#god he makes my mouth water no matter what he looks like. he a versatile bitch.

[downtherabbitholewithlucy]

Wes went from🦴➡️💪🏻

(Get you a man who can do both🥵🥴🤤)

[uppermocns-moved]

𝘢𝘰��� + 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺'𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘥

eren, armin, levi, jean

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 – nsfw (minors don’t like/reblog/respond), mentions of hard kinks, female reader. shifts in and out of canonverse/modernverse so use your imagination! 

𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯 𝘫𝘢𝘦𝘨𝘦𝘳 

always dominant. can be hard or soft dom depending on the mood.

into harder kinks (with heavy communication and consent): somno, breeding, impact play, breath play, free use, etc.

super high sex drive and usually always horny. when he’s bored, he’ll jerk off to pictures you’ve sent him and porn you’ve made together (he’s not camera shy), but never let himself cum, just lazily edge.

he edges for days at a time – not only goes it feel so fucking good, but it gives him thicker loads to pump inside you later.

obsessed with cumming inside you. he’ll fuck load after load as deep as he can inside you, watch in awe as it leaks out of you, then use his fingers to push it back in. he’s not shy about his possessiveness and this is just a further reminder that you’re his.

secretly doesn’t mind when you scratch up his back – he loves looking in the mirror and seeing visual evidence of how good he made you feel.

also secretly loves when you give him hickies in obvious spots. he does absolutely nothing to hide them, he loves reminding everyone of his place. it’s a nonverbal way of saying “i’m taken, fuck off”

wouldn’t care if he broke his neck from you riding his face. he welcomes it, actually.

heavily into bdsm (emphasis on the s&m), and dom/sub dynamics. while he loves perfect little subs that’ll treat him like some sort of god, he adores when you get bratty and talk back. makes things a lot more fun.

loves embarrassing you.

“my god, baby, can fuckin’ hear how wet you are.” “soaking your panties and i didn’t even fuckin’ touch you. what’s got you so wet, sweetheart? thinking of my cock?” “that felt good, didn’t it? don’t hide from me, pumpkin, let me see your pretty face.”

threesomes. foursomes. you name it. while eren’s possessive over you, he doesn’t mind sharing with his friends (if you consent, of course). he loves knowing how worked up everyone gets over his girlfriend, loves fucking you in front of them to show everyone how wrapped around his finger you are.

safeword! mean and rough is what eren does best. even while he’s slapping you around and calling you dummy, or an eager little slut for his cock, he’ll still check in with you and make sure you’re still feeling good and enjoying yourself. he may like hurting you, but he never wants to actually hurt you. never forgets aftercare, either, you’re still his precious angel that he loves more than anyone.

he’s incredibly vocal – dirty talk, moaning, growling, cursing, degradation.

if you’re too tired to go all the way, he loves mutual masturbation, or jerking himself off while you talk dirty in his ear. always wants to hear what you want him to do to you.

big fan of including toys, usually always fucking you with your magic wand on your clit.

sex without the power dynamics is still very intense and passionate. lots of making out, scratching his back and pulling him closer, deep thrusts, curses, eren telling you he loves you, kissing your forehead while you cum.

𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘦𝘳𝘵

doesn’t really involve himself in strict power dynamics. he’s very versatile and the role he assumes depends on the mood.

prefers biting over spanking and choking you with his fingers over wrapping a hand around your throat (but he will do both).

loves eating pussy and will tease you by gently kissing you through your panties. definitely bites your inner thighs. whispers to you from between your legs and tells you how good you taste. makes you cum over and over, each time moaning into your core and tightening his grip on your thighs to keep you right where he wants you. he only stops when you’re crying and twitching, physically unable to cum one more time.

loves when you’re rough and press his face into your pussy or pull his hair to guide his mouth where you want it. you can hurt him a little. as a treat.

loves when you grab him by the chin and pull him up for a desperate kiss after he eats you out for hours.

goes heavy on the body worship, especially when you wear pretty lil outfits for him.

memorized your body and knows it better than you do. he knows when you’re close, you can’t hide from him.

his possessive side comes out hardcore during sex – armin doesn’t share. he’ll bite marks into your flesh and use his sweet, soft-spoken voice to get into your head. he wants to be the only thought in your mind, the source of all your pleasure.

“mine. you’re all mine. not fuckin’ sharing you.”

if you want him to, he can be fucking mean. he contrasts his harsh words with gentle touches, or tells you sweet things while patting your cheek just a little too rough. it’s almost scary how effortlessly he can change his demeanor to someone entirely different.

loves when you come by to “help” him study (lazily jerk him off while he does his required reading and assignments).

actually just loves when you jerk him off for that matter, especially when he gets to rut into your fist until he’s overstimulated and making a mess of your hand.

easily excitable – just gotta kiss him with tongue all soft and slow and he’ll get all flustered poking against your leg

obsessed with having his mouth on your tits – sucking them, licking them, letting his hand palm and grope at the one not receiving attention.

eye contact is a massive turn on and makes everything feel so much more intimate. he’ll gently grab your chin and redirect your sight, or give your inner thigh a little nip to make you open your eyes again. “focus on me, sweet girl.”

armin’s weaknesses are praise and heavy personal attention. sometimes he’s stressed out and just needs you to take care of him. he’ll sit between your legs, back pressed to your front, and let you stroke him until he’s overstimulated or so pent-up from denial. it makes him dizzy when you whisper praise in his ear, telling him how pretty he looks and how good he’s being for you.

“you wanna cum for me, pretty boy? that feel good? you like when i touch you like this, don’t you? such a good boy for me, armin.”

𝘭𝘦𝘷𝘪 𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘯

no defined power dynamic/roles – you do whatever the mood calls for. sometimes he’s pounding you into next week, sometimes you’re denying him orgasms for two hours straight until his voice cracks when he begs.

that being said, levi is a natural brat-tamer and can be a hard dom when he’s agitated and needs to blow off steam. his job is literally to keep brats in check – he doesn’t tolerate insubordination or backtalk (sometimes you test that out though). 

restraining your arms behind your back with his belt, spanking you until you can’t sit, reprimanding slaps, filthy degradation, punishing thrusts. he can be mean. 

“soaking through your panties and i didn’t even touch you. pathetic.” “i wasn’t fucking asking. knees, now.” 

he’s a masochist and loves when you scratch up his back, wrap a hand around his throat, bite him, pull his hair, etc.

borderline sadistic in the way that he will make you cum twenty times before he even considers letting up. he’s relentless. 

loves watching you get yourself off, or make out with you while you get each other off 

gets weak when you pull him in by the shirt collar

holds your hands :)

quickies are usually the only option due to your chaotic schedules. you get at least five minutes alone together, you don’t take it for granted. 

slow morning sex is his favorite – the sun is barely peeking over the horizon and you don’t have to worry about the outside world yet. it’s just the two of you and you can really take your time. 

starts off kind of shy about being vocal and you need to ease him into it

after he finishes, he’ll take a moment to caress and admire your pretty face and kiss your forehead, then make a teasing comment about how you’re sweaty. 

gets a little carried away and accidentally rips all the buttons off your shirt

giving you head is a form of stress relief for him, he really just loves pleasuring you 

takes incredible care of you afterwards – acts as a crutch when your legs are too shaky, gets you water, wipes away messes with a damp cloth, even runs you a bath if you have that much time.

“tch. don’t say i never do anything for you, brat.”

likes when you give him hickies in spots that his uniform will cover. it’s a secret that only the two of you are in on.

levi gets a little publicly affectionate when you return to your duties after having sex – still incredibly reserved, but he’ll ruffle your hair and look at you with the fondest eyes. maybe give your hand a squeeze if nobody’s looking.

𝘫𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘬𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘪𝘯

naturally dominant. typically a softer dom unless you provoke him, then he has no issue roughing you up and fucking you into a drooling mess.

so big and strong and loves any position that demonstrates that – fucking you against the wall with your legs wrapped tight around his hips, stand-and-carry, having you on top and bouncing you like you weigh nothing. 

loves when you dig your nails into his back

slightly prefers ass over tits but is overall a leg/thigh kind of guy. includes feet. i’m so sorry.

stockings/thigh high socks/fishnets/garters absolutely knock him out 

great stamina while you’re fucking but almost instantly falls asleep when you’re done. or just wants to cuddle. 

mildly into somnophilia (receiving – loves being woken up with blowjobs)

praises you heavily while you’re riding him

“that’s it, just like that. good girl. good fucking girl.” 

can get a little too romantic when he’s really close and not thinking clearly

“gonna make me cum, angel, love this pussy so fucking much. love you so fucking much.” 

prefers cumming inside you but he’s really just happy to be included 

he gets a little goofy during quickies and does things like bite your asscheek before eating you out. 

secretly loves when you tie his wrists to the headboard and use him however you want. overstimulation is one of his favorite things, especially when it’s your hand forcing orgasm after orgasm from him. 

generally into rope-play but also really likes using his hands and sheer strength alone

bite his bottom lip or gently touch his upper thigh and he’s instantly hard

he’s a hopeless romantic! masturbating alone isn’t the same! he likes dirty-talking on the phone with you when you’re not together, or he just waits until you are. 

will break the headboard and dent the wall if he gets carried away

loves shower sex after stressful days

gets hard from making out – especially if you’re half-dressed on his lap and grinding against his bulge. sometimes he can feel you all warm and throbbing through your panties and he almost blacks out. 

worships your pussy but he will actually start writing his vows the moment you take him down your throat. 

request your fav here. more of my writing. 

[archonanqi]

fragile as dust / 9 - the moments of peace

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a/n - hi! I've gotten some requests to start a tag list for this series. If you’d like to be tagged with updates, please send me an ask / message / reply! Thank you. :)

—

ch 9 | the moments of peace

“To the left, to the left!” 

With an embarrassing screech, you lunged forward, desperately searching for any movement in the dry grass. You came up empty. Adrenaline still hot in your veins, you jumped violently when Xiangling pat you on the shoulder.

“ Your left,” Xiangling corrected, pointing in the opposite direction of which you threw yourself. 

You both stared wordlessly for a moment as the squirrel scurried away and out of sight. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, cheeks hot against the morning air. This was the third expedition you’d embarked on so far, and you’d still yet to catch anything that could move faster than a sweet flower.

“That’s okay! Just means that I’ll need to come up with some dishes to make with the ingredients we have so far!” You could almost hear the gears grinding in her brain as she rummaged through the basket of plants that you had gathered, murmuring to herself. “Is this everything we gathered today?”

You hesitated before rifling through your pockets and producing the brown, lumpy object you’d found at the start of your expedition. You weren’t sure it was even edible (it certainly didn’t smell like it), but you wondered if it might suffice to salvage the botched trip, even a little. 

“OH!” Xiangling’s eyes lit up soon as she saw what was in your hand. “Where did you find this?”

You peered at her cautiously, not sure if this was a good reaction or not. Also, her voice seemed to have hit a new high and you were worried it would begin to attract monsters. 

“Uh, back there, in those ruins. There was a bunch,” you offered, pointing in the direction. “Is it usable?”

Xiangling seemed to have begun visibly vibrating. “Usable? This is Matsutake! It’s a rare mushroom, and it’s so versatile that it can be used in place of any— Oh, I’ll explain later, let’s go get them all before a boar finds them first!” 

The sun was well above the horizon by the time you gathered enough Matsutake to fill the two baskets you’d brought. Xiangling had already started a fire with some Dendro slime concentrate — the way she’d taught you to do — when you returned from washing the mushrooms in a nearby stream. 

“Could you chop the Jueyun Chilis for me, please?” Xiangling said, barely looking up from the wok. No matter how bubbly she had been, the moment she stood in front of a blazing fire and a vast array of ingredients, Xiangling always adopted a demeanor of complete calm. It was almost unnerving to watch, sometimes, how focused she could get. You hurried to obey.

“How many?”

She peered up then, the licking flames painting her grin a bright orange. “Hansi, have I taught you nothing over the past week?” She thumped her chest twice with a flour-covered hand, “in Mondstadt, they might use measurements like cups and tablespoons— but that’s not how I do things! In Liyue, we listen to our hearts. Just let Rex Lapis guide your hand!”

You stared at the chilis. If you’re just giving out guidance nowadays , you directed your silent thoughts towards the earth beneath your feet, I’d love to know what your deal with the Vision is.

In the end, you emptied just half a chili into the wok, because even just chopping it was beginning to make your eyes water. It instantly stained the hot oil a bright red. For the rest of the morning, you watched as Xiangling bustled around your little campsite, tasting this and that, asking you for various small and bewildering favors — you certainly hope that she didn’t really use the lizard tail that she had you go hunt down. 

While at first you paid careful attention to Xiangling, the sight of a piece of Cor Lapis gleaming under the morning light dragged your thoughts elsewhere — towards what ( who ) was waiting for you when you returned home. 

“Okay!” Xiangling finally said, making you jump. “Sorry that took so long! I’ve never had so much Matsutake to experiment with at once.” She held out two neatly packaged lunch boxes. “Take these, one for you, one for Mr Zhongli! It’s Matsutake Stirfry with Potatoes and Carrots! … I’ll come up with a better name later.”

You accepted the boxes with gracious thanks, just the smell wafting from them making your mouth water. 

“I really want to see the look on your face when you taste it, but we’ve been out here for a little over five hours now,” Xiangling mused. Had it really already been five? Time seemed to fly when you were with Xiangling. “You should probably hurry home or Mr. Zhongli will get worried.”

You absently thanked her again, all the while wondering at the truth of that. Zhongli had certainly seemed a little worried after the incident with Tartaglia, briefly, though he quickly returned to his usual, unreadable demeanor. The idea that someone was waiting for you, would get worried if you never came home — it was bafflingly foreign, but also… so very warm. 

As you turned to go, you could hear the grin in Xiangling’s voice when she called after you, “and here you were worried that you wouldn’t be able to help. This dish was only possible because of you, Hansi!”

Briefly and painfully, you yearned to understand how Xiangling managed to make a good thing of any situation. It seemed that there was far more than just cooking that Xiangling could teach you.

—-------------------

“Wonderfully seasoned,” Zhongli praised that afternoon, and you prayed that he didn’t notice your cheeks blushing as red as the chili oil. “A perfect balance of spice. Did you help make this?”

You bit back a smile as you nodded, and sent Rex Lapis your silent thanks for his... guidance. 

—-------------------

Easing into Zhongli’s life was easier than you would ever have imagined. 

After your disastrous breakfast incident, you had made a habit of waking early and accompanying him on his walks in the morning — at first to make up for setting his house on fire, then later, out of enjoyment. You found yourself looking forward to your long walks, breathing in the fresh air and seeing Liyue Harbor bathed in the dawnlight. 

Before you knew it, you had memorized a few things about the mornings of Liyue: which routes to Yujing Terrace let you catch the early sunrise; what time Wanmin restaurant’s fresh shao’bing buns come out of the oven; and when little old Madame Ping, whom Zhongli always greeted respectfully, hobbled up the hill to water the glaze lilies. 

 It was only when Zhongli mentioned black perch stew and you lamented that Mr. Sun from the fish market wouldn’t get new stock until Monday, that you realized just how deeply entrenched in domestic life you had become.

There were other things you noticed too; the street corner where you used to play, sleep and beg. The sink behind the souvenir shop that you snuck to at night just to get a drink of clean water. Children who’d had the misfortune of being born like you, into families who couldn’t imagine feeding another mouth. 

These things struck you with increasing guilt — of every child of Liyue who grew up without a home, what made you deserving of salvation? — but mostly, with fear. If Zhongli got tired of you, if you once again found yourself in that life... 

Well. 

You swept those thoughts deep deep deeper into your head, and forged on.

—-------------------

“Another umbrella, Mr. Zhongli?” You raised a brow. When had you begun to point out his eccentric purchases? You weren’t sure. “We’ve bought four today.” 

“Ah,” Zhongli smiled, already reaching for the fifth. “Yes, so we have. Do you like white rabbit candy? Let’s get two bags.”

Resigned, you followed along, your exasperation quickly fizzling out as soon as you turned a corner and came face to face with the wide-eyed, dirt-smeared faces of a group of orphans. Dressed in lovely clean clothes and with so much color in your cheeks — you couldn’t imagine how you looked to them. You saw so much of yourself in their hungry gazes that you had to look away. 

You watched as Zhongli bent down so that he met them at eye level. “Please, accept these,” he held out the umbrellas, and suddenly you began finding it hard to breathe, “it looks like there’s a storm coming. And also, won’t you all also take some sweets—?”

—-------------------

You, of course, kept your contract with Zhongli, as religiously as you would one with an Adeptus, or Rex Lapis himself. Each book that you enjoyed, you meticulously brought to him as though an offering, and each time, he seemed to have something to offer of his own. A book about the Five Yaksha, tales of the Dragon King, the legend of how Guyun Stone Forest was formed, memoirs from Guili Assembly — Zhongli always had some twist of his own to add to the stories. 

“Did you know that before they came to serve Rex Lapis, the Yaksha were bound to a cruel, tyrannical God? Yet when they were freed, they chose to honor a contract to protect the humans of Liyue. How admirable.”

“Precious few stories speak of it, but the Dragon King was not sealed by Rex Lapis due to a disagreement, but rather, because he broke a contract. What contract exactly? Well, I can’t be ruining too many books for you now, can I, Hansi?”

“These illustrations of the spears that originally comprise Guyun Stone Forest are… certainly interesting. Why did they deem that stone spears formed from the essence of Geo themselves would possess tassels and a ribbon? I doubt that during the Archon War, Rex Lapis had time to consider the appearance of his weapons.” 

“My my, these books certainly are taking their liberties with their descriptions of the Goddess of Dust. Kind, yes, gentle, perhaps, but weak? Why, is the Guizhong Ballista not one of the most powerful mechanisms in all of Liyue, even thousands of years after it was built? I would truly like to see what these authors consider strength.” 

Each time you marveled at his vast pools of knowledge, Zhongli would, without fail, exhale deeply and smile his small smile. “I have a good memory,” was always his explanation. You couldn’t help but wonder just how many books the man had read in his lifetime — and where he found the time to do anything else. 

While you were frequently more than impressed by his reserve of stories, the sentiment did not seem to extend to others in Liyue. More than one time had you and Zhongli been escorted, forcibly, from the Third-Round Knockout after your companion stood up to correct the storyteller on the stage. 

The first time, you were mortified, though by the sixth you had learned to laugh it off as breezily as Zhongli did.

—-------------------

Sometimes, you recalled your earliest days at Zhongli’s house; how he had told you that your first order of business was to recover your health. 

You had recovered, and so, what was next to come? 

The house was always spotless despite the increasing number of items that Zhongli seemed to bring home each day from his walks. More than once, you reflected on his claims that he needed household help, and realized that he may not have been entirely truthful.

On particularly bad days, when the haze of doubt threatened to overtake every logical thought in your mind, you waited for his gaze to turn cruel, for his fingers to grip you painfully and for him to take whatever he wanted. 

Yet — never did he so much as touch you. 

—-------------------

The Vision sat as heavily in your conscience as it did in your bedside table.

You opened the drawer frequently to stare at the thing, more of a plague on you than a blessing, at this point. If you could not use it, then it was just an ornament — an ornament that put your  amicable acquaintanceship with Zhongli at risk. 

If he were to find out on his own, it would be so much worse than if you’d told him. The very notion of hurt, betrayal and fury in those amber eyes was almost too much for you to hear.

And so, one day, you decided that it would simply be best if you told him.

—-------------------

You rehearsed a script for hours on end, trying to guess each and every one of Zhongli’s potential reactions. Certainly, he would be upset, perhaps disappointed. You were almost sure that he would not hurt you over the discovery. And even if he did, perhaps it wouldn’t be anything you didn’t deserve, for lying for so long.

When you were finally ready, your knock on his door was answered by a deep, rich, “yes?” 

You had never seen the inside of Zhongli’s room before, and so as you pushed the door open, you couldn’t help the way your heart leapt at the idea of seeing more of the man, learning more about him.

Your gaze first laid upon his face, edged silver in the moonlight. Then, immediately, it trailed downwards, to his shoulders, then—

Zhongli wasn’t wearing even a scrap of clothing. 

“Oh,” he said, slightly raised brows betraying nothing but mild surprise, “I was changing.” 

Wordlessly, you slammed the door shut and returned to your room.

—-------------------

When Zhongli came knocking ten minutes later, you were still a little dazed. 

“Come in,” you called, and as he entered you were somewhat relieved to see that he was clad in his usual four layers of clothing. “Do you see how I said come in, Mr Zhongli? Because I wasn’t changing?”

“I believe what I said was ‘yes’.” It was never easy to tell what Zhongli was thinking, with his carefully neutral expression, but was there a small smile in his voice there?

“You can’t—“ you realized with a certain degree of shock at how casually you had begun to address Zhongli. (You searched yourself for fear, and found none.) “—You can’t just say ‘yes’ when what you mean is ‘hang on, I’m completely nude!’” 

“I do apologize. I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” Zhongli said, and there was absolutely, definitely a small smile in his voice there. “What is it you wanted to tell me, Hansi?”

You opened your mouth, but paused. 

In the darkness of his room, you had barely been able to make out what seemed to be odd lines down his arms and chest — tattoos? You hadn’t expected a nobleman like him to be so covered in them. But more importantly, in the few seconds you had beheld Zhongli’s well-toned form, you had seen what you knew all too well — scars, raked across his torso, stomach, legs, the raised tissue gleaming under the moonlight. 

He had mentioned he had been fighting all his life, that he had been a soldier— but it was difficult to imagine even the Millelith facing foes so formidable that it could have left such injuries, and so many. What could have hurt him so badly? 

What was he hiding from you?

The way he was looking at you expectantly suddenly felt strangely alien; the same Zhongli you had come to know and trust, but— not quite.

And so, you swallowed your question about the Vision. “Xiangling wanted me to get a backpack,” you said instead, “for when we gather herbs. Do you think it would be okay if we got one next time, Mr. Zhongli? I promise to pay you back for it when I earn enough Mora.”

“Hansi,” he said, after his usual few seconds of careful studying, and he sounded so concerned that it was almost comical. “Whatever gave you the impression that you would be forced to pay for anything of the sort while living under my roof?” 

—-------------------

Perhaps in a valiant attempt to dissuade you of your sudden preoccupation with paying for things, Zhongli began to shower you with them. The first of the gifts was a beautiful bookmark, a thin piece of metal shaped to look like the Xiao lanterns of the Lantern Rite. It seemed to glow iridescent under lamplight, and you loved it so much that you carried it everywhere you went, the same way you never took off your glaze lily necklace.

Once Zhongli had ascertained that you did not mind gifts, and in fact enjoyed them, the floodgates swung open. Over the next few weeks, he would bring you various small items each time he returned from work or a walk: a Noctilucuous Jade hairpin, a painting of Luhua Pool, a golden gemstone that he called “Prithiva Topaz”, a small and surprisingly heavy pillar-shaped charm which he claimed came from a formidable monster from Guyun Stone Forest—

And on the most barren days, when the bustling markets of Liyue offered nothing that could meet Zhongli’s most particular standards, he would bring home various steamed buns, fresh fruit, and beverages, noting with keen amber eyes which ones were your favorites. Today, he had brought back a pitcher of “the finest gui’hua tea Liyue has to offer”. 

Sitting in a room full of memorabilia that Zhongli had picked out for you, and sipping hot tea that warmed you to your core, you began to understand the feeling of home.

—-

The men were furious. You could feel their blunt rage in the air, tense enough to cut with a blade. If your wrists weren’t tied up, you might have been able to make a run for it. 

“Welcome back. Do you know how much you cost us?” They snarled, one, two, three, four pairs of eyes staring you down. In the back, you could see the man with the scar on his eyebrow, the one who had escorted you to Zhongli. “Are you ready to pay us back?”

“Where is Mr. Zhongli?” You managed to whisper. 

“Don’t you remember? He got tired of you,” they sneered in unison. “Surely you didn’t think someone like you would be enough to satisfy his appetite?” 

Desperately, you shook your head. “He wouldn’t have. What did you do to him?”

One of them stepped forward and slapped you so hard that you briefly see white. “How stupid can you get?” His jaw cracked open into an unnatural, teeth grin, and the others followed suit all at once. “To start to trust, to start to dream ?” 

You tried to back away, but your knees would not move. They were close enough to touch now, and together, like one grotesque entity, they reached out. “You should know better by now. You should know your place .”

Before their melting, festering fingers could touch your skin, you opened your mouth and screamed for Zhongli.

—-------------------

Across the house, Zhongli’s eyes snapped open, casting the room in a golden glow.

It wouldn’t be the last, but that had been the first time you had called him simply by his name.

—-------------------

You woke up to Zhongli calling yours, and couldn’t help the violent flinch that shook your shoulders when you saw him looming over you. The relief you felt at recognizing Zhongli’s silhouette was unimaginable. 

“I heard you calling my name,” Zhongli said, raising both palms in a placating gesture. “Are you alright? Were you having a nightmare?”

Was that all it was; a dream? Your throat was hoarse — the screaming certainly wasn’t dreamed — and your chest raw from the fear and desperation. It felt like your skull was stuffed with cotton. Blindly, you reached out, relief washing away the last vestiges of the social norms instilled within you.

“You didn’t send me back?” You whispered, clutching at any patch of silk and skin you could find. “You didn’t leave?”

“No,” Zhongli met your fingers with his, holding your hand in a firm, gentle grip. He wasn’t wearing gloves, you realized absently. “Never.”

You stayed there for a few long seconds— or was it minutes? “Don’t go,” you begged when he began to pull away. Your eyelids were growing heavy, but the lingering haze of fear had you terrified of going to sleep again. “Please, don���t go.”

You heard the sound of a chair being dragged across the floor. “I’m here, Hansi,” Zhongli said, as you watched him sit down next to your bed. He was still holding your hand. “Get some rest. I will be with you.”

Zhongli’s rich, clear voice resonated through every inch of your body. You trusted him, you realized, letting your eyes shut. You would trust him with every breath of your being.

—-------------------

When you dreamed again, you found yourself in an endless land of clouds. 

Zhongli sat in the midst of it all, eyes closed, unmoving. The soft glow of stars formed a nimbus of gold and dust around his temples. His chest rose and fell gently, and you were certain that you would see no better embodiment of peace for the rest of your life, not even if you lived for a thousand years. 

You wanted to call out to him, but to break the tranquility of the moment seemed unforgivable. 

And so for the rest of the night, you watched him breathe; and you were content.

[queenangst]

uraraka-centric fic recs

it’s time for my best girl! here’s a collection of 27 gen, uraraka-centric fic recs. a mix of mostly canon compliant fics and some aus; hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, and everything in between. 

for more fic recs, please check out my:  ‘fic rec’ tag | ‘bnha fic rec’ tag | ‘weekly fic roundup’ tag (bnha)

Starfire by Anonymous

gen; 2.6k; chapters 1/1 complete

Stars create gravity, and Uraraka wishes on herself.

It was impossible to make her own shooting stars, but that inspiration sounded like a touch of divinity. Only the imaginings of a god with their versatility of powers could be capable of involving outer space. Uraraka...dreamed of that.

Home for Christmas by sobakasuai

gen; 1.2k; chapters 1/1 complete

Ochako feels slightly pitiful about herself as she loads a few more cups of noodles into her shopping basket. Christmas Eve was a time spent with family— a time for gifts under the tree, multicolored lights in the windows, and sending cheesy postcards in the mail.

Yet here she is, stocking up on sustenance as she rushes to get back to the dormitories before it gets too dark to be comfortable with walking back alone. A violation of Christmas spirit in human form, feeling not unlike Ebenezer Scrooge.

Barology by MissAquarius

gen; 4.6k; chapters 1/1 complete

Barology: the study of gravity.

intersection by kiroiimye

gen; 1.2k; chapters 1/1 complete; uraraka & bakugou

“Getting coffee, obviously.” She doesn’t want to meet his eyes and it’s only happened once before; the first times had been intimidation from hardened crimson eyes. But as the years went on, she had grown past that stage; he was more a classmate than enemy. “Would you like to—

“Nope.” It’s flippant, over-the-shoulder, but Bakugou makes no move to leave and Ochako can’t help but smile wryly.

It’s the sort of thing he’d pull when they were younger.

Ochako runs into Bakugou after graduation.

momentous by kiroiimye

gen; 2/6k; chapters 1/1 complete

She’s in the middle of a math lesson, ignoring the whispers behind her back when the rumbling starts. It’s a dull roar in the beginning, and it’s when the pens start rattling on her desk that she stops the lecture. Even the students have gone quiet in their seats, the room stilled with tension.

“Uraraka-sensei, what was that?”

Ochako squares her shoulders, lowering her voice. “I don’t know, but stay alert.”

And then the water comes rushing in.

Becoming a teacher was not part of Ochako's post-U.A. plans, and yet here she is. Standing in front of a raucous class of about twenty teenagers, who all seem to have it out for her. Really, why is she here again?

The Hunger for Survival by SingingCookie

gen; 6.2k; chapters 1/1 complete

People say your early life shapes you, really molds you into the person you’ll become. Likes, dislikes, the habits, the tics, and the pet peeves… A majority of that when you grow up is influenced by where you came from.

Ochako’s early life shaped her into someone who knew how to survive—but it was always the living that fell just out of reach.

one hundred percent by UnidentifiedPie

gen; 2.2k; chapters 1/1 complete

White like bone, Uraraka thinks, mind flashing back to the people she saw on the street. Civilians lying all around, eyes blank and staring and dead. The defeated hero, body a mangled mess, spilled organs and shattered, bloodied bone.

She’d watched that hero die. The villain Uraraka had fought had gripped him by the neck and supercharged his blood, contorted his body into something twisted and terrible. She’d run for him, something screaming in her heart and lungs and nononono-

-but she wasn’t fast enough. And it didn’t matter anyway; the man had been dead before he’d hit the ground.

Patchwork by bishounen_curious

gen; 6.8k; chapters 1/1 complete; uraraka & 1a/1b girls

At the beginning of Third Year, Ochako suggests to the girls in the Hero Course that they make a patchwork quilt to commemorate their time together at U.A., their friendship and their solidarity as women in the hero profession. Something private and special that they all can share for years to come.

However, the quilt doesn't get finished. And it never does.

at long last by Quintessence

gen; 2.7k; chapter 1/1 complete; uraraka family

"Her parents were proud. The kind of proud that came from decades of unrelenting hard work matched in intensity only by their miserable luck. The kind of proud that made them refuse the money Ochako sent after her every paycheck. The kind of proud that was going to make a gift of the magnitude she planned to give go down as easily as a mouthful of chalky pills without water."

In which pro-hero Uravity finally achieves her lifelong dream of giving her parents an easy life.

got your six by Quintessence

gen; 1.6k; chapters 1/1 complete; uraraka & bakugou

“Oh, yeah, they rejected my application,” Uraraka says, like it’s nothing, which, Bakugou decides, fists clenched under the table, it most certainly isn’t. “They’re mostly a combat-based agency, and they thought I’d be better suited for a rescue oriented one. So I’m gonna keep looking. I mean, Kurashiki Agencies isn’t the only game in town, so I’m a little bummed, but it’s okay.”

And then she has the nerve to smile, making her full, pink cheeks even rounder, shrug, and take a sip of her drink. Bakugou has to breathe deeply before he replies, because he really is working on not lashing out as much anymore, but the anger burns and bubbles like boiling water in his stomach.

“That’s the biggest fucking load of bullshit I’ve ever heard, Round-Face.” His teeth are clenched as he speaks, but at least he’s not yelling. “I mean, have they even seen what you can do? Or did they just take one look at your Quirk and fucking write you off?”

In which Uraraka gets rejected from a hero agency, and Bakugou is her most aggressive (and I mean aggressive) supporter.

Like an Onion by BigDangoFamily

gen; 3.7k; chapters 1/1 complete; uraraka & aoyama, background/minor uraraka/midoriya

It was strange, Uraraka thought, how someone so sparkly and so over-the-top could fade into the background so easily. Even with his theatrical nature and his showy costume and his (quite literally) dazzling Quirk, Uraraka had somehow never noticed Aoyama that much.

He was a piece of the background; he helped make up the landscape of their class; he was a figure her eyes automatically skipped over in her search for her friends—which, when she put it like that, made it sound pretty harsh.

It wasn’t that she particularly disliked Aoyama. She would gladly enjoy time spent hanging out with anyone in Class 1-A (well, maybe not Mineta), and she was friendly to all her classmates. That was how she was. It was just that, somehow, her eyes had always seemed to glide right off of Aoyama.

Well, now her eyes definitely saw him, and quite clearly too.

OR: Uraraka unexpectedly comes to respect Aoyama.

Determination by chockfullofsecrets

gen; 1.1k; chapters 1/1 complete; uraraka & midoriya

If Uraraka wants to win this sparring match, she’s going to need to find a way to put a stop to Deku’s endless determination.

perfidy by khattikeri

gen; 500 words; chapters 1/1 complete; uraraka & midoriya

She pressed the knife harder against Midoriya's throat.

Just Keep Floating by ProPinkist

gen; 2.9k; chapters 1/1 complete; uraraka & all might

Ochako runs into Toshinori, hiding away alone in the dorms, who might could use a helping hand.

Luckily, in this case, she's just the right person for the job.

Uravity: (Kitten) Rescue Hero by TenyaTrash

gen; 1.4k; chapters 1/1 complete

Childhood Ochako is always looking for ways to excel as a rescue hero. She wants to help her parents, her friends, and the world.

And wouldn't you know it? She's got a knack for finding animals that are purrfectly in need of a rescue or two.

Every hero has to start somewhere!

Freefall by Cornflower_Blue

gen; 2k; chapters 1/1 complete

The first time it happens, it is an accident.

The first time it happens, Ochako is just walking around her neighborhood.

Cold Tea and Hot Tears by Wolfie_Dragon

gen; 2.6k; chapters 1/1 complete; minor uraraka/midoriya

When Ochako and the other work studies students are back at the dorms after the Shie Hasaikai raid, things are supposed to go back to normal. But Ochako finds she can't forget the horrible events. It's only in the dark of night that she finds that Deku is just as traumatized, if not more.

Scars by All_five_pieces_of_Exodia

gen; 2.4k; chapters 1/1 complete; uraraka & dekusquad

When Ochako is training one day and gets injured because of it, she starts to wonder about scars and what the people who have them think of them.

But does she even want to know?

Normalcy Has Its Place by Madam_Chauncey

gen; 3.2k; chapters 1/1 complete; uraraka & yaoyorozu

Sometimes a day of kickboxing with your gal pal is all you need. Or; Momo and Ochako decide to make the best of a bad week.

foundations by blueberrytree

gen; 2.5k; chapters 1/1 complete

Ochako drums her fingers anxiously on the surface of her desk. Why does she want to be a hero? It had seemed so clear before last night’s phone call—make money to support her parents and give them an easy life. Now, though? 

Gravitational Pull by Sky_King

gen; 2.9k; chapters 1/1 complete; uraraka & dekusquad

Despite having been friends for a while now, Izuku soon realizes there's a lot he doesn't know about Uraraka.

And on the other hand, Ochako discovers that opening up to her friends might not be as frightening as she suspects it to be.

Sleep is for the Weak by baggytshirtsandtiredeyes

gen; 2.9k; chapters 1/1 complete; uraraka & aizawa

Exhaustion was as familiar to Ochako as breathing. She was only fifteen but she felt more like she was edging on forty. But it was okay. She could just power through. She couldn’t stop now. Not when she was living her dream.

Catch Me When I Fall by baggytshirtsandtiredeyes

gen; 2.1k; chapters 1/1 complete; uraraka & asui

Ochako feels like she's falling behind her classmates so she starts training alone. One night Tsuyu finds her and offers to help. If only they could have known what was going to happen.

If the Dress Fits by calamansifresh

gen; 2.4k; chapters 1/1 complete

It’s the day of the Annual Hero Awards Gala and Uraraka Ochako is in attendance as the recipient of the Rising Star Award. While she’s certainly proud of her heroic accomplishments, impostor syndrome rears its ugly head and she wonders if she really belongs in the spotlight.

caution, handle with care by SpiritusRex

gen; 2.7k; chapters 1/1 complete

It was an accident. Ochako reminds herself, as she cups her hand to her mouth and tries to keep the hot, bright blood from dripping through her fingers. It was an accident.

But Ochako knew, had witnessed, just how severe an accident could be.

She pulls her hand away, and her palm comes back with a jagged chunk of a tooth cradled in the center. The sight blurs in front of her eyes; a dot of white in a small pool of red.

Ochako takes a page out of Deku's book, and makes an impulsive, painful decision.

All Might for a day by PurpleCarSeat

gen; 9.3k; chapters 1/1 complete; uraraka & all might

What had he been about to say?

Ochako expects it’s more of the same “push beyond your own limits!” stuff that he likes to spout, which always feels a little hollow coming from him because All Might doesn’t have limits. Despite what he claimed, she doesn’t think All Might has ever been weak. He’s the number one hero, perfect in every way. He can move faster than the eye can follow and jump so high he’s practically flying. He was probably trying to make her feel better – it seems like the sort of thing he’d do.

Or: Ochako learns the hard way that strength is more than just physical, and that the people at the top are only human too

Sacrifices and Jogging Routes by Quillium

gen; 5.8k; chapters 1/1 complete; uraraka & dekusquad

"We're heroes," she says instead, simply, quietly. It's hard to be excited about becoming a hero... every child's dream, what everyone idolizes... when you know the likely outcome. Most of her friends will die before her or she will be dead before they've even begun to sport wrinkles.

OR

Uraraka tries to figure out what it means to be a hero and the sacrifices that it entails.

[celestarial]

Here are some voice lines I have been working on for Mitsuki! The rest are below the cut! [I might add to this? Not sure, but here is this for now! ^-^!)

Hello...: “I am called Kazaoka Mitsuki, but... you may call me Mitsuki.”

Good Morning: “The sun has risen, what will you do with it’s light?”

Good Afternoon: “Now feels like a good time for some tea, is there a specific kind that you prefer? Hm? Oh, I can heat it with my magic of course.”

Good evening: “It has been a long time since I was on my feet for so long. Perhaps now is a good time to look for a place to rest?”

Good night: “Ah, you may sleep without concern. I can watch over you.”

Chat - clothes: “Hm? My dress? It is called Kimono, it is common in Inazuma. Mine is made of silk, do you want to feel it?”

Chat - traditions: “I feel like young people are forgetting where to place their priorities. They may move on, but where would they be without those that fought to get them there?”

Chat - travel: “It seems Teyvat has changed much more than I thought it would... Do you know of any good places I can visit?”

When it rains: “When it rains in the forest, you are sheltered by the abundance of trees that surround you. Never forget to thank even the simplest of beings.”

When thunder strikes: “Thunder and lightning are symbols of the Shogun... hm? Oh, I am not afraid of either.”

When the sun is out: “Sunlight is a gift that we do not appreciate until we have it no longer.”

When the wind is blowing:  “The wind can resonate with anyone or anything... calm and gentle, or fierce and strong... is that why he calls it free?”

About Mitsuki: “In my town I was given the nickname Fire Starter out of spite. I do not particularly care one way or the other about the title, but I do care about those that lack respect.”

About Spring: “In Inazuma, the spring festival is very important. It is always the day before spring begins. It is the day that the spirits exist closest to our world - both malicious and benevolent. It is wise to visit a temple to get your blessings.”

About Liyue: “Liyue is lucky to have had such a long standing, and benevolent Archon. His passing is more of a tragedy than people realize. Not only for them, but all of Teyvat...”

About the Vision: “Gifts from the gods... they grant mortals the ability to command a powerful element, however there are other means of controlling magic.”

Anything to share... “Inazuma was not always so closed off, we used to be very close with the people of Liyue... how long ago you ask? Oh... perhaps too long.”

Interesting things... “Noda Fuji, or The Wisteria flower is a beautiful lavender blossom that can be found in Inazuma. It is quite the versatile flower, many locals use it in their food, and even make drinks out of them! Only the flower though, you do not want to eat any other part of the plant.”

About - Zhongli: “Ah, I’ve met him before actually... he reminded me of someone else from long ago...”

About the Bafuku: “They are the extension of the Archon of Inazuma, they carry out her will. I do not care for them in particular. What good is blind obedience anyway?”

About the Shogun: “Baal, the Raiden Shogun of Inazuma, I try to stay out of her way. She has recently decided to confiscate the visions of everyone living in the nation. I do not agree with this. How can she believe that she has the right to take away a gift given to one from another god? It is ludicrous...” 

More about Mitsuki - I: “I enjoy board games, if you are ever curious about how to win one fairly, or otherwise... let me know. I’ll be more than happy to share. As long as you play a few rounds with me of course.”

More about Mitsuki - II: “Spicy food is my favorite. I have not come across a flavor that has topped it at all. Of course it needs to be balanced, if I wanted to eat straight fire... well, I wouldn’t have to pay for that now would I? Though it would be far more unpleasant...”

More about Mitsuki - III: “My weapons were a gift given to me long ago... I have never gone anywhere without them since the day I received them. With my fan I can bend the wind, and with my blade I can sear through almost anything...if I must.”

More about Mitsuki - IV: “After the war, I chose to stay in Inazuma. I felt like it was my duty to protect the people that lived there. Though we had won... there was still so many shadows that crept out from the abyss, darkening every corner they could... It was my duty to light the way...”

More about Mitsuki - V: “It has been so long since I’ve seen anyone that stood by my side in those days, but I still remember their faces. Where are they now I wonder? Do they... still remember mine?”

Mitsuki’s hobbies... “I like to play Gomoku, it is a strategy game. You can play with stones or marbles...acorns even. As long as the other player’s pieces are different enough. To win you must line up five of your pieces in a straight line - uninterrupted. The direction does not matter, so long as it is straight. Would you like to play? I haven’t played that in years...” 

Favorite food: “I am not too picky about food. But I had this fantastic bowl of ramen once, it had eggs, pork, and beef, mixed in with the perfect amount of garlic and peppers... oooh, I wish I could find such a dish again. I don’t think anything has ever made my eyes water the way that did...”

Least Favorite Food: “I really don’t care for raw food... it just... it leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Ugh, it’s even worse if it’s bland! At that point, I might as well eat the thing straight off the pike!”

Birthday: “Here, take these, they are just simple hair rods engraved with a sigil to bring good fortune, but they are blessed. One is for you, and the other for your twin. May you find each other again.”

[lonestarbabe]

Holding Out for a Hero

Chapter 5: Drag Me Down (AO3)

Carlos

Carlos’ stomach had been in knots for a week, tight knots that pulled and tightened every time he moved. The kind of knots that didn’t go away with a new day or a good night’s sleep. Carlos really wasn’t the anxious type. He was calm under pressure, and knew how to keep his emotions in check, but ever since he started working with T.K., he’d been different. Michelle, when she called, always said he seemed so different, and he was. This job had changed him in ways that no other job had. Even as a police officer, he hadn’t ever felt disarmed.

It wasn’t so much the fear that he couldn’t handle the job. He was pretty confident about his skills, and he had gotten used to his daily tasks. He was always adaptable, so it made it easy to learn what T.K. needed. From the beginning, he knew to carefully learn T.K.’s routine because even though T.K.’s life was fast-paced and chaotic, there was still a rhythm to it that Carlos had gotten in step with. He’s a creature of habits, even if his habits cause more chaos than order. He likes things a certain way just like we all do. When he acts out, it doesn’t come out of nowhere. His eyes sparkle whenever he sees Marjan, Judd, or Grace. Carlos tried to piece together what made T.K. tick, the delicate intricacies of what made the popstar human. He absorbed whatever he could about T.K. in hopes that knowledge would make it easier to keep T.K. safe, and for the most part, it was working. T.K. is still a mystery, but I know more now, and he doesn’t overwhelm me like he used to. I’ve figure out enough not to feel like I’m drowning in two inches of water, but if I’m not careful, I’ll drown in twenty feet.

So, what worried Carlos most was not whether or not he was a good enough bodyguard. He knew he was good, but good or not, things could go terribly wrong with a client like T.K., who was impulsive and self-destructive, the worst combination for a bodyguard. Carlos feared the coming changes in T.K’s routine, which would throw everything he’d studied off course. He’d have to reanalyze. He’s not good with change. T.K. thinks he thrives in chaos, but the more chaotic his life gets, the more unhinged T.K. gets. T.K. was starting the next leg of his tour soon, and Carlos wasn’t sure what to expect, but he guessed that T.K. wasn’t going to cope well. Screaming fans, long days, and little sleep were the perfect ingredients for a disaster stew, thick and mushed together.  Maybe he’d be wrong, and the fast-paced lifestyle would do T.K. good rather than harm.

In addition to concerns about T.K. himself, Carlos also had some apprehensions about his place in T.K.’s world. In his short career as a bodyguard, starting with a series of brief assignments, Carlos mostly bodyguarded for rich businessmen or their heirs. There’d been some movie stars, mostly B-list, and even an A-list singer for a few weeks, but no one he’d ever worked for had as many dedicated fans, and haters, as T.K. did. The whole experience took some getting used to, and based on what he’d seen, Carlos was getting a small following of his own.

Over the few months he’d been working with T.K., fans had actually begun to recognize Carlos as T.K.’s bodyguard, which had left him panicked and heading straight to Judd’s office. When he’d told Judd about this, Judd had just laughed saying, “Yeah, they know about all the people hangin’ ‘round, T.K. Even Grace once got a fan letter. It was a nice one, Thank God. I get not so nice ones myself. They think I’m taking advantage of T.K. or mishandling his career. I even got one saying I was trying to put him back in the closet.”

“That’s crazy,” Carlos had said, eyes wide. He didn’t closely follow any celebrities (other than the ones he had to protect, so seeing T.K.’s fans being so dedicated felt like a bucket of icy water being dumped on his head.

In response, Judd had shrugged, “That’s the life. You can’t let it get to you. They know your name now, Carlos, and you can’t run away from that. They know anyone who gets close to T.K. Most of them are harmless. They just love T.K. a lot. Like I love football.” Sounds like the perfect culture for stalkers.

“Doesn’t that impede my ability to protect him?” Carlos had asked, half wanting a chance to run away from the insanity that had become his life. But I couldn’t do that to T.K. He needs me, and I need this job to prove that I’m more than police force reject. I need redemption just as much as T.K. needs protection. This is the biggest chance I’m going to get, and if I blow it, it’s going to end badly for everyone. Especially T.K.

“Nah, you just have to keep doing what you’ve been doing. Protect T.K. as best as you can. Don’t start signing autographs.” Why would I ever do that? “One of his bodyguards got a little fame hungry and did that, and T.K. nearly got mobbed by a group of fans. I fired that idiot the second T.K. was safely home, no thanks to his bodyguard.” Carlos didn’t think it was necessary to mention that he’d feel too stupid signing autographs to even consider doing something so careless. With that stunning bit of advice, Judd had sent Carlos back into the world of screaming fans, and Carlos did the best he could with the situation he’d been given.

It was mortifying each time a fan seemed to know something about Carlos that they shouldn’t have known. Like when one had first called Carlos by his name. That had been a shock. Thankfully, his social media was already private, but he’d already gotten a bunch of requests on Instagram from a deluge of obsessed fans. Carlos’ brother-in-law had even sent him a fanfic in which he’d been written into a hot bodyguard romance. Carlos had clicked out before it had gotten to the steamy bits, feeling embarrassed and exposed. I didn’t sign up to be known.

On his way over to T.K.’s house, he swung by to his favorite bakery and picked up a box of doughnuts. As he held them in his hand, walking up to T.K.’s door, he felt a little stupid. He didn’t even know if T.K. liked doughnuts or if T.K. had already had breakfast, but knowing T.K., the popstar had probably just rolled out of bed ten minutes ago.

T.K. immediately saw the box and his face lit up. “Are those doughnuts?” he asked as if he’d just spotted a unicorn.

“Oh my god, you’re the best. I haven’t had doughnuts since… I don’t even know when.” Carlos had them most Saturdays. They were his big weekend treat. He worked out enough and ate a balanced diet, so he didn’t feel bad about splurging on some treats every once in a while.

“Because you don’t get up early enough for breakfast?” Carlos guessed.

“That and my old manager was a bitch about me eating junk food. She also wanted me to wear skinny jeans so tiny that I’m still trying to figure out how I got them past my ankles. Judd’s let me loosen them up a bit.” T.K. laughed. “I could wear overalls and Judd wouldn’t care. Or a pirate costume.” Carlos couldn’t imagine T.K.’s jeans being any tighter. I can’t let my mind go there. They already looked like they were painted on, the dark fabric stretched over muscled thighs. How could I not notice the black fabric clinging to those lean, long legs?

Carlos opened the box to show T.K. the array of treats, offering him first dibs, and, of course, T.K. chose the most colorful doughnut in the box with pink icing and sprinkles. Carlos smirked at him. “You didn’t even ask what flavor it is.”

T.K. shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. The prettier the doughnut, the better the taste. This one has the most sprinkles. It has to be good.”

“Is that so?” Carlos hoped the sparkle in his eyes wasn’t too obvious. T.K. had a way of making Carlos feel good, and in the time they’d known each other, Carlos had learned that while T.K. was miserable, moody, and maudlin when he was under the influence, he was impish, witty, and sweet when he was sober. It was no wonder he had so many fans because he possessed that infectiousness that so few people had. When he was present, he could make the night seem like it was day. Carlos wanted to be around that T.K., the one who made Carlos’ job easier and who treated Carlos as a friend. It was the other T.K., the spoiled, selfish, suffering superstar who troubled Carlos. Because T.K. was none of those things. Those were just the qualities that popped out when he war running scared.

“I don’t make the rules.” Carlos tried to avert his eyes as T.K. poked his tongue out, licking at the doughnut in practiced swirls. For the love of god, T.K., just eat the doughnut. Something mischievous flickered in T.K.’s emerald eyes as his eyes met Carlos’ and he took an exaggerated bite into the doughnut, moaning as dough and cream oozed into his mouth and past the corner of his lips. He licked the filling off as he chewed, giggling a bit in a way that Carlos couldn’t help but be endeared by. Who gave him the right to be so cute? “Oh, yeah. That’s good. So good. I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

Carlos shook his head. “Hurry up. We’re going to be late for your rehearsals.”

“How am I supposed to polish off that box of doughnuts when you’re rushing me?”

Carlos picked out a doughnut for himself. “You don’t get the whole box to yourself,” Carlos warned, but he let T.K. have another one. I’d let him have them all if he asked. This one had maple icing and fewer sprinkles, but it looked just as good. “Hey, I thought you liked sprinkles,” Carlos teased.

T.K. stuffed the doughnut in his mouth and said between chews, “I’m versatile.” I’ll bet he is.

“You’re gross, that’s what you are.” A glob of filling sat on T.K.’s face next to his lips, and it nagged at Carlos. Carlos pointed to his own face in the same spot. “You’ve got a little something…” T.K. tried to get it but couldn’t quite pinpoint the right spot. “Here let me,” Carlos picked up a napkin, and dabbed the spot off T.K.’s face. T.K.’s eyes widened at the touch and Carlos felt a jolt of electricity between them. T.K. quickly neutralized his expression, but as Carlos pulled the napkin away, Carlos immediately regretted his actions. He crossed a boundary that he shouldn’t have crossed, and the stirring in Carlos’ stomach made him revert to awkwardness when he’d finally grown comfortable around T.K., sober T.K. at least. Addicted T.K. would always be hard to see.

Being the superstar that he was, T.K. didn’t miss a beat and seemed unaffected by the moment between them. He was used to people blurring his boundaries. He let them have their way too often, Carlos had noticed. T.K. too often allowed other people to push him past his comfort zone, especially when he has a substance running through his body. Hookups tried to get their way with him. Fans tried to get to know intimate details about him. The media pried into anything they could build a story around. Carlos wondered if T.K. forgot that people needed boundaries to feel safe and happy. Carlos sure did, and T.K.’s world had made those boundaries feel like they were shrinking in on him at times.

T.K. brushed the crumbs from his hands. “Come on, big guy, I have rehearsal.” T.K. wasn’t a timely person, but he took rehearsals seriously, Carlos knew. He didn’t want to let fans down, so he wasn’t going to do anything to jeopardize his performance.

Carlos nodded, “Let’s go.” Before I blur any more boundaries. Focus on your job, Carlos. Keep T.K. safe.

To Carlos’ relief, rehearsal was calm, the kind of pre-tour monotony he’d grown to appreciate in its levelness. In his line of work, those repetitive, predictable days were the ones to be cherished. Carlos could breathe easily on such days. Those days fueled him. T.K. smiling his way through rehearsal and chatting with the crew never failed to make Carlos feel sunny. Those days energized him for the ones ahead, the ones he knew wouldn’t be so easy.

The best days were when Carlos could report to Michelle that absolutely nothing had happened because those were the days when Carlos didn’t stay up at night wondering if T.K. was okay. When you spend so much time with someone, it’s hard not to get attached. Especially when they’ve got the ebullience and complexity of T.K. Strand. He’s not the kind of guy who you can look away from. Even if sometimes you feel like you’re staring straight into the sun.

T.K.

After rehearsal, T.K. had an interview with a radio show, and as he sat down for the eponymous Peter Jenkins show, everything started off smoothly, but T.K. was careful with what he said because Jenkins was notoriously as asshole who stuck his head where he had no business sticking it. The interview started off smoothly, most of them do, and while T.K. was guarded, he answered the basic questions about his new single, his coming tour dates, and whether he’d thought of the next album yet (he was always thinking about the next album). He’d also gotten the basic personal questions that everyone wanted to know. Love life stuff, which T.K. didn’t have much to report back on. Jenkins seemed displeased about T.K.’s lack of a meaty answer, so he doubled down. “Word around town is that you’re pretty into the club scene.” It wasn’t exactly a secret that T.K. liked to party, but he stiffened at the question. This is not what I’m here for. Why can’t they just let me stick to talking about the music.

Answering questions was a delicate procedure. Celebrities didn’t get enough credit for the art of interviewing. The issue was that there was no way to please everyone. Some fans would support him while others would type call-out posts about how he had became a shitty person since he became famous. The truth is that I was always a shitty person. I just have more means to be shitty now. Others would hate on him, no matter what he said or did, just for the sake of hating on him. Answer too much, and he’d get hate for the things he said, and answer too little and he’d get hate for “trying to be mysterious” and “being too close-off.”

“Is there a question in there?” T.K. replied, and it sounded a little too harsh and confrontational, so forced a laugh to make it look like he was just fooling around. I’m just a popstar who makes jokes about everything. I never take anything too seriously. I just go with the flow and try to make my bodyguard, manager, and best friend as cranky as possible in the process. T.K. looks over to Judd, who is standing nearby with Carlos, and Judd looks as though he’s ready to step in and end the interview if he needs, but T.K. gives a small head shake. The last thing I need is to look like a diva who storms out of interviews.

“You’re just like other celebrities who get famous young. You did well for a while, and now you’re spinning out.” There still wasn’t a question there, and T.K. didn’t think he wanted one. I will not punch Jenkins’ smug face…I will not punch Jenkins’ smug face… I will not punch Jenkins’ smug face… Self-control wasn’t one of T.K.’s specialties, but he’d dealt with many old, white men who didn’t take him seriously and thought his sexuality was somehow wrong. Why did I ever agree to this interview? Judd said he didn’t think I should do it. But I’d wanted to expand my demographic.

I’m not spinning out, he wanted to protest, but that wasn’t true. He’d been spinning out since 2001. That’s how he ended up in the music business in the first place. He’s been a little kid, angry and wasting his anxious energy on delinquencies that set his mom on edge— stealing candy from the store, scribbling angry words on the walls, drawing disturbing pictures of his dead dad. Fearing that he might get violent, his mom had introduced him to music, and music had calmed the madness in his mind. It distracted him from it, at least, but nothing had ever made that madness go away.

T.K. wanted to set Jenkins straight. He wanted to say, Yeah, I’m spinning out, but not because I’m famous, but because I feel like an exposed nerve all the time and I hate what my life has become. I didn’t ask to be famous. I didn’t want everyone to scream my name. I just wanted to get some of my pain off my chest. Sometimes, I wish my mom never got me a guitar because that guitar. The fame. My whole life. Those were consolation prizes. She said, “I can’t give you your dad, so go play some music and leave alone because I can’t deal with a miscreant kid on top of everything else,” and so that damn guitar, my music kept me less lonely, but it couldn’t bring back what I lost and it couldn’t heal the goddamn hole in my heart. But he couldn’t say that answer because it would scream spinning out, and while spinning out might sell albums, it was a private matter nevertheless.

“I’m just having fun,” T.K. said, putting on an award-winning smile. “Nothing wrong with that.” Except that I don’t remember half of what I do, and most of the time, I can’t have fun unless I have a substance first, but other than that, I’m absolutely having the time of my life. I’m not at all lonely or sad or angry or disappointed or troubled.

“I’m not judging,” Jenkins insisted, raising his hands in surrender. T.K. fought the eye roll he felt pressing against his eyeballs. I’ve never seen someone so full of shit.

“Is there a point to this?” T.K. asked as patiently as he could, but he knows instantly it’s a stupid thing to say. Twitter stans will destroy each other over this.

“I’m just wondering…” Jenkins hesitated, and when an asshole like that hesitates, that’s when you should run away as fast as you can because that brief hesitation is the only escape your going to get from whatever attack is about to happen. “If rumors are true, you’ve been doing a lot of drugs and having a lot of sex.”

“I don’t—”

Jenkins chuckles. “Don’t worry, boy scout. I’m not asking you to confirm or deny. You’re too media trained to give it to me straight, anyway.”

“Then—” T.K. couldn’t figure out where Jenkins was going, and that was always scary in an interview. He’d been through some bad ones, so he didn’t worry too much. I can handle this. There’s nothing he can ask that I haven’t been asked before. He was uncomfortable, but he wasn’t going to admit defeat on this one.

“What I’m asking is,” Jenkins doesn’t pause this time. “Don’t you think your dad would be ashamed of what you’ve become?” T.K. didn’t hear anything after that, and he couldn’t tell if it was because the room had gone silent or because his senses had become hazy. The room had frozen, and only Jenkins seemed to be immune to the emotional frenzy that was taking place around him. Even Jenkins’ producer, Anette, looked like she wanted to end the show right then. I need to do something. Say something.

Judd was having heated words with Anette, probably putting an end to the interview as calmly as he could, but T.K. gave him another look, one that said, “Don’t make a fuss.” Judd loved to fuss over T.K., and most of the time, it wasn’t so bad, but T.K. didn’t want this interview to end on Jenkins’ terms.

“I wouldn’t know. He’s been dead most of my life,” and he doesn’t even try to keep a professional tone. His voice sounds detached, and even though he knows it has to be his, he doesn’t recognize it. The world is blurry and distant, and T.K. feels unground like he’s floating in space with no chance of ever returning. He hates when he gets like this. It makes him scared and angry and anxious. Except when he’s high. When he’s high he’s floaty without the bad parts of being floaty.

Jenkins was notorious for pushing people to their breaking points. You would think it would make his show self-destruct, but Jenkins’ audience loved the way he “tells it as he sees it,” which was code for saying “I like that he’s a cruel bully.” T.K. could talk a lot about things he didn’t want to talk about, but dad talk was not something he could endure, especially talk about his dad.

“He was a hero. You have to think he might be disappointed in some of your choices?”

“You know, I used to want to be a firefighter,” T.K. told Jenkins, and he wasn’t sure why he was sharing this precious information other than passive aggressive spiting. You want me to make a scene? Well, I’ll make a scene. I’ll give you exactly what you want and more.

“Oh, really? What happened to that dream? Did you realize it wasn’t glamorous enough for you?” His voice was so condescending that T.K. could feel himself losing what control he had left.

“I used to want to be a firefighter until I realized that being a dead hero sucked. Now, I sometimes wish I was a dead hero because at least then I wouldn’t have to put up with all this bullshit,” and with that, he did what he said he wasn’t going to and flung off his head phones and stormed away from fucking Peter Jenkins.

Judd caught up with T.K. first, and T.K. knew it was bad when Judd didn’t even try to lecture him as they went down the hall to the door. Carlos was behind them, quietly watching over with scrunched eyebrows. He thinks I’m a freak now. Just as I was starting to get on his good side.

“I’m sorry,” T.K. said when they finally get in Judd’s car. Judd’s hands grip the steering wheel.

“I’m not mad at you.”

“I couldn’t have reacted much worse. Twitter fans and Tumblr fans and fucking Instagram fans are probably all having meltdowns over this. For the love of god, who let me have vocal cords. I couldn’t just have my fucking meltdown in private.” This is turning into breakdown part two.

“T.K. calm down. This is no doubt going to get a lot of attention, but this isn’t going to ruin your career.”

“They’re going to cancel me!”

“They’re not, kid. Everyone knows Jenkins is a bastard. I’m going to take care of this. We’ve handled worse.” Like the girl who claimed to be pregnant with T.K.’s baby. No, this is still worse. “I’m more worried about how you’re doing.”

“I’m fine!” T.K. insisted, but his hands shook and he just wanted some Oxy, or anything else that would take the edge off because things are getting too complicated, and Carlos was dead quiet beside him, which made T.K. worry he’d broken his poor bodyguard who was far from a chatterbox but was good at keeping up a conversation.     

“T.K., you said some pretty—”

“Is this about that dead hero line? Because I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You picked up on what I was trying to say pretty fast.”

“Because I know how your cowboy brain works.”

“I think you should see someone about all this,” Judd replied, and T.K. knows he said it right then because it was harder for T.K. to lash out in a moving car. He couldn’t storm away. That’s for sure.

T.K. looked over at Carlos, feeling humiliated that he was hearing all this. “Judd, no. You know that kind of thing isn’t for me.”

“You know I’m not a talking kinda guy, but it can’t hurt to try. Just once a week. You can even do virtual sessions if you like.”

“I just want to curl up in bed and never come out,” T.K. said stubbornly, unlocking his phone and scrolling through Twitter. He should have started on Tumblr. They’re less harsh there. “I’m doomed. The things people are saying! I’m never going to live this down.” His mom had also tried calling him three times, and he knew that as soon she got done with her shift that Marjan would not just be calling, but she’d be knocking down his door, and if he wasn’t home, she’d find him. She always found him, no matter how hard he was trying to hide.

Carlos snatched T.K.’s phone from his hands. “That’s enough of that.” It was a relief to hear him speak, but T.K. felt red anger surge through him.

“That’s my property!”

“And it’s my job to keep you safe.”

“I’m not going to throw myself off a cliff just because people said mean things about me.”

“T.K.!” he heard Judd exclaim, and just like that, T.K. felt his chest tighten and couldn’t hold back the sobbing that had been creeping up on him ever since he was at the studio.

Judd watched him when he could, looking back using the rearview mirror, but he didn’t say anything. Carlos looked like he didn’t know what to do, and T.K. felt like an idiot because no one likes a crybaby.

“My dad would hate me if he knew me,” T.K. confessed to no one in particular, but he figured that it couldn’t hurt to be honest about how he felt. After all, he’d confessed a lot more on live radio that would be recorded and saved for posterity. No point having secrets anymore. Might as well live up to my potential as a fucked up popstar.

“Your dad wouldn’t be ashamed of you, T.K.,” Carlos said, and his eyes looked so sincere. He was the kind of person who wouldn’t say a nice thing if he didn’t mean it, but he also somehow always found a nice thing to say.

Judd added, “He’s right you know. You mean a lot to a lot of people.” Yeah, I mean a whole lot to all the people who want what I can give, but don’t care about who I am. Very few people know who I really am. Most of the others, I’m fooling, and probably now, I’m not fooling them anymore. Everyone is going to realize I was never worth their time. When tour comes along, I’ll be playing to empty arenas, but it could be worse. How? I don’t know, but there has to be something worse than this, and it will probably happen to me next week.

“Everything I touch turns to disaster,” T.K. sputtered. “I’m so sick of it. All I wanted was to play music because how else was I supposed to survive? But now the music all sounds flat, and it feels like it’s never going to sound right again.” T.K. didn’t know what he was saying. His mouth was moving too fast for him to process his words, but it felt good to let them all out. Maybe Judd’s therapy idea wasn’t such a bad one. T.K. wouldn’t have to change anything. He could just have someone to vent to. He wouldn’t have to listen to anything a professional said.

“That’s not true,” Carlos said, and T.K. realized that Carlos was rubbing circles on his back. It had been so long since someone had done that. Maybe since his father had died. His mom had done her best, but she’d struggled with her grief, and she’d had to balance a lot more than she was ready to balance. She worked more and hired people to keep T.K. busy— music teachers, tutors he didn’t need, housekeepers who had better things to do than be bothered by grubby little kids with a penchant for mischief.

“Maybe I do need therapy.” It took a lot out of him to say that, but the realization had struck him out of nowhere, and now, it wouldn’t go away. It can’t hurt anything other than my pride, so what if it’s a waste of time. I’m going to have a lot of time on my hands when no one wants to see me sing.

Judd looked pleased. “I’ll get you a list of possible candidates you can look over.” Knowing Judd, he’d create a carefully curated list that had been thoroughly vetted.

“I could have my assistant do that,” T.K. offered. “Or I could do it myself.” He figured he shouldn’t keep expecting people to do stuff for him.

“That’s okay. I know you’re going through a lot, and with tour, you’ll be busy. I can handle it myself if you want me to. Grace may know some good people.”

“That would be good. She’d find people a simple google search never would.” T.K. smiled thinking about Grace. She always had a fondness for T.K., and he had a fondness for her. He explained to Carlos, “Grace knows a lot of people. If you need a recommendation for hiring someone, she can give you a whole list of the best people for the job. I don’t know how she does it.”

Judd smiled proudly. “My wife is a good listener. That’s how she does it.” He made eye contact with Carlos in the rearview mirror. “Carlos seems like a good

listener too.” Yeah, and that’s what I’m afraid of.

[angelic-holland]

First I Love You

Warnings: Smut. fluff, the tiniest bit of angst 

Word Count: 6k

A/N: this concludes what was meant to be just a one-shot but I turned into a mini-series of sorts. I hope you enjoy my conclusion to this story as much as I did writing it. Check out the rest of Miss Yer Kiss in my masterlist! 

“What did you wanna do today?”

“Your plane is later tonight right?” he asks, fingers running through your hair as you laid on the comfortable bed, in all honesty, you just wanted to lay in bed all day.

“Yep,” you sigh, “10 o’clock.”

“Why’d you get such a weird time? You won’t be home until nearly 5 in the morning New York time!”

“Cause it was one of the cheapest, shush.”

“I’ve got a surprise for you then.”

“What’s that?” you grin as your hands intertwine. Your eyes roam the way his hands seemed to fit perfectly with your own. 

“Come on, let’s get dressed, I’ll take you to it.”

“Okay.”

“And wear like a baggy t-shirt or something.”

“Huh?” You frown as the two of you sit up and you begin looking through your suitcase. 

“It’ll make sense when we get there.”

“You’re being weird.”

“Weirder than usual?”

“Just a little,” you laugh, putting on clothes, including one of his shirts you stole one day before he left New York the first time.

“I love that shirt on you.”

“Gotta steal another one before I leave tonight, it’ll be a tradition or something.”

“I would love to start that tradition with you.”

Thud thud thud.

He made you close your eyes as you walked closer to wherever he planned on taking you. 

“Okay, open your eyes,” he grins, hand squeezing yours as you slowly blinked, adjusting to the bright light of the day.

You crane your neck to read the sign of the store in front of you. A tattoo shop.

“What’re we doing here?” You ask and he excitedly brings you inside.

“The surprise is in here.”

“You didn’t, oh my god,” you attempt to hide your excitement so you don’t make a fool of yourself, but your wide smile does look a little goofy.

“Hi,” Ryan Ashley smiles, standing up from one of the tattoo chairs.

“Wow, hi, it’s so great to meet you,” you shake her hand and give Tom a wide eyed look.

“I was in town and your lovely boyfriend here contacted me, let me know it’s been a dream of yours to get a piece by me.”

“Oh yeah, I mean isn’t it every girl’s dream to get a piece by Ryan Ashley? I mean you’ve helped shape the industry for women so that’s just phenomenal.”

“I just love to see younger artists like you get their start, wanna see the piece I drew up for you?”

You nod and walk to her workstation, “I didn’t think you remembered,” you teased Tom and he blushed slightly.

“You were so excited when you talked about it, how could I not forget?”

She shows you a small gorgeous jewelry piece that looked like it would intricately sit between your breasts, a red jewel in the middle.

“It’s gorgeous,” you smile, running your hand over the stencil.

“Excellent, do you want him to hang around?” She asks, looking between the two of you.

“Yeah,” you nod.

You start the process of taking off your shirt and bra, adding panties to your nipples before walking back to her workstation. She closes the door as you lay on the bench, Tom sitting next to you.

“I uh, I heard that the chest can be painful, so you can hold my hand and squeeze it if you want.”

“You just wanna hold my hand.”

“Ok maybe that too,” he laughs and you let his hand hold your own, resting on your stomach.

“Now, I’m sure you know this but you want to attempt to breath when I pick the needle up, i'm sorry I’ll be leaning over your breasts the entire time but if you ever get uncomfortable just let me know and we can figure out a new way to make this work.”

“Sounds great,” you hum as she picks up the needle and leans over you. She does a small line to start, testing the area. 

“How was that?”

“Not bad,” you lightly squeeze Tom’s hand.

You and Ryan talk about tattooing, the industry, how she came to specialize in the intricate jewelry work she does. 

“And what type of work do you want to specialize? I saw you draw lots of portraits.”

“Yeah, I mean, tattooing portraits on skin is super different than drawing them, so I hope to eventually get enough practice to be really good. I’ve done a few before, not too huge but just small pieces here and there.”

“Once you get to do the same type of thing over and over again, you’ll be amazing. I know a lot of people who try to be really versatile in their craft and do a bunch of different styles. That’s what I had to do on ink master, but if you can find one style that really brings out your best talent, you should stick with it. I mean when I first started I did literally any tattoo anyone asked because you know how it is, scraping together enough money to get good at different styles so I could go on ink master, but this,” she says, looking at the jewelry piece between your breasts, “this is my style. Do it long enough, you’ll become a master.”

“Is this the most painful area to get tattooed?” Tom asks.

“Well, everyone’s pain tolerance is different. Girls usually have higher pain tolerances than boys, just how it is.”

“I don’t doubt that, I definitely couldn’t get as many tattoos as you’ve got princess,” he says squeezing your hand.

“You’ve got tattoos then?” Ryan asks, eyebrow raised skeptically.

“Only one on the bottom of his foot, literally don’t know how he went through with it,” you stifle a laugh so you don’t move as the tattoo needle glides across your skin. 

“Ouch, yeah that shit hurts, but I’d say it’s up to the person, it depends on a lot of different factors. So pain tolerance is one of them. How much muscle and fat come before the bone. How thin a person’s skin is, if it’s thin and bleeds easily it’ll hurt more and take longer to do, simply because you need to stop every so often to make sure that the skin isn’t too sore to continue. So the area I’m tattooing now can be painful, back of the knee, around the elbow. Just depends.”

****

“So this area can be sore for a while, you don’t want to work up too much of a sweat, you don’t want to take the wrap off before it starts to heal, so wait 48 hours. Afterwards, keep it out of water for long periods of time, so no baths or swimming. And moisturize it once the wrap is gone, three or four times a day. Should start peeling in a week or so, and it’s best if you don’t wear a bra until it heals.”

You nod and pull your shirt over your head, “Alright how much is it?” You ask pulling out your wallet.

“It’s all set,” she smiles as you head to the front of the studio.

“What? At least let me give you a tip or-,”

“Your uh Prince Charming took care of it,” she laughs patting your shoulder, “never let the world bring ya down kid, keep tattooing and tattooing until one day you can ink the Mona Lisa on someone’s skin.”

“Thanks that means a bunch to me,” you say, in awe that you’ve met the woman you look up to the most and also got tattooed by her.

***

“You didn’t haveta to do that,” you sigh, content but feeling a little weary knowing the price tag attached to Ryan Ashley’s hourly rate, as Tom and you walk hand in hand back to the hotel.

“You had a good time though right?”

“Yeah of course but-,”

“And you like the tattoo?”

“I love it but-,”

“Then that’s all that matters.”

“Thank you.”

“Besides, it’s a little anniversary present,” he grins as you step into the elevator.

“Anniversary? What anniversary?”

“It’ll be four months since the first night in a couple days.”

“Oh. Oh. I uh, didn’t get you anything,” you sigh, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him.

“I can think of a few things you can give me to make up for it,” he whispers against your lips.

“You can’t touch my tits,” you giggle, keeping your sore chest away from his.

“Oh god I miss yer tits already,” he groans, kissing and nipping at your jaw.

“Oh come on you got to hang out with them last night,” you laugh as the elevator dings.

“Yeah but I wanna hang out with them every single day.”

“Well you can have other parts of me,” you grin, dragging him down the hallway to your room.

“What parts are those?” He asks with a wiggle of his eyebrow.

“Come on and find out,” you say swiping into the room.

He’s pushing you up against the door, hands tight on your hips as his lips trace down your neck, fingers slipping under your shirt and setting your skin on fire.

You grin as he bites down on your neck, flipping him around so his back is against the door.

“Want you to scream my name,” you smirk as you drop to your knees, reminiscing on the first time you had him against a door, the very first night you were together, before you thought that this would be more than a one night stand, before you fell for him.

“Fuck I’m gonna miss this,” he whispers as you unzip and tug down his jeans.

“Then don’t miss it,” you say, tugging down his boxers.

“Huh,” he huffs out, eyes slipping shut as you wet your hand and start to jerk him off.

“Stay in the moment, don’t miss me till I’m gone,” you say, winking when he looks down at you.

“In the moment, yep, staying in the mo-oh fuck,” he moans as you take him into your mouth. 

Your eyes twinkle with excitement as his hands tug on your hair, encouraging you to move.

“Fuck, princess, feel so fucking good,” he whimpers as you swipe your tongue on the head of his cock before taking him back into your mouth. 

You let him take the lead, pushing your head back and forth as his hips slowly thrust into your mouth. Your hands are splayed out on his thighs, steadying yourself.

“Love your, fuck, love your lips,” he groans as you move faster, tongue tracing the vein on the underside of his cock.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

You fucking loved the way the word love sounded coming from his lips. 

Love your mouth.

Love your tattoos.

Love your kisses.

You wondered how he would say I love you, you wondered how you would react. But this wasn’t the time for that.

You focused back on making him feel good, grinning around his cock as he twitched in your mouth.

Your hands grip his thighs encouragingly as he moves his hips faster, chasing his release. 

He comes with a cry of your name followed by a string of curses and princess. Which made your heart just fucking swoon.  

He pulls you up, chest heaving as he kisses you, fingers hastily tugging your shirt up.

You break apart so he can take your shirt off. You slip out of your pants as he pulls his own shirt off.

“Let me make you feel good princess,” he says, hands gliding up and down your sides as you walk back to the bed.

“How’d you like to do that?”

“Sit on my face.” 

It’s not a question, or an invitation but rather a command. He just wants you to ride his face like you’d ride his cock.

“Shit,” you laugh as he pulls you down onto the bed with him.

He shuffles up to rest his head on the pillows, “take a seat darling,” he says before licking his lips.

You almost roll your eyes and if you weren’t so wet you were already on the edge you would’ve teased him. Instead, you do exactly as he says, his hands grip your hips as you straddle his face. Your pussy is wet and close to dripping as you hear him sigh underneath you.

You plant your hands on the headboard, holding on for dear life as his mouth meets your pussy.

He goes slow at first, savoring the moment, tongue slowly tracing along your folds, licking away your juices before slightly dipping into your hole, his fingers gripped your thighs, sure they’d leave reminders of your time together when you left.

“Fuck, Tom, always, always know how to use that mouth of yours,” you sigh, relaxing as his tongue moves to circle your clit.

You can feel him practically smile against you before wrapping his lips around your clit, sucking slightly as you tremble above him.

“Fuck,” you whimper, feeling one of his hands move to push a finger into your dripping heat.

One finger doesn’t do much, just a way for Tom to be as close to you as possible while his tongue makes quick work of making you come undone, tracing shapes into your clit.

“Gonna come, fuck,” you cry out as you feel yourself get closer to your release.

You hear him groan against your clit as you come, covering his chin and mouth in your wetness as his hand moves up to grab your breast. You quickly snap out of it as you come down from your orgasm.

“Stop, stop,” you whimper, batting his hand away.

He helps you off him, eyes wide as he sits up.

“Are you okay? Shit I’m so sorry princess what’s wrong?”

“I fucking knew you were gonna try to touch my tits,” you laugh, collapsing next to him.

His eyes soften as you tickle his sides, giggling as he relaxes.

“I knew I’d miss your tits,” he groans.

You roll your eyes, straddling his hips and kissing him, licking away your own orgasm from his chin before kissing him again. His tongue meets your own, groaning as he tastes you.

You get an idea, hands gliding down to grab his arms from your hips, tugging his wrists and pulling them to the headboard.

“Stay still.”

He groans, lips wet and shiny from kissing you and eating you out, his cock is hard again as you grind against him.

“Condom?” You ask, reveling in the way his cock felt against your folds but scared he wouldn’t want to come inside you, afraid he didn’t want to be that intimate. 

“Mhm, are you, are you on birth control?” He asks, voice slightly nervous as his arms flex, fingers tightening against the headboard.

“Yeah, I, I am,” you stutter as his cock twitches against you.

“Do you wanna, I mean, I wanna, only if you want to,”

“I’ve never, never had someone come inside me before.”

His cock twitches and you can’t help but grind down against him again.

“We don’t haveta-,”

“I want you to come inside me,” you say, capturing his lips in your own as you take his cock in your hand, wet from your juices as you guide him to your entrance.

“Holy fuck,” he manages to stutter out as your walls wrap around his cock.

“Have you ever, ever come in someone before?”

“No,” he groans as you bottom out, your hips resting flush against his as you kiss along his neck.

“Does it, fuck, feel as good being inside me as it does feeling you inside me?” You pant out starting to move your hips above him.

“Fuck, your, your pussy feels so good wrapped around me, fuck, so perfect, like it was made for me.”

“Shit,” you groan as you grind your hips against him, hands resting on his chest as his hands shakily start to move from the headboard.

“I’m gonna, can I touch you? Fuck, you feel so good princess just wanna touch you.”

“Course Tom,” And his hands move to your hips, eyes watching your tits sway above him, the new tattoo bright red around the edges behind the plastic in between them. He wanted nothing more than to trace every intricate detail, every groove of inked jewelry, every part where Ryan Ashley made it look like there was a shadow as if they were real jewels. He wanted to sit there all night and trace each tattoo of yours, talking about the stories behind them until you fell asleep in his arms. 

“I-,” he starts, voice faltering as you started to bounce on his cock, reminding him that you were having sex, that you were with each other in that sense and it was enough for now.

“What’s up baby?” You ask, lips mouthing over his jaw as his hands grip your hips harder, hips moving against yours.

“I love the way you feel around me,” he smiles, hand eagerly bringing your head up so your lips meet his. 

His lips are soft and insistent against yours as you move faster, holding you as close as he physically can without pressing your chests together.

“I love,” you start, your heart thudding in your chest, cheeks impossibly redder, “your kisses,” you finish, not wanting that first to be now. Afraid if it slips out during sex it won’t feel as genuine.  

His hands grip you, fingers practically bruising your hips as he pounds into you. 

“Getting close?” He grins, thumb slipping between your hot and sweaty bodies to rub your clit. 

“Fuck, Tom, almost there, wanna fuck wanna feel you fill me up, come in me please,” you whimper, as his cock twitches inside you. And the feeling of him coming and coating your walls, filling you, is a feeling like no other, sending you into a blissful orgasm, so blissful you almost collapse onto him but he holds you up, careful not to let your chests touch. 

“That was…” you start, trying to catch your breath.

“Amazing,” he finishes, flipping you over. 

“Showertime?” You ask as he sits up, cock slipping out of you. 

“Showertime,” He agrees, kissing your nose before helping you get up.

***

“Stay,” He says, eyes locking with yours as you dry off from the shower.

“Hmmm?”

“Stay tonight?”

“I’ve got a plane to catch,” you sigh, not wanting to leave either. 

“Miss yer plane, come on, stay with me one night, I’ll get you a plane tomorrow morning.”

He sees you’re hesitant, “you won’t regret it, promise princess. One more night. Don’t wanna miss you just yet.”

You nod, dropping the towel and grabbing a clean T-shirt, pulling it on before he tugs you down into his lap.

“Don’t wanna miss you either,” you sigh, rubbing your nose against his before kissing him quickly.

“Come on, let’s watch the sunset,” he says, picking you up as you squeal.

“I quite like our balcony trips,” you sigh as he sets you down, both of you pulling on sweatpants before walking hand in hand to the small balcony that overlooks the pool and the parking lot of the hotel.

“I think California sunsets are prettier than New York sunsets.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well at least at my place all you can hear is the roar of the subway, the bustling of people leaving work, going to work, neon lights everywhere. Here it’s just, I dunno, calm, you can pick out every color in the sky.”

“And how about London sunsets?”

“I dunno, didn't really get a chance to see them that well, the hustle and bustle of the nightlife, we were usually in a museum or getting dinner when the sunset. I’d love to see it eventually though.”

“I’ll bring you back,” he says, hand resting on the ledge as you lean against it.

“I’d like that.”

You turn slightly and caught him looking at you from the corner of his eye.

The sun is shining on him as it sets, the orange and light purple hues illuminating his freckles much like that night at Coney Island. Reminding you that this feeling wasn’t just a fleeting moment at the top of a roller coaster, waiting for it to all come crashing down. This feeling has been building since that night on the Cyclone, hand gripping his arm, mouth open in an excited scream, feeling your heart pound in your chest, from the exhilaration of the coaster and from being there with Tom, from falling for him. This feeling was bubbling over and you wanted to shout it from the rooftops. 

“Tom?” You ask, eyes moving back to the sunset, fingers tapping nervously against the rails. 

“I love you,” He says, and it’s not rushed or hurried, like he was afraid you’d run if he said it as slowly as he did. His voice was sure and strong, confident. 

“I’ve never felt like this before.”

“what?” He asks, voice quiet as he tries to understand what you’re saying.

“I love you too, I probably should’ve said that first,” you laugh.

“Oh, oh,” he joins in on your laughter. 

“I’ve just never really felt like this, and it kinda scares me but I’m glad you feel the same?” You squeak out, giggling when his arms wrap around you in a hug.

Your head rests against his shoulder as he kisses along your neck. 

“Come here, I wanna do something,” he grins, bringing you back to the room.

“What?”

“Here, get naked.”

“Oh?”  You say wiggling your eyebrows as you toss your shirt to the side and pull down your sweatpants before flopping back into the bed, sitting up on your elbows.

He hovers over you, kissing along your shoulder bone, tracing the crescent moon with his tongue and lips, “tell me a story.”

“What do you want to hear?” You laugh, his hair tickling your neck.

“What’s this moon? What’s the story behind it?”

“Do you really want to hear the stories behind my tattoos?”

“Every single one of them, yup,” he says, hands running up your side.

“The one thing I brought with me to every foster home, was this copy of goodnight moon, one that I stole from a school’s library in kindergarten.”

Tom’s quiet as he breathes life into your skin, kissing along the bunny from the book, sitting against the side of your arm in the signature blue and white striped PJs. 

“So every night, if wherever I was allowed it, I’d read it to myself, and god this is embarrassing,” you pause.

“Never,” he mumbles, pressing a soothing kiss to your blushing cheek.

“I would read it in different voices, pretending to be a dad or a mom. Cause I always wanted a parent to read me a story, and well, that never happened so I guess I just used that to cope.”

“And this,” He says, hand pulling your arm to lay perpendicular to your body, fingers tracing the astronaut with an outstretched arm, trying to grab a heart.

“It’s a piece from this comedian, Melissa Villasenor, I guess how I interpret it, is floating in space, this huge open universe we’ve explored so little of, you’re chasing and reaching out to grab your heart, trying to keep it close to you as you explore new feelings and everything, afraid of the unknown,” you slip your eyes shut as he kisses along the astronaut.

“Are you afraid right now?”

“A little.”

“You’re a little afraid?”

“I’m afraid of how I feel about you.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because, I’ve never felt this way, fallen in fucking love, Christ, I’m sorry.”

“Why’re you sorry?”

“For falling in love with you.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I feel like I fell so fast and so hard and I dunno how I’m gonna cope if something bad happens.”

“Why would something bad happen?”

“Because every time something good happens to me, the world reminds me this isn’t what I deserve, it turns my world upside down and I don’t want that to happen again.”

“You don’t have to worry anymore, that something bad is gonna happen, you don’t have to constantly be waiting for the other shoe to drop anymore.”

“You sure?”

“Because I’m here, to listen to you talk about the bad days at work, here when you just want to lay here and talk about everything and nothing and you just want to hear your own voice. I’m here and I’ll drop whatever to be by your side, you know that right?”

“Tom,” you sigh feeling tears well in your eyes.

“Promise.”

“Promises are made to be broken.”

“Why?”

“The first promise someone ever gave me, I was 12. I just left a foster home I was in for a year and half, the woman was basically hoarding us kids and had us all crammed into sleeping bags in her living room just to get the checks. Kids would rotate in and out, the kids who were there for the shortest amount of time were the younger ones, nobody wanted to adopt the older of the bunch. I thought I’d be stuck there forever, for some reason the foster system forgot about us because not once did they check on us other than to take kids or swap kids out, then half of us would disappear and the other half would pretend to live in the other rooms of the apartment. One day I got the news that I was going to be adopted, actually adopted, not just thrown into another foster family for a year. They would foster me for a year and then the adoption paperwork could get pushed through. Their names were Katie and Jason Hill. They had as cookie cutter a home you could in Queens, right on the edge, a condo. And I met them and we clicked instantly. They said they wanted an older kid because we were generally easier to take care of, they were on the older side themselves. They said they had a cat at home, Snuffles, and although she was a little bit grumpy, she would always sit on your lap whenever you needed a little comfort or a warm body to be near. They were everything I could’ve ever dreamed of in adopted parents, I actually almost called them mom and dad. Katie would make my lunch for school, something I’ve never had before. Jason tried to teach me how to play baseball. And although I was a little too old, they would still tuck me in and wish me goodnight every single night. I was scared they’d get sick of me or the state would take me away from them, every day I just lived in fear that something would happen, but the shoe didn’t drop, six months passed, everything was great. It was my first summer with parents and they took me to the local YMCA and I learned how to swim, we went to the carnival, and they were everything I ever wanted.”

“What happened?” Tom asks, voice afraid as your body shook next to him.

“One day, we were having a backyard picnic the night before my first day of school, watching the stars in the sky, Katie would point out a constellation, I would trace it with my finger. I started crying, out of the blue, and told her, promise me, promise you won’t leave. And she hugged me and held me tight and told me that I could grow old knowing I had a mom and dad now.”

“Y/N…” he says, thumb wiping away the stray tear that rolled onto my cheek.

“And I felt okay, for the first time in literally forever I felt like I had a home, a place to call my own. The next day I came back on the school bus, excited to tell Katie and Jason all about the art teacher who said I was incredibly talented. I got off the bus and saw a car in the driveway, not Katie or Jason’s car, and a woman in a pencil skirt standing at it.”

“What happened?”

“She was from DFS, Katie and Jason didn’t want me anymore. They said the financial burden of a child was a lot more than they were expecting, they couldn’t keep me. They didn’t even want to say goodbye to me.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, really,” you sigh, shaking your head and opening your teary eyes to look into his own, “so I guess that’s when the other shoe dropped, after that I didn’t want any more promises, but if they were made, I knew I couldn’t trust them.” 

“You know the difference between them and me?”

“What’s that?”

“I love you, and god I love saying that too.”

“Dork.” 

“And you know what?”

“What?” You say, eyes watching as his fingers intertwine with your own.

“You don’t needa wait for the other shoe to drop. They’re both right here. I guess what I’m trying to say is there aren’t any surprises, you don’t have to worry about me waking up one day and saying that you’re too much of a burden for me. When I’m around you, I’m the most comfortable I’ve been in years. Everything with you is natural.”

Thud thud thud. 

“God I love you,” you smile, “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of saying that.”

“Good,” Tom laughs, kissing your cheek. He lets go of your hand and his fingers trail up your arm, raising goosebumps along it that make you shiver, “And this?” he says, moving onto the spider as his legs straddle your own. 

“You know the origin of the spider silly,” you laugh.

“I know, I just like to hear you talk about it.”

“Well I don’t know, Black Widow, she sort of reminds me of me in a way, she’s badass and strong and tough as nails, but she’s also got a soft spot and can learn to be open and honest.”

“Mhm.”

“And growing up, I mean we obviously didn’t have the same childhood but she never knew her parents, neither did I, so I guess I can relate to her on a few different levels.”

“Do you want to know your real parents?”

“I don’t think so. I mean, my mom left me for a reason, so she didn’t want me or couldn’t take care of me, and I’ve got no idea who my dad is.”

“What if they do now?” He asks and you wiggle underneath him, “sorry I don’t mean to pry.”

“You’re fine, I just, I don’t want them. I don’t need them. You know? I spent my entire childhood praying my mom and dad or a mom and dad would pick me up from my shitty foster families, sweep me off my feet into a suburban house with a dog and another kid, a regular sibling, and we’d be a happy family. But I grew to learn that not everyone gets that cookie-cutter family. And that whatever cards I got dealt, are the ones I need to live with.”

“And what’s this one?” He says, tracing his fingers over Rumple, a character created by one of your favorite TV actors, Matthew Gray Gubler, “a green dinosaur with a banana peel on his head?” He asks, giggling a little, “everyone is weird?” tracing over the words in Matthew’s scratchy handwriting. 

“Yeah, it's a book, by an actor, and this is the main character, Rumple, basically the story is about learning to love yourself, in all your weirdness and quirks.”

“I like that.”

“Me too,” you laugh.

He shuffles to the other side of your body, hand moving your arm to the side so he can see your half sleeve.

“I still don’t know how you sit still for so long, this thing is huge.”

“A ten hour session, people have done longer,” you shrug as his lips trace the ocean waves engulfing a woman, a bird with a broken bird laying on the beach below it.

“And you said this was from the book, oh god what’s its name?”

“The Awakening.”

“And what’s it about? I know you’ve told me I just suck and can’t quite remember.”

“You’re fine,” you laugh, stretching your other hand to rest behind your head as you tell Tom all about the book.

“So Edna is married and has kids, and basically she feels stuck in the confines of traditional womanhood, she has an affair with a man when her husband is away. Which makes her feel free, at least a little bit. She also teaches herself how to swim which is huge for women back then, and swimming also helps her feel free. One of the controversies of the book is debating whether she killed herself by drowning or not. So some people say she didn’t want to die, that she drowned by accident. But I guess I don’t think she drowned by accident. She knew how to swim, and the book is full of symbolism, this just so happens to symbolize breaking free from the bonds of what typical and traditional femininity and womanhood was like at the turn of the 20th century. She killed herself this way. Kate Chopin, at least I think she was trying to symbolize that Edna is free from these bonds by committing suicide. In the book, there’s this annoying parrot in a cage, and now the bird is free, it’s a little broken, but everyone has to make some sort of sacrifice to break from what society wants everyone to be. Sorry, I’m totally rambling now.”

“You’re fine, you’re adorable when you ramble princess.”

“Pssh,” you scoff as his lips trail up to your own once more. 

“Turn around, wanna see your back piece.”

He moves off your body and helps you turn, careful not to rest your chest against the bed.

“And this? You drew this one too right?”

You hum as his fingers trace the expansive upper back piece, from one back of your shoulders to the next, a girl sitting in a field of flowers, dozens of different kinds, with a tear slipping down her cheek.

“I drew it yep. I dunno where I got the inspiration for it. I guess I’ve always lived in the city, one day I’d like to travel to the country, go to those big fields full of flowers and open-air like in books, like in Grapes of Wrath, and just sit there. I think I added the teardrop because at the time I was worried I’d never be able to.”

“And what about now?”

“I think I’ve got a little bit of a more positive outlook.”

“When did you know?” He asks as you turn around and he cuddles into your side, arm laying across your stomach.

“Know what?” 

“That you love me,” he says in a singsong voice.

“What is it a competition?”

“Maybe, but like what moment made you say ‘oh yes this dork, it’s him’,” Tom says in your accent.

“That night, on the cyclone, my heart was beating so fast and I was so scared but I realized that you’re there next to me, and I guess knowing that made me feel comforted, and I felt safe, so yeah.”

“I knew that night, on your balcony, you said the sky was pretty or something, like you said the first night we were together. And everything in me was saying to tell you, tell you how gorgeous you are and how the sky couldn’t even compare but I didn’t. And when I left, I wanted to call you and say it, over and over again until you’re sick of me saying it. But I didn’t.”

“That’s okay. Cause you know what?”

“What?”

“We’ve got all the time in the world to say it now.”

***

Taglist: @importantfireeaglefish @tom-hollands-blog @unicornsyy @rageyoudamnednerd @sunnydays0803 @jackiehollanderr @khhbby @lousimusician @amyalpha @musiclover1263 @relise-thefury @euphorictom @fandomdarlings @peteunderoos @saysomethingspiderman @yamyam515 @dylanrauhl @i-guess-n0t @whisperingspace @ixchel-9275

[gourmade4u]

Start at the basics

Kitchen Essentials

If you’re just starting out, what are some essential tools and tips to keep in mind while you’re working away at your best Gordon Ramsey duplicate? 

Well, for starters, you need to make sure that your kitchen has the necessary base in which to build from. 

TL;DR- Chef’s knife, rubber spatula, whisk, pans (all types are neatly listed below the picture with the whisk and rubber spatulas), glass mixing bowls, kevlar or other cut-resistant gloves, metal spatula, cutting boards, electric thermometer, colander, box grater, and a timer (if you don’t have a microwave or oven that has one). 

First thing’s first: 

A Chef’s knife. I purchased mine from Ergo Chef (not an affiliate, I’m just a huge fan). From the moment my hand touched this knife, I cried literal happy tears from the depths of my soul. If you have arthritis issues, or issues that cause your hands to swell or lock up from consistent use, an ergonomically designed knife is incredibly important. For those of you just starting, my first knife set was a Farberware set with a wooden block from Walmart. It was a 20 piece knife set with steak knives and it was less than 90 dollars. But take the time to invest in your knives, you’ll be grateful that you did. 

I’ll post in a separate article how to sharpen your knife, but do keep in mind to NEVER, hold on, let me bold this, NEVER: run your knives or single knife through the dishwasher, and/or leave them in the sink. After you finish using your knife, it is best if you wash and dry it immediately to keep it from rusting. Your knives will thank you, and so will your wallet. 

A rubber spatula.

So, this little guy is the absolute best. He will help you toast rice for your risotto, spoon out that perfect pan sauce that took you way too many tries to get it exactly the way you wanted, AND he'll make sure that all your batter makes it into the pan, or your mouth, whichever you prefer.

A whisk. So yes, a whisk is incredibly versatile. You can use it to scramble eggs, make meringue, mayo, vinaigrette, and bake that cake you’re gonna regret in a week.

PANsexuality is important. But it has nothing to do with this next list of pans.

Non-stick pan

10 in. stainless steal or ceramic pan 

Cast iron pan (or 3)

Sauce pot (if you're like me, you have 6)

Griddle pan (not pictured... yet)

Sheet pan

Casserole

Each and every one of these serves a unique purpose.

A non-stick is great for eggs, bacon, frittatas (which are fancy eggs), and so many other items that I promise aren't just breakfast food. 

A ceramic pan is wonderful, but in my personal opinion, a stainless steel is better if you're a novice. A ceramic pan requires a lot of spoons (energy) and maintenance. They scratch easily if you look at them the wrong way. But they are great for more even cooking than a stainless, and make the best pork chops. Stainless steel isn’t as hard to work with, isn’t as high maintenance (though, like knives, NEVER put them in your dishwasher), is ideal for crusting your steak, and making a pan sauce with the remaining bits. 

A cast iron pan evenly distributes heat and you can put it in the oven at 500 degrees without worrying about warping or damage to your pan. Cast iron is also fantastic if you don’t want to use as much fat in your pan to keep your items from sticking. Also, you can’t get a crust on a steak in any other pan, the way you do in a cast iron. Also, don’t put this in the dishwasher.

A sauce pot sounds like an unnecessary necessity. I’ll explain, when most people hear “sauce” pot, they get very confused because there are like, 30 types. This is an exaggeration, but there are a lot of types. A large saucepot can hold from 1 qt. to 5 qts. I always recommend getting a 5 qt. pot because you can use it for small amounts and large amounts. But the best advice I can give would be to get one that can hold at least 2 c of liquid, and also one that can hold 5 qts so you’re not making oatmeal for yourself in a pot that’s too big. 

A Griddle pan is more of a luxury item, but I always recommend having one in your kitchen. You can make your best pancakes, arepas, bacon, grilled cheese, tuna melt, etc. It’s honestly a great tool to have on hand if you want to whip something up quickly. 

A sheet pan is important for so many reasons. You can make cookies, cake, bacon (I know I’ve said about 2 of the others already), roasted veggies, etc. I definitely recommend having at least one on hand. You’ll find that you’ve allowed yourself to enjoy brussel sprouts  smothered in parmesan cheese, and roasted cauliflower with garam masala and ginger for the first time ever. Just trust me, your oven is made for a varying amount of possibilities, and the right tools can get you started.

A baking dish/pan/casserole, whatever you want to call it, it’s a huge piece of either: cast iron, ceramic, glass, or clay that can be covered and it will, much like your sheet pan, allow for new ideas in the kitchen. Casserole is a very common word used by mostly older women from the south, but they aren’t just a dish your grandma cooked in the 50′s. French toast casserole is so impossibly custardy and delicious, you will thank the Gods that there has ever been something so wonderful in existence. You have stews, roasts, lasagna (uncovered, don’t be rude to your lasagna), and so many others. Just please, okay? Okay.  

Glass mixing bowls are a MUST. Okay, so some really important things about these bad boys: DON’T leave them on a hot stove because the heat will make them shatter and explode all over your kitchen. If you have pets or kids, I don’t have to tell you why this would be bad for potentially weeks on end. You can, however, makeshift a glass bowl and a boiling pot of water into a double boiler to melt your favorite chocolate chips to make fudge. Glass bowls are also non-absorbent, so they won’t retain bad odors or flavors when you use them in the kitchen. They’re also incredibly sanitary for the same reason.

A pair of Kevlar or other gloves meant for slicing and dicing in the kitchen. I recommend this no matter what level of experience you have. Professional chefs cut and burn themselves all the time, it is best you do what you can to protect your fingertips and nails. 

A metal spatula will help you scrape any bits and pieces that have stuck onto your stainless or ceramic pan. Please be sure to use carefully, the metal spatula itself is very temperamental and can ruin your pans forever. 

Cutting boards. There are, a whole litany of reasons you need a cutting board or 10 in your kitchen. I myself have 4 and I use all of them. Cutting boards are made of several different kinds of material. Ultimately, for me, I use a wooden one and an eco-friendly material cutting board set I got from Bed Bath and Beyond. Cutting board maintenance is, arguably, the most important thing when it comes to  purchasing one. Best way to clean a cutting board is to make sure you’re passing your sponge over the slits in the board left behind by your knife, in the same direction. In other words, don’t scrub your board in a circle, but trace over the cuts in the board to ensure proper sanitation of it. 

An electric thermometer. Okay, so show of hands, how many people have deep fried chicken, burned the outside and undercooked the inside? I don’t know of any single person who is just beginning, who hasn’t done it. An electric thermometer is your best friend. You can get a regular thermometer, that will require constant calibration, or you can get an electric thermometer and not have to worry about calibrating it as often. Perfectly juicy, succulent, and properly cooked chicken will measure at 165 degrees Farenheit. Anything beyond 180, expect it to be dry, but at least it was cooked properly! To calibrate a thermometer: bring water to a boil, and then place your thermometer in the water, allow it to come to 212 degrees Fahrenheit, then place your thermometer into an ice bath until it gets to 32 degrees Fahrenheit. Celsius would be 100 degrees boiling, and 0 degrees in ice. 

A colander is meant to strain out pasta water, and you’ve probably not seen it used for much else. But a fine mesh colander can be used to filter out your frying oil so you can reuse it instead of wasting it. This little thing is good for anything that requires draining: meat, starch from rice and potatoes before cooking them, washing all of your vegetables at once before getting started, and also, it can help with steaming your broccoli or shrimp when you don’t have a basket steamer.

A box grater in general, is a fantastic tool. They have different sides that allow you to do different things. From shredding cheese, potatoes, carrots, or zuccini. But the question a lot of people ask: what is that side with all the really tiny spaces in it? It’s a zester, and it goes so unnoticed for so long because most folx don’t know the best way to use it. The zester is great for adding a little elegance or pop of flavor into a dish. For example, if you use lemon pepper often, adding a zested lemon rind to your dish would bring out all that delicious acidity that you won’t get from just using the regular seasoning from a bottle. A little fresh lemon zest here, some grated nutmeg there, a little orange zest in your tea, these all pack a mean right hook. Try them out. 

Last, but not least: a timer, gentlefolx. I can not stress the utter importance of learning how long it actually takes you, the reader to complete a task from start to finish. Not everyone works at the same pace, so a recipe that says “prep time: 5 minutes”, might actually take you an hour, and that’s okay. Keeping a timer on hand so you can keep track of how long each task is taking to complete, or making sure you’re pacing yourself as things are bubbling away in the kitchen, is a great way to figure yourself out in the kitchen. I recommend listening to music, writing your ingredients on a white board that sits at eye level in your kitchen so you can refer to your recipe as you’re going without having to constantly look at your phone. 

I hope this helps every single one of you learn a bit more about what it means to begin your journey with food. 

[sarah-bae-maas]

The Elorcan Smut from Kingdom of Ash we Didn’t Get but We Deserve

Elide loses her virginity, okay? I feel like collectively we all needed this. This continues on literally from that chapter, but no fade to black this time folks. Nope. To set the scene, we join a very shirtless Elide and Lorcan bout to do the deed. And I’ll be damned if I ain’t here for it. 

(find my masterlist here if you’d like to see the other shameless SJM fan fiction I’ve written)

***

-Elide virginity smut-

Elide kissed him again and said, “Show me everything.”

His answering growl sent shocks through her body, right to her core. He kissed her neck again, her lips, and as his eyes made contact with hers she could see the unspoken question.

Are you sure?

She nodded, her fingers tangling in his hair as she kissed him thoroughly.

She was not lying. She wanted all of the male in front of her, would be deceiving herself if she said she hadn’t imagined this moment a hundred times.

But her imagination could never have thought it would feel like this. Especially when his lips left hers and trailed down until he took one of her perked nipples into his mouth, licking and sucking them sinfully.

When his teeth, so gentle they were, grazed her she let slip an Oh, her chest arching.

Lorcan chuckled at the sound, his fingers running over her sides in satisfaction.

They were still on the edge of the cot, still clothed from the waist down. She didn’t feel nervous until Lorcan undid the button of her pants and moved his hands behind her, ready to take them off.

He was strong enough that it required no effort from her to have them removed, and she shook slightly as he sat up and beheld all that she was.

“Beautiful. So, so beautiful,” he whispered, his eyes aflame with his desire.

He slid off the bed so that he was kneeling before her. He kissed her knee, his hands resting on her thighs.

The nerves in her belly at doing such a thing for the first time were nothing compared to the arousal she felt at having him look at her like that – like she was divine, his own personal Goddess.

His lips found the spot just below her navel, his hands deftly spreading her legs so she was exposed before him.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

“Yes.” She wasn’t quite sure exactly where this was going. Maybe she should have asked Aelin before, or Yrene, so that she would know what to expect-

“Holy Gods,” she gasped as he leant forward and licked up her centre.

All thoughts left her mind except for those focused on the sensation of his mouth on her, of his tongue doing things she hadn’t thought possible. She knew it was meant to be good, but this. He applied the perfect amount of pressure, moving his tongue on the sensitive bundle of nerves she’d never had the chance to explore in the most perfect way. Her hands, not sure what do themselves, flailed. One went to the sheets, ripping them off where they’d been tucked in and twisting them, the other tangling into Lorcan’s hair, pulling it and somehow also pushing him into her. Every stroke made something build in her, she could feel a pooling in her abdomen that made her legs shake with every movement of his tongue.

She dared look down at him, and the sight alone was enough to make her audibly moan – loud.Loudly enough that she might wake this whole damn army. It was just that the sight of his strong, sturdy shoulders as his arms were lifted so that he could wrap his hands around her thighs was… and then his eyes, raised in triumph at the sound of her pleasure.

She didn’t know exactly what was happening to her body as she shuddered. Her legs quaked, the only thing keeping them grounded was Lorcan. Her moans turned to his name, so loud she was nearly shouting, and her whole body moved as an unnameable surge of pleasure struck through her, leaving her breathless.

Lorcan stood up, taking one of her hands and guiding her so she was lying better on the cot and not just sitting on its edge. He took one look at the sheets and laughed slightly, the rumble in his chest a sound of happiness she had never heard before.

He lied over her, propped up on his elbows so his full weight wasn’t on her, but they were still intimately close. He smoothed her hair back, the sweat on her brow making it stick to her face. She could see how it satisfied him, knowing her could make her burn that hot when they were in harsh winter lands.

“That was…” she trailed off, not knowing how to voice exactly what she felt. There was one thing she could say though. “I love you.”

His smile turned goofy, and the red that raised high on his cheeks was the loveliest blush she had ever seen. He kissed her cheek, so delicately, as if she would break beneath him. But she had never felt stronger.

“I love you, too.” He rested his head in the crook of her neck, breathing in her scent while she recovered from the orgasm that had wrecked her body. She could feel how hard he was through his pants, and, quite to her own surprise, she felt daring enough to graze her hand downwards.

He gasped through his nose as her hand pressed into his considerable length, tensing on top of her.

“Do you want to?” He rolled so he was next to her, one hand behind his head so he was looking over her. She gathered the sheets up to cover her, but his chest, so well formed and chiselled, remained unveiled and on show. Elide did not know it was possible for a body to look so beautiful, and be made infinitely better by the man behind it.

“I do,” she said.

He cupped her cheek in his hand, his thumb stroking over her cheekbones, admiring her blush.

“The first time for a woman isn’t always the most comfortable.” He looked over again, his breath snagging. “It’s something we should have spoken about before, I just wasn’t planning on tonight being our night.”

“What had you planned?” She cocked her head, curious to the workings of his mind.

“In a perfect world, I would have taken you in Perranth. I would have taken my time with you, figured out your body before ever touching you like that. I would have used my tongue, my teeth, my fingers, and I would have known everything about you to make sure it was good when we finally did. It’s ridiculous, really. If you had asked, I would have taken you in that damn marsh months ago.”

She snickered slightly. “If we weren’t interrupted, I very well might have. What does that say for me, that my first kiss and first time would have been the same night?”

“That’s your choice to make. If it had happened that way, anyone that judged you for it would have had to face my wrath.”

She caught the hand on her face, kissing his palm and linking their fingers. “You’re it for me, Lorcan. You’re my love, the one I want to spend my days with. You were then, you are now. Wherever we are, however much time we have, it will always be right. You and me? We’re a done deal. This is it.”

He swallowed hard, and Elide didn’t miss the silver lining his eyes even if he turned his face away from hers.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” His voice was strained, and in an effort to look him in the eyes again, she wrapped his hair up in her hand and kissed the underside of his jaw. “Not again.”

“Lorcan, it will be fine, I promise.”

His gaze finally met hers. “I’m considerably larger than most males.”

She might have smirked at his arrogance if his words weren’t laced with anything but sincerity and concern.

“I will be gentle, so, so gentle, I swear it, but it might not be enough. If we do this, and it’s too much, you have to tell to stop.”

Gods, she loved him. Her heart was so full it felt like it might very well rupture from her chest. And if it did, he would be there to find all the pieces and put them back together again. She knew it.

“I want you, Lorcan. Allof you.”

She captured his lips in hers.

He was forthcoming, his calloused hands stroking over her skin and making her tingle in their wake. She ran her tongue over his bottom lip, and he opened his mouth in response, showing her exactly how versatile it was. She moaned, the noise making him grip her thigh.

He pulled back, her lips following his as if there was a tether between them. He rolled over her and stood up, a small whine leaving her mouth at the action. He smirked down at her and kept eye contact as he finally undid the belt on his pants, then the button, and then he lowered them and exposed himself to her fully.

Her mouth watered at the sight, and she had no idea that just the sight of him was going to make her feel this way. Her core, already dripping, soaked with a new wave of arousal. He turned her back to her and walked away, his bare ass a damn fine sight. But not as nice as his back. Holy hell, Elide had no idea a back could be so sexy. The way his muscles moved as he walked, as he bent down and fished through his bag, as he stood to his full height with his arms above him in a stretch…

When they rebuilt Perranth, she was going to insist that they put mirrors on their ceiling. Because no matter the way he took her, tasted her, warmed her, she needed to be able to watch him do it.

He popped something in his mouth, swallowing loudly. Elide tilted her head, wondering what it was.

“It’s a preventative measure,” he answered without being asked. “I started taking them after Anielle, just in case. I wanted you to know you didn’t have to stress about birth control.”

Considerate – that’s what his actions were. If she were being honest, she had been so preoccupied by the thought of him inside her that she hadn’t considered anything else, and it made a little spark appear in her chest to know that he had. That he knew her well enough to know that right now a pregnancy was not something she wanted, and birth control was a peace-of-mind she needed to have.

He turned back to her, a smile on his face as he saw her practically ready to pounce. “This will also help,” he said.

He unscrewed the jaw he had gotten from his bag and dipped in two fingers, scooping up a generous amount of gel.

Elide’s eyes widened as he proceeded to coat his member in it, the sight making her nipples harden and making Elide squeeze her legs together so they could feel something – any tension at all.

He started walking to her, but she threw a hand up to stop him.

“Wait,” she breathed.

He did as she asked, dropping his hands to his sides and halting until she spoke.

“Do that again.” Her voice was low.

“Pardon?”

“Do that – touch yourself. Again. I want to watch.”

She could see his throat bob at her words, and swore his length twitched. Silently, he wrapped his hand around his member and started stroking himself, the movement so slow it was painful. Elide gazed at his hand, but could feel his eyes searing into her. Especially as she moved her own fingers beneath the sheets still covering her. She slipped her hand between her thighs, shocked at how wet she truly was.

“Elide,” he growled.

After a full minute of watching him, she curved her finger at him, the same one that had just been inside her, beckoning him closer.

He stalked until he was in front of her, and she splayed her hands on his thighs as she sat up so that he didn’t lie with her. His hands rested over hers, and he questioned her again.

“What do you want?”

“Show me how to do that.”

He groaned at her words, and she heard his breath hitch as her hands wrapped around his length, one on his shaft, and the other groping beneath.

He guided her along, his head thrown back in pleasure as his voice shook. He was clearly trying to restrain the noises he was making, and Elide had never felt so satisfied in her life at her accomplishment.

She continued, Lorcan’s chest heaving as he moaned.

She had one last question.

“Lorcan?”

“Yes, my love?”

“This gel, is it edible?”

He chocked, his mouth opening and closing like he was trying to find the words but couldn’t.

She raised an eyebrow, but still unable to form words, he only nodded.

She leant forward, slowly, nerves kicking in again. She truly did not know what she was doing, but Lorcan said he would show her, that anything was enough for him. And although he may have had a male’s arrogance when he said the words, she knew what he really meant.

Here, with her, was enough. He didn’t need anything more.

Neither did she. She adored that man in front of her, loved him in a way she’d never thought possible.

So, nerves aside, she brought her lips to his tip, her mouth encompassing it as her hands still worked his cock.

He shuddered, so hard he had to tangle his hands in her hair so he could be steady. She brought herself down further, until he hit the back of her throat. She didn’t continue further, although she was tempted to see how far she could go, and instead bobbed her head up and down what she could manage while her hands stroked and gripped the rest.

“Elide… I’m about to-” He let out a gruttal moan, and she steered back her head but didn’t stop the quickening pace of her hands.

His cock strained as he finally came, his groans so loud they made her seem quiet.

His breathing was heaving and Elide giggled lightly as he had to go back and apply more salve to himself and clean himself, readying for what he was about to do to her.

She bit her lip as he came back to her and opened her arms for him to crawl into. He did, once again not bearing his full weight of her, and caught her mouth in a kiss. It was sweet, slow, as if they had far more time than just this night camped in the wilderness. She was sure he could taste himself on her, but all for the best. Their tastes had already mixed when he’d kissed her after working her core, and she did not find it unpleasant. She rather liked it, actually.

“Are you ready?” he said as he lied her down, bracing himself on top of her.

She nodded, her mouth too focused on kissing his jaw and chest to say something audible.

“I need to hear you say it, Elide.”

She ran her hands down his back and rested them on his behind. “I’m ready.” She squeezed, urging his hips to align with hers.

“So eager,” he teased.

His teeth nipped at her neck, his canines pressing in slightly. His hand travelled between them, aligning his already hard cock to her entrance.

“I love you. I love you I love you I love you,” she sighed.

“I love you, too.” His words were accentuated by sliding into her, Elide lurching at the feeling.

“Holy-,” she gasped.

Thank all the Gods of the realm that Lorcan had thought ahead on how to do this. It wasn’t a bad feeling, the pain not one she didn’t appreciate, but it was not the earth shattering, immense fulfillment she had heard it could be. No overheard gossip or whispers she had eavesdropped on could have prepared her for this.

He waited to move, sitting inside her, one hand caressing her face. “We can stop, if you want. There are other things I could do to do you make you scream.” He whispered another one in her ear, a sentence so filthy and erotic that she squeaked.

It also make her clench, in a way that had him inhaling sharply.

“I don’t want you to stop, not at all,” she said. “I want you to move – slowly.”

He thrusted gently, her nails clawing down his back as he did. At first, she felt tight, a pressure that wouldn’t let up. But as he moved, gradually, that pressure turned from slight discomfort to something good, then to something delightful, and by the end it was heavenly.

Elide was grateful for his experience. He knew exactly where to press, to stoke, to kiss as he thrusted into her to make her quiver underneath him. Her legs were around him, tightening in the hopes of getting more more more from him.

His hand was between them, swirling his fingers over her centre in rhythm with his hips.

In his worship of her, Elide forgot everything. She forgot their past, what had happened between them and what they would face in the coming weeks of this war. She forgot that even the wind could not cover the sounds she was making as she got closer and closer to climax. Her name escaped her, her history. The one thing she knew for certain was that she loved Lorcan Salvaterre, and she wanted to give him everything. She wanted him with her the rest of her mortal days. She wanted this feeling, of overwhelming, whole love, to follow her to Perranth, through her life, to her grave, and wherever she went afterwards when she crossed to the After Life.  

So she told him. She whispered to him in holy reverence the life they would have, and how they would never again be apart from one another, physically or in spirit.

She fell with him over the edge, her body obliterating and scattering across worlds, Lorcan joined with her as his final thrust had him releasing into her as she screamed in ecstasy. Her reality only righted itself when she heard his voice, her eyelids still fluttering from the tremors of what he had done to her.

“So, so beautiful,” he said once more.

His voice was a lilt she could sing about, could write epic poems and make proclamations about. His words were written into her skin the way he was permanently etched into her soul.

He collapsed next to her, only having enough strength left in him to reach as far as he could so that their two cots were next to each other. They would need to be, if they had any chance of sleeping together tonight.

She huddled into him, her head resting on his chest with his arms wrapped tightly around her.

“That was… amazing.”

“I didn’t know it could be like that,” he replied in a hush, his hand strumming up and down her spine.

She closed her eyes, needing to rest before she asked him how one rides a male, and soon enough her breaths evened out to a steady beat. Her exhaustion overcame her. It was not hard when she felt so warm, so satisfied, so loved, sosafe.

As she drifted off, there was one thing that crossed her mind. She had forgotten to ask him, needed to when she awoke.

Will you go to Perranth with me?

[jimlingss]

Brass & Strings [10]

Episode 9 - Episode 10 - Episode 10.5 OR Episode 11 Words: 5.2k Genre: Fluff, Humour (?), Slice of Life, Music!Au, College!Au Summary: Have you ever wondered what happens to the mean girl after high school? Where do they go, where do they end up? More importantly, what happens when they get mixed up with the classic nerd that's always too nervous to answer 'no'? Things become a lot more complicated when Kim Namjoon encounters you. They dub you as 'bat-shit insane' and you're not ashamed.

Cr.

Taehyung runs up to the pair, startling Jimin who has no idea who he is. “Namjoon! Namjoon!”

The harpist takes the saxophonist’s hands. “Are you okay?”

“No!” He sobs out, “the euphoniums really left! They’re refusing to play at the competition until they get better treatment but the conductor isn’t budging. I don’t know what to do! It’s in three weeks!”

Jimin stares back between the musicians, a little amused by the situation that’s growing at hand. “I’m Jimin.” He shakes the delirious boy’s hand. “Namjoon’s roommate.”

Taehyung wipes his tears. “I’m Taehyung, I-I play saxophone. Or at least I used to! At this rate it’s all going to fall apart!” Jimin makes an ‘o’ shape with his lips and slowly nods. “The scholarships! The opportunities! If we can’t play...it’s all gone! What do I do, Namjoon?”

The boy in question doesn’t say anything in spite of Taehyung’s cracking voice. Jimin turns his head and waves his hand in front of Namjoon’s blank face. “Uh….hello?”

Jimin and Taehyung follow his line of sight, across the courtyard...darted onto you.

A light bulb sparks inside his brain. “I have an idea of what to do.” Namjoon runs off, leaving the two university students in the dust to watch his backside disappear with yours.

“Isn’t that Namjoon’s girlfriend?”

The saxophonists become startled. “What? Y/N? No way. She’s super scary. Oh god….I hope he’s not doing what I think he’s doing. There’s no way in hell Y/N would agree.”

Jimin hums. “Whelp. Good luck.”

Taehyung tearfully whimpers in response.

//

You laugh. You laugh and laugh until it hurts your stomach, squeezing onto your internal organs. Saltwater droplets have filled your eyes and you brush them away, standing straight again after having bended over in hysterics. “That’s a really funny joke, Nams. You got me. Nice one.”

“I’m not kidding.”

Your face erases. Like a light switch, the emotions wash away and is replaced with complete seriousness and disdain.

“No.”

He matches your quick steps, trying to plead with you. “Why not? This would be a great opportunity and it would be a lot of fun. Aren’t you always looking for more chances to play? You told me yourself that tuba doesn’t get the spotlight but this is it!”

Your feet stop at your tiny locker and you grab your textbooks, snickering under your breath. “You must not understand something since you’re new here…” The locker door slams louder than necessary and you spin on your heel, poking your fingernail at his chest. “Orchestra kids and band kids,” you enunciate each title sharply, “don’t go together. Never have and never will. It’s like oil and water. Fire and ice or whatever shitty metaphor you want to use.”

In the institute you attended, there was the university orchestra, the symphonic band, the university chorus and chamber choir. Of all the groups, the orchestra and band were sworn mortal enemies in the same way the chorus and choir were rivals. If you had to use a comparison, it was much like Gryffindor versus Slytherin and Ravenclaw versus Hufflepuff.

In simpler terms, the symphonic band could suck your invisible dic-

“Why does it matter?” The boy sighs, trying to comprehend you as he picks up his strides to equal yours.

“It’s simple. The orchestra is better than the band. Playing with them would downgrade my own skills.”

“They’re not that bad, Y/N.” Namjoon stares at the profile of your face, attempting to penetrate through the concrete facade.

“They march.”

“Not always. They’re sitting for this competition.”

“They play things like pop music and jazz which is terrible. Jazz is interpretation. Essentially, they’re making up shit on the spot and no one even listens to that kind of outdated music anymore. It’s bland and boring. Don’t even get me started on mainstream pop.”

“You just opened up a whole new can of worms.” He smiles and shakes his head, “they say the same thing about classical being outdated when you know it’s not true. And for this event, they’ll be playing plenty of classical pieces too. Isn’t it good to become versatile in the types of style and genres you can play in, Y/N?”

“They’re noisy and loud.”

“You and I both know that that is just a stereotype.”

As you begin stomping up the stairs, you know you’re running out of things to argue. Namjoon keeps retorting back and it seems like he won’t take ‘no’ for an answer.

“Look.” You twist around on the last step, almost causing him to bump into you and tumble down the steps. You’re looking down at the boy, the fluorescent light hitting your backside and making you glow like an angel (ironically enough). “I’m treading on very thin ice as it is. I screamed at the concertmistress in front of all our peers. If they find out I’m playing with the band, even if it’s just for one occasion, it’ll be a complete fucking witch hunt.”

The dimpled man in his bright yellow hoodie smiles up at you, pushing his glasses to the bridge of his nose. “I’ll protect you.”

You pause, breath hitching. Then a scoff leaves your mouth and you flick his forehead. Namjoon lets out an ‘ow’ and a pout, following as you continue treading up the stairs to the second floor.

When you look at Namjoon, he gives you the saddest and biggest puppy dog eyes in the world. You know it’s already making your heart weak. The innocent boy says nothing, trailing after you and dragging his legs in dejection. After a full minute of utter silence, you let out a groan and a whine.

“Y/N?”

“Fine!”

You have no idea what in hell you’re doing. It kind of amazes you that the harpist is able to convince you of anything. If he told you the sky was really lavender, maybe you'd believe him too.

“Only because it’s you. You helped me out with all that science stuff and I feel guilty, got it? So stop looking at me like that-!” A yelp leaves your mouth as Namjoon suddenly wraps his arms around your waist, lifting you up in the air and swinging you around in a circle. “Nams!”

He sets you down and his grin is infectious. “Thank you.”

//

It’s a bad idea. A very bad idea. If anyone sees you, they’d without a doubt make a huge scene.

“They don’t bite.” Namjoon teases and you glare at him sharply, ready to knock on the door but fist still hovering in the air. “Don’t worry. I’m going to be at the back of the room working on your science paper. If you need me, I’ll be there.”

“Uh-huh.”

There’s no turning back. This could become the worst mistake of your life. You might get scratched, kicked or your instrument might become dented if they decide to attack you.

Dammit. You should’ve brought pepper spray or something.

You look towards Namjoon, your only companion and somehow it’s enough to muster up the courage to finally knock on the door.

It swings open.

“Namjoon! Y/N!” A massive boxy grin greets you and the harpist acknowledges him back. “Come in, come in!”

You’re dragged into the small practice room packed with kids your age. Rather than the seventy students that you typically rehearse with, there are only forty people, tightly knitted together. There’s an astounding number of clarinetists and flutists, holding their instruments and staring at you. The saxophone players that you’ve never encountered before have stopped mid-step and their own brass instruments are slung around their necks like Taehyung’s. There aren’t any violin players or strings for that matter.

No one moves.

For one skipped heartbeat, you’re afraid of being attacked. But you feel relieved that Namjoon’s with you. The clumsy harpist seems like he could body slam a few folks and give you enough time to make your escape.

“This is Y/N!” Taehyung introduces you to his apprehensive classmates. They look at you like you’re a foreign, wild animal that’s wandered its way into the room. “Y/N plays tuba and she’s here to help us, everyone! Don’t be afraid!”

Some of them exchange glances and others swallow hard but everyone continues nonetheless, warming up and preparing for practice. Namjoon smiles, settling himself down in the back of the room. Taehyung brings you over to become acquainted with the others, despite your protests that you don’t care nor want to meet new people.

“Kelly! Y/N, this is Kelly. She plays baritone sax.” The girl in the sweater nods to you with tight lips and you mimic the gesture awkwardly. You can tell Taehyung’s trying his best to make you comfortable and you can appreciate his efforts. “Oh! In case you didn’t know, I play the tenor saxophone which is like the medium size. The alto sax is the smallest-”

“Yes.” You quietly interject. In the university orchestra, there aren’t any saxophone players but you at least know what the instrument is. “I’m aware.”

“Good. And Kelly, this is Y/N. She plays the-”

“You just announced it to everyone, Tae.” Kelly rolls her eyes and laughs lightly. “Plays the tuba. Hi, nice to meet you.” You shake her hand and it’s only then that you realize how many people are eavesdropping in on the conversation. They’re supposed to be warming up for the session but not one note is in the air. “You’re part of the orchestra here at school?”

“Yes. I’m the solo tubist.”

“Cool. You agreed to help us?”

You hum, “Taehyung’s a friend of an important friend so….I don’t mind.”

“Cool.” She coughs tensely, realizing how she’s overusing the same word out of nervousness. “I mean that’s...awesome. I never thought you orchestral people would want to help us. Sinceyouguysalwaysactlikeyou’rebetterthanus.” The girl says the last part in a rush and laughs it off but you catch every single word.

Taehyung intercepts before something can happen. “Why won’t you meet Hana? She plays flute!”

You resist contorting your face after hearing that particular instrument which reminds you of someone unpleasant. But when the petite girl turns around, her kind face surprisingly wipes away any bad, personal connotations. “Hello.”

“Hi.”

She speaks placidly, “you’re going to be playing for the euphoniums?”

“The tuba and euphonium aren’t the same but they’re fairly similar.”

Taehyung grins and he pulls out some paper from his folder that’s sandwiched in his armpit. “I’ve already got the sheet music for it. You think you’ll be okay?”

You take it from him, giving it a quick glance to see if you’ll be able to sight-read. “I’ll give it my best shot.”

“Let’s get started then!”

The mischievous and playful boy introduces you to a few more people until your brain throbs with the amount of names. He finally lets you go and while you’re preparing, out of the corner of your eye, you can catch a handful marvelling at the shiny brass in your lap.

In a way, there’s not many differences between the orchestra and band. The trombonists beside you don’t speak a word and are on constant edge. Most of the people around fear you and you’re isolated at the back of the room. The only true comfort you feel is Kim Namjoon. The boy in glasses holds his calculator, scribbling onto his notebook in his lap. Each and every time you look back, he always grins and shoots you an encouraging thumbs up.

“Idiot.”

The mutter leaves your lips and he looks at you in confusion, unable to hear. He makes a motion for you to repeat yourself. You shake your head with a tiny smile, “nevermind.”

You begin to play with the group to the best of your abilities, reading the notes and interpreting the score as it comes. You’re startled at how fun it is. It’s spontaneous. You don’t have to fret over every single detail and flaw. The music also has modern twists, unlike the ancient classical that you’re used to. At first, your ears catch a few murmurs, suspicions that you’re here to sabotage them but when they realize that you’re legitimately trying, the pressure alleviates from the room.

It also helps that the symphonic band students are quite kind. They’re nice people when the orchestral kids aren’t being condescending towards them. They give you a round of applause after a solo, impressed with your abilities and techniques considering that you’re looking at this music for the first time. In between pieces, some turn around to chat with you and they even joke around freely with each other.

It’s a nice atmosphere, not serious or full of strain. It’s a stark contrast to the orchestra. The band conductor is friendly as well, cracking jokes and bantering with his students.

You feel like you’ve transported into another world.

“How was it? You played really well. It sounded pretty good.”

“It was surprisingly fun.” Your irises flicker to catch a glimpse of the clumsy boy pushing up his spectacles. “They’re good people.”

He smiles proudly, “I told you so.”

“Maybe I should listen to you more often.”

From your teasing tone, he lowers himself to meet your height and to lock your eyes with his while cutely tipping his head to one side. “You should.”

“I only said maybe.” Your stomach growls and in your chipper mood, you lightly bump into him with a giggle. “Wanna go eat some crab?”

The harpist thinks about the science lecture that he really shouldn’t miss. That professor is scary enough and Namjoon suspects that he’s wary of the whole ‘Namjoon-takes-your-classes-for-you’ scheme. But then again….

Would he really want to miss an opportunity to go out and share a meal with you? “Okay. Let’s go!”

//

“Is it true?”

Two weeks have passed and you should be exhausted. In between practicing with the orchestra, you’re off to rehearsals with the band and honing your skills on your own time. You’re playing twice as much as usual, ten hours a day and whenever you’re not resting, you’re out with a suitor or two, trying to make conversation on dates. You should be tried.

Should - because you’re not.

The only reason or rather, person, you can credit that to is Namjoon. He keeps you energized, along every step of the way, by your side whenever you look to your left or right. He waits for you outside your apartment in the mornings, works on the science projects and homework in the back of the practice room. He still keeps up with his own music, studying and plucking the harp’s strings and at night, you meet up again. After shared dinner, you would both take the bus back, occasionally to his apartment to sleepover at.

If your mind were in the gutter, you would think that it’s almost like the two of you are a married couple.

“What are you talking about? I don’t have time nor the patience for your bullshit.”

“You’re playing with the symphonic band.”

Everyone stops and when people ask what’s going on, the words are reiterated in a ripple effect.

“What?”, “What did Rose just say?”, “Did she-”, “YN’s playing for the band?”, “What the hell?”, “She’s really gone crazy.”, “What the actual fuck?”.

“I am.” You stand up amongst your peers and your sharp eyes glare back at them. “So what?”

“What is wrong with you?” The flutist spits out. “We have to compete with them at the regional competition! Don’t you want to go to Nationals? You’re a traitor.”

“Stop being dramatic. I’m helping them for this occasion and it’s not even applicable to you. In fact, I don’t see how my actions matter to any of you!”

The murmuring quiets down and Rose snickers in disbelief. “Why don’t you join them then?”

“Excuse me?”

“Leave.” She twists. “No one wants you here anyways. You’ve done more bad than good anyways. Do you even know the amount of problems you’ve caused us? No one likes your bitchy attitude. We can easily find another…” The girl makes a wild gesture to your bulky brass instrument. “...tuba.”

“You guys!” Jennie stands up, interfering as the concertmistress. “Stop it right this instant. Rose, you’re acting immaturely. What Y/N does outside of this room is none of our business.”

You cross your arms. “She’s right.”

It’s the first time you’ve ever agreed with the first chair violinist. You’d usually spite her, tell her to fuck off and back out of your argument but you finally realized it. This entire time, Jennie has been trying harder than anyone. She’s pissed you off in the past, being a timid goodie two shoes like every annoying heroine character that believes in the good of people. But her goal as the concertmistress has always been to unite the orchestra.

She wants to create a friendly atmosphere like that of the band’s. It’s impossible.

The air here is too suffocating. It’s too serious with the over looming pressure to do well in order to build a career in the music industry for the future. You can understand why Yoongi left.

“Rose. Sit down.” Jennie’s eyes glisten but you recognize the underlying gleam, an appreciative nod that translates to how thankful she is for you taking her side.

“You think you’re all that special?” The flutist ignores her friend, smirks and shoves your shoulder. “No one cares about your instrument.”

You grasp at her oncoming hand before she can slap you. The discomfort of the entire room elevates and a few watch in amusement, others in horror and a handful sneering. “If you think a few insults will make me leave then you’re wrong. I’m going nowhere.”

The girl lets out a screech and Namjoon pulls you back before she can swing.

The gentle hands on the dips of your waist startle you but there’s no change in your expression. Namjoon would never intercept, not when he hated to draw attention and was too timid to be aggressive like you but he’s made a promise to support you.

He was the reason why you were aiding the band anyways.

“Is there something the matter?”

His timbre is low and with the two of you challenging back at her, in addition to the rest of the class. Rose is helpless. No one steps up, not when they’re intimidated by your aura and Namjoon’s height and large build. The pair of you could belong to a gang for all they knew.

“Ugh! You’re a bitch. A traitorous bitch!”

Jennie tugs her back. Namjoon lets you go. You cross your arms again with a smirk.

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

//

“You know what? You’re right, Namjoon. I think I’ve judged Y/N falsely.”

“How so?”

Taehyung shrugs, “she really isn’t that bad. If you aren’t mean to her, she isn’t mean to you. I can see why you like her. But I’ll admit Y/N’s still a bit scary.”

“Yeah.” Then Namjoon’s mind reels. “Wait. What? What did you say about me liking her?”

There’s radio silence on the other end of the phone call and the saxophonist quickly switches the subject, rambling about something else.

The harpist replays the same conversation over and over again in his head but he still can’t quite wrap his mind around it. If Taehyung was suggesting that he harbored a crush for you, then his friend is wrong. Sure, Namjoon likes you but not in the romantic aspect. It’s platonic.

You’re overbearing. You’re spoiled. You have to get your way and you always do, either through manipulation or threats. You are the absolute epitome of the mean girls within the movie or the villain in fairytales but those are all surface level things. You’re sensitive, passionate and driven, funny and witty….cute.

It’s platonic. He simply sees you for who you are. There’s nothing more.

Right?

//

This is the best day of his life. Hands down.

As Kim Seokjin hauls the art supplies he stole from school, he is bustling with excitement. However, the poster paper, markers and paints, rolling brushes and crayons are a bit much. He tottles from one side of the sidewalk to the other, apologizing to the people he bumps into, cursing his meager strength and short height.

“Jin?”

The middle schooler peeks his head out and gasps. “Predator!”

“It’s Namjoon!” He protests with a shrill voice, appalled to be even called such a name. “What are you doing?”

“None of your business- Hey!” The kid protests when the much taller man takes his paints and maker packs. It doesn’t occur to him that he can see forward now. “Give it back!”

“Where are you going? I can help you.”

“I-” Jin grumbles, sporting the same yellow backpack on his shoulders. He seems to debate with himself before he concedes the honest truth to Namjoon. “I’m going to the park to make a poster. A sign.”

“For?”

“Y/N.” The short boy grins. “She’s performing this evening, right?”

Namjoon had dropped you off of the venue an hour ago. There were last minute tweaks and preparations to be done. He, on the other hand, had to go submit a biochemistry paper and was planning to go right back - until he bumped into Jin. “How did you know about that?”

Jin is bubbling with pride as he walks alongside Namjoon, proud that he’s in the loop with everyone else. “It’s on your university website!”

“You’re very informative.”

“Of course! It’s Y/N after all and she’s my idol.”

They make it to the park, setting down the items on the picnic table. “Is it okay if I work with you? Two hands are faster than one.”

The middle schooler takes off his backpack and blinks upwards, contemplating for a long second. “Okay. I already have an outline! There are stickers that I got too and only use neon colours! Y/N’s name is going right at the center of the poster.”

Namjoon giggles, sitting down across from the boy and the two of them begin on the artwork masterpiece, surprisingly having an enjoyable time. Jin loosens up and banters back and forth with the harpist, teasing the poor and timid college student.

“Hey, you! Suck-jin.” A horde of taller middle schooler delinquents begins to approach, popping gum in their mouth and kicking rocks on the ground. “What are you doing, dork? Are you doing an elementary kid’s work? They bullied you into it or did the teachers finally hold you back because of your height?”

They childishly laugh together, coming closer and closer. A girl simpers, “where’s your milk?” Another demands for their lunch money and one of the guys grabs onto the sunny backpack.

Jin stops ignoring them and stands up from his spot. “Hey! Give that back!”

The boy holds his arm high in the air. “Try to take it away from me, shortie.”

The bag that is as bright as the sunshine itself is suddenly ripped away from the ruffian’s grasps. He inhales and looks up, the light piercing the looming man’s backside. Namjoon grins, one that mimics the Chester’s cat and is as intimidating as the Grim Reaper himself. “That’s not very nice.”

The children scramble back and Jin grins. Namjoon steps forward. “Don’t you know this kid has an older sister who is really psychotic? If she catches you doing things like this to him, I’m not sure you'll live to tell the tale.”

“Oh my god.” The girl mutters out. “Is he talking about that girl? The one who beat us up?”

They screech at the top of their lungs, dispersing. Namjoon sets down the backpack and Jin sits back on the bench, continuing to scribble away. “Thanks….for that.”

The harpist wonders why they ran so quickly. “No problem.”

“I miss Y/N.” Jin confesses with full sincerity. “I haven’t seen her in awhile.”

“Yeah.” Namjoon’s not sure why since it’s only been two hours but- “I miss Y/N too.”

//

He’s arranged it very well. In the dark auditorium, Seokjin has reserved the front seat on top of the balcony, dressed in bright pink and a flashing headband. The kid is clearly visible in the entire concert hall. He holds the massive sign with your name and a picture of you in the corner, unsympathetic to how he’s obstructing the view of the people behind him. “Woo! Y/N! LET’S GO!”

Jin chants your name like the true fan he is but the stage is empty and after five minutes, he sits back to reserve energy. “You’re very dedicated.”

“Only to the best.” Jin snaps his fingers and does finger guns. “Because I am the best.”

“Namjoon?” The two of them turn around, met with a different pair in casual clothes. “So, it is you!”

“Jennie! Yoongi!” He smiles and they take their seats next to him.

“I came here to support Y/N.” The concertmistress smooths out her floral skirt. “And of course the band. I think it’s very kind of Y/N to help them out. I heard about the problems they were having.”

“I came with her.” Yoongi coughs and when Jennie side-eyes him, he sighs. “Oh, and to see my dear cousin as well. My very dear, blood relative that loves to ask me for cash and terrorizes my coworkers.”

Jennie seems somewhat satisfied with the answer and leans over, amused with Jin and his colourful attire and poster. “This is…?”

“I’m Y/N’s boyfriend!”

“You are?” She smiles and her brows furrow, pupils redirected to the harpist. “But I thought you were, Namjoon.”

“N-no. I’m not. We’re both here to show our support. Y/N’s not really dating him...or me! She’s dating no one...well...not really...I- uh...He’s Jin, by the way. They met on another occasion.” Namjoon doesn’t know why he’s flustered by the mere thought of dating you.

Dating which means holding hands...hugging...kissing...becoming intimate-

Stop thinking about it! He slaps his cheek to snap out of it and Jennie is taken back. A second later, she laughs to herself.

Yoongi stares at Jin without an expression. “You did a whole poster, kid?”

“I sure did and don’t call me kid! I’m a man.”

“Sure, kid.” Yoongi smiles softly. “Wow. It seems like Y/N has some serious admirers.”

For a plain moment, your cousin’s eyes flicker to Namjoon’s face which is still reddened and steaming. Yoongi smirks.

There’s a bit of a mutual silence as all four listen to the introduction by one of the judges and one rather good band performance. It’s only until they hear a shallow exhale that they all turn to their left by the staircase. “Jin?!”

“Hoseok!” He giggles nervously. “What a coincidence!”

The trumpet player marches, unfazed by the staring eyes of the people around. “Are you skipping class?”

The middle-schooler struggles to find an answer and copies the one that Namjoon and Jennie said earlier. “I came to show my support for you!”

“That’s a poster with Y/N’s name.”

“I can explain.”

Hoseok exhales again but dramatically this time, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Don’t try to. And you again? Namjoon?”

“It’s not his fault.” Jin rushes to defend and his older brother answers with ‘yeah, yeah, I know’. Namjoon is too timid and kind to be the type to corrupt Jin, drag him into a cult or kidnap him. At least Hoseok feels comforted that his younger brother isn’t running around with total strangers.

Namjoon smiles as the trumpet player collapses into the chair. “You’re competing?”

“Yep. I’m part of both the orchestra and band in my university.” A smirk reaches up his lips and he pretends to whip back his non-existent long hair. “Impressive. I know.”

Jin puts a hand to his mouth, leaning over to Namjoon and whispering, “he doesn’t have a life outside of music. Not a social one and not a girlfriend. It’s sad.”

“You’re the one to speak, twerp!” He hits the younger man’s head, making Jin let out a whimper and a cry. The rows of people behind them are no longer eavesdropping or paying attention, waiting as the judges finish up with their decision. Meanwhile, Hoseok’s eyes land three chairs down. “Oh my god. Is that who I think it is?!”

“Hoseok.” Yoongi waves and smiles. “Hey. It’s been awhile.”

The middle schooler is absolutely bewildered. “You know each other? What the heck?! How do you know these people and I don’t?!”

“Band camp.” Hoseok reminisces with his eyes glossed over. “Yoongi was in senior year and he snuck in fireworks. They caught the entire grounds on fire. Everyone knows him.”

Yoongi chuckles, “good times.’

Jennie nudges him, “I’ve never heard of that story.”

Hoseok notices her immediately and takes interest. “Who is this beautiful lady?”

“Jennie.” They awkwardly shake hands and she smiles. “I play violin, concertmistress of the university orchestra with Y/N.”

“Impressive...smart. And pretty.”

Yoongi’s pupils sharpen. “Uh-huh.”

“Well I’ve got to get backstage but it was nice seeing all of you...” Hoseok grits his teeth at his brother who only sheepishly smiles. “....even if you’re not here to support me specifically.

Namjoon wishes him luck. “Break a leg!”

“Thanks.”

The performance continues with intermediate breaks, judges discussing the credentials and techniques of each band. Hoseok’s plays rather decently, causing all four to be astounded. Jennie takes mental notes while Namjoon makes comments, the both of them critiquing the groups and guessing what the panelists will comment on. When they’re unable to decide what is excellent or merely acceptable, Yoongi interjects and he always brings a brighter perspective with obvious points. Jin just claps.

Taehyung hollers as he steps out on stage.

“Y/N! Y/N! Y/N!” Jin chants your name, holding up the poster. When they find you humiliated, everyone’s eyes suddenly on you, Yoongi joins in with the fun and screams along. Jennie laughs, clapping her hands and Namjoon smiles, calling your name out softly - “Y/N.”

Before the four of them can be thrown out, they settle down.

The playing is impeccable, a high standard to back up the university's name. Jennie is able to discern why despite the arrogant nature of her peers, they still find the symphonic band a threat. Yoongi nods along and Namjoon listens, spending his entire time gazing at you.

“It’s part of the top ten so far.” Your cousin murmurs, following the flute and baseline’s melting harmonics. “They’ll at least win second place and maybe a supreme award.”

The performance ends with a roar, thunderous applause and everyone stands and bows. Jin screams your name, waving his poster. Yoongi grins and claps with Jennie who smiles brightly.

The corner of Namjoon’s mouth draws up high into his cheeks and as he leans over the ledge with Jin, shouting your name and being completely noisy, his glasses slide down his nose. The spectacles nearly drop from fifty feet from the balcony but the clumsy boy manages to catch it with both his hands. He sighs out in relief and smiles embarrassingly to you.

As you stare up at him, that’s enough to make you laugh and feel content.

[naiylabrouillard]

Learn Reiki In Bangalore Stunning Cool Tips

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Green Magic: 8 Powerful Plants To Unlock Your Magic Today

SL Bear

Nature is like a witch’s personal charging station, as well as our repository. We gather rocks, wood, feathers, skulls. What does a witch need for that nature does not provide? Perhaps, nature’s greatest gifts to the witch are the plants it supplies for potions, powders, and good luck charms — so many resources at our fingertips, right outside our front doors.

Imagine your magic for a moment without plants. Not just the actual plants — as if that’s not bad enough — but the symbolism they have carried into all aspects of the craft. We use green for wealth spells because it represents money, right? No, it represents abundance, fertility, growth, and good harvests. Whenever we call on the element of earth, we are calling on the magic of our very world. And our world would be a very dark place without the colourful, delightful plants bursting at every seam. In fact, it wouldn’t be here at all. Trees provide the oxygen that sustains life. Plants feed us all. It is little wonder witches rely on them when performing feats of magic. What could be more magical than putting a seed into the earth and having it grow into a life-giving tree?

If you’re writing a spell or working on your craft, finding the best suited plant for your intention can be crucial. In this article, I hope to unveil the rich symbolism of plants — as well as provide you with a guide on how they can work for you in your magic.

The Quiet Magic Of Plants

Apple

An apple a day… well you know the rest. But did you know the Latin word for apple is mālum, which can also mean “evil” and is the root for other unpleasant words? Malpractice, malfunction… Malleus Maleficarum. The apple, when cut in half, reveals a secret pentagram and 5 seeds within.

Although not explicitly stated in the Bible, the apple is believed to be the forbidden fruit of knowledge and not in a good way. For witches at Samhain, the apple plays a big part in rituals, and at Halloween children bob for apples — all in celebration of the harvest. The Celts believed the apple contained magical properties, and perhaps in keeping with its link to knowledge and wisdom, apples are gifted to teachers as a show of respect. The apple is also a symbol of forbidden love and sex (appearing in art and on popular book covers to suggest the same).

Suggestions for use: I choose to ignore the apple’s less than savory connotations and would use this delicious little fruit in any divination or health spells and spells to help students excel in school.

Basil

A vibrant green, fragrant plant used in recipes all over the world; basil is known as the “witch’s herb.” As well as being a versatile ingredient, you can use basil in a variety of different spells and powders. Basil, or tulasi (the incomparable one), is a sacred plant in Hinduism and is a symbol of love in many cultures. In Haiti, basil is the herb of Erzuli, the goddess of love, and so basil is a go to for marriage spells and any spell to influence a lover. Basil also has many connections to travel, protection, wealth, luck, and health.

Suggestions for use: Because of basil’s versatility and its ancient connections to witchcraft, you can use this plant in many ways in your craft. Along with bay leaves, wishes can be written on basil and then burned so they come true. You can also eat leaves for a bit of fast luck.

Birch

The “goddess tree” and “pioneer tree.”  Birch represents new beginnings and protection, and so was commonly used to make baby cribs. Its wood does not rot, because of this many people associate it with immortality and strength. Birch trees have a reputation for being resilient. In the case of forest fires, birches grow back quickly and repopulate an area with ease — another reason they are associated with starting over and new life. Besoms are made of birch, and birch bark was so thin and white that it was often used as paper to document sacred texts and symbols.

Suggestions for use: Birch leaves should be used in spells focusing on newborns or pregnancy (be sure to choose leaves that have been nibbled on if you can find them — follow the animals, these leaves are the choicest!). The addition of birch can bless any new endeavour and wishes for change should be written on birch and burned with care.

Clover

I’m obsessed with this little plant. Most people think of the shamrock as Irish and associate it with luck, which is correct, but the clover is also a symbol of the triple goddess. To find a four-leaf clover is lucky, but only because legend says it allows you to see friendly, hidden creatures like fairies and spirits! Though the four-leaf variety is more rare and famous, the three-leaf clovers have more symbolism, mainly religious. They represent the holy trinity, for example. For the Celts, the shamrock was a symbol of their knotwork as well as the balance of threes: gods, goddesses, and time.

Suggestions for use: You think I’m going to say luck, don’t you! Well, I live to surprise and my suggestion for the clover is air magic — communication, divination, astral travel, and matters of the mind. Dry the leaves, burn them, and recite spells while the smoke lingers in the air. If you are a Gemini, the clover will be especially helpful to you as the planetary association is Mercury, Gemini’s ruling planet!      

Daisy

There is a Victorian language of flowers. It instructs that certain flowers must be given at certain times and you may say anything you wish to and even insult the recipient with a simple bouquet. When it comes to the daisy, a pretty white and yellow flower that just looks happy to be here, the Victorians were clear: Youth and innocence. It’s given to new mothers, young girls, and anyone who needs a little cheering up. The old-fashioned yet charming game of “he loves me, he loves me not” is played by pulling daisy petals to reveal the feelings of a crush. The daisy is associated with young love and naivety, but also wholesomeness and a fresh, sunny outlook.

Suggestions for use: This flower is perfect for self-care rituals and magic to make you feel better. Keep some daisies by your altar to invite positive vibes. If you find yourself fighting negative thoughts, carry a pressed daisy in your wallet as a reminder to be open and find joy in every moment.

Garlic

As a warding agent, garlic reigns supreme. What repels vampires? Garlic. What repels everyone else? Garlic breath. It is a staple in many mouth-watering recipes, but is also used medicinally and is great for your immune system, heart, and brain. Long before penicillin, garlic was an antibiotic used the world over and Hippocrates, of Hippocratic Oath fame, noted garlic’s amazing healing properties. Garlic was used by ancient Greek and Roman soldiers for courage, perhaps because garlic is associated with the planet Mars. Garlic is hung in ropes outside shops and homes for luck and chopped up and tossed in gardens to scare away scorpions.

Suggestions for use: This “stinking rose” may be one of the most powerful warding charms out there, but its health benefits cannot be denied. Hang garlic in your kitchen to encourage healthy cooking. Incorporate fresh chopped garlic in any healing spell and be sure to add a fire element to pay homage to Mars. If you’re in a pinch, powdered garlic can be used in talismans and spell bottles.  

Ivy

Seen as a counterpart to holly, ivy has maternal associations of protection and, less complimentary, clinginess. Houses with ivy covering a wall are “protected” by this plant, hidden and shielded from the rest of the world in a loving green blanket. Ivy grows in a spiral, a sacred symbol, and has five-pointed leaves, a symbol of the unity of the elements. Ivy is a hardy plant, thriving in many environments, and grows on a twisting vine. For these reasons, ivy is linked with fidelity in relationships.

Suggestions for use: Incorporate ivy in love spells, but be sure to include holly as well, to balance the two partners. For the less enamoured, use ivy to bind. Place five ivy leaves in a circle and on each leaf, place a representation of one element, holding the fifth leaf in your hand. Make a taglock for your target, bind it with a piece of ivy, and squeeze the taglock tightly in your other hand. (Use garlic as your fire element if you’d also like the person to be driven away!)

Rose

This is an old plant, which has been cultivated by humans over the years to be bigger, more colourful, and impossibly perfect. The first roses had only five petals in the shape of a pentagram, so it has long symbolised sacred knowledge. The rose resembles the human heart so it’s connected to love and passion. It is associated with Aphrodite, Venus, Lakshmi, Eros… to name a few. Along with the lily and lotus, the rose is one of the most heavily symbolic flowers in the world. Royal houses adopted the rose as their sigils, the Tarot uses the rose as a way to show balance, and in Christianity, the rose is the flower of Mary, the quintessential mother. The rose, along with representing everything from virginal purity to wild sexual passion, is also the symbol of secrets. If something is sub rosa, it means it is confidential, only spoken of in whispers and under a veil of secrecy.

Suggestions for use: Love potions are a given. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a love potion (or written one) that didn’t include some part of the rose. But try to think about the rose in a new way. This is a flower that curls up tightly, hides many layers of petals, and grows thorns along its stem — all to keep you out. This is a clandestine flower, so it should be used during spells when you want to hide something or keep something safe. Use the rose when you need privacy or to keep someone out of your business. I suggest further research on this “most perfect” of flowers, though. If you have a magical need, the rose can probably fulfil it!

https://thetravelingwitch.com/blog/green-magic-8-powerful-plants-to-unlock-your-magic-today

[baxterholmes]

Round-up of fine sentences, part 52

In April, millions of tiny flowers spread over the blackjack hills and vast prairies in the Osage territory of Oklahoma. There are Johnny-jump-ups and spring beauties and little bluets. The Osage writer John Joseph Mathews observed that the galaxy of petals makes it look as if the “gods had left confetti.” In May, when coyotes howl beneath an unnervingly large moon, taller plants, such as spiderworts and black-eyed Susans, begin to creep over the tinier blooms, stealing their light and water. The necks of the smaller flowers break and their petals flutter away, and before long they are buried underground. This is why the Osage Indians refer to May as the time of the flower-killing moon.

-David Grann

All of this is made more precious, not less, by its impermanence. No matter what goes missing, the wallet or the father, the lessons are the same. Disappearance reminds us to notice, transience to cherish, fragility to defend. Loss is a kind of external conscience, urging us to make better use of our finite days. As Whitman knew, our brief crossing is best spent attending to all that we see: honoring what we find noble, denouncing what we cannot abide, recognizing that we are inseparably connected to all of it, including what is not yet upon us, including what is already gone. We are here to keep watch, not to keep. 

-Kathryn Schulz

The first time Mason stood up after his surgery, he hadn't risen for so long—years, in fact—that the cartilage had dissolved in his knees, and his legs buckled. He had forgotten what it was like to just be in that position, how to deal with it, just as he'd forgotten what true companionship was, and how fast cars could go. The perspective overwhelmed him, the feeling of the walls coming in on him frightened him, distorted the sensation of being upright, making him cry out that he needed to sit back down. But he hadn't sat—he'd done his best, knees shaking, to try to stand there for as long as he could.

-Justin Heckert

I guess it’s a possibility. On the other hand, Donald Trump can be Donald Trump, but if he doesn’t help the people that need help, then he’s just a jerk. That press conference that he held berating the news media? I mean, how do you build a dictatorship? First, you undermine the press: “The only truth you’re going to hear is from me.” And he hires the Hunchback of Notre Dame, Steve Bannon, to be his little buddy. Bannon looks like a guy who goes to lunch, gets drunk, and comes back to the office: “Steve, could you have just one drink?” “Fuck you.” How is a white supremacist the chief adviser to our president? Did anybody look that up? I don’t know. How’s this interview going? Do you think you’re talking to a normal person here? Don’t I seem like I’m full of something?

-David Letterman

The screen porch was full of men, young men in checked suits and slouch hats, old men in derbies and frayed cuffs, crowding and jostling, each one beckoning and calling to me above the crowd. Their one distinguishing mark was a pencil in the right hand and a notebook in the left—a notebook open—waiting, virginally yet ominously portentous.

Behind them on the lawn was a larger crowd—butchers and bakers in their aprons, fat women with folded arms, thin women holding up dirty children so that they might better see, shouting boys, barking dogs, horrible little girls who jumped up and down shouting and clapping their hands. Behind these, in a sort of outer ring, stood the old men of the village, toothless, musty-eyed, their mouths open, their gray beards tickling the tops of their canes. Over behind them, the setting sun, blood-red and horrible, played on three hundred twisting shoulders.

-F. Scott Fitzgerald

“Never shall I forget that night, the first night in camp, which has turned my life into one long night, seven times cursed and seven times sealed,” Mr. Wiesel wrote. “Never shall I forget that smoke. Never shall I forget the little faces of the children, whose bodies I saw turned into wreaths of smoke beneath a silent blue sky. Never shall I forget those flames which consumed my faith forever. Never shall I forget the nocturnal silence which deprived me, for all eternity, of the desire to live. Never shall I forget those moments which murdered my God and my soul and turned my dreams to dust. Never shall I forget these things, even if I am condemned to live long as God himself. Never.” 

-Elie Wiesel

If nothing ever changes, that does not relieve me of the responsibility to tell the truth as I see it. 

-Ta-Nehisi Coates

We are not really a particularly brutal people, certainly no more brutal now than we've been in other wars, acquiring it as the war goes on. But our machine is devastating. And versatile. It can do almost everything but stop. 

-Michael Herr

And at this point, what kind of person are you if you're not rooting for Bill May? Bill May, who will swim in a pool that still has some kid poop in it so he can get an extra hour of practice. Bill, a man who swam with women training for the Olympics, women who could complain about how tired they were and how sore they were, and Bill would keep his mouth shut thinking how he'd kill to be on the road they were on. Bill, who learned from me that it was Judy McGowan, the president of USA Synchro, who did not request the vote that day in 2001, on the day she promised she would -- she'd been ready to ask for the vote but was stopped by the president of FINA at the time and told that it was not in the best interest of the sport and its place in the Olympics to bring men in just now.

Yes, when Bill heard this from me, his immediate and only reaction was to say what respect he has for Judy, doing the right thing for the sport, fighting the way she always has for synchro, that it must have been a tough decision and that if she had received that vote, if he had been allowed in, well, he might even have been deprived of this moment he was having now, and what a shame that would be. Bill May, who represents the gifts that hard work and good intentions can sometimes bring. And now it's time to ask yourself again: At this point, what kind of person are you if you're not rooting for Bill May? 

- Taffy Brodesser-Akner

He says that when he works out, he’s either thinking of the things that make him angry in the world and using that anger to strengthen himself, or his mind is completely blank—“nothing but hollowness”—as he’s subsumed in the moment. After 20 more minutes of weightlifting, sweat lines his thick brow and drops mark his path across the floor. And as he continues, he sweats even more. This is an unusually chilly morning in San Diego, where he lives, and the cool air seeps in through a window and starts to collide with the heat he’s producing. Before long, some of the moisture on his head and neck turns into an eerie, ghostly vapor.

As he pumps his weights, Jocko is literally steaming.

-Michael Mooney

Propping herself up on her peace-sign-covered pillow, she opens Instagram. Later, Lila will give her a Starbucks gift card. Her dad will bring doughnuts to her class. Her grandparents will take her to the Melting Pot for dinner. But first, her friends will decide whether to post pictures of Katherine for her birthday. Whether they like her enough to put a picture of her on their page. Those pictures, if they come, will get likes and maybe tbhs.

They should be posted in the morning, any minute now. She scrolls past a friend posing in a bikini on the beach. Then a picture posted by Kendall Jenner. A selfie with coffee. A basketball Vine. A selfie with a girl’s tongue out. She scrolls, she waits. For that little notification box to appear. 

- Jessica Contrera

I think I did: the only apartment with a better view than the best apartment in the world was the same apartment. Except for the one across the Park, which had the most spectacular living room in the world. No one had ever seen a granite house before. And, most important, every square inch belonged to Trump, who had aspired to and achieved the ultimate luxury, an existence unmolested by the rumbling of a soul. “Trump”—a fellow with universal recognition but with a suspicion that an interior life was an intolerable inconvenience, a creature everywhere and nowhere, uniquely capable of inhabiting it all at once, all alone.

-Mark Singer

Bonus: 

I’ll give you an example. In the first volume, there’s a chapter called “The First Campaign.” Everyone I talked to about Johnson’s first run for Congress would say, I never saw anyone who worked as hard as Lyndon Johnson. Well, it’s one thing to tell that to the reader, but how do you show it? Who would really know what this means?

I thought, There’s one guy who’s with Lyndon Johnson most of the day, and it’s not his campaign manager, it’s his chauffeur! Because in the Texas Hill Country, a lot of anything is driving—that’s ninety percent of the time. His chauffeur was a guy named Carroll Keach. He lived in some place outside Corpus Christi, and it was hard to get to. It was, like, a 180-mile drive or something. But I kept going back to him.

He wasn’t a loquacious Texan, he was a laconic Texan. I would ask, What was Johnson doing between campaign stops? And he would say something like, Oh, he was just sitting there in the backseat. I just had to keep asking him questions. I mean, you’re driving, Carroll, and Lyndon Johnson is in the backseat? What was he doing in the backseat? Finally, he told me that Johnson often would be talking to himself. So I’d call and say, Carroll, when you said he was talking to himself, what was he saying? Finally, Carroll told me, It was like he was having discussions with himself about whether he had had a successful day, and if he had made a good impression on voters or not. So I’d say, What do you mean by that? How do you know that’s what he was talking about?

“Well, lots of the time, he felt he wasn’t doing too good. And he would tell himself that it was his own fault.”

“What do you mean, he would tell himself it was his own fault?”

“Oh, I don’t know, I don’t remember.”

So I’d call him later and ask again, and I’d finally get something like, Well, Johnson would say, Boy, wasn’t that dumb! You know you just lost that ballot box. You lost it, and you need it. And he would talk out—rehearse, over and over, out loud, what he would say to the voters in that precinct the next time.

It was Ed Clark, who they called the secret boss of Texas, who was one of the first people to say to me, I had never seen anyone work that hard. And finally, after looking at documents like Johnson’s daily campaign ­agenda—which Johnson would put little handwritten notes on—and doing all these interviews, I was able to write, “ . . . and Clark didn’t know how hard Lyndon Johnson was really working. No one knew, with the exception of Carroll Keach, because only Keach, alone in the car with Johnson for hours each day, knew what Johnson was doing in the car.”

That’s just one example of the kind of work that can go into making a scene.

-Robert Caro

[winstonhcomedy]

“Dope A-F” - 5/15-5/26 - “Saving The Environment, A Raffle, Woman Of The Year, Fire In Pittsburgh, Canon and Draw, The After Show, Punk Rock and The Winstmas Games, and Annapolis”

Boom another week down and another round of shows to write about. Don’t you wish you comedy was hot like me! OOOOOOO WEEEE LAYDEES! It is time to get down to the nitty gritty of it and talk about some hot ass shows!

5/15

I had a few shows this night. I was not ready for one of them even a little bit. Sarah Ahmed had booked me to do a set in front of the league of conservation voters. She told us to do political/environmental based material for 5 to 7 minutes. I took this to heart and worked really hard to try to come up with something. So I planned to propose a New Green New Deal with a primary focus on farts effects on the environment.

The show was at Blue Bee Cider and it was gong to be early in the night at around 5:30. So I got off work and headed straight there. When I got there Sarah pulled in behind me and I helped her set up. I also got to meet her father in law, and we all had a good conversation. I told her how nervous I was and she told me it was going to be fine.

I relaxed for a bit as more comics showed up. Anne Meng, Grace Manno, Kate Carroll, Jesse Hill Jr, and Mu were all on the show. Grace and I both had a drawing component in our bit, so she decided to tell a story about her crazy upbringing by eco warriors.

The conservation voters started to show up, and it actually started to fill up pretty nicely. Sarah is dressed as Earth. The show starts and they are definitely not an audience into comedy. Sarah does a bit where she is complaining about how hot it is and she is smoking a cigarette.. Each comic goes up and keeps trying to crack them open. No one does horribly, but it is just weird. Everyone was trying ecological humor, and some of it hits, but then they’d transition into their acts and it just felt weird and off. People got laughs, but they deserved more than they got.

Mu went up before me and he did what I should have done. He did about 45 seconds of ecological material and then said screw it and just did his act. They definitely responded to this better than anyone else. He had the best set of the night, and a lot of that was due to him not really restricting himself to doing 5 minutes of jokes he wrote that week. Definitely a solid set.

I went up next and by all outside accounts I did well. It felt horrible to do. My bit involved me pretending I just found out about climate change so I had to do something drastic to try and fix it. I came up with a taxable fart chart of all farts we should tax. This color coded pie chart included, old people farts, dog farts, cow farts, my farts, queefs (female only tax but only at 70% of regular tax), and Donald Trump’s farts. This got a laugh and was silly, but the tags I did after didn’t really work. I think they truly believed I didn’t know what climate change was.

I then went into another part where I explained that since we can’t tax cows we needed to murder them all to save the planet. This would create jobs since I would be training highly skilled assassins to kill the cows (Calf Team Six). I then had a drawing of a cow farting with a birthday cone hat on. Then I showed another drawing of me killing the cow with a series of guns, swords, and a nuclear bomb. I had also stolen the birthday cap in this drawing. All in all I am very proud of it. I did 5 minutes of environmental material, and even though it didn’t hit as hard as I wanted at all. People paid attention, and on the video it got some nice laughs.

I then just did 5 minutes of my material. That started off weak because it switched up the energy. I closed strong with a teaching joke, and every time I shit on myself and the room for not liking comedy it got a laugh as well. This is the most solid of a C I can give myself. I challenged myself to write and do something different and it succeeded. I now have more confidence to accept and do gigs like this. I could have gotten a better response if I had just done material and crowd work, but I am so proud I didn’t.

Some people talked to me about the show afterwards. They seemed to enjoy it quite a bit. Sarah reassured me it went better than I felt it did. I truly did not feel good at all about it until I rewatched it later. While on stage it felt like I was drowning in the water from a million melted ice caps. After I packed up I found out the second mic I was going to go to was cancelled, and that the other one I could have done had already started.

So I decided to head over to En Su Boca to eat with Bryan Williams and Alex Castagne. Bryan and I talked for about 40 minutes while we waited for our table to be ready. We sat down and Alex showed up about another 30 minutes later. I ordered some delicious wings, and chips. They got a burrito and tacos. After this Alex headed back to his place and Bryan and I headed to the only mic left tonight at Home Sweet Home.

I get there and it is the first night Jason Kusterer will be hosting. It is a pretty good turnout of comedian, but there is almost no audience. He decides to start it about 20 minutes late while waiting for comedians to get there. A lot of people show up including John Thomas, Bryan, Brandon, Alex, Tom Hall, and a lot of others. It is a super fun hang, and Jason has the meeting and asks if I mind going first. I tell him sure, and get my set ready.

We go upstairs and the comics fill in the room. There are a few new faces, and maybe three or four noncomics. Jason goes first and does ok before bringing me up. I go up and work on new stuff. Everything gets a good response, and I am really loving how these jokes are working out. I think I am a few weeks away from getting these jokes kind of done. I’d give this set a B. Everything worked even though it was just comics. I get off stage and watch the next few comics.

There was a queer German born comic who was on her way back from doing a comedy festival down south. She had some good stuff, and you could tell she was doing her tightest five. It worked and the people really dug it. This was shaping up to be a good ass show.

I grab my stuff and head downstairs. I said my goodbyes and handed out some hugs. I then hopped in my car and got out of there asap.

5/16

The next night I was returning to Kindred Spirit Brewing out in Goochland. My friend Stella who came and checked out my headlining spot a month ago was on this month’s show. I had asked for a guest spot on it since there were no open mics this night.

I get there super early and I have no idea how the show is going to go. It is a benefit for the Leukemia, and Lymphoma society. They are expecting a pretty big crowd so I am ready for it. My buddy John Marg is hosting it so I know it will at least be a fun hang.

Mike Ward runs the whole thing and he shows up and says one of the other comics has dropped out so he asked me to close out the show. I humbly obliged. We are getting closer and closer to show time and people are starting to pile in. I think at the show’s peak there was about 100 people in there.

They were also doing a raffle to get people to donate money, and buy tickets. People were also a little rowdy. This was a benefit, but they definitely came to have fun. John goes up first and sets the mood. He has a good hosting set, and draws a few raffle prizes. He makes sure everyone is paying attention before he brings up the first comic.

The first dude is some guy who used to do comedy a long time ago. He goes up and does 15 and gets a really good response. A lot of the jokes are things that I feel like I have heard or seen on memes, but honestly that doesn’t really matter to this crowd. He gets some really big laughs, and had them going throughout the set. He did well.

After this Mike goes up and he struggles a bit. He has a hard time getting them to pay attention. His set goes for about 20 minutes and people just seem kind of disinterested in the show, and are getting pretty loud in the back. He is working hard, and gets some laughs, but you could tell people had come to specifically see the previous dude.

Then Stella goes up. She was supposed to do 17+ but she ended up doing about 12 or 13. This was a completely different type of room for her. It was a big crowd, they were drunk, rowdy, and you had to be able to work to get them. She definitely learned a lot, and some stuff worked. Super dope she took this gig though. These are the types of gigs I used to take all the time when I started. Low or no paying, rowdy, crowd not really into comedy, and just having to work your ass off. It makes you more versatile and helps to make you bulletproof.

By this point it is looking bleak. People are leaving, it is towards the ned of the show, they have a few raffle prizes left, and it is getting late. I am foaming at the mouth to get on stage and just get it over with. I told John to light me at 15 because I only had to do 20 and I wanted to be able to get off as soon as I was ready.

I go up and just go right into crowd work. I address how loud everyone is. I start talking about how people change during raffles. How it makes you want to kill the people who win. Especially if they win more than one thing. This gets people involved. I directly address the people in the back, and the people talking and that gets some laughs as well. I am kind of on a roll. So I use the first 10 or so minutes only on crowd work. It is destroying.

After this I get the raffle girl who was named “woman of the year” for god knows what. I then draw two raffle tickets. They are both won by the same dude. I am selling my surprise and it is destroying. He actually poses in front of me to take pictures and I give the camera the finger. My fake frustration is really selling it all.

I then draw one last raffle ticket and read everything up until the last number. I then put it in my back pocket and make them wait for the end of my set. I then do 15 minutes of new material with a few pauses to keep crowd involved. Everything works, and honestly it was a great set. I finish and get a good response. I’d give this set an A. I really rose to the occasion and am super proud of this set.

Afterwards I talk comedy with Stella and John for a bit. I then get everything together and talk to some people. We take some photos and I find out they raised a good amount of money which feels awesome. I then grab my stuff and head home because I am exhausted.

5/17

The next night I am booked to headline a show in Charlottesville at The Guerrilla Theatre hosted by Heather Kilburn. The lineup is Heather, Ben Wasserman (NYC), Sam Padgett, Kate Carroll, Brandon Beswick and myself. I get there early to set up my camera and chill.

It is a small black box theatre. People started to show up and we realized it was going to be a fun, lively, and intimate show. We are all hanging in the back and you can tell Heather is nervous because it is her first time hosting a standup show.

We get about 30 people in a room that seats 40, and she decides to start the show. She gets the crowd in the mood, and feels them out. Then she brings up Ben. Ben does mostly audience participation/crowd work. He also started his set off with a song parody. Def had an alt vibe, and the audience seemed to enjoy it. It was a good opening set.

After him went Sam and then Kate. They both weaved in and out of having home on their side, losing them, and then getting them back. It was fun to watch. Then Brandon went up and had a really strong set. He had some bit hit harder than I’d heard them hit for a long time. He closed crazy strong and I knew I had to bring it.

I went up and had to work to win them over up top. Stuff was going over ok, and each joke did better than the last. I finally started to do really well in the middle. I had a hot first 25 and then I had to start checking my notes because of how much old and new stuff I was doing. People were really enjoying it and the last 10 went well as well. My closer hit pretty hard and I’d give this whole set a B-. Cool I was able to do 25 without crowd work, and without checking my notes. It was also cool that some of the newer bits are really coming into their own.

After the show all the comics and audience left, but Heather had made pasta for anyone that wanted any. I hung out with her, her step dad, her sister, and some of her friends/fellow improvisors for about an hour. It was a really fun way to unwind. I then decided to drive straight to Fairfax to stay at Tjs place since we were leaving in the morning to go to Pittsburgh.

5/18

The next morning I woke up and TJ and I went to go grab lunch while we waited for Kevin Tit (DC comic) who was going to ride up with us to Pittsburgh. We decided to go to Freddy’s Steakburgers, and I absolutely fell in love. I got a bacon cheeseburger, a half and half shake, and a large fry and some fry sauce. I ate every last piece of it. TJ and I both destroyed our burgers. I hadn’t had a fast foot burger that good in a very long time.

During this time Kevin messaged the group chat and said he wasn’t going to make it so TJ and I grabbed out stuff and headed on the road. It was about a four hour ride up there. We talked comedy, listened to music, I napped a bit, and we stopped for some candy on the way up. The time went by pretty quickly. The craziest thing I saw was on the side of the road near Pittsburgh there was a car engulfed in flames. I had never seen anything like it in person. You could see the smoke from like a mile away.

We got to the venue and parked in the garage before going inside of the Arcade Comedy Theatre. We were there super early. We went in the green room  and just chilled. TJ passed out and I started dumping video files from my camera, and clearing off space on my laptop. The dude working the sound booth gave us a tour of the venue and it is a killer space with an upstairs and a downstairs room.

The first comic showed up. Her vibe was throwing me off. She was nice, but seemed aloof. Was making comments that honestly were stressing me the hell out. She was saying things like I always run the light, I don’t know what I’m doing, and stuff like that. I don’t know, but I was fraeking. Then she mentioned how new she was to comedy and it made me feel instantly better. My knee jerk anxiety had now subsided, and I was just super excited for the show.

The rest of the comics showed up including Robert Punchur and the host Ed Bailey. They usually have a brewery sponsor the show and have some free beer for the audience but apparently some comics and the brewery bailed. So we all got to do a little more time. Two other comics showed up to hang out and they were pretty cool too. It was a fun hang.

the show started and there was a pretty good crowd there. They were tight and you had to work. Ed went up and did well with some crowd work. Then the female comic went up and got some laughs as well.

I went up and had a super fun set. I was able to crack the audience. I did 15 without notes and crowd work. I was able to float in and out of my material and got some super good pops. Some things didn’t kill, but they did get the audience looser. I’d give my set a B.

After me was Robert and he did about 20 and did well. Then TJ went up and worked his butt off. He closed with like 25 and worked new in with old. It was a super fun show. Afterwards we hopped right in his car and headed back. We arrived at his place at like 3 am and we passed right out! A super fun trip.

5/20

This night was pretty laid back. I was doing the Southern’s open mic. I got there a little early. I wasn’t feeling great but I got some hanging out in. I grabbed a burger with Alex, Paige, and Chris.

I was going up fifth. I tried some newer stuff and it worked ok. Nothing killed. There wasn’t a huge crowd. some of the new stuff I tried to work out. I’d give my set a D.

I left pretty quickly after this because of how bad I was feeling. All in all it wasn’t that memorable of a night. It was pretty disappointing, but I was excited for our show there Friday.

5/22

I had a couple shows this night. I was booked by Melissa Harris and Dylan Vattelana for their first showcase at Canon and Draw in Richmond. I was super stoked. They were going to be using my PA system for the show so I headed right over after work.

I got there about 4:15 and brought all of my stuff in. I then did some video editing while I waited for Dylan and Melissa to get there. Once they arrived we set up the PA and she took a few pictures. Then we just hung out and waited for the audience to get there. Dylan and I played Mario Kart Double Dash, and people started to come in.

The format was going to be Dylan hosting then Anthony Thompson, myself, and then Kate Carroll for the showcase. Then after that there would be an open mic. By the time Dylan went up there was a really good sized crowd there. This was going to be fun. There was two people who were there when we set up and said they were staying for comedy since they were from out of town (Austin). They then they left almost immediately when Dylan started.

The only problem was that you could barely hear Dylan. We had done  a sound check at the beginning, but we had done it with both speakers set up. Melissa and Dylan had taken one down because they wanted the logo in the pictures. This is fine, but we didn’t recheck sound.

So after Dylan’s set we adjusted it, and Anthony went up. He had a very strong set. He got people’s attention, and his jokes were hitting which is a killer combo. The show was really rolling at this point.

Then it was my turn. I went up, and tried to get the crowd back into my rhythm. I started a little slow, but I didn’t want to do crowd work for this set. I wanted them to like my jokes. Luckily they did. I was able to get all of my material going. It was all hitting, and I managed to close pretty strong. This was a solid B set. I did about 16 minutes and I wish I could have gone longer.

Kate went up after me and she had her lulls, but she was able to get them back. The open mic was next. From what I heard everybody on the mic was having a solid set. The audience stayed, and that’s always a good sign.

I went outside and some audience members came outside and talked to us about how good the show was. They gave us a lot of compliments and it was a good vibe.

Anthony and I had a nice long talk about comedy. What we want to do with it, and where we want to go. It was nice to catch up and just shoot the shit for a while.

When the show ended a table talked to me about my set. I got some follows on social media, and they mentioned wanting to do a brunch show sometime and I told them they definitely should. I said my goodbyes and turned around and saw that Dylan and Melissa had already packed up my stuff. I got John Marg to help me take it to my car before heading over to McCormacks.

I get to McCormacks and it is an ok crowd. The comics in the back were all mostly knew and were already kind of in a conversation so I sat off to the side. I got my set ready because I was going first.

Jessie went up and had an ok set. The crowd was paying attention but they were small. I just wanted to get some new stuff out and see what worked. He calls me up and I was really pleased with my open mic set. It was all you can ask for in a mic. I’d give it a B-. People paid attention, I got some good pops, and I know where to take my jokes. I said goodbye and headed straight home.

5/23

My mental health was taking a deep dive all week. This was when it started to get really rough. I had wanted to get caught up on the blog this day, but I kept telling myself no one wanted to read it and I should just give it up. So I put it off another day.

I had two open mics this day though so I had to keep my head up and be ready to work through some material. The first was at The Camel. Jameson was hosting, but was letting Patrick Buhse host the second half of the show.

I got there early and did some writing. Francesca, Jarvis, Buhse, Muñoz, Jameson, Kusterer, Richard Woody and a few others showed up. We were all hanging out, and I really needed it. They had no idea how these interactions really were helping my mental health.

Kusterer and Jarvis were the headliners, and there was a couple comics before them. I was so in my own head that I didn’t get to enjoy Jarvis and Kusterer’s sets the way I wanted to. Kusterer kept pretending to be the bouncer, but the crowd was kind of dead. He got some pops, and he kept playing with the light Jameson was using. Jarvis then went up and did his act, but the whole crowd was just weird.

Buhse started the next part and then it was my turn. I went up and bombed my dong off. I got maybe a few laughs. I couldn’t connect, and I was just trying to get the wording right.  I’d give this set a D-. It felt like absolute shit.

I then headed over to Penny Lane to hang out and destress. Eventually a few other comics showed up. Anthony and Beswick were there. Along with Stella. We were all shooting the shit and enjoying it. Then out of nowhere Jericho Davidson (NYC) showed up. He’s a super dope dude and comic. He was down for a show that weekend and came in a night early to hang. It was super dope to see him and joke around.

The show started and Muñoz said I was after him. Muñoz did some crowd work and got a lady on stage with him and had her singing. it was incredibly crazy and weird. I could tell this was going to be a rough show. When I went up I couldn’t connect. I felt like half of my stuff worked. None of it hit as hard as it should have. The only joke that worked was the one I closed with about rough sex. I get off stage and go in the back. Then Beswick goes up and has the same luck. He didn’t do so hot either.

We then both watch Stella. She bombs too, but the best part was some woman said she wasn’t funny so she just started talking about how she thought the woman had on an ugly dress. The audience hated her for it. It was her first experience with that and she felt terrible. We told her it happens, and it was a learning experience. After shooting the shit a little bit more I headed home. I had a long day at work the next day (subbing in a different program), my head was in a shitty space, and I needed rest.

5/24

This was a show I had been looking forward to until this week. Honestly I was in a horrible place all week and was worried this show was going to be terrible. Tonight was The After Show. This is the politically focused show hosted by Chris Alan. I am the fact checker, and the dude who gives them the topics. 

The lineup was a fun one. We had Anne Meng, Kenn Edwards, Sam Padgett, and Will Jones (local barber/small business owner/activist). I got to the show early because I was in a bad headspace. I was super nervous because I had a falling out with a comic over a sensitive issue. Luckily we made up shortly before the show started. So that relieved a lot of my anxiety.

I was nervous because it was Memorial Day weekend that we would not have a very large crowd. I was right. It was the most poorly attended show we have put on in the main room. I would say we had about 30 people there. Which isn’t awful, but was extremely disappointing. 

We finally decided to start the show. I brought everyone out and we jumped right into it. The first ten minutes or so it was weird. Honestly the vibe in the room was everyone was super uptight. it felt like this was going to be a super shitty show. We couldn't get a single big pop, and Chris was rubbing people the wrong way. I don’t think the audience knew what to make of the show.

I finally broke through and got a huge pop when we were talking about Ayesha Curry’s comments. This led to the show turning out to be amazing. It was equal parts hilarious, heartfelt, informative, and important. We covered a lot of ground. We talked about the KKK coming to Dayton and tied it back into what happened in Charlottesville last year, the Alabama abortion bill, gay rights in Africa, and a lot of others. I’d give the whole show a B. It was way better than it had any right to be. the crowd bought into it and we had a blast. 

After the show I got a lot of compliments from people about how I did. I was able to get a lot of pops on my jokes, and still able to steer the conversation. It felt really good to do. Also got told that like 15 minutes into the show a dude tried to get his money back. He was a Trump supporter and he thought the show was going to be way more focused on comedy instead of half and half. The crazy thing is I think we said Trump’s name once during the whole show. He wasn’t the focus. 

Chris and I both try to not make this a show of division. We almost never talk about political parties at all. We just talk about our own opinions, and the issues. We have guests of different backgrounds on to make sure multiple sides are represented. Just really funny to have a Trump guy be a snowflake for once. On a side note I am not mad he left. He did the right thing. If you don’t like the show leave. He didn’t interrupt, and he wasn’t rude. Which is a lot more than I can say for a lot of the SJWs who get upset at a joke. 

We hung out outside for a little bit, and I talked to Kenn therapy. I need to get my head better, and honestly this week was the final straw. I have a lot of work to do in my life. I don’t want to miss out on some of the best things in my life just because I am stubborn and not seeing a therapist who can actually help me. 

5/25

The next day I feel like dogshit. The only positive is I have a show at Castleburg Brewery in RVA. I am getting to do an episode of The Winstmas Games which I am super stoked about. Then that will be followed by a concert by The Alex Jonestown Massacre.

I get there pretty early and start to get everything ready. I am just trying to distract my brain from all of the bad thoughts so I do some video editing and writing. Eventually Kenn, Pat Miller, and Mike Engle (comics/members of AJM) show up and set up for the concert. 

There isn’t a crowd at all, but I am still hopeful it is going to be fun. I help set up, and get the games ready for the podcast. The teams are AJM vs Brandon Beswick, Amita Rao (improviser), and Jason Kusterer.

Brandon has to leave by 8 to get to his Improv show. So that meant we couldn’t do a super long episode, which honestly was ok with me. At around 7:15 we got started because we actually had about a dozen people there. Which is a fine sized crowd for me. At 7 we had nobody other than a couple coworkers who came out. It was dope to have their support. 

The show was actually insanely good. It was one of the funnier episodes I had done and it made me wish I could do it live every week. It was about a 40 minute episode and it got laughs all the way through. Everybody did really well, and I had some true belly laughs. It is such a fun feeling to get this show to work. I’d give it a B+ all the way around. 

I then hung out and watched the concert. It was really fun. I hadn’t seen them in a super long time. It was just so nice to not have bad stuff on my mind. Unfortunately as soon as the show ended they all came rushing back. After the show Kenn talked to me about this meditation app. I decided that it was worth a shot. He told me what to email them and I got a free year to use it. Hopefully I am able to make an even bigger change in my life. I am determined to be ok with myself, and work towards fulfillment. I am tired of feeling this way. 

I say my goodbye’s and head home. I have one more show this weekend and it is in Annapolis. I know it is going to be a long day tomorrow

5/26

The next day I wake up at around 9. I do my first day of meditation and I actually enjoy it. I know it is going to take al to of work to maintain it, but I am willing to do anything to help.  I then go take a nap for an hour or so. I wake up and head to Chris Alan’s house. He is going to drive us up to Annapolis for our show at Harvest restaurant hosted by Matt Brown. 

I get to Chris and we head out. We have an argument about Albanese gummy bears. He had posted online they were terrible, but I told him that his favorite gummy bears (7-11 brand/Sheetz brand) is just repackaged Albanese. He didn’t believe me. So we bought a bag of each and I made him do a taste test in the car. You have no idea how satisfying it was for him to eat them both and have to begrudgingly say they are the same and he actually likes Albanese better than Haribo. 

He always makes food posts on fb to upset people. So he told me he was going to do an apology one which I can’t wait for. So now I have something to look forward to for the next  few days. 

We talk about music, life, comedy, my depression, and all other things on the way up there. It is a nice peaceful drive and we don’t hit a ton of traffic. Then we get into Annapolis it is giving us a bit of anxiety. The streets are all really narrow, there isn’t a lot of parking, and there are a ton of people out. 

We finally get a spot right in front of the venue and we walk around,. We go look at the shops, restaurants, and the water. After walking around a bit we meet Matt at the venue. We go in and order some food. Chris got wings and fries, and I went with the carne asada. They both looked really good, and mine tasted good too. We then head upstairs to get ready for the show. 

It is crazy hot this day, and the venue’s air conditioning was not working at all. So it was brutal upstairs. We wait an extra fifteen minutes for the show to fill in and then we start it up. Matt goes up and gets the crowd going. IT takes him a bit, but they start to warm up. Then there is a female comic who I don’t remember who goes up, and she is followed by a dude I’ve never met before. The girl doesn’t do too hot, and the dude had a pretty strong set. He got the ball rolling. 

After him was Jamie Benedi who I think is a super funny/weird joke writer. I was curious to see how this day drunk Memorial Day weekend crowd would dig him. They did not vibe with him at all. The jokes were great, but they just didn’t get on his wave length and couldn't connect. 

After he got off it was my turn and I used the first few minutes to kind of rest the room. I just did crowd work, and got them to get on my side. I was working my ass off. I was getting laughs all the way throughout, but there was one dude who seemed super drunk and seemed to not care about what I was saying at all. My material did ok, and I was doing really well in the middle. I closed weaker than I wanted, but it was all in all a pretty good set. I’d say it was a solid B. 

After me Chris went up and had a super hot one. He leaned in with his material and did a lot of crowd work. I always feel so dumb when I don’t do crowd work for my whole set, because I know I could have killed harder. All of Chris material and crowd work went over great. He is a killer comic and always a blast to watch.

There was supposed to be a big storm so we left as soon as he got off stage. We had a nice and peaceful drive back. We talked about the show and his upcoming show doing Tuesdays With Stories live at the Comedy Cellar at Village Underground. It was a great ride, and helped me stay occupied. After getting back to his place I drove home, and tried to fall asleep. Although I was having a hard time. I eventually passed out

I DID IT I DID IT! I didn’t let my depression keep me from doing the blog. I had the next two days off. They weren’t the best days, but I am so hopeful for my mental health. I’m taking a lot of the right steps and trying to make things right in my life. 

The meditation is really helping me a lot. I also exercised. I think I have decided that until I figure out these issues a move isn’t in my best interest. I need to fix me before I start moving hundreds of miles away from my support system. This was a tough decision to come to, but I came to it for a ton of reasons. This is what I need to do and I am very happy with that decision. 

Thanks for everything. I love you all very much. I am not going to miss out on the dopest thing in my life. So I’ve got to get this right. LOVE YOU LAYDEES!!!!

[changingbirdpoems]

poems about Julian going forward in time

aimed for what i hoped i wanted

     but fell short and your shadows and your shellshocked morals drew me a picture of new Wanting             impossible to escape.

-

first kiss

I don’t feel weird

I don’t know how I feel about it

          All I know is I can still feel your tongue on my tongue

you taste so sweet

I want last night back

-

          it’s difficult to say what is mine

your breath your words your heartbeat

your thoughts your smile in the moment?

          I take what I don’t know and make it mean so much.

          you have not been mine

and contrary to popular opinion

I understand and accept that

          you will not be mine

and contrary to popular opinion

I know and expect that.

          but

                in the moment?

I swear you were mine and I was yours

and our breath our words our heartbeats

our thoughts our smiles were for each other

so fucking fly far away

because you’ve not going to leave here

-

after that night I’m more unsure

close the window I just want to feel your breath          soft            softly              softer

there is too much fear of you caring a little                                 of you never having been but not as much as with him and Different          because you have a touch and a smile

Oh so different

-

I hold myself back from intimacy when it’s possible

Wistful is an understatement when I think of how much more that could have been, But I didn’t know, I was too unsure I lost myself but not to the moment. This is what you have left me with.

-

unexpected

After something that should change me I find myself cynical          Where is my afterglow?

Well,       it’s here only when I’m not.

-

mating rituals isolate species

There is so much we could make of this as the leaves are dripping with a ruined night my mouth has begun to taste like his the flavor in the transparent black is a discovery of bright.

There is so much we could take from there his hands are rougher than your words I didn’t know what to touch but his hair was mussed like my mind—we are not free, we are not birds.

There is so much we could remember car doors are wings but we are rooted in the moment clipped wings, in a sense, or frosted by December and unable to fly, but we can be wistful and we can lament.

-

I am here in America and I am in my room

pens a notebook a bed a door four walls

(not you)

I am missing something

it is very apparent as I feel alone and as if

it has been whole country since you touched me

I am here in our state and I am in my bed

sheets a comforter a frame a me two pillows

(not you)

something is missing

it is very apparent as I do not feel this empty

when you are here and you touch me

I am here in my town and I am in my mind

personalities confusion images words and imagination

I am thinking something

it is very apparent as I exist and your name is constant

and memories swirl like your breath when I touched you

I am here in my home and I am in my heart

arteries a muscle a strength and a life

there is so much here that changes

(like you)

-

oh god

           the end

                       is in sight

 where are my safety goggles

-

welcome back

A month passed much more quickly than expected How to measure? inches of rain, dying conversations, wasted time but not in minutes, this isn’t a fucking season of love and time is relative anyway.

-

mutually noncommital and more

no promises at all, but I am already looking forward. it feels like a memory, I have imagined it so many times. There’s an empty parking spot and it’s waiting for you. Silent, I am tremblingly careful to make no noise, and then your presence. parks at night, secret, dark, our habitat.

it is unclear now what is real and what is hope

-

I could make you fall

The harder I try to push you down, the safer I feel, the more I am enclosed by your arms: a feeling I long for of late. My laugh is strange in your mouth, but you are perfect on me.

-

let’s get lost

there is a taste to this spiderwebs, pinecones, trees, and wire fences?          spiderwebs are reflections of what is always being created and how you cannot control something fragile.          pinecones are just artsy observations, it’s all a laugh like the leaves against the sky that look like pools of water.          trees are the only walls here in this forest of five roads collapsed in a yellow wood, and sorry I could not travel all.          wire fences are filled with the curls of ivy and your fingers as you support this connection, so close that I rise with your breath.

-

texting is silly

it is funny how waiting for the vibration makes me insecure

-

see (the quiet in everything before summer is over and you are again too young for this empty quality of freedom we dance to and call escapism) you (who are here only to water your plants and kiss girls and wax philosophical and other such chores) later (a promise one learns to not trust).

-

early on

me, with my papers and you, with your high laugh and magnetic mischief

Desire rises and falls

behind classic novels and tiring worksheets, I emerge

-

our bodies know

For a few days, you are near, and for a few hours, you are close against plastic and barely hidden. My breath is so much more nervous, shaking with every freedom. Resounding against my palms, your heartbeat’s slower and instinct’s faster. This is me holding back. Daylight and deadlines hinder the progression of this that we want, but I realize that our bodies know it’s still summer.

-

third wheel

when kissing becomes a necessity

(almost a commodity)

there's little that can be stolen.

on a night when everything's contagious

and distance is in short supply,

words can become a solo effort.

if you aren't careful

you'll begin to care

and then when it's stopped being easy

your incompetencies will come out of hiding

and comparisons are inescapable

-

sick of hearing about, sick of seeing the face of who I hunted once this is nauseating while everyone else flutters around                     longing has passed but sadly I admit it will return as it did before, inexplicable

-

an apron dusted with flour, the dough is condensed and sticky air, chemistry really, molded by your hands. a flick of a tail and the whole building of ice has shattered, there is no time to melt. And if you ask me how I’m feeling, don’t tell me you’re too blind to see. Never gonna climb these stairs of appreciation when there is nothing at the top. I should have said something other than “happy,” although it did elicit a smile. The box of cracked wood is eroded by hands, the oils and pressures of years of being opened wearing down its engravings. There is a sound outside my window, like bells in the dead of summer. Shakespeare said it best when he said “Now, away!” Sometimes what looks like a spider is a hole on the wall that has been there for years. A mark in my house I should know, but still makes me look twice. Are you that spidery mark? Please do not come back in the snow and tell me that it is nice to see me. Grass survives everywhere, it is the most versatile and durable organism. an accented voice makes me think this, on my television with Never Before Seen footage that everyone has seen now. A slow day for the newsroom when my heart is spilling open. I thought about you on the way home today and how I am a fast learner. I thought about you and I thought about the work I had to do, and I thought about how I learned you faster than I did this equation. Learned you in a way that doesn’t matter. there’s a reason pretension is made up of “pre” and “tension.” Tension always follows when people are pretentious. sometimes the pretty ones do not win, and sometimes it is unclear who anyone is. Goodbye, my lover, goodbye my friend, James Blunt sounds like a horse all shaky and ridiculous like your breath Rolling to lie by your side, mask me, last chances. I have given you what you wanted from me. is that it.

-

Crawl in with me. I remember when that locker with pellet-like streams of light fit only me, and you kept me contained with musical instruments.

-

Upon Belatedly Reading Your Valediction

“Meaningless and used” is shatteringly accurate; those words a prophecy read too late. On the couple of cold days that you are here, instead of dialing your number I’ll remember how you think I’m too young to love but old enough to get you off. My silence will be the close. But it won’t and you’ll pull the door open every time because I’m weak and the way you want me is a drug. Sometimes there is nothing but the truth of how much I want you. A night spent sleepless and quiet thoughts of rhymes that bruise and separate you from caring. That’s it. I hope I leave you feeling meaningless and used.

-

A Sprout In Your Wake

What I hate the most is that you stole from my willing hands, And what clamors the loudest is that I do not regret,

after thought, the highs and lows of your enabled theft, because there are no treasures I have lost— they have simply been replaced;

As you ran, a seed fell out of your pocket, a creeping vine that I watered, enriched with my exhales and lost days within, enfolded.

With the progression of time the leaves will mold to my shape, stealing my breath in a way that is reminiscent of a past someone, with eyes quick to break and arms that swallow up.

-

some haiku in an absence

at least now I am aware that there is nothing that could feel like you in body and thoughts you will be the only one to have held me first and my hands will keep you imprinted in their grooves like my empty mouth calls out noiselessly as though there were ever a person who listened.

-

analyzing

unsure if I have been used or not define used; a simple concept but when attempting to pinpoint spins the grid, beep beep beep this alarm falls dangerously into the background of everyday sounds         not perpetual, occasional pulling back into place, I once knew how this would go and prepared myself for both of our restlessness, approaching dauntingly like the law, which we aren’t exactly abiding by, although it’s a faded line that separates us       -  this is not something planned upon, it just breaks out claws reaching hungrily, maybe gentle if I stepped into this I have not been used, I suppose but still my mind switches to body heat

-

my first semblance of a poem in a while

i find myself to be the strangest colors raw brilliant curving under my fingernails, fending off contracts, handshakes, and other ways to bind one person to another. even the oldest books were written for eyes and hands, but my throat, will it see what lies just beneath veils of colorless, irredeemable noise? noise, which is only really air expressed it is in love with somebody it wants to change; that is where aches arise.

-

Half of what I say is meaningless But I say it just to reach you, Julian

I see the sidewalks lined with him, and I

place my foot as though a monster's in each crack, leaping like a child; I am a child, and so is his name Julian the child I envisioned as a child There are ferris wheels passing, and in each one Julian sits in the topmost car He is smoking and wearing that expression that disturbs me—the one that is almost loving and kind, the one I hate for him to make, the one he wears when he thinks he is being romantic.

Julian, Julian, oceanchild, calls me So I sing a song of love, Julian

And I jump back to how he is done, how he hopes he has left this place, how he has had the same Chemical Brothers album in his car for months and months Julian, in cadence with a Beatles song I sing a song of love to Julian, Julian does not blink because he thinks he's been around so long. He does not have the answers, he is still a child working things out. Oh, he is a man Julian, seashell eyes, windy smile, calls me So I sing a song of love, Julian

 Asymmetrical eyes and the smallest spot on his shoulder where he can't feel my touch, or anyone's there was once a day where he said he just discovered he was not going to die, and I had so many questions but instead I only gave him a drawing I had made for his eighteenth birthday. Julian, windy smile, he calls me, and so I sing a song of love that he hears but is done giving energy. Julian, Julian, morning moon, touch me So I sing a song of love, Julian

 His name hurts to hear and see When I cannot sing my heart I can only speak my mind, Julian

 I have gone on standing, his thoughts vibrating into nothingness, as each time I decide that he can't break what isn't his half of what I say is meaningless and used, like what lies in his wake, as he hoped I remember how whenever we were out at night he had to pee in the woods, and how I always laughed, Julian! but I was speechless when he stopped kissing and hung suspended over me, asking How do you feel? Julian happy? When he came back from Europe and caught me unawares, in a store, with his little message, I smiled a loaded smile loaded with the friend I kissed when he was gone getting high, telling his friends the things that we did, and how he was my first, isn't that rich that's good, I wouldn't want you to not be happy. Julian, sleeping sand, silent cloud, touch me So I sing a song of love, Julian

 he met me at the door and held me gently in my living room, with his arm in a blue sling and the construction worker in my kitchen How he made me want to touch until my hands fell apart I think I do not really hate that expression, it's just that it strikes me as a little insincere, and I wonder if it is the one he made for the girl he loved He did not go past my boundaries, I did, and I did not ask permission so I sing a song of love to Julian, who never called me but to say he was on his way or that he needed a place to park. He used to think of me, that's the thing calls me So I sing a song of love for Julian, Julian, Julian

 and those eyes on me and those conversations turning night into morning He had his own taste—I was wrong to think everybody tastes the same. It is something I used to taste on command, but now it's gone Half-meaningless, I write this just to reach you, Julian still my cravingly remembering mouth must be satisfied with not his own, but his name

Julian

-

My mouth does not miss you. I am sorry, but My lips twist in remembrance and they know who you are, and when I am cold sometimes a flicker of something alights them, and your wandering, unsure smile is still there in my mind, but no, My mouth does not miss you.

-

Inherent

It would be a lie to say I no longer think of your skin-

subtly sticky on humid nights

Your chin rough, a few day’s growth sweetly jarring in contrast with soft shoulders

and soft mouth.

It is a memory- I decidedly make you a memory

of skin that was never close enough.

I will never touch you again- I cared, against you, with more than my hands.

-

I don’t want you here. Not in this garden. These plants weren’t grown for you, rather grown away from you– like sunflowers grow away from the dark. I don’t want to hear your voice, despite how the plants love the carbon dioxide of your exhale. It is a fading exhale.

3:23 in the afternoon and I am caught unawares, watering can in hand, warding off what could be called your thorns.

You are a human being, not a plant, and I no longer want to be touched. Save your poison. I am not on your side.

-

June 21

It is only a moment into the moment

but still I have this tremor, this

knowledge of the night unfolding

although all I am going to do is sleep and wake

and sleep and wake again

as though you weren’t pulsating through me

as though I didn’t shake in every moment this is the process to all things

you wouldn’t know you never close your eyes you never really open them, either.

It’s okay. We all find our way alone.

-

June 25

kept alert, I speak to you and you speak to me and I write this poem lineless because I don’t feel like putting any effort into shaping you

-

June 26

As if people were machines that could be oiled

Who do you think you are? We all waste What does it say about human nature that the beautiful ones are the loneliest? It says that we need more

than empty validation, a point you seem to never have gotten I can only hope that my hands don’t fall apart

-

July 1

Maybe I don’t want to operate within your metaphor. Not the page that you were afraid of, but a different page than yours.

Yes, that sounds right.

You were all there too. “Adorable.”

A string of thoughts, like the world

then set aside.

-

July 2

our heads can float forward as though underwater, when really they have just been resting on a car seat, music the only tide pulling us apart the sudden memories that you can’t shake the feeling of, and that keep you up past tiredness finding the right melody to sing the right song for the moment finding the Right in general

-

July 5

it was really my thoughts that were messy right then

so strange-

give me some air

-

July 6

defragment me the key is hidden in my properties give me blue space I don’t care how long it takes; I can run all night if I need to

but I am tired of being spread so thin because you can’t remember to press a button

-

July 8

raised skin blurred sky lights and human instruments we lie as far back as the chairs will go and try to become fluid fighting with headrests, you take my hand but there's this inconquerable ingrained wariness and a floating lack of trust above the music lighting matches with empty fire you blow mechanical cigarette vapor into my mouth the earth is expanding beneath us, you say, so slowly- the only way ancient gravity makes sense

your explanations are truthful, yet still disingenuous

-

July 16

this is really getting

frustrating

I don’t need you, I just need to know the reason for the radio silence.

-

July 24

even if we light all of the torches, i want you to keep your clothes on.

if this is made to decay, it’s all right;

i will compost with you

Someday, maybe, you will treat me fine

but for now, I feel comfortable having nothing.

-

July 27

if indeed there is a god whose attention determines activity then I am in his peripheral clinging to the flurries of life, dreaming of book jacket biographies dreadlocks and cages of birds. you have these theories, which I enjoy, and pocketed eyes that once (but no longer) rested on my skin, but now there’s a net below the trapeze. I am what I love and not what loves me, nicholas cage whispers unabashedly. there’s a sequence to each sparrow.

-

August 8

stereotypes aside, you really are very gentle.

-

August 9/10

You’re scary.

I find it all the more calming, this unsurety of yours in the face of my serenity. You want to know my thought process? I am doing what feels right, and I am releasing from need.

-

August 11

I must confess I’m glad I returned to this. The softness of stomach on stomach. I’m glad I don’t need to touch you, but I can.

-

August 15

nighttime rebellion, the boston tea party of sensation, leaves dropped one after another by indians into the unsuspecting harbor, laughing around the foreign substance as water tends to do                                your fingers unstoppable and determined to claim. a post-coital cigarette perches out the window, matching the moon with its fire as I nestle into your body with fingertips like graveyards, inhaling

I will let you treat me like this because I like to be pulled around by my hair and held gently, if uncaringly, vagabond hands pressed close. broken breath at my touch                                           as I set sail for new zealand, your skin in storage and your moans tossed overboard.

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Your Name is the Only Word That I Can Say

Your skin should have been named Laika, making love to the Arcade Fire like this, tucked away in a neighborhood, silently screaming your touch through my veins, the gentlest brush of tongue, painting the songs all over my body.

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Addressed

I’m buying your music -             building off your ruins. You burned down what never existed, I construct without materials.

Loveless and striding forward

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Past

Why is it YOU who makes me want to quilt words? It’s like my fingertips were lying in motionless wait to be let down by you again. Not that you let me down; I wasn’t trying to change you. It was you It was you, just how you were. It was your disregard, it was the way everything was thoughts. There were fewer questions than I imagined, and a quieter ache. And when you lit And when you lit, I was tumbled over down the mountainside. The log sliced my leg but I went on. You don’t have time for Hallelujah but you have a lovely peace. We had this connection

We had this connection that wasn’t what you needed. Just like every one before. Just like every one before. But this one

But this one touched your back. I will never be sorry for how important you were to me. You released something. And even then I knew there wouldn’t be wildflowers.

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words without thinking

quiet this is a place where promise is rain and nothing is ready for what it craves it begs for quiet for nothing for what I want from you as if the song I smiled to never settled my soul as if that rainy ride wasn’t a promise of peace as if there is ever a promise. you are candy apples and succulent flowers, ephemeral and sticky and not pure but dirty with meaning to me dirty with what I see in your asymmetrical eyes. you are rain spattering on a wooden deck, you are wooden popsicle sticks I bite on purpose you are wooden you are metal you are earth you are nothing that is good for me. helicopter pollen and my throat hurts but I sit outside in the yellow dust because I can reject the earth but it can’t reject me.

sleepy orange peel eyes cat fur lilacs the stench of a flower the ache of the grass. chocolate with lemon and ginger and black pepper you are the ache in my arms and legs, you are not you, you are everyone I ever wanted; I don’t want you I want to be wanted in return for all the desire I stockpiled and stored away but fills a room that could be open windows and air and sunlight.

if you could listen to music like I do you would collapse with the sorrow of it all–if you could love like I do you would be a blade of grass or a beetle crawling on its belly through the rain. you wouldn’t know anything, you would be denim and canvas and quiet.

inside me is a pear, too ripe and breaking apart with fluid too sweet to swallow too much syrup for what you can want for what you can be a plum apricot any fruit a burst of sweet in the back of the mouth and if berries the seeds in your teeth that want to be in your throat and planted inside you. rain-swollen leaves heavy above and dripping like my eyes are frozen like they need to melt like your hand can break the branches like your fingernails are tree bark.

why is it when I think of your hand on me I think of swollen raspberries in thickets of thorns and sticky sweetness that I could break through and run through with blood marks across my skin why do I think of blood oranges in my palm and want to clench and let the juice run through my fingers into the grass why are you the heavy haze in my heart when I don’t admire or trust you why do your eyes and crooked smile break my back and fill my spine with need and hunger why are you such dark honey that never washes off why are you a strawberry that stains why have I always wanted you

now that my mind is less fire I can see the quiet in you and the kindness that is peach honeysuckle music volume car seats essential oils and cotton. I can be the soft glory of my longing without it being you, without you pulsing through my veins–now you are a soft glow warming my mind towards sublime glory of feel, apart from you. you are a wicker bookshelf, a music box, a paper crane, a poem on a wall, not a punishing ache. you are, that’s all and nothing more– you are you are you are