#am i making our ice cream thread a reality ?

[lastmale]

ACT  I:        sequelslasher       /       sc.

                        ❛       WELL  ,    uh    ,      thanks   for   the   ice   cream.       ❜

[huenjin]

quarter past midnight.

pairing: chan x reader | breakup!au

word count: 6.107 words

genre: angst, smut

tw: heartbreak and break ups, reader is confused af, nsfw content — cunnilingus, overstimulation blowjobs, deep throating, face fucking, unprotected sex. this is just some angsty smut.

note: an old work i edited because i needed to write something angsty with chan and hurt myself, yes. <3

apartment 5005.

you stare at the door for as long as you know, your heart tingling, stretching apart to tear and shatter within you and you know this for sure — you are clearly mad. you are absolutely crazy, but love makes people do crazy things. beyond love, survival instincts to protect oneself in the long run makes people do disastrous things. you are confused, lost and heartbroken. isn't that why you are here? for some clarity in this mist that fogs your mind.

you insert the duplicate key you had into the keyhole and open the door to the abode you once called home, not because it was four walls that provided you shelter but because bang chan lived there.

it was the spring of 2016 when you had fallen in love with this man - the entirety of this man with a crooked smile so cute and a giggle that could open dimensions to him. he stood before a cherry blossom tree with two cones of ice cream, one for you and one for him and asked you out on a date —"let's watch cherry blossoms together, y/n," - and you agreed with not much reluctance. because you were enamoured of chan at the very first glance. a little boy with endless passion and boundless potential all ready to win your heart.

it was a gradual fall from there — falling in love with chan was so easy, so precious. every small action of chan's made you fall for him harder and the fall was steep. you toppled and tumbled happily but the impact of the crash was hard.

It was hard enough for you to have forgotten what breathing was. It was claustrophobic in a room that was wider than an average one. bang chan slowly seemed to have no time for you. so caught up with his own life and to sort that out, he took out his anger at you, the anger he bottled up in front of all the people — almost as if that was normal. funnily, you thought it was normal.

chan loved you. chan loves you. there was no way anything could have changed. the emotions were strong — the emotions are strong — however, it almost seemed like it was contaminated. like the strong colour of potassium permanganate that changes the whole liquid. so exactly, where in the world did you go wrong? how did your relationship reach this stage — this strained stage of your threads ready to snap and let go?

and staring at his open door, you want to know the answer.

you had walk in the rain to reach here. the weather was disastrous. it had rained heavily enough to make you feel more void than you already felt. the rain had hit your body with a certain impact that momentarily snapped you back to reality; yet, you are quick to drift away. with every step you had taken, the world feels like time had drifted to the past, aeons away. the rain merely grows even more intense and your heart sinks.

the rain has left you drenched. your hair strands stick to each other with droplets of water falling from the ends. your vision was blurry and all you had know was to get to chan quicker than ever. like your body being pulled to a force. you had to reach bang chan quick, to ache this void.

and when you do, your heart skips a beat. you take a step back as an act of cowardice and you do not want to knock on his door. you stand in front of his room, puddles of water collecting by your foot from the water that drips from your clothes and your hair. how could you knock when you were conflicted yourself? you couldn't leave chan but you know you had to if you wanted to try finding happiness again. probably with the man himself years later when you both grow up.

it was in the winter of 2016 that you grew to love bang chan for the person he was. that you knew were in love. the innocent, star-eyed boy waited in front of your house unexpectedly in the strong winds of winter. when you come back home late after your work at the grocery store, you find him there, still waiting for you. your heart had ached for the man who sat in front of your house, leaning against your door with his body shivering and his teeth clattering. he was half asleep, holding onto his thick overcoat tightly in an attempt to escape the cold.

"chan," you had called out to him. "chan, baby, wake up."

his delicate eyelids had fluttered open only to see you. the man quickly sprung to his feet, stumbling and losing his balance for a split second. chan fell into your arms and nuzzled himself into your warmth. he looked delicate and everything chan usually tended to not display - of vulnerability, a certain pastel and ethereal kind.

and when his pale arms had wrapped around your waist carefully and weakly and you held him up, you knew for sure that this always chirpy and optimistic man (albeit all the layers of insecurities he had) was going to steal your heart. and he did.

probably that is why it is so hard for you to knock on his door now. the fact that you could set the world on fire with the love you had for him and yet you knew that you had to untie the knot you had in your relationship to find happiness for a while. to find yourself all over again.

after much thought, you knock on his door. you feel cold, both physically and mentally. the water you are drenched in is soaking into your being and you know you are going to catch a cold for sure tomorrow. however, that is the least of your concerns at the moment.

the door is pulled open only for you to come face to face with the man you have fallen so in love with.

bang chan's face instantly morphs into one of concern as soon as he sees you drenched in the rain. he catches hold of your arm and pulls you into his small studio room of his. he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his warmth. you nuzzle into his chest and he gently rubs your back. 

"are you crazy?" he asks so softly, that it almost does not feel like he is scolding you. "you walked all the way here in the rain. you are most definitely crazy."

you do not respond, however. chan holds you close and notices your silence. you tug at his shirt and chan keeps you close. it's this warmth you reckon you will miss. for the years you step back, you'll feel like a tourist. you pull apart and you look at him with tears in your eyes, "chan."

he looks at you worriedly. this isn't normal. this isn't normal. this is definitely not normal. you take a step back before continuing, "i'm leaving you."

there. you said it. it's out in the open and you hear it out loud too. the thought that screamed in your head is finally freed and normally, you should have felt lighter. so why is it that you have never felt your heart heavier than this?

you had promised yourself that you wouldn't shed tears yet here you are, unable to stop all those droplets falling from your eyes like a cascade of all those memories. 

"what?" chan looks broken.

"i can't do this anymore, chan," you say, looking down, shifting your balance from one foot to another. "it's heartbreaking to be in this relationship. every time i take one step forward now, you hardly have the time to even take two steps back."

"you know my work entitles me to this lifestyle," chan reasons. his voice is cracking and seeing chan this hurt merely makes you want to go to him and shelter and protect him for as long as you live. however, that very act makes you feel lost. not right now. what the two of you need at this minute is a break.

"i know," you look at him with guilt. "i know and yet i can't help but feel a little bit nervous of you never being there. i can't help but realise that your career is definitely way more important to you than i am. i understand that but i can't help but realise that maybe you don't love—"

"don't." chan's voice turns icy. he takes a step forward and you shudder at that moment. why did things turn out like this? why could the two of you not be like any other normal couple out there?

"stay, baby," chan pleads. his hands hold your arms fiercely and he leans over to look at you in your eyes. "i beg of you. stay. we'll make this work, somehow."

"how much more can the two of us try, chan?"

"enough to make this work. you promised me a lifetime of happiness. don't go back on your promise, baby. please."

chan is vulnerable, like a glass ready to crumble into fine dust and you realise how human this man — who seemed to be very nonchalant once — was all his life. in all the time you had dated him, chan had been rarely vulnerable and every time you saw him like that, it made you wonder how the world could ever be cruel to him to put him in such a state. the joke is on you this time for it is you who was hurting the one man you never wanted to let go of, the one man you never wanted the world to hurt.

"i'm hurting, chan. every day i go back home waiting for that one call of yours that never comes. i lay in bed wondering how it was perfect only months back when you pulled me close and rested your head on top of mine as we drifted to sleep. chan, we are not working," you gesture at the two of you, "this relationship is strained, toxic and potentially damaging to our mental wellbeing."

you are crying. your eyes burn and your cheeks are wet. chan looks at you in a shock. his eyes are red and he takes a step back from you, dropping his hands on either side of his body. he looks lifeless for a split moment and you are hurting too much to sort this issue out.

"do you want me to let you go?"

"yes," you say with much pain and sorrow from every word that can rip you away from chan.

"okay." chan takes two steps forward, edging closer to you, "okay. but do me one last thing before leaving me."

you look up at him, wondering if it could be anything that could revoke more memories and hurt you more than it already was. chan couldn't do that. he was in pain too. the two of you manage to be hurting at the same time.

"stay with me tonight. one last time before i say goodbye."

chan closes into you and cups your face delicately. he leans close enough for you to feel his breath fan on your face. his eyes are glassy and they shine in the light. his brown eyes with specks of chestnut hues look pretty. he is so devastatingly pretty. 

how is that chan looked so painstakingly pretty to you right before you were about to leave him?

"chan," you sigh his name out like an airy breath of fresh morning hopes. "no."

"why?"

"because then i would want to stay," you whisper into nothing. your heart strings drum and beats quicker. your eyes burn so badly and you want to leave instantly and cry out loudly.

chan presses his lips against yours instantly. his softness melts into yours as you kissed him and he to you like nothing else mattered. you sigh within and bring your hands up only to find home in his soft brown hair. he is everywhere, infiltrating your mind slowly and creeping into everything subconscious.

every contact of his reminds you of everything you had and everything you were ready to miss out on. chan leans closer, and suddenly he is kissing you harder, deeper with a fervent urgent need you had never known.

"chan," you pull away and lean back slightly. "chan, what are we doing?"

"let me make you stay," he whispers into the crook of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

"but I won't stay," you mumble, sadly. "i can't."

"then, allow me one night to remember everything," chan rasps out. his mouth has found its way to your neck. parting his mouth sinfully, he latches onto the skin at the crook of your neck and sucks. your eyelids close and your eyes roll back.

with chan, it is the small oblivious bliss. with chan, it is possession and yet not. with chan, it is being loved and cherished. with chan, you feel complete and yet crave for so much more.

like the air you blow into a balloon with a hole.

you pull chan closer by his hair and you hear him moan against your skin, the shudder of euphoria running down your spine and only enhancing the heat you felt at your core. yout body needs him as much as your mind craves his being.

chan pulls apart and looks at you, studying your face, every curve and every dip. he wants to remember everything. he begins, "i—" but never continues. rather, he holds your waist and lifts you up. your legs wrap around his waist automatically and almost in an instinct. you wrap your hands around his neck and lean forwards.

your cold thumb grazes the expanse of his cheekbone and your chest contracts. everything is too painful. chan's hand squeezes your waist and you lean forward for your foreheads to touch.

chan still smells like fresh morning with mist and beautiful dew. you blink the tears that threaten to spill as you cup his face. you peck his lips, once, twice and again till you can remember how his lips were with your eyes closed.

chan parts his lips for a sigh and you kiss him. you press your lips against his and you feel him loosen, his arms still on your waist, but this time, his fingers grazed ever so slightly. you let out a whimper when he pulls apart. 

the next thing chan does is take you to his bed. He carefully walks across his room, still carrying you and you're looking at him. you look at chan's eyes and you look at his nose. you study his face and your heart aches with every minute you stay.

he places you delicately on his bed and and you watch him stand and pull his shirt up to remove it. the moment seems familiar, the emotion however, is not. 

chan matches your body form and you instinctively arch upwards, moaning in the contact of his body heat against yours. you kiss him again and you feel him relax against you, lips softening as he permits you to take his lower lip between your teeth. you suck against his lower lip, moaning into his mouth as he pushes his tongue against yours.

chan's hands trace the sides of your torso, cradling your curves as he finds home in your neck. chan has always liked your neck. his licks, kisses and sudden bites only further enhances your point. your hands go to his hair as you hold him more firmly against you. the swelling of him beneath you makes you gasp and your thighs rub against each other.

chan pulls back for a minute, his fingers playing with the ends of your shirt. you whine greedily and move your hands to pull the shirt off your body. chan helps but he is so slow that you pause and look into his eyes. chan wants this moment to last forever. 

he removes the shirt off of you and looks at you, unsure when his fingers trail to your shorts. you place your hands over his and together, you unbutton your shorts. you pull yourself upwards and kissing chan, you say, "i'm staying the night, chan. i'll stay tonight."

the two of you discard the rest of your clothes, undergarments still on, only for him to pause and stare at your breasts, "how did i not notice you not wearing a bra when you were soaked in the rain?" and then he realizes how, pausing for a while. you quickly pull chan closer.

chan rushes to latch his lips back on your skin, sucking and kissing his way from the crook of your neck to the top of your left breast. you rock your hips against his, desperate for some friction. your clit has swollen, moisture already dampening the fabric of your panties.

chan's hands travel to your arse, squeezing the flesh beneath his fingers and grinding you down against the bulge growing in his boxers. a moan escapes your lips even before you could hold it and chan looks distinctly pleased.

"chan," you whine. "chan, please. i need you. touch. kiss. anything. please. i need you everywhere."

he smiles and removes the grasp on your arse, your skin feeling bruised over how tight he was holding you. his fingers trail upwards only to loop around the strap of your panties and he pulls it away from your body slightly only to release it. the strap hits against your skin and you wince. 

"you're so delectable," he mumbles and pulls your panties away. you rub your thighs together, feeling your wetness spread. his lips gently graze over your hip bones and land right over your clit, grazing it almost unnoticeably. the sudden contact leads you to grip on chan's arm and cover your mouth to smother your groans.

"do you like this, baby? do you want more of this?" he kisses the skin on your hips, so close to where you craved his attention. 

"chan—"

"you could have more of this if you stayed. y/n, just stay, please," he peppers more kisses around, moving his hands up and down your thighs.

"chan, no," you place your hands on his head, tangling your fingers into his hair. "i—"

"why not?"

and then chan's lips find your lower ones and you moan so loud that you didn't know you even had it in you. you pull his hair up of surprise and chan licks your lips up and down slowly and in the most gratifying manner.

"c-chan!"

he doesn't respond. he merely brings his hand down and places his thumb over your clit, pressing down on it as he licks you. he pulls apart to lightly kiss your inner thighs and the sudden loss of contact makes you whine.

"why can you not stay?"

"because it hurts to be with you when you're never around," you sigh, tears rolling down your cheek and chan looks at you from below. he sees you vulnerable and broken and he blames himself. he is as responsible for leading himself to this situation as much as you are.

he holds tight on to your thighs, pulling you closer to him as he plants soft kisses on your dripping core. he sucks and nibbles on the lips before parting them with his tongue, swiping one big stroke and resting on your sensitive nub.

"chan, more, please," you whimper. his sinful tongue feels like heaven on your hot core, and you leave your hands to move around to look for places to grip onto; moving from your hair, to the edge of the bedsheet, until they find their way to his hair again where you make your final grip. you always did like gripping on his hair during sex. it edges him and steers him to do as you pleased. you instantly entangle your fingers through the strands of his locks as you start to move your hips in the same motion as the movements which his lips and tongue are now making.

chan keeps his action of devouring you with hunger, moving his tongue skilfully in and out of you, humming as he went. the vibration only makes you edge a bit more. you close your eyes and focus on feeling him and his motion. and right at the moment, chan feels your grip on him getting tighter. when your whimpers sound more desperate, he moves two fingers inside your walls, curling deep while sucking at your clit. he keeps biting lightly at the swollen nub, making you cry out his name. the moment when he feels you tightening around his fingers, he latches his lips around your clit tightly and sucks, all while thrusting his fingers deep onto your sweet spot, relentlessly, until you see sea of stars from under your eyelids.

"ch—" your breathing shortens and you quake, "oh my god! baby!"

however, bang chan never stops; even when your whole body starts shaking and quivering on his bed. he continues the work of his fingers and his hot, sinful mouth all moving in the same pace, letting you ride out your high until it slowly subsides and you are left, gasping for air, on the brink of overstimulation.

chan finally lifts his head as you open your eyes and you notice. his lips glistening and his eyes sparkling. he runs his tongue across his lips, taking in the last of the remnants of your high. you gulp, admitting that the scene before you is hot. chan doing anything will always be hot.

"fuck my life, i'm so in love with you," chan says and your eyes widen.

"no," you mumble. "you should not be."

"isn't that my decision, baby?" chan says. you lean forward and holding onto his arm sockets, you move him backwards allowing yourself to climb on top of him. you position yourself over his leg and frantically pull his boxers down and away.

"you shouldn't though," you take his cock into your hands. chan stifles a moan. his fingers softly hold your head and stroking your hair as you tease him with your tongue on his shaft. your eyes keep looking up at his face while you drag a slow lick along the base of his member, before swirling your tongue around the tip, earning his subtle grunt and unsteady breaths while he looks at you with darkening eyes.

you lock your gaze on chan and dragging one excruciatingly slow lick, you take his head into your mouth before pulling apart almost instantly. you drag your tongue over your lips and tease, "tell me what you want, baby boy."

chan smiles widely at you and your sudden voice of confidence. he strokes the back of your neck and says, "i want you to stay."

"you're such a buzz—" 

"but i know you won't. so i'd rather, just for tonight, have you as a whole. i want your pretty little mouth on my cock, wrapped around it and sucking it. i want you to look like a mess, baby, for me."

you smile at him softly and almost apologetically. shaking your head of any sad thoughts, you place another kiss on the swollen tip of his cock, before giving a long and slow lick at the base of his shaft, coating his member with your saliva, and finally take him completely in your mouth. you hum gladly as your lips move and sink down slowly, adjusting yourself to the size of him, only stopping once you feel his tip touching the back of your throat. the depth and your constant move gifts you with a couple of deep groans coming out of his own lips. you look up to see him, supporting himself up and leaning his head back, enjoying the way your mouth is sucking him tightly. once you are adjusted to the size of his girth, the muscles around your jaw relax a little, permitting you to move your head and sink down low. hollowing your cheeks, you keep sucking him on your way up with flattened tongue, stopping by the time you reach his tip only to sink yourself back down.

"fuck, fuck. fuck, y/n, baby. your mouth feels euphoric," chan groans, his head dropping and his eyes screwing shut. you let out another hum in acknowledgement and respond with another bob of your head up and down his length.

the sound of his ragged breath and his whimpers makes you aware of how fucked out he was. you keep your pace while raking his thigh with your nails from one hand, while you use the other to cup and graze the skin of his scrotum and his uncovered base. until suddenly, he looks down on you while gently stroking the sides of your face with his thumbs before he moves his hips upwards, thrusting deeper into your mouth.

you gag in surprise with his length reaching all the way down to your throat. you whimper against his cock. you keep your tongue still flat and presses against the base of his cock to give him more sensation as he keeps fucking your mouth at a distinct pace. you hold on tightly onto his thighs, scoring them, ignoring the soreness on your jaw and throat to let him chase his high, until he finally explodes inside you. the sudden appearance of his thick, creamy release filling your mouth has you gagging. when chan slows down, you are finally able to carefully swallow every single drop, a few dripping down by the corners of your mouth.

"ah, fuck," he suspires, gradually slowing until he stops and pulls himself out of your mouth. "i'm so sorry— i'm sorry, baby," he tells you between his ragged breaths, sitting up and rubbing his thumb on your face and neck lovingly, over and over again. "did i hurt you? tell me i did not. fuck, i got carried away."

you take hold of his hand and kiss his knuckles, letting out a small chuckle. chan pulls you closer and hugs you and you sit in his warmth. you mumble against his chest, "i hate to be evil, but i hope that no one can give you a blow job or a mind-blowing sex like i could."

chan sighs and holds you tighter, "don't you already have me in your captive?"

the back of chan's hand moves around the edges of your face before he pulls you in and kisses you slowly. he touches the tip of his tongue to yours, teasing at first, before entwining your tongues together. his hand moves down your back and pulls you closer, your core pressed against his cock and you moan against his mouth.

"i'm going to make you come all night. when you tire out, i'll let you rest and have you again," chan whispers against your ear as he pulls apart from your lips.

this was why leaving chan was hard. he was addictive. the taste of his lips, the deep moan he exhaled when he deepened the kiss. you let him intertwine his tongue with yours, let him taste your mouth while you press your palms on his chest to feel his warmth. chan's hand runs freely over the curve of your arse, earning a gasp to escape from your lips, stopping the kiss unexpectedly.

he pushes you back once he had calmed down from his last high and climbs on top of you with a smirk, "i could eat you out again but good lord, you look so fucking delectable that i need to have my cock inside of you — right now."

you gulp and you feel your throat parching. he continues kissing you while settling himself between your shaky legs, groaning against your mouth the moment he could feel your wet folds brushing the tip of his shaft. he leans forward to catch your erect nipple between his lips. he did the same thing to the other breast.

he firmly holds your name and kisses every single part of your body, murmuring softly against your skin, "need to remember. need to remember. fuck, i need to remember you."

you cup his face softly and look at him, breathing slowly in order to force him to do the same, "chan, I love you."

"but you can't stay."

"i can't."

"i need to be inside of you. i need to remember how you felt. i need to engrave it till i know how much you've captivated me and left me miserable," he whispers softly between your kisses, and you buck your hips upward to meet his as a response. you are still mildly sensitive but so needy to feel him inside you.

exhaling, chan pushes his throbbing length between your swollen lips, ever so slowly delving into your hot sex with a low grunt and moan. you instantly hook one leg around his hip, placing both of your palms on his back as you guided him inside you. your soft, hot walls enveloped his length, pulling him in deeper as he thrust his hips against yours and when your being finally envelopes him, he grunts in content.

"i missed this so much," he whispers to you, pressing your foreheads together as you pant softly against his lips, trying to regulate your breathing. "i'll miss you, baby."

chan waits until you adjust yourself to his length. no matter how many times you have had sex with him, his girth still surprises you. you notify him by pecking on his lips with your eyes flickering up to him and staring at him with lust and want, and chan knows you are ready.

he moves slowly in and out of you in a calculated rhythm, almost like he was playing his own music, never looking away. he pulls his hips back and then thrusts forward, filling your hole as much as possible once your body recognises his being.

"fuck," chan grunts. beads of perspiration have formed on his neck and slowly they drop down and you watch. chan looks precious and for a minute there, you want to stay. you want to stay with chan forever, marry him and have his kids. you want to be there in his highs and lows. but you know you shouldn't. he deserved better and so did you.

"oh god, y/n," he moans, gripping your thigh harder. he keeps on grinding his shaft into your wetness with more fervour and all you could do is —

"chan!" 

scream his name out for everyone around to know.

he sighs, moving his hips into yours a bit faster as you begin to meet his thrusts with the movements of your hips. he lets go of you and drops both of his hands down to the bed on either side of you, holding himself up and increasing his range of motion; pulling nearly all the way out, then rocking forward to push all the way back into his base. 

your fingers keep holding tight on his shoulder and his upper arm, lightly scratching your nail on his skin. he leans down to press his mouth to you, kissing you hungrily. he moves into you harder and even faster, scrunching the sheets up under his palms while driving his shaft deep into you. 

your soft moans grow higher in pitch and you bite into your lower lip harshly. you become louder as you feel your high approaching. "chan, baby, fuck," you rasp out and chan kisses your clavicle and licks a stripe, leaving a bruise by its end.

"let go, baby," he moves his hands back on your hip with a tight grip, helping you to move in the same rhythm as his. you grip harder on his arms for leverage. you feel him grinding your clenching walls with his shaft inside of you until you can not take any more, and your entire body shakes from the second climax of the night.

chan starts to slow down yet keeps thrusting forward, so gently and disoriented. he smiles before kissing you deeply once again. he groans at the feeling of your walls clenching hard around his shaft, your orgasm lingering even after your body had stopped shaking so much. leaning down, chan presses his body hard on you while he kisses you, and you can feel his member throbbing within your depths and his heart pounding fast in his chest. his brown eyes look softer tonight and his eyes are glassy. you cup his face and kiss him repeatedly. you hold him steady while he pushes into you languidly. you can't seem to part with him — is this what love does?

you move your hips. you can feel your desire still dripping hot in your core and more than ready to continue on. "keep going. i want to feel you come inside me, chan."

his hips, hitting against your clit repeatedly, makes you woozy with tensed and excess euphoria. it is too much but you couldn't stop. you guide him into you, over and over again even when your walls seemed to scream out of exhaustion. you needed to feel chan in you, fill you up.

you wiggle your hips and raise them to meet his warmth. smiling, you bend your knees up to help him reach his high quicker.

you hold onto the moment he starts to move his hips one more time, drilling inside of you with both of his hands planted on the bed once again for grip. this time, you keep your eyes opened. you gasp and enjoy how beautiful his toned body looks, moving above you fluidly. silently admiring how his skin is glowing from the illuminating moonlight which enters the room through the opened windows, how they had fallen perfectly on his sweaty chest against the background music of the rain hitting the window panes.

you let your eyes capture its beauty, memorising him and everything else the best you still could in your mind. just so you could keep the image of him making love to you for as long as you possibly could in your memories. after all, this is it. this was the end of the lane, the last page in the chapter you shared with him.

you graze chan's chin and watch how he moves into you. you close your eyes for a second - just for a second - to hear distinctly of the squelching sound of his cock entering you and his hips slapping against yours.

he tilts his head and gives you a few sloppy kisses by the edges of your neck and then your mouth. your eyes screw shut with the overload of euphoria. you are oversensitive and tears spill out from your eyes. chan thrusts a few more times into you before reaching his own orgasm that washes over him like a wave. you feel his cock pulsate and a shiver of pleasure runs down your spine. his movements become slower. he grunts and moans in each motion of his and you lean forward to kiss him. after a few deep and long kisses, he steadies himself and pulls out of you carefully. he kisses you a few more times — your lips, neck, clavicles, breasts and everywhere.

chan falls besides you and sighs. he cups your face and looks at you. your eyes are closing in exhaustion and you whimper, "i'll miss this."

chan remembers that this is the last time and pulls you closer, a lone treacherous tear falling on your face. he watches you carefully and you softly smile, "you should sleep. you have practice tomorrow."

"no, it's my last day with you. i'd rather watch you than waste time sleeping," he sounds sad and you move closer into his warmth.

"i really do love you, chan."

"i know and so do i. our circumstances just weren't right. don't beat yourself to it," he mumbles, pushing a strand of your hair from your face.

"nor should you. promise me that you won't overwork yourself?"

"i—"

"chan!"

"just go to sleep, baby. you look tired. i love you," chan coos and you yawn almost immediately. he laughs and rubs your back soothingly and you fall asleep. chan does too, soon after.

and when his eyelids part the next morning, the bed feels cold and his heart feels the void. you are gone and chan is lonely as he has been always.

[enigmasandepiphanies]

Inktober Day 20 Coral

Nothing prepares you for the ache of mourning. I am mourning my idealism today, trying to hold onto the ideals in a quicksand hug while reality grapples me like an inseparable birthmark. The trajectory of growing up is learning how to make a coral museum of grief inside the wormholes of your heart. Unable to build a Lego bridge where your idealism kisses your reality, unable to write yourself a soft epilogue.

I am swinging like a trapeze artist playing Cupid for my idealism and reality. Reality is drunk on swirls of grey witch portions in the yin-yang goblin of the globe. Idealism is a carrom coin pushed outside the board. I wake up screaming in chaos, tying bracelets of protest poetry but the necklace of survival instinct chokes my throat. I paint watercolors of feminism on my canvas but the tentacles of fear burn my stride as the night gets sinister. The slaughtered symptoms of womanhood downsize my existence into the blood pools of fear, coloring pillows with the alchemy of my tears.

So, tell me, how do you forgive yourself, on days when you are not the idea of you? How do you reach deep into your mind to pull the threads of your dreams and knit them together into reality? The fragility of life discomforts me. I hate myself a little more on days when I stand my identity up for a date with practicality, an unnerving Jenga of survival tactics.

I am mourning my idealism today, leaving red carnations on the grave. The grave summons an Ouija board of a girl with sunbeams and moonbeams dancing in her eyes, a ballerina of heterochromic hope. Eyelash wishes of ice-cream scoops of love and wishful whispers of “changing the world.” Sometimes you write what you see so children can sleep, sometimes you don’t write what you see so children can sleep. What excuse do you write in a letter to your childhood dreams?

Losing my idealism feels like a summer beachside sunburn, everything hurts to touch, blisters of guilt decorated across my skin. They relabeled the vials of my passions into poisons so I could do violence to my own heart. I bundled up my conscience into woolen blankets of escapism. I know self-denial is self-harm but how do you fight a war with blood in your eyes?

Nothing prepares you for the ache of healing. I will magic my idealism alive tomorrow. Nobody teaches children how to learn to love themselves in the trajectory of growing up. We deserve a soft epilogue, but we also deserve a soft in-between. In an apocalypse world, my idealism will kiss reality on a post-war bridge. If life can go on in our aftermaths, it will go on in the world before it.

I am mourning my idealism today.

//"excerpts from the pandemonium of my mind"// enigma

Inktober Day 20 Coral

[artificialqueens]

Galactica, Chapter 57 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Last Chapter: Fame nearly gave the designers a heart attack while Violet reached out to a friend and Courtney couldn’t get Bianca out of her head.

This Chapter: A delivery, an investigation, a confession, a meeting, a startling revelation, a secret rendez-vous, and an emotional breakdown.

***

“Miss?” Courtney asked timidly, standing in the doorway. She knew she’d been a bit distracted all week, and could tell that Miss Fame was annoyed with her, but she was trying nonetheless.

“Yes?”

“Ivy sent over the powerpoint for tomorrow. She wants to know if you have any more notes.”

“Leave it.” Fame gestured to her desk, and Courtney hurried forward to put it down, turning to get out of the office and her direct eye line as quickly as possible. “Courtney!”

“Yes Miss?”

“Close the door behind you.”

“Of course, Miss.”

Courtney closed the door, sighing. It had been a long week, Courtney already counting down the seconds until their meeting at Marie Claire tomorrow, nervous butterflies filling her stomach as she wondered what it would be like to see Bianca again.

Would she be all business? Would she flirt with her right in front of everyone? Courtney’s skin prickled, imagining those dark eyes smoldering at her, when the intercom buzzing made her jump, startled.

“Court, got a delivery for you,” Roxy announced through the speaker, and she hurried to reception to see what it was, assuming Roxy meant a delivery for Miss Fame.

At the front desk, Roxy held a small bag out, but when Courtney reached for it, she moved it out of the way, first asking, “Why’s the runner from Marie Claire bringing you stuff from La Perla?”

“I...I dunno,” Courtney said, twirling her hair, already psyched at the prospect of a delivery. It was probably related to the meeting, but even so... “What’s La Perla?”

“Bitch, it’s a lingerie store. A fuckin’ fancy one,” Roxy said, still holding the bag out of reach.

“Oh.” Courtney bit back a smile, abdomen twisting with excitement, lunging forward to grab the bag from Roxy’s hands. “Thanks.”

But Roxy wasn’t giving up without a fight, grabbing her sleeve and pulling her back.

“Ma’am, you aren’t going anywhere until you answer. What’s the deal?”

“Well…” Courtney said, “I’m kind of...dating someone who works there.” Which was at least a little bit true, wasn’t it? Maybe dating was too strong a word, but she didn’t think “fucked” would be appropriate for workplace chitchat.

“And he used the company messenger?” Roxy asked. “He must be pretty high up then, who is it?”

Courtney giggled at her mistaken assumption, shaking her head and saying, “That’s all you get today.”

She wrestled her sleeve out of Roxy’s grip and skipped off back to her own office, where she eagerly opened the bag, first pulling out a handwritten note on BDR stationary, which Bianca must have written as soon as she’d gotten to the office, since her plane landed only a few hours ago. Not that Courtney was tracking her flight.

See you tomorrow. XX, B

Courtney touched the letters, feeling a bit silly but also incredibly elated that Bianca was thinking about her at all, much less sending her presents. She then pulled a tissue-paper wrapped package from the bag, opening it carefully to reveal an embroidered lace turquoise bra and matching panties. She quickly stuffed them both back in the bag before anyone else saw, cheeks warm and skin pleasantly tingly.

Finally, she had an excuse to send another message. She pulled out her personal phone and quickly typed it out before she lost her nerve.

COURTNEY: Thanks for the present. ;)

Courtney felt a rush of adrenaline as soon as she hit send, wondering how long it would take for Bianca to reply. When those three magical dots appeared almost immediately, she nearly gasped with delight.

BIANCA: You gonna wear it for me?

COURTNEY: Maybe…

Her heart pounded as the dots appeared once again, waiting with bated breath for Bianca’s response. She seemed to be typing for an awfully long time. But when the message finally came through, it was short.

BIANCA: Can’t wait.

As she took a deep breath, trying to calm her frantically beating heart, the phone rang, the shrill sound nearly knocking her out of her chair. She put on her headset, trying to compose herself and swallow down her giddiness before answering.

“Miss Fame’s office…”

***

ROXY: Hey girl, got a minute?

SHANNEL: Sure babe, what’s up?

ROXY: One of our assistants here is apparently dating someone high up at MC. Need you to help me solve who it is.

SHANNEL: Oooh, I love a mystery. Clues?

ROXY: Yeah, your runner just dropped off a bag of La Perla for her.

SHANNEL: Lol cheesy. Stand by…

SHANNEL: OMG. Last person to send the runner out was Joslyn. BDR’s assistant.

ROXY: Whaaaaaat????

SHANNEL: Who’s the assistant?! Is she gay???

ROXY: I mean not that I am aware but daaamn!!!

ROXY: PS It’s FAME’S assistant

SHANNEL: OMG

*

ROXY: GUUUURL

IVY: Lol, what’s up?

ROXY: BDR just sent Courtney a delivery

IVY: Yeah, and? It’s probably for the meeting tomorrow

ROXY: Bitch it’s La Perla

IVY: :O :O :O :O

ROXY: Exactly

***

If anyone asked, Jovan would say that he found creating support pieces boring, that there was no creative challenge to rounding out a collection, that his talents were wasted on closing up holes and tying up bows.

In reality, it was something he looked forward to every collection.

Once all the major pieces had been selected, once the stars of the show were submitted, it meant that he could direct his creative attention outside of the company without it affecting the quality of his work.

Jovan pressed save on the drawing he had just finished doodling, a repetitive pattern of beige thread roses on a cream white background for the seasons underwear not a detail anyone would pick out when they looked at the runway, but one he knew would matter to senior management when they were shooting the looks in the spring.

He stretched out, hiding a yawn behind his hand as he grabbed for his coffee cup.

He had spent the majority of last night on his building's roof, his outfit for this year's christmas party an orange suit he was decorating every square inch of in graffiti.

Jovan raised the cup to his mouth, the liquid barely touching his lips before he spit it back out, the coffee ice cold.

“Fuck-“ Jovan groaned. He had completely lost track of time, and as he looked around the room, it seemed like he wasn’t the only one, all of his coworkers caught up in their own projects.

“Hey, Chachki,” Jovan twirled around in his chair, turning so he could look at his desk mate. Violet was sitting with her sketchbook, her gigantic headphones on, her head resting on her hand.

“Yo-“ Jovan stretched his foot out, tapping the edge of Violet’s chair which made her jump, a loud laugh leaving Jovan at her surprise as she took her headphones off.

“What?” Violet sounded annoyed, but Jovan had learned that it was simply who she was once she was in the zone, interrupting her a really bad idea if she wasn’t in the mood.

Jovan figured that was part of why Trixie had paired them up, neither of them ever taking it seriously when the other one snapped.

“Coffee?” Jovan waved his mug, a smile on his lips. Violet considered it for a second, but then she nodded, grabbing her own cup to go with him, Jovan not even noticing that the page Violet had been on was completely blank.

***

“Your team is already here,” Joslyn said, leading Miss Fame and Courtney down the hall to the conference room. “So if you’re all set, I can let Bianca know-”

“Bianca knows better than to keep me waiting,” Fame said, tossing her coat to Courtney, who stumbled a bit.

“Of course,” Joslyn assured her, and was proven right by the fact that Bianca strolled into the conference room a few moments after them, greeting Fame warmly and then turning to Courtney, a sly grin on her face.

Joslyn was no idiot. She had a sneaking suspicion when the whole “find a vegan chef for Thanksgiving” thing had come up that Bianca had her eye on someone new, and it was basically confirmed yesterday when Bianca had asked her to arrange the La Perla delivery.

Today was the first time she’d met Courtney in person, and she had to admit that she certainly was beautiful--Joslyn even briefly wondered if she was wearing the lingerie before telling herself that was inappropriate.

“Hey, Courtney.”

“Hi,” Courtney replied, biting her lip, cheeks reddening. Zero poker face whatsoever, Joslyn noted, turning her head to hide her amusement.

“Courtney,” Miss Fame said, and Courtney’s head whipped around, standing a bit straighter, her arms still full of the heavy white coat. “This conference room is too crowded. We don’t need you here.”

“Oh. Okay, I…” Courtney looked around, slightly embarrassed, clearly unsure where to go, and Miss Fame let out a little huff of annoyance.

“Hey Jos,” Bianca cut in, a hand on Courtney’s lower back guiding her towards Joslyn. “Why don’t you set Courtney up in my office?”

“Your office?” Miss Fame repeated.

“Yes, so she’s close by in case you need anything. And she can hang your coat in my closet, where it’ll be safe.” Bianca punctuated her suggestion with a self-satisfied grin.

“Sure thing!” Joslyn chirped, taking Courtney’s elbow and leading her from the room before Miss Fame’s death glare melted them both. She then unlocked Bianca’s office and opened the large closet for her.

“Thank you,” Courtney said, taking the offered hanger.

“So, um, I guess just make yourself comfortable. Can I get you anything? Water, coffee, tea…juice?” Joslyn asked sweetly, pretending that it was totally normal for an assistant from another company to be hanging out by herself in Bianca Del Rio’s office. This girl could very well be a brief fling, and probably was, but it didn’t hurt to get on her good side anyway.

“Thank you, but that’s alright. I don’t want to be any trouble for you.” Courtney bypassed Bianca’s comfy sitting area, instead choosing a hard-backed Lucite chair in front of her desk. She seemed to be trying to make herself as small as possible.

“It’s no trouble, honestly.” Joslyn smiled again, and Courtney looked up at her.

“I appreciate that. You’re really sweet.”

“That’s why I make the big bucks,” Joslyn joked, and Courtney chuckled.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, go ahead.” Joslyn perched on the arm of the sofa.

“Is Bianca a good boss?” she asked, shifting in her seat.

“Why, you after my job?” She crossed her arms, feigning offence while giving Courtney an exaggerated look of grave suspicion.

“No,” Courtney laughed, “I just...I don’t know. I know you’ve been here for awhile, and she seems like a good boss. Is she?”

Joslyn wasn’t sure exactly why Courtney was asking, and she was also aware that anything she said could easily be repeated, so she was careful but honest in her response.

“Sure! I mean, she’s tough. And she expects us to work really hard. But she also works really hard, so...plus, you know, her last assistant is now one of our senior ad execs, so that bodes pretty well.”

“Yeah, definitely. Thanks.” Courtney smiled again, this one bright and dazzling, and Joslyn couldn’t help but return it.

***

“Ginger! You’re back!” Katya exclaimed, a big smile on her face as she entered the staff room, holding a slightly misshapen hand-painted mug gifted to her from a student several years back. She set it down on the counter and went to give her friend a hug. The fifth grade teacher had been in Florida for a family reunion, and Katya couldn’t wait to hear the stories of her self-described crazy redneck relatives.

“I’m back,” Ginger affirmed, her smoky voice even hoarser than usual. “Made it out by the skin of my teeth.”

Katya laughed, then winced, pulling back suddenly.

“You alright, kiddo?”

“Yeah, I just like...I must be PMSing because my tits are so sore,” Katya said. She poured coffee into the mug and then sat down heavily. “And I’m exhausted.”

“Oh yeah? How long’s that been going on?” Ginger asked, one eyebrow raised.

“Oh, I dunno. I’ve felt a little flu-ish on and off all month, just kinda tired and achy and nauseous, but it’s never developed into actually being sick. I probably just had a stomach bug that didn’t want to leave my system?” She shrugged, adding, “These flesh suits we lug around are weird.”

“That they are.” Ginger sat down, putting a hand over Katya’s. “But in this case, there may be an explanation.”

“Oh god, am I dying? Like, faster than normal?”

“Well, I’m no doctor, but…it sounds like you’re pregnant.”

Katya burst out laughing. “Oh my god, can you imagine?”

Her giggles died down when she saw that Ginger wasn’t laughing along. Which was weird, because she’d been the one to make the joke in the first place.

“You’re kidding, right?” Katya asked, a sense of dread growing inside of her as she repeated, “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

Ginger paused before shaking her head slowly. “I mean look, I could be wrong, but…”

“Oh my fucking god.”

***

Bianca stifled a yawn, trying to pay attention to Raja and Alyssa’s presentation on their upcoming collaboration. She had no doubt that the spread would turn out well in the end--the partnerships with Galactica always did, the fashion house absolutely known for bringing high quality editorial pieces.

However, at the moment, she was seeing a lot of taupe, and with the level of jet lag she was still suffering from, it really wasn’t enough to keep her eyes engaged. Luckily, they appeared close to the end.

“If we’re committed to this color story,” she cut in, “then I’d like to think about incorporating a few more graphic prints as well, and some exaggerated shapes.”

“You’re so impatient; that was our next slide,” Raja replied, motioning for Ivy to click forward, showing sketches of some of the looks with bold large-scale prints beside the originals.

“Wonderful.”

“Yes, the idea is for the makeup to be the real color stars,” Alyssa said, “but of course we want plenty of eye-catching shapes.”

“Yeah, it all looks good, very promising. What do you say we order some lunch, take a short break, and then go over the potential advertising partnerships my team put together?” Bianca suggested, and was met with nods (and a few relieved sighs) from around the table. She dialed her office extension on the intercom. “Joslyn, can you bring in the lunch menus?”

She began to get up from the table when she noticed Fame giving her some side eye from across the table.

“What?”

“Where are you going?” she asked suspiciously.

“Bathroom. Is that okay with you?”

“Mm…” Fame sat back, eyes still narrowed, and Bianca laughed, shaking her head.

“If you really want, I can bring you back a sample.”

“You’re disgusting,” Raja called out, and Bianca shrugged, letting out a cackle before ducking out of the room.

She hurried the short distance down the hall, passing Joslyn on the way, swiftly entering her office, a rush of endorphins filling her with glee the second she caught a glimpse of Courtney inside. She hadn’t expected for her to get under her skin so fast, but the entire week in Tokyo, she’d found herself thinking about her, fantasizing about her, anxiously waiting for the next time they’d meet. And now here she was, finally.

Courtney stood, turning around slowly. At first, she looked shy, maybe a bit unsure, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Hi. How was your week?”

“Brutal. I thought about you every second…” Bianca said quietly, her gaze unwavering.

Hearing that seemed to embolden Courtney, her eyes brightening before her face melted into a suggestive grin.

“Shut the door.”

“Yes ma’am.” Bianca grinned back at her, closing the door firmly behind her. She looked as fresh and pretty as always, in a belted, long-sleeved shirtdress and ballet pink heels. But all Bianca was interested in was what was underneath. “Are you wearing it?”

“Come see,” Courtney said, head tilted coyly, and Bianca strode forward, immediately taking hold of her belt, pulling it loose. As she began undoing the buttons as fast as possible, Courtney added, “I don’t usually wear bras, but I figured I could make an exception today.”

“Special occasion?” Bianca asked, heart hammering in her chest as she opened the dress to reveal the bra and panties she’d sent over yesterday, the teal standing out on her creamy skin, even better than Bianca had imagined.

“Uh huh…”

“Fuck.” She stepped closer, wanting nothing more than to wrap her into her arms, but Courtney evaded her touch.

“Now show me yours.”

Bianca’s head lifted, temporarily stumped. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

A smirk pulled on Bianca’s lips as she asked, “Do I look like some kind of sex object to you?”

“Yes.” Courtney twirled a lock of hair around her finger, perched on the edge of the desk.

Bianca had to hand it to Courtney--she was proving to be a lot feistier than planned, and it was a very welcome surprise. She slipped off her jacket, placing it on the guest chair, and then turned around. “Maybe you better help me with the zipper.”

Courtney took her time, dragging the zipper down, fingers trailing along the exposed skin until Bianca shrugged out of the dress, letting it pool in a heap at her feet. She turned back around, standing in what was at least pretty respectable silk underwear, if slightly unmatching as usual, and a black garter belt hooked to her thigh high stockings.

“Well?”

Courtney’s green eyes raked over her body, taking in every inch of her, making her feel exposed in a thrillingly unfamiliar way. When her eyes finally lifted to Bianca’s face again, she was breathing hard. She reached out and pulled Bianca in by the waist.

“Kiss me.”

“I’ll get lipstick all over you,” Bianca warned, fingering one of her bra straps.

“I don’t care. Kiss me.”

Bianca smiled, tilting her chin up and moving in for a kiss.

It was electric, hungry--even better than the last time. Courtney’s hands clawed at her ass, pulling her closer, and soon she had her sprawled on the desk, falling apart in the most glorious way. Bianca pulled down one of her bra cups, tongue wrapping around her dainty pink nipple, making her gasp and whimper, thighs tightening around Bianca’s hips.

Bianca moved a hand between her legs, feeling through the thin lace how wet she was already, one finger teasing her clit, rubbing her in gentle circles as she watched her eyes roll back.

“Oh god…”

“Look at me…” Bianca cradled the back of her neck, wanting nothing more than to watch her beautiful face as she came, when she heard buzzing, a phone vibrating beside them. She paused, fingers going still, eliciting another choked whimper. “Is that you?”

“What?” Courtney blinked up at her, pupils fully dilated, hips still rolling fruitlessly against her hand.

“The phone.”

“Shit!” Courtney gulped for air, struggling to sit up as Bianca handed her the still ringing phone, doing her very best to answer in a normal voice, the anguish in her eyes nearly making Bianca laugh. “Yes Miss?”

Bianca tried to suppress her dimples, patiently waiting as Courtney listened to rapid-fire instructions from Fame, but unable to resist teasing her a little bit more, fingers just barely touching the front of her panties.

“Uh huh...yes, I…” Courtney drew in a sharp breath, and Bianca’s dimples deepened, now unable to wipe the grin off her face. “Yes...right away, Miss.” She finally hung up, pressing her forehead against Bianca’s shoulder, chest heaving.

“Everything okay?” Bianca asked, moving closer, hovering over her.

“Yeah. I have to…um…” Courtney swallowed hard, tucking her face into Bianca’s neck, teeth grazing her skin.

“Can you spare a few more minutes?” Bianca murmured, and Courtney nodded.

“Yes. Please…”

“Please what? Tell me what you want.”

It had become clear to Bianca, during their last encounter, that Courtney was not accustomed to dirty talk. She had no trouble giving orders in some circumstances, but words like fuck and pussy seemed beyond her. So of course, being the sadistic bitch that Bianca was, getting her to say them became an urgent desire.

“I want...I want your fingers…” Courtney grasped at her wrist, doing her damndest to shove Bianca’s hand down the front of her panties.

“Yes? Where? Tell me.”

“In my cunt,” she said finally, voice breaking, and Bianca would have laughed if it wasn’t so fucking hot.

“You got it, angel…” Bianca slid two fingers into her wet pussy, curling them forward, pausing a beat when she gasped. She could feel nails dig deeper into her ass and asked, “You okay?”

“Fuck me, please…”

How quickly they learn.

Of course, Bianca obliged, working her quickly, thumb dragging figure eights over her clit the last thing she needed to send her over the edge with a high-pitched, drawn out moan.

“Shhh, shhh…” Bianca whispered, attempting to remind her where they were, who was potentially still in earshot. And then her whole body went soft, practically molding itself to Bianca’s, and all Bianca wanted to do was wrap her into an embrace. A pang of regret that she had to quickly return to the meeting went through her, and she tipped Courtney’s chin up to kiss her softly. “Hey so...you got any plans later tonight?”

Courtney shook her head, still in a daze.

“So there’s a restaurant near my place that I’ve been dying to try. Why don’t you come over after work and I can take you out on a real date...wine and dine you like you deserve.” The way her face lit up at the suggestion told Bianca that it was absolutely the right call.

“Okay…”

Bianca helped her down off the desk and guided her into the bathroom, where she handed over a makeup wipe and then went to work fixing herself.

“I gotta get back, your boss is already suspicious of my whereabouts,” Bianca said, pulling open a drawer to find a lipstick that matched what she was wearing before. “But use whatever you need in here.”

“Thanks, I-shit!”

“What’s wrong?”

“No, um...when she called, she was giving me a lunch order and I can’t remember if she wanted broccoli or kale…”

“Go with the broccoli,” Bianca advised, walking back to the office to find her clothes. “But why’s she not ordering from Pierre’s? We literally chose it because it’s her favorite.”

“She said there was nothing she wanted on the menu,” Courtney said, stepping forward to help with her zipper.

“What a diva,” Bianca chuckled, and turned around to face Courtney, brushing a thumb over her cheek. “I’ll see you later.”

Courtney nodded slightly, and Bianca couldn’t help notice that her dress was still unbuttoned. She took one last gratuitous look, and Courtney giggled, pushing her towards the door.

***

When Trixie opened the door to the supply room, he heard a strange noise.

He had only meant to come in to get a new box of pens, his favorite one all dried up, but now, he paused, waiting for a beat, but when he heard the noise again, he knew instantly what it was.

Someone was crying.

“Hello?” Trixie stepped inside, flicking on the lights, taking a few steps. “Anyone in here?”

Trixie had expected to find Blu, or maybe even Kiara or Kandy, but instead, he came face to face with Violet, who was standing in the corner, hiding in between reams of printer paper and extra staplers, her crutches resting against the shelves.

“... Violet?”

Trixie could see that Violet had been crying, black smudges under her eyes telling their clear story, but she looked so different from when she had been lying on the floor with a broken foot, the expression on her face completely devastated.

“Please go away.”

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.” Trixie didn’t like to force himself on anyone, didn’t like to force anyone to open up, but he couldn’t accept that anyone from his staff was crying, couldn’t look away when someone he was responsible for was so obviously in distress. “Is it your ankle?”

“No,” Violet looked up, turning her eyes towards the ceiling as she quickly dabbed under her eyes, her lip between her teeth. “It’s stupid.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t tell me.” Trixie leaned against a shelf, making sure he didn’t knock over the boxes of pencils. “Please.”

“I just, it’s-” Violet took a deep breath through her nose. “I’ve been trying so hard to keep up, and I can’t. I just- I can’t. I work on my dress, and I can’t let anyone else touch it because it isn’t finished-”

Trixie nodded, listening to Violet’s words. He understood her point of view, a couture gown a completely different beast from designing ready to wear. No one expected Violet to do the entire thing herself, not even Violet, but Trixie could see that she had an extremely clear vision in her head for how she wanted it down to the beading, which meant she couldn’t ask for anyone’s help yet and least of all tailoring.

“And when I’m on schedule for the dress, and I try to focus on the sketches, I don’t, I can’t, I just scrapped half my sketchbook because it isn’t good enough, and I can’t push through because I’m so tired and-”

“Hey, hey hey hey.” Trixie reached out, gently touching Violet’s arm. “Violet. Violet. Listen.” Trixie squeezed it, forcing her to focus on him. “It’s okay that you don’t have any support pieces-”

“Maxwell has done over 30 submissions.” Violet looked like she was about to cry again, and Trixie could see how much she hated it painted all over face.

“Maxwell is a senior designer.”

“But-”

“No. No buts.” Trixie cut her off “Do you want to hear a real problem? I’m trying to replace Aiden, and so far, Fame has rejected every single candidate.”

“She does like to do that,” Violet gave the tiniest smile, and Trixie couldn’t help but grin.

“Exactly, but do you know why I think she’s so tough this time around? Because the last hire we made, is a goddamn rockstar, who happens to be closing on her first ever show.”

Violet snorted, like she didn’t actually believe him, but she looked so much better, the woman he had come to genuinely care for slowly coming back.

“Go home Violet.” Trixie squeezed her arm one last time before letting go. “Go home, and I’ll see you Monday. Okay?”

Violet nodded, not even opening her mouth to argue, and Trixie couldn’t help but feel like he had finally, finally, finally broken through to his newest designer.

***

[elfy-elf-imagines]

Cruel Summer | Orophin

Pairing: Orophin x Human!reader

Genre: Angst with some fluff at the end

Warnings: Heartbreak; unrequited feelings...??

Words: ~5,222 (oh boy is it a long one)

Note: If you’d like to be added to a tag list for any of my works, there’s a link on my page! I hope you all enjoy this one, it was a real treat to write! ♡

“I didn’t realise a forest could be so beautiful,” you whispered, staring in awe at the towering trees that shined like silver. The night sky was nothing new to you, nor the moon and the stars, yet they seemed more captivating in Lothlorien than anywhere else. The moon burned as bright if not brighter than the sun, illuminating everything in its silvery glow. Stars dotted the sky, glistening like bright torches in a dark room. 

Lothlorien had been beautiful during the day time, the golden leaves so vibrant and unreal, you could swear someone painted them. You’d thought that beauty would be unmatched until night fell. Everything once golden and blinding is now soft and silver, the trees glittering like fine jewels. And it was perfect, the inner peace and calm Lothlorien brought to you was unmatched. 

The sound of footsteps came from behind, gaining your attention. Turning around you see Orophin, still wearing his grey cloak that marked him a Warden of Lorien and the light armor all the rangers wore. His silvery hair that would’ve put any Targaryen to shame was pulled back in its typical fashion. He was beautiful-- well all elves were beautiful, something you’d learned rather quickly, but Orophin radiated another type of beauty. His beauty was more akin to a predator luring in it’s prey of choice with enchanting words and a pretty face, luring you into a thrilling game you always lost. 

You knew he was dangerous, an alarm in the back of your mind going off every time he gets too close or graces you with a look that was lethal to your wellbeing. But instead of sending you running like it should have, it lured you in closer and closer, like a moth drawn to a flame. It’s dangerous-- he’s dangerous. 

But you never seem to listen.

“I ithil a elena thind in ennerion na i er nin,” he said, a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. A smile that promised nothing but pain and heartbreak, but also the thrill that comes with gambling, even when you know you’re going to lose. And you will lose, it’s just a matter of when and not if. 

“That’s not fair, you know I can hardly understand Sindarin, especially not when you speak it so fast,” you said, your eyebrows furrowing the slightest as you scowled. Orophin raised an ashen eyebrow at you, and you couldn’t help but feel envious at the lack of lines on his perfectly smooth forehead. His grin widened as his eyes glinted with mischief, and slowly like a prowling lion, he moved towards you.

 “I said, you are beautiful my dear, but you would’ve known that if you would pay attention during our lessons.” he said, eyes noticeably tracing your form. Your face flushed red immediately, images of you and Orophin, tangled together in your room, nothing but a sweaty flustered mess in your bed. Heat spread through your body as you remembered his icy lips on your hot body. 

And he knew it, that bastard knew the effect he had on you. It was obvious in his expression, like a cat that got the cream. 

“Or maybe you aren’t as great of a teacher as you like to think?” you shot back, mentally throwing ice cold water on yourself. Get a grip you idiot! 

“Oh? My lady wounds me! How will I ever hope to recover from such harsh words? Please, tell Rumil I’ve never enjoyed his singing and tell Haldir ho na burui hon in a adaneth,” he proclaimed, snickering towards the end. You pinched the bridge of your nose and exhaled loudly. 

“Orophin! How am I supposed to tell Haldir what you said… if I can’t understand you?” 

One.

Two.

Three steps.

Orophin waas close enough that you’re sure he could hear how rapidly your heart was beating against your chest, how uneven and shallow you breathing was. His eyes glanced down your form, slowly travelling back up to your face. His pale blue eyes glittered like sapphires as his soft hand reached out to touch you. His long fingers delicately traced your body, leaving you a shivering mess as you attempted to maintain a calm composure. Your head was nothing but static as your face grew hotter with each passing second, despite the cold air hitting you.

“Well then perhaps we continue those lessons?” he asked, the smirk on his face growing wider with each unsteady inhale of air. 

“Right now?” you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper. 

He simply nodded his head, his smirk turning into a full blown grin. It was wicked and fatal and positively sinful. You attempted to pull back, your mind screaming at you to not fall back into what you knew to be a honey trap. But instead of backwards you moved forward, desperate to get as close as physically possible to him, but even then it wasn’t enough.  

“But someone could see, the Warden’s heavily patrol this close to the city,” you said, eyes widening a fraction as you stare up at Orophin. His finger moves up your body and to your face, tracing your cheekbones with a phantom touch. 

“Let’s hope they have enough courtesy to not interrupt, these lessons are paramount to your stay here in Galadhrim.” 

Before you could even breath, he brought his face down towards the crook of your neck. And when his face was only a few centimeters away from making contact with your skin, he paused. The warm breath that hit your skin felt like a frost storm compared to the heat building in you.

“Im innas na harno cin, nin lend lóth” 

“Im innas na harno cin, nin lend lóth.” The phrase felt jagged and rough, the elven dialect still foreign from your lips, while Orophin’s were smooth as silk. 

“Good, it seems you’ve learned more than originally thought,” he muttered, the vibration of his voice sent a shiver up your spine, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake. You couldn’t do anything, your mind nothing more than a pile of mush.  All you can do is nod, anticipating the next move Orophin made. 

“What does it mean?” you asked, voice so quiet you were sure he didn’t hear.

After what seemed like eternity, but in reality was only a minute, Orphan placed his soft lips against your neck, leaving behind feather light kisses as he moved up your neck, onto your jawline, and up towards your cheeks. He pulled away just a hair as you watched him with wide eyes, desperate for him to do something. 

“It means, my dear, we have a long night ahead of us.” he whispered. He graced you with one more wicked grin before closing the gap between the two of you, his lips firmly pressed against yours.  

                                                   o0o0o0o   

The pillow beneath your neck was plush and soft, your body nearly melting into a puddle, sinking into the heavenly mattress that supported your tense body. A silk blanket was haphazardly strewn across your body, crumpled and bunching in places. As was usual in Lothlorien, the night sky was beautiful. From your location, the moon was out of sight, but the stars burned so bright you hardly noticed as their light trickled in from the open roof of your talan. The air was cooling against your hot skin, a welcomed change in temperature. 

The soft melody of elves singing in the distance would normally lull you to sleep, their angelic voices drawing out your thoughts, but tonight it grated against your ears. You clenched the delicate blanket in your hands, finger causing crinkles in the soft fabric as it threatened to tear. But you weren’t mad at them or their heavenly singing that was without a single flaw, no it was something unrelated to singing, but very much including elves. 

“Are you trying to ruin your duvet, meril nin,” 

And like clockwork, the very source of your anger and confusion waltzed into your room as if it was his. The lighthearted easiness he carried himself with was a matching set to the smirk that always seemed to be tugging on his lips. But his eyes, his eyes were different this time. You were never good at reading people, even worse when it came to elves who’ve had hundreds of years to practice controlling their emotions. Yet even you could tell there was something different in them tonight. Maybe it was the starlight and the way it shined down upon him, casting a halo atop his beautiful silvery hair. A part of you wondered if you could cut a piece and sell it off to an unsuspecting merchant and pass it off as silver that’s been turned to thread. 

“What do you want Orophin, it’s late?” your tone was exasperated and tired. It always seemed like one thing or another with Orophin that would just leave you more confused than sated. 

“To see you of course!” he exclaimed, a jovial expression perfectly placed on his face. His eyes were alight with wonder and excitement, his lips curling into a grin filled with promises of fun and bad ideas. 

“Well I need to sleep.” 

He just raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow at you, but otherwise seemed undeterred. He took long strides towards your bed, closing the already miniscule distance between the two of you. Before you could even blink more than three times, he sat on your bed, languidly leaning back until he was lying atop your thighs. He looked at you with wide eyes and fluttered his lashes at you. 

“Why are you so grumpy, meril? I thought humans had fun,” he teased, lifting his hand and tapping the end of your nose with his finger, booping you like a cute pet. You couldn’t tell if it was demeaning or downright adorable. 

“I’m not grumpy.”

“Yes you are my dear.” He pushed himself up just enough to swing one leg over you, now straddling your thighs. He began crawling up your body until his knees were flesh with your hips, hands resting beside your head. He leaned down, until there was only a few inches in between. 

Your skin was on fire, burning hotter and hotter with each second that passed. Your eyes searched his face for anything to clue you in on his motives, despite already knowing them. Maybe you were just hoping for something different than the usual procedure. 

“Perhaps I can offer some assistance?”

A smirk appeared on his face, eyes shining in the pale light streaming in from the open rooftop. It was trouble, you knew that, but maybe the fallout wouldn’t be so bad. So against your better judgement, you leaned forward, connecting your lips with his. 

His lips were as sweet and soft as they normally were, the scent of him lulling you deeper and deeper into euphoric bliss, like a wave pulling you deeper and deeper into the ocean. All reason left your brain, the only thing it could focus on being him and the feeling of his body pressed against you. You reach a hand up, tangling it in his silver hair. It slides through your fingertips like silk, falling from your hand like a waterfall. Your hand wandered up until you met the braids that held the front pieces of his hair back. You scrape your fingers along his scalp before trailing your hand down. You graze the very tip of his ear, light as a feather. 

He lets out a gasp, the sound swallowed by your mouth. He pulls away for a moment, migrating his lips from your mouth down and down until he’s leaving angel kisses along your neck. 

Then like being woken from a deep sleep with a piercing scream, your eyes shot open. You pull your hands away from Orophin, cradling your hand as if he burnt the flesh. You sit up and attempt to catch your breath, feeling like you ran 10 miles without a break. 

“We need to stop.”

“Why meril?” a sly smirk appeared on his face, as he began to crawl towards you to close the new distance between you two, only pausing when you held a hand out. 

“I’m serious, Orophin,” your voice was stern and confident, the opposite of the chaos that was in your brain. Worldesly, he moves off of you, opting to sit on the other side of you, feet hanging over the side of the bed. 

“What is it?” 

“What are we?” you said, he opens his mouth, but you cut him off, already not liking the glint in his eyes. “I’m being serious.”

A sigh escaped his mouth, causing your heart rate to increase and your anxiety to kick into overdrive. 

The dreaded conversation you always knew would come. 

“I thought we were just, you know, having fun.” The words cut into you like a knife, the pain almost physical. 

“Oh.” 

“It’s just, it’s difficult, I thought you knew that.” he said, some frustration leaking into his voice, whether it was directed at you or him, you didn’t know. “Us together would just be too difficult.” The knife embedded in your heart twists. 

“How can you say that when we aren’t even trying?” you exclaimed, the words rushed and your voice crackling at odd spots. 

“Because I know it to be true.” he said. His voice was short and cold, something you never associated with the warmth Orophin usually radiated. 

You stutter, your brain short circuiting as you attempt to process everything. 

And when your brain finally caught up, Orophin was gone, disappearing into the night.

                                                 o0o0o0o

“You lean too heavily to your right, did you know that?”

You jumped, not far, but enough to break the intense concentration you moments prior had. In your fright, the hand tightly gripping the bow string loosen and before you could react the arrow was released. It pathetically sailed through the arrow, bearing too far to the right. It only managed to get halfway through the training ground before it fell to the ground, like a limp noodle.

Whirling your body, a scowl overcoming your face, you saw Orophin. He was only a few paces away from you, holding a bright red apple that he brought to his mouth and took a bite from. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes when he started making exaggerated noises of delight, his eyes shut as if the apple was the most euphoric thing he'd tasted. 

“What was that for?” you exclaimed, your very short fuse exploding. “You ruined a perfectly good shot!”

 He finished chewing the piece of apple he bit off and then tossed it into the trees. One ashen eyebrow quirked at you as Orophin sauntered towards you, walking with the relaxed confidence only he could manage and a sly smirk on his face. Like clockwork, your heart began pounding in your chest and your face heated up. 

And he knew it too, you could see it in the way his smirk widened just a fraction and his eyes lit up with amusement. 

So you just scowled deeper, narrowing your eyes at him in hope of convincing not only him, but yourself that he didn’t have any effect on you. 

Biggest lie of the century. 

“If it was perfectly good it would’ve hit the target?” he said, his words teasing and light. 

“Well it would’ve if you didn’t distract me!” you replied. You were seething, not because of the arrow, but because of Orophin. He was confusing and infuriating, and perfect in every way. And you hated yourself, hated yourself because you couldn’t hate him, not really. 

“Are you saying I’m distracting? My lady, I am flattered that you can’t focus on anything just by merely hearing my voice!” he exclaimed, smirk contorting into a full blown smile. It’s blindingly bright and captivating, everything the sun shining down on Lothlorien was. 

“That’s not that I said you i-idiot!” 

“Really? That’s what I heard,” he replied, closing the distance between the two of you. He stopped a few inches away from you, close enough that you could hear his heartbeat and feel his breath fanning against you, and if you tried hard enough, you’d momentarily make contact if you breathed hard enough. The intoxicating scent of trees, rain, and something else that was distinctly Orophin. You hated how dizzy it made you feel and you hated that it was easily the sweetest smell you’ve experienced. 

He placed his hand on your tense shoulder and began to turn your body. With eyebrows that nearly touched your hairline, you opened your mouth, prepared to demand to know his intentions, but nothing came out except for a pitiful squawk. He turned your body until you were facing the direction of the training field, staring straight at the target you previously attempted to hit. 

“Relax, you’re as tense as Haldir when we’re on patrol.” He practically purred in your ear, the air from his words tickling your ear in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. 

“What are you doing?” You were cautious and on high alert, full well knowing how things with Orophin usually ended. 

“Fixing your form. it’s not bad for a human, but you’re with the Eldar now,” he whispered. Orophin wrapped one arm around your waist and brought the other one to rest underneath the elbow of your bow arm. His touch was light and delicate, feeling more like the caress of a ghost than a corporeal person. And like a machine, you brought the bow up into position, placing a fresh arrow into proper position with a single fluid movement. 

“I also wanted to apologize for last night. I should not have stormed out the way I did.”

“It’s okay,” you said, your voice hoarse and rough, like a sharp rock.

“It’s not, but I appreciate the sentiment. Now let’s get back to the archery lesson, mell nin.”

“Mell nin. That means my dear?” You turned to face him, eyes widened like a doe as you carefully watched his face. His eyes locked with yours, his grip on you tightening ever so slightly. He grinned at you with a look more radiant and shining than before. Gods, you could go blind if you stared at him for too long, but it would be worth it. Blindness wouldn’t be so bad if his face would be burned into your mind for the rest of your life. 

“You’ve been catching on”

“Sometimes I listen,” you replied, keeping your voice low so as to not disturb the quiet aura that encapsulated the two of you. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Orophin this soft with you, usually he was all mischief and sex appeal. But now he was… at ease and relaxed, like he didn’t have to put on any airs. 

It was… nice.

Your lips tilted upwards as your eyes shined like starlight. Your erratic heartbeat slowed until it was in time with Orophin’s. Your eyes flickered down to his lips then back to his eyes. He followed your movements, not eyeing you like a predator but with… something else. Something you’ve seen the elves share with their husband or wife, the type of softness and vulnerability only present with someone you really care about. 

And you know, without a shadow of a doubt where Orophin’s thoughts stood seeing as he verbalised them last night in your room. You knew he didn't see this going anywhere permanent. Yet the look in his eyes and the complete ease he has around you says otherwise.

And then it’s suddenly cold. And before you have a chance to even blink, Orophin is gone, again.

                                                  o0o0o0o

“You can come out now, you pointy eared dummy!” you yelled, flailing your arms wildly as you do so, the wine bottle precariously held in your fingertips slipping and falling to the ground. Your eyes follow it, watching with wide eyes as the bottle hits the forest floor, bubbly liquid pouring out of the open top. 

“Shit,” you muttered, but made no move to pick it up. 

“That’s not very nice,” a soft melodic voice said from behind you. It was beautiful and light… you hated it. Whirling around, your legs wobbled as you began to lose your balance. Orophin surged forward to steady you, but you slapped his arm away.

“Don-- don’t touch me. No means no Oro,” you said, stumbling backwards until you fell to the ground, landing on your butt. Pain immediately flared up in the area, a pathetic whimper leaving your mouth. 

“Are you hurt?” he asked, moving towards you with slow and exaggerated movements, treating you like a scared baby. The thought caused you to scoff. You probably were a baby to half of the people here. Stupid elves and their stupid immortality.  

“Yes, emotionally and physically,” you said, closing your eyes and holding your head up, attempting to keep a sliver of your dignity. “But mainly physically right now.” 

“Maybe you shouldn’t drink so much then.” Once he was close enough, Orophin sat on the ground, his knees ghosting your skin. It burned like hot coals, singing the skin. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t drink more!” You pointed a finger at him and scowled, attempting to appear menacing. And in your mind, you were, except your finger couldn’t stay still and your face looked more like a pouting puppy than a fearsome killer. It would’ve made Orophin laugh if not for the sorrow poorly hidden in your eyes and your current pathetic state. He didn’t have to ask, he knew it was because of him. 

“I haven’t had any wine today,” he said, using the same tone he did when he found you alone in the Lorien woods all those months ago. When he had to coax you out from behind the mallorn trees after narrowly escaping a pack of orcs that got too close to Lorien.  

“Not my problem.”

“Of course! I must bear this burden on my own, my lady.” His tone was overly exaggerated. Against your better judgement, a smirk pulled at the corner of your lips, faint chuckle escaping between your lips.

“There’s that smile,” he teased, reaching forward and poking your cheek.

“Stop treating me like a child you stupid dolphin fin,” you muttered angrily, swatting at his invading hand. “I’m an adult you know.”

“Of course you are.”

“And don’t you forget it, buster!” You pointed a finger in his general direction, eyes still firmly shut. 

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, allowing the quiet atmosphere to swallow you whole. Orophin sighed, moving so he sat beside you, careful to not touch you.

“What’s wrong meleth? Why did you drink so much? Normally it’s near impossible to get you to drink more than two glasses when we’re together,” His voice is quiet and serious. 

‘Don’t call me love like that, you fool. You don’t love me, not really,” you muttered, leaning your head against the tree behind you. The silver bark is softer than you thought it would’ve been. Certainly not as rough and coarse as the ones back home.

“And how do you know that?” His eyes burned into your skin, like the sun bouncing off of a magnifying glass and incinerating small ants. 

“In case you’ve forgotten, you’re the one who said we couldn’t be together.” you said, opening your eyes for the first time since he sat by you. You searched his face for anything, but you couldn’t read him, probably due to your state of intoxication. 

“That’s not wh--” he began but you promptly cut him off by placing your hand over his mouth.

“But it’s how it was received. I get it Orophin, I’m human you're an elf,--” you obnoxiously exaggerated the word. “--your oil and I’m water, I get it now, don’t worry. It’s cool, there were no rules, so it’s on me that I let it get this far,” You told him. 

And you tried. You really tried to sound unbothered and nonchalant, to be as cold as ice. But the words were hollow, exposing how hurt you really were. 

Stupid elf. 

“You have to understand how diff--” Once again, you cut him off, the words being swallowed by the palm of your hand. 

“No, you don’t understand. I’ve played your little game for months and I’m tired of it. You hear me? Tired!” you exclaimed. You leaned forward and attempted to stand from your sitting position, however as soon as you moved, the world around you grew fuzzy, Orophin multiplying into two. 

“Be careful,” he snapped at you as he reached out to grab a hold of you. He pulled you from the ground, but you violently ripped away from him. 

“Don’t touch me you-- you, you big dummy!” you yelled, pushing him away and onto the forest floor. The fall was broken by the lush greenery that covers the Lorien first floor, so he easily scrambled up. You stumbled away, in your mind moving at the speed of lightning, however you were only able to get five paces away before falling to the ground. 

Tears of frustration and sadness built up in your eyes, your hands clenching tightly into fists. Hot tears streamed down your face, as you lay there on the floor like a baby throwing a tantrum. You smacked your fist against the ground, the throbbing pain dulled by alcohol. 

“I hate you, you know that? I hate you because I really don’t,” you muttered, already knowing Orophin was standing behind you. He said nothing and you couldn’t decide if that was better or worse. 

“I just- I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t want to keep sneaking around like I’m some horrible secret. I don’t wanna keep secrets just to keep getting small pieces of you.” 

You turned and looked at him, eyes tear stained and your face splotching and red. God you were a mess. And in the glimmer of the starlight, you saw a faint stream of tears falling down his cheeks, landing on the ground. God, they even cry pretty.

“Y/N--” he began, taking a single step towards you, causing you to scoot forward, sliding across the forest like a toddler who can’t walk right. 

“God, I love you, and that’s probably the worst thing you’ve ever heard,” you muttered. Your mind no longer felt foggy from the wine, your eyes glossy from tears and not a state of intoxication. You stood up, and walked away, leaving Orophin behind. And the hand he held outstretched towards you slowly fell limp as he watched you walk away. 

                                              o0o0o0o

It had been months since you’d last spoken to Orophin. Time passed agonizingly slow, minutes becoming centuries, yet everything felt like a haze at the same time. Every day regret would beat against you, pushing you further and further into a never ending abyss. It was odd not having Orophin intruding on your day in some way, scarily enough, it was almost like Orophin was never there. The phantom of where he used to touch you burned like ice until you were nearly numb all over your body. 

God it was hell, trying to keep up with his whirlwind of emotions, trying to decipher if you were just having a fun time or if he truly cared for you. It was exhausting being in a constant state of turmoil, your heart bleeding nearly every second, only to be lazily patched up with every kiss. But at least you had a piece of him, even if it was just a sliver. 

You did everything to give off the illusion of being preoccupied. You went wandering through the forest collecting flowers, you practiced embroidering and then practiced again, you read the same three books over and over again, but everything always came back to Orophin. And for that you were glad he was gone with the other Wardens, patrolling the forest. The orcs were growing more bold in their attacks, so Haldir increased the watch and the Warden’s time away. You didn’t trust your self control, and if Orophin was just within your grasp, you would’ve caved long ago. Falling back into him and whatever he was willing to give you, only to begin the hellish cycle all over again. 

For once you were grateful for Haldir’s extreme dedication to his job. 

So now you lay in your favorite clearing, lazily flipping through a book you’ve already memorized, the grass cocooning you, leaving angel kisses on your body. The sound of grass crumpling beneath someone’s step brought you from your thoughts. Looking up, you saw Orophin, standing with the trees. He was wearing his Lorien cloak, weaved in every color of the forest to better conceal the wearer, and his leather armor with his bow loosely held at his side. 

You stared at him and he looked back. His eyes were wide and hopeful, nearly glossy in the light. His lips were pulled in a thin line, and you could see him chewing on the inside of his lips. 

“What are you doing here?” you asked, slowly closing your book and placing it beside you. You sat up, but didn't stand. You refuse to be the one to leave. 

“You were wrong.” 

“What?” you asked, eyes narrowed at him as you purse your lips. 

“You were wrong.” he stated again, as if it would suddenly become clearer to you. 

“I don’t under--” you began but he cut you off. Like the wind, he rushed towards you, his bow forgotten on the forest floor where he used to stand. He slid onto his knees so he was level with you, grasping your hands in his and surged forward, the force knocking you to the ground. 

“What are you--” You started to say, face immediately turning red and your heart rate increasing. And then he’s kissing you. Not with his usual playfulness, or the lust that laced every touch, but it was nice and soft and sweet. More akin to an innocent first kiss rather than the fire he usually possessed. And as soon as his lips were on you, they were off, but he didn’t move, and you didn’t want him to. 

“You were wrong. It isn’t the worst thing I’ve ever heard.” he muttered, his breath tickling your lips. 

Oh. 

Oh.

In that moment it clicked, the foggy memoires you have of that night coming back to you. You’d uttered that exact phrase to him, “I love you, and that’s probably the worst thing you ever heard.” Against your better judgement, a small smile forms on your lips and this time it was you closing the distance. 

“I love you, meleth nin. I. Love. You.” he punctuated each word with a kiss, causing your skin to burn where his lips touched. “And I’m sorry I refused to admit it for so long.”

“You better be,” you replied, pulling his body closer to you, if that was physically possible. 

“Does this mean I’m forgiven?” he asked, pulling away from your lips. You smirked at him, eyes alight with the mischief that was missing for so long. 

“No, but that could be earned,” you said, playing with the fine hair at the nape of his neck. 

“I must warn you, it’s going to be a lot of hard work,” you teased, pressing your lips to the corner of his lips. A small whine left his mouth as he attempted to capture your lips fully with his. 

“Then it’s a good thing I’m a dedicated Warden.”

“We’ll see about that.”

                                                   o0o0o0o

Tags: 

@kenobiguacamole​ | @aearonnin​ | @emiliessketches​ | @vibratingbones​ | @ranhanabi777​

[sailing-elitsha]

Carrebeean, Here we are!!!

As I said before: 5783 nautical miles we sailed towards this little paradise where we are still on quarantine anchorage. Waiting on the PCR result is always making me a bit nervous, especially this time. If we are tested negative, we have the chance here in Grenada to get the AstraZeneca vaccines and we will travel much freer than we do now.

But no boredom: a little leak in the hand wash basin, try to clean the mud off ELITSHA, friends and family to speak to, small other repairs, taking the lead in UBUNTU again since we have full and unlimited internet on board, planning and booking Zora’s and Su’s tickets towards us, baking bread again and of course swimming and snorkelling.

 But let me talk first a little bit about Suriname and our short sail to Grenada. Suriname was for a long time a Dutch colony. Since 1975, this country is the smallest independent state in South America. The previous president unfortunately abused his power and all the resources the beautiful country has, for example gold, aluminium, oil, bananas got exported unwisely and the profit went into the presidents and his friend’s pockets. That is what Surinamers were telling us. In the meantime, there is a new president, but there is Corona as well. The ECO tourism, Suriname was good and well known for, stands still and the country is in a bad state and shape. At the banks of the Suriname river, entering Suriname, you see big and then I mean really big villas. According to the locals they belong to friends of the former president and to drug lords. A very familiar story to us South Africans. The Netherlands is still involved and helps where they can, but a few days after we left Suriname they closed the country: total lockdown. Just above 500 000 people live in Suriname and most of them in and close to Paramaribo. People are currently getting infected and dying in huge numbers from Corona: not enough hospital beds, not enough vaccinations, not enough oxygen……… not enough doctors and nurses. Their rainy season is terrible this year due to the ELNino effect and its really tuff for the poor population. After a good week in the Marina and a road trip through the rural part of the country to a big dam where people are searching for gold, visiting banana plantations, visiting Paramaribo with a lot of rain we said goodbye to the populated part of Suriname together with Elitsha and we sailed into the Commewijne river. This was so romantic and special. The jaguars, caiman and anacondas were too scared of us, hahahahha. We did not see them, but we heard and enjoyed the voices of the jungle, saw and heard millions of birds, parrots and all kind of other noises. It was magical.  Three days we were totally one with nature, did not see any human being, together with Elitsha.

Coming back from Commewijne river was coming back to happy reggae life. Looking for a spot ashore to get our dingy on board for the trip to Grenada, a fisher of New Amsterdam waved us to come next to his fisher boat. Loud reggae music and a very friendly crew invited us for coffee, tea and biscuits……….and dagga and rum………..Unfortunately, we had to say thank you no (dagga and rum out of question, of course). The threat of getting infected just before we go back to sea again for a couple of days made us kindly refusing the offer. Even though we chatted a while with them and they helped us to get the dingy motor on board. And that’s how Surinamers are, chatty, always happy to assist and help, curious and interested about who you are. As I mentioned before people told us in advanced, that coming to South or Central America or the Caribbean with a South African flag would ask for problems. That was one of the reasons why we registered Elitsha in Germany. But we always say that we are from Cape Town, we don’t hide that and up to now we had no bad experiences. People are impressed that we come from that far to visit their small country and want to know if we like it. They loved the fact that we speak Dutch, because Dutch is still the first language in Suriname. Anyway, after chatting to the fishermen, we tied everything nicely, slept a short night and left New Amsterdam and Suriname at 6 am on the 25th of May.

Aware of the thread of Venezuelan pirates (Surinamers and NOON site (cruiser website) informed us about it), we sailed at a safe distance from the coast. Even though we choose to pass trough the Galleon’s passage between Trinidad and Tobago, but we choose to pass it close to the Tobago side,  away of the Venezuelan coast. On our way we saw a fair number of oil platforms, huge ones, with huge flames, we could see from far. This was also a bit spooky. We had 35 to 40 knots of wind and a good speed to leave the oil area and the Galleon’s passage behind us. I think, pirates do not like rain. We had tons of rain and no pirates though……..although: Dick told me later, that 40 miles out of both coasts, the Grenadian and the Tobagonian, a fast open boat with 3 men in it sped past us. We think they were checking us out, how rich we are. The stretch between Tobago and Grenada apparently is also declared as an unsafe area. That is what we heard later when we arrived in Grenada. Our neigor, Steve, always has a gun with him. Happily, with enough wind and a strong currant we passed Tobago at 4:30 in the morning and arrived safely in Grenada at 17:00 on the 28th of May.

Close to the harbour at the quarantine anchorage we spoke to our South African friends of the Aventura, a young couple with 2 dogs and his parents on their way to emigrate to Panama. We saw them in every harbour we visited up to now. They left Suriname a few days earlier then we did. They craved for blue water and thought jaguar, caiman and anaconda would perhaps love their dogs too much. In any way, nice to see them again. They explained the Grenadian procedures to us and on Saturday we went ashore to register with the health department. We inhaled the positive and relaxed Grenadian vibe immediately: steel drum music from the taverns, people on the streets, Corona is almost dealt with.

And in the meantime, 1 week in St George, we are declared negative and are allowed to explore the island. Paul, a registered tour guide grabbed his chance. Slandering around the harbour he almost forced us to have a tour with him.  The cruise ships are missed by restaurants, tour guides…not by us. Paul told us, that they on “good” days had 6000 tourists from cruise ships ashore. Dick and I were quite happy to escape these “good“ days. Pity for Paul, that’s why we went with him on a long trip through St. George at noon and let him earn some ECDs.  Hot and up and down, I was exhausted at the end. We didn’t walk much for the last 2 months at least..

Grenada is the spice island: nutmeg, gloves, cinnamon, and other spices grow here. They have a golden waterfall and many more attractions. We will explore them all and share with you. For now, we experienced the spicy side of the island by drinking shandies with nutmeg, eating ice cream with nutmeg and gloves and some other weird things you would think its really ugg, but in reality it’s absolutely amazing.

We are registered for Astra Zeneca vaccination and yes, we are in a marina with a nice club house and WIFI and not on anchorage or at a mooring buoy. For the first time in almost 3 months, I am able to go and stay where I want on my own. For somebody like me, who likes her independence, its heaven. Opposite of our little paradise, there is another marina, posh and expensive and not really our style. Elitsha, would feel a bit lonely between all the posh-million dollar-yachts. I don’t know, if I mentioned before, that a lot of other cruisers, have fancy and well-equipped boats with freezers, bread baking automates, washing machine, water cooker……. you name it. Our only luxury is a fridge, a BBQ and a good stove with oven, cosy and exactly what we need no more and no less. Anyway, Elitsha got a good clean-up. Sticky, a local guy, Dick and I made her looking pretty again. The water of the Suriname river was dirty through mud and chemicals, they use for the gold extraction industry, we learned. And this was very difficult to get off the hull-0987654Qasdfuiop[.

My home office is in the marina’s clubhouse, with more than brilliant views!          Unfortunately, UBUNTU for Africa’s operations manager, who took over financials and admin of the NGO from me, resigned a few days ago. That’s why I am back on the job and working every day for an hour or 3. Alene Edson Smith, local social worker, who was already involved in the family program and took over my job at Kronendal Primary, is doing the hands-on jobs, where you have to be involved personally onsite, like team meetings, meetings with principals etc. For now, we won’t have stretches which will take more than 3 days and we have internet and WIFI. No problem to work though. I love my work as much as I love cruising. To combine both is absolutely great.

For the rest the NGO is in good hands, with our after-care team, Barbara Heye, who is mentor to a single mother with 3 kids. And as I mentioned before Alene Edson Smith, well known in the valley through her involvement through her own NGO, Serenity, took over the reins at Kronendal Primary from me and is mentor to 5 families in our NGO. We share the lead of UBUNTU for Africa. What I can do, I will do, where personal presence is needed, Alene will be hands on. She will lead the sound and music studio, which will release their first CD soon. Lelo managed to get 2 new volunteers into this project, for marimba and music production. Ricardo will remain taking the lead on Silikamva side and Alene will have a firm look and hand on the project.

After care is just running. Andiswa and her team also get support from Alene. But this team of 5 is just doing what they can do best: love our children and supervise, support, teach them and make sure that they are safe.  

 Questions for the kids:

1.       How many kilometres did we sail from Cape Town to Grenada?

2.       Which language do the people speak in Suriname?

3.       What kind of currency do we used in Suriname and which one in         Grenada?

4.       Please explain, what the modern pirates of the Caribbean are up to.

5.       What is the name of the small entrance to the Caribbean between Trinidad and Tobago?

 Sponsor sail:

For the ones who want to take part in our sponsor sail: We have sailed 1812 nautical miles. You can donate a cent, a Rand, a Euro or whatever per nautical mile. We are sailing for these amazing schools: every nautical mile and each Rand counts. To UBUNTU for Africa,German  NGO.                                                                                                                                                                   

The money will go to the UBUNTU for Africa projects: after care at Hout Bay Primary School and the music project at Silikamva High School. This organisation I started 12 years ago (www.ubuntuforafrica.com) Of course, you will receive a tax certificate. 

Ubuntu for Africa-Kinder-, Jugend und Familienhilfe in Südafrika                         

Volksbank Boenen e G                                                                                           

IBAN: DE91 4106 2215 0054 5799 01                                                                  

For South Africans and others, who want to donate directly to South Africa (also with tax certificate): please donate to Kronendal Primary School (www.kronendalprimary.com). I worked for 10 years at Kronendal Primary as a school counsellor. This school struggles financially due to the consequences of the Covid Pandemic and deserves our support.                                                   

KRONENDAL PRIMARY SCHOOL trading as CUIM (“the account holder”) holds the following account with                                                                                       

First National Bank, a division of FirstRand Bank Limited (“FNB”): Account Type BUSINESS ACCOUNT

Account Number 53452884035                                           

Branch Code 204009                                                                                         

Branch Name HOUT BAY 345                                                                               

Swift Code FIRNZAJJ                                                                            

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Jinxed- Part 2

Calum’s so used to fucking up that when a second chance comes his way he’s not sure what to do with it. Demon!Calum. 

CW: Mentions of death. 

Enjoy my masterlist

Support me on kofi. 

No one has my permission to repost this fic, including translations. All rights reserved. Copyright © be-ready-when-i-say-go.

__________________________

Her house is a mess. Dishes have piled up, her laundry is overflowing the basket. She hasn’t returned anyone’s phone call. Her mother has left twenty or so voicemails. Her text notifications are near the hundreds. None of those matter. His notes aren’t slipped under the door. She’s checked every night for one. Like her brain hasn’t computed that he’s actually gone. But he is. There is nothing but that handful of dust. 

When she calls all those old numbers, she gets an automated voice. It tells her that the number she is trying to reach is out of service or has been disconnected. She always sobs on the last word. She is disconnected. Disconnected from a friend. Disconnected from her loved ones because no amount of the phone buzzing and shaking on the table gets her to pick it up. A lifeline has been unplugged. 

Ruby clutches the small jar to her chest most days, or keeps it near. It feels appropriate for all the times Calum would shoot whiskey or hennessey straight out of one of them. Or the time he left a single carnation in one of her mason jars. It was pink, even though she hated pink. The next time he brought white. She carries the little bit of him left in the mason jars he used to always poke fun about. 

She can’t even cry anymore tears. She just sits, curled up in his jacket. She’s starting to lose his scent though. She can smell now is herself mostly. Ruby can’t mess up Calum’s jacket. The least she can do is preserve that. So she peels herself out of, draping it carefully over the edge of her bed and goes to shower. 

She texted her boss the next morning after it happened, after the shock still weighed her down. Ruby explained she’d need to take a couple personal days. Ruby really thought that was all it would take. Like a couple days just to get herself out of the funk. It’s hard to deal with death, but she thinks that she can bolster through. However, everytime she walks into her living room, she stares at the spot he last kneeled and her whole chest shatters. Her lungs can’t expand large enough for hair. She wheezes while tears stream down her face. 

If she could use the sprinkling of his ashes and her tears to sprout him again, she would’ve done so by now. She stands, in that spot, clutching his shirt, praying there’s anything she could do to bring him back. She is by no means, a witch. She tries nevertheless. She prays that anything brings him back. At first she wanted to never know Calum. It would be much easier to never hold onto these memories of falling asleep on him when she just couldn’t keep her eyes open anymore. 

The reality though is that she’s happy to have known him. She’s happy to have those random trips for ice cream, even though she knows it’ll make her intestines shiver. If she didn’t have those experiences, what would’ve been the last year and half of her life? Who would she be without the imprint of Calum on her soul? 

____

Her hair is no doubt a mess when she walks into work. She managed to do laundry and put on decent clothes. Her dishes are still not done. She’s yet to take the trash out with all the delivered fast food. But at least she’s taken care of one thing. She was just much too tired to keep her shoulders lifted to properly comb out. Most of the knots are out with her pick and wide tooth comb. 

“Hey stranger,” Tiff says. Her smile is soft, maybe even a little sad. 

“Hey, sorry about being gone for so long.” She can feel the sting behind her eyes now. Fuck, she really thought she had cried enough. How does she even begin to function like her life is normal again? 

“No, no, it’s okay.” Tiff collects Ruby into her arms, combs and all still in her hands. “Shh, it’s okay.”

“He’s gone. I just--I can’t believe it,” Ruby hiccups. 

_____

The weeks pass, blurring into months. Ruby lingers less often on the spot in her living room. She still wears his shirt around the house just for comfort sake. His leather jacket hangs in her closet, now a staple piece even though it’s boxy on her. It’s comfortable. It’s lived in. Even though his cologne is long gone and nothing but the scent of the cleaners is seeped into the garment, she can still feel the lingering of Calum in it. 

She knows he slipped his arms into the same holes. He layered it with a sweatshirt and beanie. There is something of him, his living visage still seeped into the threads that makes her feel better when she wears if, even if she doesn’t need the comfort constantly. 

Ruby keeps up with her dishes now too. Her laundry basket is emptied at least once a week. It hurts less to laugh. She can go about her day easier now. She doesn’t think she’ll ever reach her old normal. But she likes her new normal, the new routine of noticing the small things that Calum used to do that don’t cause her chest to rupture. But she gives a sad smile whenever the thoughts cross her mind. 

Like now, sitting in Kourtney’s car, Ruby is slightly reminded of the times that she and Calum would ride across town, just to try the latest sweet treat. 

“I don’t know how you’ve been single for this long now,” Kourtney laughs from the driver seat. The red light stares down at them and they stare up at it for the moment being. The comment isn’t mostly out of the blue. But their previous conversation about how dating is hard had died down a little. 

Ruby look to her friend through her peripheral. The high ponytail weave still slick and perfectly pinned in place. “I haven’t been single for that long.”

“It’s going on two years now! Ever since your birthday when that creepy guy cornered you at the bar. You broke things off with Darrell, what three just weeks before that?” Kourt risks a glance over. Rubs picks at her nails, the set of extended nails a deep burgundy color. They don’t mention that birthday too much. 

It was brought up once before after Calum’s passing and Ruby broke down into tears. Kourtney and the rest of the girls thought that Ruby and him had been dating and then broken up. But the way she cried and told them that a good friend had passed away, they figured they might be wrong about it. Everyone does their best to dart around the topic. 

Ruby makes sure never to give a name. Part of it feels like a disservice. That she’s silencing him even in death. But the other part knows it’s better this way. That she can’t say his name. Not to anyone. Would she be causing trouble for herself if she does? Would Lucifer come back for her? She’d rather not having the devil himself show up at her door again. Once is more than enough in a lifetime. 

Ruby blinks. It has been two years. Time surely hasn’t slowed. But it doesn’t feel like it’s sped up either. “Well I won’t be taking anymore recommendations from you,” she tsks, sucking her tongue around teeth. 

“You can’t hold Tre over my head forever. I thought she was cool.”

“She’s like the rest of them n--,” She had more to say but Kourtney cuts her off with a wave of her hand, as if she’s heard the guilt trip from Ruby enough already.

“So are we going out for your birthday or not?”

Ruby doesn’t know what she wants to do for her twenty sixth birthday. It feels mundane. It’s not 21 or even her 30’s. Just 26, a tick mark in the calender of her life. Just another day on the wheel. “We could go back,” Ruby offers with a shrug of her shoulders. 

Kourt presses down as the light turns green. “Back to Greenlight? It’s an hour out of town.”

“The music was lit.”

“The drinks were expensive.”

“You’ll have a birthday girl.”

“Why do you want to go back?” Kourtney asks but not without having to tap her brakes to allow for an asshole weaving through the lanes. She flips them the bird. 

Ruby watches, focus blurring on the passing asphalt. She can’t avoid things forever. She can’t hide from what’s happened. Calum’s dead. Though she’s wondered if demon’s can every truly die. Part of her wished she had asked sooner. She wished she had considered what happens when she dies, if she’ll ever cross paths with him again. Should she make some sort of deal with the devil? Calum would probably have her head for something like that. 

“Earth to Ruby!” Kourtney shouts, snapping her fingers near Ruby’s ear. 

“I’m not dead,” Ruby huffs. 

“Why should we hikes our asses all the way to Greenlight? Need to pour one out for them?”

Ruby has to laugh. Calum would not stand for the waste of alcohol in his honor. But it feels appropriate to remember him like that, even if it is wasted whiskey on concrete. “Yeah, something like that.”

“Someone’s gonna have to DD. Because I am not splitting that Uber again. I couldn’t even afford enough drinks for a solid buzz.”

“It won’t be long. But I guess if it’s an hour drive. We better make it worth our while. There’s a waffle joint close by too. Make pretty good breakfast.”

Kourtney parks in front of the mall, lips pursed. “And how would you know that ma’am?”

Keeping her gaze straight ahead, Ruby shrugs. Her lips curve though. The smile slowly etching itself onto her face. “Heard it through the grapevine.”

“Yeah right. Who you fuck that far across town?”

“No one,” Ruby defends. Her offended tone doesn’t last long before her laughter cuts through. It’s shocking that she’s never brought up the night she spent with Calum. But Ruby nows her friends. The would take any amount of scandalous details and run it for miles. 

Kourtney’s nonbelief is clear on her face, especially with the eyeroll. “Yeah and I was born last night.”

The women climb out of the car, laughing. As Ruby slings the purse onto her shoulder, Kourtney leans against the hood of the car. “Was it them? The one that passed away?”

Ruby matches her position. She can trust Kourtney, one of the few that always been more receptive to Ruby’s quiet moments. She’s always been the one that makes sure to keep the things that need to be quiet quiet. So Ruby nods her head. “Just once.”

“You just out here hoeing around and making friends out of them? Only you Ruby. Only you can sleep with someone and be friends wit’ ‘em.”

Ruby closes the car door, walking around the bumper. There’s a small breeze as they walk to the entrance. “It wasn’t supposed to go down like that. We slept together and I thought it was over. But he came into the salon.”

“So it was a guy, huh?”

“Yeah, he came into the salon to see a stylist. We talked for a minute.” Ruby pauses. She can’t admit that Calum turned out to be a giant asshole and a demonic one at that. “He was a bit of an asshole about it. But it was chill. Then on the date with Tre, he happened to be hanging out there too. She was still yelling about getting some ass. We argued and resolved it. Though, things didn’t actually get fix. She just stormed off. He was there. We hung out getting ice cream.”

Kourtney nods. “So you didn’t sleep with him again after that?”

Ruby shakes her head. “No.”

“Was it that bad?”

“Quite the opposite.”

“So why not?” Kourt screeches. 

The mall isn’t too crowded for the moment. Both of them wanted to get out and about early.  It’s only the older people that walk laps with their wristbands and two pound weights. All of them look at Ruby and Kourtney for sudden loud interruption. They are used to the stares from others because their glossy lips, and occasional pop of their gum. They know the hair and the color of their skin makes them an easy target for judgemental stares. 

It’s sometimes exhausting how true the phrase is that there is nothing new under the sun. There is nothing new about the prejudices they face. There is nothing new to the way they are watched, followed around. There is nothing new about losing loved ones. Nothing new about the stories of their lives. There is just new names on the characters they play. 

“Because we became friends,” Ruby answers. 

“You can fuck your friends.” Kourtney throws the 22 inches over her shoulder. Her nails aren’t long. But are a sharp stiletto point and have rhinestones tacked onto them. 

“You shouldn’t though,” Ruby states. 

Kourtney loves Ruby but sometimes wishes she gave more about her life. How to go from fucking a stranger to becoming their friend is a story that others would kill to tell. But Ruby holds it close to her chest. She won’t give the details.  Even if Kourtney tried to push it out of her, it would only be condensed. She’d only ever get the sparks notes version of the truth. “Fine, fine. We’re here for birthday outfits anyway.”

“Why do you need an outfit for my birthday?”

“Because I can’t go to Greenlight raggedy.”

“Your closet is twice the size of mine. You calling me raggedy?”

“Never in a million years, Rubs. Never.”

Ruby purses her lips but says nothing. Their feet carry them down past the anchor stores to a small run boutique. The displays are still neon and fishnets, with a sprinkle of cheetah print bodycon skirts. The shirts are cropped in the stomach but still thick long sleeved. The fashion choices don’t always make sense. As if only the flesh of arms get cold but not a stomach. 

“Are jeans and clear heels look too simple for my birthday?” Ruby asks, the jeans at the first display for her. She owns enough denim to last her the rest of her life if she gains no more weight. 

The question is mostly to herself, a little bit for Kourtney’s response. Kourtney’s already two racks over, thumbing through the previous season’s sequin tops. “No, it’s a very you look. Spice the top up with some glitter maybe. Or some neon?”

Ruby bypasses the denim, finding a blue sequin dress and holds it up. “Kourt, look what I found.”

A small gasp feels the air. “I need it. And I need it now.”

“Your size too.” Ruby dangles the rack from the tops of her fingers, thumbing over the dresses. Birthdays require maximum fun. A dress will have her stressed that her ass is not showing. Though depending on the amount of shots she’s had the stress of not mooning anyone could easily be overcome by the giggling urge to moon someone. She’ll stick to pants though and let the worry reside for another day when she dares a skirt. 

Kourtney takes the dress from the waiting hand and pulls out a red cheetah print top. “Try this?”

“Looks like a dress I have.”

Kourtney watches Ruby glance over the racks. The hangers making a piercing screeching as they scratch with rusted metal over the glossy metal rods that they hang on. Is smart to support her want to go back to Greenlight? Nothing special is really there about the place. It’s popular and crowded, but that’s only because it’s the latest club on the scene and more artists want to play in the club because of it’s blossoming elitist status. But a good time could be had anywhere.

“Are you positive about Greenlight?” Kourtney asks. 

Ruby nods. “As positive as I am black.”

“So hella positive then,” Kourtney laughs. 

It takes one store for them to find the base pieces, a dress for Kourtney and the top for Ruby. It takes three others for the shoes. In the second store, Kourtney finds her heels, black and strappy to neutralize the red glittery bling. And in the last one, Ruby finds a pair of clear heels--on sale. An important caveat for her considering she may not wear the shoes much after her birthday. 

When Ruby gets home, she drops the bag to her couch. She might be crazy to go back to Greenlight. Yes, they are memories there, but who’s to say that she couldn’t build more there. Why should the only ones she has of the place be tainted by a heaviness that could be replaced? 

____

It’s mutually decided that Ruby can’t be the designated driver for her own birthday. She only offered as a way to keep herself on a leash drinking wise. But her group of friends quickly shot that down.  She slips on the gold hoops as Tiff corrals the already tispy group. She can perfectly enjoy a birthday while being sober, or as close to sober as she could realistically be with a shot or two in her. 

Ruby hears the glasses clinking in her living room. The rest of the group has been sipping on fruity wine. It’s cheap, but good. Tiff hands over her tube of buttergloss. “Peachy nudes always pop more with a little bit of gloss. Always.”

Ruby takes it, just taking in the tube of glass, a fair pink. “Noted.”

___

The Greenlight is packed as always. Bodies look like a giant sea, swaying to and fro. Ruby looks over to the corner. Calum’s not there. She didn’t expect him to be there. But she had a fleeting hope. A sliver of it sits in her chest and drops when there’s just a couple talking, leaned in close to each other. Calum would be sitting there, beanie on his head. The look would not be complete without his leather jacket. She suddenly wishes she had it draped over her shoulders.

A whiskey would be in Calum’s hand of course. Maybe he’d wink at her. Maybe he’d just watch her dance with her friends. He’d offer of course to pay for a drink or two, but he’d really only be on the sidelines to let her enjoy the night. At the end of the night, when her world is still swimming with the buzz of her shots, Calum would probably tuck her into bed with water on the nightstand. “No dying on me tonight,” he’d whisper. 

For a fraction of a second, Ruby wishes she had made Calum promise that too. So that she could be angry for his death for him leaving her. But it really wasn’t of his own volition. That was a choice made for him by someone else’s hand.  

“We’ve got a birthday girl!” Tiff shouts, grabbing Ruby’s arm. 

Ruby’s imagined version of Calum disappears as she’s dragged to the bar. It takes her a moment to start reaching for her clutch to grab her ID. The bartender smiles. “And what will she have?” There’s a quick glance at the ID. Ruby thinks it most definitely isn’t long enough to see her age at all. 

“Whiskey. Straight.” The order falls from her lips without her thinking.

Tiff blinks. “Well that’s different than your usual.”

The only thing Ruby does is shrug. She can offer no explanation. It just feels like the right thing to do. The bartender nods and turns. The rest of the girls order shots or fruity drinks strong enough to knock a grown man over. 

The night doesn’t feel too special. Ruby manages to snag a few free drinks for her friends. The music thumps in her bones and the bass shakes her core. The bodies are still moving in mass, a sway. She finds herself looking to that corner again. The couple’s since left and it’s empty. She wonders if that spot feels like wearing Calum’s jacket. 

Telling Kourtney that she’s headed to the bathroom, Ruby sneaks away from the group. She climbs into the high chair, into Calum’s chair. It feels different up here. To watch everyone living their life. To know that someone’s going to home with someone else, to know that they are all in the middle of something—a breakup, trying to break a two year single streak. Whatever the case may be, every single person on that floor has a life headed in some direction. And she gets to watch the intersections. She gets to see how all the webs cross and unravel. 

“I’m very grateful you are a creature of habit. Or finding you would’ve been hell.” 

Ruby’s heart thunders, the veins in her neck thumping clearly behind the skin. She knows that voice anywhere. Even if she’s only heard it the one time in her apartment. She could identify it in a crowd of thousands. “Don’t you have other lives to ruin?”

Lucifer grins. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

“That is absolutely rich coming from you. So why the fuck are you here?”

“I’m on a delivery. And I don’t think you’d be too receptive of my other Hunters.”

“To what? Deliver a harsh reminder that you killed one of my best friends? Thanks. Especially on my birthday. Perfect timing. You asshole. You’re such a goddamn asshole.” Ruby slips down from the hair, reaching back up to grab her drink. 

“Just listen for two second,” he hisses. When her hand comes up, he drops the long velvet box into it. “It’s from your friend. He never got around to giving it to you. So I figured I’d be nice. For once.”

“From Calum?”

“Yeah, from him.”

“What is it?”

“Look I’m just delivering the damn thing. I don’t ask questions about what it is. Do you realize that does spoil the whole thing about gift giving?”

“How long has he had it?”

“Again, that is not something I can answer.” 

If it weren’t for the fact that he was delivering something from Calum, she’d smack him. Maybe. It’s not like he’d feel it. Calum didn’t feel the left swing she gave him. Granted, it would be more for the affect, for the spectacle. 

“Apparently it’ll mean something to you. He’s been whining. Enjoy the rest of your day. Drink the spirits for me too.” With that, Lucifer slithers through the crowd. She notes it’s less of a walk and more of a glide. Calum had a swagger to his walk. Never rushed but never slow either. Ruby cracks open the box. 

A gold anklet stares back up at her. A small charm is attached. A mason jar etched into the gold plate with a C and R carved inside as well. Her eyes water. He’s had to have it for a while, holding onto it for some reason, for some sort of occasion. He mentioned getting her a gift. Only to her once. In passing, during Christmas. He said he wanted to give her something to remember him by that wouldn’t be subjected to the erosions all memories face. 

He wasn’t sure what to get though. Wasn’t sure how to give it to her. Sure he’d give her small things--surprising her with candy, or giving her t-shirts that he thought she’d enjoy mostly because of the crazy sayings printed on them. But he wanted to give her something tangible, that would fade to the wear of a machine. 

Ruby looks up back into the crowd. Lucifer’s is long gone. She continues to stare out over the packed dance floor. Will he show back up? And what he meant by Calum was whining? Calum was dead. The dead can’t complain, can’t speak, can’t blink. There is nothing but silence from them, right?

“Ruby! That’s one hell of a piss,” Kourtney laughs. Her eyes are glassy, Ruby notes. Maybe she won’t notice the tears forming in the corner of Ruby’s eyes. 

“Helping another girl,” Ruby lies, tucking the box away. “Zipper got caught.”

“C’mon. We got more shots. We need you.”

Ruby extends the hand not holding the chain. They filter through the crowd, over to the counter. She takes the glass of clear liquor, knocking the glasses together. As the liquid slides down her throat, it burns. What burns more is the thought that Calum might be alive somewhere out there in the depths of Hell.

Ruby crawls back into bed. The gold anklet dances against her skin. The last shot still pounds against her head. But the question would not leave her alone. Could Calum still be alive? She saw the dust. But Calum made her promise that she couldn’t watch. Right now, she wishes she had. She would know for sure, with her own eyes if death had truly ruined her. 

Her computer, even dimmed, still is harsh against her eyes. But she squints and opens a new window of Google, incognito. Like it’s illegal to search questions about demons. If it didn’t hurt to laugh, she’d chuckle at herself. 

Can you kill a demon? 

Ruby waits, blinks her eyes once and Google returns with answers, all in blue. She groans and clicks on the link. There had to be a color for the font that was easier on the eyes in the hangover state filled with curiosity.  

Demon traps, salt circles, holy water, heavenly fire, blades. 

This isn’t actually helping, she huffs. So clicks away from that link and back to the search results. Please work, she begs clicking another link. She skims over the black text. You can’t actually kill a demon. It surely look like Calum had died to her. It felt like he had died. Because if he was still kicking around he’d find a way to find her, to talk to her. 

Unless he couldn’t communicate with her like before. Ruby doesn’t know the first thing about how to communicate with any other spiritual beings. But there’s nary a question that Google can’t at least attempt to answer. 

How do you communicate with the dead? 

Ruby pauses. Should she type in how to summon a demon?

She is trying to summon one, technically. She’ll start there with the dead. To her that is what Calum is. He is dead. A dead friend. No matter the status of his spirit, he is dead to her. There’s seance, alters, crystals. Her brain begins to spin. So she closes the screen and lays back into her purple fuzzy pillows. They can offer some solace from the pounding of too much alcohol and too little water and the sting of tears. Calum can’t still be out there. She can’t handle that. 

___

The leather jacket is overkill. She knows. But staring up at the bookcase of books, she finds warmth in knowing that she is carrying a small part of Calum with her. Titles jump up out at her. Most of them centering around Wicca. She’s intrigued and pulls one down. She thumbs through the pages and holds it into the crook of her elbow. 

The Handbook of Witchcraft slips onto the top of her stack. People pass her by and no one seems to blink an eye. It’s her little secret, her little endeavor. To everyone else though, she is just down an aisle in the bookstore. She is just carrying a stack of books. She is just a patron amongst the fairly quiet calm river of the bookstore. She’s not making a ripple or bothering a soul. She is a nobody taking up space meant to be occupied. 

She settles into the cafe attached inside the store. Her stack is about four high. She might as well get started now. The whirring of machines blurs into the background of her mind. 

“Just starting out I see?” 

Ruby glances up. Another black girl with pink box braids tips her plastic cup at her stack. “Looking for answers,” Ruby says. 

Reaching into her pocket, the young girl finds a pen and takes a napkin from the small stack Ruby grabbed for her muffin. The girl scribbles down the at symbol followed by what looks like a username. “This is my Instagram. Message me if you need help.”

“Thanks.” Ruby smiles. “Like the hair.”

“Gotta get them redone. New in town. Still looking for a stylist.”

Ruby reaches into her purse. She grabs a business card for her and the salon. “I do eyebrows mainly. But the salon I work in is black owned.”

“You’re a lifesaver.”

“It can be hard out there.”

Ruby knows she’s been at the store too long when the afternoon sun fades into a pastel orange. Packing up the stack, she proceeds to the registers. The cashier looks unphased, pushing their reward card and membership. Ruby’s thankful. Her secret is safer for even a little bit longer, safe even from the cashier, who probably cares nothing about her life to start with. 

___

Ruby laughs at herself walking into IKEA, even though her entire house is completely furnished. Nothing is broken either. She’s still here though. She gets lost every time she walks through the doors. Taking a survey of the shop, she takes a deep breath. Just a small end table. That’s all she needs. She’ll start there. 

It takes an entire half an hour and help from two different employees but she secures the end table she needs. It’s on sale, or there’s some sort of special. The small wooden two tiered table is only 10 bucks, not including the taxes. It’s even small enough for her carry herself to her car. Though several employees offer one the flatbeds to help her walk even easier. Ruby know she could’ve easily gotten one for free, maybe with more characters, more knicks in it.

All the articles she read mentioned that the table wasn’t the important part. There would be more money to spend elsewhere. Is it wrong to want to give Calum the best if he’s still out there? The only thing Ruby can do is just give it a shot. As she slides the large cardboard box into her truck, she pauses. It’s just a shot. 

It would be funny to have an ivory cloth to cover it, Ruby thinks. Though black is more fitting. She settles later on, while in Target, for a Halloween themed one, black with silver trimming. It’s clearly been lingering since the holidays. She’s shocked they haven’t been tossed out yet by the store. It hasn’t been that long since the holiday, though. So maybe it isn’t old enough to be thrown out just yet. 

Calum might be pissed. She can almost hear his voice in her head, deeming worthy of at least something solid back. But Ruby figures he has a small silver streak in himself. Even if he refuses to believe it himself.He’d probably refute it. Tell her she’s the only silver streak in his damnation.

Ruby would then tell him he’s much too harsh on himself. She misses those moments, the bickering even though it’s not real. Twisting the last screw into place, Ruby looks at the gold anklet again. 

He’s been whining. 

Is she insane? Has she finally gone off the deep end to be sitting in her bedroom, screwing together an end table to create an altar? Calum might not even be on the other side. He could all the day dead. He could be really good. 

But why the present tense? Was it false hope, some sort of unresolved sadness or fear  that kept her clinging to any gram of hope? 

 Honestly, it didn’t matter. If she was insane, Ruby would find out soon enough, right? If she was insane to try and communicate with a damned soul, then it wouldn’t work. She’d just have a spare end table and a cool table cloth to help her decorate for the holidays. It wouldn’t be a waste if it all went to shit on her. 

___

“You have to set it up for what you need. You can add traditional elements. But they’re really customizable.” 

“I need it for like,” Ruby starts then stops, readjusting her grip on the thread.

“No, no. I need not know,” Jasmine reprimands. Her eyes are still closed. Her fingers still holding the skin taut. 

Ruby cleans up the underbrow before moving to the top of the bone. “Aren’t their guides for this kind of stuff? Could I go to someone else to do this?”

“I mean you could yes,” Jasmine says. Ruby brushes away the plucked hairs and moves to the right brow. “You’re looking for something maybe more along the lines of a psychic.”

“I don’t know. Everytime I think I can do it, I chicken out.”

“Just sit for a few minutes. Even if the altar isn’t complete just sit in front of it for a few minutes. Smudge it before and after. Besides, you’re not going to get it right on your first try. It’s not about getting it right the first time either. You have to feel it, know what you’re looking for, know when you’ve found it.”

Ruby hums, focused now on the string pulling the right hairs from the roots. When done and the brows outlined, Ruby hands Jasmine the mirror. “What do you think?”

“Holy fuck,” Jasmine gapes. “My brows have never looked this good.”

“I do my best.”

“You fucking slayed it is what you did.” Jasmine turns her head side to side, to make sure it’s not just a trick of the light and angle. The truth is no, her brows look this good for every angle thanks to the talent of Ruby. Jasmine adds a ten dollar tip to the fee. “I’ll be back for sure.”

“Glad you’re happy with them.”

Jasmine grabs a couple of business cards from the display on the front desk. “For friends,” she notes before shouting loudly over her shoulder. “Bye ladies. See y’all later.”

The entire shop responds with a shout too. Ruby leans into the glass front desk. The sidewalks are pretty dead. A couple boys hanging out because of the barber shop next door. There’s a convenience store at the corner of the block, where most people grab snacks for before coming into their hair appointments. Ruby would go there to grab snacks before movie snacks. She managed to sneak out of the salon well before closing sometimes and because of that, she could load up before calling Calum. Never texted. 

The rest of the day is pretty slow. It’s only Tuesday though. The closer to the weekend they get, the busier it becomes. Ruby walks into her apartment. It’s quiet and she thinks about turning on her TV. There’s never anything on, so she lets the silence lingers and gets water instead. The table is still bear in the corner of her bedroom. Just the cloth. Ruby finds the shoebox in the top of her closet. She pulls the only photo she has of Calum. Just him reclining on her couch in a green t-shirt and sweats. 

He’s not even looking at her, too busy browsing her computer. He was trying to prove her wrong about the meaning of carnations. This then took him down the rabbit hole of flora meaning, which he spent twenty minutes reading aloud to her. Ruby has since put it in a gold frame. It fits him. So she sets the frame onto the table, just right in the center. 

Ruby sits in front of it. Just admiring the photo. Her clock ticks in her ear. The water sits on the floor, still in the cup. Ruby lights one of the incenses. Rhodney gave her a good deal on them. He helped her get into this apartment. And she just sits. Eyes closing briefly. This is nice, peaceful. Just her, sinking into the floor, thinking about Calum. She lets the lavender scent settle into her lungs. 

Ruby sits cross legged, mind suspended between the reality that she is in her bedroom and the shallow pool of not having to think about anything. She can just bathe in the memories, his love of chocolate pretzels, the way he always smelled a little like nicotine but mostly like wooden musk of cologne.

Maybe Calum couldn’t communicate with her. Ruby knows in her heart of hearts that Calum would fight heaven and high water to keep in contact with her if he could. This had to be on her to figure out. Ruby couldn’t rely on Calum’s supernatural abilities anymore. This was a fight she’d have to take up on her own. 

There’s a small rumble. She can hear the clink of her glass. She thinks it’s the glass clinking against the floor. But she doesn’t dare open her eyes.  Then her phone rings from the living room. 

“Shit,” she whispers, standing up. She was positive she had turned it on silent. But she can never be sure anymore. It’s only a spam call. She was searching for a new health insurance plan and now the companies don’t leave her alone. 

When Ruby returns to her bedroom, her glass of water is still.

___

“You really need at least 4 people to communicate with spirits. Don’t want to be doing that kind of shit alone,” Jasmine hums. She sucks through her straw, the bottom of it clearly in nothing but air. 

“I don’t really have 3 other people that would be down for that,” Ruby counters. The coffee shop is loud. It’s a shock for how late in the day it is. But for those that need the caffeine, it matters not the time of day for them. 

“Well, now you only need 2 more people,” Jasmine grins, finishing off the last of her scone. 

“You’re going to help me?” Her disbelief is clear in her question. Why would Jasmine potentially be subjecting herself to the unknown for Ruby? It’s probably less unknown for Jasmine than it is unknown for Ruby. 

“Of course.”

“You do know what I’m asking you to do right?”

Jasmine laughs. “Yes, I’m aware.”

Her latest hairstyle are crochet locs. The fake hair has the ends dyed royal blue. Ruby notes that she always has to have a pop of color with her hair. She likes it. The way Jasmine’s always so free to express herself. Ruby does that too, with her hair too, but more so through her nails. She’s not sure what color to get this time. Though every time she goes into the nail salon, her eyes drift to the olive green. The same color of the shirt in the picture. 

“You’ve got time to get your nails done today?” Ruby asks. 

Jasmine looks over the black polish she put on about a week ago. It’s chipped a little. It was a rush job on her part.  “I hadn’t planned too, but sure.”

“My treat,” Ruby adds on. 

“Sold.” 

Knocking on Kourtney’s door, Ruby wonders if she’s already gone for the day. She tried to text before driving over it. Kourt hadn’t responded though by the time they got there. Kourtney keeps her car in the garage, so there’s no way to know. The door cracks open just as Ruby’s phone buzzes in her pocket. “Well this is a surprise,” Kourtney laughs. 

“Kourt this is Jasmine. Jasmine, Kourtney.” The two ladies wave at each other. “Think you can squeeze us in.”

“For you, Rubs, always. No matter how last minute it is.”

Ruby knows that tone, it’s joking but serious. “I promise this won’t be a common occurrence.”

“Oh I know it won’t.”

As the drill buffs over Ruby’s growth, Kourtney clicks her tongue. Her nose and mouth are hidden behind the dusk mask. The raised eyebrow is clear. She’s not buying this pitch, not in the slightest. The fine powder flies under the harsh light of the lamp bent over Ruby’s nails. “You want me to do what now?”

Ruby knows what she’s asking is probably insane. “Just be there. That’s all.”

“We are too black to be fucking with spirits.”

Ruby looks over to Jasmine, who just shrugs. Her gel manicure is freshly cured, though she sits under the nail dryers for her toes. “I mean, I totally get where she’s coming from. But at the same time, if you look at other religions, they do the same thing all the time.”

“Like what?” Kourtney tuts, pulling the drill away from her work. Ruby’s hand is still firm in her grasps. 

“Do you know about orishas?” Jasmine asks. 

“Do I know about what?” 

“They’re deities, gods,” Ruby explains. “I mean, it’s not totally the same. In that belief system people who practice are mounted.”

“Mounted?”

“The deity descends and uses the practitioners physical form, or body, during rituals.” Ruby wants to avoid the term possess. That would only serve to fuel Kourtney’s resistance. 

“Just say possess them. You can say it,” Kourtney huffs. 

“It’s not like the deity stays forever.”

“So, for argument sake, people are mounted by these spirits. And you want to equate that to openly knocking on the supernatural’s door and just ask them to chill out with us until whomever you’re trying to contact shows up. Is that what you’re asking me to do?”

“Well, it’s less about just chilling with spirits than it is trying to directly contact one. But yeah, let’s go with that version,” Ruby returns. 

“You’re fucking insane.” Kourtney’s tone isn’t harsh. It’s not even condescending. She just sounds tired, and maybe even a little flabbergasted. She can see Ruby’s desperate. Kourtney thinks she might be too if a friend just suddenly upped and died. It’s different than when Kourtney’s grandmother died. She had reasons. There was an explanation and a clear peace at the end.. Her grandmother was older, had been teetering on the edge really for a while. She wasn’t deathly ill, just getting up in age. She was starting to forget things easily. She couldn’t do the same things as before. In all honesty, her grandmother’s peaceful slip from temporary slumber to a permanent sleep is the best outcome. 

Kourtney changes the bit on her drill, taking down the length of the old set. “If I become haunted, I’m making friends with the ghostman and getting them to haunt your ass instead. I don’t have the time be fucking haunted, alright? Ain’t no ghost finna pay my bills.”

Ruby looks over to Jasmine. She hadn’t expected that to happen. She thought she’d ask. She’d get told no. Ruby halfway thought Kourtney would shut her down when she started talking about the deities. But to have Kourtney agree--that comes from left field. “Are you high right now?”

“No but I just might hint a blunt after dealing with you.”

The room echoes with laughter. “I’ll even roll it for you,” Ruby offers, her chest still hiccuping with tufts of laughter. 

“Nah, it’ll be haunted or some shit. I’ll roll my own blunts. Thank you.”

___

Jasmine’s friend, who only goes by Ash, settles down last in the circle. He’s a psychic, according to his Instagram. Ruby’s talked to him once face to face. His voice is too deep, too alluring. But he doesn’t carry himself like he takes life too seriously. It made him more inviting. The long hair, it’s always braided back. Ruby can appreciate his humor. His stare can be intense, dark brown keen eyes. They don’t ever miss anything. 

As his hands wrap around Ruby’s, his gaze is stern. His tone is softer. He has no qualms with people getting the answers that they need. But he doesn’t want them to do it for all the wrong reasons.“Are you sure about this?”

Ruby’s not really completely sure. She was never really supposed to talk about Calum. She was supposed to keep all this shit quiet. But if it weren’t for her run at Greenlight, she could be at peace. She doesn’t need constant communication. She just needs to verify. Calum really might be out there. “It’s the only shot I’ve got.”

Ash nods. He can understand that. With the board settled down, Ruby begins. Kourtney keeps flicking her gaze about the small circle. She prays to God she doesn’t wind up haunted because of this shit and she prays Ruby’s not diving into the deep end either. Even though Kourtney is not well versed in how hauntings work, she knows that no matter where Ruby goes these spirits can and probably will follow. 

“I am asking if my friend Calum is still out there,” Ruby starts. Her hands are shaking a little. She can hear the quiver in her own voice. 

It’s silent. Ruby watches, blinking erratically. Does she even want to contact Calum? Should be doing this at all? It could be best to live and let die. Kourtney shifts on the floor. They’re all situated in Ruby’s bedroom, around the small little table that holds a picture. Kourtney thinks this must be the friend, this Calum. 

The lights are off. The room’s already decent temperature wise. But Ruby doesn’t miss the small distinct breeze across her face. It’s easy to think that when presented with this scenario she would be brave. But right now, she can feel her gut leaping. “Oh shit. Did anyone else feel that breeze?”

Jasmine, to the left of Ruby, speaks up. “Can the spirit in this room confirm that you are Ruby’s friend? Gently move a piece on the altar.”

Ruby watches the gold anklet. Even in the flickers of the candle light, it glitters more than the picture frame. She placed the charm upside down. Whether it was on purpose, Ruby can’t say for sure. But a part of her did hope that if she were to have any success that the anklet would be the first thing Calum would reach for. He’d know the significance.  

Nothing happens. Ruby probes whatever might be reaching out to them to move something. The minutes pass and there is nothing still. The charm does not flip over. Another breeze does not come by. There is nothing. Just the rising and falling of four chest in Ruby’s bedroom. Any potential spirits that crossed over are thanked. The circle is closed. The candles are blown out. “Did you feel anything besides the breeze?” Jasmine asks. 

Ruby shakes her head. Sometimes she wishes she hadn’t decided to keep her hair short. The longer the hair, and even the longer the weave, she could’ve hidden her disappointment, the wobble of her chin. “Sometimes, you’re not always successful on your first try,” Ash counters. His voice is soft, much like the touch of his hand on Ruby’s shoulder. 

“Thanks,” Ruby answers. Her voice is thick as it leaves her throat. 

It’s rude, she knows. Ruby shuts herself into the bathroom. The door swings close and clicks with a harsh thud. She only needs a moment. Just a second. Just so the first hot tear can run down her cheek. She was a fool. How could she really believe that this would work? Hope made everyone blind. Everyone could probably see that it would never work. And yet, they had hoped for her that it would work. Yet they had sat in her bedroom like children at a sleepover, playing with spirits. 

 Ruby couldn’t be that mad at them. They were only trying to help her. But did no one think to stop her, to save her from this embarrassment? She sniffles hard, wiping at her cheeks. She’s never really had a flush on her face. But right now, behind the copper tones of brown skin, she can feel the heated flush taking over. Why would he do such a thing to her? She was a fucking fool to believe the gift was actually from Calum. He’s dead. His ashes are still in that godforsaken mini mason jar. There is no bringing him back. 

There’s nothing left of him. His soul was already damned to Lucifer. There was no way he would let anything remain. Ruby would’ve done better to just talk to open air than to try and communicate with Calum. She was just a fucking fool. 

With another harsh sniffle, Ruby opens the door. If her eyes are red, they’ll just have to be red. “Thanks for subjecting yourselves to this. I owe you guys.” She doesn’t hide the quiver that takes over her chest. 

“Rubs,” Kourtney sighs, hugging her friend. Ruby shakes like a dog caught in a thunderstorm in Kourtney’s arms. “Do you want me to stay with you?”

“N-no,” Ruby croaks. “I’ll call if I need you though.”

Kourtney thinks for a moment. She could refuse Ruby’s wishes and have to deal with a crying and pissed Ruby or she could just wait for the phone call. Ruby will probably still be crying if she calls, but at least there won’t be any anger. “I’ll be near my phone.”

As the door creaks close, Ruby locks it, bottom and top locks before sliding down the steel door. Here she is again. On her fucking knees crying over Calum again. She wants to laugh. She really does. It catches between her sobs in ragged coughs. “Fucking of course,” she pants. “Of course.”

She pushes her hands and crawls to the edge of the coffee table. Right where she was when Calum died. “I thought it was only lovers that were supposed to hurt like this.” Her speech is interrupted by sobs. But she continues on. “I thought only lovers were supposed to rip your fucking heart out.”

“They say talking to yourself is a sign of insanity.”

Even though her vision is nothing but a watery field of tears, she knows that pale skin. “Don’t you have some other poor soul to torture? Don’t you have anybody else to fuck over? Haven’t you ruined my fucking life enough?” she shouts. Her hand finds a coaster and lobs it before she can even think, still half hung onto the edge of the coffee table. It requires too much energy to support herself on her elbows. She just hangs her weight into the sturdy piece of furniture. 

“He heard you calling. So I had to answer,” Lucifer returns. 

“You’re such a fucking liar.” Ruby wishes she could smite him. Do anything to him to make him feel the ache in her chest. Would it take a bolt of lightning? Did he hold anything precious to his heart?

“I’m many things.”

“Leave me the fuck alone, God.”

Lucifer fakes a hiss, throwing up a cross with his fingers. “We don’t say His name around me.”

Ruby drags the sleeve of her shirt under her nose. Her tears, though they roll down her face, have stopped stinging her behind her eyes. “That’s a corny ass joke.”

Lucifer shrugs, pushing his hands into his pockets. “Figured I’d give it a shot. See if you’d stop cursing me out.”

“You’re still an asshole. So no, it didn’t work.” Ruby finally pushes up from the coffee table and falls into the legs of the couch. She stares out into the open dining room, at the table pushed up against the wall, right under the window sill. Calum would sit most nights that he stayed over in front of it. He said watching the night relaxed him. But she wonders now if she was watching for Lucifer. If Calum knew all along that he was playing with a fire that would burn him. 

It would hurt more if he just disappeared, Ruby thinks. If Lucifer somehow got him in the middle of the night while she was sleeping and Calum just wasn’t there. If he never showed up with another note under her door. That would hurt more. Not knowing would kill her more than knowing Ruby figures. She probably wouldn’t have noticed it at first. But as the days blended into weeks and the weeks turned into months without any contact from Calum--that would kill her. Slowly and then all at once she’d lose her head. 

“Mind if I sit?” Lucifer asks. 

“And if I say I do. What are you going to do? Kill me?”

“I’d never kill for such a frivolous thing.”

Ruby whips  her head to look at him. “You killed Calum? And for what? Being my friend?”

“I don’t have to explain that to you.”

“No, you do! You do have to explain that to me.”

“I don’t,” Lucifer defends. 

“Oh, but you do, Lucifer.” She’s never uttered his name before. It made him too real if she did. Made Calum’s death too real. But right now, after what just happened, or didn’t happen, he owes her that much. She can say his name. It is not lead on her tongue anymore. 

“Ah, she does remembers my name.”

“I could never forget it.”

“Ruby, I don’t owe you any explanation. I didn’t owe it to Calum to make the trip before or this one. But I’m doing it.”

“What the fuck did he do?” Ruby pushes up from the floor. Her face is tight. She knows her eyes are red. There’s probably snot on the sleeve of her shirt. It doesn’t matter though. She’s going to get these answers. “Tell me. What is so wrong about finding a friend?” She searches his gaze, seeing if he’d crack. 

The only thing Lucifer does is take a step forward to her. There’s still a good foot between them. “If you’re boss gave you a rule, and you broke it, couldn’t you be fired for it?” 

Ruby takes a small step forward. “Depends on how big the rule was.”

“I’ve ruled with an iron fist. And I will always continue to do so.” Lucifer meets her step, but only after his statement crosses his lips. 

No one moves again. There’s only another step between them. “Don’t tell me you have a soft spot? You can’t have a soft spot for the person you killed.”

“Calum isn’t a person.”

“He was to me.” Ruby closes the gap. Finger poking at his chest. “He was as real to me as Kourtney, or Tiff. Or anyone else in this world. He was a person to me and that’s all that matters.”

“We are monsters. Me included,” Lucifer states. “He is nothing more than a hound now. Just like all the rest.”

“And who did that to him? Who did that?” Ruby hates to get loud. But the emotion leaps from her. Her fists are furling at her side. 

Lucifer must admit she’s bolder than he took her for and far less fearful than he thought would happen for something that just tried to summon a demon into their bedroom. Though, anyone trying to do that must not hold much fear to begin with. “I know what I’ve done.”

“And is this supposed to make me feel better? Is this you trying to rectify the situation?”

“No. I can’t fix anything now. What’s done is done.”

Ruby cracks, she can feel her core crumbling. The tears come back. She presses the heel of her hands into the sockets of her eye. “Just tell me what you did. Is he really dead?” She pleads. The tough guy act is exhausting. All she wants to do is cry again, curl into her sheets and let the ache fall over her throat in screeches. 

Lucifer, for just a second, lets himself peer down at her. She stands right under his chest. He can see what Calum meant about how endearing it feels. “The Calum you knew no longer exists. You can’t summon him. His physical form is dust.”

“The whip?”

“Turned over to another owner.”

“They’re temporary to you. They’re nothing,” she gaps. It really ought not be a shock. It is the devil she’s dealing with. She’s not dealing with someone human. But it still shocks her. 

“We’re all nothing. Calum got a second shot at his life. And he fucked it up. Like he always does.”

Ruby shoves Lucifer. Her palms hitting hard into his chest. Lucifer stumbles back half a step but plants his feet to catch himself. “He didn’t. He didn’t do anything wrong!” She can see the pointed tail rising behind him. She sees the flash of fire in Lucifer’s eyes. “Do it. Fucking do it, I dare you.” Now she’s really gone insane. To goad the devil like this. But she doesn’t care. 

It’s a steel resolve that stills Lucifer. It stills even Ruby. “You don’t mean that,” Lucifer taunts. “You couldn’t possibly mean it.” 

“You don’t know what I mean and what I don’t.”

Lucifer grins, lowering the tail. “I do know that what’s left of your precious Calum whines for you. He curses himself for messing things up with you. It’s ironic really. To be subjected to an eternal curse and then curse yourself on top of that.”

Ruby just stares. She’s tired of the circle games. She’s tired of begging. If he’s going to explain himself, then he will. And if he won’t explain himself, he can go right back to the place he came from. So Ruby remains silent. Lucifer blinks at her.

 He says nothing either, waiting for her rebuttal. She’s a smart girl; she’ll have something, Lucifer figures. 

A few more moments go by. “Nothing to say?” Lucifer asks. 

Ruby remains quiet. 

“Did Calum ever tell you he was a Hunter for me? Really the head of them. That’s why I gave him the whip.” Lucifer stops for a moment. She look unphased for the moment. He sees the way she’s biting on the inside of her lip though. “I can’t bring him back,” Lucifer admits. “He still exist. Just not like you knew him as. You can’t bring him back.”

Ruby wants to look away. But she doesn’t. She takes a breathe. “You took everything from him. I hope you know that. I hope you know the destruction you’ve caused, Lucifer. Whatever good he had going on in his life, whether it was damned to you for eternity or not, all that good is gone.”

“It’s like the Big Guy said. All I’m good for it stealing, killing, and destroying. We’ve all got our parts to play. I brought you the anklet because I thought it would get him off my back. He’s relentless when it comes to you. He wanted me to give him updates. Him! Like he runs the fucking place.”

“So, tell me, do you give him updates? Why else would you be here?”

“No, actually, I heard you knocking on my front door with that summoning circle. But I didn’t think the others would take kindly to me showing up.”

Ruby has to laugh. She really does and it escapes her in dry tufts. “Tried to summon a friend and I got a piece of shit instead.”

“Yeah, I’m not the greatest, alright. I know. Just because I took Calum’s status away, just because I stripped him of his physical form doesn’t mean he can’t annoy the shit out of me in Hell.”

“And you can’t undo it? Can’t give him back his human form?”

Lucifer shakes his head. “If The Big Guy himself had to flood the earth to start over, there’s no way He’s giving me more powers than Him. He can’t snap his fingers to undo anything and I can’t snap mine.”

“What rule did Calum break? What the hell did he do deserve that?”

“I told you. Rules have to be followed. That’s that.”

“I can’t ever talk to him again. I can’t ask Calum so I’m asking you. I’m giving you the second shot you don’t fucking deserve.”

This isn’t a second shot, Lucifer thinks. He never gets those. Not that he’s ever deserved them in any capacity ever. But Ruby’s pleading stare is maybe just enough to crack his chest open. “I told him not to get too close. I told him that if he got too close to you it would be his head. You might’ve called me a liar. But others would disagree.”

Ruby sucks in a breath, turning away. Her hands cover her face. But that’s not enough darkness so she closes her eyes behind the fabric. “In my house. In front of me!”

“There’s a reason why he told you not to watch.”

She can picture it all now. There was no sound. But she can see, clear as day, a fistful of Calum’s curl in Lucifer’s fist as Calum’s body slumped away before disappearing. She wonders if his eyes blinked close, if Calum had just enough life in him to finish that action. Or they were probably already closed before the last blow was delivered. Was he thinking of her? Was she Calum’s last thought? 

Lucifer’s voice interrupts her buzzing mind. “The anklet’s actually from him. I found it in his apartment while I was cleaning it out. I had some others keep it safe. I wouldn’t have given it to you, in all honesty. I was going to have it pawned. Needed the cash for some other earthly endeavours. But I could never bring myself to fucking do it. So I gave the boy what he wanted. I gave it to you. His last good deed, he called it.”

“Do me a favor?”

“I’m not a middle man for the two of you. I agreed to give you the anklet and I only agreed to check up on you like once.”

“Just one thing,” Ruby sighs, turning to face Lucifer. 

“Just one.”

“Don’t come back to me. Don’t check up on me. Don’t give him updates.”

“This is going to sound ironic coming from me. But he’s going to raise hell over that.”

“Tell him I told you not too. I want to remember him like he was drinking whiskey way to early in the day and always dawned in the leather jacket. I want to remember him like a friend.”

Lucifer sighs. Calum’s not going to like that. But he nods and says nothing as he exits her apartment. Through the front door this time. For a brief moment, Ruby finally realizes that she never opened the door for Lucifer in the first place. Could he have been the breeze she felt? 

She was just torturing herself. Ruby never considered herself to be a masochist. Pain was never really her thing. But all she was doing was hurting herself. This was just a wound they kept picking the scab off of. It would always bleed if it’s never left alone. It can never clot and create new skin. Even if it leaves a scar, the thicker skin is more protection that busted blood vessels. 

Ruby drags herself to her bedroom. Calum’s picture staring at her as she enters. She walks over, placing the photo face down. She’s gotta let him rest. Let herself rest really. What is she doing besides running herself into the ground. That’s all it is. She picks up the anklet, testing the weight in her hand again. It’s cold against her skin and has never been heavy until now. She sets onto the dresser next to her bed. In the morning she can think about whether or not to bear its weight again. 

____

Lucifer can already imagine the roar that’s going to echo off the walls of his head. But he’s really only the message man, yet again. “Good news and bad news,” Lucifer starts. 

“Bad news first.” His voice is harsher, more of a snarl in this state. Body much too large and too hunched for the man he once portrayed. The fire does like it does everyone, making the skin blister and turn a pinkish red. It’s a shock that anyone can hold out at the eternal flick of the flames like he does. 

“You’re going to regret that. She wants to give you a good memory. Take it.”

“What?”

“Let her go. Let her remember you the way she knew you.”

While Calum would hate to admit Lucifer to right. It might be naive to think that Ruby wouldn’t try everything in her power to see him again. He’s not the man he used to be. He’s not in any position to be seen for what’s beneath it all, beneath the lies. “What’s the good news then?”

“You have a friend in her, even still. You’re lucky.”

He surely doesn’t feel lucky. Trapped here as his body is constantly burned and healed all within the same minute. He surely doesn’t feel lucky knowing that he won’t ever be able to answer a call from Ruby again. But if she’s willing to hold onto his memory, even with all the messed up shit he’s done, than he found something to be lucky about. 

Though it’s never rest that finds his soul, Calum remembers the way she laughs and something like peace stills the moment. It’s a quiet calm that only simmers for a moment before the pain kicks in again. He takes the second of calmness whenever they come because they always bring her with them.

[chelsfic]

Say You’ll Be My Baby - Steve Murphy x Connie Murphy - Narcos Fanfic

A/N: Title from “Make You Smile” by Elle King (thanks to my Anon of Music for their consistently awesome song recs). That song is pure Steve/Connie to me. This fic is fulfilling my deep desire to just wrap my arms around Steve and Connie. I tried to capture some of Connie’s sassy nature.

Summary: How Connie and Steve get together. That’s it, that’s the story.

Warnings: Fluff!!, Mention of gun violence

---

“...So it wa’n’t fake...”

And just like that he had me. It was that lazy West Virginia drawl rasping over the phone line and caressing the shell of my ear, smooth as Hershey syrup. And the balls it took to actually dial my number after that stunt at the bar. I was intrigued. And I won’t lie--the DEA thing was hot. I felt my lips quirk up in a pleased grin, my stomach fizzing with nervous excitement. I figured we could have some fun together...nothing serious.

The first date was a disaster. 

We agreed to meet for drinks. Nothing serious, just some casual fun and then...who knows? Only we never came close to “who knows?” because he stood me up. The worst part was that in the days leading up to the date I had truly grown excited about it. The more I thought about that tall, lithe frame leaning up against the bar, his blue eyes focused on me like I was his whole universe, the more nervous energy I felt churning in my stomach. Until I spent an hour sitting by myself, sipping beer and getting hit on by every guy in the bar. I was not the girl who sat around waiting for a guy to show up. Except that night I was. I left the bar with a lump in my throat and my face burning with wounded pride.

I trudged back into my apartment, alone and wearing my best date-night dress. The answering machine glared at me as I passed through the living room. No messages. Fucking hillbilly asshole.

When the phone rang in the middle of the night, startling me from a deep sleep, I figured it was work. I poked my head up to read the time on my alarm clock. 3:32 AM. Jesus.

“Connie, honey, I am so sorry--” the accent wasn’t so cute now.

“Are you kidding me?” I asked sleepily, my voice hushed but steely. “First you stand me up and now you wake me up in the middle of the night?”

“God, I feel terrible. There was an emergency situation here. At work. And I...it just slipped my mind. Lemme make it up to you.”

I didn’t answer for a minute. I could understand work emergencies. I’m an ER nurse, I get it. What I didn’t want to consider was a man who could forget about me until 3 o’clock in the morning after standing me up. 

“Goodnight, Steve,” I sighed, hanging up the phone and falling back into my pillows.

So much for first impressions.

I didn’t see him again for a couple weeks. I sure thought about him enough, though. Why couldn’t I get this guy out of my head? I was ready to dismiss him and never set eyes on him again when he came up to me the night we met. But...somehow he’d wormed his way into my consciousness. I found myself remembering the deep timber of his voice. Every time my phone rang I felt butterflies wondering if it might be him. But he didn’t call.

Finally, fed up and a little drunk after a night out with the girls, I called him.

“You know, the polite thing to do would be to send me flowers or a card or something! You know, really grovel!” I slurred into the phone, cradling it between my ear and shoulder as I stood at my kitchen counter scooping Häagen-Dazs into a bowl.

“Is this...Connie?” he asked, confusion obvious in his tone. “You drunk?”

“That’s besides the point,” I huffed. “I shouldn’t be the one calling you. ‘S not how this works, buddy.”

“And how does it work?” he drew out his syllables, letting his voice melt with intrigue.

“Oh, no you don’t! That stupid, sexy voice isn’t gonna to work on me this time!” I warned him, licking the ice cream scoop.

His laughter floated over the phone line as he responded, “You think my voice is sexy?”

“Shut up! You’re on thin ice. You’re supposed to chase me, beg me for my forgiveness. That’s how it works.”

He infused his voice with mock seriousness, “My apologies, ma’am. I didn’t realize. I’ll get right on that.”

“Good! You better,” I said, hanging up on him and letting the cordless phone clunk onto the countertop. As I stood there, eating ice cream and momentarily congratulating myself, it occurred to me that it was possible I’d regret all this in the morning.

Lucky me, there wasn’t much time for regrets. I was just finishing up my rounds when the Nurse Supervisor dropped a new patient intake sheet into my hands. 

“Gunshot wound. Very minor. Just needs some stitches,” and then she was off, rushing past me and trusting me to do my job. 

My feet were already leading me down the hallway in the direction of the appropriate exam room when I scanned the paper in my hands and saw the hastily scrawled name at the top. Stephen Murphy.

Gunshot wound. Oh god.

He was up on the exam table when I walked in, long Levi-clad legs dangling over the edge. He sat hunched over, resting his elbows on his knees and pressing a handful of gauze to his neck. I cleared my throat as I walked inside, standing momentarily frozen in the doorway as he turned those striking blue eyes on me. I watched his face light up with a smile that even the blood-soaked gauze in his hand couldn’t dim.

“And here I thought I was havin’ a bad day,” he drawled, wincing only slightly as the movement tugged at the wound on his neck. 

“Jesus, Steve!” I breathed, pulling away the gauze and getting my first look at the shallow abrasion along the side of his neck. “This was...a really close call.”

My voice must have betrayed my emotions. I barely knew him, but this sudden, visceral introduction to the reality of his life was somehow pulling me in instead of pushing me away. 

He smirked and made light of it, waggling his eyebrows as he breezed, “I know, just an inch to the left and I woulda lost my sexy voice.”

I narrowed my eyes at him and held up the suture kit I was about to open, “Maybe not a good idea to tease the woman about to stick a needle in your neck?”

He held up his hands in capitulation, his smile blinding me as I readied to close the wound. I could feel his eyes on me, watching me stick out my tongue in concentration as I worked. 

I addressed him without looking up, “So, I guess you’ll do anything to get out of a date with me, huh?”

He huffed a laugh and I put a steadying hand to the side of his jaw to still the motion.

“Be still, honey,” I murmured under my breath, tying off the last suture. Steve went docile at the touch, looking up at me with stars in his eyes as I bandaged the wound. 

“Do we have a date?” he asked, his voice low and unsure. I watched his hands close into nervous fists in his lap.

“I don’t know,” I said, snapping off my latex gloves and dropping them in the trash. “Do we?”

And so our first real date was that afternoon in the hospital cafeteria. Steve insisted on buying my lunch and carrying both our trays despite his fresh injury.

“Eh, it’s nothin’,” he scoffed, but I didn’t miss the wince of pain as he set everything down on the table. 

“Big, strong man, huh?” I teased. 

He arched his elegant, blond eyebrows in response and his lips tugged up into a smile that cut straight through me. He watched me with that intense stare of his while I fidgeted nervously under his scrutiny, tucking a stray piece of hair behind my ear and looking down at my plate. I’d never felt like this with any other guy. I was always the cool, aloof one. Never shy and lovestruck like I felt at that moment.

“So...is this something I’m gonna have to get used to? Missed dates and trips to the emergency room?” I asked only half joking. I could feel myself falling into something more serious than I’d intended with this man. Something about him just kept drawing me in.

He snorted, not picking up on my somber thoughts, “I promise you, this is my first trip to the ER.”

“What happened?” I rested my head on my hand, watching as he took an enormous bite out of his turkey sandwich and smiling despite myself.

He took a minute to chew, opening up a packet of mustard and drizzling it onto the sandwich as he considered his words, “Streets are more and more dangerous, Connie. I was out with my partner. Followin’ up on a tip. Broad daylight. Son of a bitch pulled out a semi-automatic and almost blew my head off.”

I shook my head in horror, “Did he get away?”

“Nah, my partner managed to grab him,” he answered, then added laughingly, “Musta been a burst of adrenaline when he saw me get shot ‘cause Kevin can’t run for shit.”

We turned to other topics: family, how long we’d each been in Miami, my job as a nurse. My lunch break flew by and before I knew it I was walking him out to the sidewalk. 

“So...I know getting shot and turning up as your patient doesn’t exactly count as wooing you but…,” he broke off with a laugh, ducking his head and looking up at me with those blue eyes I loved already, “You think you’ll let me see you again?”

I crossed my arms over my chest and gave him a stern appraisal, letting my eyes flick up and down his long, long body before shrugging and faking a casual tone, “Sure, you can see me again.”

He grinned, stepping closer and brushing his fingers over my crossed forearms.

“Yeah?” he smirked, holding my gaze until I couldn’t help but return his contagious smile.

“Yeah! If you can remember our dates, that is.”

He put a wounded hand over his heart.

“Ouch! Baby, that hurts! I promise you--,” he broke off, bringing his hand up to cup my face and stroking his thumb along my cheek. I sucked in a breath at his touch. “I promise you, baby, I’ll treat you right.”

He spread his fingers, letting them thread through the flyaways escaping my ponytail, leaning down until our foreheads almost touched. 

“Would you get in trouble with your boss if I kissed you now?” he drawled, his eyes already fixated on my lips. 

I let my own eyes wander to his mouth. His pouty, pink lips were a little chapped and I watched as he darted out his tongue to wet them. He leaned in even closer until I could feel his breath mingle with mine. 

“I don’t think I care,” I answered and then I closed the gap between us and caught him in our first kiss. 

He brought up his other hand to cradle my head, moving his lips over mine and flicking out his tongue. I drew myself up on my tip toes, clutching his shoulders and melting against him. I could feel myself surrendering. To the kiss and to this man. Whatever I might have thought when he first swaggered up to me in that bar...I knew now that my life was changing. I felt myself moving inexorably closer to a future that included Steve. 

I smiled against his lips before forcing myself to pull away. 

“You better call me, Steve Murphy,” I called as I walked away, leaving him standing on the sidewalk with a freshly stitched wound, kiss-swollen lips, and the conviction that he had just had his first kiss with the woman he was going to marry.

Boyd Tags:

@nothing-but-a-comedy @ionlyjoinedforboydholbrook @theplumsoldier @meri47 @lackofhonor

[captainmeowvelwrites]

You Times Two (Ch.3)

Pairing: Marinette/Ladybug | Adrien/Chat Noir Words: 3354 Summary: Ladybug knew this was necessary. She was the Guardian. He had the Cat Miraculous. But when his suit evaporated in a glow of pale green, she sure hadn’t expected him to have something far more precious: her heart. Cross-posted: AO3 and FFN

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | ...

Recap: Previously, on You Times Two… Marinette considered growing a magnificent beard and running away to join the circus. She reflected on the ramifications of Chat Blanc, which honestly, the author is still too upset about to make light of right now. And just to top it all off, Clumsy Girl smacked Golden Boy in the face with a door, then somehow called him Chadrien. Has our favourite gal’s cover been blown? Has her kitty quite literally had some sense smacked into him? And purrhaps most importantly, is his lil’ button nose okay? You can probably hazard a guess, but read on, I say!

---

Chapter Three

Adrien left Marinette in the locker room and stepped out into the morning sun, its warmth bathing his skin.

But the heat of his cheeks had a different source.

As he twisted his ring – something he often did when his brain was abuzz – he glimpsed his reflection in a tinted window, a reminder that his hair was still a bit of mess. He reached for his bangs, his thoughts drifting a minute into the past.

There'd been a light in Marinette's eyes, and a sense of ease about her, when he'd ruffled his hair.

Of course, that had only lasted a second.

And then, like Ladybug, she'd called him Chadrien.

That had to be a coincidence.

Ladybug had fumbled over her words last night, as Marinette often did.

Marinette's eyes were like the sky after a storm, a stunning shade of bluebell, just like Ladybug's. How had he not noticed that before?

His hand fell from his hair to his side, as his lips drew into a resolute line.

No, his suspicions were impossible.

Marinette was Multimouse.

She couldn't be Ladybug too.

His eyes sunk to his shoes as he continued to think of his lady. The reality was, she wasn't his lady. She never had been.

There was a thickness in his throat and a void in his eyes as he wondered—again—if things might've been different, if not for that boy. She'd said she couldn't even imagine a world without him, whoever he was.

And that hurt.

A lot.

To an extent, it had depleted his hope of something ever blooming between them. But more than that, it always made him wonder if she could say the same for him. Could she imagine a world without Chat Noir?

Truly, Adrien didn't know the answer.

His fingernails dug into the flesh of his palms.

This shouldn't matter anymore.

He was dating Kagami.

Well, sort of.

The press had snapped them eating ice cream together. And yes, they'd almost kissed—but they hadn't made things official, despite what the media were saying.

Regardless, everyone thought they were official—including Kagami.

He hated this.

Not because Kagami was basically his girlfriend, but because he'd never imagined this unravelling quite as it had.

He'd imagined a rose-covered rooftop and a candlelit dinner. He'd imagined a passionate declaration and actually asking the girl to be his girlfriend. He'd imagined a night ending in a flurry of hugs and kisses and laughter.

And he'd imagined it all with Ladybug.

He buried his face in his palms, where the dent of his nails still showed.

This wasn't fair on Kagami.

But Ladybug didn't love him back. She never would.

And despite the way he felt about her, to say he didn't care for Kagami was a lie.

Kagami had always been upfront with him. Maybe that's why he'd been so drawn to her. She was assertive, strong-minded and knew exactly what she wanted.

A lot like Ladybug, a part of him whispered.

A very annoying part.

With a huff, Adrien pinched the bridge of his nose. It was still tender from its encounter with a door and for some reason, that made him smile.

Plagg peeked up at him from beneath his white overshirt. "So why'd you have to come out here to wait for your friend?"

Adrien tensed. "Plagg," he whispered, his eyes snapping around the school courtyard, finding it empty. "Hide before someone sees you." He tugged the edge of his white shirt over his kwami's head.

Of course, Plagg squeezed his way back out despite his chosen's protests. "People are blind," he whined. "Not to mention I blend in with your shirt."

Adrien heaved a sigh, yielding to Plagg's question. "I just have a lot on my mind. That's all."

"Like what, hmm?"

"Since when do you care about something that isn't cheese-related?" He was half-joking.

"Oh please," Plagg barked. "I just wanna know what's got you in such a tizz."

Adrien glowered at that and glanced over his shoulder, half-expecting Marinette to barge out of the locker room right that second. When she didn't, he looked down at Plagg. "Marinette: that's who Ladybug reminded me of last night."

Plagg groaned in time with an eye roll. "So what? Marinette's always talking nonsense. Ladybug did for one measly night!"

"But, Plagg," Adrien said, desperation seeping through his words, "this isn't the first time I've suspected she was Ladybug!"

"Have you forgotten about Kwamibuster?" Plagg grimaced. "She was Multimouse. We even saw her and Ladybug side-by-side."

A thought flashed in Adrien's eyes. "Miracle Queen," he announced, and Plagg tipped his head. "Why didn't she show up to collect the Mouse Miraculous?" He cupped his chin, glancing toward the morning sky. "Every other Miraculous Wielder did."

"She isn't a Miraculous Wielder anymore," Plagg said simply. "Ladybug told her as much after she revealed her identity to you. Or maybe she just didn't get stung by those nasty bugs."

His hopes were crushed as quickly as they'd come, and he realised how much he'd been hoping to begin with. Did he want Marinette to be Ladybug? Was that why he kept searching for reasons to suspect her?

He pursed his lips, wrestling with these ruminations and the risks that came with them. His suspicions were circumstantial, if that. And if he ever learned Ladybug's identity, it should be on her terms.

Still, he couldn't help but wonder…

"I… guess you're right, Plagg." The disappointment in his voice was thicker than glue.

"Of course, I'm right!"

Adrien tapped his lips, eyes drifting skyward once more. "And Ladybug did say we don't know each other out of costume." Though she'd also said she wouldn't tell him if they did. "You know who Ladybug is, right? From when we faced Mr Damo—The Dark Owl."

"If you're suggesting what I think you are—"

Adrien shook his head. "You know I'd never betray Ladybug's trust like that."

"Good," Plagg said, throwing his whiskers in the air, "because I couldn't tell you who she is even if I wanted to. Tikki would kill me." His paw emerged from beneath Adrien's white shirt, and he placed a thoughtful claw to his lips. "As for Ladybug's stuttering last night, maybe your identity just… took her off guard? For all you know, she was starstruck! Like that time you took me to the Aligre Market." His green eyes glided upward, glazing over, and he let out a dreamy sigh. "So… much… artisan cheese…"

Adrien gaped—and it took him at least five seconds to form words. "You… You think Ladybug could be a fan of mine?"

"It makes a lot more sense than your stupid theory."

Adrien had never even considered that possibility, but Plagg was right. It did make sense. Maybe that's why she'd freaked out.

"But," Plagg continued, "how should I know if she's a fan of yours? Just ask her at patrol tonight."

Adrien's chest tightened as he pictured that very scenario. "But what if she is a fan and freaks out again like last time?" Worry weighed on his lips. "Or what if she's not and thinks I'm arrogant and—"

The thump of a hand against wood made him jump, and Plagg vanished beneath his shirt.

"Sorry I took so long!"

He turned to find Marinette, her hair a little more frazzled. Her eyes snapped around the courtyard, not meeting his.

Oh no! Had she heard him talking?

Adrien threaded his fingers, his thumbs circling each other. "No – No problem." He swallowed and forced a small smile. "I was just – uhh…"

"Don't worry," Marinette chimed, finally looking his way. Her eyes creased as she smiled. "I stalk—uhh, talk to myself too. All the time. I mean – uhh – some of the time." She cleared her throat. "So I – uhh – guess we're both nosy—I mean crazy."

"Oh, I…" Adrien broke eye contact, glancing between her and the ground. "What did you hear?"

"N-Nothing!" Marinette shrieked, waving her hands back and forth. "Just – uh – mumbling and stuff." She looked away, her fingers drumming against the straps of her backpack. "So, umm…" She nodded towards the nearby stairs. "Class, then?"

Adrien forced a chuckle, only for his voice to crack. And now they were both blushing. "Ri-Right." He squeezed the strap of his shoulder bag with one hand and extended his other toward the stairs. "After you, then."

Marinette took a single step forward and, true to form, somehow tripped over air.

Adrien's hands were on her shoulders in an instant, barring her greeting with the ground. "Are you okay?"

"No—I mean yes!" She peeled his hands from her shoulders and practically jumped back to her full height. "I'm just – uhh – clumsy. Ha ha. I am so clumsy." She flashed an oddly wide grin, her hands flying this way and that as she spoke. "Like, the Queen of Clumsy. Any physical activity whatsoever and I am not your girl. Not by a mile. Heck, I couldn't even run a mile. Because, y'know – I'm so unfit. And clumsy. Did I mention I'm clumsy?" The second she finished her spiel, her eyes shot to her ballerina flats.

Adrien managed a laugh, despite how his brows squished together. "Uhh… Yes, you did mention that." His brows settled, but he continued to smile. "And Marinette, you're not as clumsy as you think you are."

Marinette wiped her palms across her pants. "I'm… I'm not?" she squeaked, peering up at him.

"Well, I've experienced your dancing first-hand, remember?" Adrien slid an arm around her shoulders, showing a supportive smile. "And let's not forget your fencing and ice-skating skills. Try not to sell yourself short, okay?" His arm slipped from her shoulders to rub the nape of his neck, and he laughed lightly. "But maybe do try to be more careful sometimes."

She stared at him with wide eyes. "Uh – Um – Yeah. I'll… try to be more careful."

With that, Adrien extended his hand toward the stairs. "Shall we?"

---

She'd eavesdropped on Adrien and Plagg – but not on purpose!

In fact, she'd been about to shove those pesky doors aside when her name – or rather, Ladybug's name – had given her pause.

She'd only caught bits and pieces, but by the sound of it, Adrien suspected she was Ladybug. And in that moment, Chat Blanc's petrifying face had flashed through her mind. That was all the incentive she'd needed to throw him off her tracks, by deliberately tripping over air and pointing out her lack of physical prowess.

He couldn't know she was Ladybug.

Not yet.

Perhaps not ever.

Marinette quite literally shook that thought to the outskirts of her mind. Now, around Adrien, was not the time and place for it.

Instead, she panted excessively as they scaled the stairs, hoping he'd bought her 'I'm so clumsy and unfit' charade—if she could even call it that. She wasn't unfit, but she was a royal clutz, even if Adrien didn't think so.

When they reached the top of the stairs, Marinette's mind wandered elsewhere. She wasn't late thanks to an akuma, so her secret identity wasn't at risk. Did she even need to make up an excuse?

She could just say she'd slept in.

In fact, that's exactly what she'd done.

On purpose.

To avoid the very boy she was arriving late with.

A groan slipped through her lips—and of course, Adrien heard it.

"Everything okay, Marinette? You sure you're not hurt?"

"Err – Yeah! I'm – I'm fine." Her eyes flew this way and that, as she considered an excuse. "I was just… uh…"

Adrien's eyes were fixed on her and once more, she took in his mussed hair… so reminiscent of Chat Noir.

"I was just wondering what to say to Miss Bustier?"

Adrien smiled, his bangs bobbing with each step he took. "You mean, how do we explain our lateness?" He adjusted the strap of his bag, his ring in full view. "We don't. In my experience, Miss Bustier is fine as long as you apologise and don't disrupt the lesson beyond that. It's Ms Mendeleiev that's a little trickier to deal with."

"Tell me about it," Marinette muttered, only to gasp and go tense. "I mean, uhh… Yeah, I've been crate—late to her class a few times. It's never easy."

They stopped outside their classroom door, Adrien's hand returning to her shoulder. He leaned in close and this time, her unfit charade wasn't the reason her breath hitched.

"Just follow my lead, okay?"

Marinette nodded, unable to hide a slight smile at the irony. Usually, it was him that followed her lead. He just didn't know it.

Adrien offered her an encouraging smile, then eased the classroom door aside. Miss Bustier was seated at her desk, her eyes on them and her hands hovering over the keys on her laptop. Their classmates looked up from their tablets, their eyes flicking between Marinette and Adrien.

Adrien entered first. "Sorry we're late, Miss Bustier." He held the door open and snuck Marinette a supportive wink that made her cheeks burn.

This time, Marinette's stumble was unintentional as she stepped inside, feeling all eyes on her. She didn't know what was worse: the way Chloe and Lila glared daggers at her or the bug-eyed look on Alya's face.

Behind her, Adrien clicked the door shut, and she cleared her throat. "Uhh. Y-Yeah!" Her face scrunched in apology. "Sorry, Miss Bustier"—she itched her cheek—"for interrupting the lesson."

Miss Bustier nodded, showing a gracious smile. "Please take your seats and pull out your tablets. We're starting a pop quiz in a couple of minutes."

Adrien and Marinette nodded in sync, and he gracefully claimed his seat.

Her?

She tripped on the first step, greeted the second with her shin, and crawled the rest of the way. Once she was in her seat, her panic-struck eyes shot to Miss Bustier, only to be met by a knowing smile.

A sigh of relief slipped from Marinette's lips as she placed her backpack on her desk.

That relief was short-lived.

Alya leaned into her personal bubble, rocking a smirk. "Girl," she whispered, her eyes narrow with amusement. "Start. Talking."

Marinette played dumb. "About what?" she whispered back, hunched behind her backpack to avoid Miss Bustier's stare.

Alya rolled her eyes. "Seriously? You and Adrien just showed up to class together. Late. With super messy hair." She raised a brow. "There's gotta be a story there!"

"There's no story, Alya," she said through a sigh.

"Oh, come on." Alya eyed her from behind her tablet, her smirk growing. "Did you two finally make out in the utility closet?"

"ALYA!" Marinette screeched, somehow knocking her bag over the back of her desk. It brushed Adrien's back as it descended toward the wooden floor, meeting it with a dull thud.

"Marinette," said Miss Bustier, looking up from her laptop to send her a stern look, "if you arrive late, I expect you to do it discreetly."

She stooped her head low. "Sorry, Miss Bustier!"

Adrien turned in his chair - his tablet already laid out on his desk - and with a sympathetic smile, he heaved her bag off the floor. She nodded her thanks as he placed it on the desk. Only when he turned back to his tablet did she shoot Alya a glare.

"We both just happened to be late," she quietly growled, "and I kinda forgot to brush my hair, so Adrien messed his up to make me feel better. And to save us interrupting class twice, we decided to show up together." The slightest smirk Alya still showed only had her eyes rolling. "Need I remind you he's dating Kagami?"

That swept the smugness from her face. "All riiiight, I believe you." She watched, her eyes squinting in thought, as Marinette pulled her tablet from her backpack. "But hey, speaking of dating… How're things going with Luka?" Of course, her teasing smile returned; it never did seem to be gone for long. "Maybe it's him you're smooching in a closet, hmm?"

Thoughts of last night swarmed to the forefront of Marinette's mind, and her stomach churned at the reminder of Luka. "I… No! We're just hanging out." She set her backpack on the floor and turned back to her tablet, bringing up their pop quiz with a shaky finger.

Alya turned to her own tablet. "So, does that mean you guys haven't kissed yet?"

Marinette's cheeks flushed pink and she shook her head excessively. "Don't you think I'd tell you if we had?"

Alya lightly elbowed Marinette's side. "When it comes to you, girl, I never know what to think."

Briefly, she chewed on the inside of her cheek. “Okay. Fair point, but trust me, Alya, if I ever get a boyfriend, you'll be the first to know."

---

Usually, sitting behind Adrien was a blessing.

Today, it was a curse.

No matter how hard she tried, Marinette's eyes kept drifting to the boy ahead of her. She studied the curve of his broad shoulders, recalling all the times she'd seen them wrapped in leather. She strained her ears each time he spoke and now it was impossible to unhear her partner. And during last period, when Alya struck up a conversation with him, she caught her eyes travelling the defined arc of his jaw.

Now that she knew he was Chat Noir, she just couldn't unsee it.

"So, Adrien," Alya was saying, leaning over her desk. "You gonna come play Ultimate Mecha Strike III tomorrow?" She glanced between the two boys ahead. "I might also pull out Just Dance if I'm feeling a little bit groovy," she added, shimmying in her seat.

"Yeah, Alya!" Adrien said, his face alight. "I'll definitely be there this time!"

Marinette bolted upright in her seat, horror flashing across her face.

"Good to hear," Alya said beside her.

"Yeah! Would you believe my father said yes for a change?" Adrien tapped his lips, his eyes wandering up to the ceiling. "He's been in a pretty good mood lately… I think." He looked back at Alya, smiling. "Kagami's excited too. And maybe a bit nervous. She hasn't really hung out with more than a couple of friends at a time."

A splash of pity washed over Marinette. It'd been a while since her last orange juice outing with Kagami and she knew those meet-ups meant a lot to her. For a moment, she considered arranging another one.

That thought was quickly crushed by the glaring reminder that sat before her - otherwise known as Adrien Agreste.

Chat Noir.

Kagami's boyfriend.

She pulled her arms across her torso, her eyes sinking to the dented surface of her desk. She was almost certain a catch up with Kagami would end tragically. Heck, it would probably start tragically too—at least while her knowledge of Chat's identity was still fresh.

Adrien and Kagami's relationship had been – still was – extremely hard to swallow. Knowing Kagami's boyfriend was also Chat Noir somehow seemed to make things more complicated. And now that she thought about it, it was no wonder Chat had flirted with Ryuko last week, during their brief fight with Loveater.

Marinette had a feeling she'd continue to be struck by realisations like this for at least a few weeks. Understandable, considering she's been unknowingly crushing on her superhero partner this whole time. She barely bit back a groan at that lovely reminder. It sounded like the punchline of a very bad joke. Or maybe she was the punchline?

"I'm excited for Kagami to be a bigger part of our friend group," Alya was saying, a teasing lilt in her voice as she continued. "Especially now that you two are an item." She elbowed Marinette, prompting a wince. "Isn't that right, girl?"

Rubbing her aching side, Marinette grinned a little too widely at the boys seated below her. At any other time, the red that crept across Adrien's cheeks would've been adorable. Now, it twisted her heart.

"I – Uhh. Yeah." She hoped her smile seemed genuine, at least to Adrien. "I can – I mean, I can't wait!"

[thisislizheather]

March Magic

Forgive the lateness of this post, but March was a busy month so LET’S TALK ABOUT IT.

So after leaving Ipsy last year (for various reasons), I’ve missed receiving a little package every month full of makeup samples. I was all set to try Birchbox, but they wouldn’t accept a Canadian billing address so that didn’t work out. Instead I opted to give PLAY! By Sephora a chance. I was a member for three months before cancelling last week. My reason for ending it was mainly because I barely got any lipsticks or highlighters or anything FUN. I don’t know if it’s because they know that I’m in my mid-thirties or because they just have an influx of specific products, but a bitch doesn’t need twenty sample size cleansers. Not this bitch, anyway. Also, sending out a foundation sample (no matter the luxuriousness of the brand) makes ZERO sense because finding the right shade makes all the difference in the world for foundations. Also, I barely wear foundation. So I ended it. Also, am I the only one who hates getting tiny perfume samples? I feel like I have so many that I feel bad about throwing out, so I just keep them in the washroom and then use them instead of air-freshener if someone (or myself) stinks up the room (#lizadvice).

I was briefly intrigued by Frank & Oak’s clothing subscription box but decided after an hour of research that it’s probably too expensive for what you’re getting, even if the clothes are gorgeous.

Of course it was upsetting to hear that Luke Perry passed away. He was definitely one of the first men that I loved on television (god, I remember every single detail of that 90210 when his wife Rebecca Gayheart was killed). Such a good actor. So wildly attractive. And man, he was one of the best parts of Riverdale. I hate thinking about that show without him.

I absolutely love spring peas, so I made this Lemon-Basil Orzotto and it was really good.

I tried this charcoal that’s supposed to clean your makeup sponge and it was kind of annoying to use. It just takes too long to get a good lathering, and my foaming hand soap does the job much better and quicker.

I’ve only used it once so far, but I think I’m really into this Bliss Jelly Glow Peel Exfoliator that I got at Target for $10. No irritation at all and my face felt crazy smooth afterward.

I have a mini version of Sunday Riley’s Lactic Acid and it’s kind of really good, too. Only a million dollars more expensive than other good facial products! Sweet! Also, you’d think having “acid” in the name would frighten people away but I guess not. Obviously never going to buy the full size because it’s not magical or anything, but happy to have tried it.

Ate at this Mexican place Pulqueria in Chinatown that was pretty good. The location is pretty cool (very NYC out of a movie) and the inside is gorgeous. The food? Pretty decent! All in all, nothing to write home about but definitely worth remembering if you’re in the neighborhood.

Got some ice cream at Taiyaki and it was the definition of plain-as-a-dick. Nothing special here.

Finally ate at Lilia in Brooklyn! Honestly, it was really great and I can’t wait to go back. I made Nathan get the spicy lamb fettuccine so that I could try it and I got the mafaldini with pink peppercorns. His was fantastic, but mine was only so-so (it was way too al dente) - I think I just ordered badly because everything else we had was incredible. They had this herbed focaccia with ramp butter special that blew our faces off. I’ve never heard of a bread special before and it’s a brilliant idea, more restaurants should do this, people go nuts for fancy bread (myself included). The cauliflower appetizer (with spicy soppressata, sicilian pesto & majoram) was amazing and the dessert soft-serve swirl was wild. I already know what I’m ordering next time: the sheeps milk cheese filled agnolotti with saffron, dried tomato & honey. The service was of course great, and the space itself is gorgeous. No idea it used to be an auto-repair shop. Is the pasta better at L’Artusi? I’ll have to order the agnolotti before I answer that question. One must be well informed before making such declarations.

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A post shared by Lilia Ristorante (@lilianewyork) on Mar 4, 2019 at 5:56am PST

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A post shared by Lilia Ristorante (@lilianewyork) on Mar 19, 2019 at 10:38am PDT

On my birthday, I took advantage of a free-facial offered from Smith & Brit in the city and it was beyond lovely. Claire (the owner) is such a fantastic woman who really knows what she’s doing and she made it such a wonderful experience.

I also took advantage of the free birthday brow arch they offer at all Benefit locations and whoa. I almost exclusively thread my eyebrows every few months, so I was excited to have them waxed for a change. I have pretty sensitive forehead skin, so I did have tiny bumps around my eyebrows for a few days afterward, but it still was worth it. They do an “eyebrow map” of how your eyebrows would best look and then wax them accordingly. And then they follow that with filling them in with Benefit products. I usually use a combination of Colourpop’s brow pencil and Milani’s waxier eyebrow pencil, but when she used the Benefit eyebrow gel wand, I was floored at how much fuller they looked. Really considering buying the mini and seeing if I can achieve that same look. Look how full!

Above Photo: Excuse the horrifying closeness of the above photo

I tried both 2019 birthday gifts from Sephora and Ulta, and talked about both of them here.

I watched all of Shrill in one evening and I can’t imagine not watching it that way. It’s perfect. I can’t stop playing this song on repeat, WHY IS IT ONLY ONE MINUTE? Other thoughts: I had no idea that the morning-after pill doesn’t work for women over 175 pounds, that’s insane!? The mother/daughter storyline is so well done it hurts. ALL of the outfits on pretty much every single woman are so fucking lovely. I rewatched that one part with the woman in red walking and buying flowers over and over it just made me so happy, I can’t describe why. And the pool party episode? I may have sobbed through some of it, and not in a sad way but in a cathartic way. It just made me feel so many things at once. Mostly about how sometimes you feel invisible if you’re self conscious or self-loathing about your body, and you feel like you don’t matter unless you fit into this idea of what you think people expect you to look like and how if you don’t fit into that, then you’re essentially a worthless piece of garbage, so you treat yourself that way on a daily basis. And how this type of thinking can last you a lifetime because it’s all you’ve allowed yourself to believe for years and years. There are so many ways that a person can feel inadequate or less than, and it’s so internally normalized because you truly believe that you’re not good enough and you never will be. It’s a depressing way to live and so many women especially live this way, myself included obviously. So that whole episode really just felt like a fucking dream of a reality. I really hope there will be more episodes of the series, I’ve never related to a television show more in my life.

I tried the watermelon makeup wipes from Sephora and even though they smell amazing, they don’t take off all of your makeup. Pass. The Avon one is still my all-time favourite.

I tried the cleansing pads from First Aid Beauty and they’re tingly, fun and great. Perfect alternative for when you don’t feel like washing your face. I don’t know if that’s their intent, but that’s how I’m using them.

Nathan’s second album came out on iTunes! Buy it! Love it! Or not! Do you!

I’ve been having trouble sleeping and one thing that has helped? Taking a hot shower before bed. Is this such common knowledge that I’m a moron? Maybe. In any case, very happy to have learned this.

Started and finished watching the final season of Broad City and it was really, really good. I always forget how good this show is. I wish it existed when I was a teenager.

Practically in LUST with Trader Joe’s Everything But The Bagel Seasoning. I’m so late to this party, but at least I finally got there. I’ve only even tried it on top of some buttered bread and I was floored at how good it is.

Can’t stop rewatching all the old Ready or Not episodes on YouTube. Also, Degrassi Junior High.

You know how sometimes you have irrationally dumb opinions on things you know nothing about? That was me with dry shampoo. I didn’t really understand it. Also, I thought it was exclusively for white women, I don’t know why? Obviously I tried some (this Amika one) and I mean… it’s kind of spectacular. I maybe shouldn’t have discovered it because I might never wash my hair again.

I visited the Everlane store in Soho (because apparently YouTube ads really do work on me) and even though it’s beautifully minimalist, it’s way too overpriced.

Tried the pizza at Lions & Tigers & Squares Detroit Pizza and it was really good. They don’t offer single slices, but it’s the perfect place to go with someone to split one. So in love with Detroit style lately. (Also, can I accept world-wide-credit for the massive amounts of pepperoni pieces you’re seeing on pizzas these days?! I’ve been ordering triple-pepperoni-well-done pizzas for DECADES and I’ve been harshly judged endlessly because of it and LOOK AT WHERE WE ARE NOW! Full credit.)

Above Photo: Pepperoni pizza from Lions & Tigers & Squares, NYC

The penultimate episode of this season of This Is Us was wildly good. There was so much relatable couple stuff, it’s so hard to even get into if you didn’t see the episode/don’t care about the show, but if you did? Email me. I could talk about it for an hour, it was so well done. It’s essentially about the give and take in a relationship and about how it’s rarely equal, and man… so, so well done. Loved every minute.

Remember how I tried and liked Bumble & Bumble’s Thickening Spray? Well, I still do but definitely don’t spray it on your roots, it works much better if you use it sparsely on the rest of your hair when damp. Maybe that’s already obvious but I’m very new to using any hair products, so forgive my stupidity.

SO excited for Jenny Slate’s new book.

I went to Beacon’s Closet for the first time and whoa. I didn’t find anything I loved, but it’s definitely one of those places you should stop in every once in awhile to see what’s there. The space is a little overwhelming, but the things that I’ve seen people get from there are gorgeous and so inexpensive.

I tried to find my colour in the Fenty collection of concealers and nothing matched, but it’s not a huge deal since I’m happy with the NARS one I’ve been using. And speaking of concealers, Colourpop just released their own and they were kind of good?? Again, I still prefer the NARS one, but the Colourpop one is actually kind of good, especially for being $6.

Finally ate at Raclette and I don’t think I’ll be returning. There are basic rules for making a good grilled cheese. I mean, I’m no scientist but you should be able to hold up the sandwich. And that just didn’t happen here. I had to use a knife and fork, which is… sad. Astoria Bier & Cheese understands these rules and still remains the best place to go if you’re in the mood for one.

I accidentally tried smoked salmon for the first time and it was really good, who the hell knew? Apparently everyone but me. I’ve never ordered it because I really only fake-like cooked salmon, so why the hell would I like it uncooked or *shudder* smoked? Also, it looks so gross! I should’ve known better though because it’s almost always true that if something looks gross, it probably tastes amazing. That’s a thing, yeah?

I tried samples (because I own a million fucking samples of every cream on planet earth) of Kiehl’s avocado eye cream and passssssss. It left my under eyes crazy red and zombie-like, so never again.

Bought a new white living room carpet from Carpet Factory Outlet on the Upper East Side and it was so cheap and great, have to keep this place in mind.

Absolutely hate this Tarte mascara, it stays on your lashes for days after you think you’ve washed it off and I don’t know why anyone would want that.

Since I’ll forever love Trader Joe’s, we tried the new broccoli and kale pizza crust and it’s even better than the cauliflower crust that we love. This one also doesn’t burn as easily in the oven as the cauliflower one, so I think this is the new favourite.

There’s a new flavour of banana pudding at Magnolia Bakery: chocolate hazelnut. It was sold out when I tried to get it, but I did get a sample and yikes. Obviously it’s the greatest.

Ate at Al Di La in Brooklyn and it was not fantastic. Their version of “gnocchi” was confusing and 1000% too spinachy. The tagliatelle al ragu (below) was obviously good, but, like, it’s so hard to fuck that up.

Above Photo: Tagliatelle Al Ragu at Al Di La, Brookyn, New York

Found this lovely-as-hell store in Park Slope, Habit. Literally everything felt and looked beautiful. In love with this one specific brand they had.

Went to a Mortified show with Harmeet who was visiting me, and it was good! We only stayed for the first half because honestly my feet hurt and we were standing and I think we both just decided, “Yeah, we get it… we’re good” and then went to Ample Hills Creamery around the corner. Love it when friends decide to leave an event early together for something more fun, not enough people do this.

FINALLY made it to Daily Provisions. Maple cruller? Heavenly. Everything-bagel-flavoured croissant injected with cream cheese? Delightful. Danny Meyer continues to do no wrong. Favourite breakfast place in Union Square.

Above Photo: Maple Cruller from Daily Provisions, Union Square, New York City

Still very much in love with this song, and as I was listening to it one day I started reading the comments as I was listening and this one YouTube comment… my god. So sweet. Maybe parts of it are definitely corny or too much or something, but my god, in the moment, I loved it:

“I heard this song when I woke up un-groggy for the first time after an abortion. It was the first time I heard it. And riding in the car beside my Mom, who had been pro-choice her entire life until the moment she was staring that decision right in the face, both of us were silent the entire song. Through every lyric, it was as if Sara had written a eulogy of my life. Everything we had been through, everything I had suffered. Everything I had seen. Every time I had to grow up sooner than I should have. Everything I had to push to the back of my mind so I didn’t lose myself completely. Everything surfaced through these lyrics. This will just be another comment lost among this thread. But if someone happens to read it - if someone who NEEDS to see this comment see’s it - know that things will always be better. TIME HEALS ALL. Even if it seems as though no one would care if you were gone. Even if it seems as though you have no purpose in this world. YOU MATTER. It doesn’t matter how many mistakes you have made. It doesn’t matter how many times you have sworn to God “you’d change” if he just forgave you for this one mistake. Hell. Even if you don’t believe in God. If you don’t know what to believe, if you’re lost, if you don’t know what to do - just keep going. Keep doing. Keep moving in any direction that is away from the heartache and pain that keeps you tied down. Let go of the past. Let go of the fear and hurt your heart endures on a daily basis. Just keep living. Keep going. Forgive. Never forget. Learn from your mistakes. Better yourself. Live for you. Find your happiness. Love unconditionally. Live.” — Shelby Grimm

Went to Momofuku Noodle Bar for the second time and it was so much better than the first time. I also ordered better. The chilled spicy noodles with sichuan sausage, thai basil & cashews (shown below) were incredible and I tried some of the broth of the spicy beef ramen that Harmeet ordered and holy shit, it was good. I’m still too… not into the idea of ramen, but that broth was fucking nuts. ALSO, their dessert special (caramelized white chocolate pie with hazelnut and puffed rice was F-U-C-K-I-N-G memorable (also below). Christ.

Above Photo: Chilled Spicy Noodles from Momofuku Noodle Bar, NYC

Above Photo: Caramelized White Chocolate Pie from Momofuku Noodle Bar, NYC

A few months ago I got dinner at Pil Pil on the Upper East Side and since it was good, I stopped in there for lunch recently and it’s probably the best lunch I’ve had in that area for sure. There’s a $4 happy hour sangria special and their lamb sliders are incredible. The fries are maybe my favourite restaurant fries in the city, they’re so crispy and drizzled with this spicy aioli and they also have a chocolate-hazelnut dessert cake that is unbelievable. I know it sounds like I love everything everywhere, but I swear I don’t.

There is a place in NYC where you can rent out really nice digital cameras for 24 hours FOR FREE and no one knows about it (the only hiccup is that you need to have state-issued ID). Sony Square is a “public space committed to showcasing innovations in products, music, movies and gaming” - which essentially means that every few weeks they change up their aesthetic to showcase new Sony products, but the camera-rental service is an always-available option. Insanely cool thing to offer.

Found amazingly soft and comfortable leggings (cheap too!) at Aerie (thank you Marla!) that I will exclusively buy from now on. (No more trash Aritzia leggings that disintegrate every three months!) Bought some of their workout pants too that have pockets (!) that were incredibly soft, too.

I saw the movie Us and really liked it. Mostly because yeah, it’s a good movie. But also because IT’S AN ORIGINAL MOVIE. I’m so sick of remakes and superhero movies that I love it when movies like this get made. I know it’s classified as a horror movie, but it’s not really, in my opinion. Plus I love when you finish watching a movie and you want to come home immediately and research as much about it as possible. It’s good, go see it!

Harmeet and I went to Manhatta for lunch (because apparently I have a Danny Meyer obsession) and it exceeded all expectations. First of all, it’s not crazy expensive despite the fact that it’s in the fucking sky (60th floor). We got the mushroom soup, the scotch snails with pork sausage in garlic butter and the French onion burger and everything was amazing. Service was perfect. Views are insane. Perfect place to take someone who’s visiting, especially for lunch. Will definitely go back.

Above Photo: View from Manhatta, NYC

Above Photo: Harmeet! In all her beauty!

Above Photo: French Onion Burger from Manhatta, NYC

Lastly, I watched the Leaving Neverland documentary on HBO. I also watched all the episodes of Surviving R. Kelly. I watched both of these within a few days and I don’t recommend anyone viewing all of these things in such a short amount of time unless you want to cry endlessly and (irrationally? Or understandably?) loathe an entire gender for a few days. And look, if you know anything about me, you know what a huge fan I am of Michael Jackson. From his music to the connection of meeting Nathan, I’ve forever loved this man in the way that all of his fans love him. For years I would think (and sometimes, ugh, say) “I don’t know that man personally. I don’t want to know about his personal life. I can’t judge him if I don’t know him.” And I’d say these things as a way of deflecting from the fact that I didn’t want those beautiful songs tarnished in my mind, as dumb as that sounds. And in an extremely similar way, I acted the same with R. Kelly. I didn’t WANT to take “When A Woman Loves” off of my iPod for years because I didn’t want to believe someone who could sing so beautifully could be some kind of monster, which makes zero sense but seems like a rational thought to people who still don’t believe these victims. The way that we worship these artists/abusers, without actually knowing anything about them (or sometimes knowing complete details of their abuse), wanting them to continue to achieve success no matter what the cost, is so unhealthy and odd and is part of a larger culture that is already designed to idolize anyone with status or more money than us. I didn’t want to watch Neverland. I knew it’d be bad. I only took down my Woody Allen poster in my childhood bedroom last year (to be fair, I don’t live there, but this should’ve happened years ago). I rarely spoke up in favor of these men, but I did stay silent when they were discussed because that was easier to do and basically what most everyone else was doing and made it feel acceptable, which is awful. I feel horrible that it took this many years for victims to be believed and it makes me sick that I’m apart of the group of people who made it impossible for victims to be heard. As hard as these things were to watch, I think they’re wildly important to see.

This one part from Surviving R. Kelly sums up one of the problems so well.

“Our society tends to compartmentalize the things we don’t want to look at, and magnifies and glorifies the things that we do. For example, if an individual is providing something to the society as music, cinema, politics - we’re more likely to compartmentalize the negative behavior and minimize it, as a way of accepting what they’re contributing.”

Jesus, a lot happened in March. Excited for April! Some upcoming things that you can expect in next month’s post: I’m going to start taking collagen (I’ve heard it helps hair growth), a family trip to Niagara Falls, a Best of Astoria post & thoughts on the new Twilight Zone. Hello, April!

[lailababar]

Death

I escorted someone to death. Took his hand, walked him to the land unknown. The great adventure. His eyes had been scared, his hands tremulous, his voice quivering. And yet he kept resolutely saying, I’m ready. I’m ready. It is my belief that you’re never really ready to die. You are ready to end the suffering, and ready to see if there is an afterlife, but ready to die? No that’s a different thing. He kept asking me to help him, to make it faster. Kept opening his eyes every few minutes, asking if it was over yet, if I had crossed with him to the other realm or if we were both still stuck here.

We talked to his wife, he said a tearful but resolute goodbye. He said he loved her. She said she loved him. There were tears, on both ends. And a few in my eyes too. It’s a painful thing to see, a man of 80 and 5 years, saying goodbye to the only reality he has ever known. Surrounded by strangers, in a bed that can never be comfortable, a pillow that is just too clean to be personalised, a room too austere to be comforting. The only thread to his life, a weak arthritic voice on a phone that keeps going in and out of service range. Such is the grim reality of dying in the age of corona. no familiar hand to squeeze, no gazing into the eyes of your beloved. Alone, but surrounded. Aware that your loved ones must stay away for fear that they may contract the deadly Covid-19. leaving the world, like Hemingway predicted, with a whimper not a bang.

He asked me if he could eat. I gave him all the options I could think of at 4 am on a Saturday morning in the cancer wing of a small community hospital. Chips? Pretzels? Graham crackers? Peanut butter? The diet of an overworked, underpaid, overnight resident physician. He shook his head no to all my options, after all none of these hospital staples constitutes a good last meal. And then he asked me, hesitantly, what about ice cream? Something about the timid way he asked and the childhood nostalgia of ice cream struck me as particularly poignant. I nodded my head and brought over a small vanilla ice cream cup. He wanted, so badly, to hold the cup and feed himself. A last independent stance, in a life that for the last few months had been stuck in dependence. How cruel time is, how unforgiving. Even in this last moment, he could not eat on his own, and silently, I started feeding him. Small bites, evenly paced, peppered with small talk and words of encouragement.

We silenced all alarms, the cacophony of dings and Trills that make up the music of a hospital room. He denied having any pain, just anxiety. Anxious to pass quickly, anxious about what to expect, anxious about being alone. My pager was uncharacteristically silent, I think the hospital understood that at this moment, his last, I needed to be with him, needed to make his final moments about something other than loneliness. He lay back down in the bed after eating his ice cream, and just as I thought he had dozed off, he opened his eyes and asked if he could walk. He was weak, he hadn’t walked in a few weeks, but who was I to deny a dying man such a simple wish? And so I nodded, and together with my intern, stood him up, both of us with one arm on his back and one in front of him, making a human walker, guided him around his room. He decided he would like to sit by the window, in the reclining chair. With a sigh of relief we sat him in his chair, laid it back and then proceeded to sit next to him.

‘I would like a popsicle now’. His meek voice once again permeated the grim silence that had descended. We both had a popsicle and then he lay back in bed and closed his eyes.

He kept opening his eyes every few minutes, is it done? Is it over? Am I dead yet? Each time I shook my head he looked at me and asked why after being so close to death it was now evading him. I had no answers for him, so just squeezed his hand and stayed by his side. He finally fell asleep and I prayed he passed with ease, while asleep, so that this time when he wakes up, he’s actually in heaven. He woke up one more time, this time to tell me to make sure his body made it back to his wife. They would want a proper burial, closure for his wife. Even in his last moments he wanted to make sure she had her needs met. A final goodbye. This time when he fell asleep I sneaked out of the room to check on other patients.

He passed away that night. I hope he wasn’t as lonely as he had been afraid he would be. I hope the final ice cream and conversation made his austere surroundings just a tad bit more palatable. I don’t know if they did, but hope springs eternal. This is a weird time to be alive, Australia was burning, world war 3 was just barely stopped and now we’re in a pandemic. Through all of this the only thing we have is each other, our humanity and our kindness. May we come out of this softer, gentler, kinder, more caring. May we learn that when our backs were to the wall it was our humanity that saved us.

[rue-me-nations]

Weather Watching

I have arrived at a good place. Somehow, I have found a sort of cocoon to wrap myself in, or some sort of cornucopia within myself. The difficult moments arise but I recognise the face of adversity as an old friend, and all I need is to find some sort of foothold and I know that I am secure.

My physical environment seems to shape my inner weather, so much more than I had ever imagined. It is only when I have empty time and complete silence that I can let myself go, to sift through and process the chaos I’ve been experiencing. But I love chaos, always have. I was just confused because I could never strike a good relationship with balancing my love of the outside chaos and the calm inside me. Is it also ironic, that once I can access my calm, my own chaos is then able to bubble to the surface? Part of the cause of all that confusion, is that from my perspective it seems as though chaos is the norm for everyone else. I suppose I just have a naturally lower tolerance of all that noise. It is at the same time awe-inspiring for me, and also intensely grating. I loved it so much, that even though it caused me pain, I couldn’t bear to turn off the music. I have heard it described this way - everything is on steroids, both the good and the bad.

My love of chaos is not the same as my love for silence. In fact it is as if, I chose to love chaos, because I gravitated towards silence so naturally. My love for silence was so natural that I was terrified I would never experience chaos...

But now that I have learned to turn off the music, I am in control. I know who I am, I know where I have come from and I know where I would like to go. That is not to say that there’s anything wrong with not knowing.

Even right here, right now, I sit here and allow my thoughts to settle into the base of my skull and experience the wonder of my brain naturally sifting through what matters most so that the thoughts I hold dearest inadvertently show up in all its buoyancy.

Some part of this happiness, this contentment has always existed as a part of me. It has always felt like I was always hanging by a thread, but at every point I had just enough of what I needed to pull through. Somehow it has always felt as if I chose this path myself. Was I afraid to become happy? After every chapter, I get this sense of, ‘ah, of course!’ as if everything simply fell into place in the most logical manner. Could it just be hindsight bias?  Do we choose our life paths before we tumble out into this reality?

There is such a specific way that my life echoes the same song in all its variations, beautiful permutations. Telling the same story over and over, the same patterns scrawled all over cave walls and whispered in the firelight since the beginning of time. What are we all but seashells and spirals, going in circles but never quite circles, in perfect proportion paying tribute to the golden ratio. In the same way that the waves in the sea swell and fade away, swell and fade away, we come back to the same place always, or is it quite the same place really? How funny is this whole situation, because both are true - it’s the same place, but it’s also not. And that’s what keeps us all moving in the first place, that it’s perfectly meaningful but also perfectly meaningless.

So what does it mean to be mature, what does it mean to be childish? What does it mean to be strong and what does it mean to be weak? What else can we do but shift between opposing qualities within the confines of our identity? Loving ice cream probably sounds like a childish affair. What if that love was evolved from years of hating ice cream because one couldn’t reconcile and strike a balance between wanting to be healthy and allowing oneself the enjoyment of food? There are so many stories, and so many ways to conjure ideas from words. So many ways to misunderstand each other... more importantly, so many ways to misunderstand ourselves! It’s all quite funny.

In order to surround yourself and find people who see you for who you are, you need to first see yourself for who you are. I’ve always thought that I did. At every point, I suppose in some way and to some extent I did. Does the way you see yourself, then also shape you into the person that you are at any given time? But looking back is when you can see truly that there can always be a clearer picture to render, and wrongs in the image you can right. It’s a little like what I feel when practising my drawing skills.

I’m so glad now for the space to be able to be with myself and enjoy my own company. It makes the warmth of the sun, the texture of the grass on my skin, the crisp smell of the morning breeze infinitely more magical. It makes me very curious when other people don’t seem to share the same sentiment. What must the weather of their inner experience look like? I can only imagine, and as much as I respect our differences, I am trying to be very careful not to compromise too much of the silence I prefer to go along with their chaos.

[allen-d-rivers]

Ice Cream and Debauchery

Chapters 1 and 2 of an experimental new project, similar to John Dies at The End. 

                                                           1

It’s not every day you learn you’re a link between worlds and a crucial peg in the ongoing struggle of good against evil, the fate of the entire universe hinging upon your actions.

In fact, I’d say it’s pretty rare.

At least I think. I can only speak for myself. The types of things I learn in a usual day are that the Doritos have gone stale, or one of our eight cats has pissed in my bed. On occasion I learn the Netflix subscription has expired, and sometimes my brother’s back hair and toenail clippings amass so much that they clog the shower drain.

Gross, right?

Anyway, that’s what you deal with. Typical everyday bullshit. The ancillary details that somehow become the staple of your life. And yeah, it sucks. My home smells like weed and my car is constantly on the urge of breaking down but at least it’s normal.

Acid spitting demons. Tentacle...things. Interdimensional beings with the power to phase out facets of existence.

Like what the fuck?

And I’m a boring dude. Forgettable. Stinky, even. I’m not a protagonist. A hero. I’m just a unkempt slacker with a mountain of student loan debt constantly paralyzed by crippling anxiety and self-doubt.

Okay, so that’s like half of my generation, but whatever, you get the point.

I can’t even remember to return my DVDs to Redbox, yet I’m charged with saving all of existence?

And who the hell rents DVDs anymore?

Okay, fine, fine I’ll stop wasting time. I’ll get to the point. It’s one that took me 3,500 years to understand (time’s not linear - it’s a long story) but here’s my best summary:

There are infinite universes. Infinite timelines. Infinite outcomes. You are just a thread in the entire cosmic rope of you. Also, there are demi-god assholes wagering on the fate of all of our lives. Most of them are dicks.

Get it?

Good. So we’ll start from the beginning, because this guide might be helpful to whoever comes next. Even if it’s another iteration of me. Or something.

Stick with me, I barely get it myself.

So all of this...the murders, the massacre, the interdimensional travel, it all started in one place. A place many of us think of as common, but that was destined to be the hallowed ground, the launching point for the ultimate conflict, the one that encompasses all of our lives and which very well could end them all.

We begin at K-Mart.

                                                  2

“Ice cream and debauchery?”

“What?” I ask.

“Cigar and a soiree?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Refreshments and a rave?” Will asks with a grin, flashing his pearly yellows in the process. He’s leaning on the counter across from me. We’re both wearing our K-Mart shirts, blue and embroidered with a red K. Will’s has an accompanying mustard stain that’s gone crusty. I’m on register and he’s on stock, but with how barren and desolate the store is, we both can afford to kill some time.

“C’mon you schmuck, I’m asking what you want to do tonight,” Will says.

“The same thing we do every night, Pinky,” I reply.

Will blinks. “Why are you calling me Pinky?”

“Never mind.”

“Do I have marker on my face or something?” Will wipes at his face.

“Stop it,” I urge. “I don’t care what we do tonight. Drinks, video games, whatever. I have nothing on the agenda.”

“Dude,” Will whispers, leaning forward on the counter. “I heard there’s a sweet new laser tag place in Johnson City. You can see the lasers shooting through the air. Pew pew and all that shit.”

I look Will in his (dilated) pupils and consider the prospect. A couple of twenty-five year old guys in sweat-stained t shirts going all out on a group of middle schoolers, diving behind cover and screaming while firing a barrage of light beams in a retaliatory strike. It would be like Saving Private Ryan, but somehow more sad and desperate.

“Sounds great,” I say. “I’ve always wanted to shoot thirteen year olds.”

“Yeah, fuck kids!” Will declares.

“A-hem,” a voice rasps.

Will and I look and see Shelly, our manager, standing with her arms crossed a few feet away. She’s a rigid stick of a woman, tiny but imposing, and she’s wearing her “you fucked up” expression on her face.

You’d know it if you saw it.

“Oh shit!” Will says. “Liam didn’t mean he actually wants to shoot thirteen year olds.” He pauses. “And I didn’t mean I like to…”

“Enough!” Shelly belts. “I don’t care what you two morons blather on about. Most of the time it doesn’t make a damn difference in this place but I’d appreciate if you didn’t do it while there were customers waiting in line.” Shelly extends a bony finger past Will, where two customers stand.

“Oh, got it, got it,” Will says. “I’ll go and…”

“Get the boxes from storage,” Shelly says. “I’m sorry folks,” she says to the customers. “Won’t happen again.” She shoots me a glare before stomping off. Will looks to the customers tepidly, offering a shy smile and wave.

“The children are our future,” he declares before trotting off.

“Sorry about that,” I say as the man approaches.

Most people would be worried about being fired for such a transgression. Admittedly, when I first joined the K-Mart team, I was concerned about my performance. About being on time. About doing things the right way. About greeting every customer with a smile.

Now I’m tempted to tell half of them to fuck themselves.

The rude mean half. I’m not some type of monster.

Not yet, anyway.

There’s no threat of being fired. The place can barely keep enough employees to function. And how can they? Minimum wage pay, no pay increases per year, extremely limited mobility, the unsavory assholes taking out their daily ilk and strife on you as they berate you over the price of shorts, the limited variety of snack cakes, and the behavior of their own mutant children.

Okay, so they're not really mutants.

Most of them.

The point is, who cares? Slap that on a bumper stick. Sell it to all the millennials. Nothing matters we’re all going to die, have some fun in the meantime.

“Excurse me!”

That’s not a typo.

“Excurse me!” The man in front of me repeats. He has a strange accent, or some type of slur. Regardless he sounds Scandinavian, or eastern European or something.

“Hello sir,” I say. The man before me is tall, and Frankenstein-like in his demeanor. His body moves in lurches, appearing lumpy and improperly set. He’s like an action figure a kid’s twisted one times too many, and it looks like his shoulders are permanently pushed upwards out of place.

This isn’t the only odd thing about him. I swear to God (well, at least some iteration of the higher power that does exist) that this guy is the spitting image of Gary Busey. Well, Gary Busey if he’d gotten in a bar fight. His face is swollen and lumpy, though there are no sign of cuts or bruising.

I feel a strange vibration. A chilling tickle up my spine. And that’s not some revisionist history. I didn’t know what was up with this guy or what was bound to happen, but when you see a Frankenstein-like Gary Busey with a strange accent and those horrible horse teeth staring at you with corpse-gray eyes, you know something’s up.

Busey slams three objects down upon the counter. His hand shakes over them, as if he is straining to pull his arm back. To make his arm work. He used his other hand to grab his wrist and assist. I stare down at the three items.

A cucumber. An opened (and bitten) stick of butter. A pack of Trojan Brand Condoms.

Again, the R’s aren’t typos.

“Therse are the things that are being bought togrether, am I being of the correrect?

“Excuse me?”

“Excurse?” Busey coughs. His breath smells like dogfarts.

“What did you ask, sir?”

His eyes roll in his head. His tongue falls out of the side of his mouth. Now, for the first time, I understand the true nature and severity of what I’m dealing with.

A meth head.

In a town as forlorn and economically distraught as Rosedale Pennsylvania, plenty of people hide from their problems with drugs and alcohol. There are no jobs, no opportunity, just failing businesses and disappointing people. I can’t blame people for hiding from themselves, for hiding from the reality of their lives. I’ve done it plenty, but the meth heads...they are a different variety. Often times they are…

“Dangerous,” Busey says, except he pronounces it “Dan Grr Us.”

“What?”

“I am dangerous,” Busey repeats, slobbering down his oafish face. “I am are buying what the humans are liking to be buying.”

I look down at the cucumber, the half-eaten stick of butter, and the condoms, and agree that the combination could indeed be dangerous.

“Yes, very dangerous. Um...do you have...a rewards card?”

Busey recoils like he’s been struck. His eyes go wide and he bears those impossible piano key teeth.

“Cardddddd?” he slurs.

I flick on my checkout station light to indicate I need a manager. Busey looks up, confused, and running his hands through his stringy hair.

“The realms are of the threatening of to merging,” he rasps.

“Sure,” I agree. It’s at this point, the customer behind him, who so happens to be his cohort, approaches, and I shit you not, he looks almost exactly like Danny DeVito, except paler and covered in grease.

“It has been foretold,” DeVito says solemnly in a voice vaguely reminiscent of Sean Connery. “That the Keybearer would react in such a way. So said Lekreshi, Snake Lord of the Black Sun. The moment of triumph is upon us.” He babbles this as snot leaks down his nose onto the collar of his shirt, which I notice, is a women’s designer brand.

“Are we...larping or something?” I ask taking a step back from the counter.

“What are you name?” Busey shouts, drawing the attention of others in the store.

“Liam,” I say. “Liam Conners.”

They freeze. They go rigid. Their eyes shoot wide.

“Uh, what...did I say?”

DeVito tilts his head back. He cranks it back until it’s pointing straight at the ceiling. Green gunk oozes from the side of his mouth as he lets out a guttural cry, sounding like some unholy union between a cockroach and an automotive engine.

“Sccrrrrunnnnnnnkcccchhtch!” Devito wails.

Busey opens his mouth as well, though that’s a bit of an understatement. His jaw unhinges and out from his gullet spring forth scaly, black as night tentacles.

It’s at this point the story gets weird.

The tentacles force their way from his mouth like a creature trying to escape his throat. They’re two fingers thick, and six of them whip out of his mouth, flailing around violently. Busey seems in limited control of the tentacles, stumbling around drunkenly and trying to keep his head raised.

“The transfer is still young. The process is incomplete,” DeVito rasps, green gunk spilling out of his mouth.

I stand back, mouth agape, and convince myself this is a dream. Yep, I’m asleep in my bed, the one spring near the bottom of my mattress pressing up and poking me in the spine. I’ll curse at it when I wake up but boy will I be happy to get out of this nightmare.

I pinch my cheek. I shake my head. Anytime, now. C’mon Liam, wake up and get back to your mediocre existence. Anything is better than this.

Busey slams his hand on the counter and squeezes the edge of it. There’s a crunching sound as the counter gives under the force. The eel-like tentacles are pointed my way now, molesting the air and reaching out for me.

DeVito begins singing in a voice that comes across as static. His tone is deep and rhythmic, like this is some hymn or cultic chant.

“Sommmmmmmeboddddddddddy onccce tollld meeee the worrrrrrrrrld issss gonnnna rolll meeee,” DeVito belts.

“What the fuck?” I whisper. I’m paralyzed, unable to move as the tentacles grow closer. This isn’t real. It can’t be.

“Blooorrck,” Busey grunts as the tentacles extend further from his throat. He’s leaning over the counter as I back up against the wall. The hungry tentacles whip and lash, seeming to grow excited as they approach my face.

“I ainnnnnn’t the sharrrrpest toooooooool in the shedddddddd,” DeVito continues.

“What the hell is going on?” A voice cries. I’m broken from my paralysis and see Shelly rushing towards Busey. She’s coming from behind and can’t see the appendages bursting forth from his mouth.

No, get out of here Shelly! Run! I want to shout the words but they collide in my throat, tumbling out as a stunted croak.

Shelly puts her hand on Busey’s shoulder, meaning to spin him around. When touched, he shoots up straight and rigid.

“Intruder!” he croaks through the tentacles. They vibrate with each word. He spins around to face Shelly.

Shelly’s eyes go wide and all color flees her face. The reality of the nightmare is made apparent to her fragile mind just before Busey strikes. It all happens in a blur, but I’ll never forget the expression engraved on Shelly’s face for that split second. It was absolute horror dashed with bafflement, all coated in a sick layer of acceptance.

She knew what was to come.

“Heyyyyyyy nowwwww you’rreeeeeee an alllll starrrrrrr.”

The tentacles lash at Shelly, stretching to impossible lengths and wrapping themselves around her. Effortlessly, they lift Shelly into the air, Busey craning his neck back as he holds her over himself. The tentacles slither over Shelly’s skin, wrapping themselves around her limbs as she cries out hysterically. Then, they find their targets, burrowing into her flesh like worms into wet soil.

Wiggle, wiggle, slicch, slicch.

Her cries are bloodcurdling.

Chaos ensues. People scream. Some pull out their phones and call the cops. Most run out of the store. Amidst this I’m frozen, heart barely beating, as I watch my manager be drained of blood. The tentacles act like pumps and I hear the suction as they slurp the blood from Shelly’s body, pulsating as they take in her essence. Busey’s eyes are rolled up in the back of his head as he absorbs her lifeforce, a look of ecstasy on his monstrous face.

Shelly is fading. The color is gone from her body, and it looks like she is shriveling up, like the tentacles are a straw as she’s a Capri Sun pouch. The pain in her eyes is rich, and all life is fading from her eyes as her skin goes loose and…

“COWABUNGA MOTHERFUCKERS!” Will yells. I look over and see him flying in on a Razor scooter, kicking the floor with all he has to gain speed. He’s wearing a Chewbacca mask and holding a shovel. He hops off the scooter and it clatters to the floor next to DeVito.

“Hey now, you’re a rock star,” DeVito observes.

“That’s right I am shit-weasel!,” Will shouts. He presses the side of his mask, which lets out an electronic Chewbacca roar, before he lays into DeVito with the shovel, striking him in the crotch.

DeVito doubles over, gasping for air. “A...all...t-that...gl-glitters...is….g-gold,” he sputters.

“ONLY SHOOTING STARS BREAK THE MOLD!” Will screams before bashing DeVito on the back of the head. He falls to the ground, writhing and sputtering.

Will presses the side of his mask, letting out another Chewbacca roar as he shouts, “Can you DIG it, sucka?!”

Shelly is nothing more than a ragged corpse now, skin hanging off her bones, eyes sunken in and nearly falling out of their sockets. The tentacles discard her, tossing her aside like garbage. Busey turns his attention to Will, tentacles whipping and lashing his way.

He’s going to kill him. I have to do something. I have to save my best friend.

Will is approaching, shovel wound up behind him like a baseball bat, when I strike. I fumble behind the counter for anything I can find. Anything to help my friend, and I throw the first thing I get my hands on.

It soars through the air and my aim is true.

The pack of menthol cigarettes connects with the side of Busey’s face. He winces, and one of the tentacles catches the pack before it hits the ground. The tentacles rip the pack apart and bury themselves into the cigarettes, sucking them dry just like they did Shelly.

Busey stumbles, going pale. He lets out a series of coughs and for a moment the tentacles go limp. He holds his head and tries to regain his composure.

The cigarettes. He must not have liked them.

“Ha,” Will shouts. “Didn’t your mom ever tell you not to smoke? Well, too bad for you because the only thing worse for you than cigarettes is a shovel….to….your...nads.” Will presses the button but the Chewbacca cry doesn’t come. He runs forward and swings the shovel, throwing his whole body into it. The head of the shovel connects with Busey’s crotch, letting out a loud thunk in the process.

Busey doesn’t crumple. He doesn’t even react to the shot. He still seems to be recovering from the menthols.

Fuck this. I can’t let Will go at it alone.

I grab a plastic bag and hop on top of the counter. Busey is hunched over slightly so I have my angle. I jump onto his back and pull the plastic bag over his face. The tentacles are forced downward and hang limply from his mouth as I yank the bag and suffocate him.

“Fuck yeah!” Will shouts as he brings the shovel back and busts Busey’s balls again.

Busey is getting a little more life in him. He’s wheezing as he stumbles about, each motion with more force. I feel the tremor of the tentacles as they shake and come back to life. I don’t think I’m going to be able to hold him.

Thunk! Will slams Busey in the dick again.

“Sterrrp….sterrrp crunching my balls,” Busey coughs. Just then he’s back, snapping up like a rodeo bull. I’m nearly thrown from his body. The tentacles spring to life and cut through the plastic bag, leaving it as shreds in my hands. They launch forward and seize the shovel, yanking it from Will. They waive it above Busey’s head like a spoil of war, and I wonder if they’re about to bash me with it.

“Playground tactics!” I cry, letting go of Busey and falling to the ground. I crouch behind him, pressed right to his legs.

Will gets it.

He picks up the scooter with both hands and raises it above his head. Will whips it around in a circle, like it’s a flail, and the stand of the scooter picks up speed. The tentacles pull the shovel back like they’re going to swing it but Will is too fast. He charges forward and blasts Busey in the chest with the scooter, wheel hitting him dead center. Busey is hulking and powerful, the shot barely sends him back, but I’m right under his feet.

“Werrrt therrr ferrrrk?” Busey cries as he falls backwards over me. There’s a deafening crack and wet thud as he bashes his head off a nearby display shelf. I scramble to my feet and witness the result of our attack.

Busey is out of commission, at least for the time being. He’s laying in a heap, head tilted against the display shelf. There’s a puddle of black liquid congregating around his head, his eyes rolled up in the back of his head. The fall caused him to bite down on the tentacles. Some of them hang from his mouth like half slurped spaghetti, while others are severed in two. The bitten ones wiggle on the floor like fish out of water. After thrashing for a few moments, they straighten themselves out, and as if coordinated, slither towards me, a thick trail of black ooze left behind with each motion.

“I….like….girls that wear Abercrombie and Fitch…” DeVito rasps. Will and I turn back to him and see him rising to his feet. Boils have overtaken every visible inch of his flesh, and through their thin membrane is something contained in them.

Something wiggling.

They look like worms, or a smaller version of the Busey tentacles. Either way, Will and I don’t want to find out.

“I’d take her if I had one wish,” DeVito grunts as he gets back to his feet. “But she’s been gone since that summer.” There’s a pause, and then his eyes shoot to us, resolute with as much purpose as they are malevolent hatred.

“Since that summer,” DeVito snarls.

“Fuck this, let’s go,” I shout and start running towards the exit.

“That song blows, bro!” Will says before pressing his Chewbacca mask, letting out another valiant electronic cry before he hops on the scooter and pedals his way behind me.

We scramble out of the store into the cool night, the chaos of songs and shouts left behind us and the calamity of sirens ahead a mere taste of the insanity yet to come.

[authorwade-blog]

Cold Coffee Vignettes

(Introduction) Sitting in front of the rectangle screen. To my left is a slight bevvy of watermelon and cantaloupe. Also, a cup of water with light melted ice and a lukewarm cup of espresso blend coffee. I take a sip of the coffee. Not bad. Its interesting that my father is repellent to any cold forms of coffee. Reminding him of how a once hot cup of coffee sits there, and then coming back to drink it, discovers that it has lost all of its flavor and power to wake you up. Like a wet rag, moreso. Losing its masculine property of heat, I suppose. Maybe there is something in the form of giving up in drinking a cup of coffee that was once hot and now it is cold. Maybe its like settling for failure. I enjoy a cold cup of coffee, even if it was once hot. Some people think I am a failure. But I know that I am not. I just find enjoyment in a cold cup of coffee. I like to sit alone a lot. It helps me to clear my head of all of the time before that I was not alone. That's really what it seems like. That we're just going out there into the world to fill our heads full of things and then we search for a way to get all of these things out of our heads. I want to write a book about all of the things that I would like to get out of my head, so it is a pleasure to meet you here. We are in the same book now. Even though the me that is typing this right now will be long gone by the time that you read this. Not that I will be dead. Well, maybe. Just different. It's the differences that clear my head. ~ There is this exercise that I like to do when I am alone that I learned from a book that my mother gave me about 5 years ago. I loaned the book to an ex-girlfriend. I don't think I'll be seeing that book again. The book was called The Artist's Way and the exercise was called Morning Streams. So every morning, or whenever I woke up, I would go to my computer and sit in front of a blank word document. I would take some deep breaths to clear my head a little bit and then zoom! The idea was that you type the first things that come off of your head with no revisions. By eliminating the brain's function to correct everything that it puts out, you allow for a much more vast selection of subject matter to arrive on the page. The editing can be done later but this intuitive practice really opened up the door for me. 'drain the brain and vein to the lane of cheetahs hoisting and harvesting their loins for a greater toy in the grey sun rise to meet moon and kiss in the liquid smoke favoring none other than the neural voids to varnish the virus and linger in clock tower heaven canopies rose to ignite a level litter in the eye but vomit the guts into the courtyard green college building towers of youth bread dread none other than the fortune of fool pharoah in the narrow portion of lighthouses calling on boats with magnetic fingertips to free you from the harsh harborless sea the sea is in me can't you see I am my own lighthouse cross in me.' So, as I write, these little worlds get created and now I can work a cool little story out of it. Let's see. Towards the end of the stream, a narrow portion of lighthouses call on boats with their magnetic fingertips to free you from the harsh, harborless sea. These lighthouses are all lined up in a row, like a corridor, and I see a central walking path between them all. I see they are actually in the form of a culdesac. So, now the image is a culdesac of lighthouses and they are each shining bright out in the middle of the ocean. A harsh storm excites the water into violent crashing. Meanwhile, a small boat with a large captain fights through the sea, pushing the currents, urging toward the culdesac. He has already lost his entire crew and shouts out to the apocalyptic ocean, "You shall not claim me today! I live to fight another day!" The scene closes and I zoom out of the Morning Stream. It was an interesting image but I find myself uninspired to continue. It was a good imaginative practice and I'm pleased with the stimulation. I sip on coffee. Its gotten colder. I like it just the same. Maybe I like it out of an unconscious rebellious nature. Maybe my natural instinct is not to like it but then some anarchist inclination demands that I be the antichrist to this commonly held notion that cold coffee is a displeasing experience. I sip it again and I find that it is not so much the flavor that I am drinking the coffee in the first place for but much moreso for the high that it gives me. Its like there are supercharges in whatever nodes run my brain. But its more like a factory drug to send a shock, leaving the mind in a more limp state after the effects have worn off. Like a bad pill or something. I find enjoyment in it all the same. I glance at the clock. Its time to go.

(1) Descend the Staircase Fully showered and dressed, I descend the staircase, with a tail of soap scent following behind. I pass, as I do everyday, all of the holes in the walls. Symbols of the beast within. A minotaur, if you will. Some of the holes were mine and some of them were my brothers. Nothing too violent or anything. The worst of it would be a fist to the back of the head. Most anger was by fist to wall or by insanity through words and flailing body gestures like demonic codes.   Down the staircase passed the holes and there in the room central to the house is my grandmother, sat as stone in front of the television. There are large holes in the wall by her plush red loveseat and a large cracked painting of a flower in watercolor. She would watch CNN, murder mysteries, or soap operas. At this time though, it was always politics. The talking heads intervened with my curling tail of soapy perfume. She kept her eyes straight forward but read my body movements with her peripheral vision, coming to conclusions of my emotional state. I do my best to blur my vision and keep my attention off of her as I pass down the stairs and again down another staircase into the den. I never walk downstairs in my bath towel anymore, as I have caught her having pleasing personal experiences looking at my body. Her parents were first cousins. She's not all bad though. Perhaps she will be done a finer justice later on. This is just how I feel right now. Focusing on her more displeasing attributes.     I'm doing my best here to remember my self-worth in a world where it seems like everything is falling apart. Everything in my life had seemed as though it couldn't fall apart anymore, but then it just keeps happening. Its surprising how many things you have and realize that you don't need. Its like a Judgement Day that has spanned entire lifetimes. Is Judgement Day just a metaphor for judgement itself, like every day is Judgement Day? Yeah, thats really what it seems to be. Just a cool trick to get passed those who are afraid of the future. Its coming, its coming! So, I make myself a cup of coffee. Sugar and cream. Extra sugar if I am looking to get numb and ignore some difficult emotions today. Hey, at least its a conscious decision. I take it in and my eyes widen. Something inside of me narrows and I take a deep breath. I figure that what has narrowed is my tunnel of focus. Whatever it is directed upon now will be hyper-fixed. Its like the peripheral vision of intellectual activity has been cut out. Pure action mode. Very manly. So what do I want to use this tunnel of focus on? That really is the question isn't it? The question of all humanity. What do I want to focus on? What plot of soil shall I plant my seed? What words shall I use to woo my sweetheart? What elements would be best to use as fuel to get us into the deeper regions of space? What, what, what? I am just as clueless as the rest. I find enjoyment in that. Everyone is as clueless as the rest. There is a pleasing sense of equality in that. Like no one has a leg up on anyone. Even if it seems like it. I love that.     I take the coffee downstairs and take in front of the rectangle screen. I drink it halfway and let it get cold. A deck of tarot cards is stacked by my side. I haven't looked into them too much recently. It all seems like such a task when there are much more fun ways to put the mysteries of reality into order. I just imagine all of the things that I am drawn towards if I am looking to have a good time. Books, movies, music. These are the instruments to put the mysteries of reality into order! Look at the greatest minds in history. They all put their knowledge and experiences into art which acted as potent vehicles to seed their focused intentions into society. The vessels of art themselves having magnetic qualities, like the hypnotic allure of a bellydancer. So, in thinking like this, all of the greatest thinkers of our world were bellydancers. Yes, but their dances were multi-dimensional. True magicians. That is what I strive to be. A true magician. I guess stating it isn't really the best idea? Rule number one: Never reveal your tricks! Unless, of course, you want everyone to know how to do it. I could enjoy it either way. The important thing is learning the 'Life of the Lasso'.

(2) Life of the Lasso A lasso wants nothing better than to tie things up. Now, there are multiple reasons as to why a lasso would want to tie something up. It could want sexual favors. It could want slave labor. Well, I can't think of many more reasons than that actually. But, there is complexity to such seemingly dualistic desires of the lasso. It wants to tie you up to kiss you or it wants to tie you up to hurt you. Now when this lasso comes and ties you up around your legs and you can't move, can't reach anything sharp to cut yourself loose then you can talk to the lasso. The lasso may just look like some rope but its got real feelings. It has a heart and a brain just like you. They must be really thin and threaded in real nice because you can't see them, but trust me, they're there. Mr. or Mrs. Lasso? Could you loosen your grip just a little bit? I feel like we could talk more easily if you just loosened your grip just a little bit. That's better. Thank you so much. Now, where were we? Oh yes. Could you tell me why you tied me up in that way? You had a romantic fancy towards me? Well, don't feel as if you need to get my attention that way, Lasso! I snap my fingers and we arrive in a vast green space of rolling hills. I guess we're in Edinburg, Scotland. No buildings in sight. What is a lasso to do out here? There is nothing to tie up. There is only land and sky. This is what I imagine the beginning of time to look like. Something like this. So I imagine that me and the lasso are going to have a good time out here. I guess he really just needed some space to unwind. So there he goes, twirling himself, flying through the grass. That rope looks so happy, twisting himself through the air like that. A bird flies by and I can see an electric shock go through Mr. Lasso's brain. He's triggered immediately and begins flying towards the bird, twirling himself, preparing for an attack. The bird flies side to side, evading the lasso. The rope strikes and gets the bird around the gut. Still attempting to get away, the bird is brought to my feet. I look at Mr. Lasso with concern. You shouldn't have done this, buddy. I pick up the bird and untie it, letting it fly free into the blue. This is the reason I brought you here, lasso! To get away from your evil desires! I threw my hands up into the air. Fine, do whatever you want, lasso! I walk away from the lasso because I don't agree with his morals. The lasso breeds and spreads an empire over the entire world. Well, looks like we have to lasso the lasso until there is nothing left to lasso. But wouldn't that just make us lassos? Then if we are lassos then there are still lassos left to lasso. An eye for an eye leaves one lasso standing. Does an alien lasso have to lasso the last lasso? Then he wasn't the last lasso...

(3) Lasso World The story of the lasso has come to a close and now we enter into the "Reality of the Lasso" or "Lasso World". I thought I was done with my coffee before but now it is back in my hand. No steam, only a cool sensation when I bring it upto my lips. I glance around and take in the scenery. Outside of my house, standing in my driveway, the property is planted next to a semi-busy road which connects to a network of close-to-school neighborhoods. There is an elementary, middle, and high school within 5 miles of my house. Its a family area. The adolescents are demons to the old and the old are demons to the adolescents. The children seem more-or-less tame, wavering in the middle of the societal scales of their expectations. Its mid-north Georgia and churches are power centers in Lasso World. Several are architectural behemoths, their size being their own billboards. Gods among buildings, like a skyscraper to an outhouse. Then there is a society of smaller ones scattered throughout the tucked-back roads of Peachtree Corners. We have the traditional Grand Mason Lodge in Downtown Norcross. I used to work for the owner of the old train-station-turned-restaurant, Norcross Station Cafe, who was a figure in the semi-secret society. Whatever that means. He was well endowed with money at the time and had very strange mannerisms which he seemed very much enslaved by. Back in his 'good ol' days', he let me drive one of his Hummers to pick up orders from Restaurant Depot. Oh yeah, his father was a Grand Wizard for the KKK in a Stone Mountain based Lodge. He's the one that wears the red cloak instead of the white one. Red is the blood that binds us all, therefore acting as an authority. So goes the esotericism. The owner and myself struck an interesting relationship. He had always talked in very direct ways that he had wanted a son. He was a married man who had a young daughter. He seemed in heavy resentment that he had had a daughter. He was a man of fraternities and wanted to pass his wealth and monuments on to his only begotten son. This fixation within him turned several young men into his only begotten son. Who would be the one to hold his gathered water and become his Holy Grail? Not only were his eyes open for a son, though. There was a strange ancient Greek twist to his nature, too. He reaked of suppressed sexual tension towards younger men. I'm not pinning it all on the Greeks or anything. Its just the first thing that came to mind. Also, his head was shaved clean and his face was sculpted as if a by a stone mason. But of all of the young men that he had taken under his wing, I had never heard of anyone being harmed. I did have a friend who was being followed in his car at night by him though. I guess he was trying to lasso him.

(4) Why Do I Feel Like Life Is Just My Real Parents Whispering Into My Ear, Trying To Wake Me Up From An Afternoon Nap On The Beach So I Don't Get Sunburn? Like how nothing is destined to stay on this earth. Most things are invisible and when they are invisible, they are in a state of abortion. But then, it feels like these invisible things are calling me back. Or like, these invisible things are trying to wake me up into their reality. Out of Lasso World and into theirs. They're trying to tell me that things don't have to be this way. You don't have to live with holes in the walls or watch lassos tie eachother up for eternity. They're trying to tell me that there is a special place just beyond the dream and when I wake up, I'll get to be the one who whispers to other people from beyond the dream. I was saved by others that had been saved. Thank God they woke me up before I got sunburn. Then I would have something more to worry about beyond the dream.

(5) Thank You I would like to thank you for reading this far if you have. It takes guts to continue into something of which you don't understand the intention. If you do understand the intention, then good for you, because I definitely don't.  

(6) Tricksters I drink the cold coffee and come back down to Earth. I am reminded of all of my habits and patterns that seem to make every day feel like it is the same thing. And then I think about how the sun and the moon may be trying to trick me into thinking that every day is the same. And then I think about how whoever divided months into twelve is trying to trick me too. Who invented the language that I am using right now? Who could have that kind of authority? Are they trying to trick me? Who decided that bodies were 'supposed' to have two arms, two legs, a mouth and all of those other things? Is this intelligence trying to trick me? Am I just running in the hamster wheel formed by hamsters who have run in bigger wheels for longer amounts of time than I have? Wait, is something trying to trick me by thinking all of these thoughts? Maybe I'm being tricked into becoming the trickster who tricks all of the other people watching out for tricksters. Maybe there is some kind of invisible agency creating all of these thoughts. Maybe the idea that there is such thing as a "trick" is a trick in itself and that is the only trick in existence. Maybe there is no such thing as lassos.

(7) Superpowers Sometimes I'll walk around for no reason with nothing in my stomach besides a cold cup of coffee. There's something very self-injuring in this activity with very little to be gained.   Perhaps creating these personal hells can give me some kind of super skill. Like if you're lassoed enough times, you develop this anti-lassoing ability that protects you from ever getting tied up again. It does seem like an old world analogy, though. As if a thick skin is the best way to deal with things. But it is not forming a thick skin. Its not like gaining an immunity for it's making me sick. If anything it goes further away from forming anything like a thick skin. If anything, it is this process which would destroy a thick skin. Pure chaos, I believe. A scatterbrained jester driving the Queen of England insane, until her societal limbs deplete from hot to cold coffee. Take that! Hey, cold coffee tastes all right to me. Disclaimer: I hold no negative emotions towards the monarchy, or the clergy for that matter. We should have a cup of coffee sometime.

(8) Lasso Vision So, with these newly developed superpowers, I begin flying through the sky and scoping my surrounding world. I've got GPS vision and can match my eyesight with that of the satellites in space. I can see property lines and road names, where this river connect to that one. The mountains are labled and the houses are all protected by laser beam security systems. Well, not protected, but set to alert the security centers who in turn alert the local police, who in turn get into their cars and drive to the destination of the alert. An additional superpower is that no one can see me as I fly through the sky. It feels great up here. There's a nice mist through my hair and I'm finally above all of the humidity. I can breathe up here! There's a reason they call it Hotlanta. Atlanta isn't too far away by the way. I live on the perimeter. As I continue flying, scoping the names of each and every street and building, I begin to look a little deeper. I zoom in my vision and take a look at the people. My goodness,the people have lables too! I zoom in a little deeper. It seems to be links to their social networking pages. I zoom a little closer and click on hyperlink after hyperlink. I can navigate their entire personal system through their connected social networks which it seems that they have willfully connected together themselves. There is a lot of personal information on here. But as soon as it hits the outside world, it belongs to the social sector. Kind of like you putting your trashcan on the side of the road. That's what I've heard, at least. That once the trashcan is on the sidewalk, it is public property. Anyone would be able to dig in their and turn your trash to their own treasure.

(9) In Closing Exhausted by flight, I settle down in Simpsonwood Park near my house on a bench by the river. I could see the letters labled in bold, reading: CHATAHOOCHEE RIVER. Still had my Lasso Vision on. I turned it off and the letters vanished from the water. Ah, thats better. Now I could see the fish swimming freely. Its like a mask had been taken off of my face. It must be so exhausting to be one of the people who has their Lasso Vision on all the time. Sometimes you just have to let your coffee get cold. I mean, you don't have to drink it. But you don't always have to ask for another cup after you've finished the first one. New technology that allows coffee to circulate in healthy proportion with blood through the veins. Now everyone can dance the night away. Its been a happy time letting you inside but I don't want to spill too much coffee on the page.

[jihope-tension]

Without a doubt

‘He was sick last week so don’t let him fool you when he says he can eat ice-cream’ Yoongi gives Hoseok a knowing look before turning to his son to send him a warning glare.

'Sure. Okay, Kook let’s go’ Hoseok salutes Yoongi with a shit eating grin on his face before grabbing Jungkook in the middle and throwing him over the shoulder causing the kid to squeal happily and kick his legs against Hoseok’s chest. They leave the cafe and the moment Jungkook is placed on the ground he runs towards the swings on the small playground adjacent to the building. Jimin sighs heavily watching Hoseok run after the boy. The glass separating them isn’t enough to mute all the screaming he makes (Hoseok it is) so Jimin just gives Yoongi a silent apology.

'They’re 20 years apart but I can’t tell who’s more immature’ Yoongi shakes his head but smiles softly when Jungkook waves at him. 'You don’t wanna wait for Hoseok? We can just-’

'No’ Jimin refuses so quickly Yoongi raises an eyebrow. 'No, actually I wanna talk about Hoseok’ He glances nervously towards the playground where his beloved husband is having the time of his life with a 7-year-old Jungkook pushing him forward to swing him- a grown, 27-year-old man.

'Okay.’ Yoongi takes a sip of his coffee not hiding at all his concerns. 'You fought or something?’

'No, no don’t worry’ Jimin waves his dismissively 'I just…’ His words trail off when he watches Hoseok throw Jungkook high in the air but before he can shout in fear Jungkook’s already safe and sound in Hoseok’s arm laughing in excitement. None of them seem to give a single fuck about poor Jimin almost getting a heart attack.

'I know plastic spoons are for free here, but there’s no need to abuse them’ Yoongi breaks him out of his thoughts carefully pulling the broken plastic away. 'They have feelings too’

'He’s so irresponsible’ Jimin blurts out, just like that, ignoring Yoongi’s both raised eyebrows and slightly open mouth, staring at the scene behind the glass wall.

'So that’s what it is about’

'Hyung…’

'Jimin, seriously, why are you like this?’ Yoongi leans against the back of his seat crossing his arms over his chest. Jimin is looking away from him but the older is having none of this. 'You’ve been talking about it for years, you signed the papers a few weeks ago and you’re not going to be more ready than you are now. What’s wrong?’

'This is such a huge responsibility but he keeps acting like it’s a joke’ Jimin’s tone is sour, laced with guilt and disappointment.

'Hey-’

’I’m the one who thinks about the future, I’m the one who thinks about changing the car and doing a general makeover. I’m the one stressing over the fact that my life, our life is never going to be the same and we need to slow down and become more mature. I took care of the paperwork. It was all me.’

'But is it really because Hoseok himself doesn’t do it?’ Yoongi speaks after a few silent moments, letting Jimin catch a much-needed breath. 'Or because you don’t think he’d manage’

'Cause he never takes things seriously-’ Jimin tries to argue but Yoongi silences him with a simple move of a hand.

'It’s too late for changing your mind and you know it. But tell me, honestly, what is this that you’re really scared of?’ The silence is thick and suffocating, like a dense chocolate pudding sliding down Jimin’s throat and into his lungs. Yoongi doesn’t push him but Jimin knows that he’ll have to speak eventually.

'What if he drops him or pulls his hand too hard. What if he gives him something bad to eat or worse- forgets to feed him at all? What if he’s going to be just joking around and I’ll be alone in this mess, hyung.’ Yoongi catches Jimin’s hand laying on top of the table when the first drop falls down with an inaudible splash. 'I love him but I’m not sure if this is what he wants’

'What are you saying…’

'He’d do anything for me, I’m sure of it’ Jimin sniffs quickly averting his eyes from the playground. 'That’s why I’m not sure if we both want the same thing’

'Now this is just pure bullshit’ Yoongi squeezes his hand supportively handing him a napkin to get rid of the tears. 'Jimin, everything is going to be fine. Trust me.’

'But-’

'Have I ever disappointed you?’ The older gives him a pointed look.

'No…’

'Exactly’ Yoongi lifts his chin with a finger, smiling at him softly before turning the younger’s head towards the playground just when Hoseok throws Jungkook forward like a sack of potatoes. Jimin is already standing up when a pair of arms appear from nowhere catching the kid mid-air before he could crash his head on the ground. He gasps gripping the edge of the table until his knuckles turn white but then Yoongi touches his wrist making him jerk in surprise.

'I know that you’re scared’ Yoongi starts pulling Jimin down onto the seat. 'I know that you start doubting him but trust me, I went through the same’ Jimin watches as Taehyung pushes Jungkook onto the pile of sand next to the swing, much to Hoseok’s amusement, before laughing himself. If not for Yoongi who’s still holding his wrist, he would run over to check if Jungkook’s injured and to yell at the idiots for acting like- like… Like idiots. But Jungkook screams in happiness, throwing sand towards Taehyung, towards Hoseok and he looks so carefree-

'It’s going to be fine. I promise’ Yoongi squeezes his hand one last time when Taehyung pulls Jungkook into a loving hug which of course the kid rejects, pushing and whining at the amount of love he’s receiving from his other dad. And Jimin catches himself locking eyes with Hoseok who waves at him with all his body, screaming and making stupid faces before sweeping Jungkook off his feet again.

'I hope so’

'Babe, stop pacing around. It’ll be fine’

Two months later Jimin finds himself threading paths in their living room like a madman. He can’t calm down his nerves, not when today is the day. But of course, Hoseok acts like it’s nothing telling stupid jokes and asking Jimin to stop worrying like it’s that simple.

The adoption center they chose accepted their application two years ago and since then, they’ve been waiting for a chance to give one of the children a new home. And the chance showed up half a year ago when the center decided they fit all the requirements. After endless meetings with the adoption counselor and hundreds of conversation with the psychologist, they finally officially could adopt a child.

They saw the boy already, of course, but always from afar, always through the separating glass. The counselor was here yesterday with all the needed papers to sign, with the last tips and that’s all. That’s it. The center offered to bring the child themselves so Jimin can’t wait to hear the knock on the door as much as he’s terrified to finally hear it.

But the moment comes quite quickly, the sound of knocking resonating loudly in the unnaturally quiet house. He feels like ice got into his veins making him freeze in place, unable to move. Hoseok giggles causing Jimin to furrow his eyebrows in worry before standing up and walking towards the door. The next 30 minutes is a blur, with the counselor talking and talking and for the first time, it’s Hoseok who’s doing the speaking and listening and Jimin’s just standing there, frozen and scared.

And when another woman gets in, holding their baby in a carrier they bought, Jimin is speechless, breathless and he can’t believe it’s happening. But then all the worries come back when the woman pulls their baby out and turns towards Hoseok. Jimin knows his husband has the same right to hold their baby first as much as Jimin has, he knows that it’s probably because he’s standing closer to the woman but he still can’t help but feel like it should be him. A million thoughts run through his head. What if Hoseok holds the boy wrong? What if he bursts out in laughter? What if he throws him in the air like he does with Jungkook and drops it and-

Hoseok takes the baby from the woman, cradling the little boy in his arms with such tenderness and delicacy, his hands forming a perfect shape to hold him. Jimin hears the muffled voices of the women, hears Hoseok saying something but all he can see is how perfect Hoseok looks with their baby in his arms. And then it’s silent again, the room empty except for Hoseok and the little human in a white little blanket. Jimin can’t take his eyes off the sight in front of him.

Hoseok started to sway gently from side to side, the motion slowly putting both Jimin and the baby to sleep. His husband places a weightless kiss on their son’s forehead, the smile on his lips widening when he pulls away.

'Baby. Come here, you’ve been waiting for so long’ Hoseok quietly calls him, bringing him back to reality. It takes Jimin a short moment of hesitation before his legs warm up enough to let him move forward but when he finally does, he almost runs. He knows he’s crying before he really feels it but he also knows that’s not entirely because of the fact their baby is finally with them.

'I’m so sorry’ He buries his face in Hoseok’s neck, biting his lip to prevent himself from whimpering too loud afraid to wake up the little miracle.

'What?’ Hoseok turns his head to the side, pressing hot lips to the crown of Jimin’s head. 'What are you sorry for, silly?’

Jimin doesn’t answer right away, cursing himself for ever doubting Hoseok. Blame it on fear, hormones, bad weather but he just can’t understand how he could think Hoseok would not be a good, the best father for their baby. Yes, he’s annoying and loud and laughs at everything but he also knows when to be serious. And this is one of these moments.

'Nothing. Nothing at all. I love you. I love that you’re my husband and that you’re in this with me’ Jimin kisses Hoseok’s neck, wraps an arm around his waist to take a look at their son.

'Of course, I am’ Hoseok furrows his eyebrows in confusion, pressing his forehead to Jimin’s temple. 'I love you so much, Jimin’ Gently pulling away he turns to face the younger. 'I’m sorry I got to hold him first. I know how much it means to you-’

'Don’t be ridiculous’ Jimin shakes his head but takes the baby from Hoseok when the older motions for him to do it. He holds the baby close, nuzzling his nose into the fluffy blanket.

'Yoongi talked to me’ Hoseok says but there’s no bitterness in his tone like he just states the obvious.

'He did?’ Jimin feels himself getting pale, the guilt freezing him in place.

'Yeah’ Hoseok nods running a hand through Jimin’s hair. 'What did you expect from my best friend?’

'I’m so sorry’

'No. It’s fine. I know how I am most of the time’ He smiles gently kissing Jimin on the mouth. 'But I promise you, I’ll never hurt our baby and I’ll never hurt you. Intentionally at least’ Jimin sighs.

'I know. Of course, I know this. I fucking married you after all’

'Yeah, yeah you did’ Hoseok grins and all the worries, all the stupid thoughts Jimin has been having for so long, disappear in this single moment. Kneeling in front of the carrier, he puts their baby inside giving him a kiss on the head.

'And I’d do it again’ He says quietly turning to his husband, his lover and his friend.

'Without a doubt’ Hoseok winks playfully leaning down to kiss Jimin breathless.

Hello. I’m back with this fluffy puffy shit. 

6

[sublimeinsights]

25 Simple Ways to Motivate Yourself

Feeling less than motivated all too often? I do. Well, perhaps not too often. But sometimes I just feel really lazy and unmotivated.

Want some practical solutions to that universal motivation-problem? Here are 25 of them. Try a handful.

1. Make a deal with yourself

Good for overcoming procrastination and getting things done. You can make the deal small or large. You simple tell yourself something like: When I’m done with this chapter/these reports I can take a walk in the park and enjoy an ice-cream.

2. Act like it

If you don’t feel motivated or enthusiastic then act like it. The strange thing is that within a few minutes you actually start to feel motivated or enthusiastic for real.

3. Ask uplifting questions in the morning

Here’s what you do; every morning ask yourself five empowering three-part questions this way

What am I ______ about in my life right now?

What about it makes me _______? How does it make me feel?

Put in your own value in the blank space. For instance, a couple of my questions are:

What am I happy about in my life right now?

What am I excited about in my life right now?

It’s important that you really feel how it makes you feel. When I think about the last part about what makes me happy right now I really feel it. These morning questions are great because the way they are set up makes you recognize things you take for granted and then they really get you to feel those positive feelings.

4. Move the goalposts

Set a large and specific goal. This will motivate you much more than small goals. A big goal has a big effect and can create a lot of motivation.

5. Do something small and create a flow

Just clean your desk. Or pay your bills. Or wash the dishes. You just need to get started. When you have finished that small task you’ll feel more alert and ready to go do the next thing. You just to get started to get motivated. So if you really don’t feel like doing anything, start with something small and work your way out up.

6. Do the toughest task first

This will ease a lot of your day-to-day worries and boost your self-confidence for the rest of the day.

7. Start slow

Instead of jumping into something at full speed start slow. When you do that your mind will not visualize the task as something hard that you have to do fast, fast, fast. If your mind sees such things guess what often happens? Yep, you don’t get started. Actually getting started, even if it’s at a slow pace, is a whole lot better than not getting started at all.

8. Compare yourself with yourself. Not with others

Comparing what you have and your results to what other people have and have accomplished can really kill your motivation. There are always people ahead of you. Most likely quite a bit of people. And a few of them are miles ahead. So focus on you. On your results. And how you can and have improved them.

Reviewing your results is important so you see where you have gone wrong in the past to avoid similar missteps further on. But it’s also important because it’s a great motivator to see how much you have improved and how far you have come. Often you can be pleasantly surprised when you do such a review.

9. Remember your successes

And let them flow through your mind instead of your failures. Write down your successes. Consider using a journal of some kind since it’s easy to forget your successes.

10. Act like your heroes

Read about them, watch them, listen to them. Discover what they did that was special and what made them tick. But remember that they are people just like us. So let them inspire you instead of looking up at them admiringly.

11. Remember to have fun

Or create fun in a task. Then you’ll stay motivated to do and finish it.

12. Get out of your comfort zone

Face your challenges to get a real boost of motivation. It can help you get started and take that first scary step outside your comfort zone.

13. Don’t fear failure

Instead redefine it as feedback and as a natural part of a successful life. As Michael Jordan said:

“I’ve missed more than 9000 shots in my career. I’ve lost almost 300 games. 26 times, I’ve been trusted to take the game winning shot and missed. I’ve failed over and over and over again in my life. And that is why I succeed.”

Also, try to find the valuable lesson(s) in each of your failures. Ask yourself: What can I learn from this?

14. Do some research on what you are about to do

Then your expectations will be more grounded in reality and you can also get good hints on what difficulties that you might run into along the way. Managing your expectations can lower the often almost explosive initial enthusiasm. But it can also lessen the lack of motivation that usually follows when most of that enthusiasm has dissipated.

When you know what has happened to others in similar situations – what path they have walked – you can adapt and try their solutions (and personal variations of those) and your own. This makes the worries and challenges easier to handle. Both emotionally – since you know at least some of the things that will happen and that others have lived through it before – and practically.

15. Figure out why you are doing something

If you don’t know or don’t have good enough reason to do something then it will be hard to get it done. Do things that you have really strong reasons to do. If you want to do something then figure out a good reason to do it. If you can’t find one consider dropping it and doing something that you have a good reason to do instead.

16. Write down your goals and reasons for working towards them

Tape them on your wall, computer or bathroom mirror. Then you’ll be reminded throughout the day and it becomes easier to stay on track and stay focused.

17. Take The Positivity Challenge!

Learn to think more positively most of the time. Learn to let to go of negative threads of thought before they have a chance to take hold of you. You might not be able to be positive all the time no matter what happens. But I think most of us can improve on our positive thinking and the results it can lead us to. Perhaps more than you realize right now.

18. Cut down on TV

Do you watch it too much? Watch less of what they are doing in TV-land and do more of what you want to do in life.

19. Break it down

Break down your task or project into small steps. And just start with focusing on that first small step. When you are done move on to the next and just focus on that one. The small successes will keep your motivation up and keeping your focus away from the big picture stops you from becoming overwhelmed and discouraged. It’s amazing how much you can get done if you follow this simple method.

20. Reprogram your information intake.

Program out negative and cynical thoughts from the media and society. Reduce your information intake. Then program in positive news and entertainment, more of your own thoughts and useful information such as personal growth tapes and books. Be selective and keep it positive.

21. Make use of your creativity

Take out a piece of paper. Write at the top of the page what area in your life you would like to have more ideas about. Perhaps you want ideas to earn more money or become a healthier person. Then brainstorm until you have written down 20 ideas on that topic. Then try for 10 more. Not all ideas will be good. But some will. And as you make use of your creativity you not only discover useful ideas. You also discover just how creative you can be if you try and how motivating and great that feels.

22. Find out what makes you happy

Then do that. As much as you want or can.

23. Listen while you’re on the move

Build your own small library of motivational/personal development tapes. Listen to them while you are driving, riding the bus or your bike, while you are out running or walking. Take a peek at myrecommended personal development products if you are looking for a good place to start.

24. Think outside your box

Don’t imagine the future from the box of what you have now. Just because your mind is in box of previous experiences doesn’t mean that´s the limits of the world. Your possibilities are much larger. Create the future from the now and from nothing rather than your past to experience bigger changes with fewer limitations than you would if you created it from what you can see from your box.

25. Make each day count

We don’t have all the time in the world. So focus on today and do the things you really want to do.

Source - Quora