#AND YOUR APP'S SEARCH FUNCTION IS ALWAYS DRUNK

[13eyond13]

absolutely hate that you can't just tap on the middle reblog in a chain and find that post on the poster's blog anymore. Like what if i want to ignore the last 2 unfunny posts on an otherwise good reblog chain. I'm not gonna scroll 3 years back on some random person's blog to find it smh

[aakeysmash]

Roommate or boss?

part 1, part 2, part 4

Pairing: f!reader x Katsuki Bakugou.

Warnings: none.

Word count: 1.5k.

Katsuki knows you will not remember anything from this night tomorrow, since he sees how drunk you are. He’s sober though, and what you said has him thinking from the moment he leaves you on your bed, soundly asleep.

He’s always been a rude guy, he thinks people are too used to kindness to function properly in nowadays society.

To prove his (still standing) point, he opened the cafe when he was 18. He wanted to make something out of his life, and he knew he couldn’t do it without a steady income. Honestly, he opted for a cafe just because one day Midoriya said he couldn’t see him as a cafe owner. Basically, he opened it out of spite. So he bought the store from an old lady that was literally almost gifting it, painted it himself all summer, put the counters/chairs/machines that he bought all over the country (“if they’re good, cheap and they can ship them here, I can always fucking renovate them”) and he hired some of his frien- uhm, classmates, as his work subordinates.

They all just finished high school, so they all needed money. Todoroki and Momo weren’t even together back then. They had their little flirt moments, sure, but working together really strengthened their relationship. It made Katsuki sick to his stomach.

If Katsuki was something, he prided himself on being honest: he never said their paycheck was coming in late, or that they wouldn’t be paid. He did all he could to be the boss he wanted others to be happy about.

For the last 4 years things have gone pretty well. Kirishima was (and still is) a big part of this project, and Katsuki probably wouldn’t have come so far without his aid (even if he would never admit it).

Even if he was indeed the boss, he opts to never go himself at the cafe, since he likes to be behind the scenes more (also, even if he doesn’t know it, this is the reason why he doesn’t recognise you, even if you have been working there for 2 years). And maybe it’s also because seeing some of the people that stuck with him since the beginning makes him feel a tenderness that he doesn’t want to acknowledge.

And yeah, he was definitely still a rude guy. He just didn’t think he wanted to be nice to people, or, well, he knew he didn’t want to be. Things have gotten better since middle school, sure, and he now has friends who accept him just as he is, but he isn’t used to making friends. One day he woke up and he had friends. He always (jokingly?) said he was forced to be their friend.

But you were different.

At the time he met you, he was really desperate to find a place to stay in, since he had to be more and more present each day at the office. His old landlord was an ass and kicked him out since all of a sudden he wanted to rent each room of the establishment to a different person, and he remembers crashing at Kirishima’s place for two weeks while he was searching for a new apartment. You just happened to post that you needed a roommate the same day he was about to call his parents (yes, he was THAT desperate).

You were the 23rd person he visited in those 2 weeks. He was pissed out of his mind: 5 out of 22 people never got up to greet him at the door; 6 already had a roommate and they just wanted to sublet to make more money; 10 were living in such horrible conditions that he thought he got sick every time he saw a pile of old dirt in their home; 1 just wanted to have… some kind of intercourse… since they saw his photo on the booking app.

And when he saw you opening the door of your house with sleep still covering your features, he was about to turn around and really call his old folks. He was tired of this shit.

But you still managed to smile, even if he noticed how your eye ticked slightly when you clarified that he was indeed early after he pettily said that he waited for you for 15 minutes. Also, that remark was probably what made him stay. He didn’t want a weak extra as his roommate, and his more-than-good sixth sense was saying that you were indeed capable of holding your ground.

He does find you incredibly annoying, though. You have this aura of softness he doesn’t like, but that he is drawn into. He is a pretty silent guy when he is in his personal space, while you like to talk about whatever you have done a certain day, or about your new trashy show, or the new recipe that you saw on IG that he “absolutely has to try”. You basically yap all day long, and it gets on his nerves. Badly.

But he also enjoys your company. He’s very loud when he’s with his friends, being as naturally angry as he is about anything, but your softness rubs on him the wrong way, and it makes him stay silent. Well, he knows this is what he tries to tell himself, anyway.

He doesn’t want to admit to himself that the way you want to be his friend puts him in the awkward position of not being able to reciprocate your efforts. It’s not like he doesn’t want to, it’s that he doesn’t know how to, and he hates not being good at something.

And so, he distances himself. Even if he does watch you from afar, and even if he did notice a lot in the 4 (almost 5, “fuck rent is due tomorrow”, he thinks) months you have lived together. For example, you’re super easy to please. When you have a bad day he notices that you brighten up if he cooks both of you dinner (which really isn’t a hassle for him, even if he says so) instead of making you cook for yourself. Or that if you have a pretty tiring day at work/uni and he “accidentally” leaves some coffee in the pot before his morning run the next day, your eyes twinkle a little bit more when he comes back home.

He’s not used to being so close to someone who tries their best to be happy anymore. The last time he was that close to someone happy, he started to be a bully (yes, he did say sorry to Midoriya. Multiple times. Mostly when he sporadically got drunk in high school).

Your outburst gets him thinking because, after all, you’re a really good fucking roommate. He’d hate to have to search for another apartment because you get sick of his ass.

Most importantly, some part of him likes how different you are from him, and he doesn’t want to be rude when he knows you’re just trying to make him like you. But it’s second nature to him. You’re too pure in that sense, and he wants nothing to do with that.

He doesn’t know how to say sorry, just like he doesn’t know how to change things. The fact that you won’t remember anything and even if you will you probably would just shrug it off just makes him believe that it’s not that big of a deal.

After all, if your roommate still pays their rent and acknowledges you as a human being, what could possibly go wrong?

“Fuck, my head is killing me” whines Ochaco while you escort her out of the door.

“We really have to stop getting drunk” you sigh, while rubbing your temples. “You have Midoriya picking you up, right?” you ask your best friend.

“Fortunately yes. Say hi to your roommate, I don’t think we had the chance to meet yet” she responds.

You raise an eyebrow before saying “you don’t think?”.

She shrugs, before adding “you never know, this town isn’t that big. Maybe I’ll find out that, I don’t know, he used to be my boyfriend’s best friend or something like that”.

You laugh, “you read too many novels”.

A car parks right in front of your door, and a guy with green curls walks out of it.

“Hi! I’m Midoriya. You must be the best friend Ochaco always talks about” he says while putting on the biggest smile you’ve ever seen on a human face.

“Hey, that’s most definitely me. Take good care of her, okay?” you reply with a smile of your own. “I have to get back to my thesis, but we have to meet each other again soon. Drive safely!” you add, while he gets her purse on his shoulder and gets the door of the car on her side open.

“Thank you so much babe. Don’t stress yourself and text me!” your best friend says before Midoriya nods at you and starts the car.

You get inside of your house again.

You and Ochaco just woke up, so you still have to eat breakfast.

While you get near the coffee machine you notice a scribbled note on the counter.

“Left coffee 4 u. u'll need it. also, rent is due. -K”.

You smile and roll your eyes, pouring the coffee into a cup while opening your text messages app.

You: you could’ve texted me, you know. Thanks for the coffee.

Bakugou answers almost instantly.

Katsuki (roommate): wtv.

[novelconcepts]

fic wanting (more than any ghost could)

“Do you still see him?”

Dani raises her eyes from the polished brass frame she’s been trying to pretend for half an hour not to gaze into. “What?”

Jamie isn’t looking at her. Jamie is, in fact, half in their closet, fumbling to hang up an assortment of shirts that have invaded the floor over the past week. Her voice is casual, easy, a little too cheerful for the kind of day they’ve been having. 

“Do you still see Eddie?”

Something in Dani’s chest clenches at the name. She doesn’t hate hearing it anymore--Jamie’s helped with that more than even she can know, coaxing stories out of Dani over the years to turn Eddie into a memory she can bear carrying around instead of a sharp knife between her ribs--but there’s something about the way Jamie says it now. Like she’s trying to get at something Dani can’t see yet. 

“No,” she says, a bit more clipped than usual. “I haven’t seen him in years.”

“Since that night,” Jamie presses. “Yeah? Only, I figure you would have said something otherwise. If you’d seen him after that, I figure you would have mentioned it. Or done your scary-bug routine.”

Dani clenches her fists in her lap. “What are you getting at, Jamie?”

“Nothing,” Jamie says, her voice entirely too innocent. Dani clears her throat, a Teacher gesture she hasn’t had to use on actual children in years. 

“Why don’t I believe you?”

“Because--” At this, Jamie pokes her head back out of the closet, grinning. “You are having what the songs call a rainy sort of Monday.”

Dani makes a face at her. Fact of the matter is, every day has felt like a rainy sort of Monday for the last week or two. She’s been steady too long, she fears, easy in her skin for years more than she thought she’d be allowed. Four, five, six Christmases have come and gone--four, five, six birthdays--four, five, six years of setting tables and arranging flowers and kissing Jamie goodnight and good morning and good I just felt like it along the way. 

And now, things are stirring. Changing. It’s a slow motion wake-up call, nothing so reliable as to make her stomach clench up every time she sees a reflection of blonde hair and mismatched eyes...but she’s getting there. Getting to the point of wanting to cover every mirror in the house again, getting back to that old habit of letting her eyes slide out of focus when she passes shop windows and too-clean city buses. The Lady isn’t always there, but Dani can’t guess when she’ll appear, and that’s somehow the worst bit. The not knowing. 

“Jamie,” she says. “Seriously, what are you getting at?”

“Okay.” She backs out of the closet, clicks off the light, shuts the door. “Okay, this is going to sound a bit out there.”

“Like nothing else in our life,” Dani drawls, watching Jamie move across the small room to settle beside her on the mattress. Her face is alight with something not-quite excitement, not-quite pleasure. It’s Jamie’s thinking face, Dani realizes. Jamie’s idea face. 

Usually, this is the face that results in furniture moved around the apartment for a new look, or a spur of the moment trip out of state to see the ocean, or an incredibly poor new dining experiment that will absolutely result in ordering takeout and eating on the living room floor at ten in the evening. 

“How did you get rid of him?” Jamie asks. Dani bites her lip. 

“I--”

“You never told me,” Jamie presses. “Not really. You just showed up a few days later with a cup of the worst coffee England’s ever seen and a promise that you were ready. And you were, and I’m never gonna stop being grateful for it, but you never told me what happened. How’d you go from flinching away to never seeing the specter of Ex-Boyfriends Past again?”

Dani shifts, gripping the material of her shirt in both hands. “It’s...hard to explain.”

“Can be patient,” Jamie says easily, like she’s ever anything less when it comes to things like this. She moves across the mattress in an easy prowl, settling with her knees touching Dani’s like they’re just two kids at a sleepover, ready for a spooky story. 

Two kids at a sleepover, Dani thinks with a wry amusement, except the way I feel the second her knee touches mine would never fly at a Clayton House Function. Mom would be scandalized. 

“It was a weird night,” she says slowly, remembering. Her eyes flutter closed, her memory reaching out across a gulf of half a decade. Who had she been that night? Scared. Always so scared back then, but also...determined. A little drunk. Maybe more than a little. “I was thinking...I was thinking about you. About you and me, and that...”

“Kiss,” Jamie supplies, when she falters. Dani knows they’re both remembering now, how Jamie had asked if she was ready and how she’d been nodding even before she could process the question. She was ready, for Jamie, and she wasn’t, for what it would mean. 

“It was a good kiss,” Dani says, smiling a little. Sloppy, and a little chaotic, their mouths slipping and missing and locating again as the wine steered the bus. She still remembers how sturdy Jamie’s jacket felt in her fists, how steady Jamie’s hands somehow were in her hair, on her back, pulling her so close she’d thought for a minute they’d be allowed something precious and sacred and theirs on a night she had spent lost in darkness. 

“It was,” Jamie agrees. Her hands move across the divide between them, closing over Dani’s wrists, turning her palms upright. “And?”

“And I wanted it. That. You. And I knew if I didn’t deal with the rest of it, finally, I wasn’t going to get another chance. You looked so...” Broken. “Certain, when you walked away that night, that I wasn’t ready. And you were never going to push.”

Jamie makes a little humming sound, fingertip tracing Dani’s lifeline. She shivers, flexes her fingers, smiles. 

“Hard to think when you’re doing that.”

“Do it anyway,” Jamie coaxes. Dani closes her eyes again, tighter. 

“I was drunk, and I was--”

“Riled up?” Jamie suggests, laughter in her voice. Dani flips over one hand, smacks her knee lightly. 

“If you want the story, stop talking. Yes. Riled up. And angry, if I’m honest. Angry at him, and angry at myself for not being able to let him go.”

She’d been so tired, she remembers. So tired, the way a person gets when sleep is just a parade of memories best left in the dark. The way a person gets when every smile is a mask, every laugh is a reprieve, every touch of another person’s hand is electric and painful and too much to stand. 

“So, I took his glasses. And I went out to the fire. Hannah had left it...I guess, Hannah was dealing with her own stuff that night. It hadn’t occurred to me to worry. It was just me, and him, and I threw them in. I didn’t want them, you know. Tried to tell his mom that, but Judy was...” Kind. Tried. Never quite ready to see what was right in front of her. “Anyway. I tossed them in, and I watched them melt, and it was the last time I ever saw him.”

“Because?”

“Because I was ready,” Dani says, a bit helplessly, feeling unmoored by the combined distance of memory and the solidness of Jamie holding her hand. She’s on the bow of a ship, she feels, shifting her weight in a search for balance, and if either the past or the present are to push just a little harder, she thinks she’ll go over the side. 

“Because you were ready,” Jamie agrees. “Not to carry that weight anymore. Because you wanted something more. Something that would make you happy. Dani...are you happy? Right now?”

It’s a bucket of ice water, and Dani sits up straighter. Her chest aches. “Yes,” she breathes. “With you, yes.”

Jamie smiles. “I’m not asking for that. Not really. I mean...are you happy. These last few weeks, you’ve been...I don’t want to say slipping away. I don’t want to say it, ‘cuz I know where you’ll go with a thought like that, but...”

But I have been, Dani thinks. Because I can see her, Jamie. Not all the time. But enough to not know whose face will be in the mirror each morning. 

“So, I was thinking. The last time you carried something like this, it was him. And you got rid of him. Never saw him again. Banished him, some might say.” Jamie shifts a little, like she’s actually getting nervous. Dani hasn’t seen her nervous in years, not since setting a single flower on a countertop and saying, I’ve got a problem. Or rather, we’ve got a problem, Poppins.

“Jamie--”

“So, I was thinking,” Jamie repeats. “If you could get rid of something that big, something that weighed that heavy, and you could do it because...because of...”

“You,” Dani supplies, knowing this is a step too far even for Jamie’s grinning sense of accomplishment. Knowing Jamie needs her to fill in the spaces sometimes, to remind her the way she’s always reminding Dani, that she is the most important person in Dani’s world. “Because I wanted you.”

“Yeah,” Jamie says, relief flooding her face. “Yeah, me. So...why don’t we try it again?”

“Try...”

“Banishing,” Jamie says. She’s starting to lean forward, a little-kid excitement roiling up through her small frame. “Banishing the beast. You and me. You don’t have to do it on your own, Dani. You know that? We can work together.”

Dani’s mouth opens and closes. “I don’t...I let her in, Jamie. Me. I invited her.”

“Yeah,” Jamie says gently, “but the way I see it, you invited him, too. In a way. You felt responsible for his death, and you carried that all the way across the pond, and you let it sit like a stone on your chest for months. Until you decided not to anymore.”

“So...you’re saying you think I can just decide to let her go, too?” She’s not sure she likes this conversation, where it’s headed, what it implies. Jamie shakes her head aggressively, curls flopping around her face. 

“No, no, Poppins. Listen. What I’m saying is, I think we can make her let go. Together.” Jamie curls her fingers tighter around Dani’s, thumb playing reflexively across her knuckles. “Like last time. You know.”

They sit for a long stretch in silence, Dani mulling it over, Jamie just watching her with a sweet nervousness in her eyes. She looks like maybe this was the kind of idea that appears in the middle of the night, out of a dream, and when you wake up and try to pass it along to someone else, all the logic falls right out of the bottom.

“Let me...get this right,” Dani says slowly. “You think...we can banish the Lady of the Lake...from being attached to my soul...like last time. When we...”

“Wanted each other more than any ghost could want you,” Jamie affirms. She looks a little embarrassed, but with that solid marching-on expression Dani knows they both get when they’re determined to set something right. Her lips curl upward at the corners almost against her will, looking at Jamie with that expression on her face. 

“That is the silliest thing I’ve ever heard, Jamie.”

“Yeah,” Jamie says, rising up on her knees, hand sliding up Dani’s wrist, up her arm, cupping under her elbow as she guides Dani to hold her around the waist. “Yeah, it is. But it was silly last time, too. To think you could want me enough to let go of him.”

“I did,” Dani says, a lump rising in her throat. “God, I really did.”

“And now?” Jamie’s hand, trembling around her elbow. Jamie’s face, inches from her own. Something seems to release in Dani’s chest, something warm and spring-loaded and impossible to put back once it’s loose. 

“I...can’t think of anything I want more,” she says hoarsely, honestly, and then Jamie is kissing her and she can’t think of anything else. 

***

It is, far and away, the most insane idea they’ve ever had. More insane than America, more insane than a flower shop, more insane than putting one foot in front of the other despite knowing a clock was running down in the background. 

And it’s the best Dani has felt in weeks. 

There is a difference, she thinks, between living your life with a timer going and living your life actively trying to stop that timer. She’s never considered the latter before. If she’s honest with herself, she’s been living on Jamie’s philosophy of Borrowed Time ever since leaving Bly--that life is organic, that everything which begins is doomed to end, and that the beauty is in the ending. It’s a good philosophy for parties, a good thing to say to people to make yourself look enlightened and stable. 

It is ever so less enlightened, to admit to anyone over a glass of wine that she is now desperately trying to remove a ghost via sheer force of desire for her forever person. 

And, yet...

“This,” she mumbles against Jamie’s neck, “is still the most insane thing we’ve ever done.”

“The part with the ghost,” Jamie pants, “or the part where we’re performing an exorcism via sex?”

Dani raises her head, eyebrows arched. “All of it? Jamie. All of it.”

They’ve made it through the majority of a day with hands to themselves, if only because a shop you own is less likely to stay afloat if you spend the entire day groping your girlfriend behind the counter...but it’s not like Jamie has been making it easy on her. She’s got this way of being exactly where Dani wants her, exactly when Dani wants her, and still holding herself just out of reach. All day, it’s been Jamie shifting past with hands on Dani’s hips, Jamie’s fingers brushing hers as they work together on an arrangement, Jamie standing just behind her, pretending she can’t feel the way the breath pulls up through Dani’s body until her heart is pounding. 

“You’re rude,” she says now, pushing Jamie harder against the back room door. “You know that about yourself, right?”

“I’ve just been doing my job,” Jamie says, mock-innocently. “Just going about my business as usual, Poppins. Really thought we’d be able to wait until we got home--you know, like proper adults.”

Dani makes an undignified noise through her nose, grasping Jamie’s collar in one hand and holding her by the hip with the other. Jamie's grin is just a touch more smug than Dani feels capable of looking at without spinning apart. 

“You made this bed,” she says, and ducks her head to bite at Jamie’s earlobe. It’s a bed Jamie made three nights ago, kissing her senseless and promising the unkeepable promise: that they’ll be able to do this together, that they’ll be able to unwind the hold the Lady has on her through force of sheer combined will. It’s insane to think about. It’s insane to even consider. You can’t exorcise a demon through sex. 

“And yet,” Jamie says in a raw voice, head thrown back, hands clutching at Dani’s shirt, “I can’t find it in myself to show proper remorse, with you doing that.”

Dani laughs against her skin, and it is unreal how solid she feels with Jamie in her arms. There was peace in their life before, peace and passion and the kind of love that seems only to expand with the stars, but this is different. This is a feeling of being filled-in, of color spreading up through the outline of her life in layers. This is...

Deciding to fight, Dani realizes, as Jamie’s mouth takes hers, Jamie’s hands sliding up under her shirt to explore. Deciding to fight and maybe even beat her at her own game. 

“If this works,” she says, the words half a moan when Jamie’s hand works open the clasp of her bra. “If this works, you’re going to be insufferable, aren’t you?”

“More attractive, you mean,” Jamie sighs. Her shirt is half-unbuttoned. Jamie’s hips are searching for contact, rocking lightly, trying to coax Dani into touching her. “Okay, hey, you started this--” “You started it,” Dani replies, “when you rubbed up against me for like two straight minutes out front.”

“I was adjusting the racks.”

“Reaching around me to do it?”

“You happened to be in the way.”

They’re both laughing, kissing around the smiles, Dani holding Jamie steady to keep her from taking control. It makes Jamie crazy when she does this, she knows; they’re both of a similar mind on taking the lead, two people who spent their lives trying desperately to set their own pace in the world, and who have since learned to fall into step with one another. Jamie laughingly refers to it as “mutual big spoon energy”, how neither of them is particularly good at letting the other take the lead or fall behind. They spend much of their life walking side by side, in perfect tandem. It’s unlike anything Dani has ever been a part of before.

Which makes moments like this--grabbing Jamie’s wrists, pinning them above her head with one hand, forcing her to lean back and let Dani steer--all the more delicious. It is, in a way, the only time Dani feels entirely in control of her life. Moments like this, with Jamie making a strange little growling sound at the back of her throat, with Jamie trying to buck against the hand that is leisurely working its way down her body, feel so steady. 

“If you’re going to be a tease,” Jamie begins, and Dani kisses her hard enough to elicit a whimper. Jamie, who pretends she doesn’t love it, seems to go boneless between her body and the door. Her fingers flex above her head, her voice panting out of her when Dani slips a thigh between her legs and presses up. 

She lets Jamie shift her weight, lets her join in at a slow pace, until they’re moving more or less in perfect sync. Jamie’s head rocks back against the door, and Dani releases her hands to cup behind her skull, fingers digging into thick hair and keeping her from doing actual damage. 

She’s not thinking about ghosts or promises or anything except the rhythm they’ve set between them, riding out the pressure of Jamie against her until she’s shuddering and gasping into Jamie’s throat. She’s not thinking about ticking clocks or how much time anyone can possibly expect, not with the unbound way Jamie grips her hips and pulls, pulls, pulls her harder against Jamie’s bucking. 

“Remind me,” Jamie pants, eyes rolling back in her head as she struggles to find breath, “never to hire additional help. Having this room to ourselves is the best investment we’ve ever made.”

***

It doesn’t banish the Lady in the first week, and Dani is trying desperately not to be disappointed. It wasn’t likely--it isn’t likely to work at all, she reminds herself--to get the job done right away. This isn’t the same kind of possession, not the same kind of ghost, and if there's one thing her too-real dreams have taught her about Viola Lloyd, it’s that the woman was designed stubborn. 

Still, the first time she turns around and catches a smooth-faced glimpse in the bathroom mirror, all the strength goes out of her legs. 

“What?” Jamie asks, summoned by the high-pitched intake of air Dani hadn’t realized she’d made. She’s half-dressed for a day of not much of anything, cropped shirt and underwear and a bewildered expression. Dani leans her weight against the counter, covering her eyes with one hand. 

“Nothing. Just--”

“Her?” Jamie slides into the space beside her, peering into the glass. She tries so hard, Dani thinks with a stab of frustrated gratitude. She tries so hard to see what Dani can’t look away from, and all she ever comes up with is that hard, searching look going nowhere. 

“It’s silly. It was silly to think--”

“Hey,” Jamie says, catching her with a soft grip around the shoulders. “I know you’re not giving up so easy. We’ve only been trying for a couple of days.”

Dani can’t help the shaky laugh that puffs out against Jamie’s cheek when she pulls her in for a hug. “You sound like a husband reassuring his wife that there’s still time to make a baby.”

Jamie makes a perturbed noise. “I cannot think of a less appropriate analogy for our situation than a little monster coming into our world--”

Dani smacks her chest, still laughing. “So you’re saying no kids, then?”

A very specific sort of paleness seeps into Jamie’s already-fair skin. “Wait, d’you want--’cuz we’ve never talked about--how we’d even--”

“I’m kidding,” Dani says quickly, unable to commit to the cruelty of letting this particular joke linger. Of all she’s thought about in her time with Jamie, of all the mad, wonderful ideas that have sparked off at odd hours of the night, children are not one of them. Kids are complicated at the best of times, and she loves them--loves being able to listen, and help, and teach them to be the kinds of adults the world needs--but they can’t even get married. Can’t even walk in public hand in hand, like she so desperately needs sometimes. Kids are so far off her radar, it’s surprising they’ve come up at all.

Jamie, for her part, looks relieved. “I love you,” she says. “So much. But thank Christ for that, because can you imagine me raising a kid?”

“Yes,” Dani says honestly, remembering in perfect tandem Jamie’s meltdown over tattered flowers and Jamie’s strong arms lifting a sleeping Flora into the air. She’d be good at it, in her own way, if it was something they both wanted--but it feels better this way. Just the two of them. Just the two of them, and...

“So she’s still in there,” Jamie says, switching subjects with obvious relief. Her finger presses very gently to the center of Dani’s forehead. “Took you by a bit of a shock, I take it.”

Dani sighs. “I just...hoped it’d be...”

“Quick and dirty?” Jamie wiggles her eyebrows. Her hands are sliding around to rest on the back of Dani’s skirt, giving a gentle squeeze that makes Dani jump. 

“It was with him,” she says, trying to keep her composure. Jamie’s eyebrows rise even higher, and she flushes. “No, I--the banishment, I mean. Just one night. That’s all it took.”

“Maybe I’m losing my touch,” Jamie muses. She leans in, brushes her mouth against the corner of Dani’s frown. “Maybe I’m just not working hard enough...”

“I don’t--think that’s--” It’s hard to think at all, hard to keep the words in her head, with Jamie kissing a slow path: cheekbone, underside of her jaw, hollow of her throat. Her back to the mirror, Dani closes her eyes. “Jamie, aren’t we going to be late for something?”

“Movies come,” Jamie says in a low, careless voice, “and movies go. We can catch a late showing...”

She’s sinking lower, one hand resting on the small of Dani’s back, nipping gently through the fabric of a thin t-shirt. Dani sighs, letting her hands drop to rest on the counter for balance as Jamie drops to her knees, kissing along her belly, her hips, teasing the skirt up and ducking her head beneath its hem. 

That they don’t even have to talk about it, Dani thinks distantly, white-knuckling the counter as Jamie moves in along her thighs with soft bites soothed instantly by hot licks. That they don’t even have to have these conversations most days, is a wonder. She can feel it in the air when Jamie’s in the mood, can read it on every line of her body when she isn’t. The are you sure’s are still there, resting comfortably between them, but it’s like a dance they’ve choreographed together by now. 

She inhales as Jamie presses a kiss between her legs, as a soft tongue moves against the damp fabric of underwear she hasn’t gotten around to removing just yet, and there’s nothing in the world she wouldn’t give up to keep hold of this. Nothing in the world she wouldn’t sell, burn, barter away if it meant more days with Jamie, more of Jamie on her knees on the bathroom rug with hands cradling the backs of her thighs and soft groans vibrating up through her skin. 

She lets her head fall back, lets her hips go as Jamie eases away the last boundary between them, and just concentrates on riding higher, higher, far away from a world where memory can burn and surprises hide behind innocent reflections. When Jamie slides tongue into heat, she jerks once, twice, releases everything. 

“Maybe,” Jamie says, leaning back on her haunches and wiping the back of her hand across her lips. “Maybe that did the trick.”

Dani laughs, but can’t quite convince herself to look over her shoulder. It’s too good, too nice, too perfect letting the weakness of her knees carry her to the floor where she straddles Jamie’s hips and kisses her. No point ruining it by looking back. 

***

Days pass without a sign of the Lady, and Dani finds herself initiating contact more and more, hands searching Jamie out at all hours. Sometimes, she’ll just come up behind Jamie in the kitchen, arms around Jamie’s middle, and stay there while Jamie chops and preps and boils water. Sometimes, she’ll find Jamie reading on the couch and slide between her and the back cushions, head on Jamie’s chest, letting the slow rum-pum of her heart lull her into a daze. It’s everything with Jamie that makes the world a stable place, she thinks, every inch of Jamie’s calm nature, Jamie’s bad jokes, Jamie’s kiss on her temple as she passes on the way to the bathroom. 

When Jamie has to leave for a weekend conference, a one-person-ticket event they’d decided months ago would be best suited if the person who actually understood the ins and outs of growing plants attended, Dani feels like she’s walking through a dream. She sits on the edge of their bed, watching Jamie hold a series of nearly-identical jeans and flannel shirts up to her body and discard them onto a nearby chair. 

“You’re sure?” Jamie asks for the fiftieth time that day. “You’re sure you’re all right with me going?”

“Yes,” Dani’s mouth answers automatically. No, she thinks. Every time, the same response. 

“Only, I don’t have to,” Jamie presses, looking over her shoulder. “I could call out sick--”

“It’s the best chance we have of the sale prices,” Dani says, like reading a script she’s been going over for a year. “And you said it yourself, networking is everything for a small business in its infancy...”

“That was early days,” Jamie protests, abandoning a shirt and crossing to the bed. “We’ve done all right for ourselves since, and I could...”

Dani wraps arms around her waist, leaning her face against Jamie’s shirtfront and sighing. “I’d be lying if I said I was excited about a weekend alone,” she says. Jamie’s hands rest on the back of her head, sifting through her ponytail in soft, easy strokes. It’s almost enough to lull her to sleep sitting up. 

“I’m just...what if...” Jamie stops herself short. Dani looks up, mouth twisting in a parody of a smile. 

“What if the Lady comes while you’re away?”

“I don’t like it,” Jamie says. “I don’t like risking it. You’ve seemed better lately, less...”

“Flinchy?” Dani suggests, suddenly bone-tired. “She hasn’t been sneaking up as much.”

“Right. But isn’t that because--”

“We don’t know what causes it,” Dani says, trying to convince them both with a single shot. “We don’t know if she’s been absent because of dumb luck, or because she doesn't feel like coming out to play, or because--”

“Or because it’s my bloody presence helping scare her off,” Jamie says, so fiercely, Dani reaches up to press a hand to her heart. Her face is set in perfect determination, and Dani thinks with certainty that this has ceased to be a joke in Jamie’s mind, a game to help keep Dani’s off of the fear. She believes, on some level, that she’s been doing actual good for Dani’s fight with the beast in the jungle, that it’s her hands and her mouth and her steadiness that’s kept Dani safe--safer--these past weeks. 

Dani can’t say for sure that she’s wrong, if she’s honest with herself. The Lady is still there; she can feel her, lurking, watching. But it’s getting...different. Maybe because Dani just feels better, and when her head is clear, when the sun is out, when Jamie’s hands are on her skin, it’s easy to convince herself that only children get scared of the dark. 

Maybe. Or maybe there really is something to be said about this battle of wills. Of the Lady’s need coming up against Dani’s own hungers. 

“I don’t want you to go,” she says, and is pleasantly surprised at how firm her voice is. She pulls at Jamie, guiding her down until they’re laying face to face atop the blankets. She wraps a leg around Jamie, pulls her closer, kisses her gently until the line between Jamie’s brows smooths out. 

“So, it’s settled, then,” Jamie breathes against her lips. “I’ll just ring ‘em up and--”

“I don’t want you to go,” Dani repeats, hand smoothly working the button of Jamie’s jeans open. She kisses her again, open and warm, letting her tongue curl around Jamie’s sigh, and adds, “But I’ll be all right. For two days. Two days missing you. Imagine what that’ll do...”

She likes the way Jamie folds into her, the way Jamie’s skin flushes beneath the tips of her fingers as she slides a hand down and curls gently against damp heat. She moves, fingers rubbing circles that make Jamie squirm and writhe and reach down to clasp her around the wrist. 

“You’ll go,” she says softly against Jamie’s lips, the words half-muffled and entirely unimportant, as Jamie holds her wrist and guides her deeper. “And I’ll be here. Thinking about you getting back. It’s you that keeps me grounded, Jamie, but it’s this, too. The wanting.”

Jamie makes a noise, small, like she’s trying to contain herself. Dani doesn’t think she’s even arguing anymore, not really. 

“It was like that,” she says, letting the words turn into a groan when Jamie clenches around her. “That night. It was the wanting of you. Of being with you, of being happy with you. It was wanting to let it all go so I could taste this. What being happy really was.”

There’s only so much room, Jamie’s jeans too tight, but she can move enough to twist her fingers, to press her thumb down as she thrusts in, out, in. Jamie kisses her with no grace whatsoever, presses until her forehead is flush with Dani’s, sweat beading on her skin as she tips over on Dani’s command. 

“You’re sure,” Jamie says, when she’s recovered herself enough to speak. “You’re really sure?”

No, she isn’t sure. Dani hasn’t been sure of anything regarding her unwanted anchor, not since taking the Lady in that night. But she feels...something in her chest, something solid and more certain than she’s used to, nodding in agreement all the same. 

She kisses Jamie, lets Jamie take her hand and kiss each finger clean, lets Jamie roll her over and clear away the clothes and the cobwebs of worry in practiced motions. With Jamie pulling the sheets over them, she feels safer than anywhere else in the world. 

“Just come home to me,” she breathes when Jamie touches her. “Just promise you’ll always come home.”

***

Jamie, of course, keeps that promise. Jamie, for someone who doesn’t like to make many, keeps promises better than anyone Dani’s ever met. She calls when she makes it to the hotel Friday afternoon, calls again each night after the conference lets out, sits on the phone until Dani falls asleep. 

The rest of the weekend feels foggy to Dani, like someone has wrapped their apartment in a thin gray smoke. She tries to keep busy, but her attention is variable at best; a book, a puzzle, a movie can only hold her for patches of minutes at a time until she bounces to her feet and goes off in search of the next distraction.

She spends all of Saturday on old habits, keeping her head resolutely turned away from the mirror whenever she needs the bathroom, refusing to give the Lady the satisfaction of a glance. 

Sunday, the restless energy pools until she can’t stand it anymore. She takes a long walk in the summer heat, humidity pulling at her clothes, the sun baking itself into her hair. She wishes Jamie were there, pointing out dogs and laughing at kids. 

Sweat soaks into her clothes, and she heads straight for a shower upon returning home. Her eyes fixate on the towel, the clean pajamas piled on the counter, the row of neat bottles on the shower rack. She lets the water heat until the room is bathed in steam, and then, only then, does she turn to the mirror. 

Blonde hair, serious frown, one blue eye, one brown, staring back at her. What Jamie sees whenever she joins Dani at the mirror, and nothing else. Nothing more. She leans her weight on her elbows, staring her own reflection down. She keeps expecting something to jump out at her--a perfectly smooth face, dark hair stringy around a white nightgown--but, no. 

Here’s Dani Clayton, she thinks with a rebellious little laugh. She’s a bit of a weirdo, but she’s a lot stronger than she thinks. 

Jamie knew her so well, even then. Jamie, seeing straight to the heart of the matter without even being asked to look. Jamie has always been so good that way, so capable of reading Dani at the most unexpected moments. Eddie wasn’t like that. Eddie’s mother, her own mother, her old friends--they were all missing whatever critical piece Jamie’s puzzle contains. The one that lets a person look and actually see: not what is wanted, but what is there. 

She steps under the spray, shivering a little at the heat on clammy skin, and thinks, Maybe someday. Maybe someday I’ll take cold showers in July, because it won’t be a matter of fogging up the mirror before I’m safe being naked and alone. Maybe someday. 

It’s more than she’s allowed herself to hope in years. Maybe she’s crazy even to think it; maybe it’s just testing the gods, the universe, the beast in the jungle. Here kitty kitty, come out and see if you can take a bite. 

She presses her forehead to the tile wall, swaying a little, wishing Jamie were here. Wishing Jamie were sliding back the curtain, stepping into the tub, too giddy at the idea of seeing her even to wait the half hour for her to leave the bathroom. 

She wishes, and still, when hands slide around her from behind, it’s all she can do not to break Jamie’s nose with a terrified headbutt.

“Fuck,” Jamie gasps, ducking aside in the nick of time. “All right, Poppins, fair enough. Guessing you didn’t hear my merry hellos.”

Her heart is a ricochet, bounding around her ribs in time with her gasping breaths. The hands are Jamie’s--Jamie in a black t-shirt with the sleeves rolled, Jamie in shorts and a somewhat embarrassed expression--but for a moment, Dani was back at the sink in the Bly kitchen, feeling the starbursts of lust and newly-born excitement come up against the guilt of phantom gloves. 

“Next time,” Jamie says, “I will yodel.”

“Next time,” Dani agrees breathlessly, leaning back into her arms and trying not to cry and laugh at the same time as she returns to earth. “You are--”

“Home early,” Jamie supplies, kissing the curve of her shoulder. “Couldn’t stand another minute of those buttoned-up stiffs. You know how long they talked about tax benefits and profit margins? Hardly any of ‘em had touched real soil in years, I’d wager.”

“You are fully dressed,” Dani points out. Jamie pauses, looking down at herself in a dripping shirt and shorts that are going to be nearly impossible to wriggle free of. The car keys are still in her hip pocket. She reaches down, flings them out toward the counter. 

“Right. Didn’t think this through.”

Dani laughs, a mouthful of water nearly choking her, and leans her head back to nuzzle into Jamie’s neck. “You’re wonderful. And a mess.”

“Well,” Jamie says slyly. “If I’m already wet, I mean...what’s to be done, but lean into it?”

Dani can’t fault her this logic, and suddenly the laughter is turning into a very different sort of sound as one hand splays across her belly, the other easing sopping hair aside to kiss her neck with deliberate care. She lets herself lean back, the heat and the pressure of the water creating a perfect little pocket far away from the world. When Jamie cups between her legs, hips rocking gently against her from behind as she builds slow friction with nimble fingers, she wonders if maybe she’s dreaming. If maybe the strength of will has peaked and allowed the dream to spill over into reality. 

Or else maybe she’s summoned Jamie, summoned her with that restless desperate need she never quite understood before Jamie walked into her life. Either way, she presses a hand flat against the tile, breathing in steam, the world around her reducing to Jamie’s hands, Jamie sucking a soft red mark into the curve of her neck, Jamie breathing heavily against her ear, I love you, I’m home, Dani, I’m here. 

After, she lathers shampoo into her hands and washes Dani’s hair, talking merrily of foolish conventions and more foolish old men, and Dani thinks she’s never been so relaxed in her entire life. Even with the water shut off and a towel around her body, watching Jamie struggle to peel out of dripping layers, she feels good. Her eyes dart to the mirror only once, in time to watch Jamie’s swearing reflection hop in a circle as she fails to remove a sock and nearly topples over. 

There is only her. Only her, and Jamie, and this life she would kill to keep. 

***

The weeks become months, the months become years, and the Lady--the Lady is a memory more than anything else. Dani thinks she’s still in there, somewhere. Thinks this kind of ghost requires a kind of exorcism she doesn’t know how to perform. That maybe the invitation was different enough to ensure no take-backs, no pushing her back out again into that cold night and locking the door behind her. 

But she also thinks maybe Jamie was right, sitting on their bed that night with nervous hope in her eyes. Maybe an invitation, once made, can at least be amended. Maybe an unerring will, when contested with equal strength, can be placated. 

The sex ebbs and flows, as it will, but Dani finds her need for Jamie never diminishes. She never feels as though her day is complete unless she’s held Jamie’s hand, counting the callouses beneath her fingers, feeling the warmth beneath the swipe of her thumb. Some days, they spend hours on the couch, Dani wrapped around Jamie like a human blanket, talking and dozing and laughing, and Dani thinks, I almost missed this. I almost got too lost to know it. 

There are still bad days. Days where she looks furtively into standing water and thinks maybe she sees a shadow, an inkling, a seed. On those days, she walks straight to Jamie, and Jamie--who has always seen only her, who knows her so well she could tell their whole story without Dani’s help--holds her close. Rains kisses up and down her skin, grasps her face between hands that have her memorized, looks her in the eyes. 

“Still here, Poppins. Still here.”

“Yes,” she gasps on those days, and feels herself solidify a little more. She’s older now than she ever thought she’d get to see. Older, and maybe not as much of it shows on her face--Jamie’s getting these surprisingly-sexy lines around her mouth and eyes, a little more each year, and Dani can’t kiss them enough, can’t wind her hands hard enough into silver-threaded hair--but she feels it. Feels the years curling up upon themselves like the rings of a tree. Feels a little steadier, with every one she puts behind her, like an admonishment of cruel gods. Still here, she thinks with a savage kind of pride. Still here, and still here, and still her. Dani Clayton. Bit of a weirdo, stronger than she thinks, and so fucking in love with Jamie I could burst. 

“Do you think we’ll ever manage it?” Jamie asks one day, the pair of them lazy in bed though the Saturday sun has been brightening the room for hours. Dani’s head rests on her chest, Dani’s fingers playing with the waistband of her underwear. It’s a good day, a good, simple morning. Nothing pressing on the horizon. They could stay here all day. 

“Manage what?” she asks, when Jamie gives her a gentle shake as if to say wake up and pay attention to me. Her hand sneaks down a little lower, toying with soft skin. Jamie inhales slowly. 

“You are a menace. Do you think we’re ever going to be rid of her? Your beast in the jungle?”

Dani traces tiny shapes into Jamie’s skin, watching her hand disappear under cotton, watching the way Jamie’s hips jump a little when she scratches gentle circles and triangles and flower petals with blunt nails. “I don’t know.”

“You still see her?” Jamie’s lip is between her teeth, her eyes fluttering as Dani presses herself against her thigh and grinds gently. Not in a rush. Just meandering along, enjoying herself, enjoying the way Jamie still feels so alive under her hands. 

“Sometimes,” she admits. It doesn’t scare her the way it used to. It’s different now. It’s there, and it’s frustrating, but it doesn’t feel like something rising from the depths to pull her under. It feels, almost, as though after so many years of fighting Dani’s hunger for life, for Jamie, the beast, too, is tired. 

“But you’re--” Jamie swallows, a low moan passing her lips as Dani finally touches her properly. Slow, languid, she slides her fingers in and cherishes the way Jamie moves to accommodate and accept. 

“I’m what?”

“Happy,” Jamie groans. “With me. With us. You’re happy?”

Dani rolls over, watching Jamie’s brow crease with the loss of her hand. She smiles, sliding down the bed, kissing breast, belly, mapping all the little lines and scars and markers of a life lived well with her tongue. 

“Happy,” she agrees. “Very.”

There are rings on their fingers now, as she reaches up Jamie’s body without looking to tangle their hands. Rings that meant something when she bought them, meant more when they signed a piece of paper, will finally mean the same to everyone else when they stand up in front of friends and family in a few months and repeat those vows. There are rings, and there is laughter, and there are conversations in the dark and tears on a Wednesday and bad coffee and ghosts. Always ghosts. 

Maybe some things can’t be banished completely. Maybe some ghosts are more solid than others. 

As Jamie moves beneath her, coming apart under her lips, she thinks that part doesn’t matter so much. The Lady won’t be taking her. Not this time. 

She wants Jamie--wants this life for as long as she can possibly have it--more than any ghost could want her. If she knows nothing else, with Jamie on her tongue, Jamie’s kiss on her skin, Jamie’s ring on her finger, she can say that much for a certainty. 

[let-me-touch-your-soul]

a loveless letter

I’ve been wanting to write you a letter for years now but I just haven’t been able to formulate my thoughts into words and I never knew when would be the perfect time to write. I was waiting for us to end so I can have the whole picture to reflect on but I no longer see an end in sight for us and this letter is probably going to be very messy with no plot at all, so just bare with me for now until I can write a better, more chronological letter. And let me just preface this by saying this is in no way me putting any blame on you, this isn’t me trying to call you out and paint you as the bad guy. This is just my side of our story. 

We met when I was 4 years old, and all you were to me was my friend’s older brother, nothing more nothing less. I don’t know where exactly I crossed the line or you did, but you are no longer just that. You are now someone who stole my innocence and gave me a warped perception of this world and the word ‘love’. There is so much to say but let me try to start from the beginning. 

When we first started talking outside of family functions, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I have no perception of time so I just like to say it all started when I was 12, but I’m pretty sure it was before that. We started talking and at that time you were just some guy I was interested in; it wasn’t even remotely close to a crush yet, I was just hyped about getting some sort of attention from an older guy. Don’t know where the lines blurred but suddenly you were making sexual advances to a little girl, someone who had no idea what some of the words you were saying meant, someone who was just learning about the horrors of the world, someone who was already getting their childhood and innocence stolen from them. 

I just went along with everything you said and wanted because I didn’t want to disappoint you and didn’t want you to stop talking to me. I became obsessed with the attention you were giving me, well my body. As someone who suffered with an altered body image for as long as I can remember, I was basking in the attention you were giving to the physical parts of me, no matter how objectified and dehumanized it made me feel at times. I lied about the number of people who had touched me and about all the experiences I never had, (I was only 12 so how could you even think I had other people touching me in my most intimate places?), just so you wouldn’t think I was as innocent as I was. You made me grow up too early. 

As we kept talking, my heart slowly made its way to the surface and I caught feelings, despite us both discussing it would be ‘no strings attached’. I thought I was the only one with these flutters and I was way too embarrassed to say anything about the way I really felt so I never brought it up, I just went along with everything you said. After all, I was still just a shy little girl who had no idea what she got herself into. But then one night, you told me you loved me. I still remember that moment vividly, as if it happened just yesterday. It was the night before my first day of school (6th grade) and I was charging my phone in my parent’s bedroom, telling you goodnight, and you replied with “goodnight, love you”, and with shaking hands and a heart going a mile a minute I replied with, “goodnight, love you too”, smiling so hard my cheeks started going numb. That was the beginning of the end of me. 

Truth be told, I wasn’t even sure at that time if I really did love you, but I still said it back because I didn’t want to lose you, but after all these years I think I can safely say that somewhere along the line I did fall in love with you, with what exactly I don’t know, but I did love you. But let’s not get too ahead of ourselves, there is so much more left of this story, this is barely the beginning. 

You made me believe you loved me. We texted all day and night, meaningless conversations filled with sexual tension. You were the first boy I showed my body to, the first boy I kissed, the first boy who held me and touched me, the first boy I shed tears for, the first boy I had feelings for and said “I love you” to. 

I remember seeing you with different girls on your snap everyday and remember hearing about you from other girls you were doing the same thing to them as were doing to me, and with every girl I lost a piece of myself. Now don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t jealous. I knew you weren’t mine, you made that pretty clear from the beginning, and I was never the jealous type. But, I was hurt. I thought I was faulty. I couldn’t blame you, because you made it clear from the beginning that you didn’t want anything exclusive, this was all just fun for you, a passing time, so with no one to blame I blamed myself. All the other girls were much older than me, and prettier, and skinnier, so if I was just prettier and as skinny as them maybe you would show me more attention right? I started changing myself. I ate less and threw up more. I started wearing tighter clothes and starting drinking and smoking, because that would make me more cooler and desirable right? Wrong. You still looked at other girls, and I couldn’t change myself anymore, I was on the brink of losing myself, love. All for you. But you never noticed. You never cared enough to know. 

I remember getting drunk one night and texting you that I loved you but felt as if you didn’t love me. Do you remember that? You replied back in the morning saying you did love me. It was all baseless though. It was very clear you only said that to not be painted as the bad guy, but I still took your word for it and never brought it up again, and neither did you. I think that was the last time the word “love” was uttered between us. Did I ruin it? 

I also can’t help but bring up how all our conversations happened within apps that couldn’t be seen by others unless specifically searched for. After all, who would even believe you were talking to lil ole me. Were you ashamed of me? Embarrassed to be seen talking to me? Well thats exactly what it seemed like. You made it very clear we were to be kept a secret, not a single soul should know you were talking to me. So I kept quiet. Didn’t tell a single soul about the boy who held my heart and crushed it along with my innocence. 

I tried to distance myself from you. I wouldn’t answer your texts, but at times my longing got the best of me and I couldn’t stop myself from responding back to you. We would go months without any contact and every time it was you who would hit me up first and I would lose the battle within me and respond and we would be back to square one, texting as if nothing changed between us. I think I found comfort in that familiarity of knowing exactly what to expect when talking to you. Our dynamic never really changed over the years, did it? I still can’t decide if thats a bad thing or a good thing. 

I tried to move on from you, I really did. But no one, nothing, lasted and I always ended up going back to you one way or another. I tried to fill the hole you left in me with drugs and drinks and boys who also only wanted me for my body. After all, that was all I knew. I didn't know love outside of what I could offer with my body. You taught me I wasn’t anything beyond my body and I never stopped to question it, and sometimes I still regress back to that little girls mind, and I’m still forced to exist in the body I destroyed for you, in the body I still let you use from time to time.

There are times when I think I am completely over you and nothing you do affects me anymore but then you text me again and all the feelings I had for you over the years come rushing back and I feel like I’m 13 all over again falling head over heels in love with you. But honestly, I think I just find comfort in the familiarity of you. We’ve been in this push and pull situationship (what else is there call us?) for I think over 6 years now, and I’ve honestly just come to accept that it probably won’t be a solid ending to this anytime soon. I tried so hard to end it and move and forget about you, but the truth is that I am too weak when it comes to you. Now, I have no idea whatsoever why you keep coming back to me when there are so many other better prospects out there for you and I try not to think too deep into it because I don’t want to create false hope and hurt myself any more than I already have. I gave you all my teenage years, and I am still giving them you. We grew up with each other and these years are just something neither of us can take back and I’ve come to just accept this and try to live with knowing there will never be anything more to us, no matter how hard that acceptance is for me. 

I told myself that going away to college was going to be a fresh new beginning for me and that I would completely cut you off. We all know that didn’t go as planned. I had sex with you for the first time this summer. Did you know that was my first time lol? Yeah I literally have never had anyone touch me like that except for you. I don’t think I can ever come clean about that to you because that’s just too much power in your hands over me with that information. I’m sorry for lying and making you think I was more experienced than I actually was, but I guess now you know why I did it. 

I think for me to be able to fully move I would need to hear your side of everything from you. But I don’t know if I’ll ever get the closure I need directly form you so I guess this is why I’m writing this, as a way to get some type of closure for myself. I never plan on telling you any of this because being vulnerable is just not something I have in me, especially to you, so I guess we both will just be living in the dark about this without any answers for the rest of our lives. 

Sometimes, and I know this sounds hilarious and dumb, I wonder what the future holds for us. I wonder if we met at a different point in our lives, where we were both older and wiser, would we have been able to be more than what we are now, whatever we are now. I’ve held feelings for you inside of me for so long I really don’t think it will ever go away; I’m just going to have to find a way to live with them for the rest of my life. I just want to end this by letting you know that if you ever change your mind about me and us, and want there to actually be an ‘us’ exclusively, I will say yes to you without hesitation. You hold pieces of me I will never get back, pieces I don’t even know if I want back, and I don’t think if I will ever be able to devote myself so someone else with the same intensity I devoted myself to you. I used to be able to see a future with you, and I would like to blame that on my naive, young brain. Thank you for teaching me that not everyone who comes into my life will reciprocate the same feelings as me and that love is only a figment of one’s imagination. I sincerely hope you never feel what I felt and that you find someone who loves you back the same way you love them. I hope you are happy and content with wherever you end up in life, just don’t forget me. :)

[lombredanslaeu]

someone that loves you | lee taeyong

▸ taeyong x antagonist! reader

▸ summary: everyone always gushes about the protagonist - the goody two shoes, i-deserve-all-the-happiness girl. you never had a problem with people getting their happy endings, anyway. but lee taeyong won’t be the rescuing you in a shiny, white horse; you are also not his damsel-in-distress. you are the protagonist in their love story.; word count 4,352

▸ angst, fluff.

this isn’t proofread so i apologize for any mistakes! enjoy <3

You’ve known Lee Taeyong all your life; from being lunchbox friends in elementary school to being party buddies in college. You weren’t the best of friends but you did share the same closest circle of friends in college. You both watched each other grow up, but you weren’t the type of friends to gush about their love life with. In fact, the two of you could only hold a proper conversation if it’s in one of Jaehyun’s parties. Nevertheless, you always found him attractive. He was the hot, cool junior who is currently majoring in music. He has girls trailing behind him; one of those heartthrob male protagonist in a movie or a book. You had the advantage of being in his inner circle - which means you are one step further than the girls chasing after him. You aren’t so bad yourself - you’re quite popular, your hair was always in check, you liked girly clothing. Everyone in your department kisses your ass, if you’re being honest, and you could have anyone wrapped around your finger. Everyone except Taeyong.

“What lipstick should I wear for today?” Your friend, Yeri, asked you while holding two lipstick tubes near her lips.

“This one looks great with the university atmosphere,” you replied, poiting to the one on her left. “The other one would look great on parties and dates.”

“Ugh, you are so great at choosing lip colors.” She complimented. “Speaking of parties, you’re still up for Friday night at Jaehyun’s?”

“Of course!” You exclaimed. “He always hosts the greatest parties.”

“Right?” Joy spoke in agreement. “Besides, that might be the night you finally get it with Taeyong.”

“Oh please,” Yeri interjected. “You know Y/N doesn’t hook up on the first night.”

“I’m the complete opposite of what those bitches at the online forum say about me!” You added.

“You don’t have to listen to those forums, Y/N,” Joy said. You sighed and got back to eating your lunch. Joy and Yeri are two of your closest friends. You met during the first day of your freshman year. You only knew Taeyong as you both came from the same high school, but he looked like he already had friends; that led you to no choice but to talk with the girl beside you during chemistry. It wasn’t long until you started to hang out with Taeyong’s circle of friends. The night of Jaehyun’s party came. It was the same, old thing with Lucas being extra loud than his normal self, and it was either Johnny or Xiaojun in charge of the music. Except today, two unfamiliar faces came through the door.

“Who are they?” You asked Mark beside you.

“That’s Daeun and Euna.” Mark responded. “Apparently, Taeyong and Kun invited them since they’re new in campus.”

You felt a surge of jealousy rage over you. You know you don’t have any reason to feel that at all. It’s not like Taeyong would suddenly want to date you after all the gifts and letters you gave him on his birthday for the past years.

“Do I sense some kind of tension here?” Mark commented. He must have felt the shift in your body at the mention of Taeyong’s name.

“No?” You defended. “Why would I feel some tension?”

You got back to sipping your drink and watch as one of the girls converse with Taeyong and Yuta. She looks nice. She looks innocent and cute. You weren’t one to judge other girls at all. Even if you hated all your competitors, you never resorted to sending bashful comments to them. You walked away from the scene to find Doyoung and get him to get you drunk.

 --

Your professor called in sick for the day, leaving you with no more lectures for the rest of the week. You silently thanked your department for having its finals week earlier than the other departments. You were scrolling through your social media apps to kill time and decided to watch a view stories on instagram. The first story was from Taeyong; it showed a picture of Daeun seated across from him in the library. You were used to seeing Taeyong hang out with other girls before. You would have let it slide like the other girls, except that you notice Taeyong has been hanging out with Daeun more ever since Jaehyun’s party. You skipped over to the next story to distract yourself. As you got invested on your phone, you felt a tap on your shoulder. You looked up to see distressed Taeyong.

“Hey Y/N, are you busy?” He asked.

“Not at all.” You responded, setting down your phone on the table.

“Listen, I am terribly failing Professor Kang’s class,” He started. “He told me you’re his greatest student. So, can you coach me? We have a class debate and I need to win.”

 --

“Okay, remember,” You said to Taeyong. You were explaining to him strategies on how to win a debate. “Analyze every argument your opponent has to say. Don’t miss out on anything.”

Taeyong wrote down on his notebook all the tips you’re giving him. Today was the fourth day you’re coaching him. You got to spend time with Taeyong even if all you did was stay in the library for two hours. During your breaks, you talked about your favorites - movies, songs, food, etc.

“If you win this debate,” You said to him. “I’ll treat you to a HONNE show on the 16th.”

“Woah, Y/N, that’s a deal,” He replied with amusement evident on his face. “I’m gonna destroy that Mingyu.”

 --

You rushed through the hall to catch Taeyong’s debate on time. It was open for anyone to watch. You ditched the remaining hour of your psychology lecture to greet him with a huge bouquet of flowers and your promised ticket to HONNE if he wins. You saw the swarm of people exit the function hall, which means the debate was done. You wiggled yourself through the crowd in search for the boy. You spotted him near the exit with Jungwoo, Yuta, and Daeun.

“Taeyong!” You exclaimed, catching his attention. He walked towards you, smiling at the things on your hands. You noticed that your bouquet of flowers outshine the ones that Daeun gave to him. You mentally smiled at yourself for that.

“I won, Y/N! I won!” He exclaimed before slinging an arm over your shoulders for a brief hug. It may seem like a short, friendly hug to anyone but for you, it was like your skin suddenly felt what it was like to be appreciated.

“You have me as your coach, of course you would win,” You replied. “I’m sure you did amazing. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to catch it. As promised, see you at HONNE.”

He received the bouquet and ticket from your hands and gave you a smile that could light up the darkest parts of you.

“Oh Y/N, I forgot that Daeun and I had plans to catch this movie on the 16th.” Taeyong said. You felt your blood boil slightly. “It’s shows for the last time on the 16th. You can give the ticket to Johnny. He also likes HONNE.”

 --

Taeyong’s rain check bothered you for the entire week. You really wanted to see HONNE with him; you even rejected Joy so that Taeyong could have the extra ticket.

“I thought it was Taeyong you’re supposed to go with?” Johnny said. You asked him to go with you for the concert.

“Yeah but, he has plans with that Daeun girl.” You said, rolling your eyes. Johnny chuckled at your response.

“Wow! The campus’ crush got rejected by Lee Taeyong?” He said with great amusement. “This is breaking news!”

You couldn’t believe it either. Any other guy would be begging to be the one you have a concert date with; the fact that Taeyong rain checked on you bothered you to the core.

“Hey, cheer up, Y/N.” Johnny said, his tone becoming concerned.

You sighed and force a small smile. “It’s fine, John.”

“Hey,” He spoke, facing you. “Do you really want Taeyong to be free on the 16th?”

His menacing eyes made you skeptical about whatever plan he has in mind. Johnny was always the deceitful one. He gets away with everything and anyone. For the past year of being friends with him, you’re guaranteed that Johnny’s plans never fail. The next thing you know, you’re sneaking into the university’s clinic. Your university clinic arranges a mandatory annual check up that each student must attend to. You only get one appointment every year and if you fail to do so, you’re not allowed to enter any contests/competitions for the rest of the year. Daeun was part of the archery team and they have a competition coming next month. As part of the debate varsity, you know that every team member takes the check up seriously; so does Daeun.

“Y/N, hurry up, the nurses’ lunch ends in 15.” Haechan whispered. He volunteered to be your look out. He was Johnny’s partner in crime so, you know that he’ll help you execute this perfectly. You found the schedules for the check ups for this and wrote Daeun’s name on the 16th.

 --

You were walking back from a long meeting with your college organization. It was nearing midnight since you and your team needed to stay back and fix some stuff. The walk from your school to your dorm wasn’t very far and although it was really late, the street was illuminated with street lights. As you approached a bus stop near the exit of your school, you noticed a familiar figure.

“Taeyong?” You asked the person, who seems to be clutching his side because of pain. He lifted his face to you, causing you to see the few scratches and cuts lined with blood. “What the fuck happened to you?”

“It’s nothing, just came across some bad blood.” He replied, wincing as the cut on the corner of lips hindered him from speaking comfortably.

“This isn’t nothing, Taeyong.” You said with utmost concern. “Come with me to my dorm. I’ll help you clean that up before you catch a bus.”

You walked with him to your dorm. You couldn’t let Taeyong go inside a filthy bus with his exposed wounds. He sat down on your couch as you get the first-aid kit that the landlord placed in every unit.

“Care to tell me what really happened?” You inquired. You dabbed a piece of cotton on the cuts near his lips. Taeyong was always beautiful but he was too ethereal to be scarred with such wounds.

“I got into a fight with Daeun’s ex.” He sighed. “I overheard them arguing during lunch earlier. He threatened to hurt her if she doesn’t get back together with him so, I wait for him to finish his community service and went for it.”

Your heart winced at the fact that Taeyong got hurt for Daeun. It wasn’t the right time to compare but whenever people would comment hurtful prejudice to you, it was always the others guys who would come to your defense. Taeyong only knew Daeun for a short amount of time but he’s starting to act like her knight in shining armor. You couldn’t deny that Daeun was a sweet girl; she helped you with a physics problem once and told you that you could always ask for help. Your pride got the most of you and ignore her. Taeyong probably likes the sweet ones and you were too bitter for your own good.

“Thank you for your help, Y/N.” Taeyong said as you announced that you were done cleaning up his wounds.

“No problem.” You replied. “Just promise me you’ll get your ribs checked tomorrow.”

He smiled at you; and for the first time in quite some time, you felt like the good girl in this story.

 --

Today was the day of the HONNE concert. You didn’t expect Taeyong to approach you since he knew Johnny will be the one you’re going with, but here he is - standing in front of you.

“Listen, I just found out that Johnny had a stomach flu and wouldn’t be able to go to the concert.” He said. You didn’t know Johnny had the stomach flu so this surprised you. “I didn’t want you to come alone so, I was hoping that his spot hasn’t been taking yet.”

You tilted your head to the side. “Don’t you have a movie to catch with Daeun?”

“Yeah but she was scheduled to have the annual check up today.” He replied.

“Great, see you at the concert.” You said, smiling at him before walking away.

 --

“That was so fun!” Taeyong exclaimed as you both exit the concert venue. You decided to grab a drink in a bar nearby.

“Right?” You agreed, reciprocating the wide smile he has on his face. “’Location Unknown’ definitely moved me to the core.”

You settled in a booth in the bar. This bar was a great spot for concert-goers so you weren’t expecting to stay for a long time.

“Can I tell you something?” He said, playing with the bottle in his hands. You lifted your eyebrow to signal that you were willing to listen. “Daeun just said she loves me.”

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat. “And what did you say?”

“Well, she didn’t say it to my face. Taeil overheard her and Euna talking.” He replied.

“Do you love her back?” You asked. You hoped to the stars that he’ll say no.

“I don’t know.” You relaxed at his response. “But, I do like her.”

You felt like you lost your chance. Is Daeun prettier? Is she really kinder than you? Are you unlovable?

“Wait,” You held your palms up. “Why are you telling me this? We’re not that close.”

He shrugged at you. “I don’t know. After our debate tutoring, I realized that you’re actually cool to hang with. Besides, you’re not friends with Daeun or Euna, so I bet you won’t tell them what I have to say.”

“Are all of your friends close with them?” You asked.

“Yeah, almost everyone.” He replied.

Oh, so everyone likes them? You couldn’t deny that you may seem bitchy to other people. Yuta and Jaemin seems like they never liked you since the beginning, despite not doing anything to them. The fact that they like Daeun and Euna doesn’t sit right with you.

 --

As the weeks go by, you witness first-hand how Taeyong and Daeun got closer. She was always present on Jaehyun’s parties and it seems like Daeun’s instagram stories are just becoming endless candid photos of Taeyong. You scrolled past her instgaram stories. Christmas time is coming up. You usually never give presents to everyone but this time, you were determined to be selfless. You carefully wrapped everyone’s presents. Butterflies flew in your stomach as you wrapped Yuta’s present. You knew he was never fond of your presence. He once called you “Regina George” because according to him, you fit that category. You never understood why he would label you as such. All you did was beat him during debate and spoke nothing but the truth about his shortcomings as a speaker. Jaemin, on the other hand, used to be your vice president in the debate varsity. You two got along together before; that was until someone showed you a screenshot of a tweet on his private twitter account saying that you were a bad president.

“I can’t believe you are this low.” You said to Jaemin.

“Well, you should believe that you are a bad president because you never listen to anyone but yourself!” His tone was more hostile. You were trying your best to stay calm but the comment he just gave blew whatever cool you had in you.

“Okay, you can keep talking but just now,” Your voice lowered as you say the last phrase. “I’m never gonna listen to whatever bullshit you have to stay.”

You remembered having half of the debate varsity turn their backs against you. But, it was the same old thing. You were always the villain in everything. You wanted to make amends with Yuta and Jaemin and gave them their presents.

Yuta scoffed at the gesture. “Oh please, trying to play nice since the comments about you on the online forum are starting to get into your head?”

“I’m just trying to be nice.” You said. “I know things aren’t cool between us, so I’m here to make amends.”

“Stop trying to be nice.” Jaemin spoke. “Stop proving that you’re not the bad guy when you know to yourself that you are.”

He got up and threw the present in the nearest garbage bin. You held back the tears that were threatening to form in your eyes. You’re Y/N. You never cry in front of people. You sighed in defeat and left the lecture hall.

“That wasn’t very nice, you guys.” Taeyong scolded the younger boys. He was the only one inside the hall aside from you, Yuta, and Jaemin. He excused himself from the two as he followed you into the hallway. He saw your sniffling figure near a storage room. He placed a hand on your shoulder which caused you to frantically wipe your tears.

“It’s okay, Yong.” You said.

“I’m sorry for what they said.” He started.

“You don’t have to apologize for their actions.” You replied, sighing. “Besides, apologizing for them won’t fix anything between us.”

“You’re a good person, Y/N.” He said, staring into your eyes. “I’m sorry it took me a while to realize that.”

Your heart was booming against your chest. He leaned forward and you felt his lips brush against yours. The next thing you know, your lips are moving in sync with his. You felt the universe sparkle with magic at the feeling. The boy of your dreams is kissing you. For the first time in your life, something felt ethereal. Your internal rejoice was cut short as you see the figure of Daeun from Taeyong’s shoulders. You were about to pull away but she already ran.

“You shouldn’t have done that, Taeyong.” You said, breathing heavily at the guilt.

“Why? Johnny told me you liked me?” He said. Your eyes widened at the statement.

“Yeah, Taeyong.” You replied. “I’m in love with you. For all the years we’ve spent together, I thought one day, you would like me too. But Daeun loves you, and I know you like her. You shouldn’t have kissed me just because you knew I’m in love with you. That’s not fair.”

Taeyong furrowed his eyebrows. “Did she see us?” His voice was low but you could hear it.

“Yes.” You replied. “I’m sorry. I want you for myself that’s why I didn’t pull away immediately.”

“What if I said I want you too?”

 --

“I am the bad guy.” You spoke as you stared in the nothing. Yeri and Joy decided to take you out after what happened. “I knew Daeun loves Taeyong and yet, I let him kiss me.” ”It’s not your fault Taeyong found you kissable that time, Y/N.” Yeri replied.

You rolled your eyes at her response and before you could say anything, Joy interjected. “It’s true, Y/N. You know in yourself that you wouldn’t kiss Taeyong since he said he likes Daeun.”

You groaned as you put your head in your hands. Your phone lights up and you saw that you got a new text.

Lee Taeyong [10:57 pm]: can we talk tomorrow? pls…

You [10:59 pm]: ok.

 --

You waited for Taeyong on the bleachers near the soccer field. There weren’t a lot of people since students started going home to their hometowns but Taeyong’s friends were there.

“Oh, you’re here to steal Taeyong again, Y/N?” Jaemin asked mockingly.

You rolled your eyes as Mark said, “He’ll be here any moment, Y/N.” and gave you a smile.

You stared at the sunset and wondered what the rest of the day has in store for you. You spotted Taeyong chasing after Daeun during third period earlier. The guilt consumed you. You were typically the type to be selfish about things. You thought you were doing something great by giving out presents but based on Yuta and Jaemin’s reactions, you felt like you can never be kind to anyone. You spotted Taeyong walking towards you. You swallowed the butterflies that tried to escape your throat.

“Hey.” He said quitely. He sat down beside you. “About what I said the other day-”

His sentence was cut short by Euna running towards you.

“Taeyong!” She exclaimed as she was approaching. “Taeyong-”

“Euna, calm down,” He tried to help her catch your breathe.

“Daeun-” Euna began. There was a small pinch of worry inside you. You were worried that something might have happened to her because of what she saw. “I don’t know what you two are talking but- Daeun is on her way to transfer to another college. If you really like her, Taeyong, please stop her.”

Taeyong looked down, conflict evident in his demeanor. He stayed silent for a while as Euna went away. Your hands turned cold. He hasn’t said anything but you knew what his decision was.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” He whispered before bolting off towards Euna’s direction.

You didn’t realize that you were crying until you felt a tear drop on your legs. You thought you had him. The moment he said that he wants you too, made you feel like you’re up on cloud nine. But clouds disappear and the moment they do, you’ll be falling from the sky and down to the ground. You stood up and saw the look on everyone’s eyes. For the first time in forever, you saw pity on Yuta’s eyes.

 --

News spread fast as they often do. The announcement of Daeun and Taeyong’s relationship went through your ear for the nth time today. With the guidance of chocolates and countless bottles of alcohol, you tried yourself to forget about Taeyong. As you were drunkenly singing “Truth Hurts” by Lizzo, you remembered who you are. You are Y/N. And you don’t cry for anyone.

“You’re prettier, Y/N.” Joy attempts at cheering you up. Yeri smiled at you and held your hand as a sign of comfort. You three chatted for a while until it was time for them to catch their flights home. It was the end of the semester but you were too bummed to go back to your hometown. The quietness of your town wouldn’t be a good combination with your thoughts. You figured that the city would be the best place for now. You mentally thanked Taeyong for making you believe that you could be a good person. You thanked him for the butterflies and the greatest kiss that you’ve had so far.

As you stood up, you saw Yuta standing in your direction.

“You’re a good person, Y/N.” He said all of a sudden. You tilted your head in confusion. He just smiled and walked away.

Before his figure became blurry, you noticed that he was swearing the shirt you got him for Christmas.

a/n: ya know in retrospect, this seems like ur typical cheesy teenage movie. might delete this soon hehehe anyway, feedback are always welcome!! 

[darlinrogue]

It had been a long time since an argument had made him feel such a way: exhilarated even in his exhaustion, trembling with adrenaline even as his body ached. He and Adam had argued, and he and Adam had brawled, strikes to the jaw, fists and knees—Adam’s knuckles colliding with Kenny’s mouth, and Kenny simply smiling at him with bloodstained teeth. Pinned to the wall, Adam against him. Like electricity. Kenny kisses him hard, blood staining Adam’s lips. And for once, The Cleaner is ashamed.

Sol Finished Her Essay.txt >:3c

Adam and Kenny AKA Omegaman 

A swipe of his thumb and the twitter feed blurred. Post-after-post, oh, that kitten was cute, he did not care about this person’s problems, holy shit, Adam did not want to read about politics right now. Bright blue and white fluorescents burned his eyes, blurred his vision. Adam blinked and wiped his hand down his face. He dug his fingers into the bridge of his nose to alleviate the pressure of a building headache. An open beer, three sips deep, rested on the bar counter at his right elbow. Adam picked-up the bottle. He swirled the contents and watched the amber liquid and brown glass disperse the light. Molten, dark, and shifting, a tiny kaleidoscope in his hand that captured his brief fascination-- haha, dumb monkey brain like pretty colors. He brought the rim to his lips but didn’t tilt a swig back. His phone vibrated. The bottle returned to the counter and with a couple taps he opened the message app. Mom had sent him a question, will he be home this weekend? She’s making tex-mex for dinner Saturday.

With a little :-) emoji at the end. 

For a second, Adam stared at the little green bubble of white text. 

As a professional graphic designer, he always thought the Iphone text function was ugly as hell, plain and near unfunctional. The colors were plain and unappealing-- and there was no fucking search bar. That line of thinking didn’t help him answer the question. Adam pressed the power button and the screen blackened. He laid the phone face down on the bar counter. Adam leaned back and pressed his hand against his thigh. The stool creaked beneath his shifting weight. He threaded his fingers through his hair and swiped sweat dampened curls from the back of his neck. An ache worked into his muscles, a little bruised, a little sore, but not yet satisfied. Not yet— Both elbows now pressed on the counter, a sigh racked his shoulders.  

Tucked into a corner of the arena, this small bar probably served executives and cultured peoples during the day. People who wore like, a tie everyday, the poor miserable bastards. This late at night it was empty. Crystal glasses lined the back shelves and fractured the golden glow of the light bulbs. The black marble countertop reflected back Adam’s face and hands. The curve of his IPA. It was quiet and it was lonely, exactly how he liked it. The hour was ticking way past late, he had to get back to his hotel. Right here, on his own, though, post-match, he was content for the night. This was it, this is what he asked for. He took a swig of his poison, the grain had a good flavor, smooth but with a bite. The bottle returned to the counter, and with a nudge of his finger, Adam pushed it just out of reach. His stomach churned, heart constricted in his chest. His forehead fell into his hands and stayed there when the door pushed open. Footsteps shuffled across the carpet. The stool legs next to him screeched as it was dragged across the tile. The newcomer settled down.

“I had a feeling I’d find you here,” the coarse voice observed.

Adam leaned back, hand gripping the edge of the counter to balance himself as his gaze peeled to his left. His twisted heart found new contortions-- like dislocated shoulder, levels. Kenny sat next to him, within touching distance. A heavy, dark leather jacket draped over his broad shoulders. A thin sheen of sweat coated his bare chest. Adam’s gaze studied the seams of the coat, the lines of Kenny’s throat, and then the features of his face. The light had a way of softening his rounded features, the thin, pinkness of his lips, and the fullness of his cheeks. He wore dark, aviator sunglasses, obnoxious because they were in a well lit room, inside— at night. Adam turned back on his stool, facing parallel with Kenny. Looking at nothing in particular. His entire skin was on fire, cheeks warm, hands shaking. He tucked his fingers under his armpits.

“Yeah,” Adam said, he rolled his palm over his forehead. “At least I’m consistent.”

“How long are you going to do this, man?” Kenny demanded, his leg propped against the stool spindle. “Wasting time, getting drunk— you know how many calories are in that?”  Kenny did not look impressed when Adam twisted the bottle to check the label. “You think what you’re looking for is at the bottom of that bottle? Think again, man, think again. All you’re doing is drowning your braincells, you know you need those, right?”

“Yeah, and how do you know what I’m looking for?” Adam grunted, his eyebrows lifted, glancing at Kenny. 

Kenny was all grins because Adam took the bait-- hook, line, and sinker. From his side, Kenny lifted the belt and laid it on the counter to his left. Kenny smirked, with smarmy, stupid, self-confidence. Adam hated that his arrogance was hot as hell. His eyes darted from Kenny to the AEW World Championship Belt. That big strap of black leather, gold, and silver, glittering like the Stairway to Heaven. A muscle tightened in Adam’s jaw and his hand fisted. Adam scoffed and he sought solace in his drink, swallowing, relishing the burn of alcohol down his throat. A year or more, with all sorts of detours, divergences, side-paths, distractions, an entire run as one-half of the tag-team champions, and he was still chasing that damn belt. Adam had everything, it was supposed to be his for the taking. Yet, twice now, it’d slipped his grip. It was an illusion, like a pond screwing with his depth perception. It was always a little deeper than he thought. Much like someone else at this counter. 

Kenny’s head laid on his chest. A mop of curled, unruly blonde hair, that tickled Adam’s lips and chin. He buried his face against the top of Kenny’s head and smelled the plain soap, the cheap shampoo he used, floral, rosemary, something aromatic. Kenny breathed slow and even, and Adam could feel each inhale and exhale through the connection of his hand against Kenny’s back. Proof that was he real and present. He was warm, contrasted to the cooled hotel room. Adam tucked Kenny against himself, drew him closer, terrified to let go-- knowing he’d escape in a heartbeat. That moment was as fleeting as the kiss laid on Adam’s forehead like a reverential gift. Adam awoke in the morning, alone and cold. He grasped at the still warm mattress and felt Kenny fall through. 

“You’re too easy,” Kenny chuckled, he tapped his forehead with his finger. Like he was some kinda conniving mastermind. Dude, watched way too much Anime. Adam only barely remembered Kenny being this annoying in Japan. He’s seen the videos of Kenny singing his own damn theme song during his entrances. “You let people in your head, they get to you— it’s an excuse, Page. You’re just too pussy to do anything, that’s why you sit there and get fucking wasted, ‘cause that’s all you can do.”

The beer bottle shattered. Slammed against the counter on the perfect sweet spot, crushed in Adam’s hand. The glass fractured into dust and piercing shards that buried in his palm. Beer spilled onto the counter and dribbled onto his jeans. Blood, red and crimson, mingled with the stinging alcohol, and seeped between the lines of his callouses. Adam snatched Kenny’s lapel. Hand fisted, Adam dragged him in, the tendons and muscles of his bicep tight. Kenny was all teeth, eyes obscured. Once again, Adam had taken the bait. Kenny was in his head and he lived there rent free. Adam wasn’t sure if he could evict him. 

“You mad bro?” Kenny queried. “Because I’m right? You couldn’t beat Chris; You couldn’t beat Maxwell; and you couldn’t beat me. You got it, you got everything you need, but you keep wasting it. You lose, and what do you do? What you’ve always done. Take a beer from some stranger that has God knows what disease and mope. You think I was fucking cool with it? Dealing with your drunk ass all the time?”

“You’ve been a real dick since you won that belt,” Adam growled. He laughed to himself, chin ducking to his chest. His attention focused on Kenny, “You know I’m going to take it from you.”

“No, you won’t,” Kenny snapped, a little irritation biting in his tone. “We both know you won’t do shit.” His tone took on a whiny, mocking lilt. “Oh, I’m sorry, I’ll try harder next time. Sorry, doesn’t cut it Pizz. What are you going to do, stretch my coat? You’re a coward, you won’t do shit.”

Adam’s bottom lip trembled, his throat dry and eyes locked with tinted glass. “Take off the fucking sunglasses,” Adam demanded, voice cracking. He dragged Kenny a little closer. “Say that to my face.”

Kenny pursed his lips, he pouted. 

“Take off the glasses, Kenny,” Adam repeated. “Look me in the eye, you son of a bitch— and say what you just said, again. Show me you actually mean that shit.”

Kenny sneered and Adam read the disgust, discomfort, mockery. And, something else he’d been missing. It was right there, right in front of him. Kenny leaned in the last couple inches, his nose brushing against Adam’s. He whispered: “Make me.”

“HIt me, punch me,” Kenny insisted, sing-songing. “C’mon, do it, prove it— that you can do something. Literally, anything, Hangman.”

Adam’s grip slacked. He released his cinch on Kenny’s jacket. Kenny eased back onto his stool and muttered, “I knew it, I knew you wouldn’t, you’re--”

Kenny didn’t complete the sentence before Adam decked him. A hard and clean right hook across the jaw, that knocked Kenny clean off the bar stool. Kenny stumbled, his hand swiping and reaching for the counter to steady himself. He rubbed his fingers over the site of impact. The skin of his left check now red and swollen, imprinted with Adam’s bloody knuckles. Kenny smiled and giggled, nodding his head with approval. Adam pressed to his feet, jaw stiff. Small sparks of pain coursed-up his arm, like he just stuck his finger in an outlet. Kenny straightened, cocked his hip, and returned the favor. The left smashed across Adam’s cheek and sent him reeling back. A pump of adrenaline rushed his head, throbbed his heart, and burned in his skull. Like a bell ringing clear in the night, unsure of for whom it toiled. 

Adam hoped it chorused for him. So, that he might hang for his crimes and his corpse could feed some daisies. Finally, after twenty-nine years he could do something good for this miserable planet. Let the worms make sweet worm love in his brain and maybe then, by the nutrients of his bones, he’d be useful. And despite the grim thought, the certainty of his resurrection filled him. Burry him, return in three days, and he’d be back-- call him Lazarus. He resented the executioner, hated his accusers. Adam was a piece of shit, son-of-a-bitch, with poison for blood and a rock for a heart. He was too pissed, anger filled, frustrated and unsatisfied to stay dead in a shallow grave. 

And Kenny’s left hook hurt like hell.

Damn, that felt good, he needed that.

Like he needed oxygen, like he needed water, like he needed Kenny.

Like he needed that belt. 

Adam surged and swung with a wide punch. Kenny caught it at the elbow and twisted Adam’s arm. Adam stumbled forward, bending into the momentum. Kenny drove his knee into Adam’s gut. The air rushed out of Adam. His already sore ribs seized like a vice around his internal organs. 

Oh, shit, he had not thought this through. Adam had already gotten the crap beaten out of him tonight in a match. Like, put through a table but still won-- crap beaten out of him. This was not good. Adam couldn’t beat Kenny on a good night. What the hell was he doing picking a fight on a bad night? Well, Adam was way past dumb decisions at this point.

Adam drove the heel of his hand into Kenny’s lower stomach, a cheap shot to make Kenny drop his hands. Adam popped a quick jab into Kenny’s face. Nothing but a distraction, to make his eyes water, and stun him. Adam seized Kenny’s jacket by the lapels and drove him him back into the wall. A solid ‘oof’ escaped Kenny as they collided with the solid surface. Kenny wheezed, because he had had a match too. Neither of them had any business picking a fight. 

“Damnit! Kenny!” Adam shouted. “Get your head out of your ass!”

Adam growled, a low rumble reverberating through his chest and his eyes darkened. Chest-to-chest with Kenny, he leaned-in, to push and pin him against the wall. He breathed hot and fast, his heart shuttering, beating against his chest. Their pulses mingled so that Adam couldn’t separate the chaotic rhythms. Kenny’s glasses were ajar, hanging crooked off his nose. Adam knocked them off Kenny’s face. They clattered to the floor. Kenny blinked, eyes adjusting to the new light. Tension drained from Adam’s shoulders and he sighed, soft breath over his chapped lips. Blue eyes, like the sky over his childhood home, baby blue, aquamarine, the Gulf when his family took a trip to the beach. Pupils blown-out and black. Breathless, Kenny left Adam breathless. The rage dissipated, draining from him like water. Kenny grinned, blood on his teeth, white and red, their noses an inch apart. It would be so simple to--

Kenny’s lips tasted of iron and him. Everything Adam dreamed of but better. The kiss was all teeth, blood, and spit, ugly and gross. Worthy of something from Adam’s fumbling teenage years. Adam groaned into Kenny’s mouth, lungs shuttering and eyes fluttering closed. He braced his hand against the wall and pushed back, tilting his head for a better angle. Adam kissed Kenny with his blood roaring in his ears and demanding more of whatever the hell this is. He slowed, lingering, in a passionate and deep kiss, relishing the taste of what he had been starving for. Then, Adam slid his hands through Kenny’s hair, cradled either side of Kenny’s stupid, soft and stubbly, chipmunk cheeks. He laid small, quick, fluttering kisses to Kenny’s lips, the corner of his mouth, and Kenny whimpered, wanting more than teasing. Adam smirked and he tangled his fingers into those ashen curls to tilt Kenny’s head back to give more. Darted his tongue past Kenny’s lips to find more. Kenny clutched at Adam and dug his nails into Adam’s shirt.

Then Adam parted, gasping for air. He rested his forehead against Kenny’s and whispered something like ‘holy shit.’ He threaded his fingers in Kenny’s hair to pet and soothe him. Kenny surged forward, looking for that second kiss, but Adam laid his hand across Kenny’s chest and pushed him down. Kenny slumped against the wall, settling on his heels. He looked wounded, like a kicked puppy. It was enough to tug on Adam’s heart strings. 

“Adam,” Kenny whined, drawing out the last syllable. 

“Kenny,” Adam said, voice firm. “Stop, that’s enough.”

Kiss him again, his inner voice insisted. While Kenny stood there, all pretty and cute, gaping with his brow furrowed. His cheeks flushed and lips almost scarlet. Take a second taste, a third, let the whole night unfold like origami. Except no, this wasn’t what Adam wanted. Whatever the hell this was, it ain’t it, chief. Adam knew what he wanted. He knew what he needed. He knew, he knew, he knew, it was so obvious that this dumbass, pinned beneath his hand, could see it. So obvious, that even Adam was starting to see it. Adam stepped away from Kenny even though it felt like ripping off his own arm. Pure chemistry, the pure need and want of a man dehydrated in the desert. Adam didn’t want to go back to his hotel room alone. He didn’t want to spend another night in a cold bed. He didn’t want to keep playing this game of cat-and-mouse, always guessing, always confused, and lost. He didn’t want to keep his thoughts to himself anymore-- but there was something else he needed more than he wanted.

Something, he’d needed since he was a child, since his birth. Adam was convinced it was inscribed in his DNA. And until he had it, he would never be satisfied. Maybe he was a masochist, always stepping-up to the chopping block like this. Knowing, believing he knew, what came next when the axe fell. Yet, Adam Page didn’t have an ounce of quit in him. He was far too stupid to stop.

Adam eyed Kenny and then reached behind him to find his phone on the counter. Kenny stayed pinned to the wall like a taxidermy bug. Then, Adam turned to leave. He paused at where the belt rested on the countertop. He lifted his hand. Adam curled three fingers to his palm and pointed his index to the sky.  Then he took aim at the belt. With a dramatic flourish, Adam took the shot. He left the bar, leaving the door ajar. While the Uber drove him back to the hotel, Adam typed-out his reply on the ugly message app. 

I’ll be home this Saturday. Looking forward to tacos I’ll bring tequila. See you soon. Love ya, a lot. 

[sgntaeho]

❱❭ sgn task #01 ; “kiss me thru the phone"

a peak into kwon taeho’s phone;

✦ what kind of cell phone do you have? ⁠ iphone 11 pro, midnight green

✦ how often do you use your cell phone? no more and no less than the average person my age. honestly depends on how much i’m not paying attention in class or other involuntary functions

✦ what is your phone’s lock screen photo? (see above)

✦ what is your phone’s home screen photo? (see above); just trying to catch some summer vibes, ya feel?

✦ how many contacts do you have in your phone? around 400? only cause i don’t bother to clear things out. i can’t remember who half of them are, and i definitely won’t be hitting them up anytime in this lifetime

✦ do you customize contact names or enter as given names? mostly given names; unless we’re close (or you’re a memorable character), in which case you’ll get a spirit emoji or something tacked onto the end. i’m not slick with nicknames, so unless you set one for yourself, i’d rather not try

✦ what is their default ringtone? whatever the factory setting is

✦ do you have personalized ringtones for your contacts or does everyone use the default ringtone? everyone on default; too much of a hassle otherwise, and i don’t take enough calls or have my volume up for it to matter anyways

✦ how many alarms do you have set and why? i only have one actively set for the morning but have way too many saved, for nearly every time of day. i’m a weirdo who’d rather spend 30 seconds scrolling through my endless list of alarms instead of just setting a new one for the time i need. also times always set on odd numbers (xx:01, xx:09, xx:13, etc.) and never on nice times that end in xx:00, xx:15, x:30, etc. because i hate even or clean-cut numbers

✦ what are your top 3 most used apps? imessage (+ other messaging apps), instagram, spotify

✦ what are your favorite apps? reddit is my guilty pleasure and safe space. twitter is fun even though i personally don’t tweet much (or else i’d spend all day fighting people on there, and i get enough of that in real life). also spotify because i’m almost always listening to something and can’t stand being idle in silence

✦ what are your last 3 google searches or the last 3 things you’ve asked your built in ai? ⮕ "memento movie ending interpretations” ⮕ "do you get notifications if someone screenshots your instagram story” ⮕ "can i feed my cat grapes”

✦ do you delete your internet search history or use incognito mode? if so, how often, and why? i’ll use incognito; not because i feel the need to hide anything, but because i don’t want too many one-time searches polluting my ‘recommended’ results later on. that shit’s the worst

✦ do you download music or use a streaming app? if so, which one and why? self-proclaimed spotify supremacist here. they have a comprehensive stock of both korean and non-korean stuff, which is a must. plus it’s so much easier to curate playlists, jump around, and discover new music without me having to fully commit to buying and downloading something (...does this say something more about me as a person?)

✦ what are the last 3 songs you’ve listen to on your phone? ♫ ‘error’ by ash island ft. loopy ♫ ‘all day (band ver.)’ by giriboy ♫ ‘please love me’ by colde (yeah, i’m a sucker for k-hiphop/rnb)

✦ what does your photo album consist of? it’s a pretty scary and eclectic place in there. to start, i take a lot of screenshots: receipts of when my friends say stupid things, school stuff, cocktail recipes, the outright ridiculous shit my dad’s various news outlets will put out (which i subsequently flame him for whenever we actually have to talk). so. many. cat. pics — but they’re fucking cute, alright? some random fit pics and fashion inspo. to be completely frank, there are more selfies than i’d like to admit and some... highly cringe gym pics. but none of that is being sent for anyone else’s eyes, so it’s chill. totally chill... and of course, i have a lot of stuff for photography club in the cloud.

✦ what is your texting style? do you reply quickly or are you a slow texter? do you send several messages at a time or paragraphs? i’m not the type to be texting a million people at once, so if we’re talking, i’ll probably reply pretty promptly. sometimes i’ll drop off the face of the earth, but try not to take it too personally. i definitely tend to spam send multiple, shorter messages as opposed to a single longer one. chaotic thoughts, grammar, and structure alike

✦ what are the last 3 texts you’ve sent? ⮕ vince: "is this dry needling thing supposed to be hurting still? it’s been a whole ass week...” ⮕ junhyung: "stop texting me” ⮕ hyunjoo: "hey, do you know when my mom is getting back home?”

✦ who do you text the most? couldn’t really tell you for sure. i’m not the type of person who needs to live update their life over text to somebody, and i’m not particularly invested in every little thing someone else is doing either, no offense. among my guy friends, we can maintain friendships without a whole lot of constant talking. so if i’m texting someone in high volume and frequency, it’s probably because we’re arguing over something (i’m sure you aren’t even surprised by now). or, it could be a girl i’m interested in and that’s like... not so common either.

✦ what are your top 6 used emojis? 😤 🙃 🥴 👀 🤷‍♂️ 😈

✦ how often do you call others? i hate phone calls. they’re clunky af, and you always have to awkwardly go “i-- oh-- no you go ahead” because you’re always interrupting each other. quite often people call me and i purposely watch it go to voicemail and text them back some time after, because i don’t want to pick up. so really, i only call when it’s really necessary. i think facetime is better and cool for casual though, so i’ll do that with friends instead.

✦ who were the last 3 calls made to and why? assuming you mean traditional phone calls... ⮕ dad (well more like my dad’s assistant) — to tell him to gtfo of my school life and stop signing on to throw money at (or ‘sponsor’) things without telling me. i can already tell he’s gearing up to pitch me the ‘you should take over the company’ case again when i get home for break ⮕ older sister — just to make sure she’s alive or well or whatever. total nuisance ⮕ campus police — i just had to... test a little something about their alarm infrastructure. please don’t ask any more

✦ who do you call the most? again, i don’t like calling people — few things in life are that urgent. but my mom, i guess. she calls me a lot when she’s not shooting for something, but i think it’s just to make herself feel like she’s doing the most as a mother

✦ do you have someone blocked? if so, who and why? no. i’m not petty or proactive enough to do something like that, even to the most annoying of people... now that i think about it, i should probably block an ex or two, just so drunk me won’t even get the chance to do anything stupid. but it’s not like i’ve ever done anything like that before, so whatever.

✦ are you apart of any group chats? with whom? just what you’d expect: swim team, photography club, people in my major, friends i’ll go out with on weekends, and so forth. albeit i’m that guy who shamelessly has the group on mute, so you’re probably going to have to aggressively @ me if you want me. then there’s the family group chat, which is mostly my parents getting on my case and making sure i have family obligations marked on my calendar while my sister sits back and laughs at my pain.  

✦ do you use the notes app? yep... i have a lot of thoughts, okay?

[technoplaguearchive]

Cruel To be Kind (3/4)

Holy crap guys I just realized I never posted the rest of this fic here >.< My bad!!!

-------------

Mornings are their own special hell, complete with friends as the tormenting demons.

Pairing: MidoriyaxBakugou / BakuDeku Rating: Teen & Up Category: M/M Fandom: My Hero Academia | Boku No Hero Academia Originally Published: Some time in April 2019 & I can’t remember when on AO3 Chapter: 3 of 4

Previous || Next

The morning signified the start of a new day, a new chance at life. Mornings were a chance to renew oneself and start on the right foot.

Mornings brought with them a sense of peace.

Most people greeted mornings with a smile and a positive outlook, while some others greeted it with a scowl and a middle finger. But no matter how people felt about them, they kept coming and kept signaling a new day.

Mornings brought the chirping of birds in areas that were lucky enough to be graced with them. Mornings brought sunlight gently filtered through windows, blinds, and curtains. Mornings could also bring gentle city noises to life where one could hear greetings being tossed between pedestrians as they started their days.

This morning, however, brought some additional things to the table; a pounding ass headache, nausea, and the sinking feeling that karma was getting Bakugou back for something... No, wait, that sinking feeling was probably still nausea. So scratch the karma bit.

Sitting up in bed was pretty much a no-go, not unless he wanted to spill his guts all over his clean sheets and the floor. So, for now, he was bed bound and on his back staring at the ceiling, he could accept that. Everything was within reach and he could lay here for a few hours. The light filtering through the small gap in his curtains is enough to make him wince, but sadly not easily remedied unless he wanted to roll across the floor to fix it. Which, if he thought too hard about it, even the mere aspect of rolling anywhere was enough to convince his stomach contents to make a break for it. So fuck it, he’d just face the other way and deal with the shitty sunlight.

The birds he couldn't do anything about except turn some music on to cover their stupid happy chirping. So that was the course of action; locate his phone and put some mindless playlist on low until he could crawl his ass to the shower. Was this the dreaded hangover that his friends always complained about? Fuck, why did they keep drinking if this was how they felt? This was fucking god-awful.

Last he could recall he had put his phone on his nightstand but was he remembering last night or remembering another night? That was the real question. He could barely remember what had happened last night and the few snippets he could piece together weren't helpful. Deku had shown up and Bakugou had decided to get piss drunk instead of leaving. Why? And how the fuck had he got home? And who the fuck had let him drink so much?

First things first; find the phone and get some music going so those fucking bird chirps would stop grating his ears.

A heavy hand slaps around the nightstand as far as he can reach, which is just his rough fingertips groping the edge. After several seconds of half-assed searching, he comes up empty and groans loudly into the emptiness of his apartment. Fucking hell he was going to have to sit up or roll over now to find that plastic piece of shit that controlled his life.

Okay, we can do this, he thinks to himself, quickly followed by Fuck. I’m giving myself a pep talk, this is stupid.

The mental pep talk is enough to distract him while he slides his hands in and levels himself into a sitting position. He slams his eyes closed as the world tilts violently to the right in a blast of white and smudged colors, only to open them again when he finds closing them so quickly had only sent the signal to his brain that he was going to pass out, fall over, vomit, or some combination of the three. With this in mind, he cracks heavy lids open and blinks into the filtered sunlight. On any other morning it might have been beautiful but this morning it was aggravating and anger-inducing. At least his drunk ass hadn't turned every light in his place on, that probably would have been absolute hell on his head.

BZZZZZTTTTT

Bakugou twitches at the sudden noise then winces as a new round of pain shoots through his head.

”What the ever loving fuck…”

BZZZZZTTTTT

”Okay, seriously what the fuck is that noise?”

BZZZZZTTTTT

…..

BZZZZZTTTTT BZZZZZTTTTT BZZZZZTTTTT BZZZZZTTTTT

The noise dies off and Bakugou lets loose his second groan of the morning. Thankfully whatever it was seemed to have stopped. Probably something outside.

BZZZZZTTTTT BZZZZZTTTTT BZZZZZTTTTT

”GOD FUCKING DAMMIT WHAT IS THAT?”

His own roar of anger sends him sprawling backward onto the bed like a turtle on its back while his hands clutch his face and tears pool in his eyes.

As if to mock his predicament the noise sounds several more times before it clicks what it is; his phone. Which means that noisy fuck has to be on his nightstand to be making that hellacious racket.

Well, that solved that mystery but now he isn't sure he even wants music with the way his head is pounding. Between the movement, the noise, and his own stress level he's had enough of everything already.

Now that he knows the general whereabouts he gingerly rolls onto his side and slaps a hand out for his nightstand again. This time his hand slides across smooth plastic and he tugs it over with his fingertips, sliding the device into his palm and pulling it to his prone body. Moving absolutely sucked but staying stationary wasn't an option right now. He needed to figure out why it was going off so much.

”Please don't let it be an emergency,” he mutters desperately as he holds the screen before his face and turns the brightness down.

23 messages received.

Twenty. Fucking. Three. Messages.

Who the actual fuck was trying to get ahold of him this badly?

The good news is the messages, as far as he can tell, aren’t in the least bit important. They’re all from the group chat with Ashido, Kirishima, Kaminari, and Sero. Did those idiots not have hangovers? Kirishima was drinking an awful lot last night, too.

A brief glance through the previews tells him they’re discussing last night. He should probably read over those and see what happened, maybe someone got hurt or lost something… or maybe Ashido got laid and wanted to talk about it. All valid options, really.

First, the music.

Opening his music app he chooses his last playlist and hits shuffle then turns the volume way down. The Bluetooth picks the signal up and soon he can hear it floating gently through the speakers stashed about the bedroom.

With that task out of the way, and the birds now effectively silenced (Fucking finally, chirpy motherfuckers), he sets about figuring out what the idiots are talking about. The messenger app they use for their chat shows several messages privately to him but the majority are in the group. Okay, get the group nonsense out of the way and worry about the private stuff when he was a functional human being again.

He swipes back to the first missed message and sees it’s from Kaminari.

Zappy-Boy: Where did you guys go? I just saw Bakugou storm past back to the bar…? AlienQueen: We’re down here with him. He and Midoriya got in a fight AlienQueen: no surprise, of course

No more messages rolled in after until this morning, before he had even woken up.

AlienQueen: Has anyone heard from Bakugou? Do we know if he made it home? Zappy-Boy: ask Kirishima. Last I saw they were all over each other -_- AlienQueen: fucking hell...again? RIOT: not like that! He got a little trashed last night and I helped him get home. I left him at his door cause he didn’t want me inside AlienQueen: proof of life? RIOT: [image.jpg] AlienQueen: you’re right, he was trashed Zappy-Boy: did anyone check on Midoriya? He looked pretty upset when he showed up again last night AlienQueen: he said he was fine, just tired. Yelling at Bakugou wears a person out, so I get it Zappy-Boy: soooo, I’m gonna be who asks it since you’re all cowards; anyone got the tea? RIOT: I don’t even know what that means Zappy-Boy: the deets! The details! What were they arguing about? AlienQueen: that’s between them, and I wasn’t going to ask RIOT: yeah Bakubro came back in and started downing shots, so probably a fight like they did back in school. AlienQueen: who wants to place bets on the hangover he’s gonna have? RIOT: count me out, I wanna live Zappy-Boy: I’m with Kirishima. I like my head on my shoulders

Gossipy fucking idiots. But at least that filled in the blank of how he got home. He’s tempted to write back and tell them to fuck off but then he’d probably be bombarded, and he didn’t really want to chat much right now.

Next step; flop over and stare at the ceiling while contemplating the hangover and simultaneously trying not to think about the hangover. With an admittedly exaggerated groan, Bakugou rolls off his side and onto his back to stare into the vast emptiness of his bland white ceiling. At least it wasn’t a popcorn ceiling like Kirishima’s place. He didn’t know how that idiot could stand it... then again how often did someone look at their own ceiling?

He suddenly snorts out a laugh as a dark thought strikes him; if someone bottomed enough they probably were intimately familiar with the configuration of their ceiling. The immediate next thought is; Kirishima probably knows his ceiling is popcorn.

Unable to resist the temptation he snaps a picture of his ceiling and thumbs open the private message from his shark-toothed friend.

RIOT: let me know when you wake up. I need to know you’re not dead

Bakugou rolls his eyes at the redhead’s dramatics and sends the picture of his ceiling as a response along with a message.

Blasty: I didn’t know my ceiling was this smooth. Do you know what your ceiling looks like?

The little dots signaling an incoming response come up almost immediately and he has to repress a groan. As it is, he mutters ”Over-eager fuck” with a small smile.

RIOT: oh thank god you’re alive! RIOT: it’s popcorn, why? Blasty: that’s what I thought. Stare up at it a lot? RIOT: you’re being perverted, aren’t you? Blasty: always

He lays the phone down beside him and stares once more into the ceiling. Last night was a blur. He could recall bits and pieces, and a bit more now that he knew what some of those sensations and colors were, but for the most part after Midoriya showing up he didn’t remember much. From what he gathered from the group conversation he didn’t get blackout until after he and Midoriya fought? Which he certainly didn’t remember fighting. Was it a fist fight? A quick check of his knuckles and prodding his mouth with his fuzzy, disgustingly dry tongue answers that question; not a fist fight. So back to verbal sparring between them? That seemed more plausible.

The throb in his head makes itself known with an especially violent pang and he winces. Fuck, what the hell did he do last night? How much did he drink and why had the idiot-brigade let him?! The more frustrated he gets with the situation the more his headaches. The ache just adds fuel to his frustration and he finds himself gritting his teeth and internally cussing out the squad already.

"Good for nothing fucking assholes. They should have stopped me. They know how bad hangover is.” In a quick flash of unchecked anger, he chucks his phone across the bedroom and instantly regrets it. He's sitting up quickly to trace its path and make sure it’s intact but curses his decision when the urge to vomit nearly overwhelms him and sends him sprawling back onto the mattress to stare once more at the ceiling.

He lets out a rare for him, pained sob and throws an arm over his eyes to block out more light. “Whatever I did last night, I feel like karma’s kind of going overboard with revenge.” The empty apartment doesn’t answer and he sighs. “Bitch.”

BZZZZZTTTTT BZZZZZTTTTT BZZZZZTTTTT

“Motherfucker. Stop. I’m coming.”

Slowly he rolls over until he can claw himself off the bed and onto shaky feet. The room immediately tilts and he plunks down on his butt hard enough to snap his teeth together. "Fucking dammit. What the hell did I drink last night?"

It takes several minutes before the room settles enough for him to attempt standing again. Two steps are all he gets before he falls to his knees and ends up crawling the rest of the way to his phone. The screen looks intact and when he taps the screen it all seems to be working. Internally he thanks karma for not going as far as to break his phone.

The phone goes off once more in his hand and he almost drops it at seeing the name pop up on the screen;

DEKU.

Why the fuck was Deku messaging him?

With shaky fingers, he opens the message and this time does drop his phone. The words staring back don't change and sent a jolt of panic up his spine.

Deku wants to meet him. Deku wants to talk. Deku was apologizing.

If Deku was apologizing then Bakugou probably said something really fucked up. Fuck, if only he could remember what the hell had happened that would make Deku apologize.

With a resigned sigh, he flops stomach down on the floor and stares down his nose at his phone screen. The words weren't changing, they were still mocking him and giving him anxiety-butterflies. Why did Deku need to talk to him? Surely he knew Bakugou had a hangover.

”Uggghhh. Why does this morning suck balls?”

Only one way to find out what the fuck happened and that was to read his other messages and maybe ask someone. Probably Ashido, that gossipy bitch knew everything.

He snatches the phone back up and rolls over once more, managing to get himself into a cross-legged sitting position that wouldn’t topple his unsteady ass backward. There’s one missed message from Ashido as well when he checks.

AlienQueen: did you hurt that precious broccoli?! I’ll end you! Oh- and I hope you’re not dead, you were trashed

The message has one side of his mouth quirking up into a small smile. Good to see the ‘broccoli’ nickname had stuck and the group was using it. He probably should reply soon though or Ashido would insist Kirishima take her to him for proof of life.

Blasty: not dead, much to the general populace’s displeasure I’m sure

He chooses to ignore the part about hurting Midoriya because fuck if he knows what the hell happened. There was no way to answer that without lying. For all he knew the nerd was in a hospital. He winces a little at that thought and shakes it off. No, Shitty Hair would have told him if he’d done something that bad.

The response from Ashido jolts him from his dead-eyed stare and he jerks, fingers clenching around the plastic in his hand. Fuck, he was spacing out now.

AlienQueen: we’re glad you’re not dead, idiot. otherwise I would have had to summon your back from the grave to hand you an ass-whoopin Blasty: first off, you don’t have that kind of power. second, why the fuck? AlienQueen: first off, fuck you and I bet Tokoyami could so I’d ask him. second, did you get blackout drunk? Blasty: judging by the size of my enormous ass hangover, I’m gonna say yes? AlienQueen: why was that a question? Blasty: shutup Pinky and answer the question AlienQueen: I will, but first I wanna tell the others that you actually admitted to being hungover Blasty: fuck off, hair for brains already knows AlienQueen: well, that’s no fun AlienQueen: but fine AlienQueen: I’m sure you gathered you and Izuku got in a fight...again Blasty: yepppp AlienQueen: you came back in pissed off and went straight to drinking Blasty: I gathered that from the other messages AlienQueen: yeah well what you probably didn’t gather is you started rambling to Kirishima about shitty love confessions Blasty: stop right there I’m fucking calling you

Bakugou hauls himself off the floor and towards his bed once more, head barely landing on the pillows when he lays back down. He’s already calling Ashido by the time he rolls into his back again and gets comfortable enough where he doesn’t feel like vomiting. At this angle the sun is barely in his face and he’ll take it.

She picks up after the third ring with an overly chipper and probably purposely loud, “Hey Blasty Boy!”

He winces and yanks the phone from his ear but her shriek is still piercing. He cradled the phone between his shoulder and ear and examines his ceiling as he talks. A couple corners are looking dustier than he’d like, probably needed to get to them and clean soon.

“Pick up where you left off. And turn your volume down you shrieking siren.”

Ashido only giggles at his gruff tone and he growls a warning. “I was only teasing. You sound like shit, you really must be hungover.” From her end of the line, Bakugou hears cabinets closing and metal jangling around. She must be making food. He suppresses a groan as the thought of cooking food sends a new wave of nausea through him. “Anyways-,” another cabinet closes and he hears her softly curse, “-anyways, yeah. You were bitching to Kirishima about shitty love confessions and how it wasn’t right. Kirishima looked really upset about it but you kissed him on the cheek and he peeked back up. He really has it bad for you still, and I don’t see how.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes. She always got distracted with off-topic details. “Whose shitty love confession was I supposedly bitching about to Shark-face?”

“Apparently Midoriya’s?” Bakugou feels his heart stop and he wants to puke again for entirely non-hangover related reasons, and the feeling gets worse at Ashido’s next words. “Yeah, I guess you and Midoriya got in a verbal sparring match about him wanting to take you home and he finally came out and said he was in love with you. And like a fucking psychopath you rejected him and told him to leave you alone.” She heaves the most out-upon sigh he’s ever heard from the girl. “You’ve got a real fucking drinking problem, Katsuki. Once in awhile for fun isn’t bad but Eijirou says you’ve been doing it at home alone and you schedule around it. That sounds awful,” her voice goes soft towards the end and he feels his stomach twist again.

Was he really that bad that Kirishima was trying to enlist help from the rest of their friends? He swallows his pride and manages to breathe out his question, “Who else has he talked to about this?”

“Everyone. Hell, I think he even talked to All Might.” Bakugou’s curse cuts her off and she sighs again. “All Might said it was your problem to work through but he’d help if needed. Eijirou’s worries about you. We all are.”

“Well stop, I didn’t ask you to be worried.” Damn his pride.

“That’s not how friendship works, Bakugou. You know that.”

Her words jog something in his mind and he shakes it off. “If I promise to cut back will you guys quit worrying like nannies?”

“Only if you promise to also talk to Midoriya. He was pretty worried this morning when I talked to him. He said he was going to contact you.”

That explained the message. “Yeah, the fucking nerd sent me a message” he admits.

“So talk to him, and we’ll help you get the drinking under control. You know we can come over and hang out if work is stressing you out.” She sounds so sincere that he feels guilty.

He laughs quietly into the phone and he can hear Ashido’s answering giggle. “Having you guys here would stress me more.”

He can almost hear the smile in her words. “Just think about it, ‘kay Blasty? You know we love you.”

“Yeah yeah, now fuck off so I can go puke and shower and-“ he grimaces and pushes his bangs off his face- “call the nerd back so we can talk.”

“Tell him how you feel this time?”

“I said fuck off, PinkyPie.”

Her answering laugh is loud and she blows him a kiss through the phone before she hangs up.

Well fuck, now he’d have to follow through or she’d show up at his place with Kirishima and he didn’t want that.

The phone gets deposited back on the nightstand and the music starts back up.

“Volume up,” he growls to the room as he rolls out of bed and heads towards the attached bathroom. The shower was calling his name, and maybe he could take that time to think shit through. Like what the fuck was he going to tell Deku? And why the fuck did Deku want to talk to him? And also why the hell was the nerd apologizing if Bakugou was the one who was a dick last night?

“AHHHHHHHH!”

He yells into the emptiness of his bathroom and slams the shower door open to blast the water to nearly full heat. Knowing it would take a little bit to get as hot as he wanted he stomps back to the phone and snatches it up. He needed to text Deku now before he chickened out or conveniently forgot that he needed to message him.

The messages from the other man are still in his inbox where he left them, mocking him and making his insides squirm. Okay, fuck, he could do this.

Blasty: I need to take a shower and maybe vomit first, in no particular order Blasty: no clue why you want to apologize though, so maybe forget that part and we can talk Blasty: or not, whatever, because I have no clue what you want with me

There’s a few minutes of silence where all Bakugou hears is his music and the pounding of the water hitting the shower floor. Cathartic, he thinks with a small laugh.

Finally his phone vibrates again.

DEKU: oh! I’m sorry that I interrupted your shower DEKU: you can let me know when you’re done and I’ll come over? Blasty: you can just head over now, I’ll be quick DEKU: I don’t want to rush you, it’s fine DEKU: I’ll grab us coffee on the way DEKU: same as usual right? Blasty: yeah Blasty: just head over now, I don’t have to vomit anymore Blasty: I’ll be quick Blasty: & then we can get whatever you need to talk about over with DEKU: ...okay then. See you soon

Bakugou puts the phone back down and strips off his clothes on his way to the bathroom. Shirt, shorts, and boxers fall into a heap and finally he’s under the warm spray. It’s like a mini massage on his back and he can’t help the small moan that escapes his lips.

“Fuucckkkkk.”

He slides his palms against the cool tile wall and hangs his head. He can still feel a throbbing behind his eyes but it’s less now, the urge to vomit at every movement is gone at least. Standing slowly he leans back to dunk his head into the warm spray and groans again. Leaning backwards; not a good idea.

“Fuck. Shit. Fuck.” He repeats the mantra over and over as he backs against the wall he’d been leaning on and slides down to sit and put his head between his knees.

So maybe he wasn’t as good as he thought he was. He probably needed to take it easy for a little longer.

Three songs pass before he stands back up on shaky legs and finishes his shower as quick and efficiently as he can; not the best wash job on his hair or body but at least he didn’t smell like alcohol anymore. The thought of brushing his teeth is mildly sickening but he bears through it, towel draped around his waist as he hugs his sink in case he needs to get sick and ruin his clean teeth. Fuck mouthwash, he’ll deal without that for one day.

“Fuck, never again,” he swears as he stumbles back into the bedroom and starts digging through drawers for clothes.

One pair of boxers and pants later he hears a knock on the door. Deku. Little fuck probably ran over here with his quirk, probably forgot the coffee too.

Bakugou steps into his clothes and grabs a random shirt on his way to the door, another knock aggravating his slowly decaying headache. “I’m fucking coming, quit with the damn noise nerd!”

A squeak on the other side of the door makes him smirk and he tosses his shirt over his shoulder as he opens the door. The smirk turns positively feral when he catches Deku’s eyes lingering a little too long on his exposed torso. “See something you like, Izuku?”

The nerd’s cheeks go bright red and he shoves past Bakugou in a rush to get into the apartment and away from the blonde male at the door. “Put some clothes on, Kacchan! I have your coffee and I got you that cream cheese pastry you like,” he squeaks as he rushes to the kitchen.

Bakugou chuckles and closes the door before turning towards the kitchen and tugging his shirt on. “Yer good for something, s’good to know.” The pastry is heavenly in his mouth and the coffee warms his fingertips.

Nourishment taken care of he plops down onto his couch and nods to the spot next to him. “Sit, jackass. Let’s get this over with.”

Deku nods sheepishly and grabs up his own coffee shop items then sits on the couch beside Bakugou. The space between them has never felt so tense and both men can feel it.

Bakugou breaks the silence first. “What did you need to apologize for?”

Deku’s face goes so red Bakugou’s sure he could use him as a stoplight. It’s a sight to behold. The freckles dotting his face are like little dark constellations. “W-well, I figured we should talk about last night and-“

“Spit it out, nerd. I’m still hungover and don’t wanna deal with your mumbling.”

He can see Deku’s brain short-circuit and knows he’s in for a treat now; Deku tended to get dumb when he was called out. “IWANTTOAPOLOGIZEFORSAYINGILOVEYOU.”

Hearing it from Ashido earlier did not even begin to prepare Bakugou for this. Hell he’d even kind of forgot about it already. His own brain short circuits in a never ending cycle of vicious karma this morning and his mouth pops open.

“Oh.” Then, “No.”

[dadzawa-adopt-dabi]

Give it a second and a Birds eye view.

Sirius opens his eyes tangled in someone’s sheets and head pounding with a hangover again. He feels like he did when he ran with Remus as the war was building. Exhausted, Stressed and Soreness in every muscle. But there’s no James or Lupin to shove off the bed and roughhouse the aches away with. The aches and pains are different these days, not just bruises or sore muscles but the deep aches in his chest that have been there since they’ve died, he doesn't remember what it's like not to carry that anymore.

He should stop sleeping with Sniveling snape, the man was a greaseball anyways. Sirius rarely stayed the night with him. Only when he was too drunk to floo home really. It probably wasn’t healthy and he was working on that. Being in a healthier mindset and making better choices. He promised Harry, after the last fight they had.

Severus groans behind him ,drawing the ex-felons attention,and he feels the sneer on his face forming before he frowns instead. Severus sounds like he’s in actual pain, He might be for all that Sirus remembers.

What he does with the greasy git is nothing like his past hookups or one night stands. Too much fighting for that. Not that he had ever complained or asked Sirius to be gentler. Him and Lupin, well they’d had a roll once or twice but then he’d gone to Azkaban and come back to Lupin all but married. To say nothing of himself or the state he’d been in, not fit for relationships or old flames had been an understatement he snorted at himself.

His head is screaming at him, the sunlight streaming in from a window is making it so much worse. Fucker probably left it open knowing he could kick Sirius out that much sooner.  It normally has blackout curtains over it, he’s pretty sure. He glances at Snape as he's searching for his pants to leave and there’s, was he that rough? Or did Severus bruise easily, pale people bruise easier right? 

Sirus wracks his brain as he stares in horror at his infrequent bedmate. He stops the search for his trousers as he squints through his hangover at the other male in the bed.

 Fuck when’s the last time he saw Severus outside of a grimy bar or alley? He gulps as he remembers the time before this, they didn't even make it to an alley that night, too drunk and too desperate to get in each other's trousers to really mind and well, it's not like Sirius had been the one on his knees that night. He wouldn’t do this to anyone else. Seeing Severus now with sunlight making his eyes scream in pain concerns him though. Maybe he wasn’t doing as good as he thought he had been.

Severus is bruised to hell and back that's not him, he’s never bruised anyone. Sirius is just pale. That's it. And there’s deep bags under his eyes to match the hickeys decorating his throat. Severus is still asleep and he turns onto his stomach, chasing the warmth Sirius left there. Putting the knobs of his spine on display and it strikes him how thin he is. Snape’s always been thin though, not muscular or toned like Himself or Remus always have been.

There's a voice that sounds like Harry, reminding him that people in distress often stop taking care of themselves. Maybe Snape liked being rough but something is wrong here. Snape's hair has always been greasy. However as Sirius finds and waves his wand to bring the curtain back up off the floor , flashes of Severus stumbling and grabbing onto it before falling, Sirius remembers vaguely that his old school enemy hadn’t had the best home life and flinches. He remembers when the war was finally done and he had only functioned if he knew Harry was visiting.

He trips over his trousers as he stumbles to the adjoined bathroom, so that’s where the bloody things had been hiding. Really, he’s too old to be doing this, he’s going to fall and break a hip. One night stands and blackout drinking. 

He wants to go for a run, Harry's cousin had gotten him started on the habit. At first he hated it and cursed the very thought, now it was slowly becoming something he looked forward to. The nearly daily run becoming his time to clear his mind and wake up.  Did Severus have anything like that? Did he stay cooped up in his house or in bars until he passed out? Did Severus have anyone to pull him away when he needed it? 

Stepping into the shower he read some of the labeled empty potion bottles laying around. Headache cure, nausea suppressor, sleep aids. A bottle of shampoo labeled with a derogatory comment on his hair in Severus's own scrunched curly handwriting has him frowning. Downing a headache potion he finds in the cabinet he cracks his neck and blinks,  greasy basta- Severus still makes the most potent potions he’s ever had. Hangover fading immediately. It only makes the numerous bottles around the bathroom more worrying. How often was Severus having issues?

Severus stirs when he steps out of the bathroom and he freezes watching him. When he turns over Sirius can see him wince, before he stops moving and is back asleep. He’s not a very restful sleeper, something Sirius should know with how long they’ve been doing this. He’s never moved about much that Sirius can recall though, maybe it’s because he’s gone?

Before Sirius knows what he’s doing he’s in the kitchen, filling the sink overflowing with dirty dishes with hot soapy water. He likes doing this more by hand than magic, judging by how big the bags under Severus’s eyes had been he’s got a couple hours to waste until his bed partner wakes up anyways. He fumbles with his phone half way through the first round of dishes, music quietly playing in the background through a muggle device Harry has shown him before. Pulling open one of the apps and clicking through until he finds a nearby muggle breakfast joint that will deliver. Another trick Harry had taught while helping him fix the mess of a person he had been.Using muggle technology was surprisingly easy , it was just remembering not to use magic because it messes up the touchy things that messed so many wizards up. 

Severus stumbles to the kitchen in loose pajamas and his heart thuds hard in his chest at the sight. The bags under his eyes are still deep and his hair is dripping from the shower, he nearly drops a mug filled with what has to be stale coffee when he sees sirius.

“What are you still doing here?” He rasps out and chugs the liquid in the clutched mug. Severus winces at the taste, definitely old coffee.

“Making breakfast for my lover,” Sirius teases Sev and exaggerates a sappy tone when he calls him his lover just to see his confusion. “ Seriously though, I was rougher than I meant to be last night. I wanted to apologize and let you know It won’t happen again.” His phone chimes and he goes to get the delivery as Severus stared in shock.

He came back to the other male pouring himself a fresh cup of coffee, shoulders pulled tight and eyes following him. He sits down at the small table with Sirius when he starts unloading the food though.

“You alright there Sev?” he questions as the man across from him picks at the food. Maybe he had guessed wrong on what he would eat.

“What is this. We don’t have breakfast, you don’t clean up for me and you’ve certainly never ordered in. You fuck me into a mattress or whereever and i get some fucking sleep. That’s all you're here for.” Severus threw his fork on his plate and scowled at Sirius.

“Doesn't have to be though. That why you got so many potions everywhere? Having trouble sleeping, Severus?” Sirius got up and leaned against the counter, whatever was happening with his bedmate was a problem.

“I’m Fine.” the potion master outright hissed at him, but his hands were clutching his arms like he was hugging himself. Sirius raised an eyebrow and Severus snapped his head away. So he knew he wasn’t doing okay at least.

“How about I finish the dishes and you finish your food. We can crawl back in bed and later we can discuss how fine your really not.” Sirius let out a sigh of relief when Severus flipped him off but nodded. When they crawled back into Severus’s bed he tugged the lighter man into his arms and Severus was asleep almost instantly.

[msjr0119]

Why me?

Part 7 - Misunderstanding

Riley is forced out of Cordonia unknowingly to her friends, and moves back to New York.

She is later faced with her past from Cordonia and is hiding a few new secrets. With the help from her New York friends and friends from Cordonia will she escape her current situation and find her happy ever after?

Tags- @annekebbphotography @carabeth @insideamirage @duchessemersynwalker @captain-kingliamsqueen @pedudley @drakewalker04 @bascmve01 @butindeed @choiceslover-24-7 @bbrandy2002 @kingliam2019 @ladyangel70 @drakesensworld @burnsoslow

******

The Beaumont brothers arrived back at the palace after the long flight. Maxwell could barely function and needed some coffee so headed straight to the kitchen.

Bertrand knew the council meeting was in a few hours and his hangover was killing him- did he regret it? No, he hadn’t let his hair down in years. It was good to spend some time with Riley, he didn’t always believe in her but the time during the social season he grew fond of her and was proud to call her a Beaumont. He would always support her along with Maxwell, they grew to love her and hoped she would return ‘home’. All his head did was pound, then it got worse when the sharp tongued woman strutted up towards him.

“Duke Ramsford! Glad to see you’ve managed to make an appearance. I was starting to think that you and Maxwell had runaway too! How’s the hangover? How’s Riley?”

“Duchess Olivia, I assure you the hangover isn’t as bad as it looks. And I don’t know what you mean? No one has seen Riley in over a week.”

Olivia stood there smirking at Bertrand with her eyebrows raised. She knew exactly where they had been and she was determined to find out the truth.

“Cut the crap Bertrand! She rings only Maxwell since she left, then no one can ring her back, then you both disappear! I’m not thick! And don’t try to lie to a Nevrakis!”

“Duchess Olivia, please. I need some rest. I’ll see you at the meeting.”

******

Bertrand walked into his room and saw Savannah stood up straight, arms folded staring at him with daggers. If looks could kill, the Duke would be buried six feet under.

“Bertrand, where have you been?”

“I’m sorry Sav. We had a meeting and then went to a bar to get drunk. I’m sorry okay? Please spare me the lectures, I need some sleep before the big council meeting.”

Savannah watched him crawl into bed, angry at him. She didn’t trust him. Savannah wasn’t the jealous type, she had only just reconnected her romance with the Duke but couldn’t pinpoint what exactly she didn’t trust about the trip he had returned from with Maxwell. After Drake and Riley had found her in Paris, she decided to return to Cordonia. Her fear originally prevented her from coming back after having a child out of wedlock. But now that the people in Court knew the truth about her disappearance and didn’t judge her, she wanted to work on her relationship with Bertrand and to raise Bartie as a family.

Sneakily she decided to get his phone and search for clues. When she opened it, a text message appeared- I’m missing you both already- enjoy your hangovers! Savannah knew she shouldn’t but she could help but open the text thread named “Beaumont’s rule.”

Her heart racing to the dozen, was she reading into the thread too much? Did they both go away to go on the pull? No Bertrand wouldn’t do that she thought, he’s not the social type of person. His priority was to protect his house and reputation, no matter how negative this reputation was. But her mind still had doubts.

“Drake? Can you meet me? I think Bertrand is having an affair.”

********

Video attachment

Omg Max! That is hilarious! I can’t stop laughing. I love Bertrand ya no. And I think deep down he loves me.

Maxwell Percival Beaumont don’t you dare put this on any social media websites. I may be drunk but I don’t want Savannah finding out the truth. Or Drake for that matter! Okay?

Chill ya beans bro- this is our secret. Just between the three of us ;)

Better be max! Let me know when you guys arrive safely at home. Don’t tell anyone remember! I don’t want you both getting in trouble for seeing me. Love you both so much!!! Xxxx

Just got back in Cordonia, Bertrand looks like shit, I need coffee! How are you feeling?

Oo I’m fine- aspirin does the trick. Can’t wait for the next time! Especially with “I don’t do shots” Bertrand haha. But next time please don’t fall asleep on me okay B?

Next time could be at our house instead? We want you to come back and party with us and you know you wouldn’t want to miss it. I’ll challenge you to a dance-off ;)

I’m missing you both already - enjoy your hangovers!

Drake read through the thread, he loved his sister but didn’t she think he had his own love life to sort out? Bertrand was the type of noble Drake disliked, and the fact that his sister disappeared with a broken heart because of this man he disliked him even more. If it wasn’t for his nephew being brought into this world, Drake would refuse to acknowledge Bertrand’s existence. When Drake looked at the little boy, he often thought about what his children would look like- Bartie, thank god he had inherited the Walkers genes when it came to his appearance.

“Sav if he’s cheating on you, I’ll kill him with my bare hands. If you want to confront him bring it up after the meeting. As much as I dislike Bertrand, it could be innocent- he didn’t want us to find out he was drunk? And about the ‘I love you’s’ , it could just be friendly- Max and Riley used to say it all the time to each other....”

Before he could continue, his mind started wandering. Was the third person Riley? No he thought, they wouldn’t see her without telling anyone. Even though she was part of their house they must have felt that they had the responsibility to get her to return. But everyone loved her, everyone should be fighting to get her back- she was the glue that held them all together. Drake missed her and wished he was with her. If they had in fact gone to New York - he would have insisted going with them even if he wasn’t fit enough to fly. Each day that went by was torture for him, and Liam wasn’t due back for a few days. He just wanted to hold Riley in his arms, inhaling the sweet scent of her perfume and convince her everything was going to be okay. He would always been there for her.

No, they wouldn’t go without informing anyone. Surely?

*******

Everyone gathered at the council. It was hard to even discuss anything without the King there, as any action that would be considered to be done needed Liam’s approval.

The kings guards had opinions on the people who terrorised everyone on that night, but without solid proof they couldn’t do anything but try and question them once the King returned. Cordonia is known to have enemies going back centuries, maybe the kings guards were just making assumptions based on the past? Or maybe there was new enemy that was intimidating the new Monarch?

The meeting was about to end, when Savannah abruptly stood up and asked for everyone’s attention. She knew her doubts would be answered if Bertrand was put under pressure surrounded by other people. Everyone stared at her confused, as she linked Bertrand’s IPad with the projection screen.

“Sorry everyone, I’d like your attention for a few moments. Something has come to my attention and I’d like any opinions on the matter.”

“Walker? What are you doing? You shouldn’t even be here! You aren’t even a member of the council! Sit down and shut up!” Olivia snapped at her.

Savannah ignored her, and opened the iMessage app- opening the thread “Beaumont’s rule”

The brothers looked at each other, how could Bertrand be so stupid to link his messages on his iPad. Maxwell started to panic, his legs started to tremble. Bertrand’s hands became clammy. Both their hearts began to race, was their secret about to be exposed?

“Sav, it’s nothing. It’s not what you think. We went to a bar, got drunk. It’s what we used to do. If it makes you feel any better, my head is banging, this room is spinning.. I can’t cope!” Maxwell said, trying to change the subject to divert people making assumptions and to prevent gossiping occurring.

“Maxwell, who’s the third wheel in this conversation?” She scrolled through the messages- everyone read with their jaws agape, waiting in anticipation for the brothers explanation:

“Well? Bertrand you were dancing with some mysterious girl. Did you intend on hurting me Bertrand?”

“Savannah my love, it’s not what you think. I’d never hurt you. I swear. You and Bartie are my life.”

“Explain yourself then!”

Maxwell looked at Bertrand, his eyes apologising for the action he was about to take. He didn’t want to hurt Riley by confessing they was with her, but he didn’t want to ruin his brothers relationship because it was his idea to go and find Riley.

Beep

Everyone looked up to the screen when the noise of the notification distracted them. They were all shocked at the picture that Maxwell had just added to the group message- the selfie of the two brothers and Riley.

“Sav, he would never hurt you. We went to see our sister. We spent the night with Riley. Trying to convince her to come back!”

Drake ran out of the doors, wiping the tears from his face, seeing her face again made all the emotions come rushing back. He needed to be alone. Regretting that his stubborn attitude stopped him from reaching out for her himself. Did they convince her to return? He had hoped so, he was pining for her. Desperately longing for her, she was his life. Deciding he needed to do something to get his girl back rather than moping around.

If the Beaumont’s can sneak off to New York. So will I....

[pivitor]

Emotional Roller-Coaster This Week

So, the last eight days have been an absolute whirlwind. Some really great things happened. Some really bad things happened. I’m kinda still reeling. I had some big firsts, and spent some time with great friends, had some real catharsis. I also fell further into depression than I have in a long, long time, and, oh yeah, got diagnosed with a chronic illness.

I need to get this all off my chest, cause I’m drowning. Join me? 

Before we start, there’s two things you need to know about me. Both are things I’ve mentioned in bits and pieces on here, but here’s the full story:

1. Three months ago I had shoulder surgery to repair a torn labrum (I technically tore it when I dislocated my arm in high school, and it’s been popping out on me once every other year or so ever since, but my most recent [and now final] dislocation was very bad and sent me right to the doctor). I spent about two weeks out of work, just sitting at home on the couch in a sling. The pain wasn’t great, but it was worse mentally: I put on a couple pounds and immediately started to feel terrible about myself, and being stuck at home when I wanted to be out there, doing stuff with friends or with guys or to reach a point where I can move out, felt terrible. I wasn’t in a great headspace for a long time. As of now I have about 95% of my arm function back, and am fully healed, just trying to get back the last of my range of motion and gradually increase back to my old strength threshold.

2. This one is a bit more complicated. I’ve talked a lot here about how I grew up in a cult, but I never went into further detail. Well, here we go: I was a J*hovah’s W*tness. (I’m censoring this because I don’t want this showing up in searches) It wasn’t something I would have ever chose for myself, but when you’re born into it, you’re pretty heavily indoctrinated -- I thought it was the gospel truth despite having many reasons not to. They’re a very homophobic organization, so growing up in it wrecked my self esteem. My entire childhood and time as a teenager I thought I was worthless and doomed, destined for eternal destruction. I was often suicidal. When I was about 18 or 19 the cult printed an article “clarifying” their view on homosexuality, and said they recognized that some people are just naturally attracted to the same gender and as long as they don’t act on it they’re still “acceptable” to God. It’s dangerous bullshit that makes me so angry now, but as a brainwashed, suicidal teenager, it felt like the only chance I had to live a worthwhile life, so I got baptized into the religion, which is the biggest mistake I have ever made in my life, because once you’re a baptized member of the cult, if you leave you’ll be shunned by everyone you’ve ever known. Your own parents will treat you as if you’re dead. I was very zealous for a year or two before realizing that I just couldn’t do it anymore, but it’s taken me nearly ten years to fully wake up from the indoctrination, read information from outside religions, scientists, and former members who have left. Currently I still live with my family and have to pretend to still believe (because the moment I don’t they’ll kick me out on the street), and am on the cusp of two promotions at work. As soon as those go through, I should be able to save money to move out, which I wanna do before the summer, and then I’ll be completely free.

Okay, the rollercoaster week itself:

Pre-Monday: For about a week, a week and a half before this all started, I’d been experiencing some pain in my side that was making it hard to sit up for long periods of time. This normally would’ve been a major red flag, but thanks to the shoulder surgery, I’d been having random back pains off and on recently anyway. I assumed it was related to me overcompensating for the shoulder and left it alone. Big mistake.

Monday: So one of my promotions at work involves a coaching center we’re launching. We were supposed to do our first presentation last Monday, and when my boss showed up for it, everything fell apart. It wasn’t totally my fault -- the general condition of the office itself wasn’t up to par, and the boss recognized that there wasn’t much I could do about that -- but a lot was, and I spent all week trying to fix things and get them running, and running into one major roadblock and frustration after another. We’re finally doing the presentation today, but it technically still isn’t 100% fixed. Work has been a major, major source of stress all week. I don’t think I’ll mention it again because there’s not much more to it than what I’ve listed here, but remember that it’s hanging over my head all week.

Monday night I was invited to a birthday party for a friend from my gym. Since the cult doesn’t celebrate holidays, I’d never actually been a birthday party before, complete with cake and singing happy birthday and everything. It was really nice -- even though it was truly just a bunch of guys hanging around a bar watching the Eagles, it still felt like something really special. I also spent about a half an hour in my car before I walked into the bar trying not to hyperventilate. I don’t feel guilty at all as I may have once, but I was still really worried about being seen by someone and my family finding out.

Wednesday: Tuesday was my only truly normal day of the week, and even then, we had my cousin staying with us up until Wednesday, so even then it wasn’t truly normal. We normally have church on Thursday nights (I have to attend so as not to blow my cover, but I tend to stand in the lobby and play on my phone the entire time; it’s a nice chance to catch up on my reading usually), but I had a concert on Thursday I was not going to miss, so I told my parents I was going to a different congregation on Wednesday night, but instead I went to Starbucks and caught up on Crisis on Infinite Earths. It’s...depressing that this is what I’m reduced to, but I was happy that it finally occurred to me to just...lie about it.

When I got home and took off my shirt to change into my pajamas, I noticed a patchy, red rash on my stomach, side, and back, right around the same area I’d been having pain for the last week or two. I’d absolutely never had anything like this happen before, and I wasn’t sure what to do about it. I crossed my fingers that it was an allergic reaction, put some cortisone cream on it, and decided to wait a couple days to see if anything changed.

Thursday: On Thursday I drove up to Philly after work, and ate a few slices at my favorite pizza place, reading comics, until it was time for the concert. It was a free show from Pkew Pkew Pkew, a band I truly, truly love, and it was one of my favorite shows of the year. Just pure joy. They played for about an hour, but were the opening act, and I don’t care for the headliner (Beach Slang), so I had originally had a few ideas about what I could do afterwards, considering that their set was over by 10 or so. I could go home (coward’s option), I could go to the Barcade. What I really wanted to do was go to a gay bar or club. I’d gone right before my surgery and had a great time, but I’d been avoiding going back (or joining a dating app or anything else) until my arm fully healed because it would very much have gotten in the way of doing anything physical. I was finally in the place where I could use my arm, but now I had that strange mysterious rash, and didn’t think it was right to do anything like that until I’d figured it out/gotten it cleared up. I don’t wanna pass anything on to anybody.

By sheer coincidence, Philly’s Emo Night ended up being this very same night (this one is held once a month), so I ended up heading over there and dancing until 2AM. I got very drunk and had a fantastic time. But there were a lot of couples. There was this girl that kept hitting on me, and then getting pissy when I didn’t reciprocate. There was this extremely hot dude in a Misfits hoodie, and early in the night we were the only two who were dancing, and he gave me a high five that he pulled into a bro hug after the song, which got me all riled up, but I couldn’t work it into anything else haha. And then this group of about four guys or so showed up, dancing all night, very affectionate, cupping each other’s faces when they talked to each other and all that. I’d seen them before and both times thought they might be gay, so I stuck close and was kinda part of their group for the night, which was really really fun. At the end of the night, one of them mentioned their girlfriend, and I reeled way more than I had any right to. I had a fantastic night. I went home feeling very alone.

Friday: Friday was my gym’s Christmas Party, which, much like Monday, was my first ever Christmas Party. I had a really fun time chatting with everyone, eating, watching one friend get drunk, try to jump up on the rings, and get dragged home by his wife. We had rowing contests and the losers had to take shots. But there was one guy there I’ve always had a crush on, a very straight, very married guy, and he was looking extremely hot and was acting extremely funny all night, and it was rough. I went home and dreamed about him all night. I woke up feeling even more alone and frustrated.

Saturday: I was pretty depressed and listless by this point. Feeling really sorry for myself despite all the fun I’d had all week. I had plans to drive up to Asbury Park for an Aaron West and the Roaring Twenties show and I just...really didn’t feel like going. But I drug myself out of bed and made myself go, because you don’t miss the gig. Before the show I wandered around Asbury, basically torturing myself. I wanted to visit a restaurant but had eaten lunch too late and wasn’t hungry. I found a gay club but still had that rash, so I didn’t wanna go in. I ended up standing on the beach, in the dark, finally having a genuine smile as I dodged the waves, but also just thinking about how sometimes Kangaroos just walk into the ocean and...never come back. I was not in a good headspace. I made myself get off the beach.

The show though...damn, that show. Dan played the second Aaron West album, Routine Maintenance, from front to back, and it’s an album about Aaron making the people in his life proud of him, about his friends giving him direction, about finding redemption through being there for his family in their darkest hour. That kind of shit is my kryptonite to begin with, but all I could think about was how all I had ever wanted in my life was to make my family proud, and how I’d never be able to do it, how someday soon they’re just...never gonna talk to me again. I cried twice during the set. And afterwards I got to hug Dan and tell him how much the album fucks me up. It was really cathartic. I felt the cloud start to lift.

Sunday: So Sunday I finally go to the doctor about this fucking rash, which hadn’t gotten any worse but had not gotten any better either. The diagnosis?

I have fucking shingles.

For those who don’t know, shingles is the chicken pox virus. After you’ve had chicken pox it never really leaves your body -- it stores itself away in your nerves. As an adult, it can reemerge as shingles, which begins as an intense pain, then advances into painful rashes on one side of your torso. Without intervention, they can continue to spread and become almost immobilizing. I’m currently on a pill I have to take three times a day for seven days, which will stop the progression of the shingles, and then it will heal up on its own, but it could take a few weeks.

Thankfully, I’m not contagious -- I can only spread the disease if someone has prolonged, direct contact with the rashes. I can be around people, but like I feared, it does rule out sex for a while. The worst part is that shingles as a disease can’t really be healed. The symptoms will go away, but I’ll be susceptible to outbreaks the rest of my life. Fortunately, the doctor made it sound pretty manageable -- the pain in my side, in that exact same spot, will always be my first symptom, so as soon as I feel that I need to get to a doctor and get back on the seven day medication to end the flare-up. It doesn’t sound like shingles flare-ups are super common either -- reading up on it, it looks like most people have, at the most, three outbreaks in their life. But, it’s still a chronic illness, and it’s one that’s very rare to emerge at this young of an age -- this is something you normally get in your fifties or sixties, not your early thirties! 

Honestly, I could only laugh. Just my luck, right? I’m so frustrated. My arm’s finally reached the point where I can get back to trying to pursue guys, but nope! the shingles has to postpone it a few more weeks :/

But despite it all, the depression of the rest of the week had mostly lifted. I had processed it. I was feeling better. For a while.

Back in the spring I had joined a subreddit for former members of the cult, which is one of the best decisions I’ve ever made, as it let me share my story with people who had been there and understood, and really helped clear out the last remnants of the programming from my brain. Every once in a while different gay Ex cult member will contact me on there, and I’ve struck up a few nice casual friendships. Last week a guy reached out to me on there looking for friends in the same situation as him, and I replied, and on Friday he finally replied back, and we texted each off and on Saturday and Sunday morning. Sunday night, though, we got into a deeper conversation. He’s in his early twenties, and some of the stuff he was asking for advice about made it sound like he was just starting to wake up from the programming and just starting to think about leaving and being gay and everything. Eventually, as we talk more, I find out that that’s not fully the case. He’s jealous of some of the stuff I’ve done that he hasn’t -- going to Pride, going to gay bars -- but unlike me, he’s had a fair amount of sex. Like any closeted Witness, he had to drive into unfamiliar cities to do so, and it’s a strategy I’ve thought of trying but never pulled off. 

I dunno, I’m so depressed. I feel like such a failure. I know having sex doesn’t make you a better person, and not having sex doesn’t intrinsically make you a failure. But I feel like this because I want it so badly, because I always have, and I could have been doing it for years, and I’ve been really forced to confront the fact that it’s my own fear that’s been getting in my way all this time. If I’d really tried I could’ve done it by now. If I really tried I probably could’ve moved out and started my new life by now -- I’d probably be dirt broke in an apartment with like eight roommates, but I could’ve done it. I don’t feel like anybody else, including this guy I was chatting with, have been judging me for this, but I’m pretty disgusted with myself, irrational as it may be. I know it’s not true, but I feel like my whole life has been a waste of time. And I’m so fucking sick of it.

So. This is everything I’ve been processing this week. I don’t really know what to do with it. I’ve gotta be patient a little while longer. Keep working on my real estate licensing test so I can make some more money. Wait for the shingles to heal up. Get on Grindr and just, fucking, fuck some dude the moment I’m cleared up.

But fuck, I’m so fucking sick of waiting.

[beardyallen]

Bad news, guys...

Alright, so I’ve decided that, seeing as I’ll be visiting W-Town and the Great Wall again in May (when it will be waaaaay prettier), I’ll just do a post about it then.

Suffice it to say, it was a dope trip.

HOWEVER!!!!! I’ll tell y’all about my time since. The major highlight since the W-Town trip was obviously St. Patrick’s Day. I was somewhat nervous, given that most of the people I’ve met here probably wouldn’t want to celebrate the way that my family (which is way better at St. Patrick’s Day than your family, thank-you-very-much) celebrate.

There were no green alligators or long-necked geese, and that bleeding pub didn’t catch fire. Certainly not 12 times!! I suppose I still saw the same number of unicorns as usual, but I think I would have had bigger problems if there more.

My plan for that day was to make it to Paddy O’Shea’s Pub, the Irish pub of Beijing, by 12pm on the 17th. As it turns out, the Pub had started their St. Patrick’s Day celebration on the 16th because they knew some people wouldn’t want to be completely hungover for work the next day.

For me, though, 12pm on the 17th seemed a perfect time to start as it would be 12am on the morning of my grandmother’s would-be 91st birthday. I could go on and on about how wonderful that woman was, and how big of an impact she had on me, but I’ll just say this: she was a good Bud. I’m obviously incredibly thankful for this teaching opportunity, but I’m struggling with being okay about missing out on St. Patrick’s Day in Northern Michigan this year. At least I was there last year and for Christmas and the New Year. That will have to be enough.

Anyway, I went with ML, S and another neighbor L, none of whom have ever truly celebrated St. Patrick’s Day like an American, let alone a Sylvain, but they were open to trying. And I was the one leading the group, which I still think is strange as I thought I was the least capable of the 4 of us at guiding a group through this very Chinese city. Fortunately, that compass in my brain works just as well on this side of the world as it does state-side.

Oh, and I looked damn fine, if I do say so myself!

We were a tad late to Paddy O’Shea’s, but the beer came quickly enough, and it tasted almost as good as it would have at the Side Door Saloon.

I didn’t take a picture of the bangers and mash that I ordered, but I couldn’t have been more pleased.

One major difference between celebrating here versus back in the States: there were people born and raised in Ireland celebrating with us! And there was a really cute bartender from just outside Dublin that came to serve beer just for that evening...

OH! On the Wednesday before, one of my students asked if I was going to wear a green hat when I celebrated, and the rest of the room laughed. I didn’t get the joke, commented that I’d for sure wear my green tie but that I didn’t own a green hat. After inquiring about the hat, they shared that, in China, wearing a green hat sort of sends the message that you’re a cuckold. 

I would later find out the “historical basis” for this strange cultural faux pas: during the Warring States Era in China, there was a famous political icon who I was known to wear a green hat. Apparently he was a big deal, and he always wore a green hat. And then his wife cheated on him, so now a green hat means what it means. That’s it. That’s the whole story. It happened to one dude who happened to wear a green hat, and now it’s this huge thing that college students laugh about. *shrug*

Anyway, back to Paddy O’Shea’s. The bar itself was more “authentic” than I have grown to expect. I’ll probably pass the time in that pub a few more times before my time here is up. One of the key advantages is that it has a fully functioning website, which is something I’ve learned not to take for granted anymore. When I was searching in the days prior for a place to celebrate, I had stumbled across another bar: Molly Malone’s. Do not (I REPEAT: DO NOT) visit the website for Molly Malone’s. Especially at work. With the door open. When anybody and their mother could walk by.

The website, the one that the location on Google Maps and every other map app links you to, looks like a mid ‘90′s website with a few notable images. I’ll describe it for you to the best of my memory: the background is all black, all of the text is placed in little white rectangles, all of which span the middle 40% of the site and fit jigsaw-like to form one large rectangle of questionable links. The font itself is in a variety of cheap styles and bright, neon colors. Flashing text, coloring-changing text. The works. Again: it looked like a mid ‘90′s website. But not just any mid ‘90′s website.

A mid ‘90′s website with vulgar images that would make a 12 year old blush and fidget uncomfortably in their seat. I repeat again: do not visit this site! WHY IS THIS THE OFFICIAL SITE FOR THE WEBSITE?

And when I found out that, not only is this bar a real place that happens to be near a few foreign embassies and it is reportedly not-too-difficult to find a “lady of the night” in its vicinity, I wasn’t surprised? Why is it that those two pieces of information just “fit together?”

*sigh*

Paddy O’Shea’s, in contrast, is an upstanding establishment. And though they had started their party the day before and kept it going all night, the place was still in remarkably good shape, all things considered. Most of the seating was filled when we arrived, but by the time I left around 8pm (I’m completely guessing here; I have no idea what time it was), all of the standing room was occupied.

ML and S seemed quite gungho about having an Irish Car Bomb, while L was shocked that anyone would use such a phrase to describe a beverage. Unfortunately, ML had some grading to get back to, so they left before we ordered one, but not before some rando came by and spray-dyed my beard and S’s hair green.

The dude in the middle isn’t the guy that did the coloring; just another “victim.”

Not too long after, my officemate showed up; it was comforting to have someone there who had a decent grasp on the holiday!

The non-Americans left soon thereafter, but AL and I kept ourselves sufficiently “entertained.” His friend P was also meeting us! She don’t think she’s ever really celebrated St. Patrick’s Day either, but she joined AL and myself in our one and only Irish Car Bomb of the day. Kudos to her!

AL and I chatted the next day and confided that we were both a bit more pissed than we thought...

NR also came out to join us, but she didn’t arrive until after P was getting hungry. Although why she didn’t seem interested in bangers and mash, I have no idea. When AL and P left, P made sure to leave me with some chaperones, a group of ex-pats from several other countries who P had joined for a shot of Fireball. For some reason. P was terrified at the idea of leaving me alone at a bar in Beijing. As if anything could go wrong?! I was with my people!

Anyway, I chatted up a nice girl from Texas, mostly about teaching because what else do I talk about nowadays, and NR finally showed. The good sport that she is, she joined me for another beer, and then we left to find food elsewhere. The place was getting to be a bit to much; she had just arrived, my voice was on it’s way out, and her’s would have joined it not too long after.

As it turns out, there was a place just around the corner that specialized in Peking Duck, something that AL and I were both quite curious to try thanks to KFC’s interesting spin on it...

But again: my beard was green. And I wouldn’t say that I was loaded, but there were at least four rounds in my six-shooter, if you catch my meaning. And this restaurant was niiiiiiiiceeee!!! There were 4 different people who helped us before we got to our table: one took our reservation, another led us to the stairs, a third took us up the stairs, and a fourth led us the last 10 feet to our table.

In hindsight, I was worried that it was just the way-too-many-beers-prior-to-entering-this-establishment that made watching this guy slice the duck so fascinating, but NR mentioned the followed day that she found the experience just as captivating.

Also, I’ve never been one for bathroom selfies...but when (drunk) in Rome (and by Rome, I mean a restaurant that I have no business being in), you do as Romans do. (Fun fact: Roman’s invented selfies. #themoreyouknow #notfakenews #youhearditherefirst)

#romansdidntinventselfies #dontberidiculous #leavetheridiculousnesstomeandmygreenbeard

Seriously. This dude was awesome. I wish we had more footage...Guess you’ll just have to go there for yourself!

We also ordered several other dishes, all of which were amazing. Some shrimp, some part of a lamb, I think. All of it was good. Like everything else I’ve had in China!

All in all, the weekend was dope, the week after was less-so, and the coming weekends will be amazing. My students had their first exam this week, and on Tuesday I ordered an American cheeseburger and a Budweiser from a western-style restaurant just to see if it holds up out here. It was...so-so. Last night, I joined a couple friends for a drink at a bar called “Lush;” apparently it was open-mic night. One of the guys I was with was hoping for an environment more conducive to idle chit-chat amongst the group, so we ended up leaving after only one. I was displeased as I was having a great time. Guess I’ll just have to wander back out that way on my own sometime.

The plan for Sunday was to visit the Forbidden City, but I guess they ran out of tickets, so we’ll find something else to do. Will post after that. The weekend after is a Craft Beer festival that several of the faculty here will be visiting. I’m pumped.

OH! And I think I’ll be visiting Shanghai at the end of April! I didn’t know this, but apparently Shanghai was all grassland like 50 years ago! (This, according to one of the guys last night. Feel free to fact-check this.)

It’s going to be an interesting couple of weeks...

If only I could get my sleep schedule back on track. This whole “falling asleep at 4am and waking up at Noon” business is getting ridiculous. I blame my teaching schedule. #ishouldntcomplainbecauseimteachinginchina

Sláinte,

BeardyAllen

P.S. I’m super pumped for Shazam! And the End Game trailers are driving me up a wall...

[ireviewuread]

How to Stop and Block Spam & Scam Calls with This Free App

Scam calls have been increasing lately in Singapore. Scammers pretend to be ICA Officers or even your friends to get private information out of you. This can not only ruin your life but the life of those around you too. That is why we have to be vigilant and fight against scams.

With CallApp, you can easily win your battle against scammers.

Identify Unknown Numbers & Spoofed Identification

CallApp is a free app that helps you identify unknown callers without answering the phone. This unique Caller ID app identifies callers from individuals or organisations even if they’ve spoofed their identification*.

This spoofing feature is not only unique but handy for receivers to determine the importance of the calls, and whether they should return a missed call. After all, nobody wants to pick up the phone to hear a telemarketer rant, right?

*Spoofed identification means hiding their identity or take on someone else’s identity. For example, a Nigerian Prince trying to take on an identity as POSB bank.

Block Spam & Scam Calls

Now that you’ve identified the unknown numbers to be spam and scam calls, you have two options:

Ignore them

Block them

Let’s say you pick option 1 and decide to ignore your buzzing phone and get on with your life. There are two possible routes to that choice:

They call back and disrupt your day once again.

They never call back ever again.

But why should you take a chance of route 1 when you can take a fast track to route 2? That’s where the blocking features of CallApp come in handy. This feature blocks spam and scam call or even your annoying ex with a click.

It also prevents spam and scam calls from disrupting your day from the start. The best part is, nobody will ever know you blocked them.

Additionally, you can even block calls from private and hidden numbers too.

Record your phone calls

Remember those times you wanted to record a drunk confession or an important task that was delegated to you? However, that was not possible for the basic call app does not support that function. Well, with CallApp, you can do so with a similar.

CallApp provides an incoming and outgoing phone calls recording function so that you can record the important moments in your life during a phone call. You can also share the recording on various social media platforms but before you do that, do ask for the other parties’ permission first – unless they are a scammer.

Advanced Contact Book

Do you feel like that bad friend who never remembers people’s birthday because numbers are just not your thing? With the Advanced Contact Book function, you can finally stop saying, “Happy Belated Birthday!”

Aside from storing birthdays, the Advanced Contact Book will automatically detect some of your contact’s profile pictures and set them as your contact’s photo. This modern-day invention will gather as much info of your contact through social media and update your contact book - like a personal FBI assistant.

Phone Number Search

Speaking of the FBI, you can now look up unknown numbers in the app as well. Get to the end of the Catfish’s face with their Phone Number Lookup function. For established businesses, it not only shows you its name but links to the businesses’ website and location as well.

Other Functions

As expected, with an app as great as these, there’re bound to be many functions that are always improving. Here are the noteworthy ones:

Personalised Video Ringtones – Put your favourite videos of the person as video ringtones. Gone are the days where you can only personalised ringtones, now you can give each contact a unique pre-made ringtone as well.

Incognito Mode – Hides phone numbers and notifications from a specific person so people around you won’t be up in your business.

Car Mode – Allow you to answer your phone without navigating away from your navigation screen. It also allows you to answer your calls hands-free.

CallApp Premium

As with every free app, there will be ads in your life but if you are looking for an ad-free experience, there’s an option for you to upgrade the ap to a premium version. The premium version not only gives you an ad-free experience but it unlocks unlimited call recording as well. Now you can record every incoming and outgoing call for science.

On top of that, CallApp Premiums also gives you access to CallApp Plus which allows you to:

Identify messages from unknown numbers

Check who viewed your profile

Insights of how often and how long you spend on the phone

Store data

Faster support response rate

CallApp is Available on Google Play

For now, this free app is only available on the Google Play store. The app has also been chosen by Google as one of the top Android apps. In addition, over 100 million users from 200 countries have downloaded it, so no need to worry for this is a very trusted app.  

So, what are you waiting for? Download here now!

[meditationadvise]

The Psychology of Luck — A How-To Guide On Creating Your Own Luck

Some time ago we had an article by Dr. Richard Wiseman on producing your very own luck. It was most definitely an eye opener however it ends up that it was just the pointer of the iceberg. The study, researches, and proof showing that you could create your very own luck isn't really simply fascinating. It's at times downright bizarre!

It's a little a long read, I understand, yet when I began, I simply couldn't stop. Every word is a gripping flight via the oft mysterious mind that comprises you and also me.

Oh, and also I truly like the component regarding black felines as well as good luck. Read listed below and also you'll recognize what I mean.

If you have not obtained time as well as desire an extra condensed version of Dr. Wiseman's article, inspect this out >>

...

The Luck Factor

By Richard Wiseman

A ten-year clinical research right into the nature of luck has actually exposed that, to a big level, individuals make their own great and negative fortune. The outcomes likewise show that it is feasible to enhance the quantity of good luck that individuals come across in their lives.

THE POWER OF SUPERSTITION

People have searched for an effective method of enhancing the good lot of money in their lives for many centuries. Fortunate charms, amulets, as well as amulets have actually been discovered in essentially all people throughout recorded background. Touching (" knocking on") timber dates back to pagan routines that were designed to generate the assistance of benign as well as effective tree gods. The number thirteen is seen as unlucky because there were thirteen people at Christ's last supper. When a ladder is propped up against a wall it creates an all-natural triangular which utilized to be considereded as symbolic of the Holy Trinity. To stroll under the ladder would break the Trinity as well as therefore bring unwell fortune.

Prof Richard Wiseman is based at the University of Hertfordshire in the UK, and also has acquired a global reputation for study into eccentric areas of psychology, including deceptiveness, wit, luck and also the paranormal.He has actually composed three best selling publications. The Luck Factor explores the lives and also minds of lucky individuals, Quirkology checks out the interested scientific research of daily life, as well as 59 Secondsinvestigates the scientific research of self-help as well as fast change.A passionate supporter for science, Prof Wiseman is popular for his media looks, prominent talks, live performances, and also massive studies. He has been invited to speak at The Royal Culture, Microsoft, Caltech, as well as The Royal Institution. Over 1 million individuals have participated in his mass involvement experiments, and his YouTube network has received over 8 million views. Prof Wiseman additionally consistently functions as an innovative professional for print, broadcast as well as new media.

Most recently, Prof Wiseman has aided create Telepath - a mind-reading psychological app for the iphone.

Many of these beliefs and behaviors are still with us. In 1996, the Gallup Organization asked 1,000 Americans whether they were superstitious. Fifty 3 percent of individuals stated that they went to the very least a little superstitious, and also 25 percent admitted to being somewhat or very superstitious. Another study revealed that 72 percent of the public stated that they possessed at the very least one good luck charm.

Superstitious ideas and behaviors have actually been given from generation to generation. Our parents told us concerning them as well as we will pass them on to our kids. Why do they persist? I think that the solution lies in the power of luck.

Throughout background, people have actually recognized that great and bad luck can transform lives. A couple of secs of ill lot of money could lay waste years of aiming, and also minutes of excellent luck could save an enormous quantity of difficult work. Superstition represents people's attempts to regulate and improve this most elusive of elements. And also the enduring nature of these superstitious notions beliefs as well as habits mirrors the degree of people's desire to find means of raising their excellent luck.

In short, superstitious notions were produced, as well as have survived, due to the fact that they promise that many elusive of divine grails-- a means of improving great fortune.

TESTING SUPERSTITION

There is simply one trouble. Superstitious notion doesn't function. Several scientists have actually likewise tested the credibility of these age-old beliefs and also found them desiring. My preferred experiment into the subject was a rather unusual research carried out by high school pupil (as well as participant of the New york city Doubters) Mark Levin.

In some countries, a black feline crossing your course is considereded as fortunate, in other nations it is seen as unlucky. Levin wished to find whether individuals's good luck really transformed when a black feline crossed their course. To discover, he asked two people to try their good luck at an easy coin tossing video game. Next off, a black cat was encouraged to stroll across their course, and also the participants then played the coin tossing game a second time.

As a "control" condition, Levin additionally duplicated the experiment making use of a white, rather than a black, cat. After much coin throwing and pet cat crossing, Levin concluded that neither the black or white pet cat had any type of result on participants' luck.

Also, doubters have routinely staged occasions in which they have broken well-known superstitious notions, such as walking under ladders and smashing mirrors-- all have actually made it through the challenges intact.

A couple of years ago I chose to put the power of fortunate appeals to the test by empirically reviewing the real result that they have on individuals's good luck, lives, and also joy. I asked a group of volunteers to finish various standard sets of questions determining their levels of life complete satisfaction, joy, and luck.

Next, they were asked to carry a lucky charm with them and to check the result that it carried their lives. The appeals had been purchased from a New Age facility and guaranteed to improve good ton of money, wealth, and happiness. After a few weeks every person in the group was asked to indicate the result that the beauties had had on their lives.Overall, there was definitely no effect in terms of just how pleased they were with their lives, exactly how delighted they were, or how lucky they felt.

Interestingly, a few participants believed that they had actually been especially unfortunate, and appeared rather happy that they could currently return the charms.

THE LUCK PROJECT

Superstition does not work because it is based upon outdated and wrong thinking. It comes from a time when individuals believed that good luck was a strange force that can just be controlled by magical rituals and unusual behaviors.

Ten years ago I chose to take an extra clinical investigation right into the idea of good luck. I chose that the most effective method was to check out why some individuals are consistently lucky whilst others encounter little yet ill ton of money. In other words, why some individuals appear to live charmed lives packed with lucky breaks and possibility encounters, while others experience one calamity after another.

I positioned advertisements in nationwide newspapers and magazines, requesting for individuals that considered themselves remarkably fortunate or unfortunate to contact me. Over the years, 400 amazing guys and also females have actually volunteered to take part in my research study, the youngest 18, a pupil, the earliest 84, a retired accounting professional. They were drawn from all walks of life-- business people, factory workers, teachers, housewives, physicians, secretaries, and salespeople. All were kind enough to allow me place their lives and minds under the microscope.

Superstition comes from a time when people assumed that luck was a weird pressure that might only be regulated by magical routines and also peculiar habits. Jessica, a 42-year-old forensic researcher, is typical of fortunate individuals in the group. She is currently in a lasting connection with a guy who she satisfied totally by possibility at a supper event. Great ton of money has actually aided her accomplish several of her lifelong ambitions.

As she once clarified to me, "I have my desire job, two terrific kids, as well as an excellent guy that I enjoy extremely a lot. It's incredible, when I look back at my life I realize that I have actually been fortunate in simply concerning every location." On the other hand, the unlucky participants have actually not been so fortunate.

Patricia, 27, has actually experienced rotten luck throughout much of her life. A couple of years back, she began to work as cabin crew for an airline, and also rapidly gained a reputation as being accident-prone and a poor omen. One of her very first flights had to make an unplanned stop-over due to the fact that some passengers had actually become drunk and abusive.

Another of Patricia's flights was struck by lightning, as well as simply weeks later a 3rd flight was forced to make an emergency landing. Patricia was also persuaded that her sick fortune can be moved to others therefore never desired people all the best, because this had triggered them to stop working vital meetings as well as tests. She is additionally unlucky in love and has actually startled from one broken partnership to the following. Patricia never seems to obtain any lucky breaks as well as always seems to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Over the years I have actually spoken with these volunteers, asked them to complete diaries, personality sets of questions, and also intelligence examinations, and also welcomed them to my research laboratory to take part in experiments. The searchings for have actually revealed that luck is not an enchanting capability or the outcome of random opportunity. Neither are individuals birthed lucky or unlucky.

Instead, although fortunate and unlucky people have nearly no understanding right into the actual root causes of their great and also misfortune, their thoughts and actions are responsible for much of their fortune.

My research revealed that fortunate individuals create their own good luck via 4 basic principles. They are knowledgeable at producing and discovering chance possibilities, make lucky choices by listening to their intuition, develop self-fulfilling prophesies by means of favorable expectations, as well as take on a resilient mindset that changes rotten luck into good.

CHANCE OPPORTUNITIES

Take the case of chance possibilities. Lucky individuals consistently run into such possibilities whereas unfortunate individuals do not. I executed a really basic experiment to uncover whether this was due to distinctions in their ability to spot such chances. I offered both lucky and also unfortunate individuals a newspaper, as well as inquired to check out it and inform me just how several photos were inside.

On average, the unfortunate people took around 2 mins to count the photos whereas the fortunate people took simply secs. Why? Due to the fact that the 2nd web page of the newspaper consisted of the message "Stop counting-- There are 43 photographs in this newspaper."

This message used up fifty percent of the web page and also was written in type that mored than 2 inches high. It was staring every person directly in the face, but the unfortunate individuals had the tendency to miss it and the lucky people had the tendency to detect it.

Just for fun, I put a 2nd huge message half way through the newspaper. This one announced: "Quit checking, tell the experimenter you have seen this and also win $250." Again, the unfortunate individuals missed the possibility because they were still too hectic trying to find photographs.

Personality examinations disclosed that unlucky people are generally far more stressful and also nervous compared to fortunate individuals, and also research has actually shown that anxiety interferes with individuals's ability to see the unanticipated. In one experiment, individuals were asked to see a moving dot in the facility of a computer display. Without warning, huge dots would periodically be flashed beside the display. Almost all individuals noticed these large dots.

The experiment was after that repeated with a 2nd group of people, that were used a big monetary reward for precisely enjoying the facility dot. This time, individuals were much more anxious about the entire scenario. They came to be really concentrated on the center dot and also over a third of them missed out on the large dots when they showed up on the screen.

Lucky individuals produce their very own great fortune via 4 fundamental concepts. They are competent at developing and seeing possibility possibilities, make fortunate choices by hearing their instinct, create self-fulfilling prophesies by means of positive expectations, and adopt a resistant perspective that transforms bad luck into excellent. The more difficult they looked, the much less they saw.

And so it is with luck-- unfortunate people miss out on possibility possibilities due to the fact that they are too concentrated on looking for something else. They go to parties intent on finding their best partner therefore miss out on opportunities making good pals. They browse newspapers figured out to find certain kind of job promotions and therefore miss out on various other kinds of work. Lucky people are more kicked back and also open, as well as a result see what exists instead of just exactly what they are looking for.

But this is only component of the story when it pertains to chance possibilities. Numerous of my fortunate participants went to substantial lengths to introduce selection and alter right into their lives. Prior to making a vital choice, one fortunate participant would continuously modify his route to work.

Another individual described an unique technique that he had actually created to compel him to fulfill different kinds of people. He had discovered that whenever he mosted likely to a celebration, he had a tendency to speak to the very same sort of people.

To aid interrupt this regular, as well as make life more fun, he thinks of a shade prior to he arrives at the celebration and also after that decides to only speak with individuals putting on that color of garments at the party! At some parties he only talked to women in red, at an additional he talked specifically to men in black. Although it could appear unusual, under certain scenarios, this kind of actions will actually increase the amount of possibility opportunities in individuals's lives.

Imagine living in the facility of a large apple orchard. Each day you have to venture into the orchard and also collect a big basket of apples. The very first few times it won't matter where you decide to check out. All components of the orchard will certainly have apples as well as so you will be able to find them any place you go. As time goes on it will certainly come to be much more and much more tough to discover apples in the places that you have gone to before. As well as the more you return to the exact same locations, the more challenging it will be to discover apples there.

But if you make a decision to always go to parts of the orchard that you have actually never seen in the past, or perhaps randomly determine where to go, your possibilities of discovering apples will be substantially increased. As well as it is exactly the exact same with luck.

It is very easy for people to tire the chances in their life. Keep speaking to the exact same people similarly. Keep taking the same route to and from work. Keep mosting likely to the same put on holiday. However brand-new or perhaps random experiences present the capacity for new opportunities.

DEALING WITH BAD LUCK

But a fortunate life is not practically producing as well as noticing opportunity possibilities. One more crucial principle rotated around the method which fortunate as well as unlucky people managed the unwell ton of money in their lives.

Imagine being decided to represent your nation in the Olympic games. You contend in the games, do quite possibly, and win a bronze medal. Just how pleased do you assume that would certainly really feel? A lot of us would, I think, be satisfied as well as proud of our achievement.

Now think of transforming the clock back and also contending at the same Olympic games a 2nd time. This time you do even better and win a silver medal. Exactly how satisfied do you think you would certainly feel currently? The majority of us believe that we would certainly feel happier after winning the silver medal compared to the bronze. This is not shocking. The medals are a reflection of our performance, and the silver medal suggests a better efficiency compared to a bronze medal.

But study suggests that professional athletes that win bronze medals are actually better than those who win silver medals. As well as the factor for this involves the means in which the athletes consider their performance.

The silver champions concentrate on the idea that if they had executed a little better, then they would have maybe won a gold medal. In comparison, the bronze medalists concentrate on the idea that if they had actually carried out slightly worse, after that they would not have actually won anything. Psychologists describe our ability to envision exactly what could have occurred, instead than what actually did take place, as "counterfactual."

I questioned whether lucky people might be using counter-factual believing to soften the psychological influence of the sick ton of money that they experienced in their lives. To figure out, I chose to existing fortunate and also unlucky people with some unlucky situations and also see just how they reacted.

I asked lucky as well as unfortunate people to think of that they were waiting to be served in a bank. Suddenly, an armed burglar enters the bank, terminates a shot, and the bullet hits them in the arm. Would this event be lucky or unfortunate? Unfortunate people had the tendency to claim that this would be significantly unfortunate as well as it would certainly be simply their misfortune to be in the financial institution during the robbery.

In comparison, lucky individuals checked out the situation as being far luckier, and also typically automatically commented on just how the scenario could have been much even worse. As one fortunate participant commented, "It's lucky due to the fact that you could have been fired in the head-- likewise, you could sell your story to the papers as well as make some loan."

The differences between the lucky and also unfortunate individuals stood out. Fortunate people have a tendency to envision spontaneously how the poor good luck they experience might have been worse and also, in doing so, they feel better regarding themselves and also their lives. This, in turn, helps keep their assumptions regarding the future high, as well as, increases the probability of them continuing to live a lucky life.

LUCK SCHOOL

I wondered whether the principles discovered throughout my job could be made use of to enhance the quantity of all the best that people encounter in their lives. To learn, I produced "luck institution"-- a series of experiments checking out whether people's luck can be improved by obtaining them to assume as well as behave like a lucky person.

The job made up two almosts all. In the very first part I met participants on a one-to-one basis, as well as inquired to total basic surveys gauging their good luck as well as exactly how completely satisfied they were with 6 significant areas of their life. I after that described the four major concepts of good luck, clarified how lucky people made use of these to produce good luck in their lives, as well as described straightforward strategies made to assist them think and behave like a fortunate person.

For instance, as I noted earlier, without recognizing it, lucky people often tend to make use of different techniques to develop opportunity opportunities that border them, how you can damage day-to-day regimens, as well as the best ways to deal better with misfortune by picturing how points might have been worse. I asked my volunteers to invest a month executing workouts and after that return as well as explain what had happened.

The outcomes were dramatic. Eighty percent of people were currently happier, much more pleased with their lives, as well as, probably most essential of all, luckier. Unfortunate people had actually come to be fortunate, and fortunate people had actually become even luckier.

At the start of the article I described the unfortunate life of Patricia. She was one of the very first people to participate in Luck College. After a couple of weeks accomplishing some easy workouts, her rotten luck had completely vanished.

At completion of the training course, Patricia cheerfully described that she really felt like a totally various individual. She was no much longer accident-prone and also was much better with her life. For once, every little thing was exercising her way. Other volunteers had discovered enchanting partners with possibility experiences and work promos merely through fortunate breaks.

POSITIVE SKEPTICISM

After One Decade of scientific research study my work has disclosed a significantly new method of taking a look at luck and the important role that plays in our lives. It shows that much of the good and negative ton of money we come across is an outcome of our ideas and also behavior. Much more notably, it stands for the potential for adjustment, and has actually generated that most evasive of holy grails-- an efficient method of boosting the good luck people experience in their day-to-day lives.

The project has also demonstrated how suspicion can play a favorable duty in individuals's lives. The study is not simply about unmasking superstitious reasoning and also behavior. Rather, it has to do with encourging people to move far from a magical point of view and toward a much more sensible view of luck.

Perhaps most crucial of all, it has to do with making use of science as well as uncertainty to boost the level of good luck, joy, and also success in individuals's lives.

[megacircuit9universe]

Self Driving Economy?

This entry is gonna sound a bit out of place, but with the subject of AI having just been touched on at the same time that the economy, and specifically, fears of a coming recession have been in the news... well, I have a theory that maybe is worth exploring, even if it turns out to be wrong.

I’m old enough to have experienced several recessions in America, but by far the two worst... and the two which most affected the course of my life, were the Dot.Com Bust in 2001, and then the Housing Bust which hit full force in 2008.

Before the former, during the Dot.Com Boom, all well respected economic authorities were honestly out there saying there was no reason the economy couldn’t keep growing forever.  And when that bubble burst (in early 2001, months before 9/11) it really took everybody by surprise.

In retrospect, everybody saw that all the booming internet start up companies everybody was scrambling to invest in, lacked any plan for turning an actual profit. The internet was still too much of a wild west, and... like the actual wild west... sparked a kind of gold rush that for many, did not pan out.

But, that was okay because there was still one reliable thing that everybody could invest in, whether the economy was booming or busting... good old real estate!  Home equity!  Always keeps growing over time... like a law of physics.

And while the broken Internet economy slowly nursed itself back to health for five years after 2001... everybody got really hyper about houses.  New ones were being built. Old ones were being flipped. And mortgage loans became easier and easier to get for more and more people...  and home values began to dramatically inflate.

That modest old bungalow on the East side, which had taken many decades to get to where it was worth a modest 60K, overnight went up to 90K, then 120K.... just sitting there... without being renovated in any way.

It got to the point where any shoebox sitting on any plot of dirt was worth 100K automatically, and everything else was correspondingly overvalued across the spectrum, and across the country.

Once again, economists weren’t too worried.  Maybe they seemed a bit less ecstatic than during the Dot.Com Bubble, but they weren’t super worried.

Until, BLAM!  Housing prices suddenly began to slide for the first time in seventy years... which began happening in late 2006... leading to the big bank collapse two years later in the Fall of 2008.

So, I’m gonna stop here and make the analogy of the economy being like a car.

Like a car, it’s a complex machine with a lot of moving parts that performs best when it gets regular maintenance... is well oiled... and has plenty of fuel.

But also like a car... if it’s being driven by a drunk... or a maniac... then the rest doesn’t matter, because it’s going to crash.

So in 2001, the car crashed... and it was a pretty bad accident.  And in 2008, it crashed even worse... actually bursting into flames and requiring all kinds of first responders to put out the fire, and do a ton of damage control.

But since 2008, something’s been different...  since 2008, the car has driven longer and faster than in it’s whole history, without a crash, or even a minor fender bender.

and weirder still... over the past two years, with history’s worst President at the wheel... the drunkest of drunk drivers... the stock market has been plunging and peaking, plunging and peaking.... like a crazy roller coaster ride... and yet... it never crashes.

Most recently we just had what they call an “inverted yield curve” which... in this analogy, is basically a loop the loop... but we did not fly off the rails.

And, knowing as I do, how fragile the economy used to be... not just in the early 2000s, but all through the 1970s, 1980s, and 1990s... this weirdly unshakable stability is not just new... it's beyond belief, and should not be possible!

Unless... this is an upgraded car, that now has more safety and self-driving features than ever imagined before.

Hmmmm...

Now, clearly if such self-driving features exist, they were not put there by legislation... I mean... they did try to pass some legislation in the Obama years to keep a crash like 2008 from happening again, but most of that got watered down or actively repealed in years quickly to follow.

Rich people hate regulation, and are famous for never learning their lessons, after all.

But legislation is not the only form of regulation... there is also just... administrative policy... namely, in Obama’s case, policies that once again favored science and technology... as well as global economic integration.

Clinton era policy, in the late 1990s, gave us the World Wide Web to begin with, but it was early on Obama’s watch that we saw the advent of the smart phone, which, transformed the internet all over again, as well as technology in general... and both on a global scale.

This, in turn, not only globalized the economy like never before, but created whole new avenues for it to explore.

In the early 1990s, you were paid with a paper paycheck that you deposited at the physical bank and then... you kept track of your bank balance in your checkbook or in your head.

If you wanted to buy something you got in your car and spent the day shopping the different stores to see what they had and who had the best deal.

The biggest convenience you had back then was your ATM card, with which you could get cash to pay for your thing at the cash register, before lugging it home in your vehicle.

By the early 2000s, you probably had direct deposit, and could do your banking in real time on the desktop PC at home.  You could pre-shop the stores by going to their websites, before getting in the car, and you also had a debit card that functioned anywhere the same as cash.

But that was nothing compared to what was possible in the twenty-teens.

Now, thanks to a hand held device 1000 times more powerful than my 2001 desktop PC, that I carry on my person wherever I go... and thanks to an economic infrastructure which has entirely grown around that device... I can bank wherever I am... I can shop, and purchase nearly anything wherever I am standing, and have it delivered to my doorstep... and I can also give my money to any person, or cause I feel like, instantly, in whatever increments I wish, large or small.

Also, I can be part of, say... a fandom... and just by being a fan of some franchise, like Iron Man, can enable Marvel to spend ten years on a cinematic universe that employs hundreds of thousands of people to make movies that bring in billions of dollars, and also support a secondary economy of comic book movie reviewers online, etc.

Money moves more freely in the twenty teens than ever before... on the dollars and cents level. If my nephew, 2000 miles away, needs twenty bucks, I can give it to him immediately, in bed, in my underwear.

If my favorite YouTube channel needs twenty bucks, I can give it to them.  If Amazon allows me to buy some new socks with one click... or Pokemon Go wants to sell me a few extra pokeballs with another click... you can bet I’m clicking to buy that stuff right now!

But it’s not just pocket devices and people making impulse buys.

If that’s all it was, it would still be a much larger buffer against recession than we had in the days of old, when money didn’t move around so freely, so quickly.

No, there are also the algorithms.

Two of the most famous algorithms, the Google search algorithm, and the YouTube algorithm (YouTube is owned by Google) predate the era of the smart phone, but definitely have come into their own post smart phone.

And now we live in a world where every single app worth it’s salt has an algorithm designed to learn your preferences, help you discover more preferences you weren’t aware of before... and ultimately help you either make some kind of purchase, or at least bring your eyeballs to something that will profit from your having viewed and liked it.

And all the modern algorithms arise from theories of computer learning.  They learn how better to serve both you, and their corporate masters. And this is done kind of inside a black box, where random tweaks are made to each new generation of algorithms... without knowing what the effect of that tweak might be, and then, the tweaked algorithms are field tested, with only the top performing ones left to survive and be tweaked again.

It’s a process very similar to the breeding of animals and plants that humans did throughout the history of civilization... starting with some basic forms... getting them to fuck... keeping the good ones we like, and letting the failures die out... without any need to understand the molecular details involved on the level of the DNA.

Who knows how exactly they bred the husky?  Doesn’t matter.  They pull sleds and love snow so... they can stay!  Same with corn... how did we mutate grass into doing that?  Not sure... but we worked it for a long time, and we got there.

So, by the time Donald Trump took office in 2017, we had a fully developed smart phone economy (no coincidence he’s the first president to be a problem on Twitter) and a next gen internet teeming with AI in the form of learning algorithms... growing more effective every day... at the one job they were all conceived to do...

...keep the money flowing.

This is all to say nothing of the algorithms that must be out there for stock traders online, by the way.  

While retailers and app developers have been busy making it as easy as possible for everybody on Earth with an income and a bank account to move the tiniest amounts of money anywhere instantly... all of the investors out there, playing with the big money, have also come to rely more on their AI algorithms, than their own gut instincts.

Now... I’m not saying all of this makes the economy crash proof...

But all taken together, it makes the global economy a hell of a lot more crash resistant than it ever was before.

It’s a different kind of car now... such that if you have a crazy drunk driver like Donald Trump at the wheel... well... those pedals and that wheel are no longer direct input devices.  

He can be as violent as he wants with them, but the computer... in this case, the sum total of all economic algorithms out there, now controlling the real levers of commerce automatically... all working toward the common goal of maintaining the status quo no matter what... just ignores violent inputs that fall outside a given range.

This results in a stock market that peaks one day, and plummets the next... with the overall effect being that the spikes and dips cancel out over the week, and even the loop-the-loops, like that inverted yield curve... are just momentary thrills that amount to nothing over the week or month.

Now, if I’m wrong about this... then I’m not totally wrong.  I’m still right that more globalism and better technology has given us a more stable economy for longer than ever before.

So even if there is a crash... I’d say tech and globalism are still the way forward... maybe with some actual government regulation... depending on what exactly caused the crash?

Whatever the case... AI is the future and... within the next ten years, everybody’s gonna have a Jarvis who handles their affairs in ways that make today’s Alexa, Siri, etc... look like silly pull string talking dolls... and make us wonder how we ever survived without them.

READ: even acts as your primary council in a court of law... level of effective cyber assistant.

That is my crazy take on things tonight.

[a--musings]

The escapism.

July 11, 2019. I find it both confusing and peculiar that people just can’t seem to be alone with themselves and with their feelings. I’ve observed so many people, as of late, so quick to silence their thoughts and distract themselves from themselves by doing whatever they can to escape. Perhaps I never noticed it during the school year, when the stress of class and mandatory events is enough to mask the hidden fears of aloneness. But the idle mind is a dangerous threat to some, and I’ve been unintentionally watching it all happen in front of me, just by silent observation of my surroundings. There is just so much need to turn away from oneself and look outward for company. But solitude and loneliness are completely different things, as I’ve preached before. I don’t think many people are cognizant of this.

Are you really having fun going on meaningless and boring dates just to have some stranger sit across from you, just to have SOMEONE there? Is sitting on the same beach next to the same people every single day for hours actually that fun for you? Do you actually want to go to the same dirty bars to get drinks spilled on you by drunk sweaty assholes who slur their hot breath in your ear? Are these low quality experiences even worth much to you? I sometimes want to ask. I don’t mean to offend or place judgment at all. People should have all the power and freedom in the world to go on and spend their time in whatever way they want. Who am I to tell you what’s best for you? We are each our own individual with our own unique perspectives and experiences shaping our existence and our personal desires. But there’s a very clear function behind why people do things they very unequivocally do not really want to do, beyond the obvious external validation and need to feel liked and praised.  It’s a strange dependency for something—anything, almost in an addictive way. Like a desperate grasp to cling on to whatever is there, just to have something near. It doesn’t matter how meaningless and utterly non-contributory something is to their lives. Just as long as it’s there. Just as long as they don’t have to be with themselves to cope with the dissatisfaction or discomfort of their reality.

It’s reflected in the string of 15 texts I get from a friend when I look away from my phone for an hour, just because she’s home alone. It’s a random 2-hour long phone call from another friend to talk about nothing, simply because he can’t seem to have no one to interact with. It’s the cries of FOMO, for which I actually (and shockingly) have to console people. It’s the nagging complaints in my ear and actual hurt when I tell someone I’m too tired or too busy to hang out. It’s watching friends, clearly too exhausted by each other to enjoy each other’s company, try to force interactions just to entertain one another. It’s the need to swipe on all the latest dating apps just to have someone to look at, and to send flirtatious messages of meaningless nothings. It’s the odd way that many of my friends will clutch for dear life to their phones, incapable of falling asleep if it isn’t in their hands while they drift off, or as soon as they waken. It’s the (almost offensive) times I sit right next to a person, and they are still hypnotized by their phones because my presence is not enough to fulfill their needs. It is the constant stimulation, the search for the deafening noise to drown out the haunting anxieties. It’s the escape from unpleasant realities and dissatisfaction with the here and now. It’s how we, culturally, survive our daily hells and our immense cognitive stress. Do we not recognize our need for noise? For company? Do we not recognize our fear of solitude?

Not too long ago, I was the same way. I would call my sister or my most supportive friend P whenever I encountered an uncomfortable, anxious thought just to run away from it--ultimately, finding ways to run away from myself. If they didn’t pick up the phone, I would keep running to the next person, and the next, and the next in desperate attempts to avoid feeling the discomfort and the pain of whatever was irking my soul. I couldn’t handle it. I couldn’t just simply feel the feelings or think the thoughts. It was painful—unbearably so. When I finally effortfully chose to make myself alone, I forced myself to grin and bear it. I forced myself to feel it all. I suffered, but I experienced self-compassion, and my perspective began to change. I am not saying I am above people who need absolute escapism as a mechanism of survival; it does not make me any better than. After all, such a defense mechanism is sometimes healthy, and I still do it myself. As humans capable of deep, deep suffering, we need moments that will take us away to just breathe. But to what extent? And at what cost? Learning to rely less on searching for distraction has made me feel at ease and at peace way more often throughout my day. I don’t need to constantly create other realms of reality. I don’t feel the mental of exhaustion of continuously looking for ways to run. I can simply exist in this one and ride the dynamic waves of human experience, and I can cope just fine on my own. Life is complicated, but beautiful because of its variety. I would never watch a movie that solely highlighted the idyllic ease of every character’s lives. It is the complexity that makes life interesting, worthy. In the same way, I choose to watch all moments of my own life, rather than cutting corners by burying the low points with the highlight reels. I will strive to be open to all experiences and allowing myself to accept every heartbreak, every disappointment, and every hidden pain to just come and go..

If I were to give myself advice a year ago, it would be this: find a way to be alone and just exist. Find solace, comfort, and peace in just that, and deal with every aspect of life. Allow yourself to engage in the opportunity of human experience. Face the issues. Feel okay with feeling like shit, but give yourself time to figure it out. Rid yourself from the need to avoid and escape yourself. Rid yourself of the need to run to something—anything. If you find the need to always withdraw from your world, change your perspective. Change your story. If not, you might miss out on yourself.

—a.