#listen it’s definitely way bette than being hot as hell

[spoofyleaf]

The warmest it’s gonna be this week is 55 f, and I for one am not complaining

[euphoria-vmin7]

Gnossienne Pt.2 | myg

pairing: min yoongi x reader

genre/warnings: again fluff for right now, non idol! au, future angst, future gore, mentions of blood

words: 4,505

--summary: staying away from Yoongi proves to be harder than you thought. but certain things happen at home that make you wonder if it’s a good thing that he’s away.

a/n: sorry for the wait everyone!! here’s part 2! I’ll publish part 3 asap. I hope you all like it :)

Gnossienne

gno·ssi·enne

n. a moment of awareness that someone you’ve known for years still has a private and mysterious inner life

****

| part 1 | part 2

You blinked in confusion. The words didn’t register in your mind until your eyes scanned them over multiple times. 

Name Min Yoongi. Stab wound to the lower abdomen. Name Min Yoongi. Stab wound to the lower abdomen. Name Min Yoongi. Stab wound. Name Min Yoongi. Stab wound. Min Yoongi. Stab wound. Min Yoongi. Stab wound. 

You ran to grab your phone, heart hammering worriedly as you tripped over yourself. You hastily began scrolling for his contact, fingers shaking, before holding up the ringing device to your ear.

You gnawed on your fingernails, terrified, as you awaited his voice. 

Except it rang once, twice, three times, four times, five times. 

“If you’re hearing this, it means I don’t wanna talk so stop calling m--”

You angrily ended the call before redialing his number. 

It rang once, twice, three times--

“Ugh hello?” 

You quieted. Pulling the phone away from your ear, you checked your screen quickly. You had indeed dialed your boyfriend’s number…

….so why was this voice one that didn’t belong to your boyfriend? 

Yoongi had a pretty deep voice, but this voice could definitely compete with his. It was deep and rich like honey, a dulcet baritone that was melodious to the ears; it was a contrast you weren’t used to with Yoongi’s voice. 

“Hello~?” the voice rang out, now taking on a slightly irritated tone. You gulped and steadied your voice as best as you could. 

“Who is this?” 

“Uhm who is this?” the voice asked sassily. 

“This is Min Yoongi’s girlfriend and last I checked this was Min Yoongi’s phone number. So who the hell is this?” you were proud that you could come off more confident then you felt. The truth was, your heart was beating a million miles an hour, both out of fear and confusion. 

“Oh shit….” you heard him quietly curse. “Right, sorry. I’m Yoongi’s cousin. Uh, Yoongi is kinda asleep right now. No offense, but isn’t it kinda late for you to be calling him?”

It just struck you that it was nearing 1:30 in the morning. 

“R-Right,” you mentally facepalmed. “Sorry...I just---is Yoongi okay?” 

“What…? Uhm yeah he’s fine? He’s a little stressed about his grandma, but we all are,” 

“H-He’s not...hurt, is he?” you asked nervously. 

The man quieted for a second. 

“Hurt? No,” he chuckled a little awkwardly. “He’s fine,”

You breathed out a sigh of relief, before cracking a smile. 

“Oh okay, thank you. Just tell Yoongi to call me in the morning please?” 

“Sure,” he yawned. 

“Sorry for waking you,” you chuckled sheepishly. 

“It’s okay,” he smiled through the phone. “Goodnight,” 

When he hung up, you realized that you didn’t ask for his name. 

You were awoken by ringing. 

Groaning, you pushed the disheveled strands of your hair away from your face. 

“Who the hell is bothering me this early?” you complained, blindly reaching for your phone. When your eyes focused on the ID, you had a miniature seizure. 

“SHIT!” you cursed, fumbling with your own fingers before picking up the phone. 

“Baby?” Yoongi’s voice rang through the speaker. 

“Yoongi?!” you questioned. “Oh thank God,” 

“Baby, what’s wrong? Why did you call last night?” 

You sighed with relief. 

“I’m just so glad you’re okay. Your cousin said that you were fine but I just had to make sure for myself,” 

“Yeah, he told me that you called at around 1 in the morning? What happened?” he asked, confused. 

“Oh...uhm….” you suddenly felt nervous. Why did it feel like you were revealing something big to him? 

Almost like something bad was bound to happen. 

“....Oh I get it, you just couldn’t stay away from me for that long, huh?” you could hear his cocky smirk from the other side of the phone. 

“Haha,” you chuckled, though it wasn’t very enthusiastic. Yoongi immediately picked up on it. 

“(Name), sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

His tone coaxed the words out of you. 

“Well, in the mail we got a letter from the hospital and it said…” you sighed. “....it said that you had a stab wound to the stomach,” 

You heard his breath hitch. 

“And I-I panicked. I mean I didn’t know why we got the letter now and that made me think that it happened recently but then I realized that I didn’t see you get hurt at all when you were home so it had to have been that it happened while you were there in Daegu or it could be that it happened a while ago and they just forgot to send it-” 

“(Name), calm down. You’re rambling,” Yoongi interrupted. You shut your mouth quickly. “It’s some kind of mistake, alright. I’m fine. Wouldn’t I tell you if something like that happened to me?” 

“Yeah,” you agreed easily, knowing that there was truth behind his question. “Yeah, sorry, I was being stupid and paranoid,” 

“No baby, it’s okay you were just scared. I’ll call the hospital and clear that up. Don’t think about it anymore. Thanks for worrying about me,” he smiled through the phone. 

“Don’t thank me for that,” you laughed a little. “Anyway, how are you doing? How’s your grandmother?” 

You listened to him sigh as you stood up to start getting ready for the day. 

“She’s okay. I think she’s getting better,” 

“That’s good to hear,” 

“So that means I shouldn’t be away from home for too much longer...maybe like a few days or---uh actually maybe a week?” 

You frowned at the unorthodox stutter and confusion in his voice. 

“Well..okay?” you said, though it came out in a more questioning manner. “Take all the time you need,” 

“Are you sure you’re not just trying to keep me away so that you can invite some hot dude over?” and just like that the regular teasing was back. You snorted. 

“Well maybe one,” you joked and Yoongi chuckled. 

“Don’t even think about, sweetheart,” he warned playfully and you giggled. 

“I won’t, I won’t. You know I only love you,” you reassured. 

“You’d better,” he chuckled. “Wait...aren't you late for work?” 

You paled. 

“CRAP!!” 

Ignoring Yoongi’s laughs on the other end, you quickly began running around your bedroom, trying to pull on something presentable. 

“I gotta go, Yoongi. I’ll call you later?” you asked, stuffing some toast in your mouth. 

“Okay, baby. Bye,” 

“Bye Yoongi,”

And then you ran to work.  

***

Your finger was getting tired of the continuous scrolling you were doing and your eyes felt overused as they lethargically scanned the screen of your laptop. Your senior had asked for your report in two days. The morning of the day after tomorrow, you’d be handing her a report all about gangsters in Seoul. 

Without any solid proof.

That’s right. After more than a whole month of searching you had made no progress with finding any evidence that the gang existed. It made you feel terribly upset that all of your hard work would be thrown out the window so fast and without even a bit of consideration. 

To make things worse, Yoongi was still in Daegu, so you had no one to comfort you and rant to. 

You frowned at yourself. 

Wasn’t that a little selfish? Here you were complaining that you needed Yoongi for a stupid work article while he was alone in Daegu suffering in fear for his grandmother’s health. 

But the fact that you couldn’t fix either of those problems was annoying you. 

You groaned loudly and fell back on your bed. Might as well accept your fate early and go do something else useful. You shut the screen of your laptop closed and stood up from the bed before making your way to the kitchen to make something edible. You turned on the stove and began to boil water, intent on making some pasta. You had to correct yourself when you realized that you were making it for only one, not two. You frowned. You missed Yoongi. 

Your pasta was just reaching al dente when the doorbell rang. You blinked in confusion. Who would come over at this time of night? 

You quickly checked your notifications for Yoongi’s name, thinking and more so, hoping, that he had come home and wanted to surprise you. The lack of what you were looking for suspended most of that hope and you quickly rushed to the door, smoothing your hair down in attempts to look the least bit presentable. 

Seemingly for nothing because when you wrench the door open, you don’t find anything looking back at you except the regular view. You frowned in confusion, craning your neck from right to left to find a remaining clue of who had approached your door. You were about to dismiss it as some kids fooling around when you looked down. A brown box lay on the welcome mat (the mat that so graciously welcomed people with a ‘leave the money and go’ printed across it; Yoongi picked it). You picked up the box and headed back into the apartment, kicking the front door shut with a slight raise of your leg. You carefully scanned for a sender’s address but all you could see was the word FRAGILE scribbled across it in black Sharpie. It looked like some kind of amateur packaging, not like the typical post that came from the regular mail. The packaging tape was mediocrely pushed against the opening flaps to hold them together and the edges of the box were bent, as if it had been used multiple times before. 

After finishing the pasta, you grabbed a pair of scissors from the kitchen drawer, before quickly slicing all of the tape and the flaps opened up. You looked inside to find something unexpected. 

There was no styrofoam or plastic that would have normally come with a fragile package. Instead, there were two items inside the otherwise empty box. 

You pulled the first item out. A folded piece of paper. 

Opening it, you began to read the few words scrawled across it: 

You’re welcome. Use it well. 

You frowned. You didn’t recognize the handwriting at all. First of all, who the heck was this? What did they do that deserved your gratitude? And use what well? 

You flipped the paper over and felt your breath catch in your throat. 

Don’t tell anyone about this. Danger is closer than you think, princess.

What? What the hell was going on?! What danger? And who is this?

That’s all that was on the paper so you reached into the box for the other item. A CD. 

You got up and turned the T.V on, heart hammering in your chest. Sliding the disc into the slot, you waited nervously for it to load, taking a seat on the couch and suddenly craving Yoongi’s comforting presence. The loading sign disappeared. 

At first, it was nothing but black. Then the scene unfolded. 

Someone was filming. It was nighttime in the video. 

“What are you doing?” someone hissed in the video. The screen panned to the voice, revealing a man. You couldn’t see anything but his eyes. A black mask covered the bottom half of his face and he had on a leather jacket that was zipped up to reveal no skin. 

“Something important,” the filmer responded. He too was male, though he sounded a bit younger than the first. Hearing the filmer’s voice, the first man smirked. Or so was assumed by the stretch of his eyes. 

“You’re a genius,” someone from behind praised, along with a few other murmurs that told you that the filmer wasn’t alone. You heard the filmer chuckle before he moved closer to the edge of the building wall they were hiding in. The camera moved to peek into the alleyway.

And you gasped aloud. 

Seven men stood in the alleyway. They were tall, built, and clad in all black. They all wore practically the same thing. Black masks across their faces, black shirts, black pants (though a few were definitely ripped skinny jeans), and big heavy black combat boots. That wasn’t what caught your attention though. It was the gun resting on each hip that had you nervous. And their jackets. Because on their jackets was it. The thing you had been looking for since the day you got your assignment. 

The logo. 

The logo from the old woman’s alleyway was printed on the breast pocket of each jacket. It was a blood red symbol, although the shape was quite simple. Two trapezoids were facing each other, short side almost touching and you wondered how such a measly shape could have shiver going up your spine. When you saw the back of a few of them, the symbol was switched, this time the longer sides close together but still in deep red. 

This was it. This was the gang. 

The tallest of the group stepped forward, towards a crate you just realized was there. Along with being the tallest of the group, he exuded an intimidating aura. His light brown hair was styled in a way that made messy look confident. You couldn’t see his face, but his eyes were void of emotion, his perfect brows resting in an unimpressed frown. He snapped his fingers. 

“Open it, Number 4,” he ordered and the deep voice that resonated through the quiet alley made you curl up on the couch. Another man stepped forward, a crowbar in his hand. He too, was tall, maybe an inch or two shorter than the first. His hair, unexpectedly, was a faded red and he gave the man a curt nod. Raising the metal bar in his hands, he eased the end into the lid and pushed hard. It popped off and Number 4 stepped away.

“Check it, 6,” the tallest said, turning away. Another man, as tall as Number 4, stepped forward. His hair was different, a pretty silver with a black bandana wrapped around his forehead. He crouched down in front of the crate and began rummaging through it. As he did, you looked to the bulkiest one of the lot. He had longer hair of a dark black that fell in front of his narrowed eyes. A plethora of piercings graced his ears and the muscles of his biceps strained through the leather of his jacket. But you were more focused on the knife he was skillfully twirling between his fingers. 

Then you moved to another one. He was shorter in comparison to the rest of the group, but he could easily tower over you if he so desired. His hair, a shade of faded orange was messily unkempt, as though he had run his fingers through the strands multiple times. He too, was built, toned muscles visible through the outline of his clothes. He stood leaning back against the wall, his arms crossed and a leg crossed over the other, though he gave off a certain type of grace. 

The next was too was a bit shorter in comparison. He had dark black hair and nothing more could be said except that he was basically shrouded in black. Even his eyes looked like they were black holes. The next one had light brown hair and a very big physique. His shoulders were basically broader than your future. His eyes were trained on Number 6 as he rummaged through the crate. One of his hands rested on his gun. 

“All good, Sir,” Number 6 replied in the deepest voice you had ever heard, shutting the crate quickly.  

You couldn’t help but notice that they never gave names. Smart. 

“Good. 5, 2,” was all the leader, or you assumed, the leader said before he cocked his head towards the crate. The orange-haired man and the broad-shouldered man stepped forward and pulled the crate up together. 

That’s when you noticed the big one. His breathing stilled and his shoulders tensed. The twirling of the knife stopped. 

“Hyung,” was all he said, his voice strong. The leader made eye contact with him and then Knife Boy whirled around at the speed of light and chucked the knife straight at you. 

You let out a shriek in the middle of your quiet apartment as the knife hit the wall. 

“Shit!” the filmer yelled and another voice behind him yelled, “Fall back!” 

The screen shook as the group of men ran before the video came to an abrupt halt. 

You sat in your living room with wide eyes, pressed back against the couch as far as you could go. You legitimately thought that knife was going to pierce you through the eyes. Your heart was pounding like crazy as a spectrum of emotions ran through you. That was possibly one of the most thrilling things you had ever seen but a streak of happiness cut through that. 

This was your proof. 

This had everything you needed to actually submit this and have it published. It was perfect. 

You stopped. 

But wait, this was given to you by some mysterious stranger who was warning you of some kind of trouble and danger. Was this safe to use? 

But they had given it to you with the message of ‘Use it well.’ So didn’t that mean that you could? 

You thought about it. The gang in the video could so easily track you down for exposing them. They could hurt you, and the ones you loved. Was it worth that risk? 

No. No, definitely not. 

You pulled out the CD and placed it back in the box before closing it up, your heart sinking with disappointment.  

As you sat down and stabbed a fork into your pasta you couldn��t help but think about how nice it would have been if you did manage to get some good evidence. Despite obviously having perfectly good evidence sitting on the counter. 

No, (Name), it’s not safe. 

But maybe you could use it. If you used it, it was almost 100% sure you’d be recognized by your seniors and your boss. Recognition could give you a promotion. You could finally start earning more money and win back your parents. You wouldn’t have to restrict yourself whenever you saw a pretty dress that was above the budget. Maybe you could even buy a better house for you and Yoongi to live in together. And then, perhaps you’d be able to comfortably pay for a wedding. Marry Yoongi, have kids--

You stood up and ran to the box, wrenching it open and pulling out the disc. 

You had some downloading to do. 

***

“(Name), can I see you in my office for a minute?” 

You quietly groaned as your senior’s voice interrupted the conversation you were having. 

[2:13 p.m.] (Name): ugh the witch is bothering me again 

[2:14 p.m.] Grumpy: lol good luck  

[2:14 p.m.] Grumpy: call me after work 

[2:14 p.m.] (Name): ok <3

Clicking your phone shut, you stood up from your desk and started walking towards your senior’s office, not before throwing Seo Jin a pained expression, to which she responded with a sympathetic smile. When you arrived, you gave three knocks to the wood. 

“Come in,” 

Pushing the door open, you peeked inside and your senior was staring straight at you. 

Oh God.

“Shut the door, (Name),” she said before motioning for you to sit down in front of her. You did as told. 

“I read your report,” she stated, holding up the files between her fingers. You nodded nervously. 

“I think you did a great job,” she said, the corners of her lips twitching upwards. You couldn’t help but beam. 

“You have some great information here, along with a good setup for the interview. But what really tied it together was that evidence! Where on earth did you find that?” she asked curiously. You stilled for a second before spewing: 

“Ah, you know you can find anything on the internet!” 

She laughed a little. 

“That’s true. Well I’m glad you found it. This is a very good article. I’ve forwarded a copy to the boss and she’ll review it. Depending on her take, we can talk about publication, yeah?” 

You nodded eagerly.

“Thank you so much!” you said excitedly, bowing a full 90 degrees as she chuckled. 

“Yeah yeah, don’t be too happy. Now get back to work; don’t you have those files to organize?” 

“Yes! I’ll get right to that, Ma’am!” 

After another thank you and eager smiles, you stepped out of her office and squealed silently before whipping out your phone. Clicking on Yoongi’s contact, you started typing: 

you’ll never guess what just happened to me….

You paused. 

You never did tell Yoongi that you submitted your article. You didn’t want him to worry about the evidence on top of all of his stress at home. So maybe it would be better to surprise him once he got home. Yeah, once he got home. 

You tucked your phone back into your pocket and headed back to your desk. 

***

Two days later, you found yourself in your senior’s office again, this time not alone. 

“I have to say, Ms.(Name), this article is very professional,” your boss remarked as you sat quietly. “Your use of evidence is exactly what we need to make this a great hit!” 

You looked up with wide eyes. 

“Wait, so does that mean-?” 

“(Name), we’ll be revealing your article to the public. It will be aired on the news along with the footage you provided. Congratulations,” she smiled. You couldn’t believe it. The thing you have been working at for so long was finally happening!

“O-Oh my goodness, thank you so much,” you stuttered not able to coherently form words. 

“Mhm, and I believe that success like yours shouldn’t come without reward. How would you like to discuss a promotion?”

You couldn’t wait to tell Yoongi. 

***

You sat on the cold seat, bouncing your knee eagerly, eyes trained on the doorway. You were absolutely sure Yoongi would walk out of there soon. It had stretched into a little over a month since you had last seen him and it felt like forever. Now you were waiting for him at the train station. 

“....substantial information that gangs are running rampant in Seoul. A witness statement describes the men seen: “He was wearing all black and on the back of his jacket there was a logo. It was some kind of diamond. And he was holding a gun.” Investigators have reason to believe that this gang may be more dangerous than first thought. The witness attested to hearing a gun go off right outside of their home. Now we wonder just how many gangs run around our city and what they really do. Here we have some footage of an encounter with the gang….”

You eagerly watched the newsreel, seeing the clip that you received playing on the screen. You couldn’t help but be proud that your work was making the city more informed. You tore your eyes away from the screen when the clamor started. An influx of passengers flooded in from the platform and you excitedly stood up, searching for your boyfriend. You beamed when you caught sight of him looking around the station. Clad in simple black jeans and a dark blue hoodie, your boyfriend never looked so handsome. You eagerly ran towards him and he didn’t have any time to react before you threw yourself at him. Wrapping your arms around his body, you nuzzled into his warmth and breathed in his scent. He winced as you squeezed him but then relaxed, holding you close. 

“I knew you missed me too much,” he muttered and you pulled back to give him a sharp smack. 

“Shut up,” you frowned up at him. “I just missed your cooking,” 

He scoffed with a roll of his eyes before pushing you away gently. 

“Fine, I’ll just go back--” 

“No, it’s fine! I’ll allow you to come to my house. But not because I like you or anything,” you said clutching his arm with a cheeky smile. He chuckled a little bit, eyes softening down at you. 

“Missed you, (Nickname),” 

You smiled. 

“Missed you, too, Yoongs. Now, will you buy me some ice cream on the way home?” 

***

“Okay, there aren’t any signs that there were any men here while I was gone,” Yoongi remarked playfully while inspecting the house after he had dropped his bag. 

“Maybe I covered my tracks up well,” you responded, putting his other suitcase against the wall. He glared at you, though it was hard to take him seriously when his gummy smile was on full display. 

“You know what you didn’t cover up? That,” Yoongi said, pointing at the couch where empty tubs of ice cream and piles of blankets lay from all of your Netflix marathons. 

“Ehehe,” you chuckled weakly. “I meant to clean that,” 

He raised a brow and fixed you with a pointed stare. 

“I was going to! Honest!!” you defended, though now your smile was on show. 

“Uh huh, sure you were. You remind me of a child, you know that?” he said, shaking his head with a grin before turning to go into the bedroom. 

“Was that a compliment?” you called after him. 

“No~~” 

You pouted before following him and taking a seat on the bed. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Yoongi. I’m clearly the more mature one in this relationship,” 

“Sure. When I was turning 4 years old, you were just born, sweetheart. I’m definitely more mature; I’ve been in this world longer,” he replied, now pulling out clothes from his suitcase. 

“Yeah but girls mature faster than boys, don’t they?” you countered. 

“Not 4 years faster,” he smiled. 

“Fine, you win this round,” you admitted defeat, shoulders slumping. His smile widened a bit at that, taking in your playfully dejected pout before he leaned forward to peck your lips. You blinked before smiling. 

“Hey Yoongs?” 

“Hmm?” 

“You never told me about your cousin. The one I woke up at 2 in the morning,” you giggled. 

“Oh haha, doesn’t matter. He deserved that. Lazy ass,” Yoongi muttered with a discreet roll of his eyes. You laughed. 

“Why? You don’t like him?” you asked. He shook his head. 

“It’s nothing like that. Of course, I like him. He’s practically my closest family. I just like bullying him since he’s younger. You know, like how I am with you?” 

“Yeah, I know,” you replied sarcastically to which he grinned. “What’s his name?” 

Yoongi paused for a second. 

“Taehyung,” 

“Ohh,” you nodded. “How old his he?” 

“23, but why are you so curious?” he asked skeptically. 

“I don’t know. He sounded cute,” you risked teasing and Yoongi smacked you with the shirt he had just pulled out. You laughed, pushing his hand away before your eyes caught something that made your jaw drop. 

“WHAT IS THAT?!” you shrieked, looking at the shirt in Yoongi’s hand. “IS THAT BLOOD?!!”

.

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Tag list: @ireadfanficsonthisleavemealone, @sunshine-ruins  

(comment or dm me if you want to be added!)

[freedomartspress]

Brother 1, 2, and 3 — Lauren August Betts

The poetry chapbook, “Brother and Other Things”, that these three poems are apart of are available for free/donation directly to Lauren, here. 

Brother 1

When I was thirteen I spent a month with my auntie

that was in the summer

now I’m wondering how my insides work

how my fingernails can be so short

why stores keep making shoes too small for my feet

even in Connecticut

even in California

my brother moved out here and then he moved back

he had bigger plans than to stay away from home

and hope that somewhere else would claim him

just because he had arrived there

he has dreams about art school

I have dreams about sunken eyes and broken fingers

and begging people who are too deep asleep to listen

I didn’t realize I was doing it

But I spent a lot of time pretending not to know anything

and I don’t wake up all the way every day

My brother keeps breaking his ankle in the same place

I keep shaving the line of hair between my belly button and my hipline

Because I can’t untell myself that it’s ugly

I wonder if my brother and l will ever live in the same city

I spend a lot of time hoping he’s proud of me

it’s not every day that you can’t stop noticing

the frame of dirt around a fingernail

The changes in temperature

it’s not every day that you can catch the you that causes problems

and sit them down

and ask them to stay there until you can clean up your bedroom

and make calls to the people collecting your money

to ask them to wait a little longer

and write down the date correctly

there’s something too pretty for words about taking your time.

Brother 2

While I’ve got you here –

My fingernails are changing colors.

Orange is what they’re becoming, It’s not coming off.

I’d guess a deficiency in some major vitamin

But I’ve been taking that tincture she gave me

I do not know if my fingernails are strong.

Never let ‘em get long enough.

While I’ve got you here –

My brother is coughing up corn

Corn is sweet

My brother is coughing up dirt

Comes here for a week and goes to slaughter a lamb for a party

The lamb is stealing the sow’s food from the next pen over

The lamb lost its neck wool from rubbing up against the gate

to eat the pig’s corn and melons

The things you notice.

I’m doing so much out of order

I’ve been feeding that lamb but not enough

And that lamb tells me a story

The story is this: “You are repulsed by suffering”

That is what I walk with

That is what I put safely in my pocket

And still somehow manage to lose, somewhere on the farm.

Somewhere on the farm I pick a peach and its

Never sweet so while I’ve got you here I just wanted to ask:

Where in the world are all the good peaches?

I have a fear of losing my books

Of losing my time in the morning

My brother’s coughing up beans and rice

My brother’s coughing up chalupas

They were always his favorite and I never liked them

He asks for them now when he’s twenty and I am twenty four

and I want to tell him

“No, I don’t want chalupas. I hate them and I’ve always hated them.”

But I don’t.

I avoid it

When I begin to make tortillas de harina

And he asks what I’m doing I tell him I thought he said “tacos”

And he doesn’t argue with me.

He is so helpful

He is always patting my head

Brother 3

I started seeing lady bugs in late February

On the 28th I sowed chili seeds and yarrow

to plant in someone else’s garden

invest in someone else’s future

the days are becoming long

or at least it's warmer than it was a month ago

I was thinking you might be able to figure out if you love someone

by looking at their picture quicker than any other way

it’s a myth that frogs sing only at night

And that the seeds of a pepper are the spicy part

I forget who told me

I’m putting myself where someone else can see me

someone good beyond good

warm beyond warm

kind beyond kind

hiding in the tall grass

killing time

I didn’t dance this morning or yesterday

but I did do my laundry

it always gets dark before I’m ready

and I miss my brother

I always miss him but today I miss him in the sun while the frogs sing

I know that he’s in the cold

one year older

somewhere new

and for some reason I don’t understand

I can’t call him and check in

That would make things worse

he’s always falling in love

and drawing pictures of my life

the cows on the hill

the sheep we slaughtered together, hanging

the barn

and it’s always more beautiful when he is showing it

I asked him to draw me a home

but I know it’s a lot to ask for so I told him no pressure

that whenever he gets around to it is good for me

he has better music than I do

he loves the piano

is red green color blind

it might be that he has a little piece of someone else in him

someone we thought we lost two years before he was born

the ocean knows how good it is

and he knows how good he is

I can tell

I feel like this day might kill me by being bright and going on forever

these birds might kill me with their singing

I’ll call him later

I’ll call him tomorrow

I’ll call him when I’m ready

and even a whole entire day isn’t plenty

but let’s practice saying it anyway

“It’s plenty”

“you’re plenty”

“I’ve got plenty, thank you”

bet you didn’t know you can make pasta out of potatoes just by smiling warm and

opening wide your mouth

bet you didn’t know that hot as hell can be good for your bones

sometimes even the people I love to the moon

don’t put things back where they belong

and break things that are special to me

I keep hearing the word graze

the sounds keep making me jump

I always add 1 to a number to make sense of it

and it really does help

but sometimes even when I spend a day doing exactly what I want

I fall down on the ground at the end of it

I just need a breath and for everything to be quiet for a minute

anyway, something lucky:

my friends are asleep on the couch in the den and outside on the porch

and I still feel them with me almost all the way.

//

Lauren August Betts is very cool, worked on a farm once, and definitely has a brother. You can find out more about her on Instagram @laurenaugustbetts and/or via the interview on the IGTV section of @freedomartspress​ on Instagram.

[raleigh-ocean]

make it double

35. “I just wanted to let you know that I think you’re beautiful”

Words: 1, 849

Requested: @shineestark

send me a prompt and I’ll write you something!

Your eyes wandered around the breakfast table, still sleepy and trying to remember how much did you drink last night.

It wasn't easy to get you to drink, but sometimes loosen up a bit was more than welcome to relax from all the planning and stress the show could put on you. Not that you were one of the performers though, but you had to carry props around and help set everything.

Sometimes you offered emotional support to those who were about to go up to the stage, and that was really soothing for both you and the performer in time of need.

“Good morning sleepy head,” Evie smiled at you and ruffled your head with tenderness, caressing your cheek afterwards. “Did you sleep well?”

Groaning softly and letting your head rest in her palm, you gave Evie your answer. Your body felt a bit sore for some reason, but you didn't pay a lot of attention to that. Someone had let the coffee pot over the table, so fetching yourself a cup became the main priority. Where did you sleep last night? You were sure it wasn't your tent, even when you woke up there, because your clothes were the same as last night’s and smell like woman's perfume.

“Do you have something for my head?” your friend just pointed to the whiskey bottle by the cinnamon rolls. “That isn't alcohol.”

“Some cold water would do you some good then,” she laughed at you and you couldn't help but pout a bit. “There, there sweetheart, it's not that deep.”

“Why did you let me drink that much,” you muttered while stuffing your mouth absent-mindedly with a cinnamon roll, soon the sugary flavor overcoming the coffee.

Evie shook her head, chuckling lightly at your antics before sipping her tea. Should she tell you before you'll encounter reality or just let reality play a big one on you? As much as she appreciated you, she was going for the second this time around. Giving you a light squeeze in your arm, she only watched you eat sleepily and hangover-ish.

“You needed to have fun, who am I to deny that?” Evie said with mighty voice, as if she was an old goddess or something like that.

Again, you grumbled a bit while sipping your coffee and munching lazily your bun, too tired to even talk. From now on, you'll stick to no alcohol rule that was for sure. Everything was fuzzy in your brain and you didn't like that sensation, at least today you'll have some good rest since it was your day off after all to recover.

Rubbing the last bits of sleep from your eyes, listening to Evie talking about something she just read in the magazine in front of her, a new silhouette appeared in your range of view. An involuntary heat took its righteous place in the back of your neck and your ears when you recognized whom they were.

Looking at the Tattler twins always made you feel giddy and a bit happier than usual.

However, when your eyes locked first with Dot, her expression was dark and troubled, avoiding you quickly while she stopped Bette from waving ‘good morning’ to you with the same or more enthusiasm as every morning. Bette's features showed confusion for a second, looking at her sister first and then her eyes shone with sadness before giving you an apologetic look. Evie looked at you, frozen mid salute and then sipped her tea a bit loudly to draw your attention.

“Someone woke up with her left feet,” she chuckled, twirling the spoon to move the sugar at the bottom of the teacup. “I wonder why.”

“I don't really know,” you mumbled again, following them with your eyes and watching them sit in the other side of the table, as far as they could from your position. Evie cleared her throat a bit and it was then when you had all your attention in your friend. “But I can guess you know…am I right?”

Evie's laugh turned a bit sad before catching your hand with one of hers.

“You kind of…confessed to them last night,” like ripping off a band-aid, you could always count on Evie to tell you the truth straightforward. The air from your next breath got stuck in your lungs. “Well, if telling them what you told them was a confession; you ran away like you caught fire afterwards; found you at the ferris wheel, asleep after you throw up everything you had inside. I tuck you in bed.”

How stupid could you be? Definitely you weren’t going to drink any time soon. Your head felt hot, probably all blushed while Evie tried to rub soothing circles between your shoulder blades. Not only you confessed, but also ran away right after that...plus having Evie taking care of your drunk ass.

“You were really cute, Bette looked really smitten by you,” you knew she wanted to say something else and you grunted in response, as to telling her to keep talking. “She wanted to go after you, you know? but Dot got really angry at her and they kinda ran away too.”

Evie’s voice was soft while she was telling you everything. That last part worried you a lot and soon your eyes found Bette’s across the table. Exchanging a worried look, she tried to mouth something for you but Dot caught her doing so and soon they were standing up. You did the same as them and after a couple of seconds, Bette and Dot walked away from the breakfast table.

“What did I say to them?” you asked, starting to feel nervous and wanting to run after them. If you were going to fix whatever the fuck you ruined, you needed to know.

“Ahm,” Evie gaped a bit and soon Desiree joined you two, curious about the situation. “What did Y/N tell the twins last night, Dede?”

“I just wanted to let you know that I think you’re beautiful,” Desiree mimicked your voice a bit unrealistic, dragging her words as if she was getting the drunk part right on point. “You had lefty just wrapped around your finger, you were holding her hand and all, sweet talker.”

Registering Desiree’s words, your brain clicked and the blurry scene replayed as a little flash in your tired mind. Of course. Recalling the moment, even if it was still confusing, your legs acted in their own, making all the way from the dining tent to the twins’ tent in a rushed sprint that left you breathless and dizzy, still not recovered from the hangover.

But this couldn’t wait to that.

“Y/N!” Bette was still looking at you worried but her little smile was breathtaking for sure, like always. Dot didn’t seem to want to look at you, not even from the reflection of the mirror. “Are you feeling better?”

You overheard Dot trying to shush her sister, her reflection turning a bit sad while she looked at Dot with guilt. Wringing your hands, you took Bette’s words and silent stare as an invitation and stepped forward.

“Still dizzy, but a bit better gorgeous,” the little sweet nothing made the girl cover her mouth to giggle and you blushed upon your own bravery. However you furrowed your brow a bit, looking at the twin you were worried about. “Dot? Can I...l-look, I’m sorry.”

At that point you didn’t know what you could say to make her feel better. So going directly to the apology seemed the right thing. Bette looked at her sister as if she was telling her to listen to you and she huffed in defeat, turning around to face you. Bette bit her lip softly, her hand hiding behind her back to refrain herself from biting her nails.

“Why are you apologizing? It isn’t as you have to,” she shrugged and Bette looked at you worried, Dot still not wanting to look at you in the eyes. “You are making a fool of yourself, you shou-”

“I think you are beautiful too, the compliment was for both,” you word vomited that before letting her talk more and making her feel more upset. “I was drunk as hell and probably didn’t want to get my stomach all over the feet of the girls I love, so I ran away like an idiot,” not knowing what else to do, you reach for their hands and Bette took your right one instantly, as if she had been waiting for years to do that. “I’m sorry Dot, seriously, I didn’t want to hurt your feelings…”

“See? I told you,” Bette giggled, softly as if she was reassuring Dot once again now that you were the one saying those words. “Y/N wouldn’t lie to us,” you felt how Bette squeezed your hand tightly, waiting for Dot to take your other hand. But you heard a little sniffle and soon Dot’s hand was in her face, trying to stop a few tears that escaped from her eyes. “You are going to make me cry too.”

Worriedly, your hand went up to coddle Dot’s cheek. She finally looked up to you, placing her trembling hand over yours while you used your thumb to wipe her tears as you could.

Obviously that you didn’t want your confession to go like this, you always imagined it something more...calm and romantic? Maybe with a few flowers or a nice picnic. Not with Dot crying and Bette trying to be the strongest of them, not you being hangover and feeling the cinnamon roll you ate already in your throat again.

“Are you serious?” she whispered that with such scared tone that it made you shrink a bit. You got a bit closer, entering their personal space fully so you could make her feel that everything was pretty much serious. Bette kissed your knuckles before caressing them with her thumb.

“But of course, beautiful,” you chuckled and she smiled, making all the butterflies in your stomach go crazy. “Why would I lie to such sweethearts? You really knocked my socks off.”

You really felt happiness crawling up your spine when Dot laughed too, making Bette giggle again and press a soft kiss in the inside of your wrist. That was much better, that was what you wanted with them for sure.

And then you felt a cold spreading from the base of your skull down your spine, nausea overcoming you.

Oh no.

“Fuck,” you let go of her hands to put them over your mouth before sprinting out of the tent, mimicking your great escape last night. “Fuck!”

“Y/N, wait!”

The twins followed you worried but couldn’t help but let go a soft chuckle when they found you a few meters away, throwing up your breakfast. Pressing their hands to your back and Dot rubbing soothing circles there, they tried to make you feel better.

“We are here Y/N,” Bette giggled again, trying to get your hair out of your face.

“We ain’t gonna go anywhere,” Dot promised in a soft whisper.

[douxreviews]

Lucifer - ‘All About Eve’ Review

"You never forget your first."

Yes, it's another plot device intended to keep Lucifer and Chloe apart. (Gee, like that's never happened on television before.)

That major gripe aside, I think Inbar Lavi was good casting. When you have an already established, talented ensemble cast of well-defined characters, it's difficult to bring in another major character that works, much less a love interest for the lead, much less someone who had a starring role in the Bible. But Eve indeed has the look of someone who lived in a garden her whole life without access to hair salons, and she was definitely rocking that "girls just wanna have fun" vibe.

But what's really going on with her? It's an awfully huge coincidence that Lucifer's ex showed up right the heck now, while his relationship with Chloe is at the point of either advancing into love affair territory or collapsing entirely. And how come no one has even mentioned yet that Lucifer just killed Cain? If I remember my Bible correctly, Cain was Eve's son. You'd think Lucifer would have mentioned something that huge.

Maybe Eve is what she appears to be: crazy for Lucifer, bored with Heaven, desperate for fun. But I doubt it. I also thought it was really interesting that Lucifer asked Eve what she truly desired, and she lied to him. Lucifer's mojo doesn't work on Eve. Must be important.

At least it's refreshing to see a woman so hot for Lucifer, because who wouldn't be? We're used to Chloe keeping Lucifer at arm's length and resisting his exceptional good looks and charm. And okay, maybe not so charming in a bathrobe with bedhead surrounded by empty takeout containers, but Eve's arrival seems to have jolted him out of that.

Who saw the ending coming a mile away? Chloe was ready to tell Lucifer that she missed him and wanted him in her life, and of course she walked in on him with Eve. At least they weren't in bed together. And at least Lucifer didn't see Chloe come in. I'm a little sad that Eve was the one to kiss Lucifer in devilface. It should have been Chloe.

As usual, I don't have a lot to say about the Case of the Week. Even though Lucifer and Chloe ended their partnership, they of course ended up solving the same crime from different angles. Who else knew right away that the killer was Toby, the business partner? The fun parallel was that Toby was like Chloe, the reasonable, hardworking partner, while Pablo the victim was the crazy creative partner, like Lucifer. Hopefully this isn't foreshadowing.

Meanwhile, Linda's pregnancy seems to have created the world's strangest ménage à trois. An angel, a demon and a psychiatrist walk into a doctor's office – it's like a joke that writes itself. And I absolutely loved Chloe and Linda having "the talk," mostly because Chloe ended up listening instead of talking as Linda exploded with angst and confusion about her angel baby. The bubble wrap babyproofing was also hilarious.

I have no idea where this plotline is going: happy? tragic? But it's a lot of fun. At least so far.

Bits:

— Title musings: All About Eve is a famous old movie about established actress Bette Davis threatened by ambitious ingenue Anne Baxter.

— Eve has been in Heaven longer than anyone. I remember Abel being in Hell the longest, too.

— Fun bar fight. I don't usually love the bar fights. And honestly, I don't usually find constant sex jokes all that funny, but Lucifer always makes me laugh. Check out that absolutely perfect devilish smirk.

— When Eve kissed Lucifer in devilface, who was thinking of Buffy kissing Angel in vampface? Yeah, everything makes me think of Buffy. I admit it.

— Auntie Maze. Was that a deliberate reference to Auntie Mame? Or am I just showing my age?

— During the auction, Lucifer and Chloe were again wearing similar clothes. As I said in my previous review, that's often a visual cue that two characters are simpatico.

Quotes:

Ella: "He was decapitated?" Maybe a huge conclusion to jump to, but to be fair, Ella does see a lot of awful things in her job.

Lucifer: "It hurts, not being accepted for who you are… I would imagine."

Doctor: "Do you see that little protrusion right there? You're having a boy." Amenadiel: "A boy?" Maze: "Better luck next time."

Eve: "You know, the garden, the snake, the apple." Lucifer: "The metaphors were a bit off." Eve: "That's true. The forbidden fruit was less of an apple and more like a banana. A very large banana." Lucifer: "It's true." Eve: "You never forget your first."

Amenadiel: "My very own mini Amenadiel. No, no, wait, wait. A mini-diel."

Linda: "There's a good chance it could come out with wings. Wings! Is that even safe for a human to deliver? Should I have a C-section? Will insurance cover any of this?"

Linda: (to Chloe) "With all the bad comes a lot of good. I got a best friend out of this. And the most fascinating patient in the world. And this baby. Who saw that coming?"

I am really enjoying this season. Three out of four lengths of bubble wrap.

Billie Doux loves good television and spends way too much time writing about it.

[argotmagazine-blog]

Dancing On My Own

(Silvia...)

Yes, Mickey?

(How do you call your loverboy?)

Come 'ere loverboy!

(And if he doesn't answer?) Oh, loverboy!

(And if he STILL doesn't answer?) I simply say…

I was six years old the first time I draped my father’s after-shower wrap around my waist and lip-synched for my life. In the living room of my family’s single story, ranch style home in Walnut Creek, California, I performed to “Love is Strange.” The audience, comprised of my father, stepmother, and brother, laughed hysterically at my hijinks – oh how silly to see a boy wearing a skirt and singing the woman’s part of a song! At literally the same time RuPaul was gaining notoriety working the Atlanta Circuit Parties, I, at only six years old, was slaying the Bay Area suburb living room scene and living for it, Mama!

A year later, I performed live in an oversized sweatshirt dress and leg warmers on a leather ottoman stage. Another number from this genderfuck child prodigy that resonated with my home audience was my original drag parody based on a hit Crystal Gayle song “Donuts Make My Brown Eyes Blue.” Again, I was rewarded with laughter and applause. My family truly loved me, and I was beginning to know that I was born to be a performer.

Cut to a few years later: it was a dress-up day at school for Halloween and I had no idea what to be. My stepmother came in for the heroic rescue with a waist length straight brown wig, a bandanna, a peasant skirt, and a liberal application of lipstick and eyeshadow. I looked in the mirror and instantly fell in love with myself in what would now be considered a very problematic “fortune teller” Halloween look. I can’t even imagine the accent I spoke with. Suffice it to say, if repeated today that ensemble would most definitely result in a cancel culture call out.

Year by year, I learned that I was definitely different. As a “creative” child, I was prone to talking out of turn and disrupting the class. I did not know what “being gay” was, and I had certainly never seen an “out” gay person that I knew of. The closest thing to a drag queen I knew was my Grandmother, Beatrice. She was a Portuguese powerhouse that lived larger than life in an assortment of caftans, wigs, fur coats, costume jewels, fire red fingernails, and her ever-present cocktail of choice in her hand. I lovingly called her world’s cheapest screwdriver the “Popov and Donald” after its two main ingredients: Popov Vodka and Donald Duck orange juice. The constant, comforting refrain of clinking and tinkling ice surrounded her as she stirred it steadily with her nicotine stained index finger. With parents who blasted Elton John, Neil Diamond, Bette Midler, Barry Manilow, and let’s not forget the beginning of this story, the soundtrack to “Dirty Dancing” when I was but six years old, it would seem as if the Universe was surrounding me with the perfect, magical, organic tools I would need to live my best faggotty life. Yet, In the summer of fourth grade, it all coalesced into understanding that I was truly different. Not just a creative type but there was something else, something more that separated me from the rest of the kids around me. The person who taught me this was Mr. M.

Mr. M. was my summer school theater teacher. When I saw him, I could just tell that he had the same thing that I had. That thing – the one that made me different – it was in him too. I immediately recognized it, and it was beautiful, and it made me feel so good that I wasn’t alone. It was the first time that I truly could see that there were actually adults like me too. Mr. M. had created a 4th through 6th grade summer-stock follies masterpiece that combined the story of Rapunzel with the music from Hair. It was everything my queer little heart desired rolled into a masterpiece for the stage, dusted in fairytale glitter, and laid out like a prize before me. I was cast in the dream role I could have never imagined I needed. My character was “Jacques,” Rapunzel’s best friend, confidant, and (though unspoken) very, very flamboyantly gay hairdresser. I was obviously the comedic relief – and I knew that at the time – but I didn’t care. I loved the role and despite having no idea what camp meant at the time (and certainly wouldn’t have cared if I did). I knew that this part had been created just for me, to let me shine, and I was not going to let Mr. M. down.

My stepmom stepped up like a hero again and made me look like everything that a 10-year-old, fabulous hairdresser should look like. Remember that waist length wig from my fortune teller look? Well she lovingly cut off a little 6 inch snip and braided it into the back of my big ass, blown out hair. I didn’t know or care that this was being “gay,” but I knew that I had never in my life felt more right.

In what will be a surprise to no one, I can humbly confirm that I stole the show. The audience loved me, seeing this fabulous child, living his truth, loving himself and not being afraid to shine in all his homo-glory in only the fourth grade? I was years ahead of the world and it felt amazing. In fact, before the show, we had joked in my house about the mannerisms of being gay, the flouncy walk, the limp wrists, the sassy lisp. I genuinely loved them all so much that after the performance, I began to adopt these affectations officially into my daily life, from lisping from the breakfast table: “Plleathe path the theareal” to my bedtime prayers, “in Jethus name we pray, amen”.

And that’s the moment. The moment where things changed.

“Sit down here next to me,” my father asked as he patted the bed politely. He called in my stepmother. “We should probably talk.”

After everyone assembled, my father asked thoughtfully “Do you know what homosexuality is?”

“No,” I responded quietly. I could tell immediately from his tone that 1) I was whatever that thing was and 2) that it was absolutely not okay.

“Well, it’s when two men do the things together that only a man and a woman are supposed to do together,” he lectured me. “And it is very wrong. You know how you played that part in the play, and how you have been walking and talking that way since? That’s not okay anymore. That’s how these homosexuals really act. It’s okay to act like them and laugh at them as a joke, like in the play. But it’s completely unacceptable to do those things in real life. In fact, men who do those things, well, the Bible says that they are going to hell. Do you want to go to hell?”

I did not want to go to hell. I slowly shook my head turning red, the furnace of shame stoked hot inside me.

“Good,” he said finally. “Then it’s time to stop acting like that. Back to being normal from now on.” He said goodnight, kissed me on the forehead, clicked off my bedroom light and shut the door behind him.

10…9…8… I counted down in my head. When I got to one, I thought Okay, he can’t be by the door anymore. That’s when the tears started flowing.

I still didn’t truly understand what being a homosexual was, but now I knew that I could never be one. Not only would it upset my father, but Jesus too? Well, that was just too much pressure. I was going into the fifth grade and the one thing I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt was that I did not, under any circumstances, want to go to hell.

My life was never the same from that moment on. As a child, I certainly never saw a dress or wig again. I spent the next twenty-five years pretending that I was not who I knew I was inside, trying my best to hide the traits as I got older but still knowing I had a funny voice and walk. Within a few years, I knew deep, deep inside that I was definitively the very thing I had been mandated not to be. I hid it further by marrying a woman and pretending even harder for many years that I was just a regular ol’ straight guy, just bein’ straight and actin’ straight and livin’ my best straight life. You know, lying.

I dated only women in my adolescence and finally, at age 18, I started dating my best friend. I guess we “fell in love,” though it was honestly more a relationship born of co-dependence, self-preservation, and convenience - and married at 21. For fourteen years I “played house.” To be honest, it wasn’t terrible. I had married my best friend and technically she knew I was gay as she had actually been the first and only person I had come out to up to that point. We pretended like that conversation had never happened. I thought I did an amazing job playing this role of dedicated straight husband contrary to many of the reviews on my role when I finally came out.

Everyday was a mental battle of epic proportions. Imagine a voice in your mind that has one job to do all day every day, and that job is to remind you that you are living a complete lie. I struggled with mental health issues, doing everything I could to manifest destructive patterns and catastrophes so that I could distract myself from my terrifying inner demons. As each year passed, the voice got louder and more distracting. But now I was in too deep. What would even be the value in listening to the voice and taking action? Destroying my marriage, my life and for what? I didn’t even know if what was on the other side would be better.At least I was safe in my cocoon as long as I played the part.

Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I wasn’t prepared to come out, but I also knew I couldn’t keep ignoring the voice the way I had been. I just needed something to quiet the voice. At the same time, I was also looking for a new fitness regime to help get my weight under control. When I drove by Padme Yoga in Sacramento, CA on a drizzly October afternoon, it seemed like kismet. Yoga could help me with my fitness, but I had also heard lots of friends talk about how much it helped them quiet their minds. Perfect! I signed up for my first yoga class, and though I was scared shitless, I actually showed up. At the end of the class, the instructor came up to me and asked me if I enjoyed the class, which I told her I did. Then she said “Come back tomorrow, this practice will change your life.” So I did. And the day after that, and the day after that, and the day after that.

The weight came off of my waist and my thighs, but there was a different kind of weight coming off of my shoulders as well. I felt happier and more joyful. People seemed to want to be around me more and I felt more authentic. I just kept showing up and my teacher from that first class was right - my life was changing. Strangely enough, the voice about my hidden sexuality was a bit quieter but I had new voices as well - ones telling me that I was perfect the way I was in that moment and that in or out of the closet, I was exactly where I was supposed to be. I began to feel this love for myself I had not felt in a very long time; not because I was skinny or more energetic, but because I was doing exactly what I needed for myself.

One Friday evening in May 2014, as I laid in pigeon pose I began to sob. People say they “ugly cry,” well I beautifully cried as years of self hate, sadness, anger, frustration, lies, manipulation, and abuse just flowed from my eyes and onto my mat. 75 minutes later, I knew I was ready. I went home, and for the first time, I let my inner knowing speak for me. I came out, for good.

The journey since has not been easy, but it has been a necessary one and I have learned so much. The best part is, I have never once been alone since. Remember that little boy, the one who went to bed that night crying, scared, and afraid that he would never be the person he was meant to be? Well amazingly enough, he woke up the moment I stepped off my yoga mat that evening. He has been by my side ever since. In fact, he is sitting right here next to me as I write this, wearing his favorite gown, loving himself, feeling beautiful and accepted. He calmly, lovingly reminds me that neither of us needs ever feel alone again.

Xavier Bettencourt is a writer and comedian currently residing in Sacramento, CA. Known for his authentic and humorous storytelling voice and unique point of view, Xavier digs deep to speak his truth and tirelessly encourages others to do the same. Follow him on Instagram for more: @thecomedybear.

[loveyoubeyondhope]

Rules: answer all questions, add one question of your own and tag as many people as there are questions.  tagged by @blackcanarydinah

1. coke or pepsi: Pepsi. I even took a blind taste test and chose Pepsi. It upset my family because they all thought I was somehow lying when I said I liked Pepsi more.

2. disney or dreamworks: Disney girl over here although more often than not dreamworks movies surprise the hell out of me with how much I like a movie.

3. coffee or tea: Neither which for a while was a serious offense because as a Latina I should apparently love coffee. (as a writer I should inhale the stuff)

4. books or movies: Books. I just have a better imagination and I like details too much.

5. windows or mac: I honestly cannot tell you the difference. I can get what I need to get done on both equally.

6. dc or marvel: DC always. I do prefer Marvel’s Netflix shows more than dc’s because the stories feel more polished, pero yo adoro DC characters and just overall story arcs more.

7. x-box or playstation: I have had an x-box longer and I liked playing Just Dance and Zumba on there. (I cannot play high stress games anymore because I end up shaking for an hour after.)

8. dragon age or mass effect: don’t know this

9. night owl or early riser: Night Owl. Definitely night owl. I prefer the night. I’m Batman.

10. cards or chess:  Both.

11. chocolate or vanilla: chocolate

12. vans or converse: converse

13. Lavellan, Trevelyan, Cadash, or Adaar: don’t know

14. fluff or angst: fluff, and angst when i feel like torturing myself

15. beach or forest: The Beach I am drawn to the beach in a way I cannot describe. It soothes me so much. (I could very well be a mermaid.)

16. dogs or cats: Dogs. Although I can appreciate cats for their very similar personality traits.

17. clear skies or rain: Ever since I moved to California I am now all about clear skies.

18. cooking or eating out: As much as I don’t like cooking because I’m lazy eating out gets old really quickly for me.

19. spicy food or mild food: Spicy! (can thank my sister for that one) Or at the very least heavily seasoned.

20. halloween/samhain or solstice/yule/christmas: Christmas! I am that person that starts singing carols on November 1st and already planning the year’s theme.

21. would you rather forever be a little too cold or a little too hot: A little too cold. I don’t actually like the heat. I’m pretty sure I’m the Snow Queen.

22. if you could have a superpower, what would it be: Anything that has to do with the mind. Telekinesis, Telepathic, mind control, etc.

23. animation or live action: I want more live action but I recognize that animation allows for more. (cooler stunts, deeper storylines, more diversity, etc.)

24. paragon or renegade: don’t know what these are

25. baths or showers: Showers. I am too restless for baths apparently.

26. team cap or team ironman: Neither and both. I have a military father with a pacifist mother. I say compromise.

27. fantasy or sci-fi: Both although I lean a little bit more toward fantasy.

28. do you have three or four favourite quotes, if so what are they: Yes!

The Entire poem of Invictus. I know it’s not necessarily a quote but I recite it all the time.

“Why do we fall master Bruce? So we can learn to pick ourselves back up again.” - The Dark Knight

“It Ain’t about how hard you hit…It’s about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward.” - Rocky

“We are none of us alone

even as we exhale it is inhaled by others

the light that shines upon me shines upon my neighbor as well

in this way everything is connected

everything is connected to everything else

In this way I am connected to my friend even as I am connected to my enemy

In this way there is no difference between me and my friend

In this way there is no difference between me and my enemy

We are none of us alone.” - Path to Zen

29. youtube or netflix: Both. I can’t resist fanvids and netflix has all these amazing shows and I get to watch at once because I’m impatient and dislike waiting week to week.

30. harry potter or percy jackson: I have to say Harry Potter only because I haven’t read Percy Jackson but I have a feeling if I did I would immediately switch. Greek myths are my life.

31. when you feel accomplished: When I achieve a goal. Recently it’s been the Sally Up challenge. Thank you Emily Bett Rickards for the push.

32. star wars or star trek: Both

33. paperback books or hardback books: Every version of a book out there.

34. to live in a world without literature or without music?: I could never be without both.

35. what’s one thing you hope to accomplish in life? I want to help people. My ultimate goal has always been to help, uplift, and inspire people.

36: what is your favourite place to be? The forest whenever I find one. (not the woods. That’s for horror movies. Forests are for adventures.) Or the beach. I love the sea so much.

37: biggest pet peeve? Ignorance and purposeful ignorance. Like those people who no matter what choose not to learn something because it messes with their already set view. People who no matter what refuse to even listen to another side and yet claim to be all knowing and “so wise” to the ways of the world. Also people who tell me no. As in when I bring up a fact they immediately go no. I want to punch people who do that.

38. do you have someone you can tell absolutely everything to, without fear of being judged? if yes, who? I really wish I did but I have massive trust issues that I don’t see going away anytime soon. I have one best friend who I tell the most stuff to that I don’t even tell my family but even she doesn’t know everything about me.

39. If you could be any mythological creature what would you be?

Tagging these lovelies unless you’ve done it already or don’t want to do it in which case lo siento: @dinahsmoak @pensandarrows @adiwriting @latinasmoak @missafairy

[kymkral]

the seventh one:  These Are My Afterthoughts... 3/19/17

Nothing beats the image of  a girl crying on a hotel bed in only spanks and nipple pasties while the stranger she decided to go home with struggles to figure out what the fuck to say.  Sean handled it like a champ. 

Let me back up to a few weeks.  My first childhood friend, Russell had asked me to officiate his wedding.  I was preparing the ceremony while preparing myself to bring home Rob, my boyfriend.  Rob was a few inches taller than me, with light blue eyes, that sparkled, and a mischievous smile.  I thought I was completely head over heels and that we would get married someday.  Rob was also the first man I had ever brought home.  I was filled with excitement and dread. 

A week before the ceremony Rob sent me a text ending the relationship.  Yes, you read that correctly, a text.  Just a casual “we need to split up” text.  I was devastated.  I was numb.  Most of all I was confused. 

Forget the logistical issues this brought on, such as cancelling a flight, explaining and apologizing to the bride and groom that my plus one was not coming, and no I didn’t want to find a last minute replacement, but the emotional embarrassment I was about to face made me want to crawl into a hole. 

Upon arrival the bride’s mother, whom I had never met hugged me and asked the very question I was hoping to avoid all weekend, “why?”  I didn’t’ have an answer for this.  He just left.  No explanation.  Nothing.  She wasn’t really asking so much in a meaningful caring way but a gossipy way that one only asks to get the dirt of something juicy.  She was a bitch. 

A few days before the wedding the groom, my childhood friend Russell took me out to catch up. I’ve known Russell my whole life.  We were very different children and teenagers growing up, him being a rebel that drank and tried drugs and made out with girls; then there was me, well, I was none of those things.  It made for quite a divide growing up because though we tried, we could never quite relate to one another.  Russell was tall and handsome, with hazel eyes and brown hair, charismatic, and when we grew into adulthood our parents often described us as two sides of the same coin, we were the equivalent male/female version of each other.  Russell asked about my dad, who wouldn’t be attending the wedding because of his and my personal issues.  He asked about my career and then asked about my newly singledom.  He seemed genuinely concerned with my heartache.  That has always been one of my favorite things about Russell, when talking with him, he treats you like you’re the only person in the world.  I assured him this would not affect his wedding.  That I wouldn’t break down or let it bother me.  I was crying in the shower like an adult and the show would go on.

I. Completely. Ruined. That. Wedding.

For starters… I didn’t really write the ceremony.  Not to give myself any excuses, but that mother in law wrote the majority of it.  Most of the ceremony made zero sense and I thought I could just roll with it...  I couldn’t.  She told me the night before, a mere twelve hours before the ceremony, that I could add fun stories about my childhood with Russell.  That information would have been really cool even like a week prior.  I was going to stick to the script….  Mistake.  I was sitting in a chair at the venue a few hours before the ceremony going over my note cards, totally nervous and afraid to ask for a drink.  Enters Sean, the guy from the beginning of the story.  Sean, along with his buddy Donnie were in the Coast Guard with Russell and had made their way to Colorado from San Francisco.  I had met Donnie at the rehearsal dinner the night before, but hadn’t really thought much of him except that he was nice and had a peculiar but interesting voice.  Very soulful.  Sean, however, caught my eye.  He towered over me even in heals. His Ken doll perfect hair, big pretty brown eyes and welcoming smile made my heart skip a beat right away.  They left me with my note cards and assured me I would do great.

Before the ceremony I asked the mother in law a question regarding a part that literally made no sense.  The script had me giving away the bride halfway through the ceremony, I asked the question, she and her husband acknowledged, and then some random broad was to come out and sing “Wind Beneath My Wings”.  She gave me a curt “you should have thought of all these questions yesterday,  my daughter is getting married today”.  ….Awesome, I thought.

It was a hot Colorado day, muggier than what I remembered my home state to be, maybe the sweat was from the nerves.  I was standing in the front of about two hundred people with heals on that did not properly fit, a too short of dress… god I really should have thought all that through… and a backless, strapless bra that was sweating down my cheast.  I tried to casually push my pasties up with my forearms without the audience noticing but with nothing else was going on I completely failed.  Which did not help the sweating part. 

The ceremony began.  I awkwardly shifted in my too big of heals and shakily welcomed the friends and family to this thing without looking up from my notes.  I stammered through the first couple of cards and decided I was confident enough to look up. 

I. Was. Wrong.

I. Called. The. Bride. The. Wrong. Name.

It sounds a lot worse than it was.  Well… no it doesn’t.  Her name is Michelle and as I mentioned his name is Russell, so I combined the two and called her “Rachelle”.  This wouldn’t have been so bad if I glossed over it like the pro I usually am, but instead I could not stop laughing.  I nudged Michelle and said “Oops” and I laughed my way through the next few paragraphs.  You know how people say it probably wasn’t as bad as you think? This was definitely worse than it sounds. And if you don’t think it sounds bad, I’m telling it wrong.

Then the singing broad came out with her Bette Midler number and the bride, in her always loving and caring way said, “don’t be nervous, I have swap ass”.  Russell really hit a home run with that one.  Not only is Michelle absolutely stunning, she’s kind.  Her kindness outweighs her beauty, and upon meeting her this would seem impossible. 

I took a deep breath and looked over at the best man who mouthed “what the fuck are you doing?!”  I shrugged.  I had no idea what the fuck I was doing. 

I don’t know if Michelle or the best man will ever know, unless they read this, but their gestures saved the rest of that ceremony.  I regained… actually, I guess gained, because I never really had it, my composure and married these two awesome people flawlessly.

I greeted the newly married couple outside and profusely apologized, in their way they both hugged me and said “who cares what happened out there, you did your job, we’re married.”  The mother in law and wedding planner were not so forgiving.  They both asked several questions I could not answer, but the jest “what the fuck happened to me out there” 

Then came the reception. Sean had found his way to me and we spent the night laughing.  We danced and we kissed.  We smoked a cigar and became the stars of the photo booth.  This was by far the most fun I had ever had with a stranger, I almost forgot that I had started this trip with a shattered heart.

Almost….

Sean invited me back to his hotel room and of course I said yes.  You don’t turn down that kind of handsome, especially at a wedding with a newly broken heart.  I was ready for some much needed rebound sex….Or so I thought.

He kissed me, guided me towards the bed and removed my dress.  We both paused as we looked down at my undergarments…. a backless, strapless nude bra that just look like too big nipple pasties and spanks that went up and over my belly button.  They were so high they might as well have gone completely over my head.  He giggled and said “Can we pretend you have something a little more sexy on?”  I was kind of hoping we would, I replied.  He then continued kissing me while I removed his shirt and then his pants. His shoulders broad and cheast the perfect size to later rest my head on, just the right amount of hair, and then I lost it….

I. Completely. Lost. It.

I. Could. Not. Stop. Crying.

The weight of that stupid breakup, which writing now seems so laughable, and the week, and the wedding, the absence of my father because of our own issues…. it all hit me at once.  I laid on the bed while a confused Sean wracked his brain to find out what the hell had happened.  Here he was about to get some wedding action with what he probably thought was a perfectly normal girl.  And now she was lying in his bed uncontrollably crying.  Don’t feel bad for me, feel bad for him, if you weren’t already.

Sean did what you’d expect any good guy to do, but there are so few out there I was shocked, he held me all night and listened to every single Rob detail.  In its entirety. 

Jesus that Ken doll deserves a medal. 

He never got laid that night, which was about four years ago.  We’re still very good friends.  Who knows? I might end up marrying that handsome Ken doll someday.  And I promise, Russell and Michelle will have the opportunity to return the favor.  I hope they make their revenge count. 

These are my afterthoughts…