brows rose at her. “Well, we don’t have to.”

“Hmmph.” He pressed his brow to hers, his eyes locked to hers until they wore matching grins “You greedy thing.”

In the following weeks, Jamie had accommodated her graciously, loving her thoroughly and as many times as it took to satisfy her. He’d hitch her knees over his shoulders, or in the dead of night, would hold her back to his chest and open her thighs with his own, letting his fingers coax her to a trembling release.

Claire mentally counted the days since that appointment and realized today made her exactly 20 weeks, a benchmark that consequently lined up with her delicate swell ballooning to a pronounced mound overnight. Horse and Hound would simply have to wait.

She crossed the room until she stood a foot from his knees, and waited as he put the magazine down.

“Sorry. What did you say?”

“I’m enormous.”

He raised a brow. “You’re still wearing normal clothes. Even your trousers.”

“That’s because…” she huffed and stopped, not wanting to start a conversation on the fit of hipster trousers and knits. “Look!”

She lifted the hem of her sundress and stepped between his knees, placing her swollen, 5-month belly into his hands. His grin widened in surprise as his fingers spread across her tight skin. She narrowed her gaze as he let out a soft chuckle.

“Oh you’re no help at all,” she said begrudgingly as Jamie leaned forward to kiss her stomach.

“There ye are, mo nighean,” Jamie said softly to her belly, and despite the nervous energy flowing through her, she felt herself worries deflate. “Don’t worry about your mam. She’s just surprised you grew so fast.”

“Jamie…”

“Claire.” He spoke her name softly, reverently as his fingers slipped down her belly to loop into the sides of her knickers. He pulled at the elastic, letting it snap gently at her skin.

She let out a sigh. “Am I so obvious? My insecurity?”

“I don’t see insecurity.” He whispered against her skin. “I see freckles, and creamy skin that smells like lavender…and a gorgeous ass that’s tight and fills my hands…”

“And a pot belly…”

He snickered. “I like seeing ye this way, in truth. You seem to shift the energy of every room you walk into, pulling all the good and laughter and light to ye before radiating it out tenfold…”

“I think that's just for you…”

“Nay,” he whispered, picking up her hand and bringing it to his lips. “John sees it too. Called me a lucky bastard just the other day.” He grinned before his lips settled into a stout, thoughtful line. “In another life perhaps, John could have envied me for meeting you first.” 

“Liar,” Claire scoffed. “John views me as a sister.”

“Because he has to,” he murmured. “I’d kill him otherwise.”

Claire shuffled forward, shifting until she could settle onto his lap. “Even if your right, which I don’t think you are…” she toyed with the buttons at his neck as she dropped her eyes. “It would hardly matter. I’m positively crazy for you, James Fraser.”

A smile lit his eyes as Claire leaned forward for a kiss, though his hesitance made her pull back. “What is it?”

“Are ye feeling up for a walk to the stables?” His voice was an octave lower as his fingers interlaced with hers.

“Yes.”

“Good. Get your wellies, lass.”

Ten minutes later, she stood with Jamie by Losgann who was cheerfully munching on her hay under her tent.  

“I’ve been thinking,” Jamie began, his hand running up Losgann’s nose. “You’ll be needing a horse of your own soon.”

Claire let out an abrupt laugh, a jovial silliness taking over as she chased Jamie’s hand down Losgann’s side.  “Oh is that so? For when I’m off my pelvic rest?”

Jamie smiled. “Aye. And its tradition as well.  Every member of the family has their own horse, and with Donas insistence on me, Losgann here will be needing your company, I think.”

Claire felt a ripple of emotion flutter through her chest. “Jamie…” she started,  her eyes unexpectedly growing damp at his gesture. “But, she’s yours.”

“Aye, and so are you.” Jamie winked at her as he pulled her closer. “I asked Losgann.  She likes ye just fine, Sorcha.”

Claire found herself speechless as Losgann seemed to agree by wuffling against her curls. She let out a tearful chuckle as she worked her fingers into the think hair between the horse’s ears.

“Jamie…thank you,” she whispered, meeting his lips    As he stepped closer to her.  “I won’t be able to ride her for several months though.  Won’t she get lonely?”

“Nah, besides she’s in no condition to be ridden now.  Not until she foals.”

Claire looked up and stared at him as his words clicked into place.  Crossing her arms over her chest, her mouth gaped as she observed Losgann’s thicker flank.

“You knocked up my horse?” She asked sharply.

“Well, Donas, but…” Jamie said with a sheepish shrug of his shoulders.

“You let the biting monster knock up my horse?” She exclaimed louder, though a smirk tugged at her lips now.

“You don’t hold my bites against me, lass,” he said huskily against her ear, before dodging her swinging fist. “And the studding calmed him down some.”

“Oh, I’m sure! You bloody…Scot,” she barked out in laughter, as she clipped his side one more time before she allowed him to sweep her into a kiss.

“When is she due?”

“Och, not for another 10 months or so.  We just confirmed it the other day.”

“Poor thing.  That’s a long time to be uncomfortable.”

“I thought ye’d have some thoughts to share with her,” he said as he grinned. 

 “Oh.  Last bit. Losgann has a gift for you, so you really feel part of the Fraser clan.”

“Is it chaps? Or my own smart riding boots? Perhaps a dressage…”

Claire’s mouth slammed shut as Jamie presented her with a handsome new leather bridle that had thistle leaves stamped into the leather strips that would adorn Losgann’s nose and face.  On the ear strap, Claire found a CF perfectly embossed into the leather…

And on the bit strap, a delicate titanium ring, smooth with diamonds embedded flush against the metal.

“I thought to myself, what kind of ring would I get a doctor, nevermind a surgeon, who cuts and rends disease with her hands all day long?” He started quietly as he unfastened the ring. “Titanium, obviously.” He rolled his eyes and a laugh burst from her lips. “Something quietly beautiful and smooth, strong but delicate, like her.”

Jamie knelt in the mud at her feet, smile unwavering, and kissed her hands as Claire bit her bottom lip, willing herself to remain quiet until he spoke the words she hadn’t realized she’d been waiting a lifetime to hear.

“Marry me, Claire?”

She molded her lips to his, dropping down to her knees in front of him.  

“Of course I’ll marry you.”

His arms circled her tightly as he let out a joyous laugh. The tears streamed down her cheeks as he slid the ring onto her finger, and pressed kisses to her eyes, cheeks, and forehead.

“I love you,” she whispered to him. “I know I don’t say it enough, but always know how privileged I feel…to love you, and be loved by you.”

“I know, lass. And I love ye, as well.”

Present Day

She spun her wedding band on her finger as she eyed Geneva, muted and shrunken.  She certainly didn't appear to be a threat but given the last few months…

“You know you can’t be here…”

“I know,” her eyes locked on hers. “And I’ve never tried before but…” she let out a trembling breath. “You’re in danger.  You and Jamie both are.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Harvey was let off this afternoon.  The judge threw out the case…”

“How?” Claire barked. “That’s not possible…he…”

“I know but you have to listen, please!”

“I don’t-”

The air shattered around Claire’s head as three shots sounded outside the office.  She and Geneva ran towards the door,  out towards the mass of people gathered.

It was the type of chaos that can only ensue when blood, alcohol, and violence are combined on a palette. No one would move out of her way.  The screams and shouts were too loud to discern words, while other stood by frozen from shock.  Pushing forward, Claire first saw John, his knee in the middle of Harvey’s back as cuffs appeared in his hand, seemingly from midair. Jenny appeared next, screaming directions into her mobile for a helicopter transport. Her hands were covered in blood,  trailing down the skirt of her dress, and across the grass…to…

“Jamie,” Claire whispered.

[ikonislife]

Cold No Longer.

- Chanwoo x Reader

- New year drabble

- Continuation of Cold.

Cr. Ikonis

Part 1: Cold

A full 2 years it has been since you last wander the streets of this quaint city, a full 2 years since you had seen him. In the long 730 days since you left, it had dawned upon you that the familiarities, the craving ignited in your heart to once again see the same shops lining the street and the old friendly faces, the nostalgia could easily be solve with a packed duffle bag and a train ticket. Never once did the enticing calls of the past had won, not even as you nurse the 3rd glass of wine, letting yourself wallowed in loneliness  as the world in front of your eyes blurred from tears as your would be anniversary ticked by.

Partially because this place had always been bittersweet in your mind from the many lessons it provided in your the short period of time you since your existence on this Earth... Partially because it reminds you of him.

You know showing up to the place you once called home meant risking running into the person you both despise and love, wanting nothing more than to avoid till the day the Earth die but also needing, craving for just a glimpse to sooth your healing heart at the same time. So it’s as good a time as any to take utilize your holiday days off to once again roam this old haunt. At the very lease shall heartbreaks happen, the plentiful holiday decoration will soften the blow... 

You had heard a year later from an old friend that Chanwoo had moved, graduated college and no longer the baby face freshman that was your boyfriend. He had gotten accepted into a fancy university and on track to become the man you always knew he could be had he not fallen into the wrong crowd in high school. 

Yet funny enough, if he had been excelling academically, that would meant he would never needed your tutoring service and so your amazing relationship, albeit the painful parting, would’ve never came to be. You remember exactly the moment your breath was taken away by that cheeky grin and bright, big doe eyes of his as he sauntered into the tutor center as if he’s king of the damn place. 

Such a simple decision in life, volunteering at your old high school to gain work experience, a simple decision that altered the course of your life so greatly. A soft sigh leaves your lips, eyes twinkle with the neon sign of that old coffee shop that used to get your heart hammered every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. The money spent on coffee here nearly as much as your paycheck due to the sheer fact that the both of you had spent more time chatting afterward than the lesson itself. He offered to pay for it always but you couldn’t do that, not when you had thought this was nothing more than a dumb crush that would go nowhere. Little did you know, life had other plan. 

In the two weeks spent in this old town, you had seen nearly everyone from friend to foe alike, and every old haunts you had missed. Yet the single person you secretly, deep within your heart wanting, praying to the stars above and all that’s miraculous of the holiday season to meet has failed to appear. 

All hope was shattered after one particularly cold snowy night, after a man, a bit older than Chanwoo you had only seen with a few times and from what you had heard, the person who had been there for him after you were gone, informed you of your heart’s desire whereabout. Him recognizing you honestly in itself is a miracle, not even your favorite professor had realized who you were let alone someone you met a handful of time. 

“Y/n, right?” The man had spoke up, cramped in between the sea of people awaiting their coffee to shield away from the frigidness of the night. 

“Yea... You’re Chanwoo’s friend.” The sweetest relieved smile broke out on his lips, no doubt fearing your unfamiliarity of him. You didn’t know for how long nor how much money the both of you had spent on coffee but none of that matter. You had the realest conversation with a human being in months and with someone you hadn’t even think of. You found out his name is Jinhwan, and like both Chanwoo and yourself, he too had up and left this town so long ago but never could stay away. 

“Me and the kid come back every chance we get. We both really appreciate the hospitality and warmth that comes from small town, you know. the big city, it sucks the life out of you sometimes. Chanwoo was suppose to be here already but big project came through. He’ll be back after the new year tho, if you’re around long enough.” 

At the mention of Chanwoo, your eyes perked up with excitement, a small smile tugging at your lips even if you brain hadn’t realize. However, Jinhwan did and he took the chance. 

“He still loves you, you know. Not so much lately but right after the break up, talked about you day an night. I got so sick of hearing your name at one point. He still got your picture in his room, just said it’s someone special to his heart whenever his friends ask.” His chuckle filled the air and in a way you were happy, happy to know that you weren’t just a bet after all even if it changes nothing. You and him just weren’t fated. 

As your days spent grew longer than days remained, your heart anxious with regret that your wish won’t come true, your desire of seeing him one last time will be denied. You list of places has finally come to an end, the many lines of scribbles on your list crossed out and your heart fills with new memories of these places, all but one - the bridge. 

You had considered crossing out the bridge, excluding it altogether on this mini adventure down memory lane of yours but your heart wouldn’t let you. It was too important, crucial player in your history that no matter what, you have to see it. And so you left the best for last as there was only 3 days left to this trip, your feet find their way back to the place where all the magic happened. 

The last time you had seen it, the bridge was a bit more worn and drab, the path a bit darker, although the weather was much like today. As you draw your scarf closer, you question yourself if the management had really repainted it or it’s all a trick of mind to match the mood of your heart. After all, the last time you were here was the when your heart was shattered by the man you still love dearly.

As expected, even though the park filled with people awaiting the new year, not much traffic at this far side, a spot not many know about despite its perfect locale for watching the firework downtown... Well, not much traffic aside from a young man whom you hope would leave soon... You need your time alone with this place, to really soak in the reality of it all even though two whole years had past. With each step further onto the path that bear witness to the start and the end of your relationship, a strange sense of serenity mixing with anxiety filling your heart, flutter the wings of butterfly within your stomach, almost as if your heart anticipating the arrival of Chanwoo, as if he’d magically appear out of thin air to be with you this lonely new year eve. 

Watch ticking 11:30, you wonder even with the new high rises blocking the distant horizon would you still be able to watch the fireworks as you did all those years ago under the warm embrace of Chanwoo. Funny how things had changed within a blink of an eye, one second you were just tutor and student, hoping for a better future than hanging about a useless bunch for a boy you barely knew. At that point you truly were just his ‘noona’, worrying about his potential even if it’s a bit comical taking into account the few years in between your ages. A goodbye dinner turned into weekly, then nearly daily, and before you had realized there was so much more behind the innocent of his lingering touches and sweet smiles. You doubted those charming grin and sweet words, the glances he’d exchanged with his friends and how never once he’d bothered introducing you to the group of boys. Yet that night when he had showed up with a bouquet of flower dressed in his best job interview outfit asking for a new year eve together, you just couldn’t say no. 

It was adorable, the way he so shyly snaked his arm around your waist, tugging you closer under his giant coat. Keeping you warm he had said, you knew better but you were too far gone under the vice of the handsome boy to really do anything about it. Then as the countdown began, he uttered the sentence that forever intertwining yours and his fate together, “will you be my girlfriend”. By the time five had rang out in the distant from the excited crowd, you had nodded yes to the most mesmerizing smile you’ve seen from Chanwoo. As the fireworks lighted the night sky with its wonderment, your lips touched in a harmonious dance of new form love and anticipation of a new year. 

Two years since you had last seen Chanwoo right on this bridge, so much memories and you had always hope at least some part of it was real. You couldn’t help but smile recalling the words of Jinhwan, how certain he was that your your present still very much prominent in Chanwoo’s heart. Yet in a way, it sadden you to see him still hanging onto the ghost of your past, unable to move on from the mistake of young age. 

“He cut himself off from that group, did you know that? Not too long after you guys got together, Chanwoo said he wanted nothing to do with those troublesome kids, started to hang out around myself and the older boys more. All because he really did fell in love with you. ” 

At least one good thing came out of all this heartbreak, you had always thought Chanwoo was so much better than those nonsensical kids loitering around the local businesses. 

The river below coursing as strongly as you remembered, pitch black and seemingly sucking everything in its path. Leaning onto the railing you watch the many helicopters above buzzing about, covering news for the new year celebration. You mind floods with the good times spent here, the picnics, the kisses shared and unlike your prediction of pain, your body feel light, heart rather than aching, longing for future uncertain.

“I hope you’re well, wherever you are. Chanwoo.”

You couldn’t help but whisper his name, letting it linger in the air as it did so many times before except this time, he isn’t here to grace you with that cheeky smile of his or to pull you into his chest. 

“Y/n?”

Or maybe he is? Were you so tired your mind thought up of the way your name sound so warm in his voice... No way. There was no one else on this bridge, just you and the young man in the black hoodie... Your eyes widen in shock, not really believing but not in disbelief either, just some sort of limbo dream state, not really to turn around when he calls out once more.

“Noona?” 

Slowly but without any hesitation, you spin on your heels eyes closed fearing it all just a mirage of dream but there he stands, as real as the drumming of your heart, as handsome as you remember. 

“Chanwoo...” His name once more slips from your lips, too dumbfounded to do anything else, you just call his name. Each and every time, he answers without fail. 

“Yes, noona.”

“It’s really you.”

“I’m here.” With each replies, Chanwoo inches closer, cutting the gap in between your bodies until you could effortlessly poke his cheeks without much effort. A smile on his lips at your strange reaction, as if he had vanished and suddenly reappeared. 

“But how, Jinhwan said you weren’t coming back till-”

“ After new year.” He cuts you off, “That was the plan but...”

“But?” With bated breath, you wholeheartedly anticipating his answers, praying it was you he’s here for. 

“But I couldn’t miss our promise of being here every new year, to watch the firework...” His smile dulled, a bit of sadness tugging at the corner of his lips and he fights so hard to keep it from turning into a frown. For a split second, Chanwoo thought about lying, that his project had finished early instead of him pulling 3 all nighter in a row just to be here. You deserve better. He lied to you once and that cost him seemingly a whole life with you, he can’t make the same mistake, not again. “Sad, isn’t it... I still come here every year to think about old time. Even though you’re probably off somewhere better.” His gaze no longer on you, facing away, forlorn into the distant before his head hangs low. “Probably happier with someone else.”

For a moment, it’s just silent. Chanwoo confession stunned you, shocking your shivering heart back into the warmth of sunlight but before you could say anything, he faces you once more. 

“I couldn’t let go... I kept hoping I’ll see you, even if you’re here with someone else, at least I’ll know you’re happy.”

Somewhere far in the distant, you could hear the elated cheer of the crowd getting ready for the countdown. You look back to see Chanwoo had once again staring in the direction of the horizon, a soft smile on his lips even though his eyes still very much carry the weight of his mistake, of how much he hurt you. 

“10″ The crowd calls out and you move closer beside the man you still love very much. 

“9″ Finger intertwining tightly with his, and before Chanwoo even had time to process what was happening, you had pulled his arm around your body.

“8″ With more vigor this time, the crowd screams out but Chanwoo couldn’t hear anyone else aside from your voice calling for him. “Jung Chanwoo,”

“7″ With the brightest smile you could conjure up under the freezing wind that probably does a better job than botox for your skin, your hands cupping tightly around his no longer chubby cheeks.

“6″ “Will you be my boyfriend.”

“5″ Before your heart gives out, you place your lips on his with the best effort in not falling over tiptoeing to match his height. Chanwoo finally caught his breath only to lose it again under the spell your spinning, drowning him in all the fantasy of simply getting to kiss you one more time. Neither of you could really hear the rest of the countdown nor did you bother too much with trying. Chanwoo tighten the grasp around your teetering self, securing you in the bear hug you had craved for two years before deepening the kiss so much further. Neither does the liven scream of the crowd nor the vibrancy of the flowers of lights above could compare to the way his lips feel against yours, moulding so perfectly as if no time had past. 

“Baby, I’ve missed you.” He murmurs softly against your lips, breath heavy as was yours but neither of you mind it. Chanwoo went back for second then third, ignoring that the many couples who had found their way to the bridge, overflow from the crowd had stopped sharing their new year kiss long ago and were now redirecting their attention toward your way. Whispers of how excessive you both were in holding out your kiss for so long, and whispers of perhaps you both had never kiss before fills the air. Chanwoo ignores them all as he holds you like he had never had the chance before, kiss you as if he will never get the chance again because for now, it’s just you and him lost in the moment. 

Tomorrow come you’ll have to figure out the long distant relationship or maybe not so long, who know, you don’t even know where he lives now nor what he does for a living. All you know is you’re being kiss, by Jung Chanwoo, the man you had dreamed of for 730 days and no longer counting. 

“Yes.” 

[angeltriestoblog]

Your Comprehensive Guide to Surviving Grade 11

WARNING: The longest post I’ve ever made in the history of my blogging “career” is up ahead. Nevertheless, please read it so my efforts won’t be wasted.

In a nutshell, last school year was me trying to secure the Guinness World Record for the number of breakdowns on a bedroom floor. The amount of workload was unforgiving, the pressure to perform was crippling, the competition was inadvertently fierce and the standards set were higher than fun.'s friends in the Empire State. (Please get this reference.) Surprisingly, I survived and lived not only to tell the tale but to also help incoming Grade 11 students prepare for the year that is to come so they won't have to deal with the many risks of premature stress like I did! This is where this guide (with some unnecessary blabber on the side because will it really be an Angel Martinez post without it) comes in. Though it's a given that not everything that happened to me won't apply to you, I still hope you use these to better your experiences and emerge as a stronger and more productive person! Like me, I guess. In a way. 

To kick this off, let me just say that I know this notice might be coming in a little late, since enrollment for most schools (in the metro, at least) have already come to a close. Thus, by the time you've read this, you may have already chosen a strand of your own! The selection of some schools may be limited to the basics: Science, Technology, Engineering and Math (STEM), Accountancy, Business and Management (ABM) and Humanities and Social Sciences (HUMSS) which are all pretty self-explanatory in terms of the topics of focus. But from what I know, others also offer Arts and Design and Sports for those who wish to devote their full attention to the talents they wish to hone and even a general academic strand for the benefit of those who remain undecided. I, for one, chose ABM: I didn’t feel like committing to a certain career yet and wanted to opt for the safest option among the choices.

The process of choosing which way to go is pretty intimidating at first especially once you figure out that the rest of your life may very well be at stake. But, it isn't that much of a pain once you reflect on your interests enough and see if those align with what you want to do and where you want to be in the future, if that’s not too forward looking for you! I know a couple of people who’ve had to compromise their true passions for the sake of pleasing their families. Whether it’s to continue a legacy that’s been passed down for several generations or fulfill a dream that belonged to someone else, some parents believe they have every reason in the world to demand their children’s future, even if it’s obviously against their will. Yes, I believe that it’s their responsibility to guide their kids through the process of figuring out what they want to be in such a fast-paced and ever-changing world where anyone can influence and be influenced for better or for worse. They must be able to provide the insight that only they possess after all the years they’ve spent collecting wisdom. They should help us plan out what’s gonna be on the blueprint of our lives, not finish it by themselves, present it and expect us to follow without any questions.

But as per usual, I digress. TL:DR choose the track you want, you don’t owe anything to anyone.

Generally, Grade 11 will be the hardest year on you. It doesn’t care if you came terribly unprepared, if you haven’t slept a wink in eons or if the people you live with barely even know who you are anymore. It’s unforgiving and relentless in the pursuit of giving you the biggest ordeal of your life. Based on my personal experience, I reckon it’s due to the fact that our teachers stand by their decision to treat us as young adults, seeing as we’d be in first year college anyway if the K-to-12 program wasn’t a thing. When we were children, everything we needed to know about a certain topic would be put on a silver platter and handed over to us, usually in the form of photocopied sheets of old handouts. All we’d have to do is memorize whatever was on them and eventually ace the tests that usually came in multiple choice or matching type form.

But now, we’re in charge of making our own notes, deciphering cryptic explanations for a certain lesson and most of all, making our own creative output based on what we could be often inaccurate interpretations. Grade 11 gave big importance to the performance task, much to the dismay of everybody. Whether individual or by group, it was always half our grade and due way before any of us were ready to face the task at hand. It also required coming up with original ideas, or solutions to the most common problems and it’s either bland when working alone or chaotic when with classmates, because everyone wants to be heard when we’re actually fighting for metaphorical spots.

I didn’t feel it much during the first semester though, because I had the best schedule on campus. Classes ended at 2:30PM for me so I had plenty of time at my disposal. I could hang out with friends, have a chat with my mom and procrastinate (responsibly) before proceeding with my work and still be able to go to sleep before the clock struck ten. My subjects weren’t terrible as well. Yeah, not all of them were anchored in the very foundation of my track but I was able to get grades far better than I would have expected, so it’s all good. Here’s a briefer on each:

General Math

A solid 8/10, which is a big deal considering the fact that Math has never been my strong suit. First quarter covers topics I barely understood when they were discussed to me in Grades 9 and 10, namely functions (linear, quadratic, polynomial, The Problematic Trio aka rational, exponential and piecewise) and equalities and inequalities. Second quarter focuses on business math, weirdly enough when there’s an entirely different subject for that, but the lessons don’t overlap. Annuities, stocks and bonds, and loans were explained plus a little bit of logic towards the end.

The key to Math is a heck lot of practice. Practice, practice, practice. Even when you know the answers, or more preferably when there’s no key given. Answer every problem in the book on a separate sheet of paper, make up your own, explain the procedure of solving to yourself, help a friend out and refresh your memory simultaneously. Do it when you get home, or when you have a free period at school or you have no idea what else to do seeing as that’s the only way you’ll develop the skills needed to become a human calculator.

Business Math

A more practical Math subject: every single topic discussed was something that could be applied in real life and useful to us when we have careers. The first few weeks consisted of our reviewing our favorites: fractions, decimal and percentage, and ratio and proportion, so it evidently started on a good note. It later on proceeds to buying and selling, computation for salaries and wages then the presentation and analysis of business data in table and graph form.

Though the lessons here are undeniably easier than our previous Math subject, it still wouldn’t hurt to practice, especially if everything isn’t clear to you from the get go. If your teacher is anything like mine and thrives on class participation, recite as often as you can whether it’s to give a recap of yesterday’s lesson or show the solution on the board. Her personal favorites in our class were those who made it a point to raise their hands as often as possible.

Physical Science

A mix of the deadliest sciences mixed in one subject. Physics and chemistry, folks. Just as appealing as it sounds. If you like both of them, you’ll breeze past this, no sweat. But if you’re like me and you stopped paying attention in science class after the teacher was done discussing the body system, you’ll have a lot of catching up to do. Subject matter included motion, energy, chemical reactions, force and energy. Don’t be too excited that there are only five, because these took two semesters to properly shove in our craniums.

There’s no downtime in this subject, you have to hustle every single day or else you’ll fall behind while the work just keeps piling up. Read up on everything and do not leave out even a single detail: know which causes what, and why well enough to the point that you can recite it in your sleep. Memorize the formulas and most importantly, invest in a double liner calculator! It’s a bit pricey but spending the amount required is far better than having to enter multiple parentheses to work your way around an equation.  

Earth and Life Science

Personally the superior science for me, considering that the topics were genuinely interesting and made me gain a better understanding of how the world works. We studied the origin and structure of the earth and beyond, earth processes, natural hazards, bioenergetics, perpetuation of life, evolution, organ systems and interaction and interdependence.

The only downside for some is that many terms will be introduced throughout the course of this subject, and you’ll obviously be required to memorize them all and at the very least, identify their definitions. Making flash cards for each lesson would definitely come in handy, even if takes a while and could very well cramp your hand but there’s this app called Quizlet which basically serves the same purpose and is easily accessible in any device you download it on.

Oral Communication

I think I was the only one in class who actually enjoyed what was going on for the most part of Oral Com, since I enjoy talking to a crowd and writing. If the mere mention of that phrase alone gives you shivers down to your spine, I guess you’ll have a lot of mental and emotional preparation to do. Normally, this subject would heavily rely on application of learnings through exercises and presentations but there was still a bit of (unnecessary) discussion here and there on topics like public communication skills and communicative strategies.

Expect a lot of speaking in front of the classroom! Tasks will range from impromptu (no time to think beforehand), extemporaneous (short preparation time upon receiving the question) and prepared speaking. Groupwork is also high in number: the teacher will give you a situation (e.g. you’ll be selling a product, your house is on fire and you need to call the fire department, ya know… the usual [?]) and you’ll need to propose your solution in the most eloquent and spontaneous way possible. Which means no reading aloud of lines scribbled on your hand with a G-Tec.

Organization and Management

Basically an introduction to the world of business and thus an essential subject for my strand. Points discussed were the nature of management, the firm and its environment, environmental scanning (PEST and SWOT analysis) and the functions of a manager in detail (planning, organizing, staffing, leading and controlling).

This subject was very detail-heavy so as much as I was willing to learn, I couldn’t avoid being overwhelmed by the number of things we were trying to run through in around sixteen weeks. It also didn’t help that we didn’t have a book to refer to and had literal stacks of photocopied handouts to lug around instead. But I guess by now, your school has a textbook to provide you with and if not, there are some published by Rex Bookstore available in big branches of National Bookstore like in Quezon Avenue. The best thing to do to survive this subject is to read so you can understand all the concepts. Everything discussed is important and the quizzes and quarterly tests you’ll take will require not only what you think it means, but also how you’ll use it IRL

Understanding Culture, Society and Politics

Potentially one of your favorite subjects, if you’re given the right teacher, since it focuses on the intricacies of our lives as human beings. From the study of humans past and present and the complexity of our cultures (anthropology), we head on to the analysis of government systems and activity (political science) and the nitty-gritty of our development and functions in human society (sociology).

I didn’t have a problem with this step the lessons were comprehensible enough to grasp my attention but just make sure that you exert effort to understand everything! Because even though a chunk of the activities also include matching type, true or false or fill in the blanks, essays are a mainstay. Usually, they’re not based on facts too but on your own personal opinion and the teacher will be able to tell if you don’t have a particular stand or you do yet you fail to back it up with actual evidence, so be sure to find a basis for everything you say.

Unfortunately, all fun and games were over when the second semester rolled in. Our privileges were taken back and our schedule was reverted back to the usual 4:20PM. Thanks to the fact that my busmates never went straight to the bus upon dismissal and liked roaming around the campus, leaving our conductor to search for them like she was in some sort of treasure hunt, I went home at 6:00PM every day. To make matters worse, this just so happened to be the season when the research papers started rolling in, one by one, all poised and ready to kill us ever so slowly. Let me give you another quick recap:

Pagbasa at Pagsuri

Definitely not the kind of “Pagbasa” I was expecting, if I’m being frank. I thought we were going to be reading and analyzing contemporary Filipino literature, which excited me since my knowledge in that genre was close to non-existent. Turns out, we would be looking at different kinds of texts (informative, persuasive, analytical, etc) then finding out how to write them afterwards. There’s a chance you might not experience this unless we go to the same school, but our teacher invented the ADIDS method in order to help us learn this more effectively through application. I forgot what it stands for, but basically all you do is discuss each facet of a very broad topic thoroughly in the form of a well thought out class presentation.

Meanwhile, the research paper takes up one whole semester. Not to sound boastful, but I had thought that I would be able to do this with ease because all I ever do with my life is write I mean I practically came out of my mother’s womb with a pen and paper in hand and I speak more Filipino than English these days seeing as  I spend a bigger portion of my day in school. But, the finished product is often bland and makes use of the same words over and over in a failed attempt to accurately describe what I want to put on paper. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, the topic also had to be narrowed down repeatedly to suit a particular audience, from a specific place within a specific time frame so we ended up doing a research on the effects of Jason Derulo’s songs on the opinions of Grade 11 students from our school in the academic year 2016-2017. Please don’t laugh at us.

You also don’t just write the entire paper, but also be briefed on its parts, their functions and determine what sets them apart from each other, and the specifications in making each of them. Which includes stuff as minuscule as the measurement of the margins, font sizes and types to use et cetera. It’s not that hard though because as you’re working on the paper, you familiarize yourself even more.

Komunikasyon at Pananaliksik

The easiest one I took the entire semester, and for obvious reasons, my favorite. Our teacher was brilliant in the sense that he was well-versed in the subject matter and got work done yet let us watch Train to Busan or Seklusyon on the TV if the schedule permitted. The topics weren’t mind-boggling either: we just covered the history of the Filipino language and communicative skills (which further cemented my belief that this was basically the counterpart of Oral Com). They may be confusing at first but the key is to notice sentence patterns! The number of activities given to us was reasonable and not particularly stress-inducing: just quizzes that were few and far-between, a groupwork and reaction paper for a performance task.

Fundamentals of Accounting

A lot of people are intimidated by the idea of studying Accounting, and I’m not surprised. It’s always described as something that relies on analysis and numbers, two things that we normally don’t excel in at school. But it’s actually nothing to fuss about as long as you do your reading, understand the basic guidelines, practice at home and have a qualified teacher who has the proper training and skill set. The first few chapters don’t even involve computation of any kind yet. You’ll just be acquainted with the very foundation of the subject: the branches of accounting, the users of accounting information, the forms of business organizations and types of businesses. Maybe the most important lessons that you could pick up are the accounting equation (assets = liabilities + equity), types of major accounts and the generally accepted principles because they serve as the rules to follow for making your accounting-related decisions.

Eventually, you’ll make it to business transactions and their analysis, where you’ll be taking a trip around the whole accounting cycle. You’ll have to fill out a journal, ledger and unadjusted trial balance then adjust that trial balance using the adjusting entries normally provided to create your income statement, balance sheet, closing entries and the end goal, the post-closing trial balance. Sounds like a lot of work, but it’s seriously not that difficult if you do your homework! It’s also best to invest in an actual journal and worksheet, instead of solving on sheets of yellow pad that can easily be misplaced.

Statistics and Probability

Stat was weird for me in the sense that our lessons were generally ambiguous unlike what their names insinuated and I seemed to understand everything while it was being discussed but the minute I got home to work on assignments, I found myself staring at a wall until a friend who actually knows what to do goes online on Messenger. Later on, I found out it was because I needed to practice on my own to be familiar with the procedure instead of trying to memorize all the steps when it depends on the type of problem. We covered random variables, probability distributions, normal distributions, sampling, estimation of parameters and hypothesis testing (which was actually quite fun).

If you’re not keeping up to speed with everyone else, please do work on it as early as possible. The lessons here are somewhat connected to each other so if you failed to catch the drift on one of them, it’ll create a chain reaction and by the last topic, you’ll have zero knowledge of how to solve anything. Ask help, preferably from your teacher because not only do they explain it most accurately but it helps them see your initiative to do better, which they take into consideration when computing for your final grade. Do not settle for the exercises found on the book. Make your own, if you’re in the mood to cramp your hand, or turn to websites like The Oxford Math Center for useful worksheets with answer keys.

Contemporary Art

The very bane of my existence. The perfect way to sum up this subject in six words. Art was never my strength, anyone who knows me is aware that I can’t draw to save my life, but it didn’t really have much of a dent on my report card since it happened to be a minor subject. But thanks to the implementation of the new curriculum, it is given a new sense of purpose as a core subject with a weight of O N E. We had dealt with the different periods of Philippine art extensively, the National Artists of the country and different contemporary art forms such as film and the oddly interesting performance art. (Trigger warning for some graphic content though, so do be careful when searching these up!)

Activities ranged from making presentations similar in format to those in Pagbasa at Pagsuri, creating manifestos for the Philippine youth in relation to their role in the art world, holding a class exhibit to display the work you’ve made and my favorite: going on a fieldwork to hunt for contemporary art in the city. All this will lead to the culminating activity: the creation of your very own output, where anything is possible and depends solely on the one calling the shots.

This art class is no longer focusing solely on the physical aspects of a certain work, but also on what it actually means and what its relevance to society actually is. So, a good tip would be to always look at the bigger picture when given something to analyze! It’s hard at first, I admit I didn’t have much to say during the first few meetings but as the floor is opened to more interpretation and intellectual discussion, you’ll get the hang of it and instinctively feel the need to join in.

** We are about to dive in a zone that is fittingly named The Deadly Trio. ** Actually, if these were stand-alone subjects, I’d be fine but the fact that there are three of them in one semester when they’re basically discussing the same things and giving the same ridiculous amount of take home work was enough to drive me up the wall.

Practical Research

As implied by the very name of this subject, the main focus would be the creation of a qualitative practical research paper throughout the entirety of the semester. Discussions here were very minimal, as the teacher thankfully wanted us to focus on getting as much work done in the classroom as possible. I slacked off moderately during her period instead of lessening what I’d have to do at home, and in the end I ultimately suffered. But anyway, topics discussed include the importance of qualitative research, finding a good topic and sources to build it up, reviewing different types of literature, understanding and collecting data and further analyzing it to later on be able to report our findings.

One another thing to look forward to (not in a good way) is the dreaded thesis defense, where your paper will be dissected and closely examined for any possible shortcomings and held against you in front of a panel. It doesn’t always have to be the bane of your existence: as long as you contributed to the making of the project, you’ll know enough that you won’t be humiliated the minute you open your mouth.

A tip to take into consideration is to choose the right groupmates. Unless teachers pre-determine who you end up working with for two straight quarters (in that case, you’ll just have to learn how to accept your fate, whether it is for better or for worse), as much as possible, go for those who are responsible and actually care about their grades. It’s never fun to work with people who send you a montage of copy-pasted statements from Wikipedia pages and pass it off as their “contribution”, go offline Messenger the minute you even think about asking for help and think that printing the paper is a valuable addition to the team.

Reading and Writing

Contrary to what I initially thought, this was not the counterpart of Pagbasa at Pagsuri in the English language and I was thankful in a way because God knows the pain that inflicted upon me. The first quarter starts off quite easy, with critical thinking, fundamental reading skills, selecting and organizing information and critical reading skills. It may sound like a mouthful, but most of these are stuff you’ve picked up long before, without the assistance of a teacher! Some people may find patterns of development a hard topic, but if you read books, I guess identifying them just comes natural to you.

The latter part of this subject is where the ugly stuff goes in. I personally felt deceived into thinking that it would be as simple as our first lessons: identifying and writing the thesis statement and topic statement then it suddenly escalates and turns into SO MUCH ACADEMIC WRITING. When I saw that we were going to be making book reports and article critiques, I shelled out some of my favorite fictional reads and Man Repeller stories of the month only to find out that we’d be reviewing serious, educational material with very specific and strict guidelines to follow to make it as formal and cohesive (and basically not fun) as possible. Research reports, project proposals and position papers will also be in the works at some point: they are very structured and usually have to revolve around topics that are related to your strand, so there is a chance you may find it boring.

English for Academic and Professional Purposes

When I saw I had this for a subject, I was actually glad at first since English has always been my forte. So I was anticipating a repeat tutorial on all parts of speech and the basics of the subject-verb agreement when in reality, all I got was a dupe of Reading and Writing. Which is why, I had no idea why we had to take up both of them during the same semester.

Besides all subjects that required the submission of a research paper as some sort of culmination, this was the most demanding in terms of written output. During the first quarter, it’s still permissible to chill as you’re only going through reading and writing different types of academic texts (does this sound familiar to any of you?) but as the next one rolls along, BOOM. Reaction paper. Reflection paper. (Yes, there is a difference.) Concept paper. ANOTHER position paper. Report.

Now, if you’re already thinking about how you’re going to make it through when your writing is as lifeless and flat as can be (e.g. It is a sunny day, I ate an apple, I need to pee), don’t sweat it. That is exactly what your EAPP teacher will be looking for anyway. Academic texts do not require flowery writing that went through EDSA traffic before getting to the point (which was obviously an inconvenience for me): nobody cares about your opinion unless they say so and even if they do, they’ll probably require a sentence limit.

 Well, that’s a wrap! I spent approximately twelve hours working on this post: one of which was spent on the Kitkat bench in Landmark trying to find a catchy way to start it off, and my eyes hurt and I may be suffering from carpal tunnel but all of that means nothing as long as I’ve been able to guide one hopeless soul out of the dark. I’ll be back with much lighter content very soon if I can factory reset my head and get it to work properly again.

 Stay in school, kids!

Angel

[youngavengersfeels]

Honestly, I Just Came Out To Have A Good Time

Pairing: Stucky

Word Count: 2408

Summary: The first time Steve met Bucky, Bucky was jumping into a pond only a smidge less polluted than the from The Simpsons, butt naked. Things could really only go up from there.

Steve made a point of going to the park at least once a week to draw. Even though he did plenty of art as a freelance artist, he found less and less time to focus on his own art as opposed to just meeting deadlines. Even though he was normally exhausted and didn't really have the motivation Steve still dragged himself to the park once a week to sketch, it didn't have to be good, he just had to do it.

His preferred spot was a little secluded but still had enough foot traffic to stay interesting. Although considering it was already 9pm and the beginning of winter, Steve had the park to himself. The bench he claimed as his own faced the little man made pond which looked so incredible polluted Steve felt gross just looking at it. Still, Steve’s little bench was a great place to sit down and sketch, or in what was more likely to happen, stare off into space with a blanket page in his lap.

A man came running down the path completely breaking Steve’s concentration. It wasn't until the man was already leaping into the pond that Steve realized the guy was straight up naked and Steve got a pretty good view before the guy hit the water. It was late-October so the water was probably bitterly cold. Steve watched the pond and when the guy didn't resurface Steve started to panic. He was already pulling his hoodie off, ready to leap in after the guy when a head emerged. Steve let out a breath of relief, he was really glad he didn't have to save the guy; freezing water really wasn't hai thing.

“What the hell are you doing?” Steve yelled jogging over to the pond’s edge. “You're gonna get arrested jumping in public lakes naked.”

The guy must not have seen Steve before violently skinny dipping because he let out the funniest squeak Steve had ever heard. The guy had been standing in the water but at Steve’s gaze he ducked back in the water apparently concerned about his modesty after all. Not that it spared Steve anything since he had already gotten an eyeful.

“Please don't call the police! My friends dared me to do it!” The guy said sounding so incredibly pitiful.

“You're friends dared you to jump in a freezing lake nude and you just did it?” Steve asked astonished. He wasn’t the best person to be telling someone off for doing stupid stuff on a dare, but this guy didn’t know it so Steve didn’t feel like too much of a hypocrite.

“The loser has to shave their head and I can't let the world be robbed of these luscious locks,” the guy said.

“Whatever you say dude, you should probably get out before you get hypothermia though,” Steve said. He wasn't really willing to spend his Friday night trying to coax a crazy person out of a pond but he also didn't want the guy to freeze to death. Darn his mother for instilled basic human decency in him at an early age.

“Um, I kind of left my clothes with my friends,” the guy said squirming. Steve rolled his eyes.

“It's a little late for the modesty I already saw the whole show and while I definitely don't want an encore performance but you really need to get out of the lake. You're probably absorbing so many toxins into your skin.” The guy still didn't budge. Steve sighed deeply. “You can take my jacket to cover up,” Steve said resigned to the fact some other guy’s junk was going to touch his clothes.

The guy finally got out of the lake though, so little victories. Steve pulled off his hoodie and handed it to the guy, averting his eyes. The guy wrapped the hoodie around his waist and clapped Steve on the back in what he assumed was gratefulness but Steve really wished he hadn't because now he had pond water on him which was disgusting.

“Let me just run to grab my clothes and I’ll give you back your hoodie,” the guy said. Steve couldn’t help looking down at his hoodie which was wrapped around the guy’s waist already soaked. There was no way Steve was going to be able to decontaminate that. Even if he could he wouldn’t be able to wear the damn thing without thinking of the guy in all his naked glory jumping into the lake. Steve said a silent goodbye to his fourth favorite hoodie.

“You know what keep it as a ‘congrats for not having to shave your head’ present,” Steve said ready to be done with this and hopefully never think of it again. The guy beamed at him.

“Thanks man,” the guy said before jogging off. Steve couldn’t help but admire the guy’s toned ass as he jogged away.

If Steve had his way he would purchase almost all his furniture from goodwill. He drew the line at buying a second hand mattress, there just wasn't a good way to clean a mattress both physically and spiritually. Peggy though had better taste than him so as a compromise Steve agreed to go to Ikea with her to pick out a few new items for his bare apartment.

It took all of ten minutes for Steve to lose Peggy. He had wondered a little bit away to laugh at some oddly named pieces of furniture and when he looked back, Peggy was gone. It felt like he was a little kid lost in the grocery store but Peggy wasn't just in the next isle over. Steve tried calling her but of course he didn't have service inside the store. It almost felt like the store was trying to separate the weak from the group to pick them off one by one. If Steve didn't find Peggy soon he would probably be absorbed by the store and get spit back out as an employee. Steve shuddered at the thought.

Steve kind of figured he might as well look around while he looked for Peggy, no sense wasting the opportunity so he let himself be distracted by things he found interesting. Even though he didn't really need a new entertainment center, and certainly not one that enormous, Steve still inspected the item, pulling the cabinets open to peer inside. He wasn't really looking inside the cabinets so he almost missed the man curled up inside the bottom right cabinet. Steve was already half way closing the cabinet door when it registered.

Yanking the cabinet open again the guy looked up at him, finger pressed to his lips as a sign to be quiet. Like hell Steve was going to listen to a clearly insane man living inside a model ikea entertainment center. There were worse places to live than IKEA; there were plenty of places to sleep and there was even a food court but still.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Steve asked.

“Shhh! They'll hear you!” The guys said shushing Steve who felt his hackles raise. Nothing was nothing like getting shushed to make a person want to beat the crap out of someone else.

“Don't you fucking shush me. You're the one hiding in a cabinet,” Steve hissed unsure of why he lowered his voice, he didn't have to go along was the idiot in the cabinet.

“I'm playing hide and seek with my friends and the loser has to buy dinner. I know better than to be stuck with the pizza bill when Clint’s around,” the guy sai like Steve would know what any of that meant.

“Are you really just stuck? There's no shame in admitting you got in over your head and need help,” Steve asked actually concerned for the man’s well being.

“Shh! This isn't even the worst thing you've seen me done so I'm not sure why you're acting so weird about it,” the guys said. Squinting Steve did think the guy looked familiar. All cramped up in the cabinet though, Steve couldn't get a good look at him. Then Steve realized it was the clothes throwing him off. This was the guy he saw skinny dipping in the park. What the fuck kind of games did this guy play with his friends?

“You really should consider doing something that isn't going to get you kicked out of places,” Steve said settling on amused.

“The threat of getting banned from Ikea makes the game all the more fun. You should play sometime,” the guy said.

“I don't need to intentionally hide from my friends in here,  the maze from hell that is IKEA does a pretty good job for me,” Steve said. The guy laughed at him which was actually a kind of nice sound. Steve couldn't get a great look at the guy since he was literally stuffed in a cabinet, but without the distraction of him being completely naked Steve was able to get a better look at him. The guy was actually really attractive, if not a little weird.  

“My name’s Bucky. I feel like since you’ve already seen me naked you should at least know my name,” Bucky said. Great, now when Steve recounted the latest strange encounter to his friends, he would have a name instead of just referring to Bucky as the unfairly hot streaker.

“Steve,” he said earning a smile from Bucky.

“Are you talking to the furniture now? I haven’t been gone that long, no need to integrate yourself into the environment,” Peggy said snapping Steve’s attention away from Bucky.

“No, just talking to…” Steve said looking down but Bucky was nowhere to be seen. How the fuck did he manage to get out of the cabinet so easily. Steve kind of really hoped he won hide and seek because damn that must take a lot of skill. “It’s nothing. Let’s just pick out a new coffee table and leave before anything starts sing about us being their guest,” Steve said.

The only good let about going to the mall was the people watching. The mall was a depressing space where time didn't exist, the only even hint of time passing was constant repetition of the Rainforest Cafe show every hour on the hour. Society barely prevailed as packs of middle schoolers roamed their territory taking out the weak and solo shoppers. Steve had almost been trampled by a group of anime weirdos heading for the manga section of Barnes and Nobles while he browsed the history section. Only the consumerist dream could survive in such a harsh habitat.

The fact that it was the holiday season and the same three pop Christmas carols played over and over again on the loudspeakers and Christmas cheer were shoved down everyone's throats only made it worse. Still there were some really good sales Steve wanted to hit up and the mall had the closest Lush to him and bath bombs were a must. He hadn't had time to eat before heading to the mall so even though Steve hated food court food he ended up at Panda Express. So he was sitting by himself munching contently in organs chicken when a guy plopped down into the chair facing him out of nowhere.

“Can I kiss you? the guys said. Steve jerked back at the sudden appearance a strange man right in front of him. He dropped the piece of chicken on his fork and he stared at the waste of food pitifully until what the person had asked him registered. His head jerked up a speech about boundaries already forming. Now that he was actually paying attention he realized it was only Bucky so he relaxed. It spoke a lot to how use to Bucky’s antics after only a couple of meetings that the question didn't even phase him.

“What?” Steve asked dumbly because while he wasn’t really surprised he was still a little concerned.

“We're doing a mall scavenger hunt and I have to kiss someone wearing khaki in the food court and I really would prefer it be someone under the age of 60,” Bucky said nonchalantly. Did Bucky and his friends ever just sit around and hang out or did they always have to have some weird challenge going on?

“Yes, taking a dig at my sense of fashion is a great way to get me to agree to kiss you,” Steve said rolling his eyes. “Also that is so specific and kind of invasive. What would you do if no one agreed?” Steve asked.

“I guess I would lose,” Bucky said with a shrug which suggested casualness but the tightness of his voice and everything Steve knew about the guy told Steve he cared very deeply about winning. Honestly at this point Steve was kind of just amused by the dedication.

“Alright,” Steve said.

“Wait really?” Bucky said eyes lighting up.

“I can't really let you lose, that would be bad for my karma,” Steve said with a smile. If he was being completely honest he wouldn't really mind kissing Bucky anyway.

Bucky has his phone out ready to take the picture and as Steve squeezed close to Bucky to fit in the frame he felt incredibly self conscious. They looked like a couple.

Steve’s palms got sweaty as Bucky leaned in. Even though Steve had agreed to the kiss in he was inching so at the last second he veered off course and gave Bucky a peck on the cheek. Bucky pulled away laughing after snapping the picture.

“I guess that technically counts but I feel a little cheated,” Bucky said while sending the picture to his friends. Steve felt a little nervous at the fact that people were going to be judging the photo.

“Well you'll just have to earn a real one,” Steve said in a teasing tone to mask his total lack of chill because he kind of wish he had kissed Bucky for real.

“The mall has a laser tag arena. How about If I win you have to give me a kiss?” Bucky suggested.

“What is with you and stupid little bets?” Steve asked rolling his eyes but with a grin. “And if I win?”

“I'll buy you dinner,” Bucky said extending his hand to shake on it, which Steve accepting the terms. This was definitely the weirdest way Steve ever got a date but at this point he wouldn't expect anything less.

[asteriskphases]

Sometimes I miss being sick. Not to say that I'm not sick anymore, because I am, but sometimes I miss being that sick. I miss.... it's hard to explain. It's hard to define what I miss about it, because I don't miss anything about it. I hated every minute of it I hated every second. I hate, hate, hate all of it but now that I am passable as healthy.. Now that people look at me and see a cane and not anything else, when people look at me and they don't see death and not anything else... Part of me wishes I'd have stayed in that familiar city of pain, and mental illness, and whatever the opposite of 'healing' is. Where there's nothing to talk about aside from how I'm adjusting to my new chemo regime, but goddamn was there plenty to write about. I haven't had a single dose of chemotherapy for an entire year- but I still write about it in present tense. And for once, I don't wanna talk about it. Normally, my history stands to show my strength, my bravery, my stubbornness, and everything that I do not miss. But today... today stands to show me how weak I can become, and how weak I have been, and how I just can't be both me and that ninety pound twig that grew so much in such harsh conditions. I cannot be both. I can't be the person I look up to as well as the person I am becoming, even though both of these people are me, and that is so scary. It's funny, y'know, I still talk about it in present tense. I talk about Nurse Jason and how he talks nonstop of his grandbabies in Haiti. I talk about Ava as if she's still in my life, Ava as if she's still lying just out of reach on the other side of the curtain, Ava as if she is still a part of me, Ava as if I didn't watch her grow into nothing as the chemo did nothing to help but oh, god, did it hurt. Ava, as if she is still alive. I still talk about Nurse Ollie and how whenever he sees me crying he will drop everything, come into my hospital room, sit by my feet and say "baby, it's okay. You're going to be okay one day or so help me... but please, don't make me watch the person that I look up to feel this way." For the first time, I am embarrassed instead of proud of the tally list of things doctors have had to do to continue my life. Dear Diary, It has been five years since I last encountered my favorite cryptid. It would be so much easier for me to hunt down Nessie or Bigfoot than to even try conjuring a contraption that could capture the elusive creature you know as "Pain Free". Dear Diary, The specialists say, and I quote, "The pain associated with acute porphyria is not compatible with life." I oftentimes describe it with "At any given moment, I am in more physical pain than the majority of people will experience in their entire life." The women with it say our ceaseless stomach cramps are comparable to labor. Men claim our chest pains are never less painful than being kicked in the balls. I could talk forever about the pain. My bones, nerves, organs, everything, each and every cell, are always screaming out in pain. I am constantly screaming out for relief, and nobody hears me because, after all: it is porphyria. The oh, so romantic Vampire Disease. I am a cryptid. Us living-dying-whatever vampires asking for help is concurrent with your fantasy vampires looking into a mirror. Porphyria is an invisible disease- not only that, but when you say "I have porphyria." Nobody believes you, because nobody has ever heard of it before. It is one of the most curious of diseases- not to mention it's rarity, its faceless fatalities throughout history, it's silence in adversity... Dear Diary, One hundred and eighty days. Give or take a few, of course, that's the average amount of days in a school year. Two hundred and eight. That's the amount of doctor's appointments that separated my 13th and 14th birthdays. Dear Diary, Three hundred days, that's how long it takes to build a commercial airplane from the ground up. Dear Diary, Seven hundred and thirty days. That's how long I was bedridden- be it a gurney, hospital bed, shower floor, or in my own goddamn room, I physically could not sit up on my own. Part of the time, I couldn't even feed myself. Dear Diary, Eight hundred days. Give or take, That's how long it took me to learn to stand up without another's help. Hell, I still can't do it 100% of the time. Eight hundred and eighty two days, as of 3/13/17, that's how long until I turn 20. I did the math, I factored in risks and diseases and medications and in the next 882 days, my colon has about a 80% chance of becoming cancerous. Same with my lymph nodes, bones, brain, and lungs. I have a 95% chance of being dead before I can legally drink until I forget the statistics. If I'm correct (and I'm pretty sure I am) this is scary to you. This is something you wouldn't wish for yourself, your children, worst enemy, hell, even me. If your doctor were to call you from their personal cell phone and monotonously say "Your test results are in and I need to see you asap- can you get here before 6?" you would damn near stress yourself into a heart attack. Me? That's just an average Tuesday night. So when a friend casually comments on my tolerance levels, my willingness to do anything, no matter how stupid, how I pop pills more often than I eat, how I can take handfuls at a time without anything to chase, how I can down bottles of barium and charcoal as if they're water, how I must be so great at parties- I realize that to other people, this shit isn't normal. I realize that, apparently, it is not healthy to reminisce over all those days when you were told you wouldn't survive the night. Apparently, it's kinda sad how the one time you were invited to a party, you were too busy vomiting blood onto your favorite shirt in the ICU to even consider attending. Because to me, this shit is normal. This shit isn't something to think twice about. To me, dying is something to expect but not entirely disagreeable. Scars are goddamn gorgeous. Needles pushed into my skin again and again and again because my veins have collapsed make me feel fucking nostalgic. Scales bring up childhood memories of losing weight daily. And by that, I mean when I was 13, I lost 110 pounds in just over 4 weeks. It fucking sucked. So why the fuck am I sitting here bullying myself for not being sick enough anymore? Why the fuck does it feel like something to miss?? I'm not often sure of where these rants are going, and lord knows I'm not even sure of where I started, but I do know that so long as I can feed myself, I'll be standing in the doorway of 4100 staring at a bright haired, dull eyed, little twig of a kid getting chemo. So long as I can walk, I will be an infant wondering how anyone could it so seamlessly. So long as I can cry, I will scream and stomp my feet and do everything I can to crawl out of this damn defective body. So long as I can remember, I will hear little miss Ava snoring and nurse Ollie whispering to me at three in the morning: “You are going to be okay one day, or so help me... but please don't make me watch the person that I look up to feel this way.”

Leo 3/13/17

[cemeterygatesmedia]

The Hermit of Russian Lake

 by. J. Sullivan

Big Moose Lake had been an out-of-the-way destination for vacationers and hunters since the late 19th century. It managed to retain much of its remote nature during the 20th century, unlike most of the Fulton Chain, a series of vast lakes not far south of Big Moose. While the other sizeable lakes in the central Adirondacks had become tourist hubs—lined with grand hotels, serviced by steamboats and railroads—Big Moose only begrudgingly built new settlements; and the hotels that did spring up were never all that successful.

Keith Lane had visited the area with friends over the years and wanted to share some of the charming solace of the lake with his wife, Becky, and their baby girl. He hoped to build a foundation for positive mutual memory there, and have a spot to return to each summer that they could make their own. He and Becky were having a difficult marriage, wanting different things in life, with disparate plans and goals. The vacation was meant to be a first step toward mending their relationship.

However, things never seemed to go as planned for Keith. Becky hated the cramped confines of the bungalow that her husband had rented. She complained from the minute they arrived, about the furniture, the lack of things to do, the difficulty of caring for their one-year-old daughter in an unfamiliar place. She really let Keith know that he was putting her out on this little vacation of his.

Not a day and a half had passed before Keith needed to get out of the cottage and away from his wife’s niggling. Becky and the baby were sleeping, so he decided to take the canoe from the backyard and put it out onto the water. He knew from an earlier trip that in the eastern bay of the lake there was a dock, and from there a short hiking path to a campsite and pond. He was determined to ex-perience a little of his own type of vacation, whether Becky gave him a hard time about it or not.

The forty-minute-long paddle was leisurely, with a gentle wind at his back. Not many powered boats were out on the water that day, likely because it was overcast and threatening rain. He waved to a carpenter piloting a flat-top motor boat full of old dock lumber.

Keith arrived at the small dock and tied up his canoe. He found the marked, flat forest trail with ease and followed it toward Russian Lake. The path appeared well-travelled, and along the way he passed a man and a boy carrying a canoe, presumably back from the pond. They paused to talk.

“Hey. Were you guys camping?” asked Keith.

“Yep. We stayed overnight at the lean-to. It’s really a nice, little lake up there,” said the father. “It looks like it might rain, so we’re trying to get back.”

Keith left the pair behind and continued on the path for another half-mile until he reached the lean-to, which sat on a bluff overlooking the pond. He saw the obvious signs of the campsite in front: a fire pit, trampled grass, and indentations where gear had been parked for the night.

The pond itself held a small island, densely covered with trees, grass, and underbrush, as was most of the surrounding area. It was the end of the trail, and he thought it odd that there weren’t more trails going off into the vast Pigeon Lake Wilderness Area which lay to the north, south, and east.

He wandered down to the small lake, peering into the brackish water for any sign of life. A beaver caught his attention as it swam from shore to the small island. He spotted the creature’s bulky timber pile near a small outlet stream and searched out a spot where he could get a better look at the developing dam.

When Keith had walked far enough along the shore, he spied a gently tread game path that he could follow to the outlet. He waded through tall grass, flicking burrs and thorns, and swiped away various clinging bugs from his pants. Loons called out from a thick patch of reeds nearby; their eerie, almost wolf-like territorial posturing made him jump. Finally, he reached the outlet stream and looked over the beginnings of the dam.

The sun peeked out for a few minutes, and Keith saw something metallic shimmer downstream. He walked along the rocky brook toward the mysterious glistening beacon. Eventually, he could begin to make out some sort of structure among the trees. A little clearing had been made, on which sat a shack.

Keith had heard stories of the guides, mountain men, and hermits who had once occupied solitary settlements in the deep woods—men who had been present for nearly every exploration and discovery—the lore-makers themselves. He was a student of Adirondack history, yet was stunned at the existence of a hermitage in the 21st century—reasoning that the state of New York wouldn’t stand for such a thing on its hallowed public land.

Smoke drifted from the makeshift chimney of the cobbled-together structure. The aluminum wall panels and asphalt shingle roof were set at odd angles—and the whole thing seemed about to collapse. Keith was startled from his structural study by the emergence of an old hermit, obviously the proprietor of this squatter’s refuge.

“Are you lost?” asked the old man.

“No,” replied Keith.

“Then get lost,” said the old man, abruptly, and returned to his abode.

Keith paused, unsure if he shouldn’t just turn around and hurry himself back to his canoe. The old man returned with a tobacco pipe in his mouth, already puffing at it in caricature of the classic Mountain Man.

“Sir, my name’s Keith. I was checking out the beaver dam and saw the sun shine off the aluminum down here. I was just curious, you know?”

The old fellow sauntered over to him. They both stood about the same height, a little over six feet tall. “As you can probably figure out, I’m here on this land illegally, and any mention of my being here, to the wrong sort of people, will get me arrested and tossed out on my head.”

“I won’t say anything. I’m just at the lake for a week on vacation.” Keith looked at the weathered shack and the surrounding area with curiosity. “How long have you been out here?”

“Decades… But who’s counting?” The old man broke a yellow, wry smile, and continued to puff away at his pipe. “I suppose you’d like to see inside?”

Keith nodded and followed the old man into the shack. The first thing he noted were the modern provisions. There were canned food tins, a tidy collection of recyclables, and a newer portable propane stove. It all struck him as neatly utilitarian. The only non-essential items seemed to be a stack of hardcover books and a few magazines that sat on one small, homemade table.

“Do you want some coffee?” asked the old man, as he set some water to boil on his stove.

“Sure.” Keith was directed to sit in one of the rough-hewn chairs.

“So, what do you think?”

“Sir, I’d have to say that I’m surprised at how well-organized everything seems.”

The old man nodded. “Thanks. I’ve had time to get things right. Plenty of it.”

“Do you hunt and fish for food?”

The old man looked at Keith queerly. “No. I buy my food in Eagle Bay at the market, the same as everyone else. I do make a little money trapping—legally, of course.”

Keith was taken aback at how normal the hermit seemed. He figured there had to be something horribly awry in the psyche of someone brave enough to endure an Adirondack winter in such a hovel.

“Does it get boring out here?”

“No. Just simple.”

“God, I wish my life would get simpler. I have a baby girl, and my wife is sure she wants us to get separated.”

“Sorry to hear that, son.”

“It’s just so goddamn infuriating that she can upend my life because she’s bored, or sick of it all, or whatever.” Keith looked at the old man, who had been listening intently. He was embarrassed by what he had just revealed to the stranger.

The old man added some instant coffee to the now-boiling pot on the stove, and then poured two mugs, setting one in front of his guest. “You’ve a right to be angry.”

“I’m sure life out here can be miserable and difficult, but it seems like it can be a paradise, too.”

The old man didn’t respond. He gave Keith a bagel and sat down in the other rickety chair across the small room. They sat in silence for a few minutes. Rain began pattering on the roof and aluminum walls.

“I should probably get back before it starts pouring,” said Keith, standing.

“Do you have a motor?”

“No. Canoe.”

“It’s going to be a rough paddle back. The wind pushes east,” said the old man, feeling briefly paternalistic toward Keith.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t exhaust yourself. Tie up to docks along the way and rest.”

“Okay, thanks.” Keith took a few steps to the door then paused. “You’ve got a real great spot out here. I won’t tell anyone.”

The old man nodded his thanks, and Keith left the cottage. He jogged back down the brook to the pond, then up to the trail that began at the lean-to. It was raining lightly by the time he got into his canoe on Big Moose. The water was already pushing roughly against the far eastern bank.

As soon as Keith nudged out onto the water he knew the wind was going to be a real problem. He tossed his backpack into the front of the canoe to try and keep the bow even with the stern. But his backpack wasn’t heavy enough to keep the front end of the boat down, and the wind was pushing it each way, making paddling in a straight line impossible. He struggled against the piling water and strong gusts to drag the canoe, little by little, away from the dock.

The first twenty minutes were fine. He made decent headway and was practically within sight of a smaller bay to the south, which had a public boat launch. But the storm grew increasingly intense and he knew that he wasn’t going to make it back to his cottage on the water. It wasn’t a long walk from the launch to where he was staying, and he could return with his Jeep and grab the canoe from the parking area.

Twenty more minutes had passed by the time Keith realized he had gone no more than fifty yards. He was paddling furiously and his shoulders, back, and arms were fatigued. He knew he could always stop at one of the docks or even pull his canoe onto the shore and deal with the possibility of an unfriendly dock or cabin owner. A group of older ladies passed him with their speedboat and waved as he tried not to panic from his predicament.

The combination of a sudden blast of wind followed by a small wake from the passing boat knocked the paddle from Keith’s hand. He lunged for it and had it nearly within his grasp when another strong gust sent him plunging into the water. The canoe tipped behind him, knocking him in the head. He struggled against his open life jacket in trying to find the surface, cursing himself for loosening it when he had begun to sweat from exertion.

The carpenter’s flat-top boat, now devoid of cargo, pulled up alongside Keith as he was treading water. The man pulled him and his canoe on board. Keith, completely exhausted, could barely manage a thank-you to his rescuer. The rain was pouring as the boat cut through the choppy water and away from East Bay.

“Are you staying on the lake?”

Keith could only nod and point; he was out of breath, cold, and sodden. But he was able to direct the carpenter to the dock off the property where he was staying with little issue.

“Christ. Thank you so much, man,” said Keith as the pair unloaded his canoe right onto the dock.

“No problem. You’re not the first to get stuck out there. I don’t know why they bother maintaining that dock and that trail to nowhere,” said the carpenter.

Keith shrugged and tried not to grin as he thought of the old man. He thanked the carpenter again then returned to the cottage, unsure of how much of his tale he’d share with Becky.

 * * *

 The hermit of Russian Lake wasn’t used to having visitors. Linear time for him was inconsequential, and how much of it passed between events was nebulous, at best. There were three seasons in his world and they merely cycled. Winter was an endurance event each and every year, followed by mud season (which coincided with an incessant black fly nuisance), and finally, summer.

Summer in the Adirondacks was the reason one would endure the other two seasons on the fringes of the wild. The hermit didn’t consider himself ‘of the wild,’ as he benefited from modern convenience, the same as the campers who came out to his little lake every so often. He shopped once a month at the Big M grocery store in Eagle Bay; the hike wasn’t bad at all once he found the maintained trails south of Big Moose.

He had enough money saved that he could continue his meager existence indefinitely. The Community Bank in Long Lake saw him once per year. He cashed his fur and hide checks, and withdrew a varying amount, usually based on the projected price of propane for the winter.

Though the hermit mostly kept to himself, a small legend had grown around his periodic appearances in the towns from Inlet to Long Lake. He had acquaintances that he spent time with during the hunting and trapping seasons. Most didn’t know that he lived in the woods, and he shared very little of his past with them—a past which he had mostly suppressed, or nearly forgotten, by the time he had spent half of his life as a solitary recluse.

A young man appeared at his door one summer, as if he had been there before. He even seemed to knock as if he were visiting an old friend. It irritated the old man—the wandering curiosity of the upper-middle-class who descended upon the big lake from their luxurious ‘cabins,’ with party boats, speed boats, and now biplanes. They would traipse into his world from time to time, but they usually turned on their heels at the first sight of his camp, and well before making contact.

“Yes?” said the hermit, answering the knock, but not the door. He figured a little unpleasantness would be enough to send the visitor on his way.

“My name’s Keith. I met you out here a few years back.”

The old man shuffled to the door, exhausted from a morning spent chopping wood. He opened it but didn’t recognize the interloper. “Yeah? I don’t remember you.”

The young man paused, considering if he should just leave. “I was staying on the lake with my wife and baby girl. I canoed over, followed the stream, and wandered into the clearing. We had coffee?”

The hermit looked at him quizzically, half-remembering some detail. “I don’t get many visitors out here. And if I recall correctly, the last one may have drowned on his way back over Big Moose during the microburst. That storm did a helluva number on my cottage. It nearly tore my roof off.” He pointed to some of the repairs he had done over the door.

“I’m looking for some advice. I think I might want to try and live a solitary life in the woods.”

The old man chuckled, openly sneering. “My advice?! I’m the last person who should be doling out advice on how one should live.”

“I’m not on a spiritual quest or something—I’m running from the police.” Keith felt relieved to reveal his troubles to someone. “I’m just looking for a few tips, maybe an idea where I should go?”

The hermit’s brow furrowed. “Are you a thief?”

Keith shook his head. “No. I just haven’t been making the best decisions lately.”

“No, you haven’t. Someone certainly saw you come over here, and eventually I’ll be found out because of it, and my home will be demolished. Not to mention, I’ll be arrested like a common criminal.” The old man looked the fugitive over. “Come in, I suppose.”

He let Keith in and closed the door.

“Jesus. I’m sorry. She was gonna leave me. I actually saw red. I didn’t think it was a real thing, but I actually saw red and the knife was right there on the cutting board…” said Keith, panicking.

“Stop it! I don’t care what you’ve done or who you are. We’re screwed now. Both of us.”

Keith broke down, sobbing. “I loved her more than anything, and she just wrecked everything for us, for my daughter…”

The old man sat Keith in the rickety chair at his small wooden table. “Give me a minute. Let me think about this. We can figure something out.”

There was a firm knock at the cottage door, and the hermit was pulled from his silent meditation. He nervously turned and approached the door, hesitant to pull the handle.

“Hello?” said a man’s voice.

“Are you lost?”

“No.”

The old man opened the door on a solitary hiker, a young man of about thirty.

“Sir, I’m sorry to bother you again. I was trying to paddle back out of the bay, but the wind was just too goddamn strong; so I turned back.”

The hermit noticed that it was raining, the pitter-patter growing louder against his aluminum siding. “Again, huh? I’m really busy right now—just go back and wait in the lean-to for the storm to pass.” He turned back to check on Keith, but he was gone. He looked around the small cottage for the man. “Keith?! Where the hell did you go?!”

The man at the door answered. “Sir, I’m right here… My name’s Keith Lane, remember? We met and chatted a couple of hours ago. I’m vacationing with my wife and baby girl just down the lake.”

[purplesurveys]

850

what was the last movie that you watched, and what did you think of it? I haven’t been watching movies during quarantine, actually. The last one I watched was Two for the Road, last April. It’s my favorite movie ever so I loved seeing it, as always. I’ve been watching shows a lot more and the most recent thing I watched was the Shut Up and Dance episode of Black Mirror. It’s an okay episode but it just makes me paranoid so there are other episodes I love a lot more.

can you sit through an extreme chick flick? I like romcoms as long as the acting is ok, like The Proposal or 13 Going on 30. I can’t deal with straight-up romance movies with acting or screenplays that make me want to stab myself in the throat, like The Notebook or A Walk to Remember. Overall they’re generally a hit or miss to me.

does gore in movies bother you? Nope. Whenever I catch gory scenes I just say to myself that the blood is ketchup and that some of the other goopier effects are just peanut butter and chocolate to make it easier to stomach. Also. Dude. I watch wrestling – the blood and dislocated body parts over there are as real as it gets, so fictional gore shouldn’t be a challenge to me.

what is honestly one of the best movies you’ve ever seen? Good Will Hunting. 

have you cooked anything today, if so, what? Nope, though I did have a cinnamon roll from Cinnabon for breakfast.

what is a food that you are absolutely craving? Pad thai and banh mi.

have you ever been on a cruise before? Yes, around East Asia. It was a gift from my parents for my 18th birthday.

what would be your ideal vacation? I’m honestly good with anywhere as long as the place is swamped in a rich local culture and has many museums. I probably wouldn’t enjoy a city as much if it only has buildings and towers as tourist spots (which is what Manila is, so if anyone’s planning a trip here it’s smartest to go to the provinces lol).

what do you wish that you had more time in the day to do? Oh god, free time is all I have now. This question would definitely be more answerable if everything was still normal.

how many hours of sleep, on average, do you get per night? I would say it ranges between 4-6. Doesn’t matter what time I’ll sleep, I keep waking up at six in the morning. Been that way since my fever last month.

is it harder for you to fall asleep or stay asleep? Fall asleep, because I sleep like a rock. Though these days I also wake up easily now because of Cooper’s whines when he wants to play, do his business, or is hungry. Maternal instincts kicking in, lol.

are you currently sick with anything? Nothing other than period cramps and headaches. Though when I got that nasty fever last month I did get scared because it came with a cough and slight chest pain. The hospital I went to actually gave me a Covid symptom test and asked me a bunch of questions about my travel history, which made me all the more paranoid. Thankfully we could tell early on that it wasn’t Covid because the virus required dry cough, and mine definitely wasn’t dry.

do you know anyone who has had the swine flu? No, but my school had to suspend classes for a week because someone else in the community got it.

are you going to watch any of the nfl playoff games? I don’t care for American football.

who are you rooting for to win the superbowl? I just pay attention if Beyoncé’s showing up at the halftime stuff, man.

do you have an older brother? Biologically, no. But I view my favorite cousin, that I grew up with, as my older brother since it really feels that way. 

do you ever play board games, or have you grown out of them? I definitely grew out of them very early on. Just never became my thing.

did you ever own a pack of gel pens? For sure. The glitterier, the better.

what were the worst fashion trends that you witnessed in school? We had a uniform and a very strict dress code (in the rare days that we had to come in casual), so no one got to dress up in just whatever way they wanted. I never liked when people covered their entire arm in those rubber wristbands though. I always thought the look looked kind of cheap.

do you know what snooki’s pouf is? Of course. Aw man, I miss her haha. 

do you celebrate christmas? Yes. Christmas gives me depression more than anything else, but I’m present at all family gatherings. The reunions distract me, so when it comes down to it they’re a good thing so I don’t complain.

what is a goal that you set for yourself in 2010? 2010 was a bad year, so while I don’t remember any specific goals I made I think I just made it a point to not kill myself.

did you kiss anyone since the new year? Yeah, but only until March. 

do you still purchase cds? Not anymooooore. I bought my last ones in 2013.

did you see the movie avatar? Nope. Not a fan of the genre. When I saw blue-skinned beings in the little snippets I’ve seen, I was out lol.

have you ever broken any bones, if so, which? I haven’t.

were you a quiet child or a loud child? Definitely a quiet kid. A little too quiet, actually. I was too shy to ask for permission to go to the washroom so I’d hold it in and always end up having accidents.

how old were you when you learned to ride a bike? I still haven’t learned how.

what do you think of the conflict with the show jersey shore? Never saw anything beyond the pilot because my dad didn’t allow me to watch the show. I was like 11 or 12 when it first came out, so the ban was valid.

do you put product in your hair daily? Yes, conditioner.

[that-bpd-bitch]

So this post shall be a lengthy one, I don’t care who reads it or how much is read. This just needs to be said, somehow.

For someone about to be 20 years old, it’s no understatement to say I have been through some shit. At this point in time, it takes a lot to push me over the line but here I am, being shoved off a fucking cliff. I have smoked weed for almost a year now and I must say, for all its negatives, I am quite glad I do otherwise I would not be as calm and passive as I am now. I try my best to maintain the peace, especially for the majority. I would be a fool to call my current situation peaceful.

I had finally achieved what I would call paradise. I had a group of loving friends, a healthy living environment and true happiness. The summer of 2018 was the happiest of my life and I had managed to create it for myself, with help of course. At 11 years old, I stopped believing I would live to see the day when I could be free. Four people helped, but two in particular, set me free. Many times we would all drink and smoke for hours, sometimes partaking in somewhat questionable activities. But working part time with these people, living on minimum wage in a cramped flat with nothing but each other, I realised that this made me happy. I loved the two that helped me grow and build this life for me and I tried my best to be grateful. I met one of them with unsavoury intentions but they helped me see that I was being selfish. They helped me become a better person and I tried my best to learn how to be generous, and loving, and kind.

The entire time I had a bad thought in my head. That summer won’t last forever, that some cosmic fuckery was coming my way. At first I didn’t notice as I was caught in my own personal dilemmas. A few weeks before Christmas, I finally learn the truth. I was forced into a situation where I had to maintain an air of civility towards other people whilst trying to wrap my head around what the truth meant for me, for those I loved. I saw the worst outcome and still didn’t prepare myself for it. I sat beside one of them for two days, watching both our worlds fall apart right in front of us. I spent over a week on my own, trying to cope. I almost lost the fight in the New Year. Only now I have the strength to act. But they are small. Trying to look for a new place that is cheap but liveable, in a faraway city based on the fact that I have nothing else to lose?

I must go because I cannot stay. Life here has so quickly turned from a loving home into toxic environment. Once I go, I will leave it all behind. I never want to remember these last few months. Happiness came with such a cost and I am clutching at straw. The relationship I had with Rachel and Stephen was odd. I respected their relationship and built boundaries with them. I wasn’t interested in romance or love, I felt that I wasn’t capable of being committed to one person. So I joined them for sex but still slept with whoever else that I wanted. It worked for a long time, even one on one sessions were encouraged. It worked, despite everyone telling us it wouldn’t. Until I went to Cyprus. I was almost raped while I was out there. I came home with no money, a nervous wreck and Rachel brought me back. I couldn’t handle being touched, let alone think of sex. I could still feel my attackers hands on my body anytime anyone touched me; slowly I got over that with the help of Rachel’s dog and Stephen. I slowly got back into sex but I had lost my attraction to Rachel. We spoke about it and I said I would come back eventually, but I didn’t know how long. I knew it was unfair of me to have sex with Stephen and not Rachel. It was infrequent and vanilla, just enough to satisfy. I looked for other means to get sex, to return to my normal self and I found a customer who sat at Table 11. For a while I didn’t say his name because I was afraid he was too good to be true. He was tall and muscular and beautiful, he sung 50’s love songs to me and had deep debates with me. For me it was definitely a whirlwind romance, but it ended with him making me squat in an abandon flat for a night. 0 to 100, am I right?

I was crushed again, barely even a month after Cyprus. About this time, Stephen fell ill and went to hospital. He was out of action on the sex front for a while so it meant none of us were getting any. It was a slow recovery for us two and by the end of it, we realised the friend group was dissolving and things started to become reckless. I know I took part in several instances of illegal drugs but it was a distraction. I became dependent on them, but I was still blissfully unaware of the chaos surrounding me. Me and Stephen became closer because the other three were distant by now. Rachel had spent more time with the boys than at home. But we trusted them, and didn’t say anything. We loved them and hoped they would find they’re way back to us. I finally felt ready to have sex with Rachel again. I felt like I would be able to make things slightly better again by being able to take things back to the way they were before. But Rachel dropped a fucking bombshell on me just before it happened. I had kept it a secret from her, I wanted to surprise her one day when she came home from work. I had planned it out and voiced my thoughts to Stephen. A Christmas present, if you will. And then she told me the truth. And my attempt at making things good again evolved into a last hurray almost. Fuelled my drugs and alcohol, it was more like a goodbye to the old times for me. Rachel took it for granted; Stephen was still blissfully unaware.

Things went tits up, as expected. The night Stephen was told, Day 0, he spent it with me in my room. When Rachel had told me everything, I told her I would be on her side. She had helped me so many times before and I felt it was my responsibility to do the same for her. But I had to watch Stephen fall apart beside me. By the morning, Rachel had driven home and Stephen decided he was leaving. I decided to stay. I had to look after Rachel, even though what she had done was so terrible. I said goodbye to Stephen but we stayed in touch. After two days of going through hell together, I can’t imagine being without him right now.

By Christmas, I was alone in the flat. Alan had checked up on me a couple of times but he was too socially ignorant to recognise when he had pissed me off. The same for Adam, the bastard didn’t understand why he should be sad, when it was him who aided in destroying the group.

Rachel came back on New Years Day. To cope with this, I was off my tits on drugs by the time she was back and she was fine. She was totally fine and I was not needed to stay around to look after her. Staying only served to hurt me. I struggled to wrap my head around this but the consecutive shitty instances of Rachel’s behaviour since Day 0 has taken me back to square one. Where I am no longer happy at home, I have only one true friend now, and I hate the job I once loved. Rachel took my paradise and set it on fire, taking a shit on it and having a threesome with those two disgusting assholes on top of it.

The only reason I am still here is because I have nowhere else to go. My family don’t care about me, I have been legally homeless for almost 8 months now and I have no true friends to rely on. Aberdeen is not my home anymore, so I must go. Manchester is a good a place as anywhere else, so fuck it let’s go. It’s the new chapter for me. Except I need to pole vault the fucking Grand Canyon before I can begin the new chapter.

I have very little money, trying to make a new start in a city that’s almost four hundred miles away, with no guarantor or credit history and Rachel doesn’t understand why I am still here. I am going to be getting rid of most of my things so that I can do one trip down. What little I have stuffed under Rachel’s spare bed is about to be reduced because of her. I cannot leave without sufficient money because I honestly don’t want to be on the streets in Manchester in three months. I have more obstacles stopping me from leaving than those that are in my head but Rachel cannot see that. I live on the outskirts of society so trying to move across it takes a lot to do.

How I handle all this is my damn business and so far that seems to be in silence. It has gotten to the point where I no longer trust Rachel enough to be able to talk to her freely. Every time I try, I choke up and freeze. She should thank my mum for abusing that quality into me. But I can’t sit idly by any longer, the mountain of shitty things Rachel keeps doing is piling up. But she will never see that, she will never understand any one else’s side of things. She’s hiding from it, running away from it all. I cannot help her anymore but she is still on the same dark path that she started almost two years ago. She is beyond saving, as are the boys. But my opinion of the three of them is so low now that they mean nothing to me. Whilst I do harbour anger towards them, their futures mean nothing to me. I don’t care if none of them ever understand what they did to us. I don’t care if anything happens to them. I just want them gone from my life. I hate the dragging out that they are doing. I wish it would just end and they would have the common decency to let it end.

I’m so tired of it all. They are so meaningless to me now and it breaks me heart to say goodbye to what I thought was my paradise. I just want all this bullshit to end.