#but !!! I’ve been building in my creative world and I think. I’ve found my stride.

[badolmen]

I’ve been building some abandoned villager houses for my slime barrens and uh. Not gonna lie I think they’re coming out really well.

[chelsfic]

Part 3 - You Shouldn’t Love a Man Like Me - Horacio Carrillo x Reader - Narcos fanfic

Part One | Part Two

A/N: I’ve been in a wave of creativity the last few days so I’m just rollin’ with it. Part three of Reader and Carrillo’s story. Angst, ahoy!! Enjoy! Thank you so much to everyone who has read, commented and reblogged!

Warning: Violence (reader gets hurt)

***

You hold your hand up to shade your eyes from the glare of the midday sun. Steve stands next to you, leaning casually against the cafe’s sidewalk bar and sipping coffee from a ceramic cup. He’s different lately, since the visit from Connie. More grounded. You hope it lasts. You’re watching Carrillo as he packs up his SUV. His broad shoulders strain against the material of his uniform shirt, his tan, muscular arms flex as he loads equipment into the back. On another day you might be able to enjoy the view. But today all you see is the way he carries himself like a spring wound too tight, ready to burst. His mouth is set in a grim frown and his brows are pinched together with stress. God--he needed this to be a win so badly. 

Honestly, you did too. Not because you have a vendetta against Escobar that transcends into an almost spiritual mission, like Carrillo does. But because you need this damn war to be over. You need Escobar dead so that Horacio--your love--can finally be safe. You pushed yourself today, shadowing Carillo and Murphy as they moved through the building, refusing to let your lover out of your sight. You can’t...you can’t bear the thought of watching him march into a firefight while you hang back and coordinate another damn barricade. And it’s not because you’ve got anything to prove. As much as you bluster and try to keep up with the guys you know as well as everyone else does that your strength is in intelligence work and managing informants. That’s okay with you. You like that part of the job. Riding off, guns blazing on raids? That was all Steve and Javi...and Horacio. 

But ever since the night of the ambush--when you’d stayed back and monitored the mission on the radio while your lover and his men were surrounded--you haven’t been able to let go. You know he’s angry with you for inserting yourself into danger today, but you can’t bring yourself to care too much. You just need him to be safe.

You walk up behind him as he finishes loading the last of the gear. You’re reaching out a hand to rub his back when the call comes in. They found him. They really found him this time. 

Everyone is moving, jumping into vehicles and screeching out onto the road. Carrillo turns to look at you over his shoulder for a moment and his eyes are lit up with excitement even as he sets his face into the fierce mask of command.

“Y/N, you’re staying here!” he barks before jumping in the driver’s seat and taking off, leaving you standing there, red-faced and furious.

You feel a tap on your shoulder and Murphy leans his face in next to yours whispering conspiratorially, “Let’s go, girl!”

Your mouth splits into a wide grin and you both jump into the nearest truck as it pulls out onto the road.

***

By the time Carrillo realizes you’ve once again disobeyed his orders and inserted yourself into the vanguard assault team along with him, it’s too late. He glares at you from the other side of the front door as the men smash the battering ram against it. Immediately the sound of gunshots from inside erupts and bullets whiz through the air around you. Jesus, you and Murphy haven’t even had time to put on your bullet-proof vests. You duck, clutching your pistol in one hand and raising the other to cover your ears. Carrillo crouches across from you and tries one more time to wave you away before the door comes down and everyone is rushing inside. 

It’s chaos. Bodies press together to squeeze through the doorway and then you’re scrambling for cover as gunfire rains down. You find yourself kneeling behind an overturned dresser in between Murphy and Carrillo. Both tall men are just barely able to fit behind it with you squished in the middle. You feel Horacio’s firm hand pressing into your back and holding you down as he pops up to return fire. You should want to struggle away from him and join in the exchange of bullets. You should want to assert yourself against his authority. But in truth you’re thankful to him for watching out for you. This isn’t your specialty and you don’t want to cause problems for the team. You just need to be near him. To see him safely through this nightmare.

The warm reassurance of his hand leaves your back and you look up in time to watch he and Murphy spring up to chase the two fugitives up the stairs. Another police officer falls in a spray of bullets and your heart leaps into your throat. They’re already halfway up the stairs. You jump up and trail after them, taking the steps two at a time to make up for your short legs. At the top of the stairs, you sprint down the hallway and hop out the open window onto the rooftop. 

You’re completely exposed out here. It’s just you, Horacio, Murphy and a couple of cops. Escobar is jogging away and throwing shots at you every few steps. You slow your pace, ducking and dodging as bullets ping off the metal and clay roof tiles. Murphy and Carrillo are leading the chase. They’re going to get him. There’s no way out for Escobar this time. You stop, hanging back and watching your lover as he finally nears the end of this years long quest. You’re sweating, bent over and breathing heavily with exertion, but you smile to see your man finally--finally completing his life’s work.

You don’t even feel it when the bullet hits you. One second you’re on your feet, eyes locked on Horacio as he sprints after his quarry, the next you’re flat on your back, head snapping backwards and cracking against a roof tile. For a second you think you’ve just had the wind knocked out of you, forgetting that you aren’t wearing your vest. You lay there staring up into the crystal blue sky and wait for your lungs to expand. They don’t. When you finally get your breath back it’s rapid and shallow. And there’s a sharp pain blossoming in your chest. You taste bile and something coppery as panic starts to set in. No, please. You’re so close.

Clouds drift overhead and a bird crosses your field of vision. It’s strange--how can the world keep going when such monumental events are playing out on the ground?

You hear your name being called. It sounds choked, desperate, and terribly far away.

***

The bullet flies wide of Carrillo and he doesn’t give it another thought, leaping forward to lengthen his strides as he closes in. Murphy is right behind him. This is it. This is finally it. The people of Columbia will rest easy knowing this madman has been brought to justice. He feels a swell of pride at the thought that it will be his hands putting this bastard in cuffs. 

Carrillo’s senses are laser focused on his prey. So, why does he suddenly jolt to a stop when he hears the sound of a body hitting the tiles behind him? He turns his head, glancing over his shoulder to check who’s gone down. 

It feels like a cold hand reaches into his chest and closes around his heart. No, mi amor! You’re lying prone on the rooftop, unmoving...alone. Murphy and the other men continue their pursuit, speeding past him and after the goal he’s fought for. Carrillo curses under his breath, casting his eyes back towards the chase and watching Murphy take the lead. It’s no choice at all, really.

He turns from them, from Escobar, from the crusade he’s waged for the last three years. His gun falls from his grip as he collapses to his knees at your side. He looks down at you, hands hovering over your blood soaked t-shirt. Your breath stutters in your chest and specks of blood splash onto your lips as you try to speak, “Hh...racio.”

You try to take one of his hands but miss. He leans over you and his face fills your vision, tears falling freely from his beautiful eyes. Yes, you think, let this be the last thing I see.

“Don’t--don’t speak, mi amor. You’re gonna be okay. Just save your strength, okay?”

He’s lifting your shirt and running his fingers over your torso searching for the wound, his hands quickly become soaked in your blood. When he finds the entry wound on the right side of your chest he presses down with all his strength and you let out a cough that sprays blood all over his arms. 

Tell me again, you think as your vision starts to go dark around the edges, tell me you love me.

***

The first thing you see when you wake up is a giant, cheerful teddy bear perched on your bedside with a note pinned to it reading, “Love, Javi and Steve.” The idea of one of them picking this out, buying it and carrying it in here is so hilarious that you start to laugh before the monstrous ache in your chest brings you up short and the laugh turns into a pained moan. 

Carrillo is at your side in an instant, “Shhh, my love. Thank God, how do you feel?”

He takes both of your hands in his and brings them to his lips, pressing urgent kisses into your fingers. You’ve never seen him look so tired. And you’ve seen him after a 24 hour stake out. His eyes are puffy, his hair is uncombed and sticking up on one side as if he fell asleep leaning against a wall or something. He’s looking at you like you might break apart at any moment.

“I feel…” you start and then pause trying to figure out how you feel. “I hurt. A lot.”

Horacio laughs at that. He leans forward and presses his lips to your cheek in the lightest of kisses.

“Yeah, well...you got shot, mi amor,” he says and you imagine you hear the edge of disappointment in his voice. You just wanted to keep him safe and instead you’ve messed everything up. Why can’t you ever just do as he tells you?

You lips tremble and your voice comes out thick with tears, “I’m sorry, Horacio. I’m sorry, I--I--”

You start to cry and immediately you feel the wound in your chest ignite with pain. You yelp in pain and gingerly clutch your hand over the bandage that wraps your chest.

Horacio looks aghast. He’s wiping your tears away and begging you, “Don’t cry, my love, please! I’m not angry. I was so, so scared I’d lost you. Please, be still, Y/N, you’re wounded.”

You cling to the gentleness and truth in his words, wrapping your hands around his wrists to keep his hands cupping your cheeks. You love the feel of his palms on your skin. Nothing in this world makes you feel safer than Horacio’s touch. When you’ve had a moment to steady your breathing and you feel more solid, you finally ask the question.

“Horacio, did we get him?”

His face is relaxed, calm, serious as he regards you. He nods, “Yeah...we got him.”

Tears slip free once more and you’re overwhelmed with relief. Your smile feels like it might split your face in two, but you don’t care. It’s over. It’s finally over. You can finally be with Horacio and not have to worry if he’ll be kidnapped or shot or tortured the next time he leaves your side. Finally.

He’s looking back at you with that same serious look on his face and you feel your happiness waver as doubt shadows your heart. 

“My love,” you whisper, reaching out to cup his cheek. He nuzzles his face against your hand and you feel a little more certain. “Are you happy?”

He turns his head and brushes a kiss against your palm, wrapping his fingers around your wrist and holding it lightly in his grip as if he fears you might float away if he doesn’t keep a hold of you.

He hates the doubt in your voice and attempts a smile to reassure you as he responds, “I am the happiest man alive because of you, mi amor. Pablo Escobar...catching him, stopping him...that man has no control over my happiness. Only you do, Y/N. Only you.”

You let out a sob of happiness, content to withstand the stab of pain in your chest as you reach out both arms and force him to bend over the bed and wrap you in a tender, loose hug. You bury your face into the crook of his neck and inhale his clean, masculine scent. Your fingers dig into the muscles of his back and you decide, then and there, that you’re never going to let go of this man again.

“I love you, Horacio,” you whisper into his ear. 

He turns his face a little so that his stubble scratches deliciously against your cheek, “I love you, my disobedient little girl.”

He pulls back a little so he can look into your eyes. His lips curve in a smile and he looks, for the first time since you’ve known him, happy and carefree.

“Marry me, Y/N.”

The words fall from his lips in the playful, dominant tone he reserves for you alone. And the way he says them, a command rather than a question, sends a shiver down your spine.

This is one order you intend to obey.

Tags:

@sparrows-books @1zashreena1 @squidlywiddly87​

[ablogcalledrevenge]

Potential (A General Hux x Reader Insert Multi-Chapter Fic, Rated M)

Chapter One

You’re not allowed to meet him; when he comes to the estate to visit your father and brother. Maybe it’s because your family thinks he’s only here to discuss a new position in the First Order for your brother, or maybe it’s because, and you know this is a petty thought, your mother is trying to marry off your sister and you’re prettier than her by a long shot. Granted it isn’t that your sister isn’t pretty, she is, or that she isn’t friendly and sociable and everything an officer’s wife should be. But if your parents think General Hux of the First Order is going to marry your older sister and be content with that, they’re more foolish than you thought.

Honestly, the fact that they think General Hux is just here to discuss a job opening is more than eye opening to their naivety. The First Order is reeling after the destruction of Starkiller; he’s here to beg for funds and nothing more. Perhaps he will have to give your brother a job and marry your sister to get the money and that thought is full of wicked glee. 

You have no reason to dislike the General, technically as a person under the rule of the First Order you should deify him, but you can’t help yourself. There’s something hard about him, so cold and distasteful. He’s so obviously power hungry and so clearly an idiot in the ways he goes about getting it. You won’t deny he’s intelligent and cunning, but he lacks finesse. He doesn’t have quite the right amount of charm to get what he wants. He’s too eager and too military but… 

But there was potential there. He could be great, he could rule them all. He just needed the right person to help him and you knew exactly who that should be.

You could crash their meeting, come striding in and sit yourself down in one of your prettier outfits and steal the attention but subtlety will be the better option here. So you wait, you wait until their meeting is over and General Hux makes his way towards the guest room he’s staying in. There’s a piece of artwork by his room and you stand there looking at it and waiting for him. If you happen to be in a very beautiful gown, then that’s just a coincidence. The pale blue dress is one of your favorites and it’s off the shoulder design accentuates your neck and collarbones and chest while dozens of sewn on flowers add pops of pastel color. Certainly better than the ugly drab thing your sister preferred, trying to instill a feeling of modesty that you knew she didn’t have. Overall the look was just right; nothing too extravagant or risque but enough to hopefully cause a second look.

The sad truth is that you were never important, never truly needed. The spare of a spare and not even a boy to bring in glory. Your parents cared very little for you but still regarded you closely and warily. You could be useful to them someday and therefore you were always watched. They could tell you had ideas but they would be shocked if they knew the extent. You were smart and you had ambitions and it was obvious the way the galaxy was forming. You wanted power and you wanted to be heard and looking at it from an objective standpoint, Hux was the best way to do that. It would be unpleasant to get him to like you, let alone trust you, but you could pull a long con. You could mold him, help him realize his true brilliance, help him get all the factions under control. Starkiller was a setback, you won’t deny it but he was clever and with you behind him, everything you ever wanted would soon be served to you on a platter. With your plans and creativity, you could probably be in charge. Kick out Snoke and Hux and even Kylo Ren and just rule it all. But that was risky, cocky, and far too ambitious for someone like you, coming from nothing. You needed a foothold and that was where Hux came in. He would be very useful if you could just get him underneath you. You also despised wasting things with good skills and connections. Besides, better him the target than you.

You hear him coming before he actually appears, the quick step of his shoes against the stone floors followed by the clank of Stormtrooper armour. He brought bodyguards with him, though he won’t need them here. The only danger to him is your mother’s clear and desperate attempts at matchmaking. He sounds closer and you quickly school your features into ones of pensive thought and admiration like you’re so caught up in the painting you don’t even hear the stomps coming down the hallway.

He turns the corner and you hear the moment he sees you. After what you assume is a moment of composure, he stops and clears his throat. You pretend to startle and turn towards him, hand clutching at your chest. Your eyes widen a little in surprise. 

“Oh forgive me General. I was just lost in my own little world right there. I didn’t mean to stand in the middle of the hallway like that,” You apologize. He nods his head in understanding though his face remains impassive. You’ve got to at least give credit where credit is due. He is extremely handsome. There’s a sharpness to his features that you like, that you’ve always liked if you’re being honest, and his eyes are unfairly green. Finally face to face you can see that he’s taller and broader than you and while he isn’t muscular, there’s a leanness to him that suggests some form of exercise. 

“It’s quite alright. It’s a beautiful piece, I can understand why you would get distracted by it.” He finally says, his voice soft, softer than you thought it could go. Is the General a secret art lover?

“It’s one of my favorites. I always love coming here to look at it.” You say, completely truthful. He could be lying, wanting to seem polite and get you out of the way but a small part of you hopes he isn’t. It will only help your plan if you have things in common.

“You’re (Y/N), yes? Your mother mentioned she had another daughter. Why didn’t you join us during lunch?” He asked, his gaze becoming one of shrewd assessment. You feel your face heat, completely unplanned.

“I am. I wasn’t invited. You’re not supposed to know but I think Mother wants to set you up with my older sister. She’s afraid that having me there would be a distraction.”

He walks past you then and opens the door to his room, standing there with a raised eyebrow. Glancing at the Stormtroopers you realize he wants to continue the conversation but is aware that it might turn into something that requires more privacy. You quickly walk into his room, hiding your smirk as you do so. He’s so sweetly going along with your plan, you’d thank him if it wouldn’t give you away.

He follows you in and closes the door before striding to the small liquor cabinet your father keeps stocked for guests. He pours himself a whiskey, offering you a glass which you decline. You have to play this carefully and you don’t want alcohol to impair you. You also prefer wine over harder spirits. Taking a sip with a pleased hum, he sits down and relaxes. Well maybe not relaxes, he’s too tightly wound to do that but he does recline in the chair and you suppose that’s enough for him.

“I found your sister, and your entire family, to be pleasant and welcoming. Why would you be a distraction?” He finally asks, his tone full of disdainful curiosity. He’s goading you, he wants you to snap and reveal something he can use and… 

A flash of heat runs through you and settles somewhere around your pelvis. General Hux is planning on using you just as much as you’re planning on using him.

“Because I’m better than her.” You say, your eyes flinty and words proud. He smiles at you then, slow and sharklike and you’re positive your answering smile matches his perfectly. 

“I think she was right to be afraid.”

You have to tread carefully here, you’re both playing a game and you want to win. You can’t admit your plan outright but you do need to gauge his interest. He takes another sip of whiskey, his eyes never leaving yours. The setting sun comes through the window and everything gets a touch darker. Neither of you calls out to raise the lights and the hazy quality of the room feels appropriate.

“You’re a very smart man General,” You start, sitting down in a chair opposite him. Your posture is relaxed but the vibroblade you have strapped to your thigh is cool against your skin. You don’t want to use it, but you’re not afraid to. 

“I’ve been told that, yes.” He responds slowly, trying to piece out what you’re getting at. His gaze is calculating and you enjoy it, you’re surprised to realize, you enjoy playing in this match with him.

“And yet, here you are. Begging for handouts and scraps after your failure.” You say harshly. His grip on the crystal glass of whiskey tightens and his mouth thins. You notice his other hand curls into a fist and if he hadn’t been wearing gloves, his nails would probably be digging into the skin.

“If this is your way to get into my good graces, you’re sadly mistaken.” His voice is ice.

“It isn’t. Though I doubt you have good graces to even get.” At that, the ice melts away a little and he smirks again. Raises his glass to you in a mockery of a toast.

“I’ve been told that as well.”

You watch him in silence for a while, both of you thinking and plotting. Does he understand what you want from him? What does he want from you? The anticipation is filling up the room, soon your hands might start to sweat. 

“I don’t think you need to give my brother a job or marry my sister to get money. You’ll get it from the older families easily enough. Just play to their vanity and the glory of the old Empire. You’ll soon have enough funds to build another weapon, hopefully less wasteful and idiotic than Starkiller.”

He looks incensed again and sets his glass down roughly on the table next to his chair. “Starkiller was not idiotic! It was my greatest military achievement to date!”

“Yes, and it only fired once before being destroyed by an old smuggler and an ex-Stormtrooper!” You shoot back, finger pointing in his direction. He snarls but doesn’t respond back.

“I would think knowing the history of the two Death Stars that failed so horrifically, you’d figure that creating a death ray in giant orb would be a bad idea.” You say, on a roll now. You’re saying more than you should but his pinched, red face is making you angry. Your mother would be shocked at your condescending tone but he needed to hear this. He needed to be brought down a peg and you enjoyed the mental visual of him on his knees before you. Then you could raise him up.

“Not to mention the complete waste of life. Five planets General? Surely one would’ve been enough. But now you’ve lost all that extra labour and possible soldiers and trade routes! You can’t rule over people that don’t exist.” He sits up suddenly then, as if hit by a blaster bolt. So much for not revealing your plan right away. This was only part one but you could have been a bit subtler. At least you weren’t yelling, suddenly aware of the Stormtroopers outside the door.

“What a very interesting thing to say. Why should I care about ruling over anyone? Supreme Leader Snoke controls the First Order. My focus is on my troops with their missions and conquests.” He drawls, leaning back once again in his chair and giving you a suspicious smile. He has a spark of hunger in his eyes and it thrills you to see it. It’s not a lustful or possessive hunger but one of pure greed. The look of a starving animal who just found it’s dinner limping in the forest. Your anger leaves you and in it’s place: the heady rush of excitement. 

“I think”, you say slowly, rising up from your chair to stalk over to his. General Hux tilts his head to the side, looking at the way your dress sweeps along your legs. “I think we could be very good friends General.”

Feeling very bold and perhaps stupid, you get into his lap and straddle him. His only reaction is a quick intake of breath through his nose. 

Then he looks up at you, the smile gone from his face but his eyes still so bright and sharp. His hand comes up to clutch at your waist and his grip is bordering on painful. You hold your breath, your heart beating so fast you’re sure he can hear it.

“I think we can do much better than that.”

Chapter Two Coming Soon...

Tagging: @livy1391, @babbushka, @girl-next-door-writes, @renaissance-mama Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future chapters!

[ofmargos]

chicago’s very own margo rosas has been spotted on madison avenue driving a mercedes-AMG G65 , welcome ! your resemblance to camila mendes is unreal . according to tmz , you just had your twenty-third birthday bash  . your chance of surviving new york is uncertain because you’re distrusting , but being passionate might help you . i think being a scorpio explains that . 3 things that would paint  a  better picture of you would be lipstick stained kisses on mirrors , doing vocal warm-ups five minutes before top of show , popping bottles of bubbly to celebrate buying a new pair of shoes . ( my biological dad paid off my mom to keep my relation to him a secret ) & ( cis-female + she / her  ) +  (  lia , 20 , she / her , cst )

whAT is up my dudes ! i’m lia & i lowkey missed wealthy & writing for my bbygirl margo so i’m rlly excited to be here !!!! if you know her from before i’m sorry lmao i’ve tweaked her background a bit but everything else is p much the same ig ?? she’s fun , she’s a dumbitch , & she’s here to make things harder than they need to be probs . but if you wanna know more , i wrote a novel below so plz enjoy that . if you wanna plot then LIKE THIS & i’ll slide in your im’s.or if you prefer discord hmu @  𝐛𝐛𝐧𝐨$𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐥#1904. i look forward to writing with y’all ! <3

S T A T S ↴

-- * FULL NAME : margaret lucia rosas -- NICKNAME(S) : margo ( preferred name , started introducing herself to people as “margo” back in like the 7th or 8th grade ??? who’s margaret ? we don’t know her ) , mar , mars -- * AGE : twenty-three -- * D.O.B : october 31 -- * ZODIAC : scorpio -- * GENDER : cis-female --* ORIENTATION : heterosexual heteroromantic -- * HEIGHT : 5′2″ -- * NATIONALITY : american -- * BIRTHPLACE : chicago , illinois -- * OCCUPATION : broadway performer -- * TRAITS : passionate , creative , dramatic , distrusting , outgoing , ambitious , fun-loving , loyal , daring , sarcastic , stubborn , overconfident , impulsive , hard-working , petty , secretive lowkey

B I O G R A P H Y ↴

( TW : BRIEF MENTIONS OF ABORTION, ALCOHOLISM, AND DRUG USE )

   first things first , i’m just going to say it-- margo was an accident . and her story begins with her mother , stassia , who was born and raised on the wrong side of the tracks in chicago , illinois . although she was born into poverty , she had big aspirations for herself and wanted a better lifestyle . her ambition and work ethic were unmatched , and that’s how she managed to get into columbia university ( thank you scholariship $$ ). stassia was in the middle of struggling through her college years when she met her future baby daddy . he was older , going through grad school , and the sole heir to a billion-dollar company . the sparks between them flew instantly despite their differences and they messed around for the better part of a year before the unexpected happened . stassia found herself taking a pregnancy test in the bathroom in between finals ( #justcollegethings , amirite ) and swore she was going to pass out when she noticed the double lines . and let’s just say that her baby daddy did NOT take the news well . a lot of horrible things were said that day . too many hurt feelings for the relationship ( that apparently was never that serious to homeboy ) to carry on . ( TRIGGER WARNING !!! ) so he cut all ties with stassia-- but not before giving her a crazy proposition : get an abortion and never talk to him again OR keep the baby but tell absolutely no one it’s his and never talk to him again . they both seemed like shitty options to stassia , who was actually tragically in love w him , but when he even offered to PAY HER a hefty sum ( i’m talking millions of dollars ) to keep the secret .. well-- it seemed like a blessing in disguise . she’d finally have the funds to live the life she always wanted . even if there was now a baby she didn’t plan for in the mix . so she took the hush money , had the baby in secret , and ran off to completely reinvented herself . ( TRIGGER WARNING END )

    although margo’s mother was born into poverty , margo certainly was not . by the time she was born , margo’s mom was ramping up to graduate college and join the high society in the heart of chicago . she got a good job , a lavish place to live , and never told margo about her past . margo grew up completely disconnected from her mother’s side of the family and had no idea of the lies she was being fed over the years . early on in margo’s childhood , her mother met a man through work who she would later go on to marry . that man is the only dad that margo has ever known . he and his daughter were a welcomed addition to their little family , making margo’s home life feel complete in some way . she was provided a good life with the dual income adding to the millions her mother kept . the life her mother always wished she had growing up . in a way , everything she did was for margo . she never wanted her babygirl to struggle like she had to .

   as she got older , margo went to all the best schools but only made average grades . she was never too concerned with academics and instead focused on her poppin’ social life and extracurriculars . during her middle school days , she developed an affinity for the performing arts . when everyone had to pick an elective , margo found herself in the theatre class and absolutely loving it . and she was good too . she had excellent stage presence and took every role she got in school productions in stride -- literally the best tree number 3 you’ve ever seen in your life . as she moved on to high school , she rose in the ranks of the theatre department until she was pretty much landing every single lead by the time she was an upperclassmen . acting was her passion , and she figured why not turn being dramatic and talking a lot ( her two most notable personality traits ) into a career . to really hone the craft , she trained herself to be a triple threat : actor , singer , and dancer ( sutton foster , eat your heart out ) . honestly truly had rachel berry in early seasons of glee vibes-- she knew she was the best around and wouldn’t stand to let anyone take the spotlight from her . her peers hated to love her talents because she acted like such a bitch to them offstage / out of character . not that margo really cared for what others thought of her anyway . self absorbed as ever , she told herself she didn’t need friends and generally pushed away any one that dared try to get close to her-- save for her sister . though somehow , someway she managed to get sucked into a small group of friends that would change her for the better ( s/o to ky and gio , sorry they had to put up w bitchy hs margo , rip )

   after graduating somewhere in the middle of her class , margo followed in her mother’s footsteps and went to columbia university . she was really only able to get in because she was a legacy and her parents made a considerable donation to the school , but we don’t talk about it . and to say that margo’s college years were transformative feels like an understatement . on one hand , they were some of the best years of her life : she got a true taste of independence , met some of her best friends ( s/o oliver and claudia ), and felt fulfilled to be in the city she had romanticized for so long-- new york baby ! but it was also a very low point for her . back in her high school years , she felt like a very big fish in a teeny tiny pond . she was hot shit , the top dog in her department , and all her hard work and effort to remain leading lady had paid off . however , at columbia she was just one in hundreds of talented people . some with more or less talent , or more or less connections , but they deserved a shot at fame just as much as she did . margo felt like she was fighting for her chance in the spotlight every single day and it was both parts exhausting and humbling for her . she had a amy march mentality “i want to be great, or nothing” and considered throwing in the towel . temporarily thrown off by the pressure to be successful , she took a small tumble from grace . ( TRIGGER WARNING !!! ) turning towards alcohol was her coping mechanism of choice . losing herself in the party scene and surrounding herself with other people that prioritized getting drunk or high over going to class and getting good grades had an obvious effect on her academic performance . ( END TRIGGER WARNING ) she almost lost her place in the BFA Theatre Program during her junior year due being on academic probation . it took a little bit of intervention on her close friends and family part to get margo clean and pull herself together . but by her senior year , she got back on track to graduate on time and participated in various shows at local theaters to build her resume . after almost losing everything she had ever worked for , a fire was lit under margo that had her determined to push herself hard than ever before and make a name for herself in the theatre world . 

   after she graduated from columbia she moved to new york permanently so that she could fully submerge herself in her work . not long after graduating , she was lucky enough to book several gigs including her big breakout role as lydia in beetlejuice the musical ! it really skyrocketed her into broadway stardom which is cool . a life long dream that once seemed unobtainable was suddenly a reality and she couldn’t have been more elated . with her sudden ( and well deserved ) success , she got a lot of media attention . soon she was getting verified on twitter , instagram , gaining a whole bunch of followers , and getting asked to be on talkshows and stuff to promote the show . honestly , truly a dream ! but her new-found fame gained the attention of another group of people .. her mom’s long lost family . one of her aunt’s ( that she previously didn’t know existed ) reached out to her through social media . and at first , margo honestly couldn’t believe that she had family that her mom never told her about . but after some thought it sort of made sense . in hindsight , her mom had always been evasive whenever margo asked about the other’s childhood or her side of the family .

   when margo told her mom about her aunt reaching out and how she wanted to meet her , her mom shut it down quick . stassia told her there were a lot of reasons that she didn’t talk to that side of the family and that was that-- PERIODT . but margo was #rebellious and went to meet with her aunt anyway . and that’s how she found out about her brazilian roots and her big ol’ loving and supportive extended family . that whole experience made margo reconsider what other things her mom was keeping from her . and boy oh boy was that a rabbit hole she shouldn’t have gone down . when margo started to demand her mother tell her the truth , it caused their relationship to grow tense . stassia eventually cracked and told her about her bio-dad and all the things she went through for margo . with the truth finally being exposed to her , margo started seeing things in a new light . like her whole life is kinda a lie and why didn’t her father want her ? where was he ? does he know who she is ? why did he never try to contact her ? has she ever walked past him in the streets and never knew ? it was all too much for her to think about so she just kinda ... shut it all out . she acted like nothing was different , even if her “ what if ” thoughts keep her up most nights . 

   if you just ignore the abandonment issues , insecurities , and her inability to handle emotions and focus solely on her success in material terms : margo’s doing really well ! she’s been living in new york full time for two (2) years now . she’s one of broadway’s most popular rising stars . having completed her run as the original lydia deetz on broadway , she’s moved on to take on the mantel of janis in mean girls on broadway . she’s learning , growing , and thriving . just trying to have a good time all the time with her friends and live the dream , baby !

P E R S O N A L I T Y  &  F U N  F A C T S ↴

margo is super fun-loving and down to clown 

will try anything once and it’s gotten her in trouble more times than she can count

also cannot stand to be bored , so she’s always looking for the next big adventure 

although she can be really ridiculous sometimes , she’s very serious when it comes to her work . she’s super hard-working and doesn’t let anything or anyone stand in the way of achieving her dreams : even herself

margo’s a very sociable girl and will talk to anyone and everyone . she’s the type that will hold a conversation for 2hrs with a stranger at a party and then when you ask her “who was that” she’s like “i don’t remember their name but i do know their entire life story so that’s cool”

has a way of making people feel like they know her really well when really she’s only letting them see 1/8th of her

keeps her personal life private normally unless you’re super good friends w her

i wouldn’t recommend pissing her off , bc she is petty as a mf and will lit rally never forget how one’s wronged her . this causes her to start fights sometimes . she’ll just bring up old shit out of no where and , since she’s nosy af , she makes everything her business and confronts people on their bs

she’s a whole liar bc she claims she’s a “retired party girl” but really party girl margo has never stopped , will never stop , can never be stopped

studied theatre in college but minored in mass communications just in case she needed a backup job

is v bad at being an adult !!!! like ... can’t cook , often forgets about her responsibilities until the last minute or needs to be reminded like 20 times , stills calls her parents to be like “how do u use a washing machine plz help” , y’know the drill . yet somehow she manages to act as a mom friend to the people that are closest to her ??? v much a “do as i say not as i do” type of hypocrite lol

she has a tiktok and posts dumb shit on there all the time w her friends and like vlogs her backstage experiences in the theater and does the stupid dances and all that stuff hehe

is learning portuguese after meeting the brazilian side of her family

self-proclaimed dancing queen and it’s not because she learned ballet , jazz , and tap whole dabbling in other styles but because when she’s drunk you will in fact catch her dancing on tables !!!!!

i cannot stress enough how bad she is at dealing with her own feelings . like ... instead of dealing with them head on she just ... shuts down . runs away . will ghost on someone she really likes just bc she’d rather leave first than get left and i hate her for it

have i mentioned how big her ego is ???? pHEW . she rides a v fine line between self confident and OVER confident . but tbh it’s just a cover up for how much she rlly hates herself , there i said it

loyalty is EVERYTHING to margo . if you got her back , she’s got your back . but if you screw her over or mess with anyone she loves then she’ll likely try to make your life a living hell IM SORRY

undiagnosed insomniac . nights she spends alone in her own bed are the hardest for her because it’s when all the bad scary thoughts creep up on her and no matter how much she wants to shut them out and just close her eyes and fall to sleep , she can’t . so she’ll often roam the city looking for a distraction or hit up her friends and bother them for some spare company

she’s doesn’t like to be alone ( not like in a romantic relationship sense -- she actually likes being single bc she’s afraid of letting ppl get close enough to hurt her ). hence why she’s always had a roommate even after she moved out of her parent’s house . if she’s not attached to her roommate / best friend kylie’s hip then she’s definitely hitting up her sister or her other friends to see if they want to hang out , even if hanging out is laying around doing nothing or running errands together . margo wants to tag along just for the company

notoriously known for coming up with terrible ideas or following through with other people’s terrible ideas without question bc #YOLO

she’s her pr agents worse nightmare simply bc she has no filter and will not change herself or what she posts just bc she has a big audience ( follow margo on social media and you’re gonna see the good , the bad , and the ugly she does not give a FUCK )

always has good intentions ! her execution / way of showing those intentions is just poor !

she is a rich girl that could not survive not being rich and doesn’t even realize how spoiled she is . spends money like it’s nothing

a mob boss ( this is a joke but also kinda not a joke )

WANTED CONNECTION PAGES HERE 

[magnuslightwoodbane]

three

read on ao3

For most of her life, Catarina has been able to say that there were two people she’d drop everything for.

Oh, it would fluctuate through the centuries as she found and lost love, sure, but for so long her family was herself, Magnus, and Ragnor, and she wouldn’t have had it any other way. Magnus and Ragnor were her brothers, different in every way to untrained eyes (especially those that watched the pair bicker) but she knew that they were alike in all the ways that mattered. They loved each other and loved her as she loved them.

Then there came a time where there was, inconceivably, only one.

She and Magnus hadn’t really had a chance to really sit down and comprehend their loss, aside from the vigil they held at his home. Everything was happening so fast, too fast these days, and she watched as Magnus became embroiled in it more and more because he just never could turn a blind eye to those in need – and, though at the time she didn’t think Magnus himself had realised yet, he was falling in love again.

The whole Shadowhunter mess did bring her family back up to two, however.

She’d only ever voiced her dream for a child of her own on quiet nights, drinking wine with Magnus, knowing that he shared it just as strongly as she did. And now, she had Madzie, sweet and polite and kind, endlessly creative and eager for knowledge. Magnus had been amazing, allowing her to spend her days in the loft while Cat worked, and in between clients he’d been teaching Madzie how to control her powers and how to glamor her mark for when she started mundane school – as well as that she should never be ashamed of it. Magnus was undoubtably as thrilled as Cat was to have a child in their lives, and he was as wonderful an uncle as Catarina knew he would be as a dad. What she wasn’t prepared for, was for the Shadowhunter to be just as good.

Alec Lightwood, a mere boy of just 24, newly promoted Head of the Institute and Nephilim soldier that her oldest friend, her brother, had fallen head over heels for. She’d never seen Magnus quite as in love as this.

But Alec won her over in a remarkably short time with a combination of being himself, being good with Madzie, and most importantly, loving Magnus like he damn well deserved. She had her two, her daughter and her brother, and he finally had a lover to treat him right for at least as long as Alec lived.

She dropped everything when Magnus called in tears, running to see him cradling Alec’s limp, shallowly-breathing form, because she couldn’t let Magnus lose him so soon, because she would always drop everything for him.

She dropped everything once more when Alec’s sister called her; surprise becoming shock becoming fear becoming cool and practiced medical professional calm at just two words: “Magnus collapsed.”

She’s still in her scrubs as she runs the diagnostics through the Institute’s system – Isabelle having walked her through it, and despite the worry gripping her mind she fondly notes that the Lightwood siblings are as similar as they seem to be close. Results in hand, she makes her way to where Magnus lies in an infirmary cot, clad in a hospital gown with all makeup and jewellery gently and carefully removed by Alec – she would have offered to do it magically, but she thinks that Alec needed to do something to feel useful, and the gentleness with which he handled Magnus warmed her heart. Something gives her pause though, and she waits with hand resting on the door to the ward.

She can’t hear much, but she can hear Alec talking, and she wonders who else could possibly be in there – she knows that all the other youngsters Magnus has become acquainted with are waiting outside.

“…maybe we could… grow old together.”

Oh. He’s talking to Magnus. Catarina hears Alec say something else, but she can’t quite comprehend the words over the sheer amount of emotion weighing on her chest in this moment. This love that Alec holds is everything Magnus deserves, wants, needs, and the fact he’s found it in a Shadowhunter, a Lightwood, it’s-

“Magnus, I love you. More than anyone in the world, and I’m sorry…”

She swallows her feelings down, and walks through into the ward.

Cat doesn’t mean to eavesdrop again, truly, but she’s heading by to check on Magnus now he’s awake when she stops at the sound of raised voices.

“Can you honestly say you like this?!” she hears Magnus say, nearly yell, despair and self-hatred dripping from his words the way it has far too often before. Alec’s instant yes is absolutely what she would expect from him at this point, but it’s no less validating, because of course we still love you Magnus! she thinks.

She nods from outside the room as she only just barely hears Alec describe him as wise, and generous and brave and incredible, and she wishes she could stay longer to go in there and back up every single one of Alec’s points – but Alec’s still going as she sees Lorenzo enter the room from the other side and knows she’s missed her chance, this time.

She’s not had a chance to speak to Magnus properly yet – he’s been telling her he’s fine, because of course he is, and seems more avoidant than usual, which is why when Alec asks if they can meet for coffee, she jumps at the chance. There’s one café she likes that has a children’s play area, and she asks if they can meet there, since she can’t leave Madzie on her own, and Alec agrees instantly.

Taking a seat at one of the parents table next to the corner of the café that’s awash with colour, at odds with the rest of the buildings décor, she’s not waiting long before Alec strides up holding two flat whites and a hot chocolate. Madzie jumps for a hug, before scampering off and leaving her drink in favour of showing a girl a little younger than her how to play some make-believe game she’s invented. Alec takes the seat opposite Catarina, as she sips her coffee.

“You’re fidgety,” she comments.

“I- am I?” he sighs. “Sorry. I just- I slipped away from work, and. And Magnus doesn’t know I’m here either."

She raises an eyebrow. “If you’re not telling him something, it better be good or I’ll tell him myself.”

For all the threat her voice contains, Alec huffs out a laugh, and Catarina is more confused than anything. “Yeah, I think I’ve got a good reason. I- after everything that happened yesterday, it made me realise that I’d… I’d been thinking about something without really realising I’d been thinking about it, you know? And I- gods, Cat, I can’t live without him. I really can’t. Whenever I think of my future, well. It used to be I wouldn’t have one at all, but now, it’s Magnus, every way I can possibly imagine. There is no future for me without him in it, and I… wanted to make it… official?”

He breathes out and looks at her then, and she knows she must look as stunned as she feels.

“I want.. I want to propose, is- it’s not a bad idea, is it?” he asks, hurriedly.

“No! No, Alec, I’m just… you really love him, don’t you?”

“More than anything.”

She smiles at him. “It’s what he deserves. I don’t think anyone’s ever considered marrying him before.”

“Then they were idiots.”

She smiles at his words, at how hard he believes them. “When do you think you’ll do it?”

“Um. Tonight?”

Oh wow, she thinks. “He might not be in the best state for it right now,” she warns. “But I trust you to know the right moment for him, okay?” Alec nods. “Do you have a ring?”

“Actually, yeah, I think so. It’s uh… it’s a tradition for my people for the eldest child to give their betrothed a ring bearing the family insignia. And I thought, maybe he might not want it, because I know Shadowhunter traditions are usually, uh… terrible for Downworlders-“ Catarina laughs a little humourlessly at the truth in his words “-but also I know he’s worried sometimes that I’dmiss out on things as a result of being with him, and I wanna prove that that’s not true? I want to share my traditions with him and share in his, and it’s- the whole thing is a gesture, right, last names are important in our culture and to give that to someone-“

“-to give that to a Downworlder is revolutionary among your kind.” Catarina finishes for him, near breathless as Alec nods.

“I need to actually talk with him, after- IF he accepts, but uh,” Alec laughs. “I’m actually thinking Lightwood-Bane? Something that belongs to both of us and only us and, maybe-“

“And?” Cat raises an eyebrow in amusement as Alec swallows.

“And our children, hopefully.”

Any doubt Catarina had hidden in the recesses of her mind was obliterated with that one statement. Children. One of the things Magnus has always wanted above all else, that he could never have – that he can have now, now that Alec is in his life and wants to give that to him. “Well, if you’re looking for my approval, you have it.”

“Thank you,” he leans back and drinks from his mug, relief etched over his handsome face. “You’re his family, so it- it means a lot. And I guess, this would make us family in a way, so if that’s…something you’re okay with too, I-”

It’s in that moment that Catarina herself realises – she has dropped everything for Alec, too, just as much as she always comes for Magnus. Her family has become three, now, and she never even noticed it happening.

She reaches out and rests her hand on Alec’s forearm to stop him speaking. “I guess we are.”

[marieish]

Small Life Update

So it’s been a weird year for me. My friend asked me the other night how I’ve been and “weird” was the only suitable word I could tell him for how I feel. It’s been a difficult year, but with good highlights to it though and I kinda wanted to make this post on it. I won a scholarship to learn a language and while I lived there I made so many new friends. I’ve gotten to see some really cool things this year. I’ve traveled a little bit (as much as student budget allows lol). I’ve met a lot of interesting new people, held some new animals, including a wild bird which was an exciting time for both of us lol.

But I dunno. I think as much as I love my science degree and all the field of study, I kinda wished I had chosen to go to art school instead. I’ve met new people and reconnected with old friends who are all in art school or just graduated and doing really cool things with their lives and... I dunno. I felt like I lost the creative part of my personality by drowning her in animal fact and genetic studies. I stayed with an old highschool friend for a few days and she toured me around her art college. Showing me all the different ways people make arts, letting me see peoples studios. I felt like I was stepping into someone else’s personal world each time I stood in their space and admired their creations.

It was a melancholy sort of longing touring through the building. Going over to students houses and seeing immaculate paintings and prints they had made draped around their apartments. Like some sort of foreign world I could touch but wasn’t a part of.

I shared this feeling with one of my art friends and she gave some really good advice. Art school wasn’t so much teaching you how and what to make (although each project had guidelines and teachers showed you the fundamentals of each craft), but just putting you in a cycle of creating. Each work they made they learned something from, and looking from the beginning of their work to their most recent piece you could see how they grew as an artist and found their own stride. And I get that. From my sciencey side of things, every write up and report I’ve made has become more formal, an air of “officialness” as I became certain with the facts and how to share them in proper format.

I know science is far from art, but I feel both are related strongly. I read hundreds if not thousands of books growing up. I drew small figures and animals on the sides of my worksheets at school. But as teachers began to chide me and take marks off for each drawing I think I left that creative child part of me to the wayside as I focused on becoming more “adult”. Putting my mind where I was “supposed” to be. I haven’t so much as made a stick figure in the longest time.

I’m uncertain now. I love what I do, don’t get me wrong. I’m going to graduate with my degree and find some exciting job I’ve been waiting for and put all my skills I’ve honed to use. But still. I feel that siren song of creativity calling out to me. I’ll likely never go to art school. I had dreams as a child of creating something wonderful to share with the world and becoming an artist. I think that part of me is gone. I’ve never been one to seek the spotlight, fame and what not don’t interest me. But it still makes me sad I left all the skills and joy I found in art behind in pursuit of “something greater”.

So here it is. I’ve started painting for the first time in years. It’s just a dollar store canvas with two bottles my mothers old acrylic paint. But I’m proud. For the first time in a really long time I’ve created something and it feels good. Once the semester starts again I won’t have as much free time to focus as classes are tough. Still. I’ve been coming out of my depression hole I crawled into the first year of university. I’ve gotten treatment for my ADHD for the first time in my life, and the last two weeks on medication I’ve been able to see my life with a good bit of clarity. I think I can have both. A career scientist who paints for a hobby. It feels good. I’ve felt like I’ve been missing something for the longest time, and I think this is what it was. It’s still hard, and I have a lot of time and work to put in to get where I want to go if I get there at all. But this is my new years resolution. I’m putting a bit of free time back into my schedule so I don’t lose my mind. I know this is a very long post, but if you’ve read so far thank you. I’ve been nervous about whether or not I should post it but I think it’s good.

I think I’m finally coming into who I am, and it feels like hope.

[chaosenticed-blog]

                      greetings  angels ! i’m  steven,  going  by  she/her  pronouns  and  miserably  lodged  in  the  pst  timezone,  also  currently  known  as  the  devil’s  taint  thanks  to  this  heatwave !  super  fun  !  pls  bear  with  me  ,  i’ll  be  up  everyone’s  asses  for  plots  with  my  lil  dudebro  shithead  𝖘𝖎𝖑𝖆𝖘  ,  he’s  a  new  muse  of  mine  i’ve  conjured  up  bc  ethan  is  just  too  good  looking  to  not  utilize  ?  i’ll  keep  this  short  so  we  can  pull  a  queen  carly  rae  and  cut  to  the  feeling  ~

❛ chicago’s very own  𝖘𝖎𝖑𝖆𝖘  𝖉𝖎  𝖌𝖗𝖎𝖒𝖆𝖑𝖉𝖎 has been spotted in new york city in his jeep wrangler blackhawk , welcome ! your resemblance to  ethan dolan is unreal. according to tmz, you just had your twentieth birthday bash. your chance of surviving new york is uncertain because you’re 𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐑𝐔𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓 , but being 𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐂𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 might help you. i guess being a taurus explains that. three things that would paint a better picture of you would be 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐘  𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃  𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐋  𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐅𝐈𝐓𝐒,  𝐓𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐃  𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍  𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒  𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆  𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐄  𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓  𝐈𝐍  𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃,  𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆  𝐀𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏  𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇  𝐂𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃  𝐅𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐒  𝐀𝐍𝐃  𝐕𝐎𝐋𝐔𝐌𝐄𝐒  𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐃. & ( cismale & he / him / his )

aesthetic :  

playing  guitar  barefooted  in  a  hammock,  sun  kissed  skin  and  a  half-kept  beard,  knowing  all  the  vegan  options  at  the  city’s  boujiest  restaurants,  a  crooked  grin  saved  for  whoever  he  can  tell  needs  it  most,  overthinking  his  next  move  even  if  it  seems  completely  organic,  a  boyish  laugh  at  the  most  asinine  pranks,  c-’s littering  his  transcript ( except  the  a  earned  in  environmental  science,  his  elective  of  choice ),  calling  instead  of  texting  because  texting  “ loses  the  humanity, ”  casual  nights  spent  oversized  hoodies,  yellow  checkered  vans,  shorts  with  a  60-day  chip  in  the  left  pocket,  yelling  out  species  of  trees  passing  by  over  thumping  bass  beats  on  a  road  trip,  sweat  on  designer-clothed  skin  like  glitter,  doing  head  counts  of  “the  squad”  over  and  over  in  the  rear  view  mirror  on  the  way  home  from  a  rager,  random  stupid  tattoos  done “ for  the  memory, ”  intricate  handshakes  performed  with  ease.  acting  like  you  don’t  care,  but  you  do— god  you  do,  sometimes  so  much  it  consumes  you  whole.

inspired  by  :

jim  halpert from  the  office,  jackson  maine  from  a  star  is  born,  jim  hawkins  from  treasure  planet,  jackson  avery  and  owen  hunt from  grey’s  anatomy.

history :

born  to  a  major  chicago  councilman   father  and  a  ceo  mother,  the  middle  of  three  boys,  silas  found  himself  drawn  outside  until  the  sun  came  down,  connecting  to  whatever  the  earth  was  able  to  give  him  in  the  inhospitable  chicago  weather .  he’d  wander  aimlessly  for  hours,  guiding  his  twin  and  their  older  brother  through  the  trails  he  made  himself .  his  home  wherever  he  could  make  it  —  the  branches  of  creaking  trees at  the  park ,  the  caverns  of  frosted  caves ,  he  learned  to  be  content  with  the  little  things ,  humble  and  rooted  firmly  in  his  beliefs  of  morality  and  logic .  

it  was  never  exactly  fun  to  play  the  role  of  the  son  in  the  limelight,  eyes  on  his  family  whenever  his  parents  where  on  a  particularly  tricky  trip .  his  eldest  brother,  julien,  was  a  parent’s  dream  and  easily  took  up  a  political  career  without  any  complications .  balancing  in  the  shadow  of  his  eldest  brother  and  the  push  of  his  twin ,  silas  kept  his  own  hopes  and  dreams  on  the  back  burner ,  prioritizing  a  family  name  before  his  own  desires ( and  thus ,  the  apparition  begins. )

he  knows  the  eyes  are  on  him  to  carry  on  the  family  legacy ,  and  does  the  bare  minimum  possible  to  keep  his  uptight  parents  off  his  back .  he  went  to  the  private  schools ,  played  the  big  name  sports ,  mingled  with  the  a-listers .  he  fills  the  role  to  please  his  family  and  keep  the  peace ,  but  once  the  light  comes  off  him ,  he  pushes  off  against  the  prim  and  proper  upbringing  and  finds  his  own  stride .  though  he  takes  the  classes  and  attends  the  conferences  to  make  his  father  think  he’s  prime  for  having  his  name  in  the  news ,  silas  could  not  be  bothered  to  carry  the  illusion  on  into  the  rest  of  his  life .  nights  are  spent  at  raves ,  hiking  canyons  off  the  grid ,  indulging  himself .

yet  all  this  time  spent  trying  to  fit  into  a  future  he  never  asked  for  folded  over  on  him ,  as  one  would  readily  expect .  the  beginning  of  his  freshman  year ,  it  was  exposed  that  his  father  had  carried  on  with  an  affair  nearly  two  decades  ago  and  kept  it  secret  until  now ,  resulting  in  a  half-sister  close  to  his  age  and  an  onslaught  of  media  attention  on  his  once-pristine  family . now  ,  his  father  remaining  in  chicago  and  his  mother  moving  to  new  york  to  helm  her  medical  cosmetics  business  with  a  renewed  vigor  ,  silas  chooses  to  make  the  jump  to  new  york  wit  his  mom  .  to  his  chagrin  ,  she  notes  a  political  run  in  her  future  that  puts  silas  on  edge  ,  forcing  him  to  really  come  to  terms  with  living  the  life  his  family  will  forever  ask  of  him  .

never  one  to  particularly  enjoy  attention,  the  added  pressure  of  trying  to  repair  his  family’s  reputation ( and  keep  mum  on  the  bitter  divide  caused  within  his  family ) drove  him  to  a  point  where  anything  he  could  use  to  escape  would  become  a  viable  option .  smiling  for  cameras  and  keeping  up  appearances  in  public  led  to  binge  drinking  and  benders  galore  in  private ,  ultimately  ending  with  his  twin  brother  hauling  him  to  the  emergency  room  after  a  particularly  brutal  night .  a  stint  in  rehab  this  last  summer  ( explained  as  “ humanitarian  work  in  the  middle  east ”  ) led  to  silas’  newfound  perspective  on  life—  struggling  every  day  to  keep  in  mind  who  he  is,  and  who  he  feels  he  has  to  be  for  the  world .

personality :

silas’  upbringing  has  been  rocky  to  say  the  LEAST,  and  despite  half  the  shit  he’s  gone  through  he’s  managed  to  keep  a  pretty  solid  head  on  his  shoulders  ?

i’ve  been  playing  emo  broody  boys  so  often  i  wanted  to  switch  it  up  and  lowkey ? silas  is  a  breath  of  fresh  air  okay .  he’s  your  quintessential  frat  bro  but  with ~layers~ and  none  of  the  tragic  manic  pixie  dream  boy .  he  comes  across  as  a  reserved  and  non-talkative  kind  of  guy,  stoic  at  first  meeting,  but  with  time  and  comfort  people  find  he’s  really  just  a  cool  laid-back  dude .  he’s  the  dad  friend  of  the  group  and  spends  as  much  time  caring  for  others  as  he  can  possibly  allow  between  his  totally  booked  schedule  of  pretending  to  be  a  preppy  boy  and  literally  not  giving  a  shit  about  most  things.

he  loves  nature  and  hiking  and  being  outside  just  as  much  as  he  loves  a  good  party ,  which  is  where  festivals  and  the  rave  scene  come  into  play .  he  loves  sharing  good  energy  with  the  people  around  him  and  tries  to  keep  the  peace  within  his  circles.  silas  has  a  genuinely  kind  and  benevolent  heart ,  one  he  doesn’t  expose  readily  but  also  doesn’t  ignore .  he  uses  humor  and  quiet  observations  of  others  to  keep  himself  ahead  of  the  loop,  even  if  his  generally  bro-ish  personality  leads  people  to  believe  he’s  inattentive  or  ignorant .  he’s  responsible  and  mature  and  deeply  intelligent,  but  most  of  all,  has  common  sense  and  doesn’t  let  a  decision  be  made  without  weighing  the  pros  and  cons .

( for  the  most  part . )

silas  has  forever  been  recognized  as  inheriting  his  father’s  impulsivity ,  a  trait  he  absolutely  fears  after  seeing  the  terror  it  wreaked  on  his  family .  he  pushes  himself  to  be  smart  and  rational,  trying  to  see  the  logic in  all  things ,  and  tries  to  be  as  disciplined  as  he  can  manage .  when  other  factors  come  into  the  equation  though ,  he  struggles  to  keep  up  his  resolve  and  will  easily  lose  himself  in  the  moment .  he  has  an  addictive  and  ultimately  reckless  personality ,  which  led  to  his  addiction  and  consequential  rehabilitation .  he  tries  to  minimize  the  time  he  spends  with  people  that  may  lead  him  down  a  path  he  doesn’t  want  to  go  down ,  but  obviously  not  everything  goes  as  planned .

otherwise ,  silas  is  stubborn  but  considerate  of  others .  he’s  intelligent  and  creative but  very  poorly  motivated ,  mostly  doing  things  for  the  sake  of  his  family  and  letting  little  else  bother  him .  he’s  loyal  and  sensitive  to  the  emotions  of  others ,  but  is  the first  to  call  out  bullshit if  it  surrounds  him .  he’s  almost  painfully  mellow  and  is  notorious  for  not  having  buttons  to  press  lmao .  he  just  doesn’t  let  most  people’s  comments  get  to  him .  he  has  no  issue  in  cutting  out  the  things ( or  people )  he  has  no  interest  in  spending  his  time  on  and  can  come  across  as  a  bit  forward  in  this  regard .  he  can  be  hypocritical  and  overly  complex ,  having  conflicting  feelings  that  he  can’t  explain  or  rationalize  and  lead  to  him  snapping  or  breaking  down .  he’s  deeply  jealous  and  has  a  bad  habit  of  overthinking  and  not  letting  others  bear  his  burden  with  him .  

as  of  now,  silas  isn’t  sure  where  he  wants  to  take  his  future .  very  few  know  about  his  stint  in  rehab,  and  he  explains  his  lack  of  drugs  or  drinking  as  his  preparation  to  be  a  walk-on  for  the wrestling  team at  NYU  where  he  attends ,  as  his  mother  has  been  encouraging  him  to  pursue  in  order  to  build  a  fanbase  base  for  his  future  political  conquests .  currently,  he  does  modeling  for  a  casual  platform  and  represents  certain  brands  he’s  actually  rather  passionate  about .  he’d  LITERALLY  rather  d*e  than  go  into  politics,  and  is  eyeing  a  future  in  environmental  advocacy  or  ambassador  work ,  but  knows  this  is  not  a  future  aligned  with  the  di  grimaldi  legacy .  for  now ,  he  remains  at  a  crossroads ,  living  half  a  life  he  doesn’t  even  recognize ,  just  hoping  it’ll  manage  itself  on  its  own .

connections :

forbidden  ( 0/2 )  —  best  friend’s  gf ?  his  brother’s  ex ?  his  sister’s  best  friend ? basically  i  want  someone  who  silas  wants  but  can’t  have  because  of  another  relationship  that  could  REALLY  put  them  in  a  dangerous  spot  and  potentially  ruin  what  they  have,  but  it’s  all  hidden  glances  and  risky  snapchats  trying  to  gauge  where  the  line  is  and  where  it  can  be  crossed

exes  ( 0/? ) —  gimmie  angst,  gimmie  chill,  gimmie  people  who  mutually  broke  up  and  are  bros,  give  me  people  who  had  a  messy  split  and  it’s  still  touchy,  give  me  people  who  are  “ supposed  to  be  over ”  but  end  up  in  each  other’s  beds  at  the  end  of  every  other  night,  give  me  people  who  fucking  hate  each  other,  this  is  so  versatile  i’ll  take  anything.

“ gucci  shoes,  boy  i  invented  you ”  ( 0/1 )—  a  fake  gf  he  had  for  the  clout,  someone  who  really  helped  him  live  up  to  the  image  his  family  wanted  for  him,  basically  helped  “ make  him ” and  in  the  process,  she  fell  in  love  with  him.  did  he  feel  the  same  way ?  did  he  not  realize  it ? did  he  simply  not  reciprocate ?  either  way,  they  ended  poorly  and  now  she  resents  him  and  thinks  he’s  a  cowardly  piece  of  shit,  since  she’s  seen  the  “ real  him ”  vs  the  him  she  helped  conjure.  lots  of  tension  !

turn  up  team  ( 0/4 )  —  basically  : whos  gonna  go  rave  with  him  ?  he’s  not  gonna  roll  w  them  if  drugs  are  involved  but  he’ll  enjoy  his  adrenaline  high  with  pleasure.  these  are  people  who  aren’t  close  enough  to  him  to  pressure  him  into  doing  drugs  again,  so  he  feels  okay  with  going  out  with  them  since  there’s  little  to  no  risk  he’ll  relapse

squad  (  0/3-4  )  —  i’m  thinking  a  small  group  of  people  who  he’s  just  always  likely  to  be  found  with,  these  are  the  people  who  matter  most  to  him  and  u  can  hella  catch  him  fathering  them  almost  to  an  ANNOYING  extent.  they  get  to  see  the  best ( and  sometimes  the  worst )  of  him,  but  he’d  do  anything  for  his  squad

devil  on  his  shoulder  ( 0/2 )  — this  can  be  as  intentionally  or  unintentionally  toxic  as  u  want,  but  i’m  basically  envisioning  two  people  who  really  tempt  silas  to  risk  it  all.  maybe  they  want  him  to  dive  back  into  the  hedonistic  side  he  has ( he  was  wild  and  lots  of  people  lowkey  hyped  him  up  for  it ) and  it’s  gritty  and  sexy  and  dark.  maybe  this  person  doesn’t  even  realize  they’re  a  trigger  for  him  and  unintentionally  send  him  close  to  the  edge.

sponsors / confidants  ( 0/2 )  —  i’m  envisioning  a  team  of  3  who  have  been  THROUGH  it  with  the  substance  abuse,  maybe  they  stage “ improvised  meetings ” whenever  they  need  to,  maybe  these  are  just  two  people  who  want  to  make  sure  silas  stays  clean  because  they  know  how  badly  he  needs  it  and  how  dangerous  it  would  be  for  him  to  relapse

vlog  squad  ( ? )  —  my  idea  is  that  silas  and  his  twin  brother  are  youtubers,  and  silas  is  a  BIG  paranormal  shit  guy.  it’s  like  the  perfect  intersection  of  talking  about  nature  and  exploration  without  making  him  seem  like  a  hippie  tree-hugger  and  raise  any  objections  from  his  parents,  so  maybe  he  has  like  a  little  group  similar  to  the  vlog  squad  where  they  share  a  channel  and  they  have  a  small  following?

i’m  putting  in  a  wc  for  his twin  brother  and  his  half-sister so  peep  THOSE

sibling-like  friendship,  booty  calls,  hookups,  people  he’s  in  a  club  on  campus  with,  childhood  friends,  maybe  a  penpal  he  had  after  moving  around  from  place  to  place ?

please  literally  give  me  anything  that  makes  me  smile  or  suffer ?  and  all  in  between .  muah  lov  u  all  can’t  wait  to  rp  !

[magicalsalamander]

u always have such long in depth stories that are so well written. i've always wondered how you keep yourself motivated to write them and if you follow a schedule and if u have any tips to give to writers too

Thank you! I appreciate it!

An odd feeling fills my chest reading this because I don’t believe I’m in a position to be giving anyone advice. However, peer to peer, human to human, I’m more than happy to spare all the knowledge I got to you!

So, let’s break it down!

Let’s tackle the ever-pressing question: How to stay motivated and meth~od~ology. Again, this is just my input and methodology, so know this may not work for you or everyone, but maybe you can take bits and pieces of it and tailor it to yourself and find a better way to approach writing. Which is what I want you to do. My way of doing things is because...it works for me.

In regard to the product, I write long-winded stories because that’s how my mind works. Every author’s style is a “physical” manifestation of the way they process and emit information verbal, written, or symbolically. A writer’s style will match the author, so no style is wrong.

Sidestepping for a moment, but I’ll tie it in I promise. When I was younger I was painfully (I mean awkwardly painful that made others uncomfortable) shy. I even formed a stutter because I was terrified of speaking. Now, luckily, I can say that I have no issue with that and I’m totally fine public speaking or speaking intimately. I found my confidence by reading to pick up new vocab and mimicking people around me who were better speakers. I think by doing so I really formed the way I carry myself and write (i.e. going back to the point that a written is a manifestation of their personality). You can notice if you really look at a piece you can tell the state of mind a writer usually was in when they wrote this.

How does this tie into advice? Well, my “advice” is if you want to become a “better writer” work on yourself. Your perspective on life is unique. Mold your thoughts, ask yourself those questions that are hard, ask others questions, figure out different perspectives while you’re at it. This may be looking at things too seriously, but I want to give you a genuine answer. You know how politics can be divisionary? It’s usually them vs us? Well, both sides have their own reasons and to them, those are good reasons. Maybe not to you, but try understanding the opposite side, really look at their motives. You’ll be able to write antagonist better that way, and in turn, write a more solid protagonist.

So to bring it back, I write long stories because I found out I can’t do short fics (which I consider to be under anything basically under 5k) because it’s not how I process/imagine things. I’m huge on imagery, maybe because I’m also a traditional artist (drawing & painting) so I see the world with colors, shapes and relate those to emotions. I feel so unsatisfied if I write something that lacks a short background or gives the character a reason for something. I’m aware it’s possible to write short fics, because it’s the reader’s decision to interpret, but it’s not me. Know regardless of the way you write something the reader will have their own story.

This leads to my second point. I want you to answer these questions for yourself: why are you writing, who are you writing for, what are you writing about, when can you, where do you write? Simple questions, but they need solid answers. The simple things in life often need more attention than those that seem complex.

My answers to a few: I write for myself and no one else. I hope that this should be true all across the board. I find the biggest issue for writers on this platform (and maybe across other writing sites) is that individuals use it as a platform for validation. It’s not easy this day and age to go to a social media site and not be bombarded by likes, following, or any other feedback system that promotes that. However, I could care less if a post I put out has two, a hundred likes or a thousand.

Why you may ask?

Well, simply because—it doesn’t matter. This is for a number of reasons. A few of them are because people do click on the post but most often don’t leave a note or give feedback. This, I found to be true because people either forget, don’t bother to, or are too shy. This doesn’t mean that it wasn’t enjoyed, you have no idea the impact your post could’ve made, that could’ve been the best post they’ve read. I want you to keep in mind that you don’t need to prove yourself to anyone. Keep yourself in check with this. Also, remember, people will come to your story, sometimes it’s not the right time for them. Maybe the message in that fic, whether it be neutral or purposeful, will come to someone when they most need it. The time you post may just not be that time. So, don’t feel discouraged if you’re not getting notes.

You want long term building, not short term.

Motivation:

Motivation is such a fickle little minx, right? I want to address that usually the lack of motivation is because of many reasons, but typically its stress, anxiety, insecurity, and procrastination. Procrastination, the biggest factor in my opinion, under a psychological definition, is an irrational delay. It’s been linked to the activity under avoidance being the cause of stress and anxiety. When your feeling too overwhelmed you probably don’t want to write, right? It takes too much thought and energy. So when your feeling like this I advise you to either rethink why you write if it does increase your anxiety. Or distract yourself until you feel that you can come back with a fresh mind. There is no “deadline”. No timeline.

On the contrary, though, it’s a good method to keep yourself accountable, so if you can accomplish something with a bit of pressure then set a deadline. It’s how I was able to complete Gold Embers Touch the Blue Veil. I was so unmotivated recently. I always came home tired and nothing creative would come to me. But I said, “Nope, we’re doing this.” Because I knew if I just wrote something (i.e. drafted to draft) then I would feel better later because I gave myself a foundation. With that foundation and when I’m feeling frivolous with my words, I can now accomplish so much more because I have something to work with.

I don’t have a schedule. I write based on when the ideas come to me. How can I fit writing into my existing schedule? I always write a storyboard, then I tackle it from there, so start to finish always varies. Often my stories can take weeks if not a month or two to write. I take a few days break sometimes so that way I’m not hypercritical of everything I’ve written. I never rush to put out something for the sake of putting it out there. Rushing never usually gives good results.

There is no bad idea either. Don’t go into a story you’re about to write already knocking it down. Remember, write for yourself, I swear to you, if you enjoy what your writing someone else will too. You think J.K Rowling wrote HP thinking, “Ahhh, I need to change all this because my mind is telling me someone may not like this.” Hell no. She wrote her story the way she saw it and it’s amazing because it’s her.  

Methodology:

Write a storyboard. Will you for sure remember the thing you told yourself to remember in the morning? Did you forget to write down that appointment? Did you remember that you have that assignment due if you didn’t write it down? The majority will say they don’t. That’s why I’m a huge believer in having a “story board”. What that means to me personally is mapping out how you want the story to go. I personally can’t use the write-and-go method. I need structure so I can reference back and tweak it later. So, I recommend opening up a doc or whatever you have to use and follow this set up. It’s concise, keeps things neat and easy to follow. It’s basically a flow chart but a bit more professional. I’m sure you can find other templates, but this is mine.

Write about something you want, not something you think would get notes. Write it because you see that niche isn’t being filled, or if you want to add to that genre. As an example, there are a million and one coffee shop AU's, but what can you add?

Other things to keep in mind is the hero’s journey doesn’t have to be linear, Try to teach, teach the readers and yourself something. That way you keep something fresh for yourself. Grow each time you finish something. Whether you know it or not, you grow a little bit each time. Your opinions will change and grow, so take it all in stride.

With all that knowledge you’ll become a better writer because you’ll be able to see a wider breadth of ideas and put in details that don’t always seem obvious and develop your own style.

I’m sorry that this post was long and that I got preachy. But from my writing style, I guess you could already have predicted I would’ve done this, huh? Haha. I hope this was helpful!! Feel free to send me an ask if you have any more questions.

[the-marvel-imagines-blog]

Madness | Chpt. 13

Requests are Open

Chapter Title: “Once Upon the 40′s”

Pairing: Loki x Original Female Character

Word Count: 6,850

Warnings: ???

Name Pronunciations: Hjalmar: “He-all-mar” | Aaldir: “All-deer” | Ephinea: “Eh-fin-ee-uh”

Summary: Eva recalls her past with Loki and runs into some very familiar faces along the way, faces she’s never been able to forget.

A/N: Like I’ve stated previously, I’m taking a lot of creative liberties with this fic, and I hope you understand. I’m definitely taking more within the following chapters. Thank you all for being so patient. Once again, I’ve heard a lot of really good theories about what might happen next, so I’m definitely excited to hear what you guys think of the story going forward. I’ve poured my heart and soul into this fic, and all I can do is hope that it shows. You’re all so phenomenal. I love all of you so, so, so much. PLEASE NOTE: this will likely be my final time posting an update for this fic before Endgame is released. I have a few other oneshots that I will release throughout the week before Endgame. I know everyone has said it at this point, but PLEASE if you see the movie, do not spoil it for anyone. I heard about the recent leak, and I refuse to scroll through any forms of social media at this point. I got on here just to post, and I’ll be getting right off. If you do have spoilers already, I ask that you please not share them here <3 -Ellie

Tagged: @teddyboobear @alledeglyfunny @xletmetaste-yoursmilex @itsknife2meetu @mynameisyara @j-j-ehlby-writes @jillilama-blog (anyone who wants to be tagged can message me and ask. It’s not a problem at all)

“We’re still going dancing after this, right?” I asked, gazing up into his blue eyes that matched the color of the sky. Midgard was beautiful as it was, but he made the world around him that much more beautiful in my eyes. My dress-a material that matched the color of his eyes-swung around my knees as we walked toward the expo that Loki had been speaking of for weeks since our last trip to Midgard. He smiled down at me, his eyes still glistening with a hint of excitement that he always tried to hide whilst in the midst of his father. Odin never treated him fairly and always scrutinized when Loki was happy “for no reason.” He knew that he never had to hide any piece of himself from me, though, and that he need not even try. We had known each other for nearly a thousand years, ever since I could remember, and I knew everything there was to know about the young prince of Asgard.

He snickered, “would it be a trip to Midgard without a little dancing?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow at me. Dancing was something we always did when we made any trips to Midgard, regardless of what our trip was for in the first place. Loki was born with a grace and talent for dancing, and it showed in the way he moved. He walked with the same purpose and grace as he did when he danced, and that paled in comparison to the way he held me when we danced. The only thing it could be compared to was the way he held me at night after we spent hours rediscovering one another in the most intimate ways. Those were some of my favorite moments with him, when we were both so vulnerable to each other, but we were comfortable with it because we knew that our insecurities, our fears, our needs would never be exploited by the other. We trusted each other implicitly, and that would never change.

I smirked, remembering the one time that we didn’t go dancing. Loki had been so tired after the full day of mingling and running about the garden with me that we cancelled our plans to be at the wedding and celebrations of Mary, who I had taken a liking to for her fiery attitude, and Francis. Mary was beautiful and gentle, but she was also regal with a sharp-tongue, which was something I admired her for greatly, especially as she grew older. I visited her often with Loki, looking after her as if she were my own. Loki often admired her for being powerful in the face of adversity. People were reluctant to seeing a woman upon the throne, but Loki and I had seen too much to hold prejudice against someone simply because she was a woman. It was a terrible shame when we discovered what happened to her. Still, she had never let us forget that we missed her wedding, often bringing it up lightly to tease Loki and I, “do you remember the 50’s?” I asked, reminding him of a time that didn’t seem that long ago, a time that felt simpler in a way. We could spend hours running through the courtyard of the tudor style home Loki had built for us. It was our place to escape to when we left Asgard.

“Almost 400 years, and you still bring up that one time,” he reminisced, a smile breaking out across his face. I watched the memories dance across his mind, gazing up at him as I longed to revisit our old life. We had always been happy, but the days seemed to move slower then. We could just exist together. He drew himself closer to me, his face growing closer and closer to my ear. I could feel his warm breath cascade across my neck, “perhaps I can make it up to you later tonight?” he whispered, his voice low and smooth as velvet.

“Loki!” I gasped, pushing his chest in a playful manner. He began laughing, and the sound was like music to my ears. There had never been another song more beautiful than the laughter of my love. I stifled my own laughter, not wanting to draw attention from the passersby, but I couldn’t help the smile which tugged at my lips. I narrowed my eyes at him, knowing that he wanted to get that reaction out of me, “you won’t have any of your fun unless you take me dancing. If you back out, you’ll be sleeping on the couch,” I teased him, accepting the challenge to see which one of us would back down first. He rarely brought it up if he wasn’t fairly confident that he would win, but I knew how to beat him, how to make him tick. I loved winning for the simple fact that I loved watching Loki blush.

“I know what to do to get you to sleep on that couch with me, darling. I know how to make you quiver,” he murmured, his voice resembling a growl, causing my most primal urges to bubble up to the surface. I gripped his arm tighter as we continued to walk. He traced a slender finger of his free hand along the skin of mine, and I shivered beneath his touch. I found his eyes once more to see that he looked hungry, as if he were eyeing his prey, “you should enjoy that pretty blue dress because I’m going to have fun tearing it off of you later,” he remarked as a mischievous grin tugged at his lips.

“Watch what happens to you if you tear my dress,” I challenged him, cocking my eyebrow at him.

“You should watch your tongue, my love,” he chuckled, thinking that he won the unspoken challenge, that I had somehow run out of ways to make him blush.

I didn’t.

Without missing a beat, I veered off into an alleyway that left us barely visible to the passersby. No one would take notice of the two of us, especially since we knew how to blend in with the general public for the time period we found ourselves in when we travelled to Midgard. I pressed Loki against the stone wall, taking care not to hurt him as I held him against the cool surface. I leaned in close to him, allowing him to shiver with anticipation. I brought our faces as close together as they could be without partaking in a kiss that would relieve so much of the tension we were both feeling. I leaned into his ear, my breath hitting his neck. I grew close enough so that my lips brushed ever so lightly against his ear, and I felt him tremble beneath me, “you want me to watch my tongue? Make me,” I whispered before removing myself completely from his space just in time to see the color rise to his cheeks.

I won.

The moment he lunged for me, ready to admit defeat and ravage me with kisses, I pulled away from him and walked back out toward the street. That was part of the fun. We knew each other well enough to know what made the other tick. I knew how to get under his skin, and he knew how to get under mine. I knew that not allowing him to kiss me was my way of building up that tension. The lust within him would continue burning until we were alone that night, until I was able to lose myself in him and him in me. Before I could walk along the sidewalk alone, he resumed his place by my side, and I looped my arm through his once he offered it to me. We walked along, falling in perfect stride with one another, as if nothing had happened, but we would remember it later. The tension never died, but it just became like a smoldering fire, which would continue to burn until we extinguished it.

As we walked, we passed by a man and woman, and I noticed the rings on their fingers, symbolizing their eternal love, which was something Loki and I had talked about from time to time. The woman was pushing a baby carriage, and within it, there was a baby who looked no older than 3 months. He was dressed in a little blue outfit that matched his blue eyes. His hair was light, and his skin was fair, much like Thor’s. I smiled into the carriage, feeling my heart flip within my chest as my sudden urges came to light once more. I could feel Loki tense up next to me, and I knew why. It was something we had only talked about briefly, but I knew he wanted that life just as much as I did. His grip on me tightened, and I could feel his eyes lingering on me, so I turned my gaze up to meet his. He smiled down at me so sweetly, just like he used to when we first fell in love. The thoughts crossed his mind, and he didn’t even need to say a single word because I could always read him like an open book, “You know what my answer would be,” I stated, grasping his arm with my free hand. We had already been in the stage of our relationship where we wanted to get married, but we were also coming to the stage where we were both thinking about what would come next: a family.

He sighed, gazing once more at the baby in the carriage before gazing back down at me, “father has always treated me poorly, and he’s never been particularly kind to you. I can’t imagine what he would think of our…” he trailed off, his eyes beginning to water as soon as he even thought of the word. It was a difficult thing for either of us to think about. I was abandoned by my parents, and Odin never treated Loki as one of his own from the very beginning.

“Children, Loki,” I finished for him, giving his arm a gentle squeeze to regain his attention. Once his mind wandered, so did his eyes. Once our eyes locked, I knew that he was focused on me, “they would be our children and ours alone,” I reminded him, wanting him to understand what I had already accepted. I didn’t have to follow in my mother’s footsteps, and I wouldn’t. I would love my children endlessly, and I would never abandon them, not like my parents did to me. Loki’s fears and insecurities were justified because he was terrified of being the father to our children that his father was to him. As upsetting as it was to think that he was self-conscious about failing our future children, I always silenced his doubts about everything as soon as they arose, “you would be the most incredible father, in spite of how you were treated by your own father.”

Once I said my piece, he fell absolutely silent. I gazed up at him, trying desperately to decipher him. There were moments when he was an open book to me, but there were others where he was like a puzzle with dozens of pieces missing, and I became more and more stressed because I couldn’t figure it out. There was the alternative method of reading his mind, his thoughts, but that was something I saved for only the most dire circumstances. He was my lover, my soulmate, my best friend, not my experiment. I couldn’t just pull apart his mind whenever I felt like it to get answers to a question I didn’t want to bother him with. It was my job to read him as any woman would read her love, the way I had read Loki all along. When our eyes met, I knew exactly what he was thinking, as if it were painted across his blue eyes. He was picturing them. A wide smile spread across my face, “the first one would be a little girl, a little princess. I imagine her with your hair, wild and unruly and black as a shadow at night,” I murmured, my eyes flickering between his.

He snickered, “my hair is not unruly!” he defended himself, acting as if he had been terribly offended at my comments about his wild and unruly hair, which it was.

I cocked an eyebrow, ready to challenge him, “have I simply imagined the times when you struggle to brush it out and keep it in place in the morning?” I asked, a sly grin taking over the smile on my lips, “have I imagined the dozens of times when you beg me to brush it because only I can undo the tangled mess that you manage to get it into throughout the night? You always go to sleep with perfect, silky, beautiful hair-and I know because I brush it and look after it-but you wake up the next morning as if you fought four wars all on your own in the middle of the night,” I teased him, grinning up at the man who owned every piece of my heart. We hadn’t lost that spark between us. Sure, we argued with each other and had our fair share of disagreements, but we had been together for hundreds of years, so we knew how to make it work through all of that. Still, no matter what, I always looked at him as the boy I fell in love with. I still got butterflies when I talked to him. I still blushed when he paid me a compliment or looked at me for a prolonged period of time. I still giggled when he called me beautiful.

“That’s only because of you!” he argued, raising his voice only slightly. He wouldn’t yell at me, but he was clearly trying to defend his wild and messy hair. Whenever I closed my eyes and imagined our future children, though, they always had his hair. My hair was dark, but his was exceptionally dark. His hair was darker than the forest on a dark night when the stars didn’t even shine through the trees. The darkness would envelope me, and I wouldn’t be able to see my hands had they been directly in front of my face. Each of our future children, as I saw them, had his wild hair. It would fall in curls, and they would all wear it the way he did: long. His light chuckle pulled me from my daydream, “you keep me up far too late, or have I simply imagined the times I’ve nearly fallen asleep at the breakfast table with my mother?”

My mouth hung agape as I recalled one of the most embarrassing moments of my life, “that-!” I stammered, trying to find a way to defend myself. It was true that it was my doing which left him embarrassed at the breakfast table with Frigga, and it was the moment she understood how deep our relationship was, how serious we were about each other, “that happened one time, and it was only because you wouldn’t stop looking at me the way you are right now!” I blamed him with a smirk as our eyes met once more. Mine danced along his face before I lost myself in the oceans of blue that pooled up against the dark pupils of his eyes, like land masses that felt like home.

His eyes flickered between mine, and his smile fell. The solemnity that overcame his feature worried me for a moment as I wondered if I had gone too far; however, when I saw the tears well up in his eyes, I knew that he was thinking about them. He thought about them just as often as I did, even though he didn’t like to admit it, “they would have your eyes,” he murmured, pulling me closer to him, “a green that matched the colors of spring when the land is reborn after the cold winter, a green that feels like the warm breeze in the middle of the forest when it ripples through the leaves, a green that feels like home. They would wear that same look in their eyes, too. They would have that determination and ferocity but also the love and appreciation of life and all living things. They would have your nose, your cheekbones...your laugh because Gods know there is nothing sweeter or more poetic and beautiful than the sound of your laugh,” he said, tearing up at the thought of our future children. I knew, without the shadow of a doubt, that he would be the best father to our children, and I knew because he loved them already, just like I did.

I stopped completely, not wanting him to focus on anything but me. I reached up and grasped his chin in my hand before turning his head until our eyes met, “I have told you for hundreds of years that all you have to do is ask me, and I’ll be yours for the rest of eternity, Loki,” I reminded him, knowing that all he would have to do is ask for my hand, and I would accept his offer in a heartbeat. He didn’t have to write a speech or plan an elaborate proposal because he was the only thing that mattered.

“I’m just worried that I could never be able to offer you all that you want in life,” he murmured, his eyes acting as windows into his very soul. I knew that he always felt unworthy of me, of the love I gave to him, like he didn’t deserve me. It was the same way I felt at certain times in our relationship, when I wondered why someone who could have anyone or anything he wanted would choose me. He always silenced those doubts, and I did the same with him.

I shook my head, “all I want is you,” I insisted once more, grasping his hand in my own as I gazed up into those uncertain blue eyes, “I want to marry you and start a family. I want to see you with our baby, to watch you hold him or her, to watch you fall in love with the way they laugh, the way they dance, the way they look at you. I want to raise children with you, however many we decide. I want to get up early in the morning and rock our baby to sleep and be reminded that they are the product of the two of us, that we created something that was bigger than ourselves, that our love created life,” I reminded him, my eyes stinging with the hot tears as I thought of a life we had yet to begin. I watched as his eyes brimmed with tears, and I gave his hand a gentle squeeze “we’ve been together for hundreds of years, and you have given me all that I could ever want and all I could ever need, but that is the one thing that’s missing. I want that life with you and no one else,” I finished, stepping closer to him.

“That’s what you want?” he asked, his focus becoming firm, and I knew that he would be focusing on picking out any hints that I was being dishonest, as if I would even try to with him after so long together.

I nodded, “it’s what I’ve always wanted.”

He nodded once, continuing to gaze down at me. Upon seeing that I wasn’t trying to mislead him, his gaze lightened, and he gathered me in his arms in one swift motion. I gasped at the sudden and unexpected action, but before I could speak, his lips crushed mine, silencing whatever words I was about to utter. He kept my body pressed to his firmly but not aggressively. His hold on me was all encompassing as his right arm snaked around my waist, arching my body into his. The fingers of his left hand caressed my cheek and jaw, holding me steady as we kissed. The moment he pulled his lips from mine, it was as if my very breath left with him. Luckily, he didn’t let go of me, or I was sure I would have fallen to the ground. He pulled his head back only slightly to take in my reaction to what just happened, but I had no words, no emotion to give. He took my breath away with that kiss, and it felt like we were at the very beginning of our courtship once more, like we were still naive lovers who saw nothing but one another.

Without warning, he began laughing lightly at what had just transpired. Had we put our love on full display in the streets of Asgard, Odin would have forced the two of us away from each other. It would have been improper for him and unladylike for me. However, on Midgard, people seemed to pass by without taking much notice. Of course, I could still feel eyes on us because it was still a rarity, but we would not be punished for a kiss. I saw, once more, the boy I fell in love with, my Loki. No matter how hard I tried, I wasn’t able to contain my laughter once he began laughing. Rolling my eyes, I turned on my heel and pulled him along, “come on, love. We don’t want to miss the expo. It’s the whole reason we came here,” I reminded him as we walked toward the crowds of people.

Upon reaching the large groups of people, we began making our way to the front of the stage in the pavillion where we saw the most commotion. Everyone was talking, and the buzzing of life around me left me with a euphoric feeling in my chest. Warmth spread from the depths of my chest all throughout my body, leaving me gasping for the sweet air to fill my needy lungs. I loved the sensation of life, the vibrations of the energy around me. Loki’s hand found mine, and he intertwined our finger, his fear of large groups becoming more and more clear. Whenever he needed to find his footing once more, he reached out to me, and I was always there. His grip on my hand tightened whenever the noise in the pavillion increased, and I accommodated it by pulling the two of us closer together. I knew where his fear and anxiety stemmed from, and I would always comfort him when that was what he needed.

Once we reached the front of the stage, we watched as young women in matching outfits lined up in front of a car. Shortly after Loki and I took our place, another man with two young women at his side broke through the crowd and stood beside Loki and I. The man in the group was tall and built like a warrior. I took note of the uniform that seemed to hang from his broad shoulders and knew that he was one of Midgard’s soldiers. He smiled up at the stage as the two girls beside him began conversing amongst themselves in their excitement for what was to unfold. Trailing behind them was a smaller man, but I could feel the vibrations within me begin to grow stronger and stronger the closer he grew to me, and I just knew there was something about him, something I couldn’t place my finger on. Our souls were connected somehow, similarly to how mine was connected to the souls of Loki, Ephinea, Hjalmar, and my father. I didn’t even know his name, but I knew his soul.

The taller of the two men glanced over at me, a playfulness in his eyes that matched Loki’s, and I knew that it was a light the world so desperately needed. He smiled down at me, though I was only slightly shorter than him, “good evening, ma’am,” he greeted me with a tip of his hat before turning his attention to Loki and doing the same, “sir,” he greeted politely, causing the God of Mischief to bow his head in a friendly greeting.

I stepped closer to the young man, breaking away from Loki’s side and feeling a chill run through my body at the sudden lack of warmth he brought me, “you can call me Eva, and this is Loki. He’s not much of a talker until you mention literature,” I laughed, gesturing over to Loki before offering my hand.

The soldier took it and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of my hand. I knew it was what was considered respectful and courteous at the time. Loki still did it to me when we were in the company of others. The soldier lifted his head and released my hand, “it’s a pleasure to meet you, Eva,” he stated before turning his attention over to Loki once more and sticking out his hand for him to take, “Loki...that’s not a common name,” he noted, trying out the name on his tongue.

Loki chuckled, “I’m not a common man,” he replied as he took the soldier’s hand and shook it.

“The name’s James, but most people just call me Bucky,” the soldier finally introduced himself before turning to the shorter man beside him, “and this is Steve, he’s like my unruly, rebellious sidekick who likes to look for trouble,” he teased his friend with a wide smile.

I smiled and stepped closer to the newly introduced stranger, “it’s nice to meet you, Steve,” I replied, reaching my hand out. Instead of taking it and kissing it, he just gave it a quick shake, and I could tell that he was nervous about the sudden introductions. The moment our hands touched, an electric current surged through my body, as if a piece of his very essence was transferred to me and a piece of mine was transferred to him. It was a strange occurrence, an event that had only happened a small handful of times in the past, but it always forged a powerful connection to the person it happened with. The energy surged through me as I felt his essence intertwine with mine, pieces of our souls coming together to form one. I wondered, for a moment, if he felt the same thing or something similar, and the sudden wonder in his eyes told me that he had experienced it as well.

He tried to shake off the awkward silence between us, his cheeks becoming flushed, “So, where are you two from? Your accents sound...foreign,” he asked, trying to propel the conversation forward after a powerful experience we both shared.

“Smooth,” Bucky teased him as he gazed up at the stage that was continuing to be prepared.

I smiled, “it’s alright. We’re from Westminster in England,” I lied, recalling a place Loki and I had visited dozens of times in the past. It’s not like I could tell him the truth, that Loki and I were from a completely different realm altogether, that there was life beyond Midgard. They would discover our existence at some point during the course of humanity, but it didn’t need to be today, “what about you? Where are you from?”

“Brooklyn,” he answered with a kind smile. It was clear that not many people gave him the time of day, but I wanted to. I wanted to learn everything about him because I was certain he would play a large part in my life. He gestured between Loki and I, “and you two are...married?” he asked, and I could sense the boyish bashfulness rising within him.

Bucky snickered, “wow, how subtle,” he teased Steve again.

“Not yet,” Loki answered before I had the chance to speak.

I furrowed my eyebrows at his confession, taken aback by his answer. Steve and Bucky raised their eyebrows as well, but I knew that their surprise came from the forwardness of it. They didn’t know Loki like I did. I knew that he was rather bold, but I just never expected that answer because I didn’t know if he truly wanted to marry me the same way I did him. We had been together for hundreds of years, the better part of a millenia, and he still hadn’t asked me to marry him. I cocked an eyebrow, “should I be expecting a question soon, or will I be waiting another thousand years?” I asked, teasing him about how long it had already taken him.

Bucky and Steve both laughed in unison, thinking that I was exaggerating the length of time I had been waiting. It was only slightly exaggerated, since our thousand year milestone wouldn’t happen for another 67 years. Loki’s grin at me caused my heart to flutter as I thought of how and when he would do it. After a short amount of banter between the four of us, Loki and Bucky began having their own conversation, leaving Steve and I with a comfortable silence that fell between the two of us. As we gazed up at the stage together in anticipation for the upcoming show that was sure to be put on, I could feel his eyes on me. Loki made a habit of doing the same thing early in our childhood, before he even began courting me, but it remained something he did even after so long together. He would always watch me. It was never in a way that made me uncomfortable, but it was the same reason I watched him, to memorize every little piece of him, how the rays of the sun sat so delicately upon his eyelashes, how his slender fingers would swim through his raven black hair when he pushed it back into place, how every smile started at one corner of his mouth, how the tears rimmed his perfect blue eyes whenever he read something I wrote for him, or how his eyebrows pulled together in fascination whenever he looked at me. I committed every piece of him to memory just in case there was a day when he wasn’t mine, when his body returned home. Though I wished for us to meet our end together, I knew that one of us would outlive the other, and my selfish dream was that he would be the one to do so. I couldn’t bear a life without him, so even if he went before me, I wouldn’t be far behind.

As I felt Steve’s eyes on me, I also felt the familiar warmth of Loki’s gaze as well. His conversation with Bucky had become a conversation about me, and my suspicions were confirmed when I felt the unfamiliar eyes of the soldier on me again. I glanced over at Steve in an attempt to keep myself from blushing at the attention that I was getting. As soon as I turned my head to interact with Steve, our eyes connected, and a blush rose to his cheeks almost immediately. It was exactly what happened when Loki and I first began our relationship. He would be caught in the act of studying me, and his cheeks would flush with color in his bashfulness. It became less of an occurrence the longer we were together, but there were times when it presented itself once more. Steve glanced down at the ground, trying to seem like he wasn’t watching me only seconds prior. I smiled to myself, thinking about how endearing it was, but what he did next was even more shocking and endearing. He extended his hand with the paper bag filled with popcorn in an attempt to offer some to me.

That was the moment I knew.

That was the single moment I figured out exactly who Steve was, almost as if I could see straight into his very soul. It was one of the purest, most beautiful things I had ever seen in all my life. The innocence and innate goodness he had within him made me want to cry. There were only a handful of moments in my life that left me so emotionally overwhelmed, whether by the sheer beauty I witnessed or sorrow I felt, that left me unable to contain my tears. That was one of those moments. It felt like Steve and I were just made to find our way to one another, like we were created for the soul purpose to run into each other at some point, but the reason was unclear. With Loki, our bond with each other was clear, but with Steve, I didn’t understand it. Why us? Why him? As I tried to sort through it, he maintained his outstretched hand. I gave a polite nod and collected a few of the pieces of popcorn, maintaining eye contact with him and trying to suppress the smile that only continued to grow on my face.

Knowing that the only way to silence the parade of questions through my mind was to talk to him, I ate the popcorn in my hand and spoke, “what are you doing out here on a night like tonight? What brings you to the expo?” I asked, looking for any way to stop falling into a platonic type of love with him. It was the strangest, most unexpected feeling, but I could feel the love within me growing for him with every passing second. It was as if my soul recognized his, and I couldn’t help it.

He shrugged his shoulders, “well, it’s Bucky’s last night as a free man before he ships out. You know, he’s my best friend in the world, so when he wanted me to come out, how could I say no?” he asked, trying to minimize his act of kindness toward his friend. He forced himself to be uncomfortable just to make his friend happy. That was love, pure and untainted love. I smiled as he continued, “it’s not really my cup of tea, though. I’m not really into crowds, but I know it’ll make Bucky happy.”

Nodding my head, I reached out and grasped his arm, “everyone needs someone like that in their lives. He’s lucky to have you.”

He shook his head, not fully convinced by my words, “I think it’s the other way around. I’d be nowhere without Bucky. He’s the only family I have left after my mom died. He’s like a brother to me. I owe him everything. The least I could do was come out with him tonight,” he spoke, his voice soft and full of sincerity. Suddenly, a wide smile formed on his lips and he cast his gaze to the ground once more as a blush overcame his cheeks, “I mean, I got to meet you out of the deal, so it wasn’t all bad,” he complimented me with a quivering voice before trying to laugh off his clear embarrassment. I felt the heat rise to my cheeks as I realized just how genuine the compliment was, and I couldn’t help but step closer to him. It wasn’t a romantic gesture, and I didn’t take his compliment as a flirtatious one; all I wanted was to feel closer to the warmth his very essence provided. He was like the light of the sun-all encompassing, bright, and warm.

Before I could respond to Steve’s remark, the voice of a female announcer silenced the crowd, “ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Howard Stark!” she announced, her voice leaving the audience even more lively than before. As the crowd began to cheer and applaud, the man who I presumed to be Howard Stark, the man of the hour, sauntered onto the stage wearing a tuxedo, a top hat, and a grin. The women on the stage all presented him, holding their arms out as he passed by them. One of the brunette girls stepped out of line to take his hat and trade off the microphone she had in her hand. As he took it, he wrapped his free arm around her shoulders and pulled her close before pressing his lips to hers in a quick, suggestive kiss. Once he wiped the lipstick from his lips, he spoke into the microphone, his voice echoing throughout the calming crowd, “ladies and gentlemen, what if I told you that in just a few short years, your automobile won’t even have to touch the ground at all?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

The two girls Bucky and Steve arrived with were two of the many people in the audience who covered their mouths and gasped. Loki and I shot a knowing glance at one another that this was no new technology to us, as Asgardians had perfected similar technology so long ago. However, it was a remarkable achievement for Midgardians to be making. I turned my gaze back at Howard Stark as the women who once stood in front of the car pulled the wheels off of it and walked away with them. He glanced out at the audience, holding the microphone up to his lips, “with Stark gravitic reversion technology, you’ll be able to do just that,” he promised before stepping aside and allowing everyone in the audience a clear view of the spectacle that was about to take place. With the flip of a switch and the press of a button, the car began hovering above the stage with a gentle hum. I glanced around at the small group I was with to see that everyone wore looks of pure astonishment at the idea of flying cars. No matter how advanced our technology was, Loki was still impressed by the humans, just as I was. They showed great promise, and that was one of the many reasons why we swore to protect them.

Howard’s eyes scanned the crowd as he looked truly proud of what he had accomplished. I watched him intently as everyone else watched the car. All I could do was study how his pride grew more and more as he witnessed what kind of reactions he could elicit with his own genius. Suddenly, without warning, his eyes connected with mind, and his scanning of the audience stopped as those brown orbs focused on me. They felt familiar, like we had met before, like I knew him from another lifetime. I sensed something within these humans that felt surreal, like I could have been dreaming it. I had such an intense connection already to Steve, and I knew Bucky on a level that should have been impossible, given that we had only spoken a handful of words to one another. Then, there was Howard. All we shared was a prolonged moment of eye contact, but something within me came to life in that moment, and I knew that this would be the beginning of something. What that something was, though, I had no clue. All I knew was that Howard and I-like Steve and I, or like Bucky and I-would be bound by a silken cord that was strong as a chain of steel that would never break.

The one thing that pulled our gaze from each other was the sudden crash that came from behind him, and my eyes found the car now on the floor where it had once been hovering over. The crowd gasped but slowly started to clap, and I did the same. It was a true accomplishment, regardless of how long the car managed to hover. He was the first Midgardian to discover that technology, and while there was no way he would be the last to tamper with it, he made waves on that night. He chuckled into the microphone, laughing off his “failure” before speaking, “I did say a few years, didn’t I?” he asked, his eyes flickering to mine again before winking at me.

As the expo continued, Howard showed off more impressive technology that he was working on, but nothing was more impressive than his persistence, considering he didn’t even know who I was. Every chance he got, it seemed like he caught my gaze, and the playfulness would sneak into his brown orbs. I could sense a childlike wonder about him, something I hadn’t experienced much, especially not with the Midgardians. However, Howard seemed to exude those playful, childlike qualities just as much as his confidence and self-assured attitude. Once Howard’s portion of the expo was finished and the crowd applauded him, I felt the sudden absence of Steve’s warmth as he broke away from the group without a word. I wondered to myself if something had happened that upset him, or if he just needed to be alone. Bucky smiled to himself, “hey, Steve, what do you say we treat these girls to…” his voice trailed off as he turned around to see that Steve was no longer present. He sighed to himself, and I could sense his distress. I knew that he only wanted a night with his friend, especially considering the hell he was about to walk into.

Then, there were screams.

[bloomsoftly]

stranger than fiction, pt. 1

pairing: darcy/steve (shieldshock)

rating: g (for now, at least)

it’s been (longer than) a while, but i’ve been working on a commission for @fudebusho! it’ll be at least 7,500 words in total, if anyone’s wondering.

for the record, the premise to this story was actually an idea of @littleplebe my love and muse, and all credit for the creativity goes to her. she’s the absolute best. also a million thanks to @zephrbabe for the alpha read--she’s the reason i’m posting part one now.

September 2013

With a heavy sigh, Steve slid his key into the door of his Washington, D.C. apartment. One slight turn of his wrist and he was trudging inside, kicking it shut behind him. He just couldn’t bring himself to care about the muddy print his combat boots left against the wood, dark and accusing in an otherwise pristine apartment.

Clean, and cold. The chill seeped into his bones, casting his thoughts into a dark spiral.

He missed New York. Brooklyn—even with its black-gray grime and crowded streets—was permanently fixed in his memory as warm smiles, honest people. Home. Home, and a century in the past.

“C’mon, Steve,” he chastised himself. “You’re never going back there. Gotta stop living in the past.” That’s what everyone was always telling him, anyway. Still, he found himself standing in front of the pictures of his old life—Peggy, Bucky—without ever giving his legs permission to move.

He reached out, hand shaking and heart breaking as it always did. Just before his fingertips could brush the glass, though, he found the strength to pull away. Turning his back on the past, Steve shook himself.

A shower, he thought. He’d feel better after washing away the sweat and grime of training another day away with the S.T.R.I.K.E. team. There was nothing wrong with him that a little steam couldn’t fix, surely.

It wasn’t until he’d showered and changed into comfortable lounge clothes (a major benefit of the 21st century, he’d readily admit) that he noticed the book on his bedside table. A garishly bright red bow was stuck to the top of it, and he wondered how he’d missed it on the way to his shower. From the bathroom doorway, he could see the letters SGR prominently embossed in gold lettering across the front.

He’d been alive (both times) long enough to be more than a little suspicious—but then again, he was in possession of more than one overly-sneaky teammate. And on that thought, he pulled out his phone and texted Natasha.

Do you know anything about the book in my apartment?

Her reply was immediate.

Well hello to you, too.

I saw you an hour ago, Nat. Do you?

I don’t know what you’re talking about, she replied.

Off-kilter as always when it came to the redhead, Steve waited. He wasn’t sure whether she was toying with him or genuinely didn’t know. One minute passed, then two, and just as his suspicion of the book was about to take over, his phone dinged.

It’s not from me, Nat said. The little dots signaling her typing appeared, then disappeared. Steve huffed in annoyance, ready to throw the damn thing across the room when it vibrated in his hand.

But if someone were to hypothetically have the ability to access surveillance of your apartment, they would reassure you that the book is nothing to be worried about.

All worries about the book disappeared from Steve’s mind.

Surveillance of my apartment???

…

Natasha. What surveillance of my apartment.

Outside cameras, from the street. Chill, Cap.

He dropped the phone onto the bed with slightly more force than necessary and stomped over to pull down the window shades. His phoned dinged once more, but he ignored it.

Hours later, frustrated and more exhausted than ever after thoroughly searching his apartment for bugs (he hadn’t found any, not that he’d really expected to; SHIELD far outclassed him in stealth and covert operations), Steve gave up and crawled into bed. It wasn’t until he reached to turn the light off that he remembered the cause of the whole fiasco in the first place.

He scowled at the book. “Well, let’s see if you were worth all the trouble,” he grumped, reaching over to haul it into his lap. With absolutely no ceremony, he opened it to a random page.

It was completely blank. With a deepening frown, he thumbed through the remaining pages. They were all blank.

“What a waste,” he groaned as he tossed it aside, remembering at the last second that it was most likely a gift from someone he knew and he should be gentle with it. Out of simple courtesy, if nothing else.

The lamp clicked off, glinting against the gold lettering as the light faded from the room. As Steve turned over and fell into a fatigued sleep, his last thought was at least I can use it to practice my sketches. If I ever have time, anyway.

(read more link here)

The sun was bright, and his neighbors were cheerful in spite of the bone-chilling wind that whistled and moaned its way down the street. Still, the frigid air was biting even through his coat and Steve was ready to escape inside to hot chocolate, sly jokes, and— there was someone waiting for him, wasn’t there? For a second, the street, the people, the buildings all lost their familiarity and he stood frozen in the middle of the sidewalk.

Steve shook it off, blaming the cold for his momentary confusion. He needed to get home.

The bright red door was cheerful and welcoming, a smile tugging at his lips as it always did when he saw it. The door knob turned beneath his hand, pulled backward with more force than he’d intended. And there was suddenly a man standing there, grinning that heart-achingly familiar grin and smiling with familiar blue eyes.

“Took you long enough, punk!” Bucky clapped him solidly on the shoulder, turning to let Steve in the door. Steve, who was frozen on the doorstep, stuck between warm familiarity and paralyzing shock.

As soon as he saw his friend’s face, Bucky’s expression morphed into pure concern. “Are you alright, Stevie?” he asked, leaning in to brace Steve’s shoulder with a stronger grip. “Are you having a—a moment?”

Steve blinked, then shook his head and let the world slide into focus once more. “Yeah.” He cleared his throat, then continued, “Yeah, I think I was.”

Bucky smiled again, but it was softer this time. Sadder. “It happens, buddy. Think you can shake it off and enjoy the rest of the evening? Your girl has us all decked out for the incoming storm, but if you need space for yourself you know she won’t mind.”

“No, I’m fine,” Steve replied automatically, before his brain caught up to the rest of Bucky’s words.

His girl?

“What are the two of you old grumps doing, letting all the cold in like that?” A feminine voice called. The soft thud of socked feet against wood echoed through the hallway. “Please don’t tell me this is the lead-in to one of those ‘in my days’ jokes…”

And there she was, striding toward him like a vision. He couldn’t move, dumbstruck by the beauty of her, the way her eyes glowed, her lips stretched in an easy grin. Melting under her confident touch as she stripped the scarf from his neck and stretched up to meet his mouth with hers in a welcoming kiss.

In the corner of his eye, Steve saw Bucky offer a sly wink and a mocking salute before he pivoted on his heel and headed back towards the rest of the townhome. It didn’t seem all that important to keep an eye on his best friend anymore, not when his arms were full of warm, welcoming woman. This woman, his brain insisted.

“Steve?” She asked, pulling away to stare up into his eyes. Even then, he couldn’t seem to catch his breath. “Are you alright?”

He woke up with a gasp, drenched in sweat and breathing like he’d just finished a marathon. Steve glared wildly about the room, looking for the phantoms of his dream. He ached with missing them, even though he’d just woken up. Bucky wasn’t there—he never was, when Steve woke up—but he closed his eyes against the pain all the same. At least this time he wasn’t tormented with images of his best friend’s fall. In all honesty, Steve didn’t know which of the dreams hurt more—watching his friend’s death, or dreaming of future, happier days that would never have the opportunity to come to pass.

But it wasn’t just Bucky. Steve’s thumb pressed to his lip as he remembered the woman. His girl, Bucky had called her. Long, dark hair with bright laughing eyes and lips made for him to worship. He reveled in the memory of the kiss, almost sure that he could feel the press of her mouth against his, the sweetness of her breath as she breathed him in.

His eyes shot open, his breath heaving in renewed confusion. Bucky’s presence he could understand—there was nothing he wanted more than to get his best friend back, to erase what happened to him. But the woman—who was she?

Who was she, and why hadn’t he dreamed of Peggy instead?

Steve was tugged from his internal crisis by the blaring of his phone. Another mission. Steve vowed to shove any more thoughts of his dream aside until later, as he always did, for when he had time and energy to deal with them.

As he rushed through the room to gear up and head out, he missed the soft glowing of the book, still perched at a precarious angle on his bedside table.

also on ao3; kudos and comments make the world go ‘round. ❤️

[badchoosey]

Perfect Match, Book One. Chapter 1: True Love, Guaranteed

You walk down a bustling Brooklyn street, the sounds of the city humming all around you. 

Karma: (Hope I’m not late!)

Soft music plays as you step into the hip venue of an upscale art show. 

Karma: Nadia! Hey!

You spot your cousin, Nadia, among the crowd. Her face lights up as she approaches with arms outstretched and wraps you in a tight hug!

Nadia: Karma! I’m so happy you made it!

Karma: Are you kidding? The opening of your new art collection? I wouldn’t miss it for the world. 

Nadia: Honestly, I have no idea how it blew up. But who am I to argue with the review of an art critic?

Karma: You mean glowing reviews from dozens of art critics?

Nadia: Oh, shush! Anyway, that’s not what I was excited about. 

Karma: Then what is it?

Nadia: I want you to meet my boyfriend!

Nadia waves over to a handsome man from across the room…

Nadia: Steve! Come say hi to my cousin!

Steve: Hey! You must be Karma! I’ve heard so much about you. I’ve been dying to meet you for weeks, but I’ve been busy at the animal shelter. 

Karma: Oh! Do you work there?

Nadia: Steve’s an investment banker. But he volunteers at an animal shelter. Amazing, right?

Steve: Ah, it’s nothing. I’m just a guy who likes to do some good in his free time. Nadia here is the amazing one. The way her art makes me feel… It’s indescribable. 

Nadia: Aww, sweetie!

Steve: Now, if you’ll excuse me, Karma, I’ve got to replenish the hors d’oeuvres. We’ll talk later! My mini-quiches are going fast!

Steve gives Nadia a kiss on the cheek and hustles off. Nadia sighs, beaming. 

Nadia: Did I mention he bakes? He bakes. So… What do you think?

Karma: No one is that perfect. I’m calling bull. How much are you paying him?

Nadia: Ha, ha. Don’t be mad that I’ve found the ultimate boyfriend!

Karma: Really though. Where did you find this guy?

Nadia: I met him through a matchmaking service. They asked me some questions, then found the perfect man for me! They’re very exclusive. Super selective with their clientele. But I’m sure they’d accept you in a heartbeat!

Nadia reaches into her purse and hands you a business card. 

Nadia: You should try them out!

Karma: True love, guaranteed? I’ll believe it when I see it!

Nadia: That’s not a nooo…

Karma: I mean… What the hell? I’ll give it a shot. You’ve piqued my curiosity.

Just then, a voice calls to you from the crowd… 

Damien: Don’t tell me Nadia has got you drinking this ‘matchmaking’ service Kool-Aid too, Karma. You of all people don’t need some fancy matchmaking service. 

Your good friend Damien saunters over, seamlessly switching his empty champagne glass with a fresh one from a server’s tray. 

Karma: I’ll take that as a compliment. But you can’t argue with the results. Steve seems like a catch. 

Damien: Yeah, I talked to Mr. Perfect on the way in. Haven’t found any flaws or dark secrets yet. But give me time. 

Nadia: Really, D? We’ve known you for like, four years. I thought you would’ve dropped the tough, cynical act by now. 

Damien: I’m a private investigator. I catch liars and cheaters for a living. ‘Cynical’ is basically my job. 

Nadia: Don’t listen to him, Karma. He’s like the Grinch when it comes to love. Eros is the best matchmaking service ever! I’ll schedule you an appointment for a consultation!

Damien: Yeah! A vague, secretive company providing little to no contact information… What could go wrong? Just keep your guard up, Karma… Maybe bring pepper spray, or hold your keys like claw. 

Nadia: Ignore him. It’ll be amazing! I know you’re gonna find someone perfect for you!

Karma: Can’t wait!

Later that week, you arrive outside the address Nadia gave you. A sleek, unlabeled complex towers above you…

Karma: (Okay, this is a little weird. Not so much as a logo on the door. But the address looks right…)

You push through the glass doors to enter a warm, inviting lobby. A stunning woman strides gracefully across the room, the steps of her heels echoing through the halls. 

Cecile: Karma Park? My name is Cecile Contreras. I’m the Head of Matchmaking here at Eros. Welcome! You got here on the J train, didn’t you? I hope getting to the new Quincy Station wasn’t too much of a hassle. 

Karma: Uh, thank you… How did you know--

Cecile: We’ve done our homework. Eros has been expecting you, after all. Your cousin Nadia gave you a glowing referral. I’m excited to begin. Please, follow me. 

You follow Cecile through the pristine halls of Eros Incorporated…

Karma: I’m still a little overwhelmed by this whole thing. How can you guarantee true love?

Cecile: A good question. Love is a complex thing. But here at Eros, we’ve used the latest in behavioural science and technology to devise the most sophisticated matchmaking system in the world. 

Karma: So you think you’ve got people figure out… with some algorithm?

Cecile: Your personality, your wants, your needs… All of that makes you unique, like a puzzle piece. But somewhere out there is a piece that fits flawlessly with you. An exact complement. A perfect match. Our technology helps sort through the pieces to find yours. Simply put, the human heart is precisely out expertise. 

Karma: Sounds like a sales pitch. I’m not so easily won over by the slogans and buzz words. 

Cecile: Touche. But we stand by every claim. Give us a chance to convince you, and I promise you’ll be satisfied. 

Karma: Well… I’m already here. 

She leads you into a peaceful, softly lit room. A sweet, floral aroma and calming music fill the space around you. 

Cecile: Welcome to our consultation room. This is where we’ll be conducting our Perfect Match questionnaire. 

Karma: Is this the part where I tell you my middle name, my hobbies, and where I went to high school?

Cecile: Nadia sent us the personality profile you filled out, so we already have the basic information we need. Today will be all about finding out what you’re looking for in a match. 

Karma: Oh… Okay… So why does this place look more like a day spa than a quiz room?

Cecile: Oh, I assure you, our questionnaire is more than just a quiz. It’s a comprehensive interview, monitoring not just your words, but your biorhythms, your excitement, your emotional engagement… As such, we want you to be perfectly at ease. 

She invites you to sit on a reclining chair in the middle of the room, and instantly your mind drifts as you sink into the shockingly comfortable seat. Cecile sits on a chair beside you with a tablet in hand. 

Cecile: Simply place your hand on the palm scanner, and we can begin. 

You place your hand on the smooth surface of the chair’s arm. It hums and glows, and soon a soft chime sounds in sync with your own heartbeat. The lights in the room dim as your mind drifts, peacefully… 

Cecile: Now, relax. Close your eyes… focus on the sound of my voice… and speak from your heart…

Cecile taps on her tablet. You hear her voice from a distance as your eyes close… 

Cecile: I have twelve brief questions. Please answer as honestly as you can. 

You’re on a first date. Which makes you want a second:

Talking for hours about everything?

Being intrigued and left wanting more?

Karma: Being intrigued and left wanting more. 

Cecile: When traveling abroad, your perfect match would rather take you:

To explore ancient ruins, just the two of you

To a lively festival, bustling with locals

Karma: To explore ancient ruins, just the two of you

Cecile: You’re transported into a fantasy novel. Which character is more attractive?

A magnetic ruler, leading and inspiring the people

A silent, formidable warrior, fighting evil from the shadows

Karma: A silent, formidable warrior, fighting evil from the shadows.

Cecile: Your favorite childhood playground is being torn down. Your perfect match:

Takes you there for a farewell picnic

Steal you a piece of it to keep forever

Karma: Steals me a piece to keep forever. 

Cecile: Who do you imagine your partner hung out with in high school?

A close-knit group of friends

A rowdy bunch of outcasts

Karma: A rowdy bunch of outcasts

Cecile: Your match appears in a dream with an animal companion. What kind is it?

A fierce, wild hawk

A loyal, noble golden retriever

Karma: A fierce, wild hawk. 

Cecile: Complete the sentence. My perfect match can always:

Makes me laugh until I cry

Say the right thing to comfort me when I’m down

Karma: Say the right thing to comfort me when I’m down

Cecile: What would your ideal partner sing during a karaoke date?

A love song dedicated to you

A ridiculous theme song, just to tease you

Karma: A love song dedicated to me

Cecile: Your perfect match has just defeated a supervillain. What do they do next?:

Righteously condemn the villain’s actions

Spout a witty catchphrase

Karma: Righteously condemn the villain’s actions

Cecile: Your travel plans have fallen through. What does your partner do?

They point blindly to a map, and plan a new adventure on the fly

They have you covered no matter what, backup plan and all

Karma: They have me covered no matter what, backup plan and all.

Cecile: How would your partner clear out a building full of zombies?:

They devise a brilliant plan and execute it flawlessly

They charge in, guns blazing!

Karma: They devise a brilliant plan, and execute it flawlessly.

Cecile: You’re at a casino, and your partner is winning big. Why is that?

They take big risks, and it pays off

They’re savvy and calculating, and play the odds

Karma: They’re savvy and calculating, and play the odds. 

Cecile: You’re doing wonderfully, Karma. We have enough to find you a suitable match, but first, I’d like to ask if there’s anything in particular you’re looking for… I’m going to list a few traits that your potential match may possess… Let me know if any of them resonate strongly with you. For those who prioritize physical intimacy, we have many candidates with massage skills. We can refine our search to animal lovers and pet owners, who are often compassionate and kind. If you’re drawn to creative, artistic souls, we can match you with musicians. Last but not least, many people seek the culture and intelligence of someone who speaks many languages. Which of these appeals to you?

Karma: I’m looking for someone with a magic touch. 

Cecile: An excellent choice. Would you like to distinguish your preferences further? Remember, there’s no shame in being picky when it comes to love. You’re absolutely worth it. 

Karma: I’m fine with my selection. 

The lights in the room brighten, and you are suddenly aware of your surroundings again. Cecile looks up from her note-taking and smiles warmly at you. 

Cecile: That concludes the questionnaire. Not so bad, was it? Based on your responses, we’ll determine which of our sixteen personality types best describes your Perfect Match. I’ll have your results in a moment…

Cecile taps on the tablet before turning it to show you the display… 

“Your perfect match is an Activist… - mysterious, rebellious, sincere, logical - … Someone with passion, drive, and vision, an Activist fights to change the world… and will fight just as hard for you!”

Karma: Wow. Just like that? Are you sure this type is the match for me?

Cecile: Skepticism is completely understandable. But I encourage you to trust the system. I think you’ll find that our system may surprise you. 

Karma: Well… I guess I could give it a shot. So… What next?

Cecile: Next? Simply leave the rest to us. We’ll find the most compatible partner for you in our database and arrange your first date. You’ll be hearing from us soon!

Karma: Sounds like a plan. And what happens after that?

Cecile flashes you a wink. 

Cecile: Why, true love, of course. 

You step out of the Eros building into the brisk night air, the New York City skyline towering above you. 

Damien: Made it out of the Mystery Company in one piece, huh?

Karma: Damien? What are you doing here?

Damien leans against his old muscle car, pulling his jacket tight against the cold. 

Damien: Check your phone, lovebird. I called you a couple times. Wanted to make sure you hadn’t joined a cult, or bought a timeshare or anything… And also offer you a ride home. 

Karma: You just wanted the dirt on this Mystery Company, huh?

Damien smiles. 

Damien: Wow… You know me too well, Karma. Come on. 

Soon, you’re watching the city lights streak by through the passenger window of Damien’s car as you catch him up on your day. 

Damien: So, really… this Eros thing. You’d think you’d just swipe left and right like other apps. No, you know, go to a day spa for a fancy interview. 

Karma: Maybe it’s a little… unconventional, but it seemed legit to me. 

Damien; Unconventional is an understatement. But hey, whatever makes you happy. 

Damien pulls the car to a stop outside your apartment building.

Damien: … I actually mean that too. I want you to be happy. 

Karma: Oh, really? No sarcasm this time? No snarky retort?

You catch Damien’s eye as a slight smirk spreads across his face…

Damien: Despite my unflappably cool facade… I do have the capacity to care about someone. Occasionally. 

Karma: Don’t get sappy on me now, Damien. 

Damien: Wouldn’t dream of it. 

One afternoon that weekend, you’re lounging in your apartment when a knock sounds on the door. You open it to find… 

Nadia: Karma! I’m guessing you haven’t left your apartment today. 

Karma: What makes you say that?

Nadia: Because if you stepped outside, you would have noticed this on your doorstep!

Nadia hands you a pristine display of flowers with an envelope attached! You open the card inside…

Karma: It’s from Eros! ‘Dear Karma, True love awaits! We’ve found someone special for you, and have already arranged your first date. At the end of the night, we’ll survey you both separately. If you both feel a connection, you’ll be declared a Match! You need only come with an open heart… and leave the rest to destiny.’ 

Nadia: Well, I came here hoping to ask how your appointment went, but I guess I have my answer! I remember when I got my letter from Eros… I was so excited! This is gonna be amazeballs! Right?!

Karma: I think there better be a money-back guarantee. 

Nadia: Ugh, you’ve been hanging around Damien too much. Let yourself be hopeful! This match they’ve found is going to be great for you!

Karma: Let’s hope so. The details on the card say that Eros has scheduled our first date… For tonight!

Nadia: Wait, what? We’ve got to get you ready!

Soon, Nadia is leading you on a last-minute shopping trip. She pores over the card from Eros as you browse through outfits. 

Nadia: Tonight could be the start of your beautiful, perfect love story, Karma! You’ve got to make a good impression! Luckily, Eros has you covered!

Karma: What do you mean?

Nadia This card from Eros includes some style suggestions based on your Perfect Match’s taste! Perfectly tailored to impress him!

Karma: They can do that?

Your cousin pulls an outfit from the rack…

Nadia: This one! It fits the suggestion perfectly! Try it on!

Karma: I think I’m just going to go as I am…

Nadia: Well… if this person really is your perfect match, they should love you regardless! I trust in the system!

As the afternoon goes on and the sun starts to set, you finish prepping with Nadia… When a sudden knock at the front door sounds! You hurry over to the living room with Nadia in tow!

Nadia: Ohmygod, ohmygod… He’s here. Answer it, quick! Tonight will be the start of your beautiful storybook romance!

You try to calm your cousin as you open the door…

Karma: Relax, Karma. It doesn’t have to be a ‘storybook romance’. No one is expecting this night to be--

Hayden: Hi, I’m Hayden. You must be Karma….

Karma: I… um… wow.

[thevampsupdate]

As they drop their new EP, we sit down with The Vamps to discuss their ever-burgeoning fan base, creative licence and and 5 years headlining the 02.

I’ve just walked into the studio in North London to meet The Vamps, but when I arrive I’m swiftly told that they’ve gone AWOL. The rumours on-set are that they’ve nipped to the local vintage shop to pick up some cut-price garms and trinkets – no, seriously! As I sit down and wait for their return, I peer out of the window and see there’s an ever-growing gaggle of teenage girls in the car park, all eager to get a glimpse of their idols. I’m kind of baffled as to how the boys have managed to make it out of the building unnoticed…

There’s few people that fully get to experience the hysteria of a mass fandom. To us normal folk, it’s completely unimaginable, and we somewhat take for granted a “free” life, where you can go from A to B without being chased by a gaggle of devoted teens. For The Vamps though, this has been their life for nearly a decade, and they seemingly take it in their stride. At this point in their career, they’re global stars with an international fanbase. They’ve released 4 top 10 albums, with their two most recent releases bagging the top spot, and they consistently attract over 10m monthly listeners on Spotify. It was even recently announced that they’re the first band to headline the O2 for five consecutive years – a pretty respectable feat for a group whose members are yet to reach the age of 30 and “totally crazy”, according to Connor. But despite their impressive trajectory, they’re still very much the grounded quartet they’ve been since the beginning. Let’s be honest, their quick trip to the local thrift shop seems like the perfect evidence to back up that claim…

When they do finally arrive back on set some 30 minutes later, equipped with bulging bags of musky shirts and antique furniture, they greet me like one of their own. In fact, I’m quick to recognise that everyone on-set is met with the same level of appreciation and respect. They’re humble and content in their surroundings, and they communicate amongst one another like any other group of male mates in their early twenties (sans the Ibiza-ready ‘bants’ and beer chugging).

This is the first bit of press they’ve done in a while. After a short break from music (and for bandmate James, a stint in the jungle!), the band are set to return with their best work yet, a new EP named Missing You, which includes a collaboration with Krept & Konan and on which they’ve had the most creative control. “We have just released a song called “All The Lies,” James tells me when we finally sit down to talk, trinkets safely tucked away in the dressing room. “It’s the first song we’ve released in around eight months. This single comes ahead of our EP, which is in conjunction with our tour that is setting off this month.”

“We’ve been in the band for a long time and we have definitely grown and expanded in terms of our passions, talents and musical abilities,” Tristan chips in. “Being a creative, you are always seeking methods of improvement and all of us are like sponges, we absorb inspiration and good energy but we also take criticism well and try to adapt our skills from there.”

Despite insisting that this EP is the one that they’ve had free reign on, they say that their musical output prior to Missing You has always been from their own creative vision. Over the course of their career, Brad has been in charge of writing responsibilities while Tristan has been honing in on his prowess as a producer. They tell me that they can often be found holed up in their very own self-built studio at their shared home, working on fresh beats for the band.

For the four of them, it’s about continuing to create music that can be enjoyed by their dedicated fans. The Vampettes (as they’re called) have stood by them since their inception in 2012, and while they retain their original fan following, they also continue to attract the next generation of pop lovers who discover their sound. I imagine that with any great following, there comes an equally great level of responsibility; both to consistently serve up decent music, but also in being a role model.

“I don’t think it ever gets normal,” Brad admits when I ask him how he handles the ever-burgeoning fan base (which manifests in 6.5m followers across Twitter and Instagram on their band account, and a further 4m on their personal accounts). “It’s really easy to dehumanise people who are in the public eye, so hopefully by being ourselves, it shows that we are just ordinary people with dreams. [For the fans] to still have the same tenacity towards us after eight years is beyond amazing and insane. You can get swept up in it, but you have to be grateful that these people are supporting your passion because they believe in you. It’s a lucky thing to have.”

Despite their tenacious nature, it doesn’t leave much room for the boys to make mistakes. It’s easy to forget that they’re still young and only human, we’re all guilty of doing something we regret, especially on social media. “I believe everybody in the public eye has a responsibility to portray what they believe is the right way to do things, however your moral compass sits, you have to be honest with no filters,” Brad muses. And in terms of maintaining their crystal clean personas, so far so good.

Their ability to stay on the straight an narrow is in part due to them using music as an emotional outlet. Brad even describing music making as his very own “therapy”. For the fans, Missing You will probably be their most relatable and emotionally-stricken work yet. With key themes that touch upon their own relationship woes and feelings of worthlessness and nostalgia, it’s a personal record where every word has been pondered over and considered. Entirely written and co-produced by the band, it’s clear to see that this is the start of their next chapter.

As they unleash Missing You on the world, I wonder what it feels like for them to acknowledge just how far they’ve come. “It’s actually bizarre!” James confesses. “To have all these opportunities and exciting things happen is beyond my imagination. We almost forget that this is what we do for a living because we love it so much. It’s hard to reflect because everything happens really quickly, but we have had some amazing things happen to us over the past eight years for sure.” For Tristan, it’s about looking to the future rather than looking back: “I feel like now we are established enough to do what we want in a relaxed manner and really focus on putting quality music out for our supporters without the pressure.” Amen to that.

[chooseywoozy]

Perfect Match, Book One: Chapter 1 - True Love, Guaranteed

(NOW PLAYING AS KARMA)

You walk down a bustling Brooklyn street, the sounds of the city humming all around you.

Karma: (Hope I’m not late!)

Soft music plays as you step into the hip venue of an upscale art show.

Karma: Nadia! Hey!

You spot your cousin, Nadia, among the crowd. Her face lights up as she approaches with arms outstretched and wraps you in a tight hug!

Nadia: Karma! I’m so happy you made it!

Karma: Are you kidding? The opening of your new art collection? I wouldn’t miss it for the world.

Nadia: Honestly, I have no idea how it blew up. But who am I to argue with the review of an art critic?

Karma: You mean glowing reviews from dozens of art critics?

Nadia: Oh, shush! Anyway, that’s not what I was excited about.

Karma: Then what is it?

Nadia: I want you to meet my boyfriend!

Nadia waves over a handsome man from across the room…

Nadia: Steve! Come say hi to my cousin!

Steve: Hey! You must be Karma! I’ve heard so much about you. I’ve been dying to meet you for weeks, but I’ve been busy at the animal shelter.

Karma: Oh! Do you work there?

Nadia: Steve’s an investment banker. But he volunteers at an animal shelter. Amazing, right?

Steve: Ah, it’s nothing. I’m just a guy who likes to do some good in his free time. Nadia here is the amazing one. The way her art makes me feel… It’s indescribable.

Nadia: Aww, sweetie!

Steve: Now, if you’ll excuse me, Karma, I’ve got to replenish the hors d’oeuvres. We’ll talk later! My mini-quiches are going fast!

Steve gives Nadia a kiss on the cheek and hustles off. Nadia sighs, beaming.

Nadia: Did I mention he bakes? He bakes. So… what do you think?

Karma: He’s too good to be true… what’s the catch? Comeon. Be honest. There’s gotta be something wrong with him. Secret criminal past? Crippling gambling debt?

Nadia: No! Nothing like that!

Karma: Then what’s your secret?

Nadia: I met him through a matchmaking service. They asked me some questions, then found the perfect man for me! They’re very exclusive. Super selective with their clientele. But I’m sure they’d accept you in a heartbeat!

Nadia reaches into her purse and hands you a business card.

Nadia: You should try them out!

Karma: True love, guaranteed? Sounds amazing. Sign me up!

Nadia: Yes! I was hoping you’d think so!

Karma: Are you kidding? It sounds great!

Just then, a voice calls to you from the crowd.

Damien: Looking good, Karma. Next time warn me when you plan to show up dressed like a celebrity. I would’ve brought my good suit.

Karma: Not so bad yourself, Damien.

Your good friend Damien saunters over, seamlessly switching his empty champagne glass with a fresh one from a server’s tray.

Damien: And don’t tell me Nadia has got you drinking this ‘matchmaking service’ Kool-Aid too. You of all people don’t need some fancy matchmaking service.

Karma: I’ll take that as a compliment. But you can’t argue with the results. Steve seems like a catch.

Damien: Yeah, I talked to Mr. Perfect on the way in. Haven’t found any flaws or dark secrets yet. But give me time.

Nadia: Really, D? We’ve known you for like, four years. I thought you would’ve dropped the tough, cynical act by now.

Damien: I’m a private investigator. I catch liars and cheaters for a living. ‘Cynical’ is basically my job.

Nadia: Don’t listen to him, Karma. He’s like the Grinch when it comes to love. Eros is the best matchmaking service ever! I’ll schedule you an appointment for a consultation!

Damien: Yeah! A vague, secretive company providing little to no contact information… What could go wrong? Just keep your guard up, Karma… Maybe bring pepper spray, or hold your keys like a claw.

Nadia: Ignore him. It’ll be amazing! I know you’re gonna find someone perfect for you!

Karma: Can’t wait!

Later that week, you arrive outside the address Nadia gave you. A sleek, unlabeled complex towers above you…

Karma: (Okay, this is a little weird. Not so much as a logo on the door. But the address looks right…)

You push through the glass doors to enter a warm, inviting lobby. A stunning woman strides gracefully across the room, the steps of her heels echoing through the halls.

Cecile: Karma Park? My name is Cecile Contreras. I’m the Head of Matchmaking here at Eros. Welcome! You got here on the J train, didn’t you? I hope getting to the new Quincy Station wasn’t too much of a hassle.

Karma: Uh, thank you… How did you know--

Cecile: We’ve done our homework. Eros has been expecting you, after all. Your cousin Nadia gave you a glowing referral. I’m excited to begin. Please, follow me.

You follow Cecile through the pristine halls of Eros Incorporated.

Karma: I’m still a little overwhelmed by this whole thing. How can you guarantee true love?

Cecile: A good question. Love is a complex thing. But here at Eros, we’ve used the latest in behavioural science and technology to devise the most sophisticated matchmaking system in the world.

Karma: So you think you’ve got people figured out… with some algorithm?

Cecile: Your personality, your wants, your needs… All of that makes you unique, like a puzzle piece. But somewhere out there is a piece that fits flawlessly with you. An exact complement. A perfect match. Our technology helps sort through the pieces to find yours. Simply put, the human heart is precisely our expertise.

Karma: Really? Sounds like exactly what I need!

Cecile: So glad you feel that way! I can assure you, we’re just as excited as you are to help you find your match.

She leads you into a peaceful, softly lit room. A sweet, floral aroma and calming music fill the space around you.

Cecile: Welcome to our consultation room. This is where we’ll be conducting our Perfect Match questionnaire.

Karma: Is this the part where I tell you my middle name, my hobbies and where I went to high school?

Cecile: Nadia sent us the personality profile you filled out, so we already have the basic information we need. Today will be about finding out what you’re looking for in a match.

Karma: Oh… Okay… So why does this place look more like a day spa than a quiz room?

Cecile: Oh, I assure you, our questionnaire is more than just a quiz. It’s a comprehensive interview, monitoring not just your words, but your biorhythms, your excitement, your emotional engagement… As such, we want you to be perfectly at ease.

She invites you to sit on a reclining chair in the middle of the room, and instantly your mind drifts as you sink into the shockingly comfortable seat. Cecile sits on a chair beside you with a tablet in hand.

Cecile: Simply place your hand on the palm scanner, and we can begin.

You place your hand on the smooth surface of the chair’s arm. It hums and glows, and soon a soft chime sounds in sync with your own heartbeat. The lights in the room dims as your mind drifts, peacefully.

Cecile: Now, relax. Close your eyes… focus on the sound of my voice… and speak from your heart…

Cecile taps on her tablet. You hear her voice from a distance as your eyes close…

Cecile: First, some general questions. I’m going to show you six images. Tell me, which of these most closely resembles your preferred look in a match?

(Look 1)

Cecile: Wonderful. Next I have twelve brief questions. Please answer as honestly as you can…

One - When traveling abroad, your perfect match would rather take you… To a lively festival, bustling with locals.

Two - On a road trip with your partner, you’d prefer someone who… Trades anecdotes and engages in lively conversation.

Three - You’re transported into a fantasy novel. Which character is most attractive… A magnetic ruler, leading and inspiring the people.

Four - Who do you imagine your partner hung out with in high school… A close-knit group of friends.

Five - Your match appears in a dream with an animal companion. What kind is it… A fierce, wild hawk.

Six - Your partner is facing an unbeatable enemy. What strategy do they use… Fight dirty.

Seven - You have to be apart for a few months. Your perfect match… Sends you memes.

Eight - Your perfect match has just defeated a supervillain. What do they do next… Righteously condemn the villain’s action.

Nine - What would your perfect match give you for your birthday… Something they noticed you wanted but hadn’t asked for.

Ten - Your date orders cocktails for you at a bar. Which do they choose… A trendy new menu item that food critics are buzzing about.

Eleven - Your travel plans have fallen through. What does your partner do… They have you covered no matter what, backup plan and all.

Twelve - How would your partner clear out a building full of zombies… They devise a brilliant plan and execute it flawlessly.

Cecile: You’re doing wonderfully, Karma. We have enough to find you a suitable match, but first, I’d like to ask if there’s anything in particular you’re looking for… I’m going to list a few traits that your potential match may possess. Let me know if any of them resonate strongly with you. For those who prioritise physical intimacy, we have many candidates with massage skills. We can refine our search to animal lovers and pet owners, who are often compassionate and kind. If you’re drawn to creative, artistic souls, we can match you with musicians. Last but not least, many people seek the culture and intelligence of someone who speaks many languages. Which of these appeals to you?

Karma: The animal lover. My match must love animals.

Cecile: An excellent choice. Would you like to distinguish your preferences further? Remember, there’s no shame in being picky when it comes to love. You’re absolutely worth it.

Karma: I would like them to possess all of those qualities. Why settle for anything less?

The lights in the room brighten, and you are suddenly aware of your surroundings again. Cecile looks up from her note taking and smiles warmly at you.

Cecile: That concludes the questionnaire. Not so bad, was it? Based on your responses, we’ll determine which of our sixteen personality types best describes your Perfect Match. I’ll have your results in a moment…

Cecile taps on the tablet before turning it to show you the display…

Your perfect match is a… Leader - Outgoing, rebellious, sincere, loyal.

Brave, perceptive, and confident, the Leader is often turned to in times of crisis. As a romantic partner, this perfect match’s charisma can inspire in even the most challenging of times.

Karma: Wow. Just like that? This is just my type! I’d love to find someone like this.

Cecile: Glad to see that the system is working as intended!

Karma: So… What next?

Cecile: Next? Simply leave the rest to us. We’ll find the most compatible partner for you in our database and arrange your first date. You’ll be hearing from us soon!

Karma: Sounds like a plan. And what happens after that?

Cecile flashes you a wink.

Cecile: Why, true love, of course.

You step out of the Eros building into the brisk night air, the New York City skyline towering above you.

Damien: Made it out of the Mystery Company in one piece, huh?

Karma: Damien? What are you doing here?

Damien leans against his old muscle car, pulling his jacket tight against the cold.

Damien: Check your phone, lovebird. I called you a couple times. Wanted to make sure you hadn’t joined a cult, or bought a timeshare or anything… And also offer you a ride home.

Karma: Oh, really? You just wanted the dirt on this Mystery Company, huh?

Damien smiles.

Damien: Wow… You know me too well, Karma. Come on.

Soon, you’re watching the city lights streak by through the passenger window of Damien’s car as you catch him up on your day.

Damien: So, really… this Eros thing. You’d think you’d just swipe left and right like the other apps. Not, you know, go to a day spa for a fancy interview.

Karma: Maybe it’s a little… unconventional, but it seemed legit to me.

Damien: Unconventional is an understatement. But hey, whatever makes you happy.

Damien pulls the car to a stop outside your apartment building.

Damien: … I actually mean that too. I want you to be happy.

Karma: Oh really? No sarcasm this time? No snarky retort?

You catch Damien’s eye as a slight smirk spreads across his face…

Damien: Despite my unflappably cool facade… I do have the capacity to care about someone. Occasionally.

Karma: Don’t get sappy on my now, Damien.

Damien: Wouldn’t dream of it.

One afternoon that weekend, you’re lounging in your apartment when a knock sounds on the door. You open it to find…

Nadia: Karma! I’m guessing you haven’t left your apartment today.

Karma: What makes you say that?

Nadia: Because if you stepped outside, you would have noticed this on your doorstep!

Nadia hands you a pristine display of flowers with an envelope attached! You open the card inside…

Karma: It’s from Eros! ‘Dear Karma, True love awaits! We’ve found someone special for you, and have already arranged your first date. At the end of the night, we’ll survey you both separately. If you both feel a connection, you’ll be declared a Match! You need only come with an open heart… and leave the rest to destiny.’

Nadia: Well, I came here hoping to ask how your appointment went, but I guess I have my answer! I remember when I got my letter from Eros…. I was so excited. This is gonna be amazeballs! Right?!

Karma: I think it’s going to be great!

Nadia: You’re right! It is! Positive thoughts, Karma! Send that out into the universe! This match they’ve found for you is your destiny!

Karma: Let’s hope so. The details on the card say that Eros has scheduled our first date… For tonight!

Nadia: Wait, what? We’ve got to get you ready!

Soon, Nadia is leading you on a last minute shopping trip. She pores over the card from Eros as you browse through outfits.

Nadia: Tonight could be the start of your beautiful, perfect love story, Karma! You’ve got to make a good impression! Luckily, Eros has you covered!

Karma: What do you mean?

Nadia: This card from Eros includes some style suggestions based on your Perfect Match’s taste! Perfectly tailored to impress him!

Karma: They can do that?

Your cousin pulls an outfit from the rack…

Nadia: This one! It fits the suggestion perfectly! Try it on!

Karma: Alright, alright…

Nadia: Ugh, slay, Karma!

Karma: I’m guessing that’s a good thing?

Nadia: Good? No. That outfit is perfect!

As the afternoon goes on and the sun starts to set, you finish prepping with Nadia… when a sudden knock at the front door sounds! You hurry over to the living room with Nadia in tow!

Nadia: Ohmygod, ohmygod… He’s here! Answer it, quick! Tonight will be the start of your beautiful storybook romance!

You try to calm your cousin as you open the door..

Karma: Relax, Nadia. It doesn’t have to be a ‘storybook romance’. No one is expecting this night to be--

Hayden: Hi, I’m Hayden. You must be Karma…

Karma: I… Um… Wow.

Thoughts on the episode…

Okay well first of all… creepy and suspicious as hell. I can’t believe Damien was the only one who was like… ‘what on earth…’ Everything about this screams dodgy. How did Nadia even find Eros in the first place? I mean, for our MC, sure - we have Nadia’s results convincing us to do it (even though Steve is a freaky robot and we can tell straight away,) but what did Nadia have? She just went for it.

Speaking of Nadia, annoying. I would love to just cut her out of the story completely. She’s too BLLURGGHHH, you know? So enthusiastic about absolutely everything. I can’t imagine what her art looks like. Probably really cheesy, basic stuff like Thomas Kinkade. Nothing edgy or cool. You could definitely buy a snowglobe with Nadia’s artwork in it.

I know that Hayden is a robot, but defo gonna smash. Like. He’s our perfect match, wiring or not. I mean, I know that Damien is there too and as soon as we get the option to seduce I shall absolutely be doing that because he is a fine piece of cartoon ass, but… where’s the fun if I can’t doodly do with the robot?

Also, shoutout to Cecile who is the hottest character at first glance I have ever seen from Pixelberry. I mean, I know she’s probably an evil lunatic hell bent on destroying us once we uncover Eros’ secrets, but still. I’m shallow and she’s hot.

Fave Character of the Chapter: Damien

Least Fave Character of the Chapter: Nadia

[aarontap]

19 Years Later... It’s Betty Goo!

In case you were unaware, I fronted a band in the 1990s called Betty Goo. We came about as my previous band started falling apart and I realized that I’d wanted to write quick and tuneful songs, in stark contrast growing prevalence of the jammy (or worse, nu-metal) side of “alternative rock” that had begaun to take hold in the wake of Kurt Cobain’s death. So I grabbed longtime drummer compatriot Chad MacDonald and friend-since-age-three Doug Fraim and formed Betty Goo. We released a dreadful eponymous debut cassette tape but then started to get our heads on straight and found some like-minded melody-and-rock-focused bands in Boston and we hit our stride. In 1997 we released the quasi-conceptual ‘gooicide’ and had planned to break up in its wake. Unfortunately, the record garnered us a modicum of attention that had hitherto been lacking, and so I vowed to soldier on. Chad preferred the original plan and went back to school to start the journey to his now very successful career. On the verge of destruction, in stepped Doug’s friend Jeff Norcross. And Betty Goo was re-born. We had a good run for a couple more years, playing some pretty fantastic shows, and making some good friends along the way. Hell, you could say that I’d never have met my awesome partner in life, music, and otherwise, Paula Kelley, were it not for Goo having continued on. 

But all Goo things must come to an end and for us, it was pretty anticlimactic. In 1999, after a great show supporting our friends Permafrost in their final show, we spent the rest of the weekend in a recording studio in Boston, tracking a dozen songs for what would have been the follow-up to gooicide. Upon reviewing the rough mixes on Monday, I called Doug and Jeff, saying, “this isn’t very good, should we break up?” They both agreed. And that was the end.

Or so we’d thought! Fast-forward a couple decades and I start fucking around with Garageband’s iPhone app. I do a bunch of #instamusic creations, the idea being ‘conceive and record a 30-second-ish soundtrack to a random video/image in less than an hour and post it.’ Most of them are ambient and rambling. But then later in 2016 there’s a presidential election. And this chorus hits me. “Don’t cast your eyes on the emperor’s new clothes…” I followed through and made it into a kinda good, kinda shitty 2000s fakepunk song snippet and posted it. People seemed to dig it. And here’s the thing: it was catchy as hell. I kept revisiting it and thinking, maybe I could make it into something. I tried for about ten minutes to see if it could fit on The Architect’s Daughter but quickly realized, nope. And so I forgot about it.

But when TAD was finally completed and out in the world I got an idea. Maybe a crazzzzzy idea. This was never a Frank Shirts song. It sounds way more like a Betty Goo song. And, know what? There are a couple other Goo songs that I wouldn’t mind revisiting. I emailed Doug (who basically hadn’t played since our last show) and Jeff (who now primarily plays guitar, in The Weisstronauts and The I Want You) and asked if they might be interested in reconvening. To my great joy, they each replied with an enthusiastic yes! So now I had to make it happen. After all, they are both still based in Massachusetts and I’m here in L.A. A few months passed and I played around with turning the chorus into an actual song, but honestly, I was otherwise preoccupied. But then a Nathanson gig in NY presents an opportunity. I check in with the boys and book a session at Zippah in Brighton, MA and we are well and truly on our way. Oh, shit. Now I have to actually write the song. Thankfully, I am not alone. Jeff kicks in a couple ideas over the internet. And then we convene in Somerville, not two blocks from where PK and I first started living in sin, and Doug throws his ideas in. By the end of the afternoon we have a song, and some fine reimagining of two very brief old tunes from Goo days gone by.

It was both very familiar and kinda strange to get in a room with these guys after such a long break. We ran through a couple old timey songs - Buzz and Handbag - to grease the wheels but it was startlingly easy and took no time at all to just get to work as if no time had passed at all. Those guys are great.

That night, after a very long three days, I crashed very early at a quaint B&B in Brookline and before I knew it, it was Sunday morning and the session loomed. We loaded in and it was like stepping in to a time machine (see video). Zippah has undergone numerous upgrades to its gear but the building and the live room remain much the same. What an inspiring place! gooicide, PK’s Nothing/Everything, the Monsters of Id, numerous Weisstronauts recordings, a harp session for The Trouble With Success in the midst of a fierce nor’easter, and so much more. But we had work to do. In the able hands of both Brian Charles (who recorded gooicide and MOI) and Pete Weiss (of the Weisstronauts, who recorded both PK solo albums and so much more) we were under way in no time.

Here’s where, to me, it gets interesting. I knew we would have a ball but I didn’t expect to learn (or re-learn) stuff that day. We recorded three songs (most everything aside from vocals) in an easy-going 8-hour session, just like we used to do “back in the day,” though truth be told we would get double or more that done in one day by necessity.

Being “in a band” is distinct from “playing music with other people.” And I’ve been doing the latter for so long now that I had maybe forgotten what a band was like. Even Frank Shirts hasn’t been a band in the traditional sense, as I do most of the song arranging alone in my studio before bashing the songs out with Eric and Paula - and later with Rick. With Betty Goo, the difference became apparent in the studio. We wanted to record the songs live, with no click track, and so, even though we had rehearsed for a whopping three hours, we knew we were going to have to play the songs a bunch. And play we did. We would run a song a few times, work out some kinks, then go listen in the control room, pick out a few moments that need further work and go back and do it again. And everyone fell into their role with ease. It was fantastic, really. No egos, all creativity, and a healthy work ethic without being businesslike.

The next morning I awoke feeling kinda high from the experience. It had been years since I worked like that and back then I a) think I took it for granted and b) was psychologically a bit of a mess and didn’t really feel connected to much in the way of my own agency. One of the great things about taking stock of one’s privilege is that rather than it limiting you or locking you in some kind of prison of guilt, it actually frees you to look realistically at yourself and in so doing you can assess your actual strengths along with weaknesses and areas where the leg-ups you’ve been handed has been more of a hinderance than an asset. Working with Jeff & Doug on those three songs reminded me of part of music-making that I’d maybe lost touch with over the years and also reminded me of how lucky I am to be doing what I’m doing. I’ve resolved to make sure I make the most of it and also to make sure that the music is always the thing, no matter how much business needs to be taken care of.

Anyway, the whole experience was pretty great and I finished up the mixes this week. I think the results speak for themselves. Judge for yourself on July 4th* when the NEW BETTY GOO LIMITED EDITION HAND-CUT 7” SINGLE goes up for sale on Bandcamp!

* Vinyl Singles (w/ fab Deluxe Edition merch) will ship in September. Instant downloads are de rigueur.

[assholetozier]

Safety Embers; Benverly College Au

@forstenbrough @trashmoutheds

"My heart burns there too."

Beverly traces her finger tips over the messy, light writing on the back of an old ass postcard. It was a little worn and tattered from all the years of hauling it around to interviews and tests, practically everywhere she went.

It made her feel safe.

The red haired beauty just started her freshmen year of college and honestly she needs all the help she could get. Her journalism classes were a living Hell, and her psychologies made her want to vomit. All they were doing was writing papers about the American Revolution and Beverly wanted to die.

Her legs dangled on the counter in the kitchen, in the same apartment her, Richie and Mike split. They all made the agreement to live together after all of them ended up on the same campus that year. Bill, Ben, Stan and Eddie were in the same city just studying elsewhere so it only made sense.

Smoke peered out of her lips and she groans, throwing her pencil across the room. Her phone went off, symbolizing another class project was posted online.

"My students! My apologies for the late posting, but I didn't give you an assignment today so it only seems fair!"

Eye roll.

"Your project is more creative. You are going to write or create something for a loved one. No format. Whatever you feel in your heart. It needs to express some type of emotion and make me feel something. This is worth fifty percent of your grade, and you have a week. BEGIN!"

She bangs her fist against the silver stove, "JESUS FUCK!"

Who was she even supposed to write to? She could write to Richie, who had been her best friend for a long time and kept her on her toes. But that felt wrong.

Bill, her technical ex boyfriend. They dated in high school for a month, a fake relationship to get Stan jealous and crawl into Bill's arms. Beverly was happy to help, and he always was her rock of sorts. But that felt wrong.

Mike, her BROTHER in her heart who taught her the beauties of the world and showed her the starts (literally taught her the constellations) and always welcomed her with open arms and a smile, she could write for him. Again.. weird.

Maybe Eddie, the only "mother" she's ever had, which is very ironic on multiple levels. He's always checking up on her, taking care of her when she's sick, being her only sort of "girl" friend. They fought once because he thought her and Richie were dating sopmore year and ever since they'd been close. She couldn't write for him.

Stan, who was so incredibly smart and kept her organised, probably the only reason she graduated. He also hated her once while her and Bill "dated", and now she tell him everything and in return he tells her everything. No. WRONG.

That left Ben. The guy that saved her from the CLOWN. The guy that was always peering at her down the hall and in all buying her the coffee beans she likes, that you have to order from Miami and cost like fifty bucks a pound. The guy that makes her smile so bright that it makes her mouth hurt. The guy that applied to college in Washington because she, Richie, Mike and what ended up to be all of the Losers did.

The guy that makes her feel the most safe. She couldn't write to him- but why?

"Because he'd laugh at my writing-" Beverly says as the front door opens.

Mike strode into the room carrying a few grocery bags and textbooks, a look of curiosity on his face.

"Who would laugh?"

She feels her teeth hug her lips roughly. Mike wouldn't tell Ben, she knew that. But at the same time... wouldn't he?

"Nobody," the red head snaps. "M' talking about this guy in my psych class, he would laugh at my final report."

The dark skinned boy smiles, dimples forming in cheeks and suddenly he starts laughing.

"What's so funny-"

"You! I'm not dumb, Richie told me about that assignment, he texted me he was going to pour his heart out to Eddie since their anniversary is in a month."

Beverly frowns, "What does that have to do with me?"

He smiles, "I know you, Bev. And I know about you and your feelings. I heard you on the phone with Eddie last night."

"Oh so you're stalking my conversations now?"

"Worry about that later! He's been waiting for you for years so what the hell is your problem?"

Mike was probably right. What was her problem? There was nothing wrong with this... right?

"Have you read any of his poetry! It's beautiful! It is so heartwarming that I CRY thinking about the fact that I can't listen to his thoughts and see all of his muses! His hands are soft and he always lets me borrow his sweatshirts even when he's only wearing a tank top under them because he is too FUCKING sweet! He smells like cherries and lemons and his hands are so soft. Almost softer than his words. How can I write him how I feel when I don't even know?"

She released a sob she'd been holding for months, Mike immediately wrapping his arms around her and rubbing her back.

"Hey hey shhh... it's gonna be okay, Ben loves you."

Beverly sighs, "I'm not enough for him, Mike. I'm a mess."

They sit there what feels like hours, even though she knows it's only been like five minutes. Mike slows her breath and she begins to calm down.

"It's a creative assignment."

"Hmm?"

The boy releases her, smiling wide and proud, "it's a creative assignment! You don't even have to write anything! Fuck, if you wanted to you could use magazine cut outs to describe your thoughts-"

They slowly make eye contact, the red head coming to the realization of what the other said. He was right it was a CREATIVE assignment, no ten page papers on dumb shit from the eighteen forties. It was all her. And if she didn't have to write her words the better.

"Do we still have that collection of magazines in the laundry room?"

***

It took all night, but she finally realized what she wanted and made it happen. Her and Mike dug through several magazines, from sex advice to food to teenage girl dressing issues. She needed all of it.

Beverly decided on a poem, because that was how he communicated his feelings with her over the years and now that she knew hers she could return the favor. There were pictures too, though, like pictures of coffee cups and baseball bats and books. All the things they liked together.

She glued the last word on the large, thick poster paper they found under Richie's bed (along some other questionable things she was going to ask Eddie about later) and sighed. This was it.

"He has to see it." She says, smiling and her hands shaking in anxiety.

Mike nods, "I'll take you to their place tomorrow, I have to go to drop off Stan's notes from math-"

"No. NOW."

He sighs, "Bev, it is three in the morning."

Her red curls bounce as she jumps out of her seat, "does it look like I give a shit? C'mon now or never!"

So they get in Mike's car and he drives as fast as he can and the whole time she is either screaming in her head or out of the window. She's finally doing it.

They pull up in the driveway of the duplex the boys live in, and while Mike begins to get out she is glued to the seat.

He notices and walks over to her side, opening her door. She still refuses to get out.

"You've got this-"

"What if he's over me? Or if he is done with me taking so long? Any girl would be lucky to have him ya know."

Mike nods, "and the only one he sees is you."

She smiles and takes his hand up, running to the front door and slamming on it with her palm. After a few bangs, she saw the living room light come on and the door open.

It was Ben, in a sweatshirt and pants, an open copy of How To Kill A Mockingbird in his left hand while the right help open the door. He had grown taller, and he started playing a few sports and building plenty in high school so a majority of his chubby went away but he was still stocky. He was wearing his glasses.

"Hello I-" his speach faltered before smiling. "Hey Bev... Mike, what's up?"

Beverly began breathing heavily, chest heaving and curls shaking in the wind. Words began to form but wouldn't come out of her throat.

Mike coughs, "Can we come in? We have a surprise for you."

Ben leaded them in, to where Mike proceeded to the restroom, not before winking at Beverly and gave her a thumbs up.

The boy in the room smiled again, "are you okay? Richie is in Eddie's room, if that's-"

"I came to see you, you goof." A blush arose on her cheeks.

She began to unroll the poster in her hand that had went unnoticed until that moment. It was crumpled from her squeezing it.

"W-what's that?"

Beverly smiles, "I made this for you. It's a... token of my affection." She winks for good measure.

Taking the paper from her hands, he looks over it. No look on his face.

The poem reads;

My heart is at home, safe

Safe in your words

In your arms

In your miles and miles of comfort

In your sweatshirts

And in you.

You keep me safe

Something I never knew could happen

It's a feeling I'm not used to

But yet, here I am addicted like a heroin addict

This was cheesy yes I know

But cheese is hot, and so is your safety

And my heart burns there too.

Ben stared at the paper, mouthing the words and refusing to look at the red head.

"It's stupid isn't it?" Beverly sighs, grabbing a cigarette from her pocket.

"I'm sorry, Ben, it's not-"

A tear rolled from under his frames that covered his eyes.

He stayed silent for a moment, thinking.

"Oh fuck it," he mutters before striding over to her, pulling the cigarette from her mouth and kissing her.

The kiss was soft, slow, and sweet. He tasted like coffee, and she tasted like cigarettes but they loved it. It tastes them.

Ben pulled away first, "what took you so long?"

"I didn't realize why my heart was burning and why you made me feel so safe."

They sit there in each other's arms, in the silence.

"That was the most beautiful thing I've ever read, Bev."

"Impossible, you go to the library every day."

He nods, "yeah, but nothing will ever be as beautiful to me as your heart. As you."

~~~~~

A/N: That was it!!! Thank you @forstenbrough for the prompt I really appreciate it! I'm sorry if it wasn't good but this was my first Benverly fic. If you have any requests my asks are always open!!!

[artdjgblog]

Innerview: Chad Tomas Johnston / The Stained Glass Kaleidoscope ​

June 2008

Art: DJG​

​Note: ​Questions on creativity for a book​.​

The big thing I want to know from you is this: You have worked as a janitor and a data-entry clerk (or something to that effect). Neither of those is highly prestigious. At the same time, you are creating art.

0​1) What drives you to create? Since a young age, I’ve always been fortunate to have outlets for creation. Naturally, almost every child has the freedom to play. But, my formative younger years gave me not only the freedom but also the cow and the whole farm. Growing up a farm boy product of the middle of the mid-west, I had room to romp and to roll. Lots of corn row cuts on my face. Lots of bicycle tire tattoos on the hot summer crater face of the black top road. Lots of holes in boots. Lots of arm snags on the rickety tree house scrap wood and nails. Lots of gold nuggets discovered in the cat poop sandbox. I still get kicks from all these things. Fast approaching thirty, I still plan to never grow a harder and complete “adult” shell. If I do it better be candied and with lots of decorative engravings in it. Though, I’m positive I’d just eat it. I have always been housed in my own little shell. I’ve been a big fan of my inner world since I was old enough to process it. The beauty of life is that people can pile a peel of tires on me all they want, but they can’t touch what morning glories I’ve got crowing and climbing inside. And someday when I’m gone perhaps the seeds I do sew on the outside will spread a bit and people can figure out what the heck my insides were all they want. I don’t know and don’t care. But, that doesn’t mean I don’t think about it. I hate to talk this way, like I’m a thinking man. But, I guess I shouldn’t be ashamed to say that I think about the inner tick-tocks. A lot of it is clogged cogs though. Some by me, some by others. I just have to create. It’s how I get oiled and weathered. It’s my lightning and lightning rod. It’s my confessional. It’s my testament. It’s how I scrub my own floors and stink them back up. There is creation in everyone and thing and evolution of that creation at the same time. We’re all positively guilty of dragging a blade, feather duster or spilt paint bucket behind us into the every day world no matter what business is plowed, pillaged or plundered. Every day is different for me. Every day or every time I make something I think about what that certain something would have looked like or would have had me feeling like had I made it yesterday or tomorrow, a month from now or even an hour ago. It’s hard not to think about that stuff, but I can’t help from it. Though, at the same time I generally feel that I’m always making what I need to be making at that time, even if something isn’t a direct hit. I’d like to have the mindset that I’m always making my best work. And after a number of years of making stuff, the act of it almost becomes second nature. In some ways when I’m working and alone, I am closer to MY maker. I feel I’m doing what I’m supposed to be doing. I just have to take the life in, chew it and spit it back out. The process of each stage can be quite the intoxicating affair. But, it’s when I’m in the thick of it, that’s where there is real visual communication for me. I just have to take it in decent strides. I have been at stages with this where it can be controlling. That’s not a good shake. I love how every day is new and unique to the subject of life. Even if it feels the same as other days, it’s still a different notch in the meter. Even after expiration date, one can still influence the path of somebody else’s day by the things or thoughts they’ve left on by the side of the road for somebody else to either run over or stop to pick up. True, sometimes the things people leave behind can be a free tank of gas to the soul, gum on tires, rocks in the rims or a whole darn spike strip. My insides feel different each day. Some days I’m full of gas and some days I’ve broke down all over. I still get up on the same wall that I hug through the night and I eat breakfast with my mouth every morning and put the socks on my feet (unless I feel like an impromptu puppet play). But, my head is always in a different spot and sometimes my gut and my heart too. Sometimes I’ve got a big ol’ mess of ice scream soup and one heck of a brain freeze fart. I tend to approach the make things table under this same light. That is, with always being all over my own map, not with brain freeze farts. And each night I try to get to sleep with my spots smoothed out flat and run together. Though, not always easy. I love how baby dalmation pups don’t have spots for the first little bit of life. I love how they look like little blind wigglin’ rats during those first weeks. They don’t need the spots at first to differentiate one from the next or to say who they are. They just are. All of those little things that I do without conscience, the getting up and the eating and the sock putting…and right now, talking and blahking…these things are flat color like the baby fireman dogs. But, it’s the spots that are inside of me. The spots talk back and forth with light oozing in and out. Each day it seems like there has been a whole new troop of moths infesting and eating away. Making spots is what they do. There is always a new picture debuting in my picture house and sometimes shot with three cameras in several angles (like in the great classic film, “How The West Was Won”). Some days I break the box office. Some days I just break the piggy bank and scrape nothing but dust bunnies and boiled turnips. But, “scraping by” is not just reserved for the bad term. Each day these spots leak a different solution to the make table problems and sometimes you have to go scraping around for them to mix just right. Sometimes it just all comes just right. But, I don’t really see the approach to the way I make things as problems. Of course, sometimes it can be a problem to have something to do with creation and to have others involved. There are times that I don’t see how GOD sleeps at night knowing that he simply just chooses to love me (or his other creations for that matter)…even with all of these spotty feelings and things sloshing around in me. I’m sure that by reading this and/or knowing what you know of me, you’re probably noticing my constant teeter and totter. I’m like a mixed fountain drink at the corner gas station. And there are some days I’m the little left-over sugar water puddle you find rotting out the bottom of a styrofoam cup in the back floor board of a 1984 Ford Tempo. You know? The one with the sagged burgundy roof fabric that always gives you a cow lick as you get into and out of her womb? Back in the ’80s when life was a lot simpler and a week felt like a month and things felt like they actually felt like something, my older brother and I would find the blackest piece of advertising gloss in Mom’s “People Magazine”. I still have dry scalp problems to this day. I don’t have color in my wardrobe, so I suppose I was blessed with an eternal snow day every day. Anyway, what I’m getting at is that despite the little defective box of frosted flakes we clutched to our brows as we hopped out of the womb, my brother and I found an outlet to creation with this. We would place that black space of advertising on the living room end tables (during a break in cartoons and when there wasn’t an audience of MOM, of course) and shake out a snow storm. It looked like a big bang from my personal perspective. An entire little universe of ourselves. I must confess that I’ve been known to still possess this other-worldly talent of creation. I’d love to do a daily blog of this. Why not?! Or, maybe my new goal should be to get into advertising and demand to make more glossy black space for rent to hire those young kids out there itchin’ to get their big galaxies and universe down patty caked on paper… There has been something in me for a long time itching to get out. Maybe my creativity is like a big beautiful bundle of mysterious male peacock feathers that just keeps on wiggling and growing those magnificent colors. I’m always cutting off bits and plucking. Sometimes the bits tickle me good and sometimes they dust me and smack me over. ​0​2) Was there a relationship between your janitorial work and your art? That is, did one influence the other? I was raised with a blue collar. I sure do wish I could say it was turned up and in “cool” mode. But, in a weird way I think it’s the coolest because it is part of my building blocks. And no matter where you go or what you do, you’re roots are still alive and growing. Farming is in my blood. In some ways I don’t feel janitorial work is too far down the line from tending pasture, mending fence and plowing fields. In many ways an employee of a janitorial service is his own boss because he-she is alone and in solitude, just doing what they feel needs to be done to spruce up the place. I feel the work I do as a designer or maker of things is similar. I dust out the mind’s stairwells and kick things down them too. One of the things that would lure me to farming would be this comfort in being alone and just doing the thing. I miss that about being a janitor or groundskeeper. I miss having that freedom of choice of going to a hard to reach spot or a parking space that cars or people rarely touch, though it’s dirty from pure existence, and just being alone and making it look good. There is a pride I take in making things look the way I want them to look. Janitorial work will never go out of style. And neither will people’s idea that a janitor or a farmer, even a graphic designer these days is a low denominator of work and intelligence among the common people. I don’t aim to sound bitter here. I was never bitter in the many years as a janitor. I may have been a bit bitter as a farmer’s son, and only at 16 to 18 as a typical disgruntled teen dying to retreat…now I love and respect my upbringing and my former vocation. I’m made of it all and it has all helped shape me to who I am now. I just find it fascinating how people find it their need to put others in a particular place. While I had some great reception when working as a janitor, it also garnered a lot of talk. Even on the job people confessed to me that they had been trying to figure me out. I found this oddly fascinating that I could consume some of their mind with the fact that I was just working a trade to pay the bills. One woman I bumped into regularly at the parking garage cigarettes station each afternoon said to me, and after researching my story for months, “I just couldn’t put it together. It didn’t make no sense to me why you’d be wanting to do this kind of work. You seemed friendly and intelligent and come to find you’ve got things you’re doing on the side, well it just had me wondering.” I wasn’t upset with her telling me this. I appreciated her honestly and she just had me oddly curious…even within my own person and broom shuffling. I even feel that people in the art world (what little puddle I’m in) found this janitorial aspect of my creating as quite fascinating or strange. It’s not that I chose janitorial jobs as a means to put myself on display nor to play a particular “ideal” in order for people to talk or raise eyebrows. I just enjoyed cleaning house, I suppose. Many people close to me didn’t know how to handle my dropping out of design school to work bottom rung janitorial jobs in the early hours of 2002. But, I knew in my heart that it was exactly what I needed to be doing and it was crucial for me to do it right then. It was my time. I also knew that I needed to place trust in something at the time. There was at least to me a blind comfort in cranking the somewhat padded strings up on around the empty spool of a heart I had at the time. It made things make a bit more sense and comforted me just to try to get settled the stirred dust of my head while my body pushed a makeshift mop or broom on autopilot. And if it didn’t make sense to others, well, let’s just say I just tried to hold my head up the best I could and stay focused on ahead down my own paper trail odyssey. Openly, I would recommend anybody to try janitorial work, especially if you are looking for a simple care-free environment. It’s still a job though and can still wear you thin at times. But, for the most part janitorial positions are pretty easy going if taken with the right mixture of work ethic, responsibility and frame of mind. Maybe I’ve just been fortunate to work in some great places? Of course there are always the literal “crap” jobs. Cleaning out women’s restrooms at a 24-hour call center is possibly the worst, but it still paid the bills for a bit. And if you do a great job scrubbing those bathrooms, you can get moved up pretty quick like I did. And sometimes you’ve got to find the humor and ridiculousness in mopping up overflowing toilets. One time in a men’s restroom with over an inch of standing toilet water, I came out of the stall with my mop in hand as somebody passed by. Now, if I walked into a restroom with standing water, I’d definitely just hustle to another restroom to do my business. But, some people don’t care and just make obvious comments like, “Geesh, that there’s a lot of water on da floor”, as they look at me oddly. I followed this with, “I’m just waiting on Noah now”. It took some time for what I said to register. The guy was probably thinking of if he knew anybody with the name of Noah. But, after a few minutes it had him laughing as we shared urinal cakes and rubber duckies. I’ve worked in many various places with my janitorial jobs and have gotten to meet a lot of interesting, hardworking and diverse individuals that have all helped fuel my extra-curricular in some odd way, shape or form. I was even involved with monthly potluck dinners at one janitorial job. It was an amazing way to fellowship and bring together our little piece of the night shift community. The job site environments themselves were very inspiring to me as well. From junior high to my last year of high school I wanted to be an architectural designer of sports stadiums. That is, until I realized I was horrible at mathematics. Coincidentally, I got to somewhat fulfill my early dream as I pulled the trash for one day at my favorite baseball stadium design, Kauffman Stadium, home of the Kansas City Royals. I once won a Royals baseball essay competition about my love for the sights and sounds of going to this ballpark and here I was getting to pull the trash! It floored me when I got to the ballpark at dawn on that Tuesday in April of 2002 and could see the sun hit the green grass of the infield, and to think I was one of the few people there in that gorgeous testament to modern architecture and design, watching the natural elements bounce into and out of it. Moving on, I pulled the night trash and buffed the floor at an award-winning sports architectural firm for a couple of months. This was incredible as I got to see the pre-production and scale models and I sneaked a few little things home from the dumpster. I can honestly say that I did some work for a sports architectural firm. My longest post at cleaning was at the Kansas City Board of Trade. This was a unique place to work and oddly connected me to my farming past as this was the building that all the trades went on. It still dumbfounds me how that whole system of loud talking works, but I just enjoyed being there cleaning up and running errands. It was a job that I could have easily stayed at forever. And I was appreciated and people even took an interest in what I did out of uniform. I even designed a few posters, sketched and studied while I was on the clock. And there was a ton of great stuff to create with or to collect. But, one of my favorite things was to find things while cleaning, like hand-written letters or notes. I even found money a few times. I also enjoyed finding creatures that spoke to me from their confines in the pavement cracks. Certainly, it was a scary thing to just up and quit college to become a professional cleaner, to go into hiding to tan a new hide. But, for the first time in my life I was really carving my own initials. It may have been a selfish beginning, but I think that everybody needs to follow their heart more. If you trust in that, then you’re putting your trust in something higher that the heart strings are connected to. I just trusted that and worked hard at work and at play and kept my eyes open. In some ways janitorial jobs taught me to open up my lids even more. Design school had opened up new worlds within and around me. But, I think a lot of kids go straight from the comforts of the design lab and into full-time positions at design firms and they end up losing something that they had a good grip on months prior. It’s not that those types of professional atmospheres are bad. I think that everybody has a different approach to their life’s work or trade. Working in a design firm just never spoke to me at all and I’ve always been very protective of my craft since the early days of voluntarily locking myself up in my room or sandbox to create. Visiting many design firms from 1999 to 2001 had me worried sick about the idea of being stuck in a career that didn’t feed me the way I wanted to be fed. I didn’t want to eat at a trough. I wanted my own mini buffet and at my own leisure. And by the last couple of semesters of college, I was a wreck of a slushed soul from this and everything else that life had to offer. All of my eyes had become a bit closed up again except for the one that shown to me that something inside of me needed to explode. And I only knew of one way that could get me out. I suppose it’s safe for me to say in tree sap honesty that my brain has always been running backwards and forwards and catty-whompus since day one. I realize this now especially because I have come to see some of the ice bergs upstairs a little bit better that took me years to get to know. I sometimes wish I was in my early twenties again (only to have more time to MAKE), but I think I’ve gotten a better grip with age and life learning. Even though I still don’t quite understand what exactly makes me tick-tock and run, I can at least try to appreciate my masonry work and work at mending it in small clumps. Sometimes I think what makes me really run are hounds nipping at my ankles. Though, the dogs are sometimes good as they snap with ice pick claws the clamps that can chain me to some things. But, those same claws also dig into me. It’s not that I ran from problems or obstacles nor did I take the easy out and quit something important like a college education to sweep parking lots. I had exhausted myself in that particular stage of my early twenties and needed to mobile my shell before I got dragged down for more than good. I had something screaming inside and I needed to find the right spit can to collect it all in. Despite my own understanding of my actions, I do feel that a lot of people felt I was throwing myself away in order to pick up garbage. Actually, what I was doing was saving myself. With janitorial positions, I just knew that they were speaking to me just right and I was able to speak through them with my own work and I found comfort at that important place in my life. My design odyssey had me working for independent musicians. I knew of the occupational wallet hazards of such a sound decision before I made my move from slacker college design student to slacker somewhat professional designer. I just knew I was supposed to be in a Kansas City, MO ghetto living with a band (and some) in an old decrepit pile of an orange house and making stuff through the night and sleeping in my janitor outfit to go have some peace with thinking and making on the job too. And I wanted the stability of a fixed income, yet without a lot of the baggage that most people deal with in the day job day dream. Being young and dumb is one thing, but I felt that what I was doing was justifiable to my pocket book, the work force, my real work, and most importantly to my sanity (and others’ sanitation). ​0​3) What is your goal when you are creating something? That is, what are you striving to achieve? The marriage of a man’s inner workings to a blank space is incredible to me…when it hits just right and is of the moment and a spark of life happens. You can tell when something’s speak is whole and true because of the immediate connection you share with it. I gather this whether it’s a piece of art, a song, a movie, a writing or a bowl of sugary cereal. Heck, I can walk seven minutes to work and feel something so much bigger turning the keys and mashing buttons all around me. And when something man made speaks, you can tell that there is soul source material. There might be a hand-me-down system for putting it together on the outside, but you can tell when the halls of sincerity and honesty are opened up. You can tell when somebody’s exposing their bones and-or studying their bones and sharing observations of their world in a much bigger world with other smaller worlds encased. Whenever an incredible song, movie, writing…piece of nature or thought…speaks with just the right lens it can be like unwrapping a gift made special for the birthday boy or girl. And every day could essentially be a birthday in this way. I love the discovery of new things and to think that I could have found this many moons back, yet wasn’t in the right frame of mind or reference or reflection until the day I consumed it. I think that we should celebrate every day like this idea that every day is completely new and is perfect to us because it is in the now and we couldn’t have registered with it in any other place, point or time. Every day is different with me and my inner workings are never wound the same each day. And every day I’d like to think I’m getting more and more oiled and weathered at the same time. Life’s lightning is always ready to strike and I’ve got to play lightning rod too. It’s a hard balance on some days. But, I just want to approach each day within my own little arts and crafts section of the basement with the idea that I’m doing my best work and best that I can living down here. There are moments with creativity, when one can feel like a buried burrow. Especially when the older you get, the younger the clock gets. It’s easy to get overwhelmed and hard to match the pace of what the inside is screaming to the race outside. And I can’t pull the all-nighters like I used to. With my own art I try not to make it a chore. I try to make time for it and to always keep it in my saddlebags, within reason. I wish to give a paper trail that is of me and for others at the same time. I’d be a liar if I said my art wasn’t for me. It is and if I didn’t get something out of it or enjoy it, then I shouldn’t be doing it. But when others can wring something from my wash cloths, then that means so much to me. I really want to leave my little print on every leaf I pass, that is, if they all wish to hold my ink. Though, sometimes with deadlines and a full schedule that houses a day job, marriage and life stuff…well, making stuff can get a little rushed out and flushed out. It can start to feel like a same ol’ song and dance side show. Though, to look at the other side, you just do your song and dance while you’re here. We’ve all got one and some people never fully see it realized. I’m thankful to have what I feel are the proper fitting shoes and I just now would love to find a way to keep them on in a full-time manner. But, to keep on poking at the other side, I feel that there should never be a set switch to creativity. It’s not something that should be crammed into an eight hour day. My creativity doesn’t tune-out the minute I leave the house or get set in my current cubicled job of data entry. It can sometimes be charged in different ways and in peculiar ways. Though, sometimes with making things you’ve just got to recharge from over-exposure. I found out last year that it’s ok to say NO and it’s ok to take a time away from the table. I even learned this with a personal eating diet and schedule change. You can probably tell from a lot of my past work or “periods” when I’ve either been struggling or am bored, tired or am just way too constipated by life’s tap dance and life only. I think it translates to the end product, but I also believe it’s very much a testament of the experience and sometimes it can really speak in good and bad scoops. I think that it can happen to anyone and any profession, even full-time moms and dads. It’s not just something that happens to an artist or graphic designer. However, sometimes with art, the exact opposite can occur when you can feed off the energy of life and turn it into something else…something positive. It’s not a smooth relay, but fortunately I’ve been able to feed life to the creative torch. I’m at a place in my life where I just want to set my fire to everything. Stacking up seven years of attacking what it is I do in a professional manner, I’ve received a shiny little brush fire of praise and achievement. I’ve got a small band of pilgrims around the globe attracted to my blemishes and blandishments. I’ve been very appreciative and excited, even though some of my past responses or replies to this sort of thing have been a bit sheepish. I’ve always had trouble taking praise because I’m extremely hard on myself and it can be a very surreal experience when people take up with something that I’ve made and make it part of their experience. What could be worse, I’m always in strict competition with myself, but it’s also part of the discovery and making nature, I think. Again, a healthy balance is needed. Lately though, I’ve just been more excited for the idea of creation and making things and sharing things. But, sometimes it can be easy for things to lose their context and meaning with everything so I’ve got to start believing in umbrellas and nap time blankets again. The minute you make something and put it out there on the platter (more like, the buffet) you’re giving up a huge chunk of yourself exposed to the world. It’s just part of the game. That is, unless you’re painting in a cave or somebody out of connection with society just making stuff without an audience. I guess it would be like folk art. Things made by untrained folk artists really floor and inspire me. Their education is from life or from a higher calling and they must tell this story and a lot of them don’t start telling until later in life. It’s almost like they go back to being a kid again. I love this. They simply must MAKE and play. I try to strive to make for making’s sake. But, it can at times be hard being that I have had formal training and have had a fair amount of praise from the art and design community, so it’s easy for ideas to be pushed too hard and easy for the world to interfere. I do my best though at just doing what it is that I doo-doo. Finding beauty and inspiration in folk art makes me just find something inside of me and lead it on out at its own will and without whips and horse wranglers. Last summer I went from the Museum of Modern Art in New York City to just across the street to the American Folk Art Museum. Both are incredible houses for the arts, but it was the stuff in the less crowded, less artsy-fartsy American Folk Art Museum that really floored me the most. I had been studying a lot of the work for a few years, but to see it in the flesh was astounding. There is something very immediate and wholesome to it. Something so pure that is rarely touched by a so-called “professional” artist. And it can really challenge the thinking as to why we are making and putting outrageous price tags on things. But, it inspires myself to just try to speak the best I can and from a place inside of me. Talk. Talk. Talk. Talk. Blahk…I’m not skilled enough to strike up much debate on the issues here and I hate over-doing-it. I just enjoy folk art and regular art…and whatever else speaks. Anyway, the results can be ugly sometimes when you release something out there into the world. It can be personal poison when you clean out your ears. Everybody’s got an opinion and the opinion inside the messenger can be the worst. Everybody these days is a critic. I’m guilty. But, I don’t make stuff to be recognized or critiqued. I don’t make stuff so others can save me some glossy pages in their design annual. That stuff is great, but the work to me would be dead and done if I ever got to that point. And it would be hollow if I was just cranking stuff out for the approval of others. That’s one of the reasons I feed off of everyday influences and mood swings. I don’t want to spin the same wheels over and over. That’s one of the reasons I don’t wish to chase another man’s dream working in a design firm. I wouldn’t mind helping to hold the ladder on some cloud shaping a bit, but I’m not going to be their spotty dog that fetches design over and over and over. I’ve felt that once before even within the confines of music design and am just now at a comfortable place again with what I’m doing. But, there’s always a different dog nipping. Sometimes it can be pretty dumbfounding whenever something of myself comes out of me and then transcends the basement steps and flies the coop. It’s great to share the stuff, but I’ve felt an unexplainable emptiness at events like award shows or my own solo exhibition openings. The only way I can decipher it after much chewing is that, once it leaves the basement and my little world it’s really beyond me. I’m not a parent, but I suppose the feeling is similar to releasing a child to winds of the first day of school. Once they leave you, they are vulnerable to the rest of the world. And now all of this has got me thinking about what I’m really doing. See, my struggling is out in the open now as I’m passing myself back and forth with this writing and I’m on display for all to gawk at. Still, it’s just part of the trade. I’d love to be able to not have a clock tower and to not be hanging from it. I have a hunger to just make stuff all day and on my own time (well, when I’m not watching movies, eating or doing life stuff). I do have a hunger to share the work after the hunger to create it has passed, but at the same time it’s hard to get a good grasp on that too. And to do my work full-time I have to get the work out and about even more. A lot of my work has seen more of the world than I have and it’s all really exciting. If it can affect others and make somebody stop to get an itch of inspiration or a tickle, especially in our short attention span world, then that is a wonderful thing, I guess. That is a great thing and something that I don’t really have any control over. I just try to be a human being with a hunch back that needs its juices popped. And I’m dangling from that clock tower right now as Sunday supper is almost on the table and the dusk is dawning…and a new week of the day job sits and starts to melt me in my own stomach acid. -djg