#IN PHILADELPHIA NO ONE CAN HEAR YOU SCREAM

[joannasteez]

starship pain

pairing: cody rhodes x reader , cm punk x reader warning: explicit content (smut) minors pls dni. angst. emotional infidelity? loads of description!!! a lot of space related metaphors. authors note: lovely little request from @harmshake i hope i did your idea some justice. this takes place after mania. somethings are changed and switched around to fit my ideas. so it's a bit of an alternative universe from present kayfabe. the one flashback i have in this has a little red text noting when in the timeline of the year its set in!! word count: 14k tagging: @333creolelady @theninthwonder @kill-the-artiste @empressdede @southerngirl41 @2-muchsauce @crxssjae @coyotegirl-ramblings @luchorgasm @xbriexx @wanna-see-my-lease

...what gives a star it's character?...

temperature

color

mass

luminosity 

size 

...and with the display of such magnificent character, do stars not go about tirelessly with the work of inspiring awe? living wondrously bright amidst the deafening swallow of that deep void called space, so much so, that even with great distance, they exist bold enough to be witnessed. if so, then can we not be stars too? though not as great, can we not aspire, with terrible diligence, to be as breathtaking?... 

and with the conclusion of wrestlemania forty, the philadelphia crowd erupts thunderous. earsplitting even. the american nightmare, cody rhodes, kneeling with tears at the heart of the ring. clutching the weight of the title belt. gold in hand, the newly crowned undisputed wwe universal champion. the hearts, minds, joys and displeasures of the people performing well to revolve in orbit around such star-like greatness.

"your moonsault needs a bit of work still". your father's voice coarse from age. his eyes unblinking. a perfectionist's stare. his penchant for over examination as lively as the sun. existing still even with the residual thrill of wrestlemania. "you're hesitating too much before you press off'. 

you sigh. small enough that it goes incomprehensible. sipping at early afternoon coffee complimentary of the hotel. "it was just nerves pop", you give. because facing rhea ripley for the title, center stage in front of thousands was no easy feat. preparation took a back seat, amongst the lights and screams and hard bumps to the body. it was natural to have a seconds worth of overthought. "the match was fine'.

because it was fine. it was good. great even. two women telling a story with the violent bursting and clash of their bodies. loss be damned. it felt good to withstand the cold. to toil through limitation so fiercely. an easy break of a glass ceiling that worked well to loom above your head for some time. but your hall of fame of a father couldn't see pass the minor inconsistencies. a scrutinizer to the greatest degree. 

"you should come by the gym soon. we can catch up. work through a few things together'". 

catch up and work through meaning your body bouncing off a turn buckle till his satisfaction reached a good, sore, exhaustion. you pivot quickly at the thought of it. at the thought of drilling through moves and the terse cut of his voice. 

you pick up your phone, hearing the shift of feet from across the hotel room. another sip of coffee that plays well over the soft closing of the bathroom door. because your father didn't need to know the details of your latest tryst. especially so soon after the events of the biggest sports entertainment night of the year. everything to him, that isn't the four sided ring, a distraction. 

you smile. "doesn't sound like anything's wrong with my wrestling. sounds like you miss me". 

he softens. blinks his eyes and lets his pride show through a small smile. "any father in their right mind would". 

"so then say it".

"your moonsault is near flawless...", he gives. like relenting but not really. "...and i miss you". 

the bedsheets ruffle behind you. your cue to end the moment before it has the chance to sour.

"we'll talk later", you give. "i have to go". 

"alright. be good".

the face time call ends. gentle touching steps along the carpet of your hotel bedroom before you're slipping under puffy sheets. the philadelphia sun bursting beyond thin curtains to shape his face. blue eyes more sky than ocean under such bright warmth. his fingers quick to pull against your body. slipping up and over with a tender maneuvering till you lay against him like he seems to like. a drawn tune of a hum singing, your weight pressing in to comfort the sore, exhausted champion. his neck craning, rushing with movement to follow the run of your touch over his scalp and across the apple of his cheek. lips dipping into the heart of your palm. 

"did i wake you?", you ask. 

"no", cody gives. voice tired. "my phones been going crazy all morning". 

your thumb caresses just beneath his bottom lip. soft and sweeping. "as expected. the price goes up when you're the champ. so does the attention". 

"is that right?", tone suggestive. eyes a heavy linger along your lips. 

you oblige him. a small sweet reward for all his tiresome effort. your lips, sweet and rich, tasting of coffee as they meet his. a tender meshing before they slip to slot passionate. his fingers curling into your hips. a venture to endear you, moaning lazy as his body forms deeper into the sheets. mouths parting only so his indulgences can lead him else where. wet, tongue led kisses along your pulse. hot breath and the dull graze of his teeth. surely overwrought still by the thrill of the night before. this morning version of him performing with a delirious high. his every touch sure and firm. the hands of a champion. 

"how does it feel?" 

a deep breath. weighing the question with silence. finding a home for his yet to be spoken thoughts in the dip of your neck. the part of his lips there producing a shiver up your spine. 

"good. it feels good". the shine in his eyes threatening to wane. "scary. now i have to actually carry it. do some good with it". 

you kiss him sweetly. a plant of reassurance. "you will". words kind as you roll on your side to face him. catching the beginnings of an etch in of adoration as he fails to look away from you. a semblance of something near unpleasant troubling your chest. like being under the weight of his gaze is too much to bare. 

"thank you for being here". 

"of course". 

"i couldn't get to you properly last night. it all moved so fast after the match. one thing after the other". 

you find yourself ruffling through his hair again. your own will, making to ingratiate your senses to him. like staining the skin to lay a good base for memory. "it's ok. m'here now", mouth on him. an urge that lives with imperfections, your tongue flicking soft, lapping over sweetly till it works away that ambivalent trouble in your belly. urges growing greater by the second till they form with an edge too defined to ignore. eager now, to feel him against skin. the way the mellow heat of him flares under your palm, melting the worry till it runs off into desire. this performance of a great gravitational pull.

regulating yourself to one drink for the night is a testier task than originally thought, but it works well enough. the celebratory buzz of the room filling in where the warmth of liquor doesn't. the philadelphia skyline sparkling the dark chill of the night as the closed in rooftop swells up to a comfortable fullness. wrestling stars at every corner. drinks in hand and simple, cheery conversation. the scene of it all, once a dream, talked of and imagined, now a reality as you maneuver amidst it all.

a firm take to your arm pulls you toward the secrecy of a corner. your lips failing to keep away from a pull up of excitement. heels clicking to keep the pace as you're rounded about a tall column and tucked away behind it. cody pressing in. a lazy little kiss against your mouth that tastes like his drink of choice. the glass clutched in his hand still, attempting not to spill it. 

not so long after your intimate morning did you both part. post-mania obligations too much of a priority to ignore. 

his free hand slips into the slit of your dress. fingers curling into your thigh. a silky brown number that matches his undone suit. his tie loose, his jacket gone and the vest unbuttoned. cheeks dusted a faint pink. his mouth pressing into your pulse. housing there to feel the warmth corralling under the skin. 

and with only a few weeks of this relationship have you confirmed just how affectionate cody is. his every touch made to linger, his smile luminous and his words warm as they work tirelessly to sink into skin. 

"you look", a kiss to your cheek. "absolutely beautiful angel", and another to your mouth. 

you smile. lip tucking under your teeth. "thank you". fingers running to crease his shirt. pulling him closer. the curt shuffle of his shoes clicking forward as your back flushes up into the corner. your eyes sweeping over his mouth. reaching to lick in for a kiss that makes him groan. "you look good too". tasting the bitterness washing his tongue before going in for more. "very good", a purr of a moan floating in that makes his breath hitch before he's groaning soft. a mindless overworking of nerves you're sure. because the weeks with him thus far—albeit fresh—have been nothing short of a teasing game. heavy traveling and the looming possibility of a good passion not yet explored. that trouble in your belly shortening the full breath of your desires. 

you break for air, remembering where you are. he downs the rest of his drink. clutching the glass still. 

"you had a lot to drink?", you ask. wiping at his mouth with your thumb. licking at the residual bits of liquor.

his eyes trailing over your lips. unhurried to meet back at your eyes. "not too much. this was my last. m'tappin out early". 

"good", you give. tugging at the undone part of his vest. keeping him flushed up against you so that the strength of his cologne steeps in. "cause i need you sober. we have unfinished business". 

his free hand still finds itself making a home beyond the slit of your dress. kneading just where your thigh rounds out into the supple flesh of your bottom. a firm squeeze that's all possession. the action risky, but exhilaratingly so. his words toughing out with a groaning. "fuck the party then". 

"no. enjoy it". slipping from under him slowly. "we'll have plenty of time later". 

a final look of promise before you click away. deep tempering breaths that work to quell your own rise of desire. cheeks hot and your body beneath the delicate dress teeming with the memory of his touch. sensations comfortable enough that they leave you wanting. borderline desperate. but yes, what lives of the the draw, the pull of him, all a symptom of simple necessity. his everything sure enough to fall into. a security exacting to an almost bothersome degree. but maybe this full consumption isn't a bad thing, after past failures and flings too loose and undefined. shapeless, wordless things. maybe cody is what you need. your body tucking to lean into the wall that meets the end of the rooftop bar. "gin and tonic", you order. 

soft clutching hands at your shoulder. you turn. bianca belair beaming with excited knowing eyes and a smirk. "you got blondie real red in the face", she starts. slipping up next to you. "no thoughts, just half of a three piece suit and a vibe". 

you smile with her. feeling heat in your cheeks and a swirl in your belly. the intimacy of your relationship with cody no outright secret, but the confirmation of it never really reaching the great private sphere of your friends and friendly acquaintances. because it was business only yours and cody's to keep or share, but bianca is a good friend. closer than most. a former tag team partner. a nxt sister. and the playfulness of her curiosities were always as fun to indulge in as they were to hear. 

"a real nasty vibe", you chuckle. "that man was trying to give ya'll a PLE from the corner. i had to slip away while i could". 

"and i get it cause this brown and gold!?", her hand taking yours to spin you around. appraising the the beauty of your dress and accessories. her fingers dabbing up under an eye and sniffling with faux tears. "i taught you so well". 

"you really did". 

both of you laughing and sipping at your drinks. 

"is it serious?", her tone shifting firm. 

the question forcing you into a bout of consideration you've attempted to stray from on many occasions. but it's crucial nonetheless. a conclusion you'll have to come to regardless. 

"i mean, i don't know". thumb rubbing against the chill of your glass. taking to a silent mull over. the past few weeks or so a whirlwind of affection. secret rendezvous' and late night calls. the tenderness of him working with an endless drive, even amongst the world of work set before the both of you. "we're slow burning it a bit but i think the end goal for him is to have something serious". 

and your wording doesn't go unnoticed, not that you want it to. some part of you maybe looking to gain some much needed perspective. a nudge in the direction you feel is necessary. and she doesn't fail in delivering it. "you deserve something stable. the casual shit is cool but it's not forever". 

you sigh. memory serving well of your former trysts with a different superstar. "i agreed on that being casual".

"you can agree to a lot when you think the dick is good". sipping at her drink. "he's here by the way". 

and if you pretend not be be affected by the possibility of seeing him, of being seen by him, then doesn't that null the existence of the feeling all together? that twist in of nerves in your belly. residual things, like words and perhaps sentiments left to wander the void of space formally known as a very casual but fevered, undefined union of legs and lips. a deep passion left to succumb to the suffocating elements of space and time. 

"i figured he'd be".

his name is a draw. of money, eyes and thoughts. his return causing this gravitational pull of the people, controversial or otherwise. a veteran in his own right. for him not to be seen at a celebration of the greatest night in their business would be confounded and weird. 

"you good with all that though? i know it ended kinda all of a sudden". 

from passion all the time to none at all. hour long drives and last minute flights. apartments and not so high floor hotel rooms. his name seemingly forever written into the slip and work of your tongue. free and casual but still working so sure in that space of passion that the feeling of being beholden to one another felt more truer by the day. living too sporadically—and maybe too unrestrained—still though, to last well enough on its own. because without the consistency of light, how is anything sure to grow? and then in came cody, prying away your attention with the ease and experience of a star born to evoke awe. his light pleasant and safe. 

you shrug. "you live and learn, you move on. i'm good where i am". 

bianca smiles. her arms a nice embrace. "as you should be. m'happy for you".

"thank you", you give. her warmth contagious. your body squeezing into the hug. 

and when she's called away, montez drunkenly whisking his wife to another corner of the room, she parts with an apologetic smile. mouthing "sorry", as her sloshed to capacity of a husband drags her along with him. leaving you to live alone at the end of the bar, newly made acknowledgements of your relationship resting over you thickly. a tight take of adrenaline to your nerves. small sips of your drink working only to occupy your hands. unwilling to decipher the root of such a rush. fear or excitement. either way, the feeling of it drops your belly and leaves the tiny hairs everywhere to stand on end. because this has happened before, drawing too close to the power of a star too soon, burning amongst the void before the possibility of impact. 

shoes click, approaching beside you. his cologne familiar. a scent made to intrigue. memory slipping in to harshen the roll over happening in your belly. of course he'd be here. the self proclaimed 'best in the world', the second city saint, the straight edged superstar. after some months of nothing, cm punk is alive and looking too well for you to stand. 

you sip again. a cool lean up again the wall. eyes patient as they go about examining him whole. his doing just the same. 

he looks good in a suit, much to your dismay. 

"you clean up well", you give. meeting his eyes. standing firm against the heaviness of his gaze. 

"so i've been told", slipping closer. his body leaning up against the bar to rest just as coolly as you have against the wall. a casual disposition so incredibly indicative of your times together. "you look beautiful. nothing new for you though".

"you're letting your grays grow out again". 

"a new era, a new look". his palm smoothening over the salt and pepper patches of hair. a smile running through his lips. "you always did like them". 

a fight to arrest the heat in your cheeks and old memories. "so what, this is about me?"

"such a smart girl", he chuckles. "i love it when you state the obvious". 

you grin at his teasing. "i just had one of the most important nights of my life', shoving up against him playfully. "you can't be a dick to me". 

"you did well by the way". a sincerity that makes something bloom over the skin. a jittered feeling you choose to ignore as he continues. "a nice bag of new little moves and tricks, it was good shit for your first mania. get rid of that moonsault though, it doesn't fit you". 

you scoff. "oh cause you know what fits". 

body bracing for impact just after such a wild take to flight. the words leaving before you can think them over. his shoulders shaking as he laughs. 

"i've had the pleasure of knowing a time or two". 

"oh fuck you punk". 

"i mean...", dark earthy eyes sweeping over your lips. a lazy, patient journey over your body. a show of his appraisal. "...i don't know if you can. given your new boy toy and all". 

"i'm bound to get a new toy if the old one breaks". not that cody is a toy. no. he's no play thing in the slightest. a sudden need to defend him in that right springing up till its thick in your mouth. stitching into words. his every intention appearing precise and laid bare. sweet gestures and impassioned words. his everything lingering long enough for you to notice. "it's a lot more serious than you think". 

"so it seems", voice neutral, but appearing in his eyes to live, these little slivers of disappointment. 

its something not meant to harp on for the sake of your own peace. but they try their damnedest to penetrate. working diligent. enough for the air to feel too warm and thick to breathe in. your barely touched drink a nuisance and the friendly crowd of the celebration too much to handle. and thank God for cody, your attention catching his motions for you. slipping through the crowd to head for the entry-exit doors. a make to leave as he catches your eyes to join him. 

"i should...i should go-"

"that's a smart decision". 

cody's tongue tastes like his drink of choice. room temperature whiskey. the lap of it lazy and patient, aiming to steep into the palate. his lips soft, twisting wet as they go about the work of ingratiating the senses. his hands following suit. a tight journey over the skin, heat flaring up in the wake of such an ardent touch. curling in to leave cratered impressions. his movements breathtaking, your body hoisted up in his arms before you're bouncing into the fluff of the bed. persistent fingers and his mouth ready, tongue dipping into where your body pliantly unfolds for him. your legs spreading with guidance. an exposure to the air that pulls a shiver through the body. 

"so pretty", musing to himself. tongue slipping deep. warm and wet and earnest. groaning from a pleasure that comes with pleasure. your inner thighs suffering under the gripping weight of his touch. a steady hold that keeps you open for him. "been thinkin about this all day". 

you hiss. touch filled with delirium. your belly overwrought and filling in hot. skin breaking away from the chilly philadelphia air. your hips testing their limits. a gentle swing up that catches against the rhythm of his mouth. a sweet suckle to your clit that shortens the air in your chest.

his thumb joins the fray. teases the messy drool of arousal pooling to drip lazy like. a dull circling at that broaches the possibility but nothing more. leaving you with the desire to be filled to the hilt. your pussy pulsing hard against his tongue. clenching about nothing, waiting impatient as he revels in his own play at giving pleasure.

"cody please", voice near broken. a sweet little plea. 

he leaves you spread. watches your little performance of appeal. nails painted a color that leaves a beautiful contrast against your soft skin. slipping sweet at the bud of your clit. holding his eyes. enchantment and lust. the light of his desire bright enough that it reflects beautifully off your skin. curving its way up the body. paints itself warm over the work of your pleasure. melting in till its swirling heavy at the base of your belly. a sensation that grows easy. another groan erupting, surely from that clinging sensation you've bought to his tongue. pulsing and shivering. singing and moaning wispy for him. a full consumption that breaks the resolve you've built so easily. and when his thumb sinks into the fat of your clit, circling deep and persistent, you sink further into the sheets. a sharp "fuck", breaking into the air. your nerves unruly as they go in their frenzy. 

your body drunk, senses beautifully askew. a quick to arrive release that speaks to his determination. 

his mouth messy and slipping over your inner thighs. working to kiss your belly and through the valley of your breast. tongue peaking before it flattens over the perk of your nipples. an involuntary rut in your hips rushing up into him. the sensation like kindling for a fire. 

you taste yourself. pulling your lips to his. the whiskey and that dangerous steep in of your own arousal. his hands nailed into the sheets. your own freeing him from his underwear. hot and hard in your hand. slipping him through slick arousal, to feel how awfully ready he is for you, before you're guiding him in with a desperate hand. head tipping into the bed as you feel the wet split as he goes. a hiss of enjoyment as he deepens, resting just over the end of you. 

cody hums. diving his nose into the scent of your perfume. the stain of it at your neck arresting him. hips knocking in firm. deft and easy. working you open to take him. 

your palms sweep over muscle. to layer over that already laid foundation of memory.  his back taut and strong. nails clawing in as he fills you whole. your lips parting. breaths taken. belly coiling with the threat of release. and here the work of taking him in feels more than good. that troubling knot of ambivalence that once warred beneath the skin, trampled upon with a temporary defeat, as his hips work steadily. 

"you feel so good", a moaning drawl of words. 

an admission that slips its way to settling into thick air. performing well enough to saturate the room. and its true. cody feels good. amazing. his warmth gentle, and his everything near flawless.

the man wrapped in your arms, the reigning undisputed universal champion, is only near flawless. this, a thought that slips deep into your conscience. taking root aggressively so. but are stars not perfect in shape? bright and the enormity of them sensational. great enough in size that the draw of them from within performs well enough to gather equally at every side. a faultless sphere of a shape indeed. and has he not—in spite of your damning early morning sentiments—taken on that part of a stars character? wearing it warm and well. the wrestling world revolving to orbit his dazzling spectacle of victory amongst the mania. then what of it could be so wrong as to call him only near flawless and not flawless simply? the touch of his skin and the pull of his lips gracious even in hunger and looking to consume. a ready made heat not so dissimilar to a great star. 

it's clear. so very fucking clear, amidst the slow creep in of the morning, as your phone vibrates with a call, just where the doubt reeks from. 

'the best in the world' showing up as caller ID. because you never changed the name. because you never had the heart to leave him nameless even. slipping from the sheets, from the comfortable weight of cody's body. a fluffy robe over your skin as you slide the balcony doors of the hotel room open. answering his call. 

those slivers of disappointment in his eyes from last night. performing well enough to disrupt your feelings. like the grand effects of a solar flare. 

"have breakfast with me", he starts. 

no preamble to give you room to deflect. a sigh heavy as it leaves you. his morning voice coarse and unfortunately satisfying. maybe you should've stayed in bed. wrapped yourself deeper beneath the sheets and the lay over of cody's body. 

"we lose a little contact and you forget your manners. that's unfortunate". 

he chuckles. "please?"

"that took a lot out of you huh?" 

"not really". a dramatic little pause, because punk does have a flare for it. albeit in small doses, in his own way. and you can feel him smiling through the phone. can feel the change in tone just before he can give it. "begging is just usually more your thing than it is mine". 

and the truth only hurts, vexes the nerve so, because it is the truth. because it has life. breathing and smiling with the sole objective of tethering itself ungraciously to every little thing you do. 

"can you not?" 

"you like it".

slivers of guilt. peering to look through the glass of the balcony door. cody still sleeping, peacefully unaware. but what is there to be guilty of? the past solely the past. this little phone call but a blip in time. a soundless action amidst the airless void of space. 

"ok, m'sorry". he relents. receiving your silence in full. "i'll stop". 

"i can't do breakfast. it wouldn't feel right". 

"it's just coffee and a little chit chat". 

lies. "i've never had just coffee with you...", memory serving right as the words grow heavy and thick. leaving the tongue less easy than you'd like them to. months of passioned tryst' and rendezvous, from city to city, before and not so long after his return to the company. "...it's always had some accompaniment to it". 

he hums. "i know how to respect a boundary if that's what you're worried about". 

slivers of guilt still. a pang in your chest. the cool morning philadelphia air doing nothing to lessen the heat in your cheeks. "the boundary isn't just for you", admission quick and terse. angered that it had to leave.

this slow to slip along silence. a lazy passing over before he's chuckling again. like the type of amusement you get after a small win. his voice is all raspy satisfaction. "i see", he gives.

"i'm sure whatever you want to say over coffee, you can just say over the phone right now".

"you gonna make me bare my soul over some fuckin radio waves?"

it'd all be a less ceremonious go of words. not so serious. as shapeless and uncategorized as the months were with him. 

"you are notorious for saying things you probably shouldn't, so keep that in mind".

"old habits unfortunately die very hard sweetheart". 

a chill creeping up the spine. riding in along the morning air. "it's almost eight a.m., it's not even a good time to be sharing all this...sentiment". 

"then give me a time and place". 

"i don't know punk, whenever you can get to a target closest to you", laughing a little. the rejection feeling sweet and easy as it leaves you. "they sell journals and diary's with matching pens. that's a good place to put all of your little feelings". 

"ouch".

you stand. watching cody slowly make his way to the bathroom through the glass balcony window. your hand against the handle to slide it open. "i have to go". a quick throw of words before you end the call. pride slowly inching over the skin. 

a successful deterrent.

the “archangels moonsault", a name coined by a collective of your fathers contemporaries. his performance of the golden triangle moonsault habitually flawless. appearing more angel than man as his body soared for some seconds. awe forever struck across the color of your eyes at such a spectacle, so much so, that you wished to live it. and so it went, a song and dance done many times before. the child of a legend attempting to step beyond that harrowing shadow in hopes of creating their own. the awe inspired, attempting now to inspire awe. like the cinematic feat of interstellar travel, viable only through the art of imagination. a play at the impossible, and nothing more. the perpetual falling short of a dangerous aspiration. nerves fraying at the seams and a deep plummeting of the heart. angst, a side effect of near flawlessness. starship pain.

"just keep workin at it", cody said once. watching your frustration after failing to perfect your fathers beloved moonsault. the precision of it lacking. your body insistent on underperformance. resentful of the air.

the encouragement working against its own intention. a bitterness rising to meet your tongue. but the near success of it grows palpable on your fingertips. nagging the nerve endings there so much that it forces into the skin a deep repetition. a cycle of the same thing for weeks on end—house shows, and training, and live events and training, and meet and greets and training, and merch signings and training, and interviews and training, and photoshoots and training—till the system grew faithful. and whichever cracks of free time expose themselves are quickly remedied with cody. because if all these distractions exists, then the time to decipher the bitterness growing on your tongue has no room to live. the ambivalence attempting to sneak in your belly once again, snuffed out by other things. 

and friday night smackdown becomes an interesting state of affairs amidst your little world of moonsault turmoil. cody and punk both drafted, a feud storyline written up by creatives. the new undisputed champion versus the self proclaimed best in the world. a guarantee for money and ratings. which always means good business. your draft to smackdown a grounds for opportunity just the same. a fresh creative direction post-mania. but such good chances don't stop your body's war with itself. feeling the toil of the work, that faithful routine, and refusing to surrender from it's grudge. resentful of the air still. 

but cody remains. his touch heated and sure. a sweet kiss to your skin in the privacy of a dressing room before your first match on the smackdown brand. the memory of his words sticking as you make to kiss him. 'just keep workin at it'. the rush of affection feeling odd. 

"you okay?", his eyes searching. thumb swiping gentle, palm holding at your cheek. 

"yeah", your body odd in it's skin. tempted to leave but feeling the need to stay. you grab his hand. a gentle squeeze of assurance. "i think it's just nerves". 

"you been workin at it hard. it's gonna pay off", he gives. his smile small but bright still. a hand roaming gentle. soothing up your back. 

but the second city saint was, is, never too far behind. posturing himself as the metaphorical rock, adamant on flushing you uncomfortably against a hard place. slivers of mischief in his stride and in coarse perfected words. the smackdown before backlash interesting to say the least. proving itself as the first domino. the main event of the night a strategic volley of words. the returned superstar and the undisputed champion. the knot tying itself about your belly barbarous as it works, watching them dig into each other with dramatic promises of destruction. the usual song and dance of a good promo. waiting for something terrible that affirms the odd abrupt spring ups of guilt and that bitterness refusing to leave your throat. everything of your romance, center stage and dazzling with bright lights for all the world to see. and when the words stop, the crowd jeering for who they hate and loud in delight for who they love, the air grows thick with the way it deafens. 

rough thudding drops of their microphones before that faithful rushing in. fire in their eyes and a close size up of the competition. good drama for the crowd. 

punk breaks with a laugh. similar in an amusement you've heard, felt before. like he's won a small victory. wholly fucking satisfied and happy about it. reaching to whisper something in cody's ear. words that penetrate more than they're supposed to. something a little less fire filled than anger striking bold along cody's expression. like a smoldering yet to come fully ablaze. 

and it is said that for every star, there is a loss of mass in it's life time. a lessening of that gravitational pull. a change of character that threatens its awe. 

his skin warm, but not as balmy. his kiss sweet but the comfort of it waning. the journey to seeing to its ease seeming more painful than letting it be. but the need to try breathes still. living bored and tired and thin, but alive nonetheless. the late hours between the end of the live show and his first official title defense quiet and terrible. all of his little bright smiles and tender touches gone. the beauty of the french hotel drained by this sudden standstill. blue eyes colder and distant. taken by the trouble of overthinking. 

text message | outgoing: wtf did you say to him?

text message | the best in the world: what's my name saved as in your phone? 

your fingers feel weak. tired and unable. the nerves there doing well in fraying at the seams. held hostage by a guilt that refuses to leave.

text message | the best in the world: i'm not really a write my feelings in journals kinda guy, you should know that. i want to see your pretty little face for a chat still. whenever you decide to stop avoiding me. 

text message | outgoing: boundaries remember? or are the new gray hairs screwing your memory

text message | the best in the world: well i figure a little courtesy closure is in order before your boy gets his ass whipped on live television. 

text message | outgoing: closure? can't really close a door that never existed can you? 

a thick, curling cloud of steam rolls into the hotel bedroom from the open door of the shower. a silent invitation to join him—an olive branch living still in spite of his sudden brooding—that your body refuses to indulge. but the air does well in an attempt to suffocate you anyways. skin sweltering uncomfortably. or maybe it's just the ambivalence in your belly and the dull taste of something wrong on your tongue. frayed nerves and this half shaped desire to leave. all of these symptoms living as the summation of...of something that feels too harsh to speak to. your eyes take a steady read over the chain of messages. a once over that happens too many times to happen just once and yet there is no clarity of thought here. 

closure? a type of reconciliation afforded to people once terribly impassioned. and yes, your times with him were fevered. fierce little meetings that left you craving more. but never did the attraction burn so much as to bring about such a heat, that lived closer to something like love than not, or whatever he seems to be feeling. 

but there was that one time in albany. a confusing, charged little tryst. different from the others. his fingers curling in so deep then that he'd bruised your skin, like he was trying to remember you-

"so...", cody starts. a simple word edged with hesitation. bath towel wrapped about his waist as he pads out of the steam of the bathroom. skin wet and tantalizingly inviting. "...you and punk?" and finally it comes. the source of his brooding, his silence. that dejection of touch and affection. 

your phone grows heavy in your hands. plops along the sheets like a weight. "old news", words ironed and pressed. dressed up in a surety, that if spoken with enough, can be believable. because the second city saint is old news. 

his eyes are cold. a gray-blue snatched from the impending roll in of a storm. "feels pretty current", he sighs. turns to the table below the bedroom mirror. searching through a small bag of things. lotions and colognes and clothes and such. his perfect teeth spreading mirthless. "very current actually". 

your body anchors to the bed, and curiosity an anchor in your body. inspires a refusal to move—to go to him, to ease the tension in his shoulders—as the sharp edges of it rip through till it holds deep enough. 

"what'd he say to you?" 

"nothing worth repeating...", hands rubbing about his face. a serum moisturizer. taking up small work as he finds and treads slow through words. tone like that of an interrogators though not nearly as violent. but the suspicion in him bothers to root well enough that it can't be hidden. can't be done away with easily. "just implying a bunch of... of shit. which is interesting because punks not that type of guy on the mic. if it needs to be said, he makes it plain..."

"its a work probably...". tone cool. indifferent. the sensation resting in your belly just the opposite. words spilling, living two fold. an attempt at persuasion overflowing so well that it performs for him and yourself just the same. "...ratings, clicks, views. it's drama for tv". 

"well it feels pretty damn personal". 

"and what?", you scoff. "winning mania wasn't?" 

cody recedes. softens. because winning at mania was personal. business but very personal. the stakes of such a win clinging to the base of his emotions at every breath and turn till the belt rested in his hands. that much you could feel, drawing closer to him in those months—a sweet, innocent friendship born from this great host of similarities—till nearly every moment was spent with each other. his words and his thoughts and his touches becoming more intimate. affections as clear as the perfect beauty of his smile. and then comes the guilt, a drizzle against the air, like the first damning drops before the inevitable chaos of a down pour. your body lighter now. the will to leave him be, to wrestle with his feelings by his lonesome unanchored by the shame of doing so. 

"am i being crazy about this?", he asks. 

you move to him. crossing the exceptional size of the room to embrace him. arms encircling and your eyes gentle. his skin warm and comfortable. your body fighting itself still though, even amidst the vulnerability of him, battling back these slivers of a temptation to leave. "it's a mind game. don't let him win". 

his hands venture. a smooth, sweeping take along your arms till they cradle your face. thumbs tender as they roll at the apple of your cheeks. "and us? this is it right? we're solid?"

your eyes flick to his lips in a means to inspire within yourself some true meaning of devotion. desire and fidelity. your mouth pressing sweetly to the seam of his as you pull him into a deeper embrace. words kept unsaid. buried alive before the work of a damning departure. your tongue soft and slipping gentle. wet and precious enough to elicit a moan. the tension in him waning as he goes, falling further into your show of affection. shoulders unburdened and the heat returning pleasantly to his skin. a performance that convinces only his hesitations and nothing of your own. 

and that lack of conviction reigns over heavily. devastatingly so. failure thundering about your chest, slipping wild through the arms and legs, till it swims heavily about the head. ambivalence working ungracious in the body, like a storm of solar proportions. because cody had done well at backlash, performed greatly against the second city saint as they went head to head in their first of a best of three match. 

but you—your knees buckling just after the press off for the archangels moonsault—do terribly. a harsh botch that leaves your feet to slip, head hitting against the ring before your body can be properly caught. a concussion that blurs your vision for the remainder of the match. 

a number of horrible executions that follow, equilibrium disrupted, all amounting to a slow paced performance. your body resentful, spiteful now too. 

this attempt at a diligent work of resting comfortably in the security of cody's everything, like a roaming out into the hostile environment of space. unprepared and certainly unfit for such an expedition of passion. a fast deterioration of desire and the weakening of a strength to see to its survival. 

this longing for a good and whole and secure thing, a need pulsing your heart strong and persistent, now inverted, though working with the same vigor, to bring you under with a maddening sort of frailty. a self induced bout of muscle atrophy. 

"a break", is what hunter is calling it. his words and eyes this odd, cold meshing of empathy and business. a command that lives without the room to resist and it stings even the strongest parts of your ego. 

punishment by the ether, for aspiring to reach so far, with so much confidence, for something never meant to be had. because stars exist out of reach, with light years of distance, for a reason. 

and the doctor gives a definitive "no" on flying back to the states. a futile joke to follow about getting much needed rest in the "city of love", which in full effect lurches your stomach into a fit so disgusting that it empties. that bile troubling itself in your belly, waiting for its call to action, finally revealing its putrid nature to be formidable and unrelenting. a symptom of the concussion they say, but you know, above all things medically sound, that this is just violent revenge inflicted upon the self. the body taunting the mind for its ill-purposed ambition. trying to fall into something comfortable and love-like with cody was, is, and would always be ill-purposed ambition. 

the air of the suv heavy with that leather interior smell. rolling smooth and slow against the parisian streets on its way back to the hotel. 

cody's finger playing along yours with a soothing caress. a patient concern brushing up the drained make of your face from his eyes. soft music living under the sound of his voice as he goes. "they'll probably clear you to fly in a few days. i can get someone to book a flight for you, and you can just… just be with me...", a gentle tone but living definitive. committing himself to your care. a security you'd always hoped to fully adore. "...and im not saying this like you're unfit to take care of yourself but i wanna help...", his blue eyes looking for a response and receiving much of nothing. a shallow head nod that keeps him rambling. "...i wanna—just let me do this for you. please?", his hand squeezing yours. a feather weight gesture. "let me take care of it, okay?" 

you blink. eye lids heavy with exhaustion. a drained sensation that leaves you too undone for any proper recognition of feeling other than emptiness. your voice hoarse, the acid moving up violent enough that it stole away the fullness of it.

"i hear you cody". 

the last words said to him before his departure from france in the morning. 

an army of texts and calls heating your phone as the sun rose and rested amongst the clouds with a far comfortable distance. a reminder of terribly fated ambitions. water at your bedside that felt like heaven as it settled in and down the body. 

five calls from bianca and encouragement texts of the "i love you" variety. one call from your father and a message that read more definitive than suggestive. "come home when you can", it said. and a text from him. 

text message | the best in the world: heard hunter put you on a bit of a break. im here for you when you need me. 

not if, but when. the confidence even amongst the sympathy, frustrating. an imagining of his cool, more sage than forest, green eyes screwed with pity. the thought of it beating a harsh heat pass skin into blood. rolling in amongst the red till it rushes to anger. a pounding in your skull and a light nausea rocketing the delicate lining of your belly. laid out along the length of a too beautiful parisian couch, your body forced to endure the harsh gravitational pull back down to earthly reality. for there could no longer be an ambitious voyage to that outer enormity, in search of bright, wonderful, comfortable lights. a star so secure in its character that you make no qualms with the threat of it burning your skin before even the reach of full impact. and truly how stupid and cowardly was it anyways? fearful of a different end so much as to suffer with something that just barely scratches the surface of fulfillment. 

fearful of the ill-controlled, imperfect things so terribly that you looked upward in an escape to the stars. 

and though albany, new york is not the perfect choice, it is the most suitable option for what you need. a quiet, reclusive setting that works well for all this wonderfully, amazing, burdensome introspection you've been forced to endure. truths roaming tirelessly about your skull as they look and wait with impatience to be fully actualized. and maybe—agreeing with his decisions against your better judgement and instinct—hunter was right. this "break", needed. a thing that could not be put off on the account of some bruised ego. countless little mishaps and slip ups in ring that had eventually led to a nasty botch during the biggest PLE since mania. the look of it not great for business or your health. but to hear it, to feel the full rejection of it, tears through you something fierce. a complete tattering of your pride till it remained undone in mangled pieces. raw and red and blood filled. and once the doctors give their clearance for you to fly, you leave france silently. without a word to anyone. bags and suitcases packed and ready. the flight to new york like a shipping over into uncharted territory. 

because some truths had made themselves painfully aware already. did not wait for your slow foot drag of a realization. funneling up hot and disgusting with the bile from your empty stomach. 

trying with cody was only a dream, forced and sculpted by your hands and a stubborn will, till it formed with jagged edges. the struggle to fit two unmatched puzzle pieces.  

"your old man'll kill me if he knows you're up here with me and not training with him". a ghost of a laugh living along with the coarse age of his voice. jimmy "the butcher" cruz, a dear old friend of your fathers, and a hall of famer in his own right, sighing agreeably as he speaks over the phone. "but you're welcome any time kiddo. you like my own, y'know that? the gym is here whenever you need it to be". 

"i appreciate you butch", you give. the slow ride to your hotel quiet and familiar.

"let me know if you need anything else".

"will do".

the call drops. a blow of air past your lips working well enough as it plays an odd tune of some mild mannered frustration. a soreness of spirit where the body breathes and functions well, systems and internal processes going on as they should but still there rests this adrift feeling. a weightless sensation. fatigue and an imbalance of any direct thought. confusion. symptoms of the concussion surely, which only do well in leaving you to exist in this dead space limbo. an auto pilot of movement. muscles remembering the weight of things. your suitcases and bags, and the heavy swing back of the hotel doors. memory bruised but alive. because you don't have an explanation for returning to albany. your foot stepping into the quaint beauty of the hotel room like aggressively lifting the unfinished heal of a scab. being here, in this place, like your body is taking the long, necessary journey back down to earth. hot on impact of the surface but ready to land. 

your lips suffering under your teeth and your fingers tingling. a wistful air working about you, brushing up against your skin as a reminder of times past. here in this place with him, before the abrupt end of it all. 

flashback - january 2024 - albany, new york

and it is said, by scientists and theologians alike, that before the creation of everything, there was nothing. whether the world came to be from a Godly "let there be", or this abrupt but explosive expansion across the cosmos, the truth remains here, that we exist not of our own casual volition. and so if this coming into being—a devastatingly beautiful ripple through that forever stretch of space—is as ornate in nature as it is said to be, then how is it that one can exist so unceremoniously with another? passion this slow, steady expansion like that of the universe. his name on your tongue and his grip nestled into delicate skin. eyes fashioned with colors to rival that of those painting the faraway galaxies and the breaths singing between coarse little moaning songs, a great imitation of the wind. surely these are bouts of madness, giving frivolous, near shapeless names, for such heavy performances of affection. 

or maybe it isn't insanity. because don't we always give awful, insufficient names to things we hate. and even more terrible names to things we fear. 

the apple state inn, a small time hotel in albany, new york, is not known for it's size or luxury. a just off the exit, two and a half, maybe three star rated establishment—google reviews and the website beg to differ with one another—with a scarce housekeeping staff and forever stale, day old coffee. always near empty vending machines and a just out of high school receptionist who doesn't know the difference between credit and debit and counts change like they're counting sheep. but the walls are thick and the privacy is immaculate. immaculate enough that it'd be more useful and cost effective to keep from printing do not disturb cards than not. because once the door closes behind him and that roll of his mini suitcase follows him in, you figure—with the way he's nearly suffocating you with his mouth—that he needs all the undisturbed time he can get. 

the cloud over of steam and a stream of hot, prickly, shower water. your fingers sudsy as they comb through the slick, soaked ways of his hair. thumbs sweeping at his nape before the caress behind his ears. these tender little dotting ministrations that make him groan some. a dark, near weightless, trembling sort of song humming up his throat. tattooed fingers feeling stitched into the soft flesh of your hips as the water works to wash away the soapiness of his hair. his nose nudging into yours and the slight height of him leaving this impression about you that he's surrounding you some. working to consume. to prove with a wordless go of his everything that he's the best in the world. 

that thick curl of heat and the prod of his hard dick against your leg don't help either. his tongue jutting against your lips—a little lick that you chase with enthusiasm—as he smooths it over his own. such a damn tease. your body alive and burning with a war of feelings. not so little sensations that burst at your neck and your mouth and your chest and the warmth pulsing between already wet legs. the proximity of him damning to whatever words you used before to name your current state of affairs. because this seems a little more than casual. a little too charged and full of breath and life to be just a fulfillment of those nagging, sultry, desperate, bodily desires. because it's never felt this impassioned before. this slow and meticulous. a strangulation about the heart that makes the muscle somehow pump harder, faster. like if it fights for life, for it's right to be as its always been, than maybe it can survive the domineer of whatever this is.

the soap dissolves from his hair, washing down into the drain. your fingers remaining still. running dull over his scalp. a deep caressing. an act living so well that it forms it's own memory in your fingers. the seam of his lips pecking at yours. tiny, lax, unhurried kisses that work like they have till the end of the expansion of the universe. 

a laugh cuts up from your chest. like it's unsure it even wants to escape. a fear that it'll have to explain itself. 

cool green eyes and a spark of diligence you've only seen him have when he's wrestling. "what?"

"nothing, it's just...", eyes failing to meet him. dim as they take to the littered ink all over his chest instead. "...this is strangely intimate no?" because it is. the usual air of your rendezvous' living with a more curt edge to it. an urgency of spirit. something great and simple and to the point. made and brought about from a deep mutual attraction, but for the pure sake of fulfillment. 

and maybe your words, amounting to this cautioned little question, have put some distance between your bodies. like the air and nerve to say it leaves the both of you just a little more distant than seconds before. and it must have, because he's fastening himself to you. skin pressing hotly over skin, a slow mold, leaving you to shiver up against cool tiling. mouth still a sweet tease over yours. palm sweeping down and under to cup your thigh till it's hitching up into his palm and cinched to his waist. "i take last minute flights to nameless little, kinda three star hotels, to eagerly stick my dick in you...", his hips canting up. nudging at the sensitive bloom of your slit. lips at the curve of your ear. his breath hot and your skin shuddering. "...and i'm not knockin the hotels..", he chuckles. "...i'm just sayin. it's a bit of a journey to make it to you. this whole thing has been pretty intimate in a way for a while". 

you take slim little nips at your lip. "does that bother you?"

an earnest moan escaping as he slots his lips along yours for a real kiss. the gentleness of it turning sharp as his teeth glide to pull your lip. "why would it?...", tongue led kisses. hands cradling him hostage. his mouth tasting like the sweets he indulges in before he meets you. "...our whole thing is a little informal but that doesn't mean we can't have a moment...", nipping a trail to your neck and kissing over the slights as he goes. breath at your pulse and the thick heat of him slotting and nudging still between your legs. "...or moments". his words these actors of persuasion. as if muddying the lines of a casual thing has ever been good for anyone foolish enough to do it. 

"does it bother you?", he gives into your neck. fixing your hips to the wet wall as he grinds into them. 

the air thick still. his hair fine under your fingers as they find a home there. your lips kissing his shoulder. dazed by the sensation of shared little whispers and the hard ride of him provoking your arousal to slip and your belly to roll with delicious quiver. "no", you hum. meeting his hips with a roll of your own. "i think it makes our thing more enjoyable". words shaky and a shitty contradiction to the inevitable. 

because this thing, this flare of a sensation—soldering hot to melt your bones—is neither unceremonious or fleeting. it is that forever expansion, forming from nothing into something after the abrupt snap that wills it into being. a universe of a feeling housed in the fragility of skin, simple sweeping touches and the persistence of his eyes. 

your body is this picturesque take to the sheets. his arms strong, a gentle carry before he's settling to slot between your legs. wrapped up in your thighs and his lips placing delicate. and no, not like the simplicity of it would work in a means to break you, but like the need for reverencing runs deep enough that it'd feel like sin to ignore it. and cm punk has never been a man of self-denial. his tongue curling against yours, sweet and patient. hums of moans and the warmth of him working in beautiful opposition to the cool sheets. his thumb soothing up your jaw, palm cradling your cheek, like he's keeping the angle of your lips just where he likes it to be. control living easy in him. pressing kisses in without the urgency of forethought. 

and maybe the apple state inn deserves a five star rating. a review that speaks to the allure of low yellow lights and that natural smell of lavender stuck to the walls. 

an embarrassing sort of greediness spills over. hips rocking clumsily to rush into the simple glide through of his fingers at your slit. a firm circling with his thumb but still sedated. a measured touch that nearly aches your teeth in anticipation. breaths short and brattish whimpers. your back curling, attempting to steer him to the tight throb of your entrance. 

he's enjoying this. teeth nipping your lips with a small smile. nails digging at his arms in need. "please". a drawl of a whine. 

a gentle, testy, shallow, slip into your pussy makes him groan. raw and unmoderated. your legs falling over the muscles of his thighs, spread for him as he dips and retracts. the lewd little sound of it hot to the ears. "don't rush my process", teeth gripping into your neck. tongue following to sooth. 

you squeeze his arm. digging what exists of sharp nails into tattooed skin. impatience unruly. "fuck your process, i wanna-"

an emptiness. the dip of his lone finger gone, replaced with the swift swat of his hand at your slit. a gasp cutting up quick, your body jostling from the speed and the cruelty of it. nestling then in pleasure that rolls in after. his tongue still at your neck. remedying skin sure fated to bruise in the morning. your clit overly wet and throbbing and sliding messily along the idle way his finger just sits there. resting right over without a mind to do something useful. the second city saint, a bastard and a half. 

his laugh breaks into your skin. a little wry and a little mean. like maybe he thinks you're too audacious. so vulnerable and desperate and still making demands. "you barely know what you want for breakfast sometimes...", he starts. forehead pressed into yours. his right hand playing through the easy slip of your folds and the other tight as they ball the sheets near your head. like all of his control is stored there. knuckle white tight and fighting to stay strong. "...so whatever shit you think you want, it's just you being impatient and greedy. i guess its that only child syndrome shit". 

"fuck you", you cut. nudging your face against his. cheeks roughing over the gray of his beard. defiance rife. 

"oh sweetheart", he sings. a drawl of a tenor voice that makes you shudder. makes your hands cling to him tighter. like your hold there could maybe cause it to wring out more of his voice and breath, warm and sweet over your body. "you got not the slightest idea how much you're gonna eat every letter of what your just said". kissing your mouth harder. tongue sweeping with a less gentler purpose. lips pulling and suckling and nearly suffocating. looking to savor the dirty taste of your words. touch taking an abrupt curl into your pussy. a steady wet stroke that rattles your body with an almost ugly moan. almost. "you been drivin me crazy since before i got on that flight...", tongue lapping at your yours. a stress of a moan working up as he seats his finger deeper. "...been thinking about touching you for days". 

and you rush to meet the feed in of it. an upswing of your hips, urging him just that much deeper. praying for the feel of it along that sensitive little spot inside that makes your skin jitter and your breathing short. your hands cradling his face close. a tough hold in his hair as you suck his tongue. a lazy timeless go if it, nearly falling so well into it that you almost lose yourself. 

"someone sounds a little obsessed", you give against his lips. 

his eyes green but nearly black and piercing. forehead pressed to you still. "unfortunately yes". an almost whisper if not for the bass of it. 

your heart hammering. fearful and exhilarated all the same. 

and you can feel his mouth on yours still, moving and hot and dangerous even as your eyes close for some feen for reprieve. a break from the diligence of his own. but you can hear him, the pry the noise of him takes to flesh, like he's opening up and splitting your nerves at the seams. "want you to show me what you do when i'm gone...", kissing your lips sweetly. a second finger joining the first. burying deep to the knuckle and balancing with perfection the deftness it takes to numb your brain with bliss. clit nudging against the add of his thumb. sensitive and the sensation of it blooming it's way till it reaches your toes. "...wanna see how good you take care of yourself when i'm not with you'. 

that lavender smell soaked into the walls filling your lungs. the tips of your fingers pressing his thumb in till it's flush up against the swell of your clit. control ill suited to your body as you groan in his mouth. 

back curling in with another arch. nipples aching and needy and up against his chest. 

your longing this breathy, moaning, call to action. his mouth quick with a salacious answer, finding your body there. a flat, wide, lick over the twist of it. deep in it's savoring. curling and flicking and smiling about the perk of it as he feels you cling wet to his fingers. the pad of his thumb touched by the throb in your clit and the tight press you lay over it. keeping him there as he drags long and steady through your pussy. a greedy moan of his bleeding into your skin as it leaves him, the ball of your nipple playing in his mouth before he's suckling with tongue and prying with his hot mouth. wringing up the pleasure till it's voicing pliant and needy for him. teetering a line of overindulgence where he forsakes control. breaths heavy and hungry as he moves on to the other. a similar treatment that forces your hips to buck. a harsh, abrupt spurring that slips him deeper. right there, nestling and stroking lewd still. "harder, baby", you gasp. clutching the sheets. control lost. sporadic ruts that feen for that touch again. 

"there?", humming at your breast. fingers just a little more vicious. the sensation sweetening your blood as it heats.

throbs undulating your skin, like the rippling push of something that goes on to last forever. his thumb releasing to let your have at your own undoing. lips suffering under your teeth. eyes glazed and your head tipped into the sheets. chasing that bliss as it waits to unfurl all over. 

"yes", gasping. a tiny, pleading soprano. small and aching as it leaves you. trembling soft under him, the beginning of it rocking into you slowly. "oh God, i-", labored breaths and groaning. your fingers running up sloppy at your clit and his mouth suckling still. fucking into you with a purpose you're sure that entails seeing you go mad. "i'm coming ". 

he releases your nipple with a simple pop of his lips. returning to sweep his tongue through the awestruck expression of your mouth. a sloppy kiss. wet and meshing and a little mindless. pussy drooling still as it steeps and clings and throbs. 

"not sure he'd love hearing you say that but i sure do", a frail kiss at the edge of your mouth. "say it again". 

"i'm coming", you pant. short cuts of breath he presses his lips over. 

a glint to his eyes. gaze cascading over. appraising the state of your unraveling. "and so pretty doing it too". 

you hiss. body collecting with a short hitch, like it means to ease the landing of this brace-less thing. an effort made in vain as the violence of it takes you. his throat humming satisfied, and the work of his fingers going on still to brush up against that deeper, delicate, slip of skin in you that drives you crazy. a bright, pitchy, "fuck", flying off the tip of your tongue as you curl in and lose yourself. a wordless, world of a feeling. an inconceivable burst of color behind the eyes and your lungs fighting for those better takes of air. unruly and exposed. skin teeming with too much of a good thing. the bed dipping and un-dipping, the shift of him living just at the edges of your awareness. the taste of former words heavy and thick in your mouth, like he said they'd be. his fingers collecting your thighs to adjust the way they reveal the mess of you. 

a trail of dainty kisses as he ventures low. a journey over flesh to mark his appearance. a quiver playing your nerves, his tongue slipping to lick long along the full bloom of your slit. messy and drunk, like the careless indulgence of a reward long awaited. drawling moans and the grip in your thighs meaner than any touch he's given you thus far. a drive of his tongue through where you pulse and drip. weak hands near dead, trying their hardest to ease him off. eyes recovering and lazy, watching him go greedy. another hiss through your teeth, one now that indulges. a little less than brutal hold in his hair that keeps him close. the end of an old pleasure making way for a new one. suckling your clit like he did other parts of skin. little bursts of pleasure breaking to the surface, your hips rutting to following the sensation blindly. 

his quickness, a jarring little feat. feeding tongue into your mouth to share the taste of you. your thumbs over his cheeks and your thighs hiking over his hips. the hard heat of him grinding along till it's snug and laying at your slit. 

and even the thought of him slipping in is enough to leave you shivering. 

"how do you want me?" 

"deep". a thoughtless answer. your tongue wetting your lips, aching for it. "just take it, take me. i-", desperate and thin feeling. "please", you stress. 

his earlier words a little clearer. thoughts and imaginations disrupted, having been troubled by the thought of you. his diligence running vengeful. 

and there is nothing exactly satiating about this, about the pace, the life of it, of this. heavy feeling as he makes to stretch you deep. filling to the hilt and nestled comfortably so. like perhaps he was always meant to be there. your throat singing, breathy and filling his mouth as he makes to kiss you. a softness to you, boneless and subdued. the slightest touches made into something bigger and greater. a hand held at your thigh, a smooth reach till its hooking under your knee and the other calm and patience, the thumb of it stroking your forehead. 

"not much for being a selfish prick but i need you lookin at me", he rasps. cool green eyes just a bit warmer under the low lights. gentle and arresting. "so beautiful", like a whisper to himself. "i wanna see em when i'm coming in you", he gives. testing your devotion with a push of his hips. 

something heavy and dismantled erupting in his chest. bass-y and coarse, breathing over your mouth. his lips making like they mean to kiss you but never fully getting to the completion of it. your thighs housing a sweet aching and your ears burning hot, pleasured by the noise of him. the way his body slowly conforms to being taken in. easy and patient and terrible for his nerves. "yeahhh", he drawls, like an agreement of some staggering pleasure made with the self. or maybe a noise of satisfaction made pure by completion. 

whimpers stuttering and cut with short breaths. your eyes glassy and your throat gaining that bit of heaviness. softly trembling, and feeling crazy under the weight of his eyes. like such vulnerability would soon be your end. a quiet sob breaking free, fingers sinking into his skin for dear life. your pussy quivering desperate, clutching hot as he gives a slow, firm, slipping stroke, pressing in enough that it makes you whole. 

terror delighting it self in your bones. pressure in the body heavy enough to make diamonds. a tear slipping tenderly, falling over your cheek, the trouble of another release gathering in your belly. 

he kisses the wet streak along your face. lewd and hot and wet, pussy pulling at him softly to stay. an endearing path being made upon the skin, a light press of his lips everywhere. silent and filled with purpose.  

it isn't enough to let go, to deny the self of a former ambition. solid ground must be met, a full impact made regardless of how unsavory the process is. this quiet, contemplative, stretch of time in albany, not so dissimilar to a travelers great return to earth. readjustments made to air and the gravity. a re-stabilization of things—your walking and your turning and your weight against the ropes of that faithful squared circle and your ego—because a concussion only made your body's resentment more of a hell to deal with. compromise, a great ordeal with the self, a testier thing to endure even. a month of falling away, deep into the recesses of a particularly dark shadow. a host of memory lanes and the diminishing of self importance. FOMO a real bitch and a half to deal with. the frustration buried beneath skin feeling more childlike than anything else, eyeing the others as they roam and enjoy, from the window of your injury styled detention. week after week, nestled at the back of a little less than dingy sports bar, watching your friends and colleagues perform at the greatest arena's and stadiums. 

but the time away made for an easier reclamation, a confession you wouldn't speak well too aloud, lest it proved hunter's opinions right. your head clear of that horrible knock of an ache against your skull and the nausea more than minimal. 

minimal, but not gone. a small swim of it rippling your belly. flowing against the slosh of ginger beer you've become friendly with since discovering the existence of 'porters dive bar'. an albany staple for the city's exuberant wrestling community. the spice of the ginger steeping your tongue and the fizz of the liquid rolling over to test the limits of your stomach. like the first weary steps of a travelers feet back on earth. a fear of failure but an eagerness of spirit regardless. the building back of strength and resistance. a well made sort of exposure therapy. 

your phone pings. another one of his messages appearing. his televised win against cody at an arena in albany, working like a kindling for this abrasive flare styling his words. ego on fire and looking to consume. 

text message | the best in the world: soon i'm gonna stop asking to see you and just show up unannounced. you know i'm close right? where are you?

text message | outgoing: porter's dive bar 

and this here is the full impact. a hypersonic re-entry. soaring past atmospheric layers as the body is once again enveloped by earths gravity. reality styled with its many worldly limitations. rich colors and coarse ground and a pulling weight in your bones. 

talking to him is that meeting of skin against solid ground. the unsavory process. 

your phone pings again. fingers slipping against the screen to reveal who. dread coursing wild and unfettered. a quick washing in your blood that plunges the heart. 

text message | cody r: can we meet sometime soon? to talk? 

text message | outgoing: of course.

you owe him that much. an explanation—regardless of how terrible it will form on your tongue. bile and a lack of brilliance born from guilt.—of your faults and self misguided decisions. but it's all just another step. a heel toe to reclaim familiarity with the earth. building back the strength lost from that unruly lack of ambition, from that great deal of muscle atrophy. 

the wooden chair opposite your booth seat scoots harshly against the floor. his entrance screeching your nerves to wake with a horrible sort of surprise. the cool green of his eyes hidden beneath the curl over of a ball cap brim. shoulders squared and wide and persistent. "you look good", he gives. sitting across from you. "refreshed". 

you settle your phone down. a soft tremble in your fingers as you make to embrace one hand in the other. the feel of his gaze, like the easy thin slice of a razor over thick skin. a surgical opening that leaves you bare to eyes and air alike. useless to yourself and a short ways from uncomfortable. fighting against a painless pain, against that shameful, irritating weakness that comes with vulnerability. fears and slivers of frustration born from this ill-controlled performance. because cm punk, the best in the world, makes you vulnerable. 

you take one of the two ginger beers off the table. sipping at the cool spice of it for some reprieve. "your first words are always about how i look".

"because i'm unfortunately very invested in your wellbeing". 

"unfortunately?" 

"s'not a whole lot of reciprocation on that front". words not minced. eyes trailing to look over the cold glass left untouched. his curiosities moving him to bring it closer. "what is this?"

"ginger beer". watching him sniff at the rim of the glass before he tests the taste. the spice of the ginger and the fizz delightful and cold sober. "reciprocation". the truth of it cutting across the air, to give something deep and sharp and exacting against whatever assumptions he's made amidst his resentments. because while your investments into his wellbeing weren't as vocal as his for yours, they still hold firm in some form of existence. 

"where you been hiding out?"

"our little go to hotel".

he shifts the curl of the brim to reveal more of his eyes. in a manner that allows you to see them well enough. to get the gist of whatever mixture of emotions they take. a hardened sort of confusion styling them now as your answer sinks in. "why there?" 

hesitation. like the stutter of your foot after a misstep. body afraid to fail, afraid to fall after that great coming back to earth. "not sure". 

his nose flares. a fierce movement. and then his jaw. a chain reaction of many things. as if to curb the brunt of his anger. this overbear of a deep vexing, he pulls into the constraint of words. hard eyes and a harder tongue. "you got a real nasty habit of not saying the things you mean and i can really do without it". 

but it was enough, too much even to admit such wrongdoings amidst the court of your own thoughts and imaginations. resentment housed by the body, less sore as the days venture on, but still aching in the skin. felt in the abruptness of harsh maneuvers. swimming knocks in the head and your balance disturbed. those disgusting dull bursts of nausea and a heaviness in your body. exhaustion from nothing. "...and what is it exactly that you want from me?" 

"a little transparency", he grits. "some honesty".  

"i was fine with cody...was on my way to something substantial even', you give. a corral of words you feel were truthful sometime ago. back when the ambition felt sure and not so unattainable. before muscle deep resentment and injury. "we fell away from each other naturally...", words more like a tool. these builders of persuasion. and God what horrible persuaders they were. everything falling off the tongue half made and shoddily voiced. "...but in true cm punk fashion, whenever you don't like something anymore you get pissy about it. threw a dirty little wrench into my relationship to screw me over". 

his chair stresses against the floor. body pulling in closer. fury stored in the pull in of his brows. "you screwed yourself. threw yourself headfirst into bullshit because you're scared. called what we had a thing, because if you actually put a decent name to it then you'd have to admit how you feel about me, and how much that terrifies you...", his tone hushed and curt and piercing. "because cody is safe and easy and if he fails at making you happy, it's no real loss at all right? because you were never really in all the way anyways". 

you feel thin. subdued and quite overwrought by all this exposure to him. "you had time to say something. why wait till when i'm with someone else?"

he sighs. settles into an answer like it's the hundredth time he's come to the conclusion of it. "spent since january trying to get rid of you and it didn't work for me, and you were on live tv botchin the hell out of everything, trying to get rid of me, so i don't think it really worked for you either...so here we are". 

the air thick and the silence loud. the droning of the bar easing in to fill the space. a hard siphon of the energy by words and the confession of not so dead feelings. your ginger beers icy still and watered. a waitress comes, strutting up to your table. 

"you guys need anything?"

"two more of these ginger beers please", punk gives. a small smile as she leaves. 

his eyes the color of garden sage. softer now. flitting over your face with a renewed sense of diligence.

and it's more clear now than it's ever been. he isn't going anywhere. 

your fingers curl, a slow coming together into your palm to ball. multi-purposed, squeezing to live a little in that familiar burst of an ache. bones and muscles flexing as the skin pulls some. a summation of weariness. knuckles breaking against the door to knock. a similar rhythm playing in your chest, because cody could be many things. sad. angry. vexed. indifferent. he could speak wild or terribly soft, but inspire another layer of guilt to lay at your skin just the same. 

"just a second", he gives. bass in the voice and words slipping thick like over his tongue. in that way that he tries to cover some but can't help. 

a shift in your leg, like the anxious pinch of a nerve. a jerk or maybe a pulling. you're not sure what it is, but it's asking to move. to leave. to maybe do this another time. "i can come back later if you want", shouting some over the regular drone of pre-live show buzz. one hand slipping away from the cool metal of the door handle and the other undoing from that ache of a fist. making to about face into the fray of crew members. but he must recognize your voice, even through the thickness of the door. must've settled himself enough in whatever emotions he's living in.

his voice rushing. like he can feel you falling away from this long overdue talk. "no no, come in. i'm good. come in". 

your hand returns against the door handle. cool metal more like an icy burning. stepping into his dressing room like a re-entry into the world of him. his hair retouched to the roots, a cold blonde that pops his already sky blue eyes. his hands roughing with his wrestling boots. blinking up at you silently. mouth parted and slightly lost for words. like he'd maybe rehearsed everything and has now forgotten all the brilliance of it. a sigh leaving with that realization. like he'll have to forsake all the prearranged self made discussion and go about this a little less practiced. "you look well", he gives. with a nod. "the break did you some good". 

"yeah", stepping in further. arms folded over. body overly aware of his appraisal. "that seems to be the consensus". 

his throat clears, brows pulling together before they fall away quickly. this awkward abrupt movement that reveals the slow work of his thoughts. gears oiled and turning and trying out words before he says them. a farer cry from his in-ring persona, where he's suited and pristine and seemingly always ready. the little action of it making him more human to the eyes and less star-like. something you would have shrunk away from before out of fear that it would cause him some lackluster effect, now finding in its own imperfections, very endearing. 

"was it something about me, or anything i ever did that kinda just-...?", his voice falling off. left to motion oddly between your bodies with his hands. miming a separation. like finishing the words, allowing them to live in the air, would cause them to be true. 

"no! no, it was...", trying to find something not so terrible to soothe him with. stepping a little closer to him. arms unfolded. like the honesty begging to leave you for some time has now taken command of your body and it's functioning. "...i wasn't being honest about a lot of things with myself and it spilled over into what we had going on, and i'm really sorry about that". 

and he nods. not like he's accepting of it all but like he gets it. like he's relating to you. eyes softer, made vulnerable by his own truth. "all the...all the asinine bullshit leading up to mania just...", his eyes rolling as he remembers the trouble of it. "...on top of already wanting the belt for personal reasons, it just drove me crazy. and i think in the midst of that, i leaned in on us a little harder than i should've. maybe more than i planned to". fingers scratching and curling up into his hair, going about aimlessly almost. giving himself something to do to remedy the weight of his words. "we have quite a bit in common so...the intimacy was good enough, it-it was easy to just hold on to. i think we were both faking it to make it". 

your throat grows heavy, face warm with the well up of tears. relief meshing easy with the sadness of it all. the both of you willing to settle, if it meant being comfortable and not alone. a heartbreaking circumstance to force upon the self for sure.

"can i...?", your hands motioning for an embrace. 

"of course, c'mere".

his arms warm and comforting as he takes you in. wrapped tightly, with a friendly sort of affection. an earnest touch, made not to linger in a performance of desire but to give solace. sniffling against his chest as he squeezes tightly. 

"don't you start crying for real...", he jokes. "...cause then you're gonna make me cry".

you smile. slipping away from him gently. "well that don't take much so..." 

his eyes roll. grabbing the outer jacket that completes his in-ring gear. 

your fingers sweep under your eyes to rid of the wet streaks. shoulders less heavy and the dread in your chest no longer fighting to consume. making to leave his dressing room. "don't go easy on him either. i need him a little softened up". 

"will do". 

you make a full exit. slipping your phone from your pocket. his name under your thumb as you press against it. memory serving well, thinking of that sports bar in albany and all the empty glasses of ginger beer spread across the table. the vex about his face growing gentler as the night carried on. that line in the sand washed away, the boundary blurred and then made new into something with a better shaping. his cool, pale, sage eyes working like he wanted to remember that moment. like the satisfaction of having you in front of him again without any attempts to break away from him, was too good to simply be lost to time. 

you click to call and wait for his answer. an impatience running in your fingers as you make to join the producers and tech operators at the staging area. 

he answers. a simple, coarse, "yeah", that sweetens your ears.

"have breakfast with me tomorrow", you give. plain and a little demanding. "please?" 

he hums. amusement in his voice like he's smiling. 

"time and place sweetheart". 

[thaliagracesgf]

THALIA GRACE X READER HEAR ME OUT OKAY I DO NOT KNOW HOW TO PUT MY IDEAS INTO WORDS BC ENGLISH IS NOT FIRST LANGUAGE

Maybe reader were part of their group (luke annabeth and thalia when they werent in the camp) and they had a little thing back than (crushing basically) but maybe something happenned along the way and she couldn't gowith them to the way of chb. and maybe they found reader but she's on lukes side

happy ending pls

i'm finally posting again!!! and answering a request!! i hope you enjoy this (even though i lowkey hate it).

also yay finally adding headers!!!

thalia grace x hestia!reader

summary is basically the request!!

constant arguing. constant, constant, constant arguing. luke’s head was about to split open. 

“i could have handled him just fine, thanks,” thalia shouted, storming ahead on the narrow path through the woods somewhere in pennsylvania. 

‘guys, please,” he would have thrown his head back if he wasn’t carrying a sleeping annabeth on his back. you thought she was the most adorable thing, drooling a little on luke’s shoulder. even the knife she kept clutched in her small fist was cute, although luke looked a little terrified that if she jolted in her sleep she would slice his chest open. a few weeks ago, you had convinced luke and thalia to stop, let you brush out her matted curls, and put her hair in braids that wouldn’t get caught or tangled as you all continued along the road. of course, thalia sat there critiquing every knot and part you made (with a celestial bronze knife, mind you). 

“it had you pinned to the ground,” you said, referring to the stymphalian bird that had been chasing you from philadelphia. “it would have bitten your head clean off if you hadn’t gotten involved.”

thalia rolled her eyes. 

“can we try a little patience here? gratitude, maybe?” luke chimed in.

“shut up, luke,” you said in unison. you might be bickering all the time, but thalia was your best friend. you certainly didn’t need luke coming in the middle, acting like he ran the show because he was the oldest. you got enough of that from thalia, and she was only a year older than you.

“for gods’ sake,” he muttered.

you trudged along, summoning soft flames between your hands. you hadn’t been born to a goddess, necessarily, but your adopted mother, who had fallen for a kind librarian in your town, had found your doorstep one day, long after the librarian had disappeared from her life, with a note attached. you had accidentally incinerated it shortly after she took you in, but she gave you the gist, which was that hestia had found you through a fire in an orphanage, enthralled by the flames, and that she had decided you were in need of a mother. she had pulled you through the hearth, given you some strange blessing, and dropped you on your mother’s doorstep. 

eight years later, when you were nine, your mother had died in a plane crash on her way back from visiting her father. the foster homes hadn’t loved taking in a nine year old who could summon fire, so that was when you ran away. 

so far, you could tell that hestia was trying her best to help you along your travels, which was more than you could say for hermes (ironically) or athena, let alone zeus, who you were pretty sure was the one stopping the others from intervening. you got the impression that hestia didn’t answer to zeus as much as he would have liked. 

the fire came in handy at nights, when you could warm yourselves around it. you had a way of making even a campground in the middle of the appalachian mountains that crawled with monsters feel like home. you would go to sleep around the fire, but manage to wake up curled within thalia’s arms. you could never place it, but it felt different than how luke held annabeth like her life depended on it: as in, you would always wake to them giggling over their breakfasts at you, but it didn’t hold any weight to laugh at them.   

⭑

the fire came in handy when you were trapped, alone, in the cyclops’ cellar. you had screamed for your friends to leave you, that you would be okay. and it came in handy on the streets of new york for the next five years, and even at the candy shop you managed to get a job in (somewhat illegally: a nice woman named sally did sort of pay you under the table). 

then sally went missing. you lost your job, and you made your way south again, staying in the demigod hideouts you had made with luke, thalia, and annabeth. flames trickled across your skin as you cried, wishing they were still with you. you hoped they were safe at camp, but you could help wondering why they hadn’t sent anyone to come find you. did annabeth even remember you? 

⭑

luke found you just as you were about to starve to death. you’d been in an especial depression, hiding in the cave of the blue ridge mountains, over in tennessee. the cold of the winter was insane. you couldn’t remember it ever getting that bad in the city. 

you broke when he told you she was dead. 

“it’s his fault,” he said, false tears in his eyes. he had long forced away any emotion pertaining to camp half-blood. 

and so you joined him, becoming his right-hand man. the monsters in kronos’ army feared you. the girl with the flames, they whispered. yet in the privacy of your cabin, you silently prayed to hestia, let her guide you as you fought her brother. 

it was she who told you to follow luke to mount tam. 

⭑

the mountaintop was impossibly windy. you were relying entirely on your sword if there was trouble—any flame would be immediately extinguished. 

you hadn’t accounted for the bigger threat—the air leaving your lungs at the sight of your sister on the ground as artemis held the sky beside her. 

he promised. 

he had promised annabeth would never be hurt. 

your stomach churned. she didn’t even see you, bent over in pain. you couldn’t speak. you turned to luke, suddenly terrified. what had he done? what were you a part of? your legs turned to lead. no. he was already practicing. the titan lord was already too far in his mind to turn it around. and he sensed your allegiance shifting.

when she came over the hill your heart stopped. 

your vision blurred as you saw her face. as she came to your side, held your face in her hands, and helped you to the ground beside annabeth. 

you watched through teary eyes as she fought luke. as he fell from the cliff, you couldn’t help but reach out. 

and then your vision darkened. 

⭑

your eyes opened to warmth. annabeth sat by your side, brushing hair from your face. thalia stood talking to a boy—about twelve or thirteen, you guessed—and a man who shared annabeth’s dark skin and deep-in-thought expression. 

she rushed to your side when annabeth called. 

as she knelt beside you, you adjusted yourself on the couch. your hair was probably a disgusting mess. she smiled softly, brushing her own short hair behind her ear. 

“i thought you were a tree,” you croaked, and she laughed lightly. 

“i was. i thought you were cyclops food.” 

“i wasn’t.”

she lowered her head, and you pushed yourself up on your elbows. she pushed a pillow behind your head, but held it up with the hand that wasn’t resting on your thigh. as she kissed you, you saw the years of camping behind you and the years ahead of rushing to her tree as the hunters arrived at camp all at once. 

and as she pulled back, you saw annabeth smile, hiding her face in the other kid’s chest.

[bangtanfancamp]

Headed to the Mountains |KNJ

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•one shot

•Masterlist

•pairing: songwriter Kim Namjoon x oc with chronic pain

•word count: 3,465

•genre: escapism, hurt/comfort, smut, established relationship

•rating: MATURE/ 18+

•warnings: current event commentary, somewhat anti- American sentiment (I live in Texas so I see a lot of mess first hand 🫤 it’s my country but my god, it’s messy), stress, chronic pain, high sensitivity, sensory issues, first person voice, smut smut smutty smut, oral (female receiving and male), tandem oral, smex, doggy style?, Namjoon’s big brain during smex, smut with feelings and a lot of thoughts (as usual) ((all my air sign placements really coming out to play

•a/n: idk what this is, besties, besides extremely unedited and wildly indulgent. I may change the voice out of first person and all the “i’s” to “you’s” but it’s up the way it’s up for now. 🤷🏽‍♀️The world is just a horrifying place right now, especially in the US, and I just wanted to write something that felt like a small refuge, spend a little time some place that felt better, so we’re back in Namjoon’s living room. Also, who better to escape into the woods and away from reality with than the founder of namjooning himself ((also also, that bit about Pennsylvania was 100% true. It’s wild here, man))

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“I cannot get comfortable for the life of me,” I huff grumpily.

It’s a Monday night, late in March. The threat of rain has been looming for hours. Despite its sudden absence in the forecast when I check the weather app, I can still feel it in my bones. In the raw, creaky way my joints scrape against each other. The way the inflammation in my body burns like fire ants beneath my skin.

Namjoon is quick to notice from across the room.

“This weather’s been making your body feel like hell this spring.”

“Yeah, I hate to begrudge it though. Winter was even worse.”

“Gosh, it really was huh?” He frowns at the laptop screen on his desk. He’s got the tiniest beanie shoved on his very big head but somehow, it works. The tips of his hair peak past the beanie’s brim, brushing the mussed hair of his furrowed eye brows. “God, I can’t stand to stare at a screen a second longer.”

He peels his gold rimmed glasses off his nose, rubbing the little indentions they've made along the bridge and pressing his fingers into his closed eye sockets. I can tell he’s exhausted and miserable too about how much energy life seems to require of him these days.

“I’m going to scoop you up and make you the most comfortable woman in the world, I promise. Just give me like three minutes.” He tips back in his desk chair, the spine of it sliding out to a wide reclined angle as his long legs stretch out in front of him.

“Why did we spend so much money on a couch that’s not even comfortable, joonie?” I whine, shifting once again.

“Because the last one was even less comfortable than this one,” he reminds me, “and at least this one is cognac leather,” he shrugs. “It’s comfy on the eyes at least”

“Well I need it to be comfy for my bones.” I grunt, shoving yet another throw pillow out of your way. “Maybe we should pick up and move to the shore, like in a regency novel. I think the air would be good for me. I wonder if American healthcare accepts existential dread and deep chronic pain as enough of a reason to just financially support us until I turn to dust.”

“You and your TikTok algorithm both know as well as I do that America will do no such thing,” Namjoon chuckles with his eyes closed.

“I know…. But they should take at least some culpability. God knows most of my health problems probably exist BECAUSE of them.” I slide the strap of my bra and shirt off my shoulder, not because I want to be a seductress but because the elastic is cutting into my throbbing right trap muscle and if I don’t get some of the tension off of it, I might scream.

“Right? Did you hear about the latex spill in the Delaware river yesterday? The entire city of Philadelphia doesn’t have usable drinking water right now. My friend there literally got a text message about it from the city strongly recommending every use bottled water only until

Further notice. One and a half million people woke up to that text Message! It’s insane.” Namjoon pulls his oversized hood up over his beanie as he looks up at the ceiling, ankles crossed beneath the desk.

“Lord, haven’t we lived through enough of this? I’m so tired, joonie.” I can hear how pitiful I sound. To his credit, he treats me just the same as when I sound intellectually astute and strong. I’ve always liked that about him.

“If the world is going to hell in a hand basket anyway, maybe we should look into a- moving internationally and b- signing up for a payment plan on one of those YouTube influencer mattresses,” Namjoon tips his head my way, and suddenly my heart feels a little more light.

“Ooo, the helix?“ I smile, for perhaps the first time tonight.

His dark eyes twinkle in the low evening lamplight.

“ I actually did some research and found one made out of avocados.”

“Is that as close as I can get now that my body has decided it’s allergic to Avos?”

Namjoon’s eyes crinkle as he laughs. “God, your body would find a way to betray you like that wouldn’t it?”

“It’s not my fault I’m too delicate for this world,” I shrug.

“I forget you were born inside a flower that protected you from the world with its petals until it bloomed, thumbelina.”

“If I could take a nap inside a peony right now, I’d do it in a heartbeat…. The pollen might be too much though.” I sigh.

“Come here,” Namjoon laughs, standing from his chair and extending his hand toward me.

“Where are you taking me?”

I slip my knuckles between his and knock against his shoulder with my head.

“To my bumblebee. Take you on a spin around the block” he winks.

“I’m surprised you didn’t say take a ride. It’s like the only lyric you use these days” I snicker, bumping the curve of my hip into his.

“You’re supposed to write what you know,” he shrugs.” It’s not my fault your hips are your area of expertise.”

He winks at me and god, if he took every piece of clothing off of me right now, I’d ride him in a heartbeat.

Shit. Knowing him, he can probably feel my response to him without even looking at me. Sure enough, he looks down, smiling until his dimples dip in his cheeks, and damn it, I’m so captivated by the focaccia dough dips in his face that I stumble into the corner of the wall. My hip catches and I yelp, more embarrassed than in pain.

“Shh, hey, I got you.”

That calm voice of his is so low right now as his palm curves around the dip in my hip that got nicked by the wall. I tip into his long, warm torso and let him guide me into the bedroom. I’m clearly too disoriented and agitated to make it here without careening into something else and frustrating myself, so I’m happy for the assistance. Besides, being scooped up in Namjoon’s substantial hands is never a bad place to be.

“Thanks, baby. I needed that.”

I press my temple into his chest, kiss his ribs. Marvel at the resistance of muscle I feel beneath his soft green shirt. I press my nose into the fabric and let the warmth of him calm me. His other hand strokes soft knuckles along my jaw. His touch is so light and sweet - I feel my shoulders drop as he does it.

“Pick me up?” I whisper, eyes lifting softly to look up at him from where I’m pressed into his chest.

His hands slide up my sides, palms pressed into my waist as he lifts me. The soft grunt he makes as my thighs wrap around his ribs makes something in my brain feel a little fuzzy. Life is better like this, I think. Our faces nuzzled cheek to cheekbone, his hands fitted beneath my thighs, mine trailing softly through the silky bits of his hair peeking out of the back of his beanie as my arms drape over his shoulders like fabric. I can feel the knot of tension in the middle of my spine begin to untie itself as I melt into him. God, I’m so happy he exists.

“Where would you like to go, princess?”

Namjoon kisses the top of my ear, and that fuzzy tingle in my brain is back.

“What are my options?”

I press my lips softly to his throat in light, meditative kisses. They’re more like delicate exhales. My tongue barely tips out to taste his skin. Just a touch. Just a taste. Sleepy and slow because that’s all I have the energy for. His eyelids do that hazy half flutter that tells me he likes it enough to pretend he doesn’t so that I’ll keep going. I smile as he gently tips his head to the side, as if waiting for my answer, but really he’s just giving me more room to access that spot behind his ear that likes my lips. Let’s humor the man.

“We could go to the bed, the shower, the bath…” he gasps a little on the last word, the ah sound coming out too airy as I gently mouth at his pulse point and his grip on my thighs gets tense. “Or there’s a ….counter right here.” His head tips toward the half bath in the hallway as his fingers dig into the meat of my legs.

When I look up to meet his eyes, they’ve gone serpentine. Deep and dark and heavy as he holds me close. I can feel how shallow his breathing is becoming and I smile, sleepy and soft as he watches me.

“Take me to bed, Joonie.”

He’s kissing me before I can even finish his name.

He tips the door open with one of his feet before squeezing us both through the threshold of it. With his eyes closed and his tongue between my lips, he’s bound to crash into something and he does. He thunks an elbow, I knock my head, but in seconds, he’s cradling it where I’ve bumped the wall, spilling “sorry, I’ve got you, sorry,” onto my tongue as he pulls me in closer.

The spell doesn’t break.

He’s big and he’s bulky but he’s careful with me as he lays me on the bed and climbs over me. His mouth doesn’t leave mine even as he peels off each piece of my clothing. His movements are slow, his touch tender as he does.

Namjoon has learned how to soothe my body when it’s alert like this. Knows the cool air feels refreshing and crisp when my skin is hot with pain and sensitivity so he gets me naked with a deft touch. He knows the feel of his skin is grounding for me so that soft green shirt of his hits the floor. Knows I love his hair so the beanie goes next. Knows I love the strength in his thighs so his shorts are next as he tugs my hips down beneath his to let me wrap my legs around his slim waist.

I'm so wrapped up in the warmth of him that I don’t realize he’s tugged my silk pillowcase beneath my head. It’s cool when my head falls back and I smile, toothy and wide, as his plush lips sink into my skin. He’s at my collarbone now, then the volume of my breasts. His breath is warm, the air is cool and his substantial hands grip me firm like dough he’s being careful with as he kneads.

His cock brushes against me between my legs and the bright feeling it sends sparkling through me makes my breathing stutter.

“Joonie,” I shiver, and I can feel him smile against my skin. See his eyes flash up at me in the dark.

“We do too much, baby.” He breathes, voice smoky and low like the dragon he is.

I don’t know what he means. My critical thinking is losing its sharpness as he suckles warm and soft at the dip of my ribs.

“Too much?” I can feel my brows crumpling, but his tongue is so warm on my stomach that my hands dig into his shoulders without my consent.

He reaches up to brush one hand over mine.

“Shhh, easy. We’re trying to relax you, not tense you up.”

He’s smiling. I can barely see him but I can feel him and I know his grin would only dissolve me deeper into the mattress.

“We do too much, we deal with too much. God, your skin is too motherfucking much,” he squeezes me, latches his soft mouth onto my waist and tugs at the skin. I can feel the bruise blooming there, but he’s off and on to the next before I can even get words out. “Your body is always trying to process all of it, but it’s too much. Let me take care of some of it- let me help.”

When His tongue slips between my legs, his strong hands push my legs wide, press them down when he feels me buckle. His breath is so warm, his mouth is so molten, his nose on my clit is so gentle- it all leaves my body in an exhale. Tension drops off like melted wax and I feel myself go supple in his palms as I let him do what he wants with me.

“There’s been so much chaos. So much to deal with. So much to do. I just want to run away from it all with you.”

His tongue is languid as it works on me. The rush of warmth undoes the aches in my body better than a hot bath ever has.

“Then let’s go, Joonie. Where do you want to go? I’ll follow you anywhere.” And I mean it. They’re not lusty rambles. They’re not hollow words. I’d follow him to the edge of the world.

He puts that plump mouth of his over my clit and the gentle way he slurps me up melts my bones into soup broth and clears my head.

“You’ll let me take you anywhere?”

He looks up at me, his mouth never leaving his post, working me slowly as he waits for my reply. His mouth is so wet, his eyes are so sharp and my body is just another piece of music he’s learned how to perfect. I nod, bottom lip bit between my teeth and relax as much as I can as he composes a symphony between my legs. His smile folds the crinkles around his eyes, and his aura flickers between lovingly soft and steadily authoritative as he doubles down, wrapping his arms around my legs to scoop my hips up into his face and pressing into me, deeper, faster, harder.

I arch up when he does, gasping as my shoulders lift up, my fingers twist in the bedspread, my jaw goes slack. He’s really doing a number on me and all I want to do is say thank you and let him continue.

He slides up my body then, one hand behind my head bringing my forehead to his as the other grips my hip with enough pressure to split it apart as he tips his cock inside me in a way I didn’t know I needed. The sound is squelchy and wet and he smiles as his nose bumps against mine.

“You’ll follow me?”

He sounds cocky in a way he hasn’t in a while and a little piece of me loves it. His hips are fluid as his cock rocks in and out of me. All I can do is nod wildly, disoriented as I clutch him close to me. My legs are folded up, feet along his hips for purchase with my knees butterflied wide. I’d laugh at how much I must look like a frog if this didn’t feel so good. He’s got a hand beneath my bum, lifting my hips off the bend and gliding his cock so deep into me that surely my organs are all shifting wide like the Red Sea to make room for him.

“Wherever you want to go,” I hum, arms falling slack. I’ve lost the energy to hold on to him, but he’s got me held up so precious and tight that we’re still more intertwined than two fibers of thread in a tight knit sweater. I’ve fused into him and now every breath is in tandem.

“I’m gonna take my girl away from here.”

His thumb brushes my bottom lip and I feel myself flush at his tenderness.

“Yeah?” My eyes are wide, following his. He hovers above me, furrowed face sculpted with intensity and aggression as his body works mine into ecstasy. I’ve really acquiesced to the fact that I’m nothing more than a soft lump of clay in his hands that he’s working with precision. I’ve always wanted to be a work of art.

He slips my breast into his mouth like a lychee jelly, moaning at the feel of me tightening around him when he does it. Pumping harder, faster, deeper, only to pull out and dip his long fingers into the mess he’s made. He slathers it over all my sensitive bits, caressing with finesse as sparklers crackle in my vision.

When He pulls me up and into him, my face is pressed between his pecs and god, I can’t keep it together. I kiss them furiously as he works, clutching onto his arms, dragging my fingers down his abs as he slides his glossy fingers over my clit like he’s casting a spell. I can’t breathe… I can’t breathe… I can’t….

But I can because I have to- Namjoon won’t ease up until he gives me the sweet oxytocin of release by his hands and I wouldn’t have it any other way. So I dig deep and exhale slow and controlled, whimpering as he rockets past that orgasm to send me into preparing for the next one. He smirks like I’m his plaything and I comply with no resistance. I’ll have as many rounds as he gives me. I’m a big girl. I can handle- Oh!

At least, I thought I could handle anything. Naive me, I suppose.

I smile into the sheets when he tips me over onto all fours. He kisses my shoulders, kisses along my spine, brushing his thumbs on the folds on my hip, all tender and kind and syrupy sweet as the behemoth between his legs tips ever so slowly inside of me despite my incredible tightness, and I don’t know whether to breathe or scream so I press my face into the bedding and giggle like there’s something wrong with me.

“Take you somewhere quiet,” he slides in deeper. “With no noise,” he thrusts. “No news.” He thrusts. “Just nature.”

My chest feels tight with affection but my body feels limps like a rag doll as he pumps me silly. His gargantuan hands holding up my hips are the only thing keeping me from sliding off the bed and melting into the floorboards.

“Joonie, i’d- I’d love that,” soft puffs of air leave me with each fluid roll of his hips. The snap at the end of the graceful flourish knocks my skull a little loose but I don’t mind. Thinking so little is really quite nice.

“Take you for walks, lay with you in nature, fuck you like this in an outdoor bath tub while we watch the stars.”

His hand glides down my spine as he paints beautiful pictures with his words. My heart and my body don’t know which way is up.

“Escape all this chaos. At least for a little bit.” He smirks. I catch a glimpse of it as I look over my shoulder, reach back to hold his hand.

“I might never let you drag me back to the real world.” My smile is gooey, fond and so is his now. His dimples have come out - all his sincerity and heart on display, as his hips still even as he still fills me up.

“I can write poetry in the wild,” he shrugs. “My music would probably be better for it.”

He looks bashful and soft. The juxtaposition of his strong body and sweet face make me dip forward. He slides out of me, watching with confusion as I guide him to stand beside the bed.

When I flip onto my back, letting my head loll backwards off the bed in front of him, he arches a brow at me. I just chuckle and pull him forward by the back of his legs.

“Come here. I want to make my own music.”

I take the length of him into my mouth and he topples over, hands bracing on either side of me on the bed. He groans so sweet and low that I smile as I take him deep. His knees buckle when my nose tips softly against his balls as I suckle him slowly and it takes everything in me not to laugh at how happy I am.

His hands travel my body as his mouth occupies itself. He makes a meal of my breasts, takes a drink between my legs, holds my throat to lighten my breath. When we cum in tandem, he collapses to my side as we catch our breath in silence.

The night is still, the air is cool and rain is finally trickling against the windows.

Our bodies are spent and our plan is set.

We’ll run away soon enough.

But now, cradled breast to breast, we sleep knowing our world is just the smallest bit brighter.

[authorxxxxxx]

Afraid Of The Dark 🌙

Pairing : Detective David Loki x fem!reader

Summary : You were always afraid of the dark - as long as you can remember - and just when you thought you were beginning to overcome your greatest fear , it came back and everything was destroyed .

Tw : mentions and detailed descriptions of insomnia , discussions of heavy topics ( based on the original plot of the movie ) , anxiety and panic attacks , angst , the reader and David they fall in love with each other , extreme fluff towards the end .

Lately I've been experiencing heavy episodes of insomnia ( maybe for the past couple of weeks ) and I haven't been able to sleep or even rest properly . I really do not know what to do . I've started to eat more healthy and as much as I really want to take sleeping pills I am afrais that it is not going to be good for my body as I've already taken enough this month . If any of you know anything that can help , I would appreciate it if you would write me a message . Sleeping is one of the things that I enjoy the most and not being able to do it - it really drives me crazy .

Remember , English is not my first language so if you spot any mistakes just bare with me .

Ps : Writing this really helped me get some things that are disturbing me these past few weeks . I enjoyed working on this but at the same time it made me feel really bad at how I cope with some of my problems .

11k words : ?

______________________________________________________________

As long as you can remember - from a really young age - since you were a little girl - you were really afraid of the dark .

But you were not just afraid of the dark . . .

You hated the dark . . .

Actually you despise the dark with every living passion .

You can not actually remember when it first started . Maybe when you started hearing kids in the early years of primary school saying that from 03:00 until 04:00 a.m. was the Devil's hour , or that there ghosts and monsters everywhere in your room while your asleep , or when a teacher of yours told you that insects are inside your mattress.

There were times that your parents were actually very conserved and tried to explain to you that nothing is going to happen to you while you are sleeping .

But you always remember your father saying : " Pray for the best . Prepare for the worst " .

So you could not think otherwise - that something might happen to you or your family in the most unexpected time .

After the birth of your younger brother and sister , thinks got worse .

You would practically stay up all night making sure that everything was safe .

After one time were you fainted from exhaustion , your parents tried to help you with a psychiatrist .

Your father drove you there once every week - seemingly helpful .

It was not .

The pills that the doctor prescribed to you made your stomach turn upside down , your head dizzy with headaches , eyes crying .

Everything seemed to be getting worse .

But only your younger sister Anna had noticed .

Oh Anna . . . you were thinking now as your Honda Prelude was picking up speed by the minute driving you back home .

Conyers was always moody , while Philadelphia were you had moved 4 years ago for University had a lot more of sunny days - it maybe was the reason why your insomnia was getting step by step a little better .

That did not last for long . . .

149 km/h and your car was practically screaming for you to stop .

Just a couple of hours ago you received a call from Conyers Police Department begging you to come back as your little sister Anna and her best friend Joy were missing .

Your only reasons for existence was missing . . .

And you would search every single corner of the world to find her .

_____

When you finally got home it was nearly midnight and while everyone was enjoying their Thanksgiving night , you were holding your younger brother trying to protect him form your mothers cries .

Your father told you to leave the house and go to the car .

You wanted so badly to scream at him .

Ho could he suggest something like that while his youngest daughter was missing ?

Trying to control your anger you started to cry , your brother dragging you out of the house inside your car to both calm down .

_____

The morning you both came back at the house .

Thank God your mother was sleeping in the living room , your brother was in the kitchen and you were discussing with your father in the upstairs bathroom .

You rather seemed calm to the whole situation but your father could see in your eyes that you were thinking of the worst possibilities .

_____

Detective David Loki was something else .

You came into the room while he was typing away on his phone , not directly answering your mothers questions .

'' So, did we pass?"

" I'm sorry, what did you say?"

" The poly thing. The lie detector we took this morning. Did we pass?"

"Oh, yeah, yeah. Sorry. Yes, we appreciate your cooperat- "

Loki was interpreted by your form sitting cross leged in the entrance of the living room .

" How are you ? " He asked you , but your father did it for you .

" She is are oldest daughter Y/N . She came here yesterday . " He said and Loki without missing a second asked you to come by the station to fill your report .

That's how you found yourself sitting in an interrogation room with him asking you questions while observing you .

" Can I go home now ? " You asked him after a minute of total silence .

" Do you have trouble falling asleep ? " He asked with the most serious tone . Dark and deap voice only for you to hear .

Your lack of answer made him understand that that maybe you hade trouble falling asleep because of your sister's disappearance , but something told him it is not only that .

What he did not understand is why he felt the need to protect you and help with any way he can .

_____

After the events that happened when police let Alex go you began to leave the house .

Either helping police with their investigation , or spending time helping your brother mentally , which triggered your mental health too .

Your mother started taking pills and ended up falling asleep all day long .

But what made your anxiety worse was when you had a full blown out panic attack in front of the Detective .

You were with your brother in the police station after ending todays search in the woods with the team .

And then you heard it -

" Look, kid, we can't always save the day. All right? We're just cops, janitors . So you lost this one, all right? " You heard the captain say to Loki , but the only think that you could think right now was that the case was not going very well .

-So you lost this one, all right?

What does that mean ? That the case is closed ? That he is not going to find your sister ? That she is alone ? Maybe dead ? Dead ? Anna . . .

Your head was practically thinking about the worst things right now .

And when your eyes started crying on their own , your head became dizzy , your throat cloased , you finally realised that you could not breathe .

Your brother started crying watching you in this state - crying uncontrollably and violently shacking trying to breath .

A couple of officers noticed and came closer to help both of you but the Loki stormed out and when he smashed everything in his desk the while office went silent .

" Please do not let it go " . Hearing your crying voice he asked one officer to brig you water immediately while he came towards you .

" Hey hey hey you listen to me , alright?" He said while he cupped your face with his palms .

" I need you to calm down love just breath for me okay?" He asked you one more time before turning his head around to glance at the officers thaat were standing there just watching the scene unfold .

_____

That day Joy was found , but while she was slowly recovering from whatever they experienced , your father disappeared .

Thank God Loki had found new evidence and he was able to put some pieces together and finally after a whole week he found Anna .

_____

The next morning

You gently knocked on his open door making him turn his gaze from the newspaper to you -

" Y/N ? " He asked you silently thinking of why you were with him and not with your sister .

" Do not worry . I was with her the entire night , but she wanted to be left alone with our mom for a while . She is thankful you know ? We all are . " You said to him .

He could see you were tired , dark and heavy bags under your eyes from not sleeping , puffy and red eyelids from constantly crying .

Shit . He thought . He should have tried to help from the moment he first saw you .

" Uh, Detective Loki? I hope we're not intruding." Your mother and your sister appeared - you knowing fully well what was going on .

"No." He said and looked at you asking what is happening .

You just smiled and right then and there he realized that he had fallen for you .

You just wached the scene unfold feeling happy until your mother told Nancy leave them alone for a moment .

After she sterted to talk about your father your smiled droped . Every little drop of happiness vanishen from your body knowing what your father had done . Hating that your mother had somehow defended him - while you did to in the bottom of your heart .

You realised that you too were crying when you sniffled your nose .

David looked at you worried .

It did not go unnoticed by your mother .

Hell she was worried about you , he has almost a decade older than you - but then she remembered about her and your father .

She wiped her eyes , smiled both at you , passing you the message that although this whole thing happened - two broken souls found love .

And with that she left .

_____

The early evening that David found your father , that night when you were overcome with anxiety and passion at the same time , David was there with his look, his touch cooling you down but at the same time burning you with his love . That night you both realised that you had fallen for each other - you loved each other .

The night were you both fell asleep together .

The night were he helped you to stop being afraid of the dark .

__________

@unimportantbabymilksharkte

__________

I am going to add more tag's in the future , until then : )

_____

[mrsabednadir]

Naked and Famous, Pt.1

A/N: HEYOOOOOO it's been a while. This has been my go-to sleep scenario for my beautiful little buttercup Charlie Kelly. Hope you enjoy

WC: 799

---

4:30 PM

On a Saturday

Philadelphia, PA.

.

What the hell is a “Naked and Famous?!”

The guy sitting on the stool across from me just stares expectantly, though kindly. Pretty sure he can tell I’m very, very new to this. And, of course, there’s no one else tending bar.

Dennis and Mac are engrossed in a vicious game of pool: Mac had desperately tried to convince him to play for clothes, though thankfully, they settled on bragging rights. I know better than to interrupt their time together. Charlie’s probably huffing God-knows-what in the back office. Poor thing. Dee and Frank are out, either looking for a mark or bleeding one dry. I think I heard the words “flammable,” “that yellow tape they put up at crime scenes,” and “orphans.”  – Good luck, kids.

“You son of a bitch!” Dennis shouts over Mac’s carefree karate victory dance. 

Christ. Do these people remember that this is an actual business? With customers?

Oh shit. The customer.

“I'm gonna be real with you. I have no idea what that is, but let me go check on the computer in the back,” I offer, shooing away his insisting that just a beer would suffice. “Gimme one sec.”

Maybe I’ve only been working for half an hour, but I deserve a break, anyways. I walk to the PRIVATE door, past the pile of dirty glasses I knew I’d have to clean because no one else would, and the on-taps dripping pitifully, begging me to change their kegs. 

One, two, three knocks on the door earns me a haggard “Who’s there?”

“It’s me,” I respond, thankful that Charlie hasn’t passed out yet. 

Several seconds pass before I hear anything. Maybe I shouldn’t have come to the still-conscious conclusion so quickly. Just as I’m about to knock again –

“Come on in,” he drawls, with all the effort made to unsuccessfully hide his slurred speech.

As I enter the small room, walls painted a nauseating two-toned egg yolk yellow and throw-up green, I pull up a chair next to Charlie at the desk. He smiles, excitedly yet weakly, as I walk in. 

Scruffy, simple, and sweet. Just how I like them. Honestly, if he cleaned himself up, I’d jump his bones.

“ ‘Sup?” he asks, hands neatly folded in his lap.

“ ‘Sup to you. You look sick, Charlie.”

“W..what do you mean? I feel…fine.” His eyes are struggling to stay focused and open. There’s an open can of paint thinner at his side, its sides violently dented from attempts to squeeze out that last bit of escape.

“I mean that you’re super sweaty, and you look super pale and shit. Are you sure you’re alright, dude?”

“Never better,” he grins. It looks genuine, thankfully. “Whatcha need?”

“Customer came in asking for a ‘Naked and Famous’ – what the hell is that, right? – so I’m gonna borrow the computer to search it up,” I explain, pulling the keyboard closer to me and leaning over him slightly to look at the monitor. Maybe I’m a bit too close for comfort, but I hope he’s picking up what I’m putting down.

“Oh, cool,” he replies. Then – “Wait, wait, wait!”

4,300,000 results for “GANGBANG.” 

Oh fuck.

Ohhhhh fuck. 

Neither of us say anything, but both of us understand. 

A loading sign finally finishes its job, slow and laborious, thanks to the bar’s lack of its own WiFi and Frank’s solution to siphon it from the place next door – as he once explained, “it’s a free country, bitch.” 

A pretty lady appears on the screen, and she looks very pleased. 

Well, at least he muted it.

I try to say something, anything. “I, uh….Jesus. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…intrude. Um, I’m gonna go. Yep, gotta go, gotta go,” I blurt as I rush for the sweet escape of literally-anywhere-else-but-here. The whole time, Charlie’s gotten waaaayyyyy paler and much more silent. I slam the door shut and pause for a few moments to regain my composure, like I didn’t just see my boss in the middle of getting his rocks off. 

As I make my way back to the already-unsettled customer, a scream erupts from the back office. Damn, that kid’s got pipes – birds scattering, Earth and wine glass shattering. Really, if I wasn’t an active participant in this, it would be funny. Mac and Dennis look up – both of them now have their shirts popped off – then to me. The deer-in-headlights look across my face is enough for them, I guess, as they reluctantly shrug their shirts on (leaving them unbuttoned) and enter the office.

Before the customer can ask any questions, I fill a glass with whatever – it’ll get him drunk all the same – and hand it to him, shakily. A little bit spills out, but we both couldn’t care less. 

He nods in appreciation, and in understanding.  At least someone here gets me.

[seekingstars]

Poem for July 4, 1994 - Sonia Sanchez

It is essential that Summer be grafted to bones marrow earth clouds blood the eyes of our ancestors. It is essential to smell the beginning words where Washington, Madison, Hamilton, Adams, Jefferson assembled amid cries of:

       "The people lack of information"        "We grow more and more skeptical"        "This Constitution is a triple-headed monster"        "Blacks are property"

It is essential to remember how cold the sun how warm the snow snapping around the ragged feet of soldiers and slaves. It is essential to string the sky with the saliva of Slavs and  Germans and Anglos and French and Italians and Scandinavians, and Spaniards and Mexicans and Poles and Africans and Native Americans. It is essential that we always repeat:                            we the people,                            we the people,                            we the people.

2.

"Let us go into the fields" one brother told the other brother. And the sound of exact death raising tombs across the centuries. Across the oceans. Across the land.

3.

It is essential that we finally understand: this is the time for the creative human being  the human being who decides to talk upright in a human fashion in order to save this earth from extinction.

This is the time for the creative Man. Woman. Who must decide that She. He. Can live in peace. Racial and sexual justice on this earth.

This is the time for you and me. African American. Whites. Latinos. Gays. Asians. Jews. Native Americans. Lesbians. Muslims. All of us must finally bury the elitism of race superiority the elitism of sexual superiority the elitism of economic superiority the elitism of religious superiority. 

So we welcome you on the celebration of 218 years Philadelphia. America.

So we salute you and say: Come, come, come, move out into this world nourish your lives with a spirituality that allows us to respect each other's birth. come, come, come, nourish the world where every 3 days 120,000 children die of starvation or the effects of starvation; come, come, come, nourish the world where we will no longer hear the screams and cries of womens, girls, and children in Bosnia, El Salvador, Rwanda...AhAhAhAh AHAHAHHHHHH

       Ma-ma. Dada. Mamacita. Baba.        Mama. Papa. Momma. Poppi.        The soldiers are marching in the streets        near the hospitals but the nurses say        we are safe and the soldiers are        laughing marching firing calling        out to us i don't want to die i        am only 9 yrs old, i am only 10 yrs old        i am only 11 yrs old and i cannot        get out of the bed because they have cut        off one of my legs and i hear the soldiers        coming toward our rooms and i hear        the screams and the children are        running out of the room i can't get out        of the bed i don't want to die Don't        let me die Rwanda. America. United        Nations. Don't let me die..............

And if we nourish ourselves, our communities our countries and say

       no more hiroshima        no more auschwitz        no more wounded knee        no more middle passage        no more slavery        no more Bosnia        no more Rwanda

No more intoxicating ideas of racial superiority as we walk toward abundance we will never forget

       the earth        the sea        the children        the people

For we the people will always be arriving a ceremony of thunder waking up the earth opening our eyes to human monuments.     And it'll get better     it'll get better if we the people work, organize, resist, come together for peace, racial, social and sexual justice   it'll get better   it'll get better.

---------

thanks to my pal Jimmy for the poem

[strawberryblondebutch]

This is my grand introduction

ABOUT ME

I go by Kiera, although I'll also respond to Ghost or River, as those have been my internet or IRL nicknames for well over a decade at this point. I use she/her pronouns and I'm a 24-year-old white cisgender lesbian based out of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania (aka the greatest city in the world, and I will hear no arguments to the contrary). My chronically offline fiancée is referred to here as "Mrs. Kiera" to protect her privacy.

I currently work in the tabletop role-playing game content and design space, but this is a stopgap before I go to law school to become a professional sports agent. Other industries in which I've worked or interned include music journalism, technical theatre, public school teaching, behavioral ecology, and literary criticism. My favorite thing is to hop from one dying field to another.

I'm pretty openly bipolar. Despite being on a good treatment plan, I still suffer from routine changes to my mood that impact my daily life. I'm happy to answer questions about my experience with BP2 or other health concerns if asked politely.

MY CONTENT

At this point, I'm not really in a fandom space. This is just the site where I scream into the void (and occasionally the void answers back). If you do associate me with a fandom, it's probably either Stranger Things or Scream. Like most people, I suffer from a few minor curses: I'm always in the worst line at the grocery store, technology likes to break around me, and I ship only the rarest of femslash pairs. This is my burden, and like Sisyphus, you must imagine me happy.

Other content that catches my fancy include comic books, emo music, sports, and Philly culture. My favorite bands are The Wonder Years, Say Anything, and Fireworks. My favorite athletes are Emily Clark, Taylor Heise, Brandon Marsh, Travis Konecny, and Tyrese Maxey.

Because of my job, I am also relegated to forever DM, but I have a few characters I routinely play. Rhaelara Rynwalsdottir is my pathetic wet cat paladin werewolf. Katya Volkova is like Evelyn Carnahan mixed with Daphne Kluger. I'm also working on some fiction works and love to talk about my lesbian werewolf OCs.

CAN I TALK TO YOU ABOUT...?

Yes, always. Ask me anything. If I'm having a bad brain day, I may not respond immediately, but that doesn't mean I don't want to hear about things like:

The Ronance hockey AU

Zatanna Zatara, pathetic bisexual meow meow

Why are all ginger lesbians such girlflops?

Emo, punk, and hardcore culture

The eternal pain of being a Philly sports fan

The latest stupid way I've gotten myself hurt

WHERE ELSE CAN I FIND YOU?

Legend has it that if you go to a basement hardcore show in South Philadelphia on the night of the full moon, you'll see a red-blonde werewolf absolutely tearing that shit up in the pit. Other than that, I'm also on AO3 as ClawedLoupGiroux.

BYF/DNI

TERFs and Nazi punks fuck off.

If you don't believe that addicts should be treated with compassion and care, I wish you a very die.

Trans men are men, and lesbians are not attracted to men. Do not ship trans men with lesbians or I will give you rabies.

I have the scary disorders your parents warned you about and sometimes they make me scary.

Despite it all, I remain a practicing Catholic. You keep your beliefs and I keep mine, eh?

Minors can follow, just don't be weird about it.

[the-90s-music-colosseum]

Round 1 results!

All the polls in round 1 have concluded! Tumblr isn't letting me edit my original masterpost for some reason, so here are all the poll results (bolded options are the winners of their respective rounds):

Sober vs Scream When Do I Get To Sing My Way vs Are You Gonna Go My Way Sugar Water vs All Star Only You vs Everlong Jeremy vs What's My Age Again Virtual Insanity vs Steal My Sunshine Nothing Compares 2 U vs Bachelorette The Devil Went Down To Georgia vs Heart Shaped Box Freak On A Leash vs Ava Adore Shiny Happy People vs Where It's At Californication vs Quote Unquote (Travolta) November Rain vs Symphony Of Destruction Until It Sleeps vs Baby Got Back Barbie Girl vs Freedom '90 Black Hole Sun vs Let Forever Be Smells Like Teen Spirit vs I'm Afraid Of Americans Peaches vs Jesus Christ Pose Doo-Wop (That Thing) vs This Is Hardcore Fire On Babylon vs Birdhouse In Your Soul Nancy Boy vs No Rain ...Baby One More Time vs Love's Sweet Exile Intergalactic vs Bull In The Heather I Stay Away vs Everybody (Backstreet's Back) Wynona's Big Brown Beaver vs High Hopes Criminal vs Midlife Crisis Cut Your Hair vs Around The World Don't Speak vs Too Funky Smells Like Nirvana vs Man! I Feel Like A Woman Gimme Some More vs Tha Crossroads Gin and Juice vs Praise You Closer vs Vogue Push It vs Streets Of Philadelphia Common People vs Nice Guys Finish Last Losing My Religion vs Big Me Smack My Bitch Up vs Walking On Broken Glass Sky's The Limit vs Hunger Strike California Love vs Paranoid Android I'd Do Anything For Love vs The Boy Is Mine Un Point C'est Toi vs Where The Wild Roses Grow No Scrubs vs You Get What You Give Ironic vs Dragula Under The Bridge vs Black Or White All Is Full Of Love vs Scenario Right Now vs Step By Step Drop vs Wonderwall Digging In The Dirt vs Karmacoma Waterfalls vs Elektrobank Say You'll Be There vs Nuthin' But A "G" Thang One Week vs Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm Dead Man Walking vs My Name Is Guerrilla Radio vs Pure Morning Basket Case vs Foule Sentimentale Three Little Pigs vs Just Do The Evolution vs Pumping On Your Stereo Hyptonize vs The Rain (Supa Dupa Fly) Parklife vs Sugarcube Sabotage vs Amish Paradise Tonight Tonight vs Loser Wannabe vs Buddy Holly Coffee and TV vs Bitter Sweet Symphony Bedtime Story vs Gangsta's Paradise The Bad Touch vs U Can't Touch This Man Size vs Come To Daddy Ton Invitation vs Groove Is In The Heart

I'll start rolling out the Round 2 polls as soon as I can! In the meantime, enjoy the MVs Of The Day and continue sending in as much propaganda/poll requests/trivia as you like.

Past tournaments - #90s album battle royale // #most attractive 90s musician // #the 90s song ever (playlist)

join ColosseumCord! // visit me at my main @goodmotorfinger if you'd perchance be interested in hearing me yap about bands, cars and sci-fi

[burningchandelier]

Okay, I think I can write about last night's Anthony Green interaction now.

It was amazing and I am still kind of reeling from it.

So, I went to see Saosin, which has been one of my favorite bands for nearly twenty years (holy shit, I'm old as fuck) by myself. Being in Philly, it was a home show, so Anthony's family was there. On the way in, I saw his kids playing in the gated parking lot. It was incredibly sweet. I got an amazing spot, which turned out to have a view of everything. I could see the stage, the backstage doors, the lobby doors, all of it. Shortly before the opener started, Anthony snuck out to check on the lobby and I told him to break a leg. He gave me a really genuine smile and said thank you.

I figured if that was my only interaction, I would be eternally happy and it would be the coolest night I could ask for.

It got way better!

The show was unbelievable. I cannot even begin to express how good it was. I thought the highlight was going to be hearing some of my favorite songs-- songs that I never thought I would hear live again-- done by musicians who have grown and honed their talent over two decades. Then I thought maybe the best part would be Anthony's genuine and personal anecdotes and love for Philadelphia. I was wrong on both counts.

The best part of the show was, unquestionably, when Anthony's son, James, came out and played Weezer's Sweater Song on drums and the entire audience went completely wild. Every person in the room was scream-singing those lyrics like their lives depended on it. James killed it on the drums. He had it down. He is twelve and he had a whole venue chanting his name. It was awesome!

It is impossible to describe just how emotionally invested everyone in the audience was through the whole show. I can't think of another show I have been to that had so much love through the whole thing.

I got teary over the way that Anthony softly said "you made it" to the crowd surfers who had a rough time getting to the front.

Okay. So. After the show:

I decided to stick around. I figured that I didn't have anywhere to be, and there were three other very committed fans who were also determined to meet the band, so it was worth it to brave being out to all hours on the street. Why not? (Okay, lots of reasons why not, but whatever).

We waited for a little more than two hours.

After a while, a crew member came over and said that the band had told him to give us their picks. It meant so much. I figured that was our cue and called an uber. ...

And then Anthony came out.

Now, to be fair, he came out because he needed to find a bathroom and the venue was closed. I think this just makes the fact that he stopped to talk with us even nicer.

I got the chance to thank him for being so incredibly kind to me about sixteen years ago when we first met. He gave me some advice about finding a creative community now that I have moved to Philly. I gave him a tip about dealing with allergies from one vocalist to another. We talked about how much it rocks to play music with your family. We complained to each other about an event that is happening later this month that we are both attending, and talked about how neither of us really want to go, but we're going to anyway.

It was a really nice conversation. He went above and beyond.

I was too happy to try to look cool, so here's me smiling a great, big, incredibly dopey smile while he looks like the fucking rock star that he is.

[msmercury84]

"I Double Dare You," The First Christmas as Mr. and Mrs. Guarnere

*Author's note: Prices of women's dresses were researched at a website dedicated to the prices of women's clothing in the 1940s. Bill and some of the Easy Company veterans would say, when it was snowing, "At least I'm not in Bastogne." The real Wild Bill didn't discuss the war with his family until HBO featured "Band of Brothers." Until the book and movie came out, they had no idea how he lost his right leg. For this reason, I'm having my fictional version of Guarnere keeping his nightmares and trauma to himself. The black and white picture is Gimbel's department store in Philadelphia during the mid to late 1940s.*

***********************************************************************

Bill and Leigh decided to drive to the heart of downtown Philadelphia to see the Christmas lights and do some window shopping. Both of the Guarneres were trying to find the perfect Christmas gift for each other. They strolled the streets hand-in-hand, looking at the decorated window displays of some department stores and smaller shops.

While looking at the display in a department store's window, Leigh noticed a red wiggle dress with a red satin bow in the back. The dress had a square neckline and she was quite taken with it until she saw the small sign beside the garment stating, "Only $45, perfect for decking the halls or ringing in the new year."

She decided to remain quiet about liking the dress because it cost nearly three times the price of the dresses worn by most women in that era. The department store had prices higher than other stores, but their items for sale were considered top quality.

Bill noticed the way Leigh was gazing at the dress.

"Baby, that (he pronounced the word as 'dat') would look stunnin' on you."

"It's very pretty, but the price is extortionistic. I could make a dress similar to it for much less money." She secretly hoped that the manager of the Women's Clothing section would allow her to put it on layaway after the holidays were over and she could wear it next Christmas.

While waiting to cross the street, Bill told her,

"Sweetheart, I done a real stupid thing earlier today. When I was gettin' in the car to go home from work, I kinda tripped an' smashed the hell outta that nice watch ya got me for my birthday before we went overseas."

"Honey, are you OK? I hope you didn't get hurt."

"I tripped on my good leg. I'm fine. I'm really sorry about breakin' the watch."

"A watch can be replaced. As long as you're not hurt, that's the most important thing." They continued their walk down the street. Leigh decided to find a nice replacement for the watch that was broken. She thought that she would look at watches during her lunch hour on the following day.

On the way home, Leigh said,

"I'm looking forward to helping Mama with the Feast of the Seven Fishes this year."

"You done one hell of a good job fixin' the feast in Aldebourne." He had a devilish grin as he added, "I remember not havin' you beside me an' sittin' up so I could see where ya were. I got treated to a beautiful sight o' you bent over tendin' the fire. You looked really sexy in that silk an' lace set I bought for your birthday.

That reminds me, I might find a little somethin' for ya to wear that's sexy. I enjoy seein' you in that fancy stuff anytime."

Snow began to fall and Bill was glad they didn't have a long drive to get home. The weather made him think about Bastogne. He didn't notice the hushed atmosphere outside as the snowflakes swirled in the air. Guarnere was transported to the frozen Bois St. Jacques where endless shelling from the enemy shook the ground and the deafening barrage seemed to go on forever.

Bill was aware of his surroundings as he drove to South Philadelphia, he saw the traffic, the movement of the windshield wipers and the snow. Still, he felt as if he could hear the exploding shells and the occasional screaming from men who were hit by enemy bullets or shells and the shouts of "Medic!"

Counseling for veterans wasn't provided along with the physical therapy for those who needed it and the reintegration into civilian life. Veterans had to deal with what would be known today as PTSD. The term used to describe the psychological trauma some of the veterans had was called shell shock.

Those suffering from this type of trauma were encouraged to "suck it up," "keep a stiff upper lip" and to "get on with their lives." For these reasons, most veterans never discussed what they did in the war with their wives and families. As far as some of these veterans were concerned, the war was over and they had to go on with everyday life.

Leigh noticed that Bill was unusually quiet and she guessed that he was thinking about the war. She knew that the one year anniversary of his life changing injury was coming up and she hoped that she could help him if the memories were too intense.

Guarnere forced himself to stop living in the past. He saw that Leigh looked worried.

"Sweetheart, I'm gonna be OK. There ain't nothin' for you to worry about. I'm just thankful that I'm not in Bastogne."

Bill pulled the car into a parking space behind the rowhouse. He shut off the engine and took the key out of the switch. Then, he got out and opened the car door for Leigh. As she exited the car, Bill ensured that the car doors were locked.

Guarnere took her hand and they walked up the back steps. Leigh unlocked the door and they entered the kitchen. After supper was over, Bill helped her do the dishes and they listened to the radio before going to bed.

After being asleep for about three hours, Leigh noticed that Bill was restless. She immediately noticed that their bedroom was very cold and Leigh knew that Bill couldn't sleep in a cold room.

"The temperature must have dropped quite a bit outside. I'm going downstairs to put more coal in the furnace. Would you like to have an extra blanket on the bed, Honey?" Guarnere was already putting on his wooden leg. As he donned his trousers, he told her,

"I can take care o' the furnace, Baby. You don't have to do that. Leigh, I know you're lookin' out for me an' I know you're doin' this because ya love me. Sweetheart, let me do what I know I can do."

"I'm sorry, Bill. I didn't mean to treat you like an invalid. I got carried away. From now on, if you know you can do something, I won't try to stop you." Guarnere put on the shirt he had worn earlier in the day and some shoes. He walked over to Leigh's side of the bed and kissed her.

"Thanks for understandin', Baby. You didn't hurt my feelins. While I'm in the basement, you could put an extra blanket on the bed if you want, 'cause it takes time for the room to get warm."

Leigh got up and went to their closet. The blankets were folded and stored on a shelf. She selected a soft wool blanket that she bought in London and put it on the bed. Then, she got back into bed and waited for Bill to return from the basement. Guarnere soon entered their bedroom,

"We should be feelin' warm soon, Sweetheart." He took off his shirt, trousers, socks and shoes. Then he sat on the edge of the bed to remove his wooden leg. Once he was in bed, Leigh turned off the lamp on the bedside table. Bill stretched out on the bed, pulling Leigh close to him.

"I can think of a real good way to warm up, Baby." Guarnere kissed Leigh, quickly deepening the kiss as he began to caress her." After the kiss ended, Leigh told him,

"I like the way you think, Honey. Let me put my diaphragm in and then I'm all yours."

Two days after Bill and Leigh noticed the red dress in the department store's window, Guarnere was on his lunch break. He decided to drive to a diner that was in the area of the department stores. While he was stopped at a red light, Bill noticed Leigh looking at the red dress in the window of the store.

Leigh entered the store. Bill found a parking spot close to the diner. As he crossed the street to the diner, he hoped to find a table next to the window. Guarnere wanted to find out if his wife was purchasing the dress.

He got a seat at the last table available that was beside the window. After a waitress took his order, Bill watched the front doors of the store. Soon, Leigh exited the shop. She was disappointed because the store didn't have a layaway policy.

Guarnere noticed that Leigh didn't purchase anything since she had no bags from the store. After he finished his lunch and a cigarette, Bill went into the shop and found a middle aged woman who was a sales clerk. He described Leigh to the woman and she confirmed that a customer fitting her description asked her about the possibility of putting a dress on layaway.

Bill told the sales clerk that the woman in question was his wife and he wondered if she put the red dress in the window on layaway. The clerk said that her customer was disappointed because the department store didn't do layaways.

"Ma'am, would ya happen to know what size dress she wanted? I want to buy that for her Christmas present, but I don't know much about the sizes for women's clothes." He gave the clerk what he hoped was his most appealing smile.

The woman was charmed by Bill's polite demeanor and his smile. She told him the size of the dress that Leigh wanted. Guarnere thanked her for her help and asked,

"Ma'am, is there a way for you to hold the size she wanted in that dress until tomorrow? I can pay for it on my lunch break." She took Bill's name and he gave her Augusta's number so if a call was made about the dress, Leigh wouldn't find out. The clerk told him that the dress would be held until 1 p.m. the following day.

Leigh went from the department store to a jewelry store that was further up the street. She was unaware that Bill had seen her and she was hoping to find a nice watch for him.

The jewelry store had a nice selection of men's watches, but Leigh was unable to find what she wanted. She left the shop and went to a nearby department store. After looking around for a few minutes, Leigh found a watch that was a very popular brand. It was guaranteed to have unbreakable glass on the face.

Since the extended Guarnere family was so large, the adults drew names of family members. Leigh was happy to have Augusta as the recipient of her gift. Bill had selected Teresa as the recipient of his gift.

Leigh was hoping that Bill would honor the decision they made to buy one gift for each other. While they both worked, neither position paid a large amount of money. She had just started working for the radio station in late August and while Leigh technically had her own show, she was paid the same salary as anyone starting out on the radio at the CBS station in Philadelphia.

The following day, Bill visited the department store on his lunch break and purchased the dress for Leigh. The sales clerk who helped him put the dress on hold asked him,

"Sir, would you be interested in some lingerie for your wife? We have a lovely red silk bra, garter belt and tap panty set that arrived this morning." Guarnere was interested in seeing the set. He remembered Leigh's bra and panty size from the time he bought the satin and lace set for her birthday. He bought the red silk set. The lingerie was a little more expensive than Bill realized, but he thought,

"I never had a chance to spoil my baby very much durin' the war. I know we agreed to one gift, but Leigh's done so much for me an' she deserves a little somethin' extra. It won't hurt me to take my lunch to work wit' me instead o' eatin' in town." As Bill paid for the items, the clerk told him,

"Your purchases qualify for free gift wrapping. Would you like to have the gifts wrapped, Sir?" Bill agreed and he went to the gift wrapping department of the store.

He chose shiny red wrapping paper with small gold bells printed on it for the box containing the dress. It was topped with a gold ribbon and a large gold bow. The box containing the lingerie set was wrapped in blue paper printed with tiny silver angels. This package had a silver ribbon and it was topped with a medium sized silver bow.

Guarnere thanked the young woman who wrapped the gifts. She carefully placed small cardboard guards around the bows and placed both packages in a large shopping bag. As she handed the bag to Bill, the gift wrapper told him,

"Your wife is a lucky woman to have a nice, good looking guy like you for her husband."

"Thanks, Miss. I'm really lucky to have a beautiful angel for my wife. Maybe you heard her singing on the radio? She has two shows on the CBS station here in town. Her name is Leigh Guarnere."

"I only get to hear her early morning show before I go to work. She's extremely talented." Bill thanked the young woman for her help and her compliment about Leigh. He then looked for a Christmas card for Leigh.

Guarnere found a selection of Christmas cards nearby and looked for a few minutes until he found the perfect card. It had poinsettias on the front of the card that were accentuated with red glitter.

Written across the top of the card in gold colored cursive writing was, "Merry Christmas to My Sweet Wife." Guarnere paid for the card and borrowed a sales clerk's pen to write on the inside of the card,

"Baby, I love you more and more every day. This Christmas is extra special because it's our first Christmas together as husband and wife. Marrying you is the best thing I ever did. All my love, Bill."

Two weeks before Christmas, Leigh paid the remaining balance on the watch. The department store had free gift wrapping and she selected shiny red wrapping paper with a gold bow.

She also had a package wrapped for Augusta. Teresa told Leigh that she overheard her mother saying to Louise Spencer that she accidentally ruined her bathrobe in the wringer of her washer.

Leigh got the correct size from Teresa and she selected a chenille bathrobe in the same shade as her favorite robe, white with a red rose appliqued on the front. Augusta's gift was wrapped in white paper printed with holly berries and it was topped with a large red bow and red ribbons.

She found a card for Bill that had a picture of a cozy room with wood burning in a fireplace. The printed message on the front said,"Merry Christmas to My Dear Husband." Leigh wrote,

"Bill, this reminded me of the living room in Aldebourne where we spent a very special Christmas. You make our house a home and I will love you for eternity, Leigh."

Next, she purchased a card for Augusta that had a Christmas Tree with glittery ornaments. The message said, "Merry Christmas to My Mother-In-Law." Leigh wrote,

"Mama, you made me feel as if I was part of the family from the first time we met. Your cooking advice is making me a better cook and a better wife for Bill. You're a good friend and you're like a second mother to me."

Leigh called Augusta when she got home from work the following afternoon. She told her about an idea she had for an extra gift for Bill, saying,

"Mama, does Pop have time to take on extra work? Bill doesn't have a nice suit. When we had our portrait done, Bill said that his dress uniform was the best suit he had.

If Pop has the time, I'd like to pay him his usual fee and ask if he would make a suit for Bill." Augusta asked Joseph and he said that he would be happy to make a nice suit for his son.

"Sweetie, just bring over Billy's uniform. He can use that to get the right length for the trousers and a nice jacket. Pop said for you to pick out the material for the suit and the lining of the jacket.

He doesn't want to take your money, but I told him that you insisted on payin' for the suit since it's a present for Billy. Joseph wonders if you can drop off the uniform in a couple of days." Leigh told her that she would drop off the uniform after she finished her afternoon show.

Since the elder Guarneres lived within walking distance of Bill and Leigh, she got Bill's dress uniform from the closet, placing it in a large department store bag and took it to her father-in-law. He calculated how much fabric should be purchased and Joseph told Leigh that he had buttons for the trousers and the suit coat. She only needed to buy thread that matched the color of the material.

Leigh took a bus into the downtown area to visit a department store that sold fabric and items used for sewing. She found a nice cotton/wool blend fabric in dark charcoal gray and the matching thread. Then, she located a dark gray silk lining for the suit.

Once the items were purchased, Leigh took the bus back to South Philadelphia and dropped off the items for the suit at her in-laws' house.

Joseph took Bill's uniform and the material to his shop that was in the basement of their house. He wrote down the measurements for the length of the sleeves, the length of the trousers, the waist of the trousers and the width of the chest area and the width of the shoulders for the suit coat.

Leigh stopped by her in-laws' house later that day to retrieve Bill's dress uniform. She returned it to their closet and Guarnere never noticed that the uniform had been missing for one day.

The week before Christmas, Augusta called the secretary at the CBS radio station in downtown Philadelphia to leave a message for Leigh. She was happy to learn that the suit was completed.

Leigh took the bus home and walked to Joseph's and Augusta's house. Joseph was very pleased when she told him while paying for the suit,

"Pop, this is much better quality clothing than anything in the stores. It's beautifully made." The elder Guarnere put the suit in a box and the box went into an unmarked bag. He hugged his daughter-in-law and told her that he looks forward to having her and Bill at the annual Christmas Eve feast.

Leigh walked home and was surprised to see that Bill was already home. He had returned from hiding her gifts under the bed in the guest room. After he embraced and kissed her, Guarnere asked,

"Did ya do some Christmas shoppin', Baby?"

"As a matter of fact, I did. I need to put this away, and then I'll get supper started." She went to their bedroom and put the box under their bed. Leigh hid the box among the gifts that were already wrapped and stored under the bed.

Julia and Teresa told Leigh that Bill was notorious for snooping around to find his gifts for Christmas. Leigh stashed the wrapped box containing the watch behind a large box of tampons. She knew that Bill wouldn't look in the area around the box.

She was slightly amused by her husband's embarrassment seeing her feminine hygiene products. Although Bill knew about women having periods, he felt no need to discuss the topic with his wife.

Leigh was talking on the phone with Teresa when she told her,

"You know I love Bill, but I had to laugh when I came back from the drugstore last week with a box of Tampax. He walked upstairs with me and we were talking about what to have for supper.

I went into the bathroom and got the box out of the brown paper bag. Bill started to follow me into the bathroom until he saw the box. He slightly blushed and backed away from it." Teresa laughed, replying,

"One of my friends at work has been married for ten years. She sends her husband out to buy feminine napkins from the drugstore. Joann says it used to embarrass him. Now it doesn't bother him one bit. Could you imagine Billy Baby buying that stuff? His face would be as red as a tomato."

"I agree, but I can't do that to him. He's so sweet and kind. I don't want to do anything to embarrass Bill." Teresa told her sister-in-law that she understood.

"I'd like to have a good marriage like you and my baby brother. Ma says that you two were made for each other."

The following evening after work, Bill drove downtown to buy a Christmas Tree and a tree stand. Once he purchased the items, he was walking back to his car. He passed the upscale department store where he'd purchased Leigh's dress.

Guarnere glanced in the display window and noticed a small sign advertising personalized Christmas ornaments. Blown glass angels with various shades of hair colors hung on a small Christmas Tree. "A perfect gift for the angel in your life. Our in-store artist will paint the correct shade of hair and the name of your loved one on the ornament for a small fee."

Bill walked into the store and asked a clerk where he could buy the personalized angel ornament. He was directed to a department in the middle of the first floor.

After waiting patiently in line for fifteen minutes, Guarnere bought the angel ornament for $7. Most ornaments sold for prices ranging from fifty cents to $2. The artist made the angel's hair brown and painted Leigh's name on the back.

A small machine that blew a stream of warm air sat on a table next to the artist. He carefully held the ornament in the warm air until the paint was dry. Then, he carefully packed the fragile ornament into a box.

Bill declined having the box wrapped since he was eager to get home. When he entered the kitchen, after embracing and kissing Leigh, Guarnere got the box containing the ornament out of his overcoat pocket.

"I got a little somethin' for our Christmas Tree, Sweetheart." Leigh opened the box and was surprised to find the personalized ornament.

"Honey, it's beautiful! I didn't know the hair color and a name could be added to an ornament. Thanks, Bill. You're so sweet and thoughtful."

"I wanted my angel to have a special angel for our Christmas Tree." After supper, Bill got the tree into the tree stand. He and Leigh put on the lights and a new set of bubble lights.

Leigh put on the decorations she took to Aldebourne. Bill helped her place the new ornament toward the top of the tree, along with the star for the top of the tree. The angel ornament was included on every Christmas Tree the Guarneres had over the years.

The Spencers and Louise's parents, John and Mary Elliott, reserved hotel rooms and took a train to Philadelphia to celebrate with the Guarnere family.

Both Louise and her mother were in awe of the amount of food prepared for the Feast of the Seven Fishes. Family members crowded the dining room and a smaller table was set up to accommodate the guests. Everyone enjoyed the food and conversations during the feast. After the feast was finished and the dishes were washed and put away, the Guarneres, the Elliotts and the Spencers attended Midnight Mass.

Bill awoke on Christmas morning as dawn was breaking. He was eager to give Leigh her presents. Guarnere quietly got out of bed and put on the clothes he had worn the day before and headed downstairs to the kitchen.

He knew that Leigh had bought the ingredients for Strata. Bill decided to surprise her by preparing the Strata and the coffee. It didn't take him long to get the ingredients into a pan and into the oven.

While their breakfast was baking, Guarnere made fresh coffee. He got out two trays, two plates, silverware, two coffee cups and napkins. Once the Strata was ready, Bill put a portion on Leigh's plate and the plate went onto the tray. He filled the cup with coffee, got the silverware and a napkin.

Then he carried the tray to their bedroom. Guarnere walked to Leigh's side of the bed and kissed her cheek, telling her,

"Merry Christmas, Baby." She awoke and was surprised to see the tray in Bill's hands.

"Merry Christmas, Honey. I slept too long. You didn't have to make breakfast."

"I enjoy cookin' an' I wanna spoil my angel."

"Thanks, Bill. You're so sweet. That Strata looks delicious!"

After breakfast was over and the dishes were washed, Bill went into the guest room to retrieve Leigh's gifts. She went into their bedroom to get the package containing Bill's suit and his Christmas card. Then she got the box containing the watch from the bathroom cabinet.

She carried the gifts and card downstairs, placing them under the Christmas Tree. Leigh saw two gifts under the tree. She grinned, thinking,

"We both decided not to honor the decision to get one gift for each other." Bill was sitting on the couch."

"Go ahead an' open your presents, Baby. I hope ya like 'em." Leigh got her gifts and placed them on the coffee table, along with the card from Bill. She bought his gifts and card, placing them on the coffee table next to her presents.

Leigh got the larger box and remarked,

"This is beautifully wrapped." She removed the paper, saving the ribbon and bow to use again, and opened the box. Leigh was extremely surprised to see the red wiggle dress.

"Honey, this is a wonderful surprise! I wanted to put this on layaway, but the store doesn't do layaway on items. Oh, Bill, this is beautiful and very extravagant." She hugged and kissed him, "Thank you. I never thought that I would have this dress." Bill smiled,

"I'm glad ya like it, Baby. That dress was made for you." Leigh handed Bill the large box.

"I hope I got the right color for you, Honey." He removed the wrapping paper and opened the lid. He wasn't expecting a new suit. Guarnere took out the suit coat and trousers.

"Baby, the color is perfect." He tried on the jacket and held up the trousers, adding," It looks custom made."

"It is custom made by one of the best tailors in Philadelphia for his son. I paid Pop for his work since this is your present. Plus, I didn't want to take advantage of Pop's generous nature."

"Leigh, you're an angel, ain't no way you would take advantage o' anybody. It's sweet o' you to pay Pop for his sewin'. You're real thoughtful, too. I needed a good suit." She returned Bill's embrace,

"When we had our portrait made, you said that your dress uniform was the only good suit you had." She opened the next present,

"Oh, Baby, it's gorgeous! I'm looking forward to modeling it for you." Leigh gave Guarnere a passionate kiss. After the kiss ended, she handed the second gift to Bill.

"You have another present, Honey." He opened the gift and grinned as he saw the watch.

"You know I needed this. It's shock proof, the glass is unbreakable an' it's even waterproof! Ya went all out 'cause this is a really good watch. I'm puttin' it on right now." Guarnere set and wound the watch before he put it on. He embraced and kissed her.

"That's a classy lookin' watch an' suit. Since we wear nice clothes for Christmas, I'm wearin' my new suit to Ma's and Pop's house." He gave Leigh her card and she handed Bill's card to him.

She read the message and hugged him,

"It's beautiful and I love what you wrote, Honey. Marrying you is the best thing I ever did, too. I want to display my card on the table before I get cleaned up. I'm wearing that exquisite dress today and I plan to model that lovely set for you soon."

Guarnere opened his card and read the message written by Leigh. He tenderly kissed her.

"That does remind me of the livin' room in Aldebourne. That was a hot time on that couch. Baby, even then,I was hopin' that you would be my wife someday. You make this house a home for me, too. That was a sweet thing to say."

There was a small gathering at the Guarneres' since Julia and Maria were spending Christmas Day at the homes of their in-laws. Both sets of parents and Leigh's grandparents thought Leigh's new dress was very pretty and that Bill looked very handsome in his new suit. Joseph was proud to hear his daughter-in-law say that one of the best tailors in the city made Bill's suit.

Augusta was surprised to have her favorite robe replaced and she also enjoyed the card Leigh gave her. Bill and Leigh had given their parents and her grandparents 8x10" copies of the portrait they had made shortly after their wedding.

The newlyweds were glad to get a gift of frozen steaks and some other cuts of beef from Leigh's grandpa. Cal and Louise gave Bill and Leigh a $25 gift certificate from Popi's restaurant. The Spencers also gave a gift certificate in the same amount to the elder Guarneres. Teresa liked Bill's gift of a new purse. Leigh helped him pick it out in one of the local department stores.

Before Bill and Leigh returned home for the evening, Augusta gave her a gift from Julia, since she got Leigh's name for the gift exchange.

"Sweetie, Julia said that you might want to open this at home. That's why I didn't bring it out earlier." Leigh was both eager and curious to find out what her sister-in-law bought.

Once they got home, she opened the box from Julia and was surprised to find a red silk robe that matched the lingerie set from Bill. One of Julia's friends worked in the store and she saw Guarnere buying the gift. She let Julia use her employee's discount so she could purchase the robe.

Bill was pleased to see that Leigh had the matching robe to the set. He wasn't aware it was for sale and he guessed that it went on sale after he bought the lingerie for Leigh. The day after Christmas, Leigh called and thanked Julia for her gift, telling her,

"It was a perfect match for a set Bill bought." Then, Julia told her about her friend who worked in the store and saw Bill buying the red satin set.

"My friend told me about a fresh little girl who works in gift wrappin'. She heard the girl tell Billy Baby, 'Your wife is lucky to have a nice, good lookin' guy like you." Leigh smiled when Julia told her Bill's reply to the girl. Before going to bed, Leigh began to plan a special supper for New Year's Eve.

[etherealising]

OMGOMGOMG You’re so sweet! I’m so happy my song recs are inspiring you 😭, I also read chapter 8 and listened to the songs and read the lyrics separately for the best experience lol, I sobbed what can I say, my favorite one was Your Needs, My Needs! amazing chapter like always, it took me so long to read it because work has been crazy, it was so sweet to come home and see that you had updated and that you tagged me? You made my night thank you so much

I’m also a very slow reader and when I saw all the chapter tags I made a playlist with your songs and some of my own lmfao, Philadelphia by Good Night & Good Morning, and I Bet on Losing Dogs by Mitski! Song recs are not exactly a birthday gift but lets pretend, happy late birthday, hope you had an amazing day!

Now, the chapter… 😭😭😭 I was so sad by the end, but I’m happy they are on somewhat good terms now, Natalie can finally rest! More or less. Baby finally coming clean in some parts it’s so good, for her and for Carmy, he needed to know that he wasn’t the only one going through stuff, and that his fear of commitment really impacted other people, even if the way things turned out were not completely his fault. He felt so bad knowing about the alcohol and pills, I can’t imagine how he will feel when the other shoe drops. We also had another part of the puzzle, the fact that it was Richie that found her the day of the miscarriage make his disgust for Carmy even more reasonable (and sweet? In some twisted way lol, we love a protective “older brother”), I hope we can read in the future what exactly happened and why. The chain and the pendant are also a beautiful detail, it’s the small details that make a story so memorable and you nail that every time.

I loved it! Can’t wait for the next chapter!

you could have read this chapter a whole year later and i’d still be screaming at this message! 😭 but yes they have all been so inspiring it is crazy! but omg yes, your needs, my needs was the heart and soul of chapter 8 i was bawling whenever it came on! i’m so happy to have made your night, you literally make my day anytime you send me an ask i like almost jump up and down when i see you in my notifications!

more song recs?!?! you spoil me, i will damn sure accept these recs as a birthday present! and yes it was quite great, thank you for the well wishes lovie!!

i was so on the fence about having them make up, but i just want to right them in love and lovin on each other so bad now! but yes nat can take a break for now lol. yes i thought it was well beyond time for baby to at least admit something to carmy, and you’re absolutely right hearing baby’s confession kind of gives carmy perspective like he’s not the only one struggling through things, but i also thought it was important to denote that no matter what, just because he loved her that didn’t mean anything would be different. not the other shoe dropping 😭 but yes richie is 100% so much team baby it hurts his big brother senses are always tingling around her lol. i’ve decided i’m not going too into detail about the miscarriage because of how delicate of a topic it is but when baby reveals it to carmy she will explain what happened. the chain, pendant, and flower lore are probably my favorite detail i’ve included in this series like its just so close to my heart and i love sharing it with you all!

i’m so glad you still love this fic so much and i can’t wait to continue sharing it with you! 🤍

[ghoulsister1]

🎃SpookTober 31 Days Prompts🎃:

Day 24: Ghost👻

Ghost!Albert Blithe x GN!Reader. AU: Modern.Blithe is a ghostly boi. There's fluff don't worry! Friendly ghost. Visitations from beyond. SpookTober Prompt: Ghost👻

●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●

☆●~Ghostly Visit~●☆

You've been feeling his presence grow stronger coming into autumn and you smile as your beloved ghostly boy makes his visit to you.

The moment you first moved into the house you purchased in a little neighbourhood in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania you knew something was, off. Not necessarily in a bad way, just that it felt strange. You always felt like you weren't truly alone in the house, like someone or something was living inside the house with you, just you never saw them.

A few weeks since moving in, you began experiencing some strange occurrences. Objects would seemingly move on their own, you leave something in the kitchen and suddenly you'd find it in the bathroom. Sometimes lights would flicker on and off, even when you unplugged your lamp the light still flickered with life. You'd hear footsteps in the hallway and upstairs when you knew no one was there. And you'd always feel a cold chill sweep through you as you walked about the house.

You eventually asked around and found out that the previous owner was a soldier in the war and that he lived in the house until his death from an illness which took him suddenly. Owners who have lived in the house before you reported experiencing some strange happenings and everyone came to the conclusion that the spirit of the owner, Albert Blithe still resides in the house to this day.

So you were living with a ghost apparently but you never actually saw the ghost......until one October night he showed himself to you. A pale, young man in his 20s, light blond hair styled in an undercut and soft baby blue eyes. He still wore his uniform and you saw that this ghost was a paratrooper of the 101st Airborne, the eagle badge proved that.

"The Screaming Eagles" You Spoke softly, startling the spirit. His eyes widened at hearing you say the words.

"You know t..the nickname?" Asked Blithe softly.

You nodded with a smile, seeing the ghost was friendly.

"Yeah, I'm a bit of a history nerd you know. History is my favourite subject" You Answered. Blithe nodded with a hum, his eyes staring around the house.

"I've seen so many people come and go in this old house. Not many stay long, not when I make my....um, presence known" Explained Blithe softly but sadly.

"I heard around about the owners that lived in the house before me. But you aren't a mean ghost are you?" You Asked, just to be truly sure. Blithe's head shot up and looked at you with wide eyes.

"N...No! Of course not, I've never....never hurt no one.....not anybody with my.....ghostly activities. I can assure you that I...I'm harmless, honest" Stammered Blithe. You smiled softly.

"Don't worry, I can see that. So, you don't mind me living here?" You Asked.

"You're more than welcome! I won't do nothing to make trouble, I promise" Promised Blithe with a soft smile of his own. And with a smile of your own, thus began you and Blithe living together in relative peace. A human and a ghost, coexisting in harmony.

You learned over time that Blithe can make himself seen but around October, he becomes quite strong to show himself more and become physical, but when the month ends, slowly he returns to being invisible except for only being seen in mirrors.

6 years on and you remained living in the house with your ghostly housemate and things worked smoothly.

Now it's October once again and you felt a powerful cold wave hit you as you smiled, knowing full well that when you turned around you'd see your ghostly friend standing there, uniform and all.

And you turned around to see exactly that. Blithe stood there, smiling softly at you and looking at the Halloween decorations with bright eyes.

"Happy Halloween!" You Greeted him and he blushed a little with a chuckle.

"Happy Halloween! But it's only the 24th" Chuckled Blithe. You giggled and walked over to him.

"October is practically Halloween, Halloween everyday of October until November" You Stated proudly as you grabbed Blithe's hands. His hands were forever cold as ice, but you didn't mind. A cup of warm coffee or some cinnamon cocoa will fix that.

"Want something warm to drink?" You Suggested. Blithe's eyes brightened further and he smiled.

"Yes please, that would be swell" Replied Blithe with a smile. You went to the kitchen, still holding Blithe's hand as you did. You set about making some cinnamon hot chocolate for the both of you as Blithe helped.

"The cinnamon will warm you up good Blithe!" You Remarked with a grin as Blithe blushed pink and chuckled softly.

"Cinnamon is the best spice to warm up with" Agreed Blithe bashfully.

"That and chili pepper" You Joked, laughing when Blithe grimaced.

"I don't think I've seen people put chili peppers in hot chocolate and probably that's a good thing" Grimaced Blithe as he thought of someone actually putting peppers in hot chocolate and the thought alone made him grimace even more with a slight shiver.

Once the hot chocolates were made, you two went into the living room and sat down on the couch, a cosy fire burning away as some random episode of the Twilight Zone played.

"Oh I've seen this episode! It's a really good one" Remarked Blithe excitedly. You gave a grin of excitement.

"Oh goodie, I love watching the Twilight Zone and if this is a good episode, count me in" You Cheered and Blithe smiled and took a sip of the warm, tasty cinnamon hot chocolate and sighed happily, feeling the drink spread warmth across his body. Even though the warmth will fade eventually and he'll be cold as ice again, he didn't mind. Just take another sip and he was warm again for that moment and he made sure to savour the warmth as long as he could.

"Hey Blithe, I want to ask you something since you'll be like this at least for another 7 days until November 2nd" You Explained shyly. Blithe turned and looked at you curiously.

"What is it?" Asked Blithe curiously.

"Do you.....maybe wanna join me for a scary movie sleepover marathon on Halloween?" You Asked shyly.

Blithe felt his cheeks heat up but he smiled at you and reached out, taking your hand in his and you looked up, eyes wide.

"I'd like that Y/N" Replied Blithe, leaning over and pressing a cold yet tender kiss to your forehead that made your heart race.

You returned the gesture, kissing Blithe on his cheek and you could feel the faint warmth on his cheek at that.

"Thank you Blithe" You Replied, smiling with adoration as Blithe smiled back, love in his eyes.

"You're welcome Y/N. And thank you" Thanked Blithe.

You looked at him.

"For everything. For making me feel human again" Smiled Blithe and you two embraced each other in a comforting hug.

●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●

[mynameischalie]

I was tagged by the one and only @eckspress to do this little survey. (thanks for the tag alexis!)

1) are you named after anyone?: Yes. I’m named after my dad, Charles, so technically I’m a junior. 

2) when was the last time you cried?: I received news that Sister Pat passed away last year. I used to work with Sister Pat at the last high school I worked at in Philly and she was a fine mentor and person of faith (she was a nun). I can still hear her voice early Monday morning “Chalie, did you watch the Iggles last night?” I would say Sister Pat why is that even a question of course I did! Go Birds! She was a fantastic lady and devoted her life to God. I would find her praying in the chapel before the start of school (Catholic school). I can’t help but think of her with the Phillies going to the World Series and now the Eagles one step from the Super Bowl. When she passed the tears naturally rolled down my face.

3) do you have kids?: No, but always something I would like to have in the future.

4) do you use sarcasm a lot?: I try not to because we all know that sarcastic asshole person and I’m not trying to be that

5) what’s the first thing you notice about people?: Their face and their appearance.

6) what’s your eye color?: Blue

7) scary movies or happy endings?: Lets go scary movie with this one! Who’s ready for Scream 6?

8) any special talents?: I have an amazing memory which I consider my special talent! 

9) where were you born?: Philadelphia, PA

10) what are your hobbies?: I love going to concerts, I love music and collecting records, I love the beach, I love Philly sports, and I enjoy traveling!

11) have you any pets?: Not currently but I had dogs growing up 

12) what sports do you play/have you played?: Four years of baseball in high school.

13) how tall are you?: 6′1″. 

14) favorite subject in school?: History

15) dream job?: Baseball beat writer for the Philadelphia Phillies

Tagging: @burymetothesoundofyourname @sp00ky-p00ky @heyoceanfloor @kate2o @sad-and-dumb (if you like to do it go for it!)

[shipcestuous-two]

The Spectacles, by Edgar Allan Poe (submission)

If you thought I was done talking about Edgar Allan Poe, you are wrong. He might just be replacing Eça de Queirós as the most prolific incestuous writter. However, unlike the previous stories I covered (The Fall of the House of Usher, Morella, Ligeia and Berenice) The Spectacles is more of a comedic story than a tale of horror, being about a man who becomes engaged to a distant relative. It also isn't from the Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque collection, being published only in literary magazines such as the Philadelphia Dollar Newspaper in 1844 and the Broadway Journal in 1845. To be honest, Poe's comedies and satires aren't quite to my liking, I find them to be boring and senseless, preferring when he's writing about dead women and intellectual men.

I heard about this story from Dr. Kim (from my Ligeia post), who I ended up emailing and she answered me (and hopefully, she will further email me some cool articles for me to talk about on my blog - I feel like a youtuber, constantly plugging my content everywhere). You can read it here, if you want to.

The narrator was born as Napoleon Bonaparte Froissart, but changed his name to  Napoleon Bonaparte Simpson so he could qualify to receive an inheritance. He's a very vain man, and despite having vision problems, he refuses to wear spectacles. One night, he's at opera with his friend, Mr. Talbot, when he spots a beautiful woman and becomes immediately enamoured with her (GSA at it's finest, everyone).

His friend, Mr. Talbot knows the woman, who is called Madame Lalande, and offers to introduce the two. Meanwhile, Madame Lalande has noticed his attention and blushes, returning his gaze.

"It is useless, of course, to dwell upon my joy — upon my transport — upon my illimitable ecstasy of heart. If ever man was mad with excess of happiness, it was myself at that moment. I loved. This was my first love — so I felt it to be. It was love supreme — indescribable. It was “love at first sight;” and at first sight too, it had been appreciated and — returned."

Before he can introduce the two, Mr. Talbot goes out of town, leaving Napoleon very disappointed. In hopes of finding Madame Lalande, he talks about her to all of his other friends and acquaintances, all of whom are also enamoured by her beauty, but none of them know her very well. As they talk, a carriage passes by, carrying Madame Lalande and her companion, who is also remarked to be well dressed.

Finally, Napoleon meets Madame Lalande in person and as they talk, he soon realises his infatuation is reprecipitated. He learns her first name is Eugènie and they start a courtship. He asks her to marry him, and she says she will, asking in return that he wears spectacles on their wedding night, to which he agrees.

After the wedding ceremony, he puts on the glasses and becomes shocked to see that Eugènie Lalande - now Eugènie Simpson - is actually an old woman. They fight and he discovers that the portrait he had seen up close of her had been made when she married her second husband, Mr. Lalande. She says that her first husband had been a Mr. Froisart. Napoleon says he had an ancestor by that name who had married a Voissart, and Eugènie says that her Froisart-named daughter had married a man by the name of Voissart. And her granddaughter by the last name Voissart married an Croissart; and her great-granddaughter Croissart had married an Froissart. This great-granddaughter of Eugènie just so happens to be Napoleon's mother.

"Moissart and Voissart and Croissart and Napoleon Bonaparte Froissart! — why, you ineffable old serpent, that's me — that's me — d’ye hear? that's me” — here I screamed at the top of my voice — “that's me e e! I am Napoleon Bonaparte Froissart! and if I hav'nt married my great, great, grandmother, I wish I may be everlastingly confounded!"

(Someone do the maths, with Napoleon being 22 and Eugènie 82, is it possible for there to be so many generations between them in such a short time?)

Eugènie then reveals that she had known who he was all along and had decided to teach him a lesson about not wearing his glasses. The wedding had been fake and everyone had thought that Napoleon had been speaking about the other Madame Lalande, Stephanie Laland, a relative of Eugènie's husband that had accompanied her in her travels. In the end, Napoleon marries Stephanie (who isn't blood related to him).

But still, even if he couldn't quite see her well, that doesn't erase the fact that it had been Eugènie to whom Napoleon was attracted. Like I said before, GSA at its finest.

--

I feel like Poe wrote this with Onion headlines in mind:

woman marries her great great grandson to teach him a lesson about wearing his glasses

/

local man's vision so bad he accidentally marries a 90 year old woman

[dan6085]

### Daryl Hall & John Oates Songs in Chronological Order

#### **From The Album "Whole Oats" (1972)**

1. **"I'm Sorry"**

2. **"All Our Love"**

3. **"Georgie"**

4. **"Fall in Philadelphia"**

5. **"Waterwheel"**

6. **"Lazyman"**

7. **"Goodnight and Goodmorning"**

8. **"They Needed Each Other"**

9. **"Southeast City Window"**

10. **"Thank You for ..."**

11. **"Lilly (Are You Happy)"**

#### **From The Album "Abandoned Luncheonette" (1973)**

12. **"When the Morning Comes"**

13. **"Had I Known You Better Then"**

14. **"Las Vegas Turnaround (The Stewardess Song)"**

15. **"She’s Gone"**

16. **"I’m Just a Kid (Don’t Make Me Feel Like a Man)"**

17. **"Abandoned Luncheonette"**

18. **"Lady Rain"**

19. **"Laughing Boy"**

20. **"Everytime I Look at You"**

#### **From The Album "War Babies" (1974)**

21. **"Can’t Stop the Music (He Played It Much Too Long)"**

22. **"Is It a Star"**

23. **"Beanie G. and the Rose Tattoo"**

24. **"You’re Much Too Soon"**

25. **"70’s Scenario"**

26. **"War Baby Son of Zorro"**

27. **"I’m Watching You (A Mutant Romance)"**

28. **"Better Watch Your Back"**

29. **"Screaming Through December"**

30. **"Johnny Gore and the "C" Eaters"**

#### **From The Album "Daryl Hall & John Oates" (1975)**

31. **"Camellia"**

32. **"Sara Smile"**

33. **"Alone Too Long"**

34. **"Out of Me, Out of You"**

35. **"Nothing at All"**

36. **"Gino (The Manager)"**

37. **"It Doesn't Matter Anymore"**

38. **"Ennui on the Mountain"**

39. **"Grounds for Separation"**

40. **"Soldering"**

#### **From The Album "Bigger Than Both of Us" (1976)**

41. **"Back Together Again"**

42. **"Rich Girl"**

43. **"Crazy Eyes"**

44. **"Do What You Want, Be What You Are"**

45. **"Kerry"**

46. **"London, Luck & Love"**

47. **"Room to Breathe"**

48. **"You'll Never Learn"**

49. **"Falling"**

#### **From The Album "Beauty on a Back Street" (1977)**

50. **"Don't Change"**

51. **"Why Do Lovers Break Each Other's Heart?"**

52. **"You Must Be Good for Something"**

53. **"The Emptyness"**

54. **"Love Hurts (Love Heals)"**

55. **"Bigger Than Both of Us"**

56. **"Bad Habits and Infections"**

57. **"Winged Bull"**

58. **"The Girl Who Used to Be"**

#### **From The Album "Along the Red Ledge" (1978)**

59. **"It's a Laugh"**

60. **"Melody for a Memory"**

61. **"The Last Time"**

62. **"I Don't Wanna Lose You"**

63. **"Have I Been Away Too Long"**

64. **"Alley Katz"**

65. **"Don't Blame It on Love"**

66. **"Serious Music"**

67. **"Pleasure Beach"**

68. **"August Day"**

#### **From The Album "X-Static" (1979)**

69. **"The Woman Comes and Goes"**

70. **"Wait for Me"**

71. **"Portable Radio"**

72. **"All You Want Is Heaven"**

73. **"Who Said the World Was Fair"**

74. **"Running from Paradise"**

75. **"Number One"**

76. **"Bebop/Drop"**

77. **"Hallofon"**

78. **"Intravino"**

#### **From The Album "Voices" (1980)**

79. **"How Does It Feel to Be Back"**

80. **"Big Kids"**

81. **"United State"**

82. **"Hard to Be in Love with You"**

83. **"Kiss on My List"**

84. **"Gotta Lotta Nerve (Perfect Perfect)"**

85. **"You've Lost That Lovin' Feelin'"**

86. **"You Make My Dreams"**

87. **"Everytime You Go Away"**

88. **"Africa"**

89. **"Diddy Doo Wop (I Hear the Voices)"**

#### **From The Album "Private Eyes" (1981)**

90. **"Private Eyes"**

91. **"Looking for a Good Sign"**

92. **"I Can't Go for That (No Can Do)"**

93. **"Mano a Mano"**

94. **"Did It in a Minute"**

95. **"Head Above Water"**

96. **"Tell Me What You Want"**

97. **"Friday Let Me Down"**

98. **"Unguarded Minute"**

99. **"Your Imagination"**

100. **"Some Men"**

#### **From The Album "H2O" (1982)**

101. **"Maneater"**

102. **"Crime Pays"**

103. **"Art of Heartbreak"**

104. **"One on One"**

105. **"Open All Night"**

106. **"Family Man"**

107. **"Italian Girls"**

108. **"Guessing Games"**

109. **"Delayed Reaction"**

110. **"At Tension"**

111. **"Go Solo"**

#### **From The Album "Rock 'n Soul Part 1" (1983)**

112. **"Say It Isn't So"**

113. **"Adult Education"**

#### **From The Album "Big Bam Boom" (1984)**

114. **"Dance on Your Knees"**

115. **"Out of Touch"**

116. **"Method of Modern Love"**

117. **"Bank on Your Love"**

118. **"Some Things Are Better Left Unsaid"**

119. **"Going Thru the Motions"**

120. **"Cold, Dark and Yesterday"**

121. **"All American Girl"**

122. **"Possession Obsession"**

#### **From The Album "Ooh Yeah!" (1988)**

123. **"Downtown Life"**

124. **"Everything Your Heart Desires"**

125. **"I'm in Pieces"**

126. **"Missed Opportunity"**

127. **"Talking All Night"**

128. **"Rockability"**

129. **"Rocket to God"**

130. **"Soul Love"**

131. **"Realove"**

132. **"Keep on Pushin' Love"**

#### **From The Album "Change of Season" (1990)**

133. **"So Close"**

134. **"Starting All Over Again"**

135. **"Sometimes a Mind Changes"**

136. **"Change of Season"**

137. **"I Ain't Gonna Take It This Time"**

138. **"Everywhere I Look"**

139. **"Rip It Up"**

140. **"Give It Up (Old Habits)"**

141. **"Don't Hold Back Your Love"**

142. **"Halfway There"**

143. **"Only Love"**

144. **"Heavy Rain"**

#### **From The Album "Marigold Sky" (1997)**

145. **"Romeo Is Bleeding"**

146. **"Marigold Sky"**

147. **"The Sky Is Falling"**

148. **"Out of the Blue"**

149. **"Want To"**

150. **"Love Out Loud"**

151. **"Throw the Roses Away"**

152. **"I Don't Think So"**

153. **"Promise Ain't Enough"**

154. **"Time Won't Pass Me By"**

155. **"Hold on to Yourself"**

156. **"War of Words"**

#### **From The Album "Do It for Love" (2003)**

157. **"Man on a Mission"**

158. **"Do It for Love"**

159. **"Someday We'll Know"**

160. **"Forever for You"**

161. **"Life's Too Short"**

162. **"Getaway Car"**

163. **"Make You Stay"**

164. **"Miss DJ"**

165. **"(She) Got Me Bad"**

166. **"Breath of Your Life"**

167. **"Intuition"**

168. **"Heartbreak Time"**

169. **"Something About You"**

170. **"Love in a Dangerous Time"**

#### **From The Album "Our Kind of Soul" (2004)**

171. **"Let Love Take Control"**

172. **"Soul Violins"**

173. **"Can't Stop the Music"**

174. **"The Way You Do the Things You Do"**

175. **"Baby Come Home"**

176. **"Love You Like a Brother"**

177. **"You're a Big Girl Now"**

178. **"I'll Be Around"**

179. **"I Can't Go for That (No Can Do)"**

180. **"You Make My Dreams"**

#### **From The Album "Home for Christmas" (2006)**

181. **"Home for Christmas"**

182. **"Jingle Bell Rock"**

183. **"Santa Claus Is Coming to Town"**

184. **"Silver Bells"**

185. **"Auld Lang Syne"**

186. **"Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)"**

187. **"Frosty the Snowman"**

188. **"Winter Wonderland"**

189. **"Blue Christmas"**

#### **From The Album "Laughing Down Crying" (2011)**

190. **"Laughing Down Crying"**

191. **"Daydream"**

192. **"Eyes for You"**

193. **"Live at the Apollo"**

194. **"I'll Be Around"**

195. **"Crank It Up"**

196. **"A Night at the Apollo"**

197. **"Too Good to Be True"**

198. **"Be My Baby"**

#### **From The Album "BeforeAfter" (2014)**

199. **"Before After"**

200. **"The Last Time"**

201. **"Loving You Again"**

202. **"Wrong Side of the Tracks"**

203. **"You’re Much Too Soon"**

204. **"What’s Your Story"**

205. **"The Other Side"**

206. **"Hold on to You"**

207. **"Everytime You Leave"**

208. **"Invisible"**

#### **From The Album "Good Road to Follow" (2015)**

209. **"Good Road to Follow"**

210. **"Everything Must Change"**

211. **"No Easy Way"**

212. **"Kiss of Life"**

213. **"Walk Away"**

214. **"Love Remains"**

215. **"Can’t Let You Go"**

216. **"Be There"**

217. **"True Love"**

#### **From The Album "The Essential Daryl Hall & John Oates" (2019)**

218. **"Rich Girl"**

219. **"Maneater"**

220. **"Private Eyes"**

221. **"You Make My Dreams"**

222. **"I Can’t Go for That (No Can Do)"**

223. **"Sara Smile"**

224. **"Kiss on My List"**

225. **"Say It Isn’t So"**

226. **"Out of Touch"**

227. **"Method of Modern Love"**

This list captures the notable songs from Daryl Hall & John Oates’ discography in chronological order. Their work spans multiple decades, showcasing their evolution in music style and production.

[miyaland]

Shooting Star

I run through Philadelphia because I can. I kick and scream and most importantly, I jaywalk. I whine about the weather because it’s always too hot or too humid (or both) or too cold or too damn rainy. I’m the only person in this city who lives in the past and I love it. I love you and the Wooden Shoe. 

Sometimes I want to be a martyr. If I cannot have you, I want to be more, more, more than you, and I forget that I’m human. I forget that you are, too, and for that, I’m sorry. I know you, every inch of you, at just seventeen. Aging is a beautiful thing, but not for me. I’m ugly and rotten to the core. 

Rotten little girl tucking life into her pocket like a coin purse. She drops in and out when she needs cash; I see her once in a while. Okay, I see her a lot, and she gets what she wants: a boy like in the movies, a boy who smokes cigarettes, drives fast, wears black on black, quotes "Our Love is God." But their love is God, and that must be why it sits so quietly in my conscience. 

Conscience, conscience, where have you gone? I swallowed you up like a cherry pit and I have yet to see you since. I am seventeen and the world is ending. I am seventeen and I want it to.

I’m too much. The girls in the apartment next to mine know it well because they hear my voice through the walls. I sing often and about you. The world is covered in clichés and I am one of them. 

The world is covered in bloodsuckers and I am one of them, throwing myself at you because you make me shimmer. Shining and shining until I burn out. Dancing with you in a parking lot so we might live forever. We can’t. My face has wrinkles all over and you know it and you look the other way. 

I pin you to the keys like stigmata and look at you like you are the last thing I will ever ask for out of life. We are beautiful and nothing else matters, pressed against the piano as if I still know how to play “Yesterday.”

I run through Philadelphia because I can. I’m the only person in this city who lives in the past, permeating it like some kind of righteous disease, and if you were always going to break my heart, you must have known I would make it spectacular. 

The world is covered in spectacles waiting for my hand but I am too selfish to write about them. I once took your tragedy and made it mine. Now I take my ego and make it rhyme.

How blasé. We are all so tired of watching shooting stars.

And love is exhausting when it just keeps going. Stop. Drop me into that one moment. The moment where you kiss me everywhere, little bruises, it hurts and your breathing is unsteady; I hear it hitch and shiver and it makes me feel like I am more, more, more than you in every imaginable way. Right here.

I want to stay.