#(pretends to not care about rhythm heaven so that it shows up in the direct)

[superbellsubways]

[snapshotofthesun]

nineteen life lessons (from nineteen years of living).

1. lie in the sun whenever possible. there are few problems on earth that cannot be solved by a nap on the grass. shut your eyes and tilt your eyelids towards the light; preferably with a swaying branch above you so you can watch patterns of orange and black swirl around your vision.

2. live life with a sense of passionate deliberation. the world is a sampling platter of delights and you are a gleeful hedonist. say yes to something new every day: the event an acquaintance on your socials has been begging for someone to go with; the patterned shirt at the back of your wardrobe you’ll only wear when you stand in front of the mirror in your room and pretend you run a fashion blog; the strange, unearthly desire to walk through silent suburban streets in the early hours of the morning, listening to the faint rhythm of waves crashing on cliffs below. collect experiences like you are a child with a magnifying glass and a school project due next week.

3. every three months, change the way you make your eggs in the morning.

4. at least once in your life you must line up for ten hours in the burning australian summer sun outside a concert venue until you are so deluded and sweaty and sunburnt that the barrier feels like a lifeline. bonus points if the artist plays a teenage anthem and you can feel the way your ears rung when you blasted the song every morning on the bus to school at the highest volume your cheap apple earbuds can manage, pulling the cord tight against your phone because if you don’t the left ear is imbalanced. extra bonus points if you’re fifteen years old and you’ve come straight from your last day of term and the lead singer kneels down in front of you and grabs your hand and sings a verse of the song to you. you will spend your entire life chasing the feeling of peace that moment held. but it is endlessly worth it.

5. love is exponential; stop caging it within your heart. fling it like rice on a wedding day. nail it to your bedroom wall in an ornate frame. swim in it. scatter it. cultivate it. love openly and wholly and endlessly and messily, and do not fear the feeling of unreciprocated affection because nobody is ever better off in cold, bitter apathy. tell your friends and your mother and your cat and your local barista that knows how to make your skinny cap just right that you love them, that you’re glad they’re alive and your life is better with them in it.

6. you will find more comfort laying in the lap of an ikea bear than you will in the bed of a man who doesn’t care about you.

7. cringing at your past selves is a sign of growth. weird kids become cool adults. the version of yourself (myself) that shows off her collection of thrifted leather jackets is the direct product of the version of yourself (myself) that wore knee high peace sign socks and bright blue converse to the year seven school disco. one does not exist without the other.

8. you are not special enough for everyone to remember the silly little embarrassing things you have done.

9. if it’s a warm summer day and you can go to the beach, go to the beach.

10. there is nothing more pointless than something created to gather dust. light the candles. read the books. paint with the watercolours your aunt gave you when you were nine years old. ride the skateboard down the nearest flat-ish street. wear every item of clothing you own. fill empty notebooks with doodles. scribble with markers until they run out of ink. mix the bottle of expensive champagne with cheap orange juice and drink mimosas in a park. tell yourself every day that ownership is lucky and overconsumption is a plague and fall deeply in love with what you have.

11. there is no objective truth except for your own. and everybody else’s. and the laws of nature. and heaven and god and the american dream and…and…and…i guess there is no real truth.

12. if you get home from uni classes at 4pm and you have plans to go out at seven, do not get into bed. i don’t care how much your feet hurt from breaking in your docs, or how pretty the sunset view is from out your window, or how perfectly you’ve timed it to watch the hundred-minute flick on your letterboxd watchlist, eat dinner and pick out a fit before the bus comes. it is a trap and your introvert side will come out and you will not leave!!!

13. when you’re in a bad mood, find a youtube clip of the ferris bueller’s day off museum scene and watch it on repeat until you start to feel something. note down in your journal that you must visit the art institute of chicago at least once before you die. spend an hour realising you have an american passport, browsing chicago apartments on zillow and imagining your future as a cool tattooed filmmaker slash writer slash journalist in the industrial loft you found that you could never afford. rinse and repeat with san francisco, new york and seattle.

14. if the bad mood is especially pervasive, buy three lollipops from woolworths (lemonade, watermelon and cola). wait until evening, lie in bed wrapped in blankets, watch donnie darko by the light of your salt lamp and cry until you think you might puke. drink a glass of water and go to bed. in the morning you will be at least seventy percent better.

15. strike a firm balance between creation and consumption. consume to create and create to consume. stake facets of your identity on the fact that you are a quote unquote creative, and use that pressure to drive you into filling up journals with pointless thoughts, then reading them over and over until the words are meaningless.

16. never be afraid to do something alone.

17. realise that you are always a little bit freer than you think you are. and there is always a little bit more chaos in the world than you think there is. get a meaningless tattoo (and take care of it as it heals).

18. stop trying to control everything all the time!!!

19. every morning, when you wake up, tell yourself that you have died and clawed your way back from the afterlife, begged and pleaded whatever cosmic entity controls it all to let you live one more day. just one more. you have twenty-four hours left on this earth and instead of letting it fill you with dread, you will embrace every vivid sensation living has to offer with the awestruck wonder of somebody that has known how cold it is to die. start your day with the beautiful, existential realisation that it is a gift to be alive in a world where the sky and the trees and the paint on people’s front doors are bold explosions of colour, where music comes from metal strings and the feeling of someone’s arms around you is all you need for complete happiness. to be alive is a gift. to know yourself is a gift. i love you. i love you. i love you. rinse and repeat.

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Serenade (Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader) Pt. 1

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Pairing: Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader Rating: T for teen for mild language. Later entries in the series will be more mature though, just a heads up Warnings: None this chapter. There will probably be canon typical violence/blood mentioned or referenced in future chapters though, cuz, ya know, vampire ladies? Notes: No beta reader, we die like Ethan Winters’ hands (repeatedly, and with odd frequency)

Chapter 1: Nocturne

     Of all the tasks assigned to you, none were as bittersweet as that of dusting Lady Dimitrescu’s piano. Years ago, before you had been shuffled off to a remote European village, before you had been roughly snatched from your home, before… this, you had been taught to play music. From a young age it brought you comfort, entertained you on quiet days, and even made you your fair share of friends. Though you had experimented with a handful of instruments, none felt more natural than piano. Leaving your family’s heirloom piano behind was one of the hardest things you had ever had to do. 

     Until you arrived at Castle Dimitrescu, at least. Sweat often dropped off your brow as you spent endless hours scrubbing floors, carrying baskets of clothes or mysterious parcels of meat up and down flights of stairs, rushing to and fro rooms across the estate. Physical labor was no stranger to you, but no employer had ever been as demanding as those you now served. Hence part of why you always breathed a sigh of relief when you were chosen to dust the piano. It was hardly a demanding task, even when you had to take care not to accidentally let the keys make any noise. No one was allowed to play it without permission (and that was never given).

     Which brought you an aching sensation at the core of your chest, balled up alongside past regrets, a hundred million thoughts of alternative realities where you didn’t hurt so much. There was no point in imagining what choices might have saved you from your fate… and yet you did so anyway. Sometimes you thought about barricading yourself in the room, just so you could play a couple songs, even if it would guarantee you a painful death. But you could never bring yourself to willingly disobey Lady Dimitrescu; not when you had heard the wails and screams of Maidens a few floors below.

     Yes, you would never willingly, knowingly do such. That wasn’t to say you were incapable of mistakes. No, you weren’t that fortunate. It was such a simple error, really, just a misjudgment of the cloth held between your fingers. Your hand slipped. That was all. But that slip led to an accidental press of a key- f#, if you heard right- that sounded throughout the room with damning clarity. Just like that, you felt the pitiful thing you called life shatter to pieces on the floor. Inside your chest your heart started to pound, a metronome speeding this performance along to its end.

     Had you not been paralyzed with dread, you might have accepted your fate with enough grace to sit down, play those last few tunes like you had daydreamed about so many times. But you didn’t, couldn’t. All you felt you could do was strain your ears and listen for the impending sounds of angry footsteps.

     Instead your concentration was interrupted by a door flying open, hitting the wall with a slam you knew would leave a dent, as a swarm of insects burst in. Nearly jumping out of your skin you put a hand to your chest, half expecting not to feel a heartbeat anymore. The rhythm was off, for sure, and it skipped a beat when the swarm surged together to form a somewhat familiar figure: Daniela Dimitrescu. Leaning against the piano, one hand bracing against it, the woman pretended to examine her sickle, idly twisting it back and forth in her hand. When she spoke, she didn’t even bother to glance in your direction.

     “I never understood why mother dedicated a whole room to this,” she muses, casually inclining her head towards the piano. “It’s not like any of our instructors lasted very long. Why not let this gather dust with the rest of the useless junk somewhere upstairs?” There’s a pause, and for a moment you mentally debate whether or not you’re supposed to respond. Apparently not, as Daniela soon turns to you and speaks more directly, which is grand, really, as your tongue felt as if it was glued to the roof of your mouth. “Maybe she knew someday someone would come along to serenade us. And you clearly know how to play, otherwise you wouldn’t have dared to make a sound.”

     Stepping forward, she extends a gloved hand, cupping your chin so gently that you almost couldn’t feel her touch. Her gaze, however, was dangerously intense, unblinking, and filled with far less joy than her grin would suggest. The touch lasts only a few seconds. Just long enough to leave you shaking with anticipation. Daniela’s toothy smile only widens as she backs up, keeping her eyes on you even as she reclines into a chair in the corner of the room. You almost wished she would just get it over with and kill you. Whatever she had in mind would be worse in the end, yes? 

     “Well? Aren’t you going to play for me? Show me how much you love me? I don’t have all night,” Daniela says expectantly. She’s relaxed fully, sitting with one leg crossed over the other, spine pressed up against the back of the chair, but she hasn’t set her sickle down. There’s a clear threat in the way she holds it, grip tight enough to let you know that she’s still ready (and itching) to use it.

     You couldn’t help but wonder if she’d be acting differently if she knew that you did, in fact, know how to play. Was this just a teasing start to your punishment? Or was there a part of her genuinely interested in hearing music? Obviously you hoped for the latter. Hell, you practically prayed for it as you slowly pulled out the piano bench, awkwardly sat down, and urged your body to remember a song. What genre would a vampire from the 1950’s even enjoy? All you knew were bits and pieces of a few classics, a couple chord progressions from early 2000’s hits, and a handful of songs you had written yourself.

     There wasn’t much time to ponder, not with Daniela’s gaze burning a whole in the side of your head. So you simply pressed your fingers to the keys, took a deep breath, and let muscle memory take over. Your eyes became half lidded as you started to play, hardly paying attention to what you were doing. It felt like a single glance at your captor would result in the worst case of stage fright known to mankind. Instead you focused on the piano’s wooden frame, and the many grain marks twisting within.

     All the while your fingers glided over the keys, delicately pressing here and there, starting with something simple. Little more than a chord on your left hand, followed with a few short notes on your right, repeating in different places up and down the scale. It was almost a test, a gentle showing to see what Daniela would do. You still refused to look at her, even when you heard what sounded like a bored sigh. A knot tied itself in your stomach, and you gulped, before you shifted mental gears. Evidently “soft and simple” wasn’t going to cut it. Hopefully you could please one Lady without earning the ire of any of the others.

     So you paused, letting the notes suspend in the air for a moment, and came back swinging. The kiddy gloves were off, abandoned on the floor with your sense of caution. Grander things came back to mind as your fingers danced atop the keys, stretching chords and melodies alongside each other, the best of what you recalled pouring out of you without a sign of stopping. Out of the corner of your eyes you saw Daniela sit up, paying more attention then she had at the start. Confidence found itself growing at the center of your chest, and it managed to turn your lips up into a smile. How long had it been since you had been able to perform like this? Years? A decade, even? You didn’t know. It didn’t matter.

     Minutes passed by like this, with your hands moving constantly, even as your gaze never shifted. It was heaven channeled on Earth. Whatever was to come after, death or dismemberment, you couldn’t care less. Let them take your blood, your life. They could never take this music from your mind, from your memories, or the joy it inspired in you. If you were to die soon, at least you had been given one last soliloquy.

     Eventually the song had to end. It was a bitter moment, one you dreaded for its followup, but otherwise would have found pride in. After all, you were evidently the first maiden to give a performance (at least of this variety) to one of the Dimitrescu sisters! Certainly that was an accomplishment? Maybe your brain would let you celebrate later… assuming you survived. Daniela had stayed quiet since her earlier sigh, letting you play on without interruption thus far. Now that the song was over you didn’t know what to expect. Knowing Daniela, or at least knowing the rumors surrounding you, it was hard to imagine that anything you could expect would be accurate.

     “How long have you been hiding this little talent of yours?” She coos, clapping her hands together with a short giggle. So far so good, you thought, clinging desperately to hope. Once more she rose to her feet, moving so smoothly she might as well have been gliding, and ended up by your side. This time her hand rested on your shoulder, putting enough pressure to keep you from moving. “Don’t tell me you’re shy, that would simply be too… precious.” With that said her hand trails along your shoulder, across your collarbone, up your neck, then rests for a moment on your cheek. The touch sends a shiver down your spine, which only encourages Daniela, and she tucks a strand of your hair behind her ear.

     Before she can say more, or you could even attempt to form words, there’s the faint sound of someone yelling in the distance. A name, you think, although it’s not loud enough for you to make out who’s being called. The answer becomes evident soon enough, however, as Daniela pulls back from you suddenly, smile trading out for a scowl. Some part of you instantly misses her touch, leaving the rest of you confused more than anything.

     “Get back to your work, then,” Daniela says, roughly, the playfulness in her voice now entirely absent. It was such a sudden change in demeanor that you didn’t know how to react. Thankfully her eyes were no longer on you, and she was already moving towards the door. Had you really managed to play your way out of a punishment? You knew for a fact that at least one other maiden had lost her life for making the same mistake you did, yet now Daniela looks ready to leave without so much as a slap on the wrist. But she does pause in the doorway, as if reading your thoughts, and throws you a look over her shoulder. Her eyes narrow for a split second before she gives you one last wicked grin. “Don’t worry, sweet thing, I won’t forget you anytime soon.”

     Just like that she was gone, into a cloud of insects, out the door and into the corridor beyond. The tension in the room had left, you could finally breathe easy… and yet still your mind was racing. Those words she had left you with- were they a threat? Or a promise of something softer? Only time would tell.

[writingforyourpleasure]

ON THE ROAD AGAIN

Characters: GERARD WAY x Reader Link to chapter three :   https://writingforyourpleasure.tumblr.com/post/614886671202287616/characters-gerard-way-x-reader-link-to-chapter

Warnings : None Author’s note: Hi everyone ! Hope you’re all doing okay and having a good day? Sorry for not posting last week I don’t know why but my tumblr bugged all week, but I solve it so I’ll take back my old habit for now on normaly.

4.      “ Waffles “

One thing was sure you were quite anxious and a cigarette will be great right now. But unfortunately for you it would not be possible before at least 2 hours for you to smoke and you anxiety was as flight as your plane was since you were on your way to the next of your tour, but unless many times before the anxiety here wasn’t much related to the tour it self.

Since five days ago you and Gerard have texted each not really talking about anything, most of the time just joking on dumb subjects passing time nicely. Last night you felt like it marked a shifting in your relationship through, you both decided to call each other even if Gerard said to you that it could give him anxiety sometimes. Not this time though. It was great , you’ve passed a lot of time on the phone , you had him on speaker , playing on your bass with Matcha watching you as always. Since you passed most of your nights awake playing bass in silence or sometimes texting Gerard you started to compose a little riff on it and it began to for something more of a song now, you were pleased with the result. Last night you opened yourself to Gerard as he did the same, sharing more personal thoughts and life experience to each other, and because of that you felt yourself drawn closer to the man. That night when you two hung up at 4 am you understood that you were starting to seriously having a crush on him, and you felt flushed at the very though of it .

You didn’t want to risk your band over someone, so now wasn’t the time to start having a crush on the lead singer of the group of which you were the opening band.

You were starting to get embarrassed for making a mountain over something such childish as a crush.

After a few hours you finally were at The great American Music Hall in San Francisco, you came in taxi from the airport , you had quite a trouble to find the parking ,but luckily enough a security guard gave you directions along your way.

The touring bus of my chem was just next to yours and you were gonna try to push as far away as you could to go say hello to them, even if to be true you were dying to do so.

You took your suitcase in hands hopping the two steps before entering the bus.

“Hey Y/N! How was your flight ?” yelled Billy in your face far too happy for your taste, as always.

“Hi, good thank you. How was your stay in L.A?” Remembering how he couldn’t seem to shut up about it the week before you took the break

“Awesome !!! And you how was England?”

“My mom was there so not incredible.” Billy pouted looking like a lost puppy you just kick in the balls, but with far more ginger bear .

“Well at least your dad was there?” Billy knew how much you liked your dad and sometimes when he would come to your family house for a few weeks the both of them acted as if they were family members. He never meted your mom of course , just heard your complaints when you got a little too drunk.

“Yeah , it’s why I didn’t shoot myself already.” Billy laughed at that taking your suitcase from you.

“The guys are in the back , I on the other end gonna take this bad boy where it belongs.” He said pointing at your bag , you nodded silently thanking him and Walking towards the back of the bus.

“Hey guys” you said tearing open the curtains separating the bunks from the back. You gagged a little seeing the whole other band here too. So far for not wanting to see Gerard right away right?

“Yo . What’s new?” Said Ames not really caring for an answer, returning to his phone. He was seated at a proper distance from everyone else . Right beside the curtain in front of the lunch table next to the kitchenette in the right corner of the room. You offered him a nod .

“Hello to you Ms Y/L/N how was dear ol’ England?” said Dex dramatically , seated between Gerard and Mikey, you tried your hardest to concentrate on Dex’s face , and on Dex’s face only. You eyes may or may not have slipped to quickly glance at Gerard along the way .

Dex kiss cheek with you before seating to their previous place and soon everyone followed. You wallow on the couch next to frank , or so to speak cause your head literally was in his lap . He raised an eyebrow at you trying to look somewhat threatening, you offered him you biggest smile and he gently showed you is middle finger with a fake-ass tired look, even if he had a sly grin on his lips.

“Well Matcha’s doing great !” you finally answered .

“Haha good to know , the only things that truly matters , am I right?”

“Damn right you are!”

“Who’s Matcha ?” Asked Ray

“Her dumb golden retriever .” shouted Max from the bunks.

“How dare you?!” Asked Dex horrified with they left hand on their chest , with a look of look of disgust stabbing the entrance towards the bunks where Max was working on his laptop.

“Let it go Dex, mister’s just still embarrassed for that morning when Matcha chew all of his pack of condoms in the middle of my parent’s living room.” You said nonchalantly for everyone to hear. Dex looked at you, his eyes widening and before exploding in laughter followed quickly by everyone else present, well except Mikey for sure.

“How dare you?!” said max, showing his head out of his top bunk , intimidatingly.

“HAHA – How did your parents reacted?” asked Frank.

“Well my mom was on a mission unluckily, I would pay cash to see her reaction, so it was just me and my dad . And we woke up before Max and saw the mess on the carpet so we did the only thing logical to do we just took a seat and enjoyed the show, laughing our ass off. Well for just a minute because we didn’t want anything bad happening to Matcha , so we took everything away from her and put it away from her .” You explained a huge smile plastered across your face remembering you and your dad celebrating this cooking waffles that very morning.

“You PUT IT in my plate , while you two were eating chocolate waffles.” Shouted angrily Max returning to his computer shutting the bunk’s curtains off . Everyone laughed at that.

“Ho boy just remembering that I crave waffles now.” You said jumping on your feet opening the fridge door looking around to check if you had enough to make some .

You had enough. Great.

Everyone was starting to just talk between each other when you turned your back to your friends. Ames returned to his bottom bunk playing on his switch minding his own business.

You decided to make a pot of coffee asking to everyone if they wanted one too, almost everyone said yes. You were gonna need a big ass coffee pot if you were to feed the entire regiment .

“Hey , need help?” you looked up for the coffee pot to find Gerard standing in front of you trying to act as nonchalant as possible but still looking a little stressed.

“Well , if you could summon another coffee pot that would be about just what I need.”

“I can still just go and grab ours and we could just pretend it magically appear in my palm  ? “

“That’ll have to do …. For now.”

“Sorry to be such a disappointment.”

“Meh. You’re lucky, you’re pretty or I will already had thrown you off the bus by now.” You said automatically not fully registering what you just said. But doing so when Gerard blushed discretely.

Gerard leaved pretty fast after that to search for the ho-so-wanted coffee pot. After that the afternoon fly by pretty quickly and soon enough you were on stage setting it on fire and for the first time this season you switched your drums for Dex’s bass while they played electric guitar . Max was playing in the background the angry rhythm of your recorded beats. As always you finished the show sweating madly and before you got to play your version of Do Re Mi , Nirvana’s song , while Dex was telling how once they got the next song playing on repeat for about a week coz’ their phone was bugging and you got so sick of hearing it on speaker even when their phone was shut down that you had my mom packing my drummer headphone all the way from England. Your tank top was soaking wet , and it really wasn’t comfortable at this point . Actually you couldn’t stand it anymore and just got off your shirt feeling immediately stoked by a chill running through your burning skin, making you feel one hundred times better. Even through your sports bra was still wet, the pleasant chill felt like a bless from heaven . You didn’t care much about what people thought about it , you were here to play a show and give zero fucks about society , so they would exactly get what they paid for. Do Re Mi was your favorite song to play to end a show , coz’ even through it marked the end of the show it always felt the contrary , in your eyes it marked the beginning of something , a meaning somehow.

Once the song done you ran up to your bus, stealing the bathroom first , since the venue didn’t had showers in your lodges. You exited the room while putting your pj’s top on at the same time and started to cook waffles trying to get your stage euphoria down.

“What are you cooking, chef ?” Gerard’s voice whispered to you, giving you light chills.

“Huh waffles, is the show already done ?”

“yup.” He said making himself comfortable at the table in front of you and popping the “p” .

“Where’s everybody?”

“Well Dex , Ames and Billy are over at our bus, and I pretty sure Max’s here in his bunk listening to stuff.”

“And what owe me the pleasure to be assisted by your presence tonight sir Way?” You said while looking for plates.

“Ho well I was just here to get our coffee pot back, I mean y’know like at least in the first place…” You stopped your search when sensing the bus motor starting and finally the bus moving to your next destination :  which means your friends were stuck in the other bus and you and Gerard were stuck in this one with max. What could go wrong? Gerard was a little upset for not paying attention to the schedule worrying about sleeping which was indeed understandable to say the least.

“Waffles ?”you said unsure of your own voice.

“You…you know what ? fuck yeah!” He said stopping his mumbling .

You seated to place before him and bringing the plate of waffle to the table with chocolate of course and whipped cream. Both of you were clearly starving after the show and you finished 5 to 6 waffles each one in your belly. Max stopped briefly to taste one claiming he wasn’t really hungry right now and was going to sleep and if you could just whisper to each other since the bunks were close to the mini kitchen of the bus, you nodded , humming in agreement. You and Gerard discussed until 5 am talking about DnD and the different sounds of nature that you liked, you were happy to find someone who didn’t looked at you weirdly after you admitted falling asleep on singing wheels.

“Fuck I’m so tired right now, stupid coffee pot….NOT that I don’t like being with you of course!!”

“It’s okay Gee , I understand it’s late and I’m feeling sleepy too…” You blushed furiously at the nickname you just used since it was the first time that you let it slipped past your tongue. Gerard’s probably mirroring your expression right now. God this is embarrassing. “ Huh well huh , if you want there’s still Ames bunk, Billy’s and Dex’s , but I wouldn’t choose Dex one if I were you , don’t know if the hygiene is very much to this year regulation haha…. And huh there’s still huh my bunk… I mean it wouldn’t be that comfortable but yeah…” Your face was now on fire , you finally dared to make a move, flirting’s one thing but being blunt is well….very different it’s another level. Two choices appears to you him saying no which’s definitely going to be the case or him saying yes which is your phantasm.

“Well … I don’t mind being uncomfortable ?”  What? Did Gerard just said he didn’t mind to sleep by your sides tonight? Your cheeks could definitely grill an entire BBQ at this point . Gerard was also blushing a little behind his long locks covering his face .

What happened next was pretty awkward and could be resume in you locking yourself in the bathroom to change into your legging and an XXL t-shirt from the tattoo shop were you used to work. You panicked not knowing what to do but burning with impatience . Finally a moment where it was going to be just the two of you being calm in an non awkward silence.

“So ready to visit my fortress ?” You said quietly not to wake up Max , stepping out of the bathroom.  

“Ready as I’ll ever be!” Said Gerard with an innocent smile on his face , he seemed calm and relaxed , probably because of his tiredness you though. He looked so incredibly handsome in his grey large jogging and just his large white shirt, with his chubby cheeks and his beard of 1 week, he looked as cute and sweet as a cinnamon roll right now.

Both of you took a little time before deciding which position suited both of you . You were the big spoon while he was the small one, your breath was playing with his hair a little . Your bunk was a bottom one and you had an entire widow which was an tinted glass so were little light did go through during the night but the view was so soothing. Your arms were hugging him just delicately resting against his hubby belly, you liked that it was so charismatic. You felled asleep quickly smelling honey shampoo and dreaming of dark locks falling before a sweet smiling face.

[worldcakecakecake]

On Deutschland and Italia by Lovino Valenti

Lovino writes a series of blog entries on the relationship between Germany and Italy as he deals with a move to Hamburg, his brother’s wedding, and his budding romance (which he denies) to the infuriating Gilbert Beilschmidt.

The holidays and last few months had been insanely crazy, which barely gave me any time to write or edit. I hope a chapter of this story will suffice for now.

                                                     Chapter 5

On Deutschland and Italia.

Marketplace.

 Germany and Italy have easily adapted to changes, financially and politically, as well as resulted with remarkable trade relations.

 In several products and sectors, it is important to both their economies and it aids to keep their marketplaces strong. I tend to find the products I normally use in Italy here in Germany without an issue and in Italy, Germany machinery is present in every household and praised. There are always several business partnerships growing and contact is well established to keep this exchange thriving. But they do not know each other as this would suggest.

 Sometimes the relationship between them has to be top priority, to learn, to understand, and that trade can become more plentiful and fruitful to both parties.

  The video that played was of Kiku’s latest fascination, mystic messenger. It went along to the music of One Direction’s ‘Night Changes’, the colors, transitions, movements and words conveying well a heartwarming message that had Feliciano emotional…and he wasn’t entirely sure what this was about, even after Kiku tried explaining.

 “I love it! I love the textures and the feel, and it’s just so well made, Kiku.”

 The man saw the true meaning in his eyes and smiled, taking back the phone and closing the account where he saved it. “It’s a silly edit I made one weekend, but I’m glad you like it. I hope it showed well enough my skill.”

 “Oh, Kiku! I would still choose you even if you didn’t have any of these things. I know you have a good eye for pictures.” Feliciano gazed about the studio to all the pictures hanged, perfectly placed, making rhythm of colors and movement that was lively yet professional and adequate. He had taken them through the extent of his career, with a variety of weddings, birthday parties, cosplays, even landscapes and buildings from his travels.

 “Thank you, Feliciano. It would be an honor to be the photographer for your wedding,” he showed it well with a smile and even a bow.

 “Wait, you’re taking him just like that?” Lovino, skeptical as ever.

 “Of course! Kiku is the first and only person to come to mind. There’s no one else better in Hamburg or perhaps even the world,” Feliciano exaggerated with such colors.

 Kiku blushed while Lovino huffed. He kept thinking and how it meant that Kiku wouldn’t give them a large fee, out of consideration since he was such a close friend.

 “It’s still necessary I make that test session.”

 “Of course! I’m looking forward to it! João and Pedro told me how much fun they had for theirs.” Feliciano already dreamed of what it could be for him and Ludwig.

 “I try to get what I need as well as something my customers can have fun with. It makes the doubtful ones surer of hiring me.”

 “How exactly do you test it?” Lovino wasn’t given a chance to get his question answered as it was in that very moment that Ludwig made his entrance into the studio…dragging alongside him that Gilbert booger. Lovino pretended an angry grimace…but his eyes would escape from the side to admire how his simple black shirt and jeans hugged and made his own muscles define, shining with the light that came with them. He didn’t notice he had been staring for long until his eyes were pulled to his, and so he broke it, pretending like he was just but a breeze Ludwig brought with him. Gilbert noticed it though, wondering, holding himself from looking down at him, as elegantly dressed and poised, surely just having come from his office. Luckily both have settled in whatever have transpired between them to notice the high greeting Feliciano took Ludwig in, with the usual strong embrace and kiss.

 “Are you ready to start this instant?” Kiku asked, preparing the cameras he was thinking of using.

 “Yes, please!” Feliciano jumped, the first to follow Kiku to the other room.

 The rest did not expect to find a dance studio, complete with a large mirrored wall, empty, clean to a shine and space enough for…whatever Kiku had in mind.

 “As everyone dances, moves and acts to their surroundings differently, different cameras react different ways to it. This test is to find which equipment would be the best, as to also show you how I work, to see pictures of yourselves doing different things so you can get an idea of what can come out and so I know how to work that day.” As he explained, he finished the needed settings, all standing ready. “I’ll be making you do different actions expected of a wedding celebration, from being in the church, the reception. I would say that you should pretend it to be the day, but I think that’s taking out excitement for when the actual celebration comes. Try to act your normal way or just have fun. I’ll put on some music and you have all this space to use.” He used his phone to begin a playlist of instrumental music, covers of different pop songs set to come and already Feliciano was jumping to it. That was the first picture Kiku took.

 “All right, we’ll start with sitting positions.” There was only but a single chair there, and of course, Gilbert and Lovino jumped on the chance to fight for who went first. Kiku captured as they took it both in their hands, fury in their faces over such a silly item that made them laugh. Ludwig and Feliciano settled with just using the floor, Kiku taking some adorable ones, even one of both leaning so sweetly against each other despite having no such comforts. Gilbert had ended up winning whatever contest to take position of the chair and so Kiku took some of him looking powerful, like a king. When Lovino’s turn arrived, he was surprised at the comparison he thought…looking like the queen to his king, with order, vengefulness, but beauty that would make anyone bow.

 “Now I need you to pretend like you’re getting in a car.” Kiku successfully caught as Feliciano went quickly to the chair as it was set free, the rest behind him surely ready to fight for the item. It was an incredible picture despite its simplicity. What made for it was their exceeded movements and large expressions.

 “Entrance! Give me an entrance!” And this was hilarious, as they all exaggerated different ways they could come in, none of them appropriate for a weeding, but it was fun. Feliciano slipped in like it was a musical number, Ludwig just entered with a shrug, Gilbert got glasses and began posing like he was in a modeling agency and then Lovino just stumped in with demand. Gilbert tried hard not to let his eyes glue on the stride of his legs and how his figure stood so straight and presenting.

 “Ludwig, Feliciano, I need you arm in arm.” Like a magnet they went to each other, their lock so well placed that it was surely meant. Kiku adored it, while Gilbert and Lovino rolled their eyes.

 “Gilbert! Lovino! You too!” Kiku grinned.

 “What?”

 “No way!”

 “We’re not the ones getting married!”

 “You really don’t need that!”

 “I need an idea for other couples.”

 “Isn’t with Ludwig and Feliciano enough?”

 “I need other builds.”

 They were left without any excuses. Gilbert and Lovino groaned, rolled their eyes again, but presented their arms, looking away as if to pretend they weren’t holding to each other as such. They locked, they felt, an incredible hardship to keep their blush, to keep themselves from smiling and admitting…it felt nice.

 “Got it.”

 They freed themselves quickly, turning away, far, each taking a distant corner from the other.

 “I need you to be as you were in church.” Expressions of holiness and serenity, gazing to heavens with angels and gold, perfect and beautiful. The other pictures that continued were those for only Ludwig and Feliciano, both obeying and finishing with countless of pictures that made Kiku more than sure enough.

 “This light, with this setting and filter will be perfect, I’m sure,” Kiku said as he went through the pictures with Ludwig and Feliciano, both in awe at their professional glow.

 “So, are we done?” Lovino asked, ready as Gilbert to leave.

 “Actually no, I do need to film something.”

 Lovino groaned and Gilbert just crossed his hands, preparing himself for yet another round.

 “All I’ll ask is for one though. A dance.”

 “That’s it?”

 “Well, get to it, bro,” Gilbert waved.

 “Actually,” Feliciano interrupted, “can Gilbert and Lovino do it for us?”

 They turned pale, as if they had noticed several ghost in their vicinity.

 “Why?”

 “I’m really tired,” Feliciano feigned, throwing in a limp and falling dramatically into Ludwig’s arms. “I simply can’t any longer.”

 It was obvious to all his trick, but Kiku decided to entertain the idea. “I don’t mind. Anyone dancing will be enough.” He went ahead and started preparing the video settings, as if Gilbert and Lovino would be positioned the moment he’d raise the camera. They were instead denying, shaking their heads and trying to beg in their simple movements for Feliciano to stop this. He only smiled and cuddled more on Ludwig’s arms, getting himself comfortable as if he was to watch some show. Lovino felt like pummeling him, and Gilbert for once decided that Feliciano was really not as cute as he had thought.

 “No, no, no, no, no…” they kept murmuring, but Kiku had placed a ballad to start. They thought of running, escaping, but the doors were closed, the others kept a vigilant watch and Kiku was prepared with his camera. If they just left, it would paint them as cowards they refused to be.

 They groaned together rather harmoniously, turning without daring to look, moving towards each other like dealing with a bomb, both too careful as to where to place their hands, afraid it would poison. Kiku coughed as a sign to hurry and so with that force Gilbert placed one hand gently on Lovino’s hips, Lovino with one on his shoulder, the free hand falling perfectly together like it was meant to be clicked as such. For a while they just stood there, not sure how their feet should start, how to work between their fires.

 “…go on…” Kiku pushed a little more.

 “I doubt you even now how to dance,” Lovino challenged under his breath and Gilbert’s hold became tighter, heating, one that had Lovino shivering…in delight.

 “I was raised in the Beilschmidt household. You honestly believe I wasn’t forced into learning some kind of fancy ass dance to impress people in important parties? You’re mistaken!” And to Lovino’s deep surprise, he started their movement, of grace, practice and knowledge that he could move along with well, like every next step was seen clear for them to step on. They spun, they moved like magic was shining in every bit of their movements. Feliciano swore they were flying as they moved across the room, taking every space, every corner for their elegance.

 Lovino was…taken, left wide eyed and letting himself engulf in this newly painted sky Gilbert created with their balancing steps. His smile now was enchanting, his tall figure reminding Lovino of princes and heroes that he admired in old stories. Gilbert found himself admiring Lovino’s figure, what he felt in his hand, how it moved perfectly to whatever command he asked with the music, as royally as he wanted himself to be, trying to get chances to keep him closer to himself. They kept an ever-present connection with their eyes, both admitting the colors to be beautiful, more lovely than any other, wanting to always be lost in them, forever in this sudden dance.

 “Wow…it’s coming along beautifully,” Kiku commented, silent for only Ludwig and Feliciano to hear, who smiled, happily agreeing.

 The three could have left them in that scene, could have continued to play music to just watch them, but it was late and so it had stopped, the dream falling like glass until the two figures stopped along with this breaking of a world they created around them.

 “I also want to mention that I was acclaimed as the best student in my class,” Gilbert finished with a smirk and Lovino was still too wondered to really speak, to even react or break apart from the hold Gilbert still kept him in.

 What got him to push, was the sudden claps and excited jumps from Feliciano. “That was beautiful!”

 “I have to agree,” Ludwig smiled.

 “This has to be one of the loveliest things I have ever recorded,” Kiku said with utter calm as he went through it.

 “Well…” Lovino was hesitant to leave, slightly dazed, nervous, unsure, but he just had to move away, practically running to join his brother’s side, keeping his entire figure away from the albino. “I’m glad you taped it, because I am definitely not doing that again!” There was hurt in both of them, Gilbert for once faltering from his prideful position.

 “I’ll upload it to my computer and send everything to Feliciano during the night.” Feliciano nodded, the three going into conversation, Gilbert and Lovino refusing to participate, oddly silent and shaken.

 Night had fallen, Ludwig and Feliciano called to leave, deciding for the night to have dinner at their sibling’s place. Ludwig headed with Gilbert, Feliciano with Lovino, the lovers of course saying goodbye with their embrace and kiss, while Gilbert and Lovino simply turned, only but a deepening gaze to spare before they left for the night.

 Ludwig and Feliciano spoke on in their respective cars about god knows what, it was ignored in their sibling’s ears, eyes and minds far, locked still in what was a dance they secretly wanted to decorate again.

  “Feliciano, you don’t have to ask. It was decided the moment you announced it,” Augusto assured his grandson.

 “It’s still nice to be sure. I’m so happy! Ludwig and I know that you will only provide the best.” Feliciano grabbed his grandfather’s hand over the counter, the other happily taking their warmth and youth.

 “We do need to work on what kind of menu you want.”

 “Oh yes! I already have some ideas! Like, courgetti carbonara, Sicilian onion salad, oven baked chicken with tomato sauce, almond biscotti, tiramisu with amaretto-” and he went on and on, Augusto taking it all in list, with his own suggestions that would surely make this a banquet of emperors. It was the kind of thing that Lovino would have happily joined to, instead he remained silent, gazing away into the night, lost, words and surroundings disappearing him.

 “-I don’t know. Lovino, do you think we should add a caprese salad?” Augusto asked, noticing, Lovino still in his own thoughts to have heard his grandfather. “Lovino…Lovino…” nothing, it only meant that he would have to go harder. He raised the notebook he was writing on high, until it landed harshly on the counter, a shooting sound that shook and startled Lovino out of his dream.

 “What the hell!” He shouted.

 “Glad you can join us. Now, what has gotten into you? You haven’t spoken a word since you arrived and you are clearly not listening to anything Feliciano and I are talking about,” Augusto smirked and leaned close.

 Feliciano had to cover his large smile with his mouth, but his body still showed it, enough for Augusto to suspect.

 “What happened?” He leaned even closer.

 “Nothing. Nothing happened.”

 “Oh, something definitely happened.” Feliciano dared nod, but still refused to open his mouth.

 “So…tell me, what has gotten you all worked up,” Augusto expected to hear it, ready and the teasing now shown in his eyes.

 “I don’t have to tell you anything, nonno.”

 “But I’m so curious!”

 Feliciano now had to keep one hand gripping the counter, the other tighter on his mouth, the situation becoming more difficult to keep quiet.

 “It’s not important. It’s stupid, I’ll forget about it in the morning and Gilbert and I will continue to hate each other,” Lovino formulated.

 “Gilbert…? What happened with Gilbert?” Augusto hadn’t expected his mentioning.

 Lovino realized his mistake and by now Feliciano was wheezing.

 “Please, please, please, please, please, let me tell him!” Feliciano begged.

 “No! Get over it! It wasn’t a big deal!” Lovino stood insisting, ready to defend his denial.

 “If it’s getting you like this, it is definitely a big deal,” Augusto knew.

 “You are both exaggerating…we were talking about music for the wedding, right?” He tried to turn the conversation, but it only made the other two laugh.

 “Feliciano, just tell me.”

 His younger brother had spoken too quick for Lovino to stop on time. “You should have seen it, nonno. Gilbert and Lovino, dancing together like it was a fairy tale ball. It was so romantic and beautiful. I just have to send you the video!” Feliciano dazed like it had happened to him.

 “Dance…with Gilbert?” It was incredibly unbelievable.

 “He forced me into it,” he excused.

 “It was for the good of wedding planning!” Feliciano defended.

 “Is that why you’re like this?”

 “No! I was just…disgusted by it all.”

 Augusto and Feliciano smirked at each other with a silent understanding.

 “It’s just that! Disgust!” He tried to interrupt whatever they were thinking.

 “It didn’t look like it.”

 “It didn’t even look like you were in the studio!”

 “It’s absolutely nothing! Let it die! Let’s just…fucking do whatever it is were doing right now.” He infuriated in the expected, taking the list Augusto had forcibly, reading it over and understanding finally what it was they were doing. “Add some damn fish!” And he wrote on, angry, Augusto and Feliciano thinking he would break the page in the harsh pace he wrote on.

 They shrugged, sharing a teasing smirk here and there, making sure Lovino didn’t see as they finished.

 Whatever was to happen will charge its own course and show Lovino clear what he’s slowly starting to feel.

  “We are the same build. I’m sure it would look divine.”

 “Opa, that suit was last worn during the sixties.”

 “It’s in perfect condition still!”

 “It’s too old fashioned. I want something new.” He pushed yet another suit jacket away, not agreeing with the grey color.

 “But you haven’t liked any of these!” They had already gone through one side of the suits this tailor offered.

 “I don’t think giving me your own will solve the problem.” He headed to the other side, hoping he would be luckier. Both easily passed by Gilbert, sitting on a couch right in the shop’s very center, distant, bored and…still…which for Gilbert was exceptionally odd.

 “Hmm…I believe a classic black would be perfect.” Ludwig took one that had just the perfect color, unsure still with the cut though.

 “It’s overused,” Aldrich commented.

 “I like it,” Ludwig punctuated with a glare, one Aldrich knew there was nothing he could do about. He still huffed and crossed his arms in disagreement.

 “Gilbert, what do you think?” That’s when their eyes landed on him again, far off, not just because of actual distance, but they knew his eyes weren’t truly on the rack of belts, that his mind was not on any of the surrounding fabrics. Did he even know where he was?

 “Gilbert?” Ludwig tried calling again, but Gilbert still remained in whatever world he caught himself in.

 Ludwig sighed and decided to take sitting next to him. “Gilbert…-”

 “Agh! What! I’m listening! You don’t have to shout!”

 “I’m not…shouting.”

 “…Oh.” He went back to kneeling his figure on the hold of his hand under his chin. Ludwig hoped he was thinking about how weirdly he was reacting, but after the silence continued, he knew he had to address it again.

 “Are you…all right?” He threaded carefully.

 “I’m fine,” Gilbert shrugged, with such misery that only made it more obvious that something was wrong.

 “You know we can…talk. I’m here for you and will be willing to listen.”

 “But I’m all right.”

 “No…you’re not.”

 “Something is very obviously troubling you,” Aldrich saw.

 “Well, you guys are mistaken. I’m completely fine. There’s nothing, just go back to…choosing your stupid suit, I don’t care.”

 Both grandfather and grandson sighed, remaining still in their near to him, gazing and waiting for the moment that Gilbert might succumb. It didn’t take long, Gilbert wasn’t really that good at keeping things locked for long when it came to his close family.

 “It was just a dance! A damn dance!” He suddenly stood, beginning a pace in the spot.

 “What dance?”

 “Are you talking about the one you had with Lovino?”

 “What?” Aldrich was perplexed that such a thing could happen.

 “It was just for a video test, Opa. It just came out great… really great.” Ludwig admitted.

 “It was great!” Gilbert shouted, still finding it hard to believe his own words. “Opa, you forced me on those waltz practices, and I learned to hate it. Nobody was worthy of matching with me, nobody made me really enjoy it or make me proud that I knew something so useless. But with Lovino…” and he was lost in a dream again, lost and gone, and Ludwig had to snap to get him back to the conversation. “I felt all that…sappy shit you used to say when you talked about how you did it with Oma.” Aldrich widened his eyes in impression, knowing well the implications. “I mean, I don’t know if he ever truly learned or he just knows because he’s…Italian or something, but god, he knew where to place his feet, how to move his body with me, he knew what I planned to do or what to do next without saying a word…and then there was this…look in his eyes and god had I never seen more beautiful hazel eyes and his face…his face…it was gorgeous!” He shouted without a worry into the room, leaving the other blondes perplexed and startled in their place.

 “This is…are you…are you sure this is Lovino were still talking about?” Aldrich questioned, all his words not something he could expect one day to be real. Ludwig couldn’t even find words, impressed greatly.

 “Exactly! I am still talking about Lovino! Lovino! I had a beautiful moment that can only come out from crappy romance novels…and with Lovino!” His pace became harsher, his tone angry, insulted at such a chance.

 “Well…this is quite wonderful,” the old German admitted, “you are getting along and finally did something great together.”

 “No! It’s not!”

 “I don’t really see what could be wrong, Gilbert. You had a nice dance with Lovino and you really enjoyed it.”

 “He’s my enemy!” He called out as if it was a devotion to kill.

 “You are not an old mercenary, Gilbert. You are both just young men discovering new feelings,” Aldrich scolded, trying to explain.

 “I don’t want these new feelings! I just want to hate him!” Both the others groaned.

 “Then you’ll just continue to be really immature about it.”

 “If it’s any consolation, perhaps this will be the only time something like that will happen. I pretty much doubt Lovino wants a dance again and will continue to hate you as much as you wish.” There was hurt in Gilbert’s expression this time, but Ludwig just said what he surely wanted to hear with his last remarks. “Everything will soon go back to normal, but as I have been asking from you the last few days, try to get along at least for the wedding planning.” Ludwig stood, thinking he was finished. “So, now, are you going to help me with choosing a suit? Or are you going to keep wallowing?” Ludwig hoped he could determine him enough.

 Gilbert at least smiled, took a sigh, settled his shoulder, looking high and trying to keep whatever shine of dreams and Lovino out of his head. “All right. Now let me just say…if you’re going to choose black, then Lud, we have to try and find the deepest black we can get. It’ll make you look like a sexy beast, I’m sure. Feliciano would be ripping it off your body by the end of the night,” he declared, now setting to find such a color in the racks.

< previous chapter                                                                                                  next chapter >

[cristian-capulet]

Hole In My Heart [Cris & Leo]

Who: Cristian and Leonardo Capulet

What: Meet to have a talk after their less than stellar run in the week prior. 

Where: Park

When: 11AM on February 8th

Summary: Seeking closure, Cristian invites Leo to have a chat with him in a public space after their fight the week prior, and running into each other again the night after. More information comes to light that leads Cristian to make some suggestions to Leo about his future, and instead of shutting Leonardo entirely out of his life, Cristian ends up finding himself offering to help.

Warnings: Mention of PTSD, mental health discussion.

Leo fidgeted with his tie and collar as he walked through the park. He was still in a bit of disbelief at the fact that he was even here. Cris had asked him to talk, but... did he even deserve a chance to speak to him? No. No he didn't, but he had the opportunity, and damn if he didn't want a chance to see Cristian again. As he got closer, he saw Cristian there waiting for him, and he slowed slightly as he closed the distance between them. With a coffee in hand, he took a deep breath before stopping next to the bench. "Hey..." He said in greeting, it was weak, but any of his familiar greetings with him wouldn't be welcome anymore. "Hope I didn't keep you waiting too long."

Inviting Leo to chat hadn’t been easy for the submissive. He was still incredibly angry and betrayed, but knew it stemmed from just how strong his love for Leo had been when they’d been together. How much he admittedly still cared... Cristian hoped if anything perhaps conversing with Leonardo would offer some form of closure for himself— realizing he had questions and emotions he wanted answered and validated... just not on the spot in a grungy men’s bathroom at a bar. He felt... more composed now. Ready to talk and figure out what went wrong. Or... at least that’s what he’d told himself prior to texting the invitation to Leo. The submissive had spent the morning in a tizzy, and had been fumbling with a long empty coffee cup for a solid twenty minutes prior to the Dominant’s arrival, dead set on being the first to arrive. “No- not at all,” he answered, shaking his head politely. His fingers nervously continued to play with the lid of his disposable coffee cup as his eyes quickly raked over Leo’s form in curiosity. “Thank you for agreeing to chat...Please— sit.”

Leo cleared his throat as he slowly took a seat next to Cristian on the bench. Nerves were eating at him, not knowing what to expect out of this meeting. He thought that he had said his goodbye, then there had been the drunk texts, and he thought that was goodbye. Now there was this. It was only fair that Cristian got to leave on his own terms, and surely that's what this was. There was no other way for them, not after what he'd done. He just hoped he could get through the meeting without becoming a complete wreck in front of the submissive. "Of course. I wouldn't have said no to you." He stopped himself from saying anything else by taking a sip from his coffee cup. After a moment he said, "So... you've got me here now..."

“I wanted to first off.... apologize again for having forced our initial conversation in that bar... and again for texting you the next day,” he began, gaze lingering on his cup as he spoke. He had no regrets chasing after Leo at the bar, but wished perhaps he’d found another way to do it still. “But then... I was hoping you might be willing to talk about... it.” He let his voice drop off a moment before Cristian added, “What... wasn’t working... What maybe I guess— if there was anything I could have done that I failed to do to— to prevent what happened.” it felt impossible to say it. Any way to prevent you leaving me. To prevent us Falling apart. “I know you were having nightmares and you mentioned at the bar... Alex... But— I guess... ghosting me? Everyone? Your sudden disappearance was... was really hard, Leo. Even though the texts all said delivered, a small part of me honestly wasn’t sure you were alive.”

They were going right into it, it appeared. That's fine. Leo was much more comfortable with people being direct. He hated people dancing around the real point, although when it came to difficult topics like this, he had become a master at avoiding the point. This time? He vowed honesty. No more hiding the truth, dancing around it, deflecting, or changing topics. Whatever Cristian wanted from him, he would give, if he could. "Well, for starters, you have nothing to apologize for. Nothing at all." He glanced over at the male, even though he noticed Cristian's eyes on the cup in his hands, Leo couldn't take his eyes away from him. "If that's what you want to talk about... I'll tell you anything you want to know. Although, I think it's important that you understand that there's nothing that you failed to do. I was - I am a bit lost and a lot broken. I was hoping you wouldn't notice the nightmares, but I suppose that's impossible..." Leo ran his fingers through his hair with a sigh. "This... these issues started long before us. Long before I came back to Verona, truth be told. I should've told you sooner. I..." His brow furrowed, realizing he was going to be putting himself in a headspace he didn't like to be. "Honestly, you made me forget for a while... before you, I had difficulty sleeping straight through the night. With you there, I was able to somehow relax enough to make it through a night and I began to heal, really... It's hard to explain what it's like to be in charge of lives, and to see those lives lost. It's not something you can just get over."His fingers tapped a rhythm on the cup as he tried to keep himself calm, but his eyes seemed distant as he found himself back there. Seeing each one of those young faces lost and under his command. "I left the military because I couldn't deal with the loss. I couldn't... I couldn't have them trust me, follow me, and lose them it was too much after a while. So... when I started this mission to help with Oz... I didn't think that I would have to worry about loss. They were my responsibility, Cris. They weren't trained to do what I was. It was my job to make sure they weren't hurt and I lost him. It's my fault that he's dead. Alex should've..." His voice caught and his brow furrowed. "Well, it's my fault. They trusted me to bring them home, and I failed. So, losing him brought it all back, and you weren't there with me when it happened and... well, the nightmares returned, and worse. The only time I felt somewhat normal was with you, but I couldn't tell you... I couldn't admit my failure out loud. It's easy to say that you don't think it's my fault, but how could it not be?" He asked, it was a rhetorical question, and he moved on. "So, when you say you want to know if there's anything you failed to do... no, you were everything I needed. It was my fault, my inability to see past my fears, past my grief, past all my failures. I felt like I would bring you down, or that I would ruin us, or that you would see me as a failure, and I couldn't handle that. Cris, I would not have survived if you saw me as the failure I think I am."There was a moment where he tried to think of what next to say and then he said, "Like I said before, I regretted the decision. I was second guessing myself before I did it. The problem was I thought it was right, it wasn't. I truly thought I was doing what was best for you. I thought I was protecting you from my self-destruction. Little did I know that you were my only sanity." He shook his head and looked down at the cup he held in his hands.

Cristian didn’t speak for a moment after, trying to fully process the response after— quite a bit more detailed than at the bar. From what it sounded like... Leo had PTSD from his time spent in the military, and Alex passing had triggered it. And Cristian... has failed to connect the dots. He hated the fact he hadn’t ever thought much about the other’s mental health— and any issues he might have had associated with time spent serving. He could never judge Leo for it— heavens knew he would have similar issues in his shoes— but instead judged himself for not knowing or presuming there might be something along those lines at play still that was hurting the Dominant. Was he upset still for how Leo had handled everything— how he’d ripped the choice from Cristian’s hands and left him? Absolutely. But hearing how mentally broken he was and continued to be... Part of him wanted to ask why Leo hadn’t changed fields entirely to something less stressful, or if he’d ever seen a professional for help at any point in his life. Someone who could help him process these events and move past them... Cristian appreciated knowing his impact on the other, but also wondered how healthy such a dependency could be. Regardless, it broke his heart knowing even if he disagreed with Leo’s actions, the Dominant had thought he had to go it alone and further isolate himself from everyone— perhaps the very last thing he should have done. At least when he left, Cristian had had family and friends to fall back on. Did Leo allow himself... anyone? Cristian reaches for Leo’s coffee cup, gently yet firmly taking it from him as well as his own, setting both on the ground. “Come here,” he urged then as he sat back up, opening his arms wanting to pull the older male into a hug.

Once it was out in the open Leo felt... raw. Far to exposed. He wanted to find a way to take it all back, bury it behind the face he showed to everyone else, the one that appeared to have himself put together and in control. Except, somehow, with admitting that he had these issues meant that he could no longer push them aside and pretend they didn’t exist. He wondered how he was going to survive the night now that he’d admitted things to someone else, and was trying to think of ways to do that when his coffee cup was removed from his hands. Leo didn’t fight, his eyes merely looking to the submissive wondering what was going on until he heard the words spoken and saw his arms open. Moving slowly, his body closed the small distance between them, arms wrapping around the other’s frame as if he couldn’t believe he had this opportunity. After a moment he squeezed his eyes shut, dropping his face into the curve of the submissive’s neck as emotions hit him harder than he expected. This was where he felt safest. Why had he pushed this away? He might have found a way to heal if he’d only trusted this information to Cristian sooner. “I’m sorry...” he mumbled into the other’s shoulder lost in the sadness, and guilt that overwhelmed him, and the relief to feel as though he wasn’t alone anymore.

It didn't matter that Leo had hurt Cristian deeply in that moment-- or that they had a lot to work past. The submissive could plainly see the other was hurting, and while it might have been easy to say it was well-deserved, Cristian knew this was much more than that. It genuinely hurt him as well seeing Leo suffering like this and knowing he'd been struggling with this for so long. Why did he still work security? Could he... Move to a less violently inclined version of it that wasn't as likely to involve someone getting hurt? He supposed that was what Leo had already intended until things had taken a twist in Verona thanks to the Romano family. His arms wrapped snuggly around Leo's frame, sighing gently. One arm encircling Leo's back as the other gently cradled the nape of his neck "I know you are, Leo," he answered back gently. "I know, sweetheart." The pet name rolled off his tongue with  a familiar yet sad ease, wishing there was more he could do or say. It felt wrong to try to verbalize so much so quickly though-- to try to suggest Leo start speaking to a professional, or to ask why he hadn't switched careers entirely. "Everything will be okay, I promise you," he added instead, content to let silence fill the void as he held Leo close. How things would be okay-- Cristian wasn't sure yet. But as much as he thought things were over between the Dominant and himself, he couldn't simply leave Leo in the state he was in-- especially knowing now that the man was keeping all of this to himself. He wasn't even sure what the next steps would be, but he knew the best thing at the moment was reassurance. Leo would get better... Cristian would make sure of it.

Hearing Cristian trying to comfort him helped to calm him slowly. He had opened himself up to a reality he had kept locked up tight and tried to hide away. This was a culmination of years worth of pain, grief, and blame hitting him in waves. He held onto Cristian tightly, and that promise that everything would be okay finally helped to calm the storm of emotions. Slowly the crying stopped, his breathing normalized, and as he composed himself he turned his head away from Cristian as he cleaned off his face. Unable to look the submissive in the eye at first. He’d never broken down in front of anyone, and here he was looking weak in front of the person whose opinion mattered more to him than anyone else. “Sorry... I shouldn’t have... usually, I’m much more in control of... And this is... it’s a lot to deal with, a burden that I should’ve been able to handle...” He hadn’t wanted to unload this on Cristian, and he felt a sense of embarrassment at this, but at the same time he realized yet again... he wasn’t alone. Cristian hadn’t shoved him away once he learned the truth. “Thank you...” he said softly, still unable to meet the other male’s eyes.

Cristian fished a tissue from his pocket when Leo pulled away— one he’d brought Incase he himself had needed it. He leaned down to grab the Dominant his coffee, holding it out for Leo take along with the facial tissue. “If I’m not allowed to apologize, then you aren’t either, Leo,” he chided softly.  “It is a lot to deal with... more than most do their entire lives. But you’re wrong thinking you’re somehow suppose to be able to somehow cope with this all alone.” Hell, Cristian hadn’t done that when Leo left... he had friends and family, and had even sought professional help after a few months in order to get his own life in order... And what he’d gone through was far less traumatic than feeling lives were lost due to him.

Taking his coffee cup again, as well as the tissue, Leo focused on the things in his hand as he listened to Cristian. He gave a small shrug. “It seems like a poor excuse, my having to deal with a lot. And to think... I chose the military life.” A rueful smile crosses his features. “Seems I’m good at making terrible life decisions.” He took a deep breath and then took another sip of coffee. It felt natural, right even, for him to confide in Cristian. He knew he had no right to unload on the submissive, not when they weren’t together anymore. Still, he felt relieved it was him and not anyone else. This understanding wouldn’t have come from most, but that wasn’t terribly surprising, Cristian had always been good to him despite his past. “I hope you don’t still think you’ve failed me, or us, in some way. I don’t think you can be at fault in any of this. I just wish... that I’d realized I needed support sooner, that maybe I didn’t have to hold it in and try to deal with it all alone... and poorly, might I add.” God, it would be a miracle if his liver would survive past 45 at the rate he’d been going lately. “I just... I don’t know what to do,” he admitted softly. This was territory he hadn’t crossed before. For once he wasn’t confident in his next steps, or even the least bit sure.

The submissive’s  lips curled into a frown. He did feel  he’d failed Leo in some aspects— such as never realizing he suffered any forms of PTSD or noticing the signs. He realized now he’d put Leo up on a pedestal in many regards, not realizing just how faulted the other man was. Leo has simply been so good at hiding it for so long, and Cristian, blissfully ignorant. Still, he wasn’t going to start a fight over this or cause more stress. He sighed softly and reached for his own empty cup. “Well... do you want my advice, Sir?”

His eyes lifted to Cristian at his question. There was a certain nervousness at what the other might suggest. After only a brief moment of consideration, he nodded slowly, he trusted that Cristian would only want what was best for him. “What do you think I should do?”

He hesitated a moment, nervous as to how Leo might take the suggestion. One hand held onto the coffee cup still as the other reached out, gently resting on Leo’s knee. “I don’t know much about your experiences prior to working together for Lord Tybalt... but have you ever tried speaking to someone about this— all of this before? Or... would you be open to trying at least?” He paused a moment, giving Leo’s leg a gently squeeze. “I— I want to help you, Leo, but I think speaking to an unbiased third party might help.. a lot.” Cristian spoke slowly, watching carefully for any sign of Leo pulling away as he continued. “I could even recommend someone— if you prefer it be via phone versus in person. Or... I would be willing to help you find someone you were comfortable speaking with locally here in Breton, if you’d consider it.”

As he listened to Cristian speak, Leo’s brow furrowed. It was hard already, to tell him and admit it to himself. However, he had come to a realization that he certainly couldn’t do this on his own. Cris was being understanding, but could he truly expect the other to listen to some of the gruesome things he had seen? No. He had a feeling if he didn’t get it out then those memories would remain trapped in his mind, a constant reminder of his failure, perhaps this would be another way. Maybe he could find a way to feel less pain over all the lives lost. “I... would... I think maybe I should try...” His eyes went from the hand on Leo’s knee to the other male’s face, looking for reassurance. “Do you think they can help? Do you think you might help me find someone who could really work with me on this? Someone who maybe has experience dealing with people who were in the military... maybe?” He needed someone who could understand what he had been through. Someone who wasn’t just trying to help but knew what someone like him would have gone through. Someone with experience.

Cristian nodded almost immediately, surprised by the other’s willingness to the idea. It was a positive, promising step forward. “Yeah... I can definitely help, Leo,” he responded softly, making a mental note to start looking into locally available resources later than evening. “I’ll see what I can dig up and we can go over your options over coffee or brunch some time in the near future. How’s that sound?” He added with a gentle smile. He was already willing to meet with his ex again apparently, something that he hadn’t envisioned that morning. Inviting Leo to chat was suppose to be for closure... to truly move on— but life apparently had a funny way of ignoring any plans Cristian ever made for himself. Knowing what he knew now, he couldn’t have simply left Leo and cut him out of his life like the other had so desperately tried to do to himself. He wasn’t sure what to call what was between them anymore... Or if he could manage a friendship with his ex, but it hardly felt like either wanted the other completely gone. “We can catch up, too... you can tell me how the new job’s going... it’ll be... nice, yeah?”

Relief flooded him at the idea of having Cristian’s help. Before he knew it, he reached out with his free arm, the one not holding his coffee cup, and pulled him in towards his body. “I can’t thank you enough for this. For everything.” Lord knew he didn’t deserve this kindness. Pulling back, he remained close as a slow and small smile rugged at the corner of his lips. “I’d like that, to meet up and talk about what options you find... and so we can catch up. You can tell me about your job too. I want to know how you like it.” It sounded like Cristian was willing to let him into his life still. That gave Leo hope. Maybe they weren’t together right now, but maybe... maybe someday when he wasn’t so broken. He still loved Cristian more than he had any right to, but he knew as he settled back against the bench, that he needed to work on himself first. However, he wasn’t alone in this. He still had Cris, at least in some form.

[adventuresloane]

Déjà Vu All Over Again

((Amnesty spoilers up to episode 27!))

Read on AO3

If Ned were being honest--and he hadn't been, because he almost never was, with others or with himself--he would have said that he knew from the moment he met her.

It was an inkling, at first. Just enough to make him do a double-take when he saw this girl, this kid with a-bit-too-large eyes making her look always alert. There was a hunger about her, and he knew hunger when he saw it, the kind that made cavities inside the body and that couldn't be filled up with food. It was something in her slightly sunken cheeks and long, thin limbs, and every time he looked at her he felt a niggling in the back of his mind like a hairpin inside a stubborn lock: Where have I seen you before?

The thing was, Ned "Astute" Chicane never forgot a face. It had been indescribably useful in his former line of work, one in which frenemies and associates, his fellow thieves and cons, rotated through a dozen aliases and identities without warning. When a Reginald on Tuesday became a Martin by Thursday, it was handy to be able to take one look at a guy and remember whether or not he was the type to screw people over. He knew on sight whether they could be bribed or bargained with, whether they were a rat, whether they would stab him in the back, whether they would stab him in the eye.

But then this Audrey--"Aub-rey," she enunciated slowly when he got it wrong for the third time--this Aubrey was familiar to him, but in what context, he had no idea. It was like remembering a string of notes but neither the words nor the title of the song. Sometimes she painted herself neon with the shiniest and brightest makeup she could, gave herself a face like a bicycle reflector. Like she was afraid of not being seen, disappearing in the dark. That, for some reason, was when he really thought he had seen her before, when she was alight like that. But he didn't recall knowing anyone who dressed that way. Damn it. He was getting older. He was sure of it.

And then, a little while later, he watched her catch fire.

And though her hair had been longer and duller back then (twisting up and snapping in a wind he couldn't feel), and though her now-slender arms had then been more on the gangly side (dangling from her like dead weight until she raised her fist), and though she kept her feet on the ground now (she had been lifted as if suspended by wires), he knew. The light of the flames struck her cheekbones just as it had that night three years ago and that's how knew it was her, and that it was just his rotten luck, or maybe the just punishment of some god he'd never seen, that even in podunk Kepler he would run up against his past and that the one out-of-towner who actually decided to stay would end up being the one--

No. It was impossible, definitely. The odds were too long. There was a resemblance, maybe, but Aubrey didn't look that much like the girl from the house. And anyway, even if it were true, who could prove it? No one. Not even him. He shook his head to knock the idea out of his brain. He had more pressing things to deal with, like saving his own hide from the amalgamation of fangs and eyes in front of him. And so, because the thought was not useful, he tamped it down.

That didn't mean he found it easy to look her in the face for a little while after that. The day after their first fight with a monster, he sat in the hospital parking lot and argued with himself for twenty minutes before going in to see her. She was asleep, and he thought for half a second about trying to wake her or waiting until she got up herself. But then, he assumed it wouldn't do much good either way, and he turned around and left.

To say that Ned had never been interested in having kids was an understatement. Heaven forbid. What would he have even done with one? Carted them around in the back of his black van and pretended the six police cars on their tail were playing tag? For that matter, who would he have raised them with? There hadn't been anyone since Mosche, and if there were anyone less fit for fatherhood than Ned, it was him.

That door had all but closed to him at his age, anyway. He was glad of it. He thought of having kids and could only imagine how he would fuck them up. He thought of pouring every resource into a tiny person until they turned into a big person, grew to hate him, and left. No, thanks.

So it wasn't out of any fatherly instinct that he started talking to her. It was just that he knew that look. He hadn't meant to pry, but he had been sitting in the lodge's lobby, early for a Pine Guard meeting with Mama and the others, when he saw her and Dani leaning into each other's space. As they talked, they kept shrinking back just before they could touch foreheads. But Aubrey's puff of tight curls kept brushing the other girl's skin. She mouthed the word "bye," ducked her forehead for a moment, and then placed a careful kiss on Dani's cheek as though it were a fragile thing. When Dani departed, she kept beaming in her direction for awhile afterwards.

Then Aubrey turned to the window and saw him. That was when he realized that he'd been staring. There was the look, the jolt of alarm that knocked the grin off her face. The look of being caught. He recognized it, alright.

She recovered, though not entirely. As she walked in and sat down, she did not quite meet his eyes.

There was no noise for a time, aside from the tick of the clock above the fireplace and the rhythm that she tapped out on her knees with her fingers. Then, Ned attempted, "Have I ever told you about my master criminal origin story?"

She rolled her eyes, in a way that was both rude and somehow not unfriendly. "We all heard about you stealing Audrey Hepburn's necklace from Breakfast at Tiffany's, Ned."

"Oh, no, no, this was well before I took on any big targets like that." He paused. "Though I'll have you know that trying to pry off her roof tiles in broad daylight without getting caught was no easy--"

"Ned."

"Alright, fine, fine, you've heard it. What I was going to say is that I got my start back in the dinosaur era, when I was a high schooler."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yep. Started picking locks to impress boys."

Though he was not looking right at her, he noticed, out of the corner of his eye, the way her head snapped towards him. She smiled, and after she let a breath out she looked like she had gotten rid of a weight. Recognition.

"Yeah," he continued, "there was this lacrosse player who...well, you know what lacrosse players are like, eh? Anyway, he always talked about breaking into the school greenhouse and sleeping out there. Bucket-list thing for him, I guess. Well, guess who learned to pick the lock for this kid? Ned 'Impeccable Judgment' Chicane."

She chuckled, then pursed her lips, as though considering. At last, she mumbled, "Did it work?"

"What?"

"Was he impressed?" She went on before he could answer. "I figured out how to pick my classroom door's lock in the third grade. I was liberating Spud. Uh, Spud was our turtle, like a class pet, but her cage was way small, or at least I thought so, so I broke into the room to get her out. Is that really--damn, could I have used that to impress cute people all these years? Dammit! How'd I never think of that?" She ran a hand through her hair, and he couldn't help but smile.

"Of course it worked. I was very good. I mean, we got caught and suspended later, but before that? He thought I was pretty damn smooth." She laughed again, and he waited for her to stop before he went on, "But, well, it seems like Dani's pretty impressed with you already, if you don't mind me saying so."

She grinned down at the carpet beneath her feet. It wasn't quite embarrassment, he didn't think, but rather a surge of joy that added an extra warm tint to her deep brown cheeks. "Thanks, Ned."

Always she was moving. He got the idea that if someone ever tried to take a candid photo of her, it would inevitably come out blurred. Her fingers worked constantly, pulling back her cuticles or igniting small flames or clacking the Snapple caps she always seemed to keep in her pockets. That, perhaps, was why she had tried for the whole stage magic thing. It kept her hands occupied. Even with the real magic she had now, she practiced her flourishes and sleights-of-hand constantly. Little interlocking rings. Cards slipping into and out of her sleeves. Coins disappearing.

"Is this your card?"

Head in his hand, he gave a sardonic grin to the three of clubs she had produced from her sleeve and shook his head.

Aubrey turned the card towards herself and gave a look of mock surprise. "Oh, what a mess! This card might be a little worse for wear, but don't let appearances deceive you, Mr. Chicane!" (She had never, even when they had first met, called him "Mr. Chicane" at any other time except when she was performing. He had appreciated that.) She scrubbed the card against her shirt as though to clean it and then flipped it around to show him again. Miraculously, it had become the three of diamonds. "You can always find diamonds in the rough."

He chuckled and clapped exactly three times. "Nice job. I didn't see you pull the other card out from under your collar that time."

"Ugh, you're no fun," she grumbled, dropping the act. "You're supposed to at least try to buy into it."

"Hey, I've gotta be a skeptic! In order to be good at bullshitting, first you gotta know how to spot bullshit. That's how I'm able to scam other people."

She huffed. "Yeah, you know bullshit alright, Ned."

He shrugged and took another bite of his Slim Jim. (Aubrey had wrinkled her nose when he had offered her half. Well, more for him.) For a few quiet moments--or moments that would have been quiet were she not flapping the card back and forth absently--they sat in their headquarters in the lodge's basement. "Aubrey, can I ask...why stage magic?"

She answered immediately, enunciating, as though it were a rehearsed line like any of the ones she would utter during a show. "Because people told me not to." Before he could respond, she quickly went on, with an effort at evenness, "I know you probably think that's a stupid reason, but it's the truth."

"Heh, well, Aubrey, I'm not the sort of person who can really talk about doing what people tell him."

Her mouth had been open to say something else, but instead she glanced at him, then grinned. Her shoulders dropped a little. "Yeah, I guess you did super rob a lot of people, huh?"

"I most certainly did. Is that the only reason, then?"

She tapped her toe, then her heel, against the wooden deck. "It's not that I'm doing it out of spite, so much," she said slowly.

"I didn't say you were."

"Right, but like, people assume that when I say that, you know. But it's more like...I know people think it's a joke, right? I'm not dumb. And the more people think that, the more they assume it's impossible, the more I want it. What's there to having magic powers, if not to make people believe you can do impossible stuff?"

"I hear you." He heard, and he understood. He supposed that he had hungered for the impossible, too, when he was younger. Why else steal Clooney's Oscar than to prove he could? Why else stomp out of his parents' house with a duffel at sixteen, leaving his mother weeping into the chest of his father--his impassive, shale-faced father, whose grayish countenance was hard and brittle enough that it would crack before it ever loosened or bent--and set out on his own? It had probably been wrong to leave like that, he knew now, but the idea of right and wrong hadn't crossed his mind at the time. He had simply been daring something, finally, and that had felt like it had to be something good.

He looked at her and wondered when he had last risked, really. At some point, he had started going only for the sure thing. The easy thing.

Like so many other times, he thought he recognized her. But this time, it wasn't that he thought she was the girl from the burning house. There was something else, in her youth, that was familiar to him in a different way.

Sometimes, she scared the hell out of him.

Sometimes, what freaked him out was the lingering suspicion about who she was. Now and again, when the light hit her a certain way, the thought would come to him again like a bump in the night. Something that shouldn't have scared him--it wasn't real, just his imagination--but left his skin crawling anyway.

That was becoming increasingly less common though. Mostly, he was damn near terrified when he saw what she could do.

Had he turned his head to one side or the other, water was all he would have seen. The wave had encircled him in shining, glassy blue, as all-encompassing as the roar of its rolling. Of course, he did not turn its head to one side or the other, because his neck was fixed in place, like the rest of his rigid body, paralyzed before the wall of water cresting up and up and never ceasing in movement. It reached its apex, rearing like a striking snake, and then momentum led it down--

"Ned, look out!"

There was a rush of hot air behind him, and the laws of physics were suspended. There, in front of him, the water stopped. It hung over his head but did not reach him, as if gravity itself had stopped cooperating with the abomination.

And right behind him was Aubrey, palms straight out in front of her.

Her ability to bend the will of the world scared him, sure. But what frightened him more, what was more unfathomable, was her ability to leap into the path of a wave primed to swallow her and tell it no.

He tried to give her a shaky grin, but she looked forward without seeming to see, wide-eyed.

Later, when things had gone quiet, and when he had finished convincing some deeply confused insurance agents over the phone that yes the Cryptonomica's water damage had obviously come from a burst pipe, he found her.

"Aubrey," he started, then faltered. People had saved him before--Mosche, for self-serving reasons, and Victoria, for reasons he still tried to wrap his head around--but he had seldom thanked them for it. There was no way not to make it awkward. "Thanks for, uh...your...judicious use of magic back there. You, hah, really saved my slow ass there."

She sat on the curb with her chin resting between her knees, eyes locked on the yellow dandelion that had slipped up through the concrete. It took several seconds for her to react at all, and when she did, she shook her head quickly. It was as though his voice had taken time to penetrate her brain. "Yeah...yeah, Ned, don't mention it." She spoke in a soft, slow voice, only half-present.

At the risk of sliding this conversation even further into awkward territory, he ventured, after several moments, "You, uh, holding up okay after all that?"

"Yeah. It wasn't the monster freaking me out or anything, I just..." She flicked her forefinger against her thumb over and over again, like one striking a match. Indeed, more often than not, orange sparks shot off. Then she glanced at him. She seemed to be weighing cost and benefit, as he did so often. "It's just, for some reason I started thinking about my dad when I stopped that wave."

He swallowed his saliva. This was not the sort of talk he had ever in his life been equipped for. Just her saying that had activated his flight-and-flight mode, which was like the fight-or-flight mode, except that there had only ever been one option for him. But, shit, she looked sad. So he turned toward her and waited for her to go on.

"Today, I was just like...I don't even know. You almost beefed it, you and Duck both, and it scared me, and somehow it got me thinking that if something were to happen to my dad, or to me, neither of us would know about it for awhile. We don't talk enough for that." She stopped the finger flicking and instead clenched her fist around the fabric of her pants. "Whatever, I don't know."

"No, I get it. There are...things you want to tell him, maybe?"

"Yeah, exactly. You know what that's like?"

"I do." He nearly said, I don't recommend it, but there was no need to open that can of worms. No need to make it about him. He returned to his shop that evening and remembered whose shop it was, really, even after all this time, whose shop it had always been.

He hadn't known about the mother.

In fact, he knew almost nothing about the accident, beyond what he had seen for himself that very night. When he had passed by a newspaper stand with a flaming building on the front page, he had held back his bile and looked away. He had decided not to read the paper for weeks afterward. He had been too afraid of learning exactly what he was learning right now, lying there under the fluorescent hospital lights that he could see through his eyelids, listening to Aubrey and Mama speak softly so as not to wake him.

No killing. That had always been the one rule. He could bring himself to sink to any other low, but he could always assure himself, still, that he was a good guy, well, a decent guy, well, not completely heartless because he refused to kill. He avoided being detestable that way, he told himself.

Well, he always had been a liar.

He had killed a woman. He had killed a girl's mother and maybe killed the girl, too, in some way, killed the person that she had been before that night. How does someone so young go through that without metamorphosing under the strain, turning into someone harder to recognize?

He had done it. Even if he hadn't been the one to start the fire, he had done all of it. And somehow, he had known it, deep down, all along.

See, Ned "Fucking Coward" Chicane feared many things. Just because he was part of a big monster-hunting and -hiding conspiracy didn't mean he feared any less. It might have seemed that way on the outside. True, he was beginning to grow numb to claws and yellow eyes and pain. But now he was afraid of other things. Of being useless, hurtful, hated.

He was afraid of looking Aubrey in the eye.

So if anyone thought it was bravery that made him jump into his Lincoln and speed down a snowy hill after a train, they were wrong. It was one result of the fear that he was, in fact, a bad man, and part of his frenzy to prove himself wrong.

Aubrey leapt in too, of course. She would have, whether he had tried to argue against it or not. She was brave, for real. As they careened down the slope, shouting over each other, and as she leaned over to grip his steering wheel with one hand and cling to his arm with the other, he saw the way in which they were unalike. She was running towards something, while he ran away.

He wasn't sure he would have bailed out of the car when he did, either, if she had not prompted him. His panic had turned him tunnel-visioned, enough that he barely escaped getting his body tangled up in the twisted wreckage of his loyal old car.

"I'm proud of you, Ned," she said when it was all over.

Her hand was on his shoulder and she was smiling at him with sympathy. He made eye contact with her for the first time since the hospital and saw that, of course, she still knew nothing of who he was, and that's when a new thought of the niggling sort came into his mind: This could work. For now, he could let her believe that he was alright. What good would it do right now, anyway, to hurt her with the knowledge of what he had done? There was time enough to tell her all of it. And in the meantime, he could keep trying to atone.

This could work, he kept telling himself, even after he found himself beginning to avoid her, when her eye turned as orange and bright as the pendant that he had taken from her home.

To Aubrey, he wasn't anything like a father, not really. He knew that. She had one of those already (but not a mother, he always recalled, and every time he did, he felt tempted to replace the memory in his brain with a bullet). He was, at best, a weird uncle. But a good kind of weird, apparently, judging by the way she seemed to seek out his company now and again. Like an uncle, he was less prone than a father to judge or give a lecture. It meant that, once in a blue moon, she swung by the Cryptonomica by herself, despite her distaste for the web-footed monkeys in formaldehyde and the taxidermy chimaeras.

"Remind me again where you got all this crap from?" she called, tapping on a display case showing the vertebral column of a mermaid. (Most people were unaware that mermaids' unique biology gave them bones made of plaster.)

"Oh, a little from here, a little from there," he said with a flippant wave. To avoid looking at her, he busied himself with invoices at his desk. Twenty minutes to closing time, the winter sun had already set, and they were the only two people still in the shop, with the exception of Kirby, holed up in the back. He considered calling Kirby out for some mundane thing or other. He avoided being alone with Aubrey nowadays. "By the way, Aubrey, what are you doing here?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Can I not be here?"

"No, no!" He waved his hands out in front of him. "No, of course you can. My...my friends are always more than welcome. It just seems that maybe, uh, you'd rather hang out with someone like Dani or Jake than some old dude like me."

She sighed. "I'm...procrastinating, I guess."

"Oh?"

He heard her inhale, as if to speak, but no words came immediately. That was when, finally, he dared to look up at her. She had her back to him, shoulders scrunched. "I was gonna call my dad on the payphone across the street, but I turned in here instead."

"Did you..." He hesistated, felt his way. "Were you going to tell him something?"

"Not in particular. I just feel like I wanna talk, like, for real. We used to talk all the time. I think, just...I know I didn't ever tell you, but my mom died, about three years ago."

He felt about ready to throw up, as her voice strained with the effort of telling him what he already knew.

"My dad and I were both...really fucking hurting, obviously, and I don't think he knew how to help me, aside from getting me a therapist, and I sure as hell didn't know how to help him. And I left home so soon after that, just to get away from where it all happened...I don't know. I wanna be able to talk to him about real shit again. Like, he's my dad, you know?"

Her voice caught. He took a few steps out from behind the counter before stopping. Of all people, he wasn't the one to comfort her about this. But then, he was the only one there. If not him, who?

He wasn't going to hug her. He didn't even know if she'd want that. Instead, he settled for a placed carefully on her shoulder. "Um...he'll be happy to hear you, I'm sure."

She smiled as her odd eyes shone.

The next time she stood in his shop, she burned, like she had that night. Everything about her burned, her hands enveloped in flame and her glaring eyes. Even the blood pouring from her leg--his eyes kept flicking to the puddle on the floor with concern--seemed to give off a hot red glow. The tears making dark tracks down her face, he was sure, were burning too.

When he told her to burn him up, he tried to make himself believe it was out of bravery. Trying to resolve the situation. Bullshit. He was doing what he always did, avoiding.

"I hate you." She spat the word with as much ire as she could, despite the break in her voice. "Because you knew."

She didn't kill him, the way he had asked her to. Just told him, not in so many words, that to her, he was dead already.

And as she walked out into an evening the color of molten rock, as he threw things in boxes while barely looking at him--all junk, anyway, bric-a-brac with big names attached--he knew he should've expected to run all along. It was all he knew.

He should've seen it coming. He had seen it coming. Right from the start, he had known.

((Please consider reblogging if you liked it! Thank you!))

[dfroza]

Today’s reading from the ancient books of Proverbs and Psalms

for Sunday, October 25 of 2020 with Proverbs 25 and Psalm 25 accompanied by Psalm 34 for the 34th day of Autumn and Psalm 149 for day 299 of the year

[Proverbs 25]

Solomon’s proverbs, published by the scribes of King Hezekiah:

God conceals the revelation of his word

in the hiding place of his glory.

But the honor of kings is revealed

by how they thoroughly search out

the deeper meaning of all that God says.

The heart of a king is full of understanding,

like the heavens are high and the ocean is deep.

If you burn away the impurities from silver,

a sterling vessel will emerge from the fire.

And if you purge corruption from the kingdom,

a king’s reign will be established in righteousness.

Don’t boast in the presence of a king

or promote yourself by taking a seat at the head table

and pretend that you’re someone important.

For it is better for the king to say to you,

“Come, you should sit at the head table,”

than for him to say in front of everyone,

“Please get up and move—

you’re sitting in the place of the prince.”

Don’t be hasty to file a lawsuit.

By starting something you wish you hadn’t,

you could be humiliated when you lose your case.

Don’t reveal another person’s secret

just to prove a point in an argument,

or you could be accused of being a gossip

and gain a reputation for being one

who betrays the confidence of a friend.

Winsome words spoken at just the right time

are as appealing as apples gilded in gold

and surrounded with silver.

To humbly receive wise correction

adorns your life with beauty

and makes you a better person.

A reliable, trustworthy messenger

refreshes the heart of his master,

like a gentle breeze blowing at harvest time—

cooling the sweat from his brow.

Clouds that carry no water

and a wind that brings no refreshing rain—

that’s what you’re like when you boast

of a gift that you don’t have.

[Wisdom Practices Self-Control]

Use patience and kindness when you want to persuade leaders

and watch them change their minds right in front of you.

For your gentle wisdom will quell the strongest resistance.

When you discover something sweet,

don’t overindulge and eat more than you need,

for excess in anything can make you sick of even a good thing.

Don’t wear out your welcome

by staying too long at the home of your friends,

or they may get fed up with always having you there

and wish you hadn’t come.

Lying about and slandering people

are as bad as hitting them with a club,

or wounding them with an arrow,

or stabbing them with a sword.

You can’t depend on an unreliable person

when you really need help.

It can be compared to biting down on an abscessed tooth

or walking with a sprained ankle.

When you sing a song of joy to someone suffering

in the deepest grief and heartache,

it can be compared to disrobing in the middle of a blizzard

or rubbing salt in a wound.

Is your enemy hungry? Buy him lunch.

Win him over with your kindness.

Your surprising generosity will awaken his conscience

and God will reward you with favor.

As the north wind brings a storm,

saying things you shouldn’t brings a storm to any relationship.

It’s better to live all alone in a rundown shack

than to share a castle with a crabby spouse!

Like a drink of cool water to a weary, thirsty soul,

so hearing good news revives the spirit.

When a lover of God gives in and compromises with wickedness,

it can be compared to contaminating a stream with sewage

or polluting a fountain.

It’s good to eat sweet things,

but you can take too much.

It’s good to be honored,

but to seek words of praise is not honor at all.

If you live without restraint

and are unable to control your temper,

you’re as helpless as a city with broken-down defenses,

open to attack.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 25 (The Passion Translation)

[Psalm 25]

Don’t Fail Me, God!

King David’s poetic praise to God

Forever I will lift up my soul into your presence, Lord.

Be there for me, God, for I keep trusting in you.

Don’t allow my foes to gloat over me or

the shame of defeat to overtake me.

For how could anyone be disgraced

when he has entwined his heart with you?

But they will all be defeated and ashamed

when they harm the innocent.

Lord, direct me throughout my journey

so I can experience your plans for my life.

Reveal the life-paths that are pleasing to you.

Escort me along the way; take me by the hand and teach me.

For you are the God of my increasing salvation;

I have wrapped my heart into yours!

Forgive my failures as a young man,

and overlook the sins of my immaturity.

Give me grace, Lord! Always look at me

through your eyes of love—

your forgiving eyes of mercy and compassion.

When you think of me, see me as one you love and care for.

How good you are to me!

When people turn to you,

they discover how easy you are to please—so faithful and true!

Joyfully you teach them the proper path,

even when they go astray.

Keep showing the humble your path,

and lead them into the best decision.

Bring revelation-light that trains them in the truth.

All the ways of the Lord are loving and faithful for those who follow the ways of his covenant.

For the honor of your name, Lord,

never count my sins, and forgive them all—

lift their burden off of my life!

Who are they that live in the holy fear of God?

You will show them the right path to take.

Then prosperity and favor will be their portion,

and their descendants will inherit all that is good.

There’s a private place reserved for the lovers of God,

where they sit near him and receive

the revelation-secrets of his promises.

Rescue me, Lord, for you’re my only hero.

Sorrows fill my heart as I feel helpless, mistreated—

I’m all alone and in misery!

Come closer to me now, Lord, for I need your mercy.

Turn to me, for my problems seem to be going from bad to worse.

Only you can free me from all these troubles!

Until you lift this burden, the burden of all my sins,

my troubles and trials will be more than I can handle.

Can’t you feel my pain?

Vicious enemies hate me.

There are so many, Lord. Can’t you see?

Will you protect me from their power against me?

Let it never be said that I trusted you

and you didn’t come to my rescue.

Your perfection and faithfulness are my bodyguards,

for you are my hope and I trust in you as my only protection.

Zealously, God, we ask you

to come save Israel from all her troubles,

for you provide the ransom price for your people!

The Book of Psalms, Poem 25 (The Passion Translation)

[Psalm 34]

A David Psalm, When He Outwitted Abimelech and Got Away

I bless God every chance I get;

my lungs expand with his praise.

I live and breathe God;

if things aren’t going well, hear this and be happy:

Join me in spreading the news;

together let’s get the word out.

God met me more than halfway,

he freed me from my anxious fears.

Look at him; give him your warmest smile.

Never hide your feelings from him.

When I was desperate, I called out,

and God got me out of a tight spot.

God’s angel sets up a circle

of protection around us while we pray.

Open your mouth and taste, open your eyes and see—

how good God is.

Blessed are you who run to him.

Worship God if you want the best;

worship opens doors to all his goodness.

Young lions on the prowl get hungry,

but God-seekers are full of God.

Come, children, listen closely;

I’ll give you a lesson in God worship.

Who out there has a lust for life?

Can’t wait each day to come upon beauty?

Guard your tongue from profanity,

and no more lying through your teeth.

Turn your back on sin; do something good.

Embrace peace—don’t let it get away!

God keeps an eye on his friends,

his ears pick up every moan and groan.

God won’t put up with rebels;

he’ll cull them from the pack.

Is anyone crying for help? God is listening,

ready to rescue you.

If your heart is broken, you’ll find God right there;

if you’re kicked in the gut, he’ll help you catch your breath.

Disciples so often get into trouble;

still, God is there every time.

He’s your bodyguard, shielding every bone;

not even a finger gets broken.

The wicked commit slow suicide;

they waste their lives hating the good.

God pays for each slave’s freedom;

no one who runs to him loses out.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 34 (The Message)

[Psalm 149]

Praise the Eternal!

Write new songs; sing them to Him with all your might!

Gather with His faithful followers in joyful praise;

Let all of Israel celebrate their Maker, their God, their friend;

let the children of Zion find great joy in their true King.

So let the music begin; praise His name—dance and sing

to the rhythm of the tambourine, and to the tune of the harp.

For the Eternal is listening, and nothing pleases Him more than His people;

He raises up the poor and endows them with His salvation.

Let His faithful followers erupt in praise,

singing triumphantly wherever they are, even as they lie down for sleep in the evening.

With the name of God and praise in their mouths,

with a two-edged sword in their hands,

Let them take revenge on all nations who deny God.

Let them punish the peoples.

Kings and nobles will be locked up,

and their freedom will be bound in iron shackles.

This judgment against them, decreed by a holy God, will be carried out.

It’s an honor for all His faithful followers to serve Him.

Praise the Eternal!

The Book of Psalms, Poem 149 (The Voice)

[justtextmeoppa]

❝ I want her with me. ❞

Plot: You and Yoongi are both idols and you’re dating. During a Music Award Show he confesses you’re his girlfriend. 

Pairing: YoongixReader

Words count: 2,8k+

Genre: Fluff 

For anon, I hope you like it cutie! - M. 

Gif isn’t mine, credits to the owner! ♥

"PDnim wants to talk to me, can you stay here with Hobi waiting for me?"  

Yoongi's request, you just nodded with lightness, giving him a little peck onto his cheek.  

You were accustomed to his continual disappearances, so the fact that he left you alone at that time with Hoseok didn't bother you that much. In fact, you appreciate spending time with the rest of the Bangtan, because they were as much important as of your own family.  

He smiled at you and your heart made a little flip, not yet accustomed to that sweetness that brightened his eyes every time he looked at you. Nine months and you still felt like a little girl struggling with the first crush.  

"Y/N, come and dance with me!" Hoseok screamed and dragged you to the center of the big Rehearsal room, shaking his head repeatedly; "I don't accept a no, Y/N. I know you know how to dance!"  

"Hobi I can't compete with you, you're a dance freak!"  

"In fact, you have to dance with me, don't compete!"  

You could not argue with that statement because he was theoretically right, so giggling you started to follow the rhythm of music and move along with him, without being able to keep the laughter. With Jung Hoseok it was practically impossible not to laugh.  

"You say we can change Jin Hyung with you? You dance much better than him! "  

"Brat I heard you! You should be thankful I don't spit into your food when I cook! "  

Seokjin's voice took you by surprise and you immediately hopped towards him, worried that Hoseok's "harsh" sentence had been able to offend him in some way. You did puppy's eyes and he smiled at you, making you sigh with relief. You were still not accustomed to the way they sometimes joked with each other, you cared like a mom nobody was offended or they fight due to trivial things..  

Dating Yoongi had, automatically, involved acquiring six brothers to care for.  

"Yoongi?? He must come and try the outfit for the show tomorrow night. " Seokjin murmured, made a mess with your hair gently, laying his gaze on Hoseok that just shrugged his shoulders.  

"PDnim wanted to talk to him.. and about the show, I have to go... I also have to try my dress. Can you tell Yoongi that I had to run away?" You asked, hopping to the table to retrieve your purse. Seokjin and Hoseok watched you, amused and cheered by your presence.  

They still wondered how it was possible that you and Yoongi were a couple because you two were completely opposed. But maybe that was your secret, even because they didn't know the most private side of you.  

Hoseok hugged you from behind, greeting and pretending desperation that you had to go away, so you gave him a pinch on his arm and he pretended to fall to the ground in pain.  

"Don't worry Y/N, we'll tell him.. And don' mind Hoseok " Seokjin reassured you with a caring and sweet tone while you threw him a flying kiss, which he pretended to take by making a small leap.  

Coming out of the rehearsal room you ran towards one of the side exits of the building, starting to wear the mask and one of Yoongi's hat. You didn't want anyone to recognize you because your relationship was still secret, for both your managers' and companies will.  

It wasn't a problem for you the secrecy, even in those months you enjoyed the opportunity to know Yoongi away from the public, only you two. And it turned out to be such a pure and fragile soul that falling in love with him had been easy.  

Distracted by your thoughts you came out of the building, after repeatedly checking that there were no fans or even worse paparazzi, walking towards your car.  

Yes, you had to go get ready for the next day show, but the urge to do it was very low since you should have spent hours making your makeup, scolded by your stylistic and hairstylist Unnie.  

Sometimes you just didn't like your idol life at all.  

~ ~

- It's boring having to pretend to be just colleagues. -  

- Don't complain; At least we'll be sitting near. -  

- Yes, I'll have to endure Taehyung and Jungkook that tease me because I can't hug you! -

You threw your phone on the table in front of you, noticing SooYa giggling at your side and threw a killer look at her. You snorted, leaving in the meantime that make up artist began to "work on you". She asked you to relax your face because your sulky expression wasn't helping her to apply the pearly black eyeshadow.  

"Stop giggling SooYa"  

"Sorry, Unnie..... But you have that puppy gaze and you should be our leader, but instead, it always seems that you are our maknae. "  

As she spoke, you made the verse, being scolded again by the woman standing next to you and immediately your PDnim called you back, making you feel completely embarrassed  

"Excuse me.." You murmured embarrassed, staying then motionless so that she could make her work calmly.  

Your phone rang several times but you ignored it, you didn't want to disturb or interrupt anyone. After your manager scolded you, you had entered into the "leader" mode, that cold and detached mode that you reserved for important events such as those.  

You didn't want to disfigure your group, so that was the only way not to show your "stupidity" in public.  

"Here's done Y/N, by now I'm done."  

"Thank you."  

SooYa next to you immediately noticed your mood change, while the other five girls around you were completely unaware of the transformation of their leader.

"Unnie..?"  

"Don't worry, I'm fine." You winked at her, pretending that your mood hadn't precipitated disastrously, getting from the chair and direct towards the screen where the Unnie stylist was waiting for you.  

You had seen your dress and the anxiety of wearing it was so much that you had begun to tremble. It was a black dress with silver finishing, which was able to emphasize all your curves. It was perhaps too sexy for your liking, but it was in perfect harmony with that of your colleagues.  

Two hours were missing at the start of the show and the anxiety had begun to eat you completely alive.  

~ ~

"Unnie, are you okay??" The maknae of the group, the small and sparkling bean named Eunen, asked you visibly worried, while you smiled trying to divert the attention.  

You wanted to see Yoongi but you knew that you wouldn't have the chance to show yourself in public, also because you knew perfectly that even if they knew of your relationship he wouldn't have appreciated PDA.  

Finally, the minivan on which you were traveling from half an hour stopped and the screams of the fans were perfectly audible outside the van. Your best smile made the appearance on your face, despite your mood being completely black, and you opened the door letting it slide until you have the space you need to get down.  

The screams were even higher than what you thought, but with elegance and without getting distracted you would step out the car helping then Eunen who was sitting next to you. They didn't call you the "Mom" of the group without the right reasons.  

You smiled kindly to anyone who called your name, waiting for the others to come down from the car and along with them, you would walk on the red carpet, totally ignoring the annoyance that the flashes provoked you.  

BTS' fans greeted you enthusiastically, all knew of the friendship that binds your group to their idols, while you stopped on the little platform to offer photographers all the photos they needed.  

Fortunately, that moment didn't last long because a few moments after two minivans stopped and everyone was aware of who they were, so the screams multiplied and you started to walk towards the entrance of the building.  

But you would stay a few steps back, with the black dress that bandaged your body to perfection and made you almost an ether goddess, turning your gaze towards them.  

Your eyes met with those of Yoongi, who had to toil to maintain a neutral gaze. But from that glance, you could understand that he was like mesmerized by your beauty.  

You made a small nod with your head, reaching your friends and entering the building, looking for your places.  

You knew a hug could change your mood, but you should have waited that night to get one. As long as they hadn't won some prizes, so you could "hug him" to congratulate him. You just had to hope in a nutshell.  

~ ~

"Wah, Y/N Noona is so fucking gorgeo--"  

Yoongi's slap arrived fast on Taehyung's nape, who immediately bit his tongue and provoked you a little smile, while gently caressing the part just hit by your boyfriend.  

"Yoongi don't harass him.. And thanks, Tae. "  

"Hang out with him, then." Yoongi snorted and you raised your eyes to heaven, amused by his impossibility to conceal that pinch of jealousy that flowed into him.  

SooYa called you back to the attention, as the other girls couldn't stay quiet and you threw them a stern look, without noticing the cameras that were recovering you at that time. Slightly annoyed greeted the camera, while Yoongi was aware of something that hadn't noticed before.  

You were strangely silent that night and for him it was almost a surprise because he usually could only silence you with kisses. So when you apologized for going to the bathroom, he sat near Sooya and brushed gently on her shoulder.  

"Yoongi-ssi! What's going on? "  

"What happened to Y/N?"  

"Oh our manager scolded her first, because of me too and I think her mood has ruined.. She always feels obliged to be a good leader for us and I know it's heavy for her, she's the one who our PDnim scolds more.. "  

He nodded simply, mimicking with his lips a slight "thank you" and returning to sit at his place.  

"What's going on?" You asked Sooya, having seen from afar that her and Yoongi had spoken for a few seconds. She cleverly shrugged her shoulders and told you that he simply asked her if you had eaten, worried because he knew that due to the nervousness you always skip your meals.  

And yet something, when you turned to look at him, in the look of your incredibly handsome boy, made you assume that something would happen.  

If a nice or a bad thing you still couldn't figure it out.  

~ ~

When the name of the BTS was shouted by the two hosts, who had just announced the winners for the album of the year, you jumped on your feet applauding and screaming in a joy that you couldn't describe.  

You knew how much they deserve that prize and seeing that finally all their efforts were rewarded was a unique emotion.  

Immediately Namjoon embraced Sooya, for who he secretly had a crush, and you approached Yoongi by tying your arms around his neck.  

"I'm profoundly proud of you, my love." You whispered into his ear and the grasp of his arms on your hips became more strong, while you laid a little kiss on his neck. Fortunately, you were covered by others and so no one noticed that small but very intimate moment between you.  

When he loosened his grasp you pouted your cheeks and he smiled, having to move away with others to go and pick up the prize.  

You would sit in your place, continuing to applaud even slightly trying to hold the tears as best you could.  

Namjoon's speech was touching, the first thing he had pronounced was the name of their fandom and he had thanked every member of the group for that price. The emotion was too much and when the shiny eyes of Yoongi were framed on the screen, you could no longer hold the emotions and small hot tears began to run along your cheeks, slightly ruining the makeup done a few hours before.  

After that time it was all incredibly confusing for you because the show was practically finished and they had to hold the interviews of the winners. So no cuddling with Yoongi for another two hours, because you knew they would be among the last to be interviewed.  

So, without realizing, you found yourself sitting between EXO's Baekhyun and Minseok, talking to them quietly and enjoying those moments of pure tranquility.  

"How can you be single?" Minseok asked, not with malice but with sheer curiosity, making you a huge smile that made you understand how it was possible that their fans always had heart attacks.  

"I'm obnoxious Minseok-ssi!"  

"Shut up! When we did that collaboration I couldn't stop laughing because of you!" Baekhyun added, pinching your arm gently.  

By now the building was emptying, you were moved to the hall where it was held a kind of after-party. Your friends were at the heart of the dance floor dancing with some members of the Exo and Seventeen, and you wondered into your mind how it was possible that they could become friends with anyone so quickly.  

On some screens placed in various corners of the hall were sent the interviews to the winners and only then you noticed that finally that BTS' one had just begun.  

The "host" was Taehyung, who couldn't be serious for a second so you and Baek started laughing, as a result, plagued by that sweet and almost childish laugh.  

"I was saying... If you were to be on a deserted island, what would you like to have with you?? " He asked, looking at his members with an amused glance.  

Your gaze rested on Yoongi, who took the microphone from Seokjin and uttered a name that you knew all too well.  

Immediately most of the presented turned towards you, including the two boys seated at your sides, while your face became hot and your cheeks colored with violent red.  

"I'll take Y/N with me. At least I'd be with my girlfriend, don't hate me if I drag you to a deserted island, okay? I love you and I want to spend all my life with you, even if we're stuck on a deserted island. "  

He pronounced shortly thereafter and your redness had to be increased because touching your cheek you noticed it was practically boiling, it was hot that it could be used as a plate to cook the meat.  

"Your girlfriend, Hyung?" Taehyung teased him since it was now obvious that your relationship had just been made public.  

"Kiddo don't pretend dumb, at least I have a girlfriend and you don't. Who are the miserable one now???? "  

The other members, Taehyung included, burst to laugh at that incredibly savage answer, while you hid your face in your hands from the extreme embarrassment you were feeling.  

Yet an extreme joy, almost to make you explode your heart, seized you immediately after, making you feel as if you had just touched the sky with a finger.  

"So you're obnoxious, right Y/N?" Minseok asked amused while you pressed with even more strength your hands on your face, trying to hide you.  

You remained in that position for centuries, at least so you believed, when a sweet voice replied to your place.  

"Hyung, believe me.. Y/N is the most obnoxious person in the world. I still wonder how I can stand her presence or love her. "  

"MIN YOONGI!" You screamed getting from your chair and you started chasing him, after you diligently removed your shoes, making the small crowd bursting to laugh crowd that watched you with a pinch of envy.  

"MIN YOONGI! WHERE DO YOU HIDE ALL THIS DESIRE TO RUN? YOU ASSHOLE! MIN YOONGI! "  

"If you chase me you kill me, I might want to keep living!"  

"I'LL KILL YOU ANYWAY, MIN YOONGI"  

Yet the only thing you wanted to do at that time was to thank him. Because even if he didn't know, that little "gift" that he had done was something that was worth more than all the prizes of that show put together.  

He was the best gift ever for you and he always would have been the love of your life.

[wingsy-keeper-of-songs]

From Friends to Lovers

I wanted to try something a little different with Nora and Schultz here. In case you couldn’t tell, I am a huge slut for slow burns and the relationship I envision between these two occur some months or even after years of knowing each other because they have a massive build-up of trust issues. (Nora, with her previous experience in being married off and Schultz with his previous experience with marriage in Tarantino canon). I can’t write slow burn for shit because I always want to get to the part where the couple gets together, so this is sort of a pretend slow burn. I thought I’d share it with my fellow fangirls (and boys, I know ya’ll are out there) and I hope you guys enjoy. Remember, Dr. Schultz and his world are the sole property of Quentin Tarantino. I am in no way affiliated with him, or the lovely and talented Christoph Waltz who inspired this tidbit. I hope you guys like it.

Having another person in one's space was something Nora would have scoffed at in her younger years. She was rather a private lady and much preferred keeping to herself after spending a great deal of the day pretending to be a creature of the utmost delicacy. To thine own self be true, Polonius said to Hamlet, and Nora mostly exercised this when she was alone. That afternoon, however, seemed to be an exception as she and the gentleman she called friend chatted quietly in her bedroom.

"It's been said that you can tell a lot about a person by the books they read," he informed her after the silence had become too much to bear.

"So I've heard," she replied as she twisted her hands in her lap. Change in her routine was something she absolutely did not agree with, but she was trying.

Heaven help her, she was trying.

"And what do my books tell you about me?"

He glanced up from her copy of Frankenstein, drumming an anxious rhythm on the cover. She could practically see the gears turning through his eyes as he canted his head to the side to study her.

"Well," he began. "First, I can see that you have a very eclectic taste in both authors and literature. If I were to take a closer look, the books you favor are written entirely by women. But the books in question aren't the romantic sensational fiction attributed to a feminine author. You prefer the works of George Eliot, Mary Beaumont, Gertrude Bell, along with a few scholarly editions of Mary Elizabeth Braddon's Belgravia magazines. You want to be taken seriously, and not just as an intelligent woman, but as someone who clearly knows their research and exactly what they're talking about." He turned his attention to the nightstand. "But that isn't to say that you don't have a softer side as well. You've left Pride and Prejudice nearest your bed. And judging from how worn the pages are, it's clearly favored nighttime reading. I am willing to bet that if I were to look inside the nightstand..." at her raised eyebrows, he added hastily "....which I won't. I would find that there are other more romantic books. Perhaps the Bronte sisters, or more Austen?"

"I never cared much for the Bronte sisters," Nora admitted, refusing to show any sort of sign that she was impressed. "I'll admit to enjoying Jane Eyre until I learned exactly why Mr. Rochester keeps his wife in the attic." At this she made a disgusted face that he couldn't help but half-smile at. "But other than that, I have little to no desire to read their works."

"You didn't dispute the Austen," he pointed out, raising his eyebrows in turn. Her expression softened and she smiled at him, a slight laugh leaving her lips.

"No, I suppose I didn't." She agreed as she sat beside him on the yellow and white bed. "But why all these deductions and assumptions? Wouldn't it be better to just ask me?"

"Ah, now that is an interesting point," he said, making a little more room for her to settle beside him. "You see, where it might be considered common sense to just ask someone, a room does not lie." At her sharp intake of breath, he held up a hand. "Not that I think you would lie to me, but in other situations where trust has not already been established, one cannot always rely on another to tell the truth. Especially when it's something that person would much rather keep to themselves." Nora tilted her head, considering this. Point made, she supposed. But she wasn't so sure that she agreed with him.

"That's a very cynical world view." She said as she stood, heading towards the vanity and beginning to unpin her hair. "Do you have first-hand experience in your line of work? I for one find it very difficult to believe that anyone would be able to get anything past you." He shook his head and shrugged.

"Well, not myself personally no. But then again, I am not as easily fooled or as forgiving as some of the gentlemen I know." He replied with just a small hint of self-satisfaction. In all honesty, he'd really earned it. He'd worked harder for his education than anyone that Nora had ever met.

"I'd imagine not," she replied with another smile in his direction. "No, you're much too stubborn to let a anyone get the best of you."

"I expect the same from any German," he replied with a smile and now watching her unpin her hair with a strange expression bordering on fascination. She took note of this and stopped for a moment, her ears and cheeks now bright pink. He seemed to realize that he'd been caught staring and he dropped his eyes to his lap, running a hand through his hair sheepishly. "I'm sorry, did I offend you?" He asked. She shook her head. It wasn't offensive, no, but it did cause her to feel something strange fluttering in her stomach.

"Not at all. I was just wanting to take this down for the day." She gestured at the mess of hair folded and tucked so intricately into a neat little nest on the back and top of her head. "I'm thinking of taking a nap later on, and sleeping on hair pins isn't the most comfortable feeling in the world."

"Understandable," he winced in sympathy. "Well, if I do make you uncomfortable at any time, feel free to tell me. I can leave the room if you'd like."

"No, no you may stay." She replied with another smile. "It's been a while since we've had a decent conversation, wouldn't you say so?"

"I consider almost all our conversations that don't end in arguments decent ones," he said with an impish grin. "But then again, you win most of those as well. You're a very formidable opponent, Fräulein Eleanor, and one that I'm very grateful for." He seemed to realize how this sounded because he bit his lower lip and dropped his eyes to his lap again. Nora shook her hair loose of the offending pins, half of them clattering to the vanity table and her hair tumbling around her shoulders. She thought she heard him exhale a bit sharply, but thought nothing of it.

"I've found that some men prefer me to be seen and not heard," she replied as she worked at the other pins in her hair. "But not you. You've told me before that you value intelligence, and one has to have a little of that to make a convincing argument. You Germans are a stubborn lot and quite set in your ways, but then again so are us Americans."

"I am grateful for that as well," he replied. "After all, my stubbornness led me to you. If I hadn't made an arsehole out of myself in front of that damn plantation owner, I very much doubt we'd be talking right now." Nora blushed a little and she resented him a little for it.

"You can't really mean that," she said as she looked back into the mirror. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that he was absently drumming his fingers against the fabric of his trousers. She wondered if he was thinking about touching the hand resting on the seat behind her.

"I rarely say things that I don't mean, Nora." He said sotto voce. His hand twitched a little, the fingers flexing as he decided on whether or not to touch her. Part of her wished he'd just get on with it, and another part of her dared her to ask him what he meant. She tried to ignore both parts, and was slightly startled by the fact that he had indeed moved to take her hand. She turned to look at him and found that he wasn't really looking at her now. He seemed to be very focused on either the folds of the blankets or the pattern of her skirts. She thought about what she'd do if he did manage to glance at her. She wondered how she'd feel if she saw him smiling at her while holding her hand. In the back of her mind, she wondered if he wanted to kiss her, but she pushed that even further back into the depths of her subconscious. He was her friend. Friends did not kiss other friends, did they? And since when did he start calling her Nora? He almost always referred to her as Eleanor or Fräulein.

"Really, I am very glad that I met you," he was saying to the floor. "I mean that." She could feel his fingers wanting to close over hers. He wanted to hold her hand, but was refraining from it. He was very aware of what she'd gone through with other men before him, and she was grateful that he wasn't the type to push. Push what, she thought to herself. He's my friend, a companion. He doesn't feel that way about me, does he? She looked from his hand to his downcast eyes, and thought she saw something of a spark there. He only looked that way when he was either excited, nervous, or very sure about something. Oh, he's sure about something all right, a little voice poked her. He likes you, and you're just leading him on a dizzying dance with your silence.

"Thank you," she said finally and managing to get him to look at her. "I'm glad that I met you too. You're a very dear friend to me." He smiled at her again, but unlike the few smiles she'd gotten from him before, this one seemed more genuine than any she'd ever seen cross his face. Those pretty hazel eyes of his had lit up, looking like sunlight through a shot glass of whiskey. It was an absolutely arresting sight to her. His hand moved from hers, and she almost missed the warmth of it until he brushed his fingers through the loose curls of her bangs.

"You are one of my dearest friends as well, Nora." He said gently. "But I'm afraid that I've ruined our friendship." Nora blinked owlishly at him as his eyes traveled down her face.

"What do you mean?" She asked, wondering why she sounded so breathless, why his face was inching closer, and why her heart hammered in her chest.

"Because I've recently discovered that I care for you far more than anyone would a friend," he said a little bashfully. "I tried to stop it, you know. I enjoy our conversations, and I didn't want to scare you away. The others before me were like me, weren't they? Nothing but pretty words and empty promises. You deserve so much more, Nora. So much more than I can offer you." He'd pulled back now and dropped his hand. Nora bit the inside of her cheek as a surprisingly frustrated feeling bubbled up in her chest. Or it was indigestion, she couldn't be sure which.

"I don't believe that's true at all," she said as she guided his hand back to her cheek and smiling up at him. "As much as I cherish our friendship, I would welcome this change. After all, where is it written that we can't be friends anymore, hm? I don't recall reading that anywhere." His look of surprise was well worth it. He looked at her as though he saw her for the first time, and Nora privately considered it to be one of the most adorable expressions she'd ever seen on his face.

"You would still want to be my friend even though I've thought about...more with you?" He asked, still a bit shocked. She raised her eyebrows.

"I don't see why we can't have both," she argued gently, reaching up to remove his glasses and causing him to back up just a bit. "You don't need to have one or the other. I still want to have our discussions and our disagreements. That's what a relationship is, my dear." She smiled at him, tracing the outside of her thumb along his jaw. His eyes hooded, and he stooped to rest his forehead against hers.

"God in heaven, woman." He managed. "You're going to be the death of me some day, I promise you." She smiled, closing her eyes.

"Ah, but that's what attracts me to you, isn't it?" Her voice had lowered to a whisper now. The corner of his mouth turned up a little in a half-smile

"It would seem that way." He kissed her, softly and sweetly before pulling away almost instantly. "Damn," he ran a hand through his hair again. "I'm sorry, that was...I shouldn't have..." she shook her head and smiled up at him, taking his face in her hands.

"You talk too much," she said sweetly before pulling him into another, longer kiss. His whole body seemed to relax and his hand crept up her neck to cradle the back of her head, his thumb resting over the increasing pulse near her throat. Her hands fell down to his chest, clutching at his shirt and pushing at his jacket. When she pulled back to breathe, he saw galaxies in her eyes.

"Oh hell; maybe you are the death of me." He said in a ragged whisper. She was still smiling at him, his jacket lapels still clutched in her hands.

"Many of the world's cleverest men's downfalls were the women they loved," she said as she smoothed his vest. "Why should we be any different?"

[literarygoon]

So,

This story is called “Inebriate of Air”.

That’s the name of Paisley’s YouTube channel, and it’s a reference to “I taste a liquor never brewed” by Emily Dickinson. The story is about a woman named Tanille who’s living in a tent city during an Occupy protest.

This is the 6th story in my novel Whatever you’re on, I want some. 

The Kootenay Goon

Inebriate of Air

Will Johnson

SHANE SQUATS over the meal pot, red-lit from the campfire, and dips his pinkie finger into the stew. Shirtless and shoeless, with an ocean-themed full sleeve tattoo on his right arm and a messily scrunched man-bun jutting from he’s skull, he’s the quintessential Victoria hipster: beachy-looking and pseudo-homeless, with a deep Tofino tan and scraggly-looking flannel. He’s the type of white kid who pore-oozes privilege — one percenter progeny — and from where she’s slung her hammock Tanille can watch him finger-slurp, tongue his lips.

“You know I broke my back as a teenager?” Shane asks. “Doctors figured I wasn’t going to walk again. Fell into this off-run crevice in Switzerland, man, like just barely out of bounds, and I ended up in the hospital for two months.”

“Sounds like you,” says Tanille.

Shane continues, too caught up in the rhythm of his storytelling to acknowledge her voice. “I’m carving down this slope, blissed out, right? Time’ve my life. All of a sudden I’m just falling. Like I know I’m falling and there’s nothing I can do about it, right? Then bam, I’m draped over this cleft like twenty feet down, sprawled out on this rock ledge, and when I look around me I’m in this shimmering cavern.”

Shane likes to hear himself talk, but it’s not normally Tanille that has to listen. He’ll find himself a readier audience with Paisley, but she’s been gone all afternoon. Now she’s stuck with some dipshit musician too drunk on groupie love to realize what a fucking idiot he is.

“I could’ve fallen a lot further. I mean that crevice, right, it must’ve been like hundreds of feet deep. There’s crazy light bouncing, like I’m inside a mirror ball, and here I am drifting in and out of consciousness. The rescuer rappelled down and strapped me to a spine board, got me helicoptered out of there, and in every direction all I could see was a white dream. The clouds like ghosts.”

She noisily turns the page of her book.

“I made a promise to myself, right there: I’m not going to waste this miracle. If I get out of here alive, I’m going to do something — I’m going to make music, I’m going to help people, I’m just going to live the shit out of my life.”

Tanille sighs. There’s plenty of proselytizing going on — it seems to be part of the protest camp package — but there’s something about Shane’s particular brand of self-righteousness that makes her feel like wrenching out his fingernails one by one. It’s not that she hates straight men, or white men. It’s not even that she hates rich people. It’s that Shane thinks he deserves everything he’s received from life, including Paisley’s long-term attention. Tanille’s savvy to his barefoot bullshit; his social posturing and faux humility couldn’t be more transparent. She has no patience for listening to him self-aggrandize while he stinks up his parent-bought clothes and pretends to be an activist.

“I bet undergrad girls eat that shit up,” she says. “Carpe fucking diem, Shane? Your emotional depths awe me.”

All around them, conversations like this are in progress. People are praying, preaching, singing — hundreds of social justice warriors coming together as part of an affordable housing protest in downtown Victoria. It’s nearing dinnertime and the sky has turn ashy, the ocean wind buffeting the ragged blue tarp overhead. All day long Tanille smells untreated sewage, rotting garbage, cannabis stink. She’s surrounded by dirt-caked feet and unwashed clothes, and she wishes it didn’t disgust her but it does. Princess Tee, that’s what Paisley’s been calling her even since she dared to question their multi-month participation in this little project. She couldn’t help but be fatalistic, cynical, because what did Paisley actually expect to happen here? Did she figure the Mansion-Landers would offer up their luxurious beachside estates, open their condos to the homeless? Just like that they would embrace gender fluidity, communal living and interracial relationships, right? Did she really think people would happily participate in the dismantling of the social hierarchy that had benefited them for generations?

Tanille’s tent is pitched at the base of a granite plinth with veins of moss sprouting from the dark stone. At some point there were words chiseled into its base, but not anymore. It looms phallic above their semicircle of tents, the tarp tied around its midsection, shielding the meal pot from the ocean breeze. Most of their camping chairs are empty at the moment, leaving only Shane stirring the communal soup while her friend Espoir lazes belly-down on an air mattress,  wrapped in a sleeping bag and scrolling through her iPhone’s Twitter feed.

“Paisley told me you’re a cynic,” Shane says, taking a soup-slurp from his pinkie. “A Doubting Thomas type.”

“And that makes you what, a believer?”

Shane grins. “I’m John the fucking Baptist.”

***

The year before Tanille started herbology school, she road-tripped out to the Kootenays with some friends for the Shangri-La Music Festival. That’s where she saw Paisley perform for the first time, crowd-crammed against the Treehouse stage as thousands of ravers trampled the grass behind her. One half of Paisley’s head was shaved, while the other sprouted tangled dreads that coiled over her shoulder like uncoiled pythons. She had Cleopatra-style mascara, her lips looked like they were bleeding, and her elaborate beaded neckpiece sent splashes of light out in all directions. Below that she was wearing a thin white dress with thick woollen leg warmers. The crowd roiled as she took the stage.

“This is a ditty I call ‘Demons in the pews’,” Paisley said, climbing on to her stool with her banjo. “Wrote this while I was in high school, back on the coast. I grew up in a little town called Garibaldi, up the Sea to Sky Highway, and when I was a teenager we all went to church like good little Christians. Who here went to church growing up?”

The audience answered with one indecipherable voice. She sneered for a moment, looking down. “Jesus loves the little children,” she murmured.

Paisley let her eyes close as she strummed through the intro, her legs hooked around the legs of the stool. She had backup — there was a fiddler, one guy with a stand up bass, another one on percussion — and though Tanille had never had any interest in bluegrass, she was drawn in by the way Paisley whispered and sighed into the mic, cooing the opening lyrics. Eventually the electronic effects built behind her, encompassing them.

“Saved by grace n’ swathed in lace, I came into the chapel,” she sang. “My second life as Jesus’ wife, who wouldn't eat that apple?”

As she neared the chorus, a man carrying a large electronic didgeridoo appeared behind her. She exposed her pale throat to the audience, her voice cherubic yet furious, and as the man let out his first vibrating blast she leapt to her feet and shrieked into her mic.

“In church you showed me God, then fingered me ’til I bled — are the demons in the pews, or are they all inside my head?”

It wasn’t until Tanille was back in Victoria that she got a chance to download Paisley’s album Church Fire and look her up on social media. It didn’t take her long to find Inebriate of Air, her YouTube channel, where she’d posted a capella versions of her songs, interviews with fans and experimental short films. Tanille sat in her residence building and worked her way through the entire playlist, scribbling down choice lyrics in her journal and playing particular music videos over and over again. She felt herself being seduced by the savagery, the feral power in Paisley’s voice, the raw defiance. In one minimalist black and white short, Paisley screams into the camera and claws at her face as images appear of Jesus healing the sick, turning water into wine, walking on water. Tanille had never been especially religious, and didn’t have any particular problem with Christianity, but Paisley’s anger was intoxicating, communal. She was autonomous in a way that Tanille had never seen a woman be.

On one track Paisley’s backed by a children’s choir: “If blackmail’s the price of Heaven, then set me a place in Hell, no matter what you’ve forgiven, this won’t be ending well.”

***

“The cops’re coming tonight,” Shane says. “I can feel it.”

He’s belly-balancing his stew, puffing away at his pipe while his campmates ladle out dinner and gather in the dirt. The sky has gone orange, the horizon burning, while people jostle and gossip. Tanille swabs a crust of bread along the rim of her bowl, reddening it. Paisley still hasn’t returned and she’s still pretending not to care.

“Don’t be such a drama queen. This isn’t Iraq.”

“Not yet.”

“Does it make you feel important, this delusion that you’re in danger?”

“Did you see that guy they arrested last week? Dude was screaming like they were going to break his arms.”

“But did they?”

Shane shrugs.

“Didn’t he bust somebody’s windshield? Right? It’s not like they’re grabbing randoms, this guy was destroying other people’s property.”

“Some rich fucker’s car.”

“You have no idea who’s car that was. It could’ve been a students. Could’ve been mine.”

“You don’t even have a car.”

Tanille takes a long deep breath through her nostrils. Shane’s not here in Tent City because it matters, he’s here because it’s cool. Because this is the sort of person he wants to be. Earlier she’d caught him taking selfies near the entrance, watched him swipe through various filter options before posting it online. His middle name could be Narcissism.

“Did you see the video King Solomon posted last night?” Shane asks. “The shit he was saying about the God-shaped hole, that was basically what I was talking about the other night.”

Espoir snorts. “I want someone to fill my God-shaped hole.”

Shane ignores her. “He was talking about the basic dissatisfaction, you know? Everybody has it — that impulse that drives us towards sex, towards drugs, towards God. It’s that part of us that can never be one hundred per cent happy, no matter what.”

“Cheerful sentiment,” Tanille says.

Shane ignores her.

“Or did you see the one he did about his youth pastor?” Espoir asks.

That’s another topic Tanille knows something about. Apparently the Garibaldi church Neil and Paisley grew up with had a pedophile as a youth pastor, a guy who ended up in a Tijuana prison called El Cuchillo for molesting a teenage boy. His name was Trent Stonehouse and according to Paisley he’d spent over a decade in Mexico before fleeing to the Yukon. On her last album there was one song, “Conflagration”, which was addressed to him: “Though you taught me well / I’m a scorched out shell / When my soul caught fire / That’s when you fell.”

“King Solomon made this good point,” said Shane. “Like about how we label people—criminal, hooker, junkie—and suddenly we don’t have to care about them. Sinner, stuff like that. And it’s like, yeah, this dude Trent did some horrible shit, but that doesn’t negate everything else, right? Nobody’s one hundred per cent black or white.”

“So you’re a pedophilia apologist now?”

“No, see: that’s exactly the attitude he’s talking about. He who is without sin should throw the first stone, all that.”

“I’ve never raped any kids, Shane.”

“I know you get my point but you’re just being a bitch about it.”

***

Tanille isn’t quite sure how to feel about King Solomon, this guy Neil that grew up with Paisley back in Garibaldi. She’s subscribed to his channel, Fellowship, where he releases music videos and meandering pseudo-sermons, never failing to mention the affordable housing crisis or whatever particular social justice cause happens to be most fashionable that week. At first she couldn’t take him seriously: in his videos he wears giant aviator sunglasses and shaggy headgear, black shirts with white-slashed words across the front: “Forgive yourself first”, “All of us are seekers, none of us are found”, “Only one believer”. In one, “Whatever you’re on, I want some”, he monologues about his time living as an addict. In “This is how you talk to strangers” he describes how Paisley has helped him funnel his spiritual pain in a positive direction, how they collaborated for one track on her album Church Fire. Then there’s the one that describes his experiences performing at the Shangri-La Music Festival for the first time — that one’s been shared over 600,000 times.

Solomon’s catchiest track, the one that went viral during Tanille’s undergrad, was called “Wasting Days”. It was upbeat, with ska elements, and an endlessly repetitive chorus. Solomon’s vocals were animalistic, Cobain-esque, tortured-sounding.

“She comes round like a virus, like a hustler on the run — asks me ‘you want to have some fun?’” he sings. “Like a bigtop freak drifter tryin’ to eke a living from this chaos, it’s useless and fruitless and nothing can be done!”

A children’s choir, their voices distorted, then chant: “Useless, fruitless, nothing can be done! Useless, fruitless, nothing can be done! Useless, fruitless, nothing can be done!”

Solomon’s on his knees in front of a silhouetted church, steam rising from his shoulders while the music builds. His eyes meet the viewer’s for a moment, and then he reels into the chorus.

“She can see I’m wasting all my days—my days, my days—all I’m doing is wasting days. I know I’m wasting all my days—my days, my days—all I’m doing is wasting days.”

Eventually Tanille met Neil, at Shane’s apartment in Victoria, shortly after he’d been released from rehab for the third or fourth time. He looked sleepy and defeated, his eyes twitchily scanning the room at all times, and when he hugged Paisley at the end of the night he broke down into hysterics and fled into a nearby bathroom like a tantrum-throwing child. Tanille waited for nearly half an hour while the pair of them barricaded themselves inside, speaking in lowered voices, while Shane smoked pot on the balcony oblivious. She hated herself for how she strained to hear what they were saying, for how much she yearned to be sitting there on the linoleum with Paisley while she consoled her friend, how much she wanted to know about their shame, about their shared trauma. She couldn’t help how she felt: jealous, left out, untrusted.

Eventually she stood up and went home alone.

***

Paisley neck-nuzzles, purring, and nudges Tanille back into semi-consciousness. She’s back, finally. The tent walls are rain-throbbing around them, her sleeping bag is damp, and the world is made of shadows and silhouettes.

They kiss.

“I went swimming in the harbour,” Paisley says. “Apologies for my briny aroma.”

Tanille breathes.

“You awake, princess?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Is my girl in a bad mood?”

Tanille mind-grapples with the urge to engage, to express her frustration, to sob about her stoned loneliness. She doesn’t want to be this person, this pathetic attention suck, this cliche of the needy female. That’s all gay women do: talk about their feelings, having check-ins and sobby convos. But Paisley won’t go there, won’t let herself be that vulnerable, so she’s trying to match her at the emotional distance game.

“Just sleeping,” she says finally. “Shane puked on Espoir’s backpack.”

Paisley snickers.

“I don’t know why you make me put up with him.”

“Shane?”

“How many women do you know that would be okay with having an ex-boyfriend around constantly?”

“I didn’t date Shane.”

“But you fucked him.”

Paisley sighs. “There’s so many things we could be talking about right now.”

“He’s here, right here, now.”

“But so are you. And who’s tent am I in?”

Tanille huffs. How long has she been awake, even? Her neck bristles, and she rises up on her elbows to face her girlfriend.

“This power dynamic doesn’t work for me, Paise.”

“Power dynamic?”

“This whole I-give-everything-and-you-give-nothing thing.”

Paisley crawls towards her. “I give nothing?” She presses her wet nose against Tanille’s cheek, kisses her cheekbone.

“You know what I mean. I don’t know anything about you. Shane knows more about your life than I do.”

“Shane does not know more than you.”

“What about Neil?” she asks. “Or Amber?”

Paisley’s quiet.

“You bring me around like I’m some sort of pet, leave me unattended while you go off n’ live your life, then you come back whenever the fuck you feel like it. It’s like you don’t trust me to be able to engage with what you’re going through, ” Tanille says. Around them the storm winds hiss. “I’m living in Tent City with you, I’m filthy and dead-tired, but I’m here because I want to be with you, right? You used to include me.”

Outside Tent City campers are still playing guitar, undeterred by the weather, banging on drums and shouting at the night sky. This is one of several conversations within earshot, and for a moment strangers’ voices fill the void between Tanille and Paisley. They’re still intertwined, semi-prone, their faces nearly touching.

“I know I’m fucked up,” Paisley says finally. “I get that.”

“That’s not what I’m saying. You always go for self-loathing first.”

Paisley shrugs, sits back. Is she crying? She paws one of her dreadlocks out of her face.

“I just want to be a part of whatever’s going on in your head.”

Paisley retrieves a joint from a small tin in her chest pocket, takes a long moment to light it. Once the air between them is fogged, once she’s let out a lengthy, pained exhale, that’s when she speaks. She takes a piece of Tanille’s hair and finger-tangles it.

“You don’t need to worry about Shane, okay? What we have has nothing to do with him, or anyone else,” Paisley says. Then she lets go. Tanille sits cat-curled in the silence while Paisley begins to monologue, hitting topics she’d only half-known about, starting with her high school relationship with her first girlfriend Amber, a situation she had to keep covert while attending their church, St. Catherine’s, and their summer camp, Evergreen. She talks about shame, about going to her youth pastor Trent for guidance when she was a teenager. She talks about finding her faith, then losing it after his arrest, about touring and performing and always knowing that Quatsino was waiting for her, Eden-like, though she couldn’t bring herself to return.

“I want to believe we can be better than this, that’s why I’m here,” she says. “But I know it’s not true. The Christians were right: we’re all sinners, and we’re doomed to make the same fucking mistakes over and over again. And if there’s no God, there’s nobody around to forgive us for any of this shit.”

“What do you mean?” Tanille asks. “Forgive us for what?”

***

The title of Paisley’s YouTube channel, Inebriate of Air, was from an Emily Dickinson poem. Tanille looked up the poem online and memorized it before their first sushi date, ultimately reciting it over miso soup. That was three years ago.

“I like the idea of being high on air,” Paisley said, booth-sprawled. “That we’re constantly sucking back nostril-shots of pure energy. This is the stuff that makes us run.”

“The Yoda-style diction. A great poet, she is.”

“Sounds classy, right?”

“Like whoah, dude—I’m so high on this breeze. Man, take a toke of that wind.”

They laughed, wasabi-stirred. “And it’s perfectly designed for that purpose. Like to fill our lungs and pump our blood.”

“Right.”

“So how come you don’t believe in God then?” Tanille asked. “How do you figure the air, the world, got here?

Paisley spent some time chewing before saying anything else. For a moment Tanille thought she’d made a verbal misstep, navigated into a conversational no-go zone. Paisley sang extensively about losing her faith on her album —almost every track had a religious overtone, and sometimes her lyrics were even God-directed—so she thought this was a topic that would get some mileage. Religious people had always fascinated and confused Tanille, in pretty much the same way musicians did: she looked at them like shamans or conjurers who channeled elemental energy from the earth and emanated whitish-blue light from their chests.

“I meet people who didn’t grow up religious,” Paisley said, rolling a dread between her fingers. “And I’m jealous, you know? Is there a God, isn’t there—that shit hasn’t even occurred to them.”

“That sounds like such an empty existence, though.”

She shrugged. “Thing is, being a former Christian is kind of like being a former meth addict. Even if you’re not using, you still remember how it tasted, you still crave that high. Because you’ve been high, normal feels low.”

***

Somebody’s angry.

Tanille jolts up in her sleeping bag as the world erupts with sound. Dogs are barking, men shout, and somebody’s rhythmically banging on a resounding gong. It’s bright out, must be early morning, and through the half-open zipper she can see flurries of movement. Paisley’s gone. Ducking into her sports bra and jeans, and jumping into a semi-crouch, she peers past the tent flaps at a human scuffle in progress on the pavement. A uniformed cop is on his back, grappling with a Tent City kid, his muscled arms straining as he tries to regain control of his baton. His sunglasses are cracked, his face pink and trembling, while he spits out macho mono-syllables, grunting.

“Tanille?” Shane appears in front of her. “Tanille, man. It’s happening. The cops’re raiding the place, arresting people.”

“Where’s Paisley?”

“Everyone’s getting together, linking arms. Photographers are here n’ everything. This shit just got real.”

Tanille pushes her feet into unlaced boots and leans into the day. She’s about to say something, about to ask Shane a question, but then she’s gravel-sliding, a lightning storm of pain blossoming in her face and neck as a panicked man body-surfs her across the ground. He’s surrounded by other runners, people fleeing, and a few of them stumble and crash over top of them. Tanille feels a palm rough on her forehead, a boot crushes her hip, a knee rolls across her ribs. People scream. When she rolls to her side she can see the police officer has fought his way to his feet, and he’s clubbing his opponent viciously. The man curls fetal under the blows.

Shane bats at his fellow protesters, taking Tanille by the armpit, and they’re jostled, body-checked, as people careen wildly past. He drags her out of the crowd’s flight path, up a mud-slicked grass slope, and she stumbles, half-upright, then falls to her hands and knees. There’s blood in her eye, stinging, and her cheek feels cheese-gratered. She fingers the wound, gazes dizzy into the canopy of trees above her. Part of her is fully processing the parade of images flash-dancing across her consciousness, but there’s part of her that’s sauntering through the aisles of a calm grocery store, looking for dinner ingredients. This is nothing but a news story in progress, a Facebook post waiting to happen. Somebody else will eventually spot her fuzzed image in the background of some YouTube video, her face crimson and gleaming, while the police officer kneels on the protesters’ neck and struggles to snap his handcuffs shut. She’s an injured bystander, some hipster kid in the background, and already she can’t blame her imaginary audience for how little they care.