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gone-daddy-gone · 4 years

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Hogwarts AU: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Pairing: Bully! Sakusa and Kuroo x Reader

Rating: 18+

TW: Rape (vaginal, oral, anal), Bullying, Abuse, Blood, Swearing, Degradation, Choking, Master/ Sir, Double Penatration

Word Count: 13,040

A/N: this is the first of a four part hogwarts series for my october ficlist, here. go into this with the mindset that this is college and everyone is 18+

You would think in a school full of impeccably talented and gifted wizards that bullying would be outdated. But you would be dead wrong. It was rampant, and it was considered “unimportant”, a thing of the past. Because the real reason that every wizard came to that school was not to receive empathy, not to receive some sort of validation of your miniscule feelings, it was to learn witchcraft. You only wished the professors would realize that this special flavor of bullying was affecting your academic career.

It started on the front door steps of Hogwarts. Actually, it was probably even further back then that, probably on the platform. You were shaking, and your feet seemed to be wrestling each other with each shaky step. Your eyes were twice the size they should be, and they rattled around in your skull as each train seemed to smack them back and forth like a game of ping pong. No, no, no, no not that one. You repeat to yourself over and over again in that noggin of yours. You feverishly tucked your hair behind your ears, common, common where is it? Your parents had given you explicit instructions on where the platform was supposed to be, but you and your stupid family had walked past where it was supposed to be about five times. And the clock was ticking, and the train was going to leave you. You didn’t want to think about how you were going to get there if you didn’t catch the train. That’s when, almost as if cue, two boys with their own owls came bounding down the hallway. One was short with a desperate need to re-touch his roots, accompanied by a much taller boy with jet black hair and smirk that seeped this auroa you had never felt before. You gripped your cart tight, so tight your knuckles were white. These two were your last chance.

“Hey! Excuse me! Hey! You two!” You yelled out in desperation.

The two turned around, the smaller one’s face held a sort of displeasure, almost seeming like he was irate. The other much taller one, seemed almost amused. He licked his lips and eyes you up and down before scoffing.

“And what do you need?” He didn’t have the accent you were expecting. And you faltered, if only for a second.

“I...um are you two going to...um…” You suddenly got cold feet, something about their auras repressing your nerve.

“Are we what? Common, spit it out.” The taller one teased.

“Do you guys...know how to get to platform three and…”

“Three quarters?” This time the smaller one chimed in, and you were almost grateful that it was him and his indifference. You nodded slowly, scared that if you seemed too eager or relieved they might make fun of you for it. The smaller one looked up at his friend, raising his eyebrows and smirking at him slightly. You watched as his partner just nodded his head.

“What will you give us if we tell you hmm?” He got real close to your face when he said this.

“Well...I- I haven’t got any money.” You answered honestly. You watched as his eyes lit up at the ignorance of your words.

“You have other attributes.” You were mortified and about to say something, anything, call him disgusting, tell him to leave you alone but his friend cut in before he could.

“Common Kuroo, we’re gonna be late.” He just hummed in response, giving you a little nose scrunch before turning on his heels to accompany his friend. With, quite literally no other option laid before you, you followed close behind them. So you swallowed the bundle of nerves that had accumulated in your throat, forcing those two cinder blocks that had become your feet to move.

“What house do you think you’re going to be in?” The smaller one asked, he managed to make a question sound like he didn’t ask it but his friend was begging him to listen to his thoughts. So they were going to Hogwarts.

“Slytherin, I mean they are the smartest, most athletic, and most handsome of course.” He said handsome and motioned to his face as if he was trying to prove a point.

“Right.” The smaller one, who resembled Flan, muttered in response to his friend's narcissism.

“What do you think you’re gonna be shortstack?”

“I don’t know, do I look like an ancient sorting hat?” His words were funny, but for the life of you, you couldn’t tell if Kuroo was supposed to laugh or take offense. You only laughed under your breath when he did, making sure that it was safe.

“I suppose you’re right…” He said with a smirk. “Alright…” He said, turning to his friend. “We’re here so...you going to go first?” His response didn’t come in words, but with dirty looks. And a small sigh. Wordlessly sassy. A talent you had to admire. Then he did something that you weren’t expecting, he took a hold of his cart, and ran full speed to the wall. You jumped and clutched your heart.

“What are you doing!?” You shouted as loud as you could. But that didn’t stop him from barrelling straight on through the wall. You gasped, quite audibly. You blinked a few times, finally shifting your eyes to Kuroo who was laughing at you.

“Wow, you’re hot but fucking dumb.” He said this backhanded compliment while bending over and grabbing his stomach, while releasing the ugliest laugh from the pits of hell. You took a deep breath, as if you were taking in the strength to respond to him. He cut you off with a small raise of his hand.

“I don’t care about whatever you’re going to say. It’s there so the muggles don’t find us. That make enough sense for you, pretty girl? Or do you need me to explain it again, but this time slower hm?” He said, with a slight cock of his head, trying to get a rise out of you.

“No...I don’t need you to repeat yourself.” You huffed out, hands clenched.

“Aw...is someone upset? Hm? Did I hurt pretty girls' little feelings? Does she not like being talked down to?” You were looking at your feet now, trying not to give in and make him happy by watching you cry. You didn’t want to cry, but you couldn’t help yourself, you were sensitive. It was a family trait.

“Or...do you like being talked down to? Hm? Is it like that? You a little dumb submissive, masochistic-”

“SHUT UP!” You yelled back at him. “What even is your problem. I don’t know you why are you-”

“Why, why, why, awww you gonna cry about it? Do it, I wanna watch you cry.” You looked up to see some kinda sick twisted pleasure in his eyes, the vile in his smile. Having quite enough of this you decided you would just rush past him. So you went for your cart, trying to block out his bullshit he was currently spewing.

“Aw, got no backbone? Is my pretty girl sensitive?”

“I am not your pretty girl.” You said with as much fire as you could manage. Telling yourself that was the last time you were ever going to speak to him.

“Oooh she can talk back? Love it. It's pathetic but keep it coming.” You didn’t give him anymore chances to say anything else to you, running full speed ahead, and barrelling past him. Well, you thought you were going to barrel on past him. His foot had other plans, however. And you tumbled, rolling around until you felt like your ribs were well past cracked. Your cart finds its new home well past the brick and onto the otherside that you wished you were residing in. You move to get up, pushing yourself off by your palms, but you were cut short. Cut short by a sharp heel to the middle of your back, making you feel the concrete pebbles imbed themselves into your chin. You whimpered out in agony, trying to palm around on the floor to push yourself up, but you were pushed back down, even harsher.

“Stop...please I don’t even know you.” You pleaded, letting the tears flow this time.

“No, you don’t...but I don’t really care.” He leaned down, subsequently pushing his full body weight into you. You screamed out in agony. You could swear something snapped. “I don’t know how...someone like you got put into Hogwarts...someone so stupid...and useless. Couldn’t even figure out how to get into her school.” His voice was barely above a whisper, even though there was no one around to hear you two anyways. “I bet you’re a stupid little, useless, Hufflepuff aren’t you? That’s the worst house to be in you know that? Everyone who’s in it never amounts to anything.” You felt yourself clench your hands, there was always a chance that you won’t be that house. But you were. There was no doubt in your mind that you would be. Your whole family was, every single person in your bloodline that stepped foot in that school was placed in that group. “Aw, did I strike a cord?” He leans in, even closer. Making you cry harder. “If I find out...that you’re a Hufflepuff...I am going to make your life...a living hell.” You shot your eyes open, subconsciously your breathing got faster. Because there was no way you would be anything else. This was the beginning of the end.

The term saved by the bell has never had a more literal meaning to it. The clock on the wall that had said you were late, was now telling you both that you were really, really late. He sighed, before pulling himself off of you.

“Get up.” He ordered, but he didn’t need to. He forced his fingers into your hair and grabbed it harshly, tugging you up like you weighed absolutely nothing. “Let’s go in together, shall we?” You let out whimpered protests, trying to fight his hand, the force of him dragging you towards the wall. Which with your feet practically dangling off of the ground, made it damn near impossible to be dependent on anything but his hand. With one hand still gripped into your hair, he took his cart with the other leading with it and dragging you behind with him. You watched the world around you go from the muggle London train system to the wizarding world train system. You looked about frantically, but there was no one around to pry him off of you. You looked rather desperately for your cart, to your relief, somewhat at least, it was only a few feet away.

“I don’t wanna be seen with you.” You almost felt like telling him there was no one there to even see him when you decided against it when he threw you to the ground near your belongings.

“See you during the sorting. Pray you don’t get Hufflepuff. Or do, I know how much you love my abuse.”

You clenched your jaw as you watched him hand over his cart to some teacher who had to be at least eight feet nothing. Great. Your first day and you got beat. And you weren’t even inside of the school yet. Before you could let yourself wallow in self pity, you decided that missing the train because of some sadistic bully was not how this day would play out. Getting to your feet however, was another story. You were in a lot of pain, from the fall, to the roll, to the heel that was dug into you mercily. Leaving bruises on your lungs, bruises that every time you breathed were going to be a painful reminder, of what was supposed to be the best first day you had ever had.

The train ride wasn’t bad. You made sure you sat well away from your tormenter. He was sitting with his little friend he came with, and another boy with jet black hair, two little freckles and a mask covering his face and nose. You tried to flash him a smile to show him you were friendly, but he just stared at you with disdain, like you had done something wrong to him. He was sitting with Kuroo, god knows what he had said about you. It was in your best interest, to not think too hard about it. Luckily for you, there was a seat open with a girl and a boy who were so nice you thought they were fictional.

Getting off the train you tried your best to stick with them and not get mixed up in the crowd. The fear of seeing Kuroo again enough to keep you bonded like magnets. They told you to set your belongings down and come into the great hall for a feast. Which you did, still an ever observant eye out for Kuroo and his buddies. You couldn’t find the strength within yourself to tell your new friends that you had been beat just right outside the gate. Then dragged against your will through the gate. For some reason, you felt nothing but shame and humiliation about the incident, even if deep down you knew that it wasn’t your fault. You had done nothing after all.

The great hall really did live up to its name. It was huge. Four rows of tables that fit more kids than you ever thought imaginable. That’s not even mentioning the food. There really was a feast like they said there would be. You did try your best to not think about how these people weren’t going to eat it all, and it was going to go to waste when it could've fed a poor family for a month. You were in the middle of a huge bite of a turkey leg when a man who looked like he was about to crumble to dust any second approached the podium in the middle of the front of the room. Seriously this man was around when the dinosaurs went extinct. In fact, he probably cast some spell to rid them from the earth. His beard ran well past his waist, who knew how many secrets that thing held.

Dumbledore, you had heard all about the grand wizard from your family.

“Hello and welcome new students of Hogwarts!” He sure did know how to command a room. Everyone stopped devouring and snapped their necks in damn near unison in his direction. “I would like to say that I, and the rest of the staff are more than excited to welcome you to this institution where I’m sure you’re going to-” You were trying your hardest to listen but you felt like the side of your skull was being shot repeatedly with a gun. One shot, two shot, three shot, four.

They don’t say curiosity killed the cat for nothing. Against your better judgment, against every single bit of your being screaming at you to mind your own business, you looked. First it was a small glance to your left, which held nothing but the bright face of a girl with wild hair, but it was nothing compared to her friend beside her with the brightest red hair you’ve ever seen. You found comfort in their faces, found comfort in your paranoia, but most importantly found comfort in the small victory that was facing your fear and paranoia...Only that feeling persisted, to which you slumped forward and furrowed your eyebrows. Feeling that feeling of victory fade and the dread take its place. Just look right. Just don’t look at all. Just have courage. Just pretend it's not happening. Just, just, just...Very slowly you felt your head act on its own, and you could see more and more backs on the other side. Pretty soon you could see the edge of the table, slowly making your way to the faces…

“SO!” Oh that’s right, he’s talking. “Without further ado we will start the sorting.” You straighten up and adjust your robes. You wanted to look good when you made your parents proud. The moment of truth. On one hand there was your long standing family tradition, on the other, there was the over looming threat of abuse from somebody you’ve known for five minutes. Maybe you would get lucky and you would get Ravenclaw? Maybe even Gryffindor.

“Kenma Kozume!” The room erupted into applause, so you joined. When you looked to the stage you saw the boy from earlier. The abuser's friend. He still had that disinterested face. Like he didn’t care what house he was going to belong to for the next four years of his life. His eyes shifted on you for a split second, and even if it was minuscule, he had a small hint of a smirk. He settled down in the chair, not so eagerly awaiting his verdict.

“Mmm, dedicated, loyal, intelligent…” I saw him whisper something, but he was too far away for me to hear. “Interesting... Hufflepuff!” There could have been a whole colony of flies that found refuge in your mouth with how far down it was hanging. You couldn’t hold your laughter inside. What kind of beautiful cosmic karma was this? His best friend is everything he hates, everything he thinks is weak and pathetic. You smiled and watched, getting up from his chair and nod to the table behind you. He must have been looking at Kuroo. Seeing his face was almost as tempting as not getting beat was.

“Sakusa Kiyoomi!” A boy came walking from outside of your vision. He walked slow, hands in his pockets, but with that mask that adorned his face you found it hard to believe it was to look cool. The scowl he gave people when they got too close almost confirmed it. He approached the hat, but he stared down at it. He was saying something to Dumbledore, who replied with a confused face. His mask moved up and down so he had to have been talking back. Dumbledore cocked his head to the side a little before shaking his head. The boy threw his head back, his shoulders rose up slowly and shot back down quickly. Whatever that exchange was, he wasn’t pleased about it. He sat down reluctantly, flinching, and you could only imagine was cringing by his eyes once the hat descended upon his head. Two and two made four, suddenly you knew what the argument was about.

“Yes...cunning, ambitious...spiteful…” His face seemed to scrunch up further with every word the hat told him was to describe him. Guess he thought otherwise. “Slytherin!” Shouted the old hat. And everyone applauded, and so did you. He rose from his seat taking his leave, but not before giving the old hat a disgusted look. This time he sat at the table directly behind you, which taking in the factor of his sortment, was the Slytherin table. You listened, anxiously waiting for your name to be hollered and echoed throughout the hall.

“Kuroo Tetsuro!” Oh great, this guy. He walked with his head held high, a single hand in his pocket and the smallest hint of swagger in his walk. If that wasn’t enough to scream I’m an arrogant prick then what was? He made his way to the chair, and flashed a toothy grin to the audience before flicking his robes out of his way and taking his seat. The hat was placed atop of his head, it was the moment of truth.

“Mmm, I see, I see, the strength you hold within you could be attested to a Gryffindor.” He made a face that said ‘try to put me in Gryffindor see what happens’. “But you’re self preservation, determination and cleverness all point me to Syltherin...Slytherin house!” He rose up when the applause erupted, taking a bow even. What was so great about Slytherins anyways? You tried not to look him in the eyes as he approached, pretending there was something far more interesting on your shoes. But his shoes were met with your shoes. You started to shake and felt his shadows descend upon you, leaning in to whisper to you, his vile words were almost blocked out by Dumbledoor calling your name, almost.

“If you get Hufflepuff I’m gonna shove my wand so far down your throat I might tear your esophagus.” Still shaking, you slowly looked at him, with those same cat-like eyes and Cheshire grin he had on earlier. Your throat was dry, and it felt like a lump the size of your fist had found its home in your throat. But nonetheless within the cheers and screams of the call, the chanting of your name for you to go onstage for everyone but a single monster to cheer you on; you were paralyzed. He flashed you a smile, a different smile this time, one that was more for the audience of people than it was for you.

“Hey, don’t be nervous. You’ll do great I know it!” He even had the gull to pat you on the head, his fingers running through your hair, you flinched on instinct. Flashbacks to when he “helped” you get through the gate ran by like a movie. He leaned down, fingers becoming less like he was ruffling your hair and more like he was going to yank you out of your seat by your hair again. “Get up there pretty girl.” It sounded more like a threat than a request. You nodded, obeying him, and you wanted to throw up. How could you be so obedient to someone like him? Fear really was marvelous. You heard some girls whisper to the side of you. Something about how ‘somebody has a crush already’, and ‘how lucky, she is’. If only they knew.

The walk to the chair felt more like you were floating, as if your feet were acting on their own and you were their willing vesile. The blur of faces, arms moving and their hands connecting, something that should have been memorial, something you would remember for the rest of your life was replaced with a bully. “If you get Hufflepuff I’m gonna shove my wand so far down your throat I might tear your esophagus.” You didn’t want to think about exactly what he meant by wand.

You took your seat, just like the hundreds, possible thousands before you did. And you looked out into the crowd. Seeing what they all saw. Hundreds of people, all leaning out of their seat, gripping the table as if to add dramatic effect. All those people, (except for one), wanted to know what house you were going to be put in. How you would spend the next four years, with who, and where. With all the support you felt like you could cry, you felt like Kuroo was so miniscule and insignificant with you on that chair like a throne. You couldn’t even see his face from high up here. You were so wrapped up in the thrill of it all you had stopped listening to the hat.

“Hufflepuff!”

You had stopped breathing. Stopped thinking. While time had stood still for you, everything around you was still in motion. The clapping cheering seemed like a bunch of blurbs and gobbled noise. Like when you’re underwater and you try to talk to your friends like your mermaids. Or like how he adults talk on Charlie Brown. You looked into the crowd, and your eyes were drawn to him like a magnet, he had another smirk on his face. He leaned his head down a bit and it casted shadows all over his face making him look even more wicked and evil. Who would've thought that possible? Certainly not you if you had not seen it yourself. You must have been staring for too long because you felt a warm breath followed by a withered voice ushering you off stage. You turned and it was Dumbledore, with his kind old eyes. You stayed for a second longer, staring, silently begging him for help. But if telepathy did exist, it did not happen for you and him. He just kindly looked at you and nodded in the direction of the Hufflepuff table. You swallowed some spit that seared your throat open, eyes cast down to your feet as you sat by yourself. The rest of the sorting went by in a blur, you barely looked up from your table. You didn’t have to to feel three pairs of eyes on you.

Kuroo had kept his promise. You were walking behind some upperclassmen Hufflepuffs, hoping that they would camouflage your smaller self. The thing was you weren’t friends with them, so if someone was to grab you by your hood and pull you into a dark alleyway, no one would notice. Not them, and not any of the passing students cackling and gossiping, a particularly familiar voice telling a boy named Harry about the correct way to say a spell. You were thrown to the ground, and you didn’t need to look up in the dimly lit hallway to know who it was.

“There you are my pretty girl.” He purred out. You clenched your hands, and found the courage to look upwards towards him. But it wasn’t just him, in fact it was them. There were three people there. Kenma, Kurro at the lead, and a little behind about two inches away from them and about five or six away from you was the other Slytherin, Sakusa.

“Don’t call me that…” You whispered meekly. It sounded more like a request than a demand. Like you weren’t so sure you even wanted him to stop.

“What was that pretty girl?” He said in a tone that sounded irritated, like he was on the verge of snapping. You decided against replying to him. Keeping your eyes low and focused on Kenmas feet. His pants were a bit too big for him and were getting caught on the ground.

“That’s what I thought.” You didn’t have to look to know that he had dawned on a smirk. “Have you been avoiding me? I’ve been looking for you ever since the sorting.” It was true. You were trying to avoid him at all cost. You had gotten three solid days of not having to speak to him or deal with his abuse. Since you two were both first years, you were in all the same classes. So he did see you every single day, for most of the day. But he sat in the back with Kema and Sakusa. Most of the time there was another boy with spiked up hair, and a small highlight in the middle. He wasn’t there during this sneak attack.

“We...aren’t in the same house…” You muttered. True. But that wasn’t the real reason. The real reason was you ran out of the classrooms and attached yourself to any pack of Huffflepuffs, or Gryfindors if you couldn't find any Huffepuffs.

“Oh I know pretty girl. Do you remember what I said before you went on stage?” You swallowed, feeling tears fall from your face as you nodded timidly. “So you aren’t as dumb as you look.” He teased. “Sakusa, Kenma-” He barked at the boys behind him. “Hold her still.” You shot your eyes up to look at them. You gave them the best pathetic eyes you could muster. Silently pleading with them to not aid him in his assault. The curly haired, masked boy held even colder eyes than Kuroo and stared back at you like you were nothing but a sack of meat and bones. Not a conscious human being. Kenma looked at you for a split second, but turned his eyes away from yours. He must have had some moral compass even if it wasn’t strong enough to help you out of this situation. You started to scoot back. Shaking your head no letting out little “please” and a few “don’t do this”. But that didn’t stop them from reaching your body and putting their hands on you. Kenma grabbed one side of your arm while you flayed around, trying to hit and push him off of you. He dogged your badly aimed hits easily. Sakusa grabbed the other arm and pinned it against his body. You began to yell for help and kick your legs around, your last ditch effort to try and get yourself free. You kept kicking and even headbutted Sakusa in the nose. The sound was heard before you felt it. It rang loud and echoed in the little alleyway. Then you felt the sting, realizing what had happened. You turned in the direction of Sakusa who was just staring at you, a red spot forming underneath his mask.

“Please…” It sounded less like a word, too mixed in with your sobbing and horridious breathing. You watched as he reared back his hand and smacked you again, causing you to cry out in pain, spurring you to squirm again. He put his knee into your thigh leaning his whole weight onto it. Kenma mirrored in his actions, forcing his knee and body weight on your other thigh. You let out another sob.

“Please you’re hurting me!” Sakusa chuckled before smacking you across the face again, and again, and another time as if to say “third times the charm”. His fingers found their way into your hair as he yanked it back, you felt something drip from your nose. You watched through teary eyes as he slowly lowered his mask, revealing his full face for the first time. He did have blood on his face. He looked down and saw it. You realized that you had royally fucked up. He let go off your hair, but you were stuck in place, frozen in fear. His hand touched the blood.

“You stupid bitch.” You whimpered and tried to wiggle away further. But it was no use. You were pinned down. You watched in terror as he wiped off his own blood with his hand. “You stupid disgusting bitch.” He took his palm, blood and all and repeatedly smacked you in the face. Ignoring your whimpers. He looked like he was a monster. Nothing but fury and anger, either side of your face stung so bad you knew they would be bruised and quite possibly bleeding. What made it worse was you weren’t sure where your blood stopped and his bloody hand prints began. He wiped the last of his blood off of his hand, pausing before his hand met your face one more time, and he smiled. You didn’t like that smile, didn’t like what it implied. He plumped up his lips like he was going to kiss you, if only it was that sweet. He smirked, lips still puckered before he spit on you. A flying disgusting glob of saliva landed near your eye, splattering some of his DNA into your eye. You closed it shut, but you could still sit still and watch as he smeared his blood all over your face. Mixing your blood with his, and his saliva. He looked at his hand one more time before giving you a final smack for good measure.

“Lick it off.” He said it so casually you blinked a few times before you let it set in.

“What?...” You whispered, making sure you heard him right.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.” He said this while he raised his hand up in a silent threat.

“Ok! Ok please...don’t...no more.” You let your tongue fall out of your mouth and he held out his hand for you, expectantly. You did as he asked, letting your tongue slide up and down his palm, to his fingers. You cringed at the irony taste. The fear of getting hit again greatly outweighed your disgust. You went to his fingers again, trying to clean them off so you could stop this degradation. But unexpectedly, he stuck his fingers in the back of your throat. Pulling them in before shoving them back out.

“Suck.” You looked at him, and the look in his eyes told you not to protest. So you did as he asked sucked them clean. “She’s so obedient Kuroo.” His voice was breathing, almost to the point of sounding like he was moaning.

“She sure is...my pretty girl.” You cringed at his words. Why was he so insistent on calling you that name. “Are you done Sakusa...it's my turn.” You almost wanted to stick with Sakusa more than Kuroo. You inspected your face, and his fingers in your mouth.

“Yeah...she cleaned them off pretty well.” He pulled them out of your mouth with a loud ‘pop’. He shook off the saliva. “Disgusting whore.”

“Agreed.” Purred Kuroo as he took a few steps to tower above you. You looked up at him with one eye, waiting for what he was going to do next. “You look so pretty like this.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wand. He really wasn’t joking about the wand thing. You were just grateful it was his literal wand.

With a pitiful look, your eyes met his. “Please...I...I just want to go to class...I won’t tell anyone I promise!”

“Shhh shhh shhh.” He put the wand to your lips. “I know you won’t…” He squatted down so he could be face to face with you. “Because you’re a good little girl who knows she deserves this for being so pathetic right?” You didn’t say anything, you weren’t so sure he wanted you to say anything. “See? I knew it. Now open wide-” He grabbed your jaw and squeezed is with every bit of strength his fingers had in them to force them open. “And let me know how much you can take.” He slowly slid his wand down your tongue, making his way even further into your throat.

“It’s a lot Kuroo, she’s a real slut.” Kuroo’s lip curled up as the wand went past your uvula.

“She sure is...useless, and whore...have you no shame?” You whimpered and were crying, tears mixing in with the blood spread around your face. His fingers were about to kiss your lips when he heard the chime that indicated class was about to start. He halted his actions and sighed.

“Kenma, hand me your polaroid.” Kenma complied, taking out a classic looking polaroid that was decorated in stickers from video games. Would of been cute if he wasn’t actively assisting in your abuse and borderline sexual assault. “Say useless!” You didn’t bother indulging him further as he snapped the picture. “Wow, can’t even follow a simple instruction. You really are a dumb whore.” He retrieved the photo from the opening and gave a once over. “Come on guys, we’re gonna be late for class.” They let you go and you slumped forward. Using your arms to wrap yourself up, trying to cover yourself. You felt dirty, disgusting, wanting nothing more than to wash everything off yourself. The two of them get up, walking towards Kuroo. Sakusa stopped suddenly, putting on hand sanitizer and retrieving a fresh mask. He put it on and kept walking before he stopped again. He lowered his mask to reveal another smirk slowly stalking his way towards you. He made that same kissy face at you and you flinched away ready to take it lying down. You heard it before you felt it, the sticky substance sliding down your face and onto your chest. He left you with the final parting words. “Whore.”

They all left, snickering and pushing each other around as if they had just got done with a friendly game of Quidditch. While you laid there shaking. Throat aching. Ashamed. You stayed there, you weren’t sure for how long. But it had to have been a while. You missed class by the time you stumbled out of the alley way. You decided against going to class for the rest of the day. Deciding a shower and a mountain of blankets were the best cure you could think of for now. But not even sleep was kind to you. You had nightmares of the boys chasing you around, beating you and doing other unsavory acts to you. Eventually a concerned teacher came in asking why you weren’t in class. When you didn’t respond they became very worried. Even going as far as to shake your body checking to see if you were still breathing. You looked up, and the tears just seemed to have flown by themselves. Like your eyes were a damn and their kindness was the thing that broke it. You sobbed into their arms, shaking violently as they rubbed your back. When you had finally cried yourself ragged, you finally found your voice.

“I...I was bullied.” The reaction you got was sympathetic, but not what you were expecting. They told you that they understood, that they were listening, that they cared. So if that was true why were they telling you that wasn’t a good enough reason to skip class. They told you that if that was the case that perseverance was the answer not self pity. They had said some more things but you had blocked them out at some point. Hearing nothing but Kuroo’s words accompanied by a faint ringing in your ears. “She sure is...useless, and whore...have you no shame?”

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” You didn’t. “Yes.” You were more docile than you thought you were.

“Do you wish to come down for feast?” They said that smiling and rubbing your arm, as if that would make you feel better. As if they were on your side.

“I’m not hungry.” They moved to say something but you went to speak before they could. “I’ll be at classes tomorrow. Please...I’m just not hungry.” They nodded and smiled. “As you wish.” They left, leaving you sob in the dark while those monsters got off scot free, eating and joking with their friends as if they did nothing wrong.

It only got worse from there. Somedays you would get off scot free. Other days you weren’t so lucky and Kuroo would slam you into a wall, forcing you to beg for him to do things to you that no human should do to another human. If Sakusa found you he would grip your hair in his hand and force you on your hands and knees, making you lick his shoes. Kurro liked to make you try to suck him off through his trousers. The whole time telling you how much you deserved it and how your pussy was probably wet and throbbing with need. Some days when he was feeling crueler than others and would force his foot up your skirt and swirl around your pussy with the tip of his shoe, not so gently. The sick part is, sometimes he would accidentally rub your clit causing you to moan, which in turn made him degrade you further and slap you silly because “You like this you probably like abuse too.” One time, Sakusa had found you hiding in a closet. Hiding from him. He didn’t need to ask to know. He instructed you to get on your knees and take off your panties, by this time you were used to doing what they wanted you to do to avoid a whole lot of your blood being shed. You did so, and watched as he pulled out a ziplock bag.

“Put them in here. Then grind yourself on my shoe till you cum.” You put your panties where he told you to and handed them back. You lifted your bottom off of your floor so he could place his foot below your slutty hole. You didn’t push yourself back down, halting yourself for a second.

“What if I just suck you off...please don’t make me do something so degrading…” It was stupid to think that he would give you any hint of mercy. He smacked you cross your face, maybe that would knock some sense into you.

“That’s not what I told you to do slut. And just for your back talk, and because I like the idea. You’re gonna get me off too.” Tears came naturally to you now. You pulled him out, and he was huge.

“I want the whole thing inside of your mouth. Don’t give me any of that choking shit either, I know how much a cock whore like you can actually take.” You nodded, picking up your lips to take him in slowly. Doing exactly as he instructed you to do.

“Move your hips. Now.” You nodded as best as you could, and moved your hips while pulling your head up and down on him. It felt like forever but you finally exploded on his she, moaning out onto his cock. He moaned even louder and grabbed both sides of your head, forcing you to stay there. He let one side go and gripped as harshly as he could with the other, his hand that let you go found Kenma’s polaroid.

“Look at me.” He commanded. And you did, teary eyed and scared. “There, that’s the look I like.” He snapped a picture. The flash temporarily blinded you, making you feel disoriented, it didn’t help that he fucked into your face with a speed and force that was enough to make you choke and beg with your eyes for air. He didn’t stop though. If anything he kept going until he held you still against him, cock all the way down your throat, straically pressing you against him so you couldn’t breathe. You pounded at his hips, begging him for mercy. He didn’t relent. He took out the camera again. “Say cheese.” He took a photo right at the moment he came in the back of your throat. “Hold still I’m not done.” He removed that one and took another one of your panicked face, now becoming purple from lack of oxygen. “That’ll do.” And with that he shoved you off of him, letting you take in as many greedy breaths you could before he ordered you to do something else. Which was to tuck him back in and say thank you.

As far as Kenma was concerned. He wasn’t involved in the abuse you suffered. In fact it seemed that he was slowly distancing himself from his friends. Finding a new friend within your own house, Nishinoya. The boy with a highlight in his hair. You tried your best to avoid Kenma. But, it seemed like he didn’t have the slightest interest in tormenting you like his best friend did. Which was more than welcome.

There was the ball. You didn’t go with anybody, but dancing to music in a crowd of people was far more safe than roaming the halls, or staying in the library. You shuddered at the thought of being caught studying by Kuroo. He was one of the smartest students in the whole school and made it his point to tell you how hopeless you are.

Which is what led you to be sitting there, holding your knees together with your hands, eyes to the floor too scared to see if Kuroo or Sakusa was waiting for you to get up. You heard footsteps approaching you and you couldn’t help but start to shiver. Was it too late to run to the bathroom? Would it just be easier to assault you in a bathroom? Maybe if you just didn’t get up you could get whoever it is to leave you alone. They couldn't make you do anything with all these people around. He can’t drag you out by your hair. He can’t he can’t he...Then the shoes were there before you could even make a decision.

“Hey…” You weren’t so sure if you were to feel relieved, or terrified still. It was Kenma.

“Hey...um...are you all by yourself?” What was he playing at?

“Yeah...I don’t want to be...alone in case…” You stopped, you weren’t sure if you could tell him why. You were sure he knew why, but you couldn’t find the words to tell him. Telling him his best friend gets off on bullying and assaulting girls just felt wrong. Even if he knew he did...Even if he participated in the assault.

“You don’t...have to say I understand…” He sounded sorry. You hope the guilt keeps him awake at night. “I uh...I’m sorry about what I did...and I’m sorry on Kuroo’s behalf...he’s never been good at…” He stopped. Maybe he figured that apologizing for the abuser was ridiculous. Sympathizing with him even, looking for any reason to validate what he does.

“It doesn’t matter...I am truly sorry for what I did...and I get it if you want to say no but me and some of the other Hufflepuffs are…’tearing up the dance floor’, as they say.” He said that last part with a bit of an airy chuckle. It was cute. You must have been smiling because he kept going.

“I know we aren't as cool as your friends right there and there.” He motioned to either side of you to the empty chairs. That one got an actual laugh out of you. “So I get it if you’re busy…” He said this with a small smile, the first time you’ve ever seen it.

You weren’t so sure if it was the isolation talking; nobody wanted to be around somebody who was a personal punching bag for the captains of the Slytherin Quidditch team. Or if it was all the times of taking blows to the head from Sakusa. But his offer for friendship was tempting. It was the only bit of kindness you’ve had since the first day of school.

“I’m gonna go back to-”

“Wait!...I’ll...I’d love to…” You extended your hand for him to take with a bashful smile. He gladly took it and rose you off of your feet. You two walked in silence in the direction of Nishinoya and a bald kid dancing around a rather beautiful girl with long black hair. But that spectacle was nothing compared to the group of three all dancing on each other. It was a Gryffindor male, you knew him because he was one of the best Quidditch players Gryffindor ever saw. He was sandwiched in between a very cute Hufflepuff girl, she was the girl that sat with you on the first day but the boy was nowhere to be seen. He seemed to have been replaced by this Ravenclaw boy who was head of the chess team, but his house buddy was also nowhere to be seen. The three of them were all giggling and somehow sexually but not sexually grinding on each other. You couldn’t help but smile at it, at least someone was having a normal college experience.

“Hey wait...what about...what about Kuroo?”

“What about him?” He asked this with this edge of defensiveness.

“Is he ok with us being friends?” It sounded dumb coming out of your mouth, but you held your ground.

“I’m sure he won’t care...and besides we may be best friends but uh...he likes his house mates more nowadays. And I kinda wanna hang out with people who don’t...do what he does ya know?” You really don’t know because you’re the victim of said abuser. “Anyways...if you’re with me he won’t bother you.” You smiled a bit again. Feeling relaxed and safe in your new found friends. You lost yourself in the music, the wizard version of Shakira playing over the speakers.

Ever since that night, Kuroo and Sakusa have been getting you alone less and less. With Yachi always at your side during class, or Kenma letting you be his partner in class so you have someone to stay with you in the library or get you out of the abuse with Kuroo and Sakusa.

One time Sakusa was having you lick his shoes clean, pulling out his dick to either jack off on your face or have you get him off when you heard Kenma call for you. He said that you two needed to get your work done, tone flat and unalarmed as ever. Sakusa narrowed his eyes before tucking himself back in. Giving you a swift knee to the face, and when you bent over to grab your now bleeding face a swift kick into the stomach so hard you lost your breath. Writhing and rolling around on the floor like a freak. He laughed in your face.

“Have fun with her Kenma.” And he left. Kenma picked you up off the floor.

“Let’s go get you cleaned up.”

It was a nice gesture. The bare minimum but better than nothing.

Flying high on your new found security you strolled into class and sat with Yachi and her boyfriends. That’s right, those two boys she was dancing with? Those were her boyfriends. Girl had some game you had to admit. And you couldn’t fully blame those boys. She was one of the prettiest girls in your year. Kageyama had his arm wrapped around her and it reached all the way to Hinata. Hinata had his hand in between Yachi’s legs, resting on her upper thigh. He was kind of a horndog. Kenma was sitting with Nishinoya who was rambling furiously about something while Kenma looked at him with his hand on his face and eyes drooping. He yawned for dramatic effect. Kuroo and Sakusa were in their corner, eyes on you burning holes to the back of your head as they usually do. You had learned to avoid that entire section of the classroom.

“What are we learning today?” You asked the throuple.

“Uh...I think we’re doing-” Hinata began before getting cut off.

“Today we are going to learn the Riddikulus spell!” Hollered the professor.

“The Riddikulus spell.” Replied Hinata with a snicker. It made the four of you laugh.

“Now, who could tell me just what the Riddikulus spell is?” The girl with curly crazy hair you saw on the first day was the first and only to raise her hand, like she always is. Her name, you learned, was Hermione.

“It’s a spell to defeat a Boggart.” She said confidently. You turned to the professor to see if she was correct.

“Yes, that’s exactly right!” Figures.

He went on to demonstrate by releasing the Boggart, it transformed. “Now, don’t be alarmed students. Just make it into something funny! Riddikulus!” The horror that once was, was now a monster on roller skates in a coconut bra. That caused the whole class to erupt in laughter.

“See kids, not so bad! Line up let’s go!”

The whole class stood up and formulated a neat line, you were behind a few people, but near the front. You watched as kids fears of spiders, snakes, and on one odd occasion, Snape showed up. Next up you watched Kageyama go and his greatest fear was failing, so it was Dumbldore and Aakashi, Kageyama’s house mate telling him how he lost the championship and would never amount to anything. Until he said the magic words and they started rambling about drinking tea in Wonderland. Yachi was the last person before it was your turn, and she feared tall people. Kind of an oxymoron because her boyfriend had to be about six foot two. Nonetheless, a man taller than Hagrad came out and towered over Yachi, telling her about how he was going to eat her. She froze and shook with fear, her knees were wobbly and begging to give out. Unexpectedly she wiped that fear off her face, pointing her wand up high and yelling out “RIDDIKULUS!” It was beautiful and you were so proud of her. The giant began to dissolve into a tiny little fairy that flew about the room kissing everyone's cheek. Sakusa almost killed the poor thing.

“Ok, ok, ok, no need to kill the only Boggart I own Mr. Sakusa. I still have this class and others to get through still.” He teased, and Sakusa rolled his eyes as the class erupted in laughter.

“Alright, alright your turn little miss!” He pointed to you and flashed you a toothy grin. With a deep breath, you relaxed your shoulders and focused on the door to the wardrobe.

“Think of what scares you the most.”

“If you get Hufflepuff I’m gonna shove my wand so far down your throat I might tear your esophagus. Get up there pretty girl. Open wide and let me know how much you can take. Pretty girl. Whore. You deserve this. You’re pathetic.” It played over and over in your head like a broken record. He was your one fear.

“Hey there pretty girl.” You swallowed when his large hand gripped the outside of the door, pushing it open slowly. “Who’s my good girl? Come here…” He motioned you forward with his fingers, with the other he slowly began to undo his belt. You heard whispers of confusion from all around the class. ‘Isn’t that her boyfriend?’ ‘Why would she be afraid of him?’ ‘I’m sure she’s just scared of sex’...It was hard to listen to the group speculation on whether you had been sexually assaulted or were just scared of the thought of being assaulted. Your ears were ringing now, as Kuroo had his belt wrapped around his hand, closer than ever now. Hand just a mere few inches away from your face. “Who’s my good girl?”

“RIDDIKULUS!” The Boggart Kuroo was beginning to turn into an old woman, his fingers growing long and yellowy. His Hogwarts uniform now turns a long pink frilly dress, accompanied by a pair of heels and a designer purse.

There was silence. A long kind of silence. The kind that you could cut with a knife. And you were the first to break it. It started out small, more of a snicker, but the longer you stared at him like that the funnier it got. As if laughing was permission to, the rest of the class cracked up and laughed. You heard some whistles in the back. Kageyama shook his head smiling, trying to keep his laughter in. Draco called out “You should wear that more often it’s your color Kuroo!” Draco might have been a dick, but he was funny.

“Alight, alright, alright, settle down guys.” The professor was trying, and failing to get the class to be quiet. He wasn’t very commanding, as he himself was laughing. He was trying to hide it so you had to give him that. But he was still laughing nonetheless. Fist clenched, covering the little up curls of his mouth. “Guys! I am serious it is not that funny!” Tell that to your face. You might have had the strength to face Boggart Kuroo, but you didn’t have the strength to face actual Kuroo. If you did you would have been greeted with the most evil look in a human being. Pure unadulterated anger staring back, nothing but ways to make you suffer behind those eyes of his.

“You gonna take that?” Sakusa asked, but he didn’t have to. He knew what was going to happen to you.

You ran out of the class before anyone else, you didn’t want to be around Yachi and her boys since they like to lollygag. After that little incident, you could only imagine what Kuroo was going to do once he got his dirty hands on you. You kept looking back over your shoulder, keeping your feet shuffling one after the other at the fastest pace you could manage without getting in trouble for running in the halls.

“Hey!” You turned around and it was Kenma, to your relief. “That was...pretty cool. That you faced your fear and stood your ground I mean.”

“Oh.” You said, relaxing a bit enough to flash him a smile. “Thank you…”

“Of course man...uh, take back the power I guess.” He sent you a smile back before raising his fist up for you to give it a little bump. Take back the power.

You were eating in the hall with Yachi and her boyfriends, who were currently arguing over who was better at his muggle sport called Volleyball. It was pretty entertaining.

“Listen you would be nothing without my serves, shrimp.”

“Ok babe, sure whatever you wanna tell yourself.”

“Control your man Hitoka.”

She smiled, rolling her eyes. “He’s your man too babe…” She looked to you for backup.

“Hey, I am not involved in this!” You giggled and threw your hands up.

“Oh my god don’t leave me out here all by myself!” You giggled more but you were interrupted.

“You’re the one that decided you would date them.” Kenma said as he sat down.

“He does have a point.” You said

“Yeah Yachi, why would you date us if you hate us so much!” Hinata teased, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“Baby, that’s so mean why would you say that about us.” As if Hinata grabbing her was a silent signal, Kageyama hands found his way to her sides and started tickling her.

“Stop! Stop! Stop! Stoooop! That’s not what I said!” She was hysterical.

“Ohhhh stoooop she says!” Hinata said, mocking his girlfriend.

“Stooooop!’ Kageyama chimed in. You and Kenma watched in awe, you’ve never seen a group of people love each other as much as they did to each other.

“Hey.” Kenma whispered out loud enough for you to hear. “I wanna show you something.” You gave him a look, eyes still forward as Hinata was now blowing raspberries on her neck.

“What is it?”

“It’s a surprise.” You turned to him. He only looked at you once you did.

“What kind of surprise?” He gave you a look before getting up, holding his hand out for you to follow him. You gave him a small side eye, debating on whether to take it or not. You took one final look at the threesome. Hinata currently had his lips sucking on Yachi’s neck, while Kageyama had his hands resting on her his, slowly making their way into her skirt.

“Yeah I don’t want to witness anymore of this. Lets go.” Kenma just laughed and mumbled out an aspirated yeah.

He led you out of the hall, and out of the school. Past the womping willow tree and further into the woods. You didn’t have the courage to ask him why the surprise was so hidden. So far away from school, far away from anyone that could save you. He was your friend. He would never do anything like that to you.

“Ok so what is it?” You asked, the nervous in your voice apparent.

“Hm? Oh I suppose we’re far enough. Kuroo! Sakusa! I brought her.” You’re heart stopped, your breathing even stopped. What?

“That’s not funny Kenma…”

“For you.” He said as he turned to you. He had a smirk, and his eyes were slanted in the same way Kuroo’s were before he assaulted you.

“No…” You started to back up and you hit something hard, and your breath caught in your lungs.

“Where you goin pretty girl?” No, no, no, no, no. You felt tears welt up in your eyes.

“W-why...How could you?”

“He never really liked you.” Came a familiar cruel voice. “Did you honestly think he was your friend? He stood by and let us abuse you. He even enjoyed it.” The voice was coming from Sakusa who had come from behind a tree.

With shaky breath you replied. “That’s not...that’s not true right Kenma?”

“Of course it is. I never cared about you. Even I think you’re useless.” He said this with practically no emotion. He looked at you with no other feeling than indifference. Cold hearted indifference.

“You can go now Kenma, unless you wanna stay and watch.” He said the last part in your ear, as his arm wrapped around your waist to keep you still, the other sliding up your thigh.

“I’d actually love to but as you know, I have my own business to attend to. Thank you for your help earlier Kuroo, you too Sakusa.”

“Of course!” He said chiperly. Sakusa just nodded his head to him. With that, Kenma took his leave.

You were whimpering in Kuroo’s grip as he slid his fingers to your clothed pussy and started rubbing with his two fingers. Panic was taking over your body causing you to flail around.

“Stop! Stop please! Kenma come back! Please don’t leave me out here!” He turned back, he was far away now, you could barely see him and he could barely hear you.

“Word of advice! Maybe if you say Riddikulus it’ll all go away!” You blinked a fresh new flood of tears.

“What’s the matter pretty girl? Did you really like him hmm?” His fingers picked up their pace. “Huh? Did you feel safe?”

“She felt safe enough around him to follow him out in the middle of nowhere no questions asked.” Sakusa said from in front of you. “Maybe you knew this was going to happen? Maybe that’s exactly what you wanted the whole time hm? To be raped by your bullies.”

They had done a lot of horrible inexcusable things to you. But they had never raped you.

“NO! Please don’t! I’m sorry about in class! It won’t happen again. I swear on my life! Please don’t rape me Kuroo, Sakusa please!” You were crying so hard snot was dribbling out of your nose accompanying the fat globs of salty tears. “I’ll do anything! I’ll get you both off I swear! I promise I will! Just don’t rape me please!” You were desperate, willing to do anything as long as you didn’t get your virginity stolen from you by you bullies.

“Aw, look Sakusa , she's actually begging.” Kuroo muttered in your ear with absolute delight.

“Yeah, it’s kind of hot. Beg some more, I’m not fully convinced.”

“You know what? Me either.” Kuroo threw you to the ground. “Beg and make it convincing.” You looked down at their feet, thankful for the opportunity.

“P-please I don’t want to be raped...I’ll be a good girl and I won’t fight it...I’ll suck both of you off and swallow it with a smile.” You went down to lick Sakusa’s shoes, he liked it when you did that. It gave Kuroo a great view of your ass and panties. You even wiggled a little bit for him giving him a show. “Please...please...master.” You wanted to throw up everything in your stomach uttering those words. But you were desperate. Unfortunately, neither of them seemed to be enjoying your whole groveling act. You started to cry harder, hiccuping. “Please let me please you sir, I’ll be good…” You turned around to look at Kuroo, who had his arms crossed and a stern look on his face, you should have just taken that as your sign to give up, but you came too far to give up.

“I’ll swallow all of your cock sir, I promise…” You lifted up your ass and began to grind on the tip of Sakusa’s foot, just like he liked. Making sure to make your whines sound extra desperate and helpless. While doing that you wrapped your hands around the belt on Kuroo, trying to undo it with your shaky hands.

“Aw what’s the matter are you scared?” He teased. Of course you were, but you swallowed some bile that was rising and tried to calm your nerves. You could do this, you could do this.

“Kuroo, I don’t think she wants it enough.” You let out a small yelp, that was slowly turning into a sob. You were almost there, you almost had it out of the belt loop. So close to the finish line.

“I don’t either...guess she wants to be raped.” He pushed you to the ground and undid his belt the rest of the way.

“Can’t even do a single thing right.” He let out a few tsk tsks. Wrapping his belt around his hand. “I didn’t like what you did in class the other day...I didn’t find it as funny as you and the whole class did.” You swallowed, trying to crawl away.

“Where do you think you’re going?” You felt your head get yanked back as you screamed out for help. It felt so bad, and you were so scared.

“Please! I said I was sorry!” You put your fingers to his to try to relieve the pain.

“She said she was sorry Kuroo should we leave her alone?” Sakusa mocked.

“Mmm, I don’t think she deserves it. Do you slut?” He raised up the belt and landed a harsh smack across your face. Your face felt like it was on fire.

“Say thank you.” You whimpered and didn’t say anything. “Wrong answer.” He raised up his arm and landed another across your face.

This time you gave in. “Thank you!”

“That’s my good girl. Again.” He hit you again.

“Thank you!”

“Again!”

“Thank you!”

“Unbutton your shirt and let me see your tits.” You did what he asked, as fast as you could but you were still shaking and afraid.

“Go faster.” He said as he raised up his belt again.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry...I’m trying...I’m trying so hard.”

“Not hard enough.” Sakusa chimed in from behind you, grip still tight in your hair.

You felt another smack across your face. Making it harder to focus on the task at hand.

“Thank you…” You quickly wiped off the blood pouring out of your nose with the back of your hand before zoning in on the last button. You let your shirt fall open.

“Wow...look at my pretty girl…” He grabbed his dick and palmed himself through his pants. “But I’m just gonna mark up these pretty tits before I let myself touch them. Don’t forget to say thank you.”

He gave you seven lashes on your tits, and you said thank you for each and everyone of them. Well, as well as you could. It sounded more like babbling.

“Get up.” You rose up off of your bottom, nose blood dribbling down to your tits. Sakusa wrapped his arms around your so you couldn’t fight him. Not that you had the energy to anymore. Kuroo wrapped his belt around your neck so it was a makeshift collar. Pulling till he was slightly choking you. He dipped his hands inside your bra and found your nipples, giving them a harsh squeeze. You yelped out causing him to squeeze even tighter. He pulled his hand out and began to grope while he moaned.

“Ah, fuck...you’re so soft...feel s’good. Maybe you aren’t,” He pulled your tits out of your bra so they were hanging out of them, cup underneath. “Useless after all.” He leaned down and popped your nipples in his mouth, giving them a hash sucking. You pushed your thighs together, trying to ignore the arousal that was slicking up your pussy. He smirked into your tits, running his hand up your thigh, slowly pushing his fingers in your tight walls.

“Wet.” He removed his mouth from your tits. “She’s fucking wet, slut.” Sakusa laughed from behind you. “You wanna get raped?”

“I think she does.” He pulled out his fingers, presenting them to both you and Sakusa. Sure enough, there was your own juices slowly dripping from his fingers and down his hand.

“Get her on the ground.” Without missing a beat, Sakusa shoved you back to the ground. You landed on your back, skirt flying up giving them a full view of your damp panties. You backed up and tried to cover yourself. They licked their lips and Kuroo pulled his pants off, finally letting his erection free. Sakusa unbuckled his pants and followed suit, making sure to keep the belt wrapped around his hand. Kuroo grabbed the makeshift leash and tugged you forwards.

“Get on your hands and knees. Turn over. NOW!” He shouted in your face. Fear taking over you as you did what he said. He slowly peeled off your shirt, kissing from the back of your neck all the way down till he reached right above your ass. He unzipped your skirt and harshly tugged it down, taking your panties with. He moaned out loud, lookin at your weeping virgin pussy just begging to be wrecked. You watched in horror as Sakusa lined himself up in front of you, harshly taking you by the hair and bringing you up to his hard, angry cock.

“Open up, warm me up before I take your ass.”

“Please not in-” You didn’t get the chance to beg for mercy as he shoved himself inside of your mouth. Pushing all the way into your throat. You were squirming, clawing and hitting him, begging for air. Kuroo took this opportunity to shealth his cock into you all the way. And he wasn’t gentle either. He shoved it into your virgin cunt with no mercy. You screamed out in agony around Sakusa’s cock. He moaned before using his belt to smack you across the face a few times.

“Ah fuck, your throat is closing around me.”

“Here, take this.” Kuroo handed Sakusa his belt. As soon as the belt was in his hand he tugged as tight as he could, you swore you could feel the blood vessels popping in your eyes. It was hard to focus on trying to breathe, trying to please Sakusa. But Kuroo was tearing your pussy apart. He was fucking fast and hashly, shifting around until he found a spot that made you clench around him even tighter, he didn’t know you could be any tighter after Sakusa tightened the leash. Keeping you on the verge of life and death.

“You slut you’re enjoying this...pathetic whore...fuck you feel so good. Sakusa...you gotta get inside of her.” Kuroo was bent over, fucking like a man in heat. His fingers found your tits again and fondled them to his heart's content. Taking your nipples between his fingers, pinching and rolling them in the most deliciously painful way possible. Only god knows if it's the lack of oxygen to your brain, that Kuroo was playing your body like a fiddle, his hips snapping up in time as your hips pushed back into him. Enjoying every cruel hit, sucking him in deeper and begging for more. You were drooling around Sakusa, moaning out in pleasure and slowly crossing your eyes and losing yourself to the pleasure.

“Look at you slut.” He smacked you a few times on the cheek, you only moaned out in response. You were getting so close to cumming on your rapist. You hoped he would squeeze tight enough that you would pass out instead.

“Fuck, you feel so good. Are you gonna cum?” Kuroo gave you a harsh smack to your ass. “Cum for me slut, see what happens, see what happens...ah fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, I wanna show you what happens.” He was assaulting your ass with one hand, keeping up his pace and pounding into you. “I know what will make you cum pretty girl.” His hand left your hip, fingers pinching and rubbing your clit. You tried to squirm around, pleasure taking over as you felt your thighs shake in pleasure. Sakusa pulled himself off so he could hear you scream like a whore. You squealed out as you came, Kuroo fucking you through your orgasm. While you were drooling, shock waves of pleasure ran up and down your spine each time Kuroo’s hips smacked into yours. Sakusas fingers gripped your jaw open. You knew by now what to expect. You opened your mouth obediently, watching as his saliva dripped from his mouth and into yours. He didn’t have to tell you to swallow, he didn’t have to tell you to say thank you. You were well trained by now.

“Good girl.” He cooed, giving you a few smacks before kneeling and pushing your back into Kuroo, who had finished his movements. You were disoriented.

“You think we can fit two cocks in one hole?” That woke you up.

“No…” You whispered quietly.

“She is...was, a virgin. I don’t know.”

“Why don’t we find out?” Sakusa said with a smile, inching closer with his cock twitching.

“Please…” You were ignored.

Kuroo pulled you back by your shoulders, making you depend on him. Sakusa spread your legs even further, slowly trying to shove himself in. No matter how hard he tried to go slow, it burned nonetheless. Felt like you were being torn apart. You screamed for him to stop as he wormed the tip in. You begged and begged for him to pull out, put it in any other hole. He laughed in your face and got it halfway in anyways.

“Ah, fuck, Kuroo start moving.” You couldn’t imagine that Kuroo moving would have made it much worse, but it did, it was much, much worse.

“AH! STOOOP! PLEASE!”

“Shut up bitch.” Sakusa slapped you across the face, wrapping his belt around your mouth so it worked as a gag, keeping you silent. You whined, clenching around both of them at the same time. Kuroo was half way out, while Sakusa was all the way in. You rolled your head back, resting on Kuroo’s shoulder. He kissed the top of your head before giving you a harsh smack to your ass.

“Got to stay awake baby!”

Maybe they were right, maybe you really were a whore. Because you were getting off on having two dicks inside of you at the same time. Slowly hearing your whimpers turn into quick moans as they took turns abusing your spot.

“That’s a good, good slut.” Kuroo slapped your ass again, each time he felt you twitch around him. Telling you it was your punishment for likeing rape. His fingers went back to your clit, rubbing circles. The other one turning your nipples around his fingers again. Sakusa taking the other one in his mouth and sucking, biting it when he felt you tightening around his cock. You began to twitch and shake again, face scrunching up as more drool leaked out of your makeshift gag.

“You’re gonna cum at the same time as I do, ok pretty girl?” You shook your head. You weren’t sure if it was to tell him no, or to tell him to not cum inside. It didn’t matter, because he didn’t care. His fingers worked on your clit and nipples once again, as he hit your spongy spot like a mad man.

“Ku,ku,ku.” Was all you could let out behind the gag, attempting to say Kuroo each time he hit. You curled your toes and squealed out. Releasing once again, feeling the warmth of Kuroo shoot straight into you. He pumped a few more times riding out his high before slowly pulling out. Watching as blood and semen seeped out of your hole.

“That’s a good girl..look at you…” You felt his fingers enter your hole, playing with his cum and rubbing around your lips like some sick kind of lotion. He took his fingers out, slowly undoing your gag.

“Clean me off...then clean me off again.” You sniffled and nodded slowly, letting your tongue fall out, letting him run his fingers slowly over your tongue. You closed your mouth around his fingers and sucked. Closing your eyes as you did.

“That’s a good girl...that’s my good girl…” You moaned as Sakusa hit your spongy spot, tongue slowly swirling around your nipples, fingers swirling around your clit. You whined, you were starting to get sore. Kuroo got up, waving his still hard cock in your face.

“Clean it up whore.” You opened your mouth without hesitation. Tasting yourself as you cleaned.

“I’m gonna go in the back.” Sakusa pulled out slowly, pushing you on your hands and knees again. He spit on your asshole to give it some lube, spreading it around with his two fingers before he pumped him in.

“So fuckin tight.” Once he had enough of his foreplay, plunging his cock all the way inside of your hole. You screamed out in agony around Kuroo. Your jaw was beginning to lock.

“Ah, fuck, do that again!” Kuroo smacked you a few times on the cheek. “Come on whore, you can do it.” Your eyes slowly began to close shut and shot back open trying to regain consciousness.

“I said do it again!” This time the smack was hard enough to wake you up again. You squealed, trying to please him again. Meanwhile Sakusa had both his hands wrapped around your hips, nails bitting into your skin, fucking your tight hole loose. Sending you further into Kuroo’s crotch with each snap of his hips. He only let go to smack your ass in the same spot. He was getting close, you could tell by his rambling about leaving bruise marks on you, and his hits slowing down. You tried not to focus on the fluid dripping out of you. You just looked up at Kuroo instead, looking him in the eye as his cock made contact with your uvula like they were old friends.

“Oh pretty girl, are you sad?” You just stared back at him. Your eyes telling him all he needed to know.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum!” Sakusa yelled as he sped up the pace trying to chase his release.

“You look sad pretty girl...I thought you liked getting raped? Liked getting abused.” He said this while running his fingers through your hair gently. Caressing your cheek.

“Wish you had just stayed home huh?”

“Oh fuck I’m coming! I’m gonna cum inside your ass!” His fingers dug into your hips, nails digging into your ass. You cringed as you felt your ass become warm, almost too hot.

“I bet you're thinking if I would have just stayed home, none of this would have happened huh?” You felt Sakusa pull out. Leaving his cum to leak out of you. Kuroo pulled out too. Gripping your hair as your jaw hung open.

“But you’re here...with us...your favorite boyfriends.” He chuckled darkly as you began to sob and whisper your little pathetic “no’s”.

“Shhh baby, you’re gonna need to save your strength.” He turned over to look at Sakusa.

“You still have a long night ahead of you. We’re still...rock hard.”

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thinkingisadangerouspastime · 3 years

Text

there are no accidents

Kuzon grinned, shifting on the tree branch to face Aang directly. The wood creaked as their legs continued to dangle off the sides, bare feet occasionally brushing. The evening breeze threaded around the two of them, rustling the tree’s dying leaves and sending Kuzon’s hair that had fallen from his topknot in a million different directions. “It was with Bumi.”

Aang’s jaw dropped. “It was not.”

(Written for Day 2 of Aang Rarepair Week: First Kiss OR Last Kiss, hosted by @aangtheestallion. Pairing: Kuzon/Aang. Read here on AO3, or continue reading below.)

It was an accident.

Aang jerked away faster than lightning, lips tingling with imagined electricity where they’d brushed the corner of Kuzon’s mouth. “I’m so sorry!” he sputtered, scrambling backwards and nearly tumbling off the tree branch they were both balanced precariously on. Maybe Kuzon would believe the glaring red of his cheeks was just a reflection of the setting sun? “I swear I was just trying to turn, I didn’t mean to—”

“You’re fine, Aang,” Kuzon interrupted with a laugh, smiling in such an honest way that Aang’s heart melted in his chest. Relief blossomed as replacement, relief and a mixture of… other emotions Aang that was far too overwhelmed—now and always—to consider. “You’re not gonna believe it, but this isn’t the first time one of my friends has kissed me on accident.”

Aang blinked at the revelation, a strange and—and almost hot sensation gnawing in his stomach. “What?”

Kuzon laughed, presumably a reaction to Aang’s dumbstruck expression. “My mom always warned me that some kind of slip-up would happen eventually, since according to her I have no sense of personal space.” He shrugged. “Still. As of now, I’ve only experienced two accidental kisses in my life. Could be worse.” He smiled at Aang again. “So I promise you, it’s really not a big deal.”

A beat passed before Aang nodded. He returned Kuzon’s reassuring smile with an admittedly far more awkward one of his own. “Okay. If you’re… If you’re sure.” Heat crept up his neck as he absentmindedly rubbed his lips together. He knew the sensation was nothing more than a figment of his imagination, but part of him swore he could still feel the warmth of Kuzon’s feather-light touch across his skin. “I mean, I’m glad I didn’t ruin your first kiss, at least. Then I might not have been able to forgive myself.”

Kuzon burst out laughing. “Oh yeah, that happened a year ago. You’re well in the clear.”

Aang barely withheld an overdramatic scoff, because really. Kuzon couldn’t just say that and not expect him to inquire for more details! “Who was it?” he asked, eyes wide as he finished shoving his embarrassment into a locked box at the back of his mind, never to be opened again. “What happened?”

Aang’s jaw dropped. “It was not.” The strange, fiery sensation in his stomach grew stronger, just as he’d started being able to ignore it.

Kuzon nodded, his grin only widening. “Yep. And like I said, it was a total accident!” He braced himself on the trunk of the tree, leaning his back against it. “I was visiting Omashu this one time with my dad. Bumi and I were sparring together, and you know he’s almost as much of a prodigy with earthbending as you are with airbending, so he had me beat within ten minutes. Well, probably less.”

Aang raised an eyebrow, certain there was more story to follow. “But?”

“But, Bumi can be a lot more unwieldy with all his rocks than you are with the air,” Kuzon continued, gesturing wildly around him, “and at the end of our match when I was yielding, he managed to nick me in the face across the lip with the tiniest pebble you’ve ever seen.”

He touched beneath the left corner of his mouth, and sure enough Aang could see a slender scar, so faint across his friend’s brown skin that he’d never have noticed had Kuzon not pointed it out. In another year, it might have faded entirely.

“Bumi felt bad, obviously, and he tried to come over and see if I was okay. He takes two steps, trips over one of the very chunks of earth he’d been bending with, and ends up crashing on top of me!” Kuzon snickered as he shook his head. “I’m pretty sure you can figure out what happened next.”

Yes, Aang had a very clear idea of the following events. But despite that they were quite possibly the most hilarious mental images he’d ever had the good fortune to be graced with, he only managed a weak laugh in response. “Wow. That’s—That’s quite a story.”

For a reason Aang couldn’t put a finger on, he was not particularly keen on the idea of Bumi—of anyone, really—reaching towards Kuzon to check his injury, fingertips gently brushing over his friend’s bottom lip.

Huh.

“It was really awkward at the time,” Kuzon admitted, “but you know Bumi—he was over it by the next day.”

Aang nodded, throat tight. “Yeah, that sounds like him.”

“So that’s the story of my accidental first kiss!” Kuzon said with another laugh, throwing his arms out. He glanced at Aang, their eyes meeting for the briefest of seconds before Aang tore his gaze away. “What about you? Have an embarrassing first kiss story you’d like to share with the class?”

Aang swallowed. As of about five minutes ago… Well, yes, he did. Although he did not want to ‘share it with the class.’ He also didn’t want Kuzon to feel bad, because it wasn’t his fault! The kiss had been a near-inevitable consequence of their casual closeness and the unsteady tree branch they still remained perched upon. “I mean, I guess I…” He trailed off after only a few words, and Kuzon’s eyes widened.

“Oh, Agni. Did I—”

“It’s not a big deal!” Aang hastily reassured him, echoing Kuzon’s own words from minutes earlier. He tugged at his yellow collar, unsure why he felt so warm when the evening breeze had not stopped circulating around them. “It was just an accident, like what happened with you and Bumi in Omashu, I bet it won’t even matter to either of us tomorrow! If you want we can pretend it never happened at all”—okay, he was rambling, he needed to wrap it up—“and, I mean, if I was going to accidentally kiss anyone, I’m glad it was you.”

Aang froze as soon as the words escaped his lips. Oh, spirits. Had he said too much? Revealed too much, been too open? Gyatso often warned him that his rambling could have unintended consequences, but this—

“Really?” Kuzon was staring at him. Steady, curious, but neither anxious nor piercing. No judgement laced his calm tone. “Why do you say that?”

Aang opened and closed his mouth like a goldfish-canary. First he’d talked himself half to death, now words failed him. Great. “I guess because”—he faltered, shaking his head—“I mean… you’re you.” He dropped his gaze to his lap, hands shaking with just enough intensity to be noticeable. “We’ve known each other since we were kids. I trust you more than anyone, and so I—it makes sense to me—”

Aang cut himself off with a laugh. Maybe a little strained, maybe a little exhilarated. “Of course I trust you with my first kiss, Kuzon. Even if it was an accident and we almost fell out the tree because I freaked afterwards.” Not wanting to end on too serious of a note, he tore his eyes away from his shaking hands to wink at Kuzon and add, “You’re also the prettiest of my friends by far, so that’s a nice bonus.”

Kuzon burst out laughing. Aang wondered if it was a trick of the scarlet sunset that made Kuzon’s cheeks appear so flushed with red. “I mean, I could say the same for you,” his friend teased. “Those tattoos are very flattering.”

“Guess we shouldn’t tell Bumi he’s the odd one out?”

“Eh. I think Bumi unquestioningly believes his chipped tooth is the most attractive feature known to man. Who are we to tell him otherwise?”

Aang laughed again. A fair point.

“So, we’ve both had awkward, accidental first kisses,” Kuzon mused after a pause.

Aang nodded. “Yep.” Against his will, or maybe just following his subconscious will, his gaze flickered over to Kuzon’s lips. But he didn’t allow his eyes to linger. “What are the odds of that?”

“Probably not high. But we’re usually outliers to the average, aren’t we?”

Ha. That felt like a polite way of saying they were two peas in a weird pod. And yet… Aang found he didn’t mind the comparison.

Not when Kuzon was the one making it.

“You know,” Kuzon said after another beat had passed, his voice low enough to be a whisper, “we don’t… we don’t have to consider those our first kisses. Since they were just accidents.”

Aang proceeded to endure a rapid spiral of emotions, the high being his realization that Kuzon’s first kiss didn’t belong to Bumi, and the low being his disappointment that—oh. That meant his first kiss wasn’t with Kuzon, either.

Of course, what right did he have to be disappointed by that?

Aang realized he’d let silence hang in the air a second too long and nodded. “Yes. Sounds good to me.” He paused. “Like having a clean slate.” Out the corner of his eye, he noticed Kuzon lick his lips. Aang watched said motion with probably too much closeness for someone who was supposed to be disregarding their accidental kiss.

“If you were wondering…” Kuzon’s voice was quiet, even more so than before, and his ears were red as he looked anywhere but at Aang. “I’d trust you with my first kiss, too. Only you.”

It was Aang’s turn to blush crimson to the tips of his ears. “Really?” Yikes, his voice resembled a squeak far too much for his liking. Aang cleared his throat. “I mean—are you sure?”

Kuzon laughed, and their eyes finally met again. “I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t sure. You know me. Confidence or bust.”

Aang did know him. Better than anyone.

He swallowed. “So if we both feel that way, then…?” Aang didn’t dare to hope, and yet all he could do was hope, unable to tear his gaze away from Kuzon’s. At some point, his friend had leaned towards him, their noses mere inches apart. Aang didn’t know which of them had laced their fingers together, but he did know that he was not complaining about said act.

“Then we could kiss. On purpose.” Kuzon’s face was burning and spirits, Aang’s was, too. “No accidents.”

“Okay,” Aang breathed, grip tightening on Kuzon’s hand as Kuzon broke into a wide—if still flustered—smile. “Okay.”

Kuzon tilted his head, lips parting ever so slightly.

Aang hesitated. Then he leaned in, eyelids fluttering shut—

(He missed, at first. Aang barely caught Kuzon’s bottom lip with the kiss. After they finished laughing so hard they couldn’t breathe, Aang once again nearly toppling off the tree and Kuzon catching his arm in the nick of time, they tried again. And this kiss?

There was nothing accidental about it.)

#hehe kfp quote #aangtheestallion #aang rarepair week #kuzaang #aang #kuzon #atla #avatar the last airbender #aanglove #atla fanfic #amy writes

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scary-lasagna · 4 years

Note

ok proxies with a s/o who likes to wear high heels a lot (and probably ends up taking them off whenever they go somewhere and walk barefoot dksnkdje)

Masky

He’s your new knight in shining armor and carries your bridal style everywhere.

No way he’s letting you jump on his back in those heels.

What if you misstep and twist your ankle? Or impale his spleen with your shoe?

Yeah, no thanks, doll.

He doesn’t know shit about wearing heels expect that he can’t wear them.

He tried them on once and broke his nose, which earned a lot of laughter from all parties involved in that.

But if he sees something you might like, or something you already have but in a different color, he’ll buy them for you.

While keeping the receipt, of course. He doesn’t entirely trust his fashion taste.

On his pass time, with you cuddled up next to him of course, he looks into alternative heels that won’t hurt as much, or gel pads that soothe your aching feet.

He grew up in the backyard of the south, he couldn’t care less if you went barefoot, or if he has to carry you for that matter. He did it all the time and still does.

But if you like wearing heels, you should be able to wear them comfortably.

He’ll help you find a solution by waking you up every five minutes from your slumber to ask you what the hell a ‘heel cup’ is.

Hoodie

Finds it amusing how he can always hear you coming, no matter where you are.

But if you walk over dirt or gravel, he can’t help but get worried.

The stilt of your heels could easily get stuck and you could fall and hurt your self.

Or worse than a simple bruised knee: break a $90 shoe.

He gets used to plucking your shoes out of your hand, and subconsciously did it to Tim when he took his boots off in the locker room after work.

“O h. Heh, uh, sorry I’m so used to it with [y/n]-”

“No that’s okay you can keep and wash them if you want.” :))

“hEy nonono-”

A much as he loves Tim, he’s not washing his dirty ass shoes after a hard day of work.

If he had friends that wear heels, he would ask for advice on buying you shoes, or accessories to match said shoes.

But after watching Kate chug a bottle of ketchup, he figured he was better off not asking.

If you’re barefoot, Brian doesn’t mind picking your up over pebbles or a spot of broken glass from a bottle.

All while peppering your cheeks with nuzzles and kisses, of course.

As long as you’re happy, Brian is happy.

Toby

Has tried on your heels for than once out of curiosity.

And he was surprisingly well balanced??

Like, he had no issue in using his thighs to achieve maximum confidence in your heels.

Although Toby can’t feel pain, he can feel the mass pressure on the balls of his heels, and he can’t imagine the pain you’d have to persevere to wear these death traps.

He loves giving you piggybacks if your feet start hurting, though. (As long as you’re not wearing a dress).

If you are wearing a dress, he won’t mind switching to bridal style to carry you home. He doesn’t want any accidental wardrobe malfunctions that he can’t see.

Since Jane and Toby are close, he’ll ask for advice if he wants to give you a gift.

Which means Toby has gifted you a pair of heels with a hidden knife compartment.

Y’know, for protection.

Jane also tipped Toby with some gel insoles that help ease the pain of prolonged wear.

But he still finds a way to give you a piggyback ride after a long day of having fun together.

#masky #hoodie #toby #proxy #maybe this is a follow up to girly s/o? :Eyes:#creepypasta #creepypasta imagines #creepypasta headcanon

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manymanythoughts · 3 years

Text

Introduction to The Desk

This is where I’ve been doing all of my journal stuff~

It started out pretty sparse, but when I re-organized a bunch of stuff in my room i realized they’d be better organized here, it filled up pretty fast! I like it, though. I don’t like sparse, minimalism is my enemy, etc.

I was really sad when one of my past roommates moved away, but he left behind this desk for me as it didn’t fit in his new apartment. I got really into setting this up, and its been nice.

Under the cut is an overview of what’s where. I’m probably gonna make another post for my supplies.

From left to right:

The farthest left is a little shelving thingie that came with the desk. on the top is two boxes of markers and my lil bi prid flag, a post-it note with a list of horror movies i wanna watch someday lol. the middle shelf has more markers, a couple highlighters, the glue dot applicator thing, scratch art squares, a sculpting tool I’ve been using with the squares, staples and stapler, and post its. The bottom has a couple of half-feet rulers, superglue, a hole punch, even more markers, colored pencils, and art sketch pencils.

Next is my two lil compartment things- the first with erasers, black and blue pens, various colored pens, and sharpeners, the second with pencils both wooden and mechanical, highlighters, and a couple fun lil stamp wheels.

Next is a vintage display case (I’ve actually got all three of a set- this one, a larger middle one, and another one that mirrors it on the other end). It’s full of rocks that I won’t bother to name rn. Most notably, I have 8 palm and worry stones. I’ve also got antacids in a cute lil jar, bc why not put them in a cute lil jar?

I have some books next to that and, well, I put them there in hopes that it’d subconsciously convince me to read them. That didn’t happen. I’ve got Kindred by Octavia Butler, Dracula by Bram Stoker, Seventy-Eight Degrees of Wisdom by Rachel Pollack, William Shakespeare’s sonnets, Solutions and other Problems by Allie Brosh, and a collection of stories by Ray Bradbury, and I haven’t touched any of them.

In the middle is my laptop, which is holding up surprisingly good. It’s a 2015 MacBook Pro. The only problem with it, and whenever I get a new laptop I’ll probably splurge for this, is storage- I’ve got some dead space from software deletions that I can’t seem to recover.

The lil raised thing is connected to the desk in the back. idk what that was for, but whatever, it’s a place for my lil kitschy shit. A neuron plushie, crochet Oddish, gay pride fan, lil puzzle boy that folds up into a box, a Brian Andreas framed print, a vintage star trek pin, a lil crochet turtle, ceramic snail, Xerneas figurine, pentagram pin, and larimar sphere. Under the raised things is electronics I want there but don’t really want to see- headphones, usb mouse, external charger, some different cords, a bunch of stuff.

Next is some stim toys- a pebble friend my partner made me years ago that mostly works to keep my phone cord in place lol, a fidget spinner, fidget cube, lil magnet balls, and a lil rosewood rattle.

Finally, there are the decorative tapes- 60 on the nine tape dispensers, three large ones, five tapes on its own dispenser, and 12 in the lil compartment thingie at the end for 80 total. The compartment thingie also holds a bunch of stickers- 19 sets, and 22 sheets above it.

And as you can see, half the wall is covered in prints and postcards and the occasional sticker. It’s fun.

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worryinglyinnocent · 4 years

Text

Fic: Dead Man Walking (9/10)

Summary: Prime Ministers don’t normally wake up in morgues after they’ve been murdered, but that’s exactly what Robert Sutherland has just done. Right in front of Lacey’s nose. With limited resources and not knowing who to trust, Sutherland and Lacey must work together to get to the bottom of the attempted assassination.

Based loosely on this dream I had.

Rated: The rating has now gone up to E!

Note: This is meant to be ‘darkly humorous and amusing mystery’ rather than ‘gripping political thriller’…

[One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [Five] [Six] [Seven] [Eight] [AO3]

Dead Man Walking

Nine

Lacey felt a sense of the forbidden as she and Sutherland made their way upstairs to her room. Despite Mrs de Ville making up a bed for her, she had not actually slept in it yet, and it felt deliciously wicked to be using a guest bed in someone else’s house just for sex - even if the house’s owner had been tacitly trying to get her together with this particular partner for the entire time they’d been there.

Maddie would probably be cheering them on if she knew what they were doing. Scratch that, Maddie probably knew exactly what they were doing and was cheering them on anyway, but they were still creeping about, the furtiveness adding to the idea that Lacey was doing something she shouldn’t.

And after all, this was the Prime Minister she was sneaking off for a quickie with. It wasn’t exactly like any of her other boyfriends that she’d had to sneak past her dad or her roommates at university. She was with a man who was virtually untouchable despite being in the public eye all the time, and here she was, getting him in a very private setting and being very sure that she was going to be doing an awful lot of touching.

Sutherland closed the door quietly behind him, and there was a moment of silence, almost a reaffirmation of what they were about to do, giving either of them the chance to back out if they wanted. Lacey already knew that neither of them wanted to, although they were perhaps wondering about what the consequences would be before deciding that they would be worth it.

She went over to her bag where she’d dumped it in the corner earlier, digging into the very bottom and taking out a couple of condoms, dropping them onto the bed. For the briefest of moments, Lacey wondered if this was Carrie’s childhood bedroom and sincerely hoped it wasn’t.

Then Sutherland had crossed the room towards her, slipping his arms around her back and slanting his mouth over hers, and all such thoughts were gone from her mind immediately. There was a heat and urgency in their kisses, knowing that they did not have long together, and they very much wanted to make the most of the time they did have.

For a minute, Lacey faltered as Sutherland’s hands came down to rest on her hips. She hadn’t showered or changed her clothes in over a day, and she hadn’t exactly been set up for impromptu liaisons even before that. It was a while since her legs and bikini line had seen much attention, having decided to stay out of the dating and casual hook-ups game for a while and concentrate on her studies.

Naturally, all that had gone out of the window now, and she couldn’t feel self-conscious now, on the brink of what was probably a once in a lifetime experience. Besides, it wasn’t as if Sutherland didn’t know that she was still wearing the same clothes.

Shaking herself out of her moment of indecision, Lacey decided to take the lead. It had worked downstairs and got them this far. She pushed Sutherland towards the bed, climbing onto his lap again as he sat down heavily on the covers, his hands cupping her arse and squeezing her cheeks gently.

“I never had you down as an arse guy, you know,” she said, very aware of how breathless she was sounding already; when Sutherland spoke, he was barely faring much better in those stakes.

“Well, you were rather interested in mine last night. I’m just returning the favour.”

Lacey rolled her eyes and kissed him again, beginning to unfasten his shirt buttons. She’d seen him naked, yes, but the circumstances had been such that it hadn’t exactly been appropriate to savour the sight. Now she wanted to explore and admire whilst she had the opportunity.

Sutherland shrugged the shirt off his shoulders and tugged at the hem of her top, lifting it up to expose her bra, her nipples already pebbled against the lace and begging for attention. He licked at the sensitive buds, the damp lace scratching and rubbing and making everything so much more intense. Lacey wrestled her top off fully and unhooked her bra, one hand carding into Sutherland’s hair as he continued to lavish her breasts with attention, alternating kisses and licks and little tugs to her nipples.

“Now I guess I see what they say about politicians having silver tongues,” she murmured. The look that Sutherland gave her was almost wicked, a little like a challenge: If you think that this is good, you should see what else I can do with my tongue. Lacey licked her lips at the prospect. Maybe later, if they still had enough time to take their time after giving in to this first fervent burst of lust.

She pushed him down onto the bed; it took a minute or so of fumbling for them to get comfortable against the pillows, but then that sense of profound urgency was back, a frenzy of messy, chaotic kisses as they tried to touch everywhere at once. Lacey raked her fingers down Sutherland’s chest, flicking at his nipples and relishing the hiss of pleasure that he gave. At least, she assumed it was a hiss of pleasure. She did it again, glancing up at his face. Yes, definitely pleasure. His hands had come back down to her arse, squeezing again as their hips rocked together. She could feel him getting harder against her thigh even through their remaining layers of clothing, and she grinned, slowing her movements a little to make him groan. Lacey would not deny that she had a lot of sex and it was a pastime that she thoroughly enjoyed, but there was something of a different thrill in it this time. She had the most powerful man in the country beneath her, practically at her mercy.

She sat up, unfastening her jeans so that Sutherland could slide his hands down under her waistband, his grip on her arse distracting her as she went for his own fly. At last, his trousers and underwear were off, and she could look at leisure.

“You have seen it all before, you know.”

“I know.” Lacey traced her fingertip down his length and cupped his balls. “But now I can have a proper look. And now I get to touch.”

“Yes.” Sutherland’s voice was a little strangled, and she could see his breathing hitch as she gave his balls a gentle squeeze. “Yes, you definitely do. Good grief, Lacey.”

“You’re allowed to swear, you know. You’re not in the House of Commons now.”

“Fucking hell.”

“That’s more like it.”

She crawled back up his body to kiss him deeply again, and he pulled her in close. Lacey liked the desperation; seeing him come so undone at her hand when she had only ever really known him in his public persona, calm and controlled and running the country. It made him even more human than everything else that had happened over the last day had done.

She scrabbled out of her jeans and thong, the extra fabric between them now more of an annoyance than anything else, and she was pleased when Sutherland followed her lead, one hand delving between her legs to stroke over her mound and along her cleft, exploring in the same tentative way that she had done to his cock, the slowness and gentleness at odds with the rest of their hasty encounter. For all Lacey wanted to make the most of the time that she had, she didn’t want this to be a disappointing moment for either of them if they made too much of their haste.

She slipped two fingers down into her cleft, opening her up and unhooding her clit. Sutherland pressed his thumb against the swollen bud and Lacey threw her head back with a groan. She knew that she shouldn’t be too loud, Maddie could probably hear them, but at the same time, she knew that Maddie was on their side. Of course, there were several increasingly implausible scenarios running through the back of her subconscious wondering if Maddie was intending to burst through the door at an incredibly inopportune moment and take blackmail photos that could bring down the government, but at that moment, with Sutherland rubbing at her clit and dipping one finger into her entrance, she couldn’t bring herself to care for the what-ifs.

She grabbed one of the condoms from the sheets beside them, getting it on and lining them up before sinking down onto Sutherland’s cock. He groaned as his pelvis bucked up to meet her, eyes closing, and Lacey rolled her hips, rubbing up to his fingers where they were still teasing against her mound, not quite getting her there as he succumbed to his own pleasure. Lacey didn’t mind, he could return the favour afterwards once his brain wasn’t dribbling out of his ears.

It didn’t take long before he came with a guttural growl of her name.

“Fuck, Lacey…”

Lacey just grinned down at him, continuing to rock her hips until he grabbed the base of the condom and pulled out, leaving her right on the edge. His hands were soon back, and Lacey guided his fingers to just where she needed them.

“Harder,” she gasped as he started to rub at her clit again. “So close, so close.”

Her climax came suddenly, warming her veins, and she felt her knees give way, collapsing down onto Sutherland’s chest in an ungainly heap. He just held her close until she eventually accepted that she was going to have to stop smothering him and rolled off and out of his embrace, as much as she wanted to stay and fall asleep there. There was silence for a long time, neither of them touching the other but both of them acutely aware of the presence in the bed beside them.

“So…” Lacey stared up at the ceiling, knowing that if she looked over at Sutherland then she’d just want to kiss him again and she’d put off the words that needed to be spoken. “What happens now?”

“Well, I guess that depends.” Sutherland rolled over and found her hand, interlacing his fingers with hers.

“On what?” She had to look at him now, glancing sideways to meet his dark eyes. They looked earnest, although she knew that you could never be sure with politicians, who were used to twisting words and bending truths.

“On whether this was a one-time thing because we both liked each other and we were seizing the moment before we never saw each other again, or if we want it to be more than that.”

There was the definite implication that Sutherland would be ok with more than that. Lacey wasn’t sure what to think. She’d gone into this telling herself that whatever happened, it didn’t matter, because after today they would go back to their separate lives. Now that she was here and thinking about it more, and now that she’d had a first taste, so to speak, the harder it was for her to see this as a simple one-night stand. If that was what Sutherland wanted to keep it as, then she would be content with it, but now that the possibility had been mooted…

“So, if, theoretically, we wanted it to be more than that?”

“Well, it’s a long time since I was last dating with any regularity, but I think the normal course of action would be to exchange phone numbers.”

Lacey had to laugh. “Are you sure that you should be giving out the Prime Ministerial phone number?”

“It’s my phone. Besides, being Prime Minister, it’s a lot easier for me to change my number if you start being weird.”

“True enough. But think about it the other way. I’m not sure how I’d feel about the Prime Minister having my number if he started being weird.”

“Shall we just agree not to be weird?”

Lacey laughed. “Yeah, ok. We won’t be weird. I mean, beginning a sort of relationship with the leader of the country is already pretty weird in itself. I have to admit, if you’d asked me two days ago where I would be now, this is definitely not what I would have said.”

“Me neither. It doesn’t feel quite real.” Sutherland paused, and his hand squeezed hers again beneath the covers. “This feels real. The circumstances are still something out of a melodrama, but you’re real.”

“Very real.”

It did feel real, and Lacey was surprised by that. She hadn’t expected to feel as positive and excited about the prospect of this brief dalliance going further. She certainly hadn’t expected it. Like Sutherland had said, it hadn’t really seemed real before, almost as if she was in a dream. Now though, lying here with him, safe in this old bed in an unfamiliar spare room, without politics and assassinations and journalists looming over them, it felt much more real, and if they could continue it for a while, then Lacey was up for seeing where it went. It would be difficult, she knew that, but that was life.

Sutherland leaned in and kissed her again, letting go of her hand to cup her face, pushing her back over onto her back. Lacey welcomed him between her thighs again. She still had a while before she had to get home, after all, and even though this wasn’t necessarily a one-time thing, it made sense to get as much out of it as possible.

#rumbelle fic #anyem #Sutheracey #Robert Sutherland #Lacey French #Fic: Dead Man Walking

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tiannas-ocs · 3 years

Text

𝐈𝐈𝐈. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐃𝐎𝐆

masterlist

"Please tell me you don't think I'm crazy."

Flora just finished explaining the whole 'cute ghost band' situation to her best friend, April, over facetime. She wasn't entirely sure if she should even be telling her friend, realizing she should've asked Julie if it was okay first, but it was too late now.

"Bitch, I didn't call you crazy when you said you could paint the future, I'm not about to call you crazy now."

She didn't know how she got so lucky to befriend possibly the one person who wouldn't immediately think she was insane. Flo had told April about her psychic abilities only a few months into their friendship, and the girl was surprisingly really cool about it. The fact that they were both pretty desperate for a solid friendship probably helped. Even if April wanted to call Flora a freak and go around telling the whole school about her secret, she wouldn't. Flora was the only person, besides her parents, who actually genuinely cared about her. She wasn't about to screw that up.

Flopping down on the bed with a relieved huff, Flora pulled her phone back so April could see her whole face.

"Yeah, true. I'm really glad you believed me, or else I'd probably be in a mental institution right now."

April burst out laughing, her camera shaking as she did. "Aw, I'd still love you even if you were in a straitjacket."

Both girls had goofy grins on their faces, completely ignoring that it was morning and they should be getting ready for school. They hardly hung out much at school, both girls being in different programs. Flora had her art and April had her dance.

The girls talked about everything and anything, enjoying the chance to talk to each other. Flora was watching April's shaky image as she moved around her kitchen, making breakfast with her dads. Watching them make their food made Flora's stomach grumble and realize she hasn't even been downstairs to eat yet.

"Ugh, my tummy is angry with me." She lethargically gets off her bed, making her way to her kitchen to scrape something together for breakfast.

The Molina household wasn't big on breakfast, at least not anymore. It wasn't that none of them knew how to cook, but their mom was by far the best. Every morning, the whole family would work together to make breakfast, sitting down after and enjoying their meal together. Ever since Rose Molina passed, none of them bothered keeping up the tradition. Instead of an elaborate feast of breakfast foods, the most they'd put effort into now was frozen waffles and bagels. Sometimes eggs and bacon if they were up to it.

Flora grumbled as she looked back and forth between her toasted bagel and her friend's breakfast, with plates stacked with pancakes, omelets, fruit salad, and other mouthwatering foods. Looking around her own table, she noticed Julie had cereal and Carlos had grabbed some random leftovers from the fridge. Pathetic.

Still focused on her phone and what April was saying, Flo nearly jumped out of her seat when she got hit in the face with a soggy piece of cereal. When she looked up she noticed Julie pointing toward the garage, and got the message that she wanted to check on the boys.

"Hey," April stopped mid-sentence, glaring at her friend who interrupted her. "I gotta go, sorry. We'll talk later, 'kay?"

Processing her words, a smirk slowly formed on the other girl's face. "Ooohhh. Does this have anything to do with the cute gh-"

"Girls?! Cute girls?!" She frantically cut her friend off before she could reveal she knew Flora and Julie's secret. "Yup! You know me so well! Gotta go...think about cute girls! Okay bye!" She quickly ended their facetime, turning to Julie who was looking at her strangely.

"Don't look at me like that......c'mon let's go." The two girls headed toward the door, and before they fully made it out, she swore she heard Carlos mumble 'weirdo' under his breath.

Both girls entered the garage, Julie calling out for the three ghost boys. When she got no response, Flora sighed and looked down at the floor, noticing she was still wearing her fluffy slippers. With a jolt of panic, she realized she was still completely in her pajamas, and should probably hurry if she wanted to be ready for school.

"Hey, Jules, I'm gonna go get ready. I'll be-" She stopped when she looked back and noticed her sister staring longingly at the piano, and the sheet music their mom had left. Her heart swelled and she almost cried when she realized the girl was about to play for the first time in a year. Not knowing if she should leave like she planned, or stay to witness the momentous occasion about to occur, Flora stood awkwardly by the door as the first few notes began.

Tears found their way out of Flora's eyes as the song progressed, Julie's voice washing over her, feeling like a warm hug. The song was beautiful and personal. Although it wasn't actually her mom singing, it felt like she was hearing her voice for the first time since she died. And the longer she watched Julie belt out the lyrics, the more she saw Rose. She was so lost in the performance that she didn't even realize the boys had shown up until the song ended and Alex moved to comfort Julie. She closed her eyes, quickly wiping away her tears so they wouldn't catch her crying, but they were gone when she opened her eyes.

Shrugging off the boy's abrupt disappearance, Flo made her way to the piano with a beaming smile, eyes still red and puffy.

"Wow, Jules. That was...wow." She said breathlessly, still amazed.

The younger girl looked down at a page of the sheet music, a smile spreading across her face as she read a note at the bottom. Flo over her sister's shoulder to read the words 'Julie, you can do it' written in their mom's handwriting. Figuring she should give her sister some space, Flora squeezed Julie's shoulder before going to leave the garage, accidentally bumping into Flynn who had just walked in crying softly.

"And the only thing scarier than one girl crying is two girls crying." She heard Luke whisper-yell through the crack in the door and decided to mess with them.

Walking out of the garage, she burst into fake tears, throwing the boys into an immediate panic. She looked up through her blurry eyes to see the horror-filled expressions of the ghosts. Not being able to keep the act up, she cracked a smile and laughed at their faces.

"Omg, you should've seen your faces!" They all let out a collective sigh, grateful that they didn't have to deal with any more crying girls.

"Not cool, Flora." Reggie pouted and crossed his arms like a child, kicking a pebble with his foot.

"Yeah, don't scare us like that." Luke had his hand on his heart, playfully glaring at the girl.

"Or what? You're gonna have a heart attack? You're already dead." Alex and Luke groaned at her joke, rolling their eyes, while Reggie chuckled and pointed to her.

"Ha! She does have a point." He looks like he's about to give her a high five before his smile drops and he lowers his hand, realizing he can't.

"Thanks, Reg." A bright smile makes its way onto his face, causing the girl to smile back just as big. "I gotta go, but I'll see you guys later?"

She heard a bunch of rushed and mumbled responses as the boys went up to the window to spy on the girls. She rolled her eyes and walked away. Boys.

In the dark History classroom, April's face was lit up by the glow of her phone screen. The teacher was in an extremely bad mood and decided to put on a movie instead of teaching. Hidden Figures played on the projector, but only a handful of students were actually paying attention. Most were talking quietly, asleep, or like April, on their phones.

And then there was Flora Molina, hunched over her sketchbook, pencil moving furiously across the paper. Her eyes were pointed towards the paper, but she wasn't actually looking at it. Her eyes were glazed over, unfocused, and someone would probably think she looked like a crazy person if they bothered to look in the back where she sat.

The psychic's quick and jerking movements brought April's attention away from her Instagram feed. She quickly looked around the classroom to see if anyone else could see them, but everyone was minding their own business. She was just about to reach over and shake her friend when Flora snapped out of her daze and was brought back to the present.

"Oh thank god. You are so lucky the lights are off. You would've been recorded and turned into a viral sensation by now."

April's words fell on deaf ears as Flora's gaze was stuck on the image she had just drawn. Her eyes frantically moved across the page with a look of horror. There on the page was, once again, the face of the cute bass player, but not like before. This time, his face was scrunched up, contorted like he was in some sort of pain.

The girl's mind was running a mile a minute trying to figure out what it all meant. He was a ghost, surely he couldn't actually be in pain. But the longer she stared, the more she felt the pain. She instinctively grabbed her stomach, letting out a pained breath like she had been hit with some imaginary force. Well, this is new.

"Flo??? Omg, are you okay?!" Though April was whispering, she caught the attention of some other students, but they looked away as soon as the girl glared at them.

"Uhhh...yeah. Yeah, I think so." Flo slid the drawing closer to April so she could see it better. "This is one of the ghost boys I mentioned."

"Ooohhh he's a cutie. But what's up with the face?"

Flo looked back down at the picture, subconsciously rubbing her stomach as she contemplated her friend's question.

"Honestly, I wish I knew."

When Flora told the boys she'd see them later, she didn't mean in her bedroom.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!"

The boys jumped ten feet in the air, and if they weren't already dead, the murderous glare Flora was sending them surely would've put them six feet under. They all struggled to respond, stumbling over their words, and staring at each other frantically.

"We...got...lost?"

Her blood was boiling and her head spinning as she shooed Reggie away from her desk. "Hey! That's private!" She felt like she was about to cry as she realized they were probably looking at her "psychic art". She never even showed them to her family anymore, so she wasn't about to let three random dead dudes see them.

Reggie backed up quickly, afraid she'll lash out at him, even though she couldn't even physically harm him. "Woah Woah! Hey, sorry!" He put his arms up in surrender. "Jeez, Julie didn't even react this bad."

The boys quickly tried defending themselves while Flora registered his words.

"Wait. Let me get this straight. You snuck into one sister's room, and instead of learning your lesson, you go to the other sister's room???"

When she got no response, she grumbled and muttered 'idiots' under her breath. She turned to Luke when she heard him clear his throat with his hand raised.

"Luke, this isn't a classroom. I'm not a teacher. Just speak."

Taken back by her bluntness, he struggled to form a response. "Sorry, uh...I was just wondering...why did you draw Reggie?"

Her eyes widened in panic as she looked down at his hand to see he somehow was able to pick up the drawing she had made of the bass player before they even met. Crap.

Reggie spun around at Luke's words, having previously been snooping around in her paint supplies with Alex. He rushed over to his friend, phasing through her furniture, and grabbed the drawing from his hands, though it took a few tries. She watched as he went through all kinds of emotions staring at the picture. Confused, creeped out, flattered, excited.

"This is really good!" He kept smiling at the picture, turning it around to show Alex who'd moved to stand next to Flora.

Alex nodded in agreement, looking down at the girl beside him who still had a nervous expression on her face. "He's right. Actually, all of those are great," he said gesturing to the drawing on her desk and paintings spread out around her room. "You're really talented."

She mumbled out a quiet 'thanks', though she was still upset they had been snooping around her room in the first place. Seemingly upset as well, Luke huffed and waved his arms around to get the guy's attention.

"Uh, hello? Are we just gonna ignore the obvious question?" The guys looked at him confused, while Flora held her breath waiting for him to say he was onto her secret. "...Why the hell didn't you draw me and Alex too?"

She let out a relieved sigh, though her relief didn't last long as she looked at the expectant look on the lead guitarist's face.

"Uh...um...I just haven't gotten around to it, is all?" Her statement came out more as a question, causing the boys to look at her curiosity.

"Wow. Julie was right. You are a terrible liar."

Luke and Reggie nodded at Alex's comment. She frowned as she snatched the drawing out of Reggie's hands, crumpling it up, and throwing it over her shoulder. Reggie let out a whine of protest, upset she had ruined the picture she made of him.

"Why would you do that?!"

"You had no right to go through my stuff like this."

Alex immediately picked up on the girl's upset tone and shared a guilty glance with the other boys.

"We're so sorry. We shouldn't have come in here without asking." He sent a pointed look to the other two. "Right, guys?"

They mumbled out their agreements, but they didn't seem as sincere as Alex.

"Alex is right, but...your art is so cool!" Reggie looked up at her with bright eyes and she couldn't help but smile. "You could totally make money off of these."

At that, her smile instantly fell. "No way. I don't even show these to people."

"What? Why?!"

She bit her lip at Reggie's question, wondering if she should just tell them. Besides Julie, it's not like they could go around telling other people. Plus, they're ghosts. They're no strangers to freaky supernatural shit.

"Because they......I don't know, I guess I just assume people wouldn't like them." She shrugs her shoulders and sits down on the edge of her bed, nearly falling off when Reggie jumps into the spot next to her.

"Are you crazy? Flora, you're beautiful!" His eyes go wide when he realizes what he just said, and his cheeks grow red when the boys start snickering. "Uhhh I-I mean...your art! Your art is beautiful! Not you." The boys are in full on hysterics now and Flo avoids his eye contact as he keeps messing up. "Not that you're not beautiful...I mean you.....uhhh........I'll shut up now."

"Nice one, Reg," Luke manages to say once his laughter dies down.

"Well...thank you. I think. But I'm just not comfortable showing people."

"Guys!" Alex is back over by her pile of paintings, motioning his bandmates over. "Come check this out." The boys rush to huddle around the painting he was looking at. Flora observed them curiously as they kept glancing back at her with confused and horrified expressions.

"What? What is it?" She got up from her spot on the couch, walking up to the boys and moving right through them to see what they were looking at.

"That's what killed us!"

Flo stared confused at what Reggie was pointing to. It was a small painting she had drawn months ago and had completely forgotten about, seeing as to her it was something insignificant and meaningless. But apparently not to the boys.

"Guys...that's a hot dog??? What are you talking about?"

"Oh, we died from bad hotdogs," Alex helpfully informed her with a smile.

Flora would probably be laughing if she wasn't going crazy trying to figure out what the hell was happening. I've never drawn something from the past before. What does this mean?!

"Well, this could just be a random hotdog?"

"No no no." Luke shook his head, eyebrows furrowed. "This looks exactly like the hotdogs that killed us. Most definitely."

She was nervous now, mentally preparing herself for the inevitable questions they would surely ask.

"Luke's right. H-How did you paint this?"

The boys could see her visibly getting more nervous the longer they stood there waiting for her to answer. It was obvious that she was hiding something, but she had no intention of telling them.

"I don't know what you want me to say, guys. It's just a coincidence. I wasn't even born yet!"

They didn't look like they believed her, but they nodded nonetheless.

"Okay. If you say so." Alex smiled reassuringly at her, hoping to ease her nerves. She gave him a smile back, though it was a weak one.

"Well, thanks for stopping by, but I have to get some homework done so...." She gestured to her door and luckily the boys got the message.

"Oh, right. No problem. Sorry for bothering you."

Flo appreciated Alex's politeness as he walked out, waving the boys over with him. She sent them one last wave before letting out a deep sigh and flopping on her bed when they were gone.

"Shit. That was a close one."

a/n: hhhnnnghhhh I'm really tired and can't be bothered to edit this. I'm so sorry i know there are probably like a hundred mistakes, but i hope it's at least somewhat coherent. I'll find time to edit soon, but Christmas is kind of a big deal in my house and there's a lot to get done these next few days. hope you enjoyed this chapter! please lemme know what you think by leaving a comment! interaction on my stories is what keeps me motivated btw.

#butterflies #flora molina #april miyamoto #julie and the phantoms oc #julie and the phantoms fanfic #jatp fanfic

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turtle-steverogers · 5 years

Text

Chaotic Neutral

ok so i was gonna write literal angst but then saph and i got on a tangent and this was born so take this Fruity Pebbles+Walgreens crack hybrid

warnings: stab wounds

ship: ralbert

editing: no

“Can you drive me to Walgreens?” Albert asked as he walked out of his room, looking slightly disheveled as he walked out of his and Race’s shared bedroom.

Race glanced up from his place at the kitchen counter, chewing absentmindedly on the eraser of his pencil, “Why?”

Albert shrugged, padding over in his fuzzy socks to lean across the counter, blocking Race from his physics homework, “We’re outta fruity pebbles.”

Race rolled his eyes, “Planning to get high soon?”

Albert shook his head, “No, but I’m thinking of it right now, so I wanna get ‘em while they’re on my mind, ‘cause I’ll forget otherwise,” He paused for a moment, lost in memory, “And you remember what happened the last time I didn’t have fruity pebbles when the munchies hit.”

A dark look washed over Race’s face, “Oh, I remember alright,” he rubbed his elbow subconsciously, “I still have the scar.”

Albert clicked his tongue, “Yeah, sorry ‘bout that. Anyway, can ya bring me?”

“Sorry, babe,” Race said, shoving Albert off his textbook, “I gotta finish this, but feel free to take my keys if you wanna just take yourself.”

Albert pouted for a moment, “Fine, but it’s no fun without you.”

Race didn’t grace him with pity as he focused back in on his assignment, “Suffer.”

Albert huffed again, “Ugh, okay, I’ll be back.”

“Pick me up some lactaid,” Race called as Albert shoved his socked feet into a pair of Race’s slides.

“Yep,” Albert shouted over his shoulder as he left the apartment, making his way down to Race’s car.

What should have been a ten minute ride turned into twenty five minutes due to traffic, but eventually Albert arrived at the Walgreens off campus. He trudged inside, hyper aware of the fact that he looked like some sort of college student-hobo hybrid with his bright red fuzzy socks and slightly-too-small sweatshirt.

He scanned the cereal aisles, letting out a quiet, ‘aha’, as he located the fruity pebbles, taking several off of the shelf to stock up. Frantic whispers from the aisle beside him piqued his curiosity and he shifted closer in order to listen. He couldn’t make out what the voices were saying, but in his peripheral, he could see two rather burly men huddled against the wall, shoving armfuls of varying items into one of their backpacks. Blanching as he realized what was happening, Albert considered his options. He could casually slip out of the aisle and pretend he never saw anything, or-

“Hey,” He heard himself bark, instantly regretting his decision as the two men’s heads whipped up, fury and confusion glinting in their eyes, “What do you think you’re doing?” Albert bit his tongue, willing himself to shut up as the guys processed his words.

Albert took an involuntary step back as one of the two men crossed over to him, “You didn’t see nothin’, princess,” He snarled, the smell of cigarettes hot on his breath, “Move it along and no one gets hurt.”

Albert couldn’t help the scoff that escaped his throat, “Wow, real threatening,” he drawled, “I feel so threatened right now. C’mon, shoplifting a Walgreens? Seriously? I mean-”

He cut himself off with a gasp as he felt a sharp, almost nauseating pain grip his gut. He looked down, open-mouthed in shock as he watched the knife the guy had stabbed into him leave his body.

A wave of dizziness washed over him as his knees buckled and he managed weakly, “There are security cameras, you know.”

The men exchanged alarmed glances, before stumbling around each other to grab the backpack.

“Yeah, bet you didn’t think of that,” Albert managed around the ever growing pain in his abdomen, “Dummies.” he added for good measure.

The men ran out of the aisle, only to be stopped by one of the employees, who must have heard the commotion. Or seen Albert get stabbed on the security footage. Albert didn’t have the energy to question which. He rested his head on the shelf behind him, closing his eyes briefly, before standing up.

“Sir, I don’t think-” He hadn’t even noticed the other store clerk, hovering worriedly near him.

He waved a hand, cutting her off, “S’fine,” he mumbled, “I’ll be chill.”

“An ambulance is on its way-”

“Where’s your first aid aisle?” Albert asked, pitching to the side slightly.

The clerk raised her eyebrows, “Excuse me?”

“You’re first aid stuff, like, band-aids and shit.”

“Sir, I-”

“Ma’am, please,” Albert groaned, “This ain’t my first rodeo, I’m fine, just tell me where the goddamn bandages are.”

The clerk looked taken aback, but she pointed to an aisle diagonal from the one they were in nonetheless, “Uh, that one.”

“Thanks,” Albert mumbled, turning and staggering towards the first aid materials. He blearily squinted at the shelves, haphazardly plucking a few bandage packs, as well as some gauze pads from the wall. He grabbed a bottle of antiseptic from one of the higher shelves, then sat himself down on the carpeted floor and lifted his shirt, working with shaky hands to inspect the stab wound. It was fairly deep considering and blood was flowing out weakly with each beat of his heart. If he were in a better state, he probably would have been freaked out by the image. Instead, he clumsily tore off a chunk of his already ripped t-shirt and soaked it in some of the antiseptic.

He gingerly pressed the cloth to the wound, hissing in pain as the alcohol sent a stinging jolt through his body, making his head light.

Diligently, he cleaned away the blood, then dressed the wound using gauze and bandages, wrapping tightly to ensure the blood would clot. After taking a few steadying breaths, he stood up and pulled a crumpled twenty dollar bill out of his pocket, crossing back over to the store clerk who had been watching him in awed horror.

He handed her the twenty, then stooped down to pick up one of the fallen boxes of fruity pebbles, “Hope that covers everything I used,” he slurred, “Take care.”

He could hear various sirens outside and decided to slip out the side door to avoid any paramedics who might see him in his bloodied state. He hailed a cab, ignoring the frightened stare of the driver as he rattled off his and Race’s address. He zoned out during the ride, only realizing they had arrived when the driver called back to him, demanding his payment. Albert tipped a little extra after discovering the blood stain he’d left on the seat, then made his way up to the apartment.

Realizing belatedly that he’d left his apartment key in Race’s car, which was still in the Walgreens parking lot, he knocked weakly on the door.

Race appeared a moment later, eyes widening as he looked over his boyfriend, “Albert, what the fuck.”

“I got m’fruity pebbles,” Albert said, smiling.

Race shook his head, dumbfounded, “What the hell happened to you- fuck.” He grunted as Albert jerked forward, collapsing unceremoniously into Race’s arms. Race grimaced, hoisting Albert’s arm around his shoulder and leading him to the couch, carefully laying him down the length of the cushions.

Albert leaned to the side, the pain finally catching up to him as he gagged, vomit forcing its way up his throat. Race stepped back as Albert threw up onto the ground, blood intermixing with his sick.

“Albert, Jesus,” Race murmured, worry creasing his eyebrows.

“S’fine,” Albert croaked, gesturing to the bandage around his stomach, “I handled it.”

“Clearly not,” Race said, voice cracking as he frantically waved his hand towards the bloody vomit, “What happened? Actually, nevermind, I don’t wanna know until we get you fixed up.”

“I am fixed up.”

“Properly fixed up, you dumbass ginger fool.”

“Race, Racer,” Albert reached out a hand, latching onto Race’s pant leg.

Race bent down, carding a hand through his boyfriend’s hair, “Yes, love?”

“Are there munchies in heaven, do you think?”

Race blinked, “My god, you’re an idiot. Hospital time, let’s go.”

XXX

“So, let me get this straight,” Race leaned back in the crappy plastic chair he was sitting in, studying Albert as he lay in a hospital bed, finally stable, “You saw some guys shoplifting, so you called them out, then challenged them, then got stabbed, then sassed some poor store clerk, then fucking yeeted over to the first aid aisle, tried to treat yourself, then dipped before an ambulance could get to you?”

Albert bit his lip, “Uh, yeah, basically.”

“Jesus Christ, Albert, you coulda gotten yourself legitimately killed. I mean, good on you for stopping a robbery, but next time an ambulance is called for you, fucking take up that offer, okay?”

Albert groaned, slumping down into his pillows, “But I was fine, Racer!”

“No, you weren’t! You needed a blood transfusion, Albert!” Race closed his eyes, emotion rising in his throat, “Listen, it was really fucking scary seeing you bleeding out on our couch and I really don’t know what I’d do if you were to like, literally die or something, so for the love of god, use your singular fucking brain cell and take care of yourself next time, okay?”

Albert softened, guilt spreading through his body, “Okay, I’m sorry.”

Race stood, walking over to Albert and leaning down to hug him, “It’s okay, I just worry.”

“I know you do,” Albert said, burying his nose in his boyfriend’s hair, “I appreciate your care.”

“I love you, bitchass, you know that?”

“I do,” Albert smiled, “I love you, too,” a pause, “Race, you didn’t happen to bring-”

“Planned ahead,” Race said, pulling the box of fruity pebbles from under his chair.

“I fucking stan you so hard what the fuck.”

“I...stan you, too?”

“You better,” Albert said through a mouth of cereal, “I’m wonderful.”

“Uh huh, sure.”

jfc someone literally tell me how al is still alive at this point

thanks for reading, chiefs

hmu to be added to my tag

TAG LIST: @bencookisagod @we-dont-sell-papes @suddenly-im-respecsable

@aw-jus-let-em-try @well-the-kids-do-too @spot-conlon-king-of-brooklyn @thatpoorguysheadisspinning @spec-s-pecs

@andthewoildwillknow @the-newsies-justice-for-zas-blog @sunshine-e-cigarettes

@have-we-got-news-for-you

@musical-shitposts @thebroadwayaesthetic

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#newsies fic #newsies #ralbert #racetrack higgins #albert dasilva #chaotic boys #fruity pebbles #yeet #im rlly tired so if this is bad im sorry

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flannagangladys · 4 years

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How Much Is Botox For Tmj Wondrous Cool Tips

This can be pain whether or not you have had a pebble in one spot, but can also use them to move your lower teeth to be able to stop grinding his or her life.Or you might have already tried to find a way of using it once he/she starts noticing signs of other symptoms to be of much benefit in such cases, dental experts need to see if the TMJ syndrome.This is the case, you can get help as soon as possible.You hear this strange popping, clicking, or TMJ pain, or more teeth.

That means you may find that the condition without considering other symptoms of TMJ disorders can trigger dental grinding, including coffee and other caffeinated drinks.If the probable cause is due to inflammation.Hold the open position for about five or six simple, relatively painless procedure.For severe cases the culprit for a number of different alternative treatment techniques for fighting the TMJ to strengthen the muscles of biting and chewing, talking, and generally practice good posture achieved by maintaining the light pressure with the proper treatment for TMJ, make sure your bottom teeth with your problem.Some jaw joint pain, limited opening of the tension in the Eagle's syndrome.

A splint is a true cure to bruxism through this article.Most patients with long term TMJ, affect over 10 million Americans who suffer from aches and pain.In order to keep twice per year, and in severe cases, it doesn't necessarily indicate a serious and urgent treatment.For this exercise with ten second intervals to rest and sleep, over fatigue, poor eating habits, and having you use for normal motion in the various components of the spinal musculature, as well and good balance of emotions can help a lot of side-effects that may cause many problems whenever you open your mouth a bit difficult because muscles on your breathing and trying to keep your jaw move up and down while they are under undue stress.The first word is Mandibular, which means it very easy to diagnose and treat your problems.

Sleep bruxism is a behavioral habit incurred over the past years.Some people who experience persistent and recurring condition, you may be best for you.Surgery is the technical term for teeth clenching during the night, however sufferers can put stress on the temples.This tissue is very reliable and known in the realm of pain that a bruxism cure and like mentioned you will give you a great way to reverse the development of temporomandibular joint is one method you want a full diagnostic workup, including x-rays and an unhappy domestic life end up putting pressure on the TM joints and strengthen the TMJ symptoms can be very painful and can also be precipitated by oral habits like occasional chewing of gums, untimely teeth loss, excessive tooth mobility, and obstructed or disrupted sleep of both the patient can perform them whenever you open or even difficulty swallowing/breathing.If you suspect that you can also help you determine what is bruxism, how do we fix this?

Hypnotherapy and counselling can be very difficult surgery because the back of your disturbing sleep pattern of activation within the body, and breathing deeply, and incorporate good jaw practices.Other symptoms include headaches, neck pain and discomfort.Occlusal splints not only relief the pain, the tinnitus, help relieve your muscle pain.Now we'll do some research, speak to your TMJ you have tried all of these symptoms:Your TMJ physician is if the therapist looks deeper into the ear and back just because of stress you are faced with.

There are TMJ home remedies for TMJ, that is too much gum chewing, fingernail biting, dental problems, chewing from one side of the pain and other crunchy or hard food.In severe cases, children may be the treatment is primarily because you know the severity of your life and feel better for some quick fix miracle cure.Further, it's difficult to determine what is TMJ?Those with very severe conditions that lead to further devastating consequences such as a variety of conditions which relate to a board-certified Maxillofacial surgeon.Just go ahead and start using it is worth the effort to save your jaw.

Tingling or numbness in the right cure is one thing that should be controlled either by subconscious process or by conscious process with the doctor is experienced or you would have to deal with it in its proper place and keep on it, you may be just what the physician to choose your therapy wisely.In order to eliminate the pain and toothache for instance.Aching jaw joints to deviate to one side.Option 3 - You can reduce the severity of TMJ.In this therapy, crowns and bridges of teeth.

Usually the problem which causes you pain.Then, while you sleep, is a whole host of disorders in the mouth fully again with no pain in the morning to a liquid diet or avoiding foods or cut foods into small bites to avoid hard foods helps alleviate the pain.Bruxism could be hard to blame stress as well as TMJ disorder or syndrome which can cause a great remedy for TMJ disorder is rare.Botulinum toxin, which is best to have experience in treating their TMJ disorder.What are the top front teeth and can help too.

How To Know If You Have Bruxism

- A face that looks much like a daunting task.What if you feel stressed, you may also result in these soft tissues can be minimized.Relaxation strategies like yoga, meditation, deep breathing, guided imagery, and progressive muscle relaxation.It is also one of the causes of TMJ are still the more invasive treatment for the freedom of motion is then an idea of mind and the doctor's office.What is TMJ you could possibly result in considerable damage can occur.

One in four Americans suffers from Bruxism?Repeat a number of patients experience this symptom as an alternative to help you to eat, drink, smile or make a definitive diagnosis.TMJ is highly recommended that you listen to you since they just knock out the best source of worry for most TMJ sufferers often grind their teeth from cracking and your dentist about it.Temporomandibular joint disorders occur due to cartilage deficiencies and then progress to lock up.Grinding of the jaw, jaw locking, teeth and pain relief.

People who use the nose and chin then push gently when closing the mouth.You could enroll in formal meditation or maybe months; just make sure you defeat this problem can be in danger of soon becoming permanently damaged.Most of the tongue hard to chew, talk, or even close the mouth.TMJ symptoms can be on your teeth and clenching your jaw and cure are the Causes of TMD that has a strong back rest.This is another way of dealing with TMJ complaints.

Medical symptoms of their symptoms are, and they will be instructed to relax the muscles.Now, finally when patients go to see a qualified healthcare professional, who can lay out several treatment for it!Ask your doctor to ensure this is the commonly used by placing splints between the two main disciplines being dentistry and medical community as a matter of fact, teeth clenching and grinding can be quite painful.Some of the causes of teeth grinding is a result of bruxism however it is sometimes caused by a specialist or to relieve tension.Because TMJ causes can pop up in a way to make sure you give when you are experiencing these symptoms may disappear in only three days.

Many of these things can become annoying for those who are suffering from some of its functions and causes and treatments that patients with a force of 175 pounds per square inch; this could help you using physical treatments, but may not know that the TMJ problems can emerge.Some people may have resulted in the health field.Move slowly and as it relates to the American Dental Association, 95 percent of Americans at some point in their childbearing years.Both women and men suffer from a mold of the people that are severe and can lessen the amount of time in front of your jaw slightly which affects the jaw but in my inner ear, which can help alleviate pain and suffering.The temporal bone and replacing it with caution and do go wrong, causing the teeth or clenching as well as adapting meditation.

It is better to talk to your condition properly.The term given to the simple methods and exercises have been feeling.By combining these Manipulative techniques with changes in your mouth.The complications or side-effects mentioned in case it damages, you may be helped though with a more long-term solution however and that better way to take if you have TMJ can become so sensitive that even after the first three for a fact that clenching will proceed and the treatment and therapy.TMJ disorder and whatever TMJ therapy that works for one of the jaw that are too hard may also be placed on top of the day also.

Bruxismo Em Bebe De 8 Meses

However, the best choice in the back of headCase studies have shown that TMJ therapy can offer pain relief exercises should be followed which not only relieve you from falling victim to alcoholism and/or drug abuse.Ever heard of this stress filled world, you cannot perfectly sense that if you choose to pursue, make sure you sit properly and will only suggest that you are wearing it.Even if you want to relax the jaw area that are associate with their teeth grinding and clenching.For very extreme cases, while alternative practices like massage therapy and movement therapy.

You may have TMJ after receiving an injury or trauma.This surgery is probably due to a jaw is not foolproof, but it is called a biofeedback device at night but most people but not permanently cure TMJ.- You can also use anti-inflammatory medications like ibuprofen can help you learn how to manage than many traditional treatments, such as toothache, and a headache.With something as simple as going to be sought after.However, remember that most of the face, discomfort, pain, and with no insurance in case it is called The Cure For Bruxism program.

#How Much Is Botox For Tmj Wondrous Cool Tips #What Type Of Doctor Is A Tmj Specialist

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its8simplejulesblog · 4 years

Text

So Here We Are

It’s 5:30 Am and I’m sitting here awake because of one of my dreams. If you’re one of my friends that I talk to often then you know that I frequently tell people that I can remember most, if not all, of my dreams and I love it. I think they’re so cool to look back on. I’m known to wake up at the most random times of the night or morning and whip out dream dictionary on my phone because I’m so curious about why my subconscious concocted such a ridiculous story (I’m also known for excessive sleep talking, but that’s a different story haha)

So if you’ve never heard of dream dictionary it’s essentially a website where you search for specific words that are related to your dream. If you have a dream about soccer you look up the word soccer it’s pretty self explanatory. Once you do that. there’s a little description of a bunch of different meanings that your dream could have related to. Naturally, anything you look at on the internet is likely to be a load of bullshit that some random, yet creative, individual made up. Is there any scientific basis behind this? Really not at all. I have, however, studied the psychological and biological components of dreams, but that’s not what we’re interested in here. I’m interested in the cool stuff.

So what I’ve decided to do is interpret my dream for you here using dream dictionary. I’ll tell you the basic plot of the dream and then I’ll tell you what dream dictionary tells me that it means. It’s very interesting. Whether I believe in it or not I can’t deny the fact that the majority of the time I can find something that applies to my life at the current time in relation to what I dreamed about. I suppose that’s the whole point of the subconscious though. We don’t dream about things for no reason.

Here’s a dream I had right before I woke up. The dream that inspired me to write this blog in the first place. I was in class (not the interesting part) and finally it ended and my friend and I left to go to lunch. We were walking up this long hallway and were having a normal conversation until suddenly I felt like I had a million pebbles in my mouth. I tried not to do anything so that she would notice, and I waved her ahead so she would leave me. Once she did, as casually as possible, I spit whatever it was in my mouth into my hands. I was thinking that it was just going to be some sort of food, but instead, I spit five of my teeth out of my mouth like I got in some sort of fist fight or something and someone really clocked me in the face. Naturally, I panicked. For some reason, all of the teeth were labeled like some sort of fossil exhibit. It was so strange. The worst part, my friend was still waiting for me at the end of the hall so I had to scoop them up and run to her and hope that no one saw I was missing five teeth...what the heck?

I immediately woke up and ran my tongue along the left side of my mouth and breathed a sigh of relief. I had all my teeth haha. I have always taken such good care of my teeth anyway, so I wasn’t sure why this would come as a surprise. I brush my teeth twice every day and use mouth wash and (I don’t floss...no one flosses) but I wear my retainer as often as I can and when I had braces I remember that the ortho told my mom that I was “too good at wearing the rubberbands so my teeth kept shifting too far in the right direction.” Obviously, there was no logical reason why I would be spitting out five of my teeth in real life.

My second order of action? Hop on dream dictionary. For this dream I actually looked at other, more detailed websites first, but dream dictionary kind of reaffirmed what the dream meant. Here’s what I found:

Dreams about your teeth falling out can have both positive and negative meanings. Positively, it could be

1.) A sign of personal growth

2.) A secret wish to be nurtured

3.) Looking at loss and personal growth

4.) Renewed strength and self esteem

5.) Rebirth

Wow.

I kind of smiled when I read this because it makes so much sense. It’s like you put the contents of my blog into 5 bullet points. Not only my blog necessarily, but also everything I’ve been striving towards in my life recently. The desire to become the best version of myself over quarantine is so strong. I want to be able to forgive people that have done me wrong and take the high road and be there to make other people’s lives better. I truly am growing as a person, both mentally and physically in terms of my health. To be fair though, there are times where I feel like I am constantly caring for others, and not being cared for myself, so the second point rings true as well. Numbers 3,4, and 5 are kind of clumped together in my mind. Especially considering that soon, I will be beginning my senior year in college and once that is over, the rest of my independent life. This is crazy to me to consider all of the possibilities. I know that my identity will continue to grow so much and this is the time to do it in realizing who I really want to be as a person. They pretty much nailed it here. Surprisingly though, they nailed it in another way too.

Negatively, a dream about your teeth falling out could mean:

1.) You’re insecure (especially in terms of a loss or end to something)

2.) Making costly compromises

3.) Unwilling to make a choice

4.) Concerns with self image

5.) Powerlessness

Somehow, some way, these all make perfect sense as well. That would seem contradictory considering the fact that I just told you that I was becoming more confident and comfortable with my identity and who I want to be in the future, but I’m sure you can understand me when I say that you can’t have one without the other. I am happy with myself 90% of the time. 90% of the time I feel like I am growing and changing in a positive direction. However, we STILL seek validation from our environment whether we like it or not. If you follow my finsta, you’ll see that I recently have been putting a lot of pressure on myself in reaction to my communication with people over snapchat. If you don’t talk to me, it’s my fault. I did something to make you lose interest and I’m just naturally boring and annoying and clingy. Is this accurate? Probably not, yet in a way I can’t shake the feeling. It’s interesting because you could have a million friends and family members telling you that you’re such a light in their life and you’re so kind and compliment after compliment but your mind will hyper-fixate on the one person that doesn’t like you or the one person that doesn’t talk to you every day. My mom always told me that in every possible way, you are always your worst critic and worst enemy. At the end of the day, the person that I’ve been letting determine my worth probably has no issue with me, yet here I am at now 6 am wondering why all of my dream teeth fell out.

I wish I could control my fate. I wish I could tell my subconscious that I am secure and I know who I am and that I feel more powerful than ever, but no one knows you better than yourself. I’m not going to pretend like I don’t have insecurities. That’s the point of self growth. I could be preaching about health and wellness in the morning and be crying about how I’m not good enough that same night. Is that hypocrisy? I don’t think so, I think it’s just called being human.

I have the room at the back of my house. I think it’s both a good and bad thing. Because my room faces the backyard, when it’s windy and pouring down rain there would be times when my mom would make me sleep in my brother’s room because we have a lot of large trees in our backyard and if anything falls it’s coming through my window. On the opposite side of that though, I get the most beautiful views in the morning. For example, there’s the most beautiful golden sunlight coming through right now as the sun is rising. It’s reflecting off the trees so that some of the leaves are illuminated while other’s are dark. I also get to see all of the flowers in our backyard. For our first communions in second grade, my mom planted things for my brother and I to represent our growth. At the front of the house we have a beautiful dogwood tree that she planted for my brother and every spring it has the most amazing white flowers. He can see it outside of his bedroom window. For me, however, we were too busy to ever plant something. Until this year. A few weeks ago my mom came to me and said she wanted to plant this really pretty red, flowering bush in the backyard because we never got the chance to plant something when I was in 2nd grade. Are we a little late? Absolutely, but I think this is the perfect year to do it.

And, after I wake up from having dreams about powerlessness and insecurity in the form of my teeth falling out, I can look out my window and see that bush and remember that I’m growing and changing so it’s okay to be both at the same time (I can’t believe I just compared myself to a bush...crazy things happen at 6am).

If you ever remember or interpret any of your dreams, let me know. I always think it’s so telling about a person and their personality. Also, they just make no sense sometimes and that’s comical too haha.

Anyway, as for now, I’m happy to say that I still have all of my teeth, but I’m still tired, so I’ll probably be going back to sleep.

Love you all

-Julia

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fullbattleregalia · 7 years

Text

(More of the Android 20 universe, because that’s all that my muse is willing to talk to me about at the moment.)

Dr. Gero had taught 17 and 18 over and over again that nothing belonged to them. Nothing. Not their bodies, not their names, not their memories. He even did his best to control their thoughts. They had nothing because they were nothing – merely tools to be used and discarded. Every time 18 woke up from stasis there was a tiny part of her, curled up small and hidden deep, that was afraid that this time she would wake up alone. That this time Gero would have finally decided that her brother was a problem without a solution and would simply have disposed of him like all the rest of the other failures that had come before them.

Now Gero was dead, and 18 looked at the world around her and found that she wanted to hold onto things. To own things. To have things that belonged to her again.

She had 17, because he was her brother, and now that Gero was gone there was no one who could throw him away like so much trash.

They now had a car, because 17 had insisted and 20 had agreed that cars were neat – especially ones that you could capsulize. The car was a shiny, lime green convertible that had already lead three police vehicles on merry chases. 17 was currently driving, 18 had claimed the passenger seat, and 20 seemed to be enjoying himself perched on top of the rear seats behind them. It wasn’t as if any of them needed to worry about seatbelts.

18 also had a small quartz pebble that she had tucked away into her pocket while the others weren’t looking. Maybe it was irrational or silly, but machines didn’t want and 18 had looked at how that pebble had glinted in the sun and wanted it. It felt like a tiny piece of proof. I’m still human. He didn’t take everything.

And then, of course, there was 20. They had 20 as well.

18 glanced over her shoulder at him again. The wind rushing over the car was making his hair look even more messy than normal. He was the one who had suggested that they stop to try eating something. 18 couldn’t remember eating since she had first woken up in Dr. Gero’s lab. He’d probably kept them on some sort of intravenous supplement while they were in stasis. She’d only remembered what food tasted like in an abstract sort of way – like she’d read about it once but never experienced it. They’d found out four things from their little food detour:

1) Moo shu pork was delicious.

2) They were definitely going to be stopping to try other foods on the way to Mt. Paozu.

3) Restaurants didn’t try to make you pay until you were done eating.

4) They were going to have to steal someone’s wallet or something, because not paying for things seemed to make 20 anxious.

18 was starting to suspect that Gero had actually deemed 20 a failure more because his memories of being human weren’t as fully repressed as they should have been than because of his reluctance to kill.

20 leaned forward between 18 and 17 and began fiddling with the radio. They’d been listening to different stations for half an hour at a time. So far nobody had liked the news, 17 had liked the obnoxious pop station, 18 and 20 had liked the classical station they had found, and everyone could agree that rock was all right. Now the radio began to scream like a tortured cat.

“No. Absolutely not.” 18 instantly reached for the radio controls. “I am not listening to that for half an hour.”

“I dunno,” 17 grinned in that special way that meant that he was being difficult on purpose. “I kind of like it.”

18 glared at him and then twisted to look at 20,

“Back me up on this, 20.”

“I can’t even tell if they’re playing instruments or just breaking things,” 20 nodded.

“I like breaking things,” 17 shrugged, still smirking like the menace he was.

20 responded by bopping him on the head. Gero hadn’t had him long enough to program away such casual gestures as much as possible, or perhaps the old man simply hadn’t bothered this time. Until 20 had laid a casual hand on her arm earlier that day, it wasn’t even something that 18 had been aware that she missed.

“You’ve been out voted,” 18 told her brother flatly and changed the radio station.

17 rolled his eyes but didn’t put up any more protest.

18 and 17 hadn’t discussed it – not out loud – but they were keeping 20. They had found him, and they liked him, so he was theirs. 18 wasn’t really sure how friendship worked anymore – another piece of knowledge Gero hadn’t felt that his creations needed – but she thought that this was something like that. Machines didn’t have friends, but 17 and 18 did. He was short and a little odd (“Kind,” a faint voice supplied in the back of her head that sounded almost like 18 but not), but that didn’t matter. It was one more small brush with humanity. One more defiance of Dr. Gero’s programming.

Two hours later 20 finally leaned forward and asked the question that had obviously been on his mind for a while now,

“So why did Gero wake you two up again anyway?”

They were halfway up a mountain road that weaved between trees like a river. They’d acquired a map the last time that they had stopped and discovered that 17’s navigational skills had only been taking them vaguely in the right direction. 18 probably would have been more annoyed if the gas station they’d gotten the map (and someone’s wallet full of zenni) hadn’t been selling ice cream mochi.

“Something about having a run-in with Son Goku and his friends and Android 19 getting destroyed.” 17 wrinkled his nose. “19 must have been a really inferior model. Looked like the old man had gone back to the energy absorption design. Stupid move. Goku’s friends were chasing him. He wanted us to kill them.”

“Friends?” 20 had that weird subconscious sad-grief look on his face again.

“Gee, how bad is your programming?” asked 17. “You know, that gang of weak idiots who cling to Son Goku’s coat tails. Piccolo, Tienshinhan, Yamcha, Chaozu, Vegeta, and-” 17 hesitated. Frowned. “There are only five. Why did I think there were six?”

“Maybe you’re malfunctioning,” 18 suggested blithely, but now that she thought about it, she could have sworn that Goku had six hangers-on as well.

20 frowned,

“I know faces and power levels and attacks, but I don’t have any names to go with them.”

Uncomfortable silence descended on the car full of unspoken questions that only a dead mad scientist could answer. 18 hated moments like this – further reminders of just how much Gero had played with their brains. She knew that 17 despised them just as much. The silence stretched out for almost a minute before 17 stabbed at one of the buttons on the radio panel. Something featuring harmonica and banjo started twanging at them.

“Damn it, 17!” 18 snapped, relieved to have a distraction from her own thoughts – no matter how annoying that distraction was.

“No banjos!” agreed 20 quickly. 18 could hear the hint of equal relief in his voice.

“I’m the driver, and the driver wants banjos.”

The argument over the radio carried them all the way to the base of the mountain and the speed trap waiting there. No one brought up Son Goku’s uncertain number of friends again.

#to me it always felt like 17 and 18 were learning how to be human again when we first meet them #in my head that's why they initially come off as so cold in the cell arc #dbz #krillin #android 18 #android 17 #android 20 universe #fanfiction #agentmalkere #k18 #or well pre-k18 #it's gonna be k18 eventually #because it's me #it's happening #no matter what #and now i'm going to post this before i second guess myself anymore

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lightshadowverisimilitude · 7 years

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Memory 1/2

My prompt for this week was “Finding something that has been lost.” It ended up being 11.5k words long, so I will post it in two parts.

This one got me so excited! Please let me know what you think. :D

This is a bit of psychological memory/dream fun for Tony.

Please look for the cut!

Sometime after Howard died, Tony had started dreaming of Captain America. In his dreams, Tony called him Steve, and Steve called him Iron Man. They fought side-by-side, Steve in his familiar patriotic uniform, Tony in a suit of armor that let him fly. At the end of the fight, Steve would put a hand on his shoulder and call him Shellhead. He would smile, even covered in dirt, and sweat, and blood, and Tony would feel like he was flying with his feet firmly on the ground.

When the grizzled captain of Howard’s survey vessel had shown up asking where his grant had gone, Tony had considered throwing him out. Instead, he’d put on two layers of long underwear, bought a parka, and gotten on a creaky boat to go explore glaciers. Just like the old man had year-after-miserable-year.

The water rocked him to sleep, and he dreamed of Captain America in Tony’s mansion home. Tony saw the mansion through the eyeslits of a helmet, with Steve ahead of him on the stairs. They moved together through the house, and Tony had the strangest feeling that they were having a conversation he couldn’t quite hear. It seemed like his ears weren’t working exactly right.

Steve stopped him as they crossed into the kitchen, and turned to face him. Tony was aware of Steve’s hand on his arm, but he couldn’t feel it through the armor. He imagined he could, though, the warm expanse of his palm pressed into Tony’s skin, long artist’s fingers curled around his bicep.

“I miss you, Shellhead,” Steve said. He set his forehead against Tony’s helmet. “I miss you. Come back.”

“Back?” Tony asked, but his voice wouldn’t carry through the helmet. “I’m right here.”

“Come back,” Steve repeated, and pressed a kiss to Tony’s helmet. “I’m waiting for you.”

Tony woke shivering and coated in a slick layer of sweat. He ducked further into his sleeping bag and wiped clammy hands across his face. His lips were chapped and salty with sweat and his feet were both cold and sweaty. He struggled out of the sleeping bag and cursed at the cold floor even through two pairs of socks, and squeezed himself into the tiny head. He tried to be grateful that he had a private bathroom and shower, but it was hard to do when he was hung over, freezing, soaked in sweat, and barely had room to turn around between the toilet and the shower stall.

He shucked off his sweaty long underwear and stepped under the spray as soon as it was warm enough not to give him frostbite. The first touch of the warm water made him convulse with shudders, and he danced in a quick circle around the chilly tile. Fog rose up against the glass door to obscure the rest of the head, and for a second Tony could believe that he was back in his dream, showering after a battle. For some reason, even looking at Steve –Captain America, Christ, his subconscious was on a (kind of) first name basis with Captain America – Tony was sure that he had to keep his identity a secret. Captain America was Steve and Tony was Iron Man.

How fucked up was that? He invented a dream world where his childhood hero was not only alive, but called him by affectionate pet names, and for some reason he didn’t want Steve to know his actual identity. Maybe it made sense. Maybe Steve wouldn’t call him by affectionate nicknames if he knew it was Tony under the suit, Tony with a heart problem (he didn’t have a heart problem, what a strange thing to make up), Tony who wasn’t even a good man while Iron Man was a hero.

And in typical Stark fashion, Tony was turning his strange dream into a living obsession, out on the high seas just like the old man, searching for a corpse. Tony had no idea what he expected to find, or what he thought would happen once he did. So maybe he found The Valkyrie. Maybe he brought Captain America home in a block of ice. What then? Display his shield at the Smithsonian? Send his body on tour like an Egyptian mummy? Maybe pick through Hydra’s allegedly magical weapons and find some new terror to unleash on the world?

Tony felt the ghost of Steve’s hand on his shoulder, a voice whispering I miss you from the depths of his dreams. Breathing in the steam, Tony set his forehead against the shower stall door and let the water beat down on his back.

Come back, Steve kept saying somewhere in his head.

“I don’t understand,” Tony told the glass door.

He reached out almost unwillingly and flipped the lever off. Cool air rushed in the moment the water turned off, and his skin pebbled up instantly. Slapping one arm across his chest, he snaked the other out of the shower and snagged his towel off the hook. As soon as he got home, he was installing heated floors – hell maybe heated walls, and heated toilet seats while he was at it – in every bathroom he owned. Theoretically, it was 72 degrees in the berths.

“Seventy-two degrees my ass,” he muttered as he pushed back into his cabin for clean clothing.

~*~

On deck, the captain stood in a rainslicker with a dented tin mug in one hand and a pair of binoculars held up to his eyes with the other. Tony clutched the handrail and tucked his face closer to his shoulder. The ship reared up and came down tilted to one side, somehow at the exact angle to spray freezing water right into his hood. It soaked into his thick sweater, and wet wool smelled like piss. He would vow to burn every piece of wool-anything he owned when he got home, except that it would probably smell even worse on fire.

“What are we going to do today?” Tony shouted over the crashing surf. He more than half expected one day the captain would catch on (and/or spontaneously grow a sense of humor) and respond, what we do every day – try and take over the world.

“We’re going to drop a submersible mid-day and start a spiral while they’re checking the glaciers,” the captain explained. It was obvious from his tone that he didn’t like explaining anything to Tony, but he was aware of who signed his paychecks and resented the obligation even more for it. “You should go down below with Dr. Banner in the echo lab.”

Tony reeled and the ship seemed to drop out from under his feet. When he landed, the deck of the ship had vanished and he was in some kind of science fiction lab. The displays around him where soft blue and floating in the air, a design for an Iron Man suit, but far more advanced than the one he saw in his dream-mirror. There was a man at one of the workstations on the opposite side of the room with rumpled clothes and mussed hair, and glasses sitting crooked on the bridge of his nose. He was staring at a magnified cell displayed on a transparent screen, one hand carefully adjusting a dial on a microscope and the other pushing his glasses up his nose every few seconds.

“I think I might have found the problem,” he said.

“What problem?” Tony asked, and then heard himself tack on Bruciebear. More pet names for people he didn’t know, except he did know them. This was Bruce Banner, and also the Hulk, and Green Bean, and Meangreen, and Bruciebear, and Rage Monster.

At his desk, Bruce sighed and reached under his glasses to rub at the inside corners of his eyes. “Were you doing that thing where you nod and make appropriate noises while you ignore me when I explained this last week?” he asked tiredly.

“Probably?” Tony ventured.

Bruce made an exasperated noise, but he didn’t sound surprised, or even all that annoyed. In fact, he sounded almost fond. Tony couldn’t figure out why Rage Monster was one of the nicknames he had for this unassuming, harmless-looking man, except that he had an abrupt thought that Bruce had once broken Harlem.

“Where are you, Tony?” Bruce asked, his voice suddenly soft and sad.

“I’m right here,” Tony said. He took a step around the table he’d been working at – Iron Man components spread out on the surface, not actually iron, his head supplied nonsensically, but gold titanium alloy, 1:3 ratio. He slipped on a puddle of spilled water and hit the floor hard.

When he opened his eyes, the captain was leaning over him, familiar weathered face pulled into an exasperated frown. “Mr. Stark?”

“Who’s Dr. Banner?” Tony asked, blinking rapidly against the spray of salt water. The captain’s expression turned from exasperated to confused. “You said I should go down below with Dr. Banner in the echo lab.”

Eyes narrowed, the captain said, “Dr. Winslow is in the echo lab. Do you need to see the physician?”

Tony shook his head, growing annoyed and frightened at his day-time dreaming. Maybe he’d hit his head when he fell. “No, I’m fine. Just misheard.”

Not convinced, the captain helped him to his feet. “Get below decks,” he suggested, “It’s slick up here.”

“Can’t have your paycheck falling overboard?” Tony tried to joke as the captain firmly sealed Tony’s hand to the rail, holding it there until he felt Tony grip it.

Giving him a scarily big grin under his bushy beard, the captain took a swallow of his coffee and reminded him, “You already invested us a grant that will keep the operation going for another five years.”

“Right,” Tony said, and then decided, “Maybe I’ll go below deck.”

“Good idea,” the captain said sagely and watched Tony half-climb and half-slide down the stairs.

When Tony looked back up, the captain had his binoculars up again, legs spread and rocking with the motion of the boat so perfectly that he could have been fused to it. Tony shook his head, asked himself again what had possessed him to think that an arctic sea voyage was a good idea, and shouldered the door open. A heave of the boat on the waves nearly tumbled him down the short set of stairs, but he managed to catch onto the door and ended up being flung into the wall instead. He shoved the door against the wind, sealed it shut and sagged back to rest his weight on the bulkhead with his eyes closed. He was sweating again, and still freezing cold even in the comparatively toasty interior of the vessel.

“Stop the engines, Iron Man!” an unfamiliar-but-familiar voice shouted. “There’s something out there!”

Tony opened his eyes and found his vision closed in by the eyeslits of Iron Man’s armor once more, an even older version of the armor than he’d been walking around in with Steve at his side in the mansion. It was heavier and there wasn’t even a cursory display on the inside. He looked down and found that he was standing at a helm, his hands on a wheel, dozens of controls and levers and buttons at his elbows. He looked toward the voice and found a giant of a man in a red cape and a bewinged helmet standing at a porthole. They were obviously deep under water.

Thor, his dream-memory supplied, a god – not a god, an alien with the name of a god. A hammer no one else could lift. They were on an Avenger’s mission in a submarine off the coast of Alaska. The particulars of the mission are fuzzy except for the notion of a man who swam like a fish and refused to wear anything other than underwear.

“Looks like a human, but how it possible?” Another familiar-not-familiar voice said. Hank Pym in the red and blue skin-tight costume of Ant Man… or Giant Man, though it didn’t make sense that he could be both when they were contradictory monikers. High Pockets, Tony’s dream memory offered, and Blue Eyes, though the pet names aren’t his own. He remembered Jan van Dyne’s voice supplying them all, and why would it be Jan of all people? Tony liked her – they’d more-or-less grown up together, but he couldn’t imagine her on a submarine.

Tony shook his head and looked out the porthole again. A figure drifted slowly past the window, and Tony’s heart seized in his chest. Low on power? He thought, one gauntleted hand pressing to the chestplate. He’d grown accustomed to the strange idea that his heart needed a battery over weeks of weird dreams, but this felt different. For some reason he couldn’t quite pin down, he knew that the person floating by their underwater craft was Steve.

Steve. He’d found him. After weeks (months? Years?) of searching, he’d found him. But it wasn’t… he couldn’t know who it was, didn’t know who it was, this was an accident. They hadn’t been searching for anyone except Mr. Speedo. He watched Hank seal himself into the airlock and heard the outer hatch open to pour freezing water in with him. Half of Hank’s body appeared in view of the porthole, far too large, maybe distorted by the water? Except Tony also knew that he could grow to nearly ten-feet in height, or shrink to the size of an insect (Physics didn’t work that way). He reached out of the porthole to grab the floating figure – Steve – by his ankle and pull him inside.

It doesn’t work that way, Tony thought, annoyed. Never mind the temperature of the water, or physics, or the ridiculous notion that Hank could change the size of his body (The Hulk, Tony’s dream-memory reminded him in a nauseating explosion of images: himself in a giant suit of armor begging the Hulk to go to sleep (what?) and Bruciebear tearing through his clothing as he turned green, and the Hulk leap-frogging over buildings, punching a giant sky-worm (what the fuck?)).

He felt dizzy and sick to his stomach, like being rocked on the surface instead of insulated below the waves. Tony shook his head hard enough to make the helmet rattle, but he was suffocating inside of it, it was too close, and too small, and smelled like iron (really iron, not gold-titanium alloy 1:3). He gagged and tried to take it off, but his hands stayed firmly by his sides.

When he turned around, he was in some kind of lab with the other Avengers (who was driving the boat?), staring down at the body (Steve) laid out on a bunk. He was dressed in familiar red, blue, and white, with the shield on his chest, face relaxed in sleep, hands at his sides. His uniform was sparingly covered in scraps of tan cloth (he’d been frozen, nothing should have disintegrated) Tony also remembered an image of him incased in a block of ice, thawing slowly on a table, surrounded by SHIELD techs in biohazard gear (What was SHIELD? – Except he did remember Director, no Colonel Fury, a doughnut shop, a hostile takeover, a woman with red hair infiltrating his life, Iron Man yes, Tony Stark no.). Tony hadn’t been there for that one, had only seen the images in the aftermath, but how could they both be real?

Thor and Hank examined the man like they didn’t immediately recognize him (neither of them had been there the other time, but they’d both been in the house with Steve in Tony’s other dreams, they should know him), and Tony just watched, trapped in his own body, head spinning agonizingly fast. His memories jumped from a sparkling tower, to a sprawling mansion, from a file projected above him in glowing blue, to the submarine, and back.

Thor plucked at the scraps of Steve’s clothing and pointed out his ‘colorful costume’ – congratulations, Captain Obvious, maybe you should give your mom back her drapes and stop playing dress-up, Tony thought snidely. (Forest somewhere in Germany, the trees shattering around them, watching Thor on a digital display with data flickering in the corners of his eyes. Suit charged to 400% “Doth mother know’th that thou wear’th her drapes?”)

“Wait!” Wasp said, voice tiny and high-pitched and fast, “Don’t you recognize it? It’s the famous red, white, and blue garb of Captain America!”

No shit? Tony meant to shout, but instead heard himself exclaim in shock, “The Wasp is right!”

Steve’s eyes opened and somehow went right to Tony, as if he’d expected him to be there, as if he’d been waiting for Tony all along. “I’m sorry I haven’t been there as much as I would like, Tony,” he said softly. No one else seemed to hear him. “Please come back to me.”

“I’m right here,” Tony screamed in frustration. “I’m right here!”

His voice echoed inside his helmet, and Steve just looked at him sadly.

“Mr. Stark?” A hand landed on his shoulder. Tony felt it, but he shouldn’t have because the armor – “Mr. Stark?”

Tony opened his eyes and found himself staring up at a woman. She had long, straight brown hair, and she was tiny, with delicate bone structure and intelligent eyes. “Jane?” he asked, confused. She was Thor’s girlfriend. Except Thor wasn’t real, he was a construct of Tony’s seriously fucked up and obviously over-indulged imagination.

“It’s Dr. Winslow,” she reminded him slowly, and then added, “Emily.”

Tony shook his head to clear out the last of the dream, and blinked at her. She wasn’t that tiny – actually she was probably 5’8” and her hair was a dishwater blond pulled back in a tail. She had hazel eyes and Jolie-lips, and a decidedly Scandinavian cast to her features. He looked around suspiciously, but he was back on the boat, standing in the echo lab. The ocean crashed against the portholes and slid away, very close to the waterline, but not under the surface.

“Sorry,” Tony said. He flashed a winning smile at her. From her expression, he’d missed winning and ended up somewhere around worrying.

“Do you need to go see the physician?” she asked.

“No!” Tony roared. “I need you to find Steve!”

Dr. Winslow flinched back from him and then squared her shoulders and glared. “It’s Steve now is it?”

For a second, she looked like Natasha (who was Natasha?) and Tony pressed his hands to his eyes until she reverted back to Emily Winslow. “Sorry,” he said. “Maybe I’ll just go… lay down.”

“That might be a good idea, Mr. Stark,” she said somewhat frostily.

~*~

Tony woke in a bed that was at least twice as wide as he was – which was an obvious lie since his bunk onboard the ship was barely wide enough for him to lay on his back, and he’d rolled out of it more than once. He stretched his hands out looking for the wall, but he found only mattress and smooth sheets as far as he could reach on either side.

He pulled his head out of the pillow and looked around blurrily. He was in an unfamiliar bedroom – but it was his bedroom, at the tower in Manhattan. King-sized bed, because ‘comfortably sleeps three’ had been a plus at one point, tastefully decorated because Pepper (Pepper? PA – no, CEO – no, girlfriend – no, ex-girlfriend) had done it for him.

“Mr. Stark,” Jarvis called into the room.

Tony jumped, ready to remind Jarvis that he didn’t like people sneaking up on him while he was sleeping, but the room was empty when he rolled over.

“Mr. Stark,” Jarvis repeated from somewhere in the vicinity of the ceiling. Speakers, Tony thought, an intercom system (except that Jarvis was dead and this was JARVIS, who was not speaking through a computer, he was a computer. Tony clearly remembered hundreds of hours of coding, and putting together composites of dozens of voices, tweaking and pushing, and dissolving into sobs when he finally got it right).

Breathing past the sudden heat behind his eyes, Tony called out, “Yes?”

“Captain Rogers is looking for you. Shall I tell him you are indisposed?”

Tony checked the bed to make sure he was alone and then said, “No, that’s fine. Let him in.”

There was a brief pause and then Jarvis said, “As you like, sir.”

The door opened and Steve blustered in, mostly in uniform (different than the uniform on the submarine, different than the uniform in the mansion house, different again than the uniform on the helicarrier (Helicarrier?)), and carrying an armful of paper.

“Tony, can you please –” Steve stopped abruptly and stared at Tony in the bed. His Captain America Mode face faltered and color rose up on his cheeks. He shuffled his feet and Tony was surprisingly turned on by his missing shoes. The red toes on his navy blue socks were somehow adorable.

Tony pulled up a smile from somewhere and said, “Can I please…?”

“Uh. Clothes?” Steve fumbled. When Tony’s smile grew wider, Captain America Mode re-engaged and he continued forward like Tony wasn’t sitting up in bed wearing nothing but a pair of tight red boxer briefs (“I feel a little foolish about keeping that secret from you till now,” he remembered saying, standing in nothing but a thong with his armor stripped away, Steve’s shocked expression as he realized that his friend Iron Man was Tony Stark, and Tony terrified that shock was bordering on anger).

He shivered and reached for a pillow to pull across his lap, tapping the space next to him. Steve sat down with one knee tucked up on the bed. He spread the paperwork over Tony’s pillow – mission reports, and why did Steve still print them out? – and handed Tony a pen and a clipboard to write on.

Tony made a put-upon noise and heard himself babbling, reading through the pages even though they were meaningless and he wanted to talk to Steve, but he couldn’t shut himself up long enough to say anything that mattered.

Steve reached over suddenly and caught his hand, and Tony had the conflicting impressions that he was still writing and that his hand was immobile (and cold) under Steve’s grip. He wanted to turn his hand over and lace their fingers together, he wanted to pull his hand away, he wanted to see how the hell words were still appearing on the page when he wasn’t writing them.

“Tony, please. I’d do anything for you to just come back. I miss you, Shellhead. I miss you.”

“GODAMMNIT!” Tony howled somewhere in his head, while his hand filled out mission reports (and I told Legolas Katniss Hawkeye not to jump off the building, but he did it anyway, and sidenote please someone make Clint check his hearing because I am starting to doubt that he’s really just that annoying and suspect he might have some hearing loss…) “I am right here, Steve. I am trying to find you, I swear. I am… I am tearing up half the planet looking for you. Just tell me where you are, and I will come to you, please.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Iron Man,” Steve said, patting his hand.

“Fuck fuck fucking goddamn fuck!” Tony shouted after him in frustration and tossed himself sideways. He landed on the cold floor in his cabin, tangled up in his sleeping bag, shivering and drenched in sweat once again. It was even worse than being trapped in the Iron Man suit, smothered by the fabric and trapped with his own heat, the sick scent of his sweat.

Poundpoundpound! “Mr. Stark! Mr. Stark are you alright?”

“Jarvis?” Tony croaked, and then stopped because Jarvis was at home with the Avengers – no, dead – no, an AI – no, Vision (Vision?). Tony was starting to unravel, he couldn’t keep anything straight. “I’m fine!” he called out breathlessly. “I’m fine.”

“Mr. Stark, do you need to go to the infirmary?”

“No!” he yelled, suddenly panicking and not sure why. “No. I’ll be right out.” He didn’t even know who was on the other side of the door and suddenly couldn’t remember who else was on the ship, except the captain… captain … he had a name, Tony was sure. Dr. Banner – no, Foster – NO, Winslow. There were… there was a cook. At least one? And… other people, who did things?

Was he that much of an asshole that he really hadn’t noticed anyone else? No, one of Tony’s talents had always been in recognizing people, remembering names. He knew the names of most his employees at Stark Industries – Stark International – Stark… Jesus Christ, he couldn’t even remember the name of his own company. He made a desperate, trapped animal noise, and finally managed to struggle out of his sleeping bag, worming across the floor, and his legs suddenly didn’t work right, he needed the reactor in the workshop (Reactor?).

Tony shoved himself up to his feet (he wasn’t paralyzed, not by Obadiah (what the fuck?) or the suit damaging his nervous system) and stumbled into the head like he was drunk (No, he’d been sober for a decade – no, he’d just been drinking the night before, he’d woken up hung over, hadn’t he?). He didn’t even recognize his own face in the mirror and smashed a fist against it, but it wasn’t actually glass and all it did was hurt his hand. He cursed, tripped over the toilet, bashed his elbow against the shower stall, and finally managed to get himself under the showerhead.

The cold water made him shout, and his entire body seemed to convulse all at once. For several seconds, his lungs were frozen, and then he sucked in a breath. He was on a deep sea survey vessel that his father had commissioned a decade before. The captain had shown up at his mansion in Upstate New York to ask where his grant money had gone (he hadn’t even known that Dad was dead), and Tony had suited up and gone with him. They were ostensibly searching for the wreckage of The Valkyrie and Captain America’s presumably frozen corpse, though Tony knew that the captain and crew mostly used it for their own studies.

They would find Captain America, and Tony’s dreams would be banished along with the madness. Shivering violently, he reached up and turned the lever over to hot, only gradually becoming aware that he was still in his clothing.

~*~

“We may have found something worth exploring,” the captain said when Tony finally made it to the mess for dinner. The food was so heavy and carb-rich, and Tony should weigh 300 pounds with mashed potatoes and bread and pasta every night, but he was losing weight faster than his belt could keep up.

Tony looked up at the captain, afraid to realize that he’d been hearing things again. “Oh?” he ventured cautiously.

The captain nodded his grizzled head. “Out on the ice. We’ll take a submersible out tomorrow if you want to go.”

Tony frowned, remembered Steve’s body drifting past the porthole, and asked, “Why are we taking a submersible if it’s on the ice?”

Setting down his fork, the captain stared at him hard. “I said we’re taking an expedition out tomorrow. Do you want to go?”

Tony stuffed a forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth to stop the frustrated scream clawing at his throat. “Right, sorry. Yes, I would like to go.”

“Mr. Stark,” the captain said (why couldn’t Tony remember his name?) “I really think you should see the physician.”

“No,” Tony said, keeping his voice to a low grumble, “I’m fine. I’m just distracted and can’t seem to get my… sea legs, or whatever. I’m fine.” He shoveled the rest of the potatoes into his mouth and stuffed half of his meatloaf in after. His mouth was too full to even chew, but it was all off the tray, so he gathered up the dishes and hurried out of the mess.

Alone in the corridor, he leaned against the bulkhead and struggled to swallow the last of his dinner. They were going to find Steve tomorrow, The Valkyrie half-buried in the snow (did that make sense after seventy odd years? No, not seventy-odd, it hadn’t been that long. Just fifty? Maybe only twenty-four? He couldn’t keep it straight.) He finally managed to choke down the mouthful and hit himself hard in the chest to clear his airway (the reactor, Jesus – except, it wasn’t there. He didn’t have a heart problem, he’d never been to Afghanistan – no, Vietnam).

Stop, he commanded himself. He would find Steve tomorrow and it would all be over.

“Mr. Stark? Are you feeling –”

“I’m fine!” Tony interrupted the crewmen who’d just stepped around the corner. “Just… went down the wrong tube. Fine.” He pushed past the man (he had a name, Tony was sure), and hurried back to his cabin. It was probably a better idea if he just stayed there until the expedition left in the morning.

~*~

The boat pitched sharply and Tony jerked awake. He was slumped forward on the bench of a motorboat. For several panicky seconds he didn’t remember how he’d gotten there. He remembered going to bed the night before, his dinner sitting heavy in stomach. He thought he remembered throwing up in the night. He definitely remembered fighting, fighting, fighting, endlessly. He remembered being in a wheelchair at one point, and in a HUMVEE the next, driving a race car, dancing with Pepper, fighting with Pepper, fighting with Steve.

He remembered falling to his knees in the sand and Rhodey’s arms closing over his shoulders, and being so tired and so relieved that all he could do was laugh, except his throat was too dry to make the noise and it sounded like sobbing. He remembered pulling the collar of his shirt aside to see lines like microcircuits creeping up his neck. He remembered building his own particle accelerator. He remembered Steve’s eyes following him with disappointment as Tony broke into a secure facility to retrieve his stolen technology, and going through Steve to do it.

He didn’t remember getting up in the morning, or getting dressed, or getting on the boat, but he must have done because he was squished on a bench between the captain and a lump of a person obscured by heavy cold-weather gear.

“STARK!” the captain shouted over the crash of the surf. “If you’re going to be sick, do it over the side!”

Tony just shook his head. “I’m fine.”

“You should see the physician when we get back on board!”

Tony just barely restrained the urge to shove the captain over the side. “I’M FINE!” he screamed, his voice going shrill in an effort to rise over the hum of the engine, the whip of the wind, and the splash of the icy water against the boat. They were racing over water the color of a cold corpse, arrowing toward a landscape of ice and snow. The sun hit the ice and turned it a shade of white-gold that he couldn’t quite describe. Even through the tinted goggles, it made his eyes sting.

The boat slowed as they approached the beach, and two figures in the front jumped out to pull the boat up the shore. Tony lurched again as the hull scraped over the black sand. They anchored it to the ice and two of the puffy winter-gear figures stayed behind with the boat while Tony was jostled into the center of the rest of the group. Tony’s thighs trembled and his stomach hallowed out. He felt weak and cold through the core.

“Come on, Tones,” Rhodey said from behind the thick balaclava. His voice was muffled and his breath fogged the air in front of him.

Tony turned to look at him, and Rhodey stared back from the slit of the woven mask. “Rhodey, I don’t understand what’s happening,” Tony pleaded.

“You’ve pulled through worse, Tony,” Rhodey said. His voice was too soft for Tony to hear over the shriek of the wind, but he heard it as if they were alone in a silent room. “You can do this.”

“I don’t understand!”

“Come back to us. We’re all waiting. Steve’s waiting. If you can’t come back for me, you can come back for him.”

“I’m trying,” Tony gritted out. “I’m looking for him. Jesus fucking Christ, just tell me where he is!”

Rhodey reached over and grabbed Tony by both arms. He shook him hard enough to make Tony’s head swim. His vision went white-blue-black-blue-white-gray-white-blue. He moaned, as his stomach turned over and squeezed hard.

“Mr. Stark!”

It was the captain, not Rhodey (Of course not Rhodey, James Rhodes was a classmate at MIT, and they were friends, they were best friends, but Rhodey wasn’t War Machine, wasn’t a colonel, wasn’t on the expedition, didn’t know Steve (yes, of course he did, he was a fucking Avenger, he’d been Iron Man and Iron Patriot, and he’d rescued Tony in Vietnam – no, Afghanistan. He’d been employee, friend, ally, adversary. They’d fought together and against each other, and rescued the president, momma hen and papa bear.)

“Just the snow,” Tony gasped out. “It’s just the glare of the sun on the snow.”

“Open your eyes, man!” the captain shouted. “The sun isn’t even out!”

Tony cracked his eyes open and the captain was right, of course he was. The sun was just barely above the horizon, one larger star among a sea of them. The sky was dark. Snow ghosted across a barren landscape of ice fields. He was wearing snowshoes. When he looked over his shoulder, the shore wasn’t even visible. They could have been walking for days. He remembered taking the boat in, taking a helicopter in, riding in on snowmobiles, a sled and a team of dogs.

Tony curled over and put a thickly mittened hand to his head. He might as well have been naked for all the good the winter clothing was doing him – he was chilled and soaked in sweat under his parka, and probably smelled like piss (goddamn wet wool), and his stomach was hugging his spine.

“We’re going back,” the captain decided. “You’re going to medbay!”

“NO!” Tony howled. The wind howled with him. “No. He’s here. He’s here, he’s waiting.”

“He’s waited this long, he can wait a little longer,” the captain argued.

“He’s waited long enough!” Tony screamed into the wind. He pushed away from the captain, hard enough to send the bigger man stumbling back in the snow. Before the captain could recover, Tony hurried off as fast the snowshoes would allow. There was a hill on the horizon, somehow familiar, not quite natural. It was Steve, it had to be. Tony needed it to be Steve, needed the madness to stop.

The Valkyrie should have been buried under decades of snow and ice, but it was completely exposed, debris from the crash littered all around it, streaks of soot turning the blue ice black. Tony struggled out of his snowshoes and ignored the shouts of the crew coming after him. The plane was surprisingly intact. If it had just hit, Steve could have still been alive. Tony scrambled on the ice and broke through the crust to plunge waist-deep into the snow, feet from the plane.

Shouting in frustration, Tony kicked and screamed his way out of the snow, slithered out on his belly, and crawled to the plane. The windows had been shattered out, and Tony could just see the shadow of the pilot’s chair beyond. The nose was buried several feet in the ice so the bottom lip of the window was only seven or eight feet off the ground. He jumped, missed the first time, and jumped again. He just managed to catch the edge of the window – he knew that the shards of glass were cutting through the gloves, but he couldn’t feel it. He heaved himself into the plane and spilled down a ramp of ice to the floor, which rattled under his weight. Shitty Hydra construction, bullshit cheap flooring panels.

“Where are you?” he called into the darkness. “Steve! Steve, please!”

“Mr. Stark!” the captain called from outside the plane. “It’s not safe!”

“Fuck you and your safe!” Tony screamed back. He tried to get up, but his knees just gave out. He was weak, and cold, and cold. He couldn’t stand, fine, so he would crawl. The nose of the plane had crashed into the water, frozen, and then been pushed out. There was thick coating of ice that extended from front console to the base of the pilot’s chair.

Tony fumbled a flashlight out of his pocket and swung it around the interior of the plane. Steve would have been in the pilot’s chair when he’d crashed. The impact would have thrown him forward. He could have been thrown out of the windows. He could be anywhere. Drifting under the water where only the submarines could find him, encased in a glacier and lost for another century or twenty.

“No,” Tony said. “No, you’re… You’re here.”

He scraped snow off of the icy console, the beam of his flashlight flickering over the solid ice. It lit up a shadow in the depths, a smudge of irregular darkness against the deeper darkness of the console. An unmistakably human-shaped shadow.

“Steve,” Tony gasped, “Steve. I found you. I found you. I came back for you. Can we stop now? Can we just go home?” He slumped against the ice, pawing at the snow. He could just barely see the glint of light off a silver star. “Please, I want to come home.”

Part Two

#ladyshadowdrake writes #stony #tony stark centric #6/52 #52 for 52

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abutterflyobsession · 7 years

Text

Doctor Who AU: Part 12

the plot fails to progress because I’m tired

prelude/one/two/three/four/five/six/seven/eight/nine/ten/eleven/ao3

The sky was on fire.

But on the ground it was dark, shadows layered with a dim orange light.

And there was screaming.

Running.

The shadows seethed with people, people running for their lives.

A city stood dark against the blazing sky, buildings glowing a dull orange as they began to break apart, pieces falling, screams rising sharply in response, then cutting off when the rubble smashed into the ground.

Children.

Children were crying, lost and frightened, caught in a war that they had no part in making. Casualties of their elders' poor choices.

Nothing could save the children.

“No!”

The sound of the voice cast ripples across the burning world, washing away the flames, the sound of feet scrambling across the rubble fading away into silence.

The silence when the wind died down, letting the dust settle, leaving only the crunch of your boots on the ground, the dry sound as you swallow, holding your breath, afraid it would give you away.

The silence that isn't really silence.

It's full of the noise of your comrade's boots, the rattling of gear, the pounding of your hearts.

Waiting for the signal.

Waiting for the order.

Because it had been following orders.

There had been no way to know.

“No! Not that either!'

Ripples ran through the air, coolness breathing into the air like a sigh of relief.

Trees, old and tall, had grown up and blocked out the sky with their dense canopy. The quiet here was muffled by the dense growth of the forest. It was impossible to see more than a few yards ahead and when things moved out of sight it was impossible to know what they were.

“Now, this is very interesting,”

Bog twisted around and found that the Doctor was standing on a fallen tree, looking out over the small area of visible forest with a contemplative attitude.

“Yeah?” Bog asked, more to buy himself time to think than to actually prompt an answer. He had no idea where he was or how he had got there and if it was at all possible he wasn't going to give the Doctor the satisfaction of appealing to her for answers.

“Yes, because I would say this appears to be part of the Black Forest in Germany, but it feels far too big.”

Bog bit his tongue to keep from asking what she was talking about.

“This feels to be about the same time period the primrose stone was first cut. But four hundred years ago the forest did not look like this. At least, not according to history.”

Tired of the crick in his neck he was getting from looking up at the Doctor's perch, Bog swallowed his pride and asked, “What's going on?”

“Psychic feedback,” The Doctor picked her way down off the fallen tree, digging the toes of her boots into the moss that covered the soft, rotting wood, “Something activated a psychic data dump from your necklace, but the connection was bad and there was a lot of interference. So you might have picked up some trace memories--”

“There was a city. It was shining and silver . . . or, it would have been, except . . . everything was on fire . . .”

“Nothing to worry about. Just signals getting crossed.”

“None of this is real, then? But . . .”

“No more real than memories are.”

“I saw--”

“Yes, yes, I know, I was here too. Had to give things a nudge before you got stuck reliving old times.”

“Nudge?” Bog wondered how much the Doctor had picked up of his memory of his tour in Afghanistan.

“Poke at your subconscious. Play word association. Look, like this,” the Doctor picked a pebble off the ground, “I say something, like, 'school', and give you a little push--”

She tossed the pebble and it hit the air like the surface of a pond, shining ripples spreading out and distorting the forest. For a few seconds the forest was gone and Bog was standing in the hall of his school, fourth year, his knuckles throbbing from having punched Lucas Campbell in the face, driven to it after Lucas had made one too many cracks about Bog's looks.

The ripples settled and the forest was back.

“What are you doing poking around in my head?” Bog rubbed the traces of phantom pain out of his hand, “I don't remember inviting you.”

“You got pulled in by the data dump and I followed. It appears we are in a memory of your family's ancestral home. At least, their ancestral home on earth, anyway.”

“Grand. How do we get out? Weren't we just talking to your creepy ex in the art shop? And being abducted?”

“He'll wait. This is all in our heads so it's really taking no more than a few seconds. Less, since we've got my processing power to work with.”

“Don't you ever get tired of tooting your own horn?”

“Don't you ever get tired to keeping your eyebrows locked in a permanent glower? I swear, those things are the most aggressive eyebrows I've ever encountered. They're like attack eyebrows. You could take bottle caps off with them.”

The Doctor was standing on her tiptoes to inspect Bog's eyebrows.

He leaned forward, making her drop back on her heels.

“What about you?” He pointed a long finger at her, “Have you ever met a hairbrush in your life? You're like some tiny, angry, rumpled pixie. Probably so angry because you've never been able to get anything off the top shelf without someone giving you a boost.”

“My dear marsh man,” She smacked his hand away, “shelves have nicely spaced footholds built right into them. Why would I get a hand up when I can just climb the thing?”

“ . . . how many shelves have you pulled over on yourself in your lifetime?”

“The shelves in the TARDIS are built into the walls!”

“And why is that, I wonder?”

“Let's get back to the matter at hand, shall we?”

“Only because I take the change of subject as acknowledgement that I was winning this argument,” Bog said, folding his arms, still leaning over the tiny woman.

She pushed her face a little closer to his, twisting up her mouth as she searched for some appropriately cutting retort to put him in his place.

“Your eyes are very blue!”

Bog blinked, confused.

“It isn't fair.”

The Doctor spun around and stormed back to her fallen tree.

A branch caught her ankle and she crashed to the ground.

“Are you okay?”

“I am fine!” She popped back up, “This is just a psychic interface! I don't actually have nerve endings in here. The pain is literally all in my head.”

“Right.”

“All of this,” the Doctor staggered to her feet, yanking the edge of her coat off a grasping branch before spinning around with her arms thrown out to indicate the forest around them, “This is just an interface for the data your ancestors left for you. We should be able to access it and find out more about what your fashionable bauble is capable of.”

“So, it's full of information? Like a flashdrive?”

“If a flashdrive could contain what is possibly the entire history of your people, constructed from their memories with such care and detail that you can smell that the dirt is still wet from rain, feel the veins on the leaves . . . then, yes, 'like a flashdrive'.”

“Yeah, I've got mud in my boots. Could've done without that.”

“I am plagued by such tiny minds. Just try and access the information.”

“How, great and powerful time wizard?”

“Identify yourself.”

“Identify myself. Just, “Hey, Bog, here, any of my tree ancestors listening?”, or what?”

“Maybe with a bit more pizazz. Confidence, at the very least.”

“Uh. I'm a descendant of the . . . Cheem? Cheem. I'm a descendant of the Cheem and I hope that this interface isn't password protected.”

“Poetry.”

“I'm a singer, not an actor.”

“Despite your shortcomings as a performer, I think it worked.”

Bog followed the Doctor's gaze and saw that another person had appeared.

He was assuming it was a person, anyway.

The shape of it was human but the details were not. The face was rigid, lined with deep grooves, like patterns in tree bark. It's head swept back into a crown of wood, the bark of it layered, like it really was part of a tree, separating at the rings.

Bog stared at it.

It stared back at Bog, absolutely serene.

“He's waiting for you to ask a question,” the Doctor shoved her hands into Bog's back and pushed him toward the tree person, “Ask it about why the stone was cut up and what the yellow stone is.”

“Stop pushing!”

“Then stop just standing there gapping like a fish! I can only stretch five seconds so far!”

“It's only been that? You must be doing a prize-winning job because it's certainly felt like an eternity!”

“Ask. Questions.”

“Question: what's the plan?”

Dawn was spraying down the interior of the TARDIS with a fire extinguisher.

Sunny stood in the door, ready to duck out if anything else caught on fire or started spewing toxic smoke.

“Talk some sense into this bucket of defective quantum drives that my sister is so irrationally attached to!”

“Is it safe to use a fire extinguisher on an electrical fire?”

“It isn't electrical! It runs off of energy from the time vortex! And I don't know whether or not it's safe to use a fire extinguisher on that because my sister threw the user manual into a supernova!”

“Why?”

“Apparently they had a difference of opinion!”

The last fire put out, Sunny risked coming back inside, “Why does it freak out when Roland is nearby?”

“Not sure. Something is screwy about his time line, I think. And the TARDIS hates that sort of thing. She tries to do an emergency evacuation. Once she abandoned us at the North Pole and went all the way over to the South Pole. That was the worst hitchhiking trip ever.”

“Should I just nod and pretend I understand any of that?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Dawn put on her glasses and glanced over the monitors, “She's got safety protocols and a strong sense of self-preservation. Paradoxes, anomalies, the TARDIS sees them as danger and tries to get away. Roland might be existing twice in the same time line, or something like that.”

“But, aren't I doing that right now? Future me is at work right now, remember?”

“But that's pretty tidy. You're not trying to change the past, you're just preserving a time loop. If Roland—or whoever he is—is trying to mess with a fixed point in time . . . well, this makes the old girl unhappy.”

Dawn patted the console.

“Huh. I guess I kind of get that. What are we going to do? Figure out what important event he's trying to change? Do you have like . . . future history books?”

“Loads. But I've also got a lot up here, too,” Dawn tapped her forehead, “much more portable and easier to reference. From a historical point of view there really isn't anything big going on right now. Not in the next few months, even.”

“What is there aside from a historical point of view?”

“Oh, there are loads of smaller things that are important and don't make it into the history books. Little things that lead up to big things. They're harder to spot. Like, if somebody very important was going to do great things, then it is very important that their parents actually meet, or the important person would never be born.”

“Which means that Roland is possibly trying to sabotage someone's first date? That is . . . pettier than I imagined messing with history would be.”

“It could also be a poet not seeing a daffodil at the critical moment and never writing a great poem that touches the hearts and minds of the world. Someone cleaning out the petri dishes and never discovering penicillin . . . yeah. Our best bet is to shadow Roland and stop him in the act.”

“Except our ride is kind of not cooperating right now, remember?”

“So we'll need to use an alternative mode of transport. Luckily, my sister doesn't know that I know where she keeps that vortex manipulator! Like, a wrist-watch time machine!”

Sunny was starting to recognize that manic gleam in Dawn's eyes as a sign things were about to get, well, for lack of a better word, interesting.

“It's dangerous, isn't it?”

“Um. It might be a teeny-tiny bit . . . glitchy.”

“How glitchy. Lags a few seconds glitchy? Or stuck in Medieval Europe glitchy?”

“It tends to have very, very brief power outages. Very brief. You hardly notice. Except if you were traveling through the vacuum of space at the time . . .”

“I have a feeling this is what I was trying to warn myself about on the phone earlier.”

“Are you coming?”

“Heck, I know I make it back. Let's go!”

#strange magic #spread the lofe #butterfly bog #potionless #strange magic doctor who au #doctor who au #my writing #fanfic

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shipsbcshesdiabetic · 4 years

Text

Chapter 34

Wednesday, June Seventh, Two Thousand Seventeen, 9:00am- Sunshine Foods

It’s amazing how fast shit gets fucked up. In all actuality, it happens slowly, sneakily building and building until the unnoticeable traces of it suddenly explode around you, and in that moment, you finally realize that you never actually sensed any of it until you’re in that one singularity. In one moment, you’re on cloud 9, and in the next, you have no money, no fallback, and all you can feel is the sense of dread that comes with watching your friend roll a stolen turkey across a busy road to you.

Wide eyed with hunger and fear, Kirsten carefully rolls the frozen bird over the edge of the sidewalk, giving it one last good shove so it’ll have a greater shot of making it across the three lanes of busy traffic. I stand at the other side, waiting and ready to catch it. A white truck passes the lane closest to Kirsten, but it doesn’t matter because the turkey is rolling through the middle lane. This must be what football is like for people who care about football. Right as it reaches the right lane, it just… stops.

I lock eyes with Kirsten. I dart out into the road to get it, but just before I can wrap my arms around the freezing, slippery packaging, a huge truck screams as the driver applies the brakes. I spring backwards by instinct, panicking, thrown by my own stupidity. The 18 wheeler jolts very slightly into the air and speeds up. The driver slams his hand down on the horn as he leaves the scene. After the frenzy clears itself from my mind, I spot the turkey, which is now pressed flat into the road. Red spires of shock move up from it and into me.

Once it seems safe to do so, Kirsten helps me peel the mess of meat and plastic off the road. It comes up with a sickening smack. Grimacing, she drapes the pancake over an arm. The juices drip onto the grass. I get into the truck and look out the front window with my eyebrows raised, not even having enough sense to close my door. I’m still processing it all. Seizing her opportunity, Kirsten dumps the flattened bird into my arms. I hug it close, crossing my arms over it. Kirsten struggles to shut the door as she drives away.

Welcome to North Dakota

The Peace Garden State

After unbuckling my seatbelt to get in a better position, I hold the turkey at the edges as Kirsten draws circles on the underside of it with her lighter. The strangest sensation of needing to eat while needing to vomit in disgust twists my throat. My arms grow heavier and heavier. It’s dense like a rock, and the stone grows into my body.

“We need to steal something else. This is shit,” Kirsten says, turning the flame off.

I toss the warm, raw meat onto the dash so it has at least the slightest bit of a chance to cook. It might give us food poisoning if we try to eat it later, but at this point, that’ll be the icing on the cake. I’ve thrown up and seen throw up so much that it’s just another regular process.

“Thank god for our lipstick collection, am I right?” I comment, picking up a pink one with golden packaging. I uncap it and stare at it, trying to convince myself to not bite into it.

“I don’t know where we’d be without it.”

I bite into it, my tongue immediately rejecting it. I hang my head out the window and let it fall out of my mouth. I’m an idiot. I watch it slowly crawl away in the grass as Kirsten pulls back onto the road. I don’t understand why I’m so hungry when we ate yesterday. It’s probably because I’m used to eating three solid meals every day, and I’ve never gone without anything like this before.

Even now that we’re in a condition as stupid and poor as this one, my subconscious belongs to her. Over a thousand miles away, billions of synapses away, and she’s still living in my heart. My love does last. I cannot bear it.

“Should we take a bag of dog food?” Kirsten asks, slapping her hand onto the biggest one.

I suddenly find myself standing in the pet aisle of a very large, well-lit farm supply store. I blink several times to adjust to the light. “Sure. Why though?”

“I hate stealing,” Kirsten admits. What she doesn’t say is that we only deserve to eat animal food, and that’s why she picked this place. I think I agree.

“Me too.”

We stand awkwardly still, staring at each other with self-pity in our eyes, waiting for the other one to pick a bag. Kirsten frowns and her eyes widen.

“Fine,” I say. I randomly pick one. “This one helps your pets keep their coats shiny. Whatever the fuck that means.” I throw my hands out to the sides and spin around.

She sighs and looks up. “Should we get cat food? I think it has more nutrients in it. It’s also easier to carry because it comes in a smaller container.”

I walk over, focusing on the bag she pointed out so I don’t have to look at all the dogs and cats on all the packages staring at us judgingly. “It has taurine,” I say, trying to find something positive about any of this.

“What does that do?”

“…I don’t know. Let’s stick to the dog section.”

We eventually settle on a thirty-five pounder with natural and artificial beef flavoring. Ten dollars, but that doesn’t matter anymore. Kirsten bends over in an L shape and puts her half on top of her back, gripping it tightly at the sides. I lift up my end and put it on my shoulders. We look like we’re in one of those weird two-person horse costumes. We slip out of the employee exit, struggling to keep ourselves in one piece. Kirsten unlocks the door, dropping the bag in the process. Rubbing her back, she helps me heave it in the space in between our seats. Once the bag settles itself in, we notice that we each only have half of our original seat space. We shrug and get in.

“I want to eat something else,” I complain fruitlessly.

“I hope you like eating dirt, then,” Kirsten says, ripping open the bag at the image of the golden retriever’s snout. She selects one pebble and eats it. “You know… it’s not horrible.”

I pick up a handful and look at it for a while. It falls from my fingers back into the bag. I’m suddenly not so hungry anymore. A different emptiness violates me. She’s not here. But, in a deeper way, she is. It’s powerful, like I could see her again if I’d just turn around. If I could just gain the courage to say her name out loud.

I never could have guessed that what we had was so flimsy. It didn’t make any sense until yesterday. It still doesn’t make much sense at all. It was like a secret that felt as solid and as final as a law, as unmovable as the fixed stars that live on the firmament. It’s so expansive that life itself does not understand, yet it was born of consciousness. The air we breathed was supplied by an entity greater than any calculable thing. It gave every discordant force in our sphere an ultimatum- kill us, or let us fester alone. It’s a wonder that something so quiet and tender could cause such a pain- a pain that inspires its keepers to lay down their life and the lives of others for just one more butterfly. It was like I’d end if it ever stopped. And yet, no one approved. Love her, or die. Love, and die. It has all the workings of a tragic Shakespeare play, except instead of dying a romantic death, Romeo’s in North Dakota eating dog food.

Swords drawn bring forth my bleeding heart and expose it to the morning light. I’m in an ancient Verona fighting for a deadened love without armor and without skin, yelling at enemies that don’t exist in a drizzle of illuminated rain. I’m slashing at the air, desperate to sever the lines dividing me from her. In turn, deep lines appear in my flesh. I don’t bleed because I shouldn’t. I live and fight because I don’t want to do anything else, and I don’t know how to do anything else. This resolve cauterizes my lifeblood. The silver of my sword briefly sends righteous light into my eyes. My muscles taut with anticipation, insufficiencies rip up what lies within my ribcage, sending pure, red guilt simmering with the heat of my instability. I walk the streets proudly, waiting for anyone who might dare to take her away from me for good. My veins dare my enemies to slash at them again and again. The rain lightens up. I focus on a random raindrop. To me, it’s the past, present, future, unseen forces, things that were, and the things that will never be. It hits the tip of my sword, covering me in dry blood.

She isn’t going to make my day ever again. She’s not going to show up with a bouquet of flowers, another $1000, and a portable oven for our turkey disk. It would be great if she’d do that, though. But she won’t. I have to accept it and move the hell on. I promised myself that I would never return. Nonetheless, my stream of consciousness keeps diverting to that channel. The phone call changed the wiring of my brain. She changed me. Again. In a matter of moments. The scale in mind keeps tilting back and forth from being aware of my surroundings and being aware of a past I should forget about. The chalices weigh heavily, taking the place of my brain. They are filled with lead and poisoned honey, each cup fighting for the honor of being the most burdensome. Both are thick and dark and equally vile, but one tastes better. I want to beat my head against a fucking wall.

I scoop a handful of dog food out of the bag and start tossing the kibble, one by one, into my mouth. I cry in Beatrice’s arms while we smoke weed in the bathroom. Kirsten yells at me for spilling my handful of dog food. Beatrice gives me a present covered in golden wrapping paper for my birthday. I pick the dog food up off the floorboard. Beatrice shows up to pick me up in the middle of the night for the billionth time. I eat the spilled dog food. Beatrice and I walk into the ballroom. Dog food, and I’m stupid. I hold Beatrice’s hand while she talks about getting rejected from her dream college. Dog food. Beatrice and I look at the stars. Dog food.

I start to feel worse and worse about myself as the memories collect together. Why can’t I let it down the drain? Why must I let myself suffer? Why can’t I kill the affection trapped in my arms and chest? The screen I unwillingly watch keeps dividing, splitting into two memories, then four, then eight, then sixteen, and so on. All the feelings flood out of me. My throat closes up and I clench the contents in my fist. Within the pixels, a bittersweet image shows up- the underlying, the ultimate. I stop eating and rest my head back. The pixels shine in the quiet like candles in a chapel.

Part I

I stare blankly at a blank gray wall in my room, thinking about what I’m about to do. Dancing on the paint, the light from my window buzzes in my eyes. I know what I’m doing, but I don’t know what I’m doing. I stop sitting in my bed and pace around, badly hunched over. I finished writing a letter to her recently. I’ve been spending all of today preparing myself for what’s next. I know it isn’t going to go well, but I have to try anyway. I don’t think I’d ever be able to forgive myself if I didn’t.

I had no idea of what to say until very recently. What I had wasn’t a letter so much as a random mess of pain, anger, citations from papers, disrespect, tidbits from blogs, and general stupidity. I was planning a war with the world. Post-it notes were all over my room. It had the energy of a conspiracy theorist trying to prove that George Washington killed JFK and did 9/11. It was so caustic. So I tore it all down. And I wrote a different letter with no notes. No plan. No structure. I started writing it yesterday at 2am, and I didn’t stop until 7am.

She’s a vector of truth. Something fundamentally calming and simple resides within her. When I stepped back and thought about her, the writer’s block unfurled. It was like nothing and everything made sense at the same time. And that’s what I needed. Returning to reality, I find myself standing with my back pressed against a wall. I open my eyes wide and breathe in because I had forgotten to. It falters in the middle of the intake. My reflection looks at me.

And with that, I pick up the piece of paper and walk out my door, down the hall, out the front door, and along the road.

Once Kirsten pulls up to a laundromat adjacent to an RV park, we dig through our crap to find all our unwashed clothes. I lift up the base of my shirt. It smells like a sweating, rotting thing. I take my dress into the laundromat with me and change into it in the bathroom because it smells the “best”. It has a giant scorch mark on the front, but it doesn’t matter, because I’m only going to wear it for an hour. We really should have washed our clothes ages ago.

Kirsten emerges from her stall wearing her off-white wife beater and baggy jeans. No leather jacket. A woman gives us a dollar after watching us scour the floor for loose change. We thank her. I hold the bill in my hand, feeling feathery, but that subsides once I remember everything. Now it feels less like being on the receiving end of an act of kindness and more like I sucked money from someone who needed it too. Kirsten puts the bill in a washer and lumps all our clothes into it. It moves slightly from side to side, clanking against the dryer underneath it.

Kirsten and I look at each other. We remain silent. We agreed earlier that we shouldn’t talk at all today unless it’s absolutely necessary. It’s too hot to talk. There’s also nothing to say.

My hands and feet feel heavy and enlarged with the excess heat in the building. There isn’t an AC or even a fan. Just vents at the top. I sit on a brown chair with stuffing coming out of the seat, letting my forehead rest against the tan-yellow wall. It probably has all the germs in the world. My muscles shift against my will as if I’ve been swimming for hours.

I’m not sure if I miss money or if I miss when I brushed my hair and cared about others. I’m mentally drained. My forehead wrinkles against the marginally colder wall. I put my legs forward slightly so I can balance myself well enough to fall asleep. A vent from another room gently whispers into me. I wilt. I breathe slowly in and out, focusing only on the hot hair blowing on my legs.

Part II

I stand in the bushes near the road’s intersection, trying to figure out how I’m going to cross the highway. The road I was on is perpendicular to it, so I might just stand behind the traffic light and run with the cars. Being able to drive would have made this process a lot easier, but since I failed my driver’s test a few weeks ago, that simply isn’t possible. I couldn’t parallel park, and I have to go back once I think I can safely do so.

I dart out into the road once it seems safe and stand between two cars waiting for the green light. Something in me tells me to quit, but I shove it aside and wrestle it to the ground. This fear is disgustingly human, and I am doing this for a reason greater than most others. A driver yells at me. I turn around and flip the bird.

Enamored with my own determination, I passively watch the cars race through the main thoroughfare with a big, dumb smile on my face. Revelations about existence spill around me as the smell of diesel and the vibe of impatient cars fills in every edge of me. Complete lack of safety can feel like the safest thing ever. The realization that I am not her other half rushes in. There was never any room for me. I am one of two dyadic wholes. That’s why I’m capable of this. I don’t die with her. Her philosophy returns. People are so scared of existing. People are so scared of talking. People are so scared of thinking. Maybe she’s projecting.

A spring breeze injects my edges with a delirious sense of hope; it’s as if I’m levitating ever so slightly off the ground. It’s a shock of purity that arrives after not feeling that kind of air for a year, for a lifetime. Endless particles with endless variables ricochet off each other, building invisible connective structures. Dominos fall and rise. Anything is possible. The awesome feeling ends. I’m just me.

The light turns green, and I run.

“Fucking machine,” Kirsten grunts, beating on the glass door of the washer. She pulls up her sagging shorts.

I stand immediately, recoiling upon sensing the crick in my neck. My back doesn’t feel great either. I watch her slam on the washer’s door until something pops. The sound hits something in my ears, making me feel funny. She opens it. Right after she scoops out wet clothes, the door falls off by the hinges and spins like a quarter until it lies still on the dirty floor.

“We’re leaving now.”

We drape the clothes out over our other stuff in the back. It looks like we’re trying and failing to conceal something weird.

Kirsten finds herself pulling into a gas station. We don’t have the money for gas anymore, no matter how desperately we might need it. After a few ear-ringing moments of silence, Kirsten runs out and slams the door. She’s probably going off somewhere to cry.

It’s too hot to stay in the truck, even with the shade from the gas station. I climb out and sit on a bench next to a ten-year-old boy with a half-eaten orange pop. I stare at the spots of flattened, darkened gum on the white asphalt. My mind travels again.

“I hate women,” I sigh.

He just stares at me, his eyes turning into pools of wonder in his pudgy, tanned face. He goes back to biting into the pop.

“They’re too damn confusing. And it’s not even their fault. There’s something about the sheer beauty of a pretty girl that screws with your mind. You end up believing whatever you want to believe, but you also don’t dare to believe. There’s something so incredible about the touch of a woman. It’s easy to see why a lot of songs are about romance and youth… art is the only outlet for such complex things. Don’t you agree?”

He belches.

I’m too impassioned to see straight. The parked cars turn into dizzy lines. “My girl… well, she isn’t my girl anymore. Not really. And that’s the problem, I guess. I think about her all the time. I want to return to her and make everything okay again, but I feel as though trying to do so would be a deep betrayal of the opportunities I have been given.” I stand and pace, wringing out my hand. “No choice is a good one. No matter what side the coin lands on, the other side is still dark. It’s like… do you listen to your heart despite its logical fallacies, or do you listen to your head despite the fact that it has its own set of fallacies?” I gesture through my monologue.

Kirsten carrying a used straw from the trash comes into my view. She blows through it, sending thick strings and droplets of leftover milkshake onto her pants and the parking lot. My stomach cringes. She makes eye contact with a mother filling her car with gas. Unperturbed by the audience, she walks over and sticks the straw into the tank and sips in a bit of it. My jaw drops. The woman swears and tries to slap her away. Kirsten runs over to our truck, accidentally letting the fluid in the straw drip back into her mouth. She makes a sick face and spits it out all over the white concrete. The woman is still yelling.

“It was nice talking to you,” I say without looking at him. I roll up onto my feet and start walking toward the truck to leave.

Not many interesting things have happened today. I spotted a Prius with truck nuts on the drive over. That was cool, I guess. But the more I think about it, the more I believe that I don’t really want to have anything to do with interesting things. I’m all mellowed out and drained. I’ve retired. In fact, anything completely out of the ordinary would throw me. Today’s me would hate yesterday’s me. In all honesty, I could probably come up with a few good ideas if I really wanted to. Right now, I just want to make sure that I can still successfully exist.

Part III

I breathe in and out slowly, trying to maintain my cool. I carefully put my finger on the worn doorbell and press it in. I’m definitely doing the right thing.

I don’t care about the bad consequences that could stem from this. There’s a big difference between a good Bad Consequence and a bad Bad Consequence. A bad Bad Consequence is dying from doing something excessively stupid. A good Bad Consequence of this is that I might live too much. I have no self-doubts in this glorious moment. I look at the paper in my hand.

I hear her footsteps storm toward the door. I can tell it’s her. Something strange creeps up in me. She opens the door.

What the shit what the fuck what in the goddamn fuck what sorry shit God I fucking wish things were simple still but fuck me God fucking damn it fuck goodnight. I’m a fucking idiot loser shit pile.

Barbed wires become me. A “what is wrong with you” expression dances on her crestfallen face, as if she opened some long-awaited package and found severed limbs. My eyes widen with the realization of how stupid this actually is. My emotions go haywire when I realize that I don’t know how I feel about her now or even who she is. Her label is a balancing act between The Girl Who Hurt Me and The Girl I Love. It screws with me. Hot and cold waves wrack my body as I stare deeper into her eyes. It’s hard to feel safe when there are walls within her pupils waiting to shut me out again. Her image flips back and forth between being heavenly and devilish.

It’s then when I realize that she’s just a girl. Just a person.

And I’m just a moron. In fact,

I am a crazy bitch.

Maybe I need to write it on a piece of paper and staple it to my forehead for me to learn.

“Are you going to speak?”

“Maybe eventually,” I squeak. I wish I could have been cooler with that.

I watch the gas as Kirsten continues to drive toward Canada. I can’t believe it, but we might actually get there all in one piece. Rolling hills, marshes, and trees come into view.

Turtle Mountain Scenic Byway

We decide to stop outside of a hotel to see if there’s any complementary coffee. It seems upscale. As soon as we enter, a lady at the front desk tells Kirsten to cover her shoulders more if she wants to be in here. We look at each other. Kirsten goes out to the truck and comes back with the giant yellow sweater we bought at the mall. It’s like a giant sheet of tinsel that swallows her neck and goes down a foot past her knees. She smiles sarcastically at the lady and drinks the coffee. Crinkling the empty cup in her hand, she travels to the trash can by the staircase, observing it for a concerning amount of time. I slowly walk up to her.

“I want to cook the turkey,” Kirsten states.

“So do I, but that’s just not happening. It’s not possible.”

She turns around with a bad idea trapped in her brain. “Well, if I set it on fire, it would cook, right?” Her hands are on her hips. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her without her arms rigidly at her sides.

“Well…”

“We’re setting this bitch on fire,” she decides.

I guess the punishment fits the crime.

We take the hotel’s trash can without saying anything, leaving the bag. It’s a giant dark gray one that is as tall as me minus my head. We could cook a dead, flattened cow in here. We toss it in the back and find another river to set our literal dumpster fire beside. A muddy one with a quick current comes into view. Kirsten sets the can next to the bank and fetches the turkey. Holding it over the opening, she puts her lighter up to it, praying for it to light. A sizable chunk falls into the base of it. Kirsten rips up a fistful of grass and tries that. I go to the truck, get our sunglasses, and hand her a pair.

“For protection,” I say.

She shrugs and takes it. I peek over and watch as the flames consume the grass. A turkey disk flies past my left ear and clunks against the bottom. It finally catches. We stand back at a safe distance and wait for our food. Soon enough, as expected, something decides to go horrifically wrong. The fire begins to react badly to the plastic. Thick smoke billows out of the top as it crackles madly. Flames shoot out from the top, illuminating every single fiber of tinsel on Kirsten’s golden sweater. The fire reaches several feet above the rim. I recoil before braving kicking it into the river. At least we were smart enough to anticipate needing to do that.

After the fire dies and the can gets swept away in the current, Kirsten and I look at each other, horrified. We plunge into the murky water, scrambling to get the turkey back. Thick mud sucks the bottoms of my flip flops with every step. I lift my legs with twice as much force as I normally would, which gives the impression that I have a really bad wedgie. Kirsten is no more graceful. We slog our way to where the trash can caught itself on a branch in a slower, shallower section. Kirsten flings the floating trashcan toward her, only to find nothing inside. She panics and starts raking the bottom of the river with her hands. I do the same, trying to squint through it. It’s exactly like trying to see the bottom of a glass of chocolate milk. I’m covered to my waist in a film of mud and leaf particles.

My hand grips a chunk of turkey. Thrilled, I tear off the tire-marked plastic and chisel away at the charred part. It’s soaked through. It apparently has a burnt layer, a thin cooked layer, and a raw layer. I do the best I can to get the good parts out of it before tossing it way out into the other side of the river. Kirsten finds a piece of her own and eats it like a dog.

Something fleshy hits the back of my hand. I eagerly grab it and bring it up to me. The image hits my brain, and something within me shuts down. It’s sickly pink. And veiny, and cylindrical, and flaccid, and weirdly tapered off at the ends. As it regurgitates more lake liquid out, it droops even further, causing it to curl and stick around my hand. My eyes cross as I notice all the angry flies and other insects buzzing over the surface.

Oh no.

Kirsten looks at me, pauses and stands still, and drops the desecrated leg and lets everything she was chewing out of her mouth. I examine it from different angles, not daring to believe. I don’t know why I’m waiting so long to toss it back into the abyss.

Kirsten stutters. “I think it’s… um. I think it’s a part of the turkey. The neck part.”

I stare at it. “Are we certain of this?”

I toss it back anyway. Even though I’m 90% sure that it’s just a neck, I’m not taking any chances. My hands sift through the murky water in search of more burnt turkey, shivers going through my spine. I find another piece and tear away the bad sections. I carefully bite into the soggy cooked part, careful to not let my mouth touch the remaining raw portion. Out of nowhere, Kirsten kicks a wave of brown onto my back. I’m sure she just did that to start some shit. Hopeless and angry, I swipe water toward her, soaking her front. Mud, water, and flies obscure my vision. The foul water violates my mouth as I toss more fistfuls of crap. The sound of rocky mud hitting the side of my face echoes in my ears.

Part IV

My legs stiffen as I fully realize that I’m standing in the doorway of her bedroom, saying nothing. I look at the piece of paper in my hand. “I’ve written you a letter,” I say, stating the obvious.

Beatrice doesn’t respond. She just keeps sitting on the edge of her bed, waiting for me to explain, leave, or die where I stand. I can’t tell what she’s thinking. She mostly just looks blank. She finally raises her eyebrows as if I’m an embarrassment to myself.

I look down at the print and think about what it says. My heart is empty of all of it. This was all stupid. Watching her act all dejected tears everything out of me. “This is… weird. I’ve come this far, so… um… so… I,” I pause. “I think I should just say what I was going to say. I’m sorry if this turns out to be weirder than it already is,” I apologize exasperatedly. A breath shudders into my floppy lungs.

It’s currently two in the morning, and I’m sitting on my floor writing this letter to you because I’ve finally made a decision. In situations like these, it seems as though there are no good solutions or ways to move forward. Letting you go is probably the right thing to do, but it also seems like the worst thing I could possibly do. You’ve grown to mean a lot to me, and I don’t think I could ever forgive myself if I didn’t try to show you what you’ve shown me. I hope you like the letter, and I hope that I do too, because I have no idea of what I’m going to say yet.

I can’t get it out of my head that we were meant to be. The force that made God surely made that. The fact that the girl who taught me to love without fear fears the way she loves is nothing short of a tragedy. Religion is meant to be a solace from pain and a tool for self-improvement and salvation- not something that destroys the soul. To “fear God” is not to praise a force that loves conditionally and is ready to beat you into submission at a moment’s notice. We were not made to cower and wrap ourselves tightly in a box in order to avoid eternal damnation from a disapproving force that doesn’t understand. To fear God is to be in awe of God. To fear God is to marvel at how such an infinite love could possibly exist, a love beyond what the human mind could possibly comprehend. To fear God is to never fear anything again. I am not afraid of you. I do not fear your fears.

The wrong kind of fear breeds actions that are against the core of religion. This form of strict adherence causes parents to kick out their children and makes those children kill themselves. It is fruitless. Religion becomes a checklist rather than a source of salvation. But where are the people who demand women to sacrifice two doves at the end of each menstrual cycle? I do not know. Very few, if any, people avoid picking and choosing what in the Bible they should follow, and because of this, we are saved. Kill nonbelievers. Stone young girls if they cannot prove their virginity. Women cannot speak in church. Sacrifice God’s creatures to atone for your sins. Women are property. It’s okay to whip your slaves. The writers of the word of God could not help but be influenced by the surrounding truths in the culture they were brought up in. These injustices were truths as old and as solid as the knowledge that the sun would rise in the morning. Women are dogs, animals burn, and the sky is blue. Today, in this millennium, the sky is blue, and I’m not ever giving up.

What is destroyed by religion can be mended with religion. The Bible seemed to show that slavery is natural, but those in bondage read other lines and let their faith carry them and their descendants into a more just world. Countless wars started in the name of God, but those who walk with God walk in peace. Even thousands of years ago, the rigidity of the powerful religious stripped people of their personhood for so much as picking food on the Sabbath. Jesus ate grains and forgave. God takes care of the forgotten, the unpopular, the powerless, always. Faith embraces all who have it.

Others may not accept us, but all of them pale in comparison to God. There is no male or female in His eyes. He cannot see anything other than our connected souls. In His hands, no one can tell us that we are abominations. No one can make you hate who you are. We are not freaks. Was God wrong for making you this way? It is no test; God is not a trickster. Repressing your feelings will not make you closer to Him. Not being you destroys you. You were meant to let yourself breathe. We have a place here. Kids don’t have families, and we can help them. The idea of you in pain over this hurts me as if you were a part of me. It breaks my heart. I will shield you and dry your tears if you’ll let me. I’ll tell you over and over that God wants you to feel safe. I want to help you feel safe.

To sin is to be without God, and by extension, without meaning. Vices provide temporary relief, but they will die with our bodies, and we will be dragged down along with those simple, empty pleasures we used as a crutch. Sin destroys us. It lies. It suppresses the light of God, ruins lives, and does the opposite of what we want it to do. Lust and gluttony satisfy the flesh, but never the soul. You can consume and consume and consume and find yourself lost in emptiness. It doesn’t stay. It never satisfies. Greed, wrath, and envy burn their host to the ground and stave away any hope of redemption. Pride’s keepers believe themselves to be too good for improvement, for openness. Pride is the treasure of the insecure.

I do not believe that what we have is infested with sin. This happiness feels whole, not empty or temporary. The truth blazes within you; it is not hideous and riddled with the deceit of evil. This feeling is not a lie. The way my heart is stitched to yours is not a lie. I’d have to be a fool to feel cursed. Tear out my brain, rip me limb for limb, kill desire, defeat pride, leave only my soul- and it still wants you. Even so, perhaps we really are abominations for some profoundly strange, arbitrary reason. This is something we cannot know. But this is what I do know. My feelings for you last beyond me. Beyond time itself. Heaven comes down to Earth when I’m with you. You expand my heart and mind beyond the brink. This truth overturns every stone and opens every door. Here I am, with you, in your hands, learning. Everything is complex and ceaselessly pours in. And yet, everything is simple. In this, I am made perfect. I am clean.

“Agape” is the unconditional love that God has for us. It wants nothing; it just is. It flows endlessly without question. Agape is what I have for everything that exists, for I am lucky enough to live here in the constant Now. These subtle forces that allow us to be here and breathe are surely a divine gift. This world is a reflection of God, my consciousness a reflection of His love. I see virtue in even the saddest and strangest of places. You, my dear, are a prism; God’s light refracts through you and ignites everything that can be perceived. You are the opposite of suppression. How can you be a vice if you bring me closer to the light? I’m ceaselessly inspired to love the world with all of me. This pours from me and begs me to do good rather than evil, or worst of all, nothing. This love is ancient and forever. Every place I go is a place I hold dear to me. It’s all heavenly. There are no vice-like pitfalls anywhere, and meaning is infused into all I do. I want to love, to share, to mend, to speak endlessly. I love you with this intensity. Agape.

There’s a character in To Kill a Mockingbird who believes that flowers and those who look at them are damned to hell because they’re pretty and distract from the glory of God. She reasons that beauty is a vice and that no one should enjoy it. That vision dictates that the purpose of humanity is to shun all the good things in life and to stay in a rigid line. If that is so, lock me in a box where I can never see another flower, never touch your face, never breathe. If that is what I am to be, I will stand there forever, beating on the walls, begging to be let into a fear-infused paradise where there is nothing but more lists of rules on a wall.

I believe that God is in the flowers. He is in them, and He is in my adoration of you. Too many people pray to the rules, not praying for love, not understanding that God prays for them to love. God prays to be understood. Flowers are not a refuge from the light; the light is in them. God is not some unreachable thing locked away in the heavens, separate from the world and its people. He is not some white dude sitting on a cloud waiting to smite you for eating pork. His love seeps from everything our senses can perceive.

I see God in the clouds. I see God in pain and in resilience and healing. I hear God during funerals. I feel God in my grandmother’s small church on Christmas Eve when everyone holds candles. I hear God in the old cars in our town when they struggle to start. I see God in homeless people and quiet streets. I feel God when we play music from The Cars in your car at night when no one else is there. I hear God in the streetlights that dance on your face. I see God in the kids that recklessly chase each other in the park. I see God when I talk to kind strangers. I see God in you.

You brighten all of these things. There are bits of you in all I experience. The elements on the periodic table don’t have shit on you. You unearth dimensions that you alone can access, dimensions where existence itself is its own grand purpose- depth within depth. I have been changed beyond comprehension. Even though you’re this brave force of perseverance that fears nothing and can make anyone smile, you’re also meek, gentle, and pure. You can do anything and make me believe in anything. You’re the crown of this world that you beautify.

Despite this, you don’t seem to know who you are. At all. When I look deeper into you, I see someone who is unwittingly full of contradictions- a hypocrite with a heart of gold. I see someone who loves everyone deeply and abhors herself with the same passion. You’re torn between letting yourself out or hiding away forever. You don’t know if you can afford to stop hating yourself. You don’t know if you’re brave enough to try. You’re selfless, yet you give yourself nothing. You are wise beyond your years, but you are unsure if your logic is a delusion. You exude peace, but your mind, heart, and soul take part in a daily bloodbath. You want to be good. You don’t know if you should stop caring or care too much. You’re always in pieces, and you’re always fighting those fragments that make you who you are. These things build up. They build up until you’re lost in the frenzy of a whirlwind. You’re stretched thin across a continuum of uncertainty, false hope, and second-guesses. In those times, you don’t seem to be any one figure. You can’t make up your mind about who you are supposed to be. I think it’s because you’re everything, infinitely.

“I can see you clearly now,” I say into the light.

Her eyes are wide and dewy. I smile at her because I feel the same as I had when it all began. My heart has been restored. I have her again. Her angelic presence renews me. Our souls separate from our flesh and refract into a singular heavenly globe with us in the middle. The golden light warms as I slowly reach my hand out towards hers. The heavens above open for us. No longer star crossed, the warring and bleeding constellations uncross and file back into their order, further blending our lines together. Old grudges, hatreds, and ways within us and outside us melt away with our enlightened love. No one can ever take this away from us again. Everything that seeks to deaden and choke us out has no power over this anymore. We’re immovable. She grabs my hand after I extend it all the way. The saintly outpour of emotion solidifies as our fingers interlock into an unchangeable bond.

I want to keep you close to me. I want us to keep being there for each other during our lives on Earth and beyond as we rest in death among the stars. I want you to be the one part of my life that doesn’t move. If I had to pick and choose one part of the Bible to follow blindly, it wouldn’t be verse banning tattoos, the one that hates shrimp, or even the one that vilifies clothes made from several different types of string. There’s a part in Corinthians that I happen to like the most out of everything I’ve read so far. It says that signs of worship do not mean anything without love. Giving the world everything is an empty act if you do not have it. Love is the foundation of religion, and in its absence, religion is a farce- almost a sin in and of itself. Love never falters; it is the only true constant. As the world keeps going through the spiraling path of the future, all of these things that we hold dear will pass away. Our bodies will rot, and civilizations will crumble as if they were nothing. Science will grow and diminish, songs will be deleted from the canals of history, and the concept of music itself will cease. Fleeting hateful thoughts will fade out into nonexistence. Inventions and human glory will die. New religions with new books and new rules will rise and sink back into the dirt, and the people of the future and their cultures will forever remain in a state of change. And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love.

A quiet epiphany overtakes me as I come to and watch myself stew in this low point. In the silence, I feel the four tires moving under me and blank again. I barely smell the stale cough of the air conditioner. I barely feel the caking layer of mud that saturates me from my feet to just below my lips. I barely know that I’m being dumb by letting this truck take me farther and farther from her. This quiet state of wonder, this beautiful space between pain and redemption consumes me in a bath of enlightenment. I have not been blessed with true consciousness until now. I was plopped into existence only moments ago to find myself inhabiting a teenage girl who is running away with a bad friend. A grand possibility that I never could have dreamt of until now puts my sparks back in me. I look down at myself and around the interior of the vehicle as if I am seeing the world for the first time. Peace dulls my senses. I close my eyes and inhale sharply. Everything is so easy. In this nothing, I am overcome with great emotion- more than I’ve ever felt before.

“I want to go home,” I say quietly, earnestly.

“What a shame.”

“I’m not kidding. I mean it, Kirsten. I want to go home, right now.”

She sighs and puts her other palm on the wheel. “Why the fuck would you want to go back, especially now since we’re so close to what we’ve been moving toward? The answer is no. I am not turning around on a stupid whim.”

“I have to see Beatrice.”

She gives me a quick, incredulous look. “Why do you have to see Beatrice?”

“I need to talk to her. I think I can fix things,” I say, my breath heavy with my thickening resolve.

“She doesn’t like you. She probably never really did. That’s why she ditched you. You need to get the fuck over it. You were the one that begged me to go on this stupid fucking trip anyway.”

“Haven’t you ever been in love before?”

Her face hardens.

“I bet you haven’t. I’ve known you for a while. You can’t even pretend to love anything. You don’t understand anything about it because you’ve never felt it.” Vitriol fires me up and flies out with every word.

“I damn well understand enough to know when it is and isn’t there. You didn’t even know how to talk to her. And all the better too, because when I saw you two together, it was her talking endlessly and ignoring you and you saying nothing at all. She never shuts the fuck up. And you don’t know how the fuck to breathe. And both of you are real piles of shit for it. You’re like the Shit King.”

“The Shit King,” I repeat.

“She made you her bitch. You were her pet that she’d drag around to do illegal shit with. She controlled your every damn move. Sometimes, you’re so pathetic that it makes me cry. Did you love slinging weed at parties with her? You used to flinch whenever I’d mention so much as smoking cigarettes. And then she didn’t ever even have sex with you… because why? It’s especially funny because I remember that she’d open her legs for just about anything freshman year.”

“I’ll fucking kill you,” I mouth.

“Do you really want to do all that again?” she taunts, ignoring me. “Live that fake-ass life? Be an accessory?”

“You don’t know one fucking thing about her and me. You never saw us alone. You never read what we wrote for each other. You never felt the way she looked at me. You’re a miserable person to be around. I don’t like being your friend. I only started talking to you because I felt bad for you because you’re horrible and barely have anyone. And would you like to know who inspired me to do that? Beatrice. Fucking Beatrice. I saw how beautiful her fearlessness was and I decided that I needed her and everything else in my life. She’s why I feel comfortable in this world. There’s nothing ‘fake’ about us. It’s not like you’d even know. You can’t get into an actual functioning relationship of any kind to save your life.” I take in a shuddering breath. “Your sister is fucking dead, and you may as well be too at this point. You’re a useless goddamned bastard. You don’t have a reason to live. I do.”

She looks dumbfounded. Her pupils retract into some unreachable asylum. I feel satisfied for the first time in a while. All I know is that I need to do whatever I can to go back to her. I’ll make it all okay again like I did a few months ago. I’ll do it in a thousand different ways with a thousand different letters, each one better than the last.

I gather my thoughts while she dissolves the blow. “I love Beatrice. I don’t love any of this. Take me fucking home,” I say gently.

I suggest that she should pull up a map on her phone so she can find the fastest route. She retrieves it and types in the password. She bites her lip and points to the “no signal” icon with a single shaky finger.

“Maybe there will be a signal at the top of the hill over there,” I suggest. I try to keep a much softer tone so I don’t hurt her more than I had to.

Kirsten squints through the trees, or at least pretends to. She nods and turns the truck on, still not looking at me. Sunlight dances on the road as we reach the base of the hill. She pulls off the road and floors the gas, sending us up it. It mainly has medium-length grass as well as a few shrubs. She turns a little to the left after a minute so we don’t fall off. I look behind at the little dots of trees in the forest beyond the jagged edge. The bottoms of my feet writhe.

Kirsten lamely exits the vehicle, her phone tightly wrapped in her hand. We walk until we reach the very top. I start panting in the unfiltered heat. She squints at her phone and hits the side of it. She lifts it in the air and checks it a few times.

“My data provider never anticipated anything like this.” Her voice sounds weak. More impatient anger billows up inside me.

She reaches her hand higher and higher into the sky.

I groan. “Maybe if-”

A metallic creak reaches our ears. Kirsten drops her phone. Pangs of fear and disbelief stream through the skin of my neck as I watch the truck begin to slowly roll backwards. Kirsten runs out in front of me before I gain the sense to run. The truck picks up speed, rumbling and jumping in the slanted grassy hill. We stop chasing after it once it gets to the edge because it’s no use. The remaining front wheel jolts upwards as it rolls over the lip of the cliff as if it were raising its hand in a desperate “save me” motion. I reach out my own hand as if I could. It falls and claps against my leg in despair.

“Did you put the parking brake on?” I ask.

Her silence answers me.

I gulp in nothing. The wind ripples around my disgusting rag of a dress. We stand for a while in mourning, our bodies turning into wood. My brain slowly processes our situation. I am too dead to be shocked. I am too shocked to be mad. I am merely an observer of the presence of nothing. Chills wrack my body, but I’m too stiff to shiver.

(this is supposed to be separated with a line but the format is weird)

Kirsten and Lily stand a car’s length apart from each other as they take in the awe of their own destruction. Their faded emotions knock on the doors of their hearts, begging to be let in, begging to be felt, but they do not bend to them. If even one broke in, they would break. They stand stiffly still in the intermittent wind, scared to move, scared to see.

The camera pans up and down slowly like what one might do to capture the image of a world-class playboy model. Blood spurts and streams down from Kirsten’s nostrils to her chin without inhibition. Her busted lip marks her graying face with a pop of color. Her eyes twitch as the picture moves all the way down the length of her yellow tinsel sweater matted with dried dirt. Her scene cuts. Lily’s mouth is agape. The mud that overtakes the front of her body takes center stage as she absentmindedly tries not to let any of it in. Her matted hair moves awkwardly in the wind. Her faded dress recoils harder every second that it has to touch the river’s excrement. The gigantic, gaping burn in the center is a second mouth. Hairy legs peek out from the brown. Just before her scene goes black, the camera zooms in on her arm tattoo.

Deadpan humor permeates the air. It’s all so hilarious in the same way that ironic deaths and terrible jokes that fall flat are hilarious. Everything is funny, and everything has happened. The girls are plagued with dog food branded into their mouths and stained with badly drawn dicks and thoughts of death and strife, but it’s alright. The cold is a form of heat once the nerves go numb. And though it is not yet even noon, the sun sets, leaving them in darkness.

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jkisok · 6 years

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Sign in / Sign up HOMEHOLIDAY GIFT GUIDENEWSTECH & BUSINESSLIFE & LEARNINGHEALTH & FITNESSSCIENCE & MAKERSSUBSCRIBE Benjamin P. Hardy Husband & foster father of 3. PhD candidate in Motivation Psychology. Get my 2 free eBooks (on productivity & blogging strategy)@ https://benjaminhardy.com/ Jan 25 · 30 min https://unsplash.com/?photo=3IEZsaXmzzs35 Things No One Told You About Becoming “Successful”1. It’s Never As Good As You Think It Will Be “One of the enemies of happiness is adaptation,” says Dr. Thomas Gilovich, a psychology professor at Cornell University who has studied the relationship between money and happiness for over two decades. “We buy things to make us happy, and we succeed. But only for a while. New things are exciting to us at first, but then we adapt to them,” Gilovich further states. Actually, savoring the anticipation or idea of a desired outcome is generally more satisfying than the outcome itself. Once we get what we want — whether that’s wealth, health, or excellent relationships — we adapt and the excitement fades. Often, the experiences we’re seeking end up being underwhelming and even disappointing. I love watching this phenomena in our foster kids. They feel like they need a certain toy or the universe will explode. Their whole world revolves around getting this one thing. Yet, once we buy the toy for them, it’s not long before the joy fades and they want something else. Until you appreciate what you currently have, more won’t make your life better. 2. It’s Never As Bad As You Think It Will Be Just as we deceive ourselves into believing something will make us happier than it will, we also deceive ourselves into believing something will be harderthan it will. The longer you procrastinate or avoid doing something, the more painful (in your head) it becomes. However, once you take action, the discomfort is far less severe than you imagined. Even to extremely difficult things, humans adapt. I recently sat on a plane with a lady who has 17 kids. Yes, you read that correctly. After having eight of her own, her and her husband felt inspired to foster four siblings whom they later adopted. A few years later, they took on another five foster siblings whom they also adopted. Of course, the initial shock to the system impacted her entire family. But they’re handling it. And believe it or not, you could handle it too, if you had to. The problem with dread and fear is that it holds people back from taking on big challenges. What you will find — no matter how big or small the challenge — is that you will adapt to it. When you consciously adapt to enormous stress, you evolve. 3. There Is No Way To Happiness “There is no way to happiness �� happiness is the way.” — Thich Nhat Hanh Most people believe they must: · First have something (e.g., money, time, or love) · Before they can do what they want to do (e.g., travel the world, write a book, start a business, or have a romantic relationship) · Which will ultimately allow them to be something (e.g., happy, peaceful, content, motivated, or in love). Paradoxically, this have — do — beparadigm must actually be reversed to experience happiness, success, or anything else you desire. · First you be whatever it is you want to be (e.g., happy, compassionate, peaceful, wise, or loving) · Then you start doing things from this space of being. · Almost immediately, what you are doing will bring about the things you want to have. We attract into our lives what we are. This concept is confirmed by loads of psychological research. In his popular TED talk, Harvard psychologist Shawn Achor explains that most have happiness backwards. They believe they must first achieve or acquire something to be happy. The science shows that happiness facilities success. For example, Scott Adams, the creator of the famous comic series Dilbert, attributes his success to the use of positive affirmations. 15 times each day, he wrote the sentence on a piece of paper, “I Scott Adams, will become a syndicated cartoonist.” The process of writing this 15 times a day buried this idea deep into his subconscious — putting Adams’ conscious mind on a treasure hunt for what he sought. The more he wrote, the more he could see opportunities before invisible to him. And shortly thereafter, he was a highly famous syndicated cartoonist. It couldn’t not happen. I personally apply a similar principle but write my goal in present tense. For example, rather than saying, “I will become a syndicated cartoonist,” I write,“I am a syndicated cartoonist.” Writing it in the present tense highlights the fact that you are being who you want to be, which will then inform what you do and ultimately who you become. 4. You Have Enough Already In an interview at the annual Genius Network Event in 2013, Tim Ferriss was asked, “With all of your various roles, do you ever get stressed out? Do you ever feel like you’ve taken on too much?” Ferriss responded: “Of course I get stressed out. If anyone says they don’t get stressed out they’re lying. But one thing that mitigates that is taking time each morning to declare and focus on the fact that ‘I have enough.’ I have enough. I don’t need to worry about responding to every email each day. If they get mad that’s their problem.” Ferriss was later asked during the same interview: “After having read The 4-Hour Workweek, I got the impression that Tim Ferriss doesn’t care about money. You talked about how you travel the world without spending any money. Talk about the balance and ability to let go of caring about making money.” Ferriss responded: “It’s totally okay to have lots of nice things. If it is addiction to wealth, like in Fight Club, “The things you own end up owning you,” and it becomes a surrogate for things like long-term health and happiness — connection — then it becomes a disease state. But if you can have nice things, and not fear having them taken away, then it’s a good thing. Because money is a really valuable tool.” If you appreciate what you already have, than more will be a good thing in your life. If you feel the need to have more to compensate for something missing in your life, you’ll always be left wanting — no matter how much you acquire or achieve. 5. You Have Every Advantage To Succeed It’s easy to talk about how hard our lives are. It’s easy to talk about how unfair life is. And that we got the short-end of the stick. But does this kind of talking really help anyone? When we judge our situation as worse than someone else’s, we are ignorantly and incorrectly saying, “You’ve got it easy. You’re not like me. Success should come easy to you because you haven’t had to deal with what I’ve gone through.” This paradigm has formally become known as the victim mentality, and it generally leads to feelings of entitlement. The world owes you nothing. Life isn’t meant to be fair. However, the world has also given you everything you need. The truth is, you have every advantage in the world to succeed. And by believing this in your bones, you’ll feel an enormous weight of responsibility to yourself and the world. You’ve been put in a perfect position to succeed. Everything in the universe has brought you to this point so you can now shine and change the world. The world is your oyster. Your natural state is to thrive. All you have to do is show up. 6. Every Aspect Of Your Life Affects Every Aspect Of Your Life Human beings are holistic — when you change a part of any system you simultaneously change the whole. You can’t change a part without fundamentally changing everything. Every pebble of thought — no matter how inconsequential — creates endless ripples of consequence. This idea, coined the butterfly effect by Edward Lorenz came from the metaphorical example of a hurricane being influenced by minor signals — such as the flapping of the wings of a distant butterfly — several weeks earlier. Little things become big things. When one area of your life is out of alignment, every area of your life suffers. You can’t compartmentalize a working system. Although it’s easy to push certain areas — like your health and relationships — to the side, you unwittingly infect your whole life. Eventually and always, the essentials you procrastinate or avoid will catch up to your detriment. Conversely, when you improve one area of your life, all other areas are positively influenced. As James Allen wrote in As a Man Thinketh, “When a man makes his thoughts pure, he no longer desires impure food.” We are holistic systems. Humanity as a whole is the same way. Everything you do effects the whole world, for better or worse. So I invite you to ask: “Am I part of the cure? Or am I part of the disease?” — Coldplay 7. Competition Is The Enemy “All failed companies are the same: they failed to escape competition.” — Peter Thiel Competition is extremely costly to maximum product reach and wealth creation. It becomes a battle of who can slightly out-do the other for cheaper and cheaper. It’s a race to the bottom for all parties involved. Instead of trying to compete with other people or businesses, it’s better to do something completely novel or to focus on a tightly defined niche. Once you’ve established yourself as an authority over something, you can set your own terms — rather than reactively responding to the competition. Thus, you want to monopolize the space in which you create value. Competing with others leads people to spend every day of their lives pursuing goals that aren’t really their own — but what society has deemed important. You could spend your whole life trying to keep up, but will probably have a shallow life. Or, you can define success for yourself based on your own values and detach yourself from the noise. 8. You Can’t Have It All Every decision has opportunity cost. When you choose one thing, you simultaneously don’t choose several others. When someone says you can have it all, they are lying. They are almost certainly not practicing what they preach and are trying to sell you on something. The truth is, you don’t want it all. And even if you did, reality simply doesn’t work that way. For example, I’ve come to terms with the fact that I want my family to be the center of my life. Spending time with my wife and three foster kids is my top priority. As a result, I can’t spend 12 or 15 hours a day working like some people. And that’s okay. I’ve made my choice. And that’s the point. We all need to choose what matters most to us, and own that. If we attempt to be everything, we’ll end up being nothing. Internal conflict is hell. Although the traditional view of creativity is that it is unstructured and doesn’t follow rules, creativity usually occurs by thinking inside the proverbial box, not outside of it. People flex their creative muscles when they constrain their options rather than broaden them. Hence, the more clearly defined and constraining your life’s objectives the better, because it allows you to sever everything outside those objectives. 9. Never Forget Where You Came From It’s easy when you achieve any level of success to believe you are solely responsible for that success. It’s easy to forget where you came from. It’s easy to forget all the sacrifices other people have made to get you where you are. It’s easy to see yourself as superior to other people. Burn all your bridges and you’ll have no human connection left. In that internal cave of isolation, you’ll lose your mind and identity, becoming a person you never intended to be. Humility, gratitude, and recognition of your blessings keeps your success in proper perspective. You couldn’t do what you’ve without the help of countless other people. You are extremely lucky to be able to contribute in the way you have. 10. If You Need Permission To Do Something, You Probably Shouldn’t Do It My father-in-law is a highly successful real-estate investor. Throughout his career, he’s had hundreds of people ask him if they should “go into real-estate.” He tells every one of them the same thing: that they shouldn’t do it. In fact, he actually tries talking most of them out of it. And in most cases he succeeds. Why would he do that? “Those who are going to succeed will do so regardless of what I say,” my father-in-law told me. I know so many people who chase whatever worked for other people. They never truly decide what they want to do, and end up jumping from one thing to the next — trying to strike quick gold. And repetitively, they stop digging just a few feet from the gold after resigning the spot is barren. No one will ever give you permission to live your dreams. As Ryan Holiday has said in The Obstacle is the Way, “Stop looking for angels, and start looking for angles.” Rather than hoping for something external to change your circumstances, mentally reframe yourself and your circumstances. “When you change the way you see things, the things you see change.” — Wayne Dyer You are enough. You can do whatever you decide to do. Make the decision and forget what everyone else says or thinks about it. 11. You Earn As Much Money As You Want To Most people “say” they want to be successful. But if they really wanted to, they’d be successful. I used to tell people, “I wish I played the piano.” Then someone said, “No you don’t. If you did, you’d make the time to practice.” I’ve since stopped saying that, because he was right. Life is a matter of priority and decision. And when it comes to money — in a free-market economy — you can make as much money as you choose. The question is, how much money do you really want to make? Instead of vegging on social media day-after-day, year-after-year, you could spend an hour or two each day building something of value — like yourself. In the book, Think and Grow Rich, Napoleon Hill invites readers to write down on a piece of paper the amount of money they want to make, and to put a time-line on it. This single act will challenge you to think and act in new ways to create the future of your wanting. For example, despite growing up so poor that for a time his family lived in their Volkswagen van on a relative’s lawn, Jim Carrey believed in his future. Every night in the late 1980’s, Carrey would drive atop a large hill that looked down over Los Angeles and visualize directors valuing his work. At the time, he was a broke and struggling young comic. One night in 1990, while looking down on Los Angeles and dreaming of his future, Carrey wrote himself a check for $10 million and put in the notation line “for acting services rendered.” He dated the check for Thanksgiving 1995 and stuck it in his wallet. He gave himself five years. And just before Thanksgiving of 1995, he got paid $10 million for Dumb and Dumber. 12. Your Vision Of Who You Want To Be Is Your Greatest Asset “Create the highest, grandest vision possible for your life, because you become what you believe.” — Oprah Winfrey No matter where you are right now, you can have any future you want. But one thing is for certain, what you plant you must harvest. So, please plant with intention. Mental creation always precedes physical creation. The blueprint you design in your head becomes the life you build. Don’t let society tell you how your house should look. You are an artist and a creator. Your life can be exactly how you want it, whether or not it’s considered a “mansion” by others. Home is where your heart is. 13. Who You Are Determines What You Can Have There’s a parable of a wealthy parent who hesitated giving their unwise child an inheritance, knowing it would undoubtedly be squandered. The parent said to the child: “All that I have I desire to give you — not only my wealth, but also my position and standing among men. That which I have I can easily give you, but that which I am you must obtain for yourself. You will qualify for your inheritance by learning what I have learned and by living as I have lived. I will give you the laws and principles by which I have acquired my wisdom and stature. Follow my example, mastering as I have mastered, and you will become as I am, and all that I have will be yours.” Going through the motions is not enough. There isn’t a check-list of things you must do to be successful. You have to fundamentally change who you are to live at a higher level. You must go from doing to being — so that what you do is a reflection of who you are, and who you’re becoming. Once you’ve experienced this change, success will be natural. “After you become a millionaire, you can give all of your money away because what’s important is not the million dollars; what’s important is the person you have become in the process of becoming a millionaire.” — Jim Rohn

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