#like it is REALLY FUCKING IMPORTANT and I am pissed my app has stopped working

[naamahdarling]

Does anyone use a digital recorder to record phone calls? Like, an actual external device, not something run on a phone or computer.

What ones have worked for you and gives you good clarity on speakerphone?

Edit: FIXED the app, still would like a recorder for my BF who has an iPhone and can't use the call recording app because bullshit.

[kokokichichi]

Something that infinitely pisses me off in this fandom is that people tend to think Dream is a much better developer than George and often underestimate just how much coding George does for the entire dteam. See takes like "George codes for himself and Sapnap, but Dream codes himself :)" and "Oh yeah, George codes a little but Dream does most of the testing/editing"). And I think one of the reasons for that is because Dream at some point (back in fall mostly) couldn't stop mentioning how he's an Actual Developer and how he Codes, whereas George just...stays silent until someone directly asks him about coding stuff. And I don't know if it's just my personal experience as a female in CS field but whenever I see a dude brag about "how much of a coder he is" and "how he is in STEM which is sooo hard" I automatically write him off as a business major in denial, sorry not sorry. He'll be the horrible project manager who doesn't know shit about coding we all dread at work.

George, however, is a.) someone I genuinely think would be a breeze to work with b.) is so obviously a freelancer at heart that whenever he starts his classic money moves I can't help but think it's his old freelancing habits at play lmao

Dream may be an "ideas man" (again, something he's mentioned multiple times now) but please stop stealing George's credit from where it's due.

so valid anon! so true! 

you know, i’ll speak my truth on this: i am 100%, without a DOUBT, sure that george is a better programmer than dream. first, note that dteam themselves have said that george codes almost all of their mods. if dream was really so good at coding and if coding minecraft stuff was really as easy as he says it is, then why tf wouldn’t he code it himself? i know from working with clients how hard it is to get exactly what they want - it would be 100% simpler to just code it yourself if you knew how.

second, george has a DEGREE in cs. dream learned how to code HIMSELF. sure, it’s reasonably impressive that he started solo, but there’s only so much you can learn by yourself. cs in uni isn’t just learning about a bunch of languages, but it’s about also learning data structures and algorithms (varies depending on your focus but you get the idea) and so on so forth. the uni workload is also much harder than any real life application you would find in a job or freelancing (read up on the “weed-out” system in STEM, it’s super interesting. a lot of people think it doesn’t happen any more but... well...)

third, george probably got exposure to a lot of languages that dream didn’t. like sure, there’s a possibility that dream also taught himself more than just python and java, but i sincerely doubt it. george, on the other hand, has said on stream that he knows python, java, and javascript (which is very different from java). he also said he did app development, right? assuming it’s for iphone, that’s probably swift. the cs curriculum might be different in the uk than it is from the us, but i doubt he got his degree without learning a bit of c++ or c, which are two languages that are hard as FUCK but important for understanding fundamental concepts, such as memory allocation, which is all handled discretely with upper level languages (java and python). 

fourth, i think dream said the hardest thing he coded was an api? true, api’s are difficult, but i coded one my freshman year of uni. meanwhile, i think george’s tinder-but-for-business app would have been much harder to develop, in terms of complexity and components. 

fifth... dream does the testing and editing?? what?? i’m pretty sure when george finishes a program, he doesn’t immediately send it off without trying it out himself... so bullshit on that. in the case that george will send him something and dream will test it out to see if it’s what *he* wants (again... i still don’t see why he doesn’t just code it himself if he’s worried about this), dream has a practically finished program to work with. how is this supposed to be more difficult or skillful than starting a program from scratch...?

sixth, and this is probably subjective and biased, but i’m with you in that i trust people who don’t constantly tell me how good they are at coding more than people that do. like... especially with stem... you don’t get far in your field without learning to respect just how god damn difficult this stuff is and that there are always going to be people better than you. dream gives me like... consultant vibes LOL. george gives me “okay, how do you think we should do it? let’s discuss :]” vibes. he would absolutely listen to what i have to say and not talk over me, like 99% of the guys in stem.

ultimately, this isn’t a list that’s supposed to shit on dream’s skills or abilities. but if you think that george isn’t at the very least on the same level of dream in coding, then i hope this is a wake up call for you with no experience in cs. 

[stilesgivesmefeels]

@firstdegreefangirl I am totally hooked on Chenford now!  I have watched the entirety of Seasons 1-2 and the start of Season 3.  I am now rewatching season 1.  And I’ve binged on fics!

And there are so many fic ideas that I want to see for Lucy and Tim now.

Like Lucy’s birthday: She’s been Tim’s rookie for almost a year and we haven’t seen her birthday.  So I am just imagining the angst potential.  Maybe her birthday was right at the beginning of being a rookie so she obviously didn’t have a party or anything because they were all studying and working their asses off.  Perhaps then Nolan’s end of season 2 total fuck-up derailed the next plans to celebrate.  So Lucy has had two birthdays (turned 28 at the beginning and then turned 29) without really doing anything and now she is about to be 30!  But at this point she doesn’t want to celebrate.  She’s turning 30 and single and spends all of her time at work.  And, also? It kind of seems like everyone has totally forgotten that Lucy is even a person who has birthdays.  

Angela’s birthday? Drinks at the bar with Wesley and the crew.

Nolan’s birthday? Dinner party at his house with everyone.

Jackson’s birthday? Private party at a restaurant that Sterling rented out.

Tim’s birthday? Dodger’s game with hotdogs and beer.

Sgt. Grey’s birthday? Family and LAPD picnic.

Even Harper had a birthday drink with everyone.

But Lucy? Nothing for two years.  She debates about whether to say anything to anyone for her 30th.  Ultimately she decides that what she wants is to be with her friends even if they don’t know the real occasion.  She plans a dinner at a restaurant and makes up an excuse of having won a contest for a free dinner to get them all there.  It’s not technically on her birthday, rather it’s the night before because they have the next day (her actual birthday) off.  

But then Angela is due ANY MINUTE NOW and put on bedrest so she and Wesley are out.  Henry, Abigail, and Abigail’s parents are coming into town so Nolan is going to miss the dinner in order to meet his son’s future in-laws for the first time.  Jackson, Harper, and Sgt, Grey have a case that goes belly-up and they will probably be working all night.  

She loves them all and will miss them.  But the most important to be there was Tim.  They’ve been...flirty? At least it feels flirty to her?  She thinks so.  The thought of having dinner in a fancy restaurant jut her and Tim?  The butterflies!

And then Rachel comes into town for a conference.  And she calls Tim to meet up but only has that night free.  WHO AGREES TO GO instead of Lucy’s “fancy free dinner.”  But we can’t be mad at Rachel!  Because she made plans to have an early breakfast with Lucy on her birthday before her conference. She and Tim have talked but haven’t visited.  And they both needs some closure.  She didn’t know that Tim was missing out on Lucy’s birthday dinner plans.

But Tim didn’t know that everyone else had already cancelled.  He didn’t think it would be a big deal and even thought that he’d maybe meet up with them all for dessert or drinks later.  He sends her a text to say that he’ll meet up late.

Tim, buddy.  Seriously.  Think this through.  Your thoughts are still about meeting up with Lucy even after having dinner with your ex who you loved??? What does that tell you, my friend?

Anyway...back to Lucy.  Sitting at the table (which was switched from her original reservation for a large group to an intimate table for two.). Alone.  And watching the condensation on her water glass drip down as the minutes pass.  And then gets a text that he’ll be late.  So she waits.  And waits.  Not realizing that late means...not coming.  And as the time passes she starts to get more and more nervous, feeling exposed alone in public still gets to her.  And her emotions are heightened to begin with. 

Meanwhile, Tim and Rachel meet up to talk.  To have face-to-face closure goodbyes.  And Tim is realizing that it really is closure.  He’ll always appreciate the time that they spent together but he doesn’t have the same tug on his heart anymore.  As they are saying goodnight (good-bye), Rachel makes a comment on Lucy’s birthday and how she can’t believe that Lucy agreed to get up early on her 30th birthday.

Tim’s face drops.  Her birthday??? He had no fucking clue.  Jesus.  What a total fuck-up.  Lucy is his rookie.  HIS rookie even if she is a full-fledged officer and has been for almost a year.  His friend.  His...flirty-partner?

He’s so fucking mad at himself.  He tries calling her but it goes straight to voicemail.  Lucy didn’t want to sit and see the blank screen of her phone any longer.  Even though she never never NEVER turns off her phone ever since being kidnapped.  And even before then part of Officer Bradford’s rules were yo are always reachable.  But now? She just can’t do it.  She needs time to herself to nurse her heartbreak.

Tim is furious at himself and now he’s also a little scared.  But forcing himself to stay calm as he drives (speeds) to the restaurant.  He calls Angela on the way and that’s when he learns that she was put on emergency bedrest so she and Wesley aren’t there.  Calls Jackson who is at the station doing paperwork for their case they just closed.  He’s confused.  He thought that Lucy was going to totally reschedule since Tim was going to be the only one there.  Lucy had maybe led Jackson to thinking that so he wouldn’t find out about her crush on Tim.  Jackson knows that Nolan also had to cancel.  

Tim arrives at the restaurant in what is most definitely NOT a panic.  He’s just outwardly and actively concerned.  When he gets to the restaurant the hostess is not impressed.  She watched that poor woman (our dear Lucy) sit and wait at that table alone.  ALONE.  She left alone as well.  Tim is fucking pissed (again mostly at himself but that’s how he shows his outward concern). So where the fuck is Lucy?

He’s tries her apartment next.  No one answers the door so he helpfully lets himself in (picks the lock; Jackson and Lucy need to really work on their security for fuck’s sake).

No Lucy at the apartment either.  WHERE THE FUCK IS LUCY?

In the meantime, Lucy is getting ready to drown her sorrows with ice cream and dog cuddles.  Tim gave her a key and the alarm code to be able to spend time with Kojo.  (Uh-huh, sure.  The dog.  That’s why.  Whatever you need to tell yourself, Tim.). What Lucy doesn’t know is that Tim’s alarm system alerts him to every time her code is used. He absolutely knows every time she goes to spend time with Kojo. He kinda likes knowing that she feels so comfortable at his house.  (Clues, Tim.  So many clues to your feelings.)

He rushes over to his house and find her in the backyard with Kojo at her feet and a pint of ice cream on the table.  She’s so embarrassed when he shows up and tries to leave thinking that Tim must be there with Rachel.  She’s absolutely kicking herself for showing up at Tim’s when he had a date.  

Tim is feeling the biggest sense of relief.  This is where he and Lucy should have been all along.  

Cue confessions.  And kisses.  And sexy times.  

And the following year?  Big dinner party to celebrate Lucy’s birthday.  And her engagement.

Other fics that should exist:

Angela’s wedding! Everyone has a date for the wedding except for Lucy and Tim.  Lucy’s feeling all right about it thought because she has a plan.  A plan to ask Tim to be her date.  Except when she works up the nerve to ask him while they are in the shop one day, Tim says that he already has a date.

Readers? Tim does not have a date.  But he worries that he’s getting too close to Lucy.  That she’s not enough of his Boot and more like...a friend that he wants to kiss? It’s very difficult for him. So he makes a snap decision to be More Professional.

But then Lucy starts talking about dating again.  The firefighter didn’t work out.  But she’s talking about dating apps?  He hates this.

He hates it even more when she starts going out on a date.  Every.  Single. Night.  Every night after shift and every night on their days off, Lucy has a date with a different guy.

And it’s driving him fucking crazy,

But Lucy is determined to find a date for Angela’s wedding.  She cannot be the only single one there.  

Just imagine the tension in their shop for the three weeks leading up to the wedding.  Lucy talking about her dates constantly.  Definitely overcompensating for the fact that she asked Tim to be her date and he said no.  So if she stops talking about her new-found dating then she will have to think about the object mortification and humiliation of Tim turning her down.

OMG SHE WANTS TO DIE OF SHAME JUST THINKING ABOUT IT.

So she talks about her dates.  And maybe makes up a few of them.  

Tim is totally miserable.  He hates hearing about her dates.  But also he cannot let her stop talking to him about these dates.  Because what if something goes wrong? What if she needs him and he stops her from telling him? He just has to sit there and be miserable.

A misery of his own making.  Because Lucy asked him out for a date for Angela’s wedding.  Which is three days BEFORE her tenure as rookie is over.  And he can’t date his rookie.  And he wants to date Lucy.  If he goes on a date with her, it won’t be platonic.  Instead of telling her all this, he blurted out a “no” and she shut down.  

And then the wedding arrives.  Turns out none of Lucy’s dates were plus-one worthy.  And Tim never even tried to get a date even though he told her he had one.

He’s doing okay with maintaining distance until one of Angela’s brothers starts hitting on Lucy right in front of him.  

(Angela maybe ~m a y b e~ said something about Lucy to one of her brother’s who is a total flirt and never serious.  Perfect for making a certain best friend of hers jealous.  She knows what’s good for him.)

Tim cuts in on a dance with Lucy.  

It’s slow and sweet and sexy.  BUT STILL THREE DAYS BEFORE SHE IS NO LONGER HIS ROOKIE.

He still leaves alone at the end of the night.  But not before a promise to her.  A promise that in three days HE is going to be the one to ask her a question.  A date question.  

Lucy can’t wait.  

Oh!  Another idea:

What if Isabel comes back and decides that she wants Tim back? She’s been sober for a year and it’s time.

Just as Lucy and Tim were maybe becoming Lucy-and-Tim.

She’s seen how Tim is about Isabel.  She knows that she can’t compete with that.  

Tim, of course, uses this time to realize how serious he is about Lucy and that things are truly over, for good, with Isabel.

The Obvious Fic Idea:

Rosalind has more than one protege and they are clearly after Lucy.  

Enter the Protector Tim.  And having to stay at her place.  And that couch just doesn’t look comfortable.  Soooooooo....

And I have more fic ideas I want to see.  So thanks for the new ship! I love imagining these scenarios.

[passivenovember]

If Snow Loves the Trees and Fields.

Billy's job at Willowbrook Elementary is the only reason he puts up with this weather at all.

His hatred for winter, a season which hardly existed when he taught in the Valley, morphs and becomes something violent on the first Monday after Christmas break.

He wakes up feeling like his toes have gone missing, frozen black and blue with the cold, and after his phone tells him it's below zero outside, with wind-chill, his heart stops beating.

Hawkins is -10 degrees, to be precise.

And it leaves him feeling like that's gotta be illegal, or. He could for sure call all the scientists on Earth and have a law passed that clarifies: those born and raised in a Southern climate get a free pass on days when Hell is actively freezing over.

But it's not snowing today. And all the ice on the street has been scraped into terrible, disgusting drifts that block his driveway, and Hopper would immediately call bullshit. All, gonna have to suck it up if you wanna live here, buttercup.

So Billy decides to be an adult, or whatever. He spends another five minutes on his phone definitely not stalking his ex Instagram before rolling out of bed to get dressed.

And, like.

Even his underwear drawer is stiff from the cold so Billy decides to bundle the fuck up--a trick he learned from Max last fall, during the coldest year Indiana had ever seen. He manages to stack five layers in total; one pretty pink thermal set just brushing his his skin and a button down shirt to stave off the goosebumps. A sweater and jeans for professionalism. One Grateful Dead hoodie, because it makes him feel like he's not a total sell out, and a thick winter coat, sent special from the snow capped mountains of California this Christmas.

It still smells like his mom's pikake lei perfume.

Billy tries not to think about that, of home, on a day when he'd give his left nut for a ray of sunshine.

Instead, he spends ten minutes filling his thermos with coffee. Boiling the rice milk more than once so it'll stay warm on the ride across town. He sticks his pinky under the lip after his third go, and fuck that shit is so hot it will burn his mouth tomorrow, before checking the weather app again for closures.

Hoping against hope that something has changed in the last five minutes.

Of course, nothing has.

The superintendent believes that everyone in Hawkins is somehow used to temperatures that makes their eyelids freeze shut in the thirty second walk to the car in the morning. Billy jams a knit cap on his head and seriously considers calling in.

A last ditch effort to quell the rising fury in his veins, that like.

He's gonna have to scrape his windows, and freeze his dick off, and deal with the neighbor.

The one who looks like he doesn't mind the cold so much because he carries the sun with him, fucking asshole.

People shouldn't be wandering the streets when their eyelids could freeze shut, right?

Billy checks his phone one more time, frowning at a text from Joyce to pick up some coffee on your way in, and tosses his bag over his shoulder before he can change his mind.

--

It's so much worse than expected.

Billy's lungs seize up on his second intake of fresh air because no one should be huffing sulfur or gaseous ice or whatever the fuck this shit is first thing in the morning. On a Monday. The first one after Christmas break, and.

"God damn, holy shit, holy shit,"  Billy bounces the whole way to the Camaro, breath coming in short, comical bursts of steam that make his nose run. He swipes dramatically at his face, struggling to get his keys into the lock while balancing his thermos on one arm and his messenger bag on the other.

Billy's in the middle of forcing the door open, its hinges are frozen solid with ice goddammit, when Steve fucking Harrington appears like a cloud on the wind.

"Howdy neighbor," Steve says. Like they're cowboys in a shitty film from the 1970s. The wind kicks a lock of brown hair into Harrington's face and he shivers. "Wow, it's really blowing out here, huh?"

Midwesterner's love doing that.

Pointing out the obvious.

Billy grumbles a response, flinging his car door open and jamming the keys into the ignition.

Steve's saying something.

Talking like always, about his cat or maybe the beer they keep saying they'll have together, and generally Billy puts up with it but not today. He isn't going to freeze to death for a pair of legs.

The Camaro roars to life, clearly pissed at having to work on such a disgusting day, and. Alright. Letting your car "warm up," is something so Midwestern Billy can't even talk about it.

It takes him all of two minutes to scrape his windows, electing to carve holes in each wall of ice rather than clear the whole thing. The metal handle of the scraper Max got him feels like the ninth circle of hell against the peachy skin of his fingers.

He should've bought some mittens.

Joyce is always saying he needs mittens, he should've asked for some--

Billy tosses the scraper into his back seat and climbs in, slamming the door shut behind him and cranking the heat up to high. Steve's watching from next to the fence in a fucking pea coat, and a scarf with care bears on it and.

Nothing else.

Fucking asshole.

Steve waves at him, like; hey I'm talking to you. Frantically, like the mouse Mr. Bane caught last week is important.

But Billy's too busy trying to back out of the driveway with five layers of shit restricting his movement. He cranks the music up and cautiously pulls onto the street. Nice and smooth like he's seen Steve do effortlessly, even with three inches of ice on the ground. Fucking asshole.

Billy makes it halfway before he hits something.

The wind kicks hair into his face as he assesses the damage.

"You should've scraped your driveway last night." Steve says helpfully.

He's got a cigarette hanging from his lips, stark in contrast to the weird home made scarf he's got folded around his neck. Billy tries not to think about Steve's lips as he makes his way to the back of the Camaro to see that, yup.

Of course.

His baby is stuck in the snow. Billy kicks the tire. Like that'll fix anything.

"That's not gonna fix anything." Steve says, leaning against the fence.

"Jesus, fuck. I know, Steve." Billy scrubs a hand across his face, gesturing to the Care Bear scarf. "Why the hell are you wearing that thing, you look like a fruit."

"I am a fruit."

"Well you look like the whole goddamn bowl, pretty boy." Billy digs around for a cigarette. "My kindergarteners don't even fuck with the Care Bears enough to own scarves." Billy squints, assessing Steve from head to toe, delighting in the awkward squirm of his limbs. He clicks his tongue, disappointed. "Couldn't look any fruiter if you tried."

Steve shrugs his shoulders, like. Don't yell at me, this isn't my fault.

And okay.

He's cute.

Billy gets struck by that every time he sees the guy, all over again, like. His profile is perfect. Sharp nose, pretty eyes. Thick lips.

Steve holds out a cigarette.

Billy takes it.

"One of my residents made it for me. He's learning how to flat pattern." Harrington says shyly. "Well, he made it for his grand daughter, but. It turned out worse than he expected so I offered to take it."

Billy squints. "The fuck does that mean?"

"Just means I was trying to be nice--"

"No, the." Billy grins in spite of himself. "The flat patterning, what's that?"

Steve shrugs again. "I'm not sure, I think it's like. A sewing term. Or something." A pretty blush the color of Steve's scarf spreads across the bridge of his nose. It looks like strawberry ice cream and Billy.

Has to look away.

"My mom sews," Billy says gruffy. "I've never heard her say that."

"Well, maybe she drapes?"

Billy squints again. "What?"

"Draping. That's another thing people do--"

Billy stamps the cigarette out and kicks his tire again. Steve jolts, like. Billy tried to kick him or something, which just makes the situation worse.

"God, they should've cancelled classes." Billy states. Well, screams, to no one in particular. "Who wants to go to work in the snow, who fucking. Likes this white bullshit?"

Steve leans against the fence and looks thoughtful. "I love the snow."

"You're not helping."

"You asked."

"No, I didn't." Billy shoots back. He digs his cellphone out and shakes his head. "Why are you still here, Harrington? Don't you have old people to take care of?"

Steve chuckles again. Light, like Christmas bells. "Don't you have screaming brats to teach?"

"My car's kinda stuck in the snow, you fucking dick." Billy's so focused on trying to order a lyft that he doesn't waste time on pleasantries. He expects that to be the end of it, when the wind picks up and he swears again, but. Steve just moves closer.

"Let me drive you." Steve says.

And.

The moment sort of hangs there.

In the two years that Billy's lived next to the guy, they've never hung out. Never house sat for each other, never spoken outside the occasional could you make sure your idiot friends don't block my driveway, and empty promises to grab a beer sometime.

So the offer catches him off guard.

Billy glances up from his phone, confused, to find Steve looking everywhere but at him. Harrington's shifting his weight, like. He's fucking nervous, or something.

Or maybe hoping Billy will say no because he's just being polite.

Billy glares.

Of course he's just being neighborly. Charitable. That's what Midwestern assholes do.

Billy waves his phone in the air, like, "I'm ordering a lyft." And it comes out sharper. More aggressive than he means it too, but Steve doesn't seem to notice.

"Just ride with me, it's on the way."

Billy points at the screen. "Jason will be here in ten minutes."

"What's Jason got that I don't have?" Harington quips, and.

Billy just wants shit to go back to normal. He shakes his head again, "Nah, 's okay, pretty boy. Thanks anyway." Before turning back to his phone like he's got important shit to worry about.

Steve stands.

Stares.

Waits, for longer than is necessary, before clearing his throat. "Okay, well. Happy first day back." He says.

And if Billy didn’t know any better he'd say Steve sounds almost.

Disappointed.

--

When Billy gets off of work that night the snow is gone from his driveway.

--

Billy still has bad days.

They always start before dawn. With the claws of his nightmare leaving scratches down the lining of his throat. It's like Billy's carrying an anchor around his neck, or his veins are filled with playdough the color of the sun on those afternoons. He feels lazy and sluggish and like if someone looks at him for too long he'll break. Snap and crackle, like an open flame against fresh skin.

Billy still has bad days but they don't come unless he's been slipping for a while. Like forgetting to take his medication, or not writing his letter every night before bed.

The one to Neil, that his therapist says will help him work through the last of the road blocks that stand in the way of, "ultimate healing."

Billy used to think it was horseshit.

But Neil. Everything that happened, everything that still happens--when Billy goes home for Christmas, or when Susan calls and he can hear the slur of hate on the other end of the line--is standing in the way of something.

There are so many letters.

So much he wants to say.

Written on anything Billy can find, like. Napkins and the backs of take out menus--old drawings that the kids send home with him after Art class on Fridays.

The pages are kept in a binder.

His therapist says it's important to decorate the binder with, like. Stuff that makes him feel good. Words and phrases, stickers, pictures of the people he loves and drawings of all his favorite things. The folder is supposed to act as a visual reminder of the blanket of love that surrounds him, or something.

Melvalds only had brown folders when he went to pick his up, so.

The folder is brown. Disgusting.

And so far the only decorations he's been able to stomach are one of those fancy stickers from Redbubble that depicts his favorite episode of Daria, and a picture of him and Maxine with underwear on their heads.

Billy thinks it could be sad to some people.

That a poor, little abused boy only has two things in life that protect him from the shadow which falls with the setting sun, but it's the truth. Life is hard and fucked up. Billy has trouble letting people close, letting people in, so he sticks with the basics. The tried and true.

Maxine and his gravity bong.

Billy Hargrove is a simple man.

--

So it's two weeks after Steve shovels his driveway and Billy tells his therapist, like. "This fucking guy just. Did something nice for me."

And she clearly wonders what's wrong with him. "Did you say thank you?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because," Billy tries not to get defensive about shit these days, because. It's only a hop-skip-and a jump from defensiveness to downright aggression and Megan, his well meaning shrink, doesn't deserve that even on her most annoying days.

His leg bounces under the table, thwacking against its mahogany edge loud enough that Megan can hear it over the fucking phone, so she says, "Billy. Stop."

Because they have a deal about nervous ticks.

Billy is supposed to say his safe word when he starts to feel anxious, but.

He fucking hates that shit. Hates being babied. Hates feeling like he's a goddamn basket case that needs to be rooted in reality when his trauma rears its ugly head. Billy smiles, the whole thing falling flat against his face. "I'm stopping."

Megan sighs. "Why haven't you thanked Steve for his act of kindness?"

"Because, like." Billy's shaking his leg again. Softer this time; it's a secret. "How do I know he isn't trying to, fucking. Get information out of me. Or out me to the community, or. Make fun of the way I'm a grown man who can't shovel his own driveway after a snowstorm--"

"I think you're internalizing your fears, Billy."

"Yeah, no shit." He snaps. Billy feels bad for half a second but then she's giggling, like she always does, which makes him feel less like the big bad wolf and more like one of the three little pigs. The guy with the straw, maybe?

Billy sighs, scrubbing at his face. "What does that even mean?"

Megan makes a noise on the other end of the line, like. In the six months that Billy's been in therapy he should've learned this by now.

Dude's got a short attention span, sue him.

And, sure enough. "Twice a week we meet over the phone and you don't know that internalizing your fears means you're trying to write the ending to a story you haven't even read yet?"

"Like, uh," Billy says intelligently. "What's that shit you're always saying? About seeing a book on the shelf and--"

"Guessing the ending. Yup, that's right." Megan sounds pleased. Billy ignores the bloom of happiness in his chest, because like. He doesn't really deserve it. She doesn't give him time to dwell, though. "Steve did something nice for you. Maybe he has suspicious intent--"

Billy sucks in a breath, like.

Dramatic. Loud enough that Megan snorts and says, "Hold on, you're jumping to conclusions again."

Billy really fucking.

Hates how perceptive she can be.

Megan keeps talking and Billy listens, because he pays her after all. "If you're really worried that his intentions are cloudy, do something nice for him in return."

"Something nice," Billy repeats. Like he's never heard of such a concept. "Something nice, like. Buy him flowers?"

Megan snorts. "Do you want to buy him flowers?"

"No, why would you think that?"

"Because you--" His therapist sighs. Billy embraces the feeling it gives him, yanking her chain a little bit. "Listen. I don't know this Steve person, and I've never heard you talk about him beyond this beer you're supposed to have together, like. Never. But has he ever given you a reason to think he's out to hurt you?"

Billy thinks back over two years and a million one-dimensional interactions.

Steve never loses his temper.

Not when Billy calls to have the cars that block his driveway towed, not when Billy bitches about the daisy bushes shedding into his yard in the fall, and Steve always picks up Mr. Bane's cat shit from Billy's front porch when the Gremlin actually goes outside.

Always with a smile and a sweet little, I think Mr. B likes you.

And, like.

It was pretty nice of Steve to offer Billy a ride that morning.

And shovel his driveway after work, just because he knew Billy probably wouldn't do it.

The whole thing, it. Fills Billy with something he can't quite express, a warmth he only ever feels when Max calls a dozen times to remind him to eat dinner when he sends a few intense messages.

Megan takes his silence, as always, like a breakthrough.

"So," She says, clearly satisfied. "Same time next week?"

--

Billy spends three days waiting for Steve to make it easy for him.

Because Harrington's a home owner, and there's always something, right? A problem he needs help with, like. A leaky pipe that needs fixed, a cup of sugar for a recipe that he didn't account for, ghosts in the attic. Typical HOA bullshit.

Billy stares out his window at the lovely split level next door and decides he'll take anything, do anything, to get this fucking anchor of guilt off his back for the whole driveway situation. The opportunity never presents itself.

The ducks never fall in a row.

Steve just leaves the house every morning, same time as Billy, same as always, with a gentle Howdy neighbor. And a smile tugging at his pretty pink lips, hair perfect and windswept because he's a fucking asshole and it only takes two days.

Forty-eight hours before Billy's hatching a plan to pay Harrington back and inventing problems to solve, like some sort of demonic Bob the Builder.

He calls Max on Thursday and comes up with a list. Something tangible, like breaking Steve's garage window with a ski ball. Or trapping Mr. Bane in a sweater and pretending like he's gone missing so Steve will have to round up a search party, but.

Billy knows Megan would call that instigating, antagonizing, and causing trouble, which Billy's trying not to do anymore.

So he brings up flowers again, because.

Fuck it--maybe he's wanted to see Steve behind a bouquet of Lilies of the Valley for months now.

And Max goes all soft.

And quiet, too, before whispering, "I'm really proud of you, you know? For getting better."

Then suddenly Billy can't breathe because there's a lump in his throat.

Because he is trying to get better. To live honestly, to lead with love--whatever hippie-dippie bullshit Megan is always spoon feeding him, so.

With Max's blessing, Billy's about to, like. Knock on Steve's door with a plate of pot brownies and a shitty thanks for being a decent human card when Mr. Bane leaves a dead bird on Billy's porch, the third one in a month, and Billy hatches an idea.

--

Steve's front door is yellow.

Like. Sunshine yellow. Valley girl yellow.

Which Billy used to think was charming but now thinks is kind of annoying, when coupled with Steve's perpetually sunny disposition. And okay. Maybe it sort of pokes and prods at that piece of him that's always missing home.

Maybe it makes him a little bit sad, like. He'll never really feel at peace anywhere else.

But before Billy can dwell on it, or raise his fist to knock on the door, Steve's opening it and preparing to step through. He's using his foot to stop Mr. Bane from running out into the yard so he doesn't see Billy right away, which.

Also means he's going somewhere.

Which inherently means Billy's caught him at a bad time. Billy holds the paper bag closer to his chest and feels the words bubbling up before he can practice his breathing, or. Stop them. Because this is his third biggest fear after arguments and spiders.

"I've caught you at a bad time, I'm sorry, I'll just come back la--"

Steve breaks out into a grin so big. So bright, that it rivals anything Billy's ever seen before.

"Howdy, neighbor!" Steve says.

And Billy shifts nervously from one foot to the other, like. "Is this a bad time?"

"No, it's not a--"

"Because I can come back later." Billy nods, already turning on his heel to escape, and like. Fly into the sun. "Or not at all. I can just mail it to you, that's. Yeah, I'll just stick it in the post or something."

Steve grabs his elbow.

Billy looks at the hand on his elbow, and down at Steve’s feet. There aren’t any shoes or anything, so.

Billy's overreacting.

Fuck. He swallows, raising his eyes with caution to see Steve smiling again. Even wider than before, if that's possible.

Harrington licks his lips. "Whatcha got there?" He says, nodding to the bag, and Steve.

He's wearing glasses today.

Billy feels like someone hit him on the back of the head with a ski ball. Steve looks so soft, in white stripped overalls and a green sweater, that Billy doesn't know whether to fluff him like a pillow or fucking.

Punch him in the face.

Billy holds out the paper bag. "It's for you."

Steve looks at him strangely but he's still smiling, which.

Is good.

Billy thinks it's good but then he knows its good when Steve giggles. "I gathered that. What is it?"

"It's a, uh. You know." Billy tries. "You know one of those things? Where it's, like, a thing but you aren't supposed to know what it is?"

Steve blinks at him, cheeks turning pink like they always do. "A surprise?"

"That's the one." Billy snaps his fingers, like. Ah-ha. Except it isn't a surprise, it's just. "It's a way to say thanks. For the whole," Billy concludes, gesturing vaguely to their front lawns, to. "The driveway."

Steve blushes even harder. "You didn't have to get me a present--"

"It's not a present."

"That was just me trying to be nice." Steve leans against the door jam, eyes searching. "It doesn't call for a--"

"It's not a present." Billy says again. Steve doesn't look like he believes him, so Billy, like. Shoves the paper bag to his chest. "Look, open it now or don't. Fucking, throw it away for all I care, it's fine."

Billy turns on his heel because fuck this.

Fuck trying to pay back nice with nice and fuck Steve for starting this whole debacle to begin with. Billy makes it down one step and then Steve is laughing so hard he can't stand up straight.

Which just makes Billy feel worse, because.

"You're laughing." Billy gapes. "I bring you a present to say thanks for not being an asshole, and you're laughing."

Steve doesn't answer, he just.

Keeps on laughing, and okay.

This is Billy's third greatest fear. After abandonment and fighting. Fists covered in blood--his or someone else's, it doesn't matter. He frowns, turning to leave again when Steve straightens and coughs once into the palm of his hand.

"Thought it wasn't a present," Steve quips, and he's looking at Billy with, like. Sparkly eyes. He shrugs. "I'm not sure what it means."

Billy doesn't get it. "It doesn't have to mean anything--"

"No, like." Steve peers into the bag again, clearly holding back tears. "Why did you get me a bag of dead mice?"

"You can get them at the pet store." Billy says, because. You can, alright? He fiddles with the sleeves of his winter coat. "They're for Mr. Bane."

Steve just stares at him, eyes twinkling like two polished diamonds in his head.

And he's not saying anything, or. Laughing anymore, he's just. Watching Billy fall to pieces on his walkway as he tries to defend himself.

Billy focuses on the clouds that inch across the sky. "Mr. Bane, he's. He's always catching shit, like. Dead shit and leaving it on my porch. I just thought if he wants to eat dead things I can just. Buy him a pack or whatever. Like a normal person."

Steve grins. "You know they do that because they think you can't feed yourself."

Billy wrinkles his nose. "Well I fucking appreciate it, but I don't want to eat dead mice and birds and shit."

Steve chuckles once before staring again.

Like he's memorizing Billy's face, or like. They're having a competition that Billy doesn't know about.

Billy gestures to the bag again. "Would you just accept it, Steve? Please?"

Harrington looks down at the mice in his hands and nods slowly, like the decision is really requiring some thought.

Billy feels stupid.

This was so fucking stupid--

"Sure, Billy." Harrington says. Soft, and. Sweet. "No one's ever given me such a thoughtful gift before, so. Thank you."

And Billy feels like the tin man getting oil on his joints after a year of rusting in the forest, when Steve accepts his weird ass gesture. He nods, mouth lapsing into a thin, unamused line. "Okay, then. See ya 'round," Billy says.

And then he's turning, and.

Leaving.

Before Steve can say anything else.

The clouds inch like caterpillars across the bright winter sky and Steve's walkway seems so much longer on the journey home.

[wickedmilo]

SOUNDS LIKE A YOU PROBLEM | MILO & CHLOE

PLACE: A dive bar TIMING: 10:49 PM SUMMARY: After realising he has run out of money, Milo approaches Chloe and asks her to pay for his drinks. WRITING PARTNER: @chloeinbetween ​ CONTENT WARNINGS: Addiction, alcohol, references to emotional abuse, drug manipulation (Leanan-Sidhe kiss), chronic illness

There were a lot of things Chloe hadn’t done for years, banned because the only thing allowed to be a detriment to her health was the fae feeding on her. There were a lot of things she wasn’t supposed to do now either, against medical advice or the general opinions of the town on what wasn’t and wasn’t safe. Drinking a glass of whiskey by herself in a bar that was too dingy to have a crowd on a weeknight probably fell into all of the above. Which was why she was doing it. Her fingers drummed against the sticky linoleum of the bar, looking at messages on her phone that she had no plan of answering. Her old messaging app had kept all the old messages from before she’d been taken, so in her worst moments she scrolled through the texts she’d received demanding to know where she was, and why she’d abandoned them. 

It was hardly surprising in pits like this that she didn’t notice the young man sidling up to her curiously. Not until he was much too close. “Can I help you?” Chloe asked, looking him up and down. 

Until very recently, Milo had no reason to concern himself with boundaries. The circles he usually ran in had far more important things to worry about, like who had the drugs, and where they were going to use them. He was too used to stumbling, getting close to strangers, or sharing paraphernalia with people he didn’t recognise. Being forced to avoid people, Humans, was new. A habit he was being forced to form. That didn’t mean his other habits, the ones he had been establishing for years, weren’t demanding his attention though. Which was why he had made his way over to a quiet bar, a bar he knew didn’t often draw in the crowds. As depressing as it was to drink alone in a shadowy corner, that’s exactly how he had been spending his night. Up until the moment he had reached into his pocket for the crushed bills he usually kept there and realised they were no longer present. He shouldn’t be surprised, he had been handing them over for hours. But everybody knew running out of money was anxiety inducing, even when you didn’t have habits to maintain. 

His bank account was empty, that had been the last of it. He wasn’t stupid enough to assume he counted wrong when he had withdrawn the remainder of his funds. And he hadn’t been to work since his official time of death. He could make a run for it, but even in his inebriated state he knew being chased down and potentially tackled by a bartender would only end in said bartender being drained of blood. There didn’t seem to be many options ahead of him. So instead of eyeing the door, he began to eye his fellow patrons. It was very easy to single out the person least likely to punch him in the face, and he pushed himself out of the booth he had been slouching in, getting far too close before he could hold himself back. His limbs felt heavy, his entire body clumsy, and uncoordinated. But he pushed on. “Yeah, actually-” He insisted, a familiar rush of longing creeping up on him as her scent began to permeate the space. Taking a hesitant step back, he swallowed his craving, willing himself to stay where he was. “You can pay for my drinks.” Maybe it wasn’t the smoothest way of asking the woman for money, but his brain wasn’t functioning at full capacity and pathetically, it was the best he could do. Maybe she would take pity on him. “I mean- I’ve probably had the worst fucking month of my life, and I… shit, I mean I have no money. What do you want me to say?”

“Excuse me?” Chloe replied, twisting in her seat to look him over. There was a buzz in her head, but it did nothing to numb the immediate annoyance at his request. If anything, it removed any social insecurity, Chloe was no longer interested in being careful with her words. A fae would be more eloquent than that anyway. She pushed her drink further onto the counter so that she would not knock it, and looked him up and down. There was a loose, chaotic way of his movements, like he didn’t quite know how to hold himself together. He was drunk, drawling, obviously. Her lip curled in disgruntled annoyance. “Why the hell are you at a bar if you haven’t got any money?” Chloe snapped back, looking right back up at him. 

“I really don’t see how that’s anyone’s problem except yours. And the bartender’s. How disrespectful do you need to be to expect something like this from other people?” She rolled her eyes pointedly at him. There was another thought, biting at the corner of her mind, after another moment of looking at him, the sentence slipped out before she could stop herself. “Can’t have been too shitty a month if you still have the capacity to make bad life choices.”

Milo knew the moment the woman turned to face him that she wasn’t about to hand over her credit card. Even if it hadn’t been obvious in her tone, it would have been obvious in the way she was looking at him. Letting out a huff of breath in response to the question, it was a sharp reminder of how important it was to take shallow breaths. He didn’t need the oxygen, and breathing in too deeply was only going to put her in danger. Each intake brought with it a wave of tantalising scent. “I had money.” He countered, an edge to his own voice. “I drank it.” Honestly, he wasn’t sure what he would do if somebody approached him and asked him to pay for their drinks. Maybe in the morning her reaction would feel reasonable, and valid. Right now though, in this moment, it was infuriating. It didn’t make any sense. 

“And it isn’t disrespectful to be a total dick when somebody asks you for help?” He demanded, twisting the situation to frame himself as someone to sympathise with, someone to feel sorry for. He fell silent again, his eyes narrowing as she carefully observed him. Even with so much alcohol in his system, it made him feel vulnerable, and exposed. He didn’t like it. Shifting awkwardly on the spot, he felt a spark of genuine anger when she eventually commented on his life choices. Did he really look that bad? “Oh, yeah?” He snapped. “You’re here drinking alone too, you know? Seems like we’re both making shitty decisions. I’d like to see anybody go through what I’ve been through and not want to drink themselves into oblivion. Haven’t you ever heard of coping mechanisms? Fucking crutches? Maybe I just need a fucking break.”

“Sounds like a you problem,” Chloe replied, matching his edge just as harshly, even though her voice croaked with the effort. There was a way he looked at her that made her skin crawl, like he knew more about her than he should, or that he wanted more than her money. Perhaps what was left of her life, she though, and shook the thought away. He didn’t have the charisma to be like Lydia. He was pitiable. Still a threat, maybe, but under her anger she understood just want this looked like. 

There was a knife edge difference between drinking to cope and drinking to lose herself, and Chloe was terrified of landing the wrong edge of the line. 

Then he opened his mouth again and her sympathy was quashed immediately. “Only if they’re not a dick in asking for it. You didn’t even ask! You demanded. You look young but not too young to know the difference.” If nothing, her barbed comment only seemed to raise his hackles even further, his voice raising. Her hands curled tightly around the edge of the barstool. “I’m not pissing off anyone else though, am I? I don’t think you’re in a place to throw rocks, dude. Oh fuck off, do you really think you have a monopoly on suffering?”

Milo glared at the woman, irritated by the tone she was taking although he had a feeling he might look back on this conversation and feel it was entirely justified. “I’m trying to make it an us problem.” He muttered, thinking of every time Dani had ever called him a smartmouth. “I didn’t ask for shit.” He added, his glare only growing in intensity. Clearly it had been a mistake to approach her. She must have known he was likely going to ask her for money regardless of how she chose to begin their initial interaction, but technically he was being honest. “You asked if you could help me, and I said yes, you could pay for my drinks. If anything, you offered.” 

Noting her voice growing in volume, the last thing he wanted to do was cause a scene. But he also felt as though he had every right to be angry. He hadn’t done anything wrong. “I didn’t come over here to piss you off. I actually have better things to do.” He snapped, running a clumsy hand through his hair as he struggled to reign in his frustration. “You know what? Yeah, I really fucking do have the monopoly on suffering right now. Why do you think I’m even here? I had friends, and a fucking family, and I’m really fucking tired. So forgive me for not realising I was nearly out of cash. And forgive me for thinking that maybe someone might actually take pity on me and offer to help me out. It’s whatever, okay? I’ll fucking go-” 

“I’ll remember next time to be clearer with my sarcasm as you don’t seem to get it. I fucking doubt that,” Chloe snarled back, eyes creased in a frown, back straight. She couldn’t say whether it was the alcohol or the attitude that was giving her a headache, but she was pretty sure he was the problem either way. But somewhere in his furious tirade, Chloe heard the hints of something that… well, nothing justified treating people shittily, but something awful, something Chloe understood a little too well. 

No friends. No family. Alone in a dark place with an unhealthy coping mechanism and a need to drown your thoughts in a buzz. Chloe hadn’t had access to alcohol for the last few years, but… well, there had been something available to take the edge off. Chloe shivered. “Wait.” She said curtly, jaw flexing, unable to believe she was about to say this. Maybe because in the biting harshness of his features she saw snippets of Todd and Sammy, young lost men who had found the wrong source of comfort in their troubled lives. Chloe already knew it was fantastical to think she could fix things, but if there was a kindness to be offered…. On the other hand, he was an asshole who had pissed her off, so she almost let him walk away just to teach him a lesson. “Just this once, okay? So you don’t end up in jail on top of whatever other shit you have going on. Now get the hell out of here.”

“Maybe don’t engage strangers in conversation and you won’t have to.” Milo countered. She had spoken to him first. He wasn’t about to take responsibility for something that wasn’t his fault. He was just turning to leave, his hands balled into fists, when he heard the woman call out to him. Surprised, but too irritated to show any gratitude, he faced her once again, a frown still fixed firmly in place. He hadn’t been expecting her to change her mind, and he was in too bitter a mood to be honest about just how much the gesture meant. Taking the bills she was handing out to him, he was careful to only take the amount he needed, leaving a few of them behind. There were other ways to find money if he became desperate. Right now, it seemed like the very least he could do to acknowledge she was offering him help. Crumpling them in his hand, he sheepishly caught her eye. He knew he should say thank you, but he was stubborn. Too stubborn to admit he might have been unfair to her. So he left, instead. Without saying another word. Maybe one day he might feel guilty about that fact, but it wasn’t as though he was ever going to see her again. Something, he thought, that might very well be for the best.

[watchmegetobsessed]

Señorita - Shawn Mendes (pt 2)

yall went crazy for my senorita imagine, thank you for the love you showed it, now im bringing you part 2!! im having an amazing time writing about bad boy shawn, not sure how long this will turn out  to be but i hope yall will stick with me during this journey! literally spent my last 24 hours writing it so i can bring the second part as soon as possible and im sooo excited about it!!

5k of angst, fluff and pure anxiety

ALSO for that nosy ass anon, i inserted a keep reading function, hope your life is happy now :)))))))))) (though its not showing on the app for me only on pc and this is why i dont fuck around with these kind of stuff)

part 1 - part 3

masterlist

Three days. It has been three day since you spent the night with Shawn. He promised to come by the diner the next day but he never showed up. By the end of your shift you were basically a nerve-wreck, hoping to find him leaning against his bike outside, but the parking lot was painfully empty.

You don’t even have his number. For fuck’s sake, you don’t even know if he has a phone! These three days just gave you a million opportunities to think about how stupid you were to fall for his games. He probably never thought of you as more than just a one night stand. It even crossed your mind that you might have just been a bet with his stupid friends and you willingly gave his victory to him. Anger, hatred, disappointment and regret fueled your body that night when he failed to show up as promised. You wanted to cry, scream and shout, but at the end you felt like it’s just… not worth it.

“Rosie, you know I love you, but I can’t keep up with my and your tables as well,” you tell your favorite co-worker once you are back in the kitchen and find her sitting on the counter top, scrolling through her phone.

“I’m sorry, but this is just blowing my mind,” she tells you, her eyes wide at the screen while you put the dirty dishes into the sink and start rinsing them off, something you always do to make the work of the kitchen staff easier.

“What’s so important that you can’t do your job?” you ask a little annoyed, but more curious.

“There was a huge scuffle downtown like an hour ago.”

“What?” you snap, your stomach immediately dropping. You squeeze yourself up to her side as she scrolls through the short news article. It doesn’t say much, only that the police was called because probably two rival gangs had a fight and someone heard a gunshot as well. Two guys were caught, but you know neither of them is Shawn because they would have already made sure everyone in town knows Shawn Mendes was caught.

“Damn it,” you mumble, your thoughts racing faster than ever.

You might be hating on the guy, but you definitely don’t want him to get hurt. That gunshot makes your stomach churn when you think that the bullet might have ended up in him for all you know.

“What the fuck are you two doing here?” Rob’s voice makes both of you jump as he stares at you in disbelief. His mouth in a disapproved grimace under his rather disgusting mustache, his hands on his hips. “I’m not paying you to chit-chat in the kitchen. Get out and do your job!”

Rosie and you rush out, leaving the steamy kitchen behind as you quickly start pretending like you are so busy with work, just until Rob disappears in his office again, not giving a flying fuck about what’s going outside.

You take some orders and bring out some drinks before going back to the kitchen to hide behind the fridge. Pressing your back to the wall you slide down and hug your knees to your chest, not able to get Shawn out of your mind. The painful inertia is just killing you, not even knowing where he is and if he is okay.

Your mind leaves your body by the end of your shift. You keep messing the orders up and you can’t stop apologizing, but you just couldn’t get Shawn off of your mind and you hate him for that. The thought of going to bed seems like heaven to you when you arrive to your house. You slide your key into the lock, but you notice the door is not locked and you freeze.

Can it be that you forgot to lock the door this morning? You were pretty tired, it would make sense, but it’s not something that has happened before.

Reaching into your bag you grab your pepper spray, ready to defend yourself against anything that’s waiting for you inside. You slowly open the door, walking inside as quiet as possible, holding the spray up as your eyes scan the room. Nothing seems to be odd, Gordon walks out of the bathroom so calmly that he almost convinces you there is no one else in the house, but you’re still not sure about that.

Brushing himself against your leg he purrs for you before moving to the couch and curling up on one of the pillows. You are just about to believe that the place is clear when you hear a noise coming from the bathroom.

You glance at Gordon as if he could tell you what it was, after all he just came out of there and didn’t seem to be bothered. You make your way towards the bathroom, still holding the spray up. Pushing the door open you step inside and suddenly a hand wraps around your wrist.

“Fuck!” you scream, your finger missing the top of the spray and you even drop it, almost pissing your pants.

“Hey, it’s just me!” you hear a familiar voice but it can’t stop your body from shaking like a leaf.

You finally make Shawn’s tall figure out in the dark, his large hands taking yours as he pulls you closer to him and you let him do so.

“Shit, Shawn!” you gasp on the verge of tears. You’ve never been more scared for your life. His arms wrap around your body as he holds you tight, your face pressed against the hot skin of his chest.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he whispers gently stroking your hair as you slowly calm down, recovering from your heart-attack.

Once you are back, mind and body functioning again you firmly push him away from you, letting your frustration explode out of you.

“Where the fuck have you been?!” you snap at him, but your anger quickly disappears when you see his face turn into a painful grimace as his hands cover his ribs on his right side, close to where you just pushed him. “Oh my God, what’s wrong?” you panic, quickly reaching for the light switch.

You can’t believe your eyes when you see the huge bruise on his side. It’s as big as his hand twice and the colors are not too promising either as his skin is painted in blue, green, purple and red making up a galaxy-like patch on his torso.

“Shit, I think it’s broken,” you gasp taking a better look at it.

“It’s alright, I just need some ice on it,” he breathes out, trying his best to cover up his pain, but you see right through him.

“Come on.”

You pull him out of the small bathroom, making him sit on the couch. Gordon eyes him curiously as he holds his hand to his side while you jog to the fridge. You grab the icepack from freezer and return to him, kneeling down in front of him, gently peeling his hand off of his wound.

“How did you even get into my house?” you ask as you gently put the icepack to his side and he hisses from the sudden feeling.

“Keys under the flowerpot? Pretty predictable,” he smirks at you between two grimaces as his hand takes up your hand’s place on the pack and he holds it to his side. You mentally note to look for a better hiding spot for your spare key.

“And what were you doing in the bathroom in the dark?”

“I uh… I wanted to lay down in the bathtub, hoping it would feel nice and cold.”

“But I don’t have a bathtub.”

“Yeah, I figured it out right when you got home.”

Leaning back on the couch he keeps his eyes closed and you’re not sure what you should do now. Should you kick him out? Or ask what the fuck happened in the past few days? You realize you are not even in a real relationship to question him about his whereabouts.

Standing up you are about to go to the kitchen for some water maybe when his eyes pop open and grabbing your hand he pulls you down next to him.

“Where are you going?”

“To get some water?”

“No need for that,” he smiles at you tiredly as he wraps his arm around your shoulder, trying to make you cuddle to his side that’s not beaten up, but you move back. “What’s wrong?”

“Shawn, you can’t just appear after days and pretend like nothing really happened.”

“Are you mad because I disappeared?”

He tries to pull you back to him, but you need space. You hop to your feet and he follows you, putting the height difference to your list of anxieties. You can’t think straight when he is towering above you with his defined jawline and hazel eyes.

“You disappeared, got into a fight and then broke into my house bruised up, expecting me to just pretend like it’s normal. It’s not normal for me, Shawn.”

“I know,” he sighs and for the first time you see him anxious, though he is doing a good job hiding it. You almost missed it. “And I’m sorry. I really am.”

His fingers brush against your cheek, leaning closer his nose touches your forehead and you are determined to avoid looking into his eyes knowing well you’d just get weak.

“Shawn, I can’t do this,” you say, your voice barely more than just a whisper.

“Do what?”

“This. You and me. It’s just not working, okay?” Taking a step away from him you lose physical contact with him as he stands there, staring at you a bit confused.

“How do you know it’s not working if you don’t even give it a chance?”

“I gave it,” you snap, finally finding the courage to look at him. “That night when I was at your place, but it went to nothing when you disappeared for three days.”

“Y/N, I told you, that I’m sorry,” he repeats as if saying it again and again solves everything instantly. It’s obvious he has never had to work for anyone like this which kind of makes you proud of yourself, but you don’t let him know that.

“Saying that you’re sorry is not changing anything,” you tell him. “Not that anything should be changed, this whole thing was over before it could start.”

“Don’t say that!” he suddenly snaps, raising his voice. You’re quite taken aback from his reaction and it must be showing on your face because he quickly holds himself back, lowering his tone when he continues. “Don’t just give up on me so easily. Please.” Closing the distance between the two of you he throws the icepack to the side so both his hands are free to hold your face in them.

“Why don’t you give up on me?” you whisper feeling yourself reaching your breaking point. His forehead rests on yours, the physical contact is basically making you see sparkles.

“Because I know that I just can’t. I don’t know why. Please, just… give me one more chance.”

There is something in it when he starts begging. You don’t know if he is doing it on purpose or not, but it’s putting a spell on you whenever he says the magic word, please. Your brain wants to send him away, teach him a well-deserved lesson, but your heart takes over this time.

“Okay. But we need to lay out some rules.”

“Rules?” he asks, his face lighting up.

“Yes. And please, take them seriously,” you firmly say, wanting him to know that this is important for you.

“I will. Promise. Let’s talk about those rules, Señorita.”

  You make them clear and easy.

One, he has to let you know by the end of every day that he is alright. For this you finally exchange numbers, which just feels ridiculous if you think about how this should have happened at the very beginning if it was a normal relationship. You don’t ask for much, just a text is enough, the best if he comes by the diner, but you can’t expect him to spend all his time around you.

Two, no more sneaking into your house. You just can’t risk attacking him because you think it’s an intruder.

And three… Be honest.

“I’m already honest with you, Y/N,” he says narrowing his eyes at you, not really understanding what you mean.

“Uhuh, like the other time when you said you didn’t know those guys who started the fight. They called you by name, I’m not stupid, you knew them.”

Letting out a frustrated sigh he presses his lips into a thin line. You push yourself up, looking down at his lying figure on your bed. His side still looks horrible, but he keeps telling it’s fine even though you are pretty sure his ribs are broken.

“There are some things that are best if you don’t know about.”

This uneasy, bitter feeling is back. You sit up, turning away from him. You were dumb enough to think that he wants to change for the better for you, but it seems like he is not willing to leave his lifestyle back anytime soon.

“What did I say this time?” he sighs pushing himself up, wincing a little at the movement.

“Nothing,” you mumble, making your way into the bathroom. You pray he doesn’t follow, but you are out of luck. As you grab your night shirt you see him in the mirror, appearing behind you.

“Y/N, honesty goes for both of us. What’s gotten you upset?”

You refuse to look at him, just take your shirt and pants off, acting like he is not even there. You sleep in an oversized t-shirt, so you just throw it on and then take your bra off from under it. You see the smirk on his lips from your little maneuver and you know he is aching to comment on how he has seen everything under that shirt, but you’re glad he keeps it to himself.

“Y/N, please answer!” He turns you by your chin to face you and you are just silently fuming, not wanting to give the words into his mouth. “Baby, what did I do wrong this time?”

Why does he has to be so persistent? You know he is not letting it go and it’s obvious you are not getting out of the bathroom until you tell him what he wants.

“I just thought that you are going to give up all that dangerous stuff.”

You expect him to laugh at you. You feel ridiculous, so you are sure he thinks the same of you, but instead, his eyes soften at you as his hands slide down your side and to your waist.

“It’s not that simple,” he sighs, his voice laced with guilt. “I’ve tried to leave it all behind. Many times, but it’s not that easy.”

“But you can try at least,” you growl at him crabbed, taking a step back from him as you lean your back against the cold wall.

He stands there, clearly torn between two worlds. You hate giving ultimatums to people, it’d piss you off if it would be you on the other end, but Shawn seems to be calmer than what you expected. You could almost see the little devil and angel on his shoulders, whispering into his ears and you realize you are putting too much pressure on him. You can’t redeem the world in one day and he already agreed to a lot of other small things. Change doesn’t come over night.

Pushing yourself away from the wall you step closer to him, your hands slide up his chest to the base of his neck, the silver necklace rolling under your touch.

“I’m sorry, I was being greedy,” you whisper as you rest your forehead against his. “I have to be more patient with you.” He closes his eyes, arms around your body and you swear he is sniffing you, but you let it pass.

“I’m sorry. I’ll try to be better. For you,” he whispers, eyebrows furrowed. Your lips brush against his and he quickly kisses you before another word could be said.

You moan into his mouth once you feel his tongue against yours. His fingers tangle into your hair and he starts to push you slowly right until your back hits the wall again. When your hands wander down on his naked torso you make sure not to hurt him around his wounded side, but it’s a little hard to contain yourself when his lips are traveling down on your neck, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses on your heated skin.

Desire is burning between your legs and you just want to forget about everything that happened today, but you both know Shawn is not fine enough physically to deal with your endless lust right now.

The kisses slow down, panting echoes in the small bathroom as you try to catch your breath.

“Let’s get you to bed, okay?” you whisper, barely finding your own voice. He nods and you tangle yourself out from him.

Lying on the bed you curl up to his healthy side as he wraps his strong arms around your figure, his thumb repetedly caressing your shoulder as you listen to his steady heartbeat.

“Shawn?” you speak up after a while hoping he is not asleep just yet.

“Mmm,” he hums as a reply.

“Don’t make me regret this.”

His fingers stop for a few moments before he holds you tighter to his body, kissing into your hair.

“I’ll try.”

“So, I haven’t seen Mr. Danger around here lately.” Rosie arches an eyebrow at you while you are counting the fat tip you just got, tugging it away into your apron’s pocket.

“Who?” you ask, pretending not to know who she is talking about, but Shawn’s handsome face immediately pops up in your mind, almost making you smile.

“You know who I’m talking about,” she gives you a look as she fills up three cups with lemonade, but she keeps looking out for Rob. Apparently, he told her that she is skating on thin ice with her working attitude and needs to put more effort into her work if she wants to keep receiving her paychecks.

“Why would he come here?” you keep up the act.

“Oh, cut the shit, Y/N. What’s up with him, have you talked lately?”

You sigh, giving in, not wanting to torture her any longer, but just when you open your mouth the door of the diner flies open, the small bell rings in warning and you both turn just in time to see Shawn walk in, his usual leather jacket on, hair perfectly messy from probably riding his bike and he unhurriedly takes his aviator sunglasses off, his eyes lazily looking around the place until they find you and a smug smile plasters across his face.

“Holy shit,” you hear Rosie mumbling under her breath and you show an elbow to her side, making her lose balance for a moment. She shoots you a look, but you shoot it back.

“Show your tongue back into your mouth,” you tell her as you walk out from behind the counter, meeting Shawn midway between the tables.

“Hey there, Señorita.”

His large hands immediately slide to your side, holding you firmly as you throw your arms around his neck, your fingers finding his soft curls at the back of his head.

“Hi,” you whisper as he leans down and kisses you softly, making you forget about everything else that’s around you in this moment.

“You hungry?” you ask as you lead him to his usual box.

“For you? Always.”

You roll your eyes at his comment, but you can’t push a smile down as you look down at him.

“Anything from the menu?” you ask, and quickly add: “I’m not on the menu.”

“What a pity,” he sighs. “Then scrambled eggs with bacon, please. When are you going on a break?”

“Um, in about twenty,” you say checking the clock across the wall.

“Perfect,” he grins at you as you turn around and go back to Rosie behind the counter.

You give the order to the kitchen stuff and face Rosie’s questioning and shocked face.

“What the fuck was that?”

“What do you mean?” you ask innocently.

“Um, you eyefucking with none other than Shawn Mendes, the Greek god of town.”

“Rosie, do you ever filter what you say?” you ask gasping. You definitely did not eyefuck him. Or… did you?

“Is this like an official thing now?” she asks following you into the kitchen as you grab a Corona from the fridge for table 4.

“Kind of,” you shrug, making it look like it’s not a big deal, but your inner self has been jumping up and down for days now, screaming in happiness.

“Okay, you are telling me everything on the way home,” she demands before disappearing from your sight, not even giving you the chance to protest.

Bliss. Utter bliss. This is how you can describe the past few days.

You can tell Shawn has been doing everything he can to make things work for you. He spent the night at your place a few times and when he couldn’t, he made sure to call you before you go to sleep, just asking you about how your day has been, genuinely interested in everything you had to say. You spent another day off with him yesterday, just lazily chilling in bed, watching movies and having some steamy and hot sex, which is kind of your favorite part every time he is over.

He refused to go to a doctor with his side though, said he has a cousin who’s a doctor and that he checked it out, gave him some pills and said it’ll be alright. You’re skeptical about that, but you didn’t want to start a fight about that. It’s starting to look better anyway and he is not wincing anymore when you accidentally touch it.

You still worry about him whenever he is away, not really knowing what he is doing and that’s just too troublesome for you, but you are learning to deal with your own dark thoughts.

You feel like a giddy teenage girl as you move around the diner, doing your job, but sneakily keep glancing at Shawn who has his eyes glued to you the whole time.

“I can’t work like this,” you sigh stopping at his table and he blinks up at you angelically, pretending to be the most innocent guy in the world.

“What? I’m not doing anything!”

“You are basically stripping me with your eyes,” you whisper leaning down and pressing a quick kiss to his lips. You can feel eyes on you, some local women have been eyeing you enviously after seeing you and Shawn kiss, but you’re kind of enjoying it.

Yeah, bitches, take that! The town’s sexiest guy is all over me! You think to yourself.

“I’m sorry, but this skirt is just… making me feel things,” he sighs taking a good look at your work clothes. It’s a typical, light pink waitress uniform, the skirt might be a little shorter than the average, but Rob thinks that’s just bringing the tips in, so you don’t have anything against it. Apparently, Shawn shares the same thoughts as Rob, enjoying the view.

“I’m off in two. Wanna go outside?” you ask checking the time.

“Sure.”

You go back to the kitchen and grab your phone from the dressing room. You pull out the elastic from your hair, gently massaging your scalp where your bun was before.

“I’m going on my break!” you tell Rosie who is behind the register this time.

“Don’t want to hear moaning from the back, oh wait, maybe it might be hot. I like it, do what you want,” she smirks at you and you just give her a disapproving look.

“Filter, Rosie. Think about what you say before saying it!” you tell her walking away.

Shawn is already at the door, he opens it for you as the two of you walk out to the back of the building for some alone time.

His bike is parked by the wall, not far from the little bench you have there for those who smoke on their breaks.

“I missed you,” he mumbles into your neck, pulling you close immediately when you are out of the sight of the people on the road that runs in front of the diner.

“You mean in the twenty minutes that I had to work while you were staring at me?” you giggle, hands on his broad shoulders as you try not to moan from the way he is kissing your neck.

“Yeah. Hardest twenty minutes of my life.”

He backs you until you bump against the wall and he locks you there with his hands on each sides of your head. You hide yours behind your back as you blink up at him, biting into your bottom lip. His eyes are so much darker this time, lust burning in them as he takes his time looking you up and down.

“You are so fucking sexy, Señorita. You have no idea what you are doing to me.”

Desire laces through his voice, making your lower part catch on fire. Oh, how bad you wish you weren’t behind this building but home, in your bed, with no clothes on.

You tilt your head, your lips gently brushing against his arm, he smells like some kind of sweet cologne that you like so much. Pressing your lips to the inside of his arm you lightly suck on the thin skin, earning a satisfied moan from him, but it also throws him off the edge, dropping his hands to your waist and pulling you in for a passionate kiss.

One of his hands travel up to the back of your head, holding you in place while the other wanders down to your butt, rolling your skirt up so his palm is touching your skin instead of the fabric of the dress. You blindly pray no one is around to see this, you wouldn’t want anyone else to see your almost bare butt but on the other hand you just don’t want him to stop.

The sound of a bike approaching makes you push him away, afraid it’s coming near you. You quickly roll your skirt back down, just in time. A redhead guy appears on a bike, similar to Shawn’s. You’ve seen him before, he is one of Shawn’s friends for sure, but his face is making your stomach churn, the expression is making you want to run because you are sure he has bad news.

“Brian, what are you doing here?” Shawn asks, one arm around you protectively. You hug his waist, eyeing the guy with suspicion.

“You need to come. Wade and his rats are at Connor’s, they are saying one of us beat Wade’s nephew up last night.”

“What?” Shawn snaps. “Everyone was at yours last night, it couldn’t be us.”

The mentioning of Wade Salazar makes you sick to the stomach. The guy is a walking criminal record, spent at least five years in prison by the time he turned twenty-five, the police has been trying to catch him for good for so long, but somehow he always slips out of their hands for the big stuff. The most serious thing they could convict him of is drug trading, but somehow he managed to get away with most of the stuff even in that case. You always knew Shawn is rivals with him, but you refused to think about him getting involved with such a monster as him.

“Yeah, try telling that to Wade,” Brian scoffs. “We need you, he wants to talk to you.”

“Don’t go!” you find yourself saying it before you could hold yourself back.

You feel Brian’s burning gaze on you, but you ignore it, only focusing on Shawn and his clenching jaw.

“Give us a sec,” he tells to the redhead and pulls you a bit farther from his friend.

“Shawn, please don’t go,” you beg, feeling the tears dwelling in your eyes. Something in you is just screaming to make you stop him.

“I have to. These guys are like my brothers. Wade wants to talk to me and if I don’t go he’ll rip off Connor’s place.”

You can see the guilt in his eyes and you know he would rather stay with you, but he is also too protective over his friends and there is nothing you can do about that.

“It’ll be alright, okay? I’ll smooth it out, no fight involved. I’ll be at your place by the time you get home.”

“You promise?” A hot tear runs down your cheek and his thumb catches it right before it could reach your jawline. He kisses you hard, holding your face between his palms as you grab a fistful of his shirt in your hands.

“I promise,” he whispers kissing your forehead before letting you go.

You watch him jog over to his bike, your knees are shaking as you see him get on it and start the engine. He glances in your direction one more time, giving you a promising smile as you try not to sob, before he and Brian roll out of the parking lot and disappear from your sight.

“Woah, you look like shit,” Rosie grimaces at you when you come back from your break.

“Thanks for the support,” you mumble. You managed make the signs of crying disappear from your face, but you are definitely not feeling better.

“What did the fucker do to you?” she asks, ready to go full tiger mode on anyone.

“Nothing. Can we just… work?” you request tiredly and probably for the first time ever, Rosie just nods without a word.

The rest of your shift feels like hell. You keep checking your phone if there is anything from Shawn and you find yourself staring at the door many times, hoping to see him walk in, but nothing happens. Thankfully Rosie decides not to question you about Shawn on the way home, she just hugs you goodbye, telling you to call her if you want company when she gets off the bus.

When you turn the corner and start walking down your street your stomach drops when there is no sight of Shawn or his bike anywhere near. As your last string of hope you pray he is inside, he just didn’t come with the bike this time though you know it’s impossible.

Opening the door the only thing you see is darkness. Gordon welcomes you with a lazy meow from the couch as he lifts his head up for your arrival. You can’t stop the tears from flowing as you shut the door behind you and collapse on the couch. Grabbing a pillow you bury your face into it, trying to suffocate your desperate sobs as Gordon sniffs you worriedly, not really knowing what you are doing. You reach to scratch his head gently as he stares down at you as if he is questioning if you are alright.

But you are not. Shawn promised to be here and he failed to show up again. It’s breaking your heart ten times harder than last time and you just don’t know what to do with the situation anymore.

Minutes pass by, your sobs come to a halt as you sit in the dark without moving, staring at the same spot on the floor. You know you won’t be able to sleep tonight not knowing where he is or if he is alright. Last time when he didn’t come you just gave up, but you don’t feel like you can do that again. You have to do something, you can’t just sit around and see if he ever shows up again.

You are going to find out where this Connor guy lives and go there yourself. Tonight.

[anotheronechicagobog]

Please can you do one with Severide where you both work in firehouse 51 and the new candidate is trying to get close to you but Kelly gets all jealous? Thank you!!

Hello Green Eyes

by: @anotheronechicagobog

Warnings: sexism, sexual harassment, foul language

A/N: I went a little dark for this one, so if you want me to write another one with the same prompt, I will be happy to do so!

Dominic Perez. That fucking asshole. He’d been flirting with you since the second he walked through the doors of 51 and you wanted to kill him. He was sprouting cheeky pickup lines and sexist comments about female firefighters. It took you years of hard work, determination, and pain to get where you are. You got a half scholarship to go to Concordia University in Montreal and got a degree in programming. Being away from Chicago and your family had been difficult. It was even worse when you got the call after your last exam and was given the news that your dad, a firefighter, died in the line of duty. You had to fly back immediately and couldn’t even go to your own graduation, your degree had to be sent in the mail. The funeral had not only been the most tragic event you’d ever been to, but it changed your mind about your career completely. You wanted to be a firefighter, much to the horror of you mom. She’d begged you to use your programming degree instead, started a job search for you. But you felt like you had to do this. And you did still put your degree to use, you’d started creating apps and working as a freelance programmer. To try and keep your mom at ease you ate dinner with her and your brothers once every two weeks.

You had just finished double checking all the equipment on truck 81 before reloading it all. “You alright baby girl? That looks way too heavy for a sweet girl like you.” You didn’t even bother trying to stop yourself from physically recoiling at Dominic’s words. “I am more than capable of carrying this much weight and doing my job, Perez. And again, please stop hitting on me, I don’t like it and I don’t have any romantic or sexual feelings for you.”

“Aw c’mon, don’t be like that.”

“Perez, the garbage needs to be taken out and the bathroom needs to be cleaned. Get to it.” The order came from the lieutenant of squad 3, Kelly Severide. “Aw, c’mon lieutenant, I’m spending some quality time with Y/N, y’know, I have a feeling it’ll lead to something more.” His filthy words and gestures to me made me recoil. “NOW CANDIDATE.” Perez was clearly shocked and bolted toward the common room to start with his chores. “Thanks, lieutenant.”

“Y/N, I’ve told you before, call me Kelly. Even when we’re on shift. And there are no thanks required, what he’s doing isn’t okay. I wrote up a report and sent it yesterday.”

“Kelly-”

“He’s been harassing you since the moment he got here, he’s constantly disobeying orders, and he’s always pulling dangerous stunts when we’re out on call. The only reason he hasn’t been booted yet is because his dad is one of the higher ups. His dad responded to the report this morning. He said that Perez is going to be under observation by someone from HR for the rest of this shift. If he’s found causing trouble, he’s going to be booted from the academy. Based on the nod I got from Mark, the guy from HR, when Perez bolted, he’ll be booted at the end of shift.”

“Okay, that’s good. I can breathe easy now.”

“Me too.” You frowned at his words, confused. “Why would Perez getting kicked out of the academy be a relief to Kelly?” You muttered to yourself as Kelly walked away because Capp signalled him over, leaving you with Casey.

“Oh, come on, you have to know how much Perez’s harassment has been pissing off Severide. Why do you think he’s been glowering for the past two months?” 

“Okay, so he’s been upset with the way I’ve been treated. That makes sense. He’s a really good friend.” Mat gave you a stare that clearly said ‘you have got to be kidding me’. “Look, Severide isn’t worried about you the same way I’m worried about you. He’s not worried about his friend, he’s worried about the woman he’s been in love with for the past year.”

“What?! He’s what?!”

“Did you seriously not know? Come on Y/N. You have to have known, it’s been way too obvious for anyone to ignore it.”

“Honestly, I noticed but I didn’t want to believe it.”

“Well believe it. And ask him out. Seriously, please just put us all out of our misery.” All that you could do was nod and fiddle with your fingers. You bit your lip as Casey walked away and turned to look at Kelly, who was now talking with Otis and Cruz.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The firehouse was at Molly’s relaxing after a shift. There was jazzy music playing over the speakers as you let the warmth of the alcohol spread through you. “Hello sexy.” Aaaand  there went your happiness. “Leave me alone Perez.”

“Now, see, I don’t think I can do that. I just got booted from the academy for sexual harassment, of all things. I think that since your complaints got me kicked out, you can open your legs to make it up to me.”

“I don’t owe you anything, now fuck off.”

“Y/L/N, you will come home with me or else I-”

“You’ll what, Perez?” Kelly’s voice boomed from behind him. Perez whipped himself around in his barstool before paling once he realized how livid Kelly was. Perez started stuttering and making excuses. “You know what, Perez? Get out. I have had more than enough of your behaviour. Harassing women, my Y/N especially, is not okay. It never has been. So get your pathetic ass out of Molly’s and don’t come back. Got it?”

“Yes sir!” Perez bolted as soon as Kelly stopped boxing him in against the bar. You cleared your throat, making Kelly and everyone near you turn to you. “YOUR Y/N, Kelly?” His cheeks erupted in red. “Uh, well you see...” He let out a nervous chuckle and started scratching the back of the head. “Well Kelly, what did you mean by that?”

“I... uh, I love you, Y/N.” You smiled sheepishly and bit your lip. “Really?”

“Yeah, I mean, that can’t be a surprise, I’m not exactly subtle about it. I understand that you don’t feel the same way, but Perez, god. I hated him so much, the way he was disrespecting you, bothering you, harassing you, if Casey hadn’t pushed me to report it to HR I would have beat his skull in myself soon enough-”

“I love you too Kelly.” You watched his face split in half with the biggest smile you’d ever seen. He cradled your face in his hands and leaned down until your foreheads touched. “You are the most important person in my life, Y/N, I love you so much” You wrapped your arms around his neck and closed the distance with a giddy smile on your face.

[truthaliar]

aiiiiiiight so here’s a post about mental health representation in media; or in other words: my mental health and apparently, the umbrella academy.

ps i am in no way, shape or form a mental health professional - this is just retelling an experience i had

sooo okay i was talking to my therapist. i’m gonna paraphrase this but basically she was like ‘do you watch umbrella academy’ and i was like ‘yea my friends are trying to figure out who is who in my friend group’ and it basically went ‘oh did they put you as diego? good, let’s talk about your hero complex.’ 

now to clarify i’m not typically like super open about it, but i have ptsd & anxiety. my panic disorder is mostly controlled at this point (ie i can now pinpoint triggers). a few weeks ago i finally told my mom i had ptsd after several years and she just responded, ‘i know.’

anyway, i ended up learning that there’s peer reviewed articles about umbrella academy in psychiatric journals, highlighting the show’s potential as a mental health tool. also i never really saw myself in any of tua characters but vaguely recognized my obsession w/ justice in diego, and also saw myself in five’s caffeine addiction. so the fact that a medical person... saw diego - weirds me out a little. more on that in a sec.

so my therapist, i guess let’s call her fran, said that diego’s behavior & habits are tied to his inability to introspect and manage his own emotions so he externalizes & fixates on justice, this external thing that has clear, logical right & wrong, something that he can take into his own hands bc he feels that the system is broken. it’s easier for him to focus on that than on fixing himself.

to be clear she said it’s fairly common for ppl in diff branches of medicine to feel this way to a degree; you’re trained to be more detached from your emotions so it’s not unusual to (slightly-moderately) go either the diego route or the luther route if you begin to lose it (and hopefully not the five route cuz that’s a whole diff story). of course these are extremes (and she said i have parallels to diego, not that i have anywhere near his level of hero complex)

even still when she said that -- it hit different. like when my friends cast each other, it’s something we’ve been doing for years right? it’s just fun, and yea you often poke fun at yourself/each other in the process -- but it’s not the same as a professional saying ‘look at this extreme characterization of what could happen if you don’t take a step back‘. honestly my response was, ‘wow that doesn’t seem healthy.’

so the diego route is feeling like the system has failed you. therefore you want to act against or destroy the system that let you down, that didn’t care about you, that didn’t nurture you, and build something better -- on your own because the whole damn thing is unjust and it isn’t fair. the emotion you use to cope with is anger. and to build a new system you need people to back you. to get people to back you, you need to save them. kill the system, fix the broken. you might think you’re doing it on your own, but your success is still contingent on there being problems to solve.

the luther route -- based on my understanding bc she didn’t think i did this -- is more adhering yourself to the system and saying ‘good or bad, it’s by wedding myself to the system through which i will succeed, and i must be important because the system let me in to begin with.’

ofc any person can begin to display traits of any of those characters or of multiple characters, and to repeat they’re all in rough shape. and just bc she implied those are the two fairly common ways to feel in doesn’t mean you can’t be a klaus or a vanya or an allison or whoever you see similarities with.. like that’s the point. everyone responds to trauma differently. and it’s also a one-size fits all. she didn’t mean to and i do not mean to represent the siblings as perfect representations -- only that it does happen to match my behavior.

fran told me that to snap out of the hero complex, at least sometimes, you have to be able to separate yourself from the injustice that surrounds you n understand that people aren’t helpless and you are not here to save everyone. bc first of all - that’s a lot of fuckin’ work and second of all - that’s kinda rude to assume that people can’t fix their own problems. and unless they ask us for help, it’s our job to let them. after all, i’d be pissed if someone thought i needed saving.

so then comes the part i struggle with which is detaching yourself from the work you inevitably choose that focuses on solving problems. i’m shit at it; i’m always fucking problem-solving. i can’t turn it off. i can’t make it stop. and it carries over from my youth bc i felt like i was the only person that could see the solutions to the very real problems in my life. like diego, i’d zoom in and fixate (helloooo jfk plotline) and try to do something about it. turns out i got pretty good at this, and that spurred my career path. i never wanted to see myself as the victim. ever. even after i endured certain traumas that i don’t want to disclose. in my mind, i was never broken. the situations were just injust; and i couldn’t fix... the people, but maybe i could fix the situations.

so what did justice look like to me? i love my family, so i mostly focused on my career - something i could undoubtedly shape on my own. developed a list of people whose jobs i wanted to steal. out of revenge, feeling i could bring justice to the field by bringing my mindset to the table. sound vaguely familiar?

also probably not the healthiest fictional character to relate to. worse still, even arya was able to let go of her vindictive streak at the end of the day (at least in the show) -- something i am still working on. (also probably a good time for a reminder that the plan is to get good enough in my field to ‘steal jobs’ so that i can mold the field into what i want it to be, not actually physically hurt people). i did take up fencing tho.

soooo now it’s 2020. and i’m 28. and something important happened.

i was talking with my mentor and as we were chatting i realized that there is a job out there that i want. and not because i want to steal it out of a sense of ‘revenge’ -- but because i really like that person’s job. that i could see myself in that position because i love what it entails. and i think it’s the first time i ever saw that.

in eight months of constant therapy, i’ve realized that i do have a dream vet school; i do have a dream job; that my life is more than just trying to fix the world.

complexes don’t go away overnight and i kept things purposely vague - i’ll always have a little bit of ‘save the world’ in me.

but i can now say that tech school finishes in 10 months. it’ll be over in less than a year. i submit my vet school app in a week, with a much more refined & steady focus. i’m kind of ready to pursue happiness again. i’m much more confident that i’ll get where i want to be.

and whatever ya know? i’ll figure it out as i go

but tada there’s the story of my therapist seeing me in diego hargreeves, what the fuck.

[georgecostanzaatemysoup]

The Perfect Date...

So, basically, this movie is about a kid named Brooks Rattigan:

They say his name about 50 times in this movie, so it’d be kind of hard NOT to remember it.

Anyway, he’s a poor kid who wants desperately to get into Yale. Kind of like Rory and her need to get into Harvard during the first 3 seasons of Gilmore Girls, but where Rory was quirky Brooks has to be self-centered or else the movie just won’t work... I guess.

The problem with Brooks’ dream is despite his good grades and extra curricular activities, he is unable to answer the one question I’m sure all of us have had problems answering:

Typical high school movie stuff... and high school stuff in general. If we’re being honest, I’m almost 30 and I can’t answer this question.

Anyway, Brooks has best friend named Murph:

Let’s just say, Murph is the reason I sat through this whole movie. He is computer smart (he’s also dyslexic and plans to write his college’s admission essay about this, which is probably one of the most interesting things that happened in this movie and wasn’t mentioned after he offhandedly said something early on... which, you know, seems to happen a lot) and has a crush on Tuna Melt Guy :

Yeah. Tuna Melt Guy, as he is called the entire movie (the guy doesn’t even get a name which is a problem in itself), orders the same sandwich every day (I guess) and their story is basically a b side, not really touched on, but we assume they end up together by the end type of deal.

There’s also this guy named... Brad the Stereotypical Douche (he has an actual name, but I can’t remember it):

Basically, Brad (or whatever his name was) made a deal with his uncle to take his cousin to a formal at her school, but his girlfriend Madison is supposedly home alone and he doesn’t want to do it. SO, Brooks volunteers because he a) needs the money for Yale and b) really wants to drive Brad’s Douche Mobile (I thought I took a screenshot but I didn’t, so just picture any stereotypical “douchey” cars and you’re golden) just once in his poor boy life.

Brad’s cousin, Celia Liberman:

Who I was kinda hoping WOULDN’T end up with Brooks (we’ll get to that) is that stereotypical “tough” girl who stomps around in her boots and throws a fit when asked to wear a dress (i.e me circa 2005-ish).

So, Brooks takes her to her dance at the most pretentious looking school I have ever fucking seen:

And they do some bad dancing (because the quirky, “tough” girl needs to be a bad dancer... I’m also a bad dancer, but I wouldn’t call myself quirky) and Brooks happens to see HER:

The girl of his “dreams” I guess. I can’t remember her name, but I’ll just call her Veronica because that’s who she plays in Riverdale.

So Veronica, apparently, has a very rich dad (according to Celia, he’s basically sleazy Batman). She’s so rich, in fact, she has actual valets at her house parties:

And she lives here (more on that later).

While on his “date” with Celia, she offhandedly mentions he should make an app where he pretends to date girls who need a date. She’s joking, but Brooks takes it seriously and asks his computer smart bestie Murph to help him make an app:

The app is basically GrubHub but for dates. Basically someone sends Brooks a message asking him to go on “dates” with them and they get to decide his personality, his outfits, and whether or not they need him to talk or listen (man, where was this shit when I was in high school) They set it up like ANYONE can use it, but only girls do in this movie (which it’s fine... I guess?).

So, Brooks starts getting messages and becomes who these girls need him to be. A salsa dancer, a cowboy, a douchebag... just whatever they needed he would do it. So, in a way, it’s not a terrible premise, but it starts to get to his head.

He basically starts pushing Murph out of the whole App process (you know, the creator of the App) and it gets to the point where they don’t really hang out anymore (again, typical high school movie plot), but again we’ll get to that in a bit.

I should probably mention Brooks’ dad:

Mister Rattigan (I can’t remember his first name) is a part time teacher and writer, but he hasn’t written anything in a while (not since his wife left him and started a new family with a new guy). He really wants Brooks to go to the college he works at, but Brooks is deadset on Yale. Which, in retrospect, knowing that your kid wanted to go there you’d think he would have been a bit more supportive.

He’s not a bad dad, not by a long shot, but he’s the typical movie parent who is quirky but wants something for his son that his son doesn’t want (until the end when he decides to go to the college his dad wants him to go to and that’s after his dad gives him a speech about how he’ll support his decision).

So, yeah, moving on. Celia calls Brooks out of the blue to ask him if he wants to pretend to date her to make her crush Franklin jealous. She uses his crush on Veronica to get him to agree. He readily does and tells her about his app.

She makes fun of it, because of course she does, on the way to the party and that’s when they end up at sleazy Batman’s house with the private valet company? I guess?

👆 Franklin 👆, of course is a pretentious hipster because he HAS to be otherwise how would Celia know that she belongs with Brooks and NOT this guy. He basically goes on one of those stereotypical music snob rants about how vinyl is the only way to appreciate music and Celia agrees because he’s cute. This I can relate to because in high school I too went along with stuff because someone happened to be cute.

So, Celia and Brooks start to “date” to make their crushes jealous. Celia also asks Franklin out because they need an “excuse” to break up. While this is happening, Brooks is supposed to be getting close to Veronica because they really don’t have any scenes together UNTIL his and Celia’s “break up,” but that doesn’t happen for a bit.

While “dating” Celia reveals that her dad is conveniently friends with the Dean of Yale and offers to ask him to talk to the Dean about meeting with Brooks. He agrees because OF COURSE he does and the meeting goes well because apparently Brooks researched the guy and lied about how one of his “interests” just so happened to coincide with the dean’s interest. Because that’s normal... I guess.

Afterward, they go and hangout with Murph who commented earlier that week about how he and Brooks weren’t hanging out as much anymore since they made the App. Despite making plans with Murph, and telling him he would not break them for the the App, Brooks does it anyway pissing Murph off in the process. And also dismissing Murph’s worries that he messed up with Tuna Melt guy when he pre made his sandwich (don’t worry, he didn’t, but again this isn’t even touched on much after this until the very end).

Needless to say, adding more drama to the story, Murph switches shifts (at the job they both share) with another dude and calls Brooks a “selfish prick” so yeah, and what pisses me off about this entire fight it takes until almost the very end for Brooks to do anything about it (on screen) which is really fucking annoying, but I won’t get into it.

Anyway, on her date with Franklin, Celia realizes they have very little in common and decides to stop whatever it was they were going to become because of that AND the fact that he reveals himself to be the graffiti artist she doesn’t like (her and Brooks have this entire conversation early on in the movie about how “Trashbag” is probably a white, overly privileged rich boy, and it turns out she was right):

Her bad date makes her “realize” she really likes Brooks (you know, like any typical high school movie... of course someone has to catch “feelings”), but he’s oblivious and doesn’t see that (which makes me wonder how these two end up together, but that’s... not important right now).

His obliviousness aside, they decide to go along with their epic “break up.” But Brooks, idiot as he is, decides to bring in some real truths that Celia had trusted him with and because of that she slapped the shit out of him:

He, being the oblivious idiot that he is, doesn’t catch on and thought seh was acting. Sending her a text that basically said “👍” and goes after the girl he “wants.”

Veronica:

The “perfect” girl... according to Brooks. Who, not surprising” was willing to makeout with him mere SECONDS after his “break up” with Celia... okay.

But, like all of these movies, the “perfect” girl dumps his ass when she realizes he’s been letting girls buy his time to go on dates with them. She’s also (rightly so) upset that he lied to her earlier about where he’s from (Celia told Veronica he was from... some uppity town when he really wasn’t and I guess he never bothered to tell her the truth).

So, yeah, Veronica wants nothing to do with him as does Celia, but Brooks tries to dance with Celia anyway (finally realizing, I guess, that he actually DOES like her at the dance AFTER Veronica walks away.

But Celia turns him down by telling him “I am not your back up” which made me go “oh, maybe these two WON’T end up together” (I was wrong).

So, Brooks has no one and he’s really sad, and he does that typical high school movie thing where he lies in bed, moping, trying to get Celia or Murph to answer his texts (they don’t.)

The next day at school, Murph and he do talk and he apologizes for pushing Murph away, and they make up. WHICH SHOULD HAVE BEEN SHOWN ON SCREEN SINCE THE SUB SHOP SCENE!!! OH MY GOD!!

Anyway, here’s them making up:

Also, “tough” girl Celia has a moment with her parents where she basically goes all John Mox on her mother and basically says, “I don’t WANT your life.” You, know as you do, but unlike Mox hers ends with a Liberman family hug:

I do not take good screenshots...

Anyway, after all of this, Brooks is seen finally writing his college admissions essay, but instead of writing to Yale (like the movie makes us believe) he decides to go to UConn like his dad wanted (plus he had a full ride so, I mean, Yale or not that’s what every kid wants when entering college) he writes a “admissions” letter to Celia basically asking her if they can date.

Yeah.

So, yeah, they start dating (as do Murph and Tuna Melt guy? I think?) or it’s implied they start dating. They kiss at least, so I’m going to assume they start dating (but they’ll probably break up six or seven times because Brooks and Celia seem like THAT couple).

It was an alright movie, I’ll admit, but it was also a typical high school flick. So, take it or leave it I guess.

Oh, one more thing, I still don’t know if he was able to answer the question regarding who he is, I stopped paying attention... mostly. Yeah.

[ohlisaaaa]

Old thoughts

July 23, 2018 I haven't felt this way for a long time. It feels familiar, yet new. And he definitely defies ALL the stereotypes of meeting someone online. Like, you date so much so you know the pattern right? He does the "moves" but doesn't follow the pattern. It's interesting, makes me curious and want to know more. Obviously he isn't perfect, cuz I'd be freaking out. But he's a good, good guy. Anyway point of this was since I deleted all our texts bec I thought he was being an asshole, I have to type out everything lol. Dude you know me and dating memorabilia. Don't think I'm using the word right but we are just gonna go with it. Ok when we first had coffee, he told me straight up he was sweating in the car before he met me lol. He was nervous and said it even in text. I think his last girlfriend was in high school... doesn't matter. He met me at the park while I got sushi and his mom was like what if she stood you up and he said no she doesn't seem like that type of girl and he was looking for me in the window haha. Also I jokingly asked him to ask his mom about coupling tips and he actually did. She said there was too many haha. He walked me back to my car (can't imagine a guy NOT doing that, Melody LOL) hugged x2 then he's like you wanna hang out tomorrow?! He texted me after the park and said it was nice meet June 28, 2018 Palliative was interesting because I've never seen it in person before. Only read about it. M on the other hand was amazing. Seriously, the visits were very insightful. I think I learned a lot. It kind of felt like a sales visit, but at the same time she didn't push the patient or their family towards anything. Just educating them on the levels of care that Residential has to offer after home care. Focusing on the goals. Educating on the importance of what YOU want and when it would be a time for the highest level of care which is hospice. Five wishes which is a form of advanced directives that can be notarized to be legal. DNR and the levels of resuscitation that you want. MPOA (medical power of attorney). The first lady we saw had a wedding that she really wanted to go to the following week and was working really hard with OT, PT to gain strength to be able to walk without feeling short of breath and getting used to her oxygen tank. Curative vs. comfort. Knowing when to stop curative treatments without it working. Getting the courage to be able to make the decision and say no more treatment. Recurrent hospitalizations, poly pharmacy. The diagnosis is leading to a decline. Both patients and their family members talked about how their doctors don't use layman terms and don't know when to stop. They don't listen to what the patient's want. It's not their fault, medical school teaches them to cure the patient. But there needs to be The Journey department was created to bridge that gap. Home care allows me to see what happens when something unexpected happens August 2, 2018 I just don't understand. I guess it's not for me to understand. It's not for me to dissect apart. It is the way it is. Why do I have to go through so much disappointment, so much heartbreak. My anxiety is through the roof. My mind is wandering aimlessly with no end. The voices in my head can't stop My heart wants everything to halt Dating filled my empty hole after my failure. I don't know how I'm going to get past it. If I ever do. It feels like I'm just moving through time, not really feeling. Not really tasting. Not really smelling. Not really hearing. Not really touching. Like all my senses have gone numb. This isn't who I am. Worst part is I don't know how to come up through this. Doesn't help that people in my life disappoint me one after the other. People are wishing Charles a happy birthday and how he's the best person ever and yes he may be the best father and nurse on earth but oh boy. Do they want to know his other side? Pisses me off. Can he actually be a man and tell me straight up? Nope, he just likes to ignore me while I tend to every beck and call. I have to be strong and not let him take advantage of me. Mistakes happen right? And Paul. I spent so much time with him. And he just ignores me. Why does everyone I meet in my life expect ME to save them? I wish the world could just quiet down. Just stop. Just leave me alone. Just leave me the fuck alone. And I know. I know the power to do it all is within me. I have to be strong. The only person that can save me, is me. The only problem is, what happens when I already ran out of strength? May 29, 2018 After the busy long weekend, I’m feeling so tired. Mostly emotional. Think I’m getting my monthly visitor. It is that time. I JUST DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO. Can someone just tell me what to do, step by step? I was thinking about it and dude this is my rock bottom. Like I can’t even sink any lower. I do have to say, I’m excited for my new job but that’s it. Graduate school went down the hole, it’s been a month but I don’t feel normal. Maybe I need a new normal. I just don’t feel motivated. LIU sent an email out saying they are unmatched cuz someone decided not to go. Annoyed emoji. I don’t even know where to begin. I wanted this for so long 😦 Oof shall we go into the romantic part of my life? I tell myself this is a fun thing but shall we face the actual facts? I think this will make me more unstable. I can’t not have feelings for things, you know? HE IS 37, WITH TWO CHILDREN + TWO, NOT ONE BUT TWO BABY MAMA’S. Laughing emoji. Dude, I know I can have fun but is this really the way? I really don’t think I can even have “fun” when I seriously can’t handle myself emotionally. Still in the process of loving myself. And when I justify having relationships with people who I normally wouldn’t go out with, it’s a problem. I don’t think I’ve made any sense, to be honest. So many racing thoughts. Ok, I shall use what Matt taught me and focus on one thought or I’ve noticed focusing on one object helps. And yes, I think I need a new normal. I think I will give myself one month (more) to just think everything through. I want to adjust to my new job too. And focusing on myself, no dating apps. Exercising and not overeating for the past couple days so that’s good. I want to be proud of my body and feel good. So since my main focus was school and it’s going to happen for some time, my mind needs a new distraction because obviously, my mind can’t sit still. So it just so happened to be Charles. But dude, I seriously wonder why the universe put HIM in my path. I’ve read a quote somewhere that says having daydreams is good because it motivates you to achieve your dreams and I use to daydream 24/7 about interviews and I got one from Michigan. And dating an older guy, Charles wasn’t exactly what I had in mind but yeah. I like to think it’s telling me that I have to focus on myself because he clearly isn’t the one so I shouldn’t fall head over heels with the first person who notices me. If I want something, I need to really want it. Also, I have to stop seeing the good in everyone. Some people just have bad in them. I have to grow thicker skin too. I know I want to sleep with him, buuuuuut I probably shouldn’t. The reckless side of me is saying do it, do it. But the responsible side is saying no, this will end badly (like the Jake situation, cough cough). Charles is cool, more like a friend though. Because I know I don’t believe this now, but I deserve better. I deserve better. I deserve better. Someone who puts me first Someone who is interested in what I have to say Someone who will go on midnight walks with me Someone who will hold my hand in alleyways Someone who will talk to me no matter what time of the day it is Someone who will support anything I do I’m not looking for anyone to complete me, someone who will love me unconditionally.

[archivistsrock]

I finally got to see Papi Chulo this weekend! I never thought the day would come! lol. I swear, it's been like a million years since it first was at TIFF.

Here’s the trailer for the movie:

General impressions: I really liked it! It was playing at a theater that was over an hour away from me, so I didn't want to ask any of my friends to go (they aren't Matt fans. I mean, that makes it sound like they don't like him, which isn't true...they're just not FANS). So I dragged my mom with me LOL. She's a trooper. Anyway, because I dragged my mom there, I was a little preoccupied the whole time wondering/worrying if she was bored. I really need to just go to Matt movies alone so I'm not focused on the enjoyment of the person I'm with. I worry too much.

But anyway, it was good! It was sweet and sad and funny. It was a little slow-paced, I would say. But not necessarily in a bad way. There are a few things that are revealed during the movie that makes things more impactful. I knew about them beforehand, bc I'm a slut for spoilers ha, but probs would have been more impactful if I hadn't known.

Matt is really good in it. I adore his character (Sean). He's just a really nice guy. Well-intentioned. Obvs has some flaws, but who doesn't? It's nice to have a movie where almost every scene features Matt. <3  Alejandro Pitino was also great in it. And Janet from The Good Place is also in it! lol.

To be honest, I don't really see it as a "buddy movie," which they seem to kind of be marketing it as. Mainly because the friendship is really one-sided. Ernesto maybe "gets along" with Sean, but I think it's a big stretch to say they're friends. The movie is much more about dealing with loss and loneliness than about friendship, and of the importance of real human interaction. By nature of Ernesto being an immigrant, the movies touches on some issues related to that, as well...but I don't see them as nearly the main focus.

I had kind of stopped reading reviews about the movie bc, tbh, I was just super annoyed that I couldn't see it. After viewing it, I went and read the more critical review on The Wrap [x]. And honestly? She's not wrong. I think some of her critiques are a wee bit harsh, but overall I can't really argue against most of her points. That said, I definitely don't think the movie is OFFENSIVE. But I do get the criticisms and why some people may not enjoy it. But I really did.

Okay, now I'm going to get really detailed and spoilery by request, so stop reading if you haven't seen it and don't like being spoiled! I warned you!

Okay, here's a run-down of the movie -- as detailed as I can get, considering I saw it 4 days ago and tbh my memory kind of sucks. It starts out with the clip we've all seen of Matt doing the weather forecast and having a breakdown on air.

Go to 6:35 to see that clip below:

He tries to claim it was "gastro" related, but obvs no one buys that. They force him to go home and take a leave of absence to figure things out and get better (istg they later refer to this as "gardening leave" and is that a thing in some places??? Like, you get leave to work on your garden?? OKAY I just looked it up and LOL it's just a term for someone still getting paid after they're suspended or on leave or terminated. It seems to be a British term. Must have come from the director, who's Irish. Or have other US-folks heard this term?). Anyway, back to the movie.

So he's at home. Nice house. Good view of LA. Lots of coyotes howling at night.  He's arranged to have a couple people come by to pick up this rare tree that's on his deck, that belonged to his ex-boyfriend, Carlos. He keeps calling Carlos and leaving voice messages. "Hey, just letting you know I'm getting rid of your tree." Etc. So they drag the tree away and we notice that when Carlos painted the deck, he didn't bother moving the tree, so there's a big unpainted circle in the middle of the deck. "Typical Carlos..." So Sean drives to the small hardware store to get supplies to fix this.

Outside the hardware store, there are a bunch of Latino immigrants/laborers hoping to get hired by people to do...home improvement/handy man stuff. Sean sees Ernesto and seems preoccupied/interested in him. Ernesto, as you know, is an older more burly Latino guy. Sean goes into the hardware store are talks to an employee about paint for his deck. "I just need a small amount to cover a little spot on the deck." "Aren't you going to paint the whole deck so it blends in?" "Haha, I see what you're trying to do there. No, just the tiny-ass sample can please."

So he gets home and starts painting in the circle, and it's painfully obvious he'll need to redo the whole deck, since all the rest of the paint has faded. So he drives back to the hardware store and is like, "Yeah, so I know I ignored your advice before. Sorry, I'm dumb." He buys more paint and a bigger brush. So he drives home with all his stuff, again passing the laborers and looking at Ernesto.

Once home, he checks his email and there's messages from his friends about how he's doing -- presumably since his break-up with Carlos. He's been avoiding his friends, and they're telling him he needs real human interaction and should talk to someone. He has kind of a light bulb moment and drives back to the hardware store and pulls up alongside the Latino laborers. He's like, "Hey, I need someone who can paint." A bunch of them are kind of in his face about it, wanting to be hired. Ernesto is just hanging back, quiet. Sean points to Ernesto and asks if he can paint. He's like "Yes. $20/hour." "Great!" (although Ernesto speaks little English and Sean speaks little Spanish, so it wasn't that easy). So Ernesto gets back in the car and they drive to Sean's house.

He kind of reminds me of me during this part, because he hired Ernesto to work for him, but when they're getting out of the car and Ernesto gets the bag of paint, Sean is like, "No, no! Let me get that!" They go back and forth a bit, but Ernesto ends up carrying it. Anyway, I always feel weird having people do things for me, even if I'm paying them. So he shows Ernesto the deck and we get the other scene we've seen before. The "more than one day" scene. "Mas que un dia."

Sean is all like, "Do you want water? Food? Are you okay?" etc. Ernesto is kind of amused but also just like...leave me alone and let me work. This is weird. I don't understand anything you're saying.

Sean goes and gets lunch and  brings it back and yells out to Ernesto, "Lunch!" Ernesto is like...okay. Time to eat, I guess. And sits down on the deck and takes something wrapped in tinfoil out of his bag. Sean is like, "No! Inside! I brought lunch for us!" And it's like this whole big spread. Some type of Asian cuisine. I can't remember which, but Ernesto picks up an eggroll and is like, "Taquito!" lol. You can tell Ernesto is a little uncomfortable with everything, but he's also just like...rolling with it. Okay, you're paying me. I guess we're eating lunch.

Then Sean convinces him to leave with him and they go to a park and Sean wants to go out in a rowboat. Sean wants to row, but Ernesto is like, "Yeah, I'm not going in there with you unless I row." So he ends up rowing. Please note, that all this "conversation" is not as smooth as I'm writing it! Ernesto really doesn't get much of anything Sean says. Anyway, Sean treats the rowboat ride like he's in therapy. He just starts spilling his feelings and issues out to Ernesto. Ernesto just nods like, "Yeah, okay." At one point, I think he does say something like, "I don't understand anything you're saying." Sean is like, "I feel so much better just saying this stuff out loud!" He falls asleep in the boat, and Ernesto calls his wife and is like, "GUESS WHERE I AM?? IN A FUCKING ROWBOAT WITH THIS GUY." His wife is like, "Ha! He's gay and he totally digs you." Ernesto is like,"Yeah, he's gay. But he doesn't like me. I'm old. I'm fat. Why would he like me?" His wife is all cute and is like, "I'm a woman. I know these things. He's into you." Then Sean wakes up so Ernesto hangs up the phone.

They get back to the pier and the rowboat operator guy says, "I like this whole "Driving Miss Daisy" situation you guys have going on!" Sean gets pissed and is like, "What do you mean?? We're friends. Why would you say it's like "Driving Miss Daisy"??" The operator guys gets all uncomfortable and is like..."Umm...because he's rowing you around....?" So Sean is pissed that the guy assumes he paid Ernesto to row him around. But also like...it's true. As much as Sean is annoyed that the man is making that assumption, they really aren't friends. The only reason they're there together is because Sean is paying Ernesto. So he then drops Ernesto back off at the hardware store at the end of the day and is like. "Tomorrow? Here at the hardware store?" "Okay." Then he pays him the money he owes him and they part ways.

I don't recall exactly the timeline here, but at various points throughout the movie, Sean is scrolling through Grindr, or whatever hook-up app it is he's using. He's also shown lying in bed at night and is tortured by the sound of coyotes howling.

He picks up Ernesto the next morning and is like, "We're hiking. Not painting." So he takes him to Runyon Canyon to hike. On the hike, Sean keeps talking talking talking and Ernesto is still like, "Okay, I have no idea what you're saying." At a scenic viewpoint, they're looking out at the city. Sean casually asks where Ernesto lives, and this kind of freaks Ernesto out. Like "Why do you want to know??" Sean's like, "Oh, I'm just curious!" Anyway, he points and says the general area (I can't remember which town/neighborhood it was). While they're standing there, one of Sean's friends sees them and comes over. He volunteers to take a pic of the two of them, and when he does, he says, "Cute couple!" Sean starts to correct him but then doesn't. Ernesto doesn't say anything, obviously. The friend then invites Sean to a party he's having the next evening. Sean does learn a little about Ernesto throughout the few days together. He learns he's married and has kids. He sees a pic of them. Honestly, that's about it.

Ernesto calls his wife from here and again is like, "Guess where the fuck I am now?? HIKING. Yeah, it's pretty." But he actually feels guilty for getting paid to go on hikes. His wife is like, "Whatever. He's paying you. Cool beans." Sean then takes Ernesto to a health market and wants him to try a shot of some gross health drink. He takes a sip and is like, "No. This is disgusting." Sean's like, "Yeah, you're right. It's horrid. But it's healthy and I'm drinking it bc it cost a shit ton." Oh, while Sean was buying the drink, one of the store employees went up to Carlos and handed him a bunch of boxes because he thought he worked there. He got him mixed up with another Latino guy working there. Awkward. White people are dumb.

Sean drives Ernesto back the hardware store and is like, "Okay, tomorrow. Meet you here. Also, we're going to a party later that night."

I don't remember the next day very well. I assume maybe Ernesto did some work? Not sure. Anyway, they then go to Sean's friend's party together. It a big party of all gay men. Ernesto gets kissed on the mouth (not in a sexual way) by one of Sean's friends. He obvs feels a little uncomfortable. Mostly bc he doesn't know any of them and I assume can't communicate with them. He doesn't seem to have a big issue with gay guys. Whenever Sean's friends see Ernesto, they're all like, "Oh, I get it." We later see Sean's phone contacts and a pic of his ex Carlos, and he is also an older, burlier Latino man. So clearly, Ernesto reminds Sean of Carlos. Now we understand his...obsession? Fixation? Attachment?

Ernesto calls his wife from the party is is kind of freaking out about it. "A MAN KISSED ME ON THE MOUTH." But his wife is like, "Dude, have fun." So he seems to have a decent time. Then they leave the party in a Lyft and there's a pretty great scene where Madonna's "Borderline" comes on the radio and Ernesto is like, "Hey, I know this song!" So they drunkenly sing it together in the back of the Lyft. The Lyft stops at the hardware store, and they're both sitting in the back of the car looking at each other. Sean looks a little confused as to why Ernesto is sitting there looking at him. He then leans in to kiss Ernesto, but Ernesto is like. "No! I'm waiting for my money." The Sean's like, "OMG yeah. Sorry." And he pays him and Ernesto gets out. Then the Lyft takes Sean home.

We then see Ernesto make his way home. He has to take a couple buses. He finally get home and we see his house and his wife. It's a pretty nice house. Normal, I mean. Not Sean-level nice. His wife is awesome. Ernesto is like, "Honey, you were right. I am irresistible." "I told you I knew!" Then they go to the bedroom to presumably have sex.

The next day, Sean drives to the hardware store but none of the Latino guys are out there. He's confused and asks someone driving by where all the men are, and the guy's like, "It's Labor Day, you fucking idiot." So Sean drives home. He gets drunk and ends up inviting a guy over from Grindr. He quickly gets in the shower (shower scene!), and ends up falling in the shower while holding a glass and cuts himself a bit. Then the doorbell rings so he gets out. He answers the door clothed, but wet. The hot guy is like, "You're wet." "I just showered." Sean invites the guy in and asks if he wants a drink. "Not at this hour." (early) "No, no...just like...water?" Sean turns to pour a glass of water and hot guy strips naked in the kitchen. Sean turns and sees him and is like, "HOLY SHIT!" and drops his glass. He goes down to pick up the glass, and pops back up all bloody. His head is cut, his hands are cut up. The naked guy is just like.."Are you okay?? Are you drunk?" And is kind of legit concerned for him. Sean is like, "No! I'm fine!" Naked guy is like, "Um, I got naked because I assumed we were going to...?" Sean is like, "Listen, can we just talk?" Naked guy puts his clothes on and is like, "You need to get your shit figured out. Only you can make yourself happy." Then he leaves.

At some point...today? Tomorrow? Yesterday? I don't know, but at some point he goes back to the news station to be like, "Hey! I'm ready to go back to work!" His boss shows him the video of his breakdown that's on youtube. AWKWARD. And they're like, "It's been 4 days. Leave." So he does.

He calls his ex Carlos to say...something. But instead of getting his voicemail, he gets a message saying that the number has been disconnected. He freaks out and calls someone and asks the lady on the phone why the number was disconnected. "Why wouldn't we disconnect it? Carlos has been dead for 6 months." :O So now we learn that Carlos isn't an ex...he actually died 6 months prior. So this is why Sean is having such a hard time. There's then these flashback scenes from previous moments in the movie. We see Sean in the rowboat talking, but he's alone. We see him hiking and talking to no one. At first I was like, "Did Sean make Ernesto up??" But no, that's not it. I think this was just supposed to represent that Sean was using Ernesto as a stand-in for Carlos. He felt so much better those two days talking to "Carlos," but Carlos wasn't really there. He was still alone. Ernesto isn't his lover, isn't his friend. Just a guy he hired. [I think? Anyone else have other interpretations of this?]

The next day he goes to pick up Ernesto and he's not there. He tries asking the other men where Ernesto is, and they're basically making fun of Sean. "Hey, I'll go on a boat with you!" Word has got out that Sean is having Ernesto do all this weird shit. I think Ernesto's wife was talking. Sean seems to frantically need Ernesto. He drives to the town where Ernesto said he lived (population of like 60,000) and just starts asking people if they know Ernesto. Some kid steals his phone and whacks him over the head with his skateboard. Sean goes into a bar and gets wasted. He then sees a guy go into the bar that he recognized as Ernesto's brother-in-law from a pic Ernesto showed him. So he follows him to a house, and there's a Quinceanera going on. I guess Ernesto's daughter?? But I didn't remember him having daughter that age, so I could be wrong. idk. Anyway, Sean drunkenly crashes the party. They dump him in one of the kids' bedrooms where he passes out. He wakes up later and slinks out.

Time has passed during the next scene, and Sean is back at work, but makes an announcement that this is his last weather report. He's leaving. We don't know where or for what. But we had learned earlier while he was talking away with Ernesto that he doesn't even like being a weatherman and he actually hates the weather in California. So it seems he's moving on. He seems much healthier. He write Ernesto a letter apologizing for crashing the party, saying how ashamed he is and that he was going through a tough time.

Sean's at home and the doorbell rings. He goes to the door and it's Ernesto's son (like 8 years old??). Ernesto comes out of the truck with painting supplies. The kid acts as an interpreter. They go up to the deck and Ernesto starts working. Sean is like, "You don't need to do this! Why are you finishing the deck?" Ernesto is like, "Because you sent me $200 with the letter." Sean is like, "No, not to finish the deck! For room and board!" He sent him the money as an apology for crashing the party and for them letting him sleep it off in their house and for some food they left out for him. Anyway, they start sanding the deck together (Sean is a terrible sander). Ernesto is like, "You're not paying me!" They laugh. Movies fades to black.

[topimagines]

Love Her Madly- Part Five

You woke up alone on the couch with a blanket draped over you. You sit up looking around but there was no sign of Josh. you looked around the house to find yourself alone. You went back to the couch and checked your phone and saw only one notification, a text from Josh.

From Josh

Needed to go for a run. I’ll text you later. I’m so sorry Y/N.

You furrowed your eyebrows at why he left and never woke you up. Why would he have said he was sorry?  Maybe he was stressed about something or maybe he had realized how controlling he got the night before. He could get a little carried away sometimes.

Brendon could too, but in a very different way. Any chance he got he would spoil you. He never got rough unless it was discussed between the two of you. Josh was great but nothing like Brendon, but being with Josh made you forget about all the things Brendon does for you. Josh brings out a different side of yourself, and you sorta liked it.

You unlocked your phone and see you had a bunch of texts. Weird they weren’t on your lockscreen. You look to see you had gotten a text from your best friend Jenna.

From Jenna

Call me asap.

7:36 am

This is really important. Please call me soon.

8:01 am

You’ve probably seen it already. I’m so sorry. Please call me.

8:16 am

Things are only getting worse online. I don’t know the full story but I need you to call me.

8:43 am

Really concerned about you. Should I come over?

8:54 am

You didn’t know what she was talking about. Maybe someone caught you and Josh, but that wasn’t a possibly. You were both so careful when in public.

You dialed Jenna’s number and she immediately picked up.

“Y/N where are you?” she blurts out.

“I’m in my living room. Why?” you question and you hear her take a deep breath. “What’s up?”

She doesn’t say anything. You can tell it’s bad news, you knew her too well. You were best friends with Jenna and you knew when she got silent something was wrong.

“Jenna.” you pause “what’s wrong.”

Her breath is shaky “Y/N I’m so sorry, but Brendon was caught last night with another girl at a club.”

You could hear it in her voice, her heart broke for you. You sat there blank for a moment before it really hit you what Jenna had just said.

“No.” you voice breaks and a tear falls down your cheek. “How?”

“It’s all over the internet Y/N. There is pictures of him kissing a girl at a club last night and leaving with her.” she listens to you silently cry for a minute before speaking again. “Do you want me to come over? There is sort of more that I wanted to ask you about. Well Tyler and I wanted to.”

“What is it.” you say, voice cracking. You had a feeling you knew what was coming next “I can take it.”

“Well they’re saying the reason Brendon cheated was because you cheated on him.” she pauses. “With Josh.”

“Okay.” more tears slip down you face. “Thanks for telling me. I’m gonna go think about some things. I’ll call you later.”

“We’re here for you Y/N and we always will be. Love you bestie. Stay strong.” she tells you and then the phone call ends.

You stare at the wall in front of you. Maybe Brendon knew and that’s why he cheated. There had been some rumors of you and Josh a few months go but you put them down quickly and Brendon said he never believed it for a second. Maybe he had a change in mind. You felt so bad and not for yourself. You fucked everything up.

You pick up your phone and look up Brendon’s name. Immediately articles popped up about last night at the club. You found a video that was posted an hour ago from a celebrity news source. You clicked on it and were welcomed by a woman standing in front a tv with Brendon’s picture on it.

“Welcome back to Celeb News. Breaking news in my opinion the cutest couple L.A. has to offer is in some deep shit after last night. Yes Brendon Urie and his wife of four years are yet again in the headlines for cheating, but this time it isn’t Y/N, or is it. Brendon was caught last night by paparazzi kissing another girl.” the picture on the screen changed to the picture of Brendon kissing the blonde. “Y/N was spotted in L.A. that afternoon shopping and wasn’t a blonde. So unless she dyed her hair and took a plane at the same time, that was not Y/N Brendon was all over. Brendon was later seen leaving the club with her and her face sure confirms this was not Y/N. the usually cheery and happy to meet camera couple wasn’t there. Instead it was a regretful Brendon and a strange woman.”

You look closely at the picture of Brendon. His face showed full regret. He looked shocked and you could practically feel his guilt.

“Why would Brendon do this you may ask? They look so happy and Y/N seems to always be there and supporting him. Well rumor has it she isn’t the victim in this case. Y/N has had a lot of suspicions and conspirisory surrounding her for the past few months about her being with Twenty One Pilots’ drum player Josh Dun. Although these two have never been seen together in public in a suspicious way they’re bond just seems a little too friendly to just be friends.” you knew this was your fault. How could you do this to Brendon.

“Panic at the disco’s lead singer announced early this morning that he is very sorry to all of his fans, but he will be canceling tour until further notice. He explains in a tweet that he needs time to rethink his mistake and work on repairing all the damage he has caused in his loved ones lives.”  

You couldn’t watch anymore. You were the one the needed to fix things. Brendon felt so guilty for cheating once yet you had been cheating for months and didn’t stop even thought you felt guilty. You felt like you should had been mad at Brendon, but you weren’t. You were mad at yourself. You were pissed at yourself for letting things go on this long.

You close the app and open your text messages to text Brendon. You see that Brendon had texted you multiple times. The messages were open, but you don’t recall ever reading them.

From Brendon

I miss you. The old you. I wish it could be just you and I.

1:43 am

You assumed he was drunk sending these.

I love you so much. I can’t believe I still love you through all of this.

2:01 am

Take him and leave me. I’m so sorry.

2:16 am

There wasn’t another text until around 7 am.

Y/N i’m so sorry. Please just let me speak before you read or watch anything. Last night was the biggest mistake of my life. I’m coming home. I’ll be there by 10. I love you Y/N. Never forget that.

7:12 am

You look at the clock and it says 8:53. You don’t respond to Brendon. Knowing things were going to go down once he got home. You hated yourself. You wanted to run, but you knew that wasn’t a good idea. Brendon deserved an apology, well he deserved a wife that didn’t cheat and break his heart, but it was too late for that. You had to sit here and deal with all the guilt and hatred for yourself.

You went to your and Brendon’s room to see if Josh’s bags were there but they were gone. There was no sign of him. You decided to shower off and put on some sweats and tee shirt. You looked like shit, but you didn’t care. The only thing on your mind was the Brendon would be home soon. Before leaving your bedroom you sent Josh a text.

To Josh

I see you left in a hurry. Probably a good idea. I’m sorry for everything. We should have never let it go this far.

Sent 9:39 am

From Josh

Brendon’s texts woke me up this morning. Sorry for going in your phone. I love you Y/N I’m sorry things had to happen this way.

9:41 am

You couldn’t bring yourself to text him back. You wanted so badly to delete him from your mind and memory. Brendon was your one and only.

But Josh was something else.

You force yourself to pick up the house. You fold the blankets on the couch, put the laundry into wash, dust off Brendon’s piano, and wash the dishes. You hoped this would distract you from that fact the your life was crumbling slowly and there was about to be a landslide.

 You had just finished washing the last dish, putting it on the drying rack when you heard the front door shut. You took a few deep breaths forcing your tears away before you forced yourself to turn around.

Brendon stood in the kitchen entryway. His eyes were bloodshot red, cheeks rosy and stained with tears, his hair messy like he had been pulling on it out of anger. Brendon had a natural presence of happiness, even when he was pissed. There was no happiness present in his body. You took your eyes off of him to stare at the floor.

His voice cracks and you can tell he had been crying a lot more than talking. “How do you do it?”

[kariachi]

Okay, second episode of the day, LaGrange Muraille.

Apparently one of the chars here has Kevin interactions later on in the series, so of course I have to watch this shit like a hawk.

~~

Oh look, the Great Wall

Gwen- here for the view. Max- here for the food. Ben- here because the other two are here.

1) this season is just big on teaching Ben patience isn’t it. 2) Ben has an app to call Glitch.

I still don’t give two shakes of a rat’s ass about Glitch, btw. Worst part of Innervasion, does nothing for me.

Ben: I’m gonna see the whole of the Great Wall! Gwen: Uh-huh, sure you are

Ben is so annoyed there’s so far to go and not safe for the Wall for him to use alien stuffs he isn’t even noticing fireworks

Oh look, it’s the guy who supposedly interacts with Kevin eventually. Not surprised he has what Ben refers to as “the coolest car I’ve ever seen”.

Okay I had to go back to confirm that we actually have seen Vin Ethanol before. It was in that national park treasure hunt race episode back in season 1. The only mention I have of him in my notes from that one is, quote, “I like the dude with the tattoos”. Also y’all better be happy with the detail and length in these liveblogs now because the early ones were for shit. This one is already nearly as long as the one for that episode.

So yeah, hi Vin. That cannot be your real name, but we let Zombozo go around getting called that so I guess I can’t give you flack. At least it’s cool.

He didn’t go to prison for being involved in that episode, he just got community service, which he did. “Of course I did, the community’s like family! And nothing is more important to me than family.” You really want me to like you, don’t you Vin? Listen dude, you’re already on thin ice because I’ve seen people talk about you getting Kwarrel’s position, which would ruin my chances of getting him back, watch it.

Also dude is fucking intense.

Strongly family-oriented, good with kids, I’m not going to continue liking you Vin, I’ve made my decision, you are a threat to getting Kwarrel, I can’t have it.

I do not understand half the words that came out his mouth but I feel Kevin would and would die.

A V12 engine, dear gods. You can’t find that shit in actual cars anymore, it’s all boats and planes and military vehicles now.

“A lot of hard work and patience went into this car. Start now and you could build one like it by the time you’re old enough to drive.” Stop it this instant, Ethanol, I’m not liking you! No matter how good and encouraging you are towards a kid you shouldn’t have reason to like by the standards set by this franchise! Or how clearly I can see Kevin latching onto you like a fucking barnacle! I won’t do it!! You can’t make me!!

Oh dear gods he has decided to teach Ben to change a tire because- quote- “You ain’t gonna understand the rush you get building a car unless you get your hands dirty” Stop it you monster!!

He’s so good and encouraging how dare he!!

Oh look, it’s LaMoron. Ruining everybody’s day from the look on Vin’s face.

*sigh* Men.

Also can I point out that is a really shit ramp? Really Vin you’re better than this. LaMoron isn’t, the man thinks you win speed records via distance racing, but you are. Tell me you are.

Oh Vin. I mean I get it, jumping the Great Wall would be awesome, but really. Did you see that ramp? It’s placed horribly. And built horribly. I’m just saying, Kwarrel wouldn’t do this.

Slapback? Interesting choice, Ben.

Bitch! LaMoron needs to get slapped upside the head at best, as worst he needs to shot in the gut. I will let y’all decide which is preferred.

Welp. Vin is in the zone, it seems. Also knocked Slapback off LaMoron’s car with a crowbar which, really Vin.

*sigh* Ya know, I’d forgotten Glitch was gonna show in this episode. Now I am disappoint.

LaMoron is just a fucking dick.

Vin, not as much an asshole, doesn’t wanna fuck shit up, just wants to race.

“Ethanol, get the boy off our tail!” “You tried driving faster than him?” I’m not going to like you, Vin, we’ve discussed this.

“He’s gonna destroy our cars!” “Speak for yourself.” No. I won’t.

“We were family once! You wouldn’t turn your back on family.” I’m not sure whether I’m more intrigued to hear that Vin and LaMoron are in some way related (how even?) or pissed off that LaMoron is that brand of asshole. Dude I don’t wanna like Vin but I already preferred him to you so back the fuck off!!

Vin is not happy, but also he has a load of pictures including LaMoron attached to his sun visor. Looks like they’re brothers? Maybe cousins? Either that or relatives of the “our parents were besties since before we were born“ variety. There’s a baby picture there. A joint mugshot. Them just, being close. Also them with the others in Vin’s intro episode.

Just, is very clear that 1) Vin’s probably been putting distance between him and LaMoron, which given his stunts I wouldn’t be surprised. 2) He does care, but at this point he has to keep reminding himself that. 3) LaMoron is a dipshit taking advantage of the fact that Vin is very dedicated to his family.

(I’ll be honest at this moment I kinda wanna see him take Kevin under his wing because I wanna see the disaster that would fall if LaMoron tried to pull that shit against Vin’s specific kid. Holy wrath is all I can picture.)

“You better not make me regret this.” Oh yeah, Vin’s tired, and feathered, of this bullshit.

Well he handled Ben quick and easy. “Nothing personal Tennyson, family just comes first.” Damnit Vin.

Max and Gwen need to contact Ben. Max’s idea- scream as load as we can and the sound should carry to him. Gwen’s idea- just grab her goddamn cell and call the boy.

Somebody notices the ramp is shit! Thank you Gwendolyn!

Vin is happy to be actually racing LaMoron, instead of just going fast while the dipshit tries to be as much an asshole as possible.

And LaMoron just fucked up kin for the sake of winning a race. Tell me you are gonna burn those picture, Vin, or at least cut him out of them because damnit I’m done for you.

And Vin is pissed. And hurt. Good. Go kick LaMoron’s ass.

Vin is this close to taking something out as long as it’s not his car. Which he loves. Ben is just, trying to survive the moment, FourArms or no.

“LaGrange doesn’t deserve to be part of your family.” “You might be leaning a little hard into the whole family thing to win me over here, but I like what you’re going for.”

Have I mentioned today that LaMoron is an asshole? Because he’s really waving his asshole flag this episode.

Welp.

And lo, the ‘ramp’ collapses just from having a car on it. Shocking. And Ben throws LaMoron over the wall, as he deserves.

9/10, though I will note this ranting is given under duress!!

[witchqueenofthemoon]

BODY AND SOUL Part 11 (Duncan Shepherd/Mackenzie Stone Millory AU)

BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST

Author’s Note: AHHH I CAN’T STOP WRITINGGGGG okay, so, the Tiffany moon necklace is real, you can find it on their website here (now I want it for myself, but it’s almost $3000 sob). I debated over whether or not Duncan and Melody should have had an awkward rendezvous in the past and ultimately decided that if I were working in close proximity with Duncan Shepherd as a 21-year-old intern I too would have tried to put my hand drunkenly on his crotch at some point, so my point of view towards her is one of empathy and solidarity and honestly it just made sense to my story (lolol). Bill Shepherd is going to show up at some point, but the impression I got from the show is that he and Duncan only interact when they absolutely have to as they don’t get along; Duncan gravitates to his mother and she acts as a mediator, so Bill will have a very minor role in this story. Not sure if Beau Willimon ever came up with a middle name for Duncan, but I couldn’t find one and made one up (Malcolm). At this point I’m sort of trying to follow the timeline of the show in a VERY loose sense (and I guess this is a spoiler, but I am going to bring in the fact that Duncan finds out Annette is not his real mother into my fic soon, mostly so Kenzie can comfort him and stroke his hair and give him soft, sweet, sympathetic kisses cuz I am a sucker for that sweet comforting shit); the upcoming show Duncan, Melody and Seth go over in this chapter is meant to be the one where Melody talks about Claire Underwood’s “public breakdown” in episode 5; I’m not going to include Duncan getting arrested in this fic though, because it’s my fic and I can do whatever I want and I hated the fact that they chose to end Duncan’s character that way. Had to add that line from O Fortuna...because the Duncan/Michael parallels will never end. “She walks in beauty like the night...” is Lord Byron, a poem I was obsessed with when I was younger and have always wanted to put in a story. Kenzie making chicken and dumplings is a reference to the fact that Billie Lourd is fucking obsessed with chicken. Most people know Hades was the God of the Underworld; few people know he was also the god of gold and riches, which is very Duncan. It was important for me to imply Duncan had extensive cooking wares in his penthouse; that he cooks for himself. Dudes who can’t cook are a turn-off. Kenzie cooked for him because it made her happy to do it; it’s a way she’s showing him how much she loves him, not something she felt like she had to do, and I plan on them cooking together in future chapters. That moment Duncan leans against the wall across from Kenzie as they look out the window is my homage to the Cody lean. The prayer to Nike is a real one. Full-disclosure, the passing-out after really great sex is something that happens to me pretty often; I go into post-coital daze pretty hard, so Kenzie doing that is literally based on my own experiences, haha! Duncan will finally meet Madeline in the next part, but we’ll be seeing it all through Kenzie’s eyes.

Duncan had left the interview with Gretchen Friedrichs with his mind buzzing; he stepped out of the elevator with a vague pressure humming between his temples, rubbing his thumb into the palm of his other hand, trying to calm the simmering anger that was still hovering over him. He wondered, with some alarm, when the gossip website was planning on publishing Kenzie’s name and occupation. He wrestled with the idea of telling her; no, he thought, I have to do everything I can to ease her into this world carefully. God, I know she’s afraid and that kills me; I have to do everything I can to soothe her fear, not exacerbate it. One thing at a time.

He pulled his phone out, opening the Uber app and ordering a Black car; then, he opened his texts and sent one out to Kenzie; telling her about the Gala, about his mother’s stylist, about the theme (the theme is you, angel).

Kenzie: That’s beautiful, baby. I can’t believe you did that.

Since you’re the only thing I can think about, it seemed natural. And he knew it was true. She was filling this thoughts and his heart and his senses; nothing else seemed to matter, not the show or the company or the app or his mother, not Uncle Bill (who would I will likely hear from soon, he thought, hand coming up to his jaw, and he won’t like this at all). The emptiness and shallowness of the work his mother had enveloped him in since he was barely out of high school suddenly overwhelmed him; beside the luminous, boundless, sublime emotion of Mackenzie, her glittering, effulgent reality, the rest of the world had lost its brightness; it was black and white, and she was made of colors he had never seen and couldn’t begin to describe.

He looked back down at his phone. Kenzie had replied.

Kenzie: I think those women from the coffee shop posted something on Instagram already. My coworker said something to me as soon as I got into the office.

Fuck, he thought, rapidly typing. She’s going to need a bodyguard. I don’t want to scare her, but that’s going to have to happen very soon. He sent her Samuel’s contact; he’d given Samuel hers earlier that day after they’d dropped her off at One Franklin Square. “Please help me keep her safe,” he’d asked Samuel, his eyes meeting the warm brown gaze of his chauffeur in the mirror; as they always did.

“You have my word, Mr. Shepherd.”

Kenzie: Okay, baby. I feel overwhelmed.

Duncan’s heart resounded painfully in his chest; oh god, baby, he thought. I want to hold you so much right now. I want to shield you from all of this. He thought of the tender, aching way she’d brought her little hand down to his cock that morning, her little moans as she stirred awake under his kisses. He longed to soothe her in his arms; the anticipation of waiting for tonight felt like a thousand tiny, sharp knives were pressing into his skin, jarring and disconcerting. He wanted to be alone with her; he wanted the world to melt away, turn its eyes from them. I’m here. Anything you need or want from me, tell me right away. This will get easier in time, baby. I promise. I’m already dreaming about how hard I’m gonna make you come tonight. At home.

Kenzie: I’m dreaming about you too, baby. She’d left a lipstick-stain emoji at the end; he shivered, looking down at it, his mind drifting back to her mouth around his length that morning, the kisses she’d pressed against him outside One Franklin Square, in view of two dozen people, and how he’d gripped her against him, unable to care; lost in her, immediately aching as she ran away from him.

He walked out onto the sidewalk in front of the Ritz-Carlton (“Have a pleasant day, Mr. Shepherd,” the doorman said cordially; holding it open for him, and Duncan gave him a nod, trying to maintain his mask of calm) and stepped into the car waiting for him in front of the hotel. He had a meeting with Melody and Seth that would take a few hours; he winced at the withering look he knew was coming from Melody in particular. Oh well. It all had to come out; it was coming out, and he’d just have to weather the anger and annoyance that was coming his way, weather the disapproval and disbelief. Kenzie deserved that from it; she deserved everything. His patience, his courage, his resolve, and his love.

He opened the Instagram app; he glanced at his mentions, wincing. There was one of the photos the woman had snapped; I look fucking pissed, he thought. Kenzie looks like an angel. He loved the way she was tucked under his arm in the photo; loved the fall of her hair against his leather jacket, her little hand around her necklace. She fits there as though that’s where she was always meant to be. The piece of me once cut away, and now reunited. And me; the piece of her, now wrapped around her again, as if some fateful prophecy has finally been fulfilled. I'm not going to let anything tear us apart now.

Duncan saw her handle in his mentions; @kenzielouwho. He smiled, gazing down at his phone screen. I love that. Her sweetness. He hit the follow button, scrolled through her pictures, goggling at them, his face alight. He double-tapped again and again; here she was, her lovely taste and her coordinated little outfits and plants and the moons and stars of her world, her hair falling like a cascade of gold, laughing at the camera, smiling next to Claire, grinning over plates of food, snapshots of sunsets and evening lights and cute animals she met, books she was reading, songs she was listening to. He felt overcome again; overcome with the affection he felt for her, overcome with how much her happiness affected him, how much he wanted to bring her the joy he saw in her face in the photos, how much he wanted to be the source of her comfort and her love. He couldn’t help it; I’d do anything for this woman. I’d do anything. He found the photo of her looking out from the table at the coffee shop, a little moon at her throat, her sweater falling off her shoulder; he left the pierced hearts at the bottom with a feeling of wild abandon. You’ve pierced not just my heart, but my soul, and your happiness is my happiness, your comfort my comfort, your joy my greatest joy. He wished she was here so he could press the words against her skin with his lips; press into her and breathe deep, breathe her into him. To be away from her was such sweet torture. Looking through her pictures made him feel like there were flowers blooming and closing in quick succession in the center of his chest. He felt completely overwhelmed by them; again, he felt overwhelmed by her realness, her reality; the fact that she existed was astonishing again and again. I never want to wake up from this dream.

He found the video that had been taken of them (oh god, that went up fast) and blushed at the ardency with which he clutched her in them. And I thought the other picture was obvious, he thought sheepishly. But in that moment it had felt like no one else was there. He’d forgotten the world entirely, lost in her eyes and the waist of her skirt on her hips and her bare arms and the way she’d looked up into his eyes, the way she fit against him. There hadn’t been anyone else there, he thought. Not really. It was only us. It was only Kenzie.

-----

Duncan stepped into Shepherd Hall towards the upstairs offices and the Beltway studio where he was supposed to meet Melody and Seth, glancing down as his phone echoed out its soft text chime; Mom.

Duncan Malcolm Shepherd. You’ve exacerbated this situation considerably. What the fuck were you thinking? Clearly you are infatuated and it’s making you behave like a drunk frat boy. I understand that public encounters are somewhat inevitable, but kissing this girl in front of a crowd is absolutely unacceptable. Your uncle is furious. I can only control him if you control yourself. Get yourself under fucking control, Duncan. Focus on our objectives.

Shit, he thought. Shit, meet fan. Fuck Uncle Bill. He’s dying and he’s bitter about it and he wants to make someone else suffer before he kicks it. And I’m not going to play into it. He didn’t reply. You know we’re together, Mom, he thought. I told you I love her. What else do you want from me? I’m not a fucking child. I’ll do what you want when it comes to the company, but not when it comes to her.

He took the back staircase up a floor to where the offices were; the studio was set up at the end of the hall. As he came through the doorway, he was met with the very annoyed gaze of Melody Cruz; his eyes glanced over to where Seth sat beside her, nervously focusing on the memo pad in front of him, eyes skirting between the two of them, then back down.

“Oh, hello, Duncan,” Melody simpered, plastering a painful-looking smile on her face. Murder, her eyes shot out at him. Stone cold murder. “Nice of you to finally grace us with your presence, I know how busy you are lately.”

“Melody. Seth.” Duncan ignored her tone, pulling the chair at the head of the rectangular table in the far corner of the studio out, sitting in it neatly, putting his phone face-down on the table in front of him, crossing one leg over the other, using all his will to keep his expression neutral; cool, calm, collected, impenetrable Duncan Shepherd. Everyone seemed hellbent on getting a rise out of him this morning; of all the people in his life he considered close, it seemed only Samuel was happy for his good fortune. Fine. Perhaps it wasn’t unreasonable to reevaluate the roles of others in his life in the first place. “Let’s go over everything for the taping tomorrow.”

“I guess you’re just going to pretend like you haven’t been making a total mockery lately of all the work we’ve done, then?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what the fuck you mean, Melody.”

Seth’s eyes fluttered between them again, licking his lips, clicking a pen nervously in one hand. “Um, everything’s fine, Melody, I’m...I’m sure there won’t be any effect on the show.”

“Are you fucking dense, Seth? Of course it will fucking affect the fucking show! Madeline Stone’s fuck-ing daugh-ter!” She slapped her hand against the edge of the table, enunciating sharply. “You think our audience is primarily comprised of intersectional feminists and people who buy cage-free eggs?”

“Melody, you’re out of line.” Duncan felt his temper rising; a temper that hadn’t really settled since Gretchen Friedrichs tried to blackmail him half an hour ago.

Melody went quiet, her eyes burning, her expression infuriated.

“I understand the reasons my relationship may be a shock to you--”

“You better fucking believe it’s a fucking shock. I’ve never known you to be one to even call back for a second date, let alone whatever it going on with you right now. What, you fucking love her?”

Duncan gazed at her; her dark eyes met his icy blue stare evenly. He felt his tendency towards manipulation and coercion begin to try to float to the surface of his composure; for a moment, he considered firing her. It’s what last week’s Duncan would have done, he thought, and strangely, he felt a nervous edge creep into his composure; he was rubbing a hand along his bottom lip before realized he was doing it, looking away from her. This Duncan had been unutterably shaken by a little gold angel in a black dress. This Duncan was not the same man who had last sat in this studio, last plotted out the trajectory of how best to unseat the sitting President of the United States, last given Melody sheets of propaganda to read on air. I’m not totally sure who this Duncan is, he thought; Melody still stared, her expression seeping into confusion at his metamorphosing reaction. I just know I don’t want the same things I wanted a few days ago. I want her. And I don’t care what anyone thinks of it. I care what she thinks first and how she feels first and I don’t care who her mother is and I don’t care how many times people see us kiss on the street and I don’t want to be away from her, not for all the money in the world, not for all the power, not for the world itself or a hundred worlds. And nothing any of you say is going to make me leave her.

“Yes. Melody. I love her.”

Melody scoffed, leaning her head back into the headrest of her swivel chair, crossing her arms under her chest, turning away from him. Once, long ago, when Melody had been an intern for Shepherd Unlimited, they’d slept together. It was a hasty, short-lived event; neither of them had even really undressed for it, and Duncan hadn’t been able to come; they’d both been drunk and she had pressed a hand suggestively against his crotch and the scotch in his blood had convinced him that it was a good idea and it wouldn’t matter the next day, the way the scotch in his blood had decided halfway through that his cock was ready to go to sleep. Neither of them had ever really mentioned it again; but Duncan knew that Melody had never really let it go. Not in words; it was always in looks. But he wasn’t sure if her anger really had all that much to do with who Kenzie’s mother was as it had to do with the fact that this girl, whoever she was, was the girl Duncan Shepherd had decided was the one for him, kissing her openly in the street, standing in line with her in coffee shops with his arm around her, holding her hand on the way to private rooms in posh French bistros, cameras be damned.

“I guess this is why you fucked up your interview so many times the other day,” she said icily. “Thinking about her perfect little pink pussy.”

“Melody.”

“Seth, give him the fucking outline.”

“Melody. I’m sorry. I’m sorry about that time.”

Melody’s eyes fell on him, shining; shocked.

“I’m truly sorry about that night. I appreciate you and the work you do immensely; I see the long hours you put into the show and Gardner Analytics. I haven’t told you that enough. I know that happened a long time ago, but it was stupid, and we should have talked about it after it happened, and we didn’t. I should have said something to you, apologized, and I didn’t. This apology is far too late, and my timing is terrible. But I am sorry.”

Seth was carefully drawing circles on his memo pad; he pretended to look at his phone, as if engrossed in whatever he saw there, but Duncan could see how rigid his body was.

Melody continued to stare at him, not speaking. He uncrossed his legs and sat up; sat with his arms resting on his knees. He cleared his throat a little.

“I know it’s not convenient. But the truth is, I love Mackenzie Stone. It wasn’t expected; it wasn’t planned. It happened. Annette knows, and she knew before the video and the photo from today. I understand your hesitation and your concern for the future of Gardner Analytics and the show. But the reality is, my relationship will continue regardless of whether or not you approve of it; whether or not anyone approves of it who isn’t Mackenzie or me. But I am sorry, Melody. I respect you deeply as a friend and as a coworker. And I’m sorry my apology took so long.”

Melody bit her bottom lip, and he could see her arms clenching against her torso where she had them crossed. Then, she looked down at the folder in front of her, opened it, and passed him the sheet of paper on top.

“Outline for Episode 153.”

Duncan nodded, reaching for the paper, pulling it toward him, as Melody blew out a long breath, and began her overview.

--------

It was after 6 by the time Duncan left Shepherd Hall; he looked down at his phone (he hadn’t for hours as they went over the episode--as this one was supposed to be about President Underwood’s thus far very public breakdown, it had to be flawless) as Seth and Melody walked away from him. Melody had looked over her shoulder, giving him a strange look that he couldn’t decipher, then waved shortly, turning away--it gave him the feeling that something minute and ever-present had been vaguely fixed between them, though. Kenzie and Samuel had texted him; Samuel’s was at the top, more recent, so he saw it first: Mr. Shepherd, Miss Mackenzie is safely at home. If you need my services, I am now available to you.

Yes, please, Samuel. I’m at Shepherd Hall. I need to go to Tiffany’s.

Samuel responded right away. Very good, Mr. Shepherd. I will be there in ten minutes.

He scrolled down to the text from baby, angel, beloved

Kenzie: There were a bunch of reporters waiting outside the building when I tried to leave work. My boss helped me through the back door, but two of them still found me. Thankfully Samuel was there, but I think they got me on camera. I don’t know who they were with. I’m okay. Samuel was wonderful. I’ll be so relieved to see you, baby.

Oh, no, he thought, his heart sinking. Someone beat buzzpopfeed to their info. He knew how clever people could be online; they found the tiniest clues and used them to sleuth vast swaths of information (once, a fan on Instagram had zoomed in on every toiletry behind him in a selfie he’d drunkenly taken in his bathroom and made a list of “Duncan Shepherd’s Go-To Grooming Must Haves”, which was published by a gossip site soon after). Seeing Kenzie run into One Franklin Square on camera was a dead giveaway, and he raked a hand through the curls at the side of his face in frustration. That was so fucking stupid of me. I should never have gotten out of the car after her. I should have controlled myself. And now people are trying to molest her at work. That’s my fucking fault. He wondered if it was buzzpopfeed that had found Kenzie on the opposite side of her building; they were notorious for breaking into private residences and crossing police lines, inventing elaborate scenarios to get onto upper hotel floors where they knew celebrities were staying, and wearing hidden cameras. That’s just the sort of shit they’d do, he thought. And if they got her on camera I don’t doubt it’ll be on their site soon.

He thought about going to the site to check, but stopped himself. I’m sure I’ll get another angry text soon enough from Mom if there’s something new, he told himself. And what, she’ll be angry at Kenzie for trying to leave work. As if there was an alternative.

But Mom: she’s easy to love. She’s so lovely. When you meet her, how could you not see it? Mom, I love her. You’ll see why; and then, you can’t tell me what I’m doing is wrong. Then you won’t be able to say I’m making a mistake.

The thought was like one he would have had when he was a child; lost in the orb of his mother, always admiring her, always certain with an unshakable conviction that she was right. Always sure that she knew what was best. The innocence of the thought struck him; even if he knew now that his mother was far from perfect, and that her intentions were often underhanded, he couldn’t shake the hope that she would warm to Kenzie in time. The alternative was unthinkable.

Samuel pulled up, Ella drifting quietly from the interior: your daddy’s rich, and your mamma’s good-lookin’...so hush little baby...baby, don’t you cry...Duncan pulled the door open, letting the warm evening air drift over him and push his hair back, a strange wave of nostalgia washing over him; a mixture of sadness and hopeful longing. If such a wonderful, fateful thing could happen to him; meeting her at all, finding her at all, in a world of so many people walking past each other every day without a second glance, surely the miracle of his mother accepting and loving her could, too, come to pass. O Fortune, like the Moon of ever-changing fate, ever waxing, ever waning...where had he heard that before? The line echoed in his mind as Samuel pulled away from the curb, and they were both silent, a quiet understanding passing between them; Duncan nodded to Samuel through the mirror; thank you. Thank you for taking care of my Kenzie today. Samuel’s eyes seemed to glow in the dim light; seemed to him like twin moons in a black sky.

I’m so glad you’re okay, baby, he texted Kenzie. I’ll be home soon. I can’t wait to hold you in my arms.

------

An hour later, Duncan stepped out of the BMW in front of his high-rise with a very distinct blue box tucked carefully under his arm; his eyes glided up to the 30th floor, where he knew he could sometimes see into the long window of his penthouse if the light was right in the evening. He could see the reading lamps near the window were turned low; could see the reflection of light coming from where the kitchen and dining room were to the north end of building, but he couldn’t see Kenzie; she wasn’t near the window, it seemed. An almost-vanished sliver of moon hung over it, like the rind of a melon devoured. He walked quickly into the building, anxious to be near her; the doorman, Jerry, nodded to him with familiarity. “Mr. Shepherd, fine night.”

“It really is, Jerry, hey,” Duncan moved past him, giving Anchaly a nod. Anchaly gave him a knowing smile; his copy of Tropic of Cancer catching Duncan’s eye for a moment. “Enchanting,” Anchaly said as he walked past, eyeing the blue box under his arm. “She walks in beauty, like the night / of cloudless climes and starry skies--” Duncan grinned at him, heading to the elevators, feeling flushed. “And all that’s best of dark and bright / meet in her aspect and her eyes,” he finished, as the doors slid open.

“Just so,” Anchaly agreed, and turned back to his book.

Duncan looked at himself in the long mirror as it climbed, unaware that Kenzie had done the same only a few short hours before; his hand pressed along the smooth line of his leather jacket, only just now remembering he’d worn the same clothes for two days. He sniffed his armpit carefully; not too bad, considering. He ran a nervous hand through his hair; still nervous, he wondered. Still trembling to behold her grace. I hope that feeling never fades. I don’t know how it could. He thought of how she’d looked clutched against him in this mirror, in that haze of their first night together; how it had made his cock throb, his nerves set on fire, her little body pressed to him, his hands in her hair. He felt his cock growing hard now, pressing with urgency into the lining of his tailored slacks (her little tongue in my mouth, her little nipples in my fingers, my hand between her legs, her laugh, her smile, the light falling on her); he ran his fingers along the edge of the blue box, swallowing carefully, pressing a thumb along his jaw. The doors slid open, achingly, seemingly impossibly slow. He walked to his own door, heart thumping wildly, as though it belonged to her now; it’s because I belong to her now, he thought. And I’m happy to obey her every whim.

He used the second keycard he carried in his wallet to unlock the door; it was usually tucked into the inner lining of his wallet, but he’d moved it to the spot where the old one used to be in his billfold; the one that now belonged to her. As Duncan opened the familiar doorway of his apartment, warm, wonderful smells enveloped him; food smells, lovely and enticing and comforting.

“Kenzie?”

She emerged to his left; from the dining room, a room he never used, a room that would be gathering dust but for the housekeepers’ attentions. Kenzie’s face looked tired; there were small dark circles under her wide hazel eyes, and her cheeks were pale, but her lips were pink (like roses), as if rosy from hot liquid; she was wearing a little slip dress that fell almost to the floor, one of the straps falling down her arm, and its color reminded him of wine grapes firming on twisting vines. Her neck was bare and her hair fell around her shoulders, catching the light of the diamond-drop chandelier.

“Hey, baby,” she said quietly, and her eyes seemed dark again as they stared at each other for a long moment; green and bronze. “Hi.”

He put the blue box down on the stand by the front door, his eyes not moving from her face.

“Baby...” he whispered. He closed the distance between them, his hand coming behind her head and cradling it, the other falling down her cheek and neck to her shoulder and down her arm, feeling insistently, hungrily, with terrible relief. She fell into him with urgency, her hands grasping the lapels of his jacket with tight little fingers, her mouth opening to him with need. They stood this way for a moment that felt like an eon, a lifetime, pressing into each other, lost in the solace of each other; he thought again that he’d be happy to die now, breathing into her. She lifted her mouth away a little and he tried to follow her; “baby, today was the strangest day,” she whispered into him, closing her eyes, face lifted up to him, hands pressing up his arms.

“I’m so sorry I followed you out of the car--” he started, his voice tinged with the remorse he felt, tinged with regret.

“I’m not.” She looked into his eyes, her little body sighing. “I’m glad you did. Now everyone knows you’re mine.”

He smiled; his hands fell through her hair and down the small of her back, loving the smooth feeling of the dress through his fingers, the silky strands of her. He turned his face, kissing the corner of her mouth; he moved his lips so they trailed along her bottom lip, biting a little, sucking gently, and he was thrilled at the moan that seeped out of her, her eyes fluttering.

“I got something for you.” He stepped away from her, gently gripping her hand and pulling her along with him, towards where he’d left the blue box on the stand by the door. He stroked the contours of her knuckles and fingers for a moment as she glanced at the box, her face curious; then, with a small burst of excitement scattering through her eyes. He handed it to her with both hands, stepping close. “Oh, Duncan,” she murmured, looking up into his eyes again, making him shiver with the devotion he felt, frozen in her gaze.

She pulled at the white ribbon around it, the black lettering emerging from underneath it; Tiffany & Co. He took the ribbon gently so she could lift the lid, and as her eyes fell on what was inside, the little laugh of delight that escaped her filled his heart with tenderness that made him want to press his face to her neck. Inside the box was a platinum necklace on a long chain; the charm at the end of it was a crescent moon set with brilliant round diamonds, which immediately threw their glow against her face, under her eyes. “A moon,” she whispered.

“The moon on a string, for you,” he replied, grasping her hand again, pressing his thumb over it. “My beloved.”

“It’s perfect. It’s too much--” Her eyes took on that overwhelmed glimmer; he shook his head, pulling her mouth onto his again, shushing her worry.

“It’s not. It’s not nearly enough. I wish I could pull the real moon down and give it to you.”

She grinned into his lips. “That’s beautiful. But I don’t know what I’d do with the moon all to myself. The world needs her. I love her best where she is.”

“Of course you would say something like that,” he whispered into her, his thumb brushing a gently trail from her cheek to her earlobe, twisting a strand of golden-brown hair through his fingers.

“Like what?”

“Something so lovely, and so kind, and gentle.”

Her eyelids fluttered downwards as she blushed; he could feel her shaking a little under his touch. He gently lifted the necklace from the box, and he reached out with his long fingers, pressing the index of his left hand into the hollow of her throat, trailing it there.

“May I?”

She nodded, her green-tinted eyes staring at him again, her mouth open ever-so-little. She lifted her hair and turned, exposing the whiteness at the back of her throat, the bumps of her spine and the incline of her shoulder blades above the dip of the dress; he resisted the urge to kiss her there, later, and unclasped the hook, lifting it around her head, his fingers brushing against her with longing as he clasped it at the nape of her neck. She turned around again, facing him, a sweet smile playing at the corners of her lips; “how do I look,” she asked, her eyes falling into him.

“Like an angel,” he said, hands against her shoulders, fingers trailing. “Like a goddess.” And she did to him; the soft light on her skin and her hair, dazzling against the little round diamonds in the crescent moon, the shape of her little breasts pressing against the soft velvet of the lilac-colored dress. “You look like Persephone, goddess of spring.”

A strange look came into Kenzie’s eyes; one of a dawning realization, or a familiar deja vu; she brought her little hands to his cheeks, trailing them softly along the stubble on his jaw, onto the bottom of his lip; he pressed his mouth against her fingers, closing his eyes.

“Then that makes you my Hades, God of Wealth, King of the Underworld, Lord of the Dark Places.”

“Spooky.”

She giggled.

“Thank you, baby. I love it so much. I love you...so much.”

“I love you too, Kenzie. I love you.” He opened his eyes again to her; everything I have is yours now, he thought. Everything is for you. All of me.

“Come have dinner.” She smiled mischievously, pulling back from him. She held his hand and pulled him through the doorway into the room he never used; its centerpiece was the long cherrywood dining table that once belonged to Duncan’s great-grandfather, a piece passed down to him by his mother when he moved into his penthouse years ago. Kenzie had found one of the linen tablecloths packed away in the drawers of the darkwood sliding-door china cabinet Duncan never touched; it was carefully tucked around the table, and on it was a lovely spread; she’d moved some of the pillar candles from the coffee table into this room, lighting them in the center, and their warm glow dazzled into his eyes, making them tear.

“I made chicken and dumplings,” he heard Kenzie say softly. “It’s one of my favorites, my mom always made it for me when I was growing up, especially after she’d had a particularly hard day; now, to me, it’s always comfort food.” His eyes roved hungrily over the spread she’d created; his favorite shallow cooking pot full of fluffy dumplings covered in speckled parsley, and steamy, bright chicken stew; another platter had smoky tendrils of broccoli rabe, and a third had an array of colorful root vegetables, yellow beets and dark orange chopped carrots and purple turnips.

“Kenzie, this is wonderful,” he said, squeezing her hand. “Thank you for cooking for me. I’m so happy you did this for me.”

“I wanted to,” she said, shyly, the diamonds around her neck catching the light, her cheeks, pale when his eyes had first fallen on her, now glowing with her emotions and the touch of his fingers. “I wanted to make you something because you’ve been so wonderful...because you’ve made me feel so wonderful…”

“Kenzie, baby,” he couldn’t stop, he pulled her into him again, aching, his body shuddering into her, his lips falling along the side of her face, and she sighed into him, “God, I missed you so much today, I wanted to see you so much…”

“I felt the same way baby, I’m so happy you’re home--”

He pulled her hand up to his face, kissing her open palm with terrible softness, overcome.

“I’m starving,” he said, grinning at her, and she smiled back (my moonlight), kissing him, nodding, saying “Me too, let’s eat, let’s eat.”

-------

Over the dinner Kenzie had created for him, Kenzie told him about everything that had happened to her after she ran into One Franklin Square; “Ben Wilder is basically the Annette Shepherd of the Washington Post,” she said to him, her eyes flashing. “Everyone is terrified of him, and he demanded I get you to give him an interview. It’s impossible to hide any modicum of gossip from him.”

“I’ll give him an interview,” Duncan said between mouthfuls of Kenzie’s savory chicken and dumplings. God, this girl can cook. I can’t wait for us to cook something together, he thought. I can’t wait for us to cook together for so many nights to come. He watched her eyes goes dark with surprise at his words. “...You will?” He watched her fingers fall to the diamond moon hanging at her beautiful throat; Kenzie, baby, I love your fingers there, I love your fingers, my little moon, my Persephone--

“Of course.”

“Duncan, I work for The Washington Post.”

He laughed a little, drinking down a mouthful of the Grand Cru he’d opened for them, bringing the bottle over to him, pouring more into his crystal glass, pouring some into hers carefully. “Kenzie. I know.”

“So...how is that going to be okay with your mother?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll do it.”

Her eyes shone out at a him from where she sat across from him; he was at the head of the beautiful cherrywood table, and she was sitting in the seat to his left, facing the doorway to the kitchen, her little face soft in the candlelight.

“Okay,” she said, and the smile that spread over her cheeks was like the blush of spring flowers in the rain. He reached over to her; her fingers curled through his, and the energy that passed between them was like the rolling crash of thunder over an open plain; wide and intense and open and circling down into the cores of their bodies, through the fingers that touched. They gazed at each other for a moment, hands tightly together. Then, Kenzie grasped her wine glass in her little slender fingers, stood, and, still clasping his hand against hers, said, “I seem to recall a bold claim from this morning.”

He looked up at her; she glowed, and his breath fell away from him.

“A certain Prince of the Underworld, he of vast fortune and troves of gold and black flowers with silver stems, told me he was going to make me come...so...fucking...hard.”

Duncan smiled; smiled with an all-encompassing happiness that pierced into the center of him, one that made him want to scream with its intensity; he let go of her (I don’t want to)  and wiped his mouth on the cloth napkin at his lap, but as he stood, she moved away from him, gazing coyly into his eyes as she did, over her shoulder, cradling the wine glass against her; come and get me, her eyes whispered. His groin shuddered with a coiled sort of agony and he pulled his own wine glass with him, languidly, following her slowly, leaning against the door to watch her move through the kitchen and the wide front room, flipping the light switch so they were bathed in darkness, as she moved towards where the long glass window stretched, its blank face gazing down on the city lights; the silky movement of the dress against her back and her ass, one of the straps falling down again, the incline of her breast almost completely visible to him, the waves of her hair down her back; Duncan imagined flowers tangled in the strands, peonies like the little flowers on the glass of water he’d pulled in her hand, roses like the roses on the balcony and in the bathtub, the candles clustered around them, her body hovering over him in the water, her fingers clutching at his stubble.

She gazed out onto the city, quietly, lost in her own thoughts again, it seemed; he felt like he could almost see the gentle cascade of her thoughts in this moment, the hazy warmth of the wine spreading through her, the pain and confusion of the day fading and spreading down into the city, away from them; he put this moment, looking at her, bathed in a soft glow, into the memories of her he would always cherish, always have locked in his heart. He watched as she sipped the wine, the crystal edge of the glass reflecting the golden helmet of Pallas Athena beside her.

“You know,” she said, as he moved towards her, carefully, “today, after I got here, I looked at your home for a long time. Its energy. Its spirit.”

“What did you see?” He couldn’t remove the longing from his voice; everything I want, everything I need, he thought. It’s you. Only you. He came up against the other side, against the wall of his study; he leaned against it, his arm propped up, trying to look out at the capital city’s glow; but his eyes turned to her, almost involuntary, lost in her.

She dipped her head down for a moment, thoughtful, her eyes to the steep incline of the ground, thirty stories down; the crystal glass glinted in her hand again, throwing stardust against her cheek.

“That you love art and beauty. That you love books. That you love the strength of women; the strength and yes, the beauty, and the beauty of men, too, I think. I think so. And that you have a great and hidden depth in you, Duncan Shepherd, one that perhaps not everyone around you sees; one that you hold secret, pressed against your heart.”

He kept his eyes on her. She turned to him, dazzling, soft, and he noticed her wine glass was almost empty now.

“I think you really are like the God of the Underworld; a prince on a cold throne. And I think you need a Queen made of Light who sees the light in you. And I think I am her.”

She stepped away from him once more; looking over her shoulder again, setting the crystal glass next to Athena, a swirl of red still in the bottom, moving on to the soft, low light of the bedroom. His breath seemed caught in his chest; he put his own glass, a little wine left in it, an offering, next to Nike, whom he stood near; bring me Victory, blessed Nike, whence I toil like the bees, you bring me honey--

As he entered the bedroom (quiet black sheets, the cover thrown back) he saw her pushing the dress from her shoulders, stepping out of it; she was naked underneath, and his nerves thrilled to realize she had been naked underneath it since he came home; thrilled at the secret she’d held that he had not realized, but she left the necklace on, the moon made of diamonds, and Kenzie looked over her shoulder at him, her long lashes languid as she laid down on the bed, sighing into it, bending one of her knees so her thigh fell over her sex, hidden from him just a little, her face turned to where he stood there at the door, leaning against it, staring over her.

Kenzie moved her legs apart, her sweet little sex opening to him, reminding him of that first night, days ago--

He pulled his jacket off quickly, about to pull his shirt off just as quick--but she murmured “slow, baby, I wanna watch you,” and he slowed himself; anything you want, angel, he thought. Whatever you want, now and always, and as he unbuckled his belt, now shirtless, he watched her little fingers go down between her legs and rub at her little clit, her mouth falling open.

“Baby, stop,” he said, firmly.

Her eyes widened at him; her finger paused its circles at her core.

“Put your hands up above your head. Against the headboard.”

Her eyes went darker; that glow, forest-green, haunting. Kenzie lifted her hands up, grasping onto the slats above her. Her mouth was still open, lips parted just a little, her breath coming out in tiny, quiet gasps.

“I’m gonna make you come.”

He watched the shiver fall down her body, starting at her shoulder, through her torso, her hips, her legs, to her toes. She gripped the slats harder, opening her mouth a little more. He pushed his pants and his briefs off his body, staring at her, his cock falling against his fingers for a moment, making him moan, and then he reached down and picked up his belt where he had dropped it; he let it hang carefully down from his hand for a moment, watched her eyes travel over it, a mixture of desire and apprehension in them, then he climbed onto the bed, between her legs; he didn’t touch her, but she wrapped her legs around his thighs, the head of his cock brushing for a second against the open lips of her sex, and they both shuddered. He lifted his arms up and pressed the smooth leather strap against her little wrists; she let out a moaning little cry that made his heart feel as thought it was going to burst out of him, but he concentrated on the task at hand; he wrapped the straps around two of the slats, buckling them together behind it, pulling the strap tight against her, not too tight, but enough to make it so she couldn’t move her wrists out of the belt; he watched her hands flex for a moment, and then he looked down into her wide hazel eyes; she nodded to him, eyes fluttering, and he moved his long hands down her arms, fingers closing over her round breasts and gripping the diamond moon above her breasts for a moment, down further as he moved his body back, hands on her waist and now her hips and now her thighs, pushing then further apart; he saw the little tears glittering in the corners of her eyes, felt the shiver of her body under his hot hands.

“Is it okay, baby?” he whispered, hesitating.

“Yes, baby, yes,” she whimpered, an edge in her voice that made him shake. “Yes, fuck, yes…”

He moved his head down to hover just above her folds, above the lip of her clit; his hair fell over his forehead, brushing her belly, the dip of her bellybutton; she shivered, crying out again; then he pressed his lips into her, his tongue laving out to urge against her core; he looked up as he did, watching her arms resist the constraint of his belt holding her for a moment, tight on her wrists, pressing into her skin, her little mouth stretching in need; “Duncan, fuck, ohhhh--”

“You like being tied up like that, baby?” he whispered, then he pressed his tongue against her again, long and slow and aching, and her hips bucked into him, and she let out a little shuddering cry that made him painfully hard, made his cock jump against the sheet.

“Y-y-es, baby, yes…”

He brought one of his large, long hands up, fingers curling; then he brought it down suddenly, a soft but sharp little slap onto the sensitive slit between her legs, and she cried out again, leather pressing into her little wrists.

“Did you like that?”

“Yes.” The tears glimmered in her eyes again; her cheeks were rosy, and he could see her pussy slowly turning dark pink from his attentions. “Yes. Do it again, baby.”

He lifted his hand again, his palm and fingers flat; this time he brought his hand down again, harder this time, slapping her clit with a rough immediacy.

“Fuuuuck, fuck!” Kenzie moaned. “Please, suck my clit, baby…”

Duncan leaned down, eagerly, his lips closing around the bud of her; he sucked deeply, carefully, his tongue swirling over her, and he felt her hips buck into him again, her moans strangled and needy and unwinding.

“Kenzie, I’m gonna make you come hard,” he whispered into her, his breath making her buck into him again, and again, her mouth a little O, her wrists shaking, “and then I’m gonna make you come again after that.”

“O-okay, baby,” and her voice was shuddering, high, driving him into white feelings of madness.

He worked his tongue against her again, and his fingers came up; he pressed two, his index and middle fingers, into the wet core of her body, curling them, flexing back and forth, his lips sucking into her clit again. She cried out again; “Baby, I am gonna fucking c-cu-um,” and he kept his mouth pressed heavily into her clit as she shuddered under him, his fingers still buried inside her pussy as her wetness fell against them, moisture gathering between the spaces of his digits, sweet-smelling and thick. She continued to shudder for some time; he laid his head gently into her abdomen, his fingers coming out of her, soaked with her, his hands pressing into her jutting hipbones, tracing them and leaving traces of wetness and his lips pressed into her skin, ignoring his own hardness, his own need, for the moment.

“Oh my god, oh my fucking godddd,” Kenzie moaned, and he looked up; tears coursed down her cheeks and her shoulders were shaking. Her hands were still clamped in the confines of his tight leather belt; he leaned up, reaching behind the slats, untying it, tossing it aside, gently grasping her wrists, bringing his lips to where they’d left red marks on her, kissing her tenderly.

“Are you okay, baby,” he whispered.

“Yes,” she whimpered, though tears still coursed from her eyes. “Yes.”

“Good. I’m gonna fuck you again now. And you’re gonna come for me again.”

Her eyes opened wide, wide from their fluttering, hazy half-lids; she gasped a little, and then she nodded, and she whispered “yes, baby, my Prince, fuck me hard now.”

He pulled her up, gripping her under her arms; “come here, baby, come with me,” he whispered, and her little naked body slipped off the bed as he pulled her, and he kissed her with his mouth open with fierce admonition, fingering the diamond moon at her breast in his large elegant hand and she lifted herself up to him and her tongue tangled against his and as he pulled her towards him he saw a glitter of moisture that slipped down her leg from her release. He gripped her hand tightly, pulling her from the bedroom; he led her to the window, his glass window, surveying all of the city, a wall of glass, and he pressed her hands against it tenderly in the darkness, the only light now shining below them, his mouth open under her ear, his body pressed against her back and her thighs, his cock hard between her legs, brushing against her cunt, sensitive and soaking wet, and she moaned again, her eyes looking back at him for a moment, then back at the lights below as his large hand came around her throat and he pressed his length into her, his other hand coming around to her clit, rubbing insistently.

“Isn’t it beautiful,” he whispered into her ear as he fucked her, raw and rough and with wild desire, and her little mouth hovered over the glass, her breath cascading in clouds against it, her fingers curling where they were pressed, fingers splayed, her knees buckling just a little against him, her ass moving back to press into him as his fingers bored into her core and pressed harshly into her neck, her hips moving against him, her feel tip-toed to reach up to his height, her eyes looking out, glancing up at their reflection over her shoulder. “Almost as beautiful as you are, but nothing is, no one is, nobody is as beautiful as you are, Kenzie, my angel--” Duncan could see the outline of them there too, in the reflection, his hair tossed against his forehead, his mouth open in a mixture of lust and concentration, her wide eyes turned up almost into her head as she gasped, and he moved the hand from her neck to twist around her chestnut hair, pulling it tight, bringing her head back with a soft jerk, and she moaned “oh goddd--” and ground against him again, ground down onto him so he was completely buried inside her. His index finger was grinding circles into the side of her clit; he moved it down to where moisture was dripping down her leg, dripping down the length of his cock as he pulled in and out of her, and gathered it on his finger, bringing it back to her clit, soaking wet--

“Baby, I’m--I’m gonna come again, I’m gonna--”

This time, Kenzie’s little body rocked back onto him, her fingers clenching into fists on the glass, her cunt spasming down onto his length with a force that brought stars behind his eyes, and he watched the glitter of the diamonds at her neck reflect in the glass. “Fu-u-uuck my pussy, fuck my little cunt with your big cock,” Kenzie cried out, and he lifted out of her and plunged back, feeling the vague outline of her cervix brushing his head; then, Kenzie screamed; she screamed and her body began to shake, to vibrate against him, the lips of her so far down on his cock that they brushed against his balls, and he felt another cascade of moisture seep out of her, this one more intense than the first, dripping down his testicles in rivulets, and he shuddered a hallucinatory release into her that made him blind for a moment, his cock immediately sensitive and painful with its intensity, his voice crying out “Fuck, fuuuck, I wanna be inside you forever, Kenzie, goddess, I wanna fuck you until I die--”

They leaned heavily into each other for a moment; her cunt spasming up onto his cock, his cock shuddering into tenderness inside her; then he pulled out and Kenzie slid, weakly, to the floor, breathing heavily, her little breasts shuddering.

“Oh baby, are you alright--” Duncan immediately crouched to her, avoiding the sensitive area between his thighs, his eyes widening with alarm; he tucked a hand around the crook of her neck, the other hand coming around her waist and holding her up as he gently pushed her head towards him; her breathing was heavy and her eyes fluttered once more, half in and half out of consciousness. He pressed his fingers against her cheek softly, tapping it a little; her eyes trembled open, and the look she gave him was one of supple, dream-like trust.

“Oh, baby,” she whispered. “Oh, Duncan.” Her eyes hovered between opening and closing; her breath slowed, and she murmured “I’m so sleepy, baby,” and they closed and she was hovering there in his arms, breathing softly, lost in her post-coital euphoria.

Duncan pressed a kiss to her cheek; he hovered there, breathing in the smell of her skin, then he hitched his arm around the back of her knees and the other around her shoulders, and he picked her up, carrying her into the bedroom and onto the bed, where he pulled the sheets and the duvet over her little body; my poor angel, my poor sweet baby, he thought. I have to talk to her about a bodyguard tomorrow, I know she won’t want one, but I have to convince her it’s for the best, god, I have to. He watched the shadow of her eyelashes against her cheek, the slow breath that moved her body under the blanket, the slow shadow of her heartbeat against her throat. Then he moved towards the bathroom; his groin was still soaked in her release, his cock still throbbing as he came down from his orgasm; he went to one of the drawers under the bathroom sink to get the wet wipes he always stored there (a million uses) and paused, his heart in his mouth, as he saw her little toiletries lined along one side of the sink, the side he’d cleared for her; his on the left, hers on the right. The dark red bottle of her perfume; he pulled it over to him and brought his nose to the nozzle, breathing in; roses, vetiver, geranium, and his body sighed into the smell, the smell that was her. A little black hairbrush rested on the edge of the sink; strands of her chestnut hair glinting in it. A little eyeliner stick, a tube of lipstick, a stick of mascara, a bottle of face wash. All her little things, the little pieces of her. His immaculate grooming supplies were on the opposite side, spotless and still; hers threw warmth into the space, made his cheeks blush; he wanted to touch everything, kiss each of her belongings, memorize their shape. Duncan felt overcome again; it was as if her things had always been missing before, leaving a Kenzie-shaped hole, one he didn’t know existed, but could feel, somewhere in his hidden heart. And now, they weren’t missing anymore. Here they were. He could reach out and touch them, like he could reach out and touch the smooth contour of her skin, the waves of her hair, where she slept in his bed. Our bed, he thought, smoky desire drifting, cleaning himself up, shivering as the cold wipe touched his still-sensitive cock; using another one under his arms, at the back of his neck. Our bathroom. Our apartment. I’m going to ask her to move in with me. How can I keep her safe if she isn’t here with me? How can I sleep without her now? He imagined reporters hounding her as she tried to leave for work in the morning; imagined people trying to get into her apartment building at night, trying to look in her windows. The thought absolutely chilled him. I’ll ask her. I want to soothe the worry I saw in her eyes tonight. I don’t want her to worry about anything, or anyone. And I don’t want to sleep alone anymore.

Duncan left the bathroom, naked, flipping the light-switch, but not before one long, last glance at Kenzie’s little things on the sink; he smiled, his heart full. He turned towards the closet, eyes falling over Kenzie where she slept again; she was breathing slowly now, far away, the diamonds still glinting at her throat; he went to her softly, unclasping the necklace at the nape of her neck, gently lifting it away from her so she wouldn’t wake, pressing the softest, lightest of kisses into her cheek, his heart on fire. He put it on the side-table, noticing her phone there; it was turned over so he could see its gold case and the moon sticker on it, fading away from use; he trailed one finger over it, lovingly, then turned and walked into his closet. Duncan bent to the drawer, in search of sweatpants, but he stopped, noticing the little outfits that now hung in the space he’d cleared for them; her clothes in my closet--our closet, he thought, and looked down on the shelf below, where there were a few other things stacked in a row; a little black bag, some little moon and star jewelry. Her little things. His chest swelled with longing; he wanted all of her things here, all of her, kissing him, blessing him; he longed not to be greedy, not to ask too much of her too soon, but he thought again of paparazzi outside her house and his mind clouded with concern, resolving to ask her in the morning. He pulled on the sweatpants, wincing as the waistband brushed against his cock, then, he moved out towards the kitchen (he paused, eyes falling on her hair tossed over the pillow tenderly, her little hand clutched against her mouth) and into the dining room, to clean up the dishes.

[gvaf-radio-blog]

I'm in an open relationship with coffee and mental trauma

I’m hunkered down inside my favorite coffee shop in Southeast Portland having a cup of black liquid love to recharge my body and mind due to me having to dodge a blitzkrieg from the flying commie bastards. The Cupids are a unique kind of chaos as they are technically survivors of a horrific nuclear accident that irradiated an entire Provence. You know the one I’m talking about, y’all won't stop posting screen-caps of the damn thing on tumblr clogging up my steady feed of nihilism and satanic teddy bears. These cupids where re-homed to Portland because the social worker was from Los Angeles and since it works for them and another hundred thousand overpaid yuppies they thought Southeast would be perfect for the bastards to rehab. So the main problem with this (other than rising rent costs) is that their brains got rewired and now do everything hell-bent for leather. So where I get involved with the soviet love bastards is that they got dropped into my neighborhood and there is a  sense that they have of loneliness and urgency for love that attracts them to a person and to help them scratch that itch. The problem is that sense is corrupted and given a slightly sadistic bent and they have started matchmaking and sending people that I am comically ill-suited for or in some cases homicidal, Cat eared woman would be an example. Love is a battlefield, I’m a veteran of this war and I got tired of pulling heart arrows out of my ass so we’ve been fighting ever since but today is going to be a major encounter.You see I have a date in one hour and they started to fly around in attack formation as soon as I left the house firing toxic love arrows at me trying to get me to return to past modus operandi and self-sabotage this relationship that hasn’t even started yet. I dodge an arrow called “new love energy” and panic at might bit at how close it came to hitting me. They can’t get into the coffee shop, the smell of burnt bagels and french roast causes them to enter a seizure state that takes days to recover from, honestly french roast has that effect on most people but  are too tired to give a fuck and just assume the annoying anaphylactic shock is just a morning caffeine detox. I already thinned the ranks a bit by blowing up a fully automatic bow, this monstrosity looks like a mad man combined a Roman ballista and church pipe organ that can fire arrows like the President throws out lies and is painted pink and violet with both Greek and Russian equivalents for “love is a wet prophylactic”. I had left my own bows hanging at home since I was heading for a date and we agreed on melee combat for this round so I armed myself with only a bokken. I couldn’t reach the artillery positioned on the house across from me I had to do something and that something  set the bastards to full rage mode. I took a bag of cans and bottles from the recycling bin shook it good and violently like I did last night before bed while reading the new Warren Ellis comic and threw the bag at the little winged artillery battery. There was a moment of confusion  and I might have heard the Russian equivalent to “what the fuck” but then from all over 82nd Ave tweekers arose from under their rocks smelling of steel reserve and four dollar cigarettes and converged on the Cupids moaning about spare change and smokes. I felt bad about doing that but I was left with no choice! the Eros tribunal might clear me due to the circumstances or as a penance, they might require me to date a vanilla person who thinks beige is a proper color for everything and fucking lights on in doggy is kinky with “ow” being a safe word. Wouldn’t be the first time but I’d rather join a monastery than do it again, I can only hear so many Cake songs before my psychotic side goes into Hulk mode.Between the Cupids dive-bombing the windows like some kind of  Russian kamikaze toddler pilots and rattling the hipsters enough that they had to go get a vegan vodka shot and this little crotch goblin bouncing around and getting into people’s faces, I'm thinking about how this date is going to affect my partner and I’s relationship. I’m also wondering how my date’s spouse is going to handle things if we hit it off. Polyamory on paper sounds like a plot to a high production value hardcore porno but the truth is (mostly) different. You have to navigate multiple schedules, expectations, and multiple people's emotions and try to figure out how to get what you need without hiding pain, jealousy, and your own fears. Being poly also means being on the outskirts of society in away, there is a sense of resentment and fear from others that don’t get it but not nearly as the violent oppression that us in the LGBTQA+ have had to duck for a few hundred years.My partner and I don’t tell others that we are dating since there is a fear of them being disowned, I tell my family the type of relationships I have because they really can’t take anything away from me since I lost the ability to care about their thoughts on my life. I’m not completely happy with this situation where I feel like a secret but it’s not just my life it’s my partner and their spouse’s lives that would be effected. I’m not saying that everyone in a poly or open relationship should go out with a megaphone and belt out a manifesto of why they decided to break their minds with more than one neurotic trauma victim at a time or telling what happened when you  tell a lovers wife that you pegged their husband with a strap on because the wife refused because she felt it was icky and has a lube phobia. What I am saying is that those of us in relationships should start a conversation about non monogamy with our partners and maybe others so we can hear their thoughts and help root out our own.It’s not Polygamy, lets get that one out of the way because I talked with a lot of very intelligent people (and at least one military mandated lobotomy survivor) and they all have said “Oh like the thing Mormons do?” No, more love, openness, and freedom less magic boxers and misogyny.  With poly all relationships there are going to have vastly different dynamic from person to person where Bob and Tim are more open and each can have a person to have casual relationships with and sometimes they both have that dynamic with another person. Karen and Jess now are in several relationships that run casual, serious and potential for a marriage. Stacy, Jim, and Jared are in a closed trifecta where Jim and Jared being straight and not with each other they only have relationships with Stacy who only wants to have a relationship with Jim and Jared.Honestly the only thing that all these relationships have in common is communication and the bad poly relationships are non communicative, half truths, full lies, or worse one sided. I've heard the stories where on person would be dating (fucking) someone new every month but their partner was told to be monogamous and not date outside or they would be dumped, to add to this they lived together and the other partner can’t afford to live on their own. So basically one person was a Controlling , cheating waste of mommy and daddies quicky and the other was borderline being mentally and emotionally abused. Predators and halfwits will be part of every aspect of life and will find a way to manipulate or destroy said aspects of life given enough time and opportunity.Nothing is Idiot proof, nothing is safe so get your life set up how you want it and be prepared to guard this fortress against predators. When (not if) the halfwit comes stumbling in like a newborn colt on ice and manages to destroys your life because the dumb fuck is trying to help or by removing the wrong brick in the wall because it was shiny and it’s now their favorite red rock thingy, you better have a plan B to rebuild. The good news is that you now have enough bricks laying  on the ground  to stone the halfwit to death, I’m a silver lining kinda guy.The Little crotch goblin in the shop is now skipping to a fro all while  chanting what I think I recognized as the ritual to raise an evil elder thing that resembles a puppet from some children's program and then banging their fucking little fist on bookshelves. I’ve ordered a hot chocolate for the little bastard and added a bit of full spectrum oil so the crotch goblin will either soon enter torpor or start seeing a god in whatever app the frazzled parent downloaded and handed off to the kid to try and quite the goblin down. I can write now without the music blasting through my headphones  being drowned out but I did check to see how the goblin is doing, they passed out on a couch, maybe pissed themselves or just spilled water on the floor hard to say . My date shows up and we talk about ourselves or I talk too much and have to stop myself to ask them a question, after both realizing that the online interaction , attraction, and communication is also very present in a real life situation we agree it was time for the duel . We meet via social media site that specializes in the way of the Gaijin and us weebs must prove our saiyan power rankings so we walk outside and I unravel the sacred condom of holy audience and stop the Cupids dive bombing  us while each and every one of these sawed off Kalashnikovs are humming “rock you like a hurricane”. The cupids form a half circle around us and since the invoking of the spirit of The holy Pope  Ruth Westhimer the Cupids agree to not interfere and will also leave me alone until after I get off work the next day.Later that night after coming home bloodied , bruised and then the injuries I sustained during the duel I think about the date and how good it went. Talking about our partners, wants, needs and what we can and can not provide for each other, we hold off on saying we are in a relationship, we decided we’re in a trial relationship pending approval from our respective partners. Important to remember that our other partners can be affected by what we do and the clear communication transfers (or it SHOULD) to the other partners. Poly is not easy it can be worth it or as I’ve found utterly heartbreaking at times but I’m not built to be monogamous so my options are to be lonely the rest of my life, be constrained in a monogamous relationship that I may or at least fight like hell not to cheat in or I can just be honest and say this is who I am, you can stay or go. I find a dead mouse on my front porch with a note stating they were worried I hadn’t been eating, one day I’m going to spay this cat eared woman with a soldering iron.

[danorth]

So, this is gonna be long and one hell of a ride. NSFW or for anyone, really. And I may not be alive much longer, because I’m probably going to be murdered.I’m at the bar the other night, watching the Hall of Fame Game. After it’s over, I go over to charge my phone, and get one last drink before I Uber home. This girl sitting next to me, very attractive. Out of my league. Like wayyy out. I’m just scrolling through memes on my phone. And she asks me“hey! Can I trust you to watch my things and not drug me?”“Uhh what?”“Can you watch my stuff while I go pee and not drug me”to which the bartender said “oh you can trust Greg, he’s really nice”. Annnd this is where the bartender fucked up.Girl comes back from the bathroom, sits back down and started to talk to me. Just random shit. Showed pictures of our dogs to each other. Talked about shows n stuff. Typical ‘meet a girl at a bar’ flirting shit. She asks if I’ve ever seen the show Years and Years. I say “no, but I’ve seen the band perform live”. So she goes on about how great the show is, and how I need to watch it. Asks if I have HBOGO. ���Yes because I forgot to cancel my cable after GoT”. So she makes me download the APP, so I could start watching it when I get home. Thanks for the recommendation! I’ll probably check it out never. So a few minutes later, she said“hey do you live close by?”“Yea, like half a mile”“we should go watch the show right now, we can curl up on your couch and watch it together. I have a bottle of whiskey in my car”“Idk, my house is kind of a mess right now”“That’s okay, I have pets too” (or something like that. All I was thinking was that this girl wants to bang at this point)“I mean I guess, but I have to be at work early tomorrow”“That’s okay, I can only stay 30-40 minutes and then I’ll have to go home” “That’s fine” heh, cuz that’s all the time I’ll need! AM I RIGHT, FELLAS??No. Nononono, this was probably one of the biggest mistakes of my life at this point.It’s about, 11pm at this point. I think? And mind you, I’ve only been talking this girl for maybe 20 minutes.So we tab out, get in her car. Which is a stick shift. And I say “oh no shit, I like you even more now! No one drives a stick anymore! I drive one every day!” Which I’m excited about, because at this point I’m thinking to myself “hmm this girl is hot, has tattoos, likes shows I like, and imma bout to get laid”We talked about driving a stick shift the whole time on the way to my house (this is important, because it wasn’t the first time that this subject came up). Which is just a half mile away. So was a short drive. She parks behind my car, blocking my car in.Go inside, I try to clean up a little bit as she meets and plays with my dog. While I try to get my Chromecast set up on my living room TV. Ya know, to “watch HBOGO”.She runs outside to her to grab the bottle of whiskey.It’s fucking Evan Williams.And this is the first time where an “oh no” thought crosses my mind.Kids, I’ve slept with some strange in my time. I don’t know how or why I get myself into these situations. I honestly feel that I’m a decent looking, charming, sometimes funny, nice person. Sure I troll the fuck out of people on the interwebs, but I do genuinely care about other people. Being nice does pay off, and karma is a real thing. But in this case, I was dead wrong.So after some talking about random shit. We get the show playing. I couldn’t even tell you what happened in the first few moments of that show, because she gets up grabs me by the hand, and leads me into my bedroom.Sex.So after, we’re just laying there. Pillow talk. Was a good night. I just got laid. She asked if she could stay the night. We’re gonna go to sleep. Everything is cool. I let her know that I have to be at work in a few hours, so I need to get some rest.Now, up to this point in the story, it all sounds like a great night. Pulled off another one night stand. high fives all around Right?Wrong.I say “that was great we should do this again sometime”“I don’t think so”“What why?”“I don’t think my husband would appreciate that”I am speechless. I don’t think I’ve ever felt my heart skip that many beats ever. Millions of thoughts crossed my mind all at once. Like, how the fuck did I not see this coming. Omg imma home wrecker. I’m probably gonna get shot of he finds out.Me: “Ummmmmmm WHAT? Is this an open relationship? Does he know where you’re at? Like, why didn’t you tell me that?”Her: “idk, does it matter?”“Uh yeah, I’d be pretty pissed if I was him”Now I’ve been cheated on before. And that feeling sucks. I’ve been in a similar situation like, 10 years ago. Where I didn’t know that I was sleeping with someone who had a bf at the time. I had found out a couple days later, and I found him on fb and let him know. He thanked me, and didn’t get mad at me at all. Cheating is the worse thing ever.So this is where shit starts to hit the fan. I don’t remember the exact conversation, but it went something like this:Her: “we’re getting separated soon”Me: “well you’re still fucking married to him”“Yea but that’s okay”“How is that okay?”“He’s been..... abusive”There’s a slight pause, then she starts crying. So this is where the sober me starts to kick in. This girl is struggling. She’s in a bad spot. And no one should ever lay a finger on a woman. And now I’m trying to empathize with this trashy Evan Williams drinking bitch. Like I legit felt bad from all the shit that she was telling me.Que the panic attack.She starts going nuts. Ripping posters off my wall, running around my house butt naked. Knocking shit over. Basically trashing my house.She asks me to get her medicine out of her purse. Which I do. She takes it. And calms down. (For the most part).Now this is like, 2 or 3 am now. I tell her that we need to go to sleep. Because I have to work in the morning. She tells me “(bartender) was right, you are a really great guy” Btw, Evan Williams isn’t that bad when you’re slightly inebriated and you just had sex with a crazy bitch.We finally get to sleep around 4? Maybe? I wake up late, she wants round 3. And who doesn’t like morning sex. I’m still kinda drunk at this point, and could give 0 fucks. So I gave her a fuck.Anyways, I need to leave for work. But her car is blocking mine. I tell her that she needs to move hers, but she can’t because she didn’t know where her clothes were. And told me I couldn’t move it because “I didn’t know how to drive it”“Uhh, this is the third time we’ve had this conversation. I drive a stick every day, I can move your car”I move her car. I leave for work. And I just let her stay at my house. I let her stay because one, the shit that she told me about her husband is pretty crazy. Two, I was already running late, and fuck it she’ll probably leave before I get home.A couple hours into my shift, she stops responding to my texts. I get concerned, because I’m starting to sober up, and piecing all this shit together. I came to the conclusion that I should find the husband on fb, and message him, letting him know what happened.... BUT, I see that she had already messaged him. FROM MY FACEBOOK ACCOUNT! My computer was still logged into fb when I left, and I didn’t think to log out or shut it off or anything.I tell my boss about everything that has happened up until this point. He lets me go home. When I get home, I find her still naked in my bed. I get her friend to get her an Uber. And I leave. Oh also had the sex one more time because 🤷‍♂️.Go back to work. Thinking everything is over. That’s the end of that. Wrong again.I get home from work, to find her on my couch wearing one of my shirts. And only that shirt. Like vag all out and everything. This girl is afraid to go home. Which I’m worried about at this point. Because I want her to go somewhere safe. She’s refusing to reach out to any friends and what not.Oh yea, she had me find her phone. Which had 40 something messages and 28 missed calls from her husband. And several others from other people.She hands me $20 to order a pizza. And after we eat the pizza, she’d Uber home. Fuckin bet. I ordered the pizza, and she wanted one last round of the sex before the pizza got there.I kid you not. I’m sitting on one end of the couch, her on the other. And she just opens her legs and says “make it quick”This bitch has already hit and kicked me, trashed my house, and I’m just ready for her to leave.Sex.After, we’re just sitting there, and she starts crying again. Asking to go home. And I’m like“I’ll get you an Uber home, but you gotta put pants on” “No”“What do you mean ‘no’? You can’t get in an Uber with your pussy out”“No”So I gather up all of her belongings and clothes. And try to help her get dressed. To which she refused to allow me to do.Most guys will agree, one of the hottest things ever... That “arch” thing that women do when you’re pulling their panties off is a fucking amazing feeling.I had the same feeling when I got her panties ON.Pizza arrives. I go outside, sign for the pizza n stuff. Come back inside. Panties are off again. God dammit.We never even opened the pizza box. She’s saying that she wants to go home. But is refusing to get dressed. I’m starting to panic myself. Because I don’t know how I got myself into this situation. But, am me.She eventually hands me her phone, with the conversation that’s she having with her husband. And I read through the conversation, it’s her sending multiple texts saying “I’m so sorry babe” “idk where I’m at” “come get me”. And him saying “nope sorry” “this is on you” and “call 911”That last one though. That’s what I did.Before I called 911, I offered to drive her car back to the bar where we met, because I knew the husband would give her a ride back there. And not to my house. Because now I’m starting to worry about my safety. I don’t want homeboy to show up on my porch with a shotty. But then again she states that “you don’t know how to drive my car” with it being a stick and all. Even though this is 4th or 5th time this was brought up in conversation.I told them that I have an inebriated woman in my house that is refusing to leave, even though she wants to leave. Etc. I tried to call our one mutual friend, (the bartender from the previous night) but she didn’t answer.The ~20 minutes before the cops arrived were the most awkward 20 minutes of my life. This girl is drunk crying. Trying to get me to go for yet another round. Where at this point, my dick hurts. Also, “girl you need to get dressed, you’re gonna be going home”Finally got her panties back on, I didn’t tell her that I had called the cops. I told her that the Uber was coming. And was trying to get her to put her pants on.Cops show up, I go outside. Explain the situation, was kind of freaking out. But I kept my calm. I told them that I was concerned about her safety, because of all the shit that she told me about her husband. But they can’t force her to go anywhere she didn’t want to. She wanted to go home. Officers ask if she was presentable. I pop my head back in the door. She’s still wearing my shirt and her panties. So I’m like “I guess?”, and then I let them in.She yells “are you fucking serious? You called the cops?” “Uh yea, you didn’t wanna leave. Even though you said you did. Plus your husband said to call 911, so that’s what I did”The officer said to her “you’re on this man’s property, and he wants you to leave”Que crying and what not.Cops ask me to gather all of her stuff. Which I do. Her husband calls her phone, so I accept the call, and then put it up to her face. Tell her to tell him what’s happening. And that she is getting an Uber home. Apparently her card and PayPal was getting declined for the ride. So she couldn’t do it herself. They live like 5 miles away from me, so it was only $8 or something. I live pretty close to downtown, so ordering a Lyft/Uber usually takes 2-3 minutes after calling for one. Once cops tell her that her ride is on the way, and gonna be here within 2 minutes... Girl finally decides to get dressed.I had to help a 30 year old woman put pants on... I could see the officer’s partner struggling to keep a straight face during that ordeal. Lol.Anyways, I hand her hat, keys, bra, shirt (she’s still wearing mine) to the officer. Made sure she had all of her belongings. We get her to walk out of my house to the Uber. But she tried to grab the bottle of Evan Williams. To where I audibly laughed. “I don’t think they’ll let you take that”Cops didn’t let her take it. She got in the Uber and she was gone. Policeman handed me the bottle back. Where I say “usually this is the other way around, ha”Po-po leave, I call it a night, and it’s over.Flash forward to today. I get a message from our mutual friend (the bartender) and she’s asking if crazy girls keys are at my house. I was at work at the time. So I wasn’t able to check. But I’m 98% certain I handed those over to the cops. I look for them when I get home. Found nothing.Oh, and this girls car is still parked across the street from my house.So that brings us to now. I haven’t heard anything from her. Or the husband. And I’m not sure if it’s safe for me to go home. But ya. Know what? Fuck it. I’m glad I could share this story with y’all. There might be more to come, but you’ll probably have to read about it in my obituary.The moral of the story is, drug every girl that asks you not to drug them at a bar. 😂Jk don’t do that.And don’t stick your dick in crazy.TLDR: Took a girl home who I didn't know was married. She trashed my house.Edit: I’m not gonna change “que” to “cue” because fuck you, deal with my mistakes while I deal with mine. via /r/tifu