#THIS HAS BEEN BOTH THE FASTEST AND LONGEST THREE WEEKS OF MY LIFE

[echantedtoon]

EXPECTING: Upper Moons

This is just the reaction of the demons if you told them you were pregnant. It's been rattling around my mind forever and I had to write it out. Take it as a prequel to my Demon Dad's post, gonna do a P2 with the lower moons right after.

IMPORTANT: Daki will be included in Gyutaro's part and Zohakutan in Hantengu's cuz he's a part of Hantengu but both are PLATONIC ONLY!! Also I write Karaku strictly as the Relaxation clone instead of pleasure because everything I write is sfw.

Warnings for pregnancy mentions, Douma/Karaku ARE their own warnings, possibly some innuendos.

KOKUSHIBO:

"I'm pregnant."

-you told him as soon as you saw his form come to your shared home. It had been nearly three and a half months since you last saw your husband and nearly three months since you had come to the shocking conclusion that you both were about to become parents.

-You had to wait for a while because Muzan's business has his most trusted right hand man gone for weeks to months on end just to carry out business. You knew what you signed up for when you married the highest ranked demon but it didn't make your waiting anymore easy.

-You were worried and anxious the entire time you waited for him to come home. Staying up late a lot of the time to see if he'd be coming. So when he finally showed up expecting a hug and kiss you blurted it out from the pent up anticipation.

-His reaction was to freeze completely mid hug towards you, and just stand there and stare. He's the demon with the fastest reaction time besides Muzan, so he was able to process it rather quickly although color him surprised still.

-He's unsure what to believe at first. "That is... unlikely. You must have just been sick and lazy." He says referring to your recent weight gain and sickness. To which you inform him you had already seen at least two doctors and a midwife to confirm it all. He still doesn't believe it so you demand he look through the transparent world and take a look at you. If you WERE pregnant it'd confirm it if not then you both could find out what was wrong with you.

-He agrees and you stand still as half lidded bored eyes stared at you. Before six eyes widened in complete shock as they zero in on your middle. His body goes rigid as ice... before those six eyes roll up into his skull and he falls over with a heavy THUD!! sound echoing in your home. He didn't faint because you were pregnant, he fainted because of the extra life in your body.

-SURPRISE! IT'S TWINS!

DOUMA:

"I'm pregnant."

-You've been feeling a bit sick lately. At first thinking it was nothing but a stomach bug and it'd pass a few days with rest, but even after two weeks, even your lover got concerned and said you should be looked over by the cult's resident doctor. Well surprise surprise.

-He legit doesn't even register it. It flies right over his head when you first tell him. "That's nice, Dear! Did the doctor figure out why you're sick lately?" He blinks as you slam your forehead into the dinner table. "Was it something I said?"

-Look sometimes he's really smart other times he's stupid af.

-It doesn't register in his mind until he's in the middle of a sermon and it finally registers in his mind why you've been angry with him and what you said. He ends up quickly cutting the meeting short and leaving to find you quickly.

-Ends up being kicked out of your shared bedroom for a month begging to be let back in- "Lotus Blossom. Sweetie pie. Honey bunny! Please let me back in! I'm sorry!" Your response was to open the door and throw a blanket and pillow for him to use before angrily slamming it back shut. He ended up curled up on the ground in front of your door continuing to beg until you finally give in and opened it.

-Genuinely excited but he's definitely going to be dumb about a few things. ALL of the Kizuki are horrified Douma reproduced especially Muzan and Akaza.

AKAZA:

"I'm pregnant."

-He's absolutely stunned for the longest moment. When you told him you two needed to have a serious talk he was bracing himself into receiving news that you wanted to break up with him or a demon had been lurking about with how serious your tone was but never in his hundreds of years living was he expecting THIS.

-He stands there blinking and opening and closing his mouth mimicking a fish for the longest ten minutes of both of your lives..until the questions start in a panic. "Are you sure?! Is this a bad joke?! Did you see a doctor yet?! What did he say?! Are you SURE you're not just sick or something?!" He's not asking to be mean. He just wants to be sure this isn't just a bad day dream gone wrong.

-You answer all his questions calmly. Yes you saw a doctor. Yes you're pregnant. No it's not a joke or sickness.

-He goes silent again for a few seconds..before big tears gather in those pretty lashes of his and he lets out a choke as he wraps his arms around you and happy cries into your shoulder. He feels like the most blessed man in the world!

HANTENGU(+CLONES):

"I'm pregnant."

-Ever see a woman faint from shock? You knew your husbands' main body was an older gentleman but he was a powerful demon so you weren't exactly expecting him to freeze, shriek out in complete shock/fear, and then faint to the floor with a thud sound.

-It left you blinking at him as Karaku and Urogi laugh and point before Aizetsu gives them both a smack upside the head in Sekido's place.

-Safe to say he was pretty scared and shaken up.

SEKIDO:

-Sekido.exe has stopped working. Angry man just freezes up and lets his jaw drop in shock looking like a dam goldfish making both Urogi and Karaku laugh at his reaction. Give him a while. It's gonna take at least an hour for him to let it sink in and a whole ass week for him to come to terms with it. He's not angry about it but he is shocked. So very shocked.

URAMI:

-As soon as the two words leave your mouth he's whipping around at Karaku with a scowling, accusing face. "What the hell did you do?!" "What?! Why are you signaling ME out?!" "Take a guess!"

-Is surprisingly very calm about the situation. Groaning and rubbing his temples annoyed. You're surprised by his lack of surprise but his answer is pretty acceptable- "You have six husbands. I was expecting it to happen eventually."

AIZETSU:

-Like his fellow clones is shocked at first but Urogi's and Karaku's laughter as well as the sound of Hantengu fainting pulled him out of it enough to smack the two in Sekido's place to shut them up.

-Is one of the more serious ones. Cries and hugs you tight asking if you're feeling ok and if you need anything right at that moment. Give him a moment he's very emotional right now.

UROGI:

-It doesn't register for him at first. He's too busy laughing at Hantengu and Urami yelling at Karaku and Sekido's shocked face to really comprehend what he just heard.

-Big bonehead so it's not really hitting home until ten minutes in when it dawns on him. He freezes in his tracks for a solid ten seconds mouth open in a shocked smile..before making a choked ostrich noise and snapping back to you shocked but overjoyed in happiness. Expect him to push Aizetsu off you to hug you tightly.

KARAKU:

-Like Urogi he doesn't register it at first too busy laughing at Hantengu/Sekido and arguing with Urami to notice what you said but Aizetsu knocking his head made him realize what exactly happened.

-Stands there for almost as long as Sekido really. But eventually like Urogi he's absolutely happy with the news and overjoyed. Also low-key takes credit for everything annoying everyone.

ZOHAKUTAN:

-Like Sekido he's mostly shocked but it quickly turns to jealousy, annoyance, but still mostly shock. He's used to being the youngest so it's pretty much a jealous older sibling fit. But eventually he does warm up to the idea of becoming a big brother/uncle figure, but he won't admit it.

GYOKKO:

"I'm pregnant."

-(Ik but just for this let's just go with it.) Legit stops in the middle of making his latest vase to whip around and look at you wide eyed. Something he NEVER does! You can insult, assault, jabber on, and anything else you can think of but if he's in the middle of making art, nothing is going to interrupt him unless it's Muzan demanding his attention. However he does stop and look at you when you tell him which is a feat in of itself.

-He doesn't seem to notice at first only mumbling an 'uh huh' as he continues before he just ends up stopping molding the clay in his hands and whipping to you. There's a moment of you both just staring at one another before he just replies- "....Oh."

-He's not sure what to think tbh.

GYUTARO (+PLATONIC UME/DAKI):

"I'm pregnant."

-Gyutaro.exe has stopped working. His entire brain becomes a big error blue screen as he just ends up staring at you along with Daki for the longest time. Both siblings shocked his girlfriend had just come up to them and announced her news so bluntly.

-Gyutaro eventually reacts first giving you a deep frown. "Oh haha. Very funny! Cut the shit out! I fucking hate jokes!" He gets angrier when you get mad and INSISTS that it's not a joke. It takes a few minutes of you arguing and yelling at him(which you usually NEVER did) to get it through his head.

-It then dawns on him that you probably weren't joking. He's asks you multiple times panicked if you were SURE and if you were really really REALLY sure! You yell yes every time until he finally stops talking. Going extremely quiet before all the color drains from his face, his eyes roll back, and he faints.

-Daki absolutely laughs when she does finally process everything as well and thinking her brother's reaction is the funniest thing ever! However she's genuinely happy to become an Auntie already planning to dress them up and parade them around her. Is also super confident it's gonna be a girl.

NAKIME:

"I'm pregnant."

-Surprisingly very calm reaction. She simply stops playing for a moment to regard you very calmly like nothing is out of the ordinary and asks you one question. "Are you absolutely sure?" You confirm it and she simply nods before just going back to playing her biwa. "Very well but YOU are taking care of everything that involves it. If you need to go anywhere I'll do that for you but that's it."

-She respects your choices but sets her boundaries early.

KAIGAKU:

"I'm pregnant."

-Shocked and actually let's out a- "What the fuck?" outta shock.

-Much like Gyutaro gets very mad at first thinking you're joking and after arguing with you for a long time finally gives up on it being a joke but denies you're actually pregnant despite you insisting that you weren't. He's too stubborn to admit it and doubts it still until you literally drag him by the arm to the nearest doctor who surprise, surprise confirms you both are actually going to be parents.

-Kaigaku doesn't say anything. Still doesn't say anything as you both leave and go home until you ask him what he's thinking about. "I think I really regret that last date night."

[waltwhitmansbeard]

go on, claim my heart: chapter thirty-four

see my masterpost for what came before this.

Tiny pebbles dig into Keyleth's palms as she holds herself up. She'd been thrown to the side as Percy, in the fastest movement Keyleth has ever witnessed, snatched his gun up from the cavern floor to finish Delilah Briarwood once and for all. Her ears still ring with the sound of the weapon's firing, but as her hearing slowly starts to come back to her, she hears a sound sweeter and more beautiful than the most dulcet tunes: her baby's cries.

She shoves herself off of the ground, launching herself at Vax. "Oh gods, oh gods, let me see her." Vax quickly shuffles Vilya into her arms, and for the first time in a week, Keyleth is holding her daughter. She is crying and laughing and hyperventilating all at once, eyes roaming over each inch of the squalling baby in her arms to verify, yes, two hands, two feet, all the fingers and toes, nose and ears and dusting of strawberry blonde on her head, just like Keyleth had when she was a child. She is curled over Vilya, making half-hearted attempts to calm her—a tall order when she can hardly calm herself—and she feels a pair of arms circle around her. She sinks into Vax's chest, Vilya nestled between them, and finally, finally, her little family is together again.

As she holds her daughter, she can feel that she is lighter than she'd been before she was taken. Worry twists her stomach into knots. "Vax," she murmurs, and he pulls back to look at her. "I think she's lost weight. I don't know if they've been feeding her."

Vax nods, face drawn. "Right." To Pike, he says, "Heal Percy as best you can. We'll be back." Then he ushers Keyleth to the shadowed edges of the cavern, where they are out of sight from the others.

Keyleth immediately settles herself on the floor, back resting against a stony wall, and begins to feed Vilya. It takes a minute or two for Vilya to remember how to feed, and in that time panic spreads like hoarfrost across Keyleth's skin, worry that she will struggle to eat when she is so clearly underfed, but then the baby latches, and Keyleth has long given up hope of stemming the tide of tears streaming down her face. Vax slides down to sit next to her, kissing her cheek and playing with Vilya's tiny foot.

"We did it, Kiki," he whispers, pressing a kiss to each of Vilya's toes. "We found her."

Keyleth's finger is trapped in Vilya's impossibly small fist, the baby's own fingers curled tightly around it as if she is terrified to let go. "I will not breathe easy until she is home in Zephrah, until Pike and Nel both confirm that she will be alright." She tips her head onto Vax's shoulder and lets her eyes slide shut. This has been the longest week of her life, and she is so very tired.

They let Vilya eat as long as they dare, but Keyleth knows they need to move before any new threat comes their way. Vilya gurgles, disgruntled, when she is moved back into her father's arms so that Keyleth can right herself, and then the family returns to the others, who have been joined by the three women Vax freed from the cage. The eldest of the trio looks a bit worse for wear, with a massive bruise along one side of her jaw and scorch marks in her clothes, but they are all alive. The teenage girl is helping Vex pull Percy to his feet; he, too, has clearly seen better days, but Keyleth can see the evidence of Pike's magic at work in the closed hole in his jaw and lightened bruising around his neck, though drying blood still cakes his face and hair. Keyleth immediately wraps her arms around him, whispering into his ear, "I'm sorry. Thank you, and I'm so, so sorry."

Percy squeezes her tightly. "I told you, there was nothing I wouldn't do to bring Vilya home. I was not joking."

"We ought to move," Vex says, gripping her bow tightly. "I don't know what other cronies the Briarwoods might have had in their employ, and I would very much like to get the hell out of this city."

Keyleth is not going to argue that point. The group begins its trek out of the tunnels, emerging onto the edge of the Parchwood after navigating through the underground unimpeded. Vex starts to lead the way toward where Scanlan and Grog were told to go with Cassandra, but the three freed women pull in the opposite direction.

"We'll head back into town," the eldest one says, now being supported on either side by the other two. "We'll spread the word of the Briarwoods' demise, and of your return, Lord de Rolo."

Percy stiffens, pale in the white light of the moon. "I...would ask that you not make any promises in that regard. My situation is...complicated, and I don't wish to let the people of Whitestone down any more than I already have. Please, go to the abandoned tea shop in the Northern Ward. Chancellor Desnay is hiding there. He will lead until..." He sighs. "Until more permanent arrangements can be made."

The three nod, and then Keyleth has an idea. "I think I can help you spread the word." She stretches her hands up toward the night sky, an inky blue blotted with wispy gray winter clouds, and begins to twist and curl her fingers. She can feel the moisturize in the air, though it's dry this time of year, and pulls on it as one might threads of a tapestry. She weaves the invisible strands around and around, pushing and pulling until the clouds have coalesced into a shape she remembers from the buttons of the tattered coat Percy arrived in all those years ago: a broad tree surrounded by a half-circle of stars. The de Rolo crest.

A hand grips onto Keyleth's shoulder, and she turns to see Percy gazing up at the symbol with tears in his eyes. "I...Keyleth..."

Her arms drop. "Whether or not you return to Whitestone to lead your people, they should know that the de Rolos have not been vanquished by the Briarwoods—and that Whitestone itself hasn't, either."

Percy pulls her into a hug. It is such a relief to hold him, to feel his chest rise and fall, the steady rhythm of his heart. She is glad that she will not have to tell her daughter stories of the man who died to save her life, that she will grow up knowing that man herself.

The Zephrans bid farewell to the three women, and then Vex leads them through the woods, having little trouble tracking Grog's large footsteps even in such low light. As they walk, Keyleth leans heavily into Vax's side, his arm around her shoulders. Vilya has been returned to her arms, and Keyleth barely watches where they walk. She can't take her eyes off of her baby, the miracle nestled into the crook of her elbow. Now that she holds her, that she knows by her gentle wriggling and curious coos up at the world around her that she is very much alive, Keyleth can release the levee that had been holding at bay a tidal wave of doubt and fear. She can admit to herself all the skepticism she'd been harboring since she left Zephrah, how sure she'd been that they would be too late, that they would not be enough, she would not be enough to save her daughter's life. The force of it nearly sends her to her knees, but she keeps walking, knowing each step brings her closer to proving herself wrong once and for all.

It is not hard to miss the mountain that is Grog when they come upon him. Once the two groups are in sight of each other, Cassandra darts forward from behind the goliath, calling, "Percy?" Percy takes a few long, lanky steps forward, and Cassandra gasps. "What happened?"

Percy merely gathers her into a hug. "I'm alright, I promise. We're going to get out of here."

"But what of the Briarwoods? Of Whitestone? Are we safe to—"

"Cass." He puts his hands on either side of her face. "There are a great many things to discuss, to figure out. And I promise you we will have those discussions, but not here. I must get you and the princesses to safety in Zephrah."

"But that's days away."

"It's not." Keyleth carefully shuffles Vilya back to Vax—both of them are so reluctant to give her up, so eager to have her back again—and steps forward to the mighty pine tree that Scanlan and Grog have selected. It's perfect for the job. "I can get us there tonight." She hopes; she's expended so much energy this night, and this task will cost her more yet. She settles her palms against the tree. "We will have very little time, so please, hurry through."

Vax kisses Vilya's forehead before passing her over to Vex, who nods and moves to the front of the queue gathering before the tree trunk. Cassandra begins to speak—likely to ask what in the hells is going on—but Percy merely steers her behind Vex, murmuring instructions for her to run forward when Vex does. Grog takes a gnome in each arm and lines up behind Percy, and Vax comes to stand just beside Keyleth, the last one through before her.

Keyleth bows her head and focuses on the cherry tree beside the cottage back in Zephrah. This time of year, the leaves are long gone, the branches bare and reaching, fingers clawing up toward the heavens. Her mother is buried there, her memory enriching the soil for the tree and the grass and the little girl who will someday climb those branches, just as Keyleth did, once upon a time. She wants nothing more than to be on that rolling hill, to see the home she has built with her husband, the castle from which she will someday rule hazy in the moonlit distance. She concentrates on the want, and the bark beneath her hands begins to hum. She does not need to open her eyes to see when, a moment later, the trunk has twisted and cracked open into a doorway.

The Zephrans know what to do, spilling one after the other through the portal. Keyleth can feel the energy being sapped from her body. Her limbs shake with the force of keeping the gate open. Vax's hand leaves its spot on her back, and a heartbeat later, he calls, "Come through!"

Her eyes snap open. She releases the tree and bolts through the hole in the trunk just as it seals shut behind her. She tumbles into Vax's arms, and she has to blink to realize that the party, now on the mercifully familiar grounds of the Zephran castle, is surrounded on all sides by the points of swords. There is shouting and chaos, the Royal Guard clearly spooked by the sudden appearance of so many in the middle of the night, but then Vex barks, "Lower your weapons, you fools! You threaten the princesses!"

One by one, the swords fall, and then the door to the cottage opens. Illuminated by a single candle, Lady Allura appears, relief coloring her face. "Oh thank the gods!" She scurries up to the tree, gives a half-bow, and says quickly, "We weren't sure if you'd be returning to the castle or to here, so we've been watching both places. Is—have you—?"

It's clear that Allura doesn't know how to ask the question, but Vax gives her the answer anyway. "Vilya is with us." He nods to his sister, who is still holding her. "We found her."

Allura clutches her chest. "Thank the gods."

Keyleth is so exhausted she can barely stand. "Lady Allura, please, go wake my father. He will want to know that we have returned."

A strange look crosses Allura's face. "I...Your Majesty..."

"I know he can be cross when woken, believe me, but this is clearly a special circumstance. I promise, he will be overjoyed to know that Vilya is home safe."

"I...we should...gods above..."

Annoyance prickles along Keyleth's skin. "I'm serious, Lady Allura. Please, I can hardly keep my eyes open, but I must see my father before—"

"Keyleth." Vax's arm is tight around her now, and there's a note of something dangerous in his voice. Keyleth looks to him, and his eyes are wide, staring at Allura in disbelief. Something passes between him and Allura, and Keyleth's annoyance melts into confusion.

"What's going on?"

Vax swallows. "I...we ought to go inside. Please, let's just get inside the house."

Keyleth wrenches herself from his grasp. "What is going on?"

Just then, it hits her, a realization as sharp and quick as a viper's strike. Your Majesty. No one has ever called Keyleth that, and no one will, not until—

"Where is he?" Keyleth doesn't recognize her own voice, twisted and haunted. She watches the circle of guards turn their faces away from her. Bile rises in her throat. "Where is he? Where is my father?"

Tears drip down Lady's Allura's cheeks, glittering like diamonds in the candlelight. "Your Majesty...he is gone."

The sorrow on Allura's face is the last thing Keyleth sees before her eyes roll back in her head and she swoons back, collapsing into total darkness.

[idoodlestuffsometimes]

Does the BI know about the emperor’s brother?

Brother's Keeper AU Story Post 5

Metanoy's eye, Metanoy's nose,

Metanoy doesn't know his fingers from his toes

Listen all you children,

And heed the madman's woes,

If you play with wild magic,

Remember, it explodes!

- A Boiling Isles children's clapping game and jump-rope rhyme

(The answer is yes, everyone knows about Philip's brother, Caleb, Belos' brother, (Mad) Metanoy)

AU MASTER POST

BEGINNING | PREVIOUS | NEXT

[Image ID under the cut]

[IMAGE ID: A black and white ink comic page broken into two images. Panel 1: Coven scouts Severine and Steve are startled by a "BANG!" as they stand guard outside Caleb's dungeon-like door. Panel 2: Severine looks into the small, barred window as Steve looks on in concern. "Throwing books again…" Severine reports. "This is exactly why Emperor Belos keeps him in there," Steve says, "He'd hurt himself otherwise." At the bottom of the panel, sound effects: "WHAM," "THUMP," "SLAM." Panel 3: Severine and Steve return to standing guard, worried, as the entire panel fills up with "BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG" behind them. "I prefer the days when he just mumbles a bunch of nonsense," Severine says. "Speak for yourself!" says Steve. "The first time I did this shift he kept ranting about the end of witchkind. Crazy stuff, man." Panel 4: An outdoor shot of a bustling street in Bonesborough. There are many witches and demons going about their business, including Luz, Gus, and Willow in the background, and Amity walking in a different direction. "Poor Emperor Belos," continues the previous conversation. "I don't know what I'd do if wild magic drove someone in my family mad." On the wall in the foreground, attracting the gaze of passersby, hangs a large poster depicting Caleb hunched in his wheelchair. It reads, "REMEMBER METANOY'S MADNESS, BEWARE THE DANGERS OF WILD MAGIC." On another wall in the background, a smaller poster bears the silhouette of Caleb's profile and reads simply, "BEWARE." /END ID]

[polaroid15]

With Great Power...

Chapter Three: With great power comes a great inability to sleep

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30579050/chapters/75545900

TW: panic attacks

------

As requested by Peter, Tony parks two blocks away from the school lot.

He idles his car and waits for the kid to appear with a careful eye in the rearview mirror. It’s just shy of five o’clock. Peter should be out of decathlon by now. His fingers itch to reach for his phone, to send the kid a flurry of texts until he materializes and puts him out of his low patience torture.

But with a righteous amount of self-control, he refrains. After what seems like decades Peter appears at the passenger door. He raps his knuckles against the window before slipping inside. Tony smiles at this, a warm fondness growing in his chest.

“Did you just knock on my car?”

Peter freezes in the middle of securing his seatbelt. “Uh, yeah? It’s polite.”

“Last week you and Thor had a competition to see who could down a two liter of Diet Coke the fastest.”

Lips quirking, Peter shrugs. “Your point?”

“That wasn’t very polite.”

“I won, didn’t I?”

“You sure did kiddo.”

Peter finishes buckling his seatbelt and shoves his heavy backpack down between his legs. The setting sun shines through the windshield into his eyes and Peter winces against it, reaching up to shield them. His hand shakes in the air and Tony’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “You alright kid?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah Mr. Stark. Totally. Long day is all.”

Unconvinced, Tony peels out onto the road. “Yeah? And why’s that?”

Sighing dramatically, Peter settles further into his seat. “I patrolled before school. Stopped a mugging. That was cool I guess. Then I took a couple exams. Decathlon, obviously. Oh, and I totally failed the beep test in gym-”

Tony raises a brow. “You failed the beep test?”

“On purpose!”

“Why the hell would you fail a test on purpose?”

“Because Peter Parker isn’t exactly a track star, Mr. Stark.”

God, this kid. Tony hopes the admiration doesn’t show on his face. “I see.”

“Anyways,” Peter plows on, caught in a yawn. “How was your day?”

“Oh, you know. The usual.”

“That’s a terrible answer.”

“Well it’s the one you’re getting.”

Peter scoffs. His eyes droop against the gentle rumble of the car. “You’re just as bad as Happy.”

“I’m telling him you said that.”

Peter only smiles in response, eyes closing all the way. Tony lets the silence sit. He’s read enough of Karen’s reports to know that the kid hasn’t been sleeping well.

And good god can he relate.

They only make it through three Black Sabbath songs before Peter’s head dips down towards his chest. The momentum must shock him back into the waking world because he gasps, flailing out and landing one hand on Tony's arm and the other on the window. Immediately flushing, Peter yanks his limbs back into his chest. “Sorry,” he murmurs.

“You can sleep. It’s okay kiddo.”

“No,” Peter says all too quickly. A chord of worry strikes in Tony’s chest. “I mean, I shouldn’t. It wouldn’t be polite.”

“Pete, if you say that word one more time I swear I’ll set DUM-E on you.”

“Polite, polite, polite, polite-”

Something floods in Tony’s chest. It feels as if he’s being warmed from the inside out and for a moment, his concern for Peter’s health takes a place on his mind’s backburner. He cracks a smile. “Be sure to remember this moment Pete. You asked for it.”

-----

“Dr. Banner!” Peter drops his backpack heavily on the ground, skipping and stumbling into the lab and towards the man in question. Bruce is sitting in front of a laptop, the buttons on his shirt secured incorrectly and glasses sitting crooked on his nose. He smiles widely when he sees them. “Hey Peter. Tony said to expect you. How’ve you been?”

“Oh you know,” Peter says, giving Tony a pointed look, “the usual.”

Tony snorts as Peter pulls up a chair beside Bruce, propping his chin up on his hands and staring intently at the screen. After a few seconds his eyes light up. “No way! Is this skin-cell regeneration technology?”

Looking surprised, Bruce nods. “How did you-”

“He’s a smart cookie,” Tony interjects, walking up behind them and ruffling Peter’s hair. Peter swats him away, though he’s smiling.

“Is this what you and Mr. Stark are presenting tomorrow? At the conference?”

“Yep. Though procrastination hasn’t really done us any favours-”

“I’ll help!” Peter blurts.

Bruce looks to Tony like he’s a parent to grant permission. Trying to ignore the implications behind it, Tony concedes with a grin. “Oh what the hell. Where do we start?”

“Yes!”

----

The hours blur and melt together. So engrossed in their project, Tony doesn’t really notice Peter losing steam until he’s gripping the counter so tightly Tony knows it can only be to keep himself steady. Only now does he see the deep rings of purple under the kid’s eyes.

The nagging in the back of his mind pulls harder but he lets it go. Peter is running Bruce through a genius theory on how to approach increased somatic cell growth that he would be an idiot to interrupt. Not for the first time, watching Peter work is like looking at a mirror image of his younger self, fresh-faced and enthusiastic at MIT. It’s enough to distract him, a small smile morphing his exhaustion into something softer.

Piggybacking off Peter’s ideas, Bruce proposes his own theory concerning the role of red blood cells and Tony loses track of time in his own contributions. The next time he comes back to himself it’s nearly two in the morning.

And Peter looks dead on his feet.

Bruce must notice when Tony does because he closes the laptop, though with some reluctance. “Well then. There’s history. Or, the start of it at least.”

Laughing softly, Peter rubs at his eyes. He sways and Tony resists the urge to grab him. Bruce stands and squeezes Tony’s shoulder. “He’s a good kid,” he says quietly, privately. Then, louder, “see you both tomorrow.”

And he leaves.

For a moment him and Peter simply stand in silence, relishing in the exhausted high of their scientific breakthrough. Then Peter yawns and it snaps Tony into action. He uses one hand to grab Peter’s elbow and the other to collect his backpack from the floor. They walk in silence from the lab to the elevator and miraculously make it to the outside of Peter’s door.

“Thanks Mr. Stark,” Peter says softly, his words slurred on their edges. He takes his backpack and sinks a few inches into the ground at the weight of it.

“Straight to bed, capiche?”

“Mm. Yep.”

“Goodnight, kid.”

“G’night.”

Tony should’ve known it was too good to be true.

-----

Pepper’s out of town. His bed is big and empty and cold.

He can’t sleep.

He thinks of Peter.

“Hey FRI? Is the kid asleep yet?”

“It appears Mr. Parker is doing calculus homework.”

“Of course he is.”

Tony sighs long and deep. It carries out into the empty room and dies. It’s nearly three in the morning now. He debates getting up and telling Peter off for his wakefulness, but deep down he understands it’s not really his place.

“FRI, let me know when he falls asleep.”

“Of course.”

Tony waits and waits. The alert never comes.

Finally, his eyes droop.

It doesn’t last long.

FRIDAY’s voice jars him back into wakefulness. “Boss, it appears Mr. Parker has fallen asleep.”

“Mm. Good.”

“It also appears that Mr. Parker’s heart rate has risen significantly along with his breathing. He seems to be in distress.”

Damn it.

“Boss-”

“On it, FRI.”

Head rushing from standing too fast, Tony just barely manages to catch himself against the wall as he stumbles out into the hall. Even in the dark he knows the route by heart. One door, two doors, three doors-

“Pete?” Tony stops and hits his palm against the entrance. He’s reminded of Peter knocking on the window after decathlon and his heart seems to twist. When there’s no response, he cracks open the door.

“Peter?”

He expects to find the kid in bed. Instead, Peter is slouched over his desk, his tense face pressed into the pages of a heavy textbook. He’s whining and twitching in his sleep, a look too similar to physical pain for Tony to be comfortable stealing his expression.

He’s at Peter’s side in seconds. However, once there, his own heart rate seems to accelerate. “Uh FRI?” he whispers. “Any tips?”

“Start by waking Mr. Parker up.”

“Right, right. Good plan.” Hesitantly, Tony digs his fingers into Peter’s shoulder. When he doesn’t stir, he opts to shake it instead. “Pete? Hey. You with me buddy?”

“Please. St-stop-”

“Peter!”

“Stop. Stop-”

In a flash of worry, Tony shakes Peter harder. FRIDAY’s warning voice fills the room but it’s too late. Peter wakes up with an earth-shattering gasp, flying back in his chair. It would’ve been funny under different circumstances. But it’s not, because Peter is too pale and covered in a cold sweat. His young eyes are wide and terrified, a weak hand reaching up to wrap around his throat.

Then Tony understands.

“Breathe,” he instructs. “Peter, can you hear me? Look at me. Breathe.”

Peter makes a horrible strangled noise in the back of his throat, his eyes trying and failing to lock on Tony as his chest works overtime to pull in nothing. Tony grabs the boy’s hand away from his throat and places it over his own heart. He uses his other to direct Peter’s face more intently on his own. “You can do this Pete. You’re having a panic attack. I know it’s scary, but you have to focus on getting in some air, okay? I know you can do it.”

Peter tries.

“Listen to my breathing. Try and follow it.” He takes in an exaggerated breath and feels tears bite at his eyes when Peter manages to copy the behaviour. “Good. That’s really good Pete. Keep listening.”

“‘M-m-”

“Don’t try and talk. Focus on breathing. I’m right here.” I’m not going anywhere.

Peter squeezes his eyes shut. It’s the longest ten minutes of Tony’s life, but eventually Peter’s breaths even out. Exhausted, he slumps forward into Tony’s shoulder, shaking horribly. “O’side.”

“What was that kiddo?”

“Out-outside.” Weakly, Peter tries to push himself up. His unfocused eyes land on Tony desperately as he continues his struggle. “Gotta- gotta go outside. P-please.”

With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Tony nods. He helps Peter stand, grabs a blanket from off the kid’s bed, and with combined effort they make their way out into the hall. Tony keeps his hands planted firmly on Peter’s shoulders to keep him steady.

As soon as the fresh air hits Peter visibly relaxes. It must not do wonders for his balance because he lists heavily to the side and Tony is too caught off guard to fully catch him. They end up in a tangled heap on stairs. Peter inhales deeply through his nose and exhales out of his mouth, holding his breath in a careful pattern. “Thanks,” he murmurs eventually. “Better now.”

Feeling threateningly close to tears, Tony drapes the blanket he had grabbed carefully around Peter’s shoulder, fussing with it until it’s secure. “Wanna talk about it?” he asks softly.

Looking weighed down, Peter shrugs. He looks up at the night sky, at the stars, and turns up his lips in a sad smile. “I still dream about it sometimes.”

“About what?”

“Mm. The warehouse. Being stuck.”

Tony frowns, his insides turning to ice. Peter’s face is relaxed now, but in the dim light Tony can still make out the underlying exhaustion. The stress and the fear. God, he’s just a kid.

“Is that why you haven’t been sleeping?”

“I know it’s dumb. But I wake up and I can’t breathe and-” Peter frowns. “It’s just not worth it.”

“It isn’t dumb kiddo.”

“I’m just- I’m so tired, Mr. Stark. You know?”

Overcoming the paralysis in his limbs, Tony scoots closer to Peter and pulls him up against his chest. When Peter leans into the gesture he runs his hand through the kid’s hair. “I know Pete. I’m sorry. This never should’ve been you. I hate that it’s you.”

Peter sighs. The usual glint in his eyes is gone. “Occupational hazard, right?”

It isn’t fair, but it’s true. Tony wishes he could fix it. He’ll work his whole damn life trying. “Yeah kiddo. I guess it is.”

Tony shivers. Peter notices and shakes his head. “Sorry, sorry. We can go back inside. I’m okay now. I promise.”

“Pete-”

“No really.”

When Peter stands without toppling over, Tony caves and stands too. For a moment they stand still. It’s safe, quiet. Crickets and frogs can be heard from across the dewy lawn. “Mr. Stark?”

“Yeah kid?”

“How- how do I make it stop? The nightmares, I mean.”

It feels like a sucker punch to the gut.

“You can’t stop fear,” Tony says, and it takes a lot of effort to keep his voice even. He thinks of Afghanistan and the Battle of New York, of finding Peter collapsed on the Cyclone after bringing his plane out of the sky. “Every single person on this damn earth is scared of something Pete. It’s part of being human.”

Peter nods, then smiles weakly. “Well technically Mr. Stark, I’m a superhuman.”

“True, but that still doesn’t make you exempt.”

“I know.”

Tony is quiet. The world is quiet. “Talking about it helps too,” Tony says finally. “There are lots of people who want to help Pete. You just- you just have to let them. You have to let us take some of the responsibility too.”

Peter looks at his feet. He rubs a tired hand over his eyes.

“Come on kiddo. You good to go inside now?”

After a slight nod, they walk back into the warmth of the compound. Peter lingers before closing the door and Tony stares at his small shadowed frame. He swallows down a rush of emotion and clears his throat. “How do you feel about a movie?”

Again, Peter seems to relax. Only then does he close the door. “Only if it’s Back to the Future.”

“I’d accept nothing else.”

Peter smiles. For the first time that night, it’s genuine. They sit side by side on the couch and even before the opening credits finish Peter is snoring softly into his ribs. Tony relaxes against the kid’s even breathing. He takes some of Peter’s burden and shoulders it gladly.

He’ll take as much as Peter will give him.

[leahlisabeth]

I posted 8,049 times in 2021

21 posts created (0%)

8028 posts reblogged (100%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 382.3 posts.

I added 43 tags in 2021

#mdzs - 8 posts

#ask me stuff - 6 posts

#i wrote this - 6 posts

#aftg - 5 posts

#wip - 4 posts

#wangxian - 4 posts

#nerik - 3 posts

#leah writes 100 fics - 3 posts

#i'm going to marry that girl - 2 posts

#my dad saw my mom singing in a choir - 2 posts

Longest Tag: 94 characters

#i would sleep so much better if my uterus weren't crushing my bladder to the size of a thimble

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

Having a baby with the love of my life!

7 notes • Posted 2021-03-23 23:05:52 GMT

#4

Wei Wuxian hoisted his pack, full of clothing and canned food, onto his back, staggering slightly under the weight, and prepared to make the hike up to the Nie family cabin.

He was breathing heavily and his thighs were burning by the time he arrived at the cabin. He fumbled with the key, trying to get his already cold fingers to cooperate when the door opened in front of him.

“Wei Ying?”

Wei Wuxian recognized the man standing in front of him, would always recognize him, even though it had been at least three years since they had last spoken to each other. His knees felt weak, not just because of his long hike uphill. “Lan Zhan?”

Wei Wuxian needed a vacation. He didn't expect that a trip to the Nie family cabin in snowy Canada would give him something he needed even more.

Written for the @mdzsrbb. Art by @jill-question-mark can be found on Twitter here.

8 notes • Posted 2021-05-15 17:18:23 GMT

#3

“Why are we doing this anyway?” Kevin whined. “This is so dumb.”

Thea swatted his arm. “It’s not like you to back down from a challenge,” she said.

“For like sports or academics, both of which are noble pursuits,” Kevin protested. The camera zoomed in, showing an extreme closeup of a pimple on his chin.

“One,” Neil interrupted. The camera zoomed back out and swung over to Neil. “Last week, it was your idea to have a race to see who could eat a plate of spaghetti the fastest using only a spoon. Two, this might actually have practical application in the near future since you’re one of the straights and will probably wind up with a picket fence and 2.4 kids in the next five years. Three, are you scared?”

Andrew and Neil, Katelyn and Aaron, Kevin and Thea, Matt and Dan, and Nicky and Erik compete to see who is the best parent.

Here it is! Fic #100 for AFTG!  Congratulations @aftgnextgeneration.  I hope you enjoy your prize!

12 notes • Posted 2021-01-26 18:48:02 GMT

#2

“Hey, I’m with you, okay? Always.” -- I'm feeling Nicky/Erik goodbye-but-not-forever feels

I’m not even sure how many years it has been since you sent me this prompt…but you’re getting it now! You’re welcome, lol.

Nicky took a breath of lung-searing cold.  It didn’t really help.  Tears still leaked out of his eyes, freezing on his cheeks.  Snow flurries whipped past him, reaching with icy fingers down the back of his neck and seeking every bit of exposed skin.

“You could have waited for me inside,” Erik said, a warm, comforting presence appearing at his side.

Nicky shrugged but allowed himself to be ushered in out of the cold.

The train station was nearly empty.  A bleary-eyed, middle-aged woman sat behind the desk; she didn’t look up when they entered, just continued to tap away at her phone.

“It’s not too late for me to buy another ticket,” Erik said, setting Nicky’s suitcase on pulling him into a tight hug.  “I can see you off at the airport instead.”

“You’ll miss a day of work,” Nicky protested.  “It’s just a few more hours.”

“Precious ones,” Erik said.  “They’re the last ones I’ll get for a long time.”

Tears flooded Nicky’s eyes at the reminder.  “Am I doing the right thing?” he asked.

Erik leaned forward a little and kissed Nicky firmly on the forehead.  “Yes.  They’re your cousins and you have the opportunity to give them a better life than the one you had.  There is no guarantee they’ll have a huge, buff German to run away to when they finally get away.”

“I could be selfish,” Nicky said, his voice uncertain.  “I barely know them.  I haven’t seen Aaron in years and I’ve never met Andrew.”

Erik just raised an eyebrow.

Nicky flushed.  “I can’t do it,” he admitted.  “I can’t let my fath— I can’t let Luther take them.  Even if they’re straight as arrows, he’ll find some fault with them.  I love Aunt Tilda but she was a shitty mom.  Who knows how long it’s been since anyone loved Andrew and Aaron.”

Erik hugged him tighter.  “I know,” he said.  “It’s fine.  I know you have to do this.”

“It’s your fault you know,” Nicky sniffled.  “You’re so good at loving me.”

“That’s a bad thing?” Erik asked.

“It means I know what they’re missing,” Nicky replied.  “It means I can’t just stay here with you and be happy knowing where I would be without you.”

“That’s because of you, Liebling,” Erik said.  “I had nothing to do with it.  Your heart has always been big.  Coming here just gave you the time and space to learn it.”

Nicky buried his face in Erik’s chest.  “What am I going to do without you?” he wept.

“Hey,” Erik said, burying his fingers in Nicky’s curls and gently pulling his head up so they could look at each other.  “I’m with you, okay? Always.”

“What if I call you at four in the morning and you’re asleep?” Nicky asked.

“Then I’ll be very tired, but I’ll answer the phone,” Erik said patiently.

“What if I’m very busy and I can’t call you at all?” Nicky persisted.

“Then I’ll miss you, I’ll send you encouraging emails, and I’ll wait for you to have time,” Erik said.

“What if you meet a smoking hot man who will let you do unspeakable things to him?”  Nicky asked.

“Then I will say I am in a happy and committed relationship and I hope he finds someone to do unspeakable things to him soon,” Erik said.  “I’m not going to just forget you, Nicky.  When the time comes for us to reunite, I’ll still be waiting.”

“But what if—” Nicky’s words were cut off with a kiss.

“I love you,” Erik said, once Nicky was well and truly breathless.

“I love you too,” Nicky said.

The announcement for Nicky’s train sounded in the station and Nicky took the handle of his suitcase.  Erik walked him as far as he could go and stole another quick kiss before they parted.

Nicky was the only one in the train car and didn’t bother trying to suppress his tears.  The absence of Erik at his side throbbed like a wound.  One piece of his heart was already in Columbia with his cousins but another would remain in Germany with Erik.  He hoped it wouldn’t be too long before those pieces could be reunited.

24 notes • Posted 2021-01-12 02:38:12 GMT

#1

Wei Wuxian nearly tripped over the door frame on his way into the coffee shop. He was late and he knew it. He paused just inside the door to catch his breath and looked around, scanning the room for his date. Thankfully, the place wasn’t too full; there wasn’t a lot of seating, and most of it was filled with small groups or couples on dates. Maybe his date hadn’t arrived yet. He looked around again, this time, his eye catching on someone at a lone table in the back corner.

The man at the table had his head down as he dug through his bag; he hadn’t looked up at Wei Wuxian’s entrance. However, he was wearing the blue tie Wei Wuxian was expecting, so he immediately crossed the coffee shop and plopped himself down in the chair across from him.

“Hey, I guess I’m your date. My name is—” Wei Wuxian’s voice cut off abruptly as the man looked up at him. “Lan Zhan?”

Wei Wuxian gets set up on a blind date and it goes so much better than he could have hoped.

Written for the @mdzs-mixtape event.

27 notes • Posted 2021-04-28 02:38:58 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[ninja-librarian]

Commission for @shygreenfox!

For info about commissions, click here!

Katie took a deep breath as she sat down at the computer, performing her daily ritual of logging into Defenders of the Universe, the most popular MMORPG that combined sci-fi and fantasy elements in one somehow functional swoop. As her log-in information was processed, she put on the virtual reality goggles. The usual screens flashed as she was connected, advertising of newly released items and monsters to fight, new planets to explore, new ships to buy.

And, of course, the ultimate challenge items: five Lions of Voltron, scattered across the digital universe.

Whoever collected all five Lions would receive a fortune like no other and meet with the game’s owner, whose in-game name was Emperor Zarkon.

But, unlike the other DU players, Katie wasn’t in the search for the money. She was after something much more important: the rights to her father’s work—which, ultimately, included the game—and to get her revenge for what Zarkon did to her father.

They had once been partners, but when DU started to gain popularity, Zarkon stabbed Sam in the back. Not quite literally, but Katie had found evidence that Zarkon had paid a handsome sum to cause the car accident that had crippled her father and left Zarkon to amass a far greater amount of money than Sam Holt did. Then, of course, just as Katie and her brother, Matt, were starting to determine that the accident wasn’t an accident, Zarkon disappeared… and kidnapped Matt as he did so. Now, finding the Lions was the only way to find her brother and force Zarkon to pay for his crimes.

Caught and banned from the game right after discovering the location of the Blue Lion, Katie had to start from scratch. This time, she did so in disguise under the IRL alias of Pidge Gunderson and the in-game moniker of Meklavar, the best ax-fighter in three galaxies.

Katie had spent weeks building back up her levels and in-game coins. She forgot how much it sucked to be the noob, but it was what she had to do to avoid suspicion. But, more importantly, it gave her an opportunity to ensure that no one else had discovered the Blue Lion. Now, she was ready to claim the first Lion.

But first, she needed to find a guild.

As loathe as Pidge was to admit it, she needed help. She had been ambushed by Zarkon’s NPC cronies the last time and she needed someone to watch her back.

Fortunately, she knew just who to look for: the Paladins of Voltron, led by the mysterious player known only as Shiro.

Katie—now officially Pidge as she entered the world—had to hope that they’d take her in.

She guided her avatar into the Universal Space Station, which was part-tavern, part-strip mall, and part-airport from hell that you never wanted to encounter in real life.

It was bright and colorful, with thousands of glittering advertisements and calls to arms.

But Pidge knew better. Pidge knew to find who lurked in the shadows.

She caught a glimmer out of the corner of her eye. Turning, she saw an avatar of an Asian man wearing a cloak over gleaming silver armor, in deep discussion with a pretty dark-skinned, white-haired elf woman, a quiver on her hip.

Valayun, Pidge thought, recognizing her. The unparalleled archer.

There were rumors that Valayun was someone very powerful IRL. There were whispers that she was royalty. Others said that she was a president’s daughter. And still more said that she was she ran her own business and was the world’s youngest CEO.

One way or another, her allegiance was highly sought after. How Shiro of the Paladins of Voltron managed to secure her, no one knew.

Either way, it was good for Pidge.

She approached cautiously and requested to communicate with both of them.

“I’m looking for Shiro,” She said, dropping her voice. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to be mistaken for a preteen boy right now. If she was, her occasionally high-pitched voice would be dismissed. However, it would also be a reason for her to be dismissed. “I’m interested in joining the Paladins of Voltron.”

“Well, you found him,” The Asian man said through her headset. A warmth suddenly flowed through her. It was almost… familiar…

Stop. Stop thinking about him. You have a job to do. You can’t think about him now. He’s the one who left, anyway.

Shiro looked at her avatar. “And who are you?”

“Mekla-” Pidge started.

“Uh, uh, uh,” Valayun said, waving a finger at Pidge. “Your IRL name.”

“What?” Pidge questioned.

“Anyone who wants to join the guild has to be pre-screened. Personally. By me.” Shiro explained. “You still in?”

I’ve come this far…

“Pidge Gunderson.”

Shiro’s avatar nodded. “Give me a few.”

Shiro winked out of the plane of existence, leaving Pidge to be scrutinized by Valayun.

“A lot of people want to join the guild,” She said. “They believe Shiro is the best shot at forming Voltron.”

“He’s kind of a legend, though, isn’t he?” Pidge asked. “One of the very first players of the game?”

“Yeah,” Valayun said, nodding. “And the one who has been searching for the Lions the longest.”

Well, then, he’s going to love the intel I have, Pidge thought.

Shiro’s avatar winked back into the game. “You’re clear. But you’re not a member yet. You’ve got to go through all of us. I’m sending you a link.”

The out-of-game link in her messages surprised Pidge, but she plugged it in. It led to a private chat server where the name ‘PIDGE’ automatically appeared.

“What is this?” She asked out-loud.

“We don’t like to use the in-game chat function,” Shiro explained, her voice in her ear, surprising her and she had to bite back a cry of surprise. “Too many ears and eyes. This site has the best cyber protection you will ever encounter.”

Then, Shiro’s voice boomed: “Roll call!”

The avatar of a tall, stocky teenage boy appeared, dressed in Cleric’s robes and carrying a staff. “Block. IRL name, Hunk.”

The avatar of a tall, skinny boy with cat ears and a tail appeared. “Pike. IRL name, Lance.”

“Valayun. IRL name, Allura.” The archer said as her avatar appeared.

Another female elf appeared, this one with pale hair and skin and wore Healers colors. “Fala. IRL name, Romelle.”

A lean figure dressed in red and black appeared, his gray digital eyes still steely. “Akira.”

The cat boy, Lance, huffed. “And?”

“And what?” Akira demanded.

“IRL name?”

“No. You know I hate to use IRL names.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “Anyways, this is Keith.”

“LANCE!”

“Ha! Made you use an IRL name!” Lance said, pointing at Akira/Keith, who fumed.

“And who might you be?” Romelle asked kindly.

“Er, Meklavar. IRL name, Pidge.” Pidge said awkwardly.

“So. Why do you want to join our guild?” Shiro asked, folding his arms over his chest, appraising Pidge.

“I need a team. To find the Lions of Voltron.” Pidge explained.

“Pass.” Keith growled. “Get out now.”

“Keith,” Shiro said warningly.

“Look, we’re all after the Lions,” Hunk said. “Problem with that is, we’re already splitting the money six ways. I don’t want to sound greedy, but—”

“I’m not in it for the money!”

They all turned to Pidge.

“You know it’s a lot of money, right?” Lance asked. He spread his arms out wide. “Like, a lot a lot.”

“I’m really not searching for the money.” Pidge said.

“Most people who choose a warrior-type do, though,” Romelle pointed out. “So what makes you different?”

“Because I want to meet Zarkon. And get revenge. I have some unfinished business with him.” Pidge explained.

Slowly, the members of the guild turned to Shiro, who frowned and asked, “What did Zarkon do to you?”

“Not me.” Pidge answered. “My father. They were business partners. Then Zarkon betrayed my father and reaped the benefits that come from running this huge game. My father physically can’t work now, and we haven’t seen a penny. And right before my brother and I could expose him, he disappeared, kidnapping my brother in the process. I’m not doing this for the money. I’m doing this to bring Zarkon to his knees and to bring my brother home.”

Shiro studied Pidge for a moment, then said, “If you’re going to join, you’ve got to have something to bring to the table.”

“I’m a warrior-type, and—”

“We’re all either combatants or high-level magic users,” Shiro interrupted. “If that’s all you have to offer, then…”

“I know where the Blue Lion is located!” Pidge yelled, desperate. “I got ambushed last time, on my own. It’s heavily guarded, so only a team can get to it.”

Shiro stared at Pidge for a long moment, then said, “All in favor?”

The rest of the guild agreed, though Keith seemed to stare at Pidge intensely and gave her the distinct feeling that his ‘Aye’ was reluctant.

Shiro nodded. “Then let’s get raiding.”

*****

Despite being ambushed, the Paladins defeated the guards and entered the cave where Pidge’s intel said that the Blue Lion was hidden. Inside the cave, they found an underground river, along with a series of tunnels, filled with traps and riddles and dead ends. But finally—finally—they found the Lion, hidden deep inside a cavern, sitting on a pillar in the middle of a pool of water.

“It’s gorgeous,” Allura breathed as they stared.

It was stunning with an azure body with a white-tipped tail, intricate waves carved into the hindquarters, and gleaming sapphire stones for eyes.

“Let’s grab it and get out of here,” Keith said.

“We should probably check for—” Hunk started, but it was too late. Keith took a step forward.

Zarkon’s faceless robot guards, dressed in purple and black, suddenly dropped out of nowhere, pouring in from hidden gateways in the wall.

“Traps…” Hunk finished lamely, clenching his staff.

“Lance, you’re the fastest and our rogue, so you can take care of any additional traps on your own,” Shiro said, drawing his sword. “You grab the Lion, we’ll hold them off. Just give us a thirty second lead.”

The battle ensued; Allura bounced around pillars, taking aim at the guards that got close to Lance. Romelle and Hunk unleashed spells of epic proportion. Keith was a whirlwind, taking on one guard after the other.

And Pidge and Shiro fought back to back, side-by-side.

It felt natural.

It felt unexplainably right.

Then, suddenly, the guards all stopped and winked out of existence. The Paladins turned to where Lance stood with the Lion in his hands.

“One down!” He crowed.

“Four to go!” Romelle said, grinning widely.

There was much celebrating over their hard-won prize. Pidge couldn’t stop grinning. After all the hard work, it was finally paying off.

They had the first Lion. They had a chance. She had a chance. And Zarkon was—

A private message request appeared in Pidge’s field of vision. She frowned, seeing it was from Shiro, but opened it.

Her blood ran cold as his voice whispered in her ear, “Good job. Katie.”

Shiro knew who she was.

But how?

*****

She confronted Shiro as soon as the others parted ways, all exhausted from the raid and having pressing IRL matters.

It was just her and Shiro, staring at each other.

“Who are you?” Pidge demanded. “And how did you find my name? I covered all my tracks. I never use the same signal location twice. How?”

“Admittedly, you are good,” Shiro said. “I found nothing about who you are in my background check before you joined, other than what you obviously planted. But you told me your identity. You said that you wanted revenge for your father, Sam Holt, and you wanted your brother back. Sam Holt only has one son. And one daughter.”

“You still haven’t answered my question,” She snapped, feeling on edge.

Shiro stared long and hard at her. “You don’t recognize me? Not even by my voice?”

His voice. His familiar voice…

Wait. He knew her. He knew her father. He knew Matt…

“Takashi?” She breathed.

No. It couldn’t be him.

“In the flesh,” He confirmed. “Well, not really in the flesh, obviously, but in the pixels sounds weird.”

Oh, God, it was him.

Takashi Shirogane.

Her father’s protégé. The frequent dinner guest at her house. Matt’s close friend.

And her…

He wasn’t her boyfriend.

He was just the guy who made her heart flutter with a single smile. He was just the guy who once walked into a glass wall with a scarlet face because she had waved at him. He was just the guy who held her hand in the waiting room outside of the operating theater her broken father was in. He was just the guy who kissed her under the lamplight in the hospital parking lot, with cicadas buzzing in the background.

He was just the guy who left without a word the following morning, leaving her brokenhearted and furious.

“You left,” She growled.

“I did.” Shiro confirmed with a nod. “I’m… I’m sorry. I made a coward’s choice.”

“You left,” Pidge said again, voice louder. “You abandoned me when I needed you the most!”

The IRL Katie had tears streaking down her face under her goggles. She wished Shiro could see that reflected of Meklavar’s face, see what he had done.

Shiro hung his head. “I’m sorry. I just… I didn’t want to say good-bye.”

“So leaving without saying anything was better? How was that possibly better, Takashi?” She demanded.

Shiro lifted his head. “I’m sorry,” He said again. “I was… I shouldn’t have… Not after your dad…” He sighed. “Let me explain. Please.”

“It better be good,” Pidge snapped.

“I left half on my own accord, and half because of Zarkon,” Shiro explained. “He fired me without even bothering to make up an excuse. He knew I was close to your dad. He knew I’d carry on his work, would make sure Sam got the credit—and money—he deserved for Defenders of the Universe. But I was going to leave anyway. I was… sick.”

Pidge frowned. “Sick? What do you mean?”

Shiro’s digital image rubbed his right wrist with his left hand. “It was cancer.”

Pidge was shocked. “So you, you left for treatment?”

He nodded. “I went back to Japan. I wasn’t sure how the treatment was going to go. The doctors in America who diagnosed me weren’t very optimistic, and neither were the ones in Japan. And, after your dad’s accident, I didn’t want to pull you two ways. Especially when neither of us were looking like we were going to pull through. I had already planned to leave, before your dad got hurt. I just… I didn’t want you to see me sick, and I thought leaving was the best way to protect you and your heart. And I was wrong. And I’m sorry.”

“But you said ‘was’,” Pidge pointed out. “Are you in remission? Did you beat it?”

“Yes. And no,” Shiro said. “The cancer was predominately in the bones and ligaments of my right wrist. The chemo wasn’t working, and it had taken over most of my right arm. The doctors had to amputate, right above the elbow.”

Her heart ached more. “Oh, Takashi…”

“It’s okay,” He said, nonchalantly shrugging. “I’m cancer-free now. Back in the States, too. Staying with Keith and his mom, actually. Long story. But now I can focus on taking down Zarkon.” He looked up at her. “So we can focus on taking down Zarkon.”

Pidge was quiet for a moment, staring and Shiro nodded slightly. “I’m sorry,” He continued. “I assumed… If you don’t want to be in the guild anymore, we’ll turn over the Blue Lion into your custody and—”

“What? No. I still want to be a Paladin!” Pidge exclaimed. “And I… I want to fight Zarkon. I want to get my brother back. I want to bring Zarkon and his empire down, and make things right. And I want to do it with you.”

Pidge closed the distance between her and Shiro, taking his hand.

“I’ve wanted you by my side since the beginning. I’ve always wanted you by my side.” She told him. “If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it together.”

He stared at her, a bit stunned. “You… Even after the crap I pulled, you still…?”

Pidge nodded. “I do. I… I loved you. I think I still do.”

Shiro smiled at her. “I know I still love you.”

“Then let’s find those other four Lions, so we can do this relationship thing right.”

“Another wonderful incentive,” Shiro said. He offered his arm to her. “Shall we proceed to kick butt?”

Pidge grinned, accepting his arm. “We shall, indeed.”

[strmyweather]

one foot in front of the other, babe / one breath leads to another, yeah / just keep moving

I’m in the homestretch of my training for the New York City Marathon; the race is a little over five weeks away. Honestly, I sort of can’t believe I’m saying that -- because it seems like just a minute ago there were multiple months stretching out before me like the Great Dismal Swamp (which is an actual place) -- but now I’m realizing that there’s actually a faint light emanating from the end of this endurance tunnel. Somehow, I’ve only got four more ‘long runs’ left before the taper.

This is marathon number six for me, which might give the impression that the process is old hat by this point, but that would be thoroughly untrue. There have been a ton of ‘moving parts’ this time around, physically, mentally, and nutritionally -- maybe more so than ever before -- and I’m definitely due to set some of it down on paper. I had intended to do regular updates every couple of weeks as the training progressed, but (surprise, surprise) never actually managed to do so -- meaning this will probably be another of my infamous ten-page missives. So… pour another cup of coffee and strap in.

Back Story

I have a rather long and karmically-entangled history with the NYC Marathon. I was never a runner in adolescence -- swimming was my sport -- but took it up gradually during my senior year of college, mostly because my roommate nudged me into accompanying her on a couple of races of various distances. When we graduated and I no longer had easy access to a pool, I started doing road races and triathlons regularly, almost by default -- at that point in my life, I needed something concrete to train for in order to ensure that I remained consistently physically active. I gradually built up to marathon distance, starting with the Marine Corps Marathon in 2008, and although I entered the NYC lottery more than once, I was never selected.

In 2012, I finally just bit the bullet and bought a charity slot for NYC. Thanks largely to my PA classmates, I successfully raised 100% of the money (!) -- but those of you playing the home game may recall that 2012 was the year of Superstorm Sandy, and that the NYCM was therefore canceled that year for the first and only time since its inception. (I was literally ON THE BUS from Philadelphia to New York when the verdict came down.) Along with most of the field, I deferred my entry to 2013 -- and ended up with a stress fracture in my foot. Thoroughly annoyed, I deferred again, to 2014 -- and, a month into training, promptly sustained a stress fracture in the OTHER foot. (Pretty sure that’s what the kids call #facepalm.) However, by then I was out of deferrals, and I sure hadn’t raised that $2500 for nothing, so I adapted a CrossFit Endurance-style training plan to keep my fitness at a reasonable level while avoiding anything involving repetitive impact. Three weeks before the race, I was cleared to run.

So I did. My longest training run was five miles. It was by far my slowest marathon. It wasn’t the race I’d envisioned, to say the least. But I finished it.

That was supposed to be it. The end. The closing of a chapter. Yet somehow, every year, I have consistently managed to end up in New York City on marathon weekend. Typically, I’m just there visiting friends or seeing shows -- but this past year, it was because a dear friend of mine from the Netherlands was running the race herself. And, reliving that experience from the fringes last November -- walking around the expo with thousands of excited runners, dashing around Manhattan with my friend’s husband to try to catch a glimpse of her at various mile markers, standing on the sidelines cheering with my camera at the ready -- well, I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make me wish I were running myself.

So, on the spur of the moment, I threw my name in the hat, for the fifth time in ten years. And then promptly forgot about it.

...Until the evening of February 28, 2018 -- when my mind was entirely occupied by Week 2 of the CrossFit Open -- and my phone suddenly beeped with an alert for ‘Unfamiliar Credit Card Charge’.

Over the coming minutes, my initial alarm changed to confusion -- then, as the realization dawned, to equal parts shock, excitement, and dread.

Oh, shit. What had I done?

Fast-forward another seven months or so, and here we are.

Physically

The metaphor I keep using is that I feel like I’ve been driving a 4-cylinder automatic transmission for the past decade and am suddenly being asked to master a stick-shift Maserati. That’s not to say that I’m any kind of speed demon in the grand scheme of things, just that I have a much larger number of ‘gears’ than I used to. I spent a solid decade doing ‘long slow distance’ in various forms prior to discovering CrossFit in 2012, but back then, I was basically either running or walking (or crawling!) -- there wasn’t much of an in-between option. Nowadays, I’m much stronger, faster, and lighter than I used to be -- all good things! -- but this kind of training also utilizes an energy system that we just don’t routinely tax to the same degree in CrossFit, and it takes time (and mileage) to get comfortable with that. Therefore, much to my dismay, I’m having to become intimately familiar with the feel of a ‘threshold’ pace -- a.k.a. the place where I’d LIKE to slow down, but don’t objectively NEED to slow down in order to complete a given work requirement. This is occasionally validating on the back end when I review my split times -- never could’ve imagined a day where I ‘accidentally’ hit an 8:15 mile IN THE MIDDLE of a long run! -- but also inevitably involves some ‘overshooting’, a.k.a. those sessions where I come out of the gate too hot, hit a wall after two miles, and spend the remainder of the time feeling like death. Yet, slowly but surely, I’m starting to internalize how it feels to run at an 8-minute pace, vs an 8:30 or 9:00 or 9:30 pace. There are two processes happening simultaneously -- physically training my body to run faster, and mentally training my ‘sixth sense’ to learn how to calibrate a pace that can be held for MANY miles, not just two or three.

I’ve learned a couple of interesting things about myself so far, including that, on a physical level, I am inherently a more aerobic athlete (read: not a power athlete). This had already become apparent in recent months via barbell performance -- I can use a pretty high percentage of my max with decent form for a lot of reps, but tend to struggle in terms of getting my actual one-rep maxes to move upward. It turns out I’m similar with regard to running -- I can hold a ‘moderate’ pace for a relatively long time (on one of my earliest long runs, I averaged 8:54 across seven miles and felt pretty great the whole way), but, as above, I’m learning that ramping that pace up even just a little bit past the sweet spot will quickly lead to a major crash and burn. However, I suppose I’d prefer to be built this way, as opposed to the alternative -- and one silver lining is that, since my 10-rep maxes are a lot closer to my 1RMs than they have any right to be, my working weights on the current (muscular-endurance-focused) weightlifting cycle haven’t had to drop down SO far as to make me sad. :)

In terms of programming, at my request, we are continuing to prioritize my CrossFit fitness, just with a necessarily heavy slant toward endurance and bodyweight strength. Running isn’t my primary sport and isn’t going to be; my goal is simply to ‘complete’ this marathon in relatively good shape -- to stay healthy as possible throughout the training, to feel strong for the majority of the event, to soak in and thoroughly enjoy the atmosphere of such a special race, to crush several very large piles of food afterward (first stop: milk bar!) -- and then immediately jump back into ‘normal’ CrossFit training. A new PR would be a bonus -- and I do think it’s well within my abilities -- but I also won’t be too upset if it doesn’t happen; I’m playing the long game here, and I’m much more concerned with retaining muscle mass and overall fitness than with earning the fastest possible marathon time.

This all means that my actual ‘mileage’ is relatively minimal -- which is good for me, both in terms of personal preference and due to the fact that my feet are typically the part of me that ‘breaks’ first when subjected to high volume. (Other CrossFitters have wonky shoulders or knees; my own personal Achilles’ heel -- pun intended --  has always been my feet.) I started out having weekly long runs programmed on Sunday mornings and two-a-day sessions on Wednesdays (light CrossFit in the morning + running speedwork at the track in the evening). However, I promptly sustained a (mild) foot injury in the third week of increasing speed mileage (#typical). This led to us changing the sprints over to the rower and assault bike -- so now, with five weeks to go, my only true running is the long Sunday-morning piece. However, almost everything else I’m doing supports those sessions by having taken a sharp turn towards aerobic capacity and bodyweight strength. My ‘metcon’-style work these days is usually ridiculously long and pretty boring -- think anything that taxes the legs: biking and rowing mixed with long light high-rep sets of wallballs, thrusters, air squats, deadlifts -- but I’ve just had to accept that. (I halfheartedly complained at one point early on, and Coach shrugged and said matter-of-factly, “Well, it’s either this or more running,” so I immediately buttoned my lip!) :)

This brings me to...

Mentally

Going in, I tried to keep a semi-open mind -- after all, I did this for a solid decade prior to CrossFit; this could turn out to feel like a refreshing break for me. It might even be exciting to do something a little different for a while. No such luck, though; I’m actually finding this type of training to be tremendously more mentally fatiguing than regular CrossFit, for two main reasons.

First (and most obviously) -- compared to barbells and handstand push-ups and ‘three-two-one-go’, endurance training is just LONG and BORING. There have certainly been a few gratifying moments -- ‘accidentally’ running a sub-27-minute 5k during training, crushing 3000 calories in a day, realizing I’ve somehow become that girl who truly is most comfortable running in just a sports bra (who even AM I?!?). But it simply isn’t where my heart is. In hindsight, I’m pretty sure the only way I was able to convince myself that I ‘liked’ this for so many years is because back then I wasn’t physically ‘training’ so much as giving myself a forced MENTAL break -- shoving in my headphones, zoning out, letting my mind wander. Fast paces were things that occasionally ‘happened’ on days when I felt good, not things that I could deliberately strive for. As I mentioned above -- turns out it’s a whole different ball game (and a lot more mentally taxing) when you’re actually TRAINING at a prescribed intensity level and staying attuned to keeping yourself there.

And secondly, this type of training is a lot more isolating than I had bargained for -- both physically and mentally. Gym-wise, I knew it wouldn’t be fun to watch other people crushing their CrossFit goals while I sat on the assault bike plugging away at another hour-long conditioning piece… but I was at least somewhat mentally prepared for that part. What’s been harder has been the (many, many) hours when I’m NOT in the gym. Getting up at 4:00am to cover a dozen miles in the dark before work is not much fun, nor is forcing myself to drive to the track at 7pm after I’ve worked a full clinic day and just want to go home to bed. It’s also tough to feel as though nobody in my life can relate to both this odd set of obligations AND the (even odder) accompanying headspace -- after all, most endurance athletes choose this method of training because they genuinely enjoy it. And -- to add insult to injury -- because the repetitive pounding beats my body up in a whole new way, it means I have to be hyper-focused on recovery (I’m getting to that!)... which then FURTHER detracts from time that I could be spending training in a way that I DO actually enjoy.

Training is generally my favorite part of any given day, because I usually find it validating and motivating just by its own nature. So, lately, it’s been frustrating and demoralizing -- and, frankly, a little frightening -- to feel such a major piece of my life evolving into a chore. I’ve certainly completed marathons on far less training than this (albeit a lot more slowly and painfully), so there have been many moments when it’s been hard to stare down the gun barrel of WHAT DO YOU MEAN TEN MORE WEEKS (or however long). However, I’m trying to remain cognizant of the fact that this is temporary -- and that, the better-prepared I am for the marathon, the less of a toll it will take on my body -- and therefore, the faster I can jump back into the stuff I really love.

This brings me to…

Recovery

I'm being extraordinarily careful about prioritizing my recovery, in part because, with endurance training, problems tend to show up LATER rather than declaring themselves in the moment. Aches and pains tend to be related to overuse, rather than to any kind of obviously-pinpointable injury, which makes them more slippery and insidious -- and therefore more difficult to prevent (until the horse is already out of the barn, that is). This is not my first rodeo with regard to distance running -- I've completed five marathons, over a dozen half marathons, and quite a few triathlons -- so I’m well aware of this dynamic by now. I had a bone deformity in one of my feet as a teenager, and although it’s been corrected, I've still had the pleasure over the years of dealing with shin splints, Achilles tendinitis, severe plantar fasciitis, and two metatarsal stress fractures. The latter is the worst-case scenario for any runner -- because by the time you 'feel' a stress fracture, it's already too late. That’s exactly where I’ve ended up during two of my previous marathon training attempts -- and is a place that I’ve been valiantly trying NOT to revisit.

Knock on wood, this training program has kept me considerably healthier overall than any of my previous attempts (not coincidentally, it’s also been the plan with the smallest weekly run mileage!). As I mentioned, I did end up with a mild foot injury a couple of weeks ago (nothing ‘specific’ enough for a true diagnosis; my left foot/ankle just got ‘angry’ through the retinaculum and the lower segment of the tibialis anterior) -- but it was definitely a soft-tissue problem this time, nothing bony, and responded well to a couple of weeks off running, some RockTape, a better-fitting pair of shoes, and a couple sessions with the PT and the bodywork guru at my gym (both of whom I’m seeing about twice a month for dry-needling, cupping, taping, and various other ‘hurts so good’ interventions!). My coach and I are perfectly in line with our opinions on this, which is that -- if we have to choose -- it’s vastly preferable for me to reach the start line healthy and perhaps slightly underprepared, versus crush every mile of the training and then be in pain from the first five minutes on the day when it actually matters.

Honestly, I am feeling incredibly well-supported in terms of the team I have around me -- more so than I have been maybe EVER, athletically speaking -- and so (general saltiness aside) I’m actually managing to stay pretty calm, even during the acute injury phase. First, because it always feels like a small miracle to be able to lie down on the therapy table with legitimate pain, and then stand up a little while later with it having essentially vanished (!) -- but second, because of the sheer emotional comfort that lies in the knowledge that (for once in my life) I actually don’t have to worry about EVERY little thing, that ‘other people are taking care of’ some pieces of this puzzle. The three of them are all aware of ‘where I’m at’ physically, and are in communication as far as what they think is best for me, which is such a gift. Just the awareness of that support network provides me with a huge amount of reassurance -- AND additional motivation to ‘do my best for them’, after all the time and energy they’re investing in me. (The first time she dry-needled the injured area, the PT bade me farewell after the session with the admonishment, “Don’t f*ck up my good work.”)

Unrelated: one other thing I’ve found useful for recovery purposes has been my new Garmin watch (Fenix 5S). It’s definitely not a hundred percent accurate -- it’s very much an endurance watch and thus has absolutely no idea how to interpret regular CrossFit most of the time, so it occasionally tells me my weekly training load is ‘light’ or that my performance condition is ‘peaking’ when that is BLATANTLY FALSE -- but in terms of things like heart rate, daily stress level, and sleep quality, it’s fascinating to see numerical data that backs up my own internal gauges, and it’s admittedly also been pretty helpful nutritionally in terms of calorie burn estimates (I’m getting to that!). And although it’s apt to underestimate my effort output at times, there are other times when it keeps me honest; on one memorable occasion, my coach sent me a new month’s worth of programming, and I saw that my long Saturday metcons had been dropped in favor of more movements that were labeled as ‘for quality’ or ‘not for time’. This is the sort of stuff I tend to find ‘boring’, and I groaned internally as I made a note to ask her why she’d done that. However, before we even had a chance to discuss it, I completed my first Friday session on the new plan (over 60 straight minutes of biking, rowing, wallballs, lunges, running, and air squats, if you’re curious!) -- and as soon as I clicked my stopwatch off, Garmin popped up with a cheery little note: “Recovery Time 45 Hours / Easy Effort Recommended.”

Well then. As usual -- it seems Coach knows what she’s doing!

Awesome support crew and techie gadgets aside, a few other essential recovery things: -- compression socks or calf sleeves for the 24 hours following a long run -- supplements: vitamin D, krill oil, zinc/magnesium/B6, probiotics, vitamin C -- a consistent 9-9:30pm bedtime -- Epsom salt baths after the heaviest leg days -- tart cherry juice in my workout shake (helps reduce inflammation) -- and doing my best to NEVER be in a calorie deficit (more on this below).

Which brings me to...

Nutritionally / Fueling

One enormous and unexpected side benefit of this whole process is that I’ve had to become much more flexible and forgiving with regard to food. (This is something that definitely needed to happen, but I just couldn’t really foresee exactly how I was going to get there!) I’ve been following Renaissance Periodization for 18 months now (cut #1, short maintenance, cut #2, long maintenance, third/SHORT cut, now currently on maintenance again), and it has done phenomenal things for me (which is why I’ve stuck to it so rigidly until now); however, the origins of the program lie in weightlifting and strength training. To their credit, RP has put forth a lot of effort recently to try to tailor their approach to make it work for endurance training, and I definitely found their tools to be a pretty useful starting point in terms of calculating carb recommendations for long run days -- but I also learned that the math could really only carry me so far. A standalone long run is one thing, but it gets trickier when I’ve got (for example) a day with two training sessions, or a workout that’s maybe only an hour long but is almost entirely composed of sprints, or one of those super long Fridays where my ‘metcon’ is 60-100 minutes of work at “70% effort”. The bottom line is, at some point, you just have to take the toolbox you’ve got, start experimenting, and figure out what works for your body.

I’ve said before that I think one of the official RP hashtags should be #alwayslearning, and this training cycle has been no exception! While I obviously knew I would need more carbs/calories on long run days, I did NOT expect for the caloric demand to increase ACROSS THE BOARD as much as it did. It didn’t present as traditional ‘hunger’, so I didn’t recognize the ‘deficit dynamic’ at first -- but after a couple of great weeks initially, my performance and general well-being started to fall off around the 4-week mark. I wasn’t sleeping well, was feeling generally moody and anxious, and my long run paces were significantly slower than they had been up until that point. I also knew the scale had been running rather low, in the 138s-139s. However, none of this by itself was THAT far out of the range of ‘normal’, so it took me a week or two to put it all together. The larger picture didn’t fully click until, independently of one another, two separate CrossFit coaches (both of whom I’d only known for a month!) asked me if I had lost weight. That finally prompted me to look back at my daily scale trends, and I realized that my ‘maintenance’ was not actually maintenance; I’d slowly lost about two pounds over the course of the first month of endurance training.

Now, while two pounds is obviously not a tremendous amount of weight, this was still a super important phenomenon to identify and address, because in my case, it would NOT be beneficial for me to get any smaller right now. From a general health and performance standpoint, I’m already right where I need to be (my DEXA scan in July measured me at 17% body fat), which means that losing weight would fly directly in the face of ALL my goals: not just day-to-day performance and recovery, but also muscle retention. Muscle is a heavy and metabolically demanding tissue, so the body doesn’t want to hang onto more of it than it truly NEEDS -- so it’s one of the first things to go during heavy endurance training (ever checked out the physique of a Kenyan marathoner?). Since my primary goal is to preserve CrossFit fitness and performance, the last thing I want to do is sacrifice my hard-earned muscle on the altar of marathon training.

Another SUPER important facet to all of this is hormonal health -- which, unfortunately, seems to be one of those things to which I’m more sensitive than some other women. During the past 18 months of intermittent cutting, my body has shown me repeatedly that it haaaaaates being in an energy deficit (and that it will respond to this by promptly grinding my reproductive cycle to a halt for MONTHS). And while I don’t necessarily love everything about the monthly cycle, it’s an inescapable fact that estrogen is one of the best defenses I have against all this repetitive pounding on my feet. As I mentioned, I already have a history of two prior metatarsal stress fractures, both sustained during marathon training -- therefore, I absolutely need my biochemistry to hang in there this time around!

At any rate, in hindsight, I’ve been playing this RP game long enough now that I felt pretty stupid for not recognizing the ‘deficit phenomenon’ sooner. Once the light bulb came on, I started increasing calories, mostly carbs (amid a lot of jokes about my need for ‘supplemental frozen yogurt’); this immediately made performance feel much better and got my run paces back to the range where they needed to be. I’ve learned that 200g carbs seems to be the absolute minimum on a training day (and on most days it’s significantly more!), and that even on rest days I need a few more carbs (for recovery purposes) than my templates officially prescribe. However, it eventually turned out that in order to truly stabilize my weight (and to stop waking up hungry at two o’clock in the morning!), I ultimately had to slightly increase my training day fats as well. As we got deeper into the training plan and my sessions got longer, I also had to tweak my pre- and intra-workout strategies to figure out how best to fuel for a longer time duration (it’s not unusual nowadays for my Friday gym workouts to take over three hours -- meaning my regular fruit juice and whey shake alone simply isn’t sufficient) and/or what types of things I prefer to carry and consume while I’m out running. (On the plus side, my iron gut serves me well here; many runners suffer GI distress related to intra-workout nutrition, but it turns out there’s not a whole lot that I can’t tolerate!)

I’m definitely still tweaking and refining -- it (unfortunately!) isn’t as easy as just stuffing my face round the clock, because GAINING weight right now obviously wouldn’t be ideal either -- but I’m learning a ton, and, equally important, am also learning how to relax a little. My modus operandi for just about everything in life is that I tend to dive in at 120% enthusiasm, then have to slowly work my way back to a place of more moderation, and RP has been no exception. But this endurance training cycle has really forced me to try some different things as well as be a bit less rigid in general -- i.e. more willing to eat ‘combination’ foods (that don’t fall squarely into one macro category), and even to dine out in restaurants once a week or so. (Exhibit A: the best free meal I’ve had recently was a fried green tomato biscuit from Rise, when I did my long ten-mile run on a Sunday morning and then met up with two other runner friends for breakfast. LOOK AT THAT HEALTHY BALANCED RP MAINTENANCE LIFE. :)) Additionally, the necessity of (on many Sundays) fitting a homemade high-carb meal in between an early-AM long run and a full day of work means I’ve also learned how to make certain things in such a way that I actually enjoy them just as much as (or even more than!) the restaurant versions. For example, Aldi’s frozen sushi is surprisingly awesome, a home-assembled burrito bowl is totally on par with Chipotle, and (for me) a flatbread pizza in the toaster oven really does satisfy a pizza craving. I’m reaching the point where (MOST) food just isn’t really that exciting anymore -- which is actually a pretty great (mentally healthy) place to be.

Unintentional weight loss is one of those things that sounds like a #firstworldproblem to a lot of people -- and in another scenario, I can see how it could be! -- but honestly, I’m grateful to have experienced this ‘problem’, because the necessity of tackling it has been a pretty big eye-opener. This whole process has required a new level of intuition -- less straightforward following of a numerical macro chart, and more paying attention to my body’s physical, mental, and emotional cues. If I’m feeling ridiculously tired and depleted after a long workout (even if I don’t feel obviously ‘hungry’), or if I’m noticing that my hand ‘wants’ to flash out and grab the frozen yogurt when I open the freezer, then I probably need more carbs. If I wake up hungry at 2:00am, I probably didn’t eat enough fat that day. And, when eating foods I didn’t ‘plan’ for, it’s been validating to see that what often feels to me like a ‘crackout’ is usually just my body trying to maintain homeostasis. During the first few weeks of trying to sort through all this ‘data’, there were several occasions where I ate a larger-than-normal amount of something (usually the better part of a pint of frozen yogurt...) that I didn’t necessarily ‘plan’ to have. Each time, I fretted guiltily for a few minutes -- then did the actual macro/calorie math in the context of that morning’s workout and realized that my body had done EXACTLY what it was supposed to do, almost to the point of being eerie (as in, I worked for X minutes longer than last week, and today’s calories worked out to be X amount higher than last week -- without any intentional effort on my part to make it so. Biology is pretty neat). On some level, I do still ‘expect’ myself to self-sabotage -- and maybe always will expect that to some degree -- but these past couple months have reinforced to me yet again that my body truly does ‘know what it needs’ most of the time, and that I can actually ‘trust myself’ on a gut level a lot more than I tend to believe I can on a cerebral level.

What’s Next

We’re not quite tapering yet, but getting close. Tomorrow is my peak-length metcon -- by my reckoning, that portion alone is going to take about 95-100 minutes (!). But after tomorrow, Fridays will get somewhat shorter; the metcon portion will probably only take 20-30 minutes or so for the remainder of this cycle (and I’m laughing out loud at the fact that that genuinely sounds like a SHORT metcon to me now!). My long runs on Sundays will continue to build for another 3-4 weeks; the programming is written in ‘minutes’, not miles, and we lost some time because of the foot injury, but my rough calculations would suggest that I’ll make it to about 14-15 miles (on October 21st) before the two-week taper. (Which, yeah, is a bit shorter than ideal, but as I said above -- better 15 and healthy than 20 and broken.)

November 4th is the big day. I’m so, so ready to be done with this training, yet (I’ll admit) am also getting something of a ‘second wind’ mentally now that the end is finally in sight. And while I have no plans to ever (EVER) do another marathon after this one, I’m also not so jaded that I can’t recognize how very grateful I’ll be, come race morning, for all the blood, tears, and sweat (SO MUCH SWEAT) that I’m putting in right now.

In 38 days (38 days!), this will all be worth it.

[ambiengrey]

What Kind of Jerk Would I Be? #5

If you don’t already know what this is about: summary.

<--previous

Blue Punch Buggy.

PALO ALTO

February 14, 13:58 PST

Team Year Five

Artemis Crock stood just outside her and Wally’s apartment, one hand on the staircase’s railing, the other on her hip, her lips gathered into a frown as she waited – somewhat impatiently.

Honestly, how long does it take the fastest kid alive to fetch a car!

She rolled her eyes, sighing. She would have gone back inside to wait, but she was half convinced that he’d show up the instant she made herself comfortable on the couch. Besides, he’d said he was only five minutes away. She glanced at her watch. That was ten minutes ago.

And then, at last, a blue beetle pulled up next to the sidewalk, and Wally West climbed out of the driver’s seat, grinning at her over the top of the car.

Artemis raised an eyebrow. That was the car he’d been so excited about? He’d gone on all week refusing to tell her anything about it, insisting it was a surprise, and, frankly, Artemis had expected something a little more…flashy.

She smiled – a little bemused, she wouldn’t admit – at him anyway and picked up one of their suitcases. Wally skipped up the stairs to greet her with a kiss, still grinning even as he did so.

“Well?” Wally said excitedly, taking the proffered suitcase and gesturing back at the car with his free hand. “What do you think?”

She leaned a little sideways to peer around him at the vehicle. “It’s…like a modern punch buggy.”

Wally’s face fell a little at her unenthusiastic response. “Well, yeah…but, it’s a reliable car. Even if it does, you know, invoke a friendly punch-fest. Which reminds me!” his grin returned, and his free hand coming around, fingers curled into a fist.

But Artemis beat him to it, stopping him short as she hit his arm. His grin fell, and he gaped at her, dismayed.

“Blue punch buggy,” she deadpanned, her face as serious as she could make it.

Wally scowled good-naturedly, a challenge hidden in his green eyes, and Artemis knew she’d started something now. They’d be picking out punch buggies for the next day and a half no doubt.

“No punch-back,” she added, crossing her middle and forefinger in front of his face.

He glared at her, “You spoil my fun.”

She grinned triumphantly at him, “My prerogative, Babe.”

“Heh,” he smiled. “Yeah, says you.”

He snatched up their other suitcases before Artemis could, and hobbled down the narrow staircase with the bags held in front of him, the third tucked under one outstretched arm, in an accurate interpretation of Frankenstein’s monster.

“So, do you really not like it?” Wally asked, seriously this time, as Artemis joined him next to the sleek blue vehicle wherein he was stuffing their cases. She handed him her vanity case to load as well.

She shrugged, “It’s…kind of adorable, really.”

“‘Adorable?’” Wally scoffed. “I want it more to say – ‘reliable,’ ‘dependable,’ maybe a little ‘quirky,’ but also ‘inconspicuous,’ should the need arise. Basically just, it’s not meant to be ‘cute,’ it’s meant to be ‘sturdy.’”

Artemis snorted, “Sure, Baywatch,” she teased, lightly punching him in the gut. He faked a grunt and a wounded expression, but Artemis only laughed, making her way up to the passenger door.

She cleared her throat, “Well, are we still leaving today?”

He smiled, and came up beside her all proper-like to open the door. He even bowed a little, “M’lady.”

Artemis laughed, and got inside, comfortably sinking back against the seat. It was pretty comfortable.

Wally joined her a second later, and started up his ride, warning her to buckle-up even as she did so.

The radio came on as Wally pulled into the road and Artemis realized he was listening to some old CD she wasn’t fond of.

Wally started talking though, relating his trip to the old croon’s who’d sold him the car, and Artemis ignored the music in favour of listening to his story and stealing heart-shaped candy from the cubbyhole.

She offered him one, and Wally popped it in his mouth without a second thought.

Sometime later they were on the outskirts of town, and Wally was reminding her to let her mom know they’d left home. She pulled out her phone to relay the message and caught sight of the date just before returning the device to her pocket.

Artemis glanced sideways at Wally, who’d started talking about something else again.

She’d decided to stop saying “Happy Valentine’s Day” first, because all it did was leave Wally wallowing with guilt and regret at having forgotten, which he’d developed a habit for doing, and, after the incident with the cookies she’d messed up so badly, Artemis didn’t feel like experiencing a repeat of Wally’s sullen mood.

It’s not that he ignored Valentine’s Day on purpose, Artemis reflected, it was just that it kind of passed him by without Wally thinking about it. Kid Flash and their never-ending missions took up most of their time, in addition to college amongst other things, and Artemis doubted Wally and Dick spent days beforehand devising romantic plans to impress their girlfriends with.

Dick was probably more concerned with how to avoid his girlfriends, anyway.

Moreover, there was very little nowadays to remind Wally that it was Valentine’s. He barely watched television unless it was the news. And apparently he didn’t bother with the radio either. If he hadn’t been listening to his own silly tunes, he’d have said happy Valentine’s before he asked her what she thought of the car.

Artemis sighed, sinking deeper into the seat, closing her eyes. It didn’t really matter, she decided. If they skipped Valentine’s Day for the rest of their lives, they’d hardly really be missing out on anything. They both already knew how much they cared for each other. They’d always known.

“Babe?” Wally asked, glancing at her, but Artemis waved his concern away without opening her eyes.

“I’m just taking a nap.”

“Oh. Okay. Sweet dreams,” he said, a smile in his tone.

She smiled too.

Artemis was happy to actually fall genuinely asleep for most of the ride, since it meant she didn’t have to listen to Wally’s music, which was repeating itself by the time she woke up for the third time during their ride. Only, this time, she wasn’t going back to sleep, and Wally’s music was giving her a headache.

“Wally,” she said at last, a little exasperated, as she sat upright and opened the cubbyhole. “Don’t you have anything else to listen to?”

“No,” he said, a little too quickly.

She eyed him askance, frowning, but returned to rummaging through the compartment without commenting.

“Ah-ha!” she exclaimed at last, discovering one of her CD’s in a case along with one of Wally’s. “Finally some decent music,” she mumbled, exchanging his CD for hers.

“‘Decent’?” Wally chided playfully. “Babe,” he moaned with mock frustration, as her CD started up. “I love you, but your taste in music kind of sucks,” he reached for the radio with a tentative finger, “Let’s find out what’s in the news, rather, hey?”

He grinned at her, pressing the button for the radio, switching from her loud music to the soft melodic sounds of Your Song.

Wally’s grin slipped from his face the moment his eyes met hers, though, even as he pressed the button. His gaze only lingered for a moment before he had to go back to watching the road again, however. “Artemis?” he said uncertainly. “What’d I say?”

He glanced at her, and Artemis promptly shut her mouth and turned away.

She’d been staring at him, her heart suddenly beating three times faster in her chest, and her breath caught in her throat.

“Artemis?” he repeated, a little more forcefully, and Artemis shook her head – in reply so much as to snap herself out of it.

“Nothing,” she said quickly. “It’s nothing, I just…haven’t heard that song in a while…”

She saw him frowning at her, pensively, from the corner of her eye and knew he hadn’t bought it.

She looked pointedly out the window, where the sun was setting in the distance, casting the horizon in a solemn orange glow.

It was ridiculous, she told herself. All kinds of parts of it, for all kinds of reasons.

For all that they’d been together for more than three years, finally sharing an apartment, getting a dog…neither one of them had ever actually told the other…well, the L-word is what she called it in her head.

On the one hand, it had never felt particularly necessary. The perfect moment to say it never seemed to crop up anyway. There were plenty of moments for kissing, and cuddling, and embracing and making out, and flirting, but…even in the midst of all that, ‘I love you’ had never come up.

Not even after particularly dangerous missions, leaving them battered, bruised and half-broken in each other’s arms. And then they’d cry a little, and kiss, and kiss some more after they’d healed.

Sometimes, Artemis thought they were saying it with kisses rather than words. The L-kisses.

The I.L.Y-kisses.

Wally was the longest, most stable, secure relationship she’d ever had, in all of her life – thus far. Part of her sometimes thought she desperately wanted to tell him she loved him, because she was honestly, sincerely convinced most days that she did. The words just wouldn’t make their way past the massive lump in her throat, though, and she’d end up kissing him instead.

He’d grin, goofily, and kiss her back. Sometimes, Artemis thought, in a way that was meant to tell her he knew exactly what she was struggling with, that he understood, and he was trying to tell her the same thing, he just didn’t know how to either.

Artemis wasn’t sure he’d ever been that serious with a girl before.

Sometimes, she just didn’t want to tell him, in case she jinxed it and he left her.

Hadn’t she told her mother she loved her? Hadn’t she said it to Jade? Hadn’t she even thought it about her no-good father, said as much at some point, only to have all three of them drop out of her life within heartbeats of each other? Or, so it felt anyway.

Her mom came back, at least. Jade was too much of a wild card to be trusted to stay put, and of course she hadn’t. And her father…well. No comment on that. He was never coming back.

But Wally…she didn’t want Wally to leave.

She hadn’t wanted Wally to say it any more than she’d wanted to say it either. If he did, he’d expect her to say it back – they’d been together for years, after all, how could she not love him – but what if she couldn’t? What if the words wouldn’t come? What if she couldn’t explain? He’d figure she didn’t love him after all, and why would he stay with her then?

He wouldn’t. He’d leave her. Never knowing how she felt, because she hadn’t been able to tell him.

…Or – or what if he said it, but didn’t really mean it? What if he’d just blurted it out, just then, just now, the way he declared his undying love and devotion to Chicken Whizzies – as meaningless as it was careless?

Would that be worse, Artemis wondered.

It certainly felt worse. If she hadn’t reacted with such surprise, Wally could have shrugged it off and Artemis could have pretended she’d never heard, but now he knew something was wrong, and they’d have to talk about it.

If he didn’t really love her…she’d be broken, and they’d fall apart eventually. And if he did, and she didn’t say it back, they’d fall apart that much sooner.

“Shit,” Wally said fervently, unexpectedly, startling Artemis into nicking her bottom lip, having been chewing on it absently. She licked at it, tasting blood, as she eyed Wally from the corner of her eye. He’d flicked on the turn light and was pulling onto the side of the road.

It was eerily quiet when he shut off the car.

Artemis caught her lip between her teeth again. This is stupid, Artemis. You’re a grown woman. Quit thinking like an idiot. Probably this had nothing to do with any of that. Wally just suddenly had a revelation he needed to stop for – like maybe he realised something was wrong with his second-hand bug after all, and they had to drive back six hours to return it and buy plane tickets to Gotham instead.

Besides, she chided herself, Wally wouldn’t leave her. What had she been thinking? He’d said so a million times. What was ‘I love you’ nowadays anyway?

“Artemis,” Wally started, a somewhat panicked note to his voice, and when he continued he was almost speed-talking, turning in his seat to face her properly, “I’m so sorry – I did not mean that.”

Her head whipped up to face him before she had sense enough to stop, just nod and let it slide rather, tell him it didn’t matter. But then she was looking at him, not sure at all of what she was supposed to say to that. He’d even apologized for saying it!

Artemis wasn’t sure of half the feelings churning inside of her, except that one was definite disappointment and another felt like severe grief and heartache—

He must have seen some of it in her eyes, because he recoiled, blinking, and then both of his hands shot up, waving this way and that in protest, “No, no, I mean – I meant it, of course, really, I just didn’t mean to say it like that.”

Her grief and heartache was inexplicably replaced with dread at the sound of that, a bundle of nerves growing restlessly in her stomach, and still she had no idea what to say.

Wally was still talking, thankfully, “I really did mean it, I just didn’t mean to say it that way – so…so casually. I just blurted it out, and that’s not how you do it. I was going to say it – I-I’ve always been going to, the timing just always seemed off,” he shrugged, his hands moving animatedly as he spoke, but his eyes slipping on and off of hers nervously, colour rising in his cheeks. “And-and if I was ever going to do it, which I was, I meant to have you at a nice restaurant, with champagne or something, and candlelight, all romantic. Or – or I’d say it on Valentine’s Day, at least—”

Artemis barked a laugh at that, unable to help herself, and Wally blinked, surprised. Artemis quickly shut her mouth, swallowing the smile that threatened to form at her oblivious boyfriend’s expense.

Wally smiled at her, though, all the tension seemingly having drained out of him, his shoulders slumped now, his posture relaxed.

She swallowed, and looked away from his gaze, feeling a blush cover her cheeks.

Around them, the inside of Wally’s blue punch buggy was turning increasingly darker as the day’s light continued to fade, the car’s speedometer lights shining as bright a green as Wally’s eyes.

“Artemis,” he said quietly, in that rare serious tone he sometimes got. He reached up, cupping her cheek in the palm of his hand. “I…” she kept her eyes pointedly averted, feeling increasingly stupid at doing so, but she couldn’t manage looking up at him either. “I…” she heard him stop a second time, to swallow audibly and suck in a quick gasp of air, “I love you,” he whispered, somewhat breathlessly.

Plucking up courage from somewhere unknown, Artemis spied him through her lashes, chewing at her bottom lip again, still not sure of what to say.

He spared her an attempt at speaking though, leaning in a little closer, a little lower, to look properly into her eyes. “You don’t have to say it back. Don’t get me wrong, I’d like you to,” he added quickly, the corners of his mouth quirking up for a moment, “But you don’t have to if you’re not ready. I get it. It’s a lot harder than I made it sound the first time,” he shrugged. “Just, you know…just kiss me again. That’s the best reply to almost anything,” he grinned, and a laugh escaped through her lips unbidden.

She shook her head, breathed, “Wally…”

He had his seatbelt unbuckled in half a second and was kissing her in another.

“I love you, too,” she choked when he broke the kiss, surprising herself, but saying it so quietly she was torn between hoping and fearing that he’d heard.

His forehead resting comfortably against hers, his hand in her neck with his thumb gently rubbing her cheek, Wally grinned. “I know, Babe,” he whispered. “I’ve always known.”

next-->

[marcoacesabo]

Fairy Tale Sunday: Robin hood

Sabo Outlook hated his parents.

They demanded perfection in everything he did.

He was to be the smartest, the fastest, and the perfect choice for being married to the royal family compared to other children. If he failed to reach their standards there would be cruel and painful punishments.

Once Sabo was not fed for three days straight until he finished his studies despite his pleas because some other noble child had beaten him in that subject. He still feels the sting of his mother’s hands on his face for defending himself against a royal who rushed at him with a knife.

He is terrified of the dark because his father had him locked in a dark room for a full week after he had his accident so others wouldn’t “see those disgusting wounds” and ruin his image.

The man had raved for hours when he learned Sabo would live with burn scars. He hadn’t given the shivering and scared ten years old a single thought pass a roll of his eyes whenever Sabo woke from fire-induced nightmares. His trauma meant nothing to those two all that mattered was that he didn’t have a panic attack in front of others’- that would make the Outlook family look like fools.

Sabo always wanted to break free from this place, because a golden cage was still a cage. He felt trapped among these fancy walls and cold smiles that the nobility used with a horrible sense of drowning among the rotten cores these people walked around with.

He had tried many times before to run away but his parents always send men after him with a very generous reward as motivation to find him- and they drag him back kicking and screaming each time. The longest he’s ever managed to avoid them was a full year, during which he helped a slave escape as well.

They had both been running to the Moby Dick Kingdom, the only sanctuary that would welcome them with open but Sabo’s hunters had caught them just at the border. He had given himself in so that his friend was able to cross to safety.

Sabo didn’t regret his choice even if he would never see his first love again. The blond hoped he was well. The deserved all the happiness in the world.

He has locked up again after that for the next ten years.

He didn’t give up though regardless of all the precautions his parents placed to keep him on the walls of the Outlook Household. He had found a crack to slip through once he could do it again. Every cage had a way to get out, even without the key.

Even if it has been a while since he found one.

It was getting harder and harder to find ways to escape lately but he knew why. His time was running out. At age twenty Sabo was going to be married off to help his parents rise in the social ladder, in only just a few days his life would be forever sealed. He wouldn’t give in to them so easily though and he still planned on leaving before the wedding day arrived.

Maybe this was why when Robin Hood broke into his bedroom his first reaction was to grin. The man had somehow managed to climb the tallest tower pass the guards in the dead of night and picked his window lock without being caught once.

He jumped through the window, landing in a silent crouch on his bedroom floor. Sabo was watching him from the corner of the room from his king sized bed with wide eyes. This was it. This was his chance. He could get away.

“Hey.” He whispered as the famous thief whipped around to face him. The man’s face was covered with a robin shaped masked, a black cape dropped over his shoulders and a pipe in his hand ready to strike at a seconds notice.

Noticing the intruder’s battle stance the blond raised his hands in surrender doing his best to look non-threatening as he slowly allowed the blankets to pool around his waist. “I don’t want to fight. I won’t call for the guards. I’ll let you rob this place blind if you want. All I ask is that you listen for a few minutes: I have a proposition for you.”

The man didn’t say anything but he did crook his head to the left indicating that he was at least listening to him. The pipe still in the man’s hands, a very real threat to his life but Sabo ignores it at Robin’s nod to continue. It was more than what he hoped for. The noble scrammed to his feet, aware that the man was watching his every move.

He raced to a floor board that he had broken in order to hide his ticket to freedom- a bag of stolen golden coins from his parents.

He gave the bag a testable shake, letting the clicking coins speak for him as he looked up at the thief. “I’ll pay you to get me out of here and to help fake my death. Make it look good so that my parents never try looking for me afterward.”

Robin Hood said nothing and Sabo held his breath as the man stepped forward. The thief circled around him once, gray eyes bright behind his mask, before leaning in to whisper into his ear. “What kind of pay are we talking about noble?”

 Sabo’s faced burned but he managed to glare at the cloaked figure refusing to be intimidated “About three pounds of gold and-“

“A night in my bed, gorgeous, and you got yourself a deal.” The man purred causing the blond’s hair to stand on end. He pushed to his feet in rage, because no, no. He was going to get out of here to freedom and he wasn’t going to trade a cage for another.

��“You can go to-“ Whatever he was going to say is cut off by a second man. He jumps through the still opened window, a blue bird mask covering his face but he lands with far more grace than Robin did.

He is taller than either of them, covered completely in black besides the blue sash tied at his waist. A bow in his hands, the bag of arrows strapped to his back and the string is drawn back even though he points the weapon to the ground makes him seem terrifying. Sabo knows who he is in an instant.

 Phoenix.

 He is Robin’s second in command and said be a mage as well- one that is immortal.

 “It’s been more than a minute, what’s taking you so long?” Phoenix asks voice irritated. He pays no mind to the shirtless blond beside a tip of the chin. His focus in completely on his partner. “. Hurry up and find the target already. We got to go. The guards found our distraction and it won’t be long before they send someone to investigate. ”

 “I know. I know.” Robin grouches “I was just getting him to come with! Sheesh. I wanted this reunion to be romantic! why did you have to ruin it, Marco?”

 Marco just shrugs before returning to the window, standing guard “Get on with it Ace. They doubled security because of the wedding. We can be romantic later.”

 “A-Ace?” Sabo repeated numbly.

No. It shouldn’t be. Ace was in Moby Dick, safe and sound far away from the place that made him a slave. Yet when he turned back to Robin- he was met with gray eyes, freckled cheeks and a warm smile his missed so much.

His breath caught in his throat and he nearly falls to the ground from the shock that courses through him.

 “Hey, Sabo. Want to run away with me to steal from the rich and give to the poor?”

[alexanderhamllton]

Summer Rain [Okieriete Onaodowan x Reader]

Summary: what else are you supposed to do but run in the rain after finding out you’ve been in love with your best friend?

Word count: 2,334 (the longest one yet!)

Warnings: cursing, alcohol... 

A/N: The fluffiest of fluffs for Oak, because he deserves it. Thanks to the hamwriters groupchat, I finally had inspiration to write for Oak and I’m pretty happy with the result. I hope y’all like it!

askbox | masterlist

You could give a million excuses to why you showed up on his doorstep like this, at that time. You could say the storm caught you by surprise, or maybe you were around and your umbrella broke and you remembered he lived close by.

Blatant lies to cover a moment of courage with no limitations.

It was 1 a.m. when you woke up that night, the storm making the New York you knew your whole life just a gray scenario outside your window. Your forehead covered in sweat, but a smile across your face.

You were in love with your best friend and the dream you had just proved everything you suspected for weeks.

six months earlier

“Guys, let’s welcome [Y/N], our new ensemble member!” Alex had his hand on your shoulder as you tried not to blush in front of the most talented group of people you ever faced. Everyone clapped and you heard a whistle coming from the lips of the one you recognized as Anthony Ramos.

As rehearsals began, you started to pick the steps and queues easier than you thought. Dance was on your blood, and the music playing wasn’t a bad motivation either. The dance moves for My Shot and Yorktown were the hardest, so you tried your best to go over and over whenever you had the time and space. Your favorite place was the empty stage, though. Both Lin and Tommy were okay with you taking the mornings to practice, since the technicians were the only ones in the theater by that time.

“Try not to push yourself too hard.” The comment almost made you trip during a spin. “Sorry if I distracted you.”

“It’s okay.” You placed a strand of hair behind your ear before looking to where the voice came from. “What are you doing here this time in the morning, Oak?”

“I need new pants and they lost my measurements… Long and embarrassing story.”

“I’d love to hear that.” You replied, grabbing the face towel and the bottle of water from the floor, taking a long sip.

“Let’s just say Hercules Mulligan got too excited when jumping during Yorktown last night.” Your giggle brought a smile to his face as well.

“Don’t even get me started on Yorktown, this song is freaking me out.”

“You’re doing great! I mean the spin could use a little work…” You jokingly slapped him in the arm, making him laugh in the middle of the sentence. “I’m kidding, [Y/N]. It’s perfect. I have no idea why you practice so much, you’re one of the best ensemble members we had so far.”

“Because I practice so much.” You snapped back. “But I’m done for the morning, I think I’ll go shower.”

As you left the stage, Oak’s voice called your name, making you turn to him: “Wanna grab lunch later? This probably won’t take long so…” He said, pointing towards the costume room.

“Sure.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” You chuckled before heading to the ensemble dressing room. Needless to say you took the fastest shower in your life, as you were slightly anxious about going for lunch with Oak. Not that you guys didn’t have lunch before, but never just the two of you. You shook the thoughts away from your head as you dried yourself and changed into jeans and a t-shirt.

When you left the dressing room, Oak was waiting sitting on the stairs, almost blocking the passage.

“Ready to go?”

“Yeah.” He said, giving you passage before following you out of the theater.

four months earlier

The final bow of your first performance was something you’d never forget. As you received the applause with the cast, it was like you’d never feel more accomplished and proud of yourself than in that very moment. When everyone left the stage, hugs came from left and right: Jasmine, Carleigh, Anthony and Elizabeth being the closest to you, but Oak was the one that swept you off your feet.

No, literally, he lifted you up.

His hug could be described as a typical bear hug, as Oak embraced and twirled you around. You allowed yourself to laugh before kissing his cheek. You both got really close since he started giving you some tips on queues and ways to make your life easier around the show’s routine, and before you knew he’d hang out at your place to watch movies and tv shows, and you did the same at his place.

“You didn’t mess up!” He exclaimed, and you rolled your eyes at him even though you had a huge smile in your face. “We should celebrate!”

“We should indeed! Any suggestions?” You answered, walking towards the dressing rooms with Oak right behind you.

“It depends, you want to get hammered or something more chill?” He asked, leaning against the wall when you both arrived at your dressing room’s door.

“I vote for chill.” You said, entering the dressing room. “See you in 15?”

“Yep.”

You closed the door and faced Carleigh and Elizabeth already on their street clothes. Elizabeth was almost singing when she commented: “He’s so into you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Uhn… Oak? Who else would she be talking about? You guys are doing ‘something chill’ later, if that doesn’t mean sex I don’t know what it means.”  Carleigh answered, shoving her stuff on the backpack and pausing just to gesture quotation marks around the term ‘something chill’.

“You are both insane. We are just friends, ever heard of that?” You took off your vest and shirt as you spoke, before getting rid of your boots and pants. “It’s not like you are not friends with him too.”

“Not as close as you are!” Elizabeth stressed while putting her hair in a ponytail. “[Y/N] and Oak, sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s…”

You interrupted her by throwing a pillow that was close by at her face, making the three of you laugh. “Shut up! Things are not awkward and I don’t want your comments getting in my head.”

“Whatever you say, [Y/N], whatever you say.”

You rolled your eyes and finished getting ready to leave, meeting with Oak by the door of his dressing room so you would both go to your place together.

By now, he knew your place as well as you did. You made the popcorn as he decided for a movie on Netflix. When you returned to the living room with a bowl of buttered popcorn, he was going through the horror section of the catalog.

“No fucking way I’ll watch horror movies, Oak.”

“C’mon [Y/N], we always watch what you want.” He replied, giving you the puppy eyes that made you melt every time.

“And you’re never disappointed. Please, anything but horror movies.”

“Fine. But let’s do something fun then.” He said in a smirk.

“Elaborate.”

“A drinking game.” Oak answered simply, opening the small cabinet under the tv and grabbing a bottle of vodka. “We watch whatever crappy rom-com you want, but every time a cliche happens, we take a shot.”

“Deal.” You got up and went to the kitchen, coming back with two shot glasses.

The movie chosen was a Nicholas Sparks one, and you both took three shots in the first thirty minutes of the movie, later on arguing if a montage of the main couple is considered a romantic cliche or a movie cliche in general. You both agreed it was valid taking a shot either way.

When the movie ended, you were both really drunk, laughing at each others faces for no apparent reason. You lost count at the tenth shot, and Oak was way stronger than you, not only when it came of drinking.

“You can’t go home like this, Oak.” You said once you both started to organize everything and he fell on his ass, making you burst out laughing.

“It’s only a few blocks away from here!”

“You just tripped and fell on your ass, Okieriete.”

“Okay, okay, right. Can I crash on your couch?”

“Sure, but I do have a queen-size bed, you know?”

“Are you inviting me to sleep with you, [Y/N]?” He joked, wiggling his eyebrow at you.

“Why are you like this?” You mumbled, trying to hide the smile on your face. “I’m saying as a friend, this couch is garbage.”

“It is.” He agreed.

“Hey! Only I can trash-talk my apartment, okay?” You objected, taking the glasses and the now empty bowl to the kitchen. “Now let’s go to sleep, we have a show to do tomorrow and a hangover is the last thing I need.”

Oak giggled and you heard the steps of him going to your bedroom, action that you mimicked shortly after.

“Move over, you're on my side.” You whispered to sleepy Oak, already under the covers. He rolled over to the other side and you lied down beside him.

The last thing you remembered from that night was the feeling of Oak instinctly placing his arm around your waist.

one day earlier

“Will this rain ever stop?” You arrived at the Richard Rodgers theater already complaining, your mood mirroring the crappy weather outside.

“Good afternoon to you, too.” Jasmine answered, her face almost covered by the huge mug she was holding. “Tea?”

“Hi. And no, thanks. I need some really strong coffee.”

“Try Lin’s dressing room, that one always has the best coffee maker.” Jasmine replied, before heading back to whatever she was up to. You, however, went straight to the male dressing rooms after the smell of black coffee.

Lin’s door was half-open, allowing you to hear the conversation happening inside. You weren’t the curious kinds, but Oak’s voice made you stop to listen.

“I’m telling you, she’s the best. And so hot too.” His voice sounded excited, but the reaction you had to them was the opposite. You didn’t know if it was because he didn’t tell you anything about this girl, or maybe it was you protective side taking over your emotions.

Or something else.

Either way, you tried not to think about it, limiting yourself to shut down the tears that wanted to make its way out and knocking on the dressing room door. The conversation stopped and Lin’s voice answered: “Come in.”

“Hi. I heard you’re the best coffee dealer in the place, I didn’t have time to pass by Starbucks today so…”

“I got you. You have a mug?” Lin answered, and you handed the empty mug to him.

“Starbucks got nothing on Lin’s Puerto Rican coffee, trust me.” Oak commented, and you weren’t able to reply with more than a small smile. There was no way of knowing if he picked up on your mood, but if he did, he didn’t say a thing.

You thanked Lin for the coffee when he handed you a mug full of the black Puerto Rican liquid and headed back to your dressing room, where the girls were already getting mic’ed.

“Why the long face?” Elizabeth asked as she held her own hair for the technician to place her microphone.

“Nothing, just tired. I’ll be good after the coffee.”

You weren’t.

The show felt longer than normal. The two and a half hours felt like five and the dance moves felt harder on your muscles than ever, your body complaining silently as you did your best to not mess anything up. When the show ended, you changed as fast as possible, heading home without saying good night to everyone like it was the usual. You noticed you forgot your umbrella inside when you felt the raindrops against your skin, but there was no way you were going back inside.

When you arrived at you place, soaking wet, your apartment felt cold as you were, and the hot shower that was much-needed didn’t have the effect you hoped for. Neither the blanket or the romantic comedy, both of those things reminding you of the late nights you spent with Oak. You turned everything off and headed to your bedroom, hoping a night of sleep would solve whatever you were feeling.

You woke up to a word: Betrayed.

That word echoed through your thoughts, because that’s how you felt when you pictured Oak with anyone else but you. Your ming created almost one of the cliche montages you and Oak argued over months before, and you laughed through the tears you allowed to run on your face as you woke up. You were in love with him. You were in love with Oak.

It took a slip second for you to get up, changing your sweatpants to jeans and putting a hoodie over the pajama top you were wearing. There was no time for second-guessing, you thought as you laced up your sneakers.

When you locked your apartment door, ran down the stairs and faced the storm, you decided to run as fast as possible, only slowing down when you saw Oak’s building. When you pressed the button to his apartment in the intercom, you allowed yourself to breathe. “It’s me.”

The intercom buzzed and you got in, walking straight to his door. He was sleepy and shirtless, but the confused look on his face was more noticeable than the rest. “[Y/N], what are you…”

“I love you.” You said, without thinking twice. ”I don’t know who’s the girl you were talking about with Lin, but she can’t be that special because every moment you could possibly have with her you were with me and I know we’re best friends, but-”

Your bablling got interrupted by his kiss, sweet and hungry at the same time. You melted in his embrace, your hands against his chest and his arms wrapped around your waist.

“But what about-”

“It was you.” He said, laughing. “I was talking about you?”

“For real?” You giggled, feeling your cheeks turning red. “You mean I walked on the rain for nothing?”

“I wouldn’t say it was nothing.” He whispered, his forehead against yours. “By the way, I love you too.”

[everywon-woo]

SOMETIMES PLANES CRASH - chapter 3

A/N: SO this is the last chapter of this story, but i'm gonna make this a series with different POVs and ships so there will be a lot more crappy fanfiction! I'm currently writing a patater sequel to this and i have so many ideas for other sequels and sidefics, i'll probably have writing material for a long time! Anyway, thank you so much for reading this story, feedback and ideas are always welcome! 

Chapter 2

Masterpost

Chapter 3

During the next few weeks, Jack did a few interviews – mainly because Georgia forced him to – in which he talked about being a queer athlete. They all went surprisingly well. He knew that George had only chosen news outlets that had reacted positively to him being outed, but he still hadn’t expected them to be nice. They all respected his wish to stay clear of the topic of relationships, most of them even acknowledged his sexuality, and one of the men seemed genuinely interested in what he had to say about Samwell.

“You know, my teammates didn’t know I was bisexual until very recently. Even my best friend didn’t know until very recently. But I have never felt more accepted for who I really was, despite the fact that my team didn’t actually know who I really was. Of course Samwell has a reputation of being a great school for LGBTQ+ youth – I’m not gonna pretend this wasn’t part of the reason why I chose to go there in the first place – but before I went there, I couldn’t have dreamed of how much they helped me to grow, as a hockey player and as a person. They showed me that I didn’t have to do everything alone. I didn’t have to win games on my own. I didn’t have to keep my sexuality to myself out of fear of losing their respect and friendship. They had my back on and off the ice, without ever asking me anything I wasn’t prepared to give.

Many people criticize my decision to go to college, but I can assure you that I wouldn’t be the player I am today if I hadn’t made that decision.”

This might have been the longest string of words to ever come out of Jack Zimmermann’s mouth. He had practiced what he wanted to say over and over again, and now it was over, he was pretty satisfied with it.

The interviewer smiled before following up with a question: “Excuse me if this question is intrusive or inappropriate, but you said you didn’t come out to your teammates, despite the fact that they were very supportive. Why was this, if I may ask?”

The man seemed genuinely scared that he had crossed a line, so Jack smiled to reassure him.

“Well, despite knowing that my team had my back, information leaking about me being anything but straight was still a horrifying thought. The NHL isn’t the most LGBTQ+ friendly place – which is a very important topic, but I think that’ll have to be for another time – and I assumed I would have to choose between my sexuality and my career. I trusted my team, but it was simply safer to not take the risk,” Jack explained.

The interviewer nodded. “I understand, and I’m truly sorry you felt like you had to choose between yourself and your career, but I’m sure your courage will make sure many young athletes in the future will not share this fear. And I think you don’t have to worry about your career anymore, after the hockey you played in the past few months!” He laughed.

“Yeah. I just hope this can make a difference.”

“I’m sure it will, Jack. Thank you, and good luck playing the Bruins tomorrow!”  

“Thank you,” Jack laughed, and he realized that he had actually quit enjoyed this interview.

  After the story died down a bit, life almost went back to normal. Jack went back to his normal training schedule, Bitty went back to his normal college life. Now, though, Jack could take Bitty on a date during the weekends. Bitty could sit in the WAG section, which the Falcs had renamed the partners section, when he came to see one of Jack’s games. The day after the first game Bitty saw since they came out, Jack went to practice with two baskets of baked goods for Thirdy’s wife, because “She was so nice, Jack. I need to bake her some pies to thank her.”

 Originally, Jack hadn’t wanted Bitty to come to his games. The whole ‘coming out’ thing had gone pretty well, but Jack wasn’t stupid enough to think the whole NHL would just suddenly cease to be homophobic. He didn’t want Bitty to be there if things got ugly.

However, Bitty argued that he would would watch the games anyway, whether it was from the stands or from his couch, and if things got ugly, he didn’t want to be helpless at home. Jack couldn’t deny that he was right.

Apparently Jack wasn’t the only one that expected things to escalate on the ice, because before the first game his coach told him: “Okay, kid. This might not be an easy game. Things might get nasty. We’ll all have your back, but don’t let it affect you. Don’t fight. Don’t take unnecessary penalties. Don’t even talk back. Don’t give them the satisfaction of getting to you.”

Jack nodded and stepped on the ice. The only thing he could do now was play hockey, something he happened to be good at.

After the first period it was clear that the Blackhawks were playing dirty. Jack had been hit more in the last twenty minutes than in the rest of his season altogether. As a result, though, the hawks had taken a few penalties, which lead to a goal and an assist on Marty’s goal for Jack. Overall Jack was pretty happy with his first period, despite clearly being targeted. Now all he had to do was trying to survive and sustaining their 2-0 lead.

The latter was surprisingly easy, as the hawks seemed more determined to prevent the former from happening than to score goals.

He had expected it. He truly had. That didn’t mean it was any easier to have all the air get knocked out of his lungs by being slammed into the boards and hearing Johansson, the hawks’ defenseman, say “that’s what you get, fag” while skating away.

Jack was about to drop his gloves when he remembered what his coach had told him before the game. Don’t fight. Don’t give him the satisfaction of drawing a penalty.

However, before Jack could skate away, Tater’s fist hit the d-man’s jaw.

“You dare to call Zimmboni that one more time, I make sure you don’t step foot on ice ever again, you rat,” Tater threatened. Jack’s mind didn’t have the time to process what was happening before all the Falcs who were on the ice were on Johansson.

  The first few games after that were just as rough, but after a few weeks, the news had spread that the fastest way to get Alexei Mashkov’s fist on your face was to insult Jack Zimmermann. After that, Jack only got some glares and the occasional hit. Nothing he couldn’t handle.

Until the second game against the Aces. Jack hadn’t been looking forward to it anyway, as playing against Kent still made him more nervous than a normal game would. He didn’t expect the Aces to be homophobic, though, as he assumed Kent wouldn’t allow such behaviour in his team, whether or not he was out to his team.

Jack was mostly right. Seeing Kent was still not easy, but everyone just played the game. Everyone but Tim White, Kent’s linemate. It started with the regular stuff, the glares and some hits that weren’t necessary. But when the Falcs went into the third period leading 4-1 – with a goal and two assists for Jack – things started to escalate. White’s hits started getting rougher and more frequent. The glares turned into whispered slurs where no one but Jack could hear them. Jack didn’t want to give White the satisfaction of drawing a penalty, though. He was not going to fight tonight.

Merely minutes before the final horn, all his good intentions went up in smoke when he got slammed into the boards and onto the ice by White, who managed to make something explode inside Jack by smirking and laughed condescendingly: “Even if I had known you were gay, I wouldn’t have expected ‘tiny blond trophy twinks’ to be the great Jack Zimmermann’s type.

Yet, before Jack could get to his feet to punch the smirk of White’s face, Kent Parson’s fist connected with his own linemate’s jaw. Even though Jack didn’t really know Kent anymore, he could see the white-hot anger in his eyes as White tumbled to the ice. Everyone seemed to be taken aback by Kent’s violent behaviour against his own teammate, so the officials were not quick enough to intervene before Kent, who was at least 5 inches smaller than White, took his linemate bye the front of the jersey and said, almost hissed: “One. Jack is bisexual, not gay.” White didn’t try to fight his way out, as he knew hitting Kent Parson might be the fastest way to lose his job. He just let himself undergo the wrath of his captain. “Two. I think you might want to keep up with what our scouts are doing, because if you did, you’d known that the Aces would love to replace your sorry ass with that ‘tiny blond trophy twink’ as soon as he gets out of college.” Jack’s mouth fell open. “And three.” The officials seemed completely lost as to what to do, and they didn’t even try to stop Kent when he punched White again, hard, before almost growling: “If I ever hear you talk that way about me again, I will personally make sure you never step foot on the ice again.”

Jack didn’t know how White still had the audacity to open his mouth, but he said almost nonchalantly: “Chill, Cap. I wasn’t even talking about you, I was just chirping Zimmermann about his ty-” Realization dawned on him. “Oh.”

Jack decided that White had a death wish, because he then proceeded to throw his head back and laugh. “Holy shit, Jack Zimmermann and Kent Parson are both fags, and they fuck-”

This time it was Tater who shut him up by putting a fist to his mouth, and soon, the officials had to drag the whole Falconers roster and even some Aces away from White before they actually killed him.

Meanwhile, Jack and Kent were just standing a few feet away from the fight, frozen, staring at each other. Then, Kent seemed to realize what he had done and Jack saw a flash of panic in his eyes before he visibly tried to suppress it because he didn’t want to let Jack see beneath his carefully constructed layer of arrogance and chill.

In that moment, Jack felt all the bad memories slip away. He didn’t forgive himself. He didn’t forgive Kent. He didn’t know if they could ever be friends again. But there and then, none of that mattered. Jack knew Kent needed him.

“Kenny.”

Kent’s control slowly slipped away, and tears filled his eyes.

“Jack,” he choked, and then Jack’s arms wrapped around him and pulled him against his chest.

They didn’t say anything. Communication had never been their forte anyway. They just stood there, on center ice, holding each other as if the past six years had never happened. They both knew they couldn’t just go back to the way they were, but for now, Jack could give Kent the support he so desperately needed.

They didn’t realize the fight had been broken up, and every single pair of eyes in the arena was watching them, Jack Zimmermann and Kent Parson, hockey legends, old friends, rivals, embracing each other on center ice. They didn’t know what had just happened between these teams. They didn’t realize yet that Kent Parson had just come out. The only thing they saw was a heart-warming reunion, and maybe Jack and Kent wanted to believe that for a few moments too.

“Thank you,” Jack sighed against Kent’s shoulder. This made Kent pull away to look Jack in the eyes and smile that Kent Parson-smile. Not the fake media smile, the real deal.

“You’re welcome.”

And that’s how Kent Parson found himself sitting on his couch, scrolling through his Tumblr feed, which consisted of an infinite amount of different gifs of The Hug™, while eating a Danish pastry out of the basket that had arrived that morning, accompanied by a card saying:

 This doesn’t mean I suddenly like you, but what you did out there on the ice was incredibly brave. Thank you.

-ERB

[awkwardpenguinproductions]

Alliance Chapter 1: the warrior

Part 9 of the Dragon of the Yuyan

Read on AO3 | Series Masterpost

Sokka wakes up to a frog in his mouth, a rather urgent need for some kind of bathing facility, and a grumbling stomach.

First order of business is spitting out the frog, which is slimy and wriggling and actually kind of chilly on his tongue, and he does so with alacrity and great gusto and a noise of disgust. He can hear Katara's equally disgusted shriek beside him, on the other side of Appa's leg, and then both of them are gagging and groaning and spitting, and Sokka is not at all ashamed to admit that he tries to wipe his tongue on Appa's fur which. WOW. Now his mouth tastes like scummy pond water and skanky bison leg fur, which was not a combination Sokka ever needed in his life.

Next is wriggling out of his nasty sleeping bag, which is still a bit damp with fever sweat and smells like his socks. Man, Katara's going to hate laundry day this week. He still feels a bit wrung out and shaky, but the fever itself is gone and he's more clear-headed than he's been in at least two days, which is a major relief. He stumbles down Appa's side, stretches and glories in the fact that he's not achy anymore, and shuffles over to the farthest corner he can find for a potty break.

He ambles back, intent on some breakfast, when he realizes that sometime between slipping into fever delirium and waking up with a frog in his mouth they had gained another person.

Sokka stares at him (the close-fitting black clothes make it kind of obvious that it is a him and not a her, but if their addition says otherwise he'll go with it), slumped sitting up against the wall facing the room's opening, and opens his mouth to demand that the guy tell them what in Tui's name he's doing here when Katara totters over.

"Who's that?" She whispers.

"Dunno, maybe Aang's picked up another stray?" Sokka grumbles. His stomach chooses that moment to growl super loudly, and he decides to deal with this after breakfast. Katara rolls her eyes at him, but obligingly unpacks some jerky that they nibble on together.

Over on Appa's tail, Aang snores, while over against the wall, the guy in black sleeps silently.

"We need to bathe, and wash our clothes and sleeping bags," Katara says when they're finished, and Sokka would complain but he feels really gross, so they tell Appa to keep an eye on Aang and the guy in black and head down to find a stream.

They wash the sleeping bags first, because they'll take the longest to dry, then Sokka bathes while Katara washes his clothes so that he can be ready to guard while she's bathing.

By the time Katara's dressed and fixing her hair, Aang has stumbled down the hillside and dunked his head entirely into the stream. On his heels is the guy in black, rubbing his head with a grimace. He's tall, topping Sokka by at least two or three inches, and lean, but in no way scrawny. Sokka is seriously jealous of the muscles he can see under the snug black clothes. He’s got a scabbard strapped to his back, with a sword hilt poking up behind his left shoulder. His black hair is tied back, showing off the gnarly burn scar over his left eye and the impressive black bruise on his forehead. He’s pale, paler than Aang, and his eyes are gold.

Wait.

Gold eyes.

“You’re Fire Nation!” Sokka snarls, drawing his jaw blade and boomerang and dropping into a fighting stance.

“Sokka, wait!” Aang yelps, dropping in front of him and holding up his hands. Behind him, Sokka can hear water flowing as Katara prepares to bend.

“Aang, get away from him!” Sokka growls. Tui damn it, this kid is going to get all of them killed someday.

“Sokka, listen to me! He saved me! These archers captured me while I was getting medicine for you guys, and they took me to this hugeprison-fortress-thing, and this guy got me out!” Aang says all of this in a single breath, and it’s driving Sokka absolutely crazy that the airbender has his back to the Fire Nation scum, but all the guy in black is doing is staring at Sokka, or rather, Sokka’s boomerang, with a kind of concerned fascination on his face. He’s not even in any kind of combat stance, and seriously, who carries a sword and doesn’t draw it when confronted with a threatening stranger?

He hears a splash and a curious “Really?” behind him, and it takes all of his warrior strength not to groan. The fastest way to Katara’s heart is to do something to protect Aang, and yep, there she goes, walking around Sokka like he’s a tree in her way and going right up to the Fire Nation jerk.

“Hi, I’m Katara, and that’s my paranoid brother, Sokka,” she says. “That’s a really nasty bruise, are you okay? What’s your name?”

The guy in black actually bows, his hands making a weird gesture, and the smile on his face is kind of… Sokka almost wants to say shy, but that can’t be right, Fire Nation scum aren’t shy, how could they be when they’re going all over the world wreaking havoc and setting everything on fire?

“Uh, I don’t think he actually talks,” Aang says, as the guy in black takes off his sword and pulls a tiny knife out from somewhere on his body. Sokka’s alarmed yelp dies in his throat as the guy kneels down and starts scratching characters in the dirt at their feet.

My name is Zuko. I was a cadet in the Fire Nation’s Yuyan Archers, which is a special forces division, but I deserted when Admiral Zhao captured the Avatar. I would like to join the Avatar on their mission to restore balance to the world.

“Okay, assuming that all of that’s true, why would a Fire Nation soldier just up and decide hey, seems like a nice day to decide to betray my people and my country, guess I’ll go join the Avatar!” Sokka drawls, trying not to think about how much of a headache this situation is giving him. He ignores his sister’s scolding “Sokka!” and crosses his arms over his chest, not letting go of his weapons.

The Fire Nation soldier in question sighs silently and starts writing again. I know it’s hard to believe, but this war is just as bad for the Fire Nation as it is for the rest of the world. The bloodlust of the last three Fire Lords has infected the people, and the current heir to the throne would rule over a pile of ashes before she ever considers what’s best for the Nation. I want to help the Avatar set my people free from that tyranny before they destroy the entire world.

Sokka has to admit, it’s really refreshing to be having an actual civil conversation with someone from the Fire Nation. And if he’s completely honest, he may be fighting a losing battle trying  to keep the guy out of the group. Aang’s completely starry-eyed over him, and Katara looks like she’s ready to fuss over that bruise on his noggin at any moment.

“How do I know you’re not going to sell us out?” He demands. Katara’s scolding repetition of his name sounds even more annoyed than before, and Aang’s giving him his patented how could you assume something like that look, but Sokka’s the oldest, and it’s his job to think about these things, to keep his sister and the world’s last hope alive and as safe as possible. The Fire Nation jerk looks like he wants to glare, but there’s some grudging respect in those gold-yellow eyes.

If I'd wanted to sell you out, I wouldn’t have gone to all of the trouble of breaking the Avatar out of one of the most secure Fire Nation prisons outside the Home Islands, he scribbles, and Sokka has to concede the point. I’m a traitor to the Fire Nation now, and just as likely to be taken prisoner and executed for treason as you would be if you’re captured. More so, even, since I betrayed my Nation rather than just being an enemy combatant on the other side. I show my face anywhere around a Fire Nation outpost, I’m as good as dead where I stand.

Sokka’s still suspicious, but there’s really no argument he can make to that, so he just groans and puts away his weapons. “Fine, you can come with us on a probationary basis! Put one toe out of line, and I’ll gut you where you stand!”

The jerk looks distinctly amused, an annoying little smirk crossing his face like he’d love to see Sokka try, while Aang looks absolutely scandalized and Katara rolls her eyes.

I need to meet up with a contact before we move out of the area, Zuko writes. He’s hanging on to some supplies for me.

Oh that’s not suspicious at all, and Sokka immediately demands, “I’m coming with. Katara, get Appa packed up. Aang, give me the bison whistle. We’ll wait for the jerk’s contact to leave and then we’ll signal Appa to pick us up.”

The jerk and Katara roll their eyes in unison, and no, that’s not creepy at all, while Aang chirps an agreeable “Okay Sokka!” and hands over the bison whistle. Zuko brushes some dirt off of the knife he’d been using to write and then disappears it somewhere on his person, and slings his sword onto his back again. He turns to Aang and makes a gesture over his face with his hands, like he’s placing something on his face.

“Huh… oh, your mask? Do you want us to pack it for you?” Aang asks. Zuko nods, and makes another gesture with the fingertips of one hand over his mouth, tipping them open-handed toward Aang with a grateful smile.

“Uh, you’re welcome?”

Zuko grins fully at that, and gestures in a come on sort of way to Sokka.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming, jerk,” Sokka grumbles, falling into step next to him. “So, you don’t talk out loud, huh?”

Zuko shakes his head. He holds up his hands, and makes some very deliberate-looking gestures.

“You use your hands to talk?” That’s actually pretty cool, and Sokka immediately wants to learn. His head is already spinning with ideas on how to utilize a silent language.

Zuko nods, grinning. He points to himself, then holds his left hand in front of his left eye, the one with the huge scar that Sokka is dying to ask about, positioning it with the palm facing his eye and fingers wiggling. Then he makes four slow, distinct gestures with his right hand.

Sokka frowns, trying to puzzle it out. He’d pointed to himself, so he’s talking about himself? Then the gesture over the scar… Sokka doubts he’d be so friendly-looking if he was talking about the scar itself, but it’s a pretty distinctive feature, so maybe the gesture is representative? Then what were the fingers all about? Wait, representative… maybe the gesture is his name? In his gesture language? And then the four gestures after were how it’s spelled? Sokka doesn’t really get how “Zuko” could be spelled with two characters in Common calligraphy and four gestures in whatever hand language Zuko uses, but he puts it down to translation differences.

“Is that your name? Zuko?” Sokka asks, and Zuko nods firmly with a truly brilliant grin. He makes the four gestures that spell his name again, pushes his hands together like he’s pressing something between them, and then makes the wriggly finger gesture over his scar again.

“Is it faster to make one gesture than it is to make four?” Sokka asks, because that second gesture had looked a lot  like shrinking something down. “So this little wiggly fingers thing—“ he makes the gesture over his own left eye and ignores the way that Zuko’s very obviously trying not to laugh at him, that jerk “—is a sort of shorthand for your name? Like a nickname?”

Zuko shrugs, nods, and makes a sort of see-sawing gesture with his hand all at the same time, which Sokka takes as yeah, more or less.

They continue hiking and chatting, if one can call Sokka asking tons of yes or no questions that Zuko answers with a nod or a shake of his head chatting.

They finally stop at a completely random point in the woods, Zuko holding one arm out to make Sokka stop and putting the opposite pointer finger to his lips for quiet. Then he tugs off one of his gloves and snaps his fingers three times in quick succession, so hard and loud that Sokka’s almost afraid they’ll break off at the knuckles.

They wait in complete silence for at least five minutes, Zuko tense and watchful like a hunting polar dog waiting for the signal to track. Then he snaps his fingers again, three times in rapid succession, and waits another five minutes.

They wait in that one spot for an hour, with Zuko giving his snapping signal every five minutes which rapidly gets on Sokka’s nerves. But as Zuko’s expression grows more worried and desperate with every five minutes that pass, Sokka can’t find the heart to make the jerk cut it out.

Zuko ends up stopping at the hour mark, anyway, with a silent, defeated sigh that seems to make him shrink despite not changing size.

“Hey, I’m sorry your buddy didn’t show up, man,” Sokka says quietly. Zuko just shrugs, but his single dark eyebrow is furrowed. The former soldier steps silently up to and around a massive tree, and Sokka follows him without a word.

Turns out the tree is hollow, with a little hidden gap that’s about as wide as Sokka’s shoulders, and inside are several wrapped packages, a dull brown rucksack positively stuffed full, a truly badass looking recurve bow and an accompanying quiver of arrows, and a scroll.

Zuko ignores everything else and snatches up the scroll, unrolling it hurriedly and scanning the contents. His lips press together in a thin line, and he closes his eyes for a moment, visibly pulling himself together. Then he holds the scroll out to Sokka.

“You want me to read it?” Sokka asks, kind of shocked. Whoever this contact is, they clearly meant a lot to Zuko, and Sokka, who will admit to being super nosy on occasion, feels kinda squirmy in his gut at the thought of reading something that could be really personal to the guy who saved Aang from Admiral Muttonchops. But Zuko just nods, stone-faced, so Sokka takes the scroll and unrolls it as Zuko whips around and starts doing stuff with the stuff.

Zuko—

Sorry to have to bail like this, but the moment he realized that you and the Avatar had gotten away, Zhao went kind of nuts and started trying to arrest the guards you two beat up for treason, so we had to bug out a lot faster and a lot earlier than planned. Don’t worry about us, just focus on keeping the Avatar safe. We’ll meet again, promise.

Your brother,

Kai

PS: don’t forget that cool Pai Sho trick Doc showed you!

Well now Sokka feels like an asshole for being so suspicious. He rolls the scroll back up and pokes Zuko in the arm with it until he looks up from whatever it is he’s doing with the rucksack. The former soldier takes it and tucks it into his belt, then shrugs the rucksack onto his back over the sword and slings the quiver, with bow tucked neatly inside, from one shoulder. At his feet rests a bulging sack, and Sokka realizes that it’s filled with the packages.

“So, ready to head out?” Sokka asks, pulling the bison whistle out of his belt pouch. Zuko nods, and Sokka blows the whistle as hard as he can. The expression of complete bafflement on Zuko’s face as he does makes Sokka’s day.

“I dunno how it works exactly, but somehow Appa, Aang’s flying bison, can hear the sound this thing makes from miles away,” Sokka explains when he gets his breath back. “But humans can’t hear it at all, so it’s great for calling Appa on the sly.”

Zuko nods, then points at Sokka’s shoulder with a question on his face.

“Huh?” Sokka glances over his shoulder, but there’s nothing behind him. Nothing but Boomerang, strapped securely to his back in it’s sheath. Wait a second—

“This?” Sokka asks, pulling out Boomerang. Zuko’s eyes go huge. “This is Boomerang, the best weapon in the entire world! My dad made it for me and taught me how to use it.” Zuko nods, not taking his eyes off the blue-painted metal. His face is full of questions, but before he can try to write anything, a thunderous bellow echoes from above the trees, signaling Appa’s arrival. Sokka slips Boomerang back into it’s sheath. “I’ll show you how it works when we make camp tonight. For now, want me to take that?” He waves at the sack at Zuko’s feet.

Zuko shrugs, and hands over the sack, which nearly pulls Sokka’s arms off.

"Tui and La!” Sokka yelps, in a very manly way, thank you very much. “What have you even got in here, rocks?”

Zuko makes a gesture like he’s putting something in his mouth.

“Food?” Sokka guesses. Zuko nods. “Great! Between this and hunting, we shouldn’t need to buy food for a while! Thanks, man!”

Zuko shoots him a pleased smile and a thumbs-up as Appa sweeps in to land beside the hollow tree. The former soldier’s expression goes completely besotted at the sight of the giant fluffy monster, and with a shock like freezing water down his shirt, Sokka realizes that this man can’t be more than a year or two older than himself. He’s a kid, just like Aang and Katara and him. Sokka has no doubt that Zuko knows how to kill in a variety of interesting and painful ways, but if he was actually interested in that kind of thing he wouldn’t have switched sides, right?

Sokka shimmies up Appa’s side to the saddle as Zuko strides straight up to Appa’s nose. He can hear Aang introducing the new passenger to the bison, and the telltale slurp of the massive droolly tongue as the giant furry monster treats Zuko to his own version of a greeting, and he grins at the abject alarm on Zuko’s face as Aang airbends the drool away and flings him into the saddle with a flick of his staff.

They take off, soaring into the sky and over the mountains, and Sokka has just closed his eyes for a nap when he smells something burning and hears Katara’s voice demand shrilly “you’re a FIREBENDER?”

Previous | Next

[airoasis]

motivation monday: october finish up

Hi, and delighted Monday! Today I am publishing a recap of my October running, primarily for my own records and to distill what went excellent and where I require some work. Total I satisfied my (incredibly simple) goals. If any of this works to you, then Happy Motivation Monday!! If you have some suggestions for any parts of it, do not hesitate to share. Thanks for reading, friends.

Many Interesting Workout:

Of numerous excellent exercises this month, it was tough to select a preferred. Sunday, Oct 14th is it. That early morning I ran a slightly fasted (I had actually eaten well the day previously, simply no breakfast) and spontaneous half marathon all by myself, at a pretty smooth pace (9:38 average). I didn't set out to run that long, but it felt fantastic! Every mile felt much better and much better, and I had some extra time, so ultimately, I just went for it. It's far from my ultimate time goal for 13.1, however considering I did this with no breakfast and no hydration or calories along the method, I'm delighted. It gets me thinking about what is possible when I am effectively sustained. And I had gobs of energy all the time after that! It's insane. Adaptions are happening.Worst Day: I attempted

operating on the extremely first day of Shark Week * this month, and I paid the rate. My other symptoms had been so mellow leading up to "The first day," I thought undoubtedly a 6 -or 7-mile simple day was possible. I had a hard time through 2.5 then walked another 1.5 while talking myself out of a pity party. Ha. It's great. I went house and poured my minimal physical energy into other things and counted my blessings that a difficult run was the worst of my health difficulties. I moved on with my life.Longest Run: Wednesday, Oct 24th: 15 even at Lake Hefner, with Mickey cyclingbeside me. This

was actually my longest run in numerous months, and I was happily surprised by not only a constant speed (9:46 average)but by the reality that I was not truly tired later. Nor was I the least bit sore the next day. Like, in general, it felt similar to an average 8/easy day. Huge thanks and high fives to my buddy for keeping me business!! The miles passed happily, and I got to hear numerous terrific stories about his life. I hope we do that together more frequently! Fastest General Run: Early on Sunday the 21st I shocked myself by running a little over 8 miles at an average speed of 8:47

. For me, that is quite

stylish. I rode endorphins the whole rest of that fine day, which we spent driving Klaus up Path 66 and doing a little hike, just the three of us. Then we had a very special dinner with our Sperrys, and my heart was so complete. (My trick that day was understanding that I only had about an hour to run, so I just crammed as numerous miles in as possible, then rounded it out to 8, ha! )Unique Meals Worth Sharing Since Food is Fuel: I continue to favor my odd"warm breakfast salad "over cold protein smoothies for post-run nutrition. Chilly early mornings simply beg for something relaxing, you know

? It's oats prepared with spinach and zuchinni, topped with two eggs. Bam. Love it.I am also caring huge, crisp apples and roasted peanuts, chicken breast sandwiches for lunch, and veggie-heavy soups and pasta dishes in the evening. Some roasted veggies with sticky rice is excellent the night eventually runs. Yes to gorgeous buffet, always, and salads at home get topped with warm things like roasted acorn squash and blended with kale for substance. I can not appear to eat enough eggs and peanuts the past few weeks. I do not comprehend why. Oh! And crepes. Jessica invited me over for breakfast one day, and together with the most beautiful salad ever, she made us a huge platter of warm, thick, chewy, eggy crepes.

Best and tasty. We went with savory over sweet that day. I am so proud of her and her cooking self-confidence and artistry.Horrible Error I Will Never Ever Make Once Again: Last Monday evening we were out at a costumed event behind anticipated and simply chose to get some late dinner at Taco Bell. Taco Bell, friends, around 9:45 p.m. This is not my life. I ate among those"power bowls "with steak and some tortilla chips with really hot homemade salsa. It was all tasty, however I had let myself get too hungry. I slept alright then early the next early morningattempted to run with my rapid friend Sheila. It was not fun. My meal was not digested yet. I had to cut the miles short and stroll back to my automobile . Dumb dumb LOL! Fresh Running Lesson: Vertical Oscillation

had currently been on my mind when I ran with Mickey that day at Lake Hefner. While bicycling behind me, he observed that with each stride I circled up excessive(think, Tigger the bouncing tiger, or perhaps an elliptical device instead of straight-forward motion ). Mickey offered a number of kind tips, which I attempted. Immediately my posture structured and my next couple of sprints were at my

max speed without any additional effort

. It just clicked. Fantastic! I practiced the toe-roll for numerous days after that and believe it is helping me waste less energy. Thanks, Mickey!Weather Considerations: From heavy rain all month to a surprise twister one day and constant temperature level swings, our fall weather condition has actually kept local runners thinking. I braved the treadmill just a few times, enough to see that my dullness endurance is abysmal, haha. I have some major mind callousing to do, you guys. Anyway, I am so happy to have actually satisfied my October objective with so numerous days that could have gone really differently. And the season modification has actually been awesome to see. I am not at

all grumbling. Oklahoma

has not seen this much color and such high water levels in lots of years, and the early morning skies, my gosh. I love everything. Simply extremely appreciative that a lot of miles were taken pleasure in outdoors, which is my favorite.Little Extras Still Happening? Yes, mostly. All month I did the dynamic warm-ups faithfully, and I stretched a little

after each run, but possibly inadequate. I got 8 infant weight-lifting days and about as lots of yoga sessions, but I might be more disciplined with that. Some core work and deep stretching at nights are probably in order, too. It's simply a matter of finding sustainable habits. Overall Miles: 223.1 These miles were mostly easy effort, long run rate, extremely relaxing, and delighted! My October objective was 220, just 10%up from September. It felt pretty uncomplicated, so I am thrilled

. Well over half of my miles were past this specific tree. I watched it alter colors each week. So beautiful!What's Next? My goals for November are to: keep my energy method up and my discomforts way down so I can delight in a month of both running and holiday festivity eat more mindfully, not like I remain in a panic all the time, ha!run 180 miles( a little step back)including two tough Hansons

workouts weekly lift rather much heavier

and regularly (perhaps every 3 days )yoga yoga I am incredibly curious just how much progress I'll see from strength training and coordination drills. After that, I will be a stone's toss from my "Run the Year"goal of 2,018. Wahoo !! What's brand-new in your fitness and health universe? * Shark Week, for this blog's purposes, will always describe a woman's natural reproductive regular monthly cycle. And"The first day" is the worst day for me

. I seem like you knew that already. However thanks for

following the asterisk.

[investmart007]

LOS ANGELES | Jansen gives up 2 HRs in return, Cards top Dodgers 5-3

New Post has been published on https://is.gd/fSl4ty

LOS ANGELES | Jansen gives up 2 HRs in return, Cards top Dodgers 5-3

LOS ANGELES — Since the calendar turned to August, the St. Louis Cardinals have been on a tear.

They kept it up against Dodgers closer Kenley Jansen, who allowed ninth-inning homers to Jedd Gyorko and Matt Carpenter in his return from the disabled list in a 5-3 loss to the Cardinals on Monday night.

St. Louis improved to 15-4 this month, the most wins in the majors. The Cardinals have won six straight away from home and are 35-29 on the road.

“We know we’re capable but up to three weeks ago we hadn’t really played our best,” Gyorko said. “But if we go out there and keep playing good baseball, then good things will happen.”

Gyorko pinch hit and sent a 1-1 pitch into center field leading off. Carpenter followed with his NL-leading 34th homer, also to center, stunning the small crowd that remained through the 4-hour, 10-minute game.

Jansen (0-4) retired the next two batters before giving up a single to Marcell Ozuna. He got pinch-hitter Tyler O’Neill to end the inning, but the damage was done.

“I’m not an excuse guy,” Jansen said. “The first two hitters, it just wasn’t in my comfort zone. This one was a bad one.”

Jansen’s return had been eagerly anticipated since the Dodgers’ bullpen had a 5.17 ERA while he was out. He was activated earlier in the day after being cleared by a cardiologist. The All-Star had been hospitalized for an irregular heartbeat on Aug. 9 and was expected to be out a month. Jansen hadn’t pitched since Aug. 7.

“You’re amped up to be back, you just try hard,” Jansen said. “I’m glad that I’m back. Stuff happens in my life to slow me down, but you just got to move forward.”

Dodgers manager Dave Roberts had no regret about Jansen’s early return.

“He’s the best we have right there in that spot. He was chomping at the bit,” Roberts said. “It was just lack of execution. I thought he threw the ball well.”

Closer Bud Norris walked Matt Kemp leading off the bottom of the ninth before striking out the next three batters to end the game and get his 25th save.

Jose Martinez hit a solo shot in the first, making it the 13th straight game in which the Cardinals homered, the longest active streak in the majors this season.

Martinez’s RBI single in the fifth gave St. Louis a 2-0 lead.

The Dodgers failed to score after threatening in the bottom of the eighth. Pinch-hitter Yasiel Puig reached on an infield single to the pitcher and took third on a wild pitch by Jordan Hicks.

After Hicks struck out Justin Turner, Brett Cecil (1-1) came in and intentionally walked Manny Machado. He took second on defensive indifference, putting runners on second and third, but Cody Bellinger lined out to end the inning.

Los Angeles stranded 14 baserunners.

Turner extended his 14-game hitting streak with a single in the first. Bellinger’s 12-game hitting streak ended when he went 0 for 3 with a strikeout and a walk.

Pinch-hitter Max Muncy tied the game 3-all with a two-out, RBI single in the seventh off Hicks, who then walked Chris Taylor to load the bases. But Yasmani Grandal struck out swinging to end the inning.

The Dodgers scored in the fifth on Machado’s RBI single and Bellinger’s sacrifice fly to trail 3-2. Los Angeles had the potential tying run at second, but rookie starter Austin Gomber retired the next three batters.

Dodgers starter Alex Wood allowed three runs and seven hits in four innings, extending his streak of 12 straight outings with three earned runs or less. He struck out four and walked two.

Gomber gave up two runs and five hits in five innings of his fifth career start. He struck out four and walked four.

TRAINER’S ROOM Cardinals: RHP Adam Wainwright (right elbow inflammation) will throw another few innings for Double-A Springfield. He has been out of the majors since May 13. … RHP Michael Wacha (left oblique strain) will throw at Class A Palm Beach on Thursday.

Dodgers: RHP JT Chargois left the game after tossing six pitches in the fifth because of neck discomfort. Roberts said he will have a MRI on Tuesday and it’s likely Chargois will go on the DL. … LHP Zac Rosscup went on the 10-day DL with a left calf strain. He has a 6.75 ERA in eight relief appearances this season. … RHP Ross Stripling is expected to toss from a mound in the next couple days and eventually face hitters before being activated. His role upon his return has yet to be determined.

FAST PITCH Muncy’s game-tying single came on a 103.0 mph sinker, which according to ESPN Stats and Info, is the fastest pitch anyone has recorded a hit on this season.

LATE DATE The teams are playing for the first time this season, making it the latest they’ve met for the initial match-up since 2004. Back then, they faced off in St. Louis on Sept. 3 and played six games in 10 days.

The Dodgers are the last NL opponent the Cardinals had yet to play this year.

LONG NIGHT It was the longest nine-inning game for both teams this season, and the longest such affair at Dodger Stadium since a 4-hour, 19-minute contest against Colorado on June 25 last year.

UP NEXT Rookie RHP Daniel Poncedeleon (0-0, 2.04 ERA) replaces Luke Weaver in the rotation for the Cardinals. Poncedeleon tossed seven scoreless innings against the Reds on July 23 without allowing a hit in his only previous start of the season. Weaver is headed to the bullpen. LHP Hyn-Jin Ryu (3-0, 1.77) takes the mound for the Dodgers in the middle game of the series. Ryu pitched six scoreless innings against the Giants last week.

By BETH HARRIS,  Associated Press

[cathernsauceda-blog]

Penomet Reviews

Most guys would bite your hand off if you provided them an additional three inches of length to their penis. Details stored in our database contains buyer names, addresses and special identification numbers. Following the solution has been shipped to a consumer we retailer this data for up to 800 days unless a buyer emails us at support@ and requests removal from the database (this also voids the warranty). You can return the solution within 14 days from receipt of obtain, if you have not utilised it and you will receive a complete refund, significantly less a the applicable shipping charge which is non refundable. I looked at creams, extension devices and pumps. Creams had really undesirable reviews and extensions seemed to take as well lengthy to get the desired benefits with comfort problems as effectively. That led me to a penis pump and the one that reallt stuck out for me was Penomet with its water assisted pump and gaitor system for comfort. Also it had been established to get the fastest outcomes out of any of the alternatives with only 15 minutes of use per day. It is essential to point out that he Penomet is a single of the largest water primarily based penis pumps. This must not scare you at all. This coupled with the truth that it tends to make use of warm water guarantees that the impacts you get last for lengthy. It saves you the embarrassment of beginning off with a stiff and impressive erecting and finishing up with a pathetic excuse. Think about the embarrassment you will get if you begin with a large and powerful penis and finish up with a weak partially rigid 1. Utilizing the Penomet saves you of this embarrassment. It ensures that you keep what you get for as extended as you require it. When we speak about these unprecedented lengths, we're referring to the prospective to add three inches to your manhood. With 30% increases in girth also becoming known, your capability in the bedroom will take a turn for the extraordinary and you will be capable to carry out at levels that weren't ever possible prior to. Even even though Penomet functions most effectively in water, it can nonetheless be used outdoors the bath or shower producing it really versatile. The makers have generously attached a lifetime replacement warranty to the item suggesting that it is sturdy and will final for life. For a starter I would use the pump one particular day on and one particular day off for two-six weeks and then up it to 2 days on and 1 day off. Soon after a couple of weeks of that you can do 5-six days a week for no much more then 30 minuets a day. Just listen to your physique, If you have problems obtaining full erections then you know you want a complete day or two off to fully recover. Now, there are a range of colors to select when you Buy Penomet Pump Colors might not be a large deal compare to functionality and effectiveness of the device, but it is a excellent issue if you can choose your preferred color. Plus, inquiries and inquiries are treated as high priority by the support agents. Just make sure to include the Order Quantity within the Ticket and agents will attend to it swiftly. Penomet hydro penis pump draws equal tension via the complete tube forcing the penis to stay as straight position as you possibly can as the Penomet is operating. Water primarily based pumps as Penomet focus on the exact same principles while classic vacuum pumps and therefore may benefit males with Peyronie's illness. The soft very same pressure can as time passes assist straightening the penis, like other traction devices can just. Far more useful than a gilt-edged, signed very first edition of the Magna Carta, but more affordable than a little ones Happy Meal my extremely personal Jelqing eBook offering a simple step-by-step guide to harnessing the explosive growth possible of penile exercise. 1. Begin by applying some lubricant with both hands onto your penis. Prior to undertaking so, make certain your penis is semi erect. 2. Making use of your thumb and your forefinger, form the ‘Okay' sign about your penis close to the base. Do this although gripping your penis firmly. The major Penomet cylinder is made from high top quality polycarbonate plastics (the toughest plastic ever produced by man and virtually unbreakable) while our gaiters are produced from healthcare grade silicon. Visible difference in size right away right after you use it - This hydro pump genuinely makes the penis look considerably larger, thicker and heavier. It is entirely typical, in reality thousands of these devices have been sold to guys all more than the world, there is nothing perverted or awkward about acquiring a penis pump, it is much safer and healthier than possessing penis enlargement surgery or purchasing Viagra to achieve a stronger erection. Basically what you are performing is enhancing a element of your physique, and there ought to be no shame in that whatsoever. If you obtain the solution from our authorized shop , in chosen nations, such as the USA, you will get a 365 income back guarantee. This is by far the longest guarantee we have ever seen and definitely shows the confidence Penomet have in their solution. Not only that, but if you get the premium package like we did, it includes a 3 year warranty (correct at time of writing). Due to a lot of men confused as to what to select between the Bathmate and Penomet, this article will offer a fast, however clear comparison between the two. This way, the confusion lingering on the mind of several guys will be clear as to which pump is far better, and need to a single adjust in favor of the other. Insert your penis into the cylinder and gently pump on it for a few pumps, which will result in a vacuum seal. Penomet gives 3 variations of the hydro penis pump. The key distinction is the way a lot of gaiters are contained, but guarantees and the added extras also differ somewhat amongst the variants. penomet reviews delivers money-back guarantee in several states (situations apply) 1 to three year warranty and, determined by which variant you go for. It's possible for you to update to Premium and Added. It is recommended to seek advice from your doctor or urologist before starting Peyronie's treatment utilizing the Penomet hydro penis pump.

[jamiestevensphotographypmp]

Pilot major project ideas

For my pilot major project, I have decided that I want to create a body of work that will be based around North Wales, where I have lived all my life before moving to London to continue my studies. From spending time away from North Wales, it has given me the opportunity to realise and appreciate what I have moved away from and how lucky I am to call it my home. I also feel by creating a body of work about my area will be quite unique for people to see in the city, which will be highly beneficial for my pilot major project and quite possibly for my final major project next year. I want to find a project that has a lot of cultural issues either previously or currently. 

As Wales is highly known for its beautiful landscape and its industrial history of many quarries and various factories, I want to explore this as my area of interest. The ideas I currently have that surround the industrial history are:

The slate industry of North Wales

The Ferodo Factory 

The slate industry of North Wales

The existence of the slate industry in Wales has existed since the Roman period, when slate was used to roof the fort at Segontium, now known as Caernarfon located on the edge of the Menai Straits. The slate industry grew slowly until the early 18th century, then expanded rapidly until the late 19th century, at which time the most important slate producing areas were in Northwest Wales, including the Penrhyn Quarry near Bethesda, the Dinorwig Quarry near Llanberis, the Nantlle Valley quarries, and Blaenau Ffestiniog, where the slate was mined rather than quarried. Penrhyn and Dinorwig were the two largest slate quarries in the world, and the Oakeley mine at Blaenau Ffestiniog was the largest slate mine in the world. These quarries all surround where I have lived and grew up all my life. 

The Penrhyn Quarry is still producing slate to this day, though at a much reduced capacity from its heyday at the end of the 19th century. In 1995, it accounted for almost 50% of UK production. It is currently owned and operated by Welsh Slate Ltd (a subsidiary of Lagan Building Solutions), which also owns and carries out some operations at the Oakeley quarry at Blaenau Ffestiniog, the Pen yr Orsedd quarry in the Nantlle Vale, and the Cwt-y-Bugail quarry. 

The Welsh slate industry was essentially a Welsh-speaking industry. Most of the workforce in the main slate-producing areas of North Wales were drawn from the local area, with little immigration from outside Wales. The industry had a considerable influence on the culture of the area and on that of Wales as a whole. The caban, the cabin where the quarrymen gathered for their lunch break, was often the scene of wide-ranging discussions, which were often formally minuted. A surviving set of minutes from a caban at the Llechwedd mine at Blaenau Ffestiniog for 1908–10 records discussions on Church Disestablishment, tariff reform and other political topics. 

Most of the workings and equipment in the quarries such as the slate trucks and pulleys across the landscape have now fallen into disrepair as when work ceased it was left in situ, which has resulted in nature slowly reclaiming back the land. Some of the quarry locations have now been re-used and turned into tourist attractions such as Dinorwig quarry where it is now within Padarn Country Park where the Slate Museum is located in Llanberis. 

Due to the beautiful landscape and large amount of history it holds, North Wales heavily relies on tourism as a vital source of income. Even though Penrhyn quarry is still in use, one part of the quarry has been turned into a very popular tourist attraction known as Zipworld. It is the fastest zip line in the world and the longest in Europe. The zip line, known as Big Zipper takes you over the quarry lake often reaching speeds well in excess of 100mph. These attractions bring thousands of people every month to the local area to take part and to learn about the strong history of the location. Another part of Dinorwig quarry houses the Dinorwig power station in caverns under the old quarry workings. This is a hydro-electric scheme where water is stored at a high altitude in a resivoir located at the top of Marchlyn Mawr mountain. This is discharged into Llyn Peris through the turbines during times of peak electricity demand. It is pumped back from Llyn Peris to Marchlyn Mawr during off-peak times. The production of electricity is then distributed to the local area

As my project, I would like to document how these quarries currently stand in their form which will show the dilapidated state of the old quarry houses and existing equipment and show how nature is slowly reclaiming back the land from its rich history. I would also like to explore how important these tourist attractions that have been created from using the quarries bring income not only to their businesses, but also to the area. As I mentioned tourism, I could photograph these areas and also the tourist to create series of portraits that have come to visit from all over the world. This could include asking them a few questions about where they are from, what brought them to this area and what they think now they are actually here. I feel if I followed this idea, I would need to break it down into sub-ideas to give me and also the viewers a clear indication which route I am following and the true purpose.  

The Ferodo Factory

The Ferodo Factory is an abandoned and dilapidated factory that is located on the banks of the Menai Straits, near Caernarfon. Ferodo was one a state of the art plant that manufactured brake parts and clutches for the motor vehicle industry. After the closure of the quarries across north Wales with thousands of people becoming unemployed, Ferodo offered work to the ex-workers. After the construction of the site for several years, it was opened in 1962 by Princess Margaret, where it employed 1100 people. Over the years the workforce gradually became smaller where in 1997 it was bought and renamed to Friction Dynamics by American businessman Craig Smith where it employed 220 people. Problems started to occur soon after when Transport and General Workers Union (T&G) complained over unfair pay and work conditions. 86 workers went on strike which resulted in Smith sacking these workers and caused fury for not only the workers, but the whole surrounding area and community.

A court tribunal was held in 2002, where workers were found to be unfairly dismissed. Smith reacted to this and called in the administrators in 2003. Within three weeks, Smith decided to re-start up the factory and renamed it to Dynamex Friction. This caused even more anger and fury for all the local area where many protest marches occurred. This resulted in (T&G) holding a picket at the gates for two and a half years. A second tribunal was held where it was found that Friction Dynamics and Dynamex Friction were the same company and resulted in the site being sold in 2004 and finally closed its doors in 2008. It is recorded to be one of the longest industrial disputes to date. Over the last few years, there has been various talks of using the land for various uses including a multi-million pound digital centre and a state-of-the-art prison, but due the large amount of asbestos inside the site and that has been buried in the surrounding grounds over the years, many have been put off by the hefty estimate of £20-30million pounds just to clear the site safely and correctly. Since closing in 2004, it has stood empty ever since, and has lead to several arson attacks over the years.

As this was a major industrial plant in North Wales and for the local area I live in, my interest has grown in the current dilapidated state of the building in a way that achoes its recent history of industrial dispute and failure. My plan is to document how the site currently stands and capture how nature, vandalism and short-term illegal occupancy has changed the character of the abandoned site.  I am also hoping to contact ex-workers of the site that still live in the local area to see if they would be interested in taking part of my project by allowing me to photograph them to create a series of portraits, and ask them a brief description about their roles at Ferodo and any memories both good or bad they are willing to share. 

I feel whichever idea I decide to follow will be both as appealing to each other due to their industrial history and disputes over the years. I also feel the body of work will stand out in London as it is something different to what most in the City see and also because of my relationship with North Wales will allow me to commit and put all my attention to it rather than following a project based on London which I wouldn’t be totally happy and driven about. 

Over the next few weeks, I will consider these options and decide which would be best to follow as I will need a clear direction and enough time to give myself to travel back and forth to North Wales on the weekends to capture these photographs.