#(I can’t judge here - I do the same with coffee and cider)

[sewellsheart]

Wayhaven BFFs (3/4)

Sophie & Adam: “Unstoppable Force, Immovable Object”

Sophie’s Solo Collage

Reina & Farah, Mallory & Nate, Iris & Morgan

[magniloquent-raven]

for fluff: "one more chapter" or "there's enough room for both of us"

it’s been 84 years............ but here u go lmao tysm for the prompts!!!!!! i used both!

CW for some brief suicidal ideation, just in case. it’s v mild but pls be careful yall (i know, this fic was supposed to be fluffy 😅)

posted on ao3

------

Billy’s life had changed a lot in the past two years. 

So much that some days he barely recognizes himself in the mirror. The scars, the state of his hair—which he hasn’t cut since last summer and generally just throws back for convenience’ sake—the stubble he doesn’t bother with most days. Small things, in the grander scheme of what’s different about his life, but it adds up.

And it’s Friday night, he’s curled up at home, and perfectly content to be there. 

There’s a steaming mug of cider on the coffee table (a scratched-up old thing that Hop left him when he officially handed off ownership of his trailer to Billy), and wind rattling the windows, and Max is asleep in the next room. It’s...cozy. 

El stopped by earlier that afternoon, Max in tow, demanding Billy let them stay because Mike was being a dick or a DnD campaign was going on too long and El’s character died a while back so she was bored, or...something. Possibly Mike was being a dick about her character being dead. Max kept chiming in with her own two cents worth but it really just made the whole thing harder to follow.

But it didn’t really matter why they stopped by, they’re always coming up with reasons to invade his living room and eat all his food and nag him about teaching them how to do fancy braids. And Max usually wanders off to nap in his room when El starts asking Billy to read to her.

Which is what he’s doing now. 

Last month he read her Jane Eyre (her idea). A week ago they started The Hobbit. 

It’s been slow going, considering how often El interrupts to ask questions, and every time there’s a song they have the same argument about him not actually singing, but they’re making progress. 

He’s reading through the weird goblin song as monotone as possible just so he can laugh at El’s disgruntled scrunchy face, and putting up with her poking his thigh with her toes when he rolls his eyes at her, and honestly having the time of his fucking life, because, yeah, saying things have changed in the past two years is the understatement of the decade.

When he gets to the end of Over Hill and Under Hill and closes the book she gasps dramatically, sitting up and pulling the ugly orange throw blanket (gift from Mrs. Byers) she’d been snuggled up in tighter around her shoulders.

“Billy, no!” 

He drops the book in his lap and raises his eyebrows at her. “It’s the end of the chapter.”

“No.”

“Yeah, it definitely is.”

El frowns at him, her whole face going pinched. “But you can’t stop there.”

It’s moments like this that almost make Billy forget she can kill people with her brain. Moments when she just looks like a kid, all wrapped up in her favourite blanket and pouting. 

And it’s like she knows that’s his goddamn kryptonite. Because those moments also remind him that she deserves this. More than anyone he knows, she deserves all the childish crap she wants, and more. It won’t ever replace the childhood that was taken from her, but it’s a start.

So, needless to say, Billy has a hard time saying no to her.

He drops his head back against the cushion behind him, staring at the ceiling for a moment—pretending to contemplate, while she glowers at him—and sighs loudly. 

“One more chapter.” 

She beams.

They’re only a few pages into Riddles in the Dark when a car pulls up, and Billy doesn’t even have time to put the book down before the front door bursts open. 

“El! Will thought he—is that The Hobbit?” Dustin comes to an abrupt halt two paces into the room, blinking at the book in Billy’s hands. All his little friends nearly collide with his back, and there’s suddenly a gaggle of obnoxious teenagers huddled in Billy’s doorway. 

“Who cares,” Lucas scoffs, pushing him out of the way so he, Wheeler, and Will, can shuffle the rest of the way inside. “Get out of the way!”

Billy is still trying to figure out what the fuck’s even happening when Steve goddamn Harrington walks in behind his pack of brats. Because of course he was the one who drove them here. Him being a fine upstanding citizen and all that. With nothing better to do, apparently. (Not that Billy has room to judge anymore.)

Suddenly the bickering kids are mostly background noise. Billy always did have a hard time concentrating on anything else when Steve’s in the room. Especially when he’s looking like that, warm brown eyes lit up with interest, and the corner of his mouth pulling upwards in a half-smile. His cheeks are pink from the chill outside, his hair a mess from the wind, and locking eyes with him makes Billy’s heart pound. 

They’ve been on good terms these past few months and it’s a special kind of torture that Billy wouldn’t give up for the fucking world.

But he doesn’t get to enjoy the view for long because—

“—the Mind Flayer might be back!”

Billy stiffens. “What?” He glances at El. She’s sitting up straight now, her eyes dark, expression closed off. 

Mike sighs irritably. “Weren’t you listening? Will thinks he might have sensed the Mind Flayer, so we needed to make sure El’s okay.” He crosses his arms, glaring at Billy. “Because the stupid thing wants her dead, remember?”

“Wheeler,” Steve hisses, and smacks the kid’s shoulder.

“Yeah.” Billy grits his teeth, cold fingers trailing down his spine. “I remember.” 

The room is silent for several agonizing seconds, the kids all exchanging glances. Until Billy’s bedroom door opens and Max shuffles out, rubbing her eyes. 

“What’s everyone doing here?” 

~~

They’d all been hanging out at Steve’s when Will had a bad feeling. The same kind of prickling bone-deep chill he’d gotten two summers ago. Needless to say, ignoring it until people started dying didn’t seem like the way to go this time, hence the home invasion.

Which had been Steve’s idea, apparently. Or. His initial reaction had been to blurt out does this mean Billy’s possessed again, and it had spiraled from there. To Mike freaking out about El not being safe because she was here, to Lucas reminding him that Billy had only gotten the better of her when she didn’t have powers, to Dustin yelling about checking in with her either way because she might have The Facts. 

And so they’d broken a couple traffic laws to get here.

Billy suspects Steve feels guilty about suggesting he might be possessed, because he got very awkward when it was brought up. And he stepped in several times when Wheeler and Sinclair’s interrogation got a little too intense (there were threats of hot pokers involved).

It should have felt condescending—Billy’s a grown-ass adult, he doesn’t need someone defending him from lanky teenagers—but he can’t help feeling a little warm when it’s Steve coming to his defense. 

The discussion overall is a mess. El doesn’t have any answers, Billy hasn’t felt anything odd lately, and the lack of anything to go on beyond Will having a momentary freakout is putting everyone on edge. 

Max, who squished herself onto the couch between Billy and El, cuts through the cyclical arguing after the third dramatic eye-roll from Mike. “Guys, can you cool it for a second. We’re getting nowhere.” Her protest is punctuated by a yawn, which makes El giggle. 

“She’s right,” Steve sighs, mussing with his hair absentmindedly. “Billy and El are fine, everyone’s fine, we should all get some sleep.”

“Dude, are you sure you’re good to drive?” Dustin asks, squinting appraisingly at Steve. It’s a fair question, it’s late and Steve looks like he’s about to keel over, but Billy’s not sure he likes where this is going.

“Who said anything about driving?” Max snorts, glancing at Billy. 

Damnit Max.

“Is there even space for everyone here? This place is tiny.”

“Fuck you, Wheeler, not all of us can live in goddamn mansions.”

The kid opens his mouth to retort, bristling with indignation, but Will interjects, stuttering a little in his haste, “I, um, I’d feel a little safer if everyone, you know, stayed in one place? At least for tonight?”

And that pretty much settles it. 

Once everyone mumbles their (in some cases reluctant) agreement, El crows “Sleepover!” and drags Max off to find spare blankets, leaving Billy sitting on the couch alone and wondering where the hell Steve is gonna sleep. For...no particular reason...other than…

Well.

It’s not like Mike was wrong, the trailer wasn’t built to house six teenagers and two twenty-somethings. Most of them are going to end up squished on the living room floor, and Max and El already called dibs on the couch, and...well, unless Steve wants to crash in the fucking kitchen there really isn’t anywhere else for him to go other than Billy’s room. He doesn’t even have a goddamn tub the guy could curl up in. 

And just because he’s wanted Steve Harrington in his bed since minute one, doesn’t mean he wants it right now. Not like this. 

Because like this he has to deal with Max’s side-eye, and El’s knowing look (the girl has been in his head, she literally knows everything about him), and Will’s weird wide-eyed interest, and worst of all, Steve not doing this because he wants to. 

In fact, judging by the way he blanches when Max suggests it, Billy’s room is the last place he’d like to be. Which is not really something Billy ever really wanted hard proof of, thanks. 

He’s dealt with enough in his life, he didn’t need to know exactly how repulsive Steve finds the idea of sleeping in the same room as him. 

“You’re welcome to sleep in your goddamn car if my floor isn’t good enough for you, Harrington,” he bites out, probably harsher than was warranted. 

Steve blinks at him, mouth falling open, eyebrows raised. 

“Oh my god, it’s too cold to sleep outside, Billy,” Max says, rolling her eyes. “Stop being such a dick.”

“Whatever,” he mutters. “Figure your shit out, I’m going to bed.” 

The silence he leaves behind is tense and awkward. 

He’s been laying in bed staring at the ceiling, moping and berating himself, for about ten minutes when the door creaks open.

“Hey, uh,” Steve’s voice is soft, uncertain, and Billy feels like even more of an asshole for snapping at him. “I’m just...gonna...crash on the floor. Um. Good night.”

This is punishment isn’t it. For being such a douche for so long. Now he gets to try and fall asleep knowing Steve fucking Harrington is laying nearby, sleepy and warm and out of reach. He listens to Steve shuffle around, getting situated, laying out blankets and trying to find a soft bit of carpet to lay on. Has to bite his tongue to keep from saying something stupid. Like offering up his bed. Or poking fun at how much Steve sighs when he’s getting comfortable (Because it’s dumb, not cute. Definitely not cute.).

It’s unclear how long they lay there in the dark, Billy watching moonlight cast the outlines of skeletal trees across the wall, listening to Steve’s quiet breathing to remind himself he’s not alone. That the shadows are just shadows and there’s no reason to be tense and sweating and—

Billy’s pretty sure it’s been long enough that Steve should be asleep, considering how tired he looked, so he tosses his blanket off and swipes the pack of cigarettes off his bedside table, hoping to god the floor doesn’t creak when he pads across the room. There’s no noise coming from the other room, so either the kids are asleep too or a miracle has occurred and they’re all just being really quiet. 

He slips out the side door, and takes a breath. The lake is too still, despite the wind. No self-respecting body of water doesn’t have waves. But it’s pretty enough, he supposes. Enough to make for a decent view while he smokes a cigarette.

Takes a couple tries to light up. His hands aren’t what they used to be, especially in the cold. Holding off a thirty-foot meat puppet bare-handed does that to a person, tears shit up that doesn’t heal right afterwards.

He’s about halfway through his cig when Steve joins him. Billy’s shoulders stiffen at the sound of footsteps, and he doesn’t relax at all when he realizes who it is. 

“Hey.”

Out of the corner of his eye Billy watches Steve lean against the porch railing beside him. He takes another drag before he looks over properly, keeping his expression as neutral as possible. “Fancy meeting you here.” 

“Couldn’t sleep?”

Billy raises his eyebrows. Gestures with his cigarette and turns away again. “No shit.”

He can feel Steve’s eyes on him, and he resolutely ignores it. Stares out at the water and flicks cigarette ash over the railing. The wind picks up again and cuts through his thin shirt. Should’ve grabbed a fucking sweater. Not because the cold bothers him at all, but...well, because it doesn’t anymore.

He shivers when a completely-unrelated-to-the-weather chill runs down his spine.

“Soo…” Steve fidgets, and trails off awkwardly, his nonchalance painfully fake.

The corner of Billy’s mouth twitches, and he raises his cigarette to his lips, a flimsy excuse to hide his smile. 

“Did, uh. Did El choose the book, or…?”

He chokes on a mouthful of smoke. Doc Owens did tell him he shouldn’t have taken up smoking again. Though he was probably more concerned about Billy’s scarred lungs and than Steve Harrington-related hazards. 

Coughing definitely does hurt a lot more than it used to though. 

He flinches when Steve touches his shoulder, pats it, rubs a little—trying to help with the coughing, presumably—making Billy’s heart trip over itself. 

Once he’s no longer wheezing he wipes his eyes, and waves off Steve’s apologies, hoping the embarrassed flush on his cheeks isn’t too visible in the dim light. 

Steve’s hand stays where it is.

For several quiet moments Billy waits for him to withdraw but he doesn’t, and Billy finally meets his eyes. Which was probably a mistake. His heart skips again. He’s still not used to Steve looking at him like that. Soft and wide-eyed and concerned and…

God, he’s so fucking beautiful. Billy used to dream about getting this close without needing pretense, without having to pretend, getting to bask in the warmth coming off him and feel his breath on his skin and see something other than indifference—or worse, the hatred that came later—looking back at him. What he has now is...not quite what he wants. It lights him up but leaves him wanting. 

Another gust of wind makes a mess of Steve’s hair, locks falling into his eyes and sticking up in all directions, and Billy itches. Clenches his fist to stop himself from fixing it.

“Her dweeby little friends kept talking about it, and she couldn’t get through it herself. So...” Billy trails off, scratching his cheek and glancing away. “I may have had a copy laying around.”

Steve’s hand finally leaves its perch on his shoulder—both a disappointment and a relief—to brush the stray locks of hair out of his face. He grins at Billy, whole face lit up and stupidly pretty even as his fingers get stuck in tangles. “Really?” 

“Yeah.” Billy bites the inside of his cheek. “My mom used to read it to me.” 

It’s easier to talk about her now. Mostly with El, who’s still the only person who knows the full story, but, well, he’s pretty sure at least Max and Steve have guessed the bits they weren’t told. Or, hell, maybe El told everyone everything during those months he was out of commission and everyone thought he was dead, and no one’s brought it up to his face because it would be awkward as hell. 

In any case, Steve’s expression softens. 

“Oh,” he says quietly. “So, you and her were pretty close, huh?”

If asked Billy would have blamed the sudden sting of tears in his eyes on the wind. “I guess.” A pause. “Not enough for her to take me when she left,” he mumbles, chewing his thumbnail and frowning out at the lake.

His cigarette hangs between two fingers in his other hand. 

“Billy…”

“Don’t. I’ve heard every condolence in the book, okay. It’s...it’s fine.”

For several long moments the only sounds are the dry rustle of leaves in the wind and Billy’s nail-biting. 

Then Steve slips his fingers around Billy’s wrist and tugs gently. Too surprised to resist, Billy lets him. Lets his hand be pulled away from his face, thumb pressed to his pulsepoint, lets him hold on for a beat longer than necessary before letting go. And Billy stares at him the whole time, lips parted, shoulders tense, waiting to see what Steve will do next.

What he does next is smile a little sad, and tilt his head. “It’s a bad habit, you know. Biting your nails.” 

“I don’t have any other kind of habit.”

“Hm,” Steve hums, “I don’t think that’s true.” 

Which is a weird thing to say, and a weird thing to get emotional over, and yet Billy kind of feels like he’s been punched in the chest.

He rubs at the knotted scar tissue that spiderwebs across his whole torso, and can’t help but wonder—not for the first time—if Steve’s perception of him might be a little blinded by the one good thing he’s ever done. He’s tried to be better since then, atone a little, but Steve’s confidence in him still feels unearned.

And all the work he’s put into getting his shit together might all be for nothing anyways, if some fucking slime monster decides to crawl down his throat again. If Will’s right and that thing is back...for all he knows the thing has it out for him too, after the shit he pulled at Starcourt. He thought he’d end up dead, he wasn’t exactly worried about making himself a target in the long run. 

But now...

Billy exhales slowly through his nose, eyes falling shut for a moment before he grits out, “I can’t do it again.” Steve blinks at him, nonplussed. “This,” he taps his scars, “The fucking. Mind Flayer bullshit. I can’t.”

“You…” Steve folds his arms across his stomach, hands clutching his elbows. It’s a nervous tic that makes Billy ache. Always makes his heart clench, but tonight that gets lost in the black hole of anxiety already twisting up his insides  “You won’t have to, I—we’ll protect you. If we stick together—”

“It’s not a guarantee.”

“No, but—”

“We don’t know anything about this alien shit, for all we know I was never really free of it, and—I just—promise you won’t let it use me again,” Billy’s voice breaks, and he clenches his jaw to try and hold it all back, the taste of bile in the back of his throat, the crushing weight of existential panic pressing in. 

Steve’s eyes widen, “What do you mean by that?”

“You know what I mean. Crash another car into me. Let your ex shoot me in the fucking head. I don’t care how, I need you to stop me.” He needs to understand, Billy’s eyes bore into him, willing him to understand.

But he shakes his head, face twisted up with horror, “I don’t think I can do that.”

Billy takes a step towards him, desperation bleeding into his voice, “Steve.” He blinks back tears. “Please.” 

“Don’t—” Steve looks away, curling in on himself, “Don’t do that.”

“Do what, ask you to perform a public fucking service?” Billy spits, eyes stinging, face burning. He regrets the words once they’re spoken, but there’s no taking them back now. He’s talked with Owens about this sort of shit and he thought he was past it. 

Apparently not.

He deflates. Like a slap in the face, it stops him dead, turns his agonizing back inward where it fucking belongs. Wiping his eyes, he sighs. 

It’s too late to stop the puppy-dog eyes Steve’s giving him now though. The unreserved sadness in the way he’s looking at Billy is so overwhelming it’s almost palpable. “Is that really how you feel?”

Is it? He’s not sure anymore. It was for a long time. Long enough that he couldn’t remember feeling any other kind of way until El reminded him. But now…

He shrugs. “It’s...complicated. I—ah, shit!” His hand jerks, and the cigarette he’d been holding falls to the ground. That never used to hurt so fucking much. “Damn thing burnt me.” 

He sucks on the stinging knuckle, waiting for the pain to subside, tasting salt and ash, and looks back up at Steve.

They lock eyes.

Steve’s expression has closed off, his gaze still heavy, but with something else, sliding down Billy’s face with an intensity Billy’s not quite sure what to make of. He’s struck dumb by the attention (not something he usually has a problem handling), lips still wrapped around his finger but his mouth has gone slack.

It feels like a static shock, one crackling jolt of a moment, something sharp lancing through him, and then it’s over. Steve’s blinking, glancing away. Billy’s hand falls to his side. It would be like it never happened except he still feels charged, pent up, heart full to bursting and stomach in knots. 

Billy sighs, and rubs his eyes. “Let’s just...go back to bed.”

Wording, Billy. Wording. His cheeks warm a little, but he manages to keep his expression neutral as he turns and heads back inside.

He practically throws himself into his bed, curling up on his side and pulling the blankets around him, back turned to Steve. Sleep seems like a pipe dream at this point, but doing anything other than pretending to get some rest would involve talking to and/or looking at Steve, so. Not an option. 

But after he listens to Steve settle back into his little pile of blankets, the minutes crawl by, and Billy gets twitchy. Wants so badly to move, toss and turn and fidget, and say something, but doesn’t know where to start and doesn’t want to draw Steve’s attention, and—

God, this is so fucking stupid.

Billy rolls over. “Steve.”

“Yeah?” 

The room is silent for a beat. He shuffles around a little and the sheets rustle loudly in the quiet.  

“Would you get up here,” he says suddenly, all at once, demanding, scarcely believing what the fuck is coming out of his mouth. 

“...What?” Steve sounds a little breathless and it makes Billy’s stomach clench.

“Just...there’s enough room for both of us, alright.” Jesus christ. 

The lump of Steve and blankets on the floor doesn’t move. He doesn’t speak, for what seems like an eternity, and Billy’s about to brush it off, turn it into a joke, take it back, something, when—

“Okay.”

Oh.

What?

Oh god, he’s getting up. This is happening. Billy stares at his silhouette, the tense line of his shoulders, his awkward gait, and wonders why he’s agreeing to this if he’s so goddamn uncomfortable. 

Guess the floor is officially less comfortable than being in bed with Billy. Joy.

But then he’s sliding under the covers and Billy forgets to be bitter because his brain is mostly static at this point. White noise and his heartbeat thundering in his ears and the deafening creak of boxspring groaning under unexpected weight.

And Steve’s doing that thing again, sighing, little hums as he wiggles around getting himself situated, and Billy is dying. He thought he was being punished before, but now he’s sure, because this is ridiculous. No grown man should be that adorable. 

By the time he’s gotten himself comfy Billy is about ready to combust. 

It doesn’t help that he’s decided to lay down extremely close and facing Billy. It’s so intimate it hurts.

“Do you think you’ll actually sleep?”

Billy shrugs noncommittally. “Maybe.” He tries to make it sound more casual than it is. Like it’s a choice and not the sad fact that he’s too fucking anxious to relax. 

Seems he’s not the only one though, Steve keeps fidgeting, his face doing something weird Billy can’t quite see in the gloom. But he doesn’t have to see to recognize Steve’s tics.

“Spit it out,” Billy sighs.

“What did you mean. When you said it’s complicated?” Steve asks softly.

Ah.

“You really wanna get into this?” He sure doesn’t, but Steve nods and Billy’s fucking weak when it comes to giving Steve what he wants. “I meant that...I...used to feel like that. All the time. It was fucking relentless.” He thinks about rolling onto his back so he won’t have to look at Steve for this, but finds himself stuck, drawn in by the faint starlight reflected in Steve’s eyes. “But nowadays I’ve got...shit to hang on for, I guess. Doesn’t make it all go away, but it makes it easier.”

“Oh.” Steve wriggles a little closer, his hand landing in the space between their pillows. Right next to Billy’s hand. Close enough that he can feel him there, but not quite touching.

He doesn’t say anything else, which Billy’s grateful for. He’s got Doc Owens for the big speeches about how life is worth living, and it’s grating enough getting them from someone who’s literal job is to say that kind of shit. 

It helps. It does. But he can only handle so much.

Speaking of which.

“I’m sorry,” Billy says quietly. He’s keeping his hand too still for it to come across as casual, trembling with the effort. If he moved his pinky just a little they’d be touching, and he’s painfully aware of this fact.

“What for?”

“Earlier, when I...I was asking for a lot.”

“Oh.” Steve shifts, the blankets rustling as he shuffles around, but as much as he fidgets, his hand stays where it is. “Billy...I don’t want you to have to go through that again, but…”

Billy, on an impulse—with a feeling somewhat akin to stepping off a ledge without a parachute—hooks his pinky over Steve’s. In the dark he hears a soft intake of breath, can just barely make out the way Steve’s mouth falls open, moonlight casting shadows when his tongue darts out to lick his lips. 

“I know. It wasn’t fair to—”

“No, no,” Steve flips his palm upward and laces their fingers together, squeezing Billy’s hand. “It’s not that. You have every right to be scared, and...look, this whole thing is batshit crazy, none of us know how to deal with it.” 

Billy runs his thumb along the length of Steve’s index finger, marvelling at the contact, and the way his pulse flutters when the gesture is returned. It takes him a second to find his voice, “True, but you’ve never asked me to mercy kill you.”

Steve exhales, the ghost of a laugh, and it warms the back of Billy’s hand. He shivers, his whole arm tingling. “Billy, I haven’t gone through half the shit you have.” A pause. “I want to help. Anything you need, just...not that.” 

Anything. It catches in Billy’s throat, stops his heart for just a second, reminds him that they’re inches apart, in bed together. For the second time tonight he feels like he’s been punched in the sternum, and he goes rigid, relaxing only minutely when Steve squeezes his hand again.

“Careful, pretty boy. Saying shit like that might give a guy ideas,” he murmurs, gaze searching, wandering Steve’s face, the shadows cast by the soft fall of hair across his forehead.

“Oh yeah?” Steve pulls their clasped hands to his chest. His heart is racing, but his voice is steady, “Well, have enough ideas with no follow-through and a guy might think you’re all talk.”

Billy’s breath catches. The world stops. “You...you don’t want me to follow through.” 

The reality of the situation hits him like a train. Flirting is one thing, he’s always had a hard time keeping his mouth shut around Steve, but this is something he’d only ever regretted letting himself imagine because he knew he’d never have it. And now that it’s within reach...

“See, the thing is…” Steve slides a little closer. His knee brushes Billy’s thigh. “I really, really do.”

“I—” his voice breaks, mouth dry, throat closing up as he tries to swallow past the lump making it hard to breathe. 

“Billy,” Steve whispers, a hot puff of air against Billy’s lips. “Please.”

Fuck.

He surges forward—hard enough that their teeth click together—and his mouth muffles Steve’s gasp. The hand not cradled against Steve’s chest comes up to touch his cheek, fingertips caressing his jaw, coaxing him closer, sliding back to thread into his hair. 

Steve’s lips are plush and warm against his, curved into a smile that leaves Billy tingling, dizzy and drunk on sensations. The way his mouth tastes, the softness of his skin under Billy’s scarred palm, the way his heart twists when Steve reaches out to touch his chest.

He pulls back, and rests his forehead against Steve’s. His eyes stay shut and he just breathes. Soaks up the moment. 

“God,” Steve sighs, nuzzling their noses together. “Always knew you’d be good at that.”

“Yeah?” Billy asks quietly, fiddling with the stray locks of hair behind Steve’s ear. He’s feeling...raw. Vulnerable. It’s a fragile state of being, one wrong word away from breaking. Or a few right words away from fucking bliss, but that never seems to be how it goes for him. 

“Yeah, even when we didn’t like each other I wondered. Annoyed the hell outta me.”

“Steve…” He pauses, choosing his words carefully, “I always liked you.”  If his heart wasn’t already racing, it sure would be now. He braces himself for the worst.

But it doesn’t come. There’s a pause. Steve’s fingers curl into the front of his shirt. “Oh.” He presses a chaste kiss to Billy’s lips, lingering, before chuckling lightly. “That explains a lot actually.”

Billy’s cheeks burn. Yeah, he supposes it would. “You’re not...freaked out?” he ventures, hesitant. 

“Mm, nope.” He reaches up, brushes a stray curl out of Billy’s face. “Definitely okay with this.”

I love you.

The thought doesn’t shock him but the desire to say it out loud does. The way it lodges itself in his throat and sticks. He hasn’t said it to anyone—hasn’t wanted to say it to anyone—since his mother left. The precedent is intimidating, but…

Steve smells like honey and clean air, laying in bed with Billy, warm and pliant next to him tracing patterns in Billy’s scars, his gaze is fond, his smile is soft, and...and Billy’s in love.

He swallows. Pushes it down for now. 

He kisses Steve again. Slower. A gentle press of mouths, and another. Takes his time deepening it, teasing with his tongue. He waits for Steve to pull away, to decide that this thing is one thing too far, but it never happens. Steve lets him escalate, and gives as good as he gets. 

They’re both breathless and flushed and Billy’s riding high on the bubbling warmth in his chest, lightheaded from it. He slides his leg over Steve’s, straddling his thigh, pressing down, seeking friction. 

He shifts, rocking forward a little, and Steve moans, low and deep right in Billy’s ear.

They both freeze. Steve’s breath coming in ragged little bursts against the side of Billy’s face. 

“Pretty boy, as much as I’d love to hear more of that, no one else in the house does.”

“Jesus christ.”

“No need to bring him into it.”

“Shut up,” Steve laughs and buries his face in Billy’s shoulder. “Just give me a minute.”

“Aw, I get you all riled up, baby?” 

Steve slides a hand down, down, and palms Billy’s cock, drawing a short gasp from him. “Yes.”

They stay entangled the rest of the night, dozing in and out of consciousness, Steve pressing the occasional sleepy kiss to Billy’s collarbone. And...Billy’s not sure what will happen after tonight, but he knows it’ll be easier to deal with if he gets to keep this. Whatever this is. He doesn’t have the heart to ask, not yet, but for the first time in a while, he has hope.

[hexandbalances]

Visiting Salem

A few years ago I traveled to Salem for Halloween week. It was a fun trip but not at all the quaint town I had expected. And it was busy. Salem eagerly leans into its witch history and new age spiritualism, sporting many psychic readings and occult shops. To be honest, a large part of my stay was spent walking, shopping, and eating so I didn’t get to visit as quite as many museums as I would have liked. I’ve included a brief review of some of the places I stopped in at while I was there:

Jolie Tea - this was tucked away from the Essex Street pedestrian mall, which made it the perfect place to escape the crowds and blustery wind. They had a selection of seasonal tea blends made in shop. I stopped in several times and took several pounds of tea back as a visiting gift for my aunt. I know it’s an odd compliment but I’m in love with their upholstery and the wallpaper in their restroom. Very limited seating (only 3 tables, one of which only seats two people), but quiet enough at the times I went as to not be a problem.

Count Orlok’s Nightmare Gallery - located on Essex street (the main thoroughfare, foot traffic only) this gallery houses memorabilia and trivia from classic and modern horror cinema. I recommend it if you fancy yourself a horror movie buff. Tickets were $9 for adults and did not need to be purchased in advance. The tour is self guided, walk in any time.

O'Neill’s Pub & Restaurant - honestly I popped in here just intending to use the facilities and get off my feet for a bit but they sell the best pumpkin ale I’ve had to date. The rim is dusted with cinnamon sugar and the head is dusted with a crescent moon of spice. I enthusiastically returned twice a day for the duration of the trip (I was on holiday after all). Their shepherd’s pie was quite good and the waitresses were happy to share insider advice on the best places to park, how to avoid traffic, etc.

Howard Street Cemetery - I visited this cemetery under the impression that the headstone for Giles Corey was there. It wasn’t. There was a memorial at one time but it was toppled by a vandal in 2015. Nevertheless it was a nice, quiet place to stop and take a breather from the crowds.

The Witch House - this is a bit of a misnomer as the house belonged to Jonathan Corwin, one of the judges of the trials. The house is the only structure left in the city that has direct ties to the trials and gives a much more authentic impression of daily life. The tour is self guided but there are volunteers stationed throughout ready to talk about particular items or history of the individuals that resided there. They have a limited capacity they’re required to stick to because of the house’s age so you may be in for a bit of a wait if you catch it during a busy hour. Tickets are about $10 for adults, sold in the gift shop.

Salem Witch Museum - They start the tour by seating visitors in a dark theatre. A recording plays, lighting up vignettes at scheduled points. These vignettes are maybe roughly 9 feet up from where you will be seated, not in sequential order, and cover a full 360° so swiveling your head up and around to find it is necessary. The recording and displays are rather dated; my guess is that they haven’t been changed since the museum’s founding in 1972 (to be honest I was rather expecting Vincent Prince to narrate). After this the group is lead into a small gallery with various placards and pop culture and news printouts. A guide will deliver a brief monologue and then you are free to view the gallery or filter into the gift shop. 

I was rather perturbed that the museum spent effort linking hysteria of the Salem witch trials to McCarthyism (and any other time the American media described a thing as a “witch hunt”) but did not give but the briefest lip service to the misogyny that drove the witch trials and the selection of its victims. Anxiety about attacks from indigenous people were mentioned, but nothing of the political tension of territory and property lines, the disputes between Salem and its many pastors, or the institution of witchcraft as a prosecutable offense in a court of common law by King James. For a museum on the trials it was very light on the details. I found more information available in the gift shop’s surprisingly thorough selection of books. You do have to buy tickets ($21 adults) somewhat in advance for tours that rotate on (I think) 45 minute intervals. 

Peabody Essex Museum - The Peabody Essex Museum is huge and hosts art and history exhibits. When I visited they had an exhibit on Qing Dynasty empresses and had just finished reconstructing brick by brick, tile by tile, a real Qing Dynasty ancestral home imported from Huizhou, China, Salem’s sister city. General admission is $20 for adults.

The Hocus Pocus House - The house used for the exterior of Max and Dani’s in the 1993 movie is a popular stop but it is quite a long walk away from the main tourist hub. I’m sure there are bus tours that would take you there, but like the spendthrift I am, I hoofed it. You can’t enter the house as it is a private residence so taking photos from across the street is the best you can get. The benefit of walking are the scenic views (at last! The quaint town I had imagined!) and meeting a neighbor a few doors down. She had fashioned a hedge from seashells and had delightful watchdog whose name escapes me, save that it was compound and started with “Sir.” I caught her outside gardening - or rather she caught me - and had a chat about the house, tourists, and living in Salem.

Witch City Mall - free multi-story parking! Get there early.

The Coven’s Cottage - Tools, ingredients, books, and more with an exclusive focus on Asatru.

HausWitch Home + Healing - prime example of the self-care industry meets new age spiritualism.

Artemisia Botanicals - Every powdered or raw ingredient you could likely hope for. I saw advertisements for their tea reading service but none was offered when I visited.

Hex Old World Witchery - a sister store to the one in New Orleans. It sells tools, spell ingredients, enchanted candles, jewelry, and some very jaunty pointed hats for ladies and gents.

Life Alive Organic Cafe - Organic vegan cafe. It has the Sanderson Sisters painted as vegetables on their window.

Opus - A fusion restaurant. The food was amazing and the service was great. They have live shows in their basement level. A perfect place for cocktails.

Adriatic Restaurant - Mediterranean and Italian fare. Decent, but pricey.

Caramel Pasteries & Macarons - Easily the best macarons in town. They also sell ice cream and a limited selection of coffee and tea.

The Satanic Temple Headquarters - Baphomet had just returned from his extended stay in Arkansas. The connected Salem Art Gallery and library was also open, and there were some rather striking vine and wicker sculpture work to greet you. And as expected, the people were quite friendly and helpful with recommendations for what else to do and see in Salem. The only downside is that it is a bit of a hike from downtown, but a much shorter one than the Hocus Pocus house. Self-guided tour is $15 for adults.

Street vendors - there are many of these out and about close to Halloween. You can buy whole bags (and whole bags only) of apple cider donuts and other goodies. Not something I normally go for but it was enjoyable. Bring cash.

Additional notes

There are loads of people in costume days before Halloween. If you are shyly deliberating on whether or not to pack a costume, you needn’t think on it further. Do it and have fun, my darling. 

However, I should warn you that if you are one of those that plans to wave a movie replica wand at traffic while shouting bad Latin, I can assure you that you aren’t the first to attempt this and the drivers will not be patient with you. Better to hustle along.

Salem has a noise ordinance that goes into affect at 10 PM on Halloween night. According to the local waitresses most folks don't begin to trickle into town until 10 AM or so that day. 

Essex street is cobbled, please wear comfortable shoes. 

Shop around! There are many shops selling largely the same merchandise. By and large you'll see the same prices but if you've got a sharp enough eye you can save yourself a bit of cash. 

Reserve your stay, wherever it is, AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. I reserved in January and still had to book a room 20 minutes away, which required a car rental. 

Speaking of which, if you're driving in from outside Salem, the lanes merge and disappear frequently and it can be a little stressful. Most of the drive into Salem is single lane through neighborhoods - school bus traffic included.

The temperature in late October is mild but the wind chill coming off the sea makes it feel at least 10°F cooler. And it’s quite windy - wear your hair up. Preferably add a hat lest you show up on someone’s doorstep looking like Sadako, as I did.

[gyllenhaalstories]

Hey Laurie, may I ask for three fun facts about you? You seem like a cool person lol

oh my god anon WHAT DID YOU PUT IN YOUR COOKIES TO THINK I’M COOL THIS IS SO SWEET THANK YOU SO MUCH but i’m really not!!!! and fun facts? you’re asking too much! but here i go!

i’ve always been sort of obsessed with assassin’s creed, but i don’t play the videogames. i watch my dad play and i force him to pick mthe most useless but prettiest outfits. he hates it, but i’m enjoying seeing the characters look fab! in fact, assassin’s creed is one of the main reasons why i got into history when i was younger!!!!!! my favourite game is syndicate! and my favourite characters are evie frye (no really) and kassandra (i’m so gay for her you don’t even know like please just marry me and let’s sail on your boat with all of your lesbian girlfriends and move to mykonos and live with dolphins i wanna call kassandra daddy because she’s got bde), but i’m not much of a fan of unity because french revolution is a topic i’m pretty meh about. one of my biggest dreams would be to work for ubisoft! i had a teacher who worked on assassin’s creed: origins and i was like I WANNA DO THAT TOO.

i’ve never had coffee or alcohol in my life! i might try coffee out one day, but that would surprise me since i strongly dislike the smell (unless it’s my dad’s vanilla & hazelnut coffee, that one i can tolerate since it smells like desserts). as for alcohol, i choose not to drink and i’m firm on my decision. we should normalize not drinking, especially in college where alcoholism is almost everywhere (but that’s not a conversation people are ready to have yet). i don’t care if people judge me for this, the only thing i could picture myself drinking is hot apple cider, but it tastes the same as hot apple juice so what’s the point. so whenever i mention alcohol in my fics i KNOW NOTHING!

what else? oh! i took five years of art classes in high school (my equivalent to high school lasts 5 years here) and i can’t draw anything to save my life!!!!!!!! i used to be decent at watercolors, color pencils and like copying a drawing from a photography to paper, i was also pretty good with charcoal, but now if i pick up a crayola crayon, i can’t even draw a stick figure. i go to michaels at least once a month and waste so much money on art supplies i can’t and won’t use but i can’t be stopped!!!!!!!! one day i shall draw a sun in the corner of the page that looks half as decent as what 3 years-old can do!

those were literally the most boring facts ever I AM SO SORRYYYYY!!!

[thiswasinevitableid]

The Gift that Keeps on Giving (Sternclay)

The second winter prompt fill for @ghostabek! It is NSFW, which should not surprise you given the prompt. I decided to make both Stern and Barclay trans for this one.

17: I get your name during secret santa at work and use the same wrapping paper for my gift to my friend so...sorry about all the sex toys.

Joseph Stern has many regrets. 

He regrets getting frosted tips in high school

He regrets not switching from his chemistry major sooner. 

He regrets the actions that lead to that one meme. He will not name the meme. He is trying so hard to leave that legacy behind. 

But in this moment, he regrets not buying more wrapping paper.

Three weeks ago, his workplace set up its secret santa exchange. He, to his delight, pulled the name of his workplace crush: Barclay Cobb. 

Two days later, Barclay announced he was taking a sabbatical, for lack of a better word, to write a cookbook. Stern was excited for him; Barclay was an amazing cook, and had catalyzed the Youtube presence of the Foodie test kitchen (and he had the kind of body Stern wanted to lick whipped cream off of ). He deserved good things, and Stern just knows the book will be a hit.

And so Stern had said goodbye and good luck to him a week ago, with the rest of the test kitchen team, with a promise to bring his secret santa gift by his house when it came in the mail. He put it in a nice, rectangular box, and wrapped it in his cryptid christmas paper. 

It was only when Barclay opened the lid that he realized his horrible, horrible error. 

“Uhhhh” Barclay lifts the burgundy leather collar, confusion plain on his handsome face. 

“Ohmylord. Oh, I’m so sorry. That was for my...friend.”

“Friend?” Barclay raises a dark eyebrow.

“My ex.” 

“Okay, that I believe.”

“I...this is so embarrassing. I got you a copy of that super-rare vegan soul food cookbook you’d been wanting, I was so pleased with it and I must have mixed up the packages, they’re the same size and I like that paper so it’s all I have-”

“It is very you.” Barclay smiles, nodding his head at the torn paper covered in a pine tree motif with Bigfoot (wearing a santa hat) and mothman peeking out. 

“I’m sorry, it must still be at my house. I was looking forward to impressing you with my gift giving skills.”

“Dunno” Barclay sorts through the box, “if this is any indication, I think I can tell how much thought you put into it.” 

There is not a word, in English or any other language, to describe the mixture of mortification and desire he feels when Barclay takes the items out, eyeing them appraisingly. 

“I mean this, this is like the extra-fancy wand, right?”

“Yes.” He manages.

“And the strap-on in here looks real high-quality. Pretty cool looking too. Not to mention the underwear, looks like the kind of thing you’d want to take off with your teeth.” When Barclay meets his eyes, a dark curiosity glitters in them. Then he must notice the stress radiating off Stern, because his demeanor drops back to his usual gentle friendliness. 

“Hey, it’s no big deal okay? Remind me to tell you sometime about when I mixed up the present for my sister with the present for my boyfriend.” He looks down at the box again with a strange, secretive smile, “I know why you ended it with that guy. I still think he was serious dickhead if he was being that  shitty to the kind of guy who’d give him this.”

Stern laughs, bitter, “You don’t know the half of it. Two of those items are for me, with the idea being I’d wear them for him as part of the gift. The underwear and the uh, the collar. I didn’t even want a collar, but he was so into the idea and I thought it might make him happy.”

Barclay makes a noise Sterns’ heard in the past, the one that indicates he’s disapproving of something but trying not to be harsh. 

“I know, it was a flawed plan-”

“I’d say it was a generous thought directed at someone who didn’t deserve it.”

A smile creeps across Sterns face, and he glances at the fire to avoid saying something impulsive.

“Whelp” Barclay whacks his thighs and stands, “how about a drink? I’ve got some mulled cider I could heat up.”

“You don’t want me to go?”

“Course not, I want you to pass on all the hot office gossip I’m missing.”

“You mean like how Indrid managed to explode a container during the ginger beer episode of ‘Make it Ferment’?”

Barclay rumbles out a laugh as Stern follows him to the kitchen, “You’d think he’d have learned after what happened with the Kombucha. I think Duck’s camera still smells a little fermented after that blow-up. How’s ‘Make it Perfect’ going?” 

“Good.” Stern opens a cabinet and grabs two mugs, “I’m planning out the one for cheese plates, since it can go out before new years.”

“Nice.”

They talk shop for awhile, moving back to the living room. When they both need refills, Stern hops up to get them. When he arrives back in the room, it’s only through professional training that he doesn’t drop both mugs to the floor.  

Barclay is wearing the collar, examining his reflection in (mercifully curtain covered) window.  

“Dunno, might hold onto this, think the color looks good on me. That alright with you?”

“Guh.” Stern responds.

“Seems a shame to let a good gift go to waste.” Barclay turns to look at him. He’s never seen that expression on Barclay’s face before, most likely because if Barclay made it on camera, the video would get taken down for containing obscene content. 

“Ah, uh, you’re, you’re quite right.” Stern sets the mugs down on the coffee table, wipes his hands nervously on his jeans. 

“You okay?” Barclay leans against the mantle and stays put, and Stern realizes why; he’s not going to push this. He’s letting Stern come to him only if he wants to.

“I, ah, yes. Totally fine.” He crosses the hardwood, joining Barclay by the fire, “I was simply taken aback with the revelation of why my ex was so eager to see me in that.”

“Oh?” Barclay pushes off the mantle, turning so the two of them are face to face. He keeps his hands to himself, but there’s micrometer of space between their bodies. 

“I have no interest in wearing it, as I said. But seeing you in it…” a spark of confidence flickers up his arm and he reaches out to hook a finger into the small metal loop at the front of the collar. He pulls down just as Barclays hands fly to his shoulders, joining them in a kiss. Keeping one hand on the metal, he glides the other up to Barclays cheek, beard tickling his palm as the taller man deepens the kiss. 

“Is this really okay?” Barclay whispers, kissing his neck. 

“Yes, good lord yes.”

“Knew it.”

“Excuse me?”

“You were checking my ass while I was shooting “Make it Gourmet.” Dani swore she noticed it when she was editing footage together.”

“Ohmygod.” Stern giggles, embarrassed, pressing his face into Barclays sweater.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure she cut all those out. Probably.”

“Noooo, I can’t handle being another meme, Barclay, it will break me.”

“Shhh” Barclay pets his back soothingly, broad chest now shaking with laughter, “you chose a career on the internet. This is your fate.”

“Is that a better or worse fate than people writing in and demanding a do a video about making gourmet NERDS?”

Barclay shudders, and Stern kisses his nose. When their eyes meet, Barclay grins.

“Y’know, the rest of that gift doesn’t have to go to waste either.” Barclay laughs again, “and judging by how excited you look, got a feeling you’ve already thought of some ways to use them on me.”

“And on me. Do you have a harness?”

“Yep, in the bedroom, if you wanna-”

“Ah, um, actually” he glances over to his right, then back at Barclay, unsure if he should say it.

But Barclay is too quick on the uptake

“The table, huh?” He loops his arms around Sterns shoulders. 

“Please.” So much blood is heading south he’s amazed his other organs aren’t shutting down.

Barclay kisses him tenderly, “Get naked and wait for me.”

Stern does exactly that, being sure to fold his clothes and set them aside in a chair before heading to the table. 

“Now there’s a sight.” Barclay steps in from the hallway, naked save for the harness. Pauses to kiss Stern eagerly before retrieving the strap-on from the box while Stern rests his elbows on the polished wood. 

“It looks kinda monster-y. I like it.”

“It’s the uh, ah, ahem, ‘bigfoot’ model.” He mumbles.

Barclay laughs again, bending to kiss along Sterns shoulder blades as he teases at him with the toy, “Very on-brand, babe. Like a man who knows what he wants.”

“Even if what he want’s is strangeOH, fuck.” He spreads his legs wider as Barclay pushes in.

“Someone got a thing for size?” A kiss to the back of his neck. 

“Yes,yesyes.”  Stern presses back, demanding. 

“Easy, tiger, don’t hurt yourself.”

“Barclay, I have been fantasizing about this for months, please, if you don’t start fucking me I’m going to make an utter embarrassment of myself.”

“Don’t have to beg, baby, I’ll take good care of you.” Strong hands grip either hipbone, and then his arms are struggling to keep him up as Barclay pounds into him. 

“Shit, oh my lord that’s good.”

“Yeah?” Barclay growls, biting his ear, “gotta say, the way your ass moves when I fuck you is real fucking hot.”

“Nhmmmm.” Stern presses his forehead to the table. Barclays feet nudge his own aside, forcing his stance almost uncomfortably wide. 

“I’d hold tight.”

“How, it’s a tablAHahhhnnn, fuck, don’t stop, please.”

“Not unless you come or collapse. Fuck, Joseph, you’re amazing, I can’t believe you’re letting me do this.”

“As, fuck, as often as you want.” Stern tries to move one of his hands down to stroke his dick, finds he can’t manage that and balancing at the same time. Barclay suddenly shoves him forward, pressing his pelvis against the table. Barclay hunches over him, continues fucking him as one hand snakes around to rub him off. The other rests a top Sterns own, Barclay holding his hand tightly as he whimpers from the new stimulation. 

“That’s it, babe, that’s it. C’mon, I wanna make you come so bad, yeah, you like when I say that don’t you?”

Stern nods with a needy whine.

“Then lemme tell you, this is just the first course, handsome. Gonna find every way to make you come, gonna fuck you so much neither of us is gonna be able to stand for weeks.”

“Please, please, ohlordohfuck, yes, Barclay, yesAHhnnnn.” As soon as his orgasm hits, Barclay stops, pulling out carefully. He stays curled over Stern, stroking his hair and kissing up and down his back. 

“That was, that was incredible.”

“Got that right, babe.” Barclay straightens, and Stern does the same, turning to kiss him hungrily. 

“Take that off and get the magic wand.” 

Barclay practically rips the harness away. Grabs the vibrator as Stern hops up to sit on the table.

Barclay hands him the toy, “how do you wanna do this?” His words die into a gasp when Stern grips his collar. 

“I’d like to get you off with this” he turns on the wand, “would you like that too?”

“Yes.”

“Ask politely.” He tugs on the collar and Barclay moans.

“Please, babe, please, I want it so bad.”

“Mmmm, I can tell. You’re soaking.” Stern purrs, hovering the wand only an inch away from Barclays dick. 

Barclay makes a panting, pleading whine, and that’s good enough for Stern.

“FUCKfuck, oh baby yeah, fuck yeah.”

“What do say?” He tugs again. 

“Thank you, thankyouthankyou-oh shit, just little more babe please I’m so fucking close.”

Stern presses harder, yanking Barclay the rest of the way down for a kiss. The taller man whimpers into his mouth as he comes, shaking even after Stern pulls the vibrator away. 

Then he promptly falls to his knees, resting his head in Sterns lap. 

“So, uh, that was, wow.”

“I’m taking that as a sign you liked it unless you tell me otherwise.”

“Liked is putting it mildly, babe.”

Stern pets his hair, sighing happily. 

“Would you, uh, like to stay a bit longer?”

“Absolutely.”

“If you wanna put on your clothes, I was gonna make dinner. I mean, you don’t have to put them on.”

“Being naked is not in the least bit kitchen safe. And I should clean this part of your table before I join you.”

“True on both counts.” Barclay stands, offering Stern a hand he doesn’t need ut takes all the same to get off the table. 

“You know,” he muses as he pulls his underwear back on, “we didn’t get a chance to use the underwear.”

“Don’t worry,” Barclay only half-dressed, wraps him in a hug from behind, “you can wear ‘em tomorrow when I take you out.”

Stern turns, kisses him, “That sounds perfect.”

[erasmusinaber]

Local Aber Guide by ESN

A következő kisokost az ESN society egyik tagja írta össze nekünk, aki már 4 éve itt tanul, így nagyon jól ismeri a várost. Ezt szoktam én is böngészni,amikor új helyszíneket  szeretnék felfedezni:

“Cafes.

- Agnellis

For anyone fancying an authentic taste of Italy this place is just a little hidden away around the corner from Starbucks but is run by a local Italian family for reasonable prices.

- Ultracomida

Great for its Spanish food, delicatessen and fresh orange juice it makes a particularly great place to visit as a larger group. Just up the street from the pier.

- The Carlton

Much more British on the spectrum and a staple of Aberystwyth, head here for a great pie or some fresh Welsh cakes and coffee. Hidden above retail shops on the main main street opposite Cafe Nero.

- Sophie's

Very local and popular but more American in food choice, makes for a great breakfast choice.

- Caesars Cafe

About as good as it gets for an English breakfast, simple but effective for a Sunday breakfast after a heavy weekend, if that's your style.

- Treehouse

A favourite for those more environmentally and organically conscious. Simple but tasty food and a brilliant locally sourced delicatessen to match. Just off the high street next to Alfred's Place Church.

- PD's Diner

Unmissable on the promenade but you have to be lucky with the weather, on a nice day half the town will be there for fish and chips with a cider.

Restaurants.

- Little Italy

Perhaps less authentic but one of the most established places in the town and where every couple young and old will head for Valentine's day. Great food, a little expensive in other words. Right on the high street but more towards the University side.

- Pysgoty

Again on the expensive side but famous for its fish the country over with an intimate and pretty environment, great for a special occasion such as visiting family. On the marina above the sailing club.

- Fusion King

Very popular for students due to its value for money and about the best Aber will offer as Asian food goes, doesn't replace a good ramen for me but good food in it's own right. Just off the highstreet around the corner from ultracomida. (If you are craving more Japanese then Swshi is a new company doing sushi deliveries in the area, you can find them on Facebook).

- Baravin

Awesome setting on the seafront, a blend of Welsh food in a French style, offers a range of usually solid choices though expensive

.- Upstairs at the PierClue is in the name for location.

Pier are one of our sponsors so your attendance really helps us once we get the member cards up and running. Great food, great views and the price is reasonable.

- Backyard Barbecue

Hidden away just off the highstreet next to Treehouse but a hidden gem. I can't think of where you'd find another authentic American smoker in Wales and the price isn't bad at all. Try the ribs.

- Le Figaro

Opposite the train station and another stable of Aber with a regularly changing menu bit again maybe a little expensive for a student budget.

- Medina

Excellent more middle eastern style food that makes a healthy choice but has a lot more going for it than that, highly enjoyable atmosphere.

Places to drink

- Rummers

Aber famously has the most pubs per capita in Europe and this is one of its kings. Decent price, great beer, great pub quiz every week and live music on weekends, good eating option and cocktail bar upstairs. About everything you want from a pub. Nestled by the bridge that leads to the marina.

- Harry's

The undisputed champion of sports bars in Aber which is where you'll want to be heading for the upcoming rugby world cup if you know what's happening or not, the atmosphere will be crazy. Right opposite Little Italy.

- Scholar's

Not uncommon to find the occasional lecturer dotted around here, a great place for an affordable Sunday roast dinner while watching football. Just around the corner from Harry's.

- The Cambrian

Very student centred pub, the cocktails are like none you'll find anywhere else and very effective

- The Libertine

Best cocktails in Aber and prices reflecting that but if you want to be served an excellent daquiri then head here.

- Ship and Castle

Quintessentially British which is a good thing as pubs go and a good selection of beer and ale, again a bit expensive.

- Weatherspoons

A chain pub but again a classic of Britain and nicely located in the train station, extremely cheap, you'll probably end up there in freshers week as will everyone.

- The Glengower

Longstanding member of Aber society and regularly makes the lists of best pubs in Wales. Top draft selection, some great annual events and traditions, the terrace is always full on a nice day

- Academy

On that bridging point between a pub and a club, atmosphere can vary and it can be a bit on the pricier side but forever a cool venue as a converted church.

- Bar 46

Again on that 'plub' level, 2 for 1 cocktails always tempting and they can do well with their events, personally I love to go just for a pint while I hang out with the owners Labrador.

- Harleys

Last of the plubs, good place to warm up your dance moves before hitting the clubs, very popular with the fresher faced students.

- Downies

...psychological studies could be written about this place, shamelessly cheap and can have one of the strongest atmospheres but I don't think it's changed since the early 80's, I'll be nice and say 'rough around the edges' but for those who can get past that it can have a strange charm

- Why Not

One of the main nightclubs though still often referred to as 'Yokos'. it's going through changes at the moment so I guess you'll be as much of a judge on how it'll be as I will this year.

- Pier Pressure

The other main club and with a late hours pub downstairs, very quaint and with good DJ sets recently as a small town goes so fingers crossed that continues. Pros are more space, cons are no drinks on the dance floor.

Places to visit

- Constitution Hill

Its like a requirement to walk up it at least once though taking the old funicular railway is cool too, nice views of the town, good little cafe on top. Worth a visit once or twice.

- Borth Zoo

Not about to blow your mind and it's going through massive overhauls but if you want to see animals then hop on a train and you'll be there in 10 minutes.

- The Rheidol Railway to Devil's Bridge

The train is a bit pricey but it's very much worth doing to go and see the ancient bridges that have some very nice places to eat and relax around them. You'll be able to see eagles swoop through the trees as you ride the old steam train up the valley.

- Llanerchaeron

An old manor house and farm designed by the same guy who designed Buckingham palace. You can get the T1 service bus down there and walk back to Aberaeron which is itself a lovely town before you catch the bus back again.

- Ynyslas Beach

A train ride and then a bit of a trek but if you want a nice beach nearby then this is your choice, follow the estuary up for some great views too.

- The Pier

Nice and close, the arcade can always be fun and the pool hall sinks a lot of hours on rainy days for those interested in billiards.

- The National Library

Genuinely a really cool building with millions of books, some very interesting like ancient copies of the Magna Carta and the Mabinogion for those interested in British and Welsh culture. If you have any Welsh ancestry then this is the place to check records too.

- The Pwllheli Line

This would be a mental test in dealing with Welsh infrastructure but catching the train to Dovey Junction and then changing onto the northern line takes you to some interesting places. Barmouth for its beautiful town and estuary, Harlech for its famous castle, and Porthmadog/Portmeirion for its postcard perfect houses. Far more than that on the way too if you like a good hike or a camping trip.

- Cardiff

Great city for a weekend visit and now free weekend buses that go nicely if you have one of our membership cards for discounts on hostels. Highlights are Cardiff Castle, the Millennium Centre, Cardiff Bay, the wild selection of shopping choice and the massive variety of annual events. Most of the centre is all within walking distance which makes things very easy for visitors.

- Pembrokeshire

Can be difficult to access due to little infrastructure but absolutely worth the effort. Stunning natural beauty in places like Mwnt, Barafundle, Fishguard, Pembroke Castle, Angle, Tenby and more. If you like hikes then Wales is the only country with a complete coastal path and this is the place to make use of that.”

[chasholidays]

For the Tokyo Drift prompts: "You're the only person I ever want to wake up next to" + jealousy + Bellarke. Thank you for considering my prompt, I love your writing!!

Falling asleep with Bellamy is a terrible idea, and Clarke knows it. And it is an idea, she can’t deny that. It would be nice if she could tell herself it was an accident, one of those things that happens without anyone meaning it to. After all, they live together, and falling asleep on the couch with your roommate after a late night of drinking and Netflix is completely possible.

That’s what Bellamy did, after all. It’s just not what Clarke did. Clarke saw he was asleep and that he looked warm and inviting, and she let herself curl up against him and pretend, for a moment, that this was real, that this was how they were.

A terrible idea, obviously, and worse now, in the morning, waking up with him and seeing his sleep-mussed hair and foggy eyes.

This is the only way she ever wants to wake up. For the rest of her life, this is it.

Except, of course, it’s not. Bellamy blinks, frowns, smacks his lips like he’s trying to get the taste of sleep out of his mouth, and then he focuses on her.

“Did we fall asleep on the couch?”

Clarke makes herself get up, shaking our her shoulders. “The dangers of binge-watching, I guess.”

“This is going to fuck up my back,” he grumbles, and she flashes him a smile, trying not to let herself watch him. He looks good all the time, but there’s something so intimate about seeing him like this, glasses crooked, beard going a little messy. It shouldn’t be so much more overwhelming than a normal morning, but here they are.

“Sorry you’re so old and achey.”

“It’ll happen to you.” It’s his turn to stand and stretch, and Clarke doesn’t watch that either.

It’s so fucking inconvenient, being in love with her roommate. She has so many opportunities, every day, to want him. It feels like she does it all the time.

“Thanks for that grim vision of the future. Do you want coffee?”

“I think tea this morning.” He pauses, watching her, slightly wary. “Do we need to be awkward about this?”

Her smile is inevitable. “I don’t know. Do you want to be?”

“Seems like kind of a waste. We could just get back to Netflix instead.”

“Yeah,” she says. “That sounds a lot better.”

He makes tea and she makes coffee and they grab cereal and end up back on the couch, next to each other, like always, but she can’t stop thinking about the way his arm came up around her in his sleep, the feeling of his face against her hair.

It might have been the most enjoyable mistake of her life, but it was a huge mistake.

*

“I have a girl for one of you!” Octavia says, that night. They’re out for drinks, and Clarke was regretting leaving the warmth of the apartment even before this declaration.

She glances at Bellamy, but he’s looking curiously at his sister, which just makes it worse.

“What do you mean you have a girl?” he asks. “Is she in the trunk of your car?”

“She’s my new coworker. She’s super cute and pansexual, so I have to set her up with someone. So how does this work? Do you guys play rock-paper-scissors to see who gets to date her or what?”

“Jesus, how do you think dating works, O? Did you and Fox play rock-paper-scissors for Lincoln?”

“No way, I wasn’t letting anyone else have a chance.”

“What makes you think either of us wants to date this girl?” Clarke can’t help asking. “Just that we’re all queer?”

“She’s cool, like I said. I’m giving you guys dibs. Clarke, she likes cider and yelling about the patriarchy. Bell, she minored in history in college and she’s really interested in exploration and colonization.”

Bellamy perks up. “Yeah?”

Judging from Octavia’s smirk, she thinks he’s hooked. Clarke can’t blame her; Bellamy has gotten drunk and ranted to her about how cool it would be to have a ship and discover a new land and not be a colonizing dick about it on multiple occasions. He’d probably love to have a more informed audience to discuss it with.

“I can give you her number.”

It’s stupid, that it makes Clarke relax. But there’s no way Bellamy is actually going to call this person. If Octavia gave him a time and a place for a date, he’d almost certainly go, but left to his own devices, he won’t contact some stranger and try to arrange a meeting. Bellamy can’t even be bothered to set up an online dating profile; the most effort he’s willing to put into dating is going to a bar and flirting. Which, given the combination of his face, his smile, and his voice, is always enough to get the job done.

Not that she’s biased.

“Cool, go ahead,” says Bellamy, handing over his phone. “I’m never going to call her, but it’ll be fun to clean out my contacts in like three years and try to remember who she is.”

“Clarke, you want it too?” Octavia asks.

“I don’t want to be in non-competition with Bellamy,” she says, and this time he does look at her, head cocked, expression inscrutable.

But all he says is, “Thanks for having my back.”

She manages a very normal smile. “Any time.”

*

They’re watching some awful low budget animated movie on Netflix because Bellamy finds them morbidly fascinating when his phone buzzes, and he frowns. “Huh.”

“What?”

He straightens up and unlocks the phone to look at whatever it is. “That Luna girl texted me. O’s coworker.”

“Really? Saying what?”

His fingers are moving over the keypad, his focus on the message. “About what you’d expect. Hey, this is awkward, but your sister gave me your number and said I should ask you about some video game called Colonization.”

“At least she seems normal.”

“Yeah. And if she’s new in town, she’s probably looking for a social group. I might as well be nice. Maybe O’s right and she’s cool.”

“You know if you guys actually get together, she’ll never let you hear the end of it. Like, she’ll get up at your wedding and take credit for it.”

“So I’ll never get married, obviously.”

“Obviously. You’re really going to go out with her?”

“So far I’m just not ignoring her texts,” he points out. “For all we know she’s not even looking for a relationship. It’s not like O’s a reliable source. But maybe she’s cool.”

“Maybe,” Clarke agrees, watching as he types with lead in her stomach.

She’s going to kill Octavia.

*

Luna is, unfortunately, interested in becoming part of the friend group, beautiful, intelligent, and cool. She and Bellamy have a lot in common, enjoy talking history, and Clarke tries not to let it bother her. Bellamy’s still her best friend and her roommate, and it’s not like Luna is replacing her.

But Octavia clearly thinks she’s the best matchmaker ever, and Clarke can’t disagree, from what she’s seen. And it’s not like Luna would be replacing Clarke, if she and Bellamy started dating. Luna would be his girlfriend, a new role in his life. Just because Clarke wants to fill it doesn’t mean she is.

So it’s hard not to worry. Especially when Bellamy and Luna seem to always be texting. And, again, she knows this because she lives with him, so it’s not like she doesn’t see him all the time. If it was a competition, she might be winning. But they’re also not actually playing the same game.

“Are you actually going to ask Luna out on a date?” she finally asks, after about a month of watching them flirt.

“Huh?” he asks, absent. He’s reading while she sketches, and it would be a nice evening, if Bellamy’s phone would stop buzzing.

“The girl you’ve been texting all night. Are you going to ask her out?”

“Oh, uh–I don’t know. Do you think I should?”

He looks so nervous, she can’t help smiling. “That’s really more your call than mine. Do you want to go on a date with her? If you do, you should ask her out. If you don’t, you shouldn’t.”

“Thanks for breaking that down.” He shifts a little, his discomfort clear. “Fuck, I don’t know. Do you think she thinks I want to date her? Am I sending signals?”

“Bellamy,” she says, amused. “Breathe. I think she’d probably say yes if you asked, but who wouldn’t? You’re not leading her on if you’re not interested.”

“I should–try, right? She’s cute. Dating is a good idea.”

“Not if you sound that unenthusiastic,” she teases. “It’s a good idea if you want to do it. Don’t do it just to date.”

“I know.” His phone buzzes, and he jumps like he’s been stung. “Fuck. I should definitely want to ask her out.”

Clarke shouldn’t be thrilled, but, well, she’s never claimed to be an unbiased third party. Not to herself, anyway. “I didn’t mean to cause a crisis. I was just curious.”

“I know. I don’t know either.” He sends another text and then throws his phone across the couch. “Fuck, whatever. I’m not going to think about it tonight. That’s been working so far, right?”

“Right.”

She doesn’t actually fall asleep on the couch again, but she does close her eyes, fakes it just to see what he’ll do. At the end of the episode they’re on, he turns off the TV, leaves, and comes back with a blanket for her.

It’s not plausible deniability cuddles, but it’s at least nice of him. She’s planning to just give it a few more minutes, but the blanket is warm and the couch is comfortable, and she drifts off, wishing she’d be waking up with Bellamy again.

*

“So, I don’t want to be rude or presumptuous, but I am curious,” says Luna.

Clarke’s a few ciders in, so it takes her a few seconds to parse the statement. “Curious about what? Rude about what?”

“You and Bellamy.”

“What about us?” she asks, like she doesn’t know.

Luna’s not having it either. “You’re not that drunk.”

Clarke sighs, deflates. “I really don’t know. Not–what specific part. If I’m asking if I like him, of course I do. But there’s nothing going on, and if you like him, you should tell him.”

“Have you told him?”

Clarke shrugs, tries out a smile. “Not worth it. He’s my best friend. You don’t have anything to lose, so you can–”

“I’m not interested in Bellamy,” Luna says. “Obviously, he’s a very attractive man and I like his company. But every other text he sends me is about you. I couldn’t decide if you knew or not. But you don’t.”

Her mouth opens and closes, and then she manages, “What kind of texts?”

“Nothing–he doesn’t ask me for advice about you or wax poetic about your eyes and smile. But you’re the star of all his stories, and from what I could tell there’s nowhere in the world he’d rather be than at home with you. Even if I wanted a chance, I wouldn’t have one. But–you should tell him. In my opinion. I’d tell him, if I were you.”

Clarke takes a drink of cider to wash down the lump in her throat, lets herself look for Bellamy even as it terrifies her. He’s at the bar, chatting with Miller and Monty, gesturing broadly, and it’s almost too much to let herself think about, having him.

He smiles, cocks his head like he’s worried, and she shakes hers, smiling.

“You know him this well, how do you not know?” Luna asks, sounding genuinely mystified. “All you have to do is look.”

“Yeah,” says Clarke. “I’m working on it.”

*

“So, are you going to go out with Luna?” Bellamy asks. They’re walking home, and Clarke is trying to to figure out what to say to him. Somehow I’m in love with you seems like a little much.

“Me?”

“You guys were talking. It looked serious.”

“Oh. No.” She wets her lips. “Do you remember when we fell asleep on the couch?”

“Only every time it rains,” he says, and she cocks her head. “Because my back still hurts. Bad joke, never mind. Yeah, I remember. Why?”

“You fell asleep first,” she admits. “And I should have left, but–you looked really comfortable, and I thought I might not ever get another chance. Which is creepy. Sorry.”

There’s a pause as he considers. “I don’t know what you’re apologizing for, exactly. What did you do?”

“Snuggled you in your sleep. And it–” She huffs. “Look, I already knew how I felt about you, that wasn’t new, but–I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. Every time I wake up, I wish you were there. And thinking about you dating Luna was–”

“Clarke,” he manages, almost awed. “Jesus, I was never–the only reason I was even thinking about asking her out was to try to get over you, which would have been shitty, so–” He lets out a bright, sharp, shocked laugh. “Fuck. Really?”

They’re almost home, halfway to the steps, but she can’t wait. She stops and tugs him down, and when he kisses her, she feels it down to her toes, feels it everywhere.

“Really,” she says.

“Good.” He kisses her again before he unlocks the front door. “Me too.”

*

It turns out there’s only one thing better than waking up with Bellamy on the couch: waking up with him in his bed. And she gets to do it every day.

[nothingbutaspaceman-writings]

Raising The Steaks [chapter 1, rough rough draft]

I’m working on a children’s book Gonna post drafts of the first few chapters but will probably make a side blog to post the final drafts.

Background Info: The protagonist is named Seneca Rhoades. She is 18 and amateur sorceress. She has orange eyes and bright green hair.

“Okay. What next? What next?”

Seneca paced and licked her lips, making clicking noises with her tongue like a clock on coffee. Maybe if she deludes herself into believing time is moving quicker, the thoughts will try to make up for their lax attitude with a pinch of empathy. She slowly angles her neck with both hands until a loud crack emits. Same principle but her brainstem and spinal cord is a knotted garden hose. A burst of inspiration is on the tip of her mind’s tongue. There’s a pained grunt then chuckled sigh.

Seneca poured another snatch of Pop Rocks onto her skinky-blue tongue. With her left hand, she let out a snap as the candy did crackle and a solution did pop into her head.

“Marshmallow!”

Ouija’s ears perked up and his sniffing nose ascended from his hammock. The long furry noodle snaked out of his sleeping space and onto the work space. He arched his neck in curiosity. Exuding enough nosy squirming to get caught in Seneca’s periphery.

“Not for you... I don’t think.” She grabbed her phone and asked, “Can ferrets eat marshmallow?”

“SEARCHING... HMM... NO.”

“Thought so. No treats right now, ya furball.”

Seneca exited the work space and creeped into the kitchen. The clock on the oven read “02:35.”

“That can’t be right.” Seneca checked her phone. “It’s an hour behind again.” She swung open 3 different cabinets, humming inquisitively. No marshmallows. But she does have cereal and hot cocoa mix.

Seneca rips open three cocoa packets and shakes the contents onto a dry cutting board: the bamboo one. She does a supposedly-fastidious skim of a count of the marshmallow pieces then, with a humph, fans the dust with her right hand. Her left one making a claw, her middle and index fingers at almost exact eye level. ”Focus. Focus.” The dust cleared and only sugary bits remained. The torn packets received a quick lick and were sealed back up as if nothing happened. The marshmallows were slid into a small bowl and a full box of cereal was taken back into her workspace.

In an impetuous snack craving, the cereal bag pops. Flakes and marshmallows burst like gravel from a meteorite.

“I meant to do that.” Seneca smirks at Ouija. He isn’t impressed. “The weird plastic! Why make opening a bag so diffi-. Quit judging me.”

As Seneca minces the mini-mallows, she digs her bare hand into the cereal box, flicking the marshmallow bits into the bowl and scattering the grain and oat pieces mostly into her mouth. Ouija is nibbling on the ones spilling to the floor while occasionally hopping onto Seneca’s lap to get the spillage in the wrinkles of her pajamas. She has to keep rolling up her sleeve before digging back into the box. She’s not realizing she could use her opposite arm. Her left sleeve was torn off a few weeks ago. Ouija is wearing it as a makeshift sweater. He likes when they match.

“I’ll go to sleep in a minute. I’ve almost got it.” Ouija keeps nipping at her sleeve in a futile attempt to get her to bed. “Go lie in your hammock or something.” Ouija chitters and lazily scampers into one of Seneca’s balled up hoodies.

“I’m almost done, Ouija.” She looks at her viscous mix. “Why won’t it liquify?” She scoops a dollop with her finger and flicks it until the adhesive mixture splashes into her cup of water. She stares intently. Her eyes watering from concentrating so diligently. The dark burgandy clump sinks and does nothing. Furiously she stirs with a chopstick she just so happened to have  had. The clump refuses to unclump. “Alright then... For Science!” And Seneca takes a healthy swig of the water. “IT JUST TASTE LIKE WATER!” Ouija is startled awake and releases a low hum of a grunt. “Sorry, but what am I doing wrong? I made that jelly last week that makes plain bread taste like a grilled cheese. Why can’t I make a syrup to make this water taste like a root beer float?”

Seneca reaches into a drawer close to the floor and pulls out a vial resembling a glowstick. Crack. Crack. Crack. A thin cyan stream tumbles and splashes along the mixture, freezing it solid instantly.

“Okay, Ouija. That’s enough for -” The frozen mix began popping like little kernels. “Popcorn? No. These are tiny. Like candy. Well..” She looks at Ouija. He nods. “For Science?” And pops one into her mouth. “They look and feel like jellybeans but taste like vanilla dirt clots. I kinda like it.”

She texts, “Red. Dude, you know how I made that grilled cheese jelly? I tried to do that but with root beer floats for plain water. And I think... I think... I think I just discovered jellybeans. If this was a hundred years ago, I’d be a millionaire. And I’d give them a better name than Jellybeans. I don’t know what, but better.” Send.

“Om, nyum,” Ouija interjects.

“What? I’m a genius! I invented jellybeans.”

“Hmmmmmm.”

“Kinda. People thought the astronauts were crazy too. Brilliance is never recognized right away.”

“...”

“You know what...” She speaks at her phone, “Call Red.”

She looks at Ouija with her “What Now!” eyes.

“...yeah?”

“Red. Red. Red. Did you see my text?”

“Um. No? It’s... 4:30 AM.What is it? The light from the screen is hurting my eyes.”

“I invented candy!”

“Good job.......”

“Right? Yeah. Yeah. Right? I know.” She nods along never breaking eye contact with her ferret. “I know! That’s what I said. Yeah. Go back to sleep. I’ve gotta go be awesome some more. Okay. Okay. Yeah. Night.”

Again. Red never stays awake over the phone. If he spends the night, Seneca always has something to keep him alert. “There’s gotta be a way to send a spell or something over the phone.”

Seneca scoops up Ouija and goes to bed.

Her alarm goes off three hours later.

“Uuuuuuuggggghhhhh...” Snooze.

Her alarm goes off 7 minutes later.

“Uuuuuuuggggghhhhh...” Snooze.

Her alarm goes off 7 minutes later.

“Uuuuuuuggggghhhhh... OW!” Ouija nips her fingertip. “Why?”

A few twists of her fingers and mostly matching clothes slide in front of her bed.

“Good enough.”

Seneca goes to the kitchen to find her jellybeans had been moved. She pops one into her mouth. Cough. Cough. Bitter. Vanilla dirt clots.

“Hmm. I think I’m still grooving on the genius vibes from last night, Ouija.” And she puts the rest of the beans into a coffee grinder then coffee maker.

A few minutes pass and the coffee drips into her color-changing mug.

“For science! In a couple minutes. I’m not burning myself again.”

Ouija and Seneca do some morning exercises, Mostly stretching.

Seneca gets a text from Red. He’s a minute away.

Knock. Knock.

“Red. Welcome.”

“You look dead tired.”

“Thanks.”

“Where’s the creation?”

“Right here! Take a nice long drink?”

“This is actually something right? Not chocolate window cleaner like last time?”

“C’mon. That was one time...like 2 days ago. And look. The coffee table is still spotless.”

“Yeah but it’s got purple splatters.”

“Just drink!”

Sip. Glug... Glug,Glug.Glug

“That’s enough. Good?”

“It’s amazing. It’s refreshing like a soda. Sweet like a treat. But it warms my body like fresh apple cider.”

“Cool I haven’t tried it yet.”

“I swear... If my eyebrows disappear again...”

“C’mon. That was one time...like 4 days ago. And I found them!”

“Brushing the ferret and gluing the clots isn’t finding my eyebrows.”

“Magically gluing,” she says with a flourish of her fingertips. “You can’t even tell.” sip. “Oh. This is good.”

“Where are the beans? If they’re like this, you could start selling energy candy. Ya know? Or even coffee gum.”

“Nah.”

“Yeah!” Red was genuinely excited. “This stuff tastes amazing.”

“We can’t.”

“Why not? Is this more of that witch ethic? I don’t believe that’s even-”

“I wasn’t taking notes!” Seneca’s eyes dart back and forth. “I don’t know what’s in it. Or in what order.”

“Sounds about right. Okay. Let’s go do some algebra.”

[imaginetonyandbucky]

Cats, Dogs, and Neighborhood Betting Pools pt. 2

AO3  Pt 1

“You seem happier,” Steve said, taking a massive bite of his massive sandwich.

Bucky shrugged. “I’ve been doing good.”

“So who’s the lucky fella?”

Bucky gently set his soda on the table. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh really?”

“Definitely.”

“You realize in the last half hour since we got here you’ve mentioned this “Tony” and his cat at least twice every five minutes.”

Bucky slid his prosthetic across the table with a long raspy wail, and grabbed some chips. He proceeded to much on them. Loudly. Steve smirked at him and sucked at the dregs of his drink.

“He’s my neighbor. We run into each other a lot.”

“Yes, and I’m sure you haven’t been enabling his cat’s attempts to force your dog to be her personal slave.”

Bucky didn’t think about the cat door he had installed on the balcony. “Nope,” he replied.

Steve snorted.

“How’s Sam?” Bucky asked, his lips curving into a smirk as Steve blushed.

“The food here is really good, don’t you think?” Steve said, changing the subject. Bucky laughed and kept eating.

Mobile Readers, ‘ware the Read More

“You’re up to something,” Tony said. “I know it. This is all part of some devious plot to undermine my carefully crafted cynicism and loner-ness.”

Natasha purred and rubbed her face against Tony’s legs. He set a can of food on the counter and shuffled through his drawers, looking for a can opener. “I don’t even know how you’re getting out,” he continued. He found a can opener and turned back to the cat food. “The windows and door are all closed - and locked, so it’s not like he’s grabbing you every day in some devious plot to get me to visit.” He set the open can on the floor. Natasha dug in eagerly.

Tony stared at her. “For that matter, how are you getting into his apartment? I’d think he’d be all closed up too, by now.”

Natasha smacked him with her tail as she eagerly dug into her gourmet Salmon Surprise.

“Fine, be that way. See if I buy the fancy food next time I go to the pet store.”

Natasha turned and gave him big, imploring eyes.

“Oh, come on, now,” an amused voice said from the kitchen entryway. “You wouldn’t short a lady, now would you?”

Tony jumped, spinning in the air. “Rhodey!” he groaned. “How many times - don’t do that! I have a heart condition!”

“So you want him to be kidnapping your cat to get your attention?”

“What? Who? What are you talking about?” Tony asked. He grabbed the can opener and turned to rinse it off in the sink.

“The mysterious cat-napper. I should point out that ninety percent of your stories lately are significantly less wild than usual and also contain him.”

“He’s my neighbor, and I can’t figure out how Natasha is getting into his apartment! She’s tormenting his poor dog!”

“The dog should be honored. She only torments people she likes.” Rhodey leaned over and cooed as Natasha wandered over. Licking her lips, she stretched up and purred as he petted her ears.

“Why doesn’t she ever try to eat you? She tries to eat everyone else. Except Pepper, and that’s because they’re both evil masterminds.”

“Everyone else being Tiberius, and Obadiah, and Summer?” Rhodey asked, more knowingly that Tony cared to dwell on.

“And your point?”

Rhodey sighed. “Well, they were all dickbags. And she seems to like your neighbor well enough.”

“They weren’t that bad.”

“Your cat is a better judge of people than you.”

“I am a perfectly good judge of people.”

“Sure, Tony. Are we still on for lunch?”

“It’s Tuesday already? Well, I mean yeah, uh. I’ll get some pants.”

“I don’t know, the Jimmy Neutron boxers make a statement.”

“Jerk.”

“Don’t forget to lock your door!”

Tony groaned.

Bucky got home around three. He jiggled his keys in the lock until the door opened and stepped into his apartment, closing the door behind him. Kicking off his shoes, he immediately headed for the balcony.

Sure enough, there in Clint’s bed, Clint lay with a tiny (but mighty) cat perched happily on his back. Natasha purred in her sunny spot as Clint’s tail thumped the floor. James snapped a picture on his phone and sent it to Steve. He watched in delight as Natasha licked Clint’s ears a couple of times before primly leaping from her perch and approaching Bucky. She rubbed against his ankles, and he scritched her ears. He was pleasantly surprised that she didn’t maul him, though she didn’t allow the attention long before stalking back to curl up next to Clint.

“You are my favorite thing to come home to,” Bucky told her. Not only was it a cute overload, but it also meant Tony would be dropping by to find her later. And if Bucky was lucky, he could talk the brilliant young man into having coffee or watching a bad sci-fi with him. He eagerly set about his afternoon routine, cleaning up the space and making sure he had enough clean dishes. He tossed one large fluffy blanket on his old saggy couch and opened a window to air out the space. Since it was a day off, he also started a load of laundry and wiped down the tiny bathroom. He applied an extra layer of deodorant and waited.

Sure enough, at about seven a knock came at the door.

Bucky didn’t run to open the door, but it was a near thing. He opened the door with a wide grin. “Yes, your cat is here,” he said.

Tony gave him a sheepish grin, hands fluttering uncertainly in front of him. “I am so sorry, I swear my apartment is locked down like cat Fort Knox, I have no idea how she keeps getting out.”

“It’s not a problem. It’s kind of adorable, honestly.”

“My murder cat trying to eat your dog?”

“My dog falling over himself to let her,” Bucky laughed.

“Well, I’m sorry to bother you. I’ll just grab her and get out of your hair.”

“No worries. They seem pretty comfortable. I was just about to start dinner, if you want to join me?”

Tony blinked at him, just as surprised as he always was to be invited to stay. “I, um - can’t cook, at all. And I don’t want to intrude -”

“You’re not intruding,” Bucky replied. “I invited you. And anyone can make mac and cheese from the box.”

Tony mumbled something, looking at the floor.

“Did you just say you lit a box on fire once?” Bucky asked.

“I can neither confirm nor deny.”

“Well. You’re in charge of drinks, then.”

Tony sighed and came inside, apparently convinced that he was welcome. Bucky had noticed early in their unusual acquaintance that Tony always seemed to be waiting for Bucky to tell him to leave, or that he wasn’t wanted. Bucky usually had to ask him several times to come in. Tony never said he didn’t want to visit with Bucky - just that he was worried he was intruding on Bucky himself. Bucky had also noticed that Tony didn’t have many visitors. Not that he’d been paying attention. Or trying to get their schedules to match up. That would be pathetic.

So far, Bucky had seen two people visit Tony. A tall military man that seemed to be like Tony’s Steve had dropped by a few times. A tall redhead with murder heels and a wickedly sharp glint in her eye had visited once. Natasha had actually purred, which just made Bucky more afraid of the woman.

“Um, your pot is boiling over.”

Bucky quickly turned to blow on the boiling water, turning down the burner a little at the same time.

Tony was grinning at him. “Not sure you’re much better at this cooking thing than I am.”

“Well, as long as it’s edible, I’m not too worried.”

“Fair,” Tony said, handing over a tall glass. Bucky hadn’t even noticed him pouring the sparkling cider into the cups.

“There’s wine, if you’d prefer,” Bucky said.

Tony’s face clouded over. “I, ah. Don’t drink. Any. Anymore.”

Bucky nodded. “Works for me. Steve and Sam don’t drink either, though in Steve’s case it’s because he’s usually the designated driver.”

Tony relaxed at the easy acceptance. “That’s why the cider?”

“Yep. And I can’t afford good champagne, need something fizzy to celebrate with.”

Tony nodded like that made perfect sense and took a sip. Bucky watched his tongue flick out across his lips to swipe away the liquid.

“You should meet them sometime,” he blurted out.

Tony blinked. “Uh. Steve and Sam?”

“Yeah. They’re cool. Sam’s ex-military, Steve’s still in the army. Well. Sort of. He can’t give me may details.”

Tony shifted, biting his lip. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to bug them or anything.”

“Completely sure. In fact - we’ve got lunch planned tomorrow. Want to come?”

“I have lunch plans with Pep and Rhodey,” Tony said.

“Bring them along! Might as well get everyone together. It’ll be a party.”

“Yeah, okay,” Tony said. His lips were curved into a soft smile, his eyes light. “Sounds like fun.”

Bucky grinned at him, his heart thudding in his chest and demanding that Bucky make him smile like that always.

He was so fucked.

“I thought we were going to the place on fifth?”

“We’re meeting some people,” Tony said.

Pepper and Rhodey exchanged a glance. “You know other people?” Rhodey asked.

“Shove off, honey bear.”

“Is it cat-napper?”

Tony almost tripped over a crack in the sidewalk.

“It is,” Pepper said, her face splitting into a smirk full of mischief. “Did you finally ask him out?”

“No, he just wanted to introduce me to his bros. You’ll like ‘em, Rhodes. One’s active duty and one’s a veteran.”

“What do they do?”

Tony shrugged. “They’re the classified types.”

“I’ll need to have a talk with this cat-napper.” Pepper tapped her heels a little more forcefully against the cement.

“Please don’t eat him.”

“I make no promises.”

Rhodey grinned and threw an arm over each of their shoulders. “This is going to be a mess. A glorious, glorious mess.”

~Era Penn

Buy me a coffee

[soft-yet-soulless-dan]

Summary: The sides go on a fall outing to a farm. There are bunnies. (How can you say no to bunnies?)

“Why, exactly, are we doing this again?” Virgil grumbles, upset at agreeing to come along to the “fun” fall activities Patton had planned. Honestly, he could never say no to Patton, not after all the times he’s been there for him, but uugh being in the same vicinity as people who weren’t Thomas’s other sides was so frightening, and he would much rather be scrolling through Tumblr in the safety of his room. He was already in the car, though, so the was no turning back. Logan, pushing his glasses up his nose, was ready to reapond. He had done reseach on the benefits of beong with friends. “Studies have shown that spending time with your friends is actually very beneficial for your health. Being with close friends helps you feel secure, your stress levels are lower than people with weaker social ties, and people who spend time with acquaintances are less likly to have high blood pressure and even live longer!” “Well I’m pretty sure we’re going pumpkin picking to have fun, not to live longer, but those are some pretty cool facts, smarty pants.” Roman says from behind the wheel. “Anyways we’re here!” Patton, channeling his inner dad, pulls put his bag from the trunk that has lunch, sunscreen and water, and starts browsing through the activity list. “Alrighty so I say we pay, eat lunch..wait there’s a petting zoo! Can we go there first?! Farm animals ars so cute and fluffy!” “Yeah Patton” Roman chuckles “We can go see the animals.” “Well let’s get going then!” He yells as he bounds ahead. He is immediately drawn to the bunnies, cuddling with them and wrapping them in his cardigan because “they looked so cold!” Roman goes over to a beautiful steed, fantasizing about battles where he and this horse would absolutely slay. Monsters…and foes of course. Logan is kind of lost but makes his way over to the goats with their sophisticated looking goatees. Boy, was he wrong. By the black sheep is Virgil, a tiny lamb in his lap, smiling widely. A loud “aaAAHHHHH” makes everyone’s heads pop up, witnessing Logan frantically running from an angered goat. Virgil makes no attempt to help, nay, he can't, he's too busy rolling around laughing at the shrieking not-so-logical side. Didn't he know goats were aggressive when in mating season? Geez what is the point of being smart if you didn't know basic goat facts? Eventually the farmer collects the goat, and Logan pleading to Virgil says"We will never speak of this incident again, right?" "Oho yes we will. The Great Goat Catastrophe of 2017 will be my personal favorite thing to share at future events." Eventually, they have to leave for lunch, but Patton can't find in in his heart to leave the snugly bunnies. "They are just too cute!" He coos. Virgil has to drag him away from the bunnies, rolling his eyes when he blows them tiny kisses. They quickly eat lunch , then go searching for the perfect pumpkins to carve later tonight. Princes is the first to find it. "Oh my Lordy. We have to get that one!" He says pointing to the largest pumpkin any of them have ever seen, or though humanly possible. "We can't get that one, it's way too big" Virgil argues. "How are we going to get it home?" Patton begins to grin. "We could use a wheelbarrow! And we could each carve a section of it, instead of carving separate pumpkins!" "Yeah, and it's cheaper than buying 4 medium pumpkins. It only makes sense." Says the Logical Side. 

"So it's agreed, we'll get this fabulous pumpkin." It takes all 4 of them to lift the pumpkin into the wheelbarrow. "This must be the heaviest. Fricking. Pumpkin. Ever." Virgil complains. "No actually, the largest pumpkin weighed 1,502lbs, so in comparison, this one is much lighter." Logan counters. " Alright we get it, you're smart." They pass through the orchid, picking a few apples as they went. Logan insisted the stop at the drinks shop, and 5 minutes later he has a pumpkin chai tea, Patton has cocoa with marshmallows and a mound of whipped cream, Princey has an apple cider, and Virgil is chugging a coffee with 2 expressos. "What? It's not like I'm going to get any sleep anyways." He defends, rolling his eyes. "Hey I don't judge, kiddo. " Said a smiley Patton, wiping off his whipped cream mustache. "Oh hey I have a joke: why are skeletons always so calm?" "Why Pat?" "Because nothing gets under their skin!" "Uugh now Halloween jokes?" Virgil cringes, hiding his face in his hands. "Well I thought it was quite funny." Logan chimes in. "Wait, you understood a dad joke? Good job Lo!" Princey smiles. Sadly enough, they have to leave the farm, and go home to carve the pumpkin. They gather around the table, Virgil cuts off the top, and Patton, Princey and Logan start scooping out the guts and seeds. "Come on Virge, help us! It's fun!" Patton smiles warmly, wanting to include his shy son. "Umm I'd rather not, it looks kinda nasty. Sorry." "That's ok, kiddo, you can help carve." "Yeah ok." After cleaning a pumpkin out, a knife is handed to Virgil, who starts to carve a puppy as per Patton's request. Everyone carves sections of the massive pumpkin while talking and laughing until it is a collage of pictures ranging from smiley faces(Patton) to the beautifully animated faces of the sides laughing together (and a puppy) by Virgil. "Whoa...that is absolutely amazing, Virgil!" breathes Roman. "How you do that?" "Well I...uh took a woodcarving class in college, and it's not that different." "It's so good!" The pumpkin is moved (with great difficulty) outside, a lit candel is placed inside, and the four sides admire their handywork. Then they head back inside and curl up on the couch, not wanting the feeling of warmth and friendship to diminish. Virgil is the first, despite the expressos, to fall asleep smushed against Logan and Patto, who pulls a blanket around him. Logan, removing his glasses, rests his head on Princey's shoulder, and there they all fall asleep, squished on the too small for 4 people couch, not caring about the lack of space, but enjoying being close to one another.

@Mewsicalmiss @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch

Hope you guys liked it! Thank you so much for reading my post! Sorry if there are any spelling mistakes, uploading this super late and was far too lazy to read it through one more time. 💜

[ladytrollfishes]

Cresce and Shupaa: Make an Acquaintence

You don't get out of Arkady as often as you like, really. You're in Ghoulisar on business of course, but that doesn't mean you can't take a little time to yourself. Ghoulisar had an excellent creamery- you hadn't tasted all their flavors yet so you stopped by for a cone. You bounce through the streets, working through your cone and sorting through the melodies of the passerby on the streets, separating strings that trembled with every day stress, brass that burst with the joy of a good song, xylophones of excitement, bass of fear- the every day melodies of the crowd pass you readily as they shift through their thoughts and the physical space  around you

.All but one. It's been trailing for you awhile. A combination of boredom and tense anxiety constantly radiating you while you travel around the city. Someone's following you. You don't know Ghoulisar as well as you know Arkady, and Ghoulisar doesn't know you as well as Arkady! It's your signmate, you're sure. You turn off into a corner.

Kitty | neriticNomad12/31/2018

Your new assignment is unusual in nature, but the process is the same. You have a mark. You have informants, then, information. You follow the trail until it takes you to your mark, and all of it happens like clockwork. The difference is that you aren't allowed to kill her, which means your job is exceptionally harder. You keep your eyes straight ahead. They never view your target directly. 

You see her in reflections, and in your peripheral vision, but never more than that. She's easy to watch, because she doesn't seem to be expecting you, and unlike other marks you've had, she doesn't seem to have anything to hide. It isn't your job to speculate, but your mind still wanders: What could Lyrian want with her? What's the long con? And why go so far as to hire you? You say none of this out loud.

The only sign of your thoughts are the waves of pensive cerulean, which pass over the light of your implants, before fading back into neutral jade. You stick out a little, when you aren't trying to hide. 5'6" isn't a terrible height, and your boots push you up to 5'7". The real intimidation comes from the strange-looking machinery in your body, so you hide it, with long sleeves, high collars, and a hood, which hides your implants from view. You distract from it, with a leash, and a medium-sized two-headed dog at the end of it. 

Everyone loves a cute dog. Your mark makes another move. You wait, and give her room, then follow. Your senses search the area for anyone that might be lying in wait, but perhaps, tonight, you're a bit more relaxed than you should be. "Cress" hasn't given you any trouble so far. Why would she do so now?

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)12/31/2018

You listen for the melody to follow you, waiting around the corner and take a nice long lick of the ice cream. It's a cherry garcia and dark chocolate flavor. Very good, but not your favorite so far. You've been taught a dozen different ways to lose a tail, but you don't plan on using any of them tonight. You want to know what this stalker is here for. So when you hear them coming around the corner you turn back like you made a u-turn and smash your ice cream right into the center of their chest.

 "Omigosh!" you exclaim. "I'm so so so sorry!" You make a show of pulling out a hankerchief while you take a look at whose been following you. Covered face, walking a lusus, could have been a jogger, really. There's a glint of something from under their hood but you can't quite tell what it is. Jadeblood. You take a moment to consider if this might be anyone besides your signmate, then dismiss it. Your position in Torrent is solidly middling, Melete's not the sort to leave this work to someone else- no it had to be her.

Kitty | neriticNomad12/31/2018

Your lusus has two heads. Asterion isn't very talkative. She tends to speak only when she feels a need. Chara, on the other hand, loves the sound of her own voice, and that's the head that barks in alarm, when your mark collides with you. You take this exact second to realize just how badly you've fucked up. Now you just need to fix it. Unpleasant, but necessary. The words of your strength trainer echo, momentarily, in the record of your memory: Muscle up, buttercup. "It is fine," you start, neutral and expressionless. You lift your mouth to where it's visible, with no protruding teeth, and only a few haphazard marks. Most trolls have a few. It's nothing special. 

"Forgive my... carelessness." The reddish-colored ice cream sends an unpleasant chill through your sensory receptors. Your gloved hand scrapes the bulk of the ice cream from your chest, and flicks it to the side- oops, that was too hard. You dented that trash can. Way to go, Becvar. "... Are you offering this cloth for my aid?" you ask, but it doesn't sound like a question. This is why you're not a birdie. You can't fucking talk to anyone.(edited)

January 2, 2019

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/02/2019

Oh honey no. The stalker blares of alarm and anxiety. Her words come out neutral, and the line of her mouth you can spot from under her hood barely moves, even when she speaks.  Her words drop like gravel on glass and when she dents a trash can with more strength than you'd expect from a jadeblood and her melody is mournfully mortified. You'd wince except for the fact you're actually a little charmed. You take another moment to mourn your taste. 

 "Of course I am," you witter, blinking at her and offering her the handkerchief. It'd be rather forward of you to press it to her chest,  but you do consider it. She's either too uncomfortable to refuse or uncomfortable enough to do something even more drastic and you can't be the judge of it just yet. Better to pull your punches. "You weren't so careless at all," you exclaim. "It was a complete accident, and your shirt is ruined! Let's get some water on that. And let me buy you coffee as an apology? There's a cafe right around the corner where we can get both."

Kitty | neriticNomad01/02/2019

As if your situation couldn't get worse. If you survive this, you'll consider different employ. (That's a joke. You'd never change jobs, and you're most certainly going to die.) "... That is... very thoughtful of you," you pronounce, slowly, but the alarm bells are still going off in your head. The glowing lines in the side of your hair run red with anxiety, as your computers run the calculations. If you say no, you'll seem suspicious when she sees you elsewhere. She knows how to spot you, having seen you up close. If you say yes, that's direct contact with a mark, and you don't do direct contact. You do the opposite of direct contact, which is staying the fuck away. If you were killing her, this would be convenient, but you're contractually forbidden from doing that. Briefly, you ponder if Lyrian would understand, if you explained the situation. ... Likely, no, which is a shame, you think.

 "... This offer seems favorable," you decide, finally, interrupting your silent beat. You take the handkerchief, visually scan it for any hidden hazards, and dab, somewhat mechanically, at the spot on your shirt. It would be difficult to poison you this way, and you're wearing gloves. There are no blades or concealed weapons, or at least, not ones you can pinpoint, with the knowledge in your databank. Indeed, the handkerchief doesn't kill you. You record this data for future analysis, and schedule a virus scan. The handkerchief stays in your hand. You want to rinse it before giving it back to her. 

 "Are you quite certain you wish to fraternize with an unknown person?" you ask, studying her from beneath your hood. The red light in your implants fades, but stays red. You're on alert. "Dangerous individuals are present in the vicinity." That's you. Potentially, that's her.(edited)

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/02/2019

Her alarm only grows as you speak, and she's slow to find the words to respond to you. You wait patiently, pleased as punch that she can't even figure out a good excuse to try and get out of it. Instead she resorts to vague intimidation, like she can threaten you, in a city full of imperials and you're a trained soldier of the empire. It's positively adorable. You beam at her and you don't even need to fake it. 

 "A stranger's just a conversation away from being a friend," you explain patiently. "But you're so sweet to worry. I insist! We're so lucky, this café is one of my favorites. They have spiced apple cider to die for, but the coffee is also excellent!" You smile down at the fluffy lusus at your feet too. "And they're lusus friendly. Let's go!" "What's your name anyway?" you exclaim as you take two steps backwards before you turn, keeping your eyes on the stranger. Was that a slip of red light under hood you saw before?

Kitty | neriticNomad01/02/2019

That's the moment you realize this isn't a friendly offer. In fact, it wasn't a question at all. She was making a demand, and the saccharin in her smile promises more than you can handle. There's a flicker of yellow - fear - which runs across your implants, before being washed out by the red of baseline anxiety. They'll likely stay that color, until you find a way to leave.

 "Charm-ing," you say, and your eyes don't leave her for a second. You walk. The night air bites at you, through the damp stain in your shirt. You can't reroute your sensory input, which means you have no choice but to endure the double discomfort of being here, and feeling exposed. Your peripherals stay on her, even when your focus shifts away. Asterion and Chara don't know what's happening, but Asterion keeps looking back at you, under the mop of her fur.

 "I am called Maera," you say. You don't give her your hatched name. Again, you contemplate incapacitating her, but you have too many witnesses, and you don't know what she's capable of. So, instead, you have to pretend you know how to talk to people. "What are you called?" you reply, even though you already know. Maybe you'll glean something useful yet.(edited)

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/02/2019

Oh, well she's got sense enough to be afraid, her melody flickering with a little tremble of fear. Perhaps she's realized you aren't quite the ditz you're pretending to be? It's a little disappointing, really, you were wondering how long you could string her along without her realizing you know what you need to know. You don't expect for a second that the name she gives you is real at all, but at least she shows some respect for social normalities. 

“Call me Cress!" you exclaim with a smile, and spin into the coffee shop. It's a quaint little thing with a little stage you've performed on occasionally, enough that you're familiar with the staff, at any rate. There aren't too many customers at this time of night, but it's busy enough that you won't be overheard, at least. 

"Hiiii," you say as you approach the counter. You only know the barista by sight, but they're all wearing name tags. They smile as you approach. "Hey Cress! Glad to see you're back in town," they say. You steal a glance at their name tag. Heliop. "Glad to be back!" you exclaim with a smile. "Could I trouble you for a cup of water? I'm such a klutz, I dropped an ice cream cone on my friend here by accident. Also could i get an apple cider and a-" You turn back to "Maera" for a second, hesitant. "What kind of coffee do you like? Oh, and a treat for the lusus."

Kitty | neriticNomad01/02/2019

"Heliop," as their name tag informs you, stands about an inch shorter than you. They're green, somewhere towards olive, but the low, filtered lights of the shop are coloring everything just slightly yellow. They drum their fingers across the counter as Cress speaks to them, but the way they lift their wrist tells you they've taken piano lessons - without thought, their hand forms the same shape it should when resting on a keyboard. They have a moderate amount of confidence in their work. It must have been a slow day. They seemed relieved, when you first walked in, to have something to do. Very slow day, in that case. 

 "Mocha," you finish, for Cress. You glance up at the menu, briefly, and add, "Peppermint, if possible. ... Mother does not like to share. The medium biscuit, please." You'll break it in half. Asterion and Chara don't need to know. Cress - Cresce - is in her element. She's enthusiastic about this place, and she never once drops her cheery attitude. You file away the location of this shop in your databanks, note the exits, and memorize Heliop's general features. The location of her "favorite" coffee shop is promising information, in some small measure. If Cress knows your real purpose, she likely won't come back, but that's the great part about being bound to Alternia: A troll can only run so far before they run out of room. If you have to track her halfway across the planet a second time, you will. When the server turns away from you, you eye Cress again. "Do you come here often?" you ask, which is the most cliche thing you've unknowingly done, ever.(edited)

January 7, 2019

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/07/2019

Maera doesn't ease very much, even when ordering for herself and her lusus. There's a moment of casual consideration and affection as she orders a biscuit, and then more careful tense beats. You can barely see her face from under the hood but you bet she's watching you. You take care not to seem like you're watching her either, keeping your eyes on the desserts they have on display as you review the information you do have. She's not a spy, that's for certain. She's almost as bad as Melete at conversation. She has to be at least on par with you strengthwise, as easily as she dented that trash can, despite being nearly halfway down the spectrum from you. That feeling, too, when you crashed into her, the glint of red you caught from under her hood.(edited)

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/07/2019

The hood was an interesting choice. They were pretty much only good for keeping your ears warm. They blocked your peripheral vision. The were obvious. Having your hood up constantly was more noticeable in a crowd than if it was down. Despite popular media, hoods were generally very bad for stealth. Unless, of course, whatever was underneath it was more noticeable than the hood. If you placed bets you'd place them on Maera being some sort of augmented cyborg, built for power rather than stealth. An assassin, most likely. Someone who didn't want to attack you in public at least. Plausible deniability perhaps? Did your signmate hire someone to kill you? That surprises you- she did seem more like the type to get her own hands dirty, so to speak. You press your hand to your collar at the unpleasant memory. Fucker. 

 She's still doing recon, obviously, otherwise you'd have noticed her following you ages ago. Most people doing wetwork dangled on the edge of legality and the murder of an imperial agent by a mercenary would draw far more attention to her than she'd like. It would be difficult to pull off an assassination of an imperial soldier in the middle of Ghoulisar, and she'd need to know as much about your habits and commonly frequented locations as possible if she were to make a getaway. She's even bold enough to ask you about your coffee habits.You giggle as she asks. 

"Whenever I'm in Ghoulisar! As often as I can, really. I love this place." 

Depending on how this conversation turns out, you're obviously never coming back here without company. "Here's your order," Heliop says, and slides you two drinks and a biscuit. "Thanks!" you exclaim, handing the biscuit and the mocha to Maera. "Hold on, you grab a seat first. Heliop, can you grab me one of those apple turnovers actually? Sorry to tack something at the end of my order like that, but just looking at this batch makes me hungry!" It wouldn't be the first time you had coffee with someone who desperately wanted you dead. Only Maera isn't desperate. You wonder what she wants. Not just with you, but as a person. What sort of person took a job as insane as this one?

Kitty | neriticNomad01/07/2019

A person who doesn't see any other choices. Her next line doesn't follow the script. Something is wrong. You take note of it, but it's a small enough divergence that you don't think now is the time to panic. Maybe. Probably. You hate the uncertainty of all of this. Killing someone is easy! They're either dead, or you need to try again. Cress is confusing you. You're not sure yet if it's intentional. Regardless of your reservations, you take your drink. You don't see any reason to speak again, and, not being one for needless words, you find a place to sit. This is an alchemy on its own. You want something where your escape route is quick and easy, and you don't have your back to any current patrons. You choose a seat by the window, for a few reasons. The first is that you want to keep her guessing. If you really wanted to kill her right now, you'd choose something more discreet. 

Again, you remind yourself, you're not trying to kill her for real. This is for show and information, but that kind of nuance usually gets missed when observed in situations like this. The second is that it grants you security, too. Trolls are a little less likely to kill someone if they know it's on display. Murder tends to be a private affair, usually, unless she's one of those bloodlust exhibitionists. Then you guess you're royally fucked. You sit, uncomfortable in the cushioned chair. Chara and Asterion sit at your feet. Asterion is still watching Cress, but Chara is more focused on the biscuit in your hand. You hide it under the table as you break it in half, and you feed portions of Chara's half to her, little by little. You need her to stay with you, and stay quiet. Cress has a game. You don't know what it is yet, but you're pretty sure you don't like it. Thinking about what might come is making you more uneasy, though, so you focus on pinpointing her center of balance, and other physical attributes, filing these away in your memory.(edited)

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/07/2019

The seat Maera picks is between you and the door, with her back to a window, with a clear view to anyone who may approach. The turnover is a useless exercise then- an excuse to move past her and snatch her hood off when necessary but at least it'll be delicious. You smile at her as you wait for your pastry as you pick your next move. She's so very clearly uncomfortable- you don't suppose assassins usually get bullied into tea time with their targets. She knows something's up. You assume she knows what your actually place of employment is, so you're certain she knows you're up to something, but her uncertainty speaks volumes about her experience in dealing with spies. The apple turnover slides over the counter, warm and spiced, and you breathe in the buttery aroma.

"Oh that smells so good," you say. "Thanks, Heliop!"You don't waste a moment before you bite into it, and take a sip of your apple cider. Ghoulisar did have a good apple crop. Arkady's were fine, in and of itself, of course, but there was something special about apples here. 

 "Oh, it's so good," you moan, as you slide into the seat across from Maera, placing your cup and pastry on the table. It's small, the sort of table with space for maybe two husktops, no more. Your knees could bump hers if you slid down in your chair, but you don't. You keep your back straight as you wash down another bite of your pastry and get down to business. You finger slides behind your ear to give the patch of tech there a scratch- with your mind you set your wetware to record. You're not armed, but Maera doesn't have to know it. You give her a wink and make a finger gun with your left hand, and slip your right under the table.

"Just so you know," you say with a smile, and lean forward, keeping your other hand carefully under the table, "I've got one of these under the table and pointed at your lusus." You tangle the lusus leash with your foot and step down. 

 "So maybe don't make sudden movements," you say casually. "She is actually yours, right? You seem quite fond of her. Shooting a bullet into you seems like it might not work but her?" You click your tongue and shake your head. This is why Torrent made certain to remove lusii from the equation. It was a mistake to bring her on a job like this. "So let's talk," you say, leaning forward.

Kitty | neriticNomad01/07/2019

You knew she was up to something, you just didn't think it would be this. You didn't think any troll would go as far as to threaten a lusus, and it's why you even bothered to train yours for your job. Chara whines as the leash gets pulled, and somewhere under your cold shell, there's a spark of concern. It runs lime-green across the lines of your implants, just before it trips your emergency overrides. Then it - the worry, the color - they both disappear. One of the scientists who works on your implants protested this measure. They said it was "cruel." If you were capable now, you might agree. As it stands, you aren't. 

In dire situations, the computers in your brain can strangle your emotional response, and turn you "cold," as it were, until you reach stasis again. It's supposed to make you more efficient. It's supposed to ensure you actually do your job. 

 "What do you wish to talk about?" you say, and you keep your voice even. The lights under your hood have gone dark, so the only light comes from what's reflected in your eyes. "I have little I can say." You have water capsules at your belt. You just don't know how quickly you could manipulate the water, and if your draw would be faster than hers. You're not immune to bullets, but you'll let her keep thinking that you are, if only so it gives you that millisecond advantage. You should have killed her.

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/07/2019

Something curious happens to her when you make your threats- the anger, the fear, the concern, those you all expected, the offense that you would do such a thing- well, honestly, dear, what did she expect? Carrying a vulnerability out like that in the first place? But that cacaphony  cuts off for a different sort. Her natural sound drops to a whisper as static plays over it. Wetware, perhaps? To keep her from intense emotions? Interesting. There's not even a twitch on her face to indicate the change. "Well for starters," you say, musing, a hand on your chin, like it's nothing but a casual coffee chat. "Why don't you take off that hood? I do so like to look a person in the eye when we're having a civil conversation."

Kitty | neriticNomad01/07/2019

You stare at her for a moment longer than necessary, expressionless. If you could feel anything right now, it would probably be resentment. However, ultimately, you comply. Your gloved hands let go of your lusus's leash. Fingers hook into the fabric, and pull it back from your face, then behind your head. You're jade, and it's obvious from the color that fills your irises, accented by the light tones in your skin. You have no facial scarring, no protruding teeth, and fairly average ears - long, but not excessively so; pierced, but only with studs. Your mouth doesn't move, and your eyebrows stay flat, your eyes on her. You'd look very plain, perhaps eerily so, if it wasn't for your hair - shaved into an undercut, with lines of tech sprawling across the sides. As it turns out, replicating psionics requires quite a few hookups to the brain. Go figure. She can't see it, but those lines connect at your spine, and then disappear under the high collar of your jade-marked coat. As your hands retreat, you take the opportunity to pull a water capsule off the belt across your chest. You hold it in your glove, black against black, and try to slip it past her notice. It's insurance. Even without your emotional response, you still have enough dry humor to ask, "Do you like what you see?"(edited)

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/07/2019

She takes a moment to consider your request, and you wait patiently as she struggles with it. Her hesitation tells you almost as much as her compliance. Her face is plainer than you expected, honesty. No unusual scars, no pockmarks from battles long past, or brutal disfigurements from implant injections. That was more imagination than you needed in your day to day life, honestly. She definitely wasn't wrong to keep the hood up- that sort of tech isn't common, and something you assume requires a lot of maintenance if she has to keep her hair shaved like that. The static keeps you from necessarily hearing what she's feeling- though you assume quite badly would be the answer. Her face is as emotionless as her voice though, so honestly you guess this was mostly just a power move. You know what she looks like now. You smile cheerily at her. "Well, you're pretty cute!" you exclaim. "Not exactly model material though. But there, isn't that better? Now we can see you." "Now, why are you following me? You're not doing it for your own reasons." You take another bite of your turnover.

Kitty | neriticNomad01/07/2019

You just don't like to be seen. If you could block people IRL, you would block everyone you ever met. The low-profile thing is just a bonus. "No," you confirm. Her teeth are pinging your danger sense every time she smiles. Annoyance fires, but you don't feel it. "The interest is strictly professional." 

 She seems to know how to navigate these kinds of conversations quite well. You wonder, for the third time tonight, why Lyrian bothered with you, and didn't even try to warn you that she'd be on the lookout. She isn't just a mark. She's a mark who has been marked before, and evaded them, and that gives her the upper hand. 

 "This is a job. Your name was given. You were tracked. There is nothing else to say." This is the strangest questioning session you've ever been in. Annoyance fires again as she bites into the pastry. "To reveal my employer would be destructive to my reputation. Unless you are hiring me to find them, it is against contract to discuss further. Is this acceptable?"

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/07/2019

You take another bite of the turnover as you consider what she was told. Only the job, and your name. No information about you? You know your signmate knows what you do for a living. She's got your name, and also Rumisa chattering in her ear. You sigh, blink prettily and drink from your cider. For the first time, you're not smiling. 

This isn't an assassination. It's a test. And it's not to test this little green pawn either. She's testing you. If she wanted you dead, she'd have given this girl all the information she had on her. Your psi, your position, your friends- then this conversation would have gone much, much differently. You ponder your options. "Let me guess," you say finally. "Your employer is a stunning mirror image of my face with the bonus of a slathering of subbjugulator paint. Goes by the name Lyrian? I'm very sorry to say, but I believe you've been a little bit set up!"

Kitty | neriticNomad01/07/2019

Why does every employer you work with have deep-seated emotional baggage? Can't you just get sent to kill a local annoyance, just once? "You realize that confirming guesses is also against the contract. Confirm?" 

 But it helps. Little by little, she seems to be easing off the trigger, and as you lean back into comfortable stasis, your override unlocks. The implants on the sides of your head burst into your jade green - neutral - as your emotions return. You still don't take your hand off the water capsule. You don't take your eyes off her, not even for a second. 

 "You already know what can be said. This is not in the contract. Make a better offer, or leave well enough alone." The computer in your head coaxes you into adding a "please" to the end, because you're speaking to your better, even if you were hired to hunt her.

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/07/2019

The implants at the side of her head spark green, and the radio static stops, much to your relief. She sounds annoyed, but not as tense as the conversation starts with. Even getting brave enough to bite at you! You can't help but laugh at that. It's tinkly. You worked hard on that. 

 "Leave well enough alone!" you exclaim. "When you're the one following me. I don't see how I could simply ignore it." You smile coyly up at her and lean forward on the table so the tuft of hair that dangles out from your forehead frames your face. 

 "The set up, dear," you say, "Is that I'm not a regular person you can follow around, though you've probably figured that one out. If she wanted you to succeed, well!" You snort a little then lower your voice, watching her carefully for her reaction. "She would have told you I work for the empire as an interrogator," you murmur. "I have their resources behind me if you do in fact, move against me. You'll be much better off breaking that contract with her, trust me."

Kitty | neriticNomad01/07/2019

Oh. That's cute. On a second thought, you realize this is probably the point, and push it from your mind. She drops a bomb on you, and you can recognize that she's looking for you to be outwardly shocked. You won't be, because you never emote, but in your mind, yes... you're sort of surprised. It confirms the growing suspicions you've been having, ever since Cresce first "bumped into" you, but it confuses you, too. And you also don't understand why both Lyrian and Cresce are so god damn dramatic, until you spot her sign, and... Yes, okay. That tracks. You humor her by raising one of your eyebrows, briefly. Then you put it right back where it was. 

 "Congratulations," you say, even as ever. "There is a correction to be made, however. If she wanted me to succeed, she would have allowed me to kill you." You don't think you mind breaking your contract, if you were set up to fail in the first place. "She did not. If you have gotten what you wanted, will you cease threatening Mother?" you ask, which doesn't sound as exhausted as you feel while saying it. Lyrian is stranger than you first assumed. Cresce, too, is strange. You don't like the fact that they seem to know each other, and that you now seem to be implicit in their personal dealings, but that can't be helped much anymore. However, you note one thing: Cresce is on the defensive. She's not asking you to go back out after Lyrian, though she may be planning a strike to execute later. This doesn't seem to be a two-way fight. In fact, if they're signmates, it hardly seems fair at all. You pause, and then say, "It is not against contract to share the methods used to find you, should you desire it."(edited)

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/07/2019

You hear it, the symbol crash of surprise as you let her know what you're capable of. A suspended chord sounds as she sorts out her confusion, her eyes glancing over you, before it resolves to a major chord. Then, as a delayed reaction, her eyebrow raises. You grin at her. Wasn't that adorable? She manages to surprise you though, by what she says next. You assumed Maera was here to kill you. 

The idea that Lyrian would refrain- that she would specifically hire a trained assassin to follow but not attack- well. Well that gives you pause. And then again, when she offers you help. Unexpected! That wasn't pity you heard, you don't think. You'll have to find time to review the recording. Usually you'd have to work at an offer like this, and she just hands it to you. You take a deep sip of your apple cider as you consider it. Murdering you isn't on the table, you don't think. Not if she's offering to help. You don't hear any trace of fear or anxiety that usually comes with laying out bait, and all she's really offering is information. Learning she was set up, must have really turned her off of Lyrian, which could be useful. You'll make concessions, you'll think. It was time to deescalate. And you find yourself rather curious about Maera! As a person.

“It’s hardly all I want,” you say, “but alright.” You motion as though holstering a gun and place your right hand back on the table. You don't lift your foot from the leash. "Well!" you exclaim. "So long as it's not against the contract!"(edited)

January 8, 2019

Kitty | neriticNomad01/08/2019

You've decided that you hate trolls, and you'll stick to just killing people from now on. They're much less talkative, and they tend to be less demanding, too. "There is a matter of reputation involved," you say. You turn the water capsule over in your hand, then... slowly, re-attach it to your belt. You do this in full view of her, not breaking eye contact. She doesn't know its significance, but that lack of knowledge might help, because - cruel as it is - you want her to feel a little bit closer to the unease you feel here. 

 "Employers are protected because they talk. No one succeeds in this business without a reputation. Personal quarrels are not so simple as cutting ties and washing hands. To speak without heed of the contract makes one appear unreliable, especially when the conversation will not end with someone dying." Because you're not going to kill her. You should have, earlier, but it's too late for that now, better luck next time. Now you're just tired, because she's acting like you selling out your clients isn't a big deal, even if those clients set you up. Those clients are terrifying. They could do horrible things to you, or they could make sure you never work again, or both. You rest your hands on the table, now, fingers knit together.

"We are still in a public space, no matter how quietly we speak. There is security in that, but not enough to willfully break contracts. Make a better offer." You hope, to whatever gods would listen to someone like you, that she isn't the type of highblood to make her offers solely on threats. You'll take it, but that doesn't mean you have to like it. Threats don't pay bills, usually.(edited)

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/08/2019

You watch as Shupaa places something, you don't know what, carefully cautiously into the belt draped across her chest. It's a de-escalation gesture, and the sparkle of spite tells you she's making a point of letting you know you hadn't had her all wrapped up around your fingers. You hadn't even realized.  It had to be a weapon of sorts, then, one she had in her hands, that you had no idea what would do. You wonder, briefly, how different this would have turned out if she really was out to kill you.

 Her yammering about contracts and reputations makes you want to roll your eyes but you refrain. The tune she was singing would be very different if they were where you usually conducted these things. In a blank, sealed room with a two way mirror. But no, that's too much trouble to bother with for this. You didn't want to drag your personal dirt into Torrent for everyone to prod at. And if anything was personal, Lyrian was. Maera had nothing you couldn't stand to lose, if you threatened her and forced her and she objected. But on the other hand, how useful would someone like her be? You like playing the carrot better than the stick anyway. 

 "Then let me ask," you say. "Why are you in this line of work?" You take another long drink from your apple cider. It really was quite good.(edited)

Kitty | neriticNomad01/08/2019

There's a beat. You're... left at a loss. Your face doesn't change, but inwardly, you have to process this question a second time before you answer. You still haven't taken a sip of your own drink. It sits, untouched, between you and your interrogator.

 "Opinions are not relevant to the work," you say, finally. "They are unnecessary. This question, too, is not relevant." It's a cheap escape, but it's what you know, because you don't have an answer for that - because you've never needed one before. It never mattered to anyone else why you do what you do. You feel vulnerable. You decide that she's trying to get under your skin. 

 "A request for understanding may be in order, but this is not the way these talks go. Please explain why you feel a need to explore opinions and personal feelings. You were asked only for an offer, and if you have none, we have nothing more to discuss." 

 Under that same skin, you hope you won't have to leave. You don't remember the last time you were in a restaurant, talking to anyone, when you weren't on a hunt. Your memory concludes it hasn't happened before.(edited)

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/08/2019

The discomfort is a chord that doesn't go away. You prop your hand on your chin as you think over her answer. You've met people like her before. People who have only traveled the path set in front of them, people who were loyal to it simply because they thought of nothing else. People answered you honestly before- power, money, justice, some ideal they slammed down on the table and spat in your face for, but the most interesting answer was one that didn't exist. A blank slate. Her discomfort with the social setting and the conversation, the tech she has and her complete lack of personal consideration- well. Well that was interesting now, wasn't it! You take another sip of your cider. "How am I supposed to offer you something when I don't know what you want?" you ask simply.

 "If it's just money well. That's no real issue. But what if, with all the resources I have at hand, I could... do something else?" 

 You raise an eyebrow in question and take another bite of your pastry. This wasn't strictly necessary, no, but you have to admit you're curious. There's a person in there, behind all that tech. You've heard her. And whoever that might be, might be grateful for a little more than a job to do.

Kitty | neriticNomad01/08/2019

"Personal desires are not relevant to my func-tion." The stutter-step of your words is an unfortunate side-effect of your condition. She mistakes you for a person, and you aren't - not in the usual sense, anyway - and it's setting you down paths of thought that you aren't equipped to handle, putting strain on your systems. It's almost as bad as the last time the science team tested you on paradoxes. You shut down for a week. 

 Your lusus had laid down under the table during your discussion. She picks up on the break in your speech, though, and Asterion nudges her nose against your ankle. You only know this because you take one brief moment to look away from her, and down at your mother. This gives you enough time to collect your thoughts, and make a decision. 

 "Money would be acceptable. Payment will not be received for the work in these past two weeks. This will be a financial hazard. However, it would be equally hazardous for an employer to decide that too much has been said." Lyrian doesn't seem to be the understanding type. Although, so far, you've held to the letter of your contract, your employers don't always see it that way - especially since you can't report much back. Cresce caught you, but you had been declawed. Lyrian has special interest in Cresce, and in keeping her alive, at least for now. She has no such qualm with you, and it would be very inconvenient to die. You look at her, and let your hands fall back in your lap. "If you have the capability to keep such a thing from happening, or to prevent it in some way, there is potential to make a deal. Can you?"(edited)

January 9, 2019

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/09/2019

Personal desires are not relevant to my function. Oh my god. She even stutters. You school your face still- it wouldn't do now for her to think you're laughing at her. The poor dear, she's got her personhood tucked neatly away, doesn't she? Personal desires are not relevant to my function when you can tell how badly she wants this conversation to end! Like any other person in her position would. It's sad, really, but alsoooo. Hilarious. You tap your chin as you think about your options and how you can do this. "I assume you won't consent to protective custody?" you ask, with an eyebrow raised. "Officially registering you as my informant will give you legal protection. Lyrian's no longer a part of an imperial organization, save the Messiahs, so it will force any retribution to the courts, especially if you do give me good information on her." 

 "That's assuming everything's aboveboard," you say. "And of course, as an informant, you get paid however much i deem necessary for the information you give me." Birdies aren't exactly your field of expertise. You're an interrogarroter, not a field spy. But you know the basics of the system, and it's open to all Torrents. Maera gets registered and all information you get from her is catalogued accordingly. The only people who get to see everyone's individual list of informants were the people at the top. Everyone had leeway to obtain and manage their own informants, and while it wasn't meant to be used as a personal thing, well. Lyrian's record is plenty shady. All you really have to do is say you have suspicions of illegal activity for grounds for surveillance. Sure someone might pull you off the case for conflict of interest, but all that would get you would be pulling you off the case. You play your cards right, no one could nail you for abuse of resources.

Kitty | neriticNomad01/09/2019

"No, un-fort-un-ate-ly." She knows your answer already. Good. You have work to do, and as much as dying would be inconvenient, being held in custody indeterminately would potentially be worse, especially because you wouldn't have something to do. But the other idea has potential. "Registration is acceptable," you clarify. "What qualifies as 'above board?' The current path of employment cannot simply cease, if that is what you mean." 

 Your work, at least so far, is technically legal. Probably. You've heard and seen things that have certainly broken laws, but for the most part, you're a means to an end - for revenge cycles, for people with grudges, for anyone with a chip on their shoulder. If Cresce means that she wants to monitor that activity, that could potentially be bad. But then again, could it be worthwhile, for a short time? ... "This will require clearance through someone else, as well. However, it seems acceptable." You have to talk to the lab. Ultimately, she'll have to talk to the lab. You're still their project. They're still testing you.(edited)

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/09/2019

The sound of hesitation and confusion leaks out of her questioning your terms, and you realize that you were probably not as clear as you could have been. "I know your work dabbles in less than legal things," you say dismissing her concerns with a wave of your hand. "What I meant was that this should protect you, unless Lyrian murders you quite suddenly from a dark corner. I may be able to press charges, but you'll be beyond caring I'm afraid!" 

 "Legally this agreement is little more than an agreement that I pay you as I see fit when you give me truthful information," you say. "I could always request something particular, but you and I are both aware you could simply choose to withhold it." Your smile is a little thin. Really, you would find out if she did anything of the sort, and she wouldn't like the consequences.

"It's a fairly free agreement," you continue, "Though if you are found to be passing on false information to the empire, you understand the consequences." You tap your fingers against your chin as she mentions someone else, and you quirk up an eyebrow in a question, even as you tick off that mental checklist of suspicions as confirmed. There was always going to be a handler for characters like this. "Someone else?" you ask.(edited)

Kitty | neriticNomad01/09/2019

You don't say what you're thinking - that you hope Lyrian won't, in fact, do that - because you know, vaguely, the way this works. She's feeding on your intimidation and fear. Even without her once-charming smile, you feel as if she's the hunter between the two of you. It's not a good feeling. It's worse when she asks you what you mean. You think there's a fan that turns on, in the back of your neck, trying to cool down your body and keep you stable. You want to evade this question, and your scan for any listening ears turns into a scan for an escape route quite quickly. But you opened this can of wrigglebeasts. 

 "Arctophi." You watch her. "Labs. It is presumed this does not come as a surprise." You have a pen. You take a napkin, and write lightly on its surface, Arctophi Labs, followed by the contact information. This will put her in touch with one of the leads on your project. It's a quiet lab, but they're an imperial pet project, kept somewhat under wraps while they develop their technology. Their aim is to replicate psionics with enhancement tech, and use that tech to create more powerful assets to the empire. You're their project, and while they improve their experimentation, you test their tech in the field. You hesitate only a moment longer, pondering the napkin, before you give it to her.

 "If you are imperial, your security clearance should suffice." If it doesn't, you have no doubt she'll find her way. She seems intent on digging up everything she possibly can. "They will know to expect your call." You don't think they'll have any issue with it. They may even be glad. This is a new arena to test you in, and you found it on your own - or, more accurately, it found you.  Still, it isn't your place to suggest it. The details are above your heavily-modified head. It's better they stay that way.

January 10, 2019

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/10/2019

The beat of her melody is slow, resigned, as she tells you, she assumes you've figured out that piece of the puzzle- and well. She isn't wrong. You give her a mysterious smile. Things were a little more fun when Maera was left lagging along, but now she was catching on. The name she gives you is unfamiliar to you- you slide the napkin over to you and carefully study the words and numbers before you tuck it into a pocket. You'll find out soon enough. "Alright!" you exclaim brightly. You gesture between you with a flick of your fingers. "Sooooo what are you going to tell Lyrian about this little exchange?"

Kitty | neriticNomad01/10/2019

This isn't a prompting to tell her the information you've gleaned. Admittedly, it isn't much. You mentally tuck it back into its appointed file folder, and try to think of what you might actually say. 

 "Data is insufficient to say whether Lyrian is capable of seeing through lies. True honesty would likely be unacceptable. There is little desire to give her true information on you." She probably already knows it, too, if she sent you in blind this way. "The most likely plan of action will be to develop a false report, which follows what happened today, but altered, with no mention of this discussion. She is not following or spying on the work so far, but risk-taking does not seem acceptable. Does she know about your favor towards this establishment?"(edited)

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/10/2019

You tap your chin and consider the cards in your hand. You share a power with Lyrian, and that would mean sharing hers means sharing yours. It's not a far leap to make, with what you've done here and the fact you share a sign. No, you decide. No sharing. There's a third party at work here that you know nothing about and that means keeping your own exposure to the minimum possible. 

"No," you say simply instead. "I don't believe so. But let's make some adjustments to your plan." You sit forward, putting your weight on your elbows as you smile.  "Lyrian undoubtly has expected us to have a conversation, not necessarily this one." She has to know that your powerset makes being tracked very difficult. The test she's giving you here isn't to find out you're being tracked, but what you do with it. That's what you do if you were in her place after all. "What you should tell her is that I noticed you following me, confronted you, and accused you of being her pawn before assaulting you and running," you say, holding her gaze before nodding at stain on her shirt. "Work in the ice cream too if you want."

Kitty | neriticNomad01/10/2019

As she speaks, you commit the information to memory. It's a simple task. You've been working with your own internal computers for some time now, and writing the data away is the easy part. The hard part is making sure you retrieve the right data at the right time. 

 "Understood." This means you need to keep the ice cream stain, though, and you're not thrilled about that. "There are no other signs of a struggle," you point out. "Will this cause suspicion?" You don't know how well Lyrian knows Cresce, but she started this conversation by cornering you, then threatening your lusus. You'd like to think she'd put up more of a fight than just throwing ice cream at you.

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/10/2019

You shake your head. You never even tried to hit her the one time you met face to face. "Tell her that it was a public place and people were looking," you say simply. That's part of the reason why you hadn't done anything more at the ball. If you were going to pocket Maera as your own pawn, then you'd have an advantage on her. If she thought you were weaker or more incompetent than you really were, then perhaps she'd make a stupid move. Perhaps she'd tell Maera something she really shouldn't have. Of course, that would depend on Maera not getting caught. "When are you to report to her?"(edited)

Kitty | neriticNomad01/10/2019

"As necessary." You check the time. The only outward sign is a flick of your eyes to one corner, out in space, before returning to her. "Reporting will be done in person, as soon as there is information to report. This would qualify as information to report. Departure may be as soon as eight hours from the present time." 

 The extra time is to accentuate the story. If you act as if you spent time trying to re-track Cress, only to have her evade you again, you'll look slightly less like a hunter who didn't know how to do her job. And finally, after all that, you take a sip of your mocha. It's careful - the cup blocks as little of your field of vision as possible, and certainly doesn't block anything you can see of Cress. "Your input has been noted. Will you desire a report when the meeting is over?"

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/10/2019

You nod with a smile. It was so cute, the way she finally drinks that coffee, like a feral cat trying to lap up a few drops of milk , with those big eyes fixed on you like you'd steal it, or attack her or something. As though you haven't basically gotten what you wanted from this game. 

 "Yes, that would be great!" you say. There was just the concern of Lyrian discovering the lie. She'd be as good at it as you were, if not better. She did have more experience after all. "Don't worry you'll be fiiiine," you say with a flap of your hand before you hesitate, and place it to your chin again. "Well... it might be good to be a little worried. She probably has a sadistic streak." You mime a grimace. 

 "Subbjugulators, you know," you say almost conspiratorially. "They get creative." The more afraid Maera would be of Lyrian, the harder it would be for her to tell what exactly was she afraid of. You take another bite of your turnover and groan. "God this is so good?" You tear off a piece and hold it out to Maera with a smile. "You want some?"(edited)

January 11, 2019

Kitty | neriticNomad01/11/2019

You're fairly certain Cress is fucking with you at this point. Fear pings at the mention of subjuggulators and what they might do, which is a healthy response that any reasonable troll might have. It's strong enough that it turns the lights of your implants yellow to match, as it takes emotional center-stage. And then she follows that up by offering you a piece of her food, and you stare blankly at her. What? Does she expect you to trust her, after having just made both vague and direct threats? You have no evidence to prove what she's giving you isn't poisoned somehow. You're reasonably certain she didn't tamper with your coffee, but the pastry is another matter. She's had that in her hands from minute one. ... You take the piece, and begin scanning it for toxins. You have no accessible record of trolls having venom, whether in their teeth or mouths, but that doesn't mean she couldn't. The number of hazards one could put into a piece this small are relatively low, but even small dosages of some could prove fatal, or could, at the very least, incapacitate you.(edited)You find nothing, from visual or tactile scans, and nothing from olfactory scanning either. The papery pasty flakes off as you turn it over, and with your finger, you delicately push these flakes into a concentrated pile. Speaking reasonably, outwardly turning down her offer now could be offensive. That would be bad, tactically, and you can't find any reason not to eat it... So you do.

 Most of your taste sensors are not equipped for actual tasting. With limited usefulness to your project as a whole, they were designed to pinpoint toxins and ingredients, by matching taste data to different profiles stored in your memory. This over-analytical process is a long way of saying that you don't enjoy what you eat. You just eat it. Enjoyment doesn't help you do your job, and like your emotions, would probably only distract you. The only taste that manages to break this pattern is mint. It's cleansing, and it's one of the only things in your accessible memory that you remember from before the experiment. As you eat the pastry piece, slowly, thoughtfully, your implants begin to fade from yellow, back to green. Now you have a new problem: You aren't sure what to say. So, after you've finished the piece (you definitely did this in two parts, even if it was a small piece, just to be sure about the poison thing) you finally say, 

"This is acceptable. It has a variety of apples." Nice. Nailed it. Perfect.(edited)

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/11/2019

She lights up yellow, yellow, with fear, like a little cobra spreading its brightly colored hood- except of course she can't strike you. Not now. You can't understand why the scienterrorists would work something as flashy as that into her design but it's kind of adorable and you have to stop from pressing a hand to your chest in sheer delight.

You wait patiently as she methodically and carefully examines the pastry you gave her as you chew on your own piece. She tastes it, hesitant, then eats the rest and chews it like she's chewing oats. And what she says- you laugh. You can't help it! It's so awkward! "Oh aren't you just a dear," you say, and grab another napkin. You untangle your foot from her lusus' leash as you grab a glittery blue gel pen to write your number. "Call me when you have something to tell me," you say, drawing a heart at the end and coloring it in carefully. "I'll expect to hear from you soon."

Kitty | neriticNomad01/11/2019

You're embarrassed, and it makes yellow light fade in, then right back out after a brief moment. It wasn't that funny. The glitter pen is a surprise. The heart is even more so. You look at it with wariness, commit the number to memory, and then... tuck it away in your coat. Normally, you burn everything you receive. This, though, you'd like to hang onto. You stand from the table. "Understood." Your lusus, freed from the confines of Cresce's foot, trots over to you, looking quite pleased. You pick up your coffee, and after Chara picks up the leash for you, you leave without another word.

> End thread

[chocolate-brownies]

There are only a few months left to the year. You’ve got amazing things you want to either start, finish, open, close, or create. It can be both exciting and paralyzing all at once. You think: “How will I ever get it all done?” This thought is followed by a feeling of fatigue. Discouragement. You’re drained; tired of the hustle, of the “do more” mentality that is often celebrated in our culture. Yet you’re still trying to do it all while running on an empty tank.

It’s time to break the vicious cycle.

This may sound harsh, but if you’re trapped in this cycle, you’re missing the point. It’s not about doing it all. It’s about who you will be as you do what you want to do most. This starts by making your physical and mental health a priority. Without health, nothing matters. Forget those goals, projects, and dreams that make your spine tingle.

Desires change the same way the seasons do, but your physical health—and being the happiest person you can be—will never go out of style. There’s another way. Before you continue feeding the beast of doing more till there’s nothing left, review the elements of what I like to call the Health Pyramid. Made up of seven elements based on our basic physiological need to survive, these directives can help you thrive, to be the healthiest and the most productive you can be.

Take Care of Your Heart

We are given an incredible body in which a heart beats, blood flows, and ideas grow. Your heart is your most precious asset. Without it, I wouldn’t have the honor of writing this article for you and you wouldn’t be reading it. Did you know that the heart generates the largest electromagnetic field in the body? This beating drum, no bigger than the size of your fist, reaches far beyond what we can logically understand. It has the power of connecting you to your highest self. A power that has been within you since the moment you were in your mother’s womb. Take care of it.

Start by cranking up your favorite song. Right now. Dance your heart out. Then at the end of the song, pause. Place your hands on your heart and simply enjoy the feeling. Do this several times a day. Bonus: Do this with someone you love!

Breathe Intentionally

Unless you have a committed pranayama practice or have developed breathing skills like a big wave surfer, you probably can’t hold your breathe for much longer than one minute. (I’m betting some of you will want to test this out!) We are designed to breathe; our bodies need oxygen to survive. In fact, the average person can survive for only 3–6 minutes without oxygen. Thus, it is imperative to fuel our bodies with fresh air. The act of breathing intentionally can change everything within seconds.

Regardless, we often take our breathing for granted when considering how to optimize ourselves to live our best life. Often, when anxiety creeps in, breath becomes shallow and short. Take three deep breaths. Notice the difference. Practice slow and deep breathing as you go about your day. Notice the impact this has on how you show up in your life. One of my favorite practices is alternate nostril breathing.

Click here for 3 free simple breathing techniques from the author! 

Make Sleep a Priority

Ever pulled an all-nighter? If you attended college or brought beings into the world, chances are you have at least once. These were a badge of honor when I completed my degree. Libraries staying open 24 hours so that students could stay up all night in order to finish a paper was the norm. It all seems ironic now, considering that cognitive function decreases significantly with sleep deprivation. You would think that a university promotes an environment conducive for becoming the greatest version of yourself… But that’s a topic for a different day.

It’s important to take your sleep cycle as seriously as you do your grades or bank account. Making sleep a priority will increase your energy, restore your mood, clear your mind, and improve productivity—hence support you in accomplishing more of the things that matter most to you. And if that’s not enough, J-Lo attributes sleep to her glowing skin and rocking bod. I’ll take it.

An easy way to improve your sleep is by getting an old-school alarm clock. You know the one with AA batteries that were around before smart phones saw the light of day? Yeah. That one. Use that as your alarm moving forward. Leave your phone in a different room at least one hour before your bed time. That way you won’t be tempted to scroll down J-Lo’s feed when you should be sleeping. Do this for one week. Let us know how it goes.

Photo by Marion Michele

Stay Hydrated

Are you drinking enough water? Is your mom drinking enough water? Chances are one of you isn’t if you abide by the eight-cups-per-day guideline. Proper hydration helps cleanse your body—inside and out. It supports proper muscle function, which is important considering all the amazing things you want to be doing in your lifetime. You want to practice well into your 90s, right? Drink up! Instead of rushing to the coffee machine after turning that old-school alarm off—and not snoozing—have a tall glass of water.

To kick it up a notch, add fresh lemon juice or 1 tbsp of apple cider vinegar to also awaken your digestive system.

You Are What You Eat

If you are what you eat, are you eating foods that support who you want to become? Unless your dream is to create the next chip empire, chances are that bag of Miss Vickie’s isn’t serving you. I often see my eating patterns go downhill when I start feeling like I have too much going on. When I catch myself and switch the chips for salad, and wine for green juice, I quickly get back on track. Enjoy those salty delights once in a while. Follow the Pareto principle—the 80/20 rule—to stay balanced: 80 percent clean eats, 20 percent soul-food. And if you have “all or nothing” tendencies like I do, a seasonal cleanse can do wonders to get your nutrition back on track. I created the REVITALIZE Cleanse for this reason.

Move Your Body

Since we’ve already agreed to keep practicing asanas well into our 90s, why not prepare our body for a lifetime of fluid movement now? Whether you love to flow, dance, run, or qualify for the CrossFit Games, moving your body is much more than physical strength, power, and flexibility. Movement shifts energy around, releases tension, and creates a sense of peace. The six-pack is a bonus. If you’ve let your movement practice slip, get back to basics by simply going for a walk around the block—or, better yet, unroll your mat and practice on Wanderlust TV 

.

I’ve been practicing for over a decade and teaching for almost as long, yet nothing grounds me more than a practice that brings it back to the foundations—the 21-Day Challenge “Vinyasa for Life” with Schuyler Grant is my favorite.

Love

It’s what the world needs right now. It’s what YOU need right now. More than anything else. Go ahead—change the world, but always remember that to someone, you are their world. No matter what you set your mind to do in this life, remember to love yourself first and most. Be kind to yourself. Discover the hidden treasures within you. Smile more. Hug tight. Laugh often. And if you end up having a few too many slices of pizza on Friday night instead of going to hot yoga, don’t judge yourself for it. Enjoy every damn bite. Love is just as important, if not more so, than any other items on this list. It’s a practice, a journey, an adventure. You may need to love yourself more right now—do one thing today that you love. Maybe you’ll pour a hot bath, call a friend, or write a love letter: to yourself. (No joke, it’s a beautiful gift!) And no matter what you do, remember, do it with love too.

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Melissa Colleret is a life coach, speaker, and yoga instructor based in Montreal. Sharing her mission to make you come alive and live your best life keeps this passionate entrepreneur on her toes. From 1:1 sessions, online workshops, cleanse programs, and yoga classes, Melissa wakes up every day wanting to inspire and empower.

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I Went Vegan And Here’s How Much I Was Judged Betches

At the start of the summer, I decided to go vegan. Before you come at me (plz chill) I know there are a billion articles about how it ruins my health, destroys the environment, and exists only as trendy holier-than-thou diet (thinking of you, Gwyneth Paltrow!)

People loveeeee to hate on vegans. Sure, we have a rep for being pretty judgmental hypocrites (like Phoebe from Friends and her love for her fur coat in that one episode—but tbh in the spirit of journalistic integrity, she was vegetarian, not vegan, but still). And I was one of those haters. I used to think veganism was a fad diet that wasn’t even that healthy. Also, how do you even get enough protein? Tofu, a chalky white sagging blob I’d seen at my dining hall’s salad bar, didn’t seem a particularly appealing alternative.

So what changed? Well, I moved to California and was brainwashed started learning more about veganism. One of my best friends at college is vegan, so I learned more about it this year by eating with her. Obviously, we went to the most extra vegan restaurants in LA, but that was the first thing that convinced me: I actually liked the vegan food.

Judging by my super healthy diet of vodka and brownies, by the end of the school year I felt like crap. I needed a lifestyle change, and this summer was the perfect opportunity for that. I would be cooking all of my own food for the first time while living in a dump old frat house on the Row at Stanford.

My family was concerned by this idea—well, actually, I didn’t tell them initially because I knew they’d freak out, but had I informed them of my plans before, these are the questions they would’ve asked:

What will you eat for breakfast?  Ummm….seaweed and hummus? Some nuts? Kale chips? Tofu? Realistically a really weird assortment of food, but also, like, who even eats breakfast? I’m in college. Coffee counts.

What do you eat at restaurants?  Since one of my best friends is already vegan and since California is the Mecca of vegan restaurants, it isn’t hard to find restaurants that served, like, salads and tofu.

Can you still drink?  JK, my fam wouldn’t have asked me that, but for all the concerned alcoholics out there, vodka is vegan. In fact, all liquor is, though some wines and beers are processed with animal products. Yet another reason shots reign supreme.

Week 1

It’s 11pm and I’d just arrived at “The House,” aka the trap fraternity house where I’d be living this summer. Even though it’s no longer a frat house, it still feels like a frat house. The state of the house may seem irrelevant to my diet, but the kitchen is a disaster. It’s a place where we’d all made blackout quesadillas at 2am during the school year, so using the same pans crusted with our drunk food seems rather unappetizing.

After moving all of my stuff up three flights of stairs alone (chivalry is dead), I head to Whole Foods to scour their vegan options. This being California, they have loads of options. I buy what would become the starting lineup for my summer diet: eggplant and tofu from the salad bar, a few pre-made salads, kale chips, seaweed, pickles, hummus, and vegan jerky. I feel so healthy.

A few vegan days pass. Do I feel any magical results? No. I do not feel less tired, as some people have promised. I do feel healthier though. Like those vegan models that I follow on Instagram, with my Bragg’s Nutritious Yeast (vaguely cheesy powder?) and zucchini noodles (these taste like zucchini, not pasta, don’t let others convince you otherwise).

That Friday my friends and I go to San Francisco. It all fun and games until everyone decides they want to go to IHOP for some drunk 3am pancakes. I then realize I can’t have any because they aren’t f*cking vegan. I eat some kale chips instead to soak up all the extra vodka in my stomach. The next morning I want to kill myself. Kale chips aren’t a good drunk food. My hangover is deadly. Who would’ve f*cking thought?

Weeks 2 & 3

The glow of being healthy is fading. First of all, I’m worried I’m anemic because I’m tired, like, all the time. Literally, allll the time. All I want to do is sleep. I went from being fine on six hours of sleep to wanting to sleep 12 hours. What college student sleeps for 12 hours? HOW IS THIS OK.

Also I really, really, really want something sweet. I’m craving chocolate like mad. So I buy some Hu Chocolate from Whole Foods and happily eat an entire hazelnut-butter dark chocolate bar. It’s vegan, so ha!

Realistically, there isn’t much more to say about these weeks. They pass in a sort of foggy blur of vegetable eating. I don’t go out because of my summer courses. This is shaping up to be the best summer ever, wow!

I questioned stopping. But that would be giving up, now, and I’m no quitter.

Week 4

This weekend, I drive down to LA with my vegan best friend, and naturally, she brings me to all of her favorite vegan restaurants. The Green Temple for the best tofu sauce (literally I want to drink the sauce). Café Gratitude has absurd buffalo cauliflower and honestly it’s expensive ($11 for a side of cauliflower? What is the profit margin here?). By Chloe (there are multiple in New York too!) has the best vegan kale Caesar salad I’ve ever tried in my life. It has shitake bacon and almond parmesan and literally, this is why I became vegan. Also, there’s a little sign that says how much waste you’ve prevented by eating vegan food inside By Chloe, which just made me feel like a really great person.

The next day I get a migraine and lie in bed for the entire day. Soooo fun. Exactly what I drove six hours for! We go to Whole Foods that night though, to find dinner stuff, and I’m delighted by their eccentric chip selection (jicama chips. WTF?) and extremely elaborate salad bar selection. They also have about five types of vegan mac and cheese, which is like, absurd.

We head to the Farmer’s Market in Hollywood the next morning. Everyone makes fun of me because I buy a jar of pickled brussels sprouts and a tin of soy shitake mushrooms to eat for breakfast. Yes, I get that’s a really weird breakfast. But seriously, anyone who knows me by now should realize that I thrive on eating really strange foods. And pickled (well, technically fermented but stick with me) foods are good for your gut health. It’s why so many people are obsessed with drinking apple cider vinegar!

We drive home, stopping at the Ostrich Farm on the way through Santa Barbara. This trip has taught me:

LA has the best vegan restaurants. New York may have By Chloe and Candle 79, but LA just has sooooo many more options.

I actually can drive for seven hours without killing someone. Genuinely a miracle!

Ostriches are vaguely cute.

There is nothing to do in LA besides workout, eat food, and sit in traffic (while occasionally visiting ostriches).

Week 5

I feel less tired, so maybe my body was just adjusting. Or maybe I am anemic and should start taking iron supplements. My doctor keeps bugging me to do bloodwork and I keep putting it off because I’d have to fast before getting it done and that’s so annoying. Yes, I am a responsible adult, thanks for asking.

I make the mistake of telling my mom that I decided to go vegan, and receive a whole lecture about how it’s a horrible idea. You will ruin your health and become anemic and are you getting enough protein and don’t you know about living life in moderation?

I give her a speech about animal rights and the environment (yes, this is a little late to the game, but I started following all these vegan Instas because I needed more motivation), and the environmental benefits of veganism. It really tugs at the heartstrings. But photos of cute little pigs with the caption “is eating bacon really worth it?” kind of make me want to cry.

Now that my mom hates my vegan diet, I’m even more motivated to continue. I’m massively stressed studying for my summer course midterms, but at least I’m stress-eating seaweed and hummus instead of cookies. After I finish midterms we go out that weekend to celebrate one of my friend’s birthdays. Personally, I blame my later behavior on the restaurant for lacking vegan options. A plain salad is not an ideal pre-drinking meal, tbh, and my lack of memory for the rest of the night can be entirely explained by my meager dinner of iceberg lettuce in conjunction with the seven shots of ginger vodka I had later.

Weeks 6 & 7

These two weeks are also a blur. My family comes to visit the first weekend and are genuinely incensed that I refuse to eat meat. We all go out to dinner to some non-vegan place where the only thing I can eat is a kale Caesar salad without dressing (because of the fricking anchovies). So I basically eat a bag of dry kale for dinner. Yummmmm. But I can’t back out on being vegan now. That would mean my mom was right. Again. I abandon my family after dinner to run to Whole Foods to buy a late night snack of eggplant and hummus (why am I so weird?!).

The next day, my mom treats me to dinner at Nobu, which opened in Palo Alto at the start of the school year. I’d been dying to go the entire year, but it’s not exactly a place you go with your friends when you’re in college on a budget. My mom orders sashimi for the entire table and I eat a piece of tuna.

YES, I BREAK MY VEGAN DIET. NO ONE IS PERFECT K?!

Seriously though, the tuna is fine. High-quality fish, but ultimately not even that tasty. Honestly, one thing I’ve realized is that food tastes good because of the sauces and spices on it, not because of the base. It could be cauliflower or steak, chicken or tofu, all that really matters is the sauce. (Okay, clearly I’m not a steak connoisseur. Red meat has always grossed me out and I know theoretically a good steak doesn’t need any sauce. This is why I’m a mostly successful vegan, and my brother will never be a vegan. He thinks vegans are wussies and real men eat wagyu beef.)

My family leaves, and  I’m getting bored of eating the same 10 foods every day. So I start exploring some of the other weird vegan foods that Whole Foods sell. Vegan cheese dip, for example, is disgusting. It’s a mix of pureed potatoes and cashews, and it does NOT taste like cheese and now I feel nauseous. I also buy chocolate covered chickpeas a few times, which sound gross but taste like chocolate covered pretzels. They are as addictive AF so consider yourself warned. Banana brittle (pureed dehydrated bananas with coconut flakes) is also incredibly addictive. As is chocolate mousse made with silken tofu and cacao powder.

If I sound like a raving lunatic who has lost all concept of what good food actually tastes like, it is quite possible that veganism has addled my brains.

Week 8

I spend the entire week studying for my finals. Woohoo. All I want is to go home and sleep. The fatigue never entirely left, so maybe I really am anemic. But I honestly feel much healthier. My body is more toned, my hair is thicker, and my complexion is brighter. Most importantly, I don’t feel gross every time I eat. It’s nice to finish a meal and not regret eating junk, but instead feel happy knowing that I’ve put healthy nutrients into my body.

Even though I’ve been eating less protein, I feel more muscular too. Until I have to move all my crap and I realize I still lack basic upper body strength. Veganism forced me to abandon my mini fridge since I don’t have enough strength to carry it down three flights of stairs (if anyone wants a mini fridge HMU. I warn you though, the freezer has about an inch of congealed apple vodka on the bottom because my idiot friend put a bottle of vodka in it sans lid). I fly back home to New York and eat a bag of coconut chips for dinner because the airplane has no vegan food.

Week 9 – ???

Now that I’m home and no longer cooking for myself, I guess I could stop being vegan. Despite the fatigue, I really have enjoyed it. It forced me to cut the unhealthy junk out of my life but still allowed me to treat myself by eating things like chocolate covered bananas or vegan brownies. Moderation!

I did finally get some bloodwork done and it does turn out my iron levels are dangerously low (oops?), I can always start taking a supplement to fix that and start drinking blackstrap molasses because apparently, that has 20% of your daily iron per serving. Yum. Besides that, I really do feel much healthier. I feel fit again, instead of constantly stressed about what I’m eating. My hair and skin both feel amazing.

It’s honestly not hard to find food to eat, either. I just eat the vegetables my mom makes for dinner and heat up some tofu for protein. Now I’m campaigning for my dad to join me since his cholesterol is through the roof and I know he’d benefit from less butter and red meat. (I’m really trying to not become one of those preachy vegans that try to indoctrinate everyone though, don’t worry.)

If you’re still not convinced

a) I don’t care b) it’s fine, you can join my family, who are still convinced that I went to school in California and became “some sort of new-agey hippie.”

Realistically, will I stay vegan forever? I have no clue considering it’s been only 10 weeks and forever is, like, a really long time, but I have no concrete plans to stop anytime soon. Unless I actually do become anemic from an iron deficiency. Then my mom might start force-feeding me red meat again…

Images: Giphy

Original Article : HERE ; This post was curated & posted using : RealSpecific

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