#{ me n reuben have been working on it for like. what. how long has it been now? 7-8 years? we love it so much it is our platonic child }

[huntershowl-moving]

pspsps someone come fuck around and make verses in my weird custom setting. it's got everything: modern magic, crime families, cyberpunk magical hackers, witchy slice-of-life, analog horror/atmospheric horror, gothic americana, dark academia, feywild shenanigans, interdimensional bullshit, vampires, nightclubs, dingy little bars, sentient libraries & radio stations, cult sacrifices, hellhound—

and most importantly: Wizard Staples

[ddejavvu]

I’d love to see a jake seresin x secret wife au. The dagger squad doesn’t realize he’s married until Phoenix invites reader out to the bar with them! Thanks you’re the best!!

You're reminded just how little you know Natasha when she invites you out for drinks, and you end up at the bar adjacent to the naval base. You've been inside only once with Jake before, when you were still dating and he was going through training at top gun. Now he's a graduate, and the place brings back fond memories. You've chatted, of course, when she stops by for breakfast at the bakery you work for, but you've never discussed her career before.

"Hope you don't mind we're close to base," She grins, "My friends wanted to meet here, and I get free drinks 'cause the bartender likes me. They have this bell system to embarrass all the assholes here, and I think I ring it more than she does."

"I've been here before," You admit, tentatively grabbing her arm as she weaves through the crowd, "My husband and I came here once, a long time ago. I don't think the bartender was a woman, though."

"She just bought the place a few years ago," Natasha nods, sliding onto a stool at the bar, "Careful, don't put your phone on the bar."

You tuck the device safely away in your pocket as a brunette woman turns to you, a sweet smile on her face as she recognizes Natasha.

"Hey, Phe," She hums, and you don't have time to ask what the nickname means, "Brought a friend?"

"I'm Y/N," You introduce yourself, noting that they seem like close friends, "It's nice to meet you. I'm Penny."

You nod and beam at her when she offers you an identical bottle of beer to the one Natasha takes. You decline, though, ordering your usual instead. Jake's out with his friends tonight, but he's pledged to be a responsible drinker in case you need to be picked up from your girls' night.

"Can I get, uh," Natasha peers through the crowd, turning back when you assume she's found her target, "Five more?"

"Fanboy's got one already," Penny hums, taking four chilled bottles from beneath the counter, "You want help carrying them?"

"We're good!" You wrap one hand around two bottles, trusting Natasha to lead you towards her friends in the hectic crowd. You don't remember it being this busy when you'd come with Jake, maybe the new management really helped.

She treks you all the way over to a pool table along the wall, where a few men in jeans and t-shirts are huddled. You're taken by surprise, though you're not sure why. You'd automatically assumed her friends would be women, and you wonder if that's concerning. Possible internal bias aside, you smile at the men who stand to greet you.

"Hello," You wave, handing off beers to the two that meet you first,"I'm Y/N, you're Natasha's friends?"

"We are," A tall man grins, holding a hand out for you to shake now that it's not wrangling beers, "I'm Reuben. But you can call me Payback, if you want."

Natasha still has one of the beers in her hands, and you hear the man beside her, who she greets as Fanboy, mention something about the bathroom. Apparently you still have someone to meet.

You refocus on Reuben, "Payback," You tilt your head slightly to the side, "Is that a callsign? Are you a pilot?"

"We all are," The man who'd taken the other beer from you nods along with Payback, a burnt red mustache on his lip, "Natasha's is Phoenix. And I'm Rooster."

Your stomach drops.

"Wait, uh- Rooster? And- and Phoenix, and Payback," Your head spins slightly with recollections of Jake's crazy work stories, and you take a step back, "Are you- you're all stationed to this base?"

"Temporarily," Rooster frowns, "Hey, are you okay?"

"My husband-" You don't get the words out before he emerges from the bathroom, stopping dead in his tracks with a furrow in his brow that wrinkles his forehead.

"Darlin'?" He calls, just loud enough to be heard over the music.

"Jake?" You're equally incredulous, "I- these are the friends you're going out with?"

"Yeah, I-" He wanders closer, still at a general loss for words, "You know Phoenix?"

"Natasha gets breakfast at the bakery," You breathe, now that he's close enough to hear your dumbfounded murmur. You have an audience, but you don't care, not as Jake's confused expression melts into a sheepish smile.

"Well, small world. You look stunning tonight, honey."

"Thanks," You grin bashfully, keeping one hand on your drink and using the other to cup his cheek, tugging him down into a quick kiss. No matter how chaste it is, it gets a reaction.

"Oh," Fanboy gawps, "You're- her husband? You- Hangman, dude, you're married?"

"I am," Jake hums, ringing an arm around your waist and taking the beer from Natasha that she's too shock-stricken to hand to him. He pops the cap off on the edge of the pool table, bringing the fizzing mouth to his lips for a swig. He swallows, "Six years and counting."

"You're married to Hangman," Natasha- er, Phoenix repeats, "You married him?"

"Uh, I did," You laugh, twisting the ring on your finger.

"He never wears a ring," Rooster narrows his eyes at Jake accusatorily, "What, you're keeping her hidden away or something?"

"No," Jake scoffs, "It kept getting dirty when I was doing maintenance on my jet. I keep it on my dog tags, Bradshaw."

He brandishes the chain with both his ID and wedding band on it, and Rooster takes a swig of beer in response.

"How the hell was I supposed to know that, man? I don't stare at your chest in the locker room."

"Well you're missin' out," Jake drawls, turning to grin at you, "Ain't that right, honey?"

"Jake," You hiss, "Not here!'

"Oh, don't get all fussy. Most of these guys have seen my dick," He waves a dismissive hand in the air, nearly spilling his beer. You swear you hear someone mumble, 'unfortunately', but Jake drowns them out, "They don't care if we flirt. Hey, whaddya say we sharpen up those pool skills of yours?"

"Alright," You nod, letting him lead you over to the table, "Natasha, can you hold my drink?"

She takes it like it's her duty to protect you, even though your big strong husband has just bent you over the pool table. It takes you a few tries to be able to hit the ball at all with your clumsy grip on the cue, but when it finally cascades the colorful targets around the table, Jake whoops, landing a congratulatory smack to your ass that his friends groan at.

"Nice goin', darlin'. Gonna beat Bradshaw into the ground in no time."

[demxters]

☆ for blurb night requests; their first 'i love you'. Where did it happen, how did it happen? Who said it first, was it early into the relationship?

—THOSE THREE WORDS

frat!jake seresin x f!reader

wc: 825

warning(s): 18+, fem!reader, no y/n (reader goes by nickname ace), mentions of personal insecurities

catch up with jake and ace here!

»»————- ♠︎ ————-««

Jake knew he loved you long before the two of you actually got together. Now that the two of you have been official for six months, those three little words have been dying to slip off the tip of his tongue.

At first it was easy to keep it in. Having you at a distance and not fully being able to call you his has helped him keep his emotions at bay. Everything has gotten ten times harder since being able to have you completely.

Yet despite the ache and desperation in his heart to say it out loud and shout at the top of his lungs for all of the world to hear, he kept his mouth shut.

Jake knows you’ve had it rough when experiencing love from the people around you. It took you some time to accept that he wanted to be in your life without wanting anything in return. So he didn’t expect you to love him right away either. No matter how much he wanted to tell you how he felt, he knew you needed time.

Even though he was close to bursting at the seams, he would wait. He would forever if he needed to.

So he waited… and waited…and waited.

Until three months later, exactly nine months since you got together, it happened.

You were at The Hard Deck with the rest of your friends. After a stressful week of school and work, you all took a much needed break. And where better than to unwind at your favorite bar? Though constantly inhabited by members of the Navy and their alike affiliates, the bar still felt like home. Your little group was welcomed with open arms and even given a name based on an actual Navy squadron, “The Daggers.”

As you sat on Jake’s lap on one of the stools near the billiard tables, your heart swelled with the feeling of unconditional love for the people around you.

You felt love for Natasha. Your best friend and confidant. The closest person you have to a sister.

You felt love for Javy for being the best support system for both your boyfriend and best friend.

You felt love for Bob, Bradley, Reuben, and Mickey, who always have your back through whatever comes your way.

Most of all, you felt love for Jake. This love was different from the kind you felt for everyone else. This was the kind of love that you felt from your head all the way to the tips of your toes. The kind that you could feel even when he’s far away. The kind you never thought you’d be deserving enough to be given.

In this moment, love was the only thing you could feel. Your heart was begging you to let him know.

Jake’s chest is rumbling against your back as he laughs at Javy’s inability to use a pool cue, despite Nat’s coaching. He’s caught off guard when you suddenly shift on his lap, swinging yourself to the side and hanging off his neck.

You nose gently at his cheek and he grins. Resting your cheek on his temple, you sigh.

Jake’s arm that’s wrapped around your waist tightens at the contact. “What’s going on, sweetheart?”

“Nothing,” you slur happily. “Jus’ love you is all.”

He swears his heart stopped beating. “What did you say?” He’s on high alert now, worried he might have misunderstood you.

“I said I love you.”

He taps your cheek softly, asking you to look him in the eyes. He needs to know that this is real—that what you’re saying isn’t a symptom of intoxication. “Baby, I need you to say it again.”

Your lips quirk up in confusion as you hold yourself up to look at him. “I just did.”

He shakes his head with a playful roll of his eyes. “Humor me, will you?”

Your smile widens. You cup his face in your hands and you only hope he can feel just how much you mean what you’re saying. “I love you, Jake Seresin.”

His shoulders shake in breathless laughter. Jake has never felt so happy and relieved in his life. “I love you too.”

The rest of the bar melted away and it was only Jake and you. Your mind was only full of one thought: Jake. You didn’t see the knowing looks your friends shared nor did you hear Penny ringing the last call bell.

Jake wanted to kiss you so bad but he knew that you weren’t the most comfortable with kissing in public. So he did the next best thing by securing you in his arms and pressing you as tightly to his side as possible.

“I love you. So much,” he emphasizes as he leans into you.

“I love you more.”

He’s rolling his eyes again at your remark. “Not possible.”

With a shrug, you plant a discreet kiss onto the shell of his ear. “Let’s agree to disagree.”

a/n: i am having too much fun with these, everyone say ty fe for the jake and ace content

tgm taglist: @joaquinwhorres @harrycherrylove @smoothdogsgirl @t-nd-rfoot @dempy @ollyoxenfrees @potato-girl99981 @averyhotchner @2guysonascooter @loveforaugust @blue-aconite @fandom-life-12 @stiles-banshees @iamdannyday @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @breezemood @eli2447 @angelbabyange @finelytaylored @pono-pura-vida @hecate-steps-on-me @blueoorchid @aviatorobsessed @blackwidownat2814 @hallecarey1 @averagereader35 @laneylovesglen @atarmychick007 @kajjaka @urfavelocagirl @clancycumber230 @memeorydotcom

[daisyhollyxox]

He Could Be The One - Bradley Bradshaw x Reader - intro chapter

about:

she makes the move to open her own florist across the street from her family friends bar, finally putting herself first and following her heart.

having secured a permanent position at top gun, he’s starting to think about setting down and having someone to call home.

warnings: age gap {reader is 27, Bradley is 35}, slow burn, no use of y/n, 2.7k words.

Bradley’s pov:

Rolling up the windows as I pull up to the side of the street outside Penny's, I grab my phone from the passenger seat along with a 6 pack of beers I'd picked up on the way here. I get out of my car, push the aviators further up the bridge of my nose with my free hand and make my way to the side gate. When Penny and Mav announced to the group that they wanted to host a small get together, I think everyone was grateful for the small break and immediately we all said yes to attending. Repairing my relationship with Mav hasn’t been simple but I don't think I've ever been happier. Feeling like I have a support system in my life again is one of the greatest feelings. The small group has become like family and I feel lucky to have them.

Noticing all the outside string lights had been switched on, I turned the corner of the house and nudged the unlocked gate open, to be greeted with most of the group already here.

“Rooster!” I hear to my left. Looking over to where the voice is coming from, I see Penny smiling at me with a couple of beers in her hand. “Penny, hi” I beam as she hands me a cold beer in return for the 6 pack i’m holding. “Thanks for inviting me over. The place looks great by the way.” Mav had me helping with some redesigning of Penny's backyard and to put some outdoor furniture together. “Well I can't take all the credit.” she joked, nudging my arm slightly. I chuckled and scanned the outdoor space.

Through my sunglasses, my eyes spot most of the guys but come to a halt when they land on someone unfamiliar. She’s in the far corner of the backyard overlooking the water, by a large area surrounded by plants that Penny had planted while Mav and I were piecing together the furniture. Natasha is chatting to her, both smiling and engaging with each other. Sensing a pair of eyes on her she turns to look over her shoulder, hair flipping with the motion of rotating her body and catches my eyes. I couldn’t see the color of her eyes with the distance between us but they were shining bright at me from the golden sun streaming down. A smile surfaced on her face before glancing at Phoenix to once again look back at me with the same smile still there. Slowly bringing my glasses down, tucking them into the front of my white shirt, I feel my lips curving into a smile.

From the corner of my eye I could see Mav coming up to us. “Bradley, glad you could join us.” Mav says instantly bringing me back to where I was, realizing I'd probably been staring at her for maybe a moment too long. “Hey Mav,” I say as he pats me on the shoulder in a greeting. “I see you managed to put the fire pit together finally.” I laughed. He'd been complaining on the phone to me earlier that he couldn’t work out how to assemble it but I'd been caught up in some work that I couldn’t get out of to help. “Ha, yeah. Turns out Penny can read instructions better than I can.” smiling at Penny, who was in turn giving him a teasing look back. “Need me to do anything?” asking the couple. “No, no. Go sit down and enjoy the rest of the day.” Penny says. “You’ve helped out tremendously this week, go relax with the others.”

Thanking her I made my way over to Bob, Reuben and Javy who were stinging amongst the couches but the patio. “Hey man.” Javy says, nodding his head up in greeting as he sees me approaching. “What's up guys?” I smile and we all greet each other. I opt to take a seat looking towards the ocean. Admiring the late afternoon sun taking a sip of the chilled beer Penny graced me with. “Rooster! Have you met Penny's new neighbor yet?” Payback says. Glancing over at him, I gave him a questioning look. Penny's previous neighbor had decided to relocate to Florida in retirement and the house had been for sale for a couple months. It was a two bedroom with a wraparound porch that had an open space with a garden out back. “The new owners are already in?” I questioned. “Yeah she’s a family friend of Penny's. Known her since she was a kid. Said she was looking for a change and decided to make the move when Penny mentioned the house next door was up for sale.” Payback explained to me lounging back on the couch. Bob agrees and says “She came over about an hour ago. Penny introduced us and she seems like a total sweetheart.”

“I think Phoenix has made her her new best friend already.” Coyote states as he looks over where she and the woman stood. I blink at them “That’s Penny's new neighbor?”

“Yeah. Jakes already tried to sweet talk her, I think that’s when Phoenix swooped in to save her.” Payback laughs. Looking back over to the spot where they stand, I notice she looks slightly younger than the rest of us, maybe in her late 20’s. She’s wearing loose airy pants with a long sleeve cream top that cuts low on her chest.

Shaking my thoughts, I hear Penny call my name and when I look over my shoulder to the back porch I see her wave me over. She’s holding out two drinks signaling me to take them from her when she says “Rooster, would you be ever so kind to deliver these to the two lovely ladies over there?” nodding her head over towards where Phoenix is standing. “I said I'd grab them some drinks but Amelia just called me saying she was ready to be picked up from her friends.” Taking the drinks from her hands I reply. “Yeah of course, Pen.”

“Thanks, honey.” giving me a small smirk. I look over briefly toward the two when Penny’s voice makes me snap my head back towards her. “She’s a family friend of mine. She's been looking for a reason to move back here for a while now and when I told her about next door being for sale, she took the chance and got it.'' Penny smiles.“Make her feel welcome for me, I know you guys can be a lot when you're all together.” she laughs. I give her a nod in agreement and start to make my way over to where the girls stand.

When I'm close enough for them to see me coming over they both turn their heads, pausing their conversation. “Bradshaw! didn’t think you were going to make it.” Phoenix jokes. Grinning, I reply “You know me, always want to surprise everyone.” Phoenix shakes her head, chuckling and turns towards her new friend saying, “This is why I'm excited to have another girl to hangout with!.”

Turning towards her to see her eyes already looking back at me, I extended the drinks out to them. “Drinks, courtesy of Penny.” I smile. Taking the drinks out of my hands I'm met with a gracious ‘Thank you’.

“Bradshaw, this is Penny's new neighbor and long time family friend.” Phoenix says. She gestures to shake my hand and I slot mine into hers. “Hi, I'm bradley. It’s nice to meet you.” She greets me with her name and shakes my hand. “Nice to meet you too, Bradley.”

“When did you move in? I've been helping out around her this week and I've not seen any movers.” I say.“Oh no, I had movers bring all my things a couple weeks ago. I officially moved in last night. Penny was a total gem to pick me up from the airport and then she and Mav took me out for dinner.” Smiling at me she explains. “I just have the fun task of unpacking now that I'm here.”

“Well if you need any help with that, I'm happy to offer my services.” She giggles at my offer looking down and back up to meet my eyes again. “That's very kind of you to offer. Penny mentioned that she had help with the backyard from a Bradley. I'm assuming that Bradley is you?” she smirks. Flashing her a grin of my own “You’d be correct.” I say. “She'd mentioned a few times about wanting to make it feel more welcoming so she could have people over and for there to be places for everyone to sit so Mav and I offered to help out.”

“Well it looks like you did a good job, it’s gorgeous out here.” She says, glancing around slightly.

The three of us made small talk for a while when she excused herself to go to the bathroom. Whilst I tried not to watch her walk away my eyes scanned her figure as she took the path back up to the house. As she made it to the sliding door, Jake was just about to walk out but paused upon seeing her about to enter through the door. Putting on his best charming smile, he stepped to the side motioning with his hand for her to come in first to which I could see her nod a ‘thank you’ to him back. Jake says something to her in passing as he walks back outside and she giggles at whatever he’d said. Walking further into the house she disappears behind the kitchen wall and I see Jake proudly smirking to himself before joining the others settled on the couches.

I turned back to Phoenix who was now grinning ear to ear.

“What's that look for?.” I questioned her. “You seemed to have taken a liking to her.” she teases. Rolling my eyes at her, I shake my head and let out a quiet laugh. Phoenix has been one of my closest friends since the start of my career, being in the same class as her when we first started out. We grew a great friendship over the years and I know I can trust her with anything and everything. With that being said she always knows how to wind me up. “Remind me why I'm friends with you again.” I tease. She shoves my arm and laughs again when we’re taken back by a loud gasp.

Turning around I see that she’d returned from the bathroom and is now standing next to the couches looking at Amelia who is about to launch herself at her in a hug. She stumbles back a little when they make contact but chuckles at the smaller girl, embracing her in her arms. “Amelia, let her breathe!” Penny exclaims at her daughter. Everyone is smiling fondly at the pair and Phoenix and I make our way up the path to joining the rest of the group.

“I am so happy you’re here Daisy!” Amelia squeals, still squeezing her in a tight hug. “Me too!” she said, noticing she closed her eyes for a moment. “Amelia, as lovely as I know you’re trying to be, Dais isn’t going anywhere so you don’t have to hug her like she’s going to disappear.” Penny says while Mav agrees next to her, chuckling. She releases her hold on Amelia and says, “Miss Amelia, you need to stop getting so tall!”

They both walk up to where Penny is standing while Phoenix and I do the same. “Dais, did you see the flower arrangement in the kitchen? I convinced mom to let me try this time and I think I did a pretty good job!” Amelia beams. “I didn't! want to show me now?” she says to the younger girl. She doesn’t get a response, only a hand pulling hers through the sliding doors.

“Is Daisy a middle name?” I asked Penny, noticing that both her and Amelia had been calling her Daisy and not the name she’d introduced herself to me as. Penny turns to me and says “Oh, no it’s a nickname. Growing up she was obsessed with flowers! Planting them, drawing them and making little flower arrangements from the ones in her backyard. When her mom let her decorate her room after they moved, she wanted everything to have flowers on it.” she smiles as she’s telling me. “One day we were at the beach with her mom and a few others, she started naming everyone after flowers. She must have been about six or seven. When everyone had a flower assigned to them she asked us to give her one and from that day forward, the nickname kind of just stuck and nearly everyone knows her by Daisy.” The look on Penny's face told me that it was a memory she keeps close to her heart.

Glancing through the doors I could see Daisy and Amelia chatting by the kitchen island, in front of them a vase of beautiful flowers. Watching her smile light up every time she pointed to a new flower and started talking to Amelia, who was listening intently to what she was saying.

Breaking my eyeline on the two of them, Mav walks over in front of me and says to us, “How about starting the fire pit?”

“Sounds good to me.” Phoenix smiles looking at all of us in agreement.

The warm glow of the fire in front of us all sets a comfortable setting as everyone chats amongst themselves. Everyone has taken a seat in the surrounding couches with Bob to my left and Amelia to my right. Daisy’s on the single love seat next to Amelia who’s showing her something on her phone. “Wow, I wish I could play like that,” Daisy says. “I remember taking some lessons when I was in middle school but I'm not sure I'd be any good these days.” she giggled softly.

“We have a piano at the hard deck! Maybe next time we're both there you can see if you remember anything.” Amelia beams. Gaining my attention I look over to the girls next to me. “You know how to play?” I ask.

Meeting my eyes, Daisy smiles at me. “I wouldn't say I'm very good,” she laughs. “But I think I can remember the basics.”Amelia cuts in and looks between us. “Rooster plays the piano there all the time when he's with the group!”

“Really?” Daisy questions.

“Yeah, my dad used to play a lot when I was younger and I started taking lessons in high school.” I smile, thinking of the few memories I had back then with him.

“I’ll have to make sure I'm there next time you decide to play then.” she says, the corners of her mouth rising slightly. “Yeah,” I say with a grin. “Maybe then, you can show me what you know too.”

“I think we can arrange that.” Daisy agrees slowly with a smile gracing her face. Taking a long sip of my beer to hide my smirk, Amelia goes back to conversing with her and I lean black further on the couch and throw my arm on the back of it.

Daisy’s pov

Crossing my leg over the other, I look over to Penny who has just settled into the seat next to me with Mav on her other side. “Hey, Pen?” I say. She looks at me with the warm smile she always smiles and says “What’s up, Sweetheart?”

“I just want to say thank you again for your kindness these past few months.” i say.

“You know I would do anything for you. All I want is for you to be happy.” she says, wrapping her arm around my shoulder in a side hug, squeezing me softly. With everyone in their own conversations, I take the opportunity to look around at everyone. Feeling so welcome, it has felt like a breath of fresh air and the nervousness that I felt walking in today has practically disappeared. Excited to finally start this new chapter in my life, back in the place I grew up in. I bring my hand up to Penny’s, squeeze it lightly and say “It's good to be home.”

[pilvimarja]

Ask game! K, M, and N

Thank you!

K - What character has your favorite development arc/the best development arc?

Overall or in Cobra Kai? I think I'm gonna go with CK since it's the main fandom I'm in. And my answer, unsurprisingly, is Johnny Lawrence. I know his character arc is still very much a work-in-progress and I know a lot of people (including me) can often be frustrated by how painstakingly slow and fumbling his path to becoming a better person has been. But I think that's part of the appeal and what makes the progress and his little victories all the more satisfying to witness. He's still got a long way to go, but I think he's come a long way from the days of shoving Daniel against a locker and snorting at him like a raging bull.

M - Name a character that you’d like to have for a friend.

Snufkin from the Moomins! We are both introverted loners lol I think he'd understand and respect my need for solitude and peace and quiet.

N - Name three things you wish you saw more of in your main fandom (or a fandom of choice).

I'd always be happy to see more gif makers! I like making gifs for the fandom, but I also love admiring other people's gifs and sometimes it feels like there aren't a lot of us in the CK fandom.

I've been loving @marycontraire's Top Gun AU and the Tarzan AU by @thereminwriting and I kind of wish we could have more proper AU fics.

More Reuben x Chris content!

[snelbz]

Light Up the Ice - 12

Summary: Aelin Galathynius has never really been into sports. Yes, she likes to keep in shape, and she works out, but watching people run up and down a field, trying to keep a leather ball away from each other? It’s always seemed a bit childish to her, and decidedly NOT a way for a grown adult to make a living.

Rowan Whitethorn has recently been drafted by the Terresen Staghorns, one of best teams in the EHL (Erilean Hockey League). And since he moved to Terresen from Wendlyn, it’s been hard for him to get more than 30 seconds alone from someone demanding a picture with him. Getting drafted straight out of college wasn’t exactly what he had in mind, but he’s not complaining. Until he accidentally meets a girl. More specifically, until he accidentally meets his neighbor. She seems to have no idea who he is and for some reason, that’s refreshing. But will she still want to be with him once he shows her the truth?

Co-written with @tacmc​.

A/N: No tag list tonight. This is the 3rd time I've tried to post this chapter and every single time, it's crashed before I can post or save. AKA I’m about to punch my computer and don’t want to push my luck anymore. Next chapter, I will be copying and pasting my old tag list, deleting the inactive blogs, and adding those who have asked. Enjoy!

It never failed to amaze Aelin how slow business got when the university took their breaks. It was only the second day of the University of Terrasen’s fall break and she’d already had enough spare time to reorganize the stock room, deep clean the kitchen and now, she was sitting at a table in the corner, staring at a print out of her menu.

She chewed on the end of her pen and then drew a line through another item. In the four years she’d had the café, she’d never changed a single menu item. It wasn’t that anyone was complaining about her food, but she was bored with it and wanted to add some new variety. She scribbled some notes in the margin of new recipes she wanted to try to replace the old ones, but the sound of the bell above the door distracted her. She was beaming before she even got out of her chair.

“Hey,” she said, approaching Rowan and Lorcan, pressing a kiss to the cheek of the former and keeping her distance from the former. “How was practice?”

“Good. Save for the fact that I’m still sitting on the bench,” Rowan said, sighing. “Coach said I can be on the ice from now on, as long as I’m still not running drills and agree to see the trainer every day.”

“That’s great,” she said, smiling. “You hungry?”

“Yes, please,” he replied, a lopsided grin on his face.

She headed for the cash register Elide had been sitting at a few moments before. She was now working on rolling silverware father down the counter, quietly humming along to the music that played in the café. “You want the grilled cheese and tomato soup again?”

“Please,” he said, smiling. He turned to his friend and asked, “You want the Reuben, Lor?”

Lorcan didn’t reply. He was staring back towards the door.

Back towards Elide.

“Lorcan?” Rowan said, again, finally getting his teammates’ attention.

“Reuben, yeah, sounds great,” he mumbled, pulling out his wallet.

“Lunch is on me,” Aelin said, eyeing him, not liking the way he turned back to glance at Elide.

She didn’t like the way Elide was sneaking glances at him either.

As she walked behind the counter, Aelin cleared her throat, making Elide jump, her fingers dropping the silverware in which she held. It clattered against the counter.

“Care to give me a hand?” Aelin asked.

Elide blinked. “It’s just two sandwiches-.”

“If the bell rings, you can come back out,” Aelin said, taking Elide by the wrist and dragging her back toward the kitchen. She called back to Rowan and Lorcan, “Make yourselves comfortable!”

Once in the kitchen, Aelin dropped Elide’s wrist and began with the sandwiches. 

Elide watched her friend, her boss, skeptically. “Care to tell me what that was about?” 

“You were practically drooling over him,” Aelin said, raising an eyebrow as she looked at Elide.

Elide’s cheeks darkened and she hurried around to the other side of the kitchen to get Rowan’s soup. “I was not.”

“You definitely were,” Aelin replied, turning and dropping the grilled cheese on top of the griddle. She may have put more cheese on than she would have for a regular customer and melty, delicious goodness dripped out the surface of the cooktop.

Elide was standing in the alley of the kitchen, looking back through the serving window at Aelin. “And…? So what if I was? He’s hot.”

Aelin fought the urge to roll her eyes. “He’s a hockey player, El. Rowan has told me about how he spends his away games.”

Elide was quiet as she put the soup in the window to stay warm as Aelin finished their sandwiches. If her friend and boss’s back hadn’t been facing her, she probably wouldn’t have had the courage to say, “Wow, Ace, be careful. Your hypocrisy is showing.”

She whirled, pointing a spatula at Elide. “That’s a completely different situation and you know it.”

Elide lifted a brow. “Do I?”

Aelin’s lips thinned. “Yes, you do. At least, you should. Rowan and I… it’s different.” 

“If you would have known he was a hockey player, you would’ve never started seeing Rowan,” Elide went on, trying to hide both her frustration and amusement. “The fact that Lorcan plays hockey is all you can see when you look at him.”

Aelin scoffed. “Wrong. All I can see is his jackassery.”

“Jackassery?” 

“It’s a word,” Aelin snapped, flipping over the sandwich on the griddle. “And, again, Rowan has told me about his post game activities when they’re on the road.”

“It doesn’t make a difference, I don’t know why you’re even upset about it,” Elide muttered, coming around to the salad station and popping a cucumber slice in her mouth. “He’s Lorcan Salvaterre. He’s the captain of the team. He dates bikini models and actresses. I’m just a broke college student. I’m just…me.”

Aelin’s eyes softened as she turned to one of her oldest friends. “That’s not true, Elide. You are a phenomenal, beautiful, smart woman, and anyone who doesn’t see that is blind. Including yourself.”

Elide’s cheeks darkened, slightly, as she tried to fight the smile growing. “I’m going to go finish my silverware. Holler if you need me.”

Aelin nodded and watched as she pushed through the swinging door to the dining room. She finished up the sandwiches before grabbing Rowan’s soup and carrying them out front.

While she and Elide had been in the kitchen, Fenrys had appeared, a fast food bag open in front of him. She chuckled as she sat down Rowan and Lorcan’s food. “You know I would have cooked for you.”

His mouth was full of a massive bite of hamburger, so Lorcan answered for him. “He also knows coach would kick his ass if he knew he was eating that. Yet he does it anyway.”

“It’s so good,” Fenrys said, his mouth still full, his manners shot. “What coach doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

Rowan snorted. “Tell yourself that when you feel like shit once the grease sets in.”

Lorcan stared at his sandwich for a long moment. Then, he mumbled, “Thank you.”

Aelin blinked. Even Rowan looked nearly surprised.

“Did you just thank me?” Aelin asked, perfectly still.

Lorcan didn’t say anything else as he bit into his sandwich. 

A few more people trickled in and Aelin got back to work, the shock of Lorcan’s almost-kindness still shocking her. The dinner rush, even though slower with the college campus dwindled, still kept her and Elide busy, and by the time eight rolled around, Aelin was ready to close up.

Rowan, Lorcan, and Fenrys remained at the corner table. 

Elide came out of the kitchen, having grabbed her purse and coat from Aelin’s office. “I’m gonna head home, if there’s nothing else you need me to do.”

Aelin shook her head. “Nope, you’re all set. Have a good night.”

“You, too,” Elide said, smiling, and Aelin noticed that her eyes slid to the table again, before she turned and was out the door, heading around the building to the small lot behind the café.

As she approached the table, Lorcan was standing and shrugging his jacket on. “Thanks for dinner. It was good.”

Aelin was still stunned by his niceties earlier that his words barely registered. “You’re welcome, I’m glad you liked it. I guess I’ll keep it on the menu.”

“You heading out, man?” Fenrys asked, finishing off the large plate of fries he’d ordered after his burger and first order of fries was gone.

“Yeah. Got some stuff I gotta take care of.” He said nothing else, but headed for the door.

Turning towards Rowan, Aelin tried to keep her expression in check as she realized that he, too, was heading for the back lot. Rowan, not fooled by her attempts, held his hands up in surrender. “I’m not getting involved.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I don’t like it.”

“Like what?” Fenrys asked, and Aelin rolled her eyes as she took his plate and headed towards the kitchen.

“I’ve gotta lock up,” she called out over her shoulder. “I’ll see you at home. I love you.”

“Love you, too, sweet cheeks!” Fenrys called out.

Even through the swinging door, Aelin heard Rowan smack him on the back of the head.

****************

Rowan skated around the ice. 

He was bored shitless, not even in his hockey gear, but sweatpants and a hoodie. His hands were shoved into his pant pockets as he circled the rink, close to the sideboards. The constant blow of the whistle was the only thing keeping him awake.

He didn’t even bother asking if he could practice, even though he felt up to it. He already knew what the answer would be. 

And yet, he longed for practice to last. When it was over, he’d have to make his way into the locker room for Maeve.

And he was not prepared.

He’d felt her eyes on him since the moment he hit the ice, yet he hadn’t looked over at her once. Dorian was thankfully on the other end of the rink, so as he skated by at the beginning of practice, he was able to flag him down.

“Hey, man, how are you feeling?” Dorian asked, leaning on the half wall separating them.

“Much better, like it never happened,” he said, and the lie was barely there.

Dorian quirked an eyebrow and snorted. “Good try. You can’t practice today.”

“No, I get it, I understand that.” Roan cleared his throat. “But, uh, is there a different massage therapist I can see?”

Dorian blinked. “Did something happen with Maeve the other day? She didn’t mention anything-.”

“She’s my ex,” Rowan interrupted.

Dorian hesitated before nodding, slowly. “I see.”

“You can massage me,” Rowan said, quickly.

“As flattered as I am, I’m not a massage therapist,” Dorian chuckled. “I can talk to-.”

“No, don’t…tell anyone. If you don’t know of anyone, it’s fine,” Rowan said, the words rushing out of him. 

“Look, I don’t know Maeve very well,” Dorian began, shaking his head. “But, she seems perfectly fine, alright? Has it been a while since you’ve been together?”

Rowan gave him a curt nod.

“Then give her a chance to be civil,” Dorian said, shrugging. “If she’s disrespectful, let me know. Otherwise, I have no reason to think she won’t do her job appropriately, and if she doesn’t, then you can leave.”

He sighed, nodding, and skated off.

He spent the next two hours dreading every minute that passed.

He heard Brello’s whistle blow and slowly glided across the ice, coming to a stop next to his line.

“Everyone was looking good today,” he said, looking at them one by one. “Take it easy tonight. The boys from Eyllwe aren’t going to go easy on us tomorrow night, especially since we’ll be in their territory. I want all of you in your best form.” He gestured to Rowan. “Whitethorn will be back on the ice next week.”

There were cheers and hollers from the team and Rowan couldn’t help but smirk as Lorcan shoved him.

Brello, to everyone’s surprise, smirked as well. “Hope you’ve enjoyed your time off, but relaxation time is over. You ready to go?”

“Aye, coach,” he replied, nodding.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

After a couple more announcements from the coaching staff, everyone was skating towards the locker rooms of the practice facility and Rowan felt like his nerves were going to snap.

He took his time removing his skates and grabbing his bag, before slowly walking down the hall leading to the training rooms. He was silently praying Dorian would be in his office, right off to the side of the therapy room, but he wasn’t.

There was only one room with a light on, and with a deep breath, he approached and knocked on the half-open door. 

Maeve looked over her shoulder with a smile. “Come in, I’m ready for you.”

Rowan hesitated, but went in. Dorian was right. Maybe she had changed, maybe there was nothing to worry about.

Yet Rowan felt nauseous as he approached the blanket covered table.

“I’ll give you a minute to strip down and be back.” She left without another word, shutting the door behind her.

Rowan stared at the door before kicking off his shoes then lifting his shirt over his head. He only hesitated for a moment before kicking off his sweats and laying down on the table, pulling the blanket up to his waist.

A soft knock informed him of her approach, and he grunted to let her know he was ready.

When the door reopened, the lights suddenly dimmed and Rowan awkwardly shifted on the massage table.

Neither of them spoke for a few minutes. Rowan was grinding his teeth as she worked on the muscle in his lower back that kept spasming when she said, “I have to say, I was surprised to see you the other day. Dorian hadn’t told me who I would be working on, but…” She paused and chuckled quietly, running her hands up his back.

Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit.

When Rowan was drafted into the EHL, it had been a pretty big deal in his city, but more specifically, his university. He’d dropped out of school to accept the offer from the lower level team and climb his way to where he was. And everyone in Wendlyn knew.

There was no way Maeve didn’t know he was playing for Terrasen when she took the job.

He gave her a small nod and a quiet noise that said he was listening. She kept going, taking that as a sign he was interested in the conversation.

“I feel like it’s been so long since I’ve seen you,” she sighed. “Things ended so...abruptly. I’m glad to see your doing good.” Another chuckle. “Save for the injury, of course.”

It was so strange to hear another accent from Wendlyn that was still somewhat fresh. Lorcan, Gav and Fenrys, they’d been in Terrasen so long, the accent almost disappeared sometimes. But the lilt of her tone, the way she phrased certain words… It both soothed and unsettled Rowan.

“Don't you care to know how I’ve been?” She asked, her voice low. When Rowan didn’t reply, she continued on, anyway. “I’ve been pretty good. Got myself a little place in the city. A dog. Little chihuahua named Fiona.”

Rowan blinked. He was tempted to say that he hadn’t asked, but she didn’t seem to mind.

“I’ve got some pretty wealthy clients, too,” she continued, continuing to work out that knot. “For the first time in ages, I’m secure, you know? Not just financially, just…secure.”

“Good to hear,” he replied, the words sounding more like a snarl through the pain, and she dug her knuckles into his back. The sound he made was halfway between a moan and a groan, he bit his lip to cut it off, but he noted the change in the way Maeve’s hands touched him.

Her touches became less like determined movements meant to heal and were more akin to petting, brushes along his side and a slow finger down his spine.

“And you?” She asked, pulling the blanket a bit lower on his back. He’d worn underwear for just that reason, not trusting her to not make an inappropriate move. “Are you living in Orynth?”

He cleared his throat and said, “Yep. Got an apartment down the road from the university.”

His answer was short and sweet. He wasn’t trying to invite more conversation.

“Not far from me then,” she replied, humming quietly.

Rowan’s shoulders tensed, but that just made her want to ease it away. His eyes closed and he remained quiet. 

“What about your personal life?” Maeve asked, at last.

Rowan didn’t answer, he just took a deep breath.

“Not trying to pry,” Maeve said, at last. “Just trying to make conversation.”

“I’m in pain,” he said, gently, the lie coming out easy. “Not really in a mood to make conversation.”

He could have sworn he felt the temperature in the room drop several degrees.

Her answer was curt. “Sorry.”

She stayed quiet for the rest of the massage, and when she finished, she told him to get redressed and left, heading back out into the main training facility.

He emerged a few moments later, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt over his silver hair. He was already heading for the door, giving her a nod of thanks, when she spoke up.

“Rowan, wait.”

He hated hearing his name on her lips. His steps slowed and he turned around to look at her.

She hesitated slightly, but said, “I was going to go get dinner in a little bit. It’s been a while, I didn’t know if maybe you-.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mae,” he sighed. The familiar nickname slipped out before he had time to stop it. It caught him off guard. “I- I gotta get home. I’ll see you later.”

Rowan had grabbed his bag and was out the door before she had time to say another word

****************

Aelin was at the stove, stirring a pot of homemade marinara sauce and humming quietly along with the radio when Rowan unlocked the door to her apartment and came in. Glancing over her shoulder, she smiled at him before turning back to the cooktop. “Hey, you. How was practice?”

“My new massage therapist is my ex.”

The words came out in a rush and Rowan wasn’t even sure he consciously knew he had planned on saying them.

Aelin’s back stiffened and she set the wooden spoon on the trivet beside the stove. Silently, she turned and asked, “Your ex-girlfriend is giving you massages?”

Rowan closed his eyes and took a deep breath before nodding. “Before you say anything-.”

“Did this just start today?” she asked. Her tone held no judgement, only curiosity. However, there was a slight edge to her tone.

“She gave me the massage in my apartment-.”

Aelin held up a hand, and Rowan’s words instantly fell into silence.

Silence, where the room remained for far too long. “Aelin-.”

“Who is she?” Aelin asked, one brow raised. “I’ll kick her ass.”

“Her name is Maeve,” he said, making his way into the kitchen. He leaned against the counter. “She was my girlfriend in college. We dated for a couple of years, but… It didn’t end well. It became more about who I was in hockey, how I was playing, than it was about our relationship.”

“Maeve,” Aelin repeated, turning back to the stove. “Maeve, Maeve, Maeve… Hmm.”

Rowan was quiet, not exactly sure what to say.

“And you have to see her? You don’t have a choice?” She finally asked.

He shook his head. “Brello told me to get over my personal issues. I’m sure I can book a personal masseuse, but-.”

“No, your coach is right,” she sighed, stirring the pot, before putting the lid on and walking over to where Rowan stood. She wrapped her arms around his waist and looked up at him. “I don’t like it, but… that isn’t really my call to make.”

Rowan let out a relieved breath. “I know, it’s not mine either. Maybe you can give me massages here to help?” He smirked and, finally, Aelin’s beautiful smile returned.

“We’ll see,” she chuckled, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips. “Looks like I’ll just have to come to your games and make my presence known.”

“Make your presence known?” He crooned.

“I like to mark my territory,” Aelin breathed, her eyes bright. 

“And I’m your territory?” Rowan grinned.

“Whether you like it or not,” Aelin said, laughing softly. “Yes, you are.”

“Hmmm,” Rowan said, narrowing his eyes. “I can’t say that I don’t like that.”

He leaned down and kissed her one more time before asking, “So you aren’t mad?”

She stepped away, back to the stove, and said, “No, I’m not mad.” She paused and pulled a few spices from the cupboard. “Do I like it? Of course not, but there’s not much we can do about it.”

“Once I finish up this round of therapy, I won’t need it again,” he promised. “No more fights, no more getting slammed into the boards. I won’t have to see her anymore.”

Aelin laughed as she turned back to him. “You can’t make that promise, who’s to say what could happen?”

Rowan cringed. “That’s true. No more fighting though, I mean that.”

Aelin nodded, and he could tell she believed him.

He took a step closer and brushed her hair back. “You look beautiful.”

Aelin’s lips quirked as she said, “Trying to kiss my ass to get back on my good side?”

“Maybe,” he muttered, and kissed her forehead, softly. “Is it working?”

“Hmmm,” Aelin began, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Not yet, keep trying.”

Rowan’s grin widened as he leaned down and pressed his mouth to hers. “Now?”

Aelin sighed. “Getting there.”

“Only getting there, huh?” He breathed, his lips still brushing hers.

“I guess you’re going to have to step your game up,” Aelin cooed, slipping her hands down his back and into the waistband of his sweatpants.

Rowan’s grin was positively feline as he picked her up and carried her back into her bedroom.

Dinner was forgotten about for quite a while.

[dog-day-morning]

The word of God tells us we shall suffer for the cause of Christ, he who seeks a greater reward must attain a greater faith. Unto whom much is given that much more is required. You wanna eat that whole caramel cake, you crave that sweet tea, you pursue that woman in a nightclub hoping to get her in a compromised position, face down tail up because face it, we're not willing to bow down to the will of God, but we’re so happy, and ready to give in to that round mound of doo doo brown. The 3 Hebrew boys Meshach, Shadrach, and Abednego went into the fiery furnace defying Nebuchadnezzar's declaration to worship him. These men had the inspiration, strength, and courage to say, even if He doesn't deliver us, we know that He can. That kind of faith is called perfected faith. We can be lazy because we refuse to work with what God gave us before the day of calamity comes to devour us. Tribulation is kicking into high gear, and many of God’s people are none the wiser. There are people who were working 3 jobs before, and after this pandemic became a global concern who know what is on the horizon. You don't need an Issachar spirit to discern the times; read the Bible. He also said to the crowds, “When you see a cloud rising in the west, you say at once, ‘A shower is coming.’ And so it happens. And when you see the south wind blowing, you say, ‘There will be scorching heat,’ and it happens. You hypocrites! You know how to interpret the appearance of earth and sky, but why do you not know how to interpret the present time? The gov't has pulled back on unemployment benefits forcing many to find a job. The 2 righteous servants in the parable of the 3 servants increased the wealth of their employer who trusted 3 men with different amounts of talents [money], and the 1 who didn't work diligently for his master inherited weeping, and gnashing of teeth. God invested in us, and He expected a greater return from this major investment. Jesus was the greatest financial venture ever made. The Father placed His faith in His Son who in turn gave Him many more sons that walk amongst us waiting for the Day of Judgment. This investment which supersedes all, but are intertwined will never decrease, and forever increase. The 144,000 isn't a spiritually inspired interpretation based on mine, and Mima getting the Holy Ghost or having an encounter with the Holy Spirit to speak in tongues. Sit down grandma, your Depends are leaking brown stuff that reeks of formaldehyde, and raw chitlins. God is looking for a righteous Nation to worship Him not themselves. These men, and boys who represent the 12 tribes of Israel have never been defiled by women, and hopefully not by men either. You lucky mother You can take the word literally or as a misinterpretation. Those who don't believe in the written word who believe that God's word isn't infallible aren't all to blame for this heresy. Those who originally interpreted the King James Bible added to, and took from are suffering for a misleading interpretation. The prophetic which God didn't let man corrupt altogether has pretty much played out verbatim. We may be dying to a world that is trying to kill our faith that God has no intention of doing until He finds His true worshippers, and He’ll never destroy one's faith in Him. Winter is coming and you and I must be prepared. We must live like today is our last without being caught up in fear. I'm suffering from a form of laziness called jackass. God shall supply all your needs, but faith without works is dead. The ant has the intuition to work throughout the Summer knowing that Winter is coming. A lot of these drones won't live to see the finished product. Ant mounds look like the Pyramids of Giza that secure the Queen, but where is the King? They serve the one who gives life that sustains the colony, she is their goddess, but what happens if the Queen dies? There's more than one Queen serving the colony who can breed an entire colony independent of one other. fulfilling their role while working together in unison with the others who all serve a greater purpose. This

is a major element that drives the Kingdome of heaven. Christ is just like His Father In the Kingdome that includes the Holy Spirit which they will pour upon all flesh again soon. There are no cowards or sinners in the Kingdome. The angels are not as drones, they are blessed warriors.

Revelation 21:8

8 But the fearful, and unbelieving, and the abominable, and murderers, and whoremongers, and sorcerers, and idolaters, and all liars, shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone: which is the second death.

1 Corinthians 6:8-10

8 Nay, ye do wrong, and defraud, and that your brethren.

9 Know ye not that the unrighteous shall not inherit the kingdom of God? Be not deceived: neither fornicators, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor effeminate, nor abusers of themselves with mankind,

10 Nor thieves, nor covetous, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor extortioners, shall inherit the kingdom of God.

Alkebulan we need to wake up and get right. Black American's of the tribes of Judah, Gad, Reuben, and Issachar you need to aim at my forehead, and scatter my scatter brained grey matter all over the pavement. When Joe Biden told a radio podcaster if you don't vote for me you're not Black, he must be color blind. This vaccine that suspiciously looks like the Mark of Whodunnit. They can plant a microchip in your arm that can track your every move, financial transaction, and possibly your dreams while you sleep. Some Walmart stores are refusing to take cash when you check out; they only take debit, and credit cards. These are signs that we’re living in the End Times. The Last Days. I'm looking at this as a sign to get the hell outta this city, and decompose. What in God's name am I afraid of? Jesus took a beat down like a man on a mission.. You're not weak or simping if you gave your life for a people you fed, healed, gave sight to, preached to, taught them a new way to live, pray, love, told them about a Kingdome greater than Jerusalem, and you didn't kill anybody in the process knowing what they were going to do to your physical body in an almost retarded like bid to destroy their salvation. I've done none of that; my bad. Stop looking for men, especially zaddy to deliver us. “If my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land.” Some of us foolheartedly called Bill Clinton the first Black president when he's not, never can, or will be to me in any sense, Barack wasn't either. Thomas Jefferson, the third elected president, who served two terms between 1801 and 1809 was described as the “son of a half-breed Indian squaw (Black) and a Virginia mulatto father (Black).” Abraham Lincoln, the nation’s 16th president, served between 1861, and 1865. Lincoln had very dark skin, and coarse hair and his mother allegedly came from an Ethiopian tribe. His heritage fueled so much controversy that Lincoln was nicknamed “Abraham Africanus the First” by his presidential opponents and cartoons were drawn depicting him as a Negro. Warren Harding, Calvin Coolidge, Dwight David Eisenhower, and the scourge of the South Andrew Jackson were all n**gahs. I’ll see you come Hanukkah you self-hating black, Uncle Ruckus’s. I don't celebrate Thanksgiving, why should I be overjoyed about the genocide, and enslavement of God's people? Christmas is what it is. Hopefully you will celebrate this holiday season together fulfilling God's prophetic word. I can't unless you kill me. The Christmas holiday is as pagan as Joel Osteen is at scamming. David Duke, you might wanna go to ancestry.com, and take a DNA test. You might be 30% Swahili. By the looks of those big, gorilla nostrals you had before that rhinoplasty. You, and Bull Connor may be related to Idi Amin. Your biggest shame is your greatest blessing. Personally you can kiss the skid marks in the middle of my skid marks after I take a fresh dump. Conservative, political pundits, and wannabes whose names I won't mention, but one in particular who looks like he smoked 23 blunts in 15min. with no filter. Please keep him in California, and let him drown with his zaddy, and pancaked tail, bowed hipped women. Use your lips as a floatation device dude. These people are ashamed of the God who has blessed many, and plenty. These people suffer, hopefully not always, from the white savior or white zaddy complex. The truth isn't in any of them, that's why they're so adept at lying when making bold-faced statements before the public that opposes their previous opinion like people don’t have YouTube or google. I’ll Bing a factoid or Yahoo that mother to get the truth I may even pay for it, gimme a dollar. My inability to walk amongst men as a man has stagnated my propensity to live That's BS, my Apostle said something this past Sunday that's stuck on my forehead. YOU'RE LAZY!!! I am what I am, a pain in the rear end. This has gone on way too long. Sometimes

I feel as though God wants me to kill myself because the PO PO won’t. I would feel better if my natural family would stab me in the neck, not my back, with a piece of diseased, pork, spare rib from a boar hog, and let me die from a rare form of trichinosis. The people have spoken while I’m playing Jay, and Silent Bob. Father, get me outta here. Elohim, 9/16/2021

[sirius-archive]

Could I get an imagine where the reader is a muggle American and she’s on vacation in London with her family and she somehow lost her family and she’s like freaking out and then she runs into Sirius on the streets and he like helps calm her down and helps her find her family? Sorry if this is a weird request

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader, James Potter x Lily Evans (mentioned) 

Warnings: Swearing, stranger danger too, I guess. 

A/N: so sorry this took so long! I loved the idea and I hope I did it justice. I might add to it later on or revamp it bc I love the idea but it’s a big maybe at the moment bc I’m so busy with uni and work and also my other wips. I hope you enjoy this though. Also I changed the request quite a bit bc I forgot what you originally wanted! So sorry!! 

just want to add that I did something o probably shouldn’t and included my real life friends! With their permission, ofc. I also made a modern reference even tho it’s supposed to be the seventies but I liked it too much so I left it in ha ha. Also…pls don’t talk to strangers. This is fanfiction people not an advice column. 

****

It’s another uncharacteristically warm day in London.

The sun showers blankets of warm golden light over the city, guilding skyscrapers and warming the sweet, honeyed breeze. Sparrows are chirping sweet, morning songs, dancing in the air with surprising grace. Squirrels scamper across lush green grounds in a park nearby, happily bidding you a good morning.

And not one of these motherfuckers are going to help you find your friends.

You wander aimlessly past the same park monument you saw just half an hour ago. Your legs are already aching, your feet are forming blisters that hurt the more you think about them, and the sun is slowly drilling into your soul.

You think you might die of thirst before you find your friends.

In retrospect, it wasn’t entirely Sophie’s fault. While it was her dumb shit idea to tag along with the sexy British tour guide, you, Matt, Aaron, Riley and Reuben had been far more interested in touring the British Museum. So it wasn’t at all surprising when Sophie rushed off with knockoff Colin Firth to have a jolly high tea or whatever it is British people do on dates. Still, it gave you an opportunity to visit the museum.

You hadn’t even walked through the front gates when Matt, Aaron and Riley wandered off to have a deep and meaningful (you had warned Riley that coming on the trip with Aaron would cause some tension between your group. Thing between you and Aaron were a lot more complicated than the five-night-stand you’d shared last year). Reuben, being his usual womanising self, started flirting with the hot receptionist and not wanting any part of that (last time you wing-womaned for Reuben, the chick thought you were seeking a third), you stepped out for some air.

Now, you’re trying to navigate through the urban maze that is London by yourself, struggling to find your friends who are scattered all over the city.

Slumping against a park chair, you take a deep breath and study your map again. A part of you is screaming at you to swallow your pride and ask for directions but you’re a stubborn New Yorker and if you can effortlessly find your way through the Big Apple, you can tackle London.

“You’re not from around here…” says a masculine voice behind you. You sit up straight, whipping around in the direction of the voice.

Holy fucking cucumber sandwich.

The most handsome man you’ve ever laid your eyes on leans against the trunk of an old oak tree, observing you with a mixture of amusement and intrigue. He looks like he chomps down magical donuts that grant him sexy powers. You stare.

A cigarette hangs from his kissable, smirking lips. His hair falls gracefully around his face, framing glinting gray-blue eyes, high cheekbones and a strong jaw. He’s wearing a leather jacket and exudes all types mysterious-sexy-bad boy vibes. You’d bet a hundred bucks that he rides a motorcycle too.

Boys with motorcycles are usually trouble.

Your mouth goes a little bit dry.

“Please don’t be a serial killer,” you mutter and the stranger cocks a perfect eyebrow.

“What was that?”

You shake your head, “I mean — Is it that obvious?”

Sexy bad boy stranger shrugs, “I know a lost tourist when I see one.”

“Is this what you do, then? Lurk around parks waiting for lost tourists?”

Bad boy chuckles — a deep growling sound that rumbles at the back of his throat, “Maybe. Maybe I was just walking past and thought I’d help out a pretty girl in need.”

It takes all of your willpower not to blush now.

“So you’re just a Good Samaritan, then.”

“I’m whatever you want me to be.”

“What if I want you to go away?”

The handsome, young motorbike guy takes a deliberate step forward, “I think we both know that’s not true.”

You swallow. He’s good at this game. Something tells you that you’re not the first victim of his play-boy charms.

Desperately trying to reclaim your composure, you fold your arms across your chest and glare at him.

“What makes you think I need your help?”

British James Dean thinks for one attractive moment, “Well, you don’t have to accept my help but something tells me that if you don’t ask for directions soon, you’re going to end up wandering around London forever.”

He makes a good point.

You stand up from your seat, arms still folded across your chest, “Hypothetically speaking, If I were to accept your help, how would I know that you’re not a perverted serial killer who wants to collect my spleen and leave me in a ditch or something?”

Sexy stranger takes another step forward, “That’d be a shame. You’re too beautiful to kill, and I’m just beginning to like you.”

“That’s exactly what a perverted serial killer would say.”

“Touché. Alright, how about this: I drop you off at your hotel straight away, no detours and no taxi fees that you have to fork out to greedy muggl— erm, I mean, drivers.”

You consider this. He certainly doesn’t seem like a serial killer. Still, it’s hard to trust a charming stranger, especially one as handsome as he is. Then again, if he’s smart — which he definitely is — he’d never kill you in broad daylight in the middle of London.

You uncross your arms and hold one out for him to shake, “Alright, deal.”

Sexy stranger takes your hand and shakes it. His hand is strong and firm and electricity sparks in the warm space where your hands are clasped together.

“Sirius.”

“What?”

“Sirius.”

You blink at him, “Is that some kind of fungal STI that I need to be aware of?”

Sexy stranger chuckles again, “My name is Sirius.”

Sirius? Who the fuck calls their kid Sirius? You have to admit that the name suits him, and the way he says it — in a husky, velvety murmur — gives the name an alluring sex appeal, which sums him up completely.

You consider giving him a fake name but ultimately decide against it. That’s just weird and you can’t lie for shit.

“I’m (Y/N).”

Sirius repeats your name, tasting it on his lips. A more carnal part of you wishes he’d say it in a completely different context.

“Alright, (Y/N),” Sirius smiles, and he practically glows with charisma, “Lets get you home.”

***

You were right, of course. About the motorcycle.

Sirius’ carefully-polished motorbike is almost as sexy as it’s owner; gleaming in the sunlight and flaunting a sleek black paint job with plush leather seats. Several passerby’s stop to admire it (or Sirius, you can’t exactly tell), though Sirius doesn’t pay them any mind. One dudebro with a repugnantly bright tank top gawks at the motorbike while his girlfriend stares hungrily at Sirius.

“I’ve…never ridden a motorcycle before,” you bleat nervously.

Sirius hands you a helmet and smiles.

“Just hold onto me and you’ll be fine.”

Sirius mounts his motorbike and you awkwardly slide in behind him. You’re not sure where to put your hands so you place them on his shoulders. You think you hear Sirius laugh behind his helmet.

Sirius turns the ignition, revs the engine, and kicks the bike into gear.

“You alright back there?” He calls over the roar of the bike.

“Uh—yeah.”

“Hold onto my waist,” he orders, “You’ll be more secure.”

You’re about to protest but then Sirius takes off and you find your arms flying to his waist, gripping on tightly.

It’s exhilarating. Liberating. Intoxicating.

As Sirius weaves between London traffic, you feel a rush of adrenaline pulse through your veins. The air whips past, fluttering around the ruffled trim of your dress. Your hands soak in the warmth of Sirius’ body, his muscles firm beneath your touch.

You pass familiar landmarks and stores you passed when you and your friends took the double-decker bus from your hotel room. You recognise the buildings around you and realise the hotel is just a few kilometres down the street, on the right.

Suddenly, Sirius veers off to the left and zooms down a street you don’t recognise.

“What are you doing? The hotel is up that way!”

“I just have to make a quick stop,” he shouts over his shoulder.

“That wasn’t part of the deal!”

“Don’t worry, it won’t take long.”

You clutch onto him, apprehension beginning to claw away at your lower belly. Where is he taking you? How could you have been so stupid to trust an extremely attractive stranger to follow through with a deal?

Sirius slows the bike down until it rolls to a stop and flicks the engine off, climbing off sexily. He helps you clamber awkwardly off the bike and you tear your helmet off, taking in your surroundings for the first time.

You’re next to a footpath with a view of the The Thames, lined with large ornamental pear trees. Its quite a romantic spot with a view of the entire city sitting pretty behind the flowing River Thames.

Sirius tells you to wait by the motorbike and stalks away, rushing toward a boy who looks about your age. He’s tall, has messy black hair, and half-frame glasses. He looks like a sexy professor with the body of an Olympic swimmer that all the girls have crushes on.

Why are all the men here so insanely attractive?

You’re just about to sink into a delightful fantasy of sexy Professor feeding you grapes when Sirius comes up behind you.

“Ready to go?”

You ignore his question, “Who was the god — I mean — guy that you saw?”

Sirius arches an eyebrow. You notice for the first time that there is a scar knitted into it, “That’s James. He’s a total prat, by the way.”

“Sounds like you two have that in common,” you quip and Sirius mocks offence.

“Anyone tell you that you’re cruel?”

“Everyday of my life.”

“Here I was thinking you were just another hot little American bird.”

For one half of a millisecond, your brain snags on the word ‘hot.’ Did he just call you hot? You heard that right? You recover with grace, grinning wickedly.

“You’ll get over it.”

A teasing smirk flirts around the corners of Sirius’ lips, a little crookedly, slanting lazily in a way that makes your cheeks warm. He looks amused by this verbal tug-of-war but also a little turned on.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel the same way.

“You ever walk along the River Thames?” Sirius asks, sliding his strong, sexy hands into the pocket of his sexy leather jacket. He begins to follow the footpath, leading you past the knots of pigeons and moonstruck lovers.

“No,” you sigh, “Admittedly, I just came along for the underage drinking and the hot British guys.”

Sirius laughs, “How’s that working out for you?”

You shrug, teasing him with a flirtatious smile, “I’m still working on it.”

“If you want,” Sirius begins, clawing at the nape of his neck, “I can help you out with that.”

You quirk a carefully-manicured brow, “What, you know any hot guys like your buddy James?”

Sirius snorts, “I wouldn’t go saying that around his girlfriend.”

“Why, is she the jealous type?”

“No, she’s the ‘try-not-to-make-his-fat-Head-even-fatter’ type.”

You chuckle, intrigue plucking at your mind, “She’s my type of girl.”

“Lily is everyone’s type of girl.”

“Well now I just have to meet her.”

Sirius raises his brows, a spark of hope in his eyes, “Is that your way of telling me that you’re taking me up on the offer for free beer?”

“You never said it was free before.”

“I’m feeling generous.”

“Aw, and they say chivalry is dead.”

Sirius laughs easily in a way that is completely carefree, as though laughter bubbles just beneath his skin, itching to pour out. It’s mesmerising how he doesn’t seem to take life too seriously.

“You are something else,” he says, letting his eyes catch and linger on yours for a quiet, suspended moment.

A gust of warm, summer wind brings peach blossoms raining down. The gentle coo of a skylark echoes in the distance. Time slows to a stop to stare at the two of you.

He steps forward, like he’s about to kiss you.

You let him.

He tastes like liquor and rebellion, a little wild in a way you’ve never realised you’ve wanted, you’ve needed. His hands are strong as they wrap around you, pulling you flush against his chest. Your fingers roam through his hair, tangling, tugging, earning a low groan from the back of his throat. You feel drunk on him, your head spinning and your heart thumping, as though it’s trying to tear through your chest and leap into his strong, capable hands. Suddenly, you realise how weird this is. He’s a stranger you’ve known for an hour or so yet now you’re kissing him. It’s as though you’re somehow drawn to him, to his energy, to the way he seems to know you intimately, in ways you hardly know about yourself. You break away, taking a step away from him. Sirius looks like he’s five again and has just had his favourite toy ripped away from him. 

““Are you—?”

Slap

Before you even realise what you’re doing, you’re slapping him across the cheek, not hard but he feels it. You kissed a stranger. That is a thing you did. You also slapped said stranger, partly because of impulse and partly because you’re terrified of how quickly your feelings are beginning to stir for someone you hardly know. Sirius is stunned, silent, staring at you with shock and hurt that stings you more than it should. You stare back, drawn in by every fleck of colour in his eyes, suddenly aware that, sure, he may be a stranger but that doesn’t mean he has to stay one. Obviously, you have a connection.

 So…connect.

 You crash your lips against his again, throwing your arms around his neck. 

Your friends can wait. You’ve found yourself a new tour guide. 

[nazariolahela]

Best Beloved: Chapter 2

A/N: Hey y'all! This is a PM AU I’ve been working on. It’s a bit different than my previous fic series and I’m really excited to try something new. I hope y’all enjoy it. This story is told in dual first-person narrative, from Kaia (F!MC) and Damien’s POV. The first half of this story takes place during Kaia’s freshman year and Damien’s senior year of college. The second half is two years after Kaia graduates. There will be sprinklings of canon in this fic, but we’ll try to step out of the box for the most part. Thanks for reading, and please leave feedback, and/or if you would like to be tagged.

Catch up here

Series Tags: @lady-calypso​ @irishwhiskys-blog​

Synopsis: What happens when you find yourself crushing on your best friend? For years, Damien and Kaia have been friends, while secretly harboring feelings for one another. Everything changes one night after a little too much alcohol and years of pent up feelings. Can they control their emotions and salvage their friendship, or will the feelings they hold for one another destroy everything they have?

All characters are the property of Pixelberry Studios. Thanks for allowing me to borrow them.

Chapter Summary: Nadia introduces the group to her new boyfriend. Kaia and Damien get paired up for a class project.

Kaia

“Kaia! Over here,” Sloane called out from across the dining hall. I waved to her and snaked my way through the tables of cliques that made up Hartfeld’s student body. Jocks. Greek Life. Musicians. Techies. Theater Kids. When you think about it, college wasn’t that different from high school.

I arrived at the table she held for us and set my bag down next to my chair. “Nadia just text me. She’s on her way and should be here any minute.”

Sloane nodded and her stomach made an angry growling sound. “Do you mind if I go get in line now? I only had a granola bar for breakfast this morning and I’m starving.”

“Nope. Go ahead,” I told her. She smiled and made her way over to the register. I watched her scan her meal card, then happily skip over to the pizza station. I pulled out my phone and opened up my text messages to ask Nadia where she was when a high-pitched voice rang out through the dining hall.

“Kaia! There you are!” my cousin shouted as she meandered her way across the dining hall. I stood up from my seat and greeted her with a hug.

“Hey, girlie. How were your first few classes?”

“Oh. My. GODS, Kaia! I am SO excited for this semester,” she squealed. “I literally have the best schedule. It’s all art classes!”  She reached into her bag and pulled out a piece of paper, handing it to me. “What’s your class schedule look like?” 

I pulled mine out and handed it to her. “Mostly Gen Eds. But I do have a 200 level course, which I’m kind of excited about.” I scanned her class schedule and my eyebrows dipped into a V. “You know you’re going to have to take your Gen Eds before you can take your upper-level courses, right?”

She waved me off. “I can do that next semester. College is all about having fun. Who wants to take a bunch of boring courses where stuffy professors drone on about things no one cares about?”

I shook my head and handed her back her schedule. That’s Nadia for you. She never took anything serious growing up, which both amused and worried me. She did the same thing in high school. Her advisor told her she couldn’t take all elective courses, so when it came to the end of her high school career, she had to backload a bunch of Math and Science courses just to graduate on time.

A few minutes later, Sloane approached the table, holding her lunch tray. She set it down and took a seat next to me. “You must be Nadia. I’m Sloane. It’s nice to meet you,” she said, extending her hand to Nadia.

“Oh, my gods! You are so pretty!” Nadia replied, leaning over the table and wrapping Sloane up in a hug. Sloane tensed up for a moment, then relaxed and patted Nadia on the back before they released from each other’s grips.

“So...Where’s this mysterious guy you’re so eager for me to meet? I’m starving!” I said to Nadia. At that moment, she jolted up from her seat and began waving her arms over her head.

“Steve! Come say hi to my cousin,” she said. “Guys! I want you to meet my boyfriend.” Sloane and I exchanged a glance and mouthed “boyfriend?” as a tall blond guy made his way over to our table. He was at least six feet tall and built like a tight end. I eyed the Berry High Letterman jacket he wore and was taken aback. I didn’t think that was Nadia’s type. His long locks framed his face, and he tucked a strand behind one of his ears as he approached us.

“You must be Kaia! I’ve heard so much about you ” he smiled as he extended his hand. I took it in a friendly shake.

“All good things, I hope,” I replied, side-eyeing my cousin.

She laughed, wrapping an arm around Steve’s torso. “Ignore my cynical cousin. She’s totally kidding. This is Sloane, Kaia’s friend.” He shook her hand and then he and Nadia took a seat across the table from me and Sloane.

“Sorry, I’m late. My marketing class ran late,” he leaned in and pressed a kiss to Nadia’s temple.

“No biggie, babe. You’re here now.”

Sloane and I gave each other amusing looks at Nadia's use of the word 'babe.' “So, Steve. What are you majoring in?” I asked.

His eyes lit up. “Econ & Finance. My dad runs an investment firm that I’m hoping to take over after graduation. That is if my NFL career doesn’t pan out. Got into Hartfeld on a football scholarship.”

“You play football? What position?” Sloane asked, shoving a bite of pizza in her mouth.

“Wide receiver. I was a five-star recruit coming out of high school,” he replied, pointing to the logo on his letterman jacket. “I’m hungry, babe. Ready to get something to eat?”

“Let’s go,” Nadia answered. “Come on, Kaia.” I waved to Sloane and followed Steve and Nadia up to the register. We scanned our lunch cards and Steve made a beeline for the carving station. Nadia and I moved over to the sandwich station. She decided on the Caprese Melt while I opted for the Reuben.

“Soooo...what do you think?” Nadia inquired as we stood in line for dessert.

“He seems nice. How’d you guys meet?”

“Funny story. We’re dorm neighbors. I was moving my things into my room move-in weekend, and I had some boxes piled up in front of the door. So, I’m in my room trying to set stuff down when I hear this loud crash. I run out into the hall and there he is, laying on the ground, my stuff scattered everywhere. I had set the boxes down in front of his door and when he came out of his room, he accidentally tripped over it. I thought he broke his ankle because he was rubbing it. I felt so bad. I grabbed a cold pack and brought him into my room to elevate it and put ice on it.  I asked him if there was anything I could do to make it up to him. He said, ‘Take me out to dinner and we’ll call it even.’ So I took him out Saturday night to this cute little restaurant. We got to talking. Hit it off immediately. We came back to the dorms, got a little drunk. One thing led to another, and, well…”

“STOP! For the love of gods, please stop. I do not need to hear the rest of that sentence,” I pleaded. She giggled and picked up a plate of blueberry pie, setting it on the tray next to her sandwich. “So you guys are official now?”

“As of last night,” she blushed, her eyes sparkling. Uh oh. I knew that look. I love my cousin, but she tends to fall in love way too quickly. The douchey theater kid she dated our sophomore year of high school comes to mind. They only knew each other for a few weeks, but she claimed they were in love. Her parents hated the guy and forbade her from seeing him, so she ran away from home so they could be together. Thankfully his parents found them at the train station before it took off. They shipped him off to some boarding school out west and she never heard from him again.

“Soooo...guess who I literally ran into this morning,” I said changing the subject. 

“Who?”

“Damien.”

Nadia gasped, nearly dropping her tray. I looked over at her and saw the frown on her face. She was the only one who knew of the “situation,” besides Damien and me. She was with me the days following his departure when I cried endlessly and refused to get out of bed.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yeah. I mean, it was a shock seeing him, but I think enough time has passed where we can be around each other without shit getting awkward. Plus, I guess he has a girlfriend now.”

She sighed and reached out to touch my arm. “Let me know if you want to talk about it, okay?”

I nodded and we made our way back to the table where Sloane and Steve were chatting over their schedules.

“I heard Dr. Carson is a real hardass. I am not looking forward to that class,” she replied.

“What class is that?” Nadia asked, sitting down next to Steve. He slung an arm around the back of her chair and stuck his fork in her pie, stealing a bite.

“Calculus. Sloane and I have it at 2 today,” he said, licking the blueberry filling off his fork. Nadia watched him, eyes filled with lust and I cleared my throat to snap her out of it. “What classes do you have, Kaia?” he asked.

I slid my schedule across the table to him and he eyed it, then nodded approvingly. Nadia snuck a peek at Sloane’s schedule, then turned to me. “I’m kind of sad we don’t have any classes together this semester, Kaia. We’ll have to make sure we make time to hang out.”

“That’s your fault for not taking any Gen Eds, dork,” I replied, chucking a french fry at her. She swatted it away with her hand and laughed. The four of us talked through the remainder of our lunch hour. We discussed our majors, Steve’s football schedule, and any good parties coming up. Steve then invited us to watch the Bobcats play their first home game of the season on Saturday. Sloane commented that she had never been to a football game or a party before and we all gasped.

“Seriously, never?” Nadia questioned.

Sloane shook her head and took a sip of her Diet Coke. “I was too busy studying to participate in all that stuff. Plus, no one ever invited me.”

Nadia slammed her palm down on the table, causing all of us to jump. “That’s it, Sloane. I’m giving you your first real taste of college life. You’re coming to the Delta Mu Kappa party with us on Saturday. The quarterback on Steve’s team is a member and he’s extended an invitation to all the new freshmen. It’s kind of like a housewarming party for the new school year. You should come too, Kaia.”

Sloane looked over at me nervously. I smiled and turned back to Nadia. “Sounds fun. We can meet after Steve’s game and go together.”

“It’s a date,” Nadia said, clapping her hands together excitedly. We finished up lunch and headed off to our next classes. I made my way through the bustling crowd back to Clark Hall, where my noon class was held. Thankfully, I didn’t have to trek to the third floor this time. I arrived in room 210 for Dr. Ross’s Interpersonal Communication class. I scanned the rows of desks, looking for an open seat, and found one near the middle of the room. I made my way past the chairs filled with chatting students and claimed my spot for the semester.

I pulled out my MacBook and a bag of candy and prepared to take notes once class began when a familiar voice spoke. “Is this seat taken?”

I looked up and locked eyes with Damien. Oh. Shit.

***

Damien

“Is this seat taken?” I asked, hoping that it wasn’t.

When I walked into Dr. Ross’s classroom a few moments ago, I spotted her almost immediately. I noticed the empty seat next to her and thanked the Gods for my good luck. I moved through the rows of seats and approached where she was sitting, watching her type on her laptop. A bag of Skittles lay open on her desk. She always loved those damn things. Once a week we’d walk down to the convenience store just so she could buy them.

She looked up from her computer at the sound of my voice and her eyes immediately went wide, like she had just seen a ghost. She quickly composed herself and shook her head, motioning for me to sit down. 

I plunked down in the chair and drank in the sight of her. I couldn’t believe the girl I knew all those years ago looked like that. I was so taken aback by her bumping into me in the courtyard, I didn’t get a chance to appreciate her beauty. Her soft chocolate waves rested on her shoulder. Her deep brown eyes were the color of the earth after torrential rain. Her full lips pressed together as she chewed on the bottom one nervously. Her black and white collared shirt and A-Line skirt gave me some serious naughty schoolgirl vibes.

“Well, fancy running into you again,” I said with a laugh.

“Thankfully no humans or phones were injured in the process this time. But at least I can tell people you literally knocked me off my feet,” she quirked. Her comment drew a hearty laugh from me and several students turned around to look at us.

I winked and smiled back at her. “And no wardrobe casualties this time. My eyes traveled downward and I noticed she was no longer wearing pantyhose, giving me a view of her long legs. Down, boy I mentally told my dick. 

Her cheeks flushed and she turned away. “Yeah, I had to toss them. Can’t walk around on the first day with a run in my pantyhose. Know what I mean?” She replied, brushing away an invisible piece of lint from her skirt.

“Mmm, I know all about that. My freshman year, I went through so many pairs of pantyhose. Had to stop wearing them ‘cause I couldn’t afford to keep buying new ones. You have a lot to learn, freshman.”

She giggled, the melodic sound filling my ears. “So, what are you doing here?”

“I’m in this class.”

She burst out laughing but stopped when she noticed I wasn’t joking. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah, long story. I’ll tell you about it later." 

At that moment, Dr. Ross strolled in and began the class. I pulled out my notebook, sneaking peeks of her from the corner of my eye. She was fully immersed in the lecture, typing furiously as the professor went over the syllabus. 

I remember being that eager on my first day. Taking note of every word the professor said, making sure not to miss a thing. Now, I just rely on the cliff notes and blind luck. I was pretty sure I still had my notes from the first time I attempted to take this class. I reminded myself to look for them this afternoon. I watched her for a few moments as the professor went over what to expect from this class. Her long, slender fingers glided over the keys as her lips pursed in concentration.

“Can I borrow a pencil?” I leaned in and whispered. I didn’t need one, I just wanted an excuse to talk to her. She reached into her bag and handed it to me, our fingers lightly brushing as I took it from her. Her breath hitched and she jerked her hand back like she touched a hot stove. The corner of my mouth tugged up in a small grin. 

Professor Ross moved on to discussing the series of semester group projects he had planned for us. Oh boy. Here we go again. I tried to avoid group projects for most of my college career. They’re fucking awful. One person in the group always ended up doing the majority of the work, while everyone else fucked off and still got the credit. I did, however, meet Alana through a group project, so I guessed they weren't all bad.

“Okay, class. I’m going to divide you into groups of four. When I call your name, pair up with the other members of your group and get started on an outline for your first project.” He began calling off names and students shuffled around the room to pair up with their new groupmates. “...Group 4 will be Brad King, Allison Page, Kaia Park, and Damien Nazario.”

I looked over at Kaia and she ducked her head. Well, then. I gathered up my books and followed her over to where Allison and Brad sat. My eyes involuntarily traveled down her back and landed right on her ass as her skirt swished with her movements.

Stop it, Dames. But it was no use. This was happening, and my dick couldn’t be happier. I moved my books in front of my crotch to hide the semi currently taking up residence in my pants. She took a seat where a guy with brown hair and glasses, and a girl with wavy blonde hair were sitting. I grabbed the one next to her and subtly adjusted myself.

Brad, the self-appointed group leader took one look at Kaia, making a show of slowly looking up and down her body, then held his hand out to her with a smirk. “Well, you look promising.” He glanced around the classroom, then back to her. “You’re obviously the hottest girl here, which means we definitely need to be introduced.”

“Uh...I’m Kaia,” she asked, holding out her hand for a shake.

He took her hand and drew it to his lips for a kiss. “The name’s Brad,” he replied. Of course, it was. And he was a textbook douchebag. I shot a look at Kaia and Allison, silently begging them to let me punch him.

Allison piped up. “Hi, I’m Alli-”

“Alright, let’s skip introductions and move straight to the part where you give me your number,” Douchebag Brad said, waving Allison off and wiggling his eyebrows in Kaia’s direction.

“Orrr...we could just stick to introductions so we can get on with this project.” she snapped. That’s my girl!

Brad winked at her then eyed me incredulously. “And you must be Damien.”

“Yep, that's me. Let’s get this over with so we can start assigning parts.” I said, rolling my eyes.

Douchebag Brad smirked then opened up the packet Professor Ross handed us. “Okay, everyone turn to page three, where you’ll see a list of topics for this project. I was thinking we could do the first part on the Gibbs Reflective Cycle.”

“What about the Johari window model for our first part? It’s a great method to enhance our perception of others. And it’s the perfect way to reveal information about ourselves to the rest of the group and learn about ourselves from their feedback,” Allison chimed in.

Kaia hummed and tapped her finger to her lips, drawing my eyes there. I thought back to the night of my graduation party and what they tasted like. “I like Allison’s idea for the first part. We could use it to get to know each other. Then we could use Brad’s suggestion for the second part of the project and move to Knapp’s Relationship Model for the third part,” she said, looking in my direction.

My body tensed. Was she taunting me? The rest of the group turned to me, waiting on my input. I quickly scanned the page of topics the professor gave us and picked the first one I saw. 

“Nonverbal communication seems like a good place to start,” I replied curtly, drawing looks of confusion and annoyance from the rest of my group.

Kaia sighed. “Well, it doesn't look like we’re going to agree on the first part of this project today. How about everyone pick a couple of topics that they like and we’ll compare notes in Wednesday’s class. We need to have the first part laid out by next Monday, so that gives us a few days.”

The others nodded in agreement and class was dismissed a few minutes later. We all exchanged phone numbers and Allison waved goodbye as she left the classroom. Brad extended his wrist and checked his watch. “So, Kaia. Are you doing anything tonight? We could meet at the library for a study session, then grab a bite after.”

“Uhh...I’m actually busy tonight. But I’ll see you in class on Wednesday,” she replied. He looked at me quickly in annoyance, then back at her.

“The offer’s still open,” he said, winking at her as he sauntered out of the classroom. I watched as Kaia packed up her things. She looked up at me and smiled softly, then slung her backpack over her shoulder and walked off. I trailed a respectable distance behind her, avoiding staring at her ass this time. When we exited Clark Hall, she stopped walking and turned to me.

“So, what’s your next class?”

A light breeze blew a strand of hair into her face and I had to shove my hands in my pockets to avoid touching her. “I’m done for the day. You?”

“I have College Algebra, then I’m done. You wanna get coffee after?” she asked. 

“I thought you had plans.”

She laughed. “I just said that so Brad would leave me alone. I was hoping you were free this evening. I could buy you a cup of coffee to apologize for brutally crashing into you this morning, and it will give us a chance to catch up.”  

Guilt slammed in my chest. You have a girlfriend, asshole. Remember? “Uh...I-I have plans... with my girlfriend tonight. But we can get together another time.”

“Oh…okay,” she said, not meeting my eyes. We both stood there in awkward silence for a few beats before she spoke up. “Okay, well I gotta get to class. Umm...I’ll see you later.” She gave me a quick wave before taking off in almost a dead sprint.

I knew I was doing the right thing by not leading her on, but I still felt like shit about it. I pulled out my phone and shot a text to Alana, seeing if she was free. I walked over to a bench near the center of the courtyard and sat down waiting for her reply. The afternoon sun lit up the campus with a warm glow as students moved from building to building, talking and laughing.

A few minutes later, my phone buzzed in my hand. I looked down and saw a text from Alana telling me that she had something come up and wouldn’t be able to meet me tonight. Fuck. I didn’t want to believe that she was mad, but here it was in black and white. I dragged my hand down my face and gathered my backpack before shuffling my way back to my dorm alone. 

[spartanguard]

a charm of powerful trouble (4/5)

Summary: Killian should have known to keep his flask close when a mad scientist was on the loose. But at least werewolves don’t drink rum, right? (3.6k, rated PG)

A/N: Sorry it’s been so long! My muse has a terrible lack of focus, even though this has been thoroughly outlined for a month. But I finally have an update! And there’s one more to come. Thanks to @optomisticgirl for looking this over and to @cocohook38 and @snowbellewells for keeping me going :D

Part 1 (art) | Part 2 (art) | Part 3 (art) | Part 4 (art) | AO3

Dawn filtered hazy through the windows of the cabin and Killian lazily blinked open his eyes at the light, happy to be on his ship with the woman he loved in his arms. She shifted a bit and he glanced down at her as she too fluttered her eyelashes as she woke.

“Mm, good morning,” she murmured, pulling herself even closer to him and trailing a hand up his arm, grazing his collarbones and neck on her way to the tips of his ears. She played with them, teasing, “My, what big ears you have.”

“The better to hear you with, my dear,” he answered.

She smiled up at him. “And what big, blue eyes you have.”

“The better to see you with, Swan.”

Finally, she placed a gentle kiss on his lips and pulled back, leaving him grinning. “And what big teeth you have,” she finished, biting her lip and glancing up through her lashes.

He growled into her ear, nudging it with his nose. She smelled positively delectable and he could feel a familiar hunger growing within. “The better to eat you with, love.”

He reared back and sank his teeth into her shoulder. She screamed, but not in the good way. She tasted divine, but all too soon, she was out of reach and he was left licking his chops, craving more.

She stood on the opposite side of the cabin from him, hands outstretched defensively and a terrified look on her face. Wait, why was she scared of him?

“Emma, it’s me,” he tried to say, but all that came out were ferocious roars. He glanced down at his paws and fur-covered limbs. Oh, right.

“Help! There’s a wolf!” she shouted, and her palms began to glow.

“Please, Swan, listen to me!” he shouted, only to howl.

“What did you do with my husband?” She was angry and holding back tears, breaking his heart.

“I’m right here!”

“GO AWAY!” she yelled, and unleashed her powers at him. He writhed and twisted against the magical restraints, still shouting for her to listen to him, but it was all for nought until—

—Until he awoke thrashing in his own bed. As a human.

Emma was lying next to him with her hands gripping his shoulders. “Hey, hey—it’s okay; it was just a dream. You’re okay now.”

Immediately, his hand went to her face, cupping it—he had to feel that warmth against his skin, to see if she was real. She tilted her head into his touch and gave him a soft smile that eased the concerned furrow of her brow, and his panic ebbed a little.

He couldn’t help it: he surged forward to claim her lips with his, desperate for that connection. This whole ordeal had only started hours ago, but it felt like ages that he’d been separated from her. She responded just as hungrily, which was reassuring—until he remembered that she’d been through quite a bit last night, too.

He broke the kiss but tugged her close to him, practically burying his head in her shoulder; as terrible as he felt about everything, he needed that physical contact to ground him right now. “Emma, I’m so sorry; I’m so sorry for everything last night—”

She cut him off, firmly but gently telling him, “Hey, you have nothing to apologize for. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He pulled back to look at her, astonished by the resolve and forgiveness on her face. “Swan, I hurt you and Belle. How could I...how can you...?” How can you look at me? were the words he couldn't voice.

“No. You didn’t do anything; the wolf did. Actually, whoever did this to you is really who should be blamed.”

“But I wasn’t strong enough to fight back.” How could she think he was innocent in this?

“You did the best you could. No one is mad at you, babe. Please don’t beat yourself up about it; please.”

He scoffed a bit, both at how well she knew him and at the fact that it was too late. True, he was getting better at letting go of the past and not letting his sins weigh on him so heavily, but situations like this reminded him of just who he’d been: ruthless and mindless when it came to his revenge and anyone who got in his way. But if he wasn’t that man anymore, then he should have been able to fight against the beast; he should have protected those he loved instead of letting it run free.

A knock on the bedroom door interrupted his self-deprecating train of thought. “She’s right, you know.” Granny was peeking in the doorway and he could smell the grilled cheese and onion rings she had with her (much stronger than he usually could, actually). “Most wolves have even less control than you did on their first transformation. I certainly didn’t. Hell, Ruby ate her boyfriend.”

“Uh, Granny, that part probably doesn't help,” Emma interjected, muttering as she pulled the sheets tighter around them. Killian was less concerned with propriety, and felt his heart rate pick up a tick.

But Granny shrugged it off. “Point is, you did fine, and you’ll be fine. I’m sure of it.” She set the bag of food at the foot of the bed; Emma’s stomach growled in response—though, was it louder than normal, or did it just seem like it? “Now eat up; even if the wolf ate, transformation takes a lot out of you and you both must be starved.”

He wasn’t sure he had much of an appetite, once he recalled what his last meal was, but it wasn’t long after Granny left and Emma dug into hers that he suddenly found himself ravenous.  For lack of a better word, he found himself wolfing down the french fries and reuben sandwich brought for him (he’d never had a reuben before, but he figured Granny’s lupine senses must have known he’d like it—which was mildly concerning, but he was too focused on his meal to really think about it). He was just finishing Emma’s onion rings when her phone rang from its spot on the nightstand.

“Oh, good—it’s Regina,” she said as she grabbed it and answered. “Hey, what did you find out?”

Though it was quiet, Killian heard the mayor’s response clear as day. “You might want to put this on speakerphone; if he’s awake, you’re both gonna want to hear this.” That didn’t sound good.

Emma did as was asked and scooted next to Killian; he wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close instinctively. “What’s up?” Emma asked.

“Guyliner, you there?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, I have good news and bad news,” Regina started. “The good news is that I caught the culprit and he’s all ready to be processed. He doesn’t seem to be a huge fan of the cells at the station, but take your time. And be sure to add theft to the list of charges.”

“I was going to return them!” Whale protested in the background. Emma and Killian both sighed; of course it was him.

“How’d you figure out it was him?” Emma wondered.

“Remember my missing spellbooks?” Regina had put in a formal complaint earlier that week, but they’d been too busy to follow up on it. “They had similar transformation potions in them, but not quite to that extent. So I made an educated guess, baited this guy to my place on the promise of a couple hearts, and that was that.”

“You’re sure?” Killian had to ask. It was believable, but...this was also Storybrooke. It wasn’t uncommon for multiple villains to be running around at the same time.

“Oh, I’m sure. I put him under my own version of a polygraph test, and he spilled everything, even where the brains came from.”

Emma groaned, slightly exasperated. “Did you take his heart?”

“I gave it back,” was Regina’s nonchalant answer.

Emma huffed, but plowed on. “Okay, your turn to go on speaker. We need to talk to Whale.” While they waited for Regina to switch her phone, she reached over and gave a comforting squeeze of Killian’s leg through the bed covers. It helped a bit, but he could still feel a ball of anxiety growing in his stomach, and it wasn’t just the greasy food. Just because he was human right now didn’t mean he was in the clear; he needed to hear just what the mad doctor had done to him.

“What’s up, Savior?” the doctor’s smarmy voice greeted over the phone.

She just rolled her eyes. “Cut the crap, Frank-N-Furter. What exactly did you do and why?”

“I think it’s pretty obvious what I did.”

“Humor me. We already know you love to hear yourself talk.”

“Hm, that’s true,” he conceded, and to their surprise, he launched right into an explanation. “I did it for the same reason anyone conducts experiments: to see if I could. Letting the patients out was just a ruse to get you out of the house. Slipped in and put in the flask, easy peasy. You should really rethink your home security.”

Killian could feel her tense next to him; Whale’s casual attitude was grating on him, but Emma plowed on. “Why did you do this to Killian?” she demanded.

“The pirate is a prime specimen. Look at how old he is and how much he’s been through. If it works on him, it’d work on anyone.”

Anxiety quickly turned to anger within—once more, he was just a means to an end, being used. Old rage filled him up and burst out. “So that’s all I am—a lab rat in your game of science? Not an actual person, with a life that you’ve so carelessly interrupted?” The doctor was lucky that he wasn’t physically there; even with his brace shredded, Killian would have found a way to get Whale on the wrong end of his hook.

“I mean...yeah,” was all Whale had to say.

It was a good thing they were alone, because Killian jumped out of bed and began to pace furiously, hardly giving second thought to his nudity. This was his childhood all over again: he was just an object, under the control of someone else; it was, quite literally, dehumanizing.

He could feel Emma’s worried gaze as he stalked his side of the room. “Okay, but what it is, exactly, and how do we fix it?”

“It’s a transformation potion, but an incredibly potent one. I super-concentrated it for maximum power.”

Regina asked, “Why a werewolf? Couldn’t you have picked something with less...fleas?”

“Ruby left a hairbrush here once, so I had to work with what was on hand.”

“So it’s like Polyjuice Potion?” To his surprise, Emma seemed relieved by the revelation, but he had no idea what that was. She threw him a glance with the corner of her mouth ticked up, which usually meant she’d explain it later.

“Kind of. Same idea, but this one isn’t as...temporary, I guess?”

Any relief disappeared.

“What do you mean?” Emma asked slowly.

Whale explained, “It was designed to be a bit more permanent in nature.”

The pit that had been forming in his stomach rapidly became a dropping stone, and Killian was frozen in place; even the dustmotes swimming in the light streaming through the windows seemed to still. What the bloody hell did he mean? Emma’s mouth hung open in shock and she was staring at him, but clearly both were left speechless.

So Whale continued. “Tell me, Captain, have you noted anything different since you returned to human form? Heightened senses; a craving for meat?”

Killian swallowed as a cold sense of realization washed over him. “Aye, I have,” he confirmed with a low, shaky voice. Those subtle differences he’d noticed over the last few hours felt like giant warning signs now.

“Then there you have it,” Whale concluded. “There’s a slight chance it’ll wear off eventually, but I designed it to be even more potent than a werewolf’s bite. Ideally, you’d transform for an entire week around the full moon, rather than just a day.”

Emma snorted and proceeded to unleash verbal abuse on the doctor, but Killian found himself tuning it out despite his apparently enhanced hearing. This curse was permanent. No amount of True Love magic could reverse or alter it; no spell or potion could undo it. His entire life had been redirected and likely torn apart thanks to one sip of a psychotic man’s cruel experiment. If he wasn’t safe for even a rabbit to be around when he transformed, then how could he hope to stay with Emma?

Suddenly, she was in front of him, telling him to look her in the eye and breath; he hadn’t realized that he’d collapsed to his knees until Emma’s voice pulled him from the self-induced fog in which he’d placed himself.

She stroked his cheek—normally a comforting gesture, but it didn’t fit with the uncertainty in her shaky voice. “I promise you, we’ll figure this out,” she said, but she didn’t seem as convinced anymore. And if she wasn’t, how was he to be?

He hummed an agreement halfheartedly and leaned into her touch. But he knew that regardless of whatever she believed, he was now a danger to her; come nightfall—and possibly long after—he’d have to be far away.

Emma couldn’t help the disbelieving snort that escaped her lips when Whale explained what he’d done to Killian. “So this is all a game to you? You don’t mind that you’ve completely changed someone’s entire life—entire being—for the sake of some ridiculous study?”

“No, this is science,” he threw back, smugly, making her want to slap the cocky grin off his head that was surely there. And she was half tempted to ask Regina to do it for her.

“And you’re certain there’s no reversal?”

“DNA can only be messed with so many times; it’s dangerous stuff.”

“Emma, just let your pirate’s next meal be him,” Regina interjected. “As mayor, I’ll let this one slide.”

It was definitely a tempting offer, but said pirate was currently kneeling on the floor, staring at nothing and dangerously close to a panic attack. “As much as I might love that, we’ll figure out the doctor later; just make sure he can’t leave the station. I’ll meet you at the library.” After hanging up, she gave herself to the count of ten to freak out before going to Killian. As life-altering as this was for him, it was rocking her world, too. She knew he’d eventually have the beast in check, but how long would it take? How many more nights like the last would they face? They’d been separated before, but she didn’t think could handle it on such a regular interval. She’d gotten too used to his constant presence and unwavering support at her side to willingly give it up for even a short amount of time.

But right now, it was her turn to be that for him. She took one last deep breath before slipping off the bed and kneeling in front of him. “Killian,” she whispered. “Look at me.” God, how many times had she said that in the past 24 hours? “Breath, babe; just breathe.” He looked up at her; that panic that had finally started to ease from his eyes had found its way back in and it broke her heart. They had to find a way around this, but right now, all signs were pointing to dead ends. She couldn’t tell him that, though.

So, for the millionth time, she stroked his cheek and told him, “I promise you, we’ll figure this out.” It lacked her normal conviction, but it was one of those things where if she said it enough, she might start to believe it again.

He was equally unconvinced, but agreed anyway. They stayed there on the floor for a bit, just holding each other and trying to wrap their heads around this, until Killian began to sway and she nearly had to catch him to prevent him from falling over, squeezing his shoulders to stabilize him.

“Okay, back in bed with you,” she directed, though admittedly less forcefully than usual; she stood to pull him up with both hands and he followed with no protest. “Get some more rest while I go see what I can figure out with Regina, okay?”

He just nodded, but before she could step aside to tug back the covers for him, he pulled her tight to him, one arm around her waist and his hand on her cheek, and placed a searing kiss on her lips. Normally, such situations, given their present lack of clothing, would lead to other activities. But this didn’t have the usual heat—just the passion. He’d only kissed her like this a few times in the past, and though she knew what he was trying to say, she couldn’t afford to think like that.

When he finally broke away, he pressed his forehead to hers and murmured, “I love you, Emma.” She was short on breath, but managed to return the endearment, and they stood there for a moment just breathing each other in. Then he placed a gentle kiss on her temple and backed away, gave her a tired half-smile, and moved toward getting in the bed. He was asleep before she’d even finished tucking him in.

He was trying to say goodbye, she could tell. Only this time, she’d be damned if she let him.

She quickly dressed and poofed right over to the library, not even wanting to waste the time it would take to walk out of the house. If Belle noticed when Emma appeared in the lobby, it wasn’t apparent; she was too absorbed in a book, with another stack next to where she was reading, seated at one of the tables in the stacks.

“Finding anything?” Emma asked as she approached, finally drawing Belle’s attention. The doorbell chimed in the background, signaling Regina’s arrival.

Looking up from the page, Belle shook her head and answered. “Nothing yet. I’ve looked at transformation spells, books on mythology, and even some theoretical physics and medical books. Nothing on how to reverse something like this.”

Emma just sighed, and Regina awkwardly offered her a pat on the shoulder as David arrived with coffee. Regina caught everyone up on what Whale had revealed, and Belle just shook her head at the news. “He’s right, unfortunately; there’s nothing that can turn a werewolf back into a human, especially if the source he used was someone who was born one.”

Emma felt her stomach fall to the tile floor. “So there’s nothing we can do?” She hated how watery her voice sounded, but the prospect of no solution...they’d overcome too much to hit a brick wall now. “He’s just...going to be a wolf forever?”

Her father’s heavy, comforting grasp squeezed her shoulder. “Hey, just because it can’t be reversed doesn’t mean we can’t handle it,” he assured her. “We’ve done it before and we can do it again. And if there’s anyone who can overcome this, it’s Hook.”

“It might take some time, but once he accepts it, he’ll be fine,” Belle added. “And David’s right—I know he can.”

Regina concurred, which was probably the most reassuring, and eased Emma’s internal tension a bit. “Okay, what do we do?”

David and Belle gave her as much of a crash course as they could in wolf taming, her father having been the one to get Ruby through it just after the curse broke. They promised they’d be on standby if they were needed tonight, but their instruction had Emma feeling confident; no, things weren’t going to be perfect, but they were going to be as close to it as possible.

A trip to the station and then the hospital saw Whale in a new residence: the cells. It wasn’t an ideal prison, but it seemed fair to have him on the other side of his odd brand of medicine for once.

Darkness was falling by the time that was wrapped up, so Emma hurried home with dinner from Granny’s: the usual for her again, and a rather pink steak for Killian. The house was still dark when she arrived; she didn’t blame him if he was still napping. But the moonrise was imminent—he needed to be awake and she needed to be with him if they were going to manage this thing.

Tossing the food on the kitchen table, she then headed upstairs to their room. As usual, the bed was perfectly made and his side of the room was spotless; not even a stray sock was on the floor. But it was empty, and there were no signs of life anywhere else. Shit.

Proper gentleman that he was, though, there was a note lying on the bed:

Emma—

It would be the poorest of form to knowingly put you in danger, my love. As such, I’ve sequestered myself for the night to keep you—and others—out of harm’s way. Please do not fret, and know that I will return come morning, hopefully no worse for the wear.

Counting down the hours and leaving all my love with you,

—Killian

She sighed, shaking her head. Of course the dramatic bastard would run off, thinking it was for the best. Despite everything, they were both still getting used to the fact that they didn’t have to go through things alone, so this was one instance where she knew to seek him out.

And, predictable as he was, she was pretty positive she knew where he’d gone. With a wave of her hand, she transported to the Jolly Roger.

thanks again for reading! tagging @kat2609 @thesschesthair @fergus80 @xpumpkindumplingx @its-like-a-story-of-love @shipsxahoy @mryddinwilt @annytecture @killian-whump @laschatzi @ive-always-been-a-pirate @jscoutfinch @nfbagelperson @stubble-sandwich @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @pirateherokillian @luvmylife25 @drowned-dreamer @lenfaz @losttalongthewayy

[toddlazarski]

Last Suppers Vol. 2

Shepherd Express

In the days B.C.(Before Covid), when normal life, and more importantly, sports, proliferated and dotted the rote landscape of daily routine, I held a superstition with any of my real or fantasy teams: they wouldn’t play well if I actually watched. It was best I averted my eyes, distanced my associative bad juju. Nowadays, I do the same, except with the only statistical options: infection rates and confirmed cases and total deaths. I don’t look at virus numbers all day, then, when the house is quiet, the dishwasher humming, the lights half-off, I sit at the tiny kitchen table with a spoon and a pint of something chocolatey and my desperation and my phone and the giddy anxiety dread of a fresh-inked boxscore. It’s like I’m an immunologist with a gambling problem. Some combination of the ultimate-stakes card game scene in Casino Royale and the uncontrollable absurdity of Kramer betting on which flight lands first at Laguardia. Come the eventual loss, and then the shoulder-shrugged resigned finger-stabbing, the desperate working of the back triangle, the scrolling down, there is always a path to the only spot of hope in any news source today: an updated list of open restaurants and takeout offerings.    

This is how I eventually stumbled on MobCraft, or, rather, remembered it was there, barely safely social distanced outside my once-normal morning cycle of coffee and work, just another place before, another option, yet another in a too long list of new breweries, one I didn’t know how to take seriously before all this because I have a middle-aged mistrust of anything “crowdsourced.” In my mind it suddenly began burgeoning like a lighthouse, with the irresistible notion that homemade craft beer, and nearly equally curated pizza, could be brought to my car as I idled with my Spotify playlist and the safe removal of the other half. There are plenty of places to get either, there are plenty within blocks—Fixture has better pizza, Indeed has better beer—but here is both. Two birds, one stone. Or, as the day-appropriate analogy runs: two vices, half the infection chance. 

Later, as I ignored common sense to waste ever-precious paper towel squares on wiping down the rectangular boxes, I noticed the packages are ink-branded: ‘Hidden Kitchen.’ How apt. In the age of hearth-cooking and HGTV-backed open concepting, how hidden they’ve suddenly all become. Though here I wouldn’t really know, as I’ve still never set foot even on the curb outside. And, really, you’d think no one has, judging from the streets on a recent beer and pizza run evening. There was a couple with matching face masks at the corner of 5th and Bruce, and one guy on a bike, also in a mask that maybe you could convince yourself was a scarf, if you wanted to make it all seem less Cormac McCarthy, which I often struggle to do, telling myself the usual: “Well, it’s Sunday.” You could also just blame the weather—there’s still time in the season for that. Everyone just wants to be inside, sure. Or maybe he is, maybe they are—maybe we’re all—bank robbers. But getting off the Hoan at the Lakefront, circling up Clybourn and through the Third Ward, by the shell of the Public Market, a cold Colectivo, the only sign of life or movement is generally the streetcar, empty, running like a phantom reminder of how petty all our social media grievances once were. The city looks like a darkened backstage set, waiting. It feels recently completed, clean, ready, an up-and-comer, Cream City brick and Rustbelt charm and hints of the river rubbing against new development, Shake Shack and West Elm framed by turn-of-the-last-century port city industriousness. It’s an attractive potential leading man, wizened but spruced, primed for today, for a turn in the spotlight. To play part, the setting and co-star both, in the historic naming of someone—whomever!—to lead us out of this national nightmare. Now tumbleweeds blow down Water. 1st Street’s major pulse is two just-hanging-on taco trucks. Instead of simply taking the bikes away, Bublr has placed plastic bags over each individual docking station, they billow in the wind like a line of waiting ghosts, emphatic in doom declaration. Steny’s, empty, makes it feel like it’s too early. Anodyne, empty, like it’s too late. The expectation, the possibility here, is only for pizza and beer to take back to your little abode that by now feels half sanctuary, part jail. 

And once you are home, hands washed, boxes washed too, psyche shaken of the jarring urban emptiness, distracted just enough by HBO or Netflix, what is there but to eat and drink and discuss said eats and drinks? Yet, first, as a collective, writers, judgers, hall monitors and such, very clearly, as a commandment or some other kind of religious term, should agree: objectivity is rightly dead. There should currently exist no pretense of criticism. Any words spent on food or drink should simply be a celebration that we are still around, have health and funds enough to still eat and drink. Every meal is worth only the comfort it brings. My recent birthday dinner selection was Pizza Shuttle, and was met not with laughs, scoffs, but gentle understanding nods. This is for your soul, not your tongue, forget your mind. None of us are seeing our doctors for normally scheduled tire-kicking and blood death panels anytime soon anyways. In that spirit, Mobcraft might be the greatest restaurant in the world right now. 

Opening the boxes reveals a sort of paradigm of the flat bread-y, happy hour shareable brewpub pizza. It is in some way reminiscent of those things we are all missing the most: where you don’t feel like going out after a long day, then you go out anyways, and have something hoppy and local and loosen up, and unexpected alliances are formed by ABV, and there are ‘nother ones, and excuses made to selves and to significant others, and the coming weekend seems suddenly endless, eternal, what, in hindsight, feels almost, yes, maybe, blessed. And there is the realm of “one more” and somebody orders something from the bar to share, and everybody gets a wedge and pulls without cootie and corona paranoia, and the collective cheese pull is beautiful, pizza delivery commercial Instagrammable. The soft, deep, focaccia-like layers house typically creative topping combos: mac n’ cheese with pulled pork, a pungent gyro number with shaved lamb, a reuben pie with sauerkraut for those that prefer to sleep alone. Or there are more standard takes—pleasing marinara and pepperoni, with stretchy, blankety mozz, pleasant dusty crust flour fallout that snows softly down on the sweat pants and couch, lovingly sprinkled oregano flecks, cheese and edges just going brown toward crisp, but everything immeasurably pillowy, like a salty, saucy padding to smooth life’s edges just a bit. The “Pollo” has become an overnight favorite, featuring chicken chunks, the underutilized brotherly punch-in-the-arm of poblanos, bacon bits, velvety, guilt-inducing Alfredo sauce. It’s neither Italian or Mexican, craft or common. It is simply a feel, that of comfort pizza done with deft touch, a happy taste experience, now especially, arriving on the nostalgia spectrum somewhere between a Grandma slice from a Brooklyn street corner, whatever doughy carb-and-sauce bomb you used to get way too late at night in college, and elementary school cafeteria pizza day square. 

But you also can’t leave a palate sodium-parched. So there is the accompanying, expected microbrew tome of types and tastes—a cranberry farmhouse ale, a coffee brown brew, things fermented in barrels, limited offerings of ideas pitched by the public and then voted on by any Joe Six Pack with the internet, the flavor winner then brewed in house—most any to be jogged to your car in the ultimate “this is more like it” lesson we can take away from pandemic times. But it is mostly the distinct, pungent mouthfeel of a hazy IPA—”Squeezin’ Juice,” dry-hopped and 6.7% potent—that acts as total counterpoint to the state of existence right now. There is something of a citrus dance, a zest, a subsequent scrunched-up-face of bitterness showing reaction, any kind of reaction really indicating a defiant act of living. Even if it comes from a sip taken sitting on the couch, in the basement, solo cheersing another year gone by, alone, knowing everyone in the world is mostly doing the same, is in some state of either worrying, or sleeping, or dying. This is probably why even the fizzy astringency of kombucha tastes good to me right now. And probably why the thought of a crowdsourced brewery, whatever that really means, is totally fine.  

By the time the pizza is done and the ice cream too, once the music and news of the day has been faced, when the blindfold is ready for donning, it’s like the next year wish all sports fans know too well. Tomorrow, for sure. The numbers will tumble with lead boots-weight in the right direction, a vax will appear imminent, a treatment will truly show promise. If not, there will be some leftover pizza. And maybe one juicy IPA to sink down with.  

[wagonlitcommunitytheatregroup]

I have no greater fear on this planet than I or my loved ones getting Alzheimers.

I have witnessed it in family members three times now.

The first was Norm Steele who was technically one of my Grandfather but only by virtue of him being a great family friend of my Mother's

I only knew Norm through Alzheimers and I was very young. My Grandma Shirley, Norm's wife, told stories of his great wit and good humor. Even in his days descending into Shakespeare's second childhood I remember a playfulness.

The second time I witnessed it was with my maternal Grandfather, Charles Paul Gadson. Grandpa Paul I knew as slightly before he began his dscent into the disease and had some sense of him in his right mind.

Grandpa Paul's life was a complicated one full of trauma, guilt, and anxiety. These traits he shared with many of the damaged Americans of the so-called Greatest Generations. The Americans of recent memory that suffered the most under the Great Depression and corporate greed.

These scars of his era contributed to Grandpa Paul mixing his Alzheimers with a dose of alcoholism. Alcoholism he had managed his whole life by drinking long into the night at the pharmacy he owned. My Mother identifies this as a way to stay away from my Grandmother, Ruth Gadson. Grandma Ruth was woman equally or even more severely scarred by her era who took out her many psychosis on her children.

(My mother's proudest line to her mother as she lay in the hospital toward's the end of her life went as follows:

"Mom you should really consider seeing a physciatrist."

"Debbie why would I do that? How would that help me?"

"I don't know Mom, it helped me a lot with getting over your upbringing.")

I'm getting side tracked however. Grandpa Paul was a Freemason, an Optimist, a recipient of some sort of Heart of Gold Award, a Navy pharmacist, and later, a local phamacist who worked every holiday to make sure people had their medication, a man who regularly drove friends and strangers to cancer treatments and airport trips.

Grandpa Paul was the man who, for all his failings as a father, purchased all my baby formula and diapers. As a pharmacist and just generally an old man he had collected scores of orange pill bottles. Whenever he heard I was ill he would show up at the house with a pill bottle full of peanut m&ms as a prescription and would give me instructions to take "as needed until symptoms improved"

He was, as we all are if we are being honest, and incredibly complicated person. And I witnessed layers of his own understanding fall away like leaves off a dying tree....maybe that's not the best metaphor. Alzheimers is a buildup of plaque on the brian, therefore he was as a tree straining under the weight of wet snow, weakened by cold, bending until finally he broke.

For the purposes of this stream of consciousness poem I will spare the details of his slow descent to death.

The final, most recent, ongoing example of this horrifying disease is my paternal Grandmother, Barbara Parker, or as she would sometimes say to me, channeling her kindergarten pride "Barbara Jean Alexander, A-L-E-X-A-N-D-E-R".

Grandma Bobbie was without a doubt the sweetest woman I have ever met in my life. There are aspects of her legacy that are less sweet according to my mother and rather hesitantly confirmed by my father regarding her early treatment of my mother but suffice it to say I have never had a bad interaction with her.

Grandma Bobbie was marries to Richard Parker, my Grandfather, Grandpa Dick. He and I only had the pleasure of knowing each other for three months before he died of lung cancer.

From everything I've learned the Parker family lived the quintessential American Dream. Two parents in love, many long road trips with family friends, three smart children, a husband with a pensioned, unionized job as an electrician.

From what I know about Grandma Bobbie and Grandpa Dick they both deserved every ounce of happiness the universe threw their way.

So today...I talk to Grandma Bobbie on the phone from the nursing home. She has recently been diagnosed with Covid-19 and has been placed in isolation. This is likely a death sentance and I see no reason to not accept the fact that the current room she is in is quite possibly where she will die.

During the course of the conversation, after establishing who I was, something every person who has experienced another's dementia has to get used to, she informed me that she is just sitting in her room on the bed, falling asleep periodically, and watching whatever is on the television.

We talked about a number of different topics and she did remember that Laura and I have moved into a house with a yellow door, though she does not realize she will never get to enter it and see her picture which hangs on the wall in the entryway. A picture she was very glad to have described to her.

She kept mentioning how bored she was.

That is what broke my heart on the phone and is breaking my heart again as I write this essay.

The thought of dying bored, confused, or reverted to childhood is a supreme horror to me.

The only horror that comes near it is the thought of witnessing anybody else I knew at their peak mental state succumbing to something so terrible.

The idea that Laura, Josh, Brock, Craig, Therin, Brad, Debbie, Rich, Nancy, Jake, Emily, Chris, Nolan, Michael, Mike, Angie, Kenny, Vince, Casey, Kirby, Jordan, Thom, Nancy, Aaron, Reuben, Stephanie, Colin, Matt, Liz, Brett, Keith, Scott, Austin, Kate, Bob or anybody I've ever known and loved would have to slowly fade away is unbearable.

My father told me point blank when I was about fifteen, during Grandpa Paul's descent, that if he got Alzheimers I was to kill him or arrange to kill him.

I wrestle with that thought every time the topic of Alzheimers enters my life again.

I don't know how to end this.

I'm a little sick of endings at the moment to be honest.

I suppose all I can say is to keep learning everything you can and doing everything you want.

It's possible you will lose it all some day.

[thundercaya]

Getting and Deserving

The sun is rising. When did that happen? Where did the night go? Procrastination. Madison never procrastinates his work. Instead he procrastinates things like doing laundry and running errands. He procrastinates things like tidying up his house and finding something to eat. Tonight he procrastinated going to sleep and now he has to get into bed before Jefferson wakes up for the day and realizes that something is wrong.

There’s always something wrong, and it’s often this. Madison is sad. No real reason--aside from the one involving chemicals. He’s just overwhelmingly and uncontrollably sad. And while sleep could offer a temporary escape, he knows well enough that sleep doesn’t come easy when he’s feeling this way, so he put off trying.

He’s running out of time, though, and can’t put it off anymore. He sets his phone on the charging pad and switches off the living room light. He puts his hand on the wall to guide himself down the hallway, then carefully opens the door to the bedroom. The curtains are thin--something Madison has complained about often--and in the growing morning light, Madison can see Jefferson clearly.

Jefferson is beautiful. He really is, and Madison can appreciate that, always has. He worries sometimes that it might be unfair of him to keep someone so beautiful and not enjoy him fully, the way someone else might. Maybe if Jefferson didn’t like sex so much, Madison wouldn’t worry about it, but Jefferson loves sex.

And me, Madison reminds himself. Thomas loves me.

Of course the biggest problem with putting off sleep because you’re sad is that the more tired you become, the less energy you have to fight off the thoughts that come with that sadness. The main thought right now being that Madison doesn’t feel worthy of Jefferson’s love. And not just because Jefferson is beautiful and funny and intelligent and always has the best comebacks against Hamilton, but because Madison doesn’t feel worthy of love in general--never has. Yes, he’s well aware that there are people who love him. Jefferson, his mother and father. His siblings, sometimes, and there are enough of them that it’s likely that at least one of them loves him at any given time. But getting something and deserving it are two very different things. Joey from Princeton did not deserve death. Lizzie, Reuben, and little baby Cat did not deserve death. And Madison, who deserves death more than anyone, has not received it. If death is doled out unfairly, it’s probable that love is as well.

As Madison watches the man who loves him, he considers not disturbing Jefferson with his presence and simply settling down on the floor. Jefferson’s carpet is probably softer than Madison deserves, but that topic has already been covered.

But if Jefferson wakes up and finds Madison on the floor he’ll be upset. Upset for Madison because he always feels bad when Madison is going through an episode, but also upset at Madison because Madison chose not to reach out to him.

Well, Madison sure isn’t going to reach out to him now--Jefferson has always insisted that Madison can wake him whenever he needs anything, but Madison does his best not to take the man up on that--but he also isn’t going to give any indication that anything is wrong. With all the energy he has left, he resists sinking to the floor and instead slips into bed.

Madison risks moving right up against Jefferson, partially draping himself over the man’s bare chest to feel his warmth and just remind himself that someone is there. If Jefferson wakes up at this point, he’ll probably think Madison is just trying to get comfortable, rather than think he’s only just now getting into bed. Jefferson doesn’t wake up and Madison sighs. He intends it as an expression of relief, but it comes out shaky and pained. He closes his eyes, tight, tight, tighter and then--he’s crying. Shit, what? No. He thought he’d gotten it all out the previous night, in his home, by himself. One more night. He should have told Jefferson he needed alone time for one more night.

Madison pulls back from Jefferson, not wanting his tears to reach the other man’s skin, but the abrupt movement wakes him.

“James?” he says, thickly.

“Shh,” Madison says softly. “Go back to sleep.” But then he sniffles, goddammit, and Jefferson is sitting up, fully awake.

“James? Hon? What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing!” Madison insists, but Jefferson pulls him close and the tears can’t be lied away.

“James. Please. Talk to me.”

Madison nods his head against Jefferson’s chest, where the man is cradling it. It’s better. Not better as in fixed, but compared to last night, doing this same thing by himself, crying into Jefferson’s chest is better. He takes a few shaky breaths.

“Same old shit,” he says. “I don’t know….” He releases a sob, then tries again. “I don’t know how to make it stop.”

“We should go for a walk.”

Madison pulls back from Jefferson’s chest to stare at him.

“Not right now,” Jefferson clarifies. “Later. When it starts to cool off for the evening, maybe. And then we’ll go eat something nice. Not nice nice, but something you like. And then on Monday, you call your doctor and ask him if it’s normal for the new medication to be taking so long or if you should try something else.”

Madison burrows against Jefferson’s chest again, nods in agreement. The call to the doctor, he already knew was in his future. It just seemed so far away and he didn’t know how to bridge the time between then and now. A walk. Some good food. Something to fill the time. Jefferson is a literal genius.

“Thank you,” Madison mutters.

“Hey, of course,” Jefferson says, giving him a squeeze. “But that’s all later. Do you need anything now?”

“I need to sleep,” Madison says. Because he needs the rest and he needs to bridge the time between Jefferson’s suggestions and now. “And… I need you here while I try.”

Jefferson releases Madison long enough for the two of them to lie down, then he takes him in his arms again and kisses his forehead.

“I’m right here, hon.”

Maybe this is more than Madison deserves--the care and affection that Jefferson shows him time and time again--but if Jefferson wants to give it to him, then Madison isn’t going to argue. He doesn’t know what he’d do without it, and he doesn’t have the energy besides.

[maneatsbooks]

TOP 10 EASY-READING TO HELP YOU THROUGH THE COVID-19 PANDEMIC

Covid-19 has been a grim daily grind through statistics and curves (flattened or not) and light relief has been scant. Even television seems grittier nowadays.

So, my reading list needs one or two little light aperitifs to lift the mood – books so slight and effervescent they linger only as long as their tipsy mood lightens your heart – a panacea for the dearth of mirth these days.  Here’s my Top 10:

1: THE DUD AVOCADO by Elaine Dundy

Sally Jay Gorce is a woman with a mission. It’s the 1950’s, she’s young, and she’s in Paris. Having dyed her hair pink and vowed to go native in a way not even the natives can manage, she’s busy getting drunk, bedding men, losing jewellery and living life to the full.

‘Here was all the gaiety and glory and sparkle I knew was going to be life if I could just grasp it.’

A wonderful cocktail of a book, as light and airy as a champagne bubble.

2: RIGHT HO, JEEVES by PG Wodehouse

If the world is not quite the shade of peachy keen you would like and you’re feeling a bit ooja-cum-spiff, manservant Jeeves has the perfect pick me up to restore your mettle. You could start with almost any Jeeves and Wooster novel, but this one contains some of the juiciest Woosterisms:

‘I don’t want to wrong anybody, so I won’t go so far as to say that she actually wrote poetry, but her conversation, to my mind, was of a nature to excite the liveliest of suspicions.’

3: LEONARD AND HUNGRY PAUL by Ronan Hession

Like a Buster Keaton version of Waiting for Godot, this wonderful novel in which practically nothing happens has been one of my favourite reads of 2020. Best friends Leonard and Hungry Paul are two zen-like 30-somethings swimming with the indifferent tides of their lives.

Gently humous and genuinely affecting, this book is perfect to help understand the importance of human moments amid the clamour of modernity.

4: COLD COMFORT FARM by Stella Gibbons

Young, modern Flora Poste is sent to live with her remote country cousins, the Stakadders, in remote Sussex – Judith, her preacher husband Amos, their sons Seth and Reuben, several cousins and the redoubtable Aunt Ada Doom.

Miss Poste imposes her life-affirming no-nonsense ‘higher common sense’ in an attempt to redeem the lives of her relatives to wonderfully humorous effect. Will Flora be able to over come Aunt Doom’s fear of ‘something nasty in the woodshed’?

5: ME TALK PRETTY ONE DAY by David Sedaris

A collection of essays by the inimitable American humourist, David Sedaris, including the title story where he hilariously attempts to learn French.

“On my fifth trip to France I limited myself to the words and phrases that people actually use.

From the dog owners I learned ‘lie down,’ ‘shut up,’ and ‘who shit on this carpet?’

The couple across the road taught me to ask questions correctly, and the grocer taught me to count.

Things began to come together, and I went from speaking like an evil baby to speaking like a hillbilly.

“Is thems the thoughts of cows?” I’d ask the butcher, pointing to the calves’ brains displayed in the windows. “I want some lamb chops with handles on ‘em’.

6: GOOD OMENS by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman

How we all miss Sir Terry and his askew view of the universe. Whilst I was never a huge fan of the Discworld novels, this novel is an artform in itself. As co-author Neil Gaiman states, Terry is an early riser, and Neil a night-owl, so this story was written in the few hours each day when they were both awake.

The ultimate nature-versus-nurture story in which the antichrist is born in a perfect English village and an angel and a demon, both of whom have grown very fond of humanity over the last 4,000 years, must team up to stop the apocalypse.

7: I FEEL BAD ABOUT MY NECK by Nora Ephron

Journalist, writer and filmmaker, Nora Ephron had funny bones. Writer of Silkwood, Heartburn, When Harry met Sally and Sleepless in Seattle, here she turns her gimlet eye on her own aging process with a wicked sense of fun.

“Here are some questions I am constantly noodling over: Do you splurge or do you hoard? Do you live every day as if it’s your last, or do you save your money on the chance you’ll live twenty more years? Is life too short, or is it too long?

Do you work as hard as you can, or do you slow down to smell the roses? And where to carbohydrates fit into all this?

Are we really all going to spend out last years avoiding bread, especially now that bread in America is so unbelievably delicious?

And what about chocolate?”

8: THE MEANING OF LIFF by Douglas Adams and John Lloyd

“In Life,” wrote Douglas Adams, “there are many hundreds of common experiences, feelings, situations and even objects which we all know and recognise, but for which no word exists. On the other hand, the world is littered with thousands of spare works which spend their time doing nothing but loafing about on signposts pointing at places. Our job, as we see it, is to get these words down off the signposts and into the mouths of babes..”

Thusly:

Blithbury n.: A look someone gives you which indicates that they’re much too drunk to have understood anything you’ve said to them in the last twenty minutes.

Ahenny adj.: The way people stand when examining other people’s bookshelves.

Listowel n.: The small mat on the bar designed to be more absorbent than the bar, but not as absorbent as your elbows.

9: DEATH AND THE PENGUIN by Andrei Kurkov

Viktor Zolotaryov is a frustrated writer whose short stories are too short and dull. When a newspaper edito offers him a job as an obituarist, he agrees. His brief is to select high-profile Ukranian people and prepare obituaries in readiness for the possibility they might die. And then the do.

Viktor’s strange new career is watched with melancholic disapproval by his pet penguin, Misha, adopted a few month earlier form the impoverished city zoo.

A sourly absurdist fable, Andrei Kurkov has written a black comedy of post-Soviet chaos where ambulance drivers must be bribed to bring you to hospital (U.S dollars for preference) and everything is for sale – including a child’s heart for penguin heart surgery.

10: ALL MY FRIENDS ARE SUPERHEROES by Andrew Kaufman

All of Tom’s friends are superheroes, and he’s about to be married to one: the Perfectionist. But on the day of their wedding, the Perfectionist’s ex-boyfriend, Hypno, hypnotises her by making her believe that Tom is invisible. Now the Perfectionist, boarding a flight to Vancouver and thining Tom left her, is moving away for good. And Tom has until the plane lands to make her see him again.

Told in flashback and ending Richard Curtis-style at the airport AMFAS is a beautifully quirky story of rediscovery.

[asfeedin]

What is VoIP? An expert explains.

If you’ve never heard of VoIP, don’t panic. It’s not an acronym people usually carry in their everyday vocabulary. But here’s the fun twist: You’re probably using it already.

VoIP — or oice ver nternet rotocol — is just a fancy name for the FaceTimes, Whatsapps, and Zooms of the world (aka your best friends during quarantine). It is generally used to refer to a method of transmitting voice and multimedia communication via data packet from one user to another. 

That’s unlike regular landline or cellphone calls, Reuben Yonatan, founder of cloud communication advising service GetVoIP, told me. Whereas those calls are often carried out by satellite, cell, or landline towers via copper wire and switchboards, VoIP calls rely on the internet. 

But VoIP isn’t just for phone calls, Yonatan added. “It’s any sort of data packet you can send through the internet. It could be anything in the form of a voicemail; it could be a message; it could be a digital fax, like a PDF; it could be a video call.”

Often, VoIP providers offer software and apps that can do multiple — sometimes all — of those things. And they do it for cheap, which makes their services increasingly popular among everyday consumers and businesses. But more on that later. 

First, some background

Zoom’s supposed to be a business VoIP, but it’s gained popularity with everyday consumers during the coronavirus pandemic.

Image: SOPA Images / LightRocket via Gett

There are generally two types of VoIP, Yonatan said: There are those geared toward the everyday consumer, then there are the ones intended for business use. 

Consumer VoIPs generally cover features like messaging, as well as voice and video calling; anyone who has used FaceTime, Facebook Messenger, Whatsapp, WeChat, and the like are already familiar with the service to some degree.

VoIPs for businesses, on the other hand, usually come with more advanced features like screen-sharing, HD voice, call recording, enhanced caller ID, and call forwarding. Think of companies like Zoom and Ring Central. 

But the line between the two are starting to blur. Ever since the coronavirus pandemic forced people to stay at home, business products like Zoom have been gaining traction from everyday consumers. Overnight, it’s become a host for college lectures, blind dates, workout sessions, church services — even an inspiration for memes. 

“I don’t think that their intended purpose was for my kids to be able to connect with their grandparents; their intended purpose was to become a business product,” Yonatan said. “They kind of became this go-to social media platform of some sort.”

Yonatan said Zoom’s popularity grew in part because it is well-designed, comprehensive, and straight-forward. But part of it also has to do with the fact that the platform offers a highly competitive service via a cost-free model that allows users to access relatively advanced features and large group calls for up to 40 minutes each time.

The upside: It’s cheap and multifunctional

Snapchat’s group video calls use VoIP technology and is free across Apple and Android phones.

Businesses and individual consumers are transitioning to VoIP for a lot of the same reasons Zoom became popular during the pandemic: It’s cost-effective, especially considering that it’s capable of a whole lot more than traditional landline and cell services are.

“Most of the consumer VoIP products are free or really inexpensive. They’re probably a few dollars a month,” Yonatan said. And that’s without factoring in the money people could save from international calling fees. 

The same goes for the business side of things, too: Whereas traditional business landline services cost about $50 to $70 per user per month, Yonatan said VoIP services cost just about $20 to $30 in comparison.

But there’s more. VoIP is not just cheap relative to other communication solutions; it’s also cost-effective in that it allows businesses and professionals to transition to work from home models that require less financial resources.

“They don’t need to spend money on real estate spaces. They don’t need to spend money maintaining an office and employees don’t have to spend hours traveling,” Yonatan said. “A lot of companies are going to figure out where and how they can make it work as much as possible.”

The downside: It’s bandwidth-consuming and susceptible to censorship

Your internet speed can get pretty slow if you’re using VoIP on a jammed connection.

VoIP sounds low-cost enough. But it might not work well if you’ve got a weaker internet connection — or none at all. After all, VoIP is an internet-based service that depends on … well, good internet. 

“Everyone’s working from home — and my kids personally, their classes are all on Zoom — and someone could be streaming something. We’re really kind of congesting the internet line, and so what ends up happening is that it takes a toll on your web connection.” Yonatan said. “You do need a pretty strong internet connection to support all the connection points you have throughout the house.”

Of course, things can improve with increased data speed and reliability — and the adoption of 5G technology will help, according to a VoIP industry report by market research firm IBISWorld. Don’t forget, though, that faster internet will cost you more money.

Another thing to keep in mind: Some countries can’t access VoIP services because of internet censorship, and impacted VoIP apps run the gamut from Skype, to WhatsApp, to FaceTime. In those cases, you may not be getting the international coverage you need. However, bans on some business apps and softwares have been lifted temporarily to facilitate remote work and distance learning during the pandemic.

Data privacy and security

Make sure you evaluate how different providers handle data privacy and security if you’re considering a transition to VoIP.

Image: Photothek via Getty Images

Unlike analog landline and cell services, VoIP transmit communication through digital data packets on the internet. That means you’ll have to pay extra attention to how your data privacy and security are being handled by different companies.

A research from NYU’s Center of Cyber Security shows that it’s possible to track encrypted VoIP calls. But some VoIP services aren’t even encrypted at all.

Zoom, for example, doesn’t support end-to-end encryption, according to The Intercept. And in recent weeks, it’s been proven vulnerable to a slew of security blunders: There’s the bug that let hackers steal Windows passwords and the secret collection of LinkedIn data. Then there are thousands of private Zoom videos being uploaded online and account credentials being sold on the dark web. (To be fair, the company has promised to fix things after these repeated incidents.)

Of course, traditional landline and cell calls are susceptible to wiretapping and spams, too; but the internet makes it just that much easier.

Yonatan recalled how he stopped using Skype  — something he said he had used “religiously” five or six years ago — after being repeatedly spammed.

“Every time I would log into my spam account I would get like 20 or 30 friend requests from people I didn’t know,” he recalled. “Spammers basically just figured out my username.”

Should I transition to VoIP?

Bottom line is: VoIP a good idea for your budget if you have good internet connection — just make sure you’re adhering to the best security practices and paying attention to how your data is being handled. 

You’ll have to make some decisions, though: Do you want a physical VoIP phone that resembles a traditional desk phone, or do you want a software-based phone that you can install onto your computers, phones and tablets? 

Physical VoIP phone systems tend to be more complex and expensive, Yonatan said, but you can also transform your good ole landline phone to a VoIP phone by using an analog-to-digital adaptor. 

If you are looking to pay for a residential or mobile VoIP solution, though, Yonatan suggests that you look out for a couple things: 

Get long distance calls. And avoid services that charge additional fees for them.

Don’t migrate your existing mobile phone number to your VoIP provider. Yonatan has heard horror stories about VoIP companies holding customer’s phone numbers hostage to cut down on customer loss. Just get a new number.

Don’t let the provider sell you features you don’t need. “A lot of these providers have very aggressive sales strategy in place,” Yonatan said.

Read reviews and ask around. Chances are, someone you know have used a VoIP service.

Don’t sign into a long-term contract. It’s better to pay $5 extra on a month-to-month contract than to commit to provider you don’t like, Yonatan said. Take advantage of that free trial, too.

Or, you can just do the thing everyone else do and use free apps like FaceTime, WhastApp, Snapchat, Google Hangout, and Zoom. They might just be enough for what you need.

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[namjoonchronicles]

[Final: Mutual Ver.] Tumbleweed, Her (M) #20 - [BAP] Mafia!Au

[A/N] Three versions, remember? Now you know why it took so long. I couldn’t decide.

Ever been stuck between two roads? Have you ever been so terrified about something you can’t change?

Ever wonder what life the human next to you could be living? Can you cry out loud and tell everyone how you feel? Can you say the exact words your hearts are telling you to feel and make them understand?

Ever realized how small you are, when you stand in the midst of endless crowds of strangers? Did you ever looked in the television screen and wondered, why powerful people are powerful and why are you, you? Ever think of that?

Daehyun was thrown in jail. He lives in orange jumpsuits now. Because of his threats and the things that he knew, once the prosecutors got their claws on him, he was never going to escape. The only thing he set his life for have stabbed him in his back. And it’s a lonely life he chose. He was standing behind brick walls, never to see freedom. His cases were confiscated and retained. He realised now that avenge is difficult, when you’re up against the wrong people. He spent hours looking out a small window, smiling grimly. “The powerful stays powerful.”

The radio through the cell echoed to his. “President Kim and his son, Kim Himchan is seen leaving the Congress room after the declaration has been made.” Indeed, Daehyun’s accusation was correct. Kim Himchan’s father proceeds to become the next president in the recent elections, and he brought some pretty famous names, along with him. Himchan had been regularly seeing his therapist. He worked from home and was under close watch from his father’s men. Which wasn’t a difficult task. He had the leash around his son’s neck, handled by a man no other than Lee Jaehan’s son: Moon Jongup.

Moon Jongup escaped the shooting because his men wasn’t going to let him die. The gunshots that were heard are from his men. The gas that was released and aided his escape while you dropped to your knees, was his teams’. Yes. He is alive and is actively monitoring the blue house, Korea’s National Presidential House. Jongup is tatted up to his upper arm, he still had the dragon tattoo on his back. His hair is now platinum blonde. The words used to describe him?

Ruthless. Handsome. Devil.

Jongup had a slaughterhouse he uses to do his evil deeds. It reeks dried blood in there. Jongup had to wear black mask every time he walks in. A dozen men walked in before him, and they parted in the middle to make way for him. Fleshes of cows hanging from the ceiling, dogs barking. He entered when his conmen was pouring ‘taste enhancer’ liquid on the men who is strapped on the plastic chair underneath a light. “...Please save me. Please don’t kill me.” This men in his 30s begged, when Jongup stood awaiting his men to bring him his chair. “...I didn’t know that the packages were carrying less than promised!” He starts sputtering meaningless words. Meaningless, as Jongup would convey.

Jongup visibly rolled his eyes to the side. A young lady made them a coffee as the ‘discussion’ was in session. Jongup’s expression remains unfazed. He stood up suddenly, kicking the stool back. And the strapped man whimpered. The dogs growled. Their salivas dripping down to the dirty blood stained floor. Hungry and growing insane by the scent of flesh. Jongup moves his hand to one finger and twisted out a red ruby ring, a titanium black diamond studded one, followed by the one carved in gold. He still had his mask on. Moon Jongup moves to the helpless man and tilted his head to one side, then to the other. “Forgive me, good sir! I swear I didn’t know!” He cried and then a slap across his face was delivered by Jongup’s merciless hand. Jongup wiggles his mouth out of the mask and hissed, “...Now that would have hurt a lot more if I had left the rings on.”

The poor man groans in pain as he fall to the floor, on his side. Jongup kicks the chair away and the dogs were just lurching forward, barking for release. The stench from the man was unbearable. “You know very well, I don’t like liars. I’ll send your children to a good orphanage. People like you shouldn’t breed, he took a white handkerchief to wipe the blood off of his fingers, before he commanded an eerie instruction, “...pour more on his manhood. Let the boys rip em’ off.” Jongup fastens his mask back on and walked out of the premise without a stain. The dogs were released upon Jongup leaving and the man was left to be devoured by canines.

That was how Jongup kept his late father’s reign going.

And he had Himchan under his nose, most of the time. He had a lot in his hands, being Himchan’s family’s bodyguards. All the men surrounding the family were Jongup’s men. But when they end up in bar fights, Jongup will have to answer to one man. And that man is Yongguk. Lieutenant Bang Yongguk, standing beside his car, with his arms crossed, wearing Reuben glasses. Jongup tils his chin up and then to the side, leaves the car that was suppose to take him to the city, and approached Yongguk. “Business is good?” Yongguk asked.

“...Did my boys bother your turf again? I told them not to.” He shoves both hands into his pocket, looking boastful. “Beer?” Yongguk invited. Jongup smiled intently, scoffing and looked at Yongguk through his bangs. “What kind of cop goes out drinking with a gangster. Does that even make sense.” Jongup turns his heel and head to the opposite direction, turning his back to Yongguk but one mention of a name, had his steps halted to a complete stop. “She asks me about you.” Yongguk’s voice darted through the wind, into his heart. Jongup’s stone cold heart. “What do I tell her?”

Jongup’s eyes turned glassy for brief moment before he sternly replied, “Tell her…” He pauses, breathes in and bit his lower lip, his eyes shake, and he frowned to the view ahead, “...Tell her. I’m fucking dead.”

“You are a living corpse.” Yongguk commented. “Who you’re trying to fool?!”

Jongup had his car doors opened for him. “Myself!”

The recent conversation with Jongup’s broken soul had given Yongguk an unwanted headache, so he found himself in Youngjae’s drugstore for a quick relief. “You know if you keep stalling, she’s going to lose it.” Youngjae brought him a beer and nothing else. Yongguk gave him suspicious eyes, “It’s not like you to promote drinking.” Youngjae scoffs as he snaps one can open for himself, “I’d be half dead drinking if I were you.” Yongguk drops his head to what Youngjae said.

“...I told you. I’m stupidly in love with her.” Yongguk downed the hall can in one go. “I know you’re a heavy weight, but you got a long way home still.” Youngjae watched Yongguk set the empty can on the table and scrunched it like he would a paper. Then he saw you and Junhong passing Youngjae’s pharmacy in a delightful mood. Totally oblivious to the whole situation.

Junhong rubs the back of his neck in a shy smile. “Noona, I was thinking if I could spend the night with mom, tonight.” He was a bit hesitant in his voice and you quickly replied, “Why not. Take Yongguk with you, he’d be ecstatic. I wonder where he is. It’s getting really late. Could he be caught up with a new case? He usually would text me if he is.” You slide your phone out and tap the screen to see no new messages. “I’m actually getting worried.” You hummed. “You worry about everybody…” Junhong kicks the air.

“Did you pack the things already? Mom don’t have much in her house so it’s best to be prepared. Bring in some extra cash too.” You told him. “It’s almost 9pm, you must hurry if you want to catch the bus home to mom.” You reminded him. Junhong sprinted back home to get his things. Junhong almost sped past Youngjae’s pharmacy. He was glad the pharmacy was still open. He walked to see Yongguk downing his third can of beer. Youngjae barely managing to stay sober.

“You went out with noona and returned without her?” Yongguk asked, he wasn’t drunk at all. Junhong nodded. “Can you send me to mom’s? I was going to stay there a few night.” Junhong asked politely. “I want to, but I’m a little drunk. I can call someone to help.” Yongguk reaches for his phone and dialled a number.

Jongup was sitting on a semi circle couch watching the clubbing scene turned raunchy as it goes deeper to the night. He had a special room on the upper level that is far more quiet than the rest of the club. Jongup glide his eyes over to his phone that’s an arm reach. It’s flashing Yongguk’s name. He slid his hand on it and answered the call. “...Junhong? Sure.” He said and hung up. After commanding one of his men to fetch, Jongup returned to his ‘entertainment’.

He switched his attention to his iPad, where it shows grids of surveillance camera on various corner in the club. Doing a little bit of ‘housekeeping’ he would say. The camera view switches from one to another with a swipe of his finger. He changed the entire see-through glass mirror into his own desktop.

His men kept him occupied. His needs were attended. Jongup kept his mind going. Constantly thinking about expanding the turf, providing top notch security for the community that pays him. Stopping young kids from violence and petty theft, teaching them martial arts and keeping them in school.

The reason why he kept himself so busy is because. It was the only way he knows how. How to keep you out of his head. His schedule was repetitive. Draining him and swallowing him as a whole. Sometimes, it’s never about who you think of when you’re alone at night. Sometimes, it's about who you think of in the scorching daylight. And for Jongup, it’s you.

Day and night, he tries to numb it out with punches on the punching bags, liquor and medications. Until it all got too much.

Until one night, through the same surveillance camera, he saw one, painfully, familiar face. Jongup stood up from his couch to approach the massive screen in front of him. He touched your face with the back of his hand. “Where is this surveillance cam from?”

“The second floor bar. She’s a regular here, sir.” His henchmen answered.

Jongup exhales through his nose, dipping his hands into his pocket, looking down. “Bang Yongguk. I told you to take care of her. What is she doing here.” He muttered under his breath. “I told you she does what she wants. Until you come and see her, she’s going to keep on doing this.” Yongguk hisses through the phone call.

It had gotten to the point where Jongup had to do the unthinkable.

Dozens of girls entered the VIP room. That VIP room is located by the second floor, where the bar you frequent to is. Dozens of sexy looking girls, young girls entered the VIP room, gleefully laughing, giggling their heads off. You watched them enter with bitter heart. “Another glass of… whatever this is.” You swirled the remaining liquid with a loose wrist. The bartender nodded and handed a new glass. You silently thanked him. “The owner is having a party inside.” The bartender explained.

Then you heard shufflings of footsteps behind you. And there he was. It didn’t take long for you to recognise that handsome devilish face. He was accompanied by many men, like him, young and able. Black suits, black dress shirt. His hair is that electrifying blue, still. Your mouth went dry as he walked right pass you, not even a glint. He just… walked away. His eyes burning to the view ahead and he entered the same room the girls had entered.

“I need…” you mumbled, “Something a little stronger than this.” The bartender repeated, “A little?”

“A lot. Stronger.” You corrected. “How strong?” He asked. “Like ‘I’m about to murder a son of a bitch’ kind of strong.” You grabbed him by the collar.

Jongup didn’t pay any attention to the girls but only find his thoughts hammering. He was quickly taken to a recent phone call to Yongguk.

“What do you plan to do?” Yongguk asked. “I’m going to really… break her.” Jongup thought, but never said. “Just be prepared. With the consequences.” Jongup hung up.

3...2...1.

The door blasted open. The party didn’t stop when you walked in. You scanned through the room and caught a pair of eyes. Hawk pair of eyes, lustrous, staring darkly at you. You pushed through the crowd of drunkards, certain that he won’t be leaving your sights anytime soon. The girls growls at you, telling you to ‘watch it’. And upon your arrival to his seating area, girls on each end, he stood up.

You gave him a bitter smile. What was that. Fear? Ego? Hostility? You thought. There’s something in his eyes. The gentle stares aren’t there at all. It was burning gaze. He had his suit off, his dark blue dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. And you gave him something he deserves.

A slap across his delectable face. Hard. Cold. Merciless.

A stinging pain. His men started a commotion but with a wave of his hand, they stopped. Now, the party stops.

“What girl dares to slap the boss’s face?” One of his men whispered. “His girl.” The other replied. “Party’s over girls.” The girls were ushered out of the room by force.

“How dare you.” You marched right at him, shoving him until he stumbles back. With every sentences, you pushed him.

“I was waiting for you,” shove, “I spend nights, crying because of you,” push, “And you’re partying with girls half your age?! How many are you sleeping with?” You pushed him down the chair and he, not once, fought back. He looks up at you when you stopped. Those gentle eyes are back. They are back, and they’re haunting you.

He blinks softly, like a pup. Although his arms are covered with tattoos, marks and wounds so deep, it remains a scar, his body was in pain as his souls were, he was nothing like the dragon he had on his wrist. Nothing like the snakes he had high up on his elbows, the tip of it’s tail engulfing his forearm. He’s nothing like the compass he had on his neck, for he is lost and afraid and terribly in love. He straightens up in his seat, reaches for your arm, pulls you gently.

And he wrapped his arm around your thigh, and nuzzled his face to your stomach. You felt the tip of his nose dipped and his arms strengthen their grasp, it flexed. He hasn’t said a word. “You have no idea… the things I do. To forget you.” You heard him say. All you could see was his blue hair, and even after what he did--ignoring you, disappearing from you, gave you to Yongguk-- you wanted to believe that he was doing it, because he had to.

“Let me go, Jongup.” You growled, pushing his hands away, but he proved that man is stronger that he didn’t budge a bit. “...Moon Jongup.” He straightened his knees and towered you. “Don’t.” You warned him. “Then why are you here?” He shot. “Because I’m worried about you!” You roared in his face. He continued to stare deep into you, as if he is looking at your soul, your naked soul. He fluttered his eyes closed as he inches into you.

Deafening silence was all you hear. The familiar ringing in your head, the warm feeling in the pit of your stomach. “Do you want me?” You whispered to his mouth. He paused, and he shook his head, touching your cheek with his very own. And you were astounded at this. Is he still trying to play it cool?

“Need.” He panted, “I need you.”

He picks you up, wrapped your leg around his waist and have you backed up against the nearest wall. You instantly became light headed, bewitched under his skillful touches. The lips that you missed so much is against the most the sensitive parts of your skins. His fingertips memorizes all the spots it caresses, like his lips were.

The morning after, you were on his king-sized bed, on the top of the building he owned. His beautiful tatted up back was the first thing you saw, and you curiously palm them, drawing your forefingers on them and smiling at the view of it. All mine.

You plant kisses along those beautiful inks, along his shoulders, pushing your body towards his and you were surprised that he was still sound asleep at this. So you peeked over his shoulder, and you saw his angelic face. It looked like he’s gotten the best sleep in his life. Although he had his back turned on you, your other arm was in his grasp, slipped under his side. You fisted them then relax them, repeatedly, to keep the blood flowing. You traced your lips up the back of his neck, sniffing his gorgeous scent. “...Baby.” You whispered to the shell of his ear before planting a kiss on it. He hummed back.

Turning to you, bringing the back of your hand to his lips. He buries his face into your neck. “A few more hours.” He murmured against your nape. Your fingers plays with his hair. “Yongguk is calling me.” You blinked. “Tell him you’ll be late.” He said, sliding his tongue on your weak spot. You gasped a little. “I can’t. The engagement is today.” You told him. “...I better mark you then.” He starts sucking onto your skin before you push him away.

On the aisle, Yongguk is in his best suit, next to Youngjae, tapping on his phone furiously. “I knew this would happen. I fucking knew this would happen.” Yongguk blew hot air to his forehead and threw his deadly glances to the end of the aisle where you were suppose to appear from. Himchan who notices the anxious eyes the groom had, threw a glint at the entrance as well. “Where the hell is she.” He whispered. Junhong signals Youngjae and Youngjae nodded.

You ran into Junhong’s arm. “That’s a cute suit.” You greeted him, Junhong pouted cutely, “You’re late.” You scratched your head a bit, “Blame Jongup.” Junhong exhales. “This has got to be the weirdest wedding I’ve ever been to.”

“You don’t go to a lot of weddings.” You rolled your eyes and the march begins. Yongguk gave a sheepish smile, arching an eyebrow. “How is he okay with this. You dating him and Jongup, why.” Junhong starts blabbering. “...I didn’t ask for this okay. This is between him and Jongup. I marry Yongguk and continue seeing Jongup. The main point is that I remain safe. And Himchan will never get to me either.” You smiled, stringently. A long way down the aisle it was. “Anyways, I hope you take care both of them well. I love you.” Junhong said as he lets you go into Yongguk’s arm.

“...Hope so.” You smiled at Yongguk. You exchanged vows, and kissed on the lips. “I can smell Jongup on you.” Yongguk said, a fake smile on his face as he waved away the audiences. “Kiss me more, and he’ll disappear.” You replied. “Did you tell him about the honeymoon week?” Yongguk snaps. “Not yet. I thought you were going to tell him.” You shot.

“I’ll let Junhong do that. Oh! How about the movie this weekend?” Yongguk asked. “Wait. Isn’t it next week? I have golf with Jongup, this Sunday.” You scowled as you walked down the stairs hand in hand with Yongguk towards the limousine. “I thought we agreed, odd weeks are mine, even weeks are his.” Yongguk gritted his teeth. “Why can’t both of you be at the movies and the golf course.” You rolled your head.

“Because I’m the lawfully wedded husband, and he’s the lover.” Yongguk grumbled. “The more the merrier. I will definitely not get kidnapped like I did before.” You winked. “Not on my watch.” Jongup clicked his tongue, passing both of you.

Himchan probably didn’t get jail time like Daehyun did, but he was under Jongup’s control. And because of it, he had been behaving well.

Youngjae is now a writer in a small-scale online website that centres around travelling, so when he’s not in Seoul, being your best friend, he is at the rest of the world, enjoying life and writing.

Junhong went back to college, with full tuition fees paid by both Jongup and Yongguk and Himchan’s parents. He is doing pretty well with average grades.

Daehyun is facing minimum 7 years in prison, and is now waiting for parole approval, but there’s a thin chance in that. So he had recently started a book.

Yongguk is a senior lieutenant now, with high profile cases and is often out of the city to solve them but has a good pay that he wanted to share with you. He had the stability and a good image. He was brought up in a slum and now is blossoming more and more with you by his side. So when he is not around you, he gets anxious. And that’s where Jongup comes in.

Jongup’s job is to protect you. He will be around when Yongguk is not. He provide you with infinite safety and love, when needed. He’s a dangerous man, so he can never marry. Although he is sharing with Yongguk, he knows that only he is getting the good. Yongguk is just there to provide. The real husband, is indeed, Moon Jongup. But at night, now that’s a whole different story. Right daddy Yongguk?

[A/N] Are you sure...? Those penetrating gaze can have me anytime of the day ay papi. Thank you so much for the love given to this fanfic ever since the start. Please continue to support the boys and their awesomeness (especially my Uppie his new song Try My Luck /he needs my body on him lol/ is my jam nowadays, and Yongguk’s Yamazaki,  hence the birth of this fanfic). I know I told you guys there will be three versions of endings. I ain’t lying. Like and reblog, and feel free to come inbox me anytime.

[Yongguk Ver.] [Jongup Ver.]