#really really don't like losing our shiny record

[moss-bride]

Koi boi (Lawrence x fem!reader) Chapt:4

Dead dove do not eat.

How do deers mate?

The female doe enters estrus. The male buck enters rut. His horns shed blood lining while her hormones course through her body and shed tissue. Both lose themselves to a dance

She mulls over that weird fact while juggling the decision of her clothes trying for a look that isn't too showy. What will Lawrence wear? She generally saw him as an unkempt man. He will be choosing comfort over looks, she's sure, sweats and a thrown on sweatshirt with a red patterned shirt. Hair tied in the same loose ponytail. That's his usual outfit worn day in and day out.

Now that she thinks about it, does he even change? It doesn't seem it since the clothing that hang on him is always wrinkled.

Even though Lawrence isn't exactly fashionable she intends to impress him.

She chooses a decently short skirt with warm leggings and a long sleeve blouse. Going with something that looks pretty second and keeps warm first. She fights the sleepiness in her eyes and finishes her makeup. (lip balm and eyeliner for now,)

 The final touch prior she leaves is perfume. Unlike her clothes, this one is important, a scent can serve as a signature or introduction before she can even say a word. Lawrence is constantly checking out gardening books, it would make sense to single out a flowery or earthy smell. 

(she tucks thoughts of grass, horns and decay away for now.) 

After much debate she chooses warm Magnolia. She rubs small doses into her neck and wrists, heading out into the dark night. 

The hour he chose for them to meetup is oddly late. The streets are empty and free of human milling. Stores are closed, the windows on business buildings are dark. An hour before the bars close and past the time a usual person would be awake.

She's been to The Jackalope once in the past. A kind colleague had invited her out with the rest of the female employees sometime ago. The whole evening was awkward and she never got reinvited but she appreciated the sentiment.

She walks around the corner and makes it there in record time. Nothing changed around the place except the obvious fact that there's far less people. An employee is in the far right, wiping down the bar table, winding down after what must have been a busy night.

She spots the shiny blond hair in the corner, waiting for her. He hasn't ordered drinks yet. She takes a deep breath, gathering her courage, clutches her purse and heads his way. When Lawrence sees her he goes still

Doesn't break contact until she reaches the table.

Wearing his usual clothes as she predicted.

"Lawrence. I'm really happy you asked me out."

She could say 'No one's ever made an effort to know more about me. I feel that there is a chance we might mean something if we play our cards right. I hope -' but that would be idiotic thing to do. Worse, he might find it creepy.

 She sits across from him and he nervously flits his eyes from place to place. "I hope you weren't waiting long."

"I wasn't." he assures her. They order drinks. He gets a beer and she does the same, politely sips after his cue. Ignoring the awful taste in her mouth.

He gulps it down halfway, as nervous as she is. Yet they let the silence settle between them. They aren't talkative people and that's what makes her like Lawrence. Others would try to start a forced conversation but he's perfectly fine with the quiet in the beginning.

She tilts in to covertly sniff him. There is that familiar smell emanating from him. Overripe fruit and…decay. She never thought she could stand such a scent but maybe it's the person that makes it tolerable.

Staring at the amber surface of her drink, the light inside the bar bounced off the ice cube to give her a warped expression. She drums her finger on the table. "Is beer your go-to drink?"

He shakes his head. "I don't drink much."

"That shows a good amount of restraint." alcohol can be such a chore to avoid.

She takes a sip as he thinks. Lawrence invited her here for a reason, an intrinsic want to act on the desire to know. It's been taunting him and growing since he started to stalk her. For years he held off, swimming beyond her vision as the whispers and loneliness grew. ( After finding her, He didn't know what to do with a kindred soul. Still has no idea.)

Since asking her to the bar, he was a ball of nerves. This is his first time willingly spent in someone's company.…what questions does he ask? What does he do with his hands except ball them on his lap? He's sweating bullets under his clothes, looking anywhere but her eager eyes. The kindness in them burns because-

He's not a good person.

 And if he continues on with this she'll find that out. Part of him imagines a world where he shows her all his perversions and she doesn't turn him away. (she understood the river, can't she understand him too.) His brain knows this is naive. What sane person would want to talk to him if they knew the skeletons in his closet?

Earlier he spent the day switching between clutching his toilet bowl puking until all that was left was bile and smoking half his storage. Neighbors had sent a complaint to the apartment office because of the smell. Bitter burnt leaves and overwhelming rot. 'A skunk orgy' a neighbor muttered as he walked past today. 

 Poppy milk ridden dreams and nicotine hazed truths that for a singular moment are less daunting.  Not that it helps. The high never lasts and he's thrust back into reality. Choking through the hazy smoke to find that it's time to leave. Throwing on what he could find and marching out the door.

Currently, he feels it's too hot in here. He can't breathe-

He takes a couple of breaths to calm the nerves jumping under skin. Slow draws of life that he counts until hitting triple digits, then he calms.

 He begs his mouth to come up with something to say. But she doesn't mind his voicelessness. Her serenity eases the worst of his worry

Sensing this inner turmoil in her 'date', She begins her next question to alleviate the pressure. A statement. "So, you are a big reader." Of course he is, why else would he be in the library practically everyday?! She could bang her head against the table with how ridiculous this is.

"I like reading. Fiction and nonfiction. But especially florilegia books, they exist as a curated collection of botanical art." While he talks she keeps her expression tentative and encouraging. Gets the feeling that he's not used to talking so much. "It's an escape. A moment where I can stop being." 

She can relate to that. "Florilegia are kind of the same as bestiary books, right? Does that mean you garden?"

He enjoys this question better than the others, visibly perking up. He must be a plant person. "I do. Vines, and shrubs mostly." She wonders the number of plants he takes care of. The location of his garden can be saved for their (hopeful) next date.

Lost in the daydream she almost misses him adding on a whisper. "I like how they need me." 

When you are needed you exist to complete a function for necessity sake. She could fit that role. "Being needed can be a wonderful feeling. Makes you feel less alone." 

He flushes, seems happy that she understands.

Then he says a strange thing. "They are helpless and can't live without me, it's nice…"

She chooses to ignore that heavy statement in favor of naive delusions

Two borderline strangers, heavily sedated by anxiety and wrapped up in their own world to an almost egotistical degree, attempting to reach across the line of understanding and knowing. He's able to let go of the haunting thought of things going bad to just be there. In this empty bar with her while She leans her chin on her palm, swirling the drink in her hand. Nodding in agreement.

 "Yeah. I mean. In my opinion, Not being needed is the closest thing I ever felt to being dead."

His head snaps up and there is an edge of a glare. Too late, she realizes she said some kind of a trigger word. "Death isn't like that at all!"

His voice is surprisingly deep, gone is the forced wispy tone. She sits up straight and glances at the bartender, who's too distracted in the back to hear. Thank the Lord.

His pink face displays a new energy. She winces, apologizes." I shouldn't have brought it up." startled by his sudden exclamation she tries to smooth over the mishap. Not expecting the turn in their conversation at all.

 But he seems oddly defensive of a topic others speak on with derision and fear. "You've experienced it..."

He stutters and falls silent. Confessing. "I did." the information breaks her heart. 

She reaches across the table and holds his sweaty palm. "I have too." shaking her head she tries to gather composure by freely admitting a personal detail. She doesn't care about her death experience. "That shouldn't be a topic for a first date.," she tries to quickly move on.

It's on the tip of his tongue to ask her what she saw. He recalls that she was an infant when she died and from that, has strange images of unmoving water. He can't reveal that he knows yet.

He notices the bandages on her finger. Thickly layered but the red soaks in a bit. 

"You had an accident." She was in her restroom when it happened. 

"Oh yeah… I was clumsy and slammed it against a drawer." She lies extra prettily while shifting the hand way. She'll take what really happened to the grave because there is a high chance if she told the truth he'd pity her or look at her with disgust, either way it's a goodbye to a second date.

Lawrence is focused on another side of it. Why underwear? He wants to ask. Can you give me these bandages too? Said underwear he shoved under his pillow. Folded so the blood patch is visible and he can reach to snake it in his palm. It's faded into pink from the amounts of times his tongue brushed and sucked it 

He's gazing at the wraps with a need he hopes isn't apparent. She's too sweet.  Drawing him in to be consumed by her flame. Helpless bug that he is. 

They don't talk much, however, the air between them is one of acceptance. His anxious mind is able to think. His body doesn't need to be stopped from shaking with uncertainty. "What do you do for a living?"

He curtly responds "Warehouse. And you?" But he already knows what she does. 

She answers brightly. The job is boring and the men around her joke too often about her going home with them. Suggestive looks they give her make her gag. Lawrence wouldn't do such a thing. He's a gentle soul. She wanted his eyes on her and she got her wish, his cool gaze hardly leaves her face as she talks, 

Lined with stress and gray skin.

Instead of testosterone driven frenzy Lawrence is pensive, would never hurt a fly. Maybe it would be more accurate to call him Ferdinand in that sense. Her docile man.  "How old are you?" she asks and eagerly observes his pink lips move.

 She was right about being in his late twenties, not that it matters, she imagines she'd still be interested if he was batting a hundred. She gives him her own age and he doesn't seem to care.

'Stag' means an adult male deer. A male deer has antlers for defense and to compete with other stags for the claims of a Doe (female deer)

I'll be your Doe. Whatever you need, I'll be. She dazedly thinks as they walk side by side with each other, out the door and into the world.

His hands are in his jacket and so are hers. They should be hand holding, romance movies say that's how a night should end, but she doesn't want to push him. Lawrence might spring away. Stags are demanding things and she needs to make the necessary adjustments to have his company. She swears she won't take what isn't offered 

Yet when they arrive at her building doors she can't help but turn to him. A novel expectation that he will initiate a romantic gesture. 

"Thank you Lawrence. I had a good time."

His gaze darts. Reluctant to leave her but unsure in showing it. His fingernails bit half moons into his sweaty palm.

She goes up one step so they are the same and cups his face. At first he freezes, ready to pull back. His skin is a bit oily under her thumb, she rubs soothing circles on his cheekbones. Her deer doesn't flee. 

The moment she's been waiting for, she inches close and lays a single peck on his lips and lingers, though chaste. Taste of a misplaced sun. Smelling of things rot and sour.

Fur hyde, salt water. She closes her eyes and enjoys the still lips that part in a surprised intake. If you told her she's kissing porcelain instead of a man she would believe you. They are chapped and cold yet she loves the brief peck. It's all she dares to take right now.

"Lawrence…" She puffs his name against his frozen cheek and he shivers.

 Her touch and breath burns into his rotten core.

She's silent as he backs off, leaving her at the doorway to her building. Her final smile is soft. Dreamy. Not a goodbye but a confession. "You're wonderful."

He could be mistaken but she's looking at him in a hopeful way, as if he brought her the world. A sight too beautiful to be a lie. He desires so desperately for it to be true. For her face to be one of those rare few in the world that don't use a pretty facade to lie.

Is he as useless as a moth in this situation? 

Helplessly drawn to the first sight of distant light on the horizon with the lack of hindsight that once reached he'll be burnt to a crisp in the graze of fire. He hates it. 

His throat seizes in confusion. 'You think you can control me?!' He wants to shake her. 'I'm not giving you anything!'

Wants to frighten her for inspiring these emotions in his chest and in the same vein, sink into the hook of understanding.

Lawrence licks his lips, faintly tasting magnolias in hot may. White/green Buds bursting in full bloom. Her enthralling scent.

He decided......

Take her thread! (kidnap)

His plants will bloom and fruit but stay in the confines of a pot. They don't move or utter words of disagreement. He does what he wants without judgment or derision from them. She would go well with his other flowers.Can't stand the thought of her existing without him, leaving him on the steps to continue her life

Leave it for now (+2 more chapters of stalking before kidnapping)

What if her trustworthiness is a lie? A trap set by her because she sensed the things that are wrong with him and is closing the trap door so she can laugh and scoff with the rest of humanity

Sound the alarm and tell everyone he is not normal. It makes him angry. He can't stand the attention

If there ever was such a thing as a baseline for his fractured mind, it is slipping in running currents. He's called to a stall. Yearning to watch her for moments more. The same way one watches a thrown pebbled sink into water.

[wh-da-backup]

Lyric stubs uploaded nov 2009

I can taste your past on your stream of consciousness I'm drawing it in. I'm drawing it in. I'm drawing it on my wall, that tainted silver hall. and now it seems we have nothing to talk about i can sense your thoughts i'm drawing them toward me

drawing them out

whatever you caught it's spreading like butter itchy record suicide* your null-G skull's gravitational pull will surely soon cause my head to implode

(* cause if you scratch a record, you ruin it)

I don't wear make-up repulsion's been my best defense if you blind yourself on lies I don't need your help I don't wanna be so helpless hate me for who I am and I won't mind

I can't stand that look in your eyes

yeah… don't see me that way

as they led their collective horse to water help him still and shoved a tube down his throat they drowned him from the inside but had nowhere else to go

put your money where your mouth is how bitter does it taste? a wishing well of broken dreams a deafened magician

I've walked on water before frozen still crystal ballroom floor*

(*refers to walking on ice)

a bubble rests on a blade of grass she runs across the lawn without batting an eyelash ten more years turn around and she wonders if she could've made it last longer than it did everything seems so much bigger when you're just a kid

hey don't forget we were all innocent once before the world seeped in through the cracks in our minds now with weights on your conscience and scars on your soul you think back and you seemed so much happier blind I miss the innocence… where did it go?

and now with the hail falling down from the sky and the blood on our hands of the ink in our eyes and the past and the future conflicting inside

we turn around and beat helplessly on closed doors

a green smashed open sprite can propped up against my wall the hornets at my window

I won't let you in at all

you met me in a time when darkness swam around my mind you coaxed the hidden genius that took me years to find you gave me hope and calluses

I drawing on you and you really don't mind

separation anxiety for you in the next room my fingertips are starting to soften I'm losing my sign of you my shiny shiny calluses

I'm drawing on you and you really don't mind

I'm waiting for you and they really don't mind

I used to be drowned in my bubble of ignorance then I was washed ashore, breathing on land and now the music seeps into my mind like water seeps into the sand

I used to be torn apart and windblown around not I tower in castles

oh wave knock me down

and has my mind gone too far out to sea can it be love when you're oh so different from me could this be more than reality would allow words cannot tell you how i feel now

with memories of music just passing the time

and of falling asleep with you there by my side

I hear them say that i live in my own little world they say the the atmosphere ends at the edge of my head and right now I'm raging in the middle of a civil war it can only end with my adversary gone

and this time i'm afraid that i don't have long I cry in the darkness, "I miss you! where have you been?" Whenever there's trouble in me

that's the trouble I'm in.

And I don't wanna hear it the way you always see things and I don't wanna know your plan for a perfect everything you never tell my anything

do you notice any difference are you so indifferent oh you always ask me but i never finish

coats are so expensive lies are so intrusive mind club uninclusive shut down, cage your retina

[d20owlbear]

Mathematical Improbability of Reaching the Stars Update!

Quick update: After almost a year of bi-weekly updates on time (other than the initial day shift) me and @cassieoh are gonna be posting late.

Sorry y'all! Our intended post date this week is Saturday, and we'll be back on track for the chapter after, but we're both feeling the strain of writing this week and need the extra couple of days to make sure this chapter is up to snuff and we're happy with it.

Thank you for your patience! 

[electricopolis-net]

S02E06: The Game Show Killer (Part 3)

3. Sparker Live! / Hoodlum Hunting

“We have a treat for you today, folks!” Bob Sparker announced. “We have a very special guest with us...”

Bob put a hand on the back of the electric chair. He spun it around to reveal the masked man already in it, his eyes gazing out stonily from beneath his executioner’s hood.

“That’s right, folks! The one, the only...the Game Show Killer!” Bob whooped. “What a name, huh?” He leaned down and pointed his microphone at the man’s face. “Tell me! What do you have against my noble profession, anyway?”

No response. The man’s hands just tightened on the arms of the chair.

Bob pulled back. “Well, no worries!” he said cheerfully. “We’ll get an answer out of you one way or another! Ladies and gentlemen, let's give our mystery man a big round of applause!”

The audience went wild. Columns of sparks lit up the stage as the spotlights focused on the man in the chair. Behind his hood, his eyes narrowed.

“Now, this is a special live show,” Bob said, “so what you see is what you get! Will our hooded hero withstand every jolt on his way to the finish line, or will he tap out for a few thousand dollars? You'll get to see it all as it happens, with no smoke, mirrors or editing! So don't blink--and stay tuned!”

Meanwhile…

“Where are you going?” Jam asked, nearly stumbling as he tried to keep up with Margaret as she dragged him by his hand.

“We are going to do something productive,” she said. “Instead of sitting around and watching Bob's slide into complete degradation, we're gonna do a little detective work. Come on!”

She pulled Jam into her car, a shiny golden convertible with paint that glittered like diamonds. “Remember that guy who terrorized us on the road?” she said. “I looked him up online. Word is, he records his little joyrides and uploads the videos for people to watch. So if we're lucky, we can catch him and figure out who he is.”

“Is that really such a good idea?” Jam protested. “I'd be happy never seeing them again--”

“Me too, but I'm in a bad mood and I want a fight, so we're going hoodlum hunting.” She pulled back the gearshift on her car as she let out a growl. “Just tell yourself we're doing everyone a public service!”

Soon they were back on the roads circling Electricopolis. The wind, dry and cold, whipped at Margaret's jacket and stung Jam's lips. “Listen,” he said. “We don't even know for sure that he's out here--”

A beam of light cut through the dark. Jam recoiled as a pair of headlights flashed in the rearview mirror. For just a moment, the two of them caught a glimpse of the familiar red-and-yellow paint job before the headlights pivoted upwards, glowing so brightly that Jam, even with his glasses on, found himself squinting.

“There he is,” Margie hissed. She pulled her car to one side, and the other one followed behind her. They were clearly trying to block her.

She turned on her turn signal, waited for Speed Demon's car to switch lanes, and then she slowed down, pulling her car further back until she was level with her rival. “Tell them to roll down the window,” she said. “We gotta talk.”

Jam leaned over the passenger side door. “Hey!” he called out. “Roll down the window! We just want to talk!”

The other car's engine roared in response, its headlights flashing. Jam leaned back. “No good,” he said. “I think they're looking for a race.”

“Then they'll get one.” Margie gritted her teeth. “I had this lady tuned up just to keep up with this little shit. Let's see how they like this!”

Before Jam could get out a word in edgewise, Margaret's convertible pulled forward and past Speed Demon's car. She jerked the steering wheel hard to the side, trying to cut them off, but the driver deftly maneuvered out of the way.

As Margaret's glitter-flecked car weaved and bobbed around Speed Demon's, Jam felt himself sink lower and lower into the passenger seat, trying not to lose his mind out of anxiety. They'd barely escaped from this person once before, and now Margaret was picking a fight with them on purpose?

He looked over at her. Her jaw was clenched tight. Her hands gripped the wheel so hard her knuckles were white. And there were tears forming at the corners of her eyes…

The car lurched. Margaret pulled ahead of Speed Demon, then braked and yanked the steering wheel hard, sending the rear of her car flying out at an angle. There was a deafening squeal and the smell of burning rubber as Speed Demon did the same, leaving curving tire tracks on the asphalt.

There was a moment of quiet before Margaret stepped out of the car and tried to yank open Speed Demon's door. “Was that enough of a race for you?” she hollered, as Jam followed behind. “Come on, get out here!”

The door opened and the driver tumbled out onto the ground, fumbling with their helmet before finally yanking it off. They couldn't have been more than fifteen or sixteen, with a freckled face framed by a mop of blond hair. “You again?” the kid asked, and then all the color drained from his face. “You're... you're Margaret King.”

“That’s right!” Margaret said, kneeling down. “And I’ve had enough of being terrorized by a little kid like…” She paused, then leaned in, peering. Her eyes narrowed. The teenager started to sweat. “Wait a second. Don't I know you?”

“Do you?” Jam chimed in, leaning over her to get a look for himself. “Hey...you do look kind of familiar.”

“I dunno what you're talking about,” the kid stammered, trying to put his helmet back on. Margaret grabbed it out of his hands. “Hey, give that back!”

“You're with that creep who runs Rubyred!” Margaret exclaimed. “That’s where I've seen you! Look, Jam, he's got the same hair and everything,” she said, pointing. The boy turned away, scowling. “Remember? We met at a party one time, but you didn't stick around. I barely got to shake your hand. You're Giuseppe's cousin, right?”

“Nephew. But don't even think of lumping me in with that guy,” Speed Demon spat. “This car's the only thing he ever gave me. Says it'll keep me out of his hair. What do you want with me, anyway?”

“Well, I was going to beat you up,” Margaret said, cracking her neck back and forth. “What do you think, Jam?”

“Jesus, Margie, he's just a kid!” Jam sputtered. “Listen, uh, Speed Demon--what's your real name, anyway?”

“F... Francis. It's Francis.”

“Francis? Seriously? No wonder you’re using an alias,” Margaret said. Francis rolled his eyes and reached for his helmet, which Margie jerked out of the way. “Anyway,” she snickered, “I'm sure your uncle's gonna be thrilled when I tell him you were caught terrorizing the heiress to the electric company.”

“Wait!” Francis said, holding up a hand. “Don't do that, okay? Please? He'll kick me out if you do! He said if I cause any more trouble, he'll send me underground!”

“Then quit your stupid joyrides,” Margaret said. “Maybe I oughta just keep this helmet, huh? Just to make sure you behave?”

“Come on!” Francis complained. “Okay, listen. You're friends with that weirdo game show host, right? Bob Sparker?”

“Yeah,” Jam said. “Why?”

“If you gimme that back, and you don't tell my uncle I messed with you…” Francis hemmed and hawed. “I'll tell you something about that guy on Sparker's show.”

Margaret blinked, lowering the helmet. “The Game Show Killer?”

“Yeah. That guy. His, uh, agent works for my uncle,” the boy explained. “She's real shady. She was telling Giuseppe that she found some guy who used to know Bob Sparker, and they're gonna try to get Sparker sent to jail. I dunno how, but something's supposed to happen during the live show…”

“Sent to jail?” Jam echoed. He glanced at Margaret. “Think we oughta tell your dad?”

“That's no good,” Margaret murmured. “The show's broadcasting right now!” She tossed the helmet back to Francis, then turned to Jam and handed him her keys. “Here. Take these and get my car back to the garage. Francis,” she ordered. “Let's go!”

“Go?” the teen said. “Go where?”

“To the studio!” she replied. “You can make it, can't you?”

“Of course I can make it!” scoffed the driver, fixing the helmet back over his head. “Get in!”

Jam looked up. “Margie,” he said. She paused, the passenger door open, staring at him. “Just...be careful, okay?”

Margaret paused, looking a little taken aback. Then she smiled, gave Jam a thumbs up, and disappeared into Speed Demon's car. Within moments, the car tore away back onto the roads, leaving only a cloud of dust in its wake.

[myfearless-love]

The Wildest Place You Run (3/?) - Pretty Scary Sometimes

If anyone missed Killian in the previous chapters (because who wouldn't miss him, let's be honest) then I have good news: we are getting more Killian now that most of the flashbacks are done! I enjoyed writing this chapter as we dive deeper into the character's backstories and present happenings! I hope you like it too! Let me know :)

Also, check out the amazing and beautiful art that @thejollyroger-writer made for chapter 3 & 4!! I love how she always captures the essence of the chapters!

Summary:

Vampires, Werewolves, Mages, and Elves. For centuries, they kept their existence a secret, but the constant rebellions against the strict laws of the Guild had led to a terrible tragedy. In an open clash, it became apparent to humans just what kind of monsters lived among them. Emma Swan loses the love of her life in the first battle of the war. A few months later, while still trying to process what happened, a mysterious and terrifying figure worms his way into her life. But the man is hiding far more terrible secrets than he reveals to her, pulling them both into a horrible situation...

Chapter: 3/? - Pretty Scary Sometimes

Fandom: Once Upon a Time

Rating: M

Relationships: Killian Jones/Emma Swan

Read on: FF.net or AO3

Words: ~3k

Previous parts:

Ch 1 II Ch 2

TW for this chapter: Implied miscarriage

.

"Emma! Lock the door behind us! We probably won't be back before morning…"

David's voice snapped her back out of her memories and back into the present, and she stared up at her brother with misty eyes. "What?"

"Lock the door behind us," he repeated, shaking his head slightly in disapproval, and hurried out of the kitchen.

Somewhat dazed, she started walking towards the team of Hunters, but by the time she reached the living room, they were all gone. All except Killian, who was still fumbling with his gun holsters.

Her memories still held her a little captive, she stared wearily at the front door. It had been more than half a year, but she would never forget that night or that horrible half an hour she spent in the morgue…

"It can't be him! It's probably a mistake, Neal certainly isn't…" she shook her head and sobbed hysterically.

If David hadn't been holding her, she would have simply fallen awkwardly to the shiny floor.

"Emma! It pains me too, but if he were alive, he would have come back long ago…"

"No! He's not…" she repeated tirelessly, like a broken record. She couldn't comprehend that she had lost Neal along with the little one…

"Are you sure?" The coroner stared doubtfully at Emma, and there was also a hint of pity and contempt in his gaze.

Of course. To him, he was just a corpse, but to her…

"She won't calm down until then…" David sighed somewhat bitterly and stared at the white-covered body in front of them.

"All right," the coroner shrugged.

He was a short, broad, and severely balding man, with gray hair and several days of white stubble. He reached for the edge of the sheet with his stubby fingers, but before he could pull the fabric aside, a brutally burned hand slid off the autopsy table.

The breath caught in her throat, and she suddenly forgot how to breathe. They were long, thin fingers, just like Neal's. The skin was burned almost black, cartilage showing on the fingers.

"Maybe it was a bad idea..." David whispered, pulling her head to his chest and trying to shield her vision. He tried to soothe her, even though she was no longer sobbing anymore. Her eyes widened in horror, and she gasped for air.

"I think so, too. She's quite neurotic," the doctor grunted.

"Just keep your mouth shut! We didn't ask for your opinion," David snorted.

"Sorry," he muttered in a mocking tone and sauntered off.

He grabbed something from the table and handed Robin a plastic bag containing a sooty, burnt box. "We found this a few feet from the body. Does it look familiar?" The doctor scanned the faces of the Hunters impassively.

"Oh my God…"

"You've got to be kidding me…"

"Shit…"

Emma didn't understand their outburst, she just saw the horror and shock on their faces.

"What's that?" Mary Margaret glanced at the tiny box with watery eyes.

The others, on the other hand, didn't seem to have heard the question at all, staring uncertainly at each other and the box.

"Can we have this?" inquired Robin.

"Of course. We don't need it," replied the doctor.

"How generous," Leo said.

"David, what do you think? Should we give it to her?" Robin stared at her uncertainly.

"What's in it?" Emma asked in a husky voice. "Is it something of Neal's?"

"No. It's yours," Ruby replied gently.

"No, it's not mine," she shook her head. It wasn't at all familiar to her.

"But what's inside is yours," David replied, nodding to Robin, who opened the plastic bag and carefully pulled the box out. "Emma… you probably would've figured it out or guessed, it's better to just rip the band-aid now," he whispered, stroking her hair.

Emma raised her head suspiciously. "What's going on?"

"I'm sure Neal would have been happy to see you wearing it…" he added carefully. "He was going to ask you to marry him that night…"

Robin opened the small box. Inside, her engagement ring remained perfectly intact…

She opened her eyes slowly and raised her hand in front of her face. The ring still glittered on her finger. It was made of white gold, and the most beautiful amber she had ever seen shone upon it. It was terribly painful to realize what a wonderful night it could have been, and instead, it ended with the death of her boyfriend and unborn baby. They could have been a family.

But she wore it, despite the pain it caused when she looked at it. She could still feel him a little close to her. It hurt, but not so much that she couldn't bear it.

"Swan, are you all right?" Killian was already standing on the doorstep, eyeing her anxiously.

"I'm fine," she nodded, but her tone was the slightest bit sharper than she'd intended.

"Apologies." He turned away, but she gently grasped his arm.

"I'm sorry. I'm not mad at you or anything. I didn't mean to take it out on you."

"It's alright, love." His lips twisted into a faint, understanding smile.

His good manners were sometimes in stark contrast to his appearance. His dark, almost black hair, disheveled as always, brushed against his forehead now, in need of a haircut. The thick stubble on his face was peppered here and there with a hint of ginger if the light fell on him at the right angle. His right ear was pierced and adorned with a solid black stone earring. There was no room for new tattoos on his left arm, various drawings of a compass, skull and crossbones, symbols, and plants were inked into his skin, likely to hide the age-old scar that ran from his wrist to his bicep. He also accentuated his eyes with black eyeliner, making his arctic blue eyes stand out as prominently as the North Star in the dark sky.

He wore his signature black outfit - jeans, a shirt that was always missing a few buttons at the top to reveal a generous patch of dark hair, leather jacket, and combat boots.

All in all, he looked like a textbook bad boy, which was why Emma preferred to keep her distance from him.

"You better get going," she remarked as the front door closed behind the others.

"They won't leave without me, anyway. Who would look out for them?" he let out a laugh, attaching a pistol holster to his hip. "Take care, ladies," he nodded to her from the other side of the doorstep, then disappeared into the night after the others.

Emma retreated into the apartment and carefully locked the door, padlocking it as a precaution. No one could say she hadn't heeded their warning.

"Are they gone?" Mary Margaret sank down on the couch.

"Yeah," Emma nodded and plopped down next to her friend.

She closed her eyes, leaned against the headrest, and stared up at the ceiling.

"I wonder what they're trying to accomplish with all this," Mary Margaret shook her head. "Rebellions everywhere, in almost every country. They can't defeat us, so what do they want?"

"I don't care what they want. All the damn beasts need to be wiped out," Emma hissed.

Ever since that night, she hated those monsters even more, and honestly, who could blame her?

Mary Margaret only hummed and nodded, and for a long time, neither of them said a word.

After a few minutes, her friend broke the silence: "Don't you miss it? Our old life?"

"What do you mean?" Emma glanced at her.

"When we went to college and this craziness hadn't started yet," Mary Margaret replied, and Emma raised one of her eyebrows.

"I don't miss it. If there's anything I miss, it's...him. But nothing else."

"Maybe you should take the ring off. It always reminds you of him. It's been over seven months. I know you don't want to hear this, but sooner or later, you're going to have to move on. There's life after Neal."

If it wasn't Mary Margaret sitting in front of her, telling her that, she probably would have slapped her or, at the very least, made her leave. But Mary Margaret was different. Emma knew she wanted the best for her, and she had much better insight into her situation than she did.

"I can't," Emma shook her head. "It would be like...I don't know. It would be like I was denying him or something."

"No," Mary Margaret objected vehemently. "It wouldn't be like that. To be honest, I didn't agree with the others when they gave you that damn ring. It was like twisting the knife that was already in your heart. If it had been up to me, I wouldn't have told you he was going to ask you to marry him. Sooner or later, you may have realized it yourself, though. Would it have been easier for you if there had been no ring?"

"Maybe," she breathed, staring blankly at the opposite wall.

Her gaze soon drifted to her ring. Maybe she really did need to take it off. "I don't know yet… Maybe in time," she replied.

"My advice is not to hesitate too long. It will be easier after that, believe me."

"I hope so," she smiled finally.

She was startled awake by the ringing of her phone. The rays of the full moon broke on the dry branches of the trees in the woods behind the house, and the silvery light painted indelible patterns on her bedspread with the shadows.

She forgot to close the blinds.

Her phone buzzed again and, still a little sleepy, she rolled onto her side in the huge double bed. She pulled aside the dark green canopy and reached for the vibrating device on the nightstand.

She glanced at the caller ID.

Of course.

Only David would call her in the middle of the night.

"What happened? Are you okay?" she immediately straightened up in her bed, holding her breath, waiting for her brother's answer.

"You're about to find out. We'll be home in five minutes. In the meantime, open the door and get the couch ready for Ruby." His voice sounded calm and Emma concluded that they couldn't be in too much trouble.

She ended the call, jumped up from the bed, and yanked open the door to her room. She ran down the hall and hopped down the stairs, taking two steps at a time. When she reached the front door, she took off the padlock, pulled out the deadbolt, unlocked the door, and opened it wide.

She ran back to the couch and tossed all the unnecessary things off of it. A couple of remotes, two blankets, and a few pillows landed on the cherry wood floor. Just as she stood up, she could hear the hurried footsteps of David and the others.

"Let me go! I can walk on my own two feet!" Ruby's voice sounded rather irritated, but her statement was immediately followed by a loud thud.

"I can see that," David hissed angrily, with a slight note of mockery in his tone. "Jones, if you will! She already tried to claw my eyes out…"

David marched into the apartment like an angry boar. He dropped his gun on the coffee table and sank into one of the black leather chairs. Leo and Robin nervously scurried into the living room, followed by Killian with Ruby in his arms.

Ruby stubbornly struggled against Killian, trying to break free of his grip, but he held her tight. It didn't matter that she could easily stand up to two guys, she couldn't outmaneuver Killian.

Killian wisely turned his face away from Ruby's tiny but sharp fingernails and carefully laid her on the couch.

"If any of you dare touch me again, I'll castrate you!" she growled, and then hissed, a grimace on her face immediately following.

"What happened?" Emma crouched down beside the brunette in horror.

"Can we go to your room?" Ruby pleaded desperately.

"No. She's been shot," David replied before getting up from the chair and drifting into the bathroom.

"What? Have you lost your minds? Why didn't you take her to a hospital?" Emma snapped, glaring at Leo and Robin.

"It was a miracle that we were even able to carry her here," Robin shrugged.

"I'll live," Ruby growled, but tears were running quietly down her face from the pain and exertion.

"Only if I take the bullet out and tend to the wound," David nodded.

"Ruby, we have to do this," Emma sat down next to her on the couch and took her hand.

She knew full well that she didn't like to be touched when she was injured. Ruby blinked up at David in alarm, disgust written all over her beautiful face. "Only you, David. No one else…" she moaned in a fading voice.

"All right, so be it. Let me over there, Emma. Take a look at Killian's arm until then."

She got up from the couch, grabbed a bottle of disinfectant and a bandage from the pile of medical supplies scattered on the table, and walked purposefully toward Killian, who stood silently by the banister.

"There's really no need," he shook his head with a forced smile when she reached him. "It's just a scratch, love, really not that serious."

"Not you, too."

"I don't—"

"Show me. I really don't have the patience for that right now, Killian," she interrupted him.

She didn't know what to make of the look he gave her. His impossibly blue eyes reflected annoyance, fear, and confusion all at once, but he soon relented and reluctantly peeled off his black leather jacket. The left sleeve of his shirt was completely soaked with blood.

He rolled up his sleeve. At first, she didn't see a wound under his many tattoos, it was hard for her to notice any damage done to his skin other than the scar that was already there. But as she scanned his arm she soon found a cut that seemed far too tiny for the amount of blood that adorned his clothing and skin. There was barely any blood flowing from it now.

"What the…" her eyes widened as she ran her finger over the wound, but Killian didn't even flinch. Right before her eyes, the cut disappeared under the ship wheel — or helm, as he called it — which wrapped around his bicep. "Killian," she stared at him, dumbfounded.

A mere Mage wouldn't be able to do that, even if he had as much power as Killian.

"There were Elves among my ancestors," he shrugged, his face becoming an imperturbable, grim mask. His gaze seemed petrified, expressionless.

That explained some strange things about Killian, Emma thought. He had an abnormally high physical resilience and was almost as fast as a Vampire or Werewolf. That couldn't be possible through mere magic.

"Oh," she couldn't force a more meaningful answer out of herself. "Why didn't you say that before?"

"I didn't think it was important," he shrugged.

"Sorry, but you don't look like an Elf," Leo shook his head with a grin.

Emma only now noticed that the other Hunters had been standing behind her the whole time.

"That's because I'm not one. Some of my ancestors were. I'm just a freak," his voice sounded strangely bitter and he turned his head away.

Instinctively, she took two steps away. Killian's icy magic flared up without warning, along with his rage.

"Hey, calm down, dude. I didn't mean it like that," Leo raised his hands.

"What's going on?" Mary Margaret reached the bottom of the stairs, still in her pajamas.

"Nothing new. Just a bit of bickering, the usual," Robin grinned.

Only now did Mary Margaret notice David at the other end of the room. A broad smile was on her face as she walked over to where he was still crouched by the couch, finishing patching Ruby up.

Emma turned away as they threw themselves into each other's embrace, kissing as if they hadn't seen each other in days. She glanced back at Killian who was watching her face with a coy expression. His gaze positively shone with panic, almost desperate.

"I… I apologize. I think I'd better go," he murmured, lowering his gaze.

He rolled down his sleeve and picked up his jacket, then stormed out of the apartment without further explanation. Emma stared after him, uncomprehending. She had always known he was kind of a weirdo. But this was unusual, even for Killian.

"What the hell was that?" she turned to Robin, confused.

"He's a little cuckoo in the head. You'd better not get any more friendly with him than you already have," Robin shook his head. "Seriously. He can be pretty scary sometimes. He's pretty weird."

She didn't answer, just stared after Killian thoughtfully. She agreed with Robin that there was something up with him. But she immediately ruled out the possibility that he was suffering from some sort of mental illness.

"You knew about this?" Leo turned to Robin.

"That he was part Elf? No, I would never have guessed that. But now that I think about it, it makes perfect sense. He's done things he wouldn't have been able to do otherwise," Robin replied and goosebumps appeared on Emma's arm.

Maybe Robin was right. She shouldn't get close to him.

[inklingofadream]

Heads up, I have several questions/suggestions for the Eye's Anti-Martin spiels that won't fit in one ask box (if you don't mind), and I have a bad hand so it'll be slow-going. The first is: do you think the Eye could/would communicate the technicality that Martin stabbed Jon, landing him in his coma? Asking, cause I figure the chances are that it can't actually play the tape, because Jon literally begs him to do it and Martin's sobbing. So the Eye's like, "It's just too terrible to show! Sob!"

Second, Martin was the one behind s4's intervention, which directly interfered with Jon's food supply, so would the Eye possibly make it look like Martin was intentionally starving him? This would also be a big deal since it directly interferes with Jon's relationship with the Eye and kept Jon from his full Archive potential. Plus, it might communicate to the Eyevatars that Jon truly does/did want to be closer to the Eye.

Last, would the Eye make the others around Jon s2-4 look just as bad? Cause It probably wouldn’t even have to edit some interactions! And most of them (Georgie? Who's that? Eye've never heard of her!) were even supposed to be servants of the Eye/Jon’s subordinates (shameful!) Clearly, the Eye is the only one who has Jon’s back, anyone who questions this is as bad as his former friends, and Jon’s interactions must be monitored!

Aaaah, I can't believe I forgot to mention the stabbing!!! That's like. One of the big things! Like

Eye: Y'know how Jon was stabbed

Eyevatars: yes

Eye: guess who did it

Eyevatars: o_o

Eye: it was MARTIN!

Eyevatars: 0o0 nooooo we been knew!!!

The rest of the gang don't get as much play time as Martin, because they are neither romantic rivals nor in the same reality as Jon currently, but clips like Every time Daisy makes Jon bleed (his sad lil voice when she has a knife to his throat... lyk if u cri evry tiem, we must band together to protect this precious boy. Talking Basira thru shooting her WHILE Daisy's gnawing on his leg... so brave, so strong) (and what was martin doing? NOTHING, just LETTING our beloved archivist get nommed on!) When Jon's awake and this gets brought up his first reaction is very *John Mulaney voice* we know, but hey!

The intervention scene gets some creative editing so that all the times when Daisy and Melanie try to butt in and remind Basira that Daisy did kill people, etc., are gone, and it just sounds like everyone uncritically accepts that Daisy, whose many crimes you have just listened to, is like, yeah, I'm innocent here, Jon saved my life at great risk to his own but that's no reason to bother defending him. Melanie and I are going to yell at him to shut up, now listen to all the sad, shaky Archivist breaths. The bit about his rogue statements not being recorded bc he doesn't bother starting the tapes himself anymore comes up with the Eye like "I was trying to protect him from Them 🥺" Especially with the bits there and other times with Basira saying that if Jon can't get a handle on it she'll Kill Our Precious Archivist (even as Jon tries to explain that it's not that simple, he does need statements to like. live. and the paper ones are a bit like putting him on a bread and water diet. and he's doing his best)

S4 in general is GREAT for if you want to woobify Jon to your shiny new cult, especially if you cut out all the little bits of people defending him or being nice, and your audience accepts taking statements as an unquestioned good. If you cut out all the lil bits of chilling with Daisy and having ppl laugh at his jokes and everyone else's perspectives, it's really just like. Continuous Jon abuse. Jon gives EVERYTHING to these people, saving them from all kinds of other entities, trying to cut off fingers for them, successfully losing ribs, swimming in misery and all they ever do is yell at him. Look how terrible they are, you should all lovebomb Jon as soon as he's conscious

Georgie gets hit HARD with the villain stick too, because former romantic interest for Jon AND having some legitimate criticisms of her behavior (there's some v good meta about how she kind of sucks at the "cutting Jon out of her life" thing, ducking into his office to look for Melanie and not leaving when he tries to end the conversation, saying she wouldn't take him to therapy instead of staying neutral, bad-mouthing him to Martin. Poking around for confirmation that she made the right decision/trying to justify her decision, and in the process driving the knife a lil deeper for Jon). And she has terrible taste, dumping Jon and dating that awful Melanie who STABBED him (rip to Jon, do not love his stats on "percentage of acquaintances who have stabbed me")

Honestly, depending on how much independent access Jon has to the tapes, he might start to question his own memory. Like, if he knows that the intervention was caught on tape, but the version everyone else heard didn't have Daisy trying to reel Basira in, did that really happen? I don't think it'd be enough to truly shake his feelings for Martin, but he'd definitely start to question whether the prevailing opinion of "Jon wouldn't know a healthy relationship dynamic if it bit him on the nose" is more correct that he thought.

[krumbine]

It's time for a reboot.

As it turns out, I do this a lot -- literally, resetting my life after things have stopped making any sense. I'm 36 and twice-divorced -- it's hard to have a more significant reset than that, my friends.

It's been 18 months of this pandemic. 18 months that have seen a furlough, layoff, extended unemployment, shitty job interviews, the best job I've ever had, and the most professionally-creatively fulfilled I've ever felt.

It's been 18 months and I feel like I'm a different person. Which means it's time to take stock, re-assess, and reboot.

Because the thing is, I'm tired of apologizing.

I'm tired of apologizing for wanting to be safe.

I'm tired of apologizing for having the means -- remote work, good pay, and little life responsibilities -- to stay safe.

I'm tired of apologizing for living in Florida, home of the Freedumb Fighting Antivaxx, Antimask Covid-Denying Patriots who Vote Against Their Own Best Interests Even if it Kills Them (and Especially When it Does Kill Them). The COVID story in Florida is like a vinyl record with a DeSantis-sized scratch straight through it. We're repeating the same horrible events over and over and over again but Floridaman thinks the record scratch is just an intentional part of the beat.

I'm tired of apologizing for Florida, but this is where I am. This is where I own my house, and -- guess what?? -- this is where I have the means to stay cautious and safe, despite my governor's persistent, insistent attempts to murder all of his constituents through shit public health policy.

I'm tired of apologizing to work, family, and other insignificant strangers -- no, the petri-dish of infection rates and the capacity-breaking hospital system does not leave me comfortable stepping out of my bubble. Two shots of Pfizer is not a biohazard suit-of-armor when the rest of Floriduh's residents are practically spitting in each other's mouths.

(My general rule of thumb: when the transmission and hospitalization rates are low-to-insignificant, then it's safe out. What's the point of risking infection -- or literally anything else -- if you won't be able to receive the care you need at a hospital?)

I'm tired of apologizing. So I think I'll stop.

Here's the pattern: new circumstances are introduced (job, significant other, pandemic), I learn and adapt, I get comfortable in the new routine, and then I slowly find my way back to the important things.

For me, those important things have always been personal creative work that satisfies my soul.

That's the pattern, now here's the reboot: life either supports the creative premise or it doesn't. If it doesn't, fuck it (within all reason).

'tis the Season

Devilmas runs from October 1 through December 31. It's about the family you choose, zombies and horror films, getting drunk, high, and happy, and doing creative shit for yourself.

It's the anti-holiday season.

It's also the perfect time to reevaluate what's important and who you want to be.

In other words ... it's the perfect time for a reboot.

Along with no longer apologizing for having the means and the desire to not get COVID, here are the top three things I think about when reevaluating, dismantling, and rebooting my life.

Less is more.

I've already gone through several phases of minimalism, and mentally, I don't hold onto very much. I've lived in tiny houses and trailers, even though that home I'm not apologizing for has four bedrooms and is nearly 2,000 square feet. (There are still random drawers in the kitchen that are just ... empty.)

My brain is wired for minimalism, but it's not always at the forefront. A reboot is an excellent opportunity to recenter that priority. And while I'm not planning on downsizing my house or anything in it, I do have one exception to minimalism. This fervent and unapologetic tech fetish can definitely be put in check.

Minimalism helps me refocus from:

"Oooh, shiny new gadget!" to:

"Pay off the car. Pay off the house. This is the way."

More or Less

The last 18 months have been a strange tug-of-war with productivity (this will tie into my third point below). While unemployed, I doubled down on my personal creative work, mainly focusing on writing (adapting, rewriting, and polishing novellas, writing a mess of short stories, developing and writing a few drafts of a feature film for a friend).

Of course, when you're unemployed (as well as when you're freelancing), you're never really "off". This means that even though I hadn't worked for a year, it was still one of the most overworked and stressful times of my life. You know what I'm talking about. And if you don't, see above -- I'm not apologizing anymore, especially to people who simply lack the experience or the imagination (or the empathy) to be reasonable.

My point here is that, in the grand scheme of life, I wanted to find a space where I was okay doing nothing. Fuck productivity and just chill, literally at 100%.

And let me tell you: it's fucking hard. Maybe not impossible, but definitely hard.

Now here's the plot twist (more or less). The task of giving myself permission to do nothing is carefully balanced with an inexplicable kind of inner peace. It's literally a quieted mind and soul -- something that I only discover when lost in a meaningful piece of creative work.

This got me thinking that perhaps the illusion of productivity isn't so bad. (Obviously, this isn't a blanket statement. A lot depends on the person you are and if you struggle with our society's fetishization of productivity. If that's you, then please take this section with an appropriate serving size of salt.)

Productivity doesn't matter as much as how my chosen activities feed my soul.

Work is work is work, but if I can prioritize creative art that helps me lose myself for hours at a time, well, maybe that is being productive. Or maybe it's just doing what makes me happy.

Finally, nothing matters. Finally.

This is always the most valuable part of any reboot since it's foundational and spans all other concepts.

In 36 years, I've learned the hard way how to be a pretty chill human, but things still get to me. At work -- that best job I've ever had? -- frustrations still mount. At home, when something insignificant disrupts the status quo.

But the truth is that nothing actually matters. And that perspective helps put frustrations into their place.

We're all just a speck of dust hurtling through the cosmos on another speck of dust, and -- statistically speaking -- when compared to an infinitely expanding universe, humanity doesn't even exist.

Nothing matters.

Except for the things that do matter. Which is whatever the fuck I want those things to be. Because nothing actually matters.

Talk about life hacks that matter.

Cheers, motherfuzzers.

[fearlyssa]

Something to consider

In honor of Karlie’s birthday today here’s something for those who don't believe Taylor could be with Karlie because they chose to only believe Taylor’s own words: a list of the lyrics on Reputation (Taylor’s own words) that reference Karlie vs those that reference Joe. I tried my best to be impartial and include everything on both sides but just a warning it’s SUPER long! So if you don’t feel like reading it or don’t have the time then keep scrolling. But for anyone who’s interested here’s what I came up with (including explanations of the references and links if I have them; feel free to disagree or add any I missed, I tried to think of everything so I realize some may be a bit of a stretch)

Lyrics that point to Karlie:

Ready for it:

1. Younger than my exes (she’s 26 today, younger than most people Taylor has supposedly dated, male or female)

2. No one has to know (they’re closeted)

End Game:

3. We got big reputations (they’re both famous; Joe was relatively unknown until recently)

4. You and me would be a big conversation (they’re both famous and both women who are supposedly dating men so if they were found out - at least right now - it would cause a scandal)

Don't blame me:

5. I would cross the line, I would waste my time, I'd lose my mind

6. For you I would fall from grace, just to touch your face (This applies to the line above as well; her reputation would be ruined if people found out she was lying about her dating life causing her to “fall from grace” but she loves her enough to risk it by continuing to date her secretly)

7. I once was poison ivy but now I’m your Daisy (at first listen this line might sound like nothing more than a Mavel and/or Great Gatsby reference but according to this person they both like Marvel comics and check out how the daisy she drew in the handwritten lyrics in one of the Reputation magazines looks just like the one Karlie posted from their Big Sur trip in 2014. 👀

Delicate:

8. Dark jeans and your Nikes (she models for Adidas now but was doing Nike ads when they met)

9. Never seen that color blue (maybe a stretch but Karlie's eyes are a shade of green that can sometimes look blue so that may be a shade of blue she's never seen before. And I won’t add this to the list because it’s not Karlie-specific but the girls back home line is also not necessarily straight as lesbians and bisexuals, just like guys, date women and ‘back home’ can reference anyone who’s not from exactly where you’re from. They’re from different parts of the country for instance)

So it goes:

10. All eyes on us (they're both famous, have been on stage together three times and used to often be seen together by paps in public - which I do believe was on purpose; this line reminds me of the chorus of This is what you came for too)

11. Lipstick on your face (there's candids of Karlie with lipstick smudged on her face in pictures with Taylor from July 14th 2014 - as well as pictures of Taylor from her 25th birthday - and I believe another day too -, where she’s with Karlie and has on one shade of lipstick but a while has Karlie’s shade of lipstick smudged over hers and vice versa. Note how their lipstick looks in the top two photos from her birthday party compared vs the bottom two)

Gorgous:

12. I got drunk and made fun of the way you talk (the weird way Karlie says important)

13. Your magnetic field being a little too strong (they’re very physically affectionate with each other and often bump shoulders when sitting next to each other as if they literally have magnets in them)

14. I got a boyfriend, he's older than us (she often dates guys older than her and Karlie is younger than them and her. Imo it refers to her bearding with Calvin specifically)

15. You’re so Gorgeous I can’t say anything to your face (At VSFS 2013 where they first met Taylor looks in awe of her like she doesn’t know what to say. She definitely looks like she thinks she’s gorgeous and while the term could refer to anyone, it's usually a female descriptor and she's literally a model for a living who is known for her beauty and has, seemingly on purpose, used the word on IG right around when the song came out. And on an unrelated note I also want to point out that the ‘If you got a girlfriend’ line is not strictly male-oriented so although it’s not specifically Karlie-related it could still apply to a bisexual or lesbian woman)

King of my heart:

16. like trying on clothes (another somewhat female reference and she's a model so she does that for a living so therefore even more often than most people)

17. Move to me like a Motown beat (As mentioned in the caption of their IG post about it she & Karlie listened to Motown while getting ready for the Met Gala in 2014 so it's safe to say they’re both fans of the genre and enjoy listening to it together)

18. American queen (I know they're both American but Karlie has referred to her as an American dream before which you'll notice was the original lyrics when Taylor was writing & recording the song)

19. Your love is a secret I'm hoping, praying, dying to keep (this is pretty obvious but if she’s closeted then her love life is obviously a secret she’d want to keep)

20. Drinking beer out of plastic cups (I know this line is pretty general and she seems to be referring to a different time when she was up on a roof but it should be noted that the only time she’s been seen drinking beer in a plastic cup prior to the album coming out she was with Karlie)

Dress:

21. Our secret moments in a crowded room, they got no idea about me and you (you can see them having private moments at events in candid photos and videos such at award shows, the VSFS and at the 1975 concert. All times when tons of people were around but didn’t seem to notice or care if they were affectionate with each other because everyone knows they’re close and just thinks they’re friends)

22. Golden tattoo (they wore them together at Drake's birthday party last October. And maybe this is reaching but some of them were stars and “gold star” lesbians are those who have never “been with” a man, Idk about Taylor, but Karlie is rumored to be one.)

23. I don't want you like a best friend (they’re known as best friends so that one’s obvious)

24. I’m spilling wine in the bathtub (in the photo of her and Karlie getting ready for the Met Gala in 2014 you can see that Taylor has drunk wine in the bathroom with Karlie before)

25. Everyone thinks that they know us but they know nothing (A common problem when you’re famous because a lot of people know OF you but don’t really KNOW you or your relationships like they might think they do. She also references this in the album prologue but when it comes to Joe, not many people knew of him before he dated her so he doesn’t have a big reputation or people who think they know him) Dancing with our hands tied:

26. I loved you in secret (again sounds like it references being closeted)

27. 25 years old (Karlie’s age up until today and *almost* Taylor’s age when Kissgate happened)

28. People started talking putting us through our paces (again sounds like it refers to Kissate; people didn't talk about her and Joe, only the media did months later when the album was already finished and she says never to believe them anyway. Plus you have to wonder how they already knew of her secret relationship with him even before pictures had come out of them together)

29. I had a bad feeling...but we were dancing, dancing with our hands tied (they were dancing closely/kind of kissing at a 1975 concert in 2014 and someone got a video and pictures that made it into many articles starting Kissgate. You can see in pictures how upset Karlie and their friends looked walking back from the concert that night carrying a very drunk Taylor. Maybe she knew there'd be a shit storm about it the next day but didn't care and did it anyway because she was so drunk. Their hands would then have been tied metaphorically speaking and they would’ve had to do what they had to do which was to keep dating guys publicly and to stop being seen alone together)

30. I loved you in spite of deep fears that the world would decide us (as the world sometimes tries to do with gay relationships, not so much straight ones)

31. So baby can we dance, oh through an avalanche (same points as above ^)

Call it what you want:

32. My baby's fit like a daydream (I know "fit" is English slang but still, Karlie is quite physically fit - she literally ran a marathon like the day after the song came out and in the Vouge Best friends video Taylor mentions her shiny abs)

33. Walking with his head down (I realize she's not a man but being as tall as she is she does do that a lot)

34. So call it what you want, yeah, call it what you want to (some people say they're friends, others say they're in a romantic relationship, a lot of people think they broke up or are no longer friends and don’t even talk anymore etc.)

New Year's Day:

35. This is maybe a slight stretch but the references to a girl's party and polaroids that she often takes with her friends make me think of women and not really men, and as someone whose been to her house I can vouch that she has a lot of polaroids of her female friends; many of Karlie specifically displayed in her sitting room as well as a photo of them at Big Sur that she keeps in one of her bathrooms but not as many photos of guys who it’s hard to imagine would fit in all that well at a party like that but maybe that’s just me)

lyrics that refer to Joe:

In general:

1. The words he, him & his (and anything else masculine-sounding like the word handsome and king in reference to a current relationship. I guess this is a bunch of references but I didn’t actually count how many times she said he on the album because that would be a lot. lol):

Ready for it:

2. Younger than my exes (some of them anyway; her two most recent ones)

Don't blame me:

3. Toying with them older guys (he's younger than Calvin and Tom as is she however note that she's admitting to using them which seems like more of a reference to a bearding contract unless we're to believe she's admitting to being horrible to her exes)

Delicate:

4. never seen that color blue (his eyes are blue)

5. girls back home (they live in different counties)

So it goes:

6. wear you like a necklace (she has one with his initial on it. I’ve been told it’s a lesbian term as well but I didn’t add it to Karlie’s list as it’s not specific to her)

Gorgeous:

7. I got a boyfriend he's older than us -Sunset & vine (where his movie premiere was last October although we now know the song was written in September and interestingly enough the area is also well-known for it's gay bars)

King of my heart:

8. king of my heart (king is a male term and they have royalty in England)

9. Say you fancy me not fancy stuff (fancy is British slang for liking someone)

10. salute to me I'm your American queen (she’s American and he’s from the UK where they still have royalty)

Dress:

11. flashback when you met me your buzz cut, my hair bleached (if it's in fact true that they met at the Met Gala in 2016 that they both attended then that's a reference to the hairstyles they both had at the time though tbh the timeline doesn't really make sense for that to be true)

Call it what you want:

12. My baby's fit like a daydream (Fit is British slang for attractive and he's also physically fit)

13. Call it what you want (in reference to weather or not the relationship is real)

14. I want to wear his initial on a chain around my neck (because she wears a necklace with a J on it)

So there you go. I'm not saying you have to believe the album is about Karlie or not about Joe but there do appear to be a LOT more references to her so I'll just leave it up to you to decide what you want to believe, I just thought I'd post this to prove that there is in fact evidence to support Kaylor, it's not just a baseless conspiracy theory.

[lordofthebigtimesupernatural]

I don't know if you did this yet but how about Shiro taking Keith and his friends to Disney World or Universal during the weekend?

Ahh, this one was great to do. I couldn’t write about specific rides considering I’ve never been to Disney Land and I’m an adult :(. Instead, have some funny moments and sad moments with the family. I hope you enjoy this because I was laughing as I wrote it! It was so much fun to do! Thanks and enjoy!

x.V.x

              “Kids,we have a surprise for all of you.” Shiro announced on the last day of school.Today had been extra special because all of the mommies and daddies had come topick up their kids for the last day of school and the group had gathered aroundthe classroom with Allura. Pidge’s mom and dad were there, and Hunk’s with thenew baby and Lance’s parents along with Shiro were all there with Allura andCoran.

              Keithand the others stopped in their playing to look at Shiro.

              “Asurprise?” Keith asked softly and Lance was bouncing up and down at Keith’sside.

              “A surprise!Holy Coltinek! A surprise! Did you hear that! A surprise!” Lance cheered andeven Hunk and Pidge were jumping up and down, though they were both a bitconfused as to why.

              “Shush.We won’t be able to hear with all your yapping!” Keith scowled, sobering Lanceup quickly.

              “You bequiet! I can’t hear!” Lance stuck out his tongue and frowned.

              “Nuh-uh,you be quiet!”

              “No,you!”

              “No,you!”

              “Boys,boys. No fighting. Remember?” Allura was quick to intervene with a raise of hereyebrows and she crossed her arms over her chest. Instantly, both boys stoppedarguing and huffed loudly with pouts on their faces before facing away fromeach other.

              “ThanksAllura.” Shiro sighed softly and then smiled.“Now, the parents and I all have a surprise for everyone this summer. It’s veryspecial and we hope you’ll have lots of fun with it.” Shiro and the otherparents snickered at the sudden eager expressions on the kids’ faces as theyall leaned in to try and get a better look at Shiro.

              “Thissummer,” Shiro paused, biting his tongue to stop a laugh from spilling out whenthe kids leaned in even closer. “We are all going to Disney Land.”

              Therewas a dead silence that followed.

              Then theroom exploded.

              “DID YOUHEAR THAT MULLET HEAD?! WE’RE GOING TO DISNEY LAND!”

x.V.x

              Theyweren’t even off the plane yet.

              “Daddy,Lance keeps kicking my seat.”

              “Mama,Keith is being a jerk.”

              “Mommy,daddy? Do you think a tornado could suck us all up and the entire plane like inthe wizard of Oz?”

              “Momma,I have to go to the bathroom again.”

              “Daddy,that grumpy lady is glaring at us again.”

              Shiroalmost banged his head back on the seat. There were 3 hours and 23 minutesstill left of the flight to go. Lord helpme.

x.V.x

              By 9 am,Lance had almost jumped into the fountain at the airport.

              They’dlost 4 of their luggage bags.

              Pidgehad made a friend with a Pidgeon.

              Hunk wastrying to tell the custodian how to fix a conveyor belt.

              Keithhad eaten an entire hotdog in one bite.

              And theparents were already dreading this vacation.What have we gotten ourselves into.

x.V.x      

              “Mr.Shiro, dad, sir? What if I throw up? I don’t wanna throw up.”

              “You won’t.That’s why we haven’t eaten yet.”

              “Oh,that’s why I’m hungry.”

              “YesHunk, but you don’t have to go on if you don’t want to. Nobody will sayanything.”

              “Really?”

              “Ofcourse Hunk, if you don’t want to go on this ride you don’t have to.”

              “Can Isit next to you and Keith? Maybe then I can ride it.”

              “Hunkcan sit in the middle! Right next to Daddy and me!”

              “ReallyKeith? You’d let me sit next to your daddy?”

              “Ofcourse. You’re my friend and I want you happy!”

              Shirohadn’t stopped recording the entire moment.

x.V.x      

              “Allurawhat have you done?!”

              “What? Ididn’t think something like this was going to happen! I never experienced thisat school.”

              “That’sbecause parents know better! They pack healthy , stinky lunches for a reasonbecause they know! They know Allura!”

              “I’msorry! I didn’t think this would happen with a little bit of ice cream!”

              “All ittakes is just a pinch of sugar Allura. Then our children are replaced by crazed,powerful gods who will stop at nothing on their Sugar High.”

              “Shiro,I-I I’m so sorry.”

              “I know.I know.”

              “…Shiro…”

              “We cando this. Together.”

              “HEEEEERRREEEEE’S LANCE.”

x.V.x

              “Pidge,please don’t cry. I promise Donald isn’t as scary as he looks. It’s just thecostume’s eyes.” Shiro said softly as Pidge sobbed loudly into Shiro’s pantleg. Keith kicked, nearly hitting Shiro’s face when Shiro bent down into thecrowd to crouch in front of Pidge. Shiro felt a bit bad for the Donald Duck person,who was clearly upset at Pidge’s crying but at least he was staying far enoughaway from Pidge.

              BesideShiro, Hunk was nervously tugging at the hems of Allura’s dress. Quietly, shewhispered into Allura’s ears and her eyes widened.

              “No,Hunk Pluto does not eat children.”Allura gasped and Hunk tugged on her dress again. He whispered in her ear oncemore and she sighed. “Yes, I promise I asked Mickey myself. He said that Pluto loves children and will no eat you, nomatter how yummy you look.”

              “Allura’sright.” Lance grinned brightly and skipped towards the Donald Duck characterwho was shocked at a child coming to him. Eventually, Pidge began to calm downand Keith nervously tugged Shiro upright.

              “Besides,we all know it’s Donald that eats naughty children. ‘S why he’s got a big beak.”Lance grinned and the character stared at him with blank eyes and with such adefeated expression, that Shiro felt it in his soul, despite the face being unable to move.

              Withthat, Pidge burst into new tears and Shiro felt a headache coming on.

              “Lance.”

x.V.x

              “Keithwhere are you shoes.”

              “Dunno.”

              “How didyou lose them?”            

              “Didn’wan’ em.”

              “Do you rememberwhere you last had them?”

              “No.”

              “Keith.”

              “No.”

              Shirosighed, glancing over at Allura, Coran, Hunk’s parents and the Holts. As soonas they caught Shiro’s eyes they gave him a gentle nod and Shiro smiledthankfully. He was quick to duck into a resting area that was relativelysecluded from the large crowds. Carefully, Shiro took Keith off his shouldersand set him on the bench. Immediately, Keith squirmed and tried to reach backup into Shiro’s arms. As much as it hurt to stop Keith, Shiro did not give intothe four-year-old.

              “Keith,sweetheart, where are your shoes?”

              Keithonly whined, reaching again for Shiro and Shiro swallowed. Gently he knelt infront of Keith, not taking him into his arms but rather holding onto Keith’shands and rubbing them.

              “Honey,what’s wrong? Aren’t you having fun?” Shiro finally asked when he noticed howwet and shiny Keith’s eyes looked. Keith’s lower lip trembled and his fingers twitchedin Shiro’s hands.

              “Toomany people.” Keith mumbled, and his voice almost broke with a sob. Shiro felthis entire heart shatter and he couldn’t even believe that he’d thought Keithwould find this fun. He’d been so invested in the memories of his time atDisneyland in Japan, and how much fun he’dhad that he hadn’t exactly put into consideration of what Keith would want.

              Largecrowds.

              Lots ofnoises.

              A newand unfamiliar environment.

              Newfoods.

              Thatsounded like a nightmare for Keith.

              “Toomuch noise. Scared.” Keith admitted, tears trailing down his face and fingerstwitching in Shiro’s hands. Heart breaking even more and feeling worse thanever before, Shiro scooped Keith up into his arms and buried his face intoKeith’s hair.

              “Keith,oh baby, I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think about how much this was going to befor you. Oh baby, I’m so sorry. I was so caught up in how much fun I’d thoughtit’d be I never thought about how hard it must have been for you. Oh baby, I’mso sorry.” Shiro whispered softly, pacing back in forth as Keith sniffledagainst his shirt.

              “’S kay.”Keith mumbled quietly and Shiro felt like the worst parent ever.

              “’S fun.But too much after a while. I like Disney land, but wanna go back to hotel now.”Keith said quietly and Shiro swallowed a lump in his throat. “I’m having fundaddy. Really.” Keith pulled away from Shiro and looked him in the eyes. Therewere still tears trailing down his cheeks but his lips were pulled back into afirm frown.

              “I jus’don’t wanna ruin the fun for everyone.” Keith said, eyes downcast.

              Shiroalmost melted. “Oh sweetheart, you won’t ruin anything for anyone for wantingto go back.  You’ve been so very bravetoday, and daddy and everyone is so proud of you!” Shiro beamed when Keithblushed and nodded. Gently, Shiro began to wipe away the tears from Keith’sface. “Do you want to go home then? And not stay the rest of the week?”

              “No!Daddy, no!” Keith cried out, fresh tears pouring down his face. “I’m havingfun! But I need to stop. For today. We go on more rides tomorrow, but we won’tstay out as late? I jus wanna lay in our bed and watch TV with daddy now. Nomore crowds.”

              “Oh mybrave little boy. How brave you are.” Shiro twirled Keith around, earning anexcited giggle from his son. Shiro felt his heart beginning to swell at thesound of Keith’s laughter.  “Of course wecan go back to the hotel and cuddle. No more crowds today, I promise! You aresuch a brave boy.”

              Keithblushed again and tapped Shiro’s prosthetic. “’Sides you gotsta take this off.Or it’ll hurt.” Shiro couldn’t help but grin at his little boy and he quicklynodded.

              “You’reright, it’s time for some serious cuddles and arm rubs. How does that sound? I’lleven get us some hot chocolate too.”

              “With Marshmallows?”

              “Withthe extra big marshmallows.”

[bosstoaster]

39 "Don't cry" and gen shunk? -hearteyes-

It’s the 1000 Followers Special!  Based on these prompts.  Don’t want to see all 35 of these?  Block ‘1000 Followers Special’.  Can’t read on mobile?  These will slowly be posted to AO3 starting in a few days as ‘Hold Up Half the Sky’.  A huge thank you to Xagrok for the beta’ing!

Sometimes, it was the comedown after that was the hardest.

Shiro was relatively used to that.  He’d been known for coming up with creative solutions for errors in the simulators or test flights back at the Garrison, and sometimes the facts that he’d pulled off something that could well have killed him didn’t hit until after, when the adrenaline was wearing off and life felt back into normalcy.

More than once, Shiro helped Keith through it too, usually for different reasons.  He was never bothered by stunts, but the catch of his temper was like igniting gunpowder.  Keith would go off, sometimes at other people.  He was almost never the cause, but he was almost always the escalation, and it was the source of most of the black marks on his records.  Shiro had made it a habit to track him down later, when the anger was starting to burn off but whatever had caused it was still festering, and Keith would grit his teeth and power through and try to act like there was no pain he couldn’t walk off.

So when Shiro heard hitching breaths in an otherwise quiet room, he had a pretty good idea what was causing them.

Knocking on the door, Shiro waited until Hunk picked his head up.  “Hey.”

(Read more below)

“Shiro,” Hunk managed, hastily rubbing his sleeve over his eyes.  He stood, nearly losing his balance from how quickly he did it.  “Sorry, I dropped something and it rolled in here-”

Stepping forward, Shiro offered a sad smile.  “I get it.  You don’t have to hide.”

Hunk’s expression collapsed back on itself.  “No, it’s fine.  I’m fine.  It wasn’t that big a deal, and I did it, right?  Lance said it was cool.”

“Leading that many enemies on a chase that long was very cool,” Shiro replied gently, taking another step closer.  “Doesn’t mean it wasn’t terrifying, either.  There were a lot of close calls.  I was pretty worried for you.”

Head snapping up, Hunk bit his bottom lip.  “You didn’t think I could do it?”

Oh, jeez.  “Not that,” Shiro replied.  “I’m always worried for you guys when you’re up to something.  You all are making my hair turn white.”

It was a tired joke, but it still made Hunk’s lips curl up.  “It was already white,” he muttered back.

Reaching over, Shiro waited until Hunk would see him before wrapping an arm around his shoulders.  “It’s alright, you know.  I’ve been freaked out after a stunt too.  I once went into a spin when I was trying to correct my course, and I spent the entire rest of the evening in my room with my head between my knees so I wouldn’t throw up.”

“Yeah?”  Hunk glanced up at him hopefully, eyes still shiny and wet.

“Of course.”  The room Hunk had ducked into seemed to be one of the guest quarters, so Shiro lead them over to the bed to sit.  “Everyone does.  When you’re in the moment, you can’t really react the way you’re supposed to, so it all hits you after when you’re safe.  So it’s okay, now.”

Expression crumpling up, Hunk nodded and then surged forward.  He nearly shoved his face into Shiro’s shoulder, and his hands grabbed Shiro’s biceps, holding on as he started to let out wet, catching breaths.

“Hey, it’s alright,” Shiro murmured softly.  Something in his chest melted and ached at the same time, and he moved closer to wrap his arms around Hunk.  It dislodged his grip, and Hunk grabbed Shiro’s vest instead.  “It’s alright, you’re safe now.  It’s over, it’s all fine.  Don’t cry, everyone’s safe now, just like you.”

“I can’t help it,” Hunk muttered back, his voice ragged and pitched high.  

Sighing, Shiro rested his chin on top of Hunk’s head, rocking them both.  “If you need to cry, alright, but you’re safe.”

It never grew to full-fledged sobs, but Hunk shuddered and gasped into Shiro’s shoulder, and the shirt grew damp below him.  Shiro continued to murmur through it, squeezing tighter whenever his chest felt too heavy.  He hated to watch any of his team suffer, but it seemed to need to come out.

Eventually, the sniffles slowed and stopped, and Hunk pulled his face away, rubbing his cheeks with a sleeve.  “I’m sorry,” he said.

“No need to apologize,” Shiro told him.  “You needed it.  And I feel better for getting to make sure you’re okay, so you’re really helping me out.”

Hunk shot him a tremulous smile, but nodded.  He glanced around, then frowned.  “You know, it’s pretty annoying that these guest rooms have bathrooms and our quarters don’t.”

Nodding seriously, Shiro sighed.  “It really is a bother.  I feel like I’m back in the first year dorms at the Garrison.”

Hunk nodded, nose crinkled.  “So much for elite warriors.  I’m gunna take advantage and clean up where no one can see me.”

“If they tease, they can answer to me,” Shiro replied, but he patted Hunk’s shoulder as he stood.  “And I think you’ll be surprised at how many people that’s happened to.”

Considering him, Hunk nodded.  “Yeah.  You’re probably right.”

“I’m absolutely right,” Shiro replied flatly.  “Trust me.”

Hunk glanced at him, curious, but then nodded and slipped into the bathroom.

Once the door was closed, Shiro let out a shaky breath of his own and flopped backwards on the bed, his eyes pressed closed.

Hunk was fine.  Hunk was okay, he’d gotten out, they were all safe.  Hunk had just vented, nothing was wrong.

Don’t cry.

Not when his team needed him, even just one member.

Shiro was still taking deep, measured breaths when Hunk stepped back out.  “Did you fall asleep that fast?  Wait, no, you’re not snoring, you’re awake.”

“I don’t snore,” Shiro insisted, because being jokingly grumpy was good for hiding any tightness to his voice.  “I am a peaceful delight in my sleep.”

“A peaceful delight with a snore like a lawnmower.”  Hunk sat back down, then eyed him.  “I was about to get dinner started.  Can I trust you to cut things and stir without causing a disaster?”

“Probably not, but I’ll do my best.”

Hunk nodded.  “Good enough.  C’mon, I found something that’s kinda cheesy tasting, and I’ll pretend I don’t see when you sneak some to eat.”

Grinning, Shiro sat back up.  “You’re the delight,” he told Hunk, just for the easy smile he got in return.  “If you’re really, really specific I can probably manage not to screw up too badly.”

“What a vote of confidence.”  Hunk took Shiro’s wrist in his hand and he started to walk, already chatting on, using words like broil and julianne that sounded familiar but that Shiro was utterly clueless around.

He got the feeling Hunk felt better for having him close.

Well, good.  Shiro would stick around as long as he wanted, then.

[nelsonsdailydose]

73 

The Power of pondering:  To Ponder it implies a careful weighing of a problem or, often, prolonged inconclusive thinking about a matter... Which leaves each to slice into his or her own diagnosis or meaning to one’s life. Pondering life’s worthiness and footprint weighs differently on each of us benchmarking success is our own personal take away.  To some, a finish line is achieved by the miles laid down, a ribbon to hang on the wall and or even a shiny trophy to polish remembering a particular milestone.  Every benchmark is documented differently by self or others benchmarking eaches own (Personal Record or Personal Best) with mentioned praised accomplishment.   Though sometimes the smallest win can be the biggest objective with the fearing failure holding most back..  The... I told you so scenario amplifies yesterdays failures and pitfalls while most are choose to remain complacient.  I feel we are self-weighted and are judged even scrutinized by others assessments which scaled by our own checklist of finished accomplishments... No matter their impact.  These assessments weigh each of us down differently… it sure can be a win or lose scenario.  While it is almost like keeping score and is then where ego is poised and value is set to unrealistic heights benchmarking others success by their 30,000 ft viewpoint or individual trophy case.  By large it is unbearable to think of the journey forward with no poised finish line goal...with a win or self-reward finish.   To some it is easy to just go roll up your sleeves work harder longer harder... which is daunting as others are not pained with the same burdens of doubt and yesterdays voids.  

Starting is the hardest part… Maybe one day my personal nudge will be less burdened by my yesterdays' bruises and jaded chapters.

I lay awake in a dismal state oftentimes wondering my own personal FATE with what ‘IF’S...what if I... what did I... what I said... Followed by the Whys of life... Trying to live life with little or no regret... though passively meddling in life in an almost unconscious state.

The world is a crazy place and we are subjected to and influenced by life's daily dynamics and shortfalls. We all measure life differently and scale the wins and or successes of self and others differently.  As I feel my pains are my personal scars and I too am intimidated with reluctance awaiting the sting of tomorrows unfelt journey. While my pains of life are real and reflect beyond the surface, they seemingly weigh me down with inconclusive reasoning. I don't really know what to say half the time because my smile is to me seems to be fake.  Positioning myself in the grand scheme of things seems daunting. I tend to use the saying Numb oftentimes as most days are numbed by my own disengagement trying to understand my own personal journey.  I truly feel each day and often time wish the day to be over before it starts... One day I hope to win back my own sunshine and hopefully lay bricks down others with proudly follow suit. My Journey continues dauntingly as life hands us tidbits we must piece together making our own footprint in this big ole world with poised self-reward by the starting lines we step up to that are so hard to cross finish with our own trophy case in mind… 

By default, we categorize our accomplishments differently and our wins are shadowed by the reflection of others. - Tomorrow maybe i will add to my own trophy case and dust myself off again. My journey continues.

[wentofftoosoon]

If We Don't Take It When Will We Make It

*Balancing two carriers of coffee, a bag of pastries and talking on the phone at the same time all while winding through the packed sidewalks of LA is not an easy feat.  In fact, it is a skill to be admired, and one that I have.  Then again, after doing something at least five days a week for almost two years, it is easy to get comfortable, no matter how odd it may be. When I first started, fresh faced and about as naive as all get out, things were very, very different.  Straight out of college with the ink still drying on my bachelor’s in Music Business and Management, I had accepted the first internship I had applied for and immediately hauled my tiny ass across the country from Boston to L.A., leaving the frigid winters and colorful autumns behind in a blink.  I hadn’t looked back for even a moment since. Those two years seemed almost like a lifetime ago as I wove through the packed streets back to the building that housed Skeleton Crew records.  It wasn’t a huge label, not really, but they made good time and again with fantastic artists and an integrity that I had seen was sorely lacking in some of the other, larger names in the industry. And they managed this  while staying true to the rock and roll and punk based roots that had been their foundation since day one. I loved it, even if I didn’t really fit in all the time. The first tour I went out on as a merch manager was kind of a shock; being a five foot nothing blonde who looked at least five years younger than my actual age was both a blessing and a curse, depending on which side of the fence you stood on.  Fortunately, sweet looks aside, I could hold my own, and did more than once.  For all the chaos of my formative years, I came out a scrapper and wore the bruises and broken bones as a strange badge of honor after elbowing my way to the front of a crowd.   The memories alone brought a small smile to my face even as I pulled open the door to the building with my foot, a talent born strictly of necessity, and sighed as I stepped into the artificially cold air of the front office.  The phone tucked into my shoulder was still broadcasting half of a conference call, although I had lost the actual point of this particular train of thought two blocks ago as one of the outside vendor department heads, whom we affectionately called Paisley thanks to his atrocious taste in ties, was prattling on about paper weights and business cards.  What the hell? Rolling my eyes behind my dark RayBans, I shot a smile to the bubbly receptionist as I passed by, mouthing a ‘thank you’ as she buzzed me into the main offices.  I hummed a few vaguely affirmative sounding mumbles down the line as I finally approached the conference room where the actual meeting itself was being held. I kept quiet as I deposited my stockpile of carbs and caffeine on the table before plopping into the spare chair that had been left open for me.  Yes, I still did most of the duties I had mastered as an intern, but I was an actual, paid employee and had my own little bundle of baby bands that I was lucky enough to manage, two of whom were touring at this exact moment. Pushing my shades up on top of my head, I retrieved my own latte from the tray before settling down with a notepad and pen to try and glean some semblance of a point from Paisley’s diatribe with a smile at my co-workers.  It was going to be a long day. As it would turn out, all of the focus in the morning’s meeting was for naught, as Paisley had ended up losing his train of thought and spilling his coffee all over his phone, very effectively ending the call almost five minutes after I sat down.  There was not really a whole lot of disappointment there, to say the least and we had all taken the opportunity to book it right the hell out of there as if satan himself was on our heels. Settling down at my desk in the corner of the bullpen, more an afterthought than anything, I couldn’t help but smile at the mishmash of pictures, mementos, ticket stubs and fliers that covered the small space, the majority of which was dominated by the shiny MacBook pro that had been a graduation gift.  The entire workspace seemed a little out of place and forced, in a strange way but that is because it was.  When Bill, the label president, had finally offered me my position as one of the half dozen or so managers that he employed, he somehow seemed to be under the delusion that I would still be handling the things the same way that I had when I was managing merch and working out of a the supply room. Quite literally.  Yes, I was tiny, but that didn’t change the fact that I was balancing an almost three-thousand dollar computer on my knees, squeezed in between boxes of t-shirts and box store packs of paper towels. The day I had a box of personalized Sharpies fall from one of the rickety shelves and cover me in my own coffee was the same day I started doing all my work in the conference room. On the table, criss-cross applesauce, neat as you please. Strangely, it was also the day I stopped using headphones and took up a sudden interest in listening to ‘Hot Disco Hits’ on repeat. Somehow, Billiam managed to find a desk and space within two hours.  If I had learned anything in this business, it was that sometimes you had to think outside the box to get what you wanted. The memory brought a smile to my lips as I slipped my earbuds in and pulled up the latest tracks from one of my baby bands, nodding along to the pounding drums as I turned my attention to the neverending messages in my inbox. Life was good. Six hours, one bass related meltdown and a headache later, I finally pushed up from my chair, raising my coffee cup to my lips and frowning as I found it empty. Empty coffee cups made me sad; they were so unnatural. Pushing up from my rolling chair, I raised my arms up over my head, stretching up on my tiptoes as my back protested my hours of hunching with a series of contented pops before I settled back down and wriggled my toes inside of my worn Chucks. As much as it pained me some days, I loved my job. Trading my reading glasses for the Ray-Bans that were always on hand to fight against the L.A. sun, I swung my bag over my shoulder and grabbed the coffee list that was constantly taped to the fridge tucked in the opposite corner of the room, grabbing the hard case that housed a sparkly, Squire Signature Mustang Bass that Bill somehow pulled out of his ass to calm the panic from the biggest of my small group of bands, and fortunately one that was in L.A. instead of Boston this week.  The man was a goddamn genius, I swear to fuck. Pausing in the door, I glanced back over my shoulder at my cadre of co-workers, all guys that I would, and had, fight for anyday.*  I’ve got to drop this at Spitfire’s practice space and then I will grab coffee. Give me two hours and if I’m not back, well, I finally said fuck it and ran off to join the circus. Or become a musician. You know my mother would be equally disappointed either way.  *The familiar joke earned a round of laughter and a smattering of waves which I returned with my freehand, carefully sliding my earbuds back in and humming along to the soothing sounds of Echo and The Bunnymen as I headed back out into the blinding L.A. afternoon.* #IfWeDontTakeItWhenWillWeMakeIt