#also don’t hate me but I don’t want an usher foundation show

[ozmosisjones]

My personal fav unlikely option for Whatever it is RQ is hinting at: Joshua Gillespie’s Eyepocalypse Journals as he manages to just Nope his way out of everything.

Least favorite unlikely option: Amazon adaptation

[kindahoping4forever]

When The Sun Came Up, You Were Looking At Me (Prologue) // Ashton Irwin

It really cannot be overstated how excited @cal-puddies​ and I are for you all to finally start reading this fic!! I searched our chat and we actually came up with the skeleton idea for this sequel only TWO DAYS after Remember When We Couldn’t Take The Heat was posted LAST APRIL and we started seriously writing in SEPTEMBER. This is a long time coming. We hope you love it as much as we do and thank you again for encouraging us to continue this story!

Don’t forget we’re alternating chapters so the story continues tomorrow over on Cass’s blog. And of course, you can find links to everything as it’s posted in the masterlist linked below! 

Warnings: Tension, both dramatic and sexual. Mild angst. Meddling but well-meaning friends. The first smut-free work Cass and I have ever written together (don’t worry, we more than make up for it the rest of the series lmao)

Word Count: 3455

Cass & Crystal’s Masterlist  // Series Masterlist

Let  us  know  what  you  think!

The traffic light changes to green and you turn down Luke and Sierra’s street. You roll your eyes at the quickening of your pulse as you think about the party tonight; you’d give anything to skip it but you know Michael and Crystal really want you there and you can’t not show up for them. 

You feel your nerves settle a bit as you step out of the car and see Sierra waiting at the door for you, happy to have you over to get ready together. She grins wide and pulls you into a warm hug, Luke quickly coming over to engulf you as well. Their excited greetings overlap as they literally smother you with affection and you can’t help but laugh at the fuss they’re making.

“You always disappear for too long,” he murmurs, pressing a sweet kiss to the top of your head. 

“Just needed some space,” you say with a shrug. 

“You broke up with Ash, not us,” Sierra reminds you, squeezing your arm. 

“I know, I know,” you nod with a weak smile. 

Luke grabs the bag with your dress in it and takes it to their room while you and Sierra get a drink. “Thank god you’re letting me pre-game,” you joke. 

“How are you feeling about everything?” She asks as you head back with her. 

“Just doin’ my best to be OK,” you admit, without even thinking about Luke overhearing. “It was like… close to an entire year of my life you know? I know it doesn’t seem like much... I just wasn’t ready, you know? And I’m definitely not ready for tonight.” 

Sierra sits on the bed, listening as you sit at her vanity, absentmindedly looking over the beauty products on it.  “It was such an intense relationship, it makes sense you’re not over it yet, babe,” she points out gently.

“I should be over it, though, it was ridiculous. Our whole relationship was based on a foundation of fighting until we fucked to forget why we fought… it didn’t work, we never really communicated about anything.” 

“Well. You already know I’m not a fan of how the breakup went down,” she shakes her head, plugging in the curling iron you’ve been gesturing wildly with. “It’s been a couple months now, you guys still haven’t even texted?”

You scoff, taking a sip of your drink. “Please, we are the king and queen of Stubborn Town, I haven’t seen or heard from that man since I got the last of my stuff from his place,” you shrug. “I guess it still just feels… unfinished. I hate that.”

“I mean, it feels unfinished because you guys left it that way,” she says matter of factly. “You both decided you were done and then just… were? When you love someone, walking away like that doesn’t work.”

“I never said I loved him,” you glare at her through the mirror.

She settles behind you and starts sectioning off your hair. “Never said you didn’t either,” she teases.

Before you know it, 45 minutes have passed and Luke is at the door warning that he’s about to call the Uber; you’re deep into your girl talk catch-up and the knock on the door causes you both to burst into shrieks and giggles, scurrying around the room to finish getting ready.

Miraculously, you get yourselves together in time and as you stand in front of the house waiting for the car to arrive, Luke nudges you gently. “Ash is coming from a meeting on the other side of town, so you’ve got time to relax, he won’t be there for a while,” he reassures you. “And if you feel like you need to leave, let us know and we’ll come up with a reason to swoop you outta there.”

You put your arms around him and squeeze. “I’ve missed you too,” you say with a smile.

Luke tells you and Sierra how nice you both look as he ushers you inside the party. They both watch you scan the room, relaxing once you see Ashton hasn't arrived and then you all break off, making the rounds. 

You greet a few people but end up hanging off to the side, keeping an eye on the door, nervously half-paying attention to anyone who happens to approach you. 

You immediately tense when he enters. Luke moves to welcome him while Sierra comes to you, trying to be a silent support; her babysitting goes from feeling comforting to coddling very quickly and you urge her to go back to mingling. 

You try not to stare but you can’t help it, you haven’t seen him in so long. Even before you were together, when you hated him, it was hard not to be drawn to him. He just has that kind of presence. 

Luke hasn’t left his side since he walked in, chatting away, but you don’t think anything of it. That is, until everyone seems to be finding their place at the various tables and you’re still awkwardly standing to the side. You would typically sit with Luke and Sierra but they’ve made themselves cozy at a table with Ashton and Calum. 

You head for the bar and before you can order, someone comes up beside you. You ignore them until you hear the soft “Hey” fall from his lips, in that lush, slightly accented voice you missed more than you’d care to admit. 

You turn, fully taking him in for the first time tonight; his hair is different than the last time you saw him and he really seems to be feeling himself in his black pants and the lace button-up you used to make fun of. “Hi,” you respond, so quiet that Ash has to lean in to be sure he heard you. 

“Grab your drink and come sit with us,” he says, waving encouragingly. 

“Uh… that’s OK. I might leave,” you shrug. 

He snorts, rolling his eyes at your ridiculous suggestion. “No you won’t. First of all, I know you came with Luke and Sierra and they’re not leaving. Second of all, you’d never let Crystal and Mike down like that. Just come sit,” he insists, gently tugging on the hem of your dress. 

You melt a little inside. This was one of the reasons you liked him so much, he was always so confident that he knew you so well. But it’s also one of the reasons why you fought and he drove you crazy. 

“Fine,” you sigh with a slight smile. He waits for you to order your drink, also making you crazy, like he can’t trust you’ll do as you say.

“There you are!” Sierra smiles as you take the seat across the table from her and Luke. Sitting between Calum and Ashton is a spot you were very familiar being in; they’d constantly lean over you to share a joke and then one of them would fill you in afterwards if you were lucky. Your heart breaks a little when you realize that's not likely to happen now. 

You make small talk with Cal for a bit; you’ve missed his pinchable cheeks and his sweet laugh. You’d spent plenty of time with him when you were with Ashton but hadn’t really kept in touch since the split. He asks you about work and both he and Ash pay close attention as you chat about your job.

Sierra keeps a close eye on the two of you and notices how quickly you get reacquainted. The way Ash naturally rests his arm on the back of your chair. How when he started getting animated with a story, you knowingly shifted all the drinks over until he was finished. How he won’t let himself laugh at his own joke until he checks to make sure you’re laughing first. The hair toss you subconsciously give whenever he does make you laugh.

Later on, she catches him at the refreshment table serving your favorite dessert onto his plate even though it’s something he notoriously doesn’t like. She walks alongside him as he heads back. “You hate that,” she smirks, pointing at the offending dish.

“Oh. Right,” he says, realizing the old habit he just indulged. “She’ll eat it,” he shrugs, quickening his step to avoid any follow-up questions. 

Crystal makes the rounds to thank everyone for coming and stops Sierra with a hug; they chat for a minute but Crystal notices she seems distracted and eventually follows her gaze over to your table. Cal’s deeply invested on his phone, leaving you and Ash chatting by yourselves.

Crystal lightly snorts and leans in to her friend. “What’s old is new again, I guess,” she cups her manicured hand over her mouth to disguise her words. “You think they’ll leave together? I was shocked when she told me they haven’t hooked up even once since they split.”

Sierra shakes her head firmly. “They’re both too stubborn to admit they want even that from each other,” she rolls her eyes. “You should’ve seen how nervous she was to come here tonight.”

“Oh, Ash too,” Crystal whispers. “Ever since we planned this, Michael must’ve gotten at least 5 texts from him casually trying to find out if she was coming.”

Sierra sips her drink, never taking her eyes off your table. “It ended so badly, I can’t get over how comfortable they are with each other… there’s still just so much love there.”

Crystal shrugs. “Well god bless them but think of how long it took them to actually get together,” she points out. “I wouldn’t hold my breath for them to figure out that they called it off too soon.” 

You make light conversation with Ashton, trying to ignore the girls’ gabfest you see out of the corner of your eye; they were both supportive but clearly distraught when you told them about the breakup so you know they’ve got to be eating this up. 

Calum announces he’s stepping away for a cigarette and you and Ash pick at your plates in silence for a few minutes, suddenly feeling the weight of having to interact without a buffer. Finally, he offers up a quiet, “You’ve been good?”

You answer perhaps a little too quickly, nod perhaps a little too vigorously, eager to mask any implication of hurt feelings. “Yep. Busy. But good.”

He fiddles with the tablecloth. “You know... I meant to call sometime but it never felt right and then things got crazy with the band…”

“It’s fine,” you interrupt, shaking your head. “I didn’t check in either. Didn’t think you’d answer,” you laugh weakly.

He smiles and you hate how warm you feel at the sight. “Why did I always assume you were a ‘fuck that guy, delete his number as soon as you’re out the door’ kind of ex?”

Your heart sinks and you’re not sure why; it takes you a moment to realize it’s because this is the first time you’ve actually thought of yourself as “his ex.” You steady yourself. “Usually am. Decided to be mature on this one. You’re still at the top of my contacts. Listed under ‘Asshole,’ obviously,” you giggle.

“Ah, my favorite of your pet names,” he laughs along with you.

You talk for a few more minutes until Crystal makes her way over; Ash slips away while the two of you catch up and shortly after, you get a text from Luke asking if you’re ready to go. Your eyes scan the room though you aren’t sure what exactly you’re searching for, because you’re totally fine leaving without saying goodbye to Ashton. 

You're quiet on the ride back to Sierra and Luke’s and while you collect your things from their bedroom, she gently checks in.

“See, tonight wasn’t so bad,” she muses. 

“No, it was OK. Good to see everyone,” you shrug. “...Ash looks healthy.” 

“He looks good,” Sierra says pointedly. You say nothing. 

“You sure you’re good to drive?” Luke asks, coming into the room and sitting next to his girlfriend on the bed. “You know you’re always welcome to stay here.” 

“I’m fine, Luke,” you chuckle. You turn and hug them both. “I love you both, I’ll text when I’m home.” They respond by kissing the top of your head and you chuckle fondly as you leave. 

“They seemed OK tonight,” Luke mentions while they get ready for bed.

“They were more than OK, those stubborn kids couldn’t have been more into each other,” Sierra rants. “I think they really miss it, they just won’t admit it.”

“Oh, Ash definitely misses her. I swear, he talked about her less when they were together,” he jokes. Sierra raises an eyebrow, which Luke takes as encouragement to continue rambling about everything Ash had told him. “He knows they fought a lot but he even misses that... he’s been saying he’s glad he never told her he loved her, though. Things would’ve been a lot harder. Messier. I dunno, he’s always asking about her.”

You get home and drop your bag right inside the door with a huge, exhausted sigh and pull out your phone to text Luke and Sierra before heading to your room. You throw open the closet and it only takes you a couple seconds to spot what you’re looking for: that hoodie that Ash left behind and you never bothered to return. 

You stare at it for a beat and then leave to wash your face and brush your teeth; you already know what you’re about to do but you still try to talk yourself out of it. Back in the bedroom, you reluctantly grab the hoodie off of its hanger, change into it and climb into bed. You hold the sleeves to your face and breathe Ashton in; long, deep breaths, letting his smell fill your nostrils. You’ve done this more times than you’d care to admit these past few months; you miss him here, in your space. You curl in a ball and drift off, taking comfort in his scent surrounding you. 

You’re woken up early by your phone buzzing on the nightstand. You see it’s Sierra and pick it up, groaning, making sure she can hear it. “S?”

“Hey babe… can we lunch?” She bubbles. 

“You couldn’t have texted?”

“Sorry, Sunshine, just wanted to hear your lovely voice… and get a definite answer out of you. 1 o’clock, don’t be late!” She sing-songs, hanging up. 

You check your notifications and your heart sinks, not seeing anything from Ashton. You weren’t sure why you thought you would. You curl up and go back to sleep for a while. 

Sierra knows you well enough to guess you fell back asleep without setting an alarm and she starts blowing you up around noon. You text that you’ll see her soon and you start getting ready. You use the most fragrant soap you can find for your shower, ensuring the smell of Ashton's cologne doesn't linger on your skin.

You walk into your usual lunch place and easily spot Sierra on the patio. "Drinks are on their way," she shares as you take your seat.

You chat breezily about the party: how good the food was, how Michael's DJ setup was so much more elaborate than at the last party you attended, how much you loved what Crystal had worn. You wonder out loud if Cal had gone home with the girl he'd been making eyes at all night and Sierra seizes the opportunity to steer the conversation to her topic of choice.

"Speaking of making eyes," she takes a prolonged sip from her glass. "Things seemed a little intense with Ash last night."

You give her a tight-lipped smile, determined not to give her anything she can blow out of proportion. "I told you it was fine. Easier than I expected in a lot of ways, harder in others."

She places her hand on your arm from across the table. "I looked over a few times and saw him with his arm over your chair, you watching him talk… it was like we were back at that resort again," she says wistfully.

You evaluate her face for a moment. Since she's one of your best friends, you're used to being lovingly annoyed with her meddling in your life but sometimes you forget that it comes from a place of genuine love and concern for you. "Regardless of how things turned out, I'll always be grateful you forced me to stay on that trip," you smile. "That was some once in a lifetime kind of shit."

"From what I heard down the hall, sure sounded like it," she teases, grinning as you playfully shoo her hand off your arm. "That anniversary's coming up quick, isn't it?"

"Next week," you blurt, wincing at how quickly you answer.

"We'll have to think of something fun to do together," she declares carefully. "Not that you need it, but just in case you don't want to be alone."

This time you reach over and squeeze her hand. "I'm sorry I haven't been around like I used to, S. I just… needed time," you admit. "It's still hard. Most of the time, actually. But being around you and Lu again feels good. I think I need the support more than I realized."

"Babe," she pouts. "We were there for you before Ash, during Ash and we want to be there for you post-Ash. We love you."

You feel better than you thought you would as you head back to your car. Being honest with Sierra - and yourself - was easier than you expected. You briefly think about texting Ash - nothing major, something chill like "fun catching up last night" - but think better of it.

Sierra gets to her car and immediately texts Crystal, who requested an update when she heard you were getting lunch. She suggests asking Cal’s perspective to get the full picture of where Ash is at, so Sierra calls him on the drive home. 

“Hey Sweet Boy!” She greets him. 

“Sierra!” She can hear the grin on his face at the nickname. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” 

“Well, I wanted to ask you how Ash is. I mean, I know what Luke tells me but I feel like he gives you more,” she explains. 

“How do you mean? You saw him last night?” 

“How has he been since the breakup?” She emphasizes. 

“Oh… OH!! Oh! What are you planning? Please tell me you’re doing something, he’s making me crazy. I don’t know what came over him last night,” Cal babbles. 

“I think Luke had a hand in that,” Sierra admits with a sigh. “She came over to get ready with me and I think he probably shared some things he shouldn’t have. You know how he is.”

“What’s in that beautiful brain of yours?” Cal murmurs, letting out an excited little laugh. Out of everyone, he tends to enjoy Sierra’s plans like this the most, especially when they aren’t directed toward him. 

“I don’t know yet… I feel like we just need to get them talking alone again like they were last night, remind them what was there...” she muses. She talks through a few ideas with Calum and he’s on board for any of them.

By the time she gets home, Sierra is raring to go; she practically runs up the stairs to ask Luke for his help.

“Hey hun!” He greets her with a smile when she raps on the door to his studio. He moves the guitar off his lap, silently inviting her to come lay on the couch while they talk. “How was lunch, how’s our girl?”

She fills him in on everything: your mood, your conversation and the consulting she’s been doing among the friend group. Luke seems interested but about halfway through becomes engrossed in his phone and Sierra sits up, irritated. “Babe, you asked, are you even listening?”

He briefly looks concerned and then grins. “Sorry, just distracted by Ash blowing up the group chat, asking if anyone wants to go away next week so he doesn’t have to deal with their anniversary,” he proudly holds up his phone.

Her jaw drops at the opportunity that’s fallen at their feet. “What if…” She starts furiously typing into her phone. “Yes… that house you guys stayed at when you were planning the last album is free.”

“Palm Springs? OK, so…” Luke trails off, trying to follow her logic.

“Band retreat for the boys. Self-care trip for the girls,” she answers, shooting off texts to Crystal, Mike and Cal. 

“That house really isn’t big enough for all of us,” he comments, still lost.

She finally looks up at him, smiling widely. “It’s a good thing they’ll be the only ones going, then.”

————-

Taglist is breaking the links in the post and I currently do not have the brainpower to figure out the problem lol. We’ll try again tomorrow but in the meantime, if you aren’t notified, you can always check the masterlist which will be updated everyday!

@mymindwide​​ @suchalonelysunflower​​​ @pxrxmoore​​ @loveroflrh​​ @ghostofmashton​​ @sexgodashton​​ @feliznavidaddycal​​  

@castaway-cashton​​ @ashtonlftv​​ @cashtonasfuck​​ @megz1985​​  @angelicfluffs​​ @findingliam-o​​ @youngbloodchild​​  @irwinsbetch​​ @everyscarisahealingplace​​

@wiildflower-xxx @metalandboybands  @realisticnotes  @makeamovehemmings @golden166​ @burstintocolor

​@youngblood199456​​​ @notinthesameguey​​​ @seanna313​​​  @zhangyixingxing1​​​ @stardust-galaxies​​​  @zackoid​​​

@lovelybonesetc​​​ @xsongxbirdx​​​ @justhereforcalum​​​   @ashtonangst​​

@laura66sos​​​ @calumrose​​​ @karajaynetoday​​​ ​​​ @jazzyangel242​​​ @babylon-corgis​​​  @heyheyhaleyd​​​ @calmsweetcreature​​​

@spicycal​​​ @talkfastromance4​​​  @holystxne​​​

@meetmedowntown​​​ @myloverboyash​​​

@irwindoll​​​​​​ @carrielfisher​​​ @lukedorkyhemmings​​​ @creampiecashton​​​ @lovelywordsblog​​​

@trix-arent-for-kids​ @uh-huhh-honey​ @tobefalling​ @aladyofalbion​ @likehuhdude​

@curlycalums​​​  @cxddlyash​​​  

@fedorable-killjoys​​​  @iamcalumswhore​​​   @i-like-5sos​​​  

@aquarius-hood1996​  @babylonashton​  

@begluketostay​   @mateisit-balsamic​​

@crazyforcal​​   @neso-k​​   @deliciouslydisturbed365​​  @blxndeprincess

[wordsandshawn]

Breakup Letter

This is based on a request where y/n is blackmailed to break up with Shawn, so of course there’s angst. Hope you enjoy!

|| message me || masterlist ||

Word count: 3.4k

~

Tears fall from your eyes because of the heartbreak making a home in your chest. As you take pen to paper, it feels so wrong and the opposite of what you really want. It makes you feel like a horrible person, but you feel so trapped and you don’t know what else to do. This is for the best, you keep reminding yourself, but it still doesn’t change the sinking feeling in your stomach and the ache in your chest. Your heart hurts so much at the thought of not being with Shawn anymore. It hurts so much that you feel physically sick.

Shawn is so proud of the reputation he has created. Not only is he proud of it, but it also serves as the foundation to his career. Part of his appeal is how clean cut and genuine he is. He was young when he was discovered, and his past is relatively unproblematic. He is notoriously a nice guy, and from personal experience, you can attest to the fact that he deserves every bit of the reputation he has acquired.

Although you’ve been dating Shawn for nearly nine months, he’s also in the middle of a publicity relationship with a singer that is supposed to promote both of their careers. Ever since the beginning of your relationship, you and Shawn agreed to keep it private. At first, it seemed like the best idea. Then the publicity relationship came up, and after discussing it at length, both you and Shawn agreed that it was just another part of his career. You felt confident in your relationship and you truly viewed the fake relationship as part of his job.

After he started the publicity relationship about two months ago, it became even more important that you kept your relationship a secret. If Shawn was caught with you, there would be repercussions that could affect his reputation and career.

Earlier today, you received a text message that made your world stop and left you feeling like you had no choice, leading you to writing the letter, packing up your stuff, and walking out of the condo you shared with Shawn in Toronto.

Break up with him or these will be sent to TMZ and everyone will know he’s a cheater and a liar.

Reading the words made your heart nearly stop, even before you viewed the attached pictures. Your hand holding your phone was shaking so much, you couldn’t see anything clearly, but you didn’t have to. As terrifying as it was to receive that threat, your immediate reaction was to tell Shawn. You were confident that he would know how to handle it, that you would figure it out together and things would be okay. You didn’t think you would ever oblige to this outrageous demand.

However, as you clicked off of the message, starting to open facetime to call Shawn, a second text appeared. And don’t even think of telling him this is the reason. If you tell him instead of breaking up, his career will be ruined. These photos aren’t the only thing we have on him.

After reading the second message, you didn’t immediately click facetime. Instead, you let the words sink in. You read and reread the messages, trying to wrack your brain for what to do next as everything suddenly felt like it was falling apart.

An hour later, the letter is completely written, and most of your items are out of his condo. You leave the breakup note on his kitchen counter along with your keys and take your bags, showing up on your best friend’s doorstep.

She ushers you in as the tears roll down your face. She’s asking questions, none of which you answer. Taking your bags and putting them aside, she walks you over to the couch, making sure you sit down before going to the kitchen to make tea. You take this time to respond to the person who sent you those earlier messages, I did it. Now delete those pictures.

You pray that this will be enough to assure those photos are never released and Shawn’s career survives unscathed. Shawn won’t receive the letter until he returns to Toronto tomorrow, a homecoming that you had both been looking forward to since the day he left a week ago, but now his return will only mean him reading the letter and everything changing. Suddenly, you’re dreading tomorrow instead of looking forward to it.

That evening, you share the briefest possible explanation with Tiana, your best friend. You tell her that things weren’t working out between you and Shawn, and that you had decided you needed to take a break from the relationship, to move out. She’s blindsided by this information because she thought everything was going well between the two of you and she can’t believe you would decide to move out so quickly. You lie, telling her that things hadn’t been good and that you and Shawn weren’t seeing eye to eye anymore.

The next afternoon, you’re still on the couch, having barely moved in twenty-four hours. You can tell Tiana is worried, but she doesn’t say anything, knowing that you’re getting over a breakup and you’re allowed to mope.

The doorbell rings, and you immediately tear your gaze away from the tv to meet your best friend’s eyes. She looks confused at first, but you scamper off the couch and into the hallway where you’ll be hidden from view if she opens the door. You don’t say a word, but you know it’s Shawn on the other side of the door because his flight has landed, and he probably made it back to the condo, meaning he saw the note. You expected that Shawn would show up here once he read the note and realized you were gone. You had turned off your phone because you couldn’t take the thought of seeing any messages from him, and you didn’t trust yourself not to reply and run back to him.

Although you can’t see, you hear the door open, and then Shawn’s voice. He doesn’t bother with pleasantries. “I know she’s here. Please let me talk to her.”

“Who?” Tiana replies, playing dumb.

“Y/n. I know she’s here. Please just let me see her.” He pleads.

“No. She wants space, Shawn. Just go home.” She responds, coldly. Tiana is one of the kindest, sweetest people you know, but she knows how to act tough when she has to, something you’ve always admired about her.

“She can have space. She can have all the space she needs, but it can’t end, not like this. I just need to talk to her. Just for two minutes,” The last word falls from his lips in an almost desperate whisper, “Please.”

His last plea almost breaks your resolve, but you remind yourself that this is for the best. You remind yourself that this has to be how things go, and you remain hidden, even as your heart breaks at the sound of his voice, at the way he sounds so broken.  

“Go home Shawn.”

“Y/n,” Shawn shouts loudly, knowing you’re in the apartment and you can probably hear him. “Please, y/n, please talk to me.” Is the last thing you hear before the door closes. Seconds later, you’re face to face with your best friend and you collapse into her as the tears fall again.

She guides you back to the couch where she sits down next to you, trying to understand what is going on and what you are going to do next. “You sure you don’t want to just talk to him?” She questions softly.

You shake your head, fresh tears streaming down your cheeks.

“Did he do something? You can tell me. Did he cheat? Did he mess up?” She asks.

You shake your head again. He did nothing wrong. Well nothing except maybe accepting advice from his PR team, but you can’t exactly fault him for that. It’s part of his job, to listen to them. They’re supposed to have his best interest at heart. They’re supposed to be in control of catapulting his career to the next level, of curating the reputation, the character of Shawn that sells the most. That’s their job.  

“Y/n,” She says with a sigh, “What’s so bad that you can’t just talk to him? When has there ever been something you couldn’t talk to Shawn about?”

“I can’t talk to him about this.” You finally manage to say.

“What about me? Can you talk to me about it?” She questions, and you can tell she’s starting to feel worried. Even she can sense that this is more than just a regular break up. When you shake your head, and then pull away from her, she senses that you’re not ready to talk about it. The truth is, you’re not sure you’ll ever be ready to talk about it. Although she wants to push you for more information, she doesn’t. She simply rubs your back and lets you cry until you’ve run out of tears and fall asleep on her couch.

The next few days pass in a blur of tears. You manage to pull yourself together enough to show up to work each day, but that takes everything you have in you, so by the time you get back to Tiana’s apartment, you’re exhausted and end up falling asleep super early only to wake up about an hour later and spend the rest of the night tossing and turning.

You block Shawn’s phone number and delete all your social media apps. If you didn’t need your phone for work, you probably would have turned it off and put it in a drawer somewhere. You know that Shawn has been contacting Tiana almost nonstop, so you can only imagine your phone is flooded with messages from him. You know it isn’t fair to him to end the relationship like this and he probably hates you for it, but it is the only way to keep Shawn safe and give him a chance to be happy in the future.

Shawn’s happiness is what means the most to you, so if you have to leave his life in order for his hopes and dreams to come true, that’s what you’ll do, no matter how much it hurts you. That’s what you do for someone you love more than anything.

It’s been another long day at work, and you can’t wait to get home just so you can fall asleep. Anything that allows you not to feel the deep ache in your chest has quickly become your favorite past times, which basically means alcohol and sleep.

As you’re walking to your car, you see someone out of the corner of your eye. At first, you don’t think anything of it, assuming its someone else walking to their car after work to. However, when that person continues to follow you, your pace quickens, fear rising within you.

You’re almost to your car when you her your name called out in a familiar voice. You spin around just to come face to face with Shawn. “Are you stalking me?” You question. The pull you feel in your heart is so strong it takes all your energy to not run into his arms. You’ve missed him so much. All you want is for him to wrap his arms around you and tell you he loves you and everything is going to be okay.

“No, maybe.” He says, stopping a foot away from you and running his fingers through his hair. He looks hurt, and you can’t blame him.

“Shawn, you can’t be here.” You say, looking around, worried about being seen. He has to know that it’s risky to his publicity relationship. Even when you were together, you never stood around talking in a public parking lot. Truthfully, you never had to.

“You won’t answer my calls. Tiana won’t let me in. What else was I supposed to do?” He questions, sounding desperate.

“We can’t be seen together,” You say, almost frantically, still glancing around. You’re worried about Shawn’s publicity relationship if you’re spotted, but more than that, you’re worried about the threat in the text message, the even bigger threat to Shawn if you didn’t do what they said.

Shawn steps closer to you, “What’s wrong? What happened? Are you okay?” Shawn is probably the only boy in the world who could get broken up with and then show up at your workplace to ask if you’re okay. That’s one of the reasons you love him so much, one of the reasons you’re not sure if you’ll ever be able to stop loving him, no matter what happens.

“Nothing happened, Shawn.” You lie.

He steps closer, his pull on you only getting stronger with the closer proximity.

Knowing you can’t be this close to him without completely breaking down, you shove him. You take two of your hands, press them flat against his chest and push him back. He takes a step back, caught off guard.

“I don’t want to be with you.” Saying those words and pushing him away hurt you more than everything so far. Writing a letter and ignoring his phone calls is one thing but lying through your teeth is a completely different kind of pain.

“I don’t believe you.” He says so forcefully it catches you off guard. Truthfully, you’ve hurt him so much, and you don’t understand why he won’t just give up on you. What you’ve done is unforgivable, and he doesn’t deserve any of it. But somehow, he knows that this is more than you just deciding to hurt him and walk away without even talking to him or trying to fix things. He knows you so well that he knows you wouldn’t do this to him. A part of you is grateful that he doesn’t believe this act you’re putting up, but the other part of you wishes he would just let it go, hate you for a while, and then move on and be happy. That’s all you want for him.

You take a deep breath as tears flood your eyes. “I can’t,” You whisper.

“Meet me at the condo, please. Just talk to me. I can fix it. I know I can, but I just need you to tell me what’s going on with you.”

Shawn presses your elevator key card into your hand, the key card you had left on the counter next to the condo key and the note.

“Please.” He breathes, before turning and walking back to his car, knowing how risky it is to stand around in this parking any longer. You get into your car, and double check the parking lot one more time, making sure that no one spotted the two of you together, and then you sit there in the parking lot and cry.

You saw Shawn’s car leave shortly after you got into your car. He couldn’t stay, but you know that he’s going back to his condo to wait for you. After sitting in your car until you run out of tears, you turn your car on and drive out of the parking lot. You thought you hadn’t made a decision, but when you park your car in the designated stall next to Shawn’s car in the condo’s underground lot, you realize the decision was made the second Shawn pressed the key card into your hand. As much as you wanted to stay away to protect him, it was breaking you, and knowing that he wasn’t willing to give up on you so easily made you realize that you weren’t able to give up on him like that either.

You barely knock twice before the door swings open, revealing Shawn. “You came,” He whispers in disbelief.

“I’m sorry,” The words fall from your lips just like your resolve to keep this a secret from him.

“Please, just tell me what’s going on.” He pleads, stepping back and letting you enter the condo before closing the door behind you.

You turn to face him, taking a deep breath, and it feels like everything crumbles around you. You watch this beautiful boy, the boy you love more than you’ve ever loved anyone before, and you remember the threat. Fear rises within you again. As much as you want to fall into his arms, you’re scared. Finally, you say, “Your music has to come first. Your career comes first, and I just can’t be the person you need right now.”

“That’s bullshit, and I think you know it. My music has never come before you. Music, that’s my job, but you—you’re my life, y/n. You’re never not the person I need, right now, and always.” That sentence causes you to stop in your tracks. Everything freezes for a moment as you simply stare at Shawn. “I’d give up music in a second if that meant you’d move back home with me and I could wake up next to you every day.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to give it up.” You whisper, hesitantly looking up at him.

“I know, but I’m telling you I would. If I had to choose, I’d choose you every time.” He says sincerely.

You sigh, closing your eyes then taking a deep breath. When you open your eyes again, you say, “I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

“You’re really freaking me out. Please, just tell me what is going on. Y/n, you can tell me anything, you know that right?” Shawn says, taking your hand in his. Now that you’re alone in his apartment, you can’t think of a single reason not to let him touch you.

You pull your phone from your pocket and unlock it, opening the text from the unfamiliar number and showing it to Shawn. He reads the text and you watch his expression turn to anger. You expected him to be afraid, just like you were when you read it, but he’s not.

After a few seconds, some of the anger melts away, and Shawn says, “That’s it? That’s why you broke up with me?”

You nod, “I’m sorry Shawn. I’m so sorry. I was scared. I am scared about what is going to happen to you.” You ramble, but Shawn just shakes his head, stepping closer to you. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you close.

“Y/n, love, nothing’s going to happen. I’ll call Andrew, we’ll get the number traced, it’s okay.” He reassures you.

“But Shawn, they said they had stuff on you, stuff that could ruin your career.”

“How bad could it be?” He questions, sounding so carefree, almost like he’s not feeling the weight of the situation.

“I don’t know, that’s why it’s scary. I mean, how did they get those pictures of us? We’re so careful.” You say, inwardly chastising yourself just thinking about it.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Shawn says, trying to get you to stop thinking and stop freaking out, even just for a moment. “It’s okay. I know you were scared, but I’m not letting us end this relationship because someone on the other side of a screen told us to.”

“I’m sorry.” You say again, hiding your face against his chest.

“I know you are,” He says softly, kissing the top of your head. “It’s okay. We’re okay.” He pauses, just holding you in his arms as you treasure the feeling of being close to him that you so desperately craved for so long.

“But don’t ever do that again, Y/n. Next time you want to break up with me, at least talk to me about it first.”

He tries to lighten his tone, so it comes off as a joke, but you hear that sense of fear in his voice, the feeling of fear of losing you. You know because you feel the exact same way. Even though you were the one who initiation the breakup, and even though you knew exactly why you had to do it, to protect Shawn, you don’t ever want to have to go through that again.

“I promise I won’t ever do that again,” You respond, meaning every word of that promise.

“Good.” He says, a small smile forming on his face before letting you out of his grasp. You meet his gaze as he says, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

[myhockeyworld87]

Nervous Regrets - Tyler Seguin - Part 22

Word Count: 6489

POV: Reader

Warnings: None

Notes: I want to wish everyone a Merry Christmas today if you’re celebrating! I’m so excited for you all to read this one, it’s the proposal; and it’s so soft. I hope you guys enjoy it as much I enjoyed writing it. I’m also going to do a 22.5 which will be from Tyler’s pov, so you can see all he went through. With that, happy reading everyone. Peace, love and hugs to all!

Tyler didn’t get to stay home long after Thanksgiving, in fact he was back on the road in a couple of days. This trip was extra hard as he was gone for another ten days. These long stretches were killer on you both, for lately it seemed like you just wanted to spend all your time with each other. Though he did call you several times throughout the day and always at the end of the night before you both would fall asleep.

You kept yourself busy looking into new charities for Tyler to endorse. Most game nights you spent with the wags, either at one of their houses or at yours. It was always fun hosting the ladies at the new house, and they always made sure to have some fun non-alcoholic beverage to include you in toasting the teams wins. The only strange thing was when you’d talk about the Fire and Ice gala that was coming up, no one seemed to have any information on it or what the event was even about. Most of the time the Stars foundation would at least reach out to one of you with all the details, though this time it seemed very hush hush. However, you, Alandra and Andrea all made appointments at the salon that day for a day of pampering and to get all dolled up.

 Tyler was still pouting that he hadn’t seen the dress you’d bought, but just as Candace and Cassidy suggested, you’d wanted to wait till that night to show him. You’d actually caught him snooping around in the spare bedroom closet looking for it one day. “I just want to see it.” Or so he explained when you caught him rummaging around.

 “You’re just going to have to wait until tomorrow night.”

 “Fine.”

 “What are you wearing by the way? Do I need to have any of your suits cleaned before tomorrow?” The two of you were still in the closet. Tyler seemed antsy, but you chalked it up to him being caught looking for your dress.

 “You’re just going to have to wait until tomorrow night.” He teased you back, then ushered you out of the spare closet.

 “Ha, ha, you’re so funny. I’m being serious. Do any of your shirts need cleaned from the road trip? I can run them to the cleaners now and they’ll be done by tomorrow.”

 “Umm…actually, I’ll take them myself. I’ve got a few errands to run anyhow.”

 “Oh perfect. I’ll come with you; I need to pick some things up from the store as well.” You were almost out of the moisturizer you used, so why not head over to the store with him as it was on the way.

 “No!” You cocked your head at his sharp tone. “I mean…well, it’s just going to take me a long time and we probably shouldn’t both be gone from the dogs that long.”

 You quirked an eyebrow at him. It wasn’t like you were leaving the dogs for days, just a few hours. “What are you talking about? They’ll be fine. We’ve left for a lot longer than to run errands.”

 “It’s just they’re used to you being home now…and I think they’ll miss you if you leave.”

 “Ty, they’ll be fine. They’re not that attached to me.”

 “It’s just…Gerry hasn’t been feeling well.”

 “Huh?” You glanced over at the three dogs, who were in the room with you. “Gerry’s fine, I just spent the last seven days with him, and he was fine the whole time. Well except for…” You shut your mouth before you got the pup in anymore trouble.

 “Wait what did he do?”

 “Nothing, he didn’t do a thing. Now come on let’s go. So we don’t leave the dogs too long.” You said sarcastically.

 “I really think you should stay here with the dogs. They just seem lonely today.”

 “Tyler, what is your problem? Why don’t you want me to go with you?” A pit formed in your stomach as you started thinking of reasons that he wouldn’t want you to go. Things had been going so great between the two of you, though the ten day stretch was hard; you didn’t think it put that much of a strain on your relationship. He’d seemed fine when he got home, in fact so fine that the two of you made up for those ten days apart by having sex no less than three times in the last twenty-four hours. You didn’t want to think about him cheating, but it popped into your brain anyway. What if he was going to see someone else? You tried to squash the uneasy feeling in your stomach, but with each passing moment he didn’t answer you, you grew more and more fearful. Finally when the silence stretched too long you said, “Just go do whatever it is you have to do.” With that you walked out of the spare bedroom and down the steps, tears starting to form as you left.

 By the time you reached the kitchen, a few tears had slipped out; you swiped at them angrily, then grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge and walked outside. You knew that Tyler would be coming downstairs any minute, and you didn’t feel like speaking with him at the moment. Instead you wondered around the outside in the cold November air. It helped cool the anger boiling through your veins. About ten minutes past before you heard the garage door open and the sound of the car engine, as it pulled out of the drive. It was then, that you finally broke down. Tyler left without even trying to look for you. His “errands” were more important than you were, and the more you thought about that, the harder you sobbed.

 How could you have let your guard down, and believe that you and Tyler would have a perfect life together? Things were just too good to be true, and honestly you should’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop. The question now was, what did you do? You knew you had to confront him about the issue and find out if he really was cheating. Your heart didn’t want it to be true and neither did your mind. When you thought about it, there was no real proof; other than the fact he’d been acting strange since he came home. Grabbing your phone out of your pocket, you sat there deciding whether or not to look online for any information. Finger hoovering over the Instagram icon, you debated with yourself on what do to. Then Andrea Bishop’s word echoed in your head; you needed to tune out everything that was on there. So instead you called your friend Jenna. As one of your best friends, she was always the voice of reason and would hopefully be able to help tell you what to do.

 “Oh no what’s wrong?” You hadn’t even said hello, but Jenna could tell by your light sobs something was off.

 “I think Tyler might be cheating on me.” Somehow you managed to get it all out before you sniffed loudly in the phone, then broke down crying again.

 “Oh my god, calm down. Tell me why you think that?” When you continued crying into the phone, she said. “Things have been going so well between the two of you; maybe this is just a misunderstanding.”

 “I don’t know maybe.” You finally choked out.

 “So tell me why you think he’s cheating.”

 “He’s just been super strange since he got home…and today I asked him if anything needed to go to the cleaners for the gala, that I could take it for him.” A hiccup escaped you as you told Jenna what happened only a short time ago. “He told me he would do it, because he had some errands to run. I said I’d go with him because I had some to do too; yet he insisted I stay home.”

 “Well that doesn’t make me think he’s cheating.” “You don’t understand, he made up that Gerry was sick and I should stay home with him. We both know there’s nothing wrong with Gerry or the other dogs. He just wanted to sneak away from the house without me; and it’s probably because he’s seeing someone else.”

 “Oh (Y/N), I don’t think it’s that at all.” You perked up a little bit at Jenna’s comment.

 “Really?”

 “(Y/N) that man is head over heels in love with you. I can’t see him having some fling while he’s out of town. That was the old Tyler. This Tyler is totally dedicated to you and your baby.” She did make sense. It was only today that he’d been acting weird. “You have that gala tomorrow right”

 “Yeah.”

 “Well, maybe he’s trying to do something special for you; like rent a limo or something.” That seemed a bit far-fetched.

 “If he was going to do something like that, he could just call. There has to be something more.” You were convinced there was something going on, you just couldn’t put your finger on it.

 “It’s probably something more extravagant than that; it was just the first thing that popped in my head. But I definitely know he’s not cheating on you.” “How can you be so sure?”

 “Because if he is, I’ll beat the shit out of him.” You couldn’t help yourself, you laughed. Somehow, you could picture your best friend beating up Tyler; and you had a feeling she’d win. “Do you need me to come over there now, because I will?”

 “No, but thanks for the offer. Just talking to you about it, made me feel better. I know you’re right; I don’t think he’d cheat on me. I just can’t explain his actions today.”

 “Well you know Tyler, he’s probably trying to surprise you; though he never does it in a normal way.” Jenna was more than likely right. “I hate to cut this short, but I’ve gotta run. Are you sure you’re ok? Because I can cancel my plans and be right over.”

 “No I’ll be fine. I’m sorry for bugging you.”

 “(Y/N) you’re never a bother, this is what best friends are for; but I really have to run.” You felt bad for keeping your best friend from her plans, though she hadn’t mentioned what they were. ‘Sorry I’m late.’ You heard a distinct male voice in the background, which sounded a lot like Tyler.

 “Is that Tyler?”

 “What?...umm…No.” There was a slight panic in her voice. “That’s Bill…my date.”

 “But I thought you wanted us to set you up with Jamie?”

 “Umm…yeah I dp. It’s a long story, I’ll tell you about it later…I’m really late for this…thing. Promise I’ll tell you later…bye.”

 “B…” She hung up before you could even say goodbye. Now you were worried about your best friend. The last time the two of you talked, she couldn’t stop talking about Jamie and how perfect he was. You thought the two of them would be great together. This day just kept getting weirder by the minute. Maybe you should just go lay down and start the whole thing over again. The wind blew just then, making you realize how cold it actually was outside.

 Once inside you decided it wasn’t such a bad idea to just lay down and take a nap; so you crawled into your bed, the dogs following. They’re warm bodies felt good against your chilled bones as the three of you cuddled. You still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going on with Tyler, but you tried to convince yourself that things would be fine. Closing your eyes, you let sleep take you. You weren’t sure how long you’d been asleep, but you woke up to Tyler gently shaking your dreaming form.

 “Babe…babe.” You blinked your eyes at him, trying hard to wake yourself from slumber.

 “Tyler?” You asked groggily. “What time is it?”

“It’s almost three o’clock.”

 “Mmmm. I didn’t realize I’d slept that long.” As you became fully awake, memories of the morning started to invade your fog filled brain. You sat up, trying to get out of the bed, but were trapped between Tyler and the dogs. “Umm…can you let me up?”

 “No.”

 “Ty, please. I just want…” You didn’t know what you were going to do, or where you were going to go; you just knew that you wanted to put some distance between yourself and Tyler.

 He brushed a stray lock of hair from your face, which made you flinch. “Baby, I’m sorry about earlier.” You turned your face from him, knowing you weren’t quite ready for this whole conversation. “Sweetheart, please look at me. I just want to talk to you.” A small tear ran down your cheek, and you quickly wiped it away. “Baby please don’t cry.” The pleading tone in his voice broke you, and before you knew what was happening; he wrapped you in his arms and held you to his chest. “Sshh, baby it’s ok.” He rubbed small circles on your back, which calmed you.

 Once, you finally got ahold of your emotions you pulled back slightly from him. “Babe, don’t get mad; but I talked to Jenna.” You should’ve known she’d call and bitch him out; though you couldn’t be upset with her. She only ever had your best interest at heart. “I’m not cheating on you sweetie, I’m never going to do that again. You should know that by now.”

 “I do. It’s just…” You took a deep breath before continuing. “You’ve been so weird since you came home, and you were so insistent that I not go with you today. I didn’t know what else to think.” He ran his fingers through his hair, a habit he had when he needed a minute to think. “I didn’t want you to come with me, because I was trying to surprise you with this.” He reached down and grabbed a small bag that he had by the bed; then handed over to you. “I wanted to give this to you tomorrow night, but…” He trailed off, while you blushed at your foolish thoughts of him cheating on you.

 Nestled inside tissue paper was a black velvet box, which you knew contained something you didn’t deserve. “Ty I can’t.”

 “(Y/N) if you don’t open that box this instant, I swear I’ll take you over my knee right now.” You raised your eyes at him, at his veiled threat; which was somewhat tempting in and of itself. “Don’t look at me like that.” He smirked. “Ok, so that wasn’t a very good threat, but I’ll do something you won’t like at all.”

 A small giggle escaped your lips. “Well if you’re going to do ‘something I won’t like,’ I guess I better open this.” You lifted the lid on the velvet case. Inside lay a beautiful diamond pendant necklace. Small diamonds encircle two round cut stones; that then dropped down in to one large teardrop diamond. The teardrop diamond alone had to be three carats, not to mention the other stones that surrounded it. It literally stole your breath away. “Tyler, it’s too much.”

 “Do you like it?”

 “Like it! It’s breathtaking. I’ve never seen something so beautiful.”

 “Well it pales compared to you.” His words made you melt. You didn’t deserve this man. A few tears spilled out your eyes yet again; though this time they were happy ones. “I just wanted to give you something special for tomorrow night.”

 “Oh Tyler, I love it, but you didn’t need to do this; just being with you is enough.” Reaching over you planted a kiss on his lips. It wasn’t enough, this man deserved so much more; and he most definitely didn’t deserve your skepticism. You pulled back, to tell him this. “I’m so sorry I doubted you for even a minute Ty. I don’t deserve you.”

 “Babe, don’t worry about it. I mean I’m not happy, that that’s the first thing you thought of; but at the same time I didn’t really help my cause insisting you stay home, with Gerry.” You both looked over at the pup, who was over in the corner clearly trying to play fetch by himself. “He’s obviously not sick.” Both of you laughed at the lie which Tyler had used earlier. “So how about I put this on you?”

 He took the velvet box out of your hands, and started to take the necklace out of the package. “Wait…You wanted me to have this for tomorrow, maybe we should wait.”

 “I’d rather have you wear this and nothing else right now. Call it your punishment for making me give it to you early.” He wiggled his eyes suggestively at you.

 “Not that I mind that punishment at all, but don’t you have a game to get to soon?” He shrugged his shoulder, as if it didn’t matter. “And I haven’t made you dinner yet.”

 “I’d rather have dessert first.” He leaned over and kissed you passionately, before pulling away to put the necklace on you; then went and lifted the hem of your shirt. “Now, about that punishment part.”

 Tyler was a good fifteen minutes late in leaving for the game, but you both felt it was well worth any laps he’d have to do in practice the following morning. Luckily, you had another hour and half before you left to watch him play. The Stars were able to pull off a big win against the Oilers that night, which meant that everyone was in a good mood as you headed down to the tunnels. You were certain that everyone would want to go out and celebrate, considering the guys had the next three days off. However, everyone seemed to go their separate ways, and so you and Tyler headed home to just be with each other.

 The next day, Tyler headed out to practice; while you met up with Andrea and Alandra later in the day. The three of you spent a relaxing day at the spa, where you got facials, pedicures and manicures; as well as getting your hair and makeup done for the gala that night. You had originally wanted to wear your hair how Candace had suggested, half-up, half-down; but once Tyler bought you that stunning pendant you felt as if you should showcase it and pull all your hair up. The stylist put a braid on the right side, pulling it out to give it a fuller look. She then swept it behind your ear, while creating a low bun with the remaining hair she had curled. She took down a few tendrils to frame your face. When it came to your makeup, the artist decided to go with a soft smokey eye to give you a more natural look. She used a soft pale pink blush on the apples of your cheeks, with a few gloss drops to give you that fresh dewy look. As for your lips, she kept them simple as well, lining them with a soft pink color that complimented the lipstick she’d chosen. She topped it off with a shimmery gloss, which made your lips look totally kissable. Of course, you ended up buying the lip shades she used, as you were sure you were going to need to reapply it even before you left the house. When you looked in the mirror the overall effect of your makeup and hair looked absolutely stunning; and briefly you wondered if you and Tyler would even make it out of the house tonight.

 You hugged the girls goodbye, telling them you’d see them shortly; then headed home. Tyler had his head in the fridge, looking for something when you walked in the door, so it took him a moment to notice you. “Wow babe, you look amazing.”

 “Thanks, I totally think I’m just going exactly like this tonight.” You still had a pair of jeans, with a button down shirt on. Though you knew once you put your gown on, your look would be complete; right now your outfit didn’t quite fit.

 “You could wear a paper bag and be drop dead gorgeous.”

 “Keep talking like that Seguin, and we may not leave this house tonight.” You slid your hands up his chest, then kissed his lips with your glossed ones.

 He pulled away quicker than what you liked. “Well I better get my ass in the shower, before things get out of control here.” He kissed you again quickly. “Besides, I need to get myself cleaned up if I’m going to be standing next to you all night.” Reaching up you wiped the trace amount of lipstick off of his lips, before he headed off to your bedroom.

 You made your way upstairs and got the gown out of the spare closet and the garment bag it was in. It looked so beautiful just hanging there, and you couldn’t wait to put it on. You dabbed some perfume behind your ears, as well as on your neck and wrists; then for good measure you applied a touch to your cleavage for the end of the night. Finally you slipped the dress on and checked your reflection in the mirror. You still felt like royalty in it. Last but not least you slid into the pair of pumps that you had bought to go with it. There was just one finishing touch left and that was the elaborate necklace Tyler had bought for you. As you placed it around your neck, you truly had to question if Tyler had seen the gown, for they seemed made for each other. With one last look in the mirror you headed down the stairs to meet Tyler.

 He was standing in the foyer, fixing his cuff links when you walked downstairs. You took a moment to take the sight of him in. He was clad in a black suit, with a pristine white shirt. His vest was buttoned up and held in his black tie. Standing there, you couldn’t help but think of the first night you saw him. He was just as handsome that night as he was right now. It was easy to see how you fell in love with him, that first night. Visibly you shook yourself. Your movement caught his eyes and he looked up, his jaw going slack as he took in your appearance. “Ready to go?”

 It took him a moment before he answered you. “Woah…babe, I’m speechless.” He moved closer to the stairs as you neared the bottom. “You look….” He seemed to be searching for words. “Gorgeous doesn’t seem to cover it.”

 “You clean up pretty well yourself.” You added with a wink. His devilish smirk came out then. “Seriously Ty, I don’t think you’ve ever looked more handsome. Maybe the foundation needs to have more of these events.”

 “I think I’m going to have to agree with you there.” He was still struggling with his left cuff link and you grabbed his hand and adjusted it for him, while he still drank in your appearance. “Baby, you’re just so damn beautiful.”

 “Stop, you’re making me blush.”

 “I can’t help it. I just don’t know how l got so lucky?” You gave him a quick peck on the lips, wiping your lipstick off of him.

 “I’m pretty sure I’m the lucky one here.” After everything that happened yesterday, you truly felt blessed that you and Tyler found your way back to each other. “Alright, we better get going or we’ll be late.”

 He glanced at his watch. “Right. I thought we’d take the Ferrari tonight, is that ok?”

 “Yeah that works.” The two of you headed out. With all the traffic it took a few extra minutes to get to the venue. You were surprised when you pulled up to the place where you first met. “I thought we’d be at the arena.”

 “Oh…ummm. I think it was booked or something, so they’re holding it here.” Tyler pulled up to the valet station and quickly jumped out of the car, so he could open your door instead of the attendant. He offered his hand to assist you out of the vehicle. You saw the appreciative glance the valet gave you as you emerged from the Ferrari. Apparently the dress concealed your baby bump more than you thought. Tyler glared at the young man, then slid his arm around your waist to draw you nearer.

 As you walked into the building you noticed it wasn’t as crowded as you thought it would be. Maybe Tyler had gotten the time wrong. “I think we’re in the ballroom.” Tyler stated as he led you through the building. When you entered the ballroom, there was no one in the room, save a lonely waiter finishing up the place settings at one of the tables.

 “Umm…what’s going on Ty?”

 “I don’t know.” He made his way over to the server. “Excuse me sir, is this the right room for the Fire and Ice event?”

 “Yeah, this is the right room.” The two of you surveyed the empty room before he said. “It’s just the event is tomorrow.” With those words he walked into the back room.

 “They gave you the wrong date?” Tyler shrugged.

 “They must have, though I was almost positive they told us today.”

 “Well Andrea and Alandra got ready with me, so they must think it’s today too. I should call them.” You flipped open your purse to search for your phone.

 “Babe, they’re probably already on their way here. Why don’t you just dance with me right now?”

 You look at him curiously. “Huh?”

 “Come on, you look so beautiful in that dress and this room looks amazing. I just want to dance with you.” He already grabbed your hand and was leading you out to where the dance floor was.

 “But there’s no music.”

 “We don’t need any.” He wrapped you up in his arms and started to hum lightly. The tune sounded vaguely familiar, though you couldn’t quite place it. You found yourself, swaying in his arms. He swept you into a grand turn, and soon you were twirling around the floor, to the light lilt of the piano. Piano, where did that come from? The two of you continued to dance, when suddenly you heard a voice break in.

 You steady me, slow and sweet we sway, take the lead and I will follow.

Finally ready now. To close my eyes and just believe that you won’t lead me where I don’t go.

When my faith gets tired and my hope seems lost.

You spin me round and round and remind me of that song,

The one you wrote for me,

And we dance…Oh we dance.

 You looked up into Tyler’s smiling face. “I know this song.”

 “You should, you sang it for months after we went to your cousin’s wedding.” It was true, the melody had stuck in your head and you would sing it when you were in the shower, or out in the kitchen getting dinner ready. But that was at least nine months ago, and you never thought Tyler was paying attention.

 “Where did the music come from?”

 He shrugged nonchalantly, but you could tell by the smirk on his face he had done this. “Just dance with me baby.” He twirled you again and you were lost in the rhythm of the music and the thrill of being in Tyler’s arms.

 And I’ve been told, to pick up my sword and fight for love.

Little did I know that love had won for me.

Here in your arms, you steal my heart again,

and I breathe you in like I’ve never breathed till now.

When my faith gets tired and my hope seems lost.

You spin me round and round and remind me of that song,

The one you wrote for me,

And we dance, oh, we dance.

Oh, oh we dance.

Oh, oh, oh we dance

Just you and me.

 The words of the song had always resonated with you, but never more so then in that moment. Just being in his arms moving around the dance floor, made you lose your heart all over again to him. As you looked up at his brilliant smile, he stole your breath away. It was just the two of you in that moment, and you knew then and there, that this was the only man you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. Not that you hadn’t had this thought before, it was just all clear now. You’d walk to the ends of the earth for this man, for you knew he’d do the same for you.

 And I will lock eyes with the one who’s ransomed me.

The one who gave me joy from mourning.

And I will love eyes with the one who’s chosen me.

The one who set my feet to dancing.

Oh we dance,

Oh we dance, we dance.

Oh we dance

Just you and me.

 Suddenly you wished you could bottle this moment and keep it with you forever, as you heard the words of the song coming to a close, for you didn’t want it to end. The two of you had been in the darks depths a relationship could go, but somehow you’d both fought and found the light; and now that you had everything in the world seemed perfect. You just wanted to stay in this dance with him for the rest of your life.

 The voice faded but the music continued as Tyler swayed back and forth with you in his arms. That’s when you noticed on stage there was a grand piano along with string quartet that you never noticed because you were so wrapped up dancing with the man you love. He slowed the two of you to a stop as the music played softly in the background; then he reached and entwined your hands together.

 “It’s only been a little over a year since I met you here, you know that?” You nodded your head, unsure of where this conversation was going. “But I knew that night, that someday I’d be standing in front of you just like I am now.” Goosebumps started to skate up your arms at his words. “This place is pretty special to us, because not only did we first meet here, it brought us back together…well that and this little one right here.” His eyes drifted to your concealed baby bump and you both smiled. His grip on your hands tighten as he continued. “I don’t tell you this near enough, but I love you (Y/N). There is no one else in this world for me.” Your eyes started to tear, as he professed his love for you. “When you left me…as you should have.” A small laugh escaped you. “I thought I was going to die. I knew then that I didn’t want to live a life without you in it. It was like I couldn’t even breathe because you weren’t beside me.” The tears you’d been struggling to hold back, started to fall freely now. He unlaced one of your hands and with his thumb brushed them away. “Stop babe, or you’re gonna make me cry too.” Through your weeping eyes, you could just see him trying to suppress his own tears.

 He took a deep breath in. “Anyhow…I knew if you ever gave me a chance again, I wouldn’t mess it up this time…and I swear to God I never will.” You smiled at him, hopefully letting him know that you’d never lose faith in him again, like you had yesterday. “You’re my everything; do you know that.” It wasn’t really a question, more of a statement; but you knew then and there that he was your all as well. “You’re my home, my shelter, the one I want to run to not only in the bad, but in the good as well. But most of all you’re the best thing that ever happened to me.” You squeezed his hands back hoping to convey the words you couldn’t speak at the moment. “I realized in this last year that nothing, not hockey, not the money, not the house, none of it means anything; if I don’t have you to share it with. I love you with my whole being.” He dropped to one knee then, tears streaming down not only your face, but one or two fell from his. You swear your heart stopped beating. He let go of your one hand again and searched in his inside suit pocket. Franticly you swiped at the tears falling down your face, for you wanted to look into Tyler’s eyes without any obstruction.

 “I know I don’t deserve you (Y/N), but if you’ll have me, I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want us to be a family in every sense of the word.” He flipped open the jewelry case and in it lay the most exquisite diamond ring you’d ever laid eyes on. “(Y/F/M/L/N) would you do me the greatest honor I’ve ever had in my life, and marry me?” You were nodding yes, through a stream of tears now, as you tried to find your voice.

 “Yes, Ty, Yes.”

 He didn’t give you time to say anything more. He placed the ring on your shaking hand and then in one swift motion, he rose from the floor, lifting you off your feet at the same time. He kissed you then, and you melted into his arms; kissing him back pouring all the love you had for him into it. Reluctantly he pulled back. “Did you really just say yes?”

 Again, you nodded your head up and down. “Of course I said yes. Ty I love you so much. There is no one in this world I’d rather spend the rest of my life with, then you.” He still had you swept off your feet, and you had a feeling it would be that way from now until the end of time. You locked your eyes with his. “I can’t believe I get to be Mrs. Seguin, or that you did all this.”

 “I can’t wait to call you my wife, but there’s more.” You weren’t entirely sure you heard him correctly, so you quirked an eyebrow at him. “You guys can come out now.” He placed you on your feet, as the doors to the adjacent room opened and out came rushing all your family and friends.

 “Oh my god!” To say you were surprised was an understatement. They were all clapping and yelling congratulations. Your parents were the first at your side, enveloping you in a huge hug and offering you their congratulations. You were vaguely aware that Tyler’s whole family was doing the same to him. Two little hands latched on to your dress and you looked down to see your niece Rylynn holding on to you tightly. You lifted her up on your hip and she planted a kiss on your cheek.

 “Does this mean I get to be in your wedding?”

 You couldn’t help but laugh at her little request. “Of course you can sweetie. You’ll be the best flower girl there ever was.”

 “Yipee”

 Matt came over and took his joyful daughter out of your hands, while at the same time placing a kiss on your cheek. “Congratulations sis. That man is really in love with you.”

 “Oh my god, everything he said to you was so sweet.” Melissa added as she dabbed her eyes, through your hug.

 “Wait, you guys heard that?”

 “Yep, and watched it too.” Sean added leaning to offer his congratulation.

 “But how?”

 “That’s a question you’re going to have to ask your fiancé.” Jessica told you.

 “I might have an idea how it happened. Congratulations bestie!” Your best friend Jenna added as she squeezed you.

 “Wait, did you help him with this?”

 “Me and a bunch of others, but there’s a microphone in that chandelier right there.” You looked up to find it, glancing through the sparkling crystals, trying to find the tiny device. “There’s also hidden cameras all over here. And while there was a bunch of us that helped, it was all Tyler’s idea.”

 You gave Jenna one more hug, and thanked her for everything. There were still tons of people around wanting to wish you well, but you needed to say somethings to your fiancé. He wasn’t more than five feet from you, so you turned towards him. Automatically, his arm went around your waist to draw you close to him. Standing on your tip-toes you reached up and planted a chaste kiss on his cheek. His mom was still standing there. “I’m so happy for you two. You’re just so perfect.” She was crying as she grabbed you and hugged you hard. Softly she whispered in your ear, so only you could hear her. “Thank you for loving my baby boy. I know that it hasn’t been easy at times, but I couldn’t ask for anyone better for him to spend the rest of his life with than you.” More tears came rushing down at her words.

 You couldn’t find the words to tell her how much what she just said meant. Finally you whispered back, “I promise to love him with all I have.” She released you then, only to be replaced by Candace and Cassidy. In that moment you realized, you weren’t going to get a moment alone with Tyler until later in the night. Both his sisters were so happy, for you; and you couldn’t be more excited to have them as your actual sisters soon.

 Jamie, was the next person to find you, kissing your cheek in congratulations; before he slapped his best friend on the back. “So, he’s finally going to make an honest woman out of you; about time Seggy, because I was all ready to swoop in.”

 “Don’t even think about it Chubbs, she’s definitely spoken for now.” Tyler held up your left hand to show him the ring, while you just shook your head in laughter. It was one person after the next for the following hour, wishing both you and Tyler well. It wasn’t until you were back on the dance floor, alone in Tyler’s arms before you got a chance to ask him the question you’d been dying to know, since talking to your best friend.

 “Ty, I can’t believe you did all this for me? Jenna said there are even cameras somewhere around here. How in the world did you do this?”

 “Well it wasn’t easy, but it was worth it; you’re worth it.” You knew that none of this would’ve been easy to pull off and you couldn’t wait to hear how he did it all.

[backofthebookshelf]

Book Recs for Magnus Archives Fans

I was just rambling in tags the other day about how my avatarsona was "the Archivist, but a public librarian: Oh, you like dirt?? Let me tell you all the dirt stories I have!!!!" so, uh, here I am I guess.

I'm gonna spare you all the M.R. James and Algernon Blackwood and House of Leaves and Blindsight; you know all that already. These are my horror backlist recs.

The Bone Key by Sarah Monette Y'all. Y'ALL. Kyle Murchison Booth was absolutely the Archivist before Gertrude. He was poached from the Parrington by the Usher Foundation and the Eye glommed onto him at once, because the Eye loves disaster queers who can't people right (and also Gertrude). This I believe to be true, and so will you.

Kyle Murchison Booth is an archivist at the Parrington Museum, which is somewhere in New England, sometime in the early twentieth century. He also has a lifelong entanglement with the supernatural which is almost entirely not his fault, and he would very much like it to stop, but he also feels responsible and he can't just let evil mirrors and cursed necklaces and possessed dressing gowns randomly eat people who have no idea what's happening. Even if it means he's going to suffer for it.

(This collection doesn't contain all of the Booth stories, so here I am going to link to "White Charles", which happens to be my very favorite Booth story.)

For you if your favorite part is: honestly everything about MAG, from the modern sensibilities about early twentieth-century-horror, truly eerie ghost stories, to suffering eldritch librarians (thanks to whoever tagged my most recent fic with that you're so valid), monsterfucking and soft gay pining. No happy endings here, sorry.

Bedfellow by Jeremy C. Shipp You may or may not have heard that Macmillan-Tor is launching a horror imprint, and I don't know how long it's been since a major publishing house has had a horror imprint, but I am EXCITE. This book is part of the trend that's the reason why: Tor.com has been publishing these kickass novellas for a couple years now, and their horror books are top notch.

One night a stranger knocks on a family's living room window and asks to be invited in. They ask him to stay the night. He's an old friend, after all, he needs a place to stay. You can't kick out your twin brother when he's just gotten divorced, no matter how much Gatorade he spills on your two-year-old hardwood floors.

For you if your favorite part is: the Stranger, this is all Stranger, it's terrifying and good.

Through the Woods by Emily Carroll A graphic novel, some of these were originally posted as webcomics (have you seen His Face All Red, and if not, why not???) and the only disadvantage to having them in book form is they can't blink at you. Probably. Very folktale-ish, with all the death and violence that implies, and also the slightly eerie feeling that you know this story already, and then it turns around and slaps you.

For you if your favorite part is: looking over your shoulder when the foley gets good; Once Upon a Time in Space (I know that's not technically part of the Magnus Archives but shush)

Universal Harvester by John Darnielle I am not usually a fan of artists who jump media. Just because you can write songs doesn't mean you can write novels. Apparently writing good songs doesn't mean you can't write good novels, though, because John Darnielle of The Mountain Goats (pretty sure that's his full name at this point) wrote Universal Harvester and I love him for it.

Jeremy works at a video rental place in Nevada, Iowa (it's pronounced Nah-vey-da, and yes it’s real, I've been there, and yes, it's probably haunted). It's the 1990s, and someone's been returning their VHS tapes with something on them that isn't just the movie. Footage that includes a barn that he recognizes, just outside of town.

Fair warning: this is not the kind of mystery that gets tied up in a nice bow at the end.

For you if your favorite part is: Jon losing it with paranoia in S2, The People's Church of the Divine Host, the Lonely

The Good House by Tananarive Due If this author's name is unfamiliar to you, RUN, do not walk, to your nearest internet bookseller and purchase every single one of her books immediately, you will not regret it. She also just came out with a documentary on black horror, Horror Noire, on the Shudder streaming service. They've got a free month if you aren't a horror movie person, it'd be worth your while. This book summary sounds like it's full of tropes. It is, but Due has the cred to write them well.

Angela Toussaint hopes to salvage her suffering marriage and her troubled relationship with her teenage son with a trip to her grandmother's house, a home so beloved the locals in small-town Washington state call it "The Good House," but tragedy strikes instead. Two years later she returns and finds that the tragedy isn't over, and it's not going to stop on its own.

For you if your favorite part is: the very practical statement-givers who know what's happening to them and Will Not Put Up With This Shit, the Desolation, the Hill Top Road statements

The Library at Mount Char by Scott Hawkins Is this horror disguised as fantasy? Found family disguised as horror? Grown-up Neil Gaiman? Less grimdark George R.R. Martin? Honestly I have no fucking idea, but it's amazing. Fair warning, unlike Magnus Archives, this deserves all kinds of trigger warnings, including but not necessarily limited to: sexual assault, torture, mental manipulation, dysfunctional families, incest(?)

Father is missing, and his twelve children (though extremely talented in their own ways, and not strictly speaking children any more) are at a loss without him. But also, without him, things are starting to seem different. He might be God? They might not be human? (They were probably human once.) He might not be God but maybe one of them might be next? If any of them survive.

For you if your favorite part is: slowly turning into a monster, the relationships between entities and avatars, monsters hot (not kidding about the trigger warnings)

The Loney by Andrew Michael Hurley I have to keep reminding myself that Magnus Archives isn't really folk horror, there are two separate (if related) strains of British horror here and folk horror is not the one we're on, but at the same time I really want a good creepy rural pagan cult to show up in the series, you know? Anyway.

When he was a child, our narrator used to go with his family on an Easter pilgrimage to shrine on a bleak stretch of Lancaster coastline locals called The Loney. His Catholic mother was searching for a cure for his older brother, and she was convinced if they kept going long enough she would be granted her wish. The locals, however, are not huge fans of her annual visits, and even less so when the boys become involved with the goings-on of a pair of glamorous tourists.

For you if your favorite part is: the Lukases, I didn't realize until I was writing this up that I'm picturing Moreland House in the exact place described by this book

Eutopia by David Nickle One thing I love about the historical statements in Magnus Archives is just how truly historical they are. There's almost nothing in "The Piper" that isn't historically accurate - yes, Wilfrid Owen spent several days in a trench underneath the shredded bodies of his fellow soldiers. Like. You can't make up horror worse than that. But then you add monsters and it gets good. And I'm a sucker for early-twentieth-century history, it's such a bonkers time.

It's 1911 and the new Eugenics Record Office is sending agents out to catalog the disabled, infirm, and otherwise undesirable members of society so they can figure out what to do about them. In the utopian town of Eliada, Idaho, Dr. Andrew Waggoner runs from the racism of American society and straight into the influence of Mister Juke, the most troubling patient in his new practice. (Trigger warnings for, obviously, a whole lot of ableism. Treated like the monstrousness it is, but there's a lot of it.)

For you if your favorite part is: learning history through horror, the Flesh

A Head Full of Ghosts by Paul Tremblay I hate male writers writing about teenage girls, so you are going to have to trust me when I say that I had to check, several times while reading this book, to make sure that Paul Tremblay is actually a dude. He's very good. This book was kind of his breakout, so if you follow horror you've read it already, but if you don't necessarily then please do not miss it. His newer ones, Disappearance at Devil's Rock (Stranger, Spiral) and The Cabin at the End of the World (Slaughter, Extinction), are also good but not as good as this, I think.

Fourteen-year-old Marjorie is having a rough time - outbursts, hallucinations, paranoia. Treatment is difficult (and expensive) and her family ambivalent; they turn to a local Catholic priest, who recommends an exorcism and, to help manage those medical bills, a production company who's interested in filming a reality TV show about the process. Fifteen years later, Marjorie's sister deconstructs the now-famous show and wrestles with her own memories of childhood. Trigger warnings for ableism on the part of many of the characters, but not the narrative.

For you if your favorite part is: the Spiral, metafictional analysis of horror tropes

[hecohansen31]

Duncan loves his two princesses, lovely wife and dear daughter, and that's why he is working very hard, a lot, so they can have everything they need and want. Problem : what they want is he being with them at home and not at his office, in a plane or in another country. His wife is a bit sad, even if she understands, but his baby girl is not happy at all when her dad leave them.

(A/N): Hello there, nonnie!

I really hope that you will like this!

Also BIG NOTE for all of you “Angel” fans, I don’t know if I just explained myself wrong but the next chapter of this miniseries will be about Michael, it won’t be a sequel to Duncan’s love story with sweet innocent reader, but since you have been so nice with me about this story, I just wanted to do something… so this drabble takes place in the same universe and I will gladly work on any prompt about this couple you might have, just send in everything and I will be at your service!

Love you, lovelies!

WARNINGS; Parent Fights (also a bit of violence from reader, nothing abusive, but… hey be warned…) and Language!

The fact that Duncan was a workaholic was something that had always been present in their relationship, since the start.

But during the first years that they had been an official couple, not only had also she been pretty busy, since Duncan had stepped away from his position at the Shepherd Foundation, putting her in his stead, but also he had started his own company, away from the Shepherd’s lies.

The start was rough and the fact that they lived in separate houses helped a bit, because they were independent, although with time they smashed together.

But Duncan’s mole of work didn’t lessen in the slightest, whereas she managed to reach a strange balance, being the one who handled the house’s resources and other things, outside their offices.

She chose the dates, she chose the gifts and she chose how to pass the time, on their vacation (or better when she made Duncan take one).

Sometimes it was almost as if she had never moved away from her secretary position.

But something changed, after Duncan asked her to marry it, a total surprise on the 4th of July, something which got quite a few laughs from her: he went down on his knees, meanwhile the fireworks went off and she was distracted, and when she turned around to call Duncan to join her, she found him on her knees, in an elegant suite and an expensive ring in a little box.

“(Y/N), angel of mine, will you do the honor of becoming my wife?”.

She had screeched and a month later, they had started looking both for dresses, cakes and churches, and six months later she was pronouncing her vows in front of a secluded circle or friends and family, on a little church next to the beach and a month later they had moved onto their honeymoon, a period of sweet nothings and soft vacation.

They had traveled the world, with Duncan not picking up a single call, which meant pure bliss, since all his attention was suddenly on her, and she was grateful for each small touch, soft kiss and sweet whisper in her ear.

And it was during that time that their first daughter, Angelique was conceived.

A month after their return, she had discovered she was pregnant, and for other nine months Duncan had ignored his work for a bit longer, still working a but he was always next to her during the long night and the nauseous morning.

She had felt the best thank to his support and had been beyond happy when she had been able to hold the little bundle of joy in her arms, looking at Duncan, who had already fallen in love with her, truly smitten, and had just mumbled:

“Angelique, it means “angelic”, I think it would be perfect since your mother is a true angel”.

A pure year of bliss had followed, which meant also suddenly waking up in the middle of the night to feed her, her breasts hurting her because the baby wouldn’t suck on them and bad mood since the nights were spent sleepless.

But it was extremely worth it, mostly when their child reassembled them in both their physical appearance and behaviors (you still couldn’t believe that she had picked up the Shepherd’s pout) or babbled out “mama” or “dada”, giggling victoriously at two full-grown adults doing the “airplane” with her food.

But slowly Duncan had started distancing himself from them: it had started slowly…

“The child is old enough” and “You can handle her” had been the words uttered by Duncan, who had had to “make up for the time he had missed” with his own company, and she allowed, knowing that after the prison, everything had been extremely roughly for the ex-convict.

But slowly, a year had become two and then three and she had had to step out from her position as a CEO over at Shepherd Foundation, and although she hated the stress of it, she somehow missed.

She loved being a mom but she missed the possibility to have more human contact, alongside the feeling of being productive.

The fact that Angelique had started going to a pre-school, when she was three year old had been helpful, but she still needed to be there for her, since Duncan couldn’t, mostly because of the constant trips he was on.

Those trips honestly made her extremely frustrated, since not only she was jealous of what might happen but also of the man itself who got to enjoy life, meanwhile she stayed home, watching the umpteenth Disney movie…

She loved being a mom, she kept repeating herself on the hardest days, but she felt more like a single mom than anything else…

But she tried not to blow up into Duncan’s face: her husband was extremely stressed, she saw it each time he came back from work, sleepless and definitely sad, barely able to hug his princesses, which he loved very much but…

… he just hadn’t the time to show it.

But he had the materials to do it: a new teddy bear would appear in Angelique’s room, after Duncan came back from a new trip, meanwhile a piece of jewelry found its way into her vanity, at the same time.

But she didn’t care about any jewel, she just wanted the old Duncan, the honeymoon phase and the pregnancy one, when and where she finally had some kind of peace with Duncan and her beloved daughter.

So, she tried to put her best façade, hiding the hurt of Duncan’s careless behavior, but whereas she could resist, Angelique was just a child and spoke up truth, at first with her:

“I am sure that daddy doesn’t love me anymore” they had been coming home from a parent’s day, Duncan was supposed to be with her, but he had bailed out at the last minute, which got her to take his place, cancelling an important work date, but she couldn’t leave her daughter alone.

“Oh sweetie, why would you say something like that?” she tried to coo the poor baby, who just looked at her shyly, meanwhile she strapped her in the car seat “… he is just very busy”.

“But he is ALWAYS busy!” she mumbled, protesting shyly meanwhile her hands became fists on her sides, and she could see the hurt in her eyes “… he never spends time with me, anymore”.

“He is busy, sweetie” it felt bitter even on her tongue, it was a straight up lie “… he works himself so so much for us”.

“Can’t he just have a day off for us?” pleaded Angelique, hugging herself, a trait she had taken from her, and she caressed her face gently, making her look in the eyes.

“I will try to do my best to convince, daddy” she promised, before cradling her daughter closer, soothing her for a bit, before kissing all her face, getting a disgusted expression from her “… and in the meanwhile, us, wonder women will get our ice creams, won’t we?”.

“Yay!”.

She had decided to bring up the proposal at dinner, after she had cooked him his favorite meal, thinking about suggesting a vacation, all together, maybe in an hot place since it was extremely cold in DC; they would have their fun, together and maybe Duncan would finally understand the importance of family.

But Angelique, who was as extremely chatty as her dad, immediately jumped into his lap, as soon as he sprawled himself on the sofa, which might seem a good moment to play with him, but she had already spotted anger in his eyes when he had walked in, so she came quickly to usher Angelique away, but the sweet girl kept on insisting and eventually she had to give up to check the pot on the stove.

“Daddy!” she tried to cheer him up, but Duncan just gave her a tired and disgruntled smile “… I am so happy you are back!”.

She had gained from Duncan the ability to twist people around her little fingers, and although her dad was extremely extremely taken by other things, he also fell in her words…

… usually.

Not that night, because he just grunted, which she couldn’t hear, because of the low hum of the oven, meanwhile the pot on the stove started making noises, so not only her ears were full but also her attention was all on not burning their dinner.

But she heard clearly the scream that followed, which got a cold chill to run down her back:

-How dare you ask for more time?! – clear anger shone in Duncan’s voice, and although she understood that it wasn’t directed towards Angelique, the poor child took a step back, scared -Each thing I do it’s for you and your mother! And you SHOULD BE GRATEFUL! -.

-I am sorry, daddy- mumbled the shy baby, trying to keep back the tears, exactly as Duncan did and she felt comforted immediately by her mother’s presence, but then Duncan went on…

-Sometimes I do believe that my life would have been easier without you! -.

This got Angelique to straight up run away from her arms, meanwhile she reached her breaking point.

She raised up from her cradled position, rage shone in Duncan’s eyes, but it was nothing to the one she owned, and the fear to disappoint him disappeared swiftly as she turned around.

He seemed to have realized the shit he had said, but she didn’t care and the slap resonated for the entire building.

-You say another thing like that to my daughter and you’ll regret it-she  didn’t need to raise her voice in the slightest, her calm tone was enough terrifying, meanwhile she held back the tears -You seriously think that we should be grateful to you, when all you do is go out on trips and work, and you never have the time for us… I HAD TO QUIT MY JOB, DUNCAN! I don’t regret it, I love being Angelique’s mom, but… I miss it… and I miss the kind man, who loved me and her over anything-.

She didn’t care if it hurt him, he needed to finally hear the truth.

-Angelique is fucking convinced that you don’t love her anymore! And you go and say some shit like that- she honestly knew that Angelique was listening, but she was far too gone -… and you know… sometimes I think it too, because you are NEVER HERE! I sometimes think that maybe you went back to your old way… because apparently work comes before family-.

And before he could say anything, she turned around, effectively shutting him up.

-… I don’t care what you have to say, I am taking Angelique and we are staying at my mother’s, I don’t care whether you approve it or not, but right now… I don’t want you around-.

She knew it was cruel and it honestly hurt her, much more than she let out, but she needed to comfort a bit Angelique and seeing Duncan would do no good to the poor baby.

She went in her room to talk with her, maybe hug her and prepare the thing, meanwhile she sent a quick message to her mother, about their arrival, thank God they didn’t live far away from her.

Her mother sent a concerned reply but she ignored because as soon as she walked into Angelique room… she found it empty.

She, at first, thought that the child had hidden, she loved playing “hide-and-seek” and maybe that had been her own idea to get over the trauma, but the girl didn’t seem to be anywhere in the room and she immediately moved out of it, almost jumping into Duncan, who had decided to follow her like a lost puppy.

But she didn’t care, in the slightest.

She moved, firstly, in their bathroom, thinking that since it was the farthest place in their apartment from the kitchen it might have helped with covering the noise, but no sign of Angelique neither there.

And neither in the sitting room, Duncan’s office, hers, and their shared bedroom.

Angelique was not at home, anymore.

She couldn’t breath, and when she turned around she was almost grateful that Duncan was there to catch her, after she slowly stumbled, meanwhile an hand went up to her mouth, shaken by sobs and tears.

Where was her sweet girl?

She turned to Duncan, knowing that it would be futile to hide this, although she wanted to egotistically tell him to “fuck off”; she knew that Angelique had probably run away because of the fight with Duncan.

-She is not here? – he asked, his gaze is both worried and confused, and he gently led her to the little armchair in the dining area, letting her sit down meanwhile he gently caressed her shaken back -… sweetie, you need to tell me-.

-She is not in her room and… I can’t find her…- she couldn’t help but breath slowly, trying to catch her missing breath -… she is probably scared and … I am, also, so scared of what might happen to her… she is…-.

-I know, sweetheart – he caressed her back, again, before moving away, his hands going to the phone, and she was halfway through screaming at him, when he uttered the following words -… I am Duncan Shepherd and I am reporting a missing child…-.

Duncan had not only alerted the police, but his own security was spread through the entire city and their neighborhood had also been woken up and everyone had been extremely happy to give the young couple a hand.

A few women had comforted her, suggesting that Angelique had just wandered a bit, meanwhile Duncan handled the men, who had already a gun, in each hand…

The police had realized that Angelique had actually escaped from the front door, and she couldn’t help but feel guilty, because she probably ran away, meanwhile they were fighting, which not only made her feel extremely neglectful but also she honestly didn’t want to think what her daughter might have thought of her screaming at Duncan, her father.

They had decided to move towards the park where Angelique and her went during their free afternoons, it held so many memories, mostly of all the lovely pic-nicks they had made before Duncan became such a workaholic; Angelique and her would be running around, her trying to catch the younger child, meanwhile Duncan shot pictures of the two.

Oh, how she loved those days…

Both her and Duncan started shouting their daughter’s name, just getting a few scream of old men, probably homeless, wanting just to be left alone, so they could sleep in peace and this got her heart to squeeze from fear: what if somebody had come before her, and taken her away?

She tried to keep her fears to herself but by the way she shook as a leaf, she immediately attracted Duncan’s attention, who, after the little scene in the dining room hadn’t dared to touch her, something for which she was grateful and she honestly regretted having slapped him, mostly if Angelique had been there.

She shouldn’t have let her anger take over…

-We are going to find her, don’t worry- he reassured her, his eyes shining with strength and a bit of regret -I actually have an idea… do you remember Angelique’s favorite place, here? The covered slide? -.

She did: her hyperactive daughter, loved sliding down the red slide, going up and down and sometimes getting also her mother to do it (Duncan was sure that he would have destroyed the slide, had he tried it).

There was something that made her fall in love with the toy and she couldn’t help but think that it would have been a perfect hiding place.

-… yeah, of course! – and after a few minutes they were running for it, and a clear and female sniffling sound was heard from it and Angelique’s tiny designer shoes, were shown at the end of the slide, meanwhile her entire body was covered, as if she was hiding.

-Oh, thank God! Angelique, you are here! – she mumbled, meanwhile moving t get closer, but the child retreated further into the slide -… sweetie… what…? -.

-You don’t want me anymore! – the child shouted, her tone whiny and shy, clearly hurt by both Duncan’s words but also their fight and it literally broke her heart -… you fought and hurt each other! -.

-Sweetie, mommy and daddy just lost their temper- she hoped that this, at least, would help a bit -… it won’t happen again, I swear… you have no idea of how worried we…-.

But she just heard a grunt of protest and she couldn’t help but damn Duncan’s stubbornness, passed down alongside his genes to his daughter.

Duncan came over, she immediately wanted to stop him, but he just grouched down next to the slide, putting an hand on it lightly, in order for him to be closer to her, tears finally shone in his eyes, they must have started when they found Angelique and part of her couldn’t help but feel like he had suffered enough.

-Sweetie…- his voice was teary and she could feel the sadness in it and immediately Angelique stilled her moves -… daddy’s extremely sorry… I know that I hurt you with all those words, both you and your beautiful mommy, and I have no excuse for it, but…please come back home, we can’t literally live without you-.

Duncan’s words were easy, but each meant something.

Each had an important meaning telling her that she loved her and was worried for her, and there she recognized the Duncan she had married and Angelique’s father.

Her child was still extremely careful, although she had stilled in her movements, didn’t seem to move in the slightest, not wanting to get out.

-YOU LIE! – insisted the child, and she knew that Duncan’s heart broke and although she hated him with an extreme burning passion right now, she still loved him with the same passion -… you hate me, you don’t want me anymore, you don’t spend time with me anymore and get angry when I ask some-.

-Daddy didn’t get angry with you- she tried to help Duncan, setting down on the other side of the slide, and gently caressing Angelique’s legs to comfort her -… his work is hard and sometimes he loses his temper, I lost it too, but I am extremely sorry for it, and I swear on your teddy bear that I won’t lose it anymore, not in front of you-.

Silence came from the slide and she almost thought about asking Duncan to forcefully take away Angelique, but then the man did something better.

-Angel of mine, I am… incredibly sorry of what I said to you… I am… crying and you know how much I hate crying in front of you and mommy- he spoke, breathing heavily -… and I regret each moment not spent with you and your beautiful mother, I regret the horrible words I spoke to you, and I will vow my life to make it up to you-.

Angelique came out slowly and she sprinted towards her, hugging her close and she immediately whispered shyly in her ear, comforting words, meanwhile the child cried in her arms, and Duncan stared at her; he clearly wanted to join them but he also didn’t want to break the newfound harmony and settled for messaging the security and the police to let them know that they had found Angelique.

-You got us so so so worried, lovely- she hugged the child closer to her, before pushing her back in order to look at her in the eyes -Never do that again, for the sake of my heart-.

The child nodded slowly and dove in for another hug, and she searched the playground for Duncan who was now up near the slide, cleaning his face from the tears, erasing each testimony of them.

It was a truly heartbreaking moment, and she couldn’t help but move her child closer to her, to whisper in her ear:

“Sweetie, go and hug your dad, he needs it, she suggested, gently kissing her forehead and pushing her gently towards him, and although the child was shy, she managed to hug him, immediately adverting his attention from the phone and hugging his daughter back, putting himself to her height and engulfing her in a bear hug, mumbling about how sorry he was.

In the end, Angelique ended up being so so tired with everything that happened that she fell in Duncan’s arms and stayed there for the entire time, meanwhile she drove them to her mother’s house, the woman took Angelique from Duncan with the justification of both privacy and to let Angelique sleep.

Duncan looked like he had aged ten years overnight, and she couldn’t help but caress his face, tenderly, something she did every time she needed to comfort him, with him catching her hand to hold it there before gently kissing it.

-I really messed up- he mumbled, more a question than anything else.

-… at least this time you didn’t end up in prison- she joked sarcastically, meanwhile he did something that resembled a smile with his lips.

-Well it is worse, I let down the women I love- he replied, charming her with a sad smile and those words: Gosh he really really meant them.

-… then all you have to do is get back in our good graces is…- she replied, gently letting his hand go -… less work, more communication and family time; I know that you are constantly busy, but you have employees for that, Duncan, believe me-.

He nodded, reaching again for her hand and bringing it to his lips, soft-spoken deal between them.

-I love you, angel of mine-.

-I love you, too, stupid workaholic of my heart-.

[ihaileysenpai]

Hey y’all Happy Valentines Day! In celebration of it, imma do a little thing where I post a bit of a one shot and some awesome authors can add on who they think my date should be and what we do for Valentines Day. It’s all about BNHA, because I love being o seeded with stuff ;)

To add on, you can either reblog or post your ending version (if you do, please tag me, I’d love to read them) I’ll also do it on Wattpad if you’d like to partake!

Now let’s get onto the story!

It was the romantic day of February 14th, a day where Hailey felt that having a boyfriend would greatly increase her joy for the holiday. But alas, every year had the tradition of her joking about her single relationship status.

But this year would be different!

One of her friends had introduced her to a boy from their school. Hailey and said boy got along great and her friend, Zach had decided to set the two up on a date.

That was the reason that Hailey was more excited and energetic during her classes at U.A. Everyone could see her struggle to sit still and stop smiling.

After classes were dismissed, Hailey and the rest of the girls hurried to her dorm room to assist her to get her ready for this date.

Hailey had told her classmates about the date and the boy. Mina had followed him on Instagram to see what he was like and for a background check.

“Ooh! He’s cute!” She exclaimed, scrolling through his photos on her phone.

Hailey giggled, “Yeah, hard to believe that he’d want to go on a date with me.”

Yaoyorozu let out a quiet giggle and continued to apply foundation on Hailey’s face. Jirou had already given Hailey a simple wavy hairstyle that would match whatever outfit she decided to wear.

“What are you going to wear?!” Hagakure questioned, opening Hailey’s closet and examining her wardrobe.

Tsuyu took out an oversized yellow sweatshirt and held it out. “Yeah, what kind of date is it? Are you going out to eat, somewhere fancy?”

Hailey shrugged her shoulders, “I think we’re just meeting up at a fast food restaurant.”

“Ooh how about these?!” Hagakure exclaimed, presenting the girls a purple skirt and a white v-neck t shirt.

“That’ll be cute! How about we add this?” Uraraka asked, digging out a crop jean jacket.

A smile expanded on Hailey’s face, “I love that!”

“Hold still! I’m not done yet!” Yaoyorozu cried and turned Hailey’s face back to face her own.

“Are you nervous?” Mina questioned, laying on her stomach, her elbows propped up.

“Actually yeah, this is my first date.” Hailey confessed, “I hope it’ll be a good experience or I don’t know if I’d be super eager to do it again.”

“It’ll be great!” Uraraka encouraged, “If you need an escape plan, just text us and we’ll come to your rescue!”

The girls all laughed in a lighthearted manner.

“I’m actually surprised that you aren’t dating a certain boy from our class.” Jirou mentioned, clearly hinting at a certain someone.

Hailey felt her face heat up in embarrassment, “I don’t think it’d work out. He’s got so much going for him, last thing he probably wants is a dork like me confessing that I like him and possibly ruin our friendship.” She explained to her friends.

Yaoyorozu began patting and blending the foundation with a beauty sponge on Hailey’s face.

The girls then continued to gossip about other things, talked about the funny antics that their classmates partook in and about their ‘fun intended’ jealously that Hailey had an actual date for Valentines Day.

Mina then switched with Yaoyorozu and began to do Hailey’s eye makeup. Uraraka and Hagakure were picking out a lipstick shade for Hailey to wear.

“I know that light pink looks so cute on you, Hailey.” Hagakure began, “But you’d really be making a statement with this bright red.”

Jirou shook her head in disagreement, “That’d be pretty bold, you know what people say about it.”

“It symbolizes confidence, which I don’t have. It emphasizes the mouth, which I also don’t want.” Hailey commented.

“Okay, we’ll save that for the 5th date.” Hagakure said quietly as she placed the lipstick back down.

“Hailey! Stop blinking!” Mina whined, while she attempted to put eyeliner on Hailey’s lids.

“Sorry! My eyes are sensitive! I hate things around them!” Hailey retorted, blinking away the tears in her eyes.

By the time that Mina had finished up Hailey’s makeup, the other girls ushered themselves out to the living area with the boys of their class and awaited for Hailey to change.

“So who is this guy she’s going out with, anyways?” Kirishima questioned the girls, then began to sip on a carbonated drink.

“Oh it’s this guy that goes to her friend’s school.” Mina exclaimed and pulled out her phone to show the boys his profile.

The boys looked at the profile and squinted at the boy’s pictures.

“He looks like a tool.” Bakugou commented.

“Agreed.” Todoroki nodded.

Kaminari took the Mina’s phone out of her hand to examine the guy’s picture more closer, “Nobody looks like that and stays single long.”

“That’s why he’s going on a date with Hailey!” Mina exclaimed, grabbing her phone back.

Then Mina noticed Hailey peak over from the hallway, “And here she is! Ladies and gentleman, our cute little heartthrob!” She introduced happily.

Everyone looked at Hailey and took in her apparel.

Feeling a bit nervous, Hailey tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.

“So, how does it look?” She asked everyone, looking away shyly.

“It’s cute.”

“You’re rocking it, Hails!” Kirishima exclaimed, giving her a thumbs up.

Midoriya nodded in agreement.

Kaminari put his arm over Hailey’s shoulder, “Not gonna lie, Hailey, But I wouldn’t be too sad for standing that dude up to go on a date with me, if I was him.” He tried to flirt, only to get jabbed by Jirou’s earphone jacks, making him let go of Hailey and fall to the ground.

“I’m actually more excited for this date than I was earlier.” Hailey smiled, only to have her phone ding with a notification. She took out her phone from her pocket to read it. Her smile then descended into a sad frown.

This made Mina ask what was wrong and walk up to Hailey. She leaned over the red-head’s shoulder to read her phone.

“That asshole!” She exclaimed, clearly angry.

“What’s wrong?” Yaoyorozu questioned, feeling concerned.

“Prince Charming just texted that he can’t make the date, and Zach just texted that Prince Charming has a new date to take to the restaurant.” Mina explained to everyone, she was very frustrated, but sympathetic towards her friend. “I’m sorry Hailey.” She attempted to comfort her.

“It’s whatever, I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up in the first place.” Hailey responded, uncharacteristically quiet and disappointed.

It wasn’t until someone unexpected spoke up and restored Hailey’s hope.

And that was....

[softupshur]

A Patient Wolf: Chapter 8

<Previous

Ao3 link if you’re into that kind of thing

~Updates every Sunday~

You were early. You had a drink. You don’t know what came next. You wake up in a strange room.

Chapter 8:

It's the night before the wedding.

You and Eddie are lounging on the sofa, when you suggest a night on the town—dinner somewhere special where everyone can marvel over what a perfect pair you make.

"I'm not sure…" Eddie bites his lip. "Tomorrow is a big day. We should be well rested for the ceremony. I'd absolutely hate for us to lose ourselves before our life together begins."

You pout as you lean against him. "But Eddie, that's precisely why we must go out! What other chance will we have to go out as fiances? Tomorrow it will be husband and wife. That's it! I never even got to show off my engagement ring." You hold your hand up so the light bounces off the dahlia, each diamond glittering.

"Darling, I promise you that come the honeymoon, I'll be sure everyone sees it."

"But it's not the same." Your gaze falls. "It's different for a woman. There's nothing quite like showing off a beautiful ring and talking about the wedding date. It's a special time that a woman only gets to experience once, and it'll be even better because you'll be right there with me." You cling to his arm. "I know every woman will be pea-green with envy when they see me with such a strong, handsome man. Oh please say we can go, Eddie! Please?" You flutter your eyelashes until he would be inhuman to say no.

"Alright, but only for a little while. We need to get our rest for the big day tomorrow."

Nonetheless, you tackle him in a hug, sending you both crashing on the couch. "Oh, thank you, Eddie! Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

He chuckles as he sits back up, patting your head. "I'll make the reservation immediately. How does Dorsia's sound?"

"Dorsia's sounds divine!"

You've never heard of Dorsia's in your life.

"Then you best get ready! We want to be looking our best tonight." He ushers you off and you blow him a kiss before frolicking off into the bedroom.

Since making up, Eddie had moved your things from the basement so your exquisite gowns now hang alongside his slacks and tailored shirts. You sort through them, humming a tune until you settle on a bright red one.

Though it maintains the vintage silhouette with the cinched-in waist and flared skirt, it's a daring, sleeveless number. You pair it with a shimmering shawl and pantyhose before tending to your makeup. Bold, red lipstick complements your gown, and enough foundation makes you look positively airbrushed. With smokey eyeshadow, your eyes pop. You even brave the eyelash curler for the occasion.

When through with the makeup, you curl your hair into perfect ringlets to hide the chopped strands. Enough hairspray to blow a hole in the ozone keeps it all together.

A more patient woman might have painted such overgrown nails, but you keep it easy by slipping on a pair of white gloves to hide the lingering rope burns. You make sure to wear your ring over the glove for all to see. Once you complete the look with a strand of pearls, Eddie walks in, slack-jawed and frozen.

"Darling, you look…"

You turn from him and cling to the shawl. "Oh, it's not too much, is it? I know red is so daring, especially in public, but I really wanted to look special for you."

He's quick to recover with the flattery and comes to your side to kiss your head. "You look positively divine, but I'm going to have to keep a close eye on you. You're going to be turning heads tonight."

"Oh, I hope so! That's what makes it so fun!"

"As long as you know that you're mine."

You fight the urge to shudder as you say, "I wouldn't dream of being anyone else's."

He kisses your hand before parting, saying he needs to ready himself and sends you downstairs.

For the first couple minutes, you wait on the sofa, but when he starts whistling a tune, you abandon your heels and tiptoe to the kitchen. He only whistles when he knows he has time to kill, and this is the first time you've been alone since your captivity. Nonetheless, you've made sure to keep make note of where he keeps his pens and pad of paper for grocery lists. You rip a piece off the pad and take one of the pens.

Eddie has allowed you entrance in most rooms of the home, except one. You suspect it's the garage and that's where you head next. It's down the hall. You keep your steps light as possible as you scurry there. Your hand hovers over the doorknob while you listen to make sure he's still whistling. Only then do you open the door, guiding it closed so it doesn't slam.

Your nose immediately crinkles at the foul stench that hits you. It's hard to fight the urge to retch and you have to fan your eyes to keep tears from ruining your makeup.

Despite the stink, there's nothing out of ordinary in the garage, only large storage boxes surrounding a dark car. You squeeze through so you can reach the car and flatten the paper over one of the boxes as you jot down the make and license plate number, noting the "classic vehicle" label.

Once you have it down, you hurry from the garage and back into the hall where you can breathe easy again.

Eddie is still whistling.

You return to the sofa and fold the piece of paper, placing it in your shoe before slipping them back on.

The whistling stops.

Heavy footsteps follow, descending the stairs. When they reach the bottom, Eddie is looking most debonair and elegant in a tuxedo. You make sure he knows he's a catch by jumping to your feet and gasping.

"Oh, Eddie! You look so handsome!" You're careful as you rush towards him to not disturb the piece of paper.

"I can't look anything less than my best when accompanying the most beautiful lady in town," he says.

You cover your mouth as you giggle. "Oh, Eddie! You're incorrigible!" You hope you're using that word right.

"Only for you, Darling." He tells you to wait at the front door so he can bring the car around to pick you up, and you oblige.

It feels like you've entered another reality as you step outside and take in the first breath of fresh air since your captivity. It's also the first time you genuinely smile. The breeze never felt so cool and refreshing, and the stars take your breath away.

You savor every moment of night air until Eddie pulls up in his classic vehicle. Moonlight shines off the perfectly polished exterior. When he stops the car, he hurries out to open the passenger door for you.

As much as it pains you to enter, you're sure to thank Eddie as you settle into the leather interior. It reeks compared to the fresh air, but you count your blessings that it's not whatever the hell was in the garage.

At least Eddie allows you to roll down the window. He doesn't even press you for conversation as he's happy to hum along to the oldies station while you watch the city go by.

None of the street names are recognizable on the drive over, but the area seems no finer than anywhere you've been, though there is more neon than you're used to. At first just a few scattered storefronts, but soon the buildings are larger and lights advertise available vacancy, reservations only, and 24-hour openings.

It's before the most pristine, white building that Eddie parks the car. You're sure the architecture is influenced by some European country, but you can't place where. You always counted on your fiancee to be the cultured one. She would go on and on about the countries she wanted to visit, languages she wanted to learn, and rare books she wanted to read. You don't know how she remembered it all.

Eddie walks in like he owns the place, made to tread upon the spotless red carpet with crystal chandeliers overhead.

The staff notices him and straightens up when he passes by, wearing their biggest, fakest grins.

You feel like an accessory for his arm as he strides in and demands his reservation for two under Gluskin. You wonder if that's a real name or one he made up, but you don't linger on the thought long. You're too busy focusing on not tripping down the steps as the hostess leads you.

She brings you to a small table away from the larger ones. Two glasses of water await, along with more silverware than any sane person needs.

You wait until Eddie pulls out your chair to take your seat. The folded corner of the paper is poking at your heel as you thank him.

"This place is absolutely breathtaking," you tell him as he sits. "I've never been anywhere so elegant."

"All that will change after tomorrow." He reaches across the table to take your hand. "When I've made an honest woman out of you, I'll take you to these places as much as you want. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

You force a smile even as Eddie's holding your hand too tightly. "Oh, Eddie. That would be wonderful!" You bat your eyelashes as you place your hand on top of his. You're certain he'd stare into your eyes forever if not for the waitress clearing her throat. Though she's quick to flash a smile, you catch her split-second scowl and feel for her. It must be near the end of her shift and the last thing she wants is a pair of sickening sweethearts wasting time in their own world instead of making their damn order.

"What can I get you two to drink?" she asks.

"Hmm…" Eddie takes his sweet time perusing the drink menu, and you know the waitress is fighting back eyerolls until he settles on "Bastianich Friulano for me and my fiancee." He beams at the last word, though the waitress has no reaction outside of her promise to return with wine.

Eddie scowls at her indifference.

"It's alright," you assure. "She's probably got a lot on her mind."

"Still, you think she would have the decency to comment on the perfect couple when she sees it."

"Maybe she's jealous," you suggest while you fight the urge to choke on the sparkling water you mistook for normal water.

"Maybe you're right."

That calms Eddie down enough and you settle into small talk until the waitress arrives with the wine and takes your order, though Eddie takes care of that for you by deciding on, "an orange-fennel salad for the lady."

You make no protest as the waitress takes your menus away.

When she leaves, you attempt to escape to powder your nose, but Eddie assures that you look "breathtaking as is" before trailing into rambles about tomorrow. It's almost a feat to be admired that he can talk so long about the exact same topic, but you think your sustained fake interest is even more impressive. If only he would use the bathroom after all that vile sparkling water, but he remains until the food arrives and you stare with longing at the juicy steak he's ordered for himself.

Your fiancee always did joke about what a carnivore you are and chided you for not eating your greens. You're going to be hearing enough scolding to last you a lifetime if you get out of this. You intend to eat all the greasy meat you could get ahold of, even if it kills you.

For now though, you make do with the salad, though you spend more time picking off the croutons as you try to think of a way to escape.

"Is everything alright, darling?" he asks.

"Hm?" You look up from your half-eaten salad. "Yes, why?"

"You've hardly touched your meal."

He's already cleared his plate while you're still shifting croutons in pointless circles. You're about to assure that the meal is fine when an idea comes to mind. Though you still promise the quality of your meal, you pair it with sad eyes that resemble a dog at the pound and a wilting voice.

"Now, darling. Don't feel you have to hide yourself from me," he says. "Do tell me what the matter is."

"Oh, but I don't want to be any trouble…"

"You could never be any trouble."

When he takes your hand, you sigh. "Well...it's just...my salad doesn't taste quite right. I don't know...I think the ranch is old, but it's fine, really." You set your fork down as his eyes shadow over. "Eddie?"

"This is unacceptable." He's seething now. "This was supposed to be a special night."

"And it is! Just getting to go out together is special enough, really!"

"You're too softhearted," Eddie says. "No one, and I mean no one, can get away with mistreating my fiancee like this."

"Oh, Eddie. That's sweet of you, but you don't need to go through a fuss for little, old me."

"But of course I do." He catches sight of what appears to be a manager checking on another table. "I hate to leave you, but this will only take a moment. I'll get this taken care of."

He rises from his seat and storms off to the manager without another word. He's no doubt making some ridiculous demand, but you don't listen. Now that you're alone, everything is muffled, like you're underwater. With Eddie's back turned, you reach into your heel for the paper. It's crinkled but readable when you check it under the table. You look up to make sure Eddie is still throwing his tantrum before you reach out for the first person to pass. It's your waitress with a round of drinks for another table. You're holding onto her apron, knuckles white. You can't find the words.

"Ma'am...is everything alright?" she asks, brow furrowed.

"Help me," you choke out as you shove the paper into her free hand. You squeeze just once before releasing her. Maybe she lingered for a few moments, but you don't know as you straighten yourself and look forward as if nothing happened.

The waitress heads to her next table as Eddie returns.

"Is everything alright?" you ask.

"No, we are leaving." He grabs your arm and yanks you to your feet. "I refuse to give such a cheap and vulgar establishment another moment of our business."

"But, Eddie, it's fine, really. What about dessert? Surely that'll cheer you back up. Please, won't you be reasonable?"

Your pleas fall on deaf ears, but no doubt everyone is staring as Eddie drags you out. You lock eyes with the waitress just before the door shuts behind you.

[howlingbarnes]

Soft as Silk - Part Three

Characters - Peter Parker x Spidey!Reader (Seda)

Word Count - 1792

Warnings - Fluff?

A/N - Took a while to get this out, I’d like to think it was worth it but let’s be real...it’s unedited. Please do not hesitate to send me feedback!!

Masterlist | Help me out? | Series Masterlist

Following the feeling lead you exactly where you wanted to be. With a gentle tap to the window, you let Spider-Man know that you were there before sliding it up and crawling into his dimly lit bedroom.

The space was much different than you were expecting. Planning for a spacious, modern and mature room to be greeted with the opposite was actually kind of refreshing. It made you feel better to know that you weren't dealing with some random grown man. Instead, he seemed to be a random teenage boy. There was homework and junk technology spread across a small desk, a bunk bed took up most of the space along with books, finished Lego sets and other clutter. It helped you to relax, knowing that he was just a regular guy under the superhero guise.

“Are we still being mysterious, or can I take this off?” He asked, thumbs already hooked under the bottom of his mask.

“No, wait.” You reached out, resting your hands on his forearms just as he slipped the mask past his nose.

It was almost weird seeing the person under the mask. There was an unseen line that you wanted to cross but were too nervous to. It didn't help that you were already attracted to him and this was before you'd been blessed with a view of the bottom half of his face.

He had a cute nose, you had to admit. His lips were distracting and his lingering scent wrapped around you, pulling you in with its invisible grip. Luckily, your mask was still up over your nose. If it wasn't, he'd be able to see that your bottom lip was now idly caught between your teeth and you weren't sure how long you be able to stop yourself from finding out if his lips were as soft as they looked.

“Can we try to take this slow?” Your voice escaped as a soft whisper that was luckily mistaken for nervousness.

“Oh, yeah.” He gently complied. “Of course we can. I know this can be hard. It normally is for me at least, everyone else I know with powers kind of just lets the world know it's them.”

You wanted to trust this boy. Every bone in your body was screaming for you to let go and grant him access beyond the wall you'd built but something was holding you back. It'd been the months you'd spent isolating yourself and sharpening your edges, hiding the fear of letting anyone in behind a mask in more ways than one.

“Come on.” You willed him toward the open window with a jerk of your head. “I have somewhere I wanna go.”

With an almost nervous smirk, he yanked his mask back down and made to follow you. A piercing voice called from beyond the closed door, sending a jolt through your veins.

“Who's Peter?” You questioned in a panic.

“I am! ” He answered in an equally panicked whisper while ushering you to the window. “I don't want her to see you and ask a bunch of questions. Go ahead, I'll catch up to you.”

He turned around and yanked off his mask, revealing a mess of brown hair. Technically, he wasn’t revealing himself but it was enough for you to leave, feeling like you were invading his privacy. Though you made a show out of going out the window, curiosity gripped onto you like a vice. Crawling above the window, you clung to the building, listening in. It felt bad eavesdropping, you weren’t even sure what made you want to so badly but you couldn’t pull yourself away from the sound of their voices.

“Hey, Aunt May.” Peter greeted the woman with a voice so chipper that you could almost visualize the cute, toothy grin on his lips.

“Hi, kiddo.” After a beat, she huffs out a breath of air. “What are you doing, Peter? Were you going to sneak out? I know I can’t stop you from doing this whole Spider-Man thing, but I wish you would at least talk to me about it. I hate seeing you putting yourself in danger on the news when I think you’re in your bedroom.”

Peter was fast to defend himself, letting her know that he wasn’t planning on sneaking out. He explained to her that the city needed him and reassured her that he was being as careful as he possibly could be. Their words became a bit muffled when they hugged but you were able to make out the promise he made to her that he was safe and would start letting her in more. The moment warmed your heart but it also made you jealous. Ever since you got your powers, you wanted nothing more than to be able to talk to your parents about it. There was a fear you held though, knowing that they wouldn’t understand.

“It’s supposed to be my job to protect you,” May said with a sadness lining her tone. “I made my own promise to keep you safe and now I feel like I can’t do that.”

It was your cue to go. You already didn’t feel right hanging around, but listening in on a full heart-to-heart made you feel even worse. Shooting out your webs, you began to swing and jump through the city en route to one of your favorite spots to relax at night. When you had a minute to breathe, when the city wasn’t screaming, that was where you went.

“The Brooklyn Bridge, huh?” Peter’s voice would’ve made you jump out of your skin if you didn’t know he was coming. “Didn’t take you for the touristy type. Empire State Building next time?”

He crawled to the very top where you sat, legs swinging off the edge as usual. His mask was pushed up over his nose once again but this time there was something hanging out of his pretty mouth.

“You stopped to get....a churro?” You questioned him, raising a brow in confusion.

“Kinda. I mean, I helped out this old lady and-” He sighed after taking a bite and shook his head. “It’s a long story.”

“How’d you find me?”

“I felt you.” Peter shrugged. He offered you a bite of the churro that you quickly declined, pointing at your mask. “You owe me at least one secret, you know?”

Did you? Going over all the conversations you’d had with him so far, you tried to pinpoint when he shared something personal with you explicitly. After a pregnant pause, he laughed. It was a laugh that you felt in your soul, gentle and sweet. You had a feeling that the laugh matched the person a little too perfectly.

“You know my name.” He said, holding up a finger to emphasize his point before adding more. “You know where I live. You know my aunt’s name, and you listened to our conversation.”

“It’s not my fault that you’re such an open book!” You defended, not yet willing to give up your safely guarded identity. “For someone that wears a mask, you aren’t very discreet.”

“Come on,” Peter urged with a bump of his shoulder that sent a shock through your veins. “Give me something. Your name? Your age? Something, Seda, anything.”

Maybe it was the way he said your chosen name. You were unraveling, trying to hold yourself together inside. He was right, you knew much more about his personal life than he did of yours, but you’d just met him and you weren’t sure you were ready for him to learn each detail of your life outside of being a superpowered being. There was something about him though, something that made you want to tell him everything, start to finish.

“You felt me there didn’t you?”

“I did.” Peter nodded, looking out at the skyline after pulling his mask back down. “I’m not mad, I trust you. I can’t explain why, but I do.”

That was it, those words were the first crack in your foundation. You spat out your first name before you had a chance to change your mind. Even with your eyes squeezed shut, you could feel his head jerk to look at you. It wasn’t much, just a name but it was the most you would allow yourself to forfeit and it seemed to be enough for him.

Peter could tell that it was taking a lot for you to relax. He considered the fact that this just might be how you were with everyone, opting to not take it too personally. Making you comfortable was on the top of his list as he looked over your features, the ones he could see. With a roaring heart pounding in his chest, he reached for your hand but pulled back. Your eyes opened again when you felt his knee make contact with yours. It was a small gesture but it was enough to ground you once again.

“Peter?” Your voice sounded so small uttering his name. “I need you to close your eyes.”

Without question, he nodded firmly. “Now what?”

Your eyes narrowed at him suspiciously. Waving your hand in from of his face wasn’t enough for you, making you flip him off for extra measure to be sure that he followed your instruction. When he continued to sit unmoved, you raised a shaky hand to your mask and pulled it down. He didn’t react, not a single move, only flinching when your thumbs looped under his mask.

“I want to try something.” You finally answered, pulling the fabric over his nose.

Peter didn’t move, keeping his hands folded in his lap while you moved closer to him. He felt your breath fan across his face. The warmth from it melted together with the heat rising to his cheeks, blushing them a rosy pink as your lips settled softly against his. They were soft and the kiss was hesitant. You needed reassurance that it was alright and he knew this. He felt you start to pull away, taking a piece of his heart with you. He wasn’t ready to let that feeling go just yet. Wrapping his fingers around your elbow, he held you still and kissed you again with conviction. A small smirk broke across lips when he felt you melt into him before breaking away. Quickly, you yank your mask back up before he has a chance to open his eyes, partly to have something to hide behind.

Peter was the first to speak. “Don’t you think it’s a little weird that you don’t know who I am?”

“Oh, I know exactly who you are.” You quirked a brow at him, while he sat with his mouth agape. “I just don’t want you to know who I am.”

Part Four

@madmadmilk @captainrogerss @bionic-buckyb @sebbytrash @teamfreewill-imagine  @palaiasaurus64 @buckyinboxcar @goodolbucky @anakin-skywalkers @kawaii-satan-trash @wonderless-screwup @yessoftball-lover06 @mademoisellepryde @danijimenezv @transparentjudgepicklething @alwayshave-faith @thelamegatsby @wowspideyholland @timelordy-fangirl2 @blackcat-midnight-thatsme

[centaurrential]

The first.

The nice thing about blogging is that one doesn’t need to follow a strict academic essay structure: the issues and concepts I want to write about are always architectures built upon some underlying causal, foundational plot. It would be nice if we could hyperlink the written representations of our thought processes, but alas, that is one domain in which modern technology has fallen short. You might see that I jump around between topics, but I promise there are connections everywhere. So, here we go!

I’ve been hesitant to write about what ignites my passion the most.  

There are a couple of reasons for this.

For one, save for some semblance of a university degree I attempted to put together years ago, I have little in the way of ‘respectable’ credentials. I rely on my own observations of what is happening around me. A high school friend once revealed to me a technique in visual arts that has stuck with me since. “Draw what you see, not what you know to be there.” I have applied this not only to achieve realism in the scant visual artworks I have produced and which have gone unseen by most others, but also to compose a coherent understanding of my world--or in other words, everything I feel. This “motto” of sorts shows that we often ignore details about our experience that are in plain sight. Despite holding this key, I am well aware that I have not necessarily earned any institutional authority to write on the matters that compel me so--yet, as a person who has simply lived and observed, I still feel that I should express myself, for what ever it may be worth.

Second, though my risk of legal and political persecution in some form or another is not as dire as was obviously the case in the past with established thinkers, I’ve felt compelled to dress my thoughts in verse, marching what I think are critical ideas down the runway, letting the audience gently scrutinize the layers of different conceptual fabrics in motion rather than to place what is thought to be controversial on a podium, open to the personalized savagery of modern “progressive” critique. Misunderstanding is a very real fear of mine as I believe it is one of the greatest tragedies of the human condition. I suppose, as a sensitive person who is deeply emotional and deeply invested in my own thought as a means to a better world, my intent up to now has been to create a buffer of some sort between what I theorize and the ideology-driven hate that tends to characterize Internet culture (which, incidentally now, always carries a ‘social media’ component with it). But I don’t wanna hide anymore.

Something I’ve noticed about that very vehicle for thought is how utterly unforgiving it is. Someone uncovers a person’s past involving a stupid, ignorant mistake along the lines of political incorrectness and suddenly all the good they may have recently put into the world evaporates because there is some sort of twisted expectation of social perfection we’ve adopted--even though there is some overlap between this absolutist, impossible approach to other, equally fallible human beings and the tendency to wax poetic about one’s own cathartic emotional experience, along with a new awareness emerging from the remnants of self-destruction, and forcing ‘compassion’ toward oneself in light of one’s mistakes.

The message is that “I” can learn, but “you” cannot. It seems that people are so volatile these days, they’re ready to pounce without really thinking about what a person is trying to say in earnest. And while I believe that we should work hard at our collective and individual duties to skepticism, I cannot condone, to the furthest reaches of any influence I may have, the deadlock of pseudo-critical thinking when it involves scapegoating and self-righteousness.

I sense (and feel) a lot of (justified) anger, and many well-meaning individuals are looking for a place to which they can direct such intensity. The unfortunate thing is that the fire mutates into hostility toward people who don’t deserve it. Shuffle formless anger into boxes designed to look nicely and glamorously radical, and chuck it at those who--excluding the really terrible people in the world--are honest and serious about answering the questions of “how to achieve the maximum possible distance from pain”, and, “what is, essentially”, and you’ve got a problem on your hands. Nothing is ever as simple as we’d like it to be.

And by the way, I find the dismissive “ok, boomer” attitude reprehensible. Like, OBVIOUSLY there are going to be differences among generations in “opinion” and lifestyles and so on. And obviously past generations have made what we now deem to be ‘mistakes’. But just like any individual who may regret past actions, whether personal or professional, one makes decisions supported by the most convincing reasons they can muster, and so they do the best they can with the knowledge they have at hand, at some particular moment. Maybe some visionaries in the past were able to extrapolate from the contemporary and predict what would happen in the future. Even if their equivalents exist in society today, we will not know for certain the downright traumatizing effects current societal mechanisms could force to manifestation in the years beyond, until they actually become fact. “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.” And, there is wisdom that only comes through living life. That, I’m afraid, is not up for debate.

I must say this here, now. I realize I’m walking on eggshells with what I’m about to say.  But, while it is clear that there is a significant degree of ‘white privilege’ in North American society, I’d be careful to declare ‘privilege’ an inherently white experience.  It is an historical reality (and is therefore biased). Not all ‘white people’ are the same; and it is CERTAINLY not the case that it has only been ‘white people’ that enforced slavery, for example. And it is definitely true that different members of different religions and different races and different ethnicities and different cultures and different dialects have, historically, perpetuated evil across many axes. Furthermore, I believe that the explicit and intentional denigration of ‘white people’ MADE BY WHITE PEOPLE THEMSELVES is probably one of the greatest expressions of white privilege. How secure must one feel if they can freely diss their ‘own kind’ and know that nothing diabolical will happen to them? We owe justice through opportunity to people we have marginalized, but that is not the way. I just think that people are either willfully ignorant, accidentally ignorant, or have forgotten that all kinds of people can be villains, and further that a truly corrupt person will even torture people with whom they may have a great deal in common.

I tend to think that ‘intersectionality’ is a seriously important concept and is most empirically aligned with individualism. People move around more, cross-cultural contact happens more; global connection ushers cuisine, rituals and traditions, spiritual beliefs, and languages into landscapes that were previously barren of particular social technologies. The result is a person who may have many characteristics sort of in common with others who share those qualities in a scattered manner, but unless one of those forces was exceptionally prominent in the person’s life, the commonality is negligible.

Emergent from this phenomenon is the serious tension between individual self-actualization and the requirements for so-called proper functioning of the broader ‘community’ to which one feels they belong. The needs of each can often be at odds with one another, and it doesn’t appear to be an easy task to resolve this conflict. I do know that sacrifices will have to be made, as there is always a price to pay; I almost think of that as a universal law.

When I was 19 and took a philosophy of feminism class, I started noticing what problems arise when a mode of thinking is assumed to apply to a particular “community” (loosely speaking), just because its members all share some intrinsic quality. In the particular case I’m talking about, it was “being female”. When someone speaks the word ‘feminism’, it is loaded. You have liberal feminism, eco-feminism, radical feminism, third-wave feminism, black feminism, post-colonial feminism, and so on. The relevance of these various types is stretched so thinly throughout the human landscape that one could legitimately wonder why those theories should even be considered to have anything in common. In other words, how can you possibly come up with an ethic of revolution that applies universally to, I dunno, how many billion people in the world? Here’s a situation: women in the West, particularly in the Deep South, are fighting for their choice to have an abortion. Meanwhile, in some parts of India and China, female infanticide is more common than a decent person should like to admit, and that’s not because Indian and Chinese women want it! Asking someone who is thoughtful in ANY respect if they are a feminist is like asking someone if they believe in God, and that is not, nor should it be, an easy question to answer.

To be clear: what I am talking about is definition, and if you break down the etymological components of that word, you see that it is about deciding what sorts of conceptual boundaries must be drawn (the finiteness)--to determine what is included, and also what is excluded. My belief is that it is actually the interplay between those qualities intrinsic to a person and external forces placed upon us that dictate the degrees of self-satisfaction and happiness we experience.

That pain is to be avoided is generally unquestionable, though the finer details of rational action (because I do see the treatment of pain as an issue of rationality, and as something more fundamental to the exercising of rational action than market economics is) are still up for debate. And, I suppose, that is the case for many injustices that an active, voluntarily thinking society wishes to eradicate. I’d like to return to that topic some time in the future, but what concerns me today is the issue of essentialism.

Essentialism has been a problem for philosophers for a really long time. Often it is conceptualized as “what makes something that thing”, but in my view, Essence seems to lie in the realm of the experiential. In one minor paper I wrote for a metaphysics class, I argued (incompletely) that an object’s ‘essence’ could be partly defined by the function one identifies when they come into contact with said object. For example, because even though chairs can be made up of different numbers of legs, or be of different colours, or be upholstered or not, we place them into a category of ‘something to be seated upon’. But then again, there are many things that can be sat upon, and, on the other hand, one does not look at a real life dog and think of it as an object that innately serves a purpose, let alone is built for one.

So why am I talking about what seems to be an obscure and useless topic?

It is the utility of Essence that gives form to our experience. And for those who believe that we erroneously categorize and judge every single damn thing we come across in our lives, go ahead and try to reverse neurological evolution through time of geologic scale. I mean, this mode of existence came to be before we even defined what ‘values’ were.

Tangentially, my introduction to the study of philosophy started with the great divide between ‘rationalism’ (ie. some inherent structure which creates the capacity to ‘know’ already exists in a person at the time of birth) and ‘empiricism’ (the school of thought where a person only collected knowledge through experience after they were born with a ‘blank slate’ of a mind). I never understood why the distinction between rationalism and empiricism was so important, because it seemed so obvious that our system of moving through the world was a combination of the two. We see now that the belief in one to the exclusion of the other is just plain stupid: genetics, epigenetics, logarithmic counting in BABIES, education, debate, and research, all contribute to an individual’s understanding of the world. (It is this idea, too, that contributes to my belief that free will is an illusion [though a helpful one at that] and that ‘luck’ is an epistemological concept. I will also use this idea to, eventually, communicate my argument that astrology is theoretically plausible, but that involves discussing archetypes and the cyclical nature of our known world...) Note: “Epistemology” is the study of knowledge and how we come to accumulate it. I went on this tangent because I think we need to demonstrate a great deal of respect for both pre-existing neurological realities and the staggering potential of science to teach us about our environments and ourselves. There are some core things about us that we would be wrong to ignore, and unforgivably so if the sound science is right there.

We do not typically go through life coming into contact with objects or people and checking off items on a list that comprise criteria for something being what it is (unless, of course, you’re prone to collect little hints as to whether a potential lover loves you back or not.....). To do so would reduce the fluidity with which we interact with externalities. That being said, I can conceive of a time when one goes outside for a cigarette in the night and watches a creature (as I just did) that may be a cat, or that may be a raccoon, cross the road. You peer at this creature for several seconds, up until the point that you conclude, and are certain, that it is, indeed, a cat. It is then that you can move on with your life. Perhaps what helped you to come to this conclusion was a short list of criteria that separate catness from raccoonness. Obviously that would be more efficient than consulting an exhaustive mental list of “cat properties” and comparing it to a similar list, but of “raccoon properties”. But even so, by the time you’ve witnessed the cat/raccoon, you’ve already filtered out any possibility that the creature might be something else, like a stray dog, or a lizard, or a floating chair. In conclusion, I propose here that context is essential to Essence. And Essence is a fully whole sensory experience, insofar as your sensory faculties work. This is why it is so hard to define.

The social relevance of the concept of Essence is becoming more important with the emergence of identity politics, the crises in feminism, “queerness”, the feminine/masculine dichotomy, and even paradigms in psychological health. Inherent to Essence is continuity, and no one can argue against the notion that we rely on general continuity to go about our daily lives.

But out of continuity develops expectation. Expectation is immensely helpful for the reason I laid out above. Additionally, in public, we rely on a common yet tacit understanding that individual members of the public will behave in a way that is safe and appropriate for everyone. The problem is, if you have experienced a good chunk of your life, well into adulthood, having never seen an unfamiliar and idiosyncratic expression of certain properties, why WOULD you do anything else other than fumble in your acceptance that that is the way something is? Your mind scrambles to organize what you are interacting with in the way that makes the most sense.

I was once accused of being an essentialist because of some remark I made referencing biological differences between men and women. I wondered if the dude was joking because I really cannot grasp why someone would think that the differences are trivial. Lately I’ve toyed with the conclusion that there must be something essential, something bounded, about the way we express ourselves, which matches what we are that isn’t seen by absolutely everyone, including exuding femininity or masculinity. If there wasn’t something essential about these “descriptions”, why would anyone make an effort to look a certain way in the first place? Or, why would anyone have a subconscious tendency to adopt certain characteristics? The point I’m trying to make is that communication in the form of appearance is just as important as a verbal explanation of something, and can in fact be more truthful than what is verbally expressed. Whether one wants to admit it or not, you are offering information that allows others to draw conclusions about you. And it’s not that you merely fulfill a checklist of the sort that I mentioned earlier. It is that, often, though not always, each separate quality supports all the others, forming a sort of “mesh-like” coherence. If there wasn’t something essentially feminine that you identified with, or something essentially masculine that you identified with--if these things didn’t matter--there would be no point in going to great lengths to change your appearance to communicate something. (And I think this holds even in the case of the non-binary person.)

Of course, judgments are made all the time about people, which have nothing to do with being transgendered or cisgendered. A person asks you your age. Why? Because they’re collecting information about you and the particulars in the category of “age” should reveal something about you that you’re not stating explicitly. And this information is only grounded in other information the inquirer has about you. And the only reason this information might be reliable is because a consolidation of an individual’s past experiences tells them that a certain age represents an axis of consistency of mentality and/or behaviour. The deductions we make are not always accurate, but if we didn’t instinctively think of this information as important, we wouldn’t seek it!

I will now apply the above problem to sort out why we are in such a mess, socially. First of all, the person is born into expectation of behaviour. That expectation depends on their sex at birth (assuming the person is not intersex), their social, economic, political class, the levels of education their immediate family members have achieved, their spiritual practices, et cetera. It seems to me that feminism arose in the first place because of the particular kind of anticipation of behaviour that swirls around whether you have a testicle-penis or a uterus-vagina combination. The traditionally ‘male’ realm was the unexplored frontier to many women; it was one of excitement, possibility, and opportunity, and arguably more freedom than the domain to which women were typically assigned: the home. Women can produce babies, and if you could produce babies then you SHOULD produce babies, and you should care for them too. And not only that, but by virtue of the fact that you are a mother you can’t even fathom leaving your babies behind. I haven’t yet come across a proper articulation of why this point is so crucial to understand. The women who have the term “TERF” (trans-exclusionary radical feminist) slung at them are attacked by people who don’t understand that this fundamental difference in expectation between female-born individuals and male-born individuals is looming in the background, and how damn well important it really is, because it inevitably shapes a person’s perception of the world and quite possibly the expectations they have of other people! And the perception that falls upon you isn’t just something you can shed on a whim. And also, why are people surprised that this is still an issue? Even as advanced creatures we still succumb to evolutionary forces. I don’t think any reasonable person could say that “you aren’t female even if you feel female”, but it’s not about how you “feel”. It’s about what happens between you and people once they figure out a vital fact about you. It’s about the context in which you, a whole being, operate. You want to talk about oppression? I think your self-identity being misaligned with how other people think you should be is pretty high up there in the ranks.

So, to digress a little: the notion of changing yourself and making an impression on strangers, making a difference in the world, is intoxicating. But we enter dangerous territory when visions of child-rearing and home care become afterthoughts. Child psychologists have identified the age range between 2 and 4 to be particularly crucial in socializing children; it is at that age that they are the most impressionable with regard to how they learn to interact with others. That’s not really a huge window to make sure you ‘get it right’. I think the family unit, whatever its configuration may be, is pretty foundational to the rest of society. While many people presently carry harmful opinions about things we don’t understand, and changing those opinions tends to be rather difficult, the most radical, most powerful thing we can do to initiate reform is to make sure the children we are responsible for grow up valuing honour, kindness, and a sense of duty and justice, not just in relation to themselves and their immediate families, but to society as a whole.

People are throwing tantrums because society hasn’t given itself an overnight makeover. I think that anyone involved in politics understands, either consciously or unconsciously, that even though political institutions and bureaucracies were created by real people, they’ve sort of become fragmented away from human life and are entities of their own, floating above our heads like clouds in the higher atmosphere, and which do not have any readily identifiable boundaries. It appears that the various bodies of legislation and bureaucracies have become so bloody complex in correlation with the complexity of human interaction that they seem almost impossible to disentangle. Furthermore, ideas take a long time to die...if they ever even do.

Rather than viewing child-rearing as a burden, I choose to view it as the greatest responsibility and the greatest tool we have for genuine change. I feel, honestly, that sometimes we waste energy trying to convince people of something where there is no convincing possible. We often preach to the choir because they’re the only people who make us feel heard--but our own little choirs already know and believe what we know and believe.

So. I think, once I reviewed what I said above, that I’ve attempted to illuminate a conundrum about simultaneous utility and danger found in the act of expecting. This “study” of sorts is a microcosm of a world where darkness and light are aspects of all things. I’m convinced that the formulation of potential is expressed in binaries, but unlike computers, we are able to interpret ambiguities, and in many pockets of society people are tolerant of self-expression. With so many belief systems up for grabs, and with the world as it is in its ebbs and flows, it is up to the individual to craft their own transcendent values as a way to “orient themselves”, as Dr. Jordan B. Peterson put it. Be mature and do not dismiss nuance. Challenge yourself. And for God’s sake, the next time you’re thinking of buying that innocuous avocado that’s become the symbol for the Millennial generation, ask yourself what is more important: dismantling violent and antisocial Mexican drug cartels, or supporting Mexican farmers who are trying to make their ways through life, just like every. last. one of us.

[pokemaniacal]

Pokémon Moon, Episode 18: In Which I Reluctantly Embrace My Alleged Destiny

Four islands, seven trials, four Kahunas, all behind me.  In the old days, I’m told, that would have basically been it.  I mean, there’s supposed to be a rematch against all four Kahunas up on Mount Lanakila.  As far as I can tell, though, that’s traditionally less about the battles themselves and more about getting absolutely plastered on the beach afterwards.  The after-party for Professor Kukui’s Final Trial is said to have been the stuff of legends, and saw the genesis of three new cocktails, twenty-four herbal hangover remedies, the Alolan form of Grimer, the character of the Masked Royal, and a devastating new Rock-type move that was instantly banned by sixteen different Pokémon Leagues.  Sadly, Kukui’s own plans for the Alola region demand a few sacrifices, and one of those will be taking the whole ritual of the Final Trial more seriously than the Alolans have previously been accustomed to.  I gather that he means to assemble the Kahunas on the mountain as a sort of ready-made Elite Four, then invite any and all trainers who have previously completed the Island Challenge to run the gauntlet, leaving any who make it through to compete for the spoils of victory.  Personally, I’d rather leave them to it, but unfortunately, that’s not an option – Tapu Koko is the Tapu of Conflict, of competition and ambition; it didn’t give me a Z-ring and send me out on a quest so I could save the world from Lusamine and her Ultra mumbo-jumbo, it gave me a Z-ring and sent me out on a quest so I could take part in pointless sporting events for its sadistic entertainment.  The show must go on.

When I travel to the base of Mount Lanakila, Gladion meets me there to shoot the breeze for a bit.  He has the good sense to stay out of this Trial nonsense, of course, so won’t be joining me for my trip up the mountain.  He just wants to thank me for deciding to help his mother rather than leaving her to die in the Endless Void, which of course I would have been well within my rights to do. “I know we aren’t friends.  But we aren’t enemies anymore either.”  I give him a wry smile. “Honestly, dude, I don’t think I’ve met anyone in these islands that I like better yet.”  He looks puzzled. “My sister?” “Clingy and irrational.” “Professor Kukui?” “Loud and obnoxious.” “Kahuna Hala?” “Oh, don’t even get me started…” “…my mother?” “Well… you have to admit she’s got style…” I muse.  Gladion pauses. “…Hau?” he hazards.  I stare in amazement, then burst out laughing. “BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!  AH-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!  HAH!  Ahhhh… no.”  Gladion stares back at me.  “Ah, I… guess he’s growing on me.  He’s got… kind of an infectious mood, you know?” “Believe me, I do,” Gladion answers, smiling. “But yeah, seriously.  You’re competent and pragmatic, but honourable.  It’s a rare combination.  Besides, I like how you hate everything.  It reminds me of me.” “I’ll… take that as a compliment,” he replies hesitantly. “So, rivals?” I suggest.  “We gonna battle or what?”

Gladion has apparently gotten his Golbat to evolve into Crobat, which speaks volumes for his psychological progress towards inner peace and balance, and he’s added a Lucario to his arsenal, another Pokémon that would be unlikely to follow a trainer with a deeply conflicted soul.  More interestingly, though, he has also managed to evolve his partner, the enigmatic artificial Pokémon designated Type: Null (or at least, I think it’s evolved; the Rotomdex registers it as a new species, anyway) – it has shed the control mask that once kept its powers in check, revealing a feathery white griffon head, and now has full command of the type-changing abilities the Aether Foundation stole from Arceus, including a Judgement-like type-shifting technique called Multi Attack.  Gladion has renamed it Silvally, a name of his own choosing since it is the first of its kind in existence.  That was the missing element to ensure the eventual success of the original Aether Foundation experiment – they neglected to give their created Pokémon any sort of companionship or care for their psychological health, warping them to the point that they couldn’t control their abilities.  You’d think the sciences would have learned from the mistakes of the Mewtwo incident… but at least Gladion has.

Mount Lanakila has a “Victory Road” of sorts, in the form of the rugged and often freezing route up the mountain, though it doesn’t actually bear the name and is shorter and more straightforward than other paths that have been given the traditional moniker in regions we’ve visited, or even in comparison to the Vast Poni Canyon.  I suppose Kukui and the Alolans simply didn’t think that particular bit of the Pokémon League template was a super high priority.  I’m sure in a few years they will have renovated it into some godawful fifty-kilometre-long deathtrap with spike pits, acid wells, rolling boulders, and so on.  By the time I get to the end and check into the Pokémon Centre just below the summit, Hau is right behind me.  He’s been busy – in the days since we raided Aether Paradise, he’s zipped around Alola finishing all the trials he missed, including defeating his grandfather and the other Kahunas.  Dude’s crazy motivated, you have to give him that.  He’s levelled up, and added a surprisingly powerful Komala to his team – certainly an appropriate choice, given their similar carefree attitudes towards… everything.  He’s not confident in challenging the Elite Four yet, though, and I suppose there’s no reason he has to, now that the Final Trial isn’t really a thing anymore.  After a quick battle, he wishes me luck and sends me on my way to Kukui’s shiny new Pokémon League building.

The new complex is built inside the mountain’s peak itself, which must have been a tremendously expensive operation, but I suppose the Alolans must have felt it was worth it to have the Pokémon League here, at one of the holiest places in the entire island chain.  There’s a gate close to the summit, where the path stops; only an experienced climber could hope to get any higher than this.  Professor Kukui is waiting for me outside, and ushers me into the chambers of the Elite Four.  The inside of the peak is a huge cavern, its walls studded with brightly coloured crystals, with four smaller caves branching off from the main one.  Taking a page from the books of the Unova and Kalos Leagues, the Alola League seems to allow trainers to choose the order in which they challenge the Elite Four, before returning to a dais in the main chamber that transports you to the Champion’s room at the summit. “Mount Lanakila is where we’ve always finished up the Island Challenge.  We built our Pokémon League up here, as high into the heavens as we could get, to show our respect for our legendary Pokémon and honour it,” Kukui explains. “I’m just glad you decided to spring for central heating,” I say, still shivering a little from the cold outside.  He laughs. “I went all the way to Indigo Plateau, yeah!  Right to the Pokémon League headquarters… and I went right up at them, cousin!  I saw my team battling for me through it all, pouring their souls into their moves for me.  And then that last guy, that Dragon user in the cape…” Kukui trails off into silence, lost in the memory. “Yeah, he… has that effect on people.”  I wrinkle my nose.  “It’s the Blackthorn heritage.  They have a devotion to Pokémon and battle that’s… almost religious.  Intense.  Kinda scary actually.  That last battle… that was the moment, wasn’t it?”  He looks up at me, puzzled.  “The moment you decided you had to form a new Pokémon League here in Alola?  You wouldn’t be the first person to completely change the direction of your life after a battle with Lance.  Like I said, he… has that effect on people.”  Kukui laughs again. “That he does.  Well, you know the drill!”  He sweeps his hand around, gesturing to each of the chambers of the Elite Four.  “I expect you to show me some intense moves and real heart-stopping battles in there!  Good luck!”

I expected the four Kahunas to make up the Alolan Elite Four, since they’re traditionally the opponents you face in your Final Trial, but it turns out only two actually answered Kukui’s call.  Hala and Olivia occupy the chambers on the cavern’s western side.  Hala has brought a range of powerful Fighting Pokémon, including one I haven’t previously encountered, the mighty Crabominable, an Ice-type evolution of Crabrawler with massive bruiser arms.  Though strong, they are no match for my Toucannon and Psychu.  Olivia manages to mess me up a bit more when I try to use Zygarde’s Dragon Dance to steamroll her, but get stopped in my tracks by her Carbink’s colossal defences and Fairy attacks.  Decidueye manages to bring things back under control and secure a win, though.  Nanu evidently couldn’t be bothered to answer Kukui’s summons, because he is clearly far more sensible than me.  When Tapu Bulu decided to appoint him the Ula’Ula Kahuna (for reasons known only to itself), refusing would have invited the wrath of the divine, but refusing to join the Elite Four incurs only the wrath of Professor Kukui, which Nanu is perfectly comfortable with.  In his place, the young Ghost specialist Captain Acerola accepted a position at Mount Lanakila.  She has some interesting Pokémon too, including a giant sandcastle called Palossand that can only be the evolved form of Sandygast, and another Pokémon entirely new to me by the name of Dhelmise – a seaweed-draped living anchor that looks like it should be a Water- or Steel-type but is actually Grass/Ghost, confusing me long enough to beat the brains out of my poor Decidueye and forcing me to deal with all her other Pokémon without any decisive advantage against Ghost-types specifically.  Still, Golisopod, Salazzle and Zygarde are able to salvage the situation.  Hapu isn’t on the Elite Four either, presumably because of her still recent promotion to Kahuna and lack of experience compared to Olivia and Hala.  Her place is filled by… a champion golfer?  Because… sure???  Kukui has filled the final slot with an invitation to Kahili, a Flying Pokémon master who was an accomplished trainer in Alola years ago and has been travelling the world as a pro golfer ever since.  Despite my initial scepticism, she’s as strong as any Kahuna.  Thanks to her Mandibuzz’ toughness and Dark attacks, she defies my efforts to sweep her Flying-type team with Psychu, and her Skarmory was able to lay down some Spikes before being defeated to mess things up for me.  My own Toucannon winds up being instrumental in this fight.  With all four enemies defeated, I return to the central dais.  Professor Kukui is no longer in the main hall.  Nor, for that matter, are there any other challengers; I haven’t seen any since I got here.  Hesitantly, I step onto the dais and am teleported away.

I am standing under a vast crystal dome, the open sky visible above.  This is the highest place in all Alola, above the clouds and bathed in the light of the sun.  With the wind kept out by the dome, everything is eerily still.  A staircase in front of me leads up to the arena of the final battle – circular, its floor glowing a gentle blue.  At the opposite end is a simple stone throne emblazoned with a Pokéball symbol.  No one is sitting in it.  I can’t hear any voices; no one else is here.  There is no Champion to battle, no Totem Pokémon to face, no other successful challengers to compete with.  I walk to the centre of the arena. “Hello?” I call out.  “Hello?”  My words echo back to me off the dome, but there is no answer.  A minute later, I hear the teleporter pad behind me activate again, and Professor Kukui walks up the stairs. “Well, you made it, cousin.  Congratulations!” he tells me.  I look around again and turn to him. “I made it,” I reply.  “But no one else is here.  Aren’t there a lot of trainers who were waiting to challenge the new Elite Four?  Wasn’t there going to be a… like, a tournament or something?  What happens now?”  Kukui grins at me. “Now,” he says, “you take your seat.”  He gestures to the throne at the end of the arena.  I look at the throne, then at him, then back at the throne, then back to him. “My seat?” “You’re the first to defeat Alola’s Elite Four.  The first in history!”  He pumps his fist in the air.  “If anyone else gets this far, they’ll have one more person to battle: you.  Now you’re the Pokémon League Champion, oh yeah!”  My eyes widen. “Oh, I knew it; I f#$%ing knew it.  This is what that ridiculous bargain-basement Zapdos was planning all along – make me the Champion so none of you have to deal with it.  Well, I- I- I don’t want it!  And what’s more, you don’t need it!” “Having a Champion is what puts Alola on the map!” he replies emphatically.  “We gotta have someone we can hold up and say ‘this is our strongest’ to compete with the rest of the world!  Someone who can stand for Alola’s ideals!” “And I’m the best you can find?  For goodness’ sake; I’m not even Alolan!” “So much the better.  This region needs some new blood to help us change things up a bit!  An outsider to be the Metronome that lends us a bit of unpredictability so we can Transform!” “No, no, listen, listen.  There’s a lot to be said for having a Pokémon League, for having a central authority that manages Pokémon training, punishes abuse, sponsors educational programs and local tournaments, codifies rules and move lists, raises funding for research, all that good stuff.  It’s more than you can do with just four Kahunas and a bunch of teenage Captains, ‘specially with a secret cabal of four lazy, absentminded, egotistical legendary Pokémon running everything.  But it’s not like you need a Champion to lead it.  Honestly that whole idea’s pretty archaic.” “What’s that supposed to mean?  Kanto has a Champion, and so do Johto, Hoenn, Sinnoh…” “Yeah, but sometimes the Champion is a huge dickbag!” I interrupt.  “I mean… the strongest trainer makes all the rules?  It’s very… ‘the strong do what they can and the weak suffer what they must,’ don’t you think?  Imagine what would happen if a real bastard became Champion and tried to use the Pokémon League to seize political power!” “No Pokémon trainer strong enough to become Champion could be that bad,” Kukui counters.  “Defeating the four Kahunas takes the teamwork of Helping Hand, the empathy of Heal Pulse, the protectiveness of Wide Guard, and the selflessness of Lunar Dance!” “…this is me we’re talking about here,” I remind him.  “And Pokémon battling is literally the only sport that works like this.  Can you imagine if FIFA were run by whichever team won the last World Cup?” Kukui thinks about it. “Yeah; I reckon it would be a huge improvement.” “…okay, that was a bad example.  But you see what I mean.”  He nods. “Well, it sounds to me as though you have a lot of very interesting and worthwhile ideas about how to run a Pokémon League.” “Exactly!” I agree – then notice him smirking.  “Er- I mean- no!  No, absolutely not!  It’s bollocks, all of it!  I’ve not a sensible thought in my head!  And more to the point, I’m on holiday!” “Maybe… but you’re still a trainer, aren’t you, cousin?”  That smirk is back. “Yes…” I reply warily. “And there’s one thing no trainer can ever refuse.” He reaches into his lab coat, pulls out a Pokéball, and summons a solar Lycanroc.  “Bring it!”  I don’t have to battle him.  I can turn around, leave, and never look back.  I should turn around, leave, and never look back. “…oh, Arceus $#!tting DAMN IT!”

Kukui is well-travelled and highly experienced, with a team of powerful Pokémon worthy of any Champion.  Besides Lycanroc, he deploys a Braviary, Magnezone, Snorlax, a strange new Alolan Ninetales with Ice powers, and a Pokémon instantly recognisable as Litten’s final form, Incineroar.  It looks like yet another Fire/Fighting starter, with a wrestler’s powerful build and bulging chest muscles, but unfortunately for my poor Psychu, it turns out to actually be a Dark-type, and promptly slams my Pokémon into the ground with its signature move, Darkest Lariat.  It even manages to put some serious hurt on my Zygarde with Outrage, but ultimately doesn’t have the endurance to outlast the World Shaker.  Kukui is very nearly my equal… but not quite.  As Incineroar falls, he laughs deep and loud. “Amazing!  It’s like I always say, the strongest moves are the ones a trainer and Pokémon choose together in the heat of the moment, and you just proved me right!  The Pokémon and the trainers in Alola really are the best… and I want everyone in the world to know that, too!  That’s always been my dream!” “You chose an odd way to show it, then,” I tell him.  “Making a foreigner your first Champion.” “It’s funny how life works out sometimes,” he shrugs.  “But maybe that’s just what we need?  Someone to give Alola something to aspire to… and something to challenge and defeat!” “Hmph.  Fine, fine, whatever.  But the moment someone makes it here and beats me, I am out of here, no ifs, no buts.”

The team:

Tane the Decidueye Male, Timid nature, Overgrow ability Level 50 Steel Wing, Leaf Blade, Synthesis, Spirit Shackle

Rhea the Toucannon Female, Lax nature, Keen Eye ability Level 51 Bullet Seed, Roost, Beak Blast, Brick Break

Ashley the Psychu Female, Timid nature, Surge Surfer ability Level 50 Thunderbolt, Focus Blast, Nasty Plot, Psychic

Joanna the Salazzle Female, Timid nature, Corrosion ability Level 50 Flamethrower, Nasty Plot, Sludge Bomb, Dragon Pulse

Sigourney the Golisopod Female, Careful nature, Emergency Exit ability Level 49 Brick Break, Liquidation, First Impression, Leech Life

Zygarde Genderless, Sassy nature, Aura Break ability Level 50 Outrage, Stone Edge, Dragon Dance, Thousand Arrows

[pretentiousrecordstoreguy]

Andrew Wood - The Jesus Christ of Grunge

I worked at a record store for most of my college days. The pay was terrible, the customers had bad taste (for the most part), and the owner was always doing some untoward stuff that later resulted in his partner kicking him out of the business… but it may have been the best job I’ve ever had. Why was it the best job ever?  Because my income was supplemented by an unending supply of promo CDs, first crack at all CDs being traded in by customers, and my name always happened to make it onto the guest list of two of the three big music venues in town. Plus my co-workers were a diverse group of equally music-obsessed nerds, punk rockers, hip-hop enthusiasts and an Anglophile manager who became one of my best friends. It was pretty epic, and I wouldn’t change it for the world.


Working in a record store also gave me special insight into crazy rabbit hole of music theory conspiracies. My buddy Ryan Shaw had this theory about Andrew Wood, the lead singer of Mother Love Bone and the first major heroin casualty of the grunge era. His theory was that Andrew Wood was the prophet that rock and roll was promised, that he would be overlooked and ridiculed in his own time, and then sentenced to death for the sins of rock and roll, only to be resurrected and live eternally through his disciples and their testimony. 


In other words, Andrew Wood was the Jesus Christ of Grunge who had to die for the sins of Hair Metal so that Rock and Roll could live on. 


SIDE NOTE: My buddy Ryan was an ordained minister who later became a trial lawyer, so that gives credence to the underpinning philosophy of the theory.  

Much like B.C. and A.D., prior to Andrew Wood there was no “Alternative” but after his death we started living in the Alternative age. Grunge, Indie and Nu-Metal, Emo, and Alt-Country were all new gospels that were written in the aftermath of Andrew Wood’s passing... So if Andrew Wood was the Jesus Christ of Grunge, who were his apostles?

Stone Gossard as SIMON/PETER - The rock upon which the Temple of the Dog was built, literally. Stone Gossard is the through line for the Seattle sound and was ever present in its inception. From his time at Green River to Mother Love Bone to Temple of the Dog to Pearl Jam and then Brad, Gossard was the foundation stone. Without Stone Gossard, would there even be grunge? Stone is the rhythm (along with his brother Jeff Ament) from which the music is manifested. Gossard may never have been front and center in all of the bands he formed, but he spoke softly and carried a big axe.

Chris Cornell as JOHN - John was the disciple whom Jesus loved the most. 
Chris was Andrew’s roommate and best friend. When Andrew overdosed, Chris was on a European tour with Soundgarden striking his own Jesus Christ pose. Chris was so grief stricken with the loss that he immediately wrote two songs “Say Hello 2 Heaven” and “Reach Down” about Wood. Chris showed them to Stone and Jeff, and Temple of the Dog was formed to honor their late friend. Chris would later hit mainstream success with Soundgarden and with Audioslave (which was just okay but waaaayyy to mellow for a band composed of members of Rage Against the Machine and Soundgarden).


Jeff Ament as ANDREW (Simon/Peter’s brother) - Ament was right there with Stone in Green River, Mother Love Bone, Temple of the Dog and then Pearl Jam. He’s the bass that pulses the heartbeat of the music. Plus, his graphic design sense provided the classic look and feel of all the liner notes and album packaging for those bands (which along with flannel, long hair, and Doc Martens worn with shorts, were essential cornerstones of the era). Through Ames Bros. Design, Pearl Jam’s visual aesthetic was really set in stone and their tour posters became must-have’s for screen print enthusiasts everywhere. Music never looked so good. Eddie Vedder as JAMES, SON of ALPHAEUS - Some people say that James was literally Jesus’ little brother, while other’s interpret it metaphorically because upon dying Jesus said to James that Mary was now his mother, and James was now her son. Either way, Eddie Veddie was the younger brother of Andrew Wood who then took his mother’s hand and ushered in a new era of grunge. Eddie would tell you that he’s no fucking messiah, which is meant as a testament to the love he had for his brother.


SIDE NOTE: I almost had Eddie as Paul/Saul, not one of the original 12 apostles, but one of the most steadfast and true disciples of Jesus whose writings to the Romans and to the Corinthians would help shape Christian philosophy for many centuries to come. As the lead singer and songwriter of Pearl Jam, you could make a case that Eddie is Paul, but I don’t think he’s gentile enough for that. He’s Eddie Vedder, and that’s an entirely different essay.

Kurt Cobain as SIMON THE CANAANITE or SIMON THE ZEALOT - 
Simon the Zealot was known for strictly keeping the law of Moses (the Ten Commandments) and had great disregard for where he saw people headed. In Jesus, Simon found someone who was practicing what he preached. Simon would go on to evangelize the gospel in much of the west including throughout Egypt and into Africa. Kurt Cobain hated the mainstream and was a zealot when it came to grunge. He spread the word far and high and carried the tradition well. 
 Layne Staley as THADDEUS - Cool name. Cool band. When a jar of flies is kept for too long, the man in a box digs some dirt. Staley of Alice in Chains and Mad Season fame burned out too soon, but man was he cool.

Dave Grohl as MATTHEW/LEVI - Matthew/Levi was the tax collector who gave up his job and life to follow Jesus. He was the author of one of the gospels (Gospel of Matthew). Grohl was a drummer who later gave up that life to lead his own band, the Foo Fighters, who went on to become one of the biggest alternative bands (and David Letterman’s favorite band). 
 Kim Thyll as JAMES (brother of John) - James was John’s brother who followed him along and became an apostle. He had a moment of doubt when Jesus came back to life and doubted that it was really Jesus. Kim followed Chris Cornell into Soundgarden and preached the gospel upon a black hole sun. He later had many doubts when Chris left the band and stored to become a pop singer and then started Audioslave, which was terrible. Eventually, Soundgarden reformed and the word could go on being spread, one music hall, arena or outdoor festival at a time.

Jerry Cantrell as BARTHOLOMEW - Cool name. Cool band. Do the Bart, man! Mark Arm as PHILIP - Philip was an apostle, but he didn’t really matter. He was there at the start and probably did some stuff but you can’t really remember it. That’s kind of like Mark Arm and Mudhoney. He started Green River and recruited Stone Gossard to the band because he only wanted to sing instead of sing and play guitar. Then He formed Mudhoney. They had a moment for a slight minute but most people couldn’t tell them apart from Tad. How’s that for a Judgement Night?


Courtney Love as MARY MAGDALENE - Go listen to Hole’s second record, Live Through This, and you’ll be asking Courtney if you could wash HER feet. From start to finish, that album is all killer and no filler, regardless of wether Kurt Cobain wrote it (allegedly) or not. 


Thurston Moore as JUDAS - Sonic Youth were grunge before grunge was a thing. They ushered in the alt-rock movement and were preaching the gospel way before it was cool. In another world, Thurston Moore would have been John the Baptist, but he blew up the band by betraying Kim Gordon, which caused the inevitable break up of one of the best bands ever. So, yeah. Thurston Moore is Judas.         

Paul Westerberg as JOHN THE BAPTIST - He came first and helped lay the groundwork for the alternative movement. This could have easily gone to Michael Stipe of R.E.M., but The Replacements were much better and spawned a legion of followers. The Mats work in the 80s at Twin Tone and in Minneapolis would help to set up the dynamic that would take place in Seattle with Sub Pop. Westerberg couldn’t hardly wait…

With Pearl Jam having recently been inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, now more than ever, we should give thanks and praise to the great Andrew Wood, the Captain Hi-Top, Love Commander (it is right to give him thanks and praise). For he so loved rock and roll and that he was forced to suffer, die and was buried for its sins so that rock could be reborn again. May he rest in peace today, knowing that his words still resonate with the masses.

So come bite the apple, my fellow star dog champions.      

Hide your mom. Control your sister.  Yeah.

Can I get a Hallelujah?

A reading from the Book of Stone

EDITOR’S NOTE: This post has been updated to correct two errors found within the text.

[limpblotter]

Liked, Well Liked

a/n: John Adams and Thomas Jefferson basically went on man/bro dates while he was in England and I live for it. Also they were two lame nerds. John, especially. Keep in mind, a lot of historical facts are smudged a bit, it is fiction after all but I tried to keep in canon-era. Twas fun. summary: At the start, things were bright. Even Thomas had to admit, John had his own personal charm about him. warning: canon era references to Sally Hemings. (if you don’t know who she is, please look her up. She, among so many, put up with too much to not be known) w/c: 3518

“Sir.”  A beautiful black woman handed over a letter to Thomas. “It's from Mr. Madison, sir”

“Another?” Thomas turned his head and grabbed the letter from Sally’s hand, his fingers lingering on her wrist as he looked it over. He popped the wax seal with his thumb and the letter opened up vomited over the mind numbing words of a frantic, youth in the middle of a government he felt was on the brink of exciting a war. “I swear these secret letters are going to be the death of him...he worries so much of what a few minds think” if Thomas could make a pretty pence off how many times Madison mentioned Hamilton and the uprising Federalists, Thomas would be able to buy all of Virginia. “Burn it.” He handed the letter back to Sally. She tucked it into her bosom with a nod, keeping her eyes on the carriage floor.

Thomas had no time to worry about America. The fight as over but that wasn’t the worse. Thomas left when the worse came, the worse was building a foundation out of nothing. Thomas surely had laid the bricks along with other great minds. He had the utmost certainty that when he did decide to return to America, all would be well. He had other business to attend to, soothing the international tensions the war had brought about. England sore from its loss, the French awaiting their aid soon. Thomas was on the intellectual forefront of securing his country, the rest would wait for him at home.

Upon his arrival in England, France had shown him great promise. He met a beautiful Italian musician who soothed his days between taking over where Franklin had left off and speaking verbal agreements other French ambassadors. Drafting the declaration of Man and Citizen with his good friend, who to his dismay, also spoke of America...constantly. It wasn’t that Thomas disliked America. He was so pleased to hear how a young French man learned to love the land, the people, the ideals so wholeheartedly but America was still a grim reminder of all he had lost. He was not ready to face his sweet home. Not yet at least. Instead he relished in the strange bureaucracy of European. Made note, what he did not want for America was to mirror these elitist views. Sure, Thomas himself was elitist but the government they had fought against should not be mirrored in their own. Or else what liberty did they really win if they were only meant to copy England’s flawed rule of Parliament.

Government prattle aside he was excited to be here, discussing what their next steps should be towards peace. Moreover, the smugness he felt being a newly liberalized American in their former Motherland. Such sweet victory, he turned his head to Sally who stiffened feeling him draw near. “I will see to it you have a safe trip back to France, your brother must miss you a great deal.” He smirked watching her recoil away from him. Thomas leaned away as the carriage hopped along cobbled streets. Distractions, that's all these women were. Even when he tried to be kind, he was only subjecting Sally to reciprocate for fear of her own life. A life that in his eyes was less than his. Still, if he were to be honest, all women were less in comparison to the one he lost. His hand went to his chest, under the ruffled fabric his fingers grazed the outline of her locket. He felt a hollow sting travel from his chest to the base of his head.

“Sir?” Sally sheepishly went to grab him a cloth for the sudden cold sweat when her hand was slapped away. In times like this nothing would ease Thomas, the carriage stopped in front of a home and Sally perked up. Finally, she would be rid of her oppressor even if it was for only a few weeks, months if she was lucky. “We’ve arrived.” Sally immediately got up and walked around opening the door for Thomas. He took a minute to recollect himself and placed his hat over his head, tossing over his cane as he stepped down from the ride. Sally got back in, she couldn’t wait to be away from him.

Thomas, was not too torn up but her eagerness, was looking forward to reunited with a good friend, Abigail Adams. Strangely enough, he remembered little of her husband. Truth, they had been together when drafting and signing the declaration. They shared little chatter, though they had once shared an eye-roll as Philip Livingston when on and on about some little rat he had sworn his brother had taken in as some sort of step brother. Aside from that mutual gag inducing moment, Thomas didn’t keep up with John but with his wife. Dangerous territory for any man who wasn’t careful with his pen but Thomas was more than careful. He referred to Abigail in only as his ‘dear neighbor’ and other distant formalities.

Like him, Mrs. and Mr. Adams were stationed in England for diplomatic reasons. Thomas pulled his jacket together a little tighter as the March winds ran a chill up his spine. He knocked on the door to a charming Tudor style home.

“Mr. Jefferson” A woman, slender and bright eyed smiled up at the man giving him a small head bow. “What an absolute pleasure to see you, Sir.”

“Please, Mrs. Adams.” Thomas took her hand and placed a chaste kiss over her pasty knuckles. “My neighbor, please, refer to me as Thomas. I feel as though we are familiar folks after all our letters.”

“Thomas then” she agreed, blushing at his elegant charm. Thomas was a tall and graceful man, it was easy for people to feel at ease around him. “Please, come in, let me take your coat before you catch a chill out here.” Abigail made quick work of his outerwear and ushered him inside the warm, toasty home.

“Lovely home, fine wood furnishing.” Thomas looked it over, “imported no doubt.”

“The English style is far from my taste, I long to be home and I count the sunrises until we can reunite on our free land.” She beamed, “Mr. Adams is in the tearoom, please make yourself known and at home.” And just like that the little woman disappeared. Thomas looked around, keeping all his comments to himself. He agreed the English style was not for him. He preferred the light and Parisian tastes of France, the pastels and elegant patterns… Thomas wandered into the tea room where he found a man sitting by a table decorated with various teas. Yes, John Adams, how he long forgotten the face since his time away. Thomas looked over at the black leathered bound book and knew exactly what he was reading.

“Bible so early in the day, Mr. Adams?” Thomas bowed his head a little, he looked and John was now looking at him. The first time he noticed his physical appearance, Thomas found himself met with electric blue eyes. They were quick and twitchy, as if on the brink of dilating. Unsure what to make of his wild eyes, Thomas zoomed out from his eyes and took in the rest of this man. Wispy brown hair, portly, stocky, strangely resembling a ...piglet. Yes, round in the face, small and warm. He looked like a man who could do no harm so it was humorous to Thomas’s surprise Adams sported a cold frown.

“I don’t have time to visit any churches this time of year.” He responded with an aloof like grunt. His eyes went back to the book making sure he remembered the passage he was on before he closed the book. He got up to show some hospitality to his wife’s ‘friend’ in question. He humored her guest, only for her sake and hers alone.

Thomas was amused, was he hated so soon? Surely his letters could only be perceived as innocent. Even Mrs. Adams herself couldn’t find a thing to hide. Still John looked so cold, Thomas could only wonder what was going on in that mind. “Why is that? Does the Christian church not suit you? Are you more of a Roman Catholic? Protestan?”

“No.” He answered curtly, rubbing a finger under his sniffling nose. “Chills don’t sit well with my spirit. I get down easy...even in Boston autumns got through to me.”

“I see...I have a friend, similar standing. Small” He began shooting a subtle insult. “Sickly most of the time but one of the most brilliant young men I have ever known.” Thomas mused a bit as he walked a bit closer. “Weak bodied, strong minds must be a common thread. Those are the type of men I prefer in my company. They truly embodying one of my favorite French thinkers…”

“Cogito ergo sum” Adams looked up at him, and found a truly disarmed Thomas. “I think therefor I am”

“You know Rene Descartes?” Thomas’s grace fell. In it's place was a softly gaped mouth.

“A man of your theory and shameless Francophile? I would think nothing less than referring to Descartes.” Adam’s allowed himself a small smirk, a knowing smirk that he had surprised the elite, the revered Thomas Jefferson. “Personally, I do not need to adore the country of France to realize some of their thinkers are beyond their time...it's a shame our nation rewards our warring heroes over our intellectuals...we’ve nearly been forgotten, dimmed by a the glory of war.”

“Nevertheless, wartime glory is short lived. Once those who fought subside to society and people begin to find comforts in peace the war heroes will be gone, stories nothing but bedtime tales for their kin. Real legacies begin here.” Thomas tapped his temple, taking a seat. John took a long moment, looking over Thomas. His fleshy cheeks took a rosy color, joining Thomas for a seat.

“Then we are in agreement.” John took the cup of tea he had been served and drank from it. “Would you like some?”

“We are and I would.” Thomas smiled. “Shame tea isn’t served with a spot of whiskey, that would warm these homesick bones.”

“My darling keeps a bottle or two in the kitchen for home remedies.” John’s eyes were dashingly playful. “I don’t see why we can remedy our cold with a spot.”

Thomas licked his bottom lip, how strange John Adams was. His emotions darted from cold to warm in seconds. He could see why Mrs. Adams would have never strayed, he looked capable of warmth. Surely a man his side was as soft as he looked. His cold facade was a painfully obvious mask. The gooey, soft inside behind the mask, now that was worth seeing. “My all means, Mr. Adams lead the way.”

“Please, Call me John.”

Hours went by, Abigail had been knitting away in her corner of the house, a small window looking out. She looked up and noticed her husband and Thomas were dressed, hats and all, moving up the street. “What in heavens…” She wrenched open the window and called out to the men. “Thomas? John? Where are you going, it's cold out!”

John turned and looked up at Mrs. Adams with that lovely warm smile of his, a smile she had only seen him sport around her and family. She melted a little as John started to excuse their sudden outing. “Thomas hasn’t seen the English Gardens, surely in all his diplomatic time here he won’t have a free moment like this for sometime.” He turned as Thomas gently smiled a bit in agreement.

“I’ll be sure to deliver him back in one piece and good health before supper, Mrs. Adams” Thomas began to walk off. John hurried to his side, his body struggling to keep up with Jefferson’s long, lanky strides. “Such a lovely little wife you have.”

“She is nothing less than a doll.” John agreed though he was frowning, was Thomas...perhaps interested in his sweet Abby?

“Cherish her for always…” Thomas spoke softly. John detected a hint of sadness in the base of his soft voice. Though Thomas’s face revealed nothing, it was calm, a reserved expressionless calm. “The good Lord knows no mercy when it comes to good wives…”

“I see…” He nodded a bit leading Thomas down cobblestone streets, watching as the English folk dressed so bleakly admired Thomas’s brightly colored casual clothing. “I’m...deeply sorry for your loss…”

“Past apologies...no need…” He shook his head a bit, “I should apologize, my deep respect for you as a colleague had put me off less formal meetings with you, Adams. You are a character...I do not remember you to be so...warm.”

“My mother had a funny spectrum of emotions. Our first meeting, crowded room, different ideals...I was a tad under the weather as well. Know the respect was mutual. I am grateful my wife kept correspondence with you.” He smiled a bit, “I do enjoy watching her write, I take pride and joy she is a quick little thing…”

“Yes, wives should mirror some of their husband’s best qualities. She writes sweetly.” They both shared a love for their wives. Though it was a bitter topic that started chip away at his exterior. Soon Thomas stopped speaking altogether. John Adams felt the silence between them drift them apart.

They walked their ways to the English Gardens, beautiful public park with various Grecian inspired architecture mixed with late Gothic influences. Archways by babble fountains, lined with acres upon acres of flower beds and fields. Hidden ponds and bridges were couples strolled on summer days, a true sight for new eyes. John waited to hear Thomas’s upon but he seemed to look right through the natural marvel. “Come, I know just the place for you.” Adams began marching towards one of the main archways.

“These have a strange French feel to them...the romanticism of marble…” He ran his hand over the arch, though he still seemed lost in his own mind. John warmly ran his hand as well along side Thomas’s. “Forgive me if I speak of France too often, my daughter is bound to be there...it has been my escape...my home away from home.” The only thing that seemed to give him peace of mind these days.

John nodded, “No need though ...I was surprised when I was there.” Thomas arched his eyebrow, “...a dinner ...years back, I heard women speak so openly about…” He coughed a bit, both chill and embarrassment. “The male body” he shifted his weight a little, clearly a little more than uncomfortable. John was far from a looker, he was short and round, sick and aging faster than he looked. Abigail was truly with him out of love than lust. “Asking about...intercourse while the prior conversation had been about trivial matters of weather and religion. I nearly fell out of my chair trying to cover my wife’s innocent ears.”

Thomas laughed a bit, his hidden perversion made him immune to such...delicate embarrassments when he overheard talks of pleasure. Thomas was no stranger to it, he found his nerves lied in other places. Facts of love, lust and pursuit of arousal was not one of them. “If I had been younger, back when I met my wife, I would have the same reaction. But years of experience taught me to indulge in the French’s love of Marquis de Sade.” He watched as John’s knowing cheeks went even redder. Oh...how Thomas loved to subject those beneath him in flushing moments. “Have you read any of his material? I am ...personally finishing up his piece, Juliette.”

“Good sir, are you a Christian or are you a Sadist!” John couldn’t take the heat that gathered in his round face. He pulled his hand away and muffled a few more coughs into his gloved fist.

“John, I am a good God loving and fearing man, but I also am a man of literature. I simply picked up the piece out of recommendation from my personal friend Marquis de Lafayette...but...my opinions vary on the subject.” Thomas looked over John who was staring down at his feet, kicking up some of the stones around the ground. What a strange jolt of energy Thomas got from Adams. He was really a strange character. Their first meeting wasn’t bad but it wasn’t hardly anything worth noting for the rest of his life. This...this was different. “Come now John, a man like yourself can’t be too strange to intimacy, your wife is a lucky woman.”

“I do not take lightly to jesting” John frowned, his personal perception of himself was painfully low.

“Please, a man like yourself? You exude loving and warmth. That is something Sade rarely depicted. Warmth, now that's a physical type of love that last through the ages. Never mind your emotional instability, friend, I find you to be charming.” Thomas started to walk again with more of a pep to his step. He looked over his shoulder and saw John looking at him with a soft surprise to his face. Similar to the one Thomas sported earlier in the tea room. Revenge was sweet and well worth seeing his soft face grow even softer with affections. “Are you coming, friend?”

The walked the length of the garden, speaking like teenage flames. They hung on every common ground they had, bantered playfully on the differences. Thomas surrounded himself with exceptional people, people he was sure would last the test of time found himself wondering if John knew how obscure he seemed at first. He wondered if he...could somehow help John Adams stake a real claim on this Earth. Yes, that would be grand. He would like to see what a man like him would do with some power. Another ally in his corner. Another man he could dub worthy of his upscale friendship.

John in return found someone who was leaps and leagues beyond him, handsome, tall and surely a figure who would be remembered. Now taking interest in him? As a friend, as an ally. John knew it was silly but he was developing quite the little crush on Jefferson. A small admiration that fluttered his already weak heart, from every comment and shy smile. It seemed John’s warming personality was chipping the Southern man’s reserved nature and revealing someone ...brilliant.

“There are times I wonder if I had done enough…” John admitted, suddenly his warm smiles grew saddened. Thomas wasn’t sure what changed, they had been speaking with only the tenderest smiles. John took a turn for the somber. “What is my contribution to this world, Thomas? What have I done noteworthy...to be worthy of anything…” He sneered before coughing weakly into his fist.

“John Adams, are you so hog minded you forgot your own place?” John took a step back from Thomas’s sudden abrasive tone. Jefferson took a few steps back mentally and regained his normal speech. “Forgive me, I was taken back...by your sudden...John listen, what of the Braintree Instructions you wrote? Or the additions to the Gazette? Your quotes to the Jury after what events took place in Boston, let alone may I remind you of the Declaration? Do not doubt yourself John. Let the world see you for who you are, judge you, scale you up as the man you’ve become...I, for one, think you to be a lot brighter than I had originally remembered. For that, I am truly sorry…”

John felt a dryness in his throat, his heart sputtering as Thomas laid out a sweet and calming defense for his image. Adams nodded, placing his hand to his cheek he felt as though his face was on fire. Thomas approached him place a hand on John’s chin lifting him up so they could meet at eye level. John’s quick eyes dilated as he pulled his head back only enough to escape Thomas’s grasp. Not out of disgust, no, out of fear his face was going to melt off from the boiling blood. His face, was no doubt, noticeably the shade of a rose. Thomas who seemed so indifferent and calm, who dressed brightly yet...casually. He didn’t give an air of confidence but still somewhat elitist. Adams was not sure what to make of Thomas’s character. What he knew, what he liked him.

Much more than he began.

Thomas withdrew his large and and stood upright again, His elegant standing crippled by poor posture for having constantly being in company of those shorter than him. There was a flash of Thomas’s true nature. He shakily brought his hand to his neck and rubbed, nervous and pained. A brief awkwardness came between them when a blush stained the tip of Jefferson’s iconic, angular nose. “I should lead you back to your home, I’m sure your wife resents my visit after I’ve forced you to drink and into this spontaneous outing.” Thomas’s thin lips curled up into a smile, as John looked for the right argument to combat Thomas placing the blame of the outing on himself. “Nevertheless...I think my weeks here in England shall be ...more than memorable"

[megabrocklesner1world-blog]

Money & Occupations Websites Listing - Site 32

You are possibly correct! You might have more information about your subject, you could have more experience, and you may be an improved communicator.

BUT - there is one thing every radio show visitor knows that you don't...how to have booked as a visitor!

There are three ways to get a lot of radio interviews:

1. Hire a publicist - Some cost an hourly charge, the others cost a monthly fee. Following he home published his book, Rich Father, Bad Father, author Robert Kiyosaki, appointed a PR Representative for $8,000 a month. Per month and a half and $10,000 later all he got was one appointment on a radio place in Phoenix. Robert fired his publicist and took out advertisements in a trade report to promote herself as a possible guest. He rapidly got three interviews that caused book shops to start carrying his book. Rich Father, Bad Father proceeded to not just make the New York Situations most useful vendor list, it stayed there for six decades and distributed 26 MILLION copies!

2. Contact Radio Programs post free classified ads in usa Your self - It is possible to look up contact information for stereo and specific radio reveals on line and then contact the companies and try to tell them to have you as a guest.

This method takes lots of person hours and it can be very difficult wanting to navigate through receptionists and get the interest of active producers.

3. Make use of a Media Service - There are numerous good types, but I inspire all my clients to begin with Radio Guest List. This can be a free company that directs you day-to-day needs from Radio hosts and companies who are searching for guests. They often have very specific matters for upcoming shows. Once you see a request that you think is a great match for you, you frequency (contact) the maker via mail and let them know why you would have been a good guest.

Radio Guest Record does not normally have national radio reveals; in reality, many are regional radio reveals, podcasts or Website Talk Radio shows. Still, it is coverage and an effective way for you really to develop your abilities to help you develop into a good visitor that companies can question back over and over.

Listed below are Four Tips for Pitching the Media:

1. Once you frequency yourself DO NOT sell the companies, alternatively find to serve them. When I pitched stereo to promote my cook book, Party For Two, I didn't state, “Please have me on your own show so I will offer plenty.I said, “ I'd love to instruct your listeners how to have a regular intimate Date Night dinner.”

2. Give you the producer/host with a set of popular questions in bullet form. Many radio hosts will not have read your book, or visited your web site, or know who you are. Providing them with a set of questions you're often requested makes their work MUCH simpler and it generates a much better interview. Many experienced radio visitors discover that 90% of radio hosts foundation the whole appointment on the outline they provided.

3. E-mail the host and/or maker after the appointment and thank them for having you on their show. Suggest some additional matters for potential interviews and they'll possibly question you back!

4. Multiply the influence of each interview. Many interviews are recorded and archived on line to help you continue steadily to benefit from them. Put a link on your own website's About site, reveal the web link through social media, and include the web link together with your pitches to other radio shows. In this manner they could get a feel for how good of a visitor you'll be.

The VOICE continues to attract powerful reviews thanks to an incredible number of visitors who enjoy both performing competition and the celebrity coach/mentors. In 2010 presenting Shakira, Blake Shelton, Usher and Adam Levine was fairly uneventful till Shakira's April 22nd performance. Columbian born Shakira is explained by Wikipedia as a singer-songwriter, dancer, record maker, choreographer, and model.

Following she executed her attack song, Empire, she gained still another, not too complementary concept, lip-syncher. Fans of the VOICE reported that her dance was also sexy and that she was scantily clad.

Both statements were accurate however estimated from the Latin sensation.

What wasn't estimated was that the best choice of the home called Staff Shakira would lip-synch on an oral competition show.

I'm very certain all of the recent and previous contestants want to have been judged on their performing as manufactured in a multi-million dollar business, but they certainly were judged on one thing and one thing just, their voice.

In equity, Shakira was performing not competitive, but the bottom range is she executed on an oral competition wherever she's allowed to be teaching, training, coaching, mentoring her group of competitors.

Shouldn't she have taken her position really enough to actually sing?

The issue now could be how can she answer and recover from the bad promotion she brought on herself?

These four tips may not only support Shakira, but they could help you also, the very next time you, your company, or your company gets some bad press.

1. FESS UP - Acknowledge what you did and apologize. Do not try to protect it down or rationalize. Do not offer rationalization or try to justify what you did. Only expressing, "I achieved it, it was stupid and I'll never do it again", is almost always the best way to manage a mistake.

The general public is fairly forgiving when we apologize however they hate lies and protect ups.

2. FIX IT - Whenever you can repair anything you did wrong. Make it up to someone. Make it right. Shakira must question the companies to let her sing again. She must do the exact same song and she must get it done live. That takes guts, but it are certain to get her positive attention and good promotion that will far overcome the bad promotion from her lip-synch misadventure.

3. FOLLOW THROUGH - Make a aware decision to not replicate anything you did which was wrong. Do not spend time contemplating how not to have found as time goes on, only choose not to complete it.

4. FOCUS - Focus on things that are certain to get you GOOD promotion! The stark reality is most of us get bad press. In the event that you attract any attention to yourself, your company or your services and products you are certain to get some, ideally few, bad reviews and some type of bad publicity.

In the event that you set up a promotion strategy and give attention to finding good promotion, then that will overshadow the casual bad promotion you get.

[jillmckenzie1]

We All Suck at Dating

A common lead question in the world of online dating is: “What are you looking for?”

Aside from being a grammatical nightmare, this question poses its own set of anxiety-ridden answers. Because how hard in the paint do you really go in response to this question when you’re on the third line of a burgeoning digital transaction? The words that your thumbs manage to string together will inevitably become the foundation for any further communication (or lack thereof).

Sidebar. Dude, didn’t you read my bio? It clearly states, “Looking for a real life human with whom to do rad things. Sucker for good teeth, nice calves, and witty banter. Here for the shirtless gym selfies (you guys, it’s a joke).” Seems pretty self-explanatory to me.

My typical response to the aforementioned question goes something like this: “Surely not looking to get laid off an app. And absolutely not interested in receiving dick pics. Would be great to find a real-life male with whom to do cool shit who also believes in hand-holding, ass-grabbing, Netflix binge-watching, and tag-team Whole Foods shopping.”

Once upon a time, I had a younger guy respond to this answer: “But does our age difference bother you?”

Cough. Cough. He clearly wasn’t aware of my subconscious bias towards younger men.

I replied, “Age is a number. Maturity is a barometer for compatibility. Why? Were you simply trying to send dick pics?”

*unmatch*

I’m sorry, WUT?! Respectable people say goodbye, or they’re not interested, or that they don’t find my humor to be as amusing as I do; they do not just act like [insert desired superlative here] and vanish into thin air (as if I wrote the book on this stuff or something).

Here’s the point. By all means, unmatch me. I don’t give any number of fucks about our premature termination of conversation. The guy I choose is going to choose me in return. He’s going to laugh at the fact that I attempt to turn him on by mentioning that I always return my shopping carts. He’s going to send me memes and screenshots of tiny houses. He’s going to share my affinity towards Mexican food and ask me for my LinkedIn profile instead of my SnapChat handle, and he’ll really mean it when he says that he’s not in search of a booty call.

At the end of the day, I have zero interest in entertaining a guilt-free ghoster. The issue here is the action. Because dammit, it’s hard enough out there. Can’t we all just play by some unstated rules that, at the very least, are governed by the premise of honesty?

I know. It’s asking a lot.

 But that brings me to my next point. About dating. We all suck at it. Yes, all of us. I’m actually quite amazed by how many of us seek to individually claim this title from every rooftop, blog post, and digital message warehouse. At the risk of sounding arrogant, I just don’t think there’s anything unique about it.

We. All. Suck.

A small bit of evidence exists in our mutual affection towards Netflix and chill. I’ve seen enough dating profiles in these last few years to make one overarching and absolutely assertive statement: when given the choice, we’ll all opt for a night spent on the couch in sweatpants eating ice cream with our dog over any nightclub and party scenario. Seriously, I have yet to encounter any male in the digital stratosphere who prefers the latter.

Because, in my humble opinion, no one wants to find his or her significant other in a bar. Absolutely not. For some, sure, the bar provides a perfect backdrop for the infamous one-night stand; I’m quasi-drunk and you’re quasi-cute (could be up for debate in the morning), so in the words of Marvin Gaye, “Let’s get it on.”

But a match–someone who challenges us and makes our lives a whole hell of a lot better (even on the worst days)–yeah, we’re not walking into any bars with the expectation of finding a soulmate.

And, despite our current aversion to commitment that is fueled by our unrelenting fear of missing out alongside our limitless access to infinite information and individuals, we do want a soulmate. Not because we believe in this antiquated ideology that only one person was made for us. No, millennials don’t walk into this world with the Shakespearian belief that compatibility is reserved for a single Romeo and his Juliet.

We more appropriately approach the definition of “soulmates” as two people who show up to participate in a revolutionized companionship. We are a generation that fully understands the power of choice, and we want to exercise this right romantically as much as we want to frequent farmer’s markets in lieu of spending our dollars at chain grocery stores. We believe in making ourselves whole, as individuals, in order to more powerfully stand beside someone who is doing the same. So, we choose ourselves as the catalyst to choose our other.

And yet, even inside of this space of a beautiful and raw and authentic desire to find a forever partner-in-crime, we’re still ghosting and we’re still sending dick pics. I’m sorry, rescind. We’re still sending dick videos. Yes, apparently, I graduated into some upper echelon of male debauchery.

Let me expand. A guy who I sparingly chatted with months ago decided to Snap me one lonely night in February (if you don’t know what “Snapping” is, keep it that way). I opened the video (which is the extent of my SnapChat proficiencies), and bam, hello, hi. My brain immediately hit overdrive as I considered throwing my phone 23 feet across the entirety of my Airstream.

I’m sorry, I haven’t spoken to you since November – neither did any previous conversation incite such ridiculous swapping of privates – and I’m now supposed to be the proud recipient of your amateur x-rated video?! Please, no. PLEASE NO.

Of course, I fired back something saucy (as if I’m going to save the world one indecent digital exposure at a time). And in the spirit of true chivalry (insert massive eyeroll here), he said that it was a mistake: “Wrong Stephanie.”

I actually can’t even (read: bull-fucking-shit).

But my potential diatribe inside an app that was literally designed to delete user history wouldn’t be saving anyone. My only hope at such a stage is the block feature because, at the end of the day, I simply don’t have time for this nonsense. Much like I don’t have time for the old flame (think college) who thought it was cute to slide into my DMs with questions about the kind of underwear I happened to be wearing. Or, the fact that exhibit B continues to patronize me with pet names (even after we established, months ago, that a romantic relationship between us would simply be settling).

Newsflash: y’all aren’t cute. YOU ALL ARE NOT CUTE.

And around we go, hiding behind our phone screens because we want the one (or at least one of the viable ones) to drop into our lives with the same level of excitement experienced by teenagers across America when Usher finally released his third studio album, 8701.

If you ask me, the going around is getting quite old. In fact, my motion sickness is at an all-time high. In the metaphor, I’m projectile vomiting out the back passenger-side window. Don’t ask me who’s driving. I don’t know.

What I do know is that I’m not puking alone.

Fact one. We’re drowning in our individual and collective nausea without any idea of how to stop the damn car. Or, at very least, slow it down. And we sure as hell don’t know where it’s going.

Fact two. Together, we are more powerful than the driver. But I’m not sure if we believe that (yet), and if we do believe it, I’m not sure that we know how to take control of the wheel (yet).

Because I would hate for us to resign ourselves to the fact that this whole dating thing is out of our control. I would hate for our desire of depth to become clouded by our habitual superficiality. I would hate for us to throw away our integrity in the name of conformity.

And I write this to us because I write this to myself. Plot twist, people. I, too, suck at dating. My judgment of those without an inkling of digital wit is embarrassingly high. It is standard issue for me to ghost anyone who resorts to asking me about my day within the first 24 hours of communication.

We just met. It’s fine. My day was fine. Am I supposed to tell you what I ate for lunch? Or about the conversation that I had with my mom? Or the hours I spent browsing Amazon for a new duvet cover?

Seriously, ask me anything else. And, please, I beg you, be funny. And charming (but not too charming). Our future depends on it.

Case in point. In a land far, far away, some guy asked me if I’d ever seen a movie titled La Strada. Clearly, not English. My answer was (and still is) no.

He wrote, “It’s foreign, so you have to be okay with subtitles.”

Well, no shit.

Me: “Great, I learned to read at a young age and quickly surpassed all of my peers, so this is promising.”

*crosses fingers and begs for a witty response*

His reply: “I like that answer. I need someone confident in what sets them apart.”

No dice.

*waves white flag*

I surrender. I absolutely surrender.

And by “surrender,” I mean that I simply fell off the face of the planet, never to associate with this poor guy (who probably had zero interest in sending a dick pic, let alone a dick video) ever again.

I just didn’t have it in me to push through in hopes of unearthing my very own Steve Carrell.

I’ll give you ten minutes. Make ‘em count. Effortlessly get me to laugh out loud, and I’ll strongly consider fraternizing as real-life people.

Hold up. Real. Life. People.

Yes, let’s be very clear, any digital union that transpires in human-to-human interaction is call for a good old-fashioned golf clap. Because it’s an anomaly by anyone’s standards.

So here we are. Together. Meandering through the airwaves and the land mines. Motion sick beyond measure. And I’d like to believe that we’re not helpless here, so my challenge is that we take control of the car. My challenge is that we align our actions and our words. Because there is nothing sexier than honesty. And honesty–honesty will save us. Also, humor. But mostly honesty.

We must be able to articulate for who or what we are looking. It is a common lead question because it is the question. It provides the foundation for action and expectation so, to revisit my initial commentary, we should go as hard in the paint as humanly possible (think Zion Williamson type shenanigans) in our responses. Because this answer allows us to proceed in a space where vulnerability is safe–whether we both swiped right in a sea of digital profiles or, quite literally, ran into each other in the singles line of our favorite chairlift.

You do not have to be in the search for serious. But you do owe the community your truth. The power is in your voice. And please, for the love of all things beautiful, let’s commit to considerate farewells that make “ghosting” so 2018 (as in, bye).

Speaking of bye and the singles line and chairlifts, I had to text my ex-boyfriend the other day to get back my second key fob for the entrance to my RV park

I refuse to pay the $20 for a replacement, okay. Judge me.

It had been nearly a month of not communicating, so you can surmise that it was a conversation that I’d been consciously avoiding. To be honest, I had stubbornly supported the idea that he should contact me first.

Obviously, unsuccessful.

So I spent hours typing and re-typing and then re-re-typing some ridiculous message that started with a Nugget update and ended with, “Oh yea, I need that key fob back.” I then spent hours deciphering and re-deciphering and then re-re-deciphering his response: “No problem. I’ll bring it to work and you can swing by one day and grab it when you’re done riding.” Please note, there is nothing cryptic here.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little bit nervous to, once again, look our honesty in the eye. Our ease had existed in our shared interest of doing the work. We had used our voices. And we both believed in the power of a considerate farewell. Also, laughing, there was lots of laughing.

For all intents and purposes, we were great. Apparently, our timing was not.

I’m reminding myself that, at the very least, this relationship taught me that there is hope for our collective whole to be better. It was the catalyst for me to shed an intense layer of distasteful cynicism. And for that, I can willingly embrace the uncomfortable.

It’s just two minutes. It’s just a key fob.

 Dating. It’s still a game of numbers. And we simply need to, in all of our honesty, keep showing up.

Together, we can stop the suck.

from Blog https://ondenver.com/we-all-suck-at-dating/

[trevorbailey61]

Heaven 17

The Picturedome, Holmfirth

Friday 18th August 2017

It wasn’t meant to be like this of course. Alongside that, after two albums, the original members of the Human League decided they hated each other, there were considerable differences in the way they each saw the music developing and their role within this. Standing at the front while his companions coaxed the sounds out of their synthesisers, Phil Oakey saw himself as the star; all he needed was that moment of pop glory that would make him the teen idol he wanted to be. He may have had doubts as to whether Martyn Ware and Ian Craig Marsh could provide the accompaniment for this but that was never really on anyway, the pair would never have accepted simply being the backing band in his quest for stardom. Thus they fell out, Oakey kept the name and after finding a couple of backing singers in a Sheffield night club, produced one of those albums that was to define its era with almost everyone owning a copy of “Dare”. Ware and Marsh, however, had loftier ideas and quickly formed the British Electric Foundation, something they saw as being at the forefront of developing the use of technology to fundamentally change the way in which music sounded. Through this they recorded “Music of Quality & Distinction Volume One”, the volume one indicating that this was conceived as an on going project, where they provided innovative accompaniment for cover versions of songs performed by a range of artists including Tina Turner, Bernie Nolan, Hank Marvin and, erm, Gary Glitter. With Oakey inheriting the name, he could wrestle with the problems of taking synthesiser driven music out on the road, they would be creatures of the studio, pop art radicals striving for that moment of sonic perfection.

Alongside the established names they drew into the BEF project was Glenn Gregory, like them, a Sheffield lad who, rumour has it, was the original choice for The Human League. With Gregory as the singer, they had already recorded a number of their own compositions on two cassette only releases before releasing their first album, “Penthouse and Pavement” just prior to the BEF project. Remaining, as they saw it, true to their art credentials, they avoided the usual trappings, insisting that this was music to be listened to, not performed. They did, however, decide that they needed a name for this collective and picked Heaven 17 from a fictional band in “A Clockwork Orange”. Released at the start of the 80s, looking back now it seems a suitably iconic album to usher in a new decade, its sleeve depicting an emerging yuppie lifestyle in much the same was as the music provided a foretaste of the styles that would dominate the sound of the years to come. Unlike Oakey’s opus, however, it did not endear itself and the mixed response in the music press was reflected as it provided the background to late night discussions while I was at university. Despite being built on heavily programmed beats, Gregory is still able to tell us the bpm for two of the songs during the set, the music is stuttering and awkward with songs often lacking a strong melody or the easy hooks that Oakey found on “Dare”. It seemed important but it was difficult to love.

Another barrier was that the album was also highly political, not overtly but, as the title implies, the lifestyles reflected in the songs had a clear focus on the gap between those above and their fellow citizens who had been less fortunate. In the lead single, however, the message was blunt leading to “We Don’t Need This Facist Groove Thang” being banned by the BBC due to its reference to the recent election of Ronald Reagan. Their politics, informed by the highly politicised atmosphere in their home town at the time, also contributed to the way in which their music was presented; the BBC ban no doubt giving them some kudos and their use of promotional films rather than a tour gave them a greater element of control over this. More than likely, they never thought of where this would lead them over three and a half decades later but if they did it would be to providing the soundtrack to some post modernist art installation rather than to this straight forward run through their hits to a group of mostly fifty somethings trying to recapture their youth. This can mainly be attributed to one song, “Temptation”, a moment of pop brilliance that shattered the art pretensions and led to them reluctantly accepting the rules by which the business worked. Success brought expectations, audiences expected to hear them live, they expected the songs in pretty much the same way as they heard them on the records, they expected at least 90 minutes of music and they expected an encore. No longer were they allowed to be the mavericks, the art rebels, they were now mainstream.

With Heaven 17 being at their peak during my time at university, it is fitting that the concert led to a reunion with an old friend from those days, although with Neil never really showing the obsession with music that I have, he would not have been part of those discussions on the limitations of “Penthouse and Pavement”. It was good to meet up, however, and this led to a night out in Huddersfield, an opportunity to visit some great pubs and a little too much to drink. Another reason for our visit is that the support act are Beautiful Mechanica featuring Grace, our niece, on keyboards and backing vocals. This will be the first time we have seen them since they supported Spear of Destiny at the Hare and Hounds last year and the more upbeat set, together with an audience who responded well to them, made it a much better show. Talking to the band leader, Graham, after, he explains how they adapt what they play to the fit in with the headline and tonight this gave them an energy that the darker songs last year didn’t always have. This is helped by the introduction of some new material that, he explains, is their beginning of their disco phase, “well if the Arcade Fire can do it”. There were a few problems with the balance in the sound at first but once the levels were set, the precise harmonies from Grace, more prominent on the newer songs, added a haunting quality to their sound.

With Marsh having given up touring about ten years ago, Ware and Gregory are now Heaven 17 with the keyboards of the former being set prominently at the front alongside the singer. With them, another set of keyboards is set up at the back of the stage allowing the parts created by Marsh to now be filled in by the tall striking figure of Bernie and two backing singers add harmonies and occasional lead alongside Gregory. Their initial reluctance to play the game is now forgotten, they are engaging performers, occasionally bickering with each other as happens when two people know each other well and adding humour to the chat between the songs. They are aware of this tendency to become an end of the pier comedy act, “we’re not Morecambe and Wise” Gregory complains at one point, but they know each other so well now they seem incapable of preventing it. Announcing that for a special Yorkshire audience they have something different lined up, he tells us that they will be doing an Abba song which, when alternatives are shouted out, he immediately regrets. The warmth of their partnership, however, is best seen on a cover they do. Leaving Bernie to accompany the song, Ware joins Gregory for a spirited “You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling”, played in the stark arrangement used by the Human League all those years ago. Taking on a well known pop standard invites comparisons and whilst the quality of the vocals may, at best, be described as functional, the wonderful bond between the two made it inspiring.

Gregory is keen to acknowledge Ware’s contributions to the first two Human League albums and the show starts and ends with songs from these. “Circus of Death” is a reminder of just how uncompromising they could be, sparse electronic distortions and changing rhythm patterns combine to unsettling effect allowing Gregory to lurch onto the stage to add the macabre lyrics. As an encore, “Being Boiled” takes us back there, softened a little by the years, the harmonies and hand-clapping but still an audacious song and a reminder of how ground breaking they were at the start. Whilst these excursions into their origins adds perspective, however, the age of the audience show the period they have come to hear and the bulk of the set is drawn from “Penthouse and Pavement” and its follow up, “The Luxury Gap”. “Facist Groove Thang” appears early, urgent in its ferocious pace and as Gregory points out in its introduction, terrifyingly relevant. At the time, its statement seemed a little too obvious, sixth form politics set to a disco beat where simply mentioning the worked facist would provoke nods of agreement in junior common rooms. If anything, that simplicity works better now than it did, with nuance and subtlety replaced by broad slogans in the intervening years, argument based on something that can easily be expressed in 140 characters. The only minor quibble would be a missed opportunity to update the reference to Reagan. The programmed rhythm is as fast as it always was but even this is exceeded by the appropriately titled “We Live So Fast”, “motion, motion”.

The nights spent listening to and dissecting this music have left an imprint and despite having paid little attention in the intervening years, I find I instantly recognise almost all of the songs and, with introduction giving me the prompt, can sing along to most. Familiarity has smoothed off some of the rough edges; the unwavering beat was always infectious but now the melodies seem more natural than they once did and the song structure more clearly defined. A wave of nostalgia envelops me through “Penthouse and Pavement”, “Play to Win” and “Let’s All Make a Bomb”, taking me back years to the small room in Derby Hall or the cold house we had in Basford. The comfort this brings, however, serves to bring out the darkness in the lyrics, as pertinent and relevant now as they were then, perhaps we needed the last song on the album, “We’re Going to Live for a Very Long Time”, to wrap us up and assure us everything will be alright. The second album, “The Luxury Gap”, always had its pop hooks which remain as strong as ever, seen on “Crushed By the Wheels of Industry” and “Temptation”, the extended introduction to the latter giving the backing singers a chance to fill their lungs and show the power and range in their voices. It is difficult to think of anyone writing a song with the complex morality of “Come Live With Me” now but it still manages to provide some insight into the emptiness of the relationship between the older man and a much younger woman. A couple of Bowie covers are also included, “Let’s Dance” sits alongside the rhythms of their own songs well but despite the importance he attaches to it, Gregory’s voice lacks the subtly to capture “Life on Mars”; the sparse accompaniment was fitting but his deep baritone rather over powers the fragility and loneliness in the words. The highlight, however, was one of their own. Before playing it, Gregory states that “Let Me Go” is their favourite and it is easy to see why. Smart, intelligent lyrics above an intricate and multilayered arrangement, it epitomises everything they worked to achieve and with coloured light bouncing off the mirror ball above us provided a suitably affecting and powerful moment before the party blast of “Temptation”.

After the show, we head to the pub next door for a drink giving an opportunity for the post gig adrenaline to subside, particularly for those who had been performing. Had it not been for a family interest, I would probably have never seen Heaven 17 or been to a concert at the Picturedome but in both cases, I’m glad that I did. The venue is wonderful, an old cinema that has been converted sympathetically into a concert hall, the sound is good, it is the right size and they even manage to serve decent beer at a reasonable price. All agree that the audience helped to make this a great show tonight; loud and enthusiastic from the start, the band responded accordingly making for a wonderful evening. Commenting on this, Graham noted that they didn’t want them to fail, something that a support act often has to contend with as audiences make little effort in concealing their boredom as they wait for the headline. They also comment on how supportive the headline were, staying out in the hall while they played and providing encouragement. That art installation will have to wait, there are plenty who want to relive their youth in the company of one of the innovative bands of the era which means that the nostalgia circuit will be detaining Heaven 17 for while yet. With a Yorkshire crowd at a great venue like this was to see them at their best. As we leave, I look up at the acts playing there in the future and notice that Half Man Half Biscuit will be there towards the end of September - it will be a long way to go and there are no family connections but ……