#I lasted a week before I busted out my ancient laptop

[celepom]

IT TOOK 2 WEEKS BUT MY COMPUTER IS FINALLY FIXED!!

[purple-cat-demon]

Forever Starts Under the Ginkgo Tree: Part 1

Pairing: Gavin x Hazel

Word Count: 1732

Genre: domestic fluff

Warnings: none

A/N: I've finally got this one in motion after a somewhat gnarly writer's block. I hope y'all enjoy~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Monday, 12pm, Loveland Police Station

Gavin tapped his pen in a frustrated manner while looking over a report in front of him. It was his fourth one and before proceeding any further, he decided to take a break and rest his mind. In doing so, his mind wandered to various places to potentially propose to his girlfriend, Hazel. Another officer happened to pass by his office and noticed an out-of-place blank stare on his face.

“You okay, sir,” the female officer inquired, breaking Gavin’s trance.

“Oh, hey V.T. Yeah, I’m okay,” he answered while rubbing his eyes, “just trying to figure out something.”

“Is it the proposal again?”

“Y-yeah, I just don’t know where would be a good place…”

“Hmm, and of course you don’t want to be obvious about it either.”

“Yeah.”

A buzz came from Gavin’s phone at that moment, it was none other than his girlfriend.

‘Geez, were her ears burning,’ the officer mused.

She had sent a text message with an attachment. Upon perusing the link, he was taken to a page talking about a giant, ancient ginkgo tree at a temple. His phone buzzed again, it was Hazel continuing her message.

~{What do you think? Would you be interested in checking this out sometime soon?}~

A little dumbfounded at the timing of this message, he showed the site to V.T. The junior officer gave an excited gasp as her eyes lit up.

“Do you know about this place?” Gavin asked.

“Oh yes! My girlfriend and I went there last year,” she replied as she hastily took out her phone and thumbed through her photo gallery, stopping at the one picture she was looking for. She then showed Gavin a selfie of her and her girlfriend in front of the ginormous ginkgo tree in all its golden-hued glory.

“It’s absolutely gorgeous in person!”

Gavin contemplated for a bit then sent a text back to Hazel.

~{How’s your project going? If you’re done by this weekend, do you want to go see that ginkgo tree?}~

“Oh, I better get back to my desk. Let me know how it goes, yeah?” V.T gave her senior officer a wave and left.

“I will,” Gavin called back as she hurried down the hall. A few minutes later, Hazel replied,

~{Almost done with the project. Should be completely finished by Friday. But do you have any missions scheduled?}~

~{So far, no. I can make it to where I won’t have any missions, if you’d like}~

~{??? You can?! How?}~

~{Just leave it to me}~

~{Sure thing, my love, see you later}~

Gavin closed out the text message and went back to the reports in front of him. He had the start of a proposal plan in the works, and that gave him the needed energy to go through the reports.

Meanwhile, at AEC, Hazel was beaming over the text conversation she and Gavin just had. Anna noticed the goofy grin on her boss’s face.

“What’s got you in a good mood? Talking to your boyfriend?”

“Mhm! Now I really need to get this project done,” she cracked her knuckles and resumed typing her reports. The possibility of spending a weekend with her boyfriend gave her the needed incentive to work hard (more so than what she already did).

A few hours later, an email containing Victor’s approval signaled the end of the workday for everyone.

‘Well, that’s one day down,’ she mentally mused as she closed her laptop, ‘just four more days to go.’

Hazel came bursting through the door of their apartment causing Gavin to shut his laptop abruptly. He got up from his spot at the dining table and met with Hazel approaching the kitchen.

“You seem to be in a great mood, a good day at work?”

Hazel beamed at her boyfriend.

“Yes! Got LFG’s approval and we’re all set to continue the project as scheduled! I just hope everything goes well these next few days,” she fretted a bit. Gavin gently caressed her cheek.

“You have the incredible tendency to overcome any obstacle that gets in your way. You got this, my love.”

She leaned into his hand with a content look, then kissed it. She was about to bring him in closer for a kiss when her stomach loudly voiced its displeasure in being hungry.

“Let’s have some dinner,” Gavin chuckled as he went to open the fridge, only to be greeted with the bare minimum of ingredients.

“Yeah, we haven’t done any shopping yet…” Hazel sighed, “let’s go to the convenience store for tonight.”

“Okay,” he replied, shutting the fridge door, “but, you just got home; do you want to order in?”

“Hmm, nah, I want to take a walk with the man I hardly see anymore~”

Gavin blushed faintly, “okay, let’s go”

They headed to the nearby convenience store, hand in hand, passing by businesses closed for the day. One particular business caused Hazel to slow her pace, then stop, making Gavin stop abruptly and turn around. His gaze went from his girlfriend to what was in the window that caught her attention. There on display was a beautiful, white wedding dress; mermaid style with a lacy bodice, and a veil nearly as long as the dress itself.

“You wanna wear that?”

The sudden whisper in her ear caused her to jump slightly, she flashed an embarrassed grin to her boyfriend.

“Y-yeah, someday~”

‘Someday might be sooner than you think,’ Gavin mused as he returned his hand to hers, continuing their jaunt to the store.

Gavin grabbed a basket as they entered the store, going one way while Hazel went towards the hot food display. She took a quick glance, noting the potato croquettes still available, then headed to the prepackaged dinners. She finally settled on a pork cutlet curry plate, foregoing the potato croquettes. As she picked it up, Gavin walked up beside her,

“That looks good, could you grab one for me too?”

“Sure~”

“What kind of drink do you want?”

“Milk tea, please.”

“Are you sure? It won’t keep you up?”

She pouted a bit, “do they have the small cans?”

Gavin glanced back towards the cold drinks wall; “yes,” he replied, then proceeded to go grab one. He returned to a brightly smiling Hazel holding up a small cake, just enough for the two of them.

“You want that, too?”

She nodded eagerly as he chuckled lightly, “okay, we have dinner and dessert.”

They bought their food and headed back home. After dinner, Gavin opened his laptop to show Hazel the itinerary in the making for that weekend. He had the train tickets purchased and the hotel booked already. They were now checking out the restaurants and eateries that were near both the hotel and the temple. There were so many to choose from that they ultimately decided to check them out when they get there.

“I’m excited for this weekend,” Hazel chirped as she cleared off the dining table. Gavin smiled as he closed the laptop and went to make some tea for the both of them.

“It’s something we both need. Our work schedules have been packed lately,” he added, setting the kettle on the stove range.

She came up behind him and gave him a hug while nuzzling into his back. He lightly caressed her left hand in response, subtly paying more attention to her middle finger. Thankfully that small gesture went unnoticed by his girlfriend. They stayed like that until the kettle started whistling. Hazel let go of her boyfriend and grabbed two cups from the nearby cupboard. Teas in hand, they headed to the living room and sat down on the couch. After a few minutes of debating on what to watch, the two decided to continue a series they had started last week. The nightly entertainment was short-lived as Hazel fell asleep against Gavin’s shoulder. A faint smile graced his face as he carefully got up from his spot, laying Hazel down in the process. He then gently picked her up and carried her to their bedroom. Just as he set her down on the bed, she woke up with a small start.

“Oh! I fell asleep, I’m so sorry!”

“Don’t be sorry, you were tired,” her boyfriend reassured.

Hazel pouted.

“But I want to spend more time with you and I can’t do that if I’m tired all the time.”

Gavin lightly sighed at her grumbling, “well, we do have this weekend to ourselves, there’s that at least,” he tried to offer solace to his disgruntled girlfriend.

“Yeah, I just need to figure out how not to be tired all the time…”

“Well, you can start by going to bed at a decent time and not staying up late. I will try and do the same so we can keep each other in check.”

Hazel grimaced at the idea for she knew a lot of her projects required some gnarly all-nighters, much to Gavin’s dismay.

Hazel then got up and headed to the bathroom to do her nightly routine while Gavin changed into his pajama bottoms. He walked over to the bathroom doorway, patiently waiting for his turn as he admired his girlfriend; a smile adorned his face. Hazel noticed the expression and as soon as she spat out the toothpaste, she inquired about it.

“What are you smiling about?”

‘Busted,’ Gavin quickly regained his composure, “Oh, nothing, just admiring the most beautiful woman on the planet.”

She rolled her eyes as she spat one more time; rinsing off her toothbrush, she then reached for her facial cleanser.

“I don’t know about all that,” she said as she wet her face and dispensed the cleanser in her hand. Gavin rolled his eyes in response.

“Listen, I know beauty when I see it, okay?”

She patted her face dry and relinquished the bathroom to him; as he got ready, she changed into her pajamas and got comfy under the covers. No sooner than when she got settled in, Gavin came out of the bathroom; Hazel whistled at her handsome boyfriend. He flushed slightly at her admiration causing her to giggle.

“Why are you embarrassed? I know handsome when I see it,” she commented.

“Using my words against me, huh,” he said as got into bed next to her.

“Yup, goodnight my love,” she responded as she kissed him on the lips.

“Goodnight, my everything.”

[heyheydidjaknow]

What is this witchcraft? Me? Not posting after midnight? I’m shocked to my very core. Anyways, this is one of my longer chapters. If you have any feedback, do not hesitate. As always, previous chapter (and next when applicable) is at the bottom.

Chapter 5

“Dude, hear me out here.” You are vibrating like a kid on pixie sticks. You slide your hands apart as if to display written words. “Lightsaber.”

“What’s a—”

“Donnie.” You put your hand up before he can continue. “Imma stop you right there. I am going to take your hand and kindly ask you to tell me that you know of, or at least have heard of, Star Wars.”

“I do not.”

“That is a fucking crime.”

You have been sitting with him for approximately an hour, watching him dismantle a “Kraang bot” as you register for school and start ordering supplies. You are quickly starting to realize his knowledge of anything outside the bounds of science is limited to whatever he read by virtue of his father, which consisted of one book on Greek mythology, one on the Italian renaissance, one on ancient Japanese history, and one on Japanese folklore, or anything he learned via the interests of his brothers. Because of this, he seems to know exactly jack-shit about things you consider common knowledge, such as the concept of foreshadowing or Poptarts or Hitler outside of a general association with the name and emotion of some sort, leading to interactions like the one you’re having right now.

“It’s not a crime,” he defended. “It's just I was never really interested in that kinda stuff.”

“But it’s Star Wars!” You throw your hands up. “How do you not know of Star Wars, at least?”

“Look, you’re saying it’s really good, right?”

“Well, yeah.” Your voice lowered.

“Why would somebody throw out a good movie?”

You sigh. “Yeah, that’s fair. But!” You point at him. “But I need to watch it with you, if only out of principle. Besides,” you settle down, “it’s a very… traditionally plotted story. I still have to give you that lesson.”

“Yeah, but after I finish this.” He pushes his laptop to the side, picking up the soldering iron and moving back over to the pile of metal you know will become Metalhead.

You nod in agreement, leaning forward in your chair to watch him fuse wires. “You know what?” You smile. “I may give you shit, but it is really cool watching your whole process.”

“Hm?” He looks up at you from his lean forward.

“Well,” you shrug, folding your legs on the chair, “I just mean that it’s cool seeing how you go about building all this junk that is just… what’s the word?”

“Untraditional?”

“Revolutionary.”

He has a funny look on his face. “You think so?”

“Oh, totally.” You nod eagerly. “I told you that I thought you were one of fiction’s greatest minds, didn’t I?”

“No, you didn’t.” His face is turning red.

“Really? I swear I did the day I met you…” Your eyebrows furrow as you try to remember.

“You said something about inspiration.” He smiled softly, voice airy.

“Oh, then I—well, it kinda is the same thing.” You rub the back of your neck, feeling your own face heat up. “Must’ve—uh—misspoke. I do that,” you trail off, “kinda a lot.”

“I think it’s cute.”

You feel your heart skip a beat. ‘Oh come the fuck on. Really?’ “See,” you hear your voice rise a register, “that is so not fair.”

“Huh?” The color drains from his face as he tries to remember what sounds just came out of his mouth. “What did I say?”

“You’re not allowed to just say shit like that.” You cover your face with your hands, feeling your heart swell. “You’re not my boyfriend or anything.”

“Wait, what did I say?”

“Nope. Shut up.” You try to calm yourself down. “You didn’t mean it, whatever it was. It’s fine.”

He blinks, very confused. “You sure?”

“Totally.” Your voice is tight. “One hundred and ten percent sure.”

“You can’t be one hundred ten percent sure.” He looks back down at his project, writing your behavior off. “It’s mathematically impossible

“You wanna bet?” You start looking around the room, prior embarrassment now replaced with a desire to win this artificial conflict. “Got graph paper?”

He scoffs. “You can’t be serious.”

“Do I look like I’m kidding right now?” You lean across the table, tilting his head up to face you properly, determination burning in your eyes. Your voice lowers. “I am going to show you one hundred and ten present sure right here and now as a matter of principle.”

He swallowed, face going red again. “One moment, please.” He fumbles around for a piece of paper and hands it to you, along with a marker.

“Thank you.” You smile sweetly, acting as if nothing happened as you start to sketch. “Give me a bit of time and I will show you one hundred and ten percent sure.”

He rolls his eyes, a smile coming back to his face as he calms down. “Sure you will.”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Go back to your transformer while I blow your freakin mind, kay?”

“What’s—”

“Don’t even.”

“Gotcha.”

You chew on your tongue absentmindedly, remembering how much you love spacing out pixels when you hear a notification on your phone. You pull it out, read it, sigh, slide out of your chair. “I’ll be right back,” you promise, heading for the door. “I gotta make sure plot shit happens.”

“You know where to find me.”

“Always do.” You shoot him finger guns as you drag the door closed. You walk over to the brothers, currently engaged in their digital hockey match. You watch, waiting for Raphael’s inevitable victory— ‘Wow, my life is getting pretty damn predictable.’—before clearing your throat to catch their attention.

“So,” you smile, “what’s the game plan for tonight?”

They seem to not understand the question. “Yeah, Leo,” Raphael prompts, shooting a look at him, “what’s the game plan for tonight?”

He paused. “Is there some sort of sport thing happening?”

Your heart drops. “Leonardo,” you ask again, voice lowering, “you have a plan for the thing happening tonight, right?”

“What thing?”

You grab his shoulders. “The spill,” you clarify, voice quiet and sharp. “The mutagen spill. The spill I told you about three days ago?”

His eyes widen. “You said that was happening Friday!”

“Today is Friday!” You let go, throwing your hands in the air out of pure frustration. “That’s why I told you today is Friday! What, did you think I just liked talking about days of the week? That it’s my hobby to keep track of how many days I haven’t died?” ‘I mean, it is, but that’s not the point.’

“Well, it can’t be that important if you forgot about it.” Raphael leaned against the machine. “We’ll just go in and bust some heads. No problem.”

You groan. “Do you guys just have something against planning? I swear everything with you guys has to happen at the very last minute.”

“We don’t need the time to plan. I dunno if you noticed, Y/N, but our ‘plans’ aren’t exactly plan worthy.” He shrugged. “You just have to beat the Kraang out of them and that’s the end of it. It’d be like planning to raid a trailer home.”

You sigh. ‘They’re teenage boys. This is only episode six. Deep breaths.’ “Just… please try to heed my warnings in the future, alright? The last thing we need is for something to sneak up on us.”

“Alright, alright.” Leo focuses his eyes on you. “When is the mutagen getting spilled?”

“Tomorrow. The show wasn’t very specific on times, but some time tomorrow.”

“Then let’s air on the side of caution and assume they mean midnight. What’s the time?”

You pull out your phone. “Seven forty-five.”

“That should be enough time to get there, scope out the place, and be home before dinner.”

You feel the ground shake under you as a metallic clang pierces the air.

That is your cue to leave for fear of getting hit with a laser. “You can’t beat Metalhead. Also, Mikey calls him Metalhead.” You start heading out. “I’d stay and watch you guys waste time trying, but I haven’t eaten today, so I’m gonna grab food and meet you there.” You run out before they can ask any more questions.

If nothing else, all the running has been helping you get in shape. You are not typically the type to take runs, but you also are not typically the type to be pressed to see people. Loneliness is one hell of a motivator, as it turns out, and you were starving in more ways than one. You stop by the first place you see, grabbing some food item with a name you already forget—some sort of burrito, you think—and climb a fire escape belonging to a building overlooking the warehouse in question. You sit on the edge of the building, dangling your legs over the side as you wait for them to get here.

‘Do I like him?’ You pause at your question, mid-bite. ‘I mean, I had a crush on him when I watched the show, but this attachment isn’t romantic affection, is it? I’ve had crushes before, and I’m acting too suave for this to be that.’ You swallow, taking a drink out from your nameless cup. ‘Considering my emotional state? It’s highly likely I’m just latching onto him for lack of anyone or anything truly familiar in my life right now.’ You sigh. ‘But, then again, if that were the case, this feeling what be more familial, wouldn’t it?’ You conclude, whether you are attracted to him romantically or not, it is entirely unfair to both of you to pursue a romantic relationship with him unless he makes the first move. You have more faith in his critical thinking skills than in your own, anyhow. Besides, he acted irrationally enough around April as is; introducing a proper romantic relationship into the mix sounds a bit too risky, especially at such a vulnerable time in his development.

You hear the distant sounds of mechanical joints approaching. ‘Already liking this better than ninja silence.’ You spin around, hopping off the ledge and onto the roof proper as you go to properly admire the metal wonder.

It looks infinitely cooler than the show would have you believe, if possible. Each piece of its hull has a past and you can see it in every scratch, every dent. It wasn’t anywhere near perfect; you can easily see where Donatello had hammered out the shell of the artificial terrapin, where he had had to settle for using concrete, even the faintest ghosts of the pennies making up its chest piece. It was a glorious collage.

You run over, going down on your knees to look it over. “This thing is so fucking cool,” you gush, shuffling around it. “Like, totally fucking awesome!”

You can hear the pride in his voice, the excitement. “I know, right?”

You hop back to your feet, keeping yourself from jumping up and down for the sake of pride. “That is the coolest shit ever!” You grin, sitting back down and taking a drink from your soda. “You never cease to amaze, Hamato.”

“You think?” He sounds almost like a puppy, excited as he is.

“Dude, totally.” You sigh, feeling yourself mellow out a little. “But, more importantly,” you continue, clapping your hands together once, “we should be properly watching the warehouse in case they need backup.”

“Oh, right!” The robot stomped over to you, standing slightly behind you as you dangle your feet over the edge.

You take another drink of soda, feeling the excitement in the air dying down as you look out over the buildings. ‘It’s oddly peaceful up here. Must not have started the attack yet.’ You swing your legs back and forth as silence settled between you two.

After a moment, he cleared his throat. “I meant to ask you before,” he said stiffly, “but how did you know this was happening today? You never explained it.”

You silently thank him for cutting the tension, turning around to face him properly. “Well,” you start, lacing your fingers together around your cup, “remember when I said that the show Leo watches shows up a lot in episodes?”

“Yeah.” You are not exactly sure why he sounds so interested in a detail like this.

“And you know how you watch on cable?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, as it turns out,” you dig into your jacket pocket, “they release television guides, telling people when certain shows are playing, what times they’re playing, shit like that. So,” you conclude, admittedly smug that you had reasoned this part out, “as long as I know what episode is playing during that episode, I can accurately predict any actions that happen during the periods in which you guys have cable access.”

“So, you map out what episodes are scheduled to play on what days and create a timeline around that?”

“Exactly. Not a bad plan.” You pull up a document, showing him the timeline you’ve created with this information. “As long as you guys are on the grid, and as long as Leo sticks to watching that specific channel, I’ll be able to predict the movements of every major player in the series, which means I’ll be able to determine who we can and can’t fuck with based off how they act later down the line, and I’ll be able to give you proper foresight when the situation—”

Your plan is interrupted by a section of the ledge directly next to you to gain a new hole. You leap to your feet, quickly backing up and almost tripping on Metalhead as you regain your senses and hear Mikey’s panicked yelling.

“That doesn’t look good.” You watch the machine starts backing up. “I’m gonna go in and help.”

Something strikes you. “Donnie, real quick, be careful not to run into anything. The technology you’re using is susceptible to Kraang influence.”

“Relax. I got this.” Metalhead gives you a thumbs up before running and leaping off the building, crashing through the glass roof feet first.

You sigh, getting to your feet. ‘Theme of today’s episode is not to rely on technology. Granted,’ you muse, starting to climb down the fire escape, ‘this probably could’ve been solved by adopting a more intuitive controller and having a bit more experience, but I digress.’ You hop the last few feet down. ‘In any case, I’ve done all I can. If that isn’t enough, so be it.’

You hear the explosion as you start walking back to your apartment. ‘He should be coming here in about three or so minutes.’

If you did not know how this would end, you would be much more concerned. As it stands? You know the score before the game is even played.

You wave hello to the doorman as you walk to the elevator. You tap your foot absentmindedly to the elevator music, walk to your apartment, unlock the door, and step inside, picking a large box off the ground in front of it before locking the door.

You walk over and set the box down on your bed, walking back to the kitchen. You pull a Tupperware box from on top of it, pulling a red velvet cupcake from the container and setting it on the counter.

You had died the first time you had made cupcakes. When you had tried making them again from your mother’s recipe, you had found yourself surprisingly unintimidated as you slid them into the oven. Of course, you had sat directly in front of the oven and stared at it during the entirety of the baking process, but you were hardly going to let the worst experience of your life separate you and the most nostalgic, joy-inducing feeling there was. Who else was going to make cupcakes?

You dry your hands, not realizing you had washed them as you pick the confection off the counter. You peel off a portion of the wrapper, biting into the savory and sweet bundle of joy in your mouth. You moan softly in satisfaction, licking the icing off your lips as you walk back over to your bed, sitting down and reaching for the knife under your pillow. You slice the tape, sliding your baby out of its packaging with a soft smile. You reach back in, taking another bite as you pull out a smaller bag. You set the box on the ground, tossing the now-empty wrapper into it and wiping the excess frosting on your jeans, pulling the instrument from its packaging.

Your father had taught you how to play a couple of years back. You never thought you would get weepy over a musical instrument, and yet, here you are, cradling a hunk of wood costing a little more than one day’s allowance. You purse your lips, running your fingers along the neck as you check for any defects in its construction. You crack open the bag and, after about half an hour of fiddling and research, manage to get the strings onto the violin bass without snapping it. It wasn’t an exact replica, but it was close enough that you feel comfortable holding it, feel joy hearing it come in tune.

You play a scale. It sounds like heaven to you.

You put the rest of the trash in the box, laying down next to the first item you have bought. A stand for it would be arriving tomorrow. That makes you smile.

This is the start of something healthy for you. Ironically, it has started with you eating a cupcake, but, still, you have begun to come to terms with your situation. Granted, you have a long way to go; you still have not deleted your social media, wanting to look out for photographs and clips from the funeral, but this is a step in the right direction. You have to believe that.

One small accomplishment: you have kept your apartment sparklingly clean. It is not as if you have much to do, but none the less.

You find your fingers playing an almost lullaby. You stop yourself, not wanting to fall asleep before getting yourself situated. You set your instrument to the side, getting up to close and shelve your cupcake box for future use. You wash your hands again.

You slide your jacket off and throw it onto a seat, knowing you will likely need it tomorrow. You make it a habit to at least get outside once per day, now. You understand that, even if it is not vital, you need to establish a routine. You must keep moving, if only for your sake of mind.

You check to see the curtains are closed, strip, put your clothes in a hamper. You take a shower, comb out your hair, brush your teeth. You do these things consciously, now. You change into a shirt for sleeping, crawling into bed and turning off the light. Tomorrow, you will have to go down to the laundromat to wash your few changes of clothes. You will eat three meals. You will drink eight glasses of water.

You set your phone on the nightstand, plugging it in. You reach over, fingers curling around the handle of the kitchen knife as you slide it under your pillow.

You close your eyes, feeling your heart pang again tonight.

“Goodnight,” you call to no one. “Love you.”

Silence.

It is better than it was. You do not cry tonight, wrapping your arms around your pillow.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” you mumble, feeling yourself drift into unconsciousness. “Love you too.”

Table of Contents

Chapter 4 Chapter 6 part 1

[aeori-o]

So long 2019!

I usually try and get these up December 31st not January 1st but, really, it’s 24 hours apart, does it really matter?

End of a year! And end of a decade!

I usually go over my yearly reading first. I wanted to get the “bad” out of the way first this time. This year I continued to stagnate creatively. I haven’t drawn anything since Qelvi back in January of 2018. I have written but mostly in role-plays with Vin and the other stuff I haven’t tracked very well. I don’t know how to track it in a way that’s clear and also easy to remember.

In the past my goals going into the new year have always been along the line of “do a little of  [thing] every day” and that is super not working for me. So this year I’m going to try and change it up. For writing all I want to do is a five minute, free-flow, unplanned just-put-pen-to-paper-and-write based off a prompt. That should be do-able as there’s no pressure of it having to be connected to a larger work. There’s no planning and thus no pressure except to take five minutes and do it. I think in the past I’ve tried to do that in addition to x amount of words or pages per day. I’m just gonna scale it back and see if I can get myself to do the bare minimum consistently and see where that goes.

As for drawing. Ideally I’d like to do a little bit every day so I can actually get better at it, but as that’s been my goal for the last several years and I have not done it even a little bit these past two years I’m going to change my goals for drawing up, as well. Instead of trying to do anything consistently I’m just going to make it my goal to do one drawing a month. That’s it. I don’t need to show it to anyone, or post it, or whatever. Just one drawing I can consider “complete” every month. Complete doesn’t need to be polished I just don’t want to do nothing again and this seems do-able. We’ll see how it turns out at the end of the year.

Reading! My goal was to read 100 books this year and then I got sucked into playing Fortnite halfway through the year and basically read nothing in May. I read as much as I did last year, so I’m not torn up about the amount I read, but just once I do want to read 100 books in a year. (Not counting graphic novels, because I read through them too quickly and it doesn’t feel the same as reading a novel). So next year will be attempt number 2 at reading 100 in a year because I don’t think I should give up after not meeting it once. Life happens, sometimes we play more video games than we should, I still read 78-book-books and 63 graphic novels. For a total of 141 books. Which is pretty good, I can’t be upset at that number.

Part of my goal for 100 books this year, too, will be to slim down my at-home to-be-read pile, which is currently taking up seven shelves and must be stopped. I say this but I already have five more books on hold at the library. Whoops.

Here’s everything I read this year that I inputted into goodreads:

My one hour a day reading calendar (this year I started trying to add dots for every book completed on the day of completion, but I think I missed days, gonna do that some more this year, too, I like it):

And my goodreads badge:

2019 was a pretty wild year, there were some unexpected and costly hiccups. One of my cats went missing for a week; the other got struvite crystals and his bladder nearly exploded; My ancient AV receiver kicked it and on top of those things being expensive there was a whole thing where the new one seemed to be messing up my TV, it was a time; I got rear-ended on the freeway which thankfully didn’t wind up costing me anything except for a lot of stress, some minor pain, and over two weeks without a vehicle. None of these turned out to be that bad, in the end, and thankfully spread out enough that I didn’t just expire from stress.

There was a lot of good this year, too. I got to bring my partner skiing for the first time ever, and for my first time in a very long time (I don’t know when the last time I went skiing was, back when I was in highschool maybe?). I expanded my plushie collection by A Lot this year. I have cute eevee plushes, and some really soft pillow plushes now, and beeb got me a little corsola who I would Die for.

I’ve been more involved with pokemon go. I technically found the group I play with at the end of 2018 (right at the end, it was in December during the community weekend and someone from the group saw me doing circles hitting the same pokestops over and over and was like “hey… wanna join our group?”), but 2019 was the first full year with them. It’s been really nice to reliably be able to get stronger/rarer pokemon and just have a general sense of community. It’s neat because it’s not like I’m close friends with any of these people, but they’re all good people and I like seeing them. I know virtually nothing about any of them, but still, it’s nice.

I also got super into stickers this year (I blame you, beeb) and since my laptop only has so much room I’ve taken to adding stickers to my car. I don’t want to go overboard but I love all the ones I’ve added so far and now that my bumper looks better than new I think my car looks pretty slick.

I started keeping a video-game journal at the beginning of this year, which has been really satisfying and I’m going to keep doing it. I always struggle to remember how much time I sink into games and what happens in this games. Being able to flip through and see all of what I played, when I played it, and what was going on is interesting.

Also got a new phone this year. I didn’t get the latest and greatest but usually when I’ve needed a new phone due to a previous one being busted I have found myself inheriting whatever phone someone else doesn’t want (for the most part). This is the first phone I’ve gone out of my way to get because mine was just not performing well and I have no regrets.

I have a huge issue with upgrading to a new device when my old ones are perfectly serviceable. For instance: the computer I am writing this on is twelve years old. It’s slow but it works for what I need. This computer isn’t even from the past decade, which is pretty wild to me. In thinking about the past decade this computer has been through it all with me.

I guess I’m moving onto the decade now. I was just thinking that this computer still has msn/wlm on it. There’s a dedicated button on my keyboard for it. I hit it and I can see the last icon I ever used on there (I used to change icons constantly, which is a thing I do not do anywhere anymore), as well as the theme I had in place. Absolutely wild. In the last decade(ish) we all abandoned msn/wlm, got skype, abandoned skype when it became a bloated, ad-filled disaster, and got onto telegram, discord, and the dms of various social media websites. (Which I suck at using as if I’m a person three times my age.) In 2010 we were on the iPhone 4 and basically every android sucked, now we’re on the iPhone 11 and androids are a viable option for a phone. Console generations are slower and mess with my perception of time. In the last decade we’ve only gone up one console generation which feels weirdly slow but then when I contemplate any company releasing a new console I inevitably feel it hasn’t been nearly long enough.

On a more personal note, I definitely cannot remember even most of the things that have happened in the last decade. I know I’ve read about five hundred books (closer to six hundred including graphic novels) because I’ve been tracking that since 2011. I’ve been tracking what I read for about a decade.

Left is books by year, middle is graphic novels by year, and right is the total of both.

I became decent at excel in the past few years. I went from not understanding this program at all to trying to find excuses to use it. I used to track all my reading in a notepad document, it looked like this:

As you can see: I only switched over in 2017. And it used to be a total pain because I would have to count all of the dates by hand. Hope I didn’t miscount. Then I’d be looking at my goodreads count and trying to figure out if that made sense against my personal count because I also didn’t count graphic novels as book-books back then and would sometimes mark them on goodreads. So I’d have to figure out how many I had inputted to goodreads to then make sure the two counts reconciled. It was a total nightmare. Now the computer counts for me.

And the reason I even became interested in excel is because of DnD which I have also gotten into in the last decade. It’s one of those things I had always been interested in but had no way to play or had false starts. A group came together a few years ago and we did some of the most fun, fulfilling, and emotional group-role-playing I have ever experienced. Our group has kind of disbanded now, and I’m trying to work on a campaign myself, but our first campaign is definitely one of the things I really cherish from the past few years. It’s definitely a highlight of the decade.

Speaking of meaningful role-plays. I got with my partner in the last decade, too. I’d feel weird getting all gushy about them here, but we’ve been doing written role-plays since before we figured out that we were a thing. They’re a constant source of inspiration to me and the things we create together are some of my favourite things in the world. At times there have been lulls between the things we make that really grab both of us, but this past year we started an AU of some of our characters and I think it’s safe to say we’re both in love with our little creation. Roach Squad is definitely the highlight of 2019 and I suspect it will continue to be the highlight of 2020. I don’t think we’ll be as aggressively into them by the time 2030 rolls around, but our original boys have persisted for the better part of the last decade (the Boys have been a thing since 2013 and we are still enjoying them, so I don’t doubt Roach Squad will persist, as well, but I imagine the next decade will give us a third group that we’re consumed with).

I’ve lost some friends in the past decade, and made some new, but find I don’t have the time to stay caught up with as many people as I used to. That used to be a thing I was good at. Toward the beginning of this decade, I’d regularly keep-up with at least a dozen people (by which I mean: talking to them daily). Now that number is at… maybe three or four people who I interact with daily (not counting group chats of which there is one). But if you’re reading this and we haven’t spoken in a while (“a while” could be years, honestly) and nothing really happened we just sort of stopped talking or hanging out: I still care about you. I hope your 2019 was more good than bad and that you have nice things to look back on in the last decade. Also hit me up, if you want to.

Overall I think the last decade has been pretty good. I’m thankful for all the good times with friends I’ve been able to have, all the sushi eaten and talks on long car rides. I’m thankful for the help I’ve gotten with housing and car situations that would have been outrageously stressful if I’d been dealing with them on my own. I’m thankful for all the creative people I’ve been able to meet and interact with, all the character ideas and moments we’ve shared through written role-plays, tabletop role-plays, and art.

 I hope the next decade can be as socially and creatively fulfilling as the last!

And at the end here, because I never do this and then I always look back and go “what even were my goals” I’m going to make a handy list of goals-discussed:

Draw one thing a month

Write for five minutes every day from an unplanned prompt

Read 100 books and continue with my one hour a day reading

Get my DnD campaign off the ground and keep it going (I don’t think I explicitly mentioned this above, but it’s a goal this year)

[scaryscarecrows]

Roots and Leaves

Eh, I liked this arc. Or. The pain this arc inflicted on people. :) ALL ABOARD THE ANGST TRAIN TO TRAGEDY TOWN, SUCKERS!

There’s rain above him, turning the dirt to slick mud that just keeps slipping through his fingers.

God no please not like this not like this-

He can’t breathe.

He can’t breathe and he knows that not a foot away is air-salvation-life, but he can’t breathe now and-and-

Please not like this-

And his fingers finally breach the topsoil, scrambling in the mud, blood drying in the wind.

* * *

A week earlier…

Jason suspects this wasn’t his brightest idea. Though, really, when your criteria for ‘should I?’ is ‘is it as bad as chasing after the Joker by myself?’…well…you get a lotta leeway, okay? Not many things are that bad.

Besides, it wasn’t for himself.

Okay, so it was a little bit, but not a lot, and…yeah, it was seventy-five percent case and twenty-five percent ‘has Bruce revoked my access yet?’

Answers: he found his perp in Bruce’s database, and he still has access to the Batcomputer’s (why is everything you own Bat-something, B, huh? How old are you, four?) files. Huh, look at that, B’s a sentimental bastard after all. Or he just spaced. That’s more likely. New Robin to train and all that.

Whatever.

He got a bit distracted, testing how far his access went, and ended up in his own files, because he’s a little morbidly curious as to what it says about…about. Y’know.

It was all so clinical, to the surprise of none. Bruce had apparently gone over that tape with a fine-toothed comb like the obsessive bastard he’s always been, and the only things missing were internal injuries and a few of the more subtle-yet-permanent damages like his shoulders. Things that aren’t obvious when you’re sitting quietly in a chair.

Fucker. Jason’s still wondering if Bruce spent more time cataloging the damn tape than he spent looking for him.

He’d been about to click out (he doesn’t want to drive all the way to Wayne Manor to punch Bruce in the face, he doesn’t, he swears on his own unused grave) when he’d spotted the ‘leads’ tab.

Eh. He probably put it there in case Alfred was looking over his shoulder or somethin’. Like bringing up a Wikipedia article when you were about to get busted playing Solitaire instead of working on your essay.

But Jason’d clicked on it, and, well…

Well.

It’s more extensive than he’d thought. He’s not sure how to feel about that. Bruce had been close, a couple’a times-questioned the right guards, even, if he’d just questioned ‘em again a month or two later, after the Joker bought ‘em off…

He hopes that fact keeps him up at night.

He continues to scroll. Lotta dead ends, lotta close calls, lotta where the hell did you get THAT idea? And he’s just about to sign out when his eyes flash across, of all places, the school Bruce’d left him at for all of three days after he caught him with that tire iron in hand.

Wasn’t that place closed?

Apparently not. Wow. Only in Gotham, man, only in Gotham-what’s that?

It’s a link to the ‘genetics’ page Bruce made him fill out at the very beginning. He’s still torn between finding a little creepy and admitting that it’s kinda practical. What’s interesting about it now, though, is that there’s been some editing done.

What the hell? Did some long-lost relative crop up? An amnesiac or something?

Sheila Haywood, the name reads. And next to it, relation-mother.

What? He feels his lips hitch up in that stupid rabbit-expression (he can’t help it, SHUT UP) he gets when he’s really confused. Mom (?) used to laugh and call him Bugs.

This makes no sense at all. Bruce must’a had a period of insanity or somethin’. He has exactly two parents (well, three and a half-Alfred counts as something and Bruce…once upon a time, maybe…), and this Sheila Haywood is not one of them. He even looks a bit like Catherine-same hair, same eyes.

But.

But Willis had those features too, didn’t he.

Jason shoves the laptop away from him and takes a few deep breaths. This is ridiculous. Bruce makes mistakes. Obviously-look at him, huh? This is one he hasn’t caught, that’s all. Hasn’t looked further because there’s no reason to look further. Sheila probably just…maybe she came forward looking for money or something, that’s a thing. Happens all the time.

He pulls the laptop back, after a few minutes, and opens the file. It’s not a big one-name, birthday, picture (he doesn’t look like her, she’s blonde and bright-eyed and pretty) and…associates.

Joker. Ah. That relationship is over, according to Bruce-there had been blackmail involved. Well, there’s that lead explained. Dead end, too. She’d been free of the clown for over a year, before Jason ever…

Bruce is mistaken. That’s all. Willis knew a lotta people, for fuck’s sake, he’d never been…Mom had always been upset. Y’know.

His hands are shaking and he doesn’t know why. This isn’t anything. This is a mistake, Bruce makes them all the time. Look at him. God, look at…look at Babs, if Bruce hadn’t made the mistake of givin’ Joker a thousand and one chances, she wouldn’t be…

Sheila Haywood smiles awkwardly at him from her driver’s license picture. The last time Bruce updated this file was…maybe six months after he disappeared. At the time, she’d been living in a middle-income apartment close to Gotham General-her place of work, apparently.

What does it matter anyway, huh? Catherine was his mom, even at the end when she barely recognized him anymore. And she hadn’t done somethin’ stupid enough to get Joker-blackmail, either. So there.

He mashes the little red ‘X’ in the corner and flings himself backwards to reach his bottle of Fanta (Fanta, don’t ya want-a?). Fucking Bruce. Why does he have to leave that kinda stuff lyin’ around, huh? It’s over. It’s done. Archive it or whatever and find somethin’ new to brood over. Like Dick’s poor fashion choices. (His hair’s growing dangerously near mullet territory again…if he steps one spandex-clad toe into Crime Alley, Jason’s tackling him and taking an electric razor to that before it can evolve into its final form. Never again. Gotham doesn’t deserve that.) Priorities, old man. Priorities.

His Fanta’s half-flat and he scowls, blames Bruce for distracting him and making him forget to drink it while it was still bubbly, and takes a sad swig anyway.

As it turns out, the Fanta isn’t all that flat and with his head hanging partly off the couch, it, uh, gets near his nose. The fizzy feeling makes him gag and jam his tongue against the roof of his mouth to try and stop it.

He should’ve just had tea. Soda’s too much risk.

He sets the bottle aside, glares at it so it knows its blame, and stretches. There’s a neat pop-pop-pop along his spine, followed by a nasty knock in his right hip that forces a startled gasp out of him, and then blessed silence.

Well. For Gotham. Somebody’s screaming at somebody in traffic below.

Never change…

Mom used to shut the window, even if that made it stifling inside. Said she didn’t want Jason picking up any of those words. Joke was on her, a little bit-the ancient Russian lady that used to watch him now and then taught him everything he ever needed to know. Bruce…had not been enthused when Jason’s ‘I know Russian!’ turned out to mean ‘I know how to tell you, your dog, and your mother-in-law to fuck a rotten egg in Russian!’

What? He hadn’t specified.

His computer glows at him, the background of Jane Austen’s signature looking starker than ever, and he lets his head fall completely off the couch, feels the blood start rushing to it.

Sheila Haywood is, uh, Joker-free now, right? Not working with Harley Quinn or whatever? Harley can be scary as fuck when she wants to be.

It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter, it is completely irrelevant to him. Bruce made a mistake. It happens. Or the Replacement had that idea. Or Dick. Yes. That’s all.

But he’s still going to check, because he always checks on past Joker associates, in case they’re sleepers or anything. Look at that one infected guy…Henry or whatever.

S’a matter of public safety. That’s all.

[sserpente]

A/N: Request from @lokisgirl5, anon and @reebgirl13. I don’t know what Christmas markets in your places are like, my dear readers—it might be different, I simply took inspiration from what they look like in my place. xD

Words: 2252 Warnings: smut

Loki sat on the armchair he had claimed as his. One of his long fingers lazily moved over his thin lips in a concentrated manner, his legs slightly parted as he buried his nose in an old and battered book. The pages were yellowed already and yet, he didn’t seem to be able to tear his blue gaze away from the ancient words written on them.

You had been watching him for quite a while now, pretending to focus on the screen of your laptop und slurping a hot cup of tea but thus far, the most exciting thing had been him turning a page only to go back to the previous one the fraction of a second after, frowning at the text critically.

Now where was all of that mischief and charming cheekiness Thor had spoken of? The cunning the Avengers had warned you about? You’d much rather he tried to escape again than just ignoring your presence and getting lost in his own world. What was he reading anyway?

Either way, you almost felt sorry for him. It was Christmas soon and Tony and the superheroes had taken the day off to go out together. Fancy restaurant, exclusive bar… the billionaire had spared no expenses to enjoy a pre-Christmas dinner with his friends.

Someone, however, had to watch Loki, making sure he didn’t bolt and do something incredibly stupid like trying to take over the planet yet again. It was understandable how they hated him so much, happy about not having him join their day off and ruin it.

Thor had shot him a compassionate glance, shrugging his shoulders in an apologetic manner but Strange could be awfully persuasive—keep him locked away in the manor and keep an eye on him at all times until he has proven himself. Until then… treat him like a wild animal with no brains. Fine, the last part you had phrased yourself but technically, they were the truth.

“Do you want to go out?” The question had left your lips before you could properly think it through. Just because you were in charge for the night and Tony was gone, it didn’t mean you could throw all of his rules overboard and make up your own.

You were definitely, under no circumstances, allowed to let Loki outside. Well, fuck those rules.

The God of Mischief looked up in surprise, his blue eyes locking with yours. “I beg your pardon?”

“I said… do you want to go out? You know… taking a walk, going shopping, ice skating, whatever.” He must have been bored by sitting in this armchair twenty-four hours a day, reading book after book after book until he could recite them by heart.

Loki tilted his head.

“I know I’m technically not allowed to let you outside but you can’t just sulk in here.” Your face lighting up, you pointed your finger at him. “I know what we’re gonna do. Have you ever been to a Christmas market?”

Frowning, he leaned forward, setting his book aside.

“I have not. What about Stark?” He asked, hiding a smug smirk. He was overly amused by this, you could clearly tell he was. Strangely, the exciting sparkling in his blue eyes made your stomach clench. A plane took off in your belly, flying one looping after another.

You quickly cleared your throat.

“Rules are made to be broken, where would be all of the fun if you didn’t? Out of all people you should know that best, Trickster.” You chirped winking, standing to put on your winter coat. You doubted Loki would have to dress warmly but you still handed him one of Tony’s black jackets along with one of your scarfs—the green one. It seemed fitting and you were quite surprised he was anything but reluctant to have you dragging him through the crowded city, which, at this time of the year, was going crazy with last minute shoppers for presents.

You knew it was risky. For all you knew, Loki could overbear you in a heartbeat. If he decided to make good use of your friendliness now, you would be unable to stop him—but you trusted him and oddly, you believed he was aware you did. You only hoped it was not a mistake.

Your sorrows quickly evaporated into thin air when you took in the alluring scent of glühwein, roasted almonds and sweet chestnuts. The Christmas market was booming. Stands of all kind—from winter equipment to snow globes and crib figures made of wood—invited to stroll through and admire the crafting.

You resisted the urge to take his hand. Loki was walking beside you silently, one half of his face covered by your green scarf. No one had recognised him as of yet and you sincerely hoped it would remain that way. You both deserved a little peace, besides, Tony wouldn’t take kindly in breaking news such as ‘war criminal Loki spotted drinking eggnog in New York City’.

“It is beautiful,” Loki remarked, admiring the many Christmas lights above him. Every single tree was decorated, glowing icicles hanging from the roofs of the stands.

“Much better than reading, huh?” Pausing, he turned his head to you, drinking in your well wrapped up form. You looked like an actual polar explorer and judging by the cloudy sky above you, it would most likely start snowing again soon.

His expression somewhat softened upon seeing you smiling up to him, this time not hesitating to interlace your fingers with his and pull him towards one of the stands.

You ordered two glühwein and watched the owner of the stand handing you two paper cups filled with a dark red and steaming liquid after accepting your money. It smelled downright delicious.

Wiggling your eyebrows, you gave one of them to Loki.

“It’s hot wine with cinnamon, lemon and sugar.” You explained quickly, already nipping at yours. You had missed this. Drinking it with Loki though, it had never tasted better.

“Wine with sugar?” He repeated, raising his voice a little before tasting it. A giggle escaped your lips when he licked his lips and nodded. “I like it.”

“I thought you might. After all, I kind of owe you after my fudge disaster last week.”

Loki gave you a knowing smile—in fact, you had never seen him smile like this before. Making your own fudge for Christmas was a tradition you had inhabited from your mother. The God of Mischief had a sweet tooth, which was probably the reason you had started your own sticky mission in the first place.

You had promised him a plate full of it all to himself—until the Avengers had spotted the treats in the kitchen and ate them all up without asking or leaving but a crumb.

“Perhaps I should have you for dessert instead, (Y/N). Do tell, would you taste sweeter?”

Blinking, your eyes widened, a shy smirk spreading on your lips. Oh… what? “Are you flirting with me? I shouldn’t have given you glühwein.” And still, your heart skipped a beat. Where was this coming from? You hated yourself for suspecting he might want to distract you to get away, yet the silly girl inside you was flattered by his bold remark.

“You are the only one spending time with me without being forced to. I wonder why that is.” He teased, smirking mischievously.

He couldn’t know. You didn’t even know yourself. Was there… more? Your fascination with him went beyond healthy, that you were aware of but actual feelings? You had practically reached for his hand only minutes ago.

Busted, you bit your lower lip.

“You’re not that bad, Loki.” I like you.

“Am I right?”

You were shaking. Fine, it was the cold, the glühwein barely helping to warm your frozen limbs. Was he right?

“What if you were?”

Loki smirked. He knew he had won. Smiling to himself, he emptied his cup and watched you do the same before you made your way back to the manor. It was getting dark already—Tony and the others would be back soon and you hardly wanted to be caught outside.

Time had passed fast, especially while talking to Loki, walking in the snow which had started to fall.

“God, I’m freezing!” You exclaimed when the door fell shut behind you.

You were trembling by the time you finally returned, with you barely making an effort to properly hang up your coat in the wardrobe. At least you had made it in time.

What you needed right now was a hot shower or even better, a hot bath that would warm you up, defrosting your limbs and relaxing with a good book and some music.

“I’m gonna take a bath. Go now if you need something because I’ll lock the d—“

Loki seemed to have different plans though. A surprised scream escaped your lips when he suddenly yanked you against his body so you collided with his rock-hard chest, his lips devouring yours in a heated moment of buzzing passion.

His tongue invaded your mouth, granting himself access to taste yours. Your eyes fell shut, electric shocks rippling through your veins, stealing your ability to think. This was not how you had planned for this trip to end. Not that you were complaining—you finally admitted it. You were crushing on Loki, you were falling for this mischievous god and now, he was eagerly taking what you offered him.

“Let me warm you up,” he purred seductively, his hot breath brushing against your earlobes. He pressed his lips against your neck, tasting your skin, nibbling to leave a love bite. Knowing it would put on display what he was doing to you sent a surging heat right between your legs—a cunning place to which he slowly sneaked a hand to cup your sex through your pants.

You gasped audibly when he pushed you against the cool wall in the hallway, trapping you between it and his body. He growled when his growing erection poked your thighs, his hand working frantically to slide into your pants.

A moan escaped your lips when he succeeded, his cold and long fingers toying with your pussy lips and teasing your slit. You were wet. You were soaking wet.

“Are you… are you actually going to do this? Loki… I don’t think that’s a good idea.” A good idea to get attached. Sharing something this intimate with him… would you be able to bear it if the two of you didn’t work out? You doubted it would. Loki was an actual God—he could have anyone—someone immortal, most of all and yet… he had just kissed you senseless. You!

“Thor and the others will be back any minute. We could get caught!” You continued, fear glistening in your eyes along with… excitement? Thrill?

“You trust me, do you not?” Loki only whispered in response, his blue eyes never leaving yours when he started moving his fingers, collecting some of your slick arousal to spread it over your clit and then circle it lazily.

“I-I do.” Of course you did. You had taken him outside although the Avengers had bloody forbidden it… and he hadn’t run away. Loki was still here—currently, with his hands where you hadn’t even known you wanted him the most.

“Then try to keep quiet, pet.” With that, he kissed you once more, this time so gently you practically melted under his touches. His fingers never ceased to massage your sensitive bundle of nerves until you writhed against him, begging for more friction. Every stroke sent you flying higher and higher until you were moaning shamelessly, your own fingers digging into his shoulders for support.

Loki’s lips parted as he watched you, lust and desire prominent in his blue eyes. He had seen the fascination radiating off you when you thought he didn’t notice your interested staring but now… now he was the one being fascinated.

You were careless, helpless, defenceless and hopelessly high on pleasure—pleasure he gifted you. The thought had his aching member twitch in his tight leather pants. He needed to have you.

His movements grew faster, more intense, two of his long digits burying themselves deep inside your core to curl right where you needed it. The slick sounds of your dripping pussy resembled music in his ears and only added to your arousal when you tensed, your whole body preparing for an explosion of pure bliss.

You screamed his name when you came undone for him, clenching around his fingers and rocking your hips against his hand until your legs failed to support you any longer. Shaking, you threatened to fall to the ground if it wasn’t for Loki to catch you and lift you up.

“Are you warm now, pet?” He asked, smirking and winking at you. Unable to respond properly, you simply nodded out of breath, glaring up at him in joyful anticipation. “Bathroom?”

“Bathroom…”

He chuckled darkly as he locked you both inside, licking his lips before removing your clothes.

“(Y/N)? Loki? We’re back!” Thor’s voice. Stopping dead in your tracks for only a brief moment, you listened to the door being opened and several footsteps in the hallway.

The God of Mischief brought a finger to his lips—one of the fingers that had been deep inside you only seconds ago. You swallowed thickly, grinning at him.

Breaking the rules definitely was fun. You’d learned from your own lesson today.

[deztinywarriors]

ES Spectre Interlock Chapter 31-40

[chroniclesofawkwardness]

Concentrate on Her Boobs (Ignore the Snake)

After I discovered Kristina had lied, I fell into a creative abyss that lasted for months. I couldn’t write. I didn’t want to. All I wanted was to self-isolate and dream of ways to punish myself for my stupidity. Kristina had told me one hell of a tall tale, but I couldn’t silence the voice in my head that told me I was partially to blame for what happened or break free from the clutches of guilt that restrained me, making it impossible to move beyond the catfish experience and handle the emotions that swelled up within me because of it.

The walls of the abyss bore scars from my bad habits. I saw both ancient and unfinished hieroglyphics of my porn addiction -- picture Cleopatra and Mark Antony going at it in the world’s first sex tape, recorded around 43 BC -- and streaks of hand chalk left behind from thousands of hours of mental gymnastics -- time spent rehearsing rather than facing my problems. 

I felt the slaps in the face from Zs. that came after I hadn’t run the vacuum or cleaned our apartment exactly the way she wanted. I knew I was in trouble, but I couldn’t run to the cops with a battered fiancée story and expect them to believe me. I toughed it out with Zs. much longer than I should have. “If this is love,” I thought, “I’ll just hard pass on the real thing, and focus on getting hard in front of the laptop. There, I can find men and women doing to each other anything I want to see. It won’t cost me a dime of either monetary or emotional investment. The best part is, they won’t yell at me or shut me out.” 

I remembered the conversation I had with a stranger in 2005, on a plane from Oklahoma City to St. Louis. At the time, I was despondent over losing my best friend. There was no way the stranger could have known it, but our conversation saved my life. When I got back to my small studio apartment in Ohio, I looked at myself in the mirror and held a knife to my throat for several minutes; I seriously considered ending it all with one slashing motion. 

I couldn’t do it.

Why? 

I thought about my mom, my grandpa, and the stranger who cared. 

Further down, I saw some words of the notes from the girlfriend I had in seventh grade scrawled on the walls. I saw Sasha’s hand passing Maria’s messages to me at the end of each of those three strange days. 

Despite having been largely scratched out and drawn over through the years, I could read bits and pieces of Maria’s note from the first day. She said we should go to the movies and not to worry because her mom would be able to drive us. I heard the voices of my football-player classmates whispering, encouraging me to sit next to Maria in her junior-high cheerleader outfit at lunch.

I didn’t have the balls to make a move. I decided to deal with the tension of the unknown by busting a nut (a favorite pastime) as soon as I had a moment alone. I should have leaned into the experience and absorbed it rather than opting for a momentary sexual release. 

And on the third day, they became friends.

I should have thought of my first real breakup as an opportunity to become a better, more attractive man. Unfortunately, I took the easy road -- a road I’d travel almost every day for the next twenty-five years. Instead of honestly dealing with what I was feeling and why I wrapped myself in the cocoon of my CD collection and the isolation of my room. 

I felt my hands shaking on the day of my First Holy Communion, as I held the challis containing what only minutes earlier had been cheap wine or grape juice. Through transubstantiation, they said, it wasn’t Welch’s I was drinking; it was the precious, soul-saving blood of Christ. The story in that book of basic instructions before leaving earth would have had me believe that Jesus died for my sins even though we’d never met. 

If my tremors and stage fright (somebody in my family had a camcorder) were any indications, I wasn’t all-in. More than likely, I just wanted it to be over.

And on the third day, he hesitated.  

I thought Kristina was going to fix all this and more. It was a task as tall as the tale she told me to get me hooked. Despite my initial and lingering reservations, I was prepared to act in real life as though what she’d told me exclusively online was the truth. Unwittingly, through social media, I’d given her the tools to craft a 50 Shades of Dave story, a yarn of Literotica I couldn’t resist because she’d spun it specifically for me. My ego loved it. It was like having my life read back to me with erotic episodes I’d desired for as long as I could ejaculate spliced in. I may have lived the bare bones of the story, but (one speech bubble at a time) Kristina and I added the sexual tension that made it fly off my mental shelves.  

Our interaction was as white-hot as it was brief. After it was over, what kept me falling further and further into the abyss was not so much wondering why Kristina did what she did, as it was defining and accepting the part I played in my own unraveling, long after Kristina had moved on to her next target. I’m almost positive the buzzing noises I heard coming from her phone during some of our conversations were not the sounds of siblings concerned for their sister but of the cat(fish)woman tearing her hooks into the virtual flesh of other would-be lovers.

Eve may have pointed her man toward the forbidden fruit of the tree of knowledge at the serpent’s urging, but Adam still took a bite of the apple. Yes, God conveniently forgot to warn Adam about the temptation of Eve, but Adam did nothing to stop it. He just stood there. When he realized he was naked after taking a bite of the apple, he didn’t own up to it, he ran off. 

Such is the power of a woman’s love over a man, whether she truly feels it or not. if a man is willing to act as if his woman is the only woman in the world (even if she was at the time), she wins. At that point, she should run off too. I’m not saying women are evil, only that Adam failed the world’s first shit test. Eve, intentionally or not, conquered her man. I’d guess that all she wanted was to conquer someone who could not be so easily conquered. Kristina conquered me. Like Adam, I didn’t stand up to temptation. Instead, I looked for validation in her. Like Adam, I didn’t find it. When the jig was up, Adam hid in the bushes, I hid within myself. 

I didn’t send her any money (she never asked), so I didn’t suffer an embarrassing financial loss. What played in my head on repeat (like my childhood copies of Nirvana’s Unplugged in New York and Soundgarden’s Superunknown that I loved to lose myself in) were questions like: “How could I have been so blind?” I didn’t want to tell my family or friends that I’d not only lusted after a woman I’d never seen but also fallen almost entirely under her spell from half a world away.  

I didn’t want to own up the fact that I felt like both a victim and a participant in a blatantly obvious love scam, a type of fraud I’d once been dedicated to preventing, a type of fraud I swore would never happen to me. The easiest thing to do was fall back on old habits (watching porn, waiting for something, anything, to happen on screen or off) and let good ones (working out frequently and cooking a lot of my own meals) go. That’s what I almost did. 

I wanted nothing more than to avoid responsibility and revert back to a shy, awkward teenager who had a ton of potential but was squandering it away one ejaculation at a time. I wanted nothing more than to be a thirty-eight-year-old Peter Pan. I felt I already had the part about eschewing the challenge a relationship with a real, good-quality woman (like Peter Pan does with Wendy) down pat. Kristina had been my Tinkerbell.  

If I’d followed my originally scheduled timeline, I would have quit my job almost exactly three weeks to the day before I started working from home during the COVID-19 pandemic, a time that has challenged family and economic structures alike. 

After about a month, I slowly began to open up to those around me about what had happened. I still felt like a dumbass, but finally getting the experience off of my chest eased the pain of lovesickness. I began to write Words and Fishes by hand, in the college-ruled platypus notebook Matt had given me for Christmas. At the start, I wasn’t as consistent with writing as I’d told myself I would be. Reliving the whole experience with Kristina was the last thing I wanted to do, which was exactly why I needed to do it. Before I could truly move on, I needed to sink as deeply as possible into the wound she left (as well as any others I’d find along the way) then claw my way back to the surface of my reality.  

The demons you face down don’t stay down without a fight. 

As one page grew into two, two into three and so on, began to feel like a bigger fraudster than Kristina. I realized that despite my largely stoic exterior, I would close the curtains, open my laptop, and consume my favorite wounded-soul food at the slightest sign of adversity. I’d have conversations with myself, out loud, about my nonexistent relationship with my dad instead of truly setting myself free from his expectations. I’d curse myself for setting free my dying cat and letting her live out the last of her days unencumbered, as she was meant to. 

Why?

This was what I’d always done. 

I’d always let the stories of the abyss circulate in my mind without demanding anything in return. Maria didn’t break my heart at thirteen, Kristina didn’t almost shatter me at thirty-eight. Sure, they may have ripped off Band-Aids covering my wounds, but I lost both games before I could play long enough to skin my knee. 

Why?

I wasn’t living my life the way I was meant to and I knew it. The streaks of chalk on the walls from years of mental gymnastics didn’t get there by themselves. I used to spend hours in mental preparation for a war that would never come. I valued the mental reps I’d give myself so much because they made me feel like I’d accomplished something without demanding that I actually do anything. Maybe that’s why I was such a good storyteller. I knew the stories I told would live only in Neverland and only as long as I was telling them. Maybe I decided I didn’t have to face my reality as long as I could create another one, even if those weren’t the words I would have used to describe my storytelling as a kid. 

By early May, I was starting to feel like I’d put most of the experience behind me. I didn’t delete the conversation Kristina and I had from Google Hangouts because I thought I might want to look back at it during the process of writing Words and Fishes, but I’d finally stopped letting an every-waking-minute obsession with analysis permeate all my thoughts. That is until I got that email: a message that convinced me Kristina was back with a vengeance. Had she sold my email address on the black market? Were the seeds of my online stupidity finally beginning to bear fruit in the real world?  

The email said someone had used an Apple ID associated with my email address to log in to an iPhone 11 in Sydney, Australia. I had three immediate problems with this:

1.) I don’t have an Apple ID. 2.) I've never been to Australia. 3.) My email address didn't exactly match the one listed in the message, so why was I getting it?

Even though Kristina said she lived in Western Australia; even though I’d avoided a potential financial loss by not sending her any money, I’d also convinced myself that catfish didn’t let their prey go easily. For months, I’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop. After such emotional “bonding” Kristina probably considered me an easy mark. 

Around the same time, I started getting breaking news and other email alerts from The Mercury, a daily newspaper published in Hobart, Tasmania, Australia. Rather than unsubscribing or reporting spam straight away, I let my mental gymnast have more time on the mats. 

If Kristina really did sell my email address on the black market, what else did she sign me up for? What else will be waiting for me in my inbox?

During my darkest days after the fantasy I’d constructed with Kristina disintegrated, I went so far as to seriously entertain the idea that she may have been involved in human trafficking. Kristina may not have asked me for money, but she did ask me to come to Australia with her. Catfish do what they do for a reason, right? I began to believe that had I agreed to come with her, I could have easily been abducted at either the JFK or Perth airports by someone promising to take me to Kristina. It may read like a scene from a Hollywood movie, but so did almost everything else Kristina and I talked about. 

Eventually, cooler (bigger) heads prevailed. After some basic online searching, I decided the most likely explanation for the Australian emails I was receiving was a simple typo rather than a sinister plot. Since the format of the email address mentioned in those emails was so close to mine, I reasoned that whoever linked it to an Apple ID and subscribed to emails from The Mercury had remembered the email address they wanted  (mine) when they created their account instead of the one they actually got. 

If only the story ended there. 

Almost a month later, I got another scare in Words With Friends. One Sunday morning, a random opponent started a game with me. She didn’t have any all-time wins since she’d only started playing that same day according to her stats. What she did have was a very provocative profile picture, one that seemed too good to be true. I found it hilarious, and texted Ana (an opponent with whom I’ve struck up a friendship over years of playing), to tell her about my latest challenger, who claimed to be none other than Angela White.

Angela White seemed like a generic or stage name. Ana Googled the image and found that it matched one of Angela White, an Australian (of course) porn star.

Angela wore a black, skintight, one-piece bathing suit. The look on her face would have surely led straight to the type of temptation they warned me about in Catholic school. 

Across her shoulders was a massive African Rock Python, the kind of snake only an expert (or idiot) would handle. God may have been taking a break from watching humanity trash the planet to stand behind the camera for the temptation of Angela, which was as much an updated twist on the temptation of Eve as a symbol of both the excess and accessibility of such temptation in the modern age.  

The snake’s head was positioned in such a way that it could have easily deflated one of Angela’s gargantuan breasts (gifts from God or work of surgeon hands, with one strike).  

Ana saved me from another round of mental gymnastics by texting me something I’ll never forget as long as I live: “concentrate on her boobs, ignore the snake😂”. She later admitted that this was something she sent me without thinking. It was perfect. Following Ana’s advice, I concentrated on Angela’s boobs for one move before I reported whoever was really behind the profile as an impersonator, which ended the game. 

Just like Eve, I should have ignored the snake. Just like Adam, when presented with a beautiful woman, I didn’t. The image represented my struggle to reclaim my humanity and masculinity when presented with challenges of either God’s or my own creation.

I had no choice but to make a choice. I chose to rise to the occasion once and for all. 

[just-another-tortured-poet]

My crappy Literature teacher or why I don’t give a single F.

Okay, so a little heads up first. For those of you who do not like long rants and lots of venting – you might want to skip this. For the ones that are intrigued – here it goes but it’s long.

*Might contain Harry Potter references!

So, here begins my extremely angry rant:

This is a story featuring a presentation about the monuments of Ancient Greece, another about the Greek mythology in the arts and a crappy teacher. Hope you find it interesting! :)

We'll need the names of three of my classmates. We’ll name them  Narcissa, Bella and Lilly. And of course there's also the crappy Literature teacher – we’ll name her Mrs. Umbridge.

First I’ll start off by telling you guys about the schedule. We have classes with Umbridge twice a week: two hours on Tuesday and one on Friday.

So, last week the teacher says: "I want two teams of two people each to make presentations about the Greek mythology in the arts and about the monuments of Ancient Greece.".

So Narcissa and Bella were picked to do the presentation about the myths featured in the arts. And me and Lilly had to make the one about the monuments. These tasks were given on Tuesday last week (3rd of October).

Fast forward to the evening of Friday (the 6th of October) when I got sick. For two days and a half I had a fever and couldn't get out of bed (believe me this is relevant).

Originally the presentations were for Tuesday (the 10th of October), but I was still ill and didn't go to school. However, I was feeling a lot better on Wednesday. So when i woke up I started working on the presentation. I wrote about Athens, the Acropolis, the Parthenon and Sparta and made the Powerpoint presentation with the pictures and everything.

Over the next two days I wrote about Alexandria, the Library of Alexandria and about the lighthouse of Alexandria. Lilly wrote about Theba, Ephesus, Pergam and the mausoleum in Halicarnas.

 Also the other two girls had done their presentation while i was sick and, as I found out from Lilly, it was only five minutes long. And sure enough I'm thinking "We're putting so much effort into this! We're gonna crush them!" and I start working even harder and feel even more motivated than I already was.

So anyway, Friday the 13th comes, Lilly and I are ready to present our work, that had taken us THREE WHOLE DAYS, we have overcome the technical problems and everything is ready.

The first two hours on Friday we had Informatics. Literature was our third class. So we walk into the classroom, both overwhelmed and anxious because the teacher is awful and scary, and over the ten-minute break we set my laptop up, connect it to the projector – you know, all the technical stuff..

And then the bell rings. The teacher walks in and Lilly and I are already on the board, ready to start. Then the teacher gives us a nasty, poisonous look and says "Sit down, first we have to do some work". We do so and it's finally our turn to talk.  And please, note that until the end of the class there were 25 minutes left (this is also important).

So before we start two girls from another class get called in by the teacher to listen to us and see "how they should have done their presentation". Lilly starts by greeting everyone and introducing the topic. Then I read what I had written about Athens, the Acropolis and the Parthenon. Just as I was about to continue about Sparta,  it happened. The teacher interrupted me with the words "Okay, that's enough! You should have made your presentation much shorter! This is not the way you should have done it! Why didn't you tell us about every pebble in Athens?! Your classmates are bored and don’t want to listen to you anymore!".And that was said with the nastiest tone EVER. Now, I wasn’t really looking at my classmates because I’m usually horrified of speaking in front of an audience bigger than 10 people… But I couldn’t help myself but think “Are my classmates bored, or are you?”. The presentation wasn't even that long! It was 15 slides – this is totally appropriate! Plus, I did my part of the project under my mother's guidance, as the woman does a sh** load of presentations, because she's a professor in university. So she f***ing knows how it’s done!

So the crappy teacher makes us pass on to something else. We had a lot more things we'd written about, and we read about two sentences about each, as she was rudely interrupting us and making us go faster. Then she told us to sit down. And I could already feel the tears in my eyes and I was trying super hard not to cry and to not have a mental breakdown in front of the whole class. Meanwhile Umbridge was explaining to us that it should've been shorter, that we should've presented it in FIVE minutes etc.

But the thing is she had given us this plan with all those cultural monuments and she didn't tell us to pick just one! Or even just two! She told us to "make a presentation about the most famous monuments of Ancient Greece" – in general. And that's exactly what we did! First of all, it is impossible to present all that in only five minutes. Second of all, she didn't specify she wanted it to be five minutes long. I AM NOT A BLOODY MIND READER OR PSYCHIC OR SOMETHING!!! GET YOUR SH** TOGETHER MRS. UMBRIDGE!!!

Then she proceeded to humiliate me and Lilly, saying we didn't follow her instructions properly and was asking the class to confirm she had, in fact, specified about the bloody five minutes. Everyone said "Yes", because she was already really mad with us and the others didn't want to make it worse. And do have in mind that I was legitimately tearing up at this point. So the teacher asked me "Why are you reacting in such a manner, Antonia? Why are you so upset? That happens when you don't follow my instructions properly. You've no right to be upset!". So naturally I said that I'm not upset, but my trembling voice gave me away. So Mrs. Umbridge says "Yes, you are upset. You're crying." in front the whole class. Like I wasn’t humiliated enough already! While she was talking I managed to take a deep breath and answer "Nope. I'm fine".

As I said, when we started with the presentation  we had about 25 minutes left ‘til the end of the class. With Lilly we wouldn't have taken more than 15-20 minutes tops. In reality we were up in front of the class for less than 10 minutes. Then Mrs. Umbridge spent around 15 minutes being disappointed form us for “disobeying” her. Did she realize that for those 15 minutes we could’ve finished with our bloody presentation?!?

So anyway, finally she turned to Narcissa and Bella and tells them "Lilly and Antonia were better during their presentation than you." And Narcissa said she knew that. Then Mrs. Umbridge said "Nevertheless, I'm going to give you girls A's and Lilly and Antonia get only pluses." Now, I don’t mean to be rude but… What the actual f**k?!? I don't have any problems with Narcissa,  nor with Bella, but they’re both kinda lazy and careless when it comes to such things. And I knew that their presentation was very badly put together. And after the class with the monster, they admitted that they had worked on it for about only 30 minutes and had only four sentences. Again, what the f**k??? Lilly and I are busting our a**es for THREE FULL DAYS to put our “lecture” together properly and we only get pluses?!? While the girls with the sloppy lecture get A’s??? PISS OFF!!! This is not okay. Also, have in mind that this teacher is so terrifying that we were both legitimately trembling!  I hate classes with her. I love Literature as a subject, but I am genuinely terrified of her. Just like Neville was terrified of Snape. That woman is my boggart… AND THIS IS NOT OKAY!!!

Mrs. Umbridge is the reason why I want to become a teacher one day – so I can be one of those really cool teachers who communicate normally with the kids. I wand to be a teacher to make sure that there isn’t even one kid who’s afraid of a teacher!

By the way, do you realize what else this horrible woman did? As my mom later said, the teacher offended everyone. Me and Lilly, because, first of all she was constantly interrupting us. Second of all, she tried to explain to us that things should be done sloppy and at the last moment. Then she offended the whole class, by explaining to us how they all “got bored”, and finally -  Bella and Narcissa by telling them that their presentation basically… sucked. This is not how you treat kids. It's not okay. Just because you have some power over a group of people, even if it consists of children, you are allowed to torment them.

When you get a little bit of power over someone and treat them awfully, dominate them and act as if they’re lower forms of life than you, that speaks volumes about you as a person. It shows how pathetic you actually are! And, for people like Mrs. Umbridge, who feel the need to show their power over CHILDREN  (I can not stress this enough) and make them afraid to go into class – I’ve no words to describe them.  This woman is also an awful teacher – just like Umbridge herself. She makes a plan for each lesson, dictates a few things that we should write down on the sheet of paper and makes us study it. She literally once said “I do not want you to have your own opinions when it comes to literature. When you think on your own you make mistakes. That’s why you’ll be studying by the plans I give and dictate to you!”. I really hate to reapeat myself but… What the actual f**k???

Another time me and my BFF went up to Mrs. Umbridge to ask her why she hadn’t put Poseidon next to all the other major Gods (we are studying Greek mythology) and she says “Poseidon is a minor God just like the Oceanides and  Triton”. HELLO, HAVE YOU EVEN READ THE GREEK MYTHOLOGY?!? It is specifically said that Poseidon is equal with his brothers Zeus and Hades – they are the Big Three Gods (I’m getting off topic again, sorry). Of course I could say that people like that are a part of the school system that wants to literally produce identical people who aren’t able to think outside of the box, don’t have any imagination and are, overall, identical etc. etc., but I feel like this is a totally different topic.

Anyway, I had a bit of a lyrical deviation here. Anyway, where was I? Ah, yes. Mrs. Umbridge gave Bella and Narcissa A’s. At that point there were like 10-fifteen minutes left until the end of this bloody Hell. So she proceeded with giving us back the tests we had done week and a half before all that (maybe a bit irrelevant, but oh well). And I was still fighting with the need to burst out crying, by the way.

Anyway, after the class my mom came to school to take my laptop home ‘cause it was heavy and stuff. Now imagine me walking down the street to the spot where my mum had parked her car and crying my eyes out, because I finally had the opportunity to.. Pathetic, right? Though I wasn’t crying because I was sad or upset or something – I was angry and I was feeling sort of… victimized? I was angry because I had worked so hard for literally days, just to be told that, and those are Mrs. Umbridge’s exact words “Quantity doesn’t necessarily equal quality. You should learn to accept criticism!” Excuse me? We had quantity but we also definitely had quality! The fact that you were in a crappy mood or had a bad day or whatever, or you were determined to make our day a living Hell and didn’t want to bloody listen to us, doesn’t mean that we did not have quality! For God’s sake, you didn’t even listen to half of the things we said! Given that, how can you form an opinion?!? Besides, I am able to take criticism. Just as long it’s not pointless and it’s constructive. Key word – constructive. But in this case the criticism was anything but constructive! I was f***ing pissed off because I had worked really hard and my bloody effort was not appreciated! THAT is what pissed me off!

Mrs. Umbridge has also been been very unfair with my BFF.

My friend Luna and a classmate of hers, Lizzie, had to do the presentation about the mythology fetured in the arts. Naturally they presented sculptures and paintings by well-known painters. And of course they had also put tons of effort into finding the pictures and thinking of what exactly to say. And what did Mrs. Umbridge tell them? That they should have presented modern art inspired by the Greek mythology. WTF??? I WANNA THROW THAT WOMAN IN TARTARUS SO BAD!!

So yeah. Basically this is the story of how, after another nervous breakdown because of this shitty teacher, I decided to not give a f*** anymore.Besides, even though the whole rant was really angry, I think I actually managed to get the best out of this whole thing. I mean, I genuinely had a good time making the project and learning new things! :)

Hmmm... Maybe I used the word “presentation” too many times and I had a few “lyrical” deviations – sorry ‘bout that. XD I realize that probably nobody gives a damn about all that but I just needed to vent and rant, I guess. :)

P. S.: To whoever read this ‘til the end – thanks and sorry if I bored you to death. But I warned in the beginning that it was gonna be long. Also, if you have similar experiences – feel free to share your story!

Also… if you need to vent or just want to talk to someone  – you can message me anytime! :)))

P. S. 2: By the way, I sincerely hope the next story I share is gonna be a lot more amusing and a lot less angry! :)))

[anavoliselenu]

Heart of stone chapter 4

I stepped into the elevator of my apartment building, punched the number for my floor, and watched the doors slowly close. I leaned against the back wall and closed my eyes. It had been hours since my conversation with Justin Stone, yet my head was still reeling from our encounter. I didn’t know what had come over me. I really needed to talk to Allyson.

 I was just about to insert my key into the door of my apartment when I heard my cell phone ring. I reached into my purse for my phone and gingerly answered the call, being extra careful not to slice my finger open on the cracked screen.

 “Hello?”

 “Hello, may I speak with Miss Selena Cole please?” asked pleasant female voice.

 “This is Miss Cole.”

 “Miss Cole, this is Laura Kaufman calling from Turning Stone Advertising. We received your résumé and we’re interested in setting up an interview with you for a position in our marketing department.”

 That’s strange.

 I had never heard of Turning Stone Advertising. I wondered how they got a hold of my résumé. Either way, beggars can’t be choosers, as job interviews had been few and far between.

 “I would like that very much. When would you like to meet?” I asked her, stepping into my apartment and quietly closing the door behind me.

 “Does tomorrow morning at nine o’clock work for you?” Laura politely asked. I mentally ran through my schedule at Wally’s. I was scheduled off for the next two days.

 “That’s perfect. Can you please tell me where you’re located?” I figured that was an important place to start, considering I knew nothing at all about the company. I quickly went to the kitchen and pulled a pad of paper and a pen out of one of the drawers.

 Laura rattled off an address in the financial district then said, “Just go to the security desk in the lobby and ask for me. The guard will tell you where to go from there.”

 “Great! Thank you and I’ll see you in the morning.”

 I thought about the upcoming interview as I finished scribbling down the address that Laura had given me.

 Finally – an interview!

 I put the pen down and did a little happy dance around the kitchen. This could be my opportunity to move on, a chance to step up to bigger and better things. The timing of this couldn’t be more perfect, as I had recently begun to feel discouraged over the lack of employment opportunities available in New York.

 I wondered about the size of the firm and the starting pay. Anything was bound to be better paying than Wally’s. If I got the job, and found out that I didn’t like it or that the pay wasn’t what I had hoped, it was okay. All of it was inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. I would be working in my field and gaining experience to add to my résumé, something that it was seriously lacking.

 I knew that I should probably get out my laptop and start researching Turning Stone Advertising. They had most likely gotten my résumé from one of those online job sites. But either way, it wouldn’t look very good if I showed up to the interview unprepared. I glanced over at the clock in the kitchen and frowned when I saw the time. I needed to get ready for my dinner with Allyson. Interview prep would just have to wait.

     ****

     I arrived at Murphy’s Irish Pub just a few minutes after seven. I scanned the crowd for Allyson. The tavern was packed tonight. The jukebox blared “The Rocky Road to Dublin” and I tapped my foot in time to the music. I spotted William Murphy, the owner of the pub, tending the bar. He saw me come in and waved me over. I smiled and headed towards him.

 Peanut shells crunched under my feet as I navigated through the crush of people. William had once told me that he never cleaned up the shells, or he would risk revealing a sticky beer-stained floor to his customers. I personally thought the tale was a big fat lie. He was so meticulous about his place, not a detail was forgotten. From the antique wooden barrels of Jameson to the vintage Michael Collins posters, I was sure that the floors were mopped to a sparkling gleam at the end of every night.

 “A pint of Guinness for the lady?” William asked when I reached him.

 “Sorry, Will. Wine only for this girl – you know that,” I chided.

 “Aye, lassie!” he said with a feigned Irish brogue. “One day I’ll get you to come over to the dark side.”

 I grimaced and stuck my tongue out – I hated the taste of beer.

 William let out a loud, boisterous laugh. “Okay, not today then. Since you won’t go for a nice stout, what else can I get for you my dear?”

 “Actually, nothing at the moment. I’m meeting Allyson tonight for dinner.”

 “She’s already here,” he said as he pointed to the back of the pub. I looked over and saw her seated at a corner table.

 “Thanks, Will. I’ll catch you later.”

 I made my way over to where Allyson was sitting. She waved when she saw me approaching.

 “I ordered you a glass of white already,” she said after I sat down.

 “That’s my girl,” I said with a wink.

 Allyson gave me a smile in return, showing off her pearly whites. She was a natural beauty; so pretty that she turned the heads of men everywhere we went. She had sparkling emerald green eyes that lit up whenever she laughed. She wore her blond hair long, never trimming more than an inch off at a time. Her hair was effortlessly straight, and I was often envious of her shower and go abilities.

 “So, did you find your phone charger?” I asked her.

 “How did you know that I lost my charger?” she questioned back, narrowing her eyes and sounding slightly defensive.

 “You left me a note. You only do that when your charger is missing and your phone is dead,” I teased.

 “I just forgot that it was in my gym bag,” she mumbled with a scowl. I busted out laughing.

 “You’ve already used that excuse, Ally,” I goaded, my eyes threatening to spill tears of laughter. The truth was, Allyson lost just about everything, and I loved to pick on her about it.

 “It’s not funny, Selena! You try going almost twenty-four hours without a phone. It sucks!” she exclaimed earnestly, but I could see that she was fighting back a smile.

 The waitress came over to take our food order, breaking up our playful banter. As appealing as the chicken finger basket sounded, I stuck with the grilled chicken salad. Allyson, not one to have to worry about counting calories, ordered a burger and fries. I didn’t know how she could eat that stuff and not add a single ounce to her petite frame. I’d be on the treadmill for a week if I ordered that.

 “So tell me – what’s your good news?” I asked curiously after our orders had been placed. I loved hearing about Allyson’s latest and greatest.

 “Well,” she drawled out. “I landed the photography job with Ethan DeJames.”

 “That’s great, Ally! I’m so happy for you!” I reached over and gave her a one-armed hug. Ethan DeJames was one of the fastest growing fashion designers in New York, with brand new offices in Paris and Milan. This was great news, as well as a big step in the right direction for my friend.

 “It’s great to know that I’ll have a good steady income coming in now. I loved freelancing, but it was too tough waiting for the next job to come in.” She held up her glass to me. “Drinks on me tonight, babe!” We clinked our glasses and I took a sip of wine. There was an impish glint in her eyes that led me to believe there was more to her news than just a job.

 “So what else do you have to tell me?”

 She threw me a sly smile and her eyes sparkled with mischief. Her look confirmed my suspicions – there was more.

 “Guess.”

 “You have a new guy?” I predicted. Her grin widened. “Ha! I knew it! So who is he? Tall, dark and handsome like the last one?”

 Her grin instantly faded into a scowl.

 “Sorry – I didn’t mean to bring up ancient news,” I apologized with a wince. Allyson’s last boyfriend was a wannabe model and a total jerk that was always putting her down. I swear it was because he was jealous of her apparent good looks. I don’t think he could stand that she was prettier than he was, or that she should have been the one in front of the camera – not him. The relationship had been short lived, and I was glad when they split up.

 “It’s okay. Mark was a loser anyways. Now, Jeremy on the other hand…” She took on a far away, dreamy look and I started laughing.

 “So, tell me about him. Hopefully he’s better in the sack than Mark was,” I joked. That was another reason why Alyson didn’t keep the last one around very long.

 “I don’t know. Yet,” she added, the familiar gleam back in her eyes. “Jeremy is a photographer, like me. I was at Ethan DeJames’ completing my new hire paperwork when I met him. It was his first day too. He told me that he normally shot landscape, but when Ethan’s recruited him to shoot their models, he decided to …” Allyson began talking rapidly, telling me every little detail of their first meeting.

 But after a few minutes, her words began to fade in and out. I tried to listen, but I couldn’t seem to stay focused on what she was saying. I couldn’t stop thinking about Justin Stone. The way he consumed my every thought was extremely annoying.

 It’s not like I want to go out with him or anything. Just because he looks like a Greek God with his dark waves and flashing blue eyes doesn’t mean I wanted to sleep with him. Guys who look like him are nothing but trouble.

 “Um, hello? Are you even listening to what I’m saying?” Allyson asked, interrupting my thoughts by waving a hand in front of my face.

 “I’m sorry, Ally. I was listening…sort of. I’m just a little distracted today,” I explained, feeling bad about my rudeness.

 “What’s wrong?” Lines of concern marred her pretty face.

 “Nothing major, really.” And that was the truth – nothing was seriously wrong.

 I’m just a total head case over a man I barely know.

 The waitress came back to the table with our food and I was grateful for the interruption. I needed to figure out how to explain this without sounding like a complete nut job. As soon as the waitress walked away, Allyson pounced.

 “Spill it,” she demanded.

 “I have a job interview tomorrow. I got the call just before I left to meet you.” I paused and took a few bites of my salad. “Oh, and I think I met the hottest guy on the planet yesterday,” I blurted out.

 Shock briefly flashed across her face at my announcement, but she recovered quickly.

 “I didn’t see that one coming! Do tell!” she said, rubbing her hands together and wiggling her eyebrows. Allyson was always so animated when she spoke, and her vivacity made me smile.

 “It’s nothing like you’re probably thinking, Ally. I only saw him twice and it was fairly brief both times.”

 “Well, what does he look like?” she pressed.

 “He’s tall. Well built from what I can tell. Dark hair and blue eyes – really intense blue eyes. Definitely sexy, and I think he knows it too. He has sort of an arrogant gait when he walks.” I felt my stomach do a little flip as I thought back to the sight of Justin walking to the checkout line at Wally’s.

 “What’s his name?”

 “Justin Stone,” I said and waited to see if she recognized the name. Apparently she didn’t, because she just threw another question at me, eagerly looking for more information.

 “How did you meet him?”

 I went on to describe my first encounter and I didn’t leave out any details – my fall, his arm around my waist, his promise to see me soon. She didn’t laugh like I thought she would. Instead, she stared at me with wide eyes, and signaled our waitress for another round of drinks.

 “I can’t believe you fell,” she said incredulously, her eyes wide in shock.

 “Yeah, I did. It was absolutely mortifying too!” I dropped my head into my hands and moaned.

 “You said that you saw him twice. Please tell me that you didn’t embarrass yourself a second time.” I picked my head back up to look at her and started laughing at her expression. She looked thoroughly appalled at the thought of me humiliating myself again.

 “No, I wasn’t a total klutz the second time. But I wasn’t exactly smooth either.” I told her about what happened in aisle nine, and made sure to include the tantalizing way Justin had chewed a piece of gum.

 “I love it!” she exclaimed, dissolving into a fit of laughter when I told her how I had tossed a pack of Big Red into his cart.

 “Yeah, well…I wanted to throw him off his game and I couldn’t think of anything better to do. I’m not too sure my brilliant idea worked, though,” I said with a frown. I thought back to his stunned look and felt slightly stupid over what I had done. “When I think about it, I can’t even begin to figure out why I found his gum chewing such a turn on. I mean, it’s gum. Gross, right? But it wasn’t. It was all kinds of crazy sexy.”

 “He wants you,” she concluded, popping a french-fry into her mouth.

 “Are you out of your mind? I made a complete fool of myself!”

 “I don’t think so, Selena,” she replied knowingly. “I mean really – the guy came back to see you the very next day. He was concerned about how you were doing, he asks you a bunch of personal questions, makes a crap load of sexual innuendos, and has a philosophical discussion on the fundamentals of control. If that doesn’t scream ‘I wanna screw’, then I don’t know what does. Hell, the fact that you are even talking about him tells me that you want him too.”

 “You’re wrong, Ally,” I said and felt my face redden. Her ability to read me was scary.

 “Oh my god! You’re blushing. You really do like him, don’t you?” she said, obviously stunned. It was time to rein her in before this conversation got out of hand.

 “You are making way too much out of this. First of all, he didn’t make sexual innuendos. Well, maybe one,” I conceded. “I think the rest was mostly made up in my head. And secondly, his questions weren’t personal. They were completely platonic and work related. Sure, maybe I wanted to strip him down right there in the middle of Wally’s, but it wasn’t like that for him. I’m certain that his only concern was a potential lawsuit.”

 She frowned at me.

 “You don’t give yourself enough credit. You’re beautiful, Selena. I don’t know why you can’t see that. Is it so hard to believe that maybe, just maybe, he was interested in more than just the bump on your head?”

 “I think the guy has the potential to be a total control freak, Ally. Been there, done that – remember? I won’t make that mistake again.”

 I remained quiet then and looked down at my plate. I was sure that Allyson knew where my thoughts were heading, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, we ate our food in quiet, and I silently prayed that she wouldn’t bring up the forbidden subject of my past, the painful topic that I avoided at all costs. I didn’t want to go there.

 After several minutes had passed, she finally spoke.

 “I know that you don’t want to talk about this,” she began softly. “You have scars that I can’t even begin to comprehend. But –,”

 “You’re right. I don’t want to talk about it,” I stated flatly.

 “Honey, every guy isn’t like Trevor.”

 “Don’t you think I know that? I just haven’t found the right guy yet,” I snapped irritably. I didn’t add that I hadn’t really been looking for Mr. Right either. Two years past and more shrinks than I can count, and my wounds were still raw. A part of me worried that I’d never be whole again. “Maybe I should just become a lesbian.”

 “What?” Allyson frowned, obviously thrown.

 “Nothing – just something Jim said earlier at work,” I muttered. Allyson looked at me quizzically, but dismissed my comment with a shake of her head.

 “Look, Selena. Acknowledging the fact that Stone even exists should be a sign for you. It’s a sign that you’re ready to move on. It’s time to get out there again. You haven’t dated anyone since you and Trevor broke up,” she reminded me.

 “I’ve gone on dates!”

 A few.

 Allyson leaned back in her chair, folded her arms and smirked.

 “Name one guy that you’ve gone on more than two dates with since you and Trevor broke up.”

 There were none. I knew she was right, but I still couldn’t help jumping on the defense. It certainly wasn’t my fault that every guy I met wanted to get jiggy with it after only five minutes of conversation.

 “Justin Stone is probably one of the wealthiest men in New York. He’s way out of my league He can choose any woman he wants – why in the world would he want me?”

 “Don’t be ridiculous. The fact that he’s loaded means nothing. Right now, you have two years of celibacy talking for you.”

 “I haven’t been celibate for two years! You’re forgetting about Bryce, the music guy. Remember him?”

 “You can’t possibly be serious!” she said in exasperation.

 I frowned at her, knowing that she was right again. I couldn’t really count the musician that I went out with only once. Bryce was a futile attempt at fixing my shattered heart. He was my rebound after Trevor; the drunken one night stand that never called me again. I wasn’t even completely sure if Bryce was his real name, and I regretted that night still to this day.

 “I don’t want to talk about Trevor or Bryce, Ally. And you’re outrageous imagination about Stone will just end up planting too many crazy ideas in my head. Trust me when I say that I don’t need your help with that.”

 I thought about the little devil that had been making quite a regular appearance on my shoulder as of late, putting all sorts of enticing images in my head.

 Angels and devils? You’re really cracking up, Cole.

 “Yeah, right. You need to have more crazy ideas as far as I’m concerned,” she quipped.

 “Don’t start with me. I’m perfectly fine being alone. I don’t need a relationship or sex to be happy. Besides, I’ll probably never see Justin Stone again anyways. And even if I do, he prefers tall and curvy redheads.”

 In an attempt to change the subject, I told her about my internet findings on the wealthy Justin Stone and his history with gingers.

 “So what? If anyone can persuade him to change his mind about redheads, it would be you.”

 “No, Ally,” I said, a warning tone evident in my voice.

 “I can just see the headlines now, ‘Ridiculously Rich Justin Stone Chooses Chestnut Brown Over Dull Red Head’. It could happen,” she stated matter-of-factly with a devilish smile.

 “Ugh – you’re relentless!”

 Through the loud noise of the pub, I heard the familiar clanking of metal on metal. I looked over my shoulder and saw William standing next to the bar tapping two spoons against his knee in time with the music, a favorite pastime for the regulars at Murphy’s. A distraction was definitely needed if I wanted Allyson to drop the subject.

 “Come on – Will is playing the spoons.” I stood up, threw my napkin on the table, and grabbed her hand.

 The subject was bound to come up again, but I was finished with it for now. The past was the past. Rehashing it never ended in a positive outcome. Tonight, I just wanted to have fun.

hat ��Po�