#“you can use the app!!” i can gnaw you to pieces with my teeth and stomp your bones into the molten core of the earth

[riverofrainbows]

The move to having you work for free, doing services that were once provided by corporations, is fucking ghoulish.

I just spent a month trying to get my health insurance to issue me a new card with my correct updated photo after my name change. It was impossible to get them to do the services that aren't provided on their motherfucking app. They refused to update my address that i sent them in the letter with the name change. They refused to scan and upload the pass photo i sent them in the letter with the name change. I suppose i can be glad they accepted my name change documents at all. They refused to scan and upload the pass photo i sent them in my second letter. It is apparently impossible to update the mandatory photo on the healthcare card if you don't use the instruments of modern technology.

The move to self checkouts is in the same category. You now have to scan and bill your own groceries. They used to pay someone who was trained in that, and who would prevent you having to figure out how to do the tricky parts of it that you generally need training to do. They used to have someone do this, period. But the corporation would have to pay that person so they'd rather make you work for free.

You can do everything quicker and easier now! Just do it yourself! Just be your own data entry worker, your own cashier, in your free time. Work for free in your free time so corporations don't have to pay a trained worker for that. That sure makes everything easier.

And i know all these services have aspects that do make things easier, but that's just how they lure you in. It wouldn't be impossible to get services at your health insurance, bank, phone provider, fast lines at thw grocery store, if the corporations hadn't spent decades cutting back services and employing less people and training them less and less, so the services got so hellishly shitty that many people do prefer to do it themselves.

But not being able to delegate and having to do everything yourself is how you burn out.

And you working in your free time to subsidise the corporations profit margin by replacing their employees isn't helping anyone in the long run, except the people that are currently at the top of the corporations and rake in incredible money they then tax evade with the help from right wing politicians. So that fundamental services like healthcare and infrastructure like the postal service and telephone lines and food supply get eroded into dust and ashes.

[nastybuckybarnes]

Monsters  -  Seven

Pairing: Dark!Bucky X Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes is a man who just wants to do better. But he can’t stop the monster from coming out every now and then. As a last and hopeless attempt at calming The Winter Soldier, SHIELD finds him something they figured would help. An innocent young woman with not a lot going for her. Or, The Winter Soldiers newest victim.

Warnings: Fluff, Smut (NONCON), Minor Violence, Minor Injuries Language,

Word Count: 3K

A/n: Well.........

THIS IS A DARK FIC WITH SEXUAL AND TRIGGERING CONTENT!!!

Series Masterlist

~*~

You’re curled up against his side, head on his shoulder as Titanic plays on the tv. He’s got one arm around your shoulders and the other rests on your knees.

You watch intently, fingers combing gently through his hair while you watch Jack and Rose dancing below decks.

His phone dings and you lift your head curiously. When he makes no move to get it, you smile and snuggle back against him, sighing softly.

It dings again and this time he groans, reaching over to pick it up. You glance at his phone inconspicuously, frowning when you see a string of pictures of a naked woman.

He angles the phone slightly away from you and you divert your attention back to the TV, knowing he’s probably telling her he’s busy.

After a few minutes, he sets his phone down again, only to pick it up when it dings moments later.

You watch through your peripherals as his thumb swipes a passcode across the screen. For a super spy/assassin, his password is surprisingly simple.

More and more pictures of the naked woman fill his screen and you find yourself quickly getting annoyed by it. An idea pops into your mind and you grin, snuggling closer to him and dropping your hand down to his lap.

He stiffens when your palm rubs over his cock, and he quickly starts to harden beneath your touch. You look up at him innocently and he raises his eyebrows.

You push yourself up and straddle his lap, grinding down against him.

“Hi,” you whisper, lips just brushing over his cheek. He sighs softly, his free hand coming up and gripping your back. His other hand drops down to the couch, his phone still on and facing upwards. You grind your hips down harder, eyes trained on his phone as you try to make out what it says.

The contact name is ‘Natty❤️’ and there are at least six pictures of her naked.

But what really gets you, is the picture of her with a shirt on.

Because you know that shirt.

It’s Bucky’s.

You turn back to face him, determined to make him forget all about Nat.

One of your hands snakes down into his pants and you grab his cock, pumping slowly to get him harder. He moans lowly, jerking his hips up into your hand. You bit your bottom lip then climb off his lap, dropping to your knees between his legs. He watches you through hooded eyes, the phone dropped and forgotten in between the arm of the couch and one of the cushions. You unzip his pants and pull them down, eyes darkening when he kicks them off completely, his boxers following suit.

You take his cock in both of your hands and lean forward, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses on it. He watches you, his eyes dark and his chest heaving slightly. You maintain eye contact as you stick your tongue out, licking the underside of his cock and swirling around the tip.

With your mouth nice and wet and full of saliva, you slowly bring him into your mouth. The salty taste of him makes heat grow between your legs, and you can’t help but shift desperately. One of his hands comes up to your hair, not pulling, just simply resting there. A shiver runs down your spine at the thought of how strong and powerful he is, yet he’s been reduced to a moaning mess beneath you.

You take him down your throat, clenching your hands into fists on his thighs as you try not to gag. His hips buck up and you look up at him through your lashes, uncurling your fists and resting them on his thighs.

He groans at the sight of you and can’t help but thrust up into your mouth again. When you don’t pull away he does it a third time, then a fourth, until he’s fucking your face. You sit there and take it, struggling to pull in breaths as he uses your face for his own pleasure.

He pulls you off of his cock quickly, taking in shuddering breaths as he calms himself down.

“Don’t wanna cum in your mouth, babydoll, wanna cum in that tight pussy.” You climb onto his lap and position your dripping entrance above his cock, then slowly sink down onto it. The stretch makes you moan, and Bucky can't help but mimic the noise, the feeling of you too good to be true.

Your hands come up to his shoulders but he’s having none of that.

He grabs your wrists and pulls them behind your back, then reaches over and grabs the charging cord for his phone, binding your wrists tightly behind you. You tug on the restraints then whimper, wanting to touch the man beneath you.

“Nah, princess. None of that. Lemme fuck that pretty pussy how I want to, yeah?” You nod, pushing your knees into the couch to raise yourself slightly off of his cock. He nods, then starts hammering his hips upwards, each thrust sending a jolt of fire up your spine.

You moan loudly, eyes rolling back as he hits every sensitive spot inside of you, making the coil in your belly tighten.

“You gonna cum on my cock? Huh?” You nod, drool dripping down your chin as he fucks you stupid.

“Do it, baby. Cum. Cream all over my dick.” He reaches down, fingers toying with your clit.

That little action sends you falling over the edge, and you can’t help but moan, your orgasm nearly pulling you into unconsciousness.

Your vision gets dark and your body shakes, cunt squeezing his cock so hard that he shoots his load right into you. You collapse against his chest, panting hard and gasping for air, and he lets out a big breath, hands stroking your hair gently.

The two of you catch your breath and Bucky rips the makeshift rope off of your arms, tearing it and completely ruining it. You snuggle against him, keeping his cock locked inside of you as sleep tugs at your mind.

He kisses the top of your head then squeezes you tighter to his body. You relax even more and quickly fall into the comforting embrace of sleep.

~*~

He sits across from you at the table, munching on a piece of bacon and reading over a mission file for later in the day. You lean your chin into your hands, gnawing on your bottom lip as you watch him eat.

“What is it?” He asks, glancing up at you. You don’t answer right away, and he sets down the file, waiting for you to speak.

“I don't want you to get mad,” you begin, looking at him as innocently as you can. “I just... I wanna ask you something.” He nods, encouraging you to ask your question.

“I just... there are... I wanna look up some stuff. For us. I just... I don’t have anything to use. I don’t have a computer or a laptop or a phone.... and I really... last night opened my eyes to something that I wanna try but I wanna look it up more first.” He purses his lips for a moment, mulling it over before nodding.

“Yeah, I don’t see why not. My phone’s on the counter. Bring it over here and I’ll unlock it for you.” You get up quickly and grab him his phone, excitement filling you as he hands it back to you.

You open up the Google app and plop yourself down in your chair, typing away furiously as you try to figure something out.

Bucky watches you with a small smile on his lips, loving how adorable you look. Your brows are furrowed and you’ve got your bottom lip between your teeth as you focus on whatever it is that you’re reading.

A surprising thought enters his head and he suddenly finds himself losing his appetite.

He likes the way you look on the other side of the table. He likes sitting with you and eating breakfast together. He likes the domesticity of it all. It feels... natural.

After about half an hour you set the phone down and slide it over to him with a smile, having figured out what it was that you were curious about.

He unlocks his phone, brows furrowing in confusion as he sees the open tabs full of different types of knots.

“So...?” Bucky asks, waiting for you to explain it to him. You walk over to him and sit on his lap, pushing his hair out of his face and pressing kisses along his scruff.

“I want you to tie me up again,” you whisper, lips dragging gently across the skin of his throat. He swallows hard, hands coming up to grip your waist.

“You liked that, huh?” You nod, nuzzling your face against his neck and taking a deep breath of his comforting scent.

“I really liked it,” you confess. He lets out a shuddering breath and his hands drop to your ass, squeezing tightly.

He smacks your ass once and you jump, a soft moan leaving your lips.

“You gonna let me tie you up and have my way with you? Yeah? You want that?” You nod desperately then gasp as he scoops you up in his arms and brings you upstairs to his bedroom.

“Don’t you worry sweetheart. M’gonna fuck you real good.”

~*~

Natasha approaches the house, eyes darting back down to her phone to make sure she got the address right.

She re-reads the texts, bottom lip tucked between her teeth nervously.

‘I miss you so much, baby. Come over today. And wear something sexy.’ She’d complied instantly, putting on a black lace push-up bra, a leather jacket, a pair of black stilettos, and a skirt with nothing on underneath.

She pushes the door open slowly, eyes skirting around the dark house until they rest on a small post-it note stuck to the railing of the staircase. She walks to it, shutting the door softly behind herself.

‘Through the kitchen’

She follows it, going through the kitchen and smiling when she finds another note on the door of the fridge.

‘Down the stairs.’

She walks down the flight of stairs and opens the door at the bottom, her guard raised slightly as her eyes struggle to adjust to the blackness of the basement.

She hears a step behind her and just as she’s turning around to investigate, she’s knocked to the ground, something hard hitting her head and making everything go black.

~*~

When she comes to, she’s disoriented. She feels cold and the ground beneath her is hard. There’s also a piece of cloth in her mouth, silencing any attempt at calling for help. Her arms are restrained behind her back, and her legs are bound individually around her thighs and shins, knees bent as far as they can.

She tries to close her legs, feeling far too exposed in nothing more than her skirt and bra, but finds a metal bar between her ankles keeping her legs apart.

Why is she here? Where exactly is ‘here’? She looks around frantically, wincing as her head throbs.

She quickly realizes what happened: she was ambushed while looking for Bucky. Why is a whole other question.

“Well, good morning, sunshine!” She snaps her head to the sound, brows furrowing in confusion when she sees a young woman sitting on the floor across from her.

She tries to lunge at you, and you giggle when she groans. “Yeah. That handy dandy knot tying your arms together is one I learned from the king himself,” you inform, a smile on your face. She cocks her head to the side in frustration and confusion, wanting to know who you are and why you’re doing this.

“Now, I know you’re probably wondering why you’re here, right?” She doesn’t move, and you frown, snapping your fingers in front of her. “When I ask a question, I expect an answer. Are you wondering why you’re here?” The redhead nods reluctantly, and you smile.

The way your face softens and lights up looks so innocent and kind; it’s hard to believe that you’re holding her down here against her will.

“Well, I saw the pictures you were sending James.” She stiffens instantly, mind running a mile a minute trying to figure out who you are and how you’re involved with him. You nod knowingly at her reaction, your smile staying on your face but looking more psychotic with each passing moment.

“Yes. I read the texts too. You want to fuck him, you have fucked him. And I can’t blame you. But when I found out that you weren’t just fucking him to help the soldier... well... I couldn’t have that. You see, I love James.” She hates the way his name sounds on your tongue.

“You’ve been taking up far too much of his time lately. He loves me. But more than that, the soldier loves me too. They’d both be lost without me, which is why you need to be out of the way. Because with you out of the picture, I’ll have him all to myself.”

She makes a muffled noise of protest, struggling against her restraints.

You laugh, leaning forward and watching as she huffs and puffs through the gag.

“You wanna know what you’re gagged with?” You ask softly, eyes wide and dangerous. She glares daggers at you before shaking her head ‘no’.

“Well, lucky for you, I’m going to tell you anyway.” You scoot closer, almost as if you’re sharing a secret with her

“Yesterday, James was in such a hurry to fuck me, to put his fat cock right into my pussy, that he pulled my panties aside and fucked me hard. Then, after he came right inside of me, he pulled my panties back in place. And I wore them all night and all day today, getting them nice and ready for you. So every time you breathe, every time you struggle or try to talk, you’re tasting my pussy.”

The horror in her eyes makes you cackle, the sound sending a shudder down her spine.

“I love this!” You exclaim, using two fingers to push your panties farther into her mouth. She shakes her head, trying to get away, and you grab her jaw with your other hand, forcing your panties into her mouth even more.

When you decide that they’re far enough, you cradle her face gently in your hands, admiring her beauty for a moment before taking a page out of Bucky’s books. You spit right on her pretty face, grinning when she flinches.

She glares up at you, and you smile innocently, hands sliding down to tear the cups of her bra down. Her tits fall out, bouncing at the force of it, and her nipples harden in the cold air of the cellar.

“You’re pretty,” you say, eyes on her pert pink nipples. She shimmies away from you, breasts bouncing and putting on a show.

You giggle and shake your head at her, leaning down slowly while maintaining eye contact. She backs up as far as she can, heart racing in her chest when she finds herself pressed against the hard cellar wall.

You wrap your lips around her left nipple, eyes on hers as you roll it between your teeth, tongue soothing the sting. She squeezes her eyes shut, and you pull away, hand coming up and smacking her across the face.

“None of that, sweetheart. Open those pretty eyes. I want you to see what I’m going to do to you.” She obeys, only after you grip her nipples between your thumbs and forefingers, pinching hard enough to have her eyes watering.

“There you go.”

You trace your fingers up her inner thighs, and she quivers, head dropping in shame as your fingers get higher and higher.

When the tip of your middle finger brushes against her pussy she jolts away, trying to plead with you through the gag.

You grin, “you like the taste of my cunt that much? Fuck, I’ll give it to you straight from the source if you want.” That shuts her up quickly, and you wink at her, climbing between her legs and blowing cool air onto her exposed pussy.

Her hips wiggle in a futile attempt at escaping, and you can’t help but bask in the feeling of power.

One of the Avengers sits before you, bound and exposed and completely at your mercy.

You stick your tongue out and lick from her opening to her clit, smacking your lips together and nodding.

“Not bad. I can see why he liked you.” You bury your face in her cunt, eating her out with vigour like nothing she’s experienced before. Your tongue works expertly on her clit, teeth taking a turn before you suck long and hard on the bud.

A soft moan leaves her mouth, and you smile.

“You see, I’m not going to hurt you physically. No, much worse. I’m going to force you to cum over and over and over again. You’re going to see how cruel I can be. And the best part?” You glance over your shoulder and she follows your gaze, horrified as she sees the blinking red light of a camera.

“It’s going to go straight on the internet.” All the colour drains from her face and she starts thrashing again, trying to get you away from her.

You simply laugh, mouth coming back to her clit while you shove three fingers into her cunt. You fuck her hard and fast with your fingers, loving the way she tries to hold back her moans. When she finally cums, she squirts.

It splashes all over your face and makes a mess on the floor, and you pull away with a sick smile.

“Huh, never thought you’d be a squirter. But now the folks at home will know too!” You smack her pussy, giggling when she yelps. Her cheeks are flushed red and she’s panting, glossy eyes set in a heavy glare trained on your face.

You press a kiss to her cheek then grab her face and force her to look at the camera.

“You and me, Natasha,” you sneer her name, squeezing her cheeks harder and smacking her cunt twice more. “We’re going to have so much fun together.”

[leilabeaux]

Luck Be a Lady

Chapter Four

Masterlist | One Two Three

Pairing: Alex x Reader

Word Count: 2161

Summary: Reader has some regrets and she learns something new about Alex.

Warnings: None

Author’s Note:  And this is where I leave you. ::tips hat and rides off into the sunset:: On a real note, sorry for the lack of updates. Work and personal life has been hectic and wearing your girl down.

----

The bright lights of the Vegas Strip illuminated the living room enough that you didn’t bother turning on any lights as you left your bedroom. Now dressed down in your worn-out, oversized hoodie and pajama shorts, you walked over to the wet bar and pulled a bottle of vodka down from the shelf, not caring how overpriced it was. You thought about grabbing a glass but instead shrugged and took a swig straight from the bottle.

Settling on the wide marble ledge, you looked past your reflection in the window to peer down at the sparse traffic on the streets. You felt so physically drained after all the tears you’ve shed. You rubbed your bare face in embarrassment, mortified over letting all your emotions get in the way and ruining what was otherwise a nice evening.

Now that you weren’t in the middle of a panic attack, you regretted reacting too quickly when you told Alex to leave. You wished you could have him come back or at least text him so you could explain yourself but you two never took a moment to exchange numbers. Not like it would make much of a difference anyway, you were sure he was grateful to get some distance away from your crazy ass.

You didn’t bother looking over when you heard the door unlock and open. The clicking of heels confirmed it was your best friend doing her walk of shame, or stride of pride as she lovingly called it. 

“So I didn’t see any sign of your Lover Boy when I snuck out of Marco’s room,” Bianca teased. You could hear her plop down onto the couch and then soft thuds of what you assumed were her shoes being dropped on the floor. “Is he here? Did you wear him out? Why are we sitting in the fucking dark?”

Light had filled the room after she clicked on a lamp. Although you were no longer crying, you knew your red, puffy eyes would give you away when you turned to look at her.

“Oh my god! What the fuck happened?” She rushed over to join you on the ledge. “What did that fucker do?”

“He didn’t do anything,” you gave a small smile, trying to put her worries to rest but as all the emotions from the night went through you again, you couldn’t stop your eyes from welling up.

Bianca wrapped her arms around you, comforting you until you were ready to talk. Her hand rubbed your back as you softly sniffled into her shoulder.

“What happened, sweetie? Are you sure he didn’t do anything? Because I won’t hesitate to put my shoes back on and kick his ass if I need to.” 

“No, Alex was sweet and a total gentleman the entire night. So you can calm down with all of that.” You pulled away from her, drying your face with the back of your sleeve before giving her a quick run through of your night.  “We were kissing and everything was good and...I don’t know. It felt familiar.”

“Familiar how?”

“It was like being with Trevor again. I know him and Alex couldn’t be anymore different but it somehow felt the same. And then all I could think of was him and how much I missed him. I just felt guilty like I was cheating on him.”

Bianca shook her head as she took your hand in hers. “Y/N, you have nothing to feel guilty about. Trevor's been gone for almost two years now. It’s perfectly fine to move on whether if it’s a relationship or just sex. I know he would want you to be with someone who makes you happy.”

“It still feels too soon, maybe I’m not ready to be with anyone. Ugh, as if being with Alex would be possible especially after I freaked out on him,” you clasped your hand on your forehead, grimacing over that memory. “And I basically told him I was married.”

“What? Why?” Bianca looked at you like you were crazy.

“He saw my ring and asked how long I was married. So I told him eight years.” It technically wasn’t a lie. You had been married for about eight years before a deputy stood at your doorstep, telling you that your husband would never be returning home. “You know I hate the pitiful look people give me when they hear I’m a widow. And I thought it would be easier to push him away if I pretended that I was a faithful wife. But fuck, man,  I couldn’t even keep that up!”

“It’s not too late to tell him all of this. I think I might remember what room they’re staying in.”

“Okay, even if he doesn’t think I’m crazy after all of that, I don’t think me and him would work. He’s young and I barely had the patience to deal with Trevor when he was that age. And he doesn’t even live in this country,” you tried to reason with her and maybe with your heart.

“Okay, he’s young and he doesn’t go here. So what?”

“I just think getting into a long distance relationship after losing your husband is a disaster.”

“Or it could be something beautiful. I’m sorry, Y/N. But if this boy could give even a fraction of happiness that Trevor gave you, then I’m all for it.”

You gnawed on your lip as you considered what she was telling you. You were too scared to take the risk. You were convinced that it would only end in heartbreak and you weren’t sure if you had enough strength to deal with another one of those again.

“I think I’m just too tired to deal with any of this right now...or ever.” You turned toward the window, staring at your worn down reflection. Definitely too damn tired.

——

The snow outside of your kitchen window was coming down hard and didn't show any signs of stopping. You sighed to yourself while emptying the remainder of the wine bottle into your glass, silently praying that you wouldn’t find yourself snowed in in the morning.

You sat on the couch, pulling the cozy throw up to your chin and trying to get comfortable while your lovable dog and cat duo, Dallas and Leeloo, were busy fighting over the spot next to you. Unfortunately for the young feline, it seemed like the elder Labrador was coming out to be the winner.

You sipped on your wine as you scrolled through Hulu for something to distract you from your headache of a night—your first and definitely last Tinder date. 

You had spent twenty embarrassing minutes waiting for your date to return after he excused himself to the restroom. There was no devastation on your part. You didn’t feel the same chemistry in person that you had over messages but you were willing to at least wish him a good night like a decent person. You deleted the app on your way out, already convinced that nothing good would be coming from it.

You weren’t even mad at this guy. All of your annoyance was aimed at Bianca who had spent the last six months encouraging—nagging and begging—you to go out and start dating. She claimed that it was officially time for you to start moving on but you suspected she just wanted you to see how wrong you were for letting the potential Mr. Right in Vegas get away.

You’d never tell her but she was right and you didn’t need a string of bad or mediocre dates to find that out. The nights you used to spend in bed wondering how life would be if Trevor was still alive were now spent thinking of what could have been with Alex. From the small amount of time you spent with him, you knew he would be the caring, supportive boyfriend who’d hang on every word you said and whisper into your ear to ease any of your self doubts and do anything to make you smile.

You had tried to search for him with the very minimal details you knew about him, during one very lonely night spent with a bottle of whiskey, but none of the Copenhagen based photographers named Alex turned out to be the one you were looking for. It shouldn’t have been too shocking but your drunk self still took it a bit hard, spending part of the night lying on the kitchen floor and crying into Dallas’s fur.

You gave up on finding something uplifting to watch and settled with the historical drama you had been slowly working your way through the past few months. You originally didn’t think a show about Vikings would be your cup of tea as you were more of a sucker for the period pieces with more extravagant, vibrant costumes but it came highly recommended by your Vegas fling. He said it was a pretty good show. After three seasons and nine episodes, he definitely wasn’t wrong.

You were down to the last ten minutes of the episode where Bjorn was going up to his brothers’ cabin. You had downed the rest of your glass only to spit it all out, your pets scurrying away to avoid the spray, when grown Ivar rolled over to show his face.

“What...the fuck?” You whispered to yourself as the scene cutaway. Your mouth hung open and your eyes were glued to the screen. 

“What the fuck?” You repeated again when you saw Marco on the screen next to Alex. “Why would they do that to his hair?”

As soon as the episode ended, you sat still with your brow furrowed. You went through all the conversations you had and didn’t remember him saying he was an actor nor that he starred in this “pretty good” show.

You grabbed your phone to do a quick google search of who played Ivar. Alex Høgh Andersen. This entire time you had access to his name. If only you had given in to your urge to binge watch the show in one sitting you would have had it sooner. 

You pulled up your Instagram and typed in his name. As you were about to click on his account, you quickly changed your mind and threw your phone next to you on the couch as if it scorched you. You weren’t seriously going to stalk this man on the internet, you were a whole grown woman who was definitely too mature to be drooling over some pictures. 

Getting up to get ready for bed, you left your phone where it was so it would be less of a temptation. But you found that you couldn’t help but stare at it through the mirror as you aggressively brushed your teeth. Your curiosity was beginning to get the best of you.

You quickly rinsed out your mouth and walked toward your couch but then turned around, shaking your head as you headed down the hall to your bedroom. Leeloo and Dallas sat next to each other in the living room, both looking down the hall and not bothering to follow as if certain you’d be back.

“I’m just going to look at a few pictures. Just see what he’s been up to,” you explained to no one when you returned for your phone. Standing in the middle of your living room, you looked through his posts from the funny videos to his beautiful photography. You thought maybe you spent too much time scrolling through when you found yourself unable to stop staring at his well defined arm as he hovered over a mattress.

It wouldn’t be too crazy if you sent him a message to catch up and see how he was doing. Or would it? What would you even say? “Hi, remember me? The woman you ate out in Vegas. You know the one who broke down before you got a chance to get it in? Oh, and remember how I said I was married? Surprise! I’m actually a widow and lied because I got scared over you being so into me and even more scared when I realized I may have felt the same.”

You kept going back and forth over what you should really say to him, typing one thing only to immediately delete it. Seemed like anything you wrote came out sounding awkward or just dumb.

“Hi, I’m not sure if you remember me? It’s Y/N. The baker you met in Vegas.” It was enough to start a conversation but would he think you’re only contacting him because you now knew he was an actor. Your thumb hovered over send as you contemplated your choice.

You looked up at the clock and sighed out loud. You couldn’t afford to waste anymore time on this unless you wanted to be a zombie when you went into work in the morning.

You brought your thumb down and hit send. Fuck it.

----

End Notes: This is the last chapter of this part but not the end of their story. So don’t be too mad at me. Will Alex read her message? Will they ever meet again? Does Reader need to tell Bianca that she was right? 

Tags: @castielsangelsx @xbellaxcarolinax​ @didiintheblog​ @jzr201​ @kaitieskidmore1​ @eroguroshoujo

[boobidabooski]

Sunday Afternoon

I’m still figuring out how to use this app so please bear with me. I’m also a weeee bit rusty cause I haven’t written in awhile. I hope you enjoy though! :)

Format might be a little wonky? :/

Summary: Harry cheated and tries to save the relationship.

Voicemail to Harry on Saturday, 4:36 PM: “Hey. Was wondering if you’d wanna come over and cuddle for a little? Really hoping you’ll get back to me, love you.

Voicemail from Harry on Sunday, 3:02 AM: “I’m so sorry, y/n. Jus’ atta lil’ get together with my friends. I shoulda called sooner but ‘twas hectic. I love you.”

Sunday Afternoon

I play the slurred voicemail for Harry after he had arrived to my apartment, showing him how he left me hanging for the whole night. I sent him a, “We need to talk,” text that everyone in a relationship always dreads. A tight line forms across his lips when the voicemail is done playing and he just looks at me with sorry eyes

“M’sorry love, I really am.” Harry says, trying to get me to look at him. But I can’t. I felt so hurt after being left alone like that for so long without any explanation or make up for it. But then I did get my explanation a little bit after I woke up today. A cheeky little post on Instagram made by a petite blonde girl named Ainsley. She had tagged him in a photo of him with his arm across her shoulders. A carefree smile plastered on both of their rosy faces. Rosy cheeks caused by the alcohol of course.

I pull up the picture, shoving it to Harry’s chest and letting him take a look as I go to sit on the small sofa placed against the wall of my tiny living room. I watch him swallow hard. My heart starts to fall a little knowing something did in fact happen between him and this woman that night. “Wanna explain to me why you’re all over a woman who isn’t your girlfriend?” I ask sternly but picking at my nails nervous for the answer I will receive.

“She’s just a good friend, baby. I promise. Nothing’s goin on between us.” He’s lying to me. And he knows I can tell. I’ve picked up on Harry’s telltales these past few months. He rocks back and forth a little on his feet when he lies to me. He picks at his bottom lip with his index and thumb when he’s nervous, and he’s doing both right now.

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” I say through clenched teeth knowing that my harshness will get to him. His head snaps up from the phone and he looks at me with confusion. He had been leaving me for hours on end with no explanation a lot recently. No calls or text messages to tell me he was safe. No I love you’s in response to mine.

“Don’t look at me like that, Harry. You’ve been ignoring me. Leaving me for hours on end. I don’t get texts from you anymore. I have no explanation for anything.” He still hasn’t said anything. He’s lost in thought, pondering on what he should say. He lets out a little sigh and looks away from me, remorse evident on his face. And that’s when my heart begins to beat rapidly against my chest. I can feel the pit forming in my stomach and my body begins to feel shaky.

“I kissed her.”

His words replay in my head. Seeping into me and making my already breaking heart shatter into a million pieces. Pieces that can’t be picked up and glued back together. His words are the only thought I have right now.

His words permanent in my mind like a tattoo. How could he do this to me after all the I love you’s? All of the little moments that made me feel euphoric just thinking about them. Tears start to stain my cheeks and my breathing is shaky. There’s a fire lit inside my body. Not the kind that was ignited from a kiss or a small touch that makes you feel all warm and giddy. The feeling that he had once made me feel. No. It was an angry, searing heat. He lied to me. He gave me false hope.

“I’ve done nothing to wrong you, Harry. I’ve done nothing but love you. Through everything. Why?” Those words sting the back of my throat. He can tell I’m starting to choke up and his eyes too start to well up with tears. I want to give in. I want so badly to just take him into my arms and run my fingers through his unruly hair. I want to wipe the tears from his beautiful green eyes. I want to tell him I love him. But I can’t.

“You did this. Why do you get to cry?” I seethe. His words, “I kissed her,” play over and over in my mind. I bury my face in my hands, trying to rid my mind of those awful words. I knew he’d hurt me. Why am I so surprised about this? I wasn’t expecting this forever love, but I also wasn’t expecting him to hurt me like he did.

“I-I don’t get to cry. I don’t deserve you. I fucked up. Royally.” He stutters through his words. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something every now and then but then he shuts it again, knowing there is no right words to say. There will never be any right words to say. Nothing he can say will take away this heart wrenching pain.

More tears stream down his cheeks. He looks away, wiping his face every time more fall. This is the first time I’ve ever seen him cry. It makes this whole situation so much worse. “I don’t know why I did it. Commitment issues? Fear? I don’t know..” He trails off in thought and I scoff at the pitiful attempt to explain why he would do something so cruel to someone he claims to love so much. He doesn’t get to cry, and he certainly doesn’t deserve me. What he does deserve is the guilt gnawing at him. He deserves that fiery regret. He deserves the pain that I will inflict on him when I tell him I will never love him again. I can’t love him again. Not after he kissed another woman when he promised he was mine. But who knows if he’ll even care.

“There’s no more to say and you can’t take back what you did. S’all just a waste now.” I whisper the last part, knowing he would’ve heard the pain in my voice if I had said it normally. “No-no, y/n, don’t say it’s a waste. It’s not a waste. I love you. I love you more than anything. It was one stupid, drunken kiss. She meant nothing!” His voice breaks more and more as he tries to salvage this broken relationship.

He starts to pace around the small apartment running his ring clad fingers through his hair. The dim lights add to the somber mood, but it also helps. Not being able to see every pained expression on his face. Him not being able to see mine as well.

“I can fix this. S’all gonna be okay. I love you, baby. Let me try, please.” He says coming to the couch and kneeling, cupping my tear soaked face. I grab his warm hands and put them at his sides. He looks down and sniffles. Whimpers escape my lips at the sight of him being in pain. But I shouldn’t feel sorry for him.

“You can’t fix it. It’s done and over with. A drunk mind speaks a sober heart after all.” He looks up at me with a somber expression. Tears keep spilling out of his eyes like a never ending river. I close my eyes, stopping myself from wiping the sadness off of his face.

“But I love you. So so much. It was so stupid of me. Please.” He whispers. He grabs my hands and kisses them. He starts kissing my knuckles and up my arms. Leaving a trail of tears and wet kisses all the way up to my jawline. “We’ve only kissed once and it was a quick peck. She’s out of my life completely. I only want you.” His soft lips move against my burning skin as he says that and I allow a whimper to escape.

“I feel like you should leave,” I say just above a whisper. He looks up at me, eyes wide. “No. No, I can’t. Y/n, I want to fix this. I need to fix this. I need you. I can’t lose you.”

“But you can’t!” I exclaim, taking his hands in mine and shaking them for emphasis. “You obviously wanted her a little bit! I know you love me, I do know that. It’s very evident. But not enough to keep me. And you made that quite clear.”

“I don’t know what happened! I wasn’t sober and it just happened. It meant nothing!” He breaks.

“I can’t do this right now. I just...I can’t. I can’t even think straight. I need time to calm down. And to really consider if you mean what you’re saying right now. I can’t just forgive you like that. As much as I want to because I love you more than anything. But I can’t.” I start to sob. “You have to give me time. M’not in the right headspace to make a decision right now.”

He only nods and stands up, readying himself to pack his things to stay somewhere alone. Or so I hope. He huffs and sniffles from time to time while gathering his things and I try my hardest to ignore him.

“You know I love you. So much.” He sighs.

“I know.”

[literalliterature]

7/4/20: On Lilapsophobia

A few days ago, I learned the term "extinction burst." For one thing, it's now on my list of Potential Album Titles Referencing Terminology Used To Describe Grand Dyings, which is a longer list than you might think, especially for someone who doesn't have a band. It's up there with phrases like "Lazarus taxon" and "high place phenomenon." A species turning up after being presumed extinct, the seemingly sourceless urge to jump when faced with a cliff edge. Things disappearing, but not fading. They go out wilder than that.

An extinction burst doesn't, in fact, have to do with the extinction of species at all. I learned it from a video on dog training. I should say I learned the phrase itself that way, because I've known about the concept for awhile, because I am my own bad dog. An extinction burst occurs when you're trying to break an animal of a bad habit and it gets worse before it gets better. At first it only seems to bark louder or pull harder at the leash, trying to use the only way it knows to get what it wants. The first step in training the begging or the braying out of a dog is to break it of the belief that there is no other way.

Today, I paced around the coffee table for twenty minutes and felt my insides stirring with every rumble of thunder. I wished I'd had pointed ears that I could lay back flat and a long tongue that quivered with hot, humid hyperventilation. I wished for a den. But what I did was leave foot-sweat on the living room hardwood and think how, if I heard the tornado sirens, I would have to walk straight and sound level when I faced my roommate to tell him that we should go to the underground laundry room.

I understand dogs better than people, and I'm no exception. I understand myself better as a dog than as a person, and a little dog at that--a Chihuahua or maybe some small terrier, something that shakes for no reason. It doesn't make sense to me that I always feel the urge to take the train north just to avoid an oncoming storm they've seen on the radar. (As I hope everyone knows, just about any form of transport is a death trap in a twister, and you're better off lying down in a ditch than trying to outrun one.) But I don't question it when I hear about pets bolting at the sound of fireworks. No one does. That's the thing about a dog hiding under the bed every Fourth of July until the end of its days. The fact that the noise has never actually hurt the dog will not teach it to fear less. As far as it's concerned, every time it's been worried about the boom, it's ultimately been safe. Worrying, then, is the only way.

The cold front's now just about passed, and there was no tornado. They haven't even issued a warning for the area today--certainly didn't during the couple hours I curled up on the floor of the tub with the Accuweather app and twenty nigh-empty shampoo bottles. Believe it or not, I'm getting better. As a kid, I'd start watching the Weather Channel for a couple hours daily beginning in March and memorize the weekly forecast from their Local on the 8's. That way, if they projected a severe weather event, I'd be able to start stockpiling throw pillows in the basement bathroom as soon as possible, should they be needed for head coverings--most fatal injuries in a tornado occur from flying or falling debris to the head, I internally recited over and over again. I'd also matter-of-factly let my parents know ahead of time to cancel any plans they had for going outside at any point during that day. A supercell could spin up at any time in an unstable atmosphere, I'd inform. But they usually did not see fit to stay home from their jobs.

Now it's not such a process. Sometimes, these days, I can go all the way up until the day of a severe storm before the anxiety starts to make me nauseated. Then I'm happy to sit with my bicycle helmet snug at my side, waiting to bolt into the innermost room of my dwelling.

Besides, I like the tub. We should've never stopped living in tight little dens. I like to curl up with my knees to my chest on the porcelain and wonder if they make ThunderShirts for people.

I refresh the radar map. Dread comes in rainbow blobs. If I'm watching for it, it can't get me, says something that's lived inside me since I knew how to feel fear. It's the same primitive something that used to tell me the shadow in my childhood closet wouldn't come to life if I stayed up all night to stare it down. I worry the way some people pray. There's ritual to it, repeated refrains and lines of thought. There's vigilance. Sometimes I feel like the people around me, Sinners in the Hands of a Mesocyclone, aren't sufficiently aware of the wrath coming their way, so I do their worrying for them, too, watch out for them. These days, I only believe in a Higher Being at my worst moments, and only one who wants retribution. Earlier, during a lull in the thunder, I ventured briefly from the tub in the notably windowless space and pulled out my eyelashes in front of the bathroom mirror with all the solemnity and intention of one saying a decade of the rosary.

Sometimes I train myself, though not as consistently as I should. When the nasty storms come, when I can bear it, sometimes I sit with my back to the windows. I don't even check the radar. I go about my business and ignore the sensation of a gnawing at my ribs, the pacing and panting of my heart behind the bars. I know, and have known for years, that a tiny percentage of storms are supercells, and of those that are, only some drop funnels at all, and of those that do, a small fraction are strong enough to do real damage. If I sit through enough of them like this and nothing happens, then I'll be desensitized to the onset of severe storms altogether. If you can train a hunting dog to not flinch at the sound of a gunshot, then I should at least be able to do this. Right now, though, it's getting worse before it gets better. Something bursting from me.

Some say the thing you fear in this life is the thing that killed you in the last, and "you had an epic death," a friend of mine once told me. I can't deny the romance in it. When an EF5 sweeps anchor-built homes off their foundations, never mind the people inside them, they're said to be taken "aloft," high into the sky. A grand dying indeed, to become weightless in the roaring air. I think anyone who pictures that believes, on some level, that those people taken aloft will never hit the ground again. They might, in fact, not, at least not all in one retrievable piece, since deaths tend to occur through impaling or dismemberment by other flying debris midair. Still, romantic. The Tri-State Tornado, the deadliest in US history, is so named because it went all the way from Missouri to Indiana but spent most of it's time crossing through Illinois to get there. As a young Illinoian child, I took this to mean that my state was cursed, and by extension, so was I. It happened nearly 40 years before Doppler radar was widely used to forecast the weather, nearly 50 before the Fujita scale was instated. Back in 1925, I don't know what one would have thought upon seeing a wall of cloud and wind a mile wide stripping the very soil from the ground on its way toward you, save that it was armageddon at last. The world erased before your eyes, and the outer wall of your house blown out so you can bear full witness. That's what I'd call an extinction burst.

I once knew a family with dogs that would fetch pillows for guests who came through the door. They used to bark instead, but instead of being trained to simply not make noise, they were trained to do something else. They couldn't, after all, bark with a pillow in their mouths, and they'd be less inclined to anyway, while they were focused on retrieving them. Everyone knows that, given nervous energy, it's much easier to channel it into something else than to try smothering it.

I love dogs better than people, myself included. I know there are no bad dogs. I've been learning to be a storm spotter. If you're registered as one, you can report weather phenomena to your local NOAA office, and those reports are spread through meteorology networks, improving the minute-by-minute forecasting. It's nice, learning just how to spot a wall cloud or report hail size. It's nice, specifically, watching for those things in order to do something rather than to torment myself. I can't not track the weather, I don't think. But I can watch it with purpose. I can hold the clouds nicely between my teeth.

[abecedarycomic]

Recipe for Deviled Gallimaufry

A heaping of deviled gallimaufry big enough for the whole brood! Smokey, spicy, meaty and unrepentant, get ready to cook up a sinfully good dinner right in your corner of Hell! You can’t have too many family dinner recipes; and one that uses locally-sourced ingredients! There’s always room for that!

Sponsored Content This post is sponsored by Sabbatic Goat. Sabbatic Goat is the preferred app for planning your next arcane ritual, summoning, or infernal convocation. Download Sabbatic Goat in the app store today and use promo code ABCDRY to receive 13% off your first union of opposites. Contains in-app blood pacts.

Why a Gallimaufry?

One of the first routines to fall by the wayside when I’m being tormented for an eternity is family dinner, which is a shame, because I have bestial craving for it. It’s hard to justify the time spent catching popes, striking unspeakable deals, and making a reduction for dinner, when my clan’s hunger can never be sated. Still, I inevitably perk up and feel better when I make these things. They’re reminders that the varieties of suffering are endless. And there’s nothing like a hot meal on cold nights infinitely removed from God’s light, pure and simple.

My unholy spawn can’t get enough deviled gallimaufry. While I’m cooking, they can barely resist clawing and rending my body to pieces in their impatience. My big boy especially loves the pitch-soaked slabs of senator. His wretched probosci wetly funnel hocks of meat into a maw that never stops gnawing. His younger brother loves to settle on dinner like a putrid mist, rotting everything and causing great blooms of mold, just the way he likes it. My husband, the Deceiver, always breaks out in a vessel-popping rictus grin when I put this dish on the supper table, and our littlest one can’t wait to drag a steaming bowl of gallimaufry back to her cage. With her thousand mouths it’s a guarantee she’ll be rattling her chains for seconds soon enough!

Deviled Gallimaufry Ingredient List

1 gallon fetid water

½ cup extra virgin oil

2 cups pitch

½ cup boiled blood with extra pulp of tyrants

1 handful of maggots

1 cup soothsayer heads

½ pound flayed senator

3 simonious popes

1 avaricious cardinal

2 charbroiled heretics, entombed

3 ounces leprous scabs of an alchemist

1 head of frozen traitor

1 pound sodium

1 tablespoon mustard seed

¼ cup ground black pepper

¼ cup smoked hot paprika

Sulfur sauce

Deviled Gallimaufry Preparation Instructions

Toss the sodium into a large pot of fetid water and bring to a rolling boil.

Whisk the extra virgin oil, pitch and boiled blood together, over medium high heat in a stained steel pan.

From the feet of uncommitted sinners, harvest 1 handful of maggots and mince until fine.

Soothsayer heads come attached to their body, twisted backwards in the packaging. Pop the heads off and discard the bodies, they are useless husks. Soothsayers tend to cry a lot, so poke out their eyes and rinse them of their lamentations. Bash their faces until bloody.

Add the maggots to the pan and whisk to dissolve, until aromatic. Then add the soothsayer heads and flayed senator to the pitch and oil along with the mustard, pepper and paprika. Reduce to low heat and cook until the deviling is coagulated.

Meanwhile, decapitate the simonious popes. This is easy as their heads come stuffed in a rock. The heads are bitter and disgusting, but their bodies are juicy and fat. Hold their feet to the fire until golden brown and demonic. Pro tip: use a simoniac rock to beat the soothsayers in step 4; just make sure all the pope has been removed first.

Un-entomb the heretics (careful: they are usually still on fire!) and hack them to pieces, along with the cardinal.

Mix together the popes, cardinals and heretics in a large bowl. Zest the leprous scabs into this mixture and then add everything to the boiling water.

Boil for 10,000 years, or until the wailing and gnashing of teeth subsides. Add the thawed traitor’s head and continue to simmer for 10,000 more years until whimpering.

Stir the deviled reduction into the gallimaufry and serve immediately. Add sulfur sauce to taste.

Enjoy!

Follow the Abecedary on other platforms! Visit the Abecedary at abecedarycomic.com to see the uncensored version of this week’s comic! Follow the Abecedary on social media: Facebook Twitter Instagram

gallimaufry, n. 1. A dish made by hashing up odds and ends of food; a hodge-podge, a ragout.

“The Devil mince me into a Galli-mafry, if I do not tremble for fear.”  — 'The third book of the works of Mr. Francis Rabelais, Doctor in Physick containing the heroick deeds of Pantagruel the son of Gargantua', François Rabelais, transl. Thomas Urquhart (1693)

[mintyvan]

43

prompt reader meets van while photographing the band in a photoshoot for @i-wanna-bring-you-home-myself. fluffy! word count - 2857. 

notes I’ve never seen people do mood boards for their fics, so I’m going to continue doing it since it was so fun for Red. Let me know what you think!

__________

You slid your thumb across the winder of your 35mm camera, and sighed when you realized you’d used up the last picture on the roll.

“Take 5, lads,” you yelled to the four men posted up near the studio backdrop, and walked to your equipment table. To your anger, you realized the side pocket of your camera bag was empty. You’d only packed three rolls of film that day, and you’d just finished all the three on people unwilling to pose. These men took ages to photograph properly, and even so, still made odd “serious” faces that didn’t look natural. Ugh. You had barely used two rolls of film on Rita Ora last week, and her management had asked for a whole lot more final photos than Catfish and the Whatever-they-were-called. You’ve got to be kidding me, you mumbled under your breath, and pushed the palm of your hand against your forehead.

“Problem, love?” a voice piped up from behind you. You swiveled. Standing there was the frontman of the band you were shooting for their upcoming album booklet. He had a hard time with clenching his jaw in photos, and you had to tell him to relax multiple times, but he kept jittering around and making everyone nervous until you had to expel him for a cigarette break about an hour earlier. You weren’t too keen on talking with him; he’d interfered with your work too much by now, and he seemed like he could be a stressful presence on the regular. However, you had to keep it professional. Kelsey, your intern, giggled. Early on, she’d noticed how upset this particular job had made you.

“Ran out of film. Don’t have any more in the kit,” you sighed, talking more into the air than to the man who’d asked. “I might just let you all go today. I think we have the material we need.”

He chuckled, and sat on a nearby pop art yellow chair under a softbox, spindly legs awkwardly bent beneath the metal chair seat. “I doubt that. We lot are terrible at photos.” At that, the corners of your mouth turned upward. At least he knew he couldn’t model. His humility brightened your mood a tad.

“People have told us before, ‘You’re all nice, but you’ve got no good looks and you can’t pose for shit.’ Even when they use the regular cameras they’ve gotta change the SD card or whatever. We’re pros at wasting time. See, me mate Larry and I, he’s over there, we sit up in our kitchen for ---”

The buzzer overhead sounded off that the five minute break was over, and that everyone should return to their places for photos. You smiled and nodded toward the ceiling to dismiss him. Bless. Boy could he run his mouth.

The frontman stood up and stretched his legs a little. Instead of walking to the backdrop, he walked over to his friend, presumably Larry, and whispered in his ear. You shook your head and readied your digital camera. You were so glad you’d grabbed it as you left out the door this morning.

“Y/N, are we moving to digital?” Kelsey asked, ready to take orders.

“Yep, go ahead and dismantle the flashes on stands; we won’t be needing them for this shoot since I have another to attach to my camera. Thank you!” you called as Kelsey scurried about the studio and between Catfish members.

Once the men were back in place -- drummer and bassist in the back, lead guitarist and vocalist up front -- you readied a separate camera.

The band’s manager, Mike, walked in after you’d taken a few test shots. You called over to him.

“Hey Mike, unfortunately the photoshoot has taken up the three rolls of film I had ready for today. I have to use my digital camera to finish the rest.”

Mike walked over, gnawing on a toothpick. “Won’t that interfere with the finished effect of the photos we specifically booked your studio for?” he asked cautiously -- not getting angry yet, but about to be. “We don’t want to pay extra for editing to achieve that film look.”

“It will, but unless we get our hands on some film, I can’t continue. My studio didn’t expect them to be so… uncooperative.”

The mention of the word seemed to evoke whispers from the band members as you spoke, only semi-hushedly, to the manager, who tersely responded.

“My... apologies. We don’t know if we’ll be coming back here another day for the rest of the shoot. We’re on a tight schedule.” His eyebrow furrowed first at you, and then he shot a look over his shoulder at the four men standing awkwardly on the white paper drawn down for the shoot. Kelsey pretended to not be listening.

“And so am I. Today is the only day I blocked out for you lot.” The tension in the room climbed to uncomfortable levels as your voice rose.

The frontman came up from behind and tapped on Mike’s shoulder so he’d let him into the circle of conversation. “If it’s any consolation, I can pay to get you more film,” he said, sympathetic.

“That would be nice of you, but the camera takes only a certain kind,” you shrug. “I don’t think you’d be able to get it today.”

“Give me the details, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Very well,” the manager cut in, and left the circle to attend to other matters, probably to try to book another studio for this afternoon. You guessed you were trusting the frontman now.

“Thank you,” you said to him. You handed him a piece of paper with the film type scrawled onto it, courtesy of Kelsey. He smirked, pivoted on his heel, and walked away.

Stressed and in need of a dose of caffeine, you made your way to the table filled with snacks and drinks provided for your camera crew and the band. Mug in hand, you went to pour the coffee jug and realized there wasn’t any left. You scoffed and picked up a scone instead.

“Sorry,” the person next to you said raspily, clearing his throat before speaking again: “Took the last bit of coffee not more than five minutes ago. It was mostly the dregs though.” His rabbit teeth smiled in consolation, and then he sauntered off in a matching tracksuit. He paused to check his phone, typed out a text, and then kept walking. You took in the sight of the little man in his tracksuit, and chuckled to yourself.

At a table a ways away from the studio setup, you chewed your scone dejectedly. You were supposed to be a professional… but then again, so were they! They came into your studio and wasted your time all day, and you probably only got two good shots from all those rolls you used up. You wouldn’t be able to tell if they were adequate until you developed the film.

You sat there for thirty minutes, waiting for the lanky frontman to return. You’d sent the band members out on lunch break in the meantime. Kelsey entertained you and your lighting crew by setting up her laptop with Shane Dawson’s latest conspiracy videos… needless to say, your mood brightened considerably.  

While you were checking your phone, a small box came down sharply on the table, and then a cup next to it. You looked up in awe. There the frontman was, smiling ear-to-ear.

“Five rolls of state-of-the-art film you asked for, exactly for your camera, and a venti coffee, because the bags under your eyes aren’t becoming you, love.”

“How did you…..?”

“Don’t mention it. I’m sorry to have caused you all this trouble today. I know you can’t complain much ‘cause it’s your job, but if I can make it less hectic, I will.”

“I have no words. That was…. quick.”

“I know,” he winked, and ambled back to where the other band members were camped out against the backdrop.

You stood from your seat and threw the plate with scone crumbs into the wash bin for the caterer, took a long sip of coffee, and started to ready your camera with a little pep in your step.

“Kelsey, would you mind calling Mike to tell him everything’s fine? Van saved the day.”

You listened to the chit-chat as you prepped.

“Van!” the guy in the tracksuit yelled across the room. It echoed against the industrial pipes framing the white brick. “Van!”

“What d’you want Larry?” the frontman, presumably Van, answered sharply before sitting up and catching whatever Larry had thrown at him.

Van. Cute name. It reminded you of a guy you’d met a few years ago at a pub. His name was also Van, and he’d bought you a few drinks before making out with you in the alley behind it. Thinking about that experience made you blush, and chuckle a little to yourself. Oh, the things you did when you were younger. Kelsey noticed you smiling, and air-high-fived you from across the room for getting into a better mood.

“I don’t get this Animal Crossing game, Benji,” the tall one with the hat said to the guy next to him. “Why do I have to give the animals what they want? Why can’t I get off on withholding?”

Bob snickered, and shook his curls out. Benji spoke slower than you’d ever heard anyone speak. “Bondy…. you just collect what they want from the different areas, and come back to them when you have it all,” he said. “It’s the whole premise of the game.”

“I don’t like this fuckin’ app,” Bondy said, laughing, and put his phone back in his shirt pocket.

“You’re going to have to remove that from your shirt pocket,” you told Bondy. “And the pack of ciggies you’ve got lingering in your front jeans pocket. I see you,” you motioned between your eyes and his with two fingers.

“Do what the woman says, Bond,” Van piped up, and smiled softly at you. For once that day, you felt like smiling back. Caffeine works wonders.

Camera in hand, you walked over to them and put your elbow on your hip. “I know you’re all tired, and so am I, so let’s try to get these done as quickly as possible.”

*****

That same night, shortly before closing time, glow from the safelight bulbs washed the studio darkroom in redness. You were dipping photos in solution, and hanging them on the clothespin against the wall to dry.

A knock at the outer door in the hall caused your concentration to break, and you jumped a bit. You were the only one in the office adjoining the studio today.

You pressed the intercom button on the far wall. “I’ll be out in a second!” you called, and removed your gloves.

You made sure the light was turned off in the hall before you opened the door, and then locked the darkroom before opening the hall door into the main studio, where Van himself was stood admiring your past photography framed on the industrial brick walls.

“Hello, love,” Van said, moving to stand closer to your desk. He’d changed clothes since the shoot, into a simple black short sleeve and black denim. You walked behind the desk in the studio and sat in your chair, waiting for him to speak again.

“It’s Van McCann, remember me?”

“How could I forget such a charming and resourceful person. Can I help you tonight, Van?”

“Just checking the status on those photos,” he said, tongue between his teeth.

“Unfortunately, they can only be picked up by the person who booked the shoot… and in your case, that’s Mike. Also, it takes at least a week to process them and log them. You’re a tad bit early, I’m afraid.”

You shook the computer mouse back and forth to revive your sleeping computer, and in your Catfish business folder, you made a note that said Van tried to pick up photos under the “Contact” spreadsheet.

Van leaned his elbows across the high shelf of the desk, and peered down at you, coquettish smile on his face. “Can’t you make an exception for little old me?”

“Are you…. flirting with me?”

“Might be.”

“Well, I have to close up shop in a few, Mr. McCann, so if you’re going to ask me out, make it quick.”

“As quick as the film retrieval, or?” he trailed off, smiling so hard his teeth could bust.

“Quicker than that.”

******

The next day at the studio, Kelsey was talkative.

“So, Y/N, how’d it go?”

“What do you mean, Kels?”

“Last night.”

“Wha ---”

“You wrote a note in the spreadsheet that Van tried to come pick up photos. The spreadsheet was still up on the computer, which you never accidentally leave open, or turned on, meaning something had to have happened to get you distracted. And then, after I’d seen that, I got a call from the band’s manager, Mike, asking to come round to pick up the photos today, meaning Van didn’t retrieve them. So I knew he was up to something. And you can’t wipe the grin off your face today. Which I guess answers the question -- last night went great.”

“I mean, yeah. We went to dinner. He seems traditional but fun. I laughed my ass off. It was…. good.” You tried to brush it off nonchalantly. Kelsey smiled mirthfully.

“Not in that way, Kelsey, he and I just met.”

“I never know with you! Remember the time---”

The banter was interrupted by a ring of the bells over the studio door.

“Good morning, Y/N,” Van sauntered in, carrying a vase overflowing with sunflowers. “These are for you.”

“Holy fuck,” Kelsey whispered, giggling softly to herself.

Your eyes widened as you silently took the vase from him. When you’d caught your breath, blush still fire engine red and evident on your cheeks, you turned to him. “Sunflowers are my favorite.”

He winked, and said, “how about coming out to lunch with me today?”

*****

The chivalry continued throughout the next several weeks, and you and Van saw each other at least every other day. Sometimes he’d pop into your studio with a coffee for you, other times he’d find a way to whisk you away for an afternoon of fun. You two were inseparable. All the original disgruntled feelings you’d felt toward him had vanished the night he came into the office late.

“Van, today’s your lucky day,” you called to him. He was in the main part of the studio, visiting you of course, but also chatting it up with a friend who knew Bob.

He walked over to your desk and leaned over to whisper in your ear. “Am I going to get lucky on this lucky day? After all, I am Irish. The luck abounds.”

“Maybe, if you don’t keep spitting in my ear,” you laughed.

Van glanced at your computer monitor and smiled. “These the photos?”

“Mmhhm! The second set you came back for, after the first press shoot. The ones where you all weren’t being assholes.”

Van smiled. “But if the band hadn’t been so uncooperative, we’d have never got on so well.”

You chuckled, “Maybe so.” You shifted your gaze back to the computer, and put on a presenter’s voice. “Fresh off the press, edited by my own hand. Digitized for you and your friends. Want to have a look?”

Van let you scroll past a few before commenting. Mike had given orders that they be transformed from color to black and white. That was easy, but finding a photo where they all looked decent and not like angry Arctic Monkeys fans was a challenge. You were able to find a few for their next press photos.

“Shit, you make me look good,” Van snickered, pointing at his jawline in one photo.

“You already look good.”

“But like… better.”

You scrolled past a few more, enchanting Van with the photos. When he spoke up again, his voice was a bit softer.

“You just make me better.”

You weren’t expecting such sincerity. You leaned up to where he was propped over the desk and kissed him. His plump lips tasted like the cherry chapstick he borrowed from you earlier.

“And I know we’ve only been going out together for two months, but there’s something I need to tell you.”

Your back arched with a tingle and you sat up straight in your chair. Fuck. No. Nope. It was too early for this, wasn’t it? Every nerve in your body was fighting the urge to hyperventilate. There’s no way he could love you this soon. Were you excited? But you were used to being independent. Breathe. He was good for you though. But what if it was a trap? You needed to--

“I’m going on tour.”

“Thank God,” you huffed out, relaxing in your chair.

“What?” Van asked, shocked.

“No! No, I meant... sorry… I didn’t mean that I’m glad you’re leaving. I just thought you were about to tell me you loved me.” You facepalmed. He smiled, and laid his chin to rest on his hand, looking you in the eyes.

“That too.”

[hgfstreamchats]

Vivo

thenightetc2 — Yesterday at 9:58 PM Hello! highglossfinish — Yesterday at 9:58 PM Hello there! How's life? thenightetc2 — Yesterday at 10:01 PM Well, I can't complain How are things with you? highglossfinish — Yesterday at 10:02 PM Hectic. thenightetc2 — Yesterday at 10:02 PM nodnods highglossfinish — Yesterday at 10:02 PM But I can't complain. thenightetc2 — Yesterday at 10:04 PM Shall we use watchparty again, or should I fire up the discord app and hope? highglossfinish — Yesterday at 10:04 PM No harm in hoping. If not, watchparty exists. thenightetc2 — Yesterday at 10:05 PM Honestly, these problems have been going on since at least The Terror; they'd just gotten worse recently. highglossfinish — Yesterday at 10:06 PM That's...bizarre. thenightetc2 — Yesterday at 10:08 PM I assume it's some update/updates, or something to do with it being routed through different servers, or something Mimic — Yesterday at 10:09 PM Hello! highglossfinish — Yesterday at 10:09 PM Hello! thenightetc2 — Yesterday at 10:09 PM Once, trying to play Jackbox, it was so bad that it would literally never load the host's screen, just stay stuck on the loading thing. Mimic — Yesterday at 10:10 PM Also sometimes a security update just breaks shit and they have to fix it, slowing the whole thing down to uselessness. thenightetc2 — Yesterday at 10:10 PM Here, uh... it sort of works, in that I only have to click "stop watching" and then click the stream again when it freezes... every minute or two. Wazkalia — Yesterday at 10:17 PM Hello! I'd join, but uhhh...I got hard mode college work to finish up tonight. Enjoy your movie night!! thenightetc2 — Yesterday at 10:14 PM Oooooo, this looks cool highglossfinish — Yesterday at 10:15 PM Breakdown got very emotional over this.

thenightetc2 — Yesterday at 10:16 PM It's extremely good highglossfinish — Yesterday at 10:18 PM This is going to be one of those "I have absolutely zero knowledge of whether this is good" nights. thenightetc2 — Yesterday at 10:19 PM Those can be fun! We'll just have to see. :slight_smile: First question: can the humans understand the monkey highglossfinish — Yesterday at 10:21 PM This would be beyond intolerable if it were anyone else voicing the kinkajou. Hopolites — Yesterday at 10:22 PM Yeah he has mild boss baby vibes Mimic — Yesterday at 10:23 PM This feels like a Madagascar spinoff that couldn’t get the rights to the name through legal nonsense thenightetc2 — Yesterday at 10:24 PM ...Maybe. highglossfinish — Yesterday at 10:27 PM The monkey has a foul little personality and I don't like it. thenightetc2 — Yesterday at 10:27 PM I'm a little weirded out by the jealousy vibe highglossfinish — Yesterday at 10:28 PM "We fell in love due to our shared trait of having tiny, tiny faces." thenightetc2 — Yesterday at 10:28 PM I wasn't going to say anything But yes. highglossfinish — Yesterday at 10:29 PM "Marta can't compare to what my monkey hands can do!" thenightetc2 — Yesterday at 10:29 PM nooooooooo Hopolites — Yesterday at 10:29 PM Why have you said this thenightetc2 — Yesterday at 10:29 PM I still can't tell if he can understand the monkey.  Like, that could have been a conversation, or the guy could have been doing the "talking to a pet" thing.  It's bugging me highglossfinish — Yesterday at 10:30 PM It did say earlier that their only shared language is music. Possibly a little bestiality. Mostly music. thenightetc2 — Yesterday at 10:30 PM You stop that. Hopolites — Yesterday at 10:31 PM Ech Music is very good highglossfinish — Yesterday at 10:31 PM I've said my piece. Now we can all spend the rest of the movie thinking about it. thenightetc2 — Yesterday at 10:31 PM Or we could spend the rest of the movie NOT thinking about it And now it has him making little monkey noises. Hopolites — Yesterday at 10:32 PM Why is the monkey like this highglossfinish — Yesterday at 10:32 PM "No, I take an uncomfortable amount of issue with this!" Smokescreen — Yesterday at 10:33 PM Monkey...... How much have I missed? thenightetc2 — Yesterday at 10:34 PM Hi, Smokescreen!  This dude is going to travel to see an old musical partner and sing with her, and his pet trained monkey partner is very against it For uh reasons ...Oh no. Hopolites — Yesterday at 10:35 PM OH Smokescreen — Yesterday at 10:35 PM I didn't know humans could train monkeys yet! Mimic — Yesterday at 10:35 PM Long standing practice. Normally can’t make them sing tho thenightetc2 — Yesterday at 10:35 PM The monkey is a funny talking animal but the human characters don't seem to understand him. highglossfinish — Yesterday at 10:36 PM

Hopolites — Yesterday at 10:37 PM wheeze Smokescreen — Yesterday at 10:37 PM That That's the most positive way I've EVER heard someone talk about Florida I think! thenightetc2 — Yesterday at 10:37 PM :frowning: highglossfinish — Yesterday at 10:41 PM He gets to Florida and immediately regrets it. Smokescreen — Yesterday at 10:41 PM He goes to Florida, sings a musical number, and immediately leaves Mimic — Yesterday at 10:44 PM when anyone gets to florida, they either regret it, or become floridian. thenightetc2 — Yesterday at 10:45 PM "let" her have the hairstyle she wants on her own head, how "generous" highglossfinish — Yesterday at 10:46 PM The monkey's had no shots but it's Florida so it's fine. thenightetc2 — Yesterday at 10:47 PM ...wow Smokescreen — Yesterday at 10:47 PM Petting zoo............................................ thenightetc2 — Yesterday at 10:47 PM I really dislike that mom The kid is kind of annoying but she's also like 10 Hopolites — Yesterday at 10:49 PM I think the monkey lives between dimensions and thats why he reacts to all the songs like theyre really happening Smokescreen — Yesterday at 10:49 PM Wait, she's even younger than Raf? She really is a newspark!! thenightetc2 — Yesterday at 10:51 PM Rude. Mimic — Yesterday at 10:52 PM also this is florida. how is a well-behaved monkey the weirdest thing tehy've seen on a bus thenightetc2 — Yesterday at 10:53 PM ewwwwwww Pfff highglossfinish — Yesterday at 10:56 PM All of these characters are unpleasant. thenightetc2 — Yesterday at 10:56 PM Gee, I wonder why she doesn't want to be in their troop Personal space! highglossfinish — Yesterday at 10:57 PM Again. Florida. thenightetc2 — Yesterday at 10:57 PM "Oh yeah I'm on the way to the vet right now" that's all you have to say ...they don't even know where he was going well. I mean, it wasn't the weight, there was just something sharp that punctured the lifeboat :wave: highglossfinish — Yesterday at 11:03 PM At least when she gets hopelessly lost in the middle of the Everglades she'll have plenty of monkey to eat. Smokescreen — Yesterday at 11:03 PM What if the monkey eats first Mimic — Yesterday at 11:03 PM and so will the alligators thenightetc2 — Yesterday at 11:03 PM This is why you lock your computer when you leave .... highglossfinish — Yesterday at 11:05 PM "My dad used to say that immediately before he was eaten by alligators." You hated her four minutes ago. Mimic — Yesterday at 11:06 PM musical numbers fix everything thenightetc2 — Yesterday at 11:06 PM They're bonding over this very dangerous situation! pffffffff Lady it's a bus, it's gonna stop sometime highglossfinish — Yesterday at 11:11 PM Unless the monkey interfaces with the bird I fail to see how this character is needed. Mimic — Yesterday at 11:11 PM so this is what's happening now thenightetc2 — Yesterday at 11:11 PM wow Mimic — Yesterday at 11:12 PM was that a fuckin' pun highglossfinish — Yesterday at 11:13 PM Well, that was pointless! thenightetc2 — Yesterday at 11:13 PM Hey, I'm sure they'll be back sometime Feels a little weird that she set this up and advertised it on the assumption he'd come highglossfinish — Yesterday at 11:14 PM It would be hilarious if they didn't. thenightetc2 — Yesterday at 11:14 PM Okay how the fuck did they find her in the middle of the everglades How did they get that >how big is the everglades 7,800 mi² Do any snakes anywhere have teeth like that Sharpwing — Yesterday at 11:18 PM Hey, I'm afraid I can't drop in tonight (or maybe any night from now on... got a new job), but what's the movie? Mimic — Yesterday at 11:18 PM Vivo, on Netflix Sharpwing — Yesterday at 11:18 PM And why is Lin-Manuel Miranda a kinkajou WHY IS A KINKAJOU IN FLORIDA Mimic — Yesterday at 11:18 PM because for some reason he took the contract with netflix Sharpwing — Yesterday at 11:18 PM Fair. Mimic — Yesterday at 11:18 PM and that's the plot of the movie! Sharpwing — Yesterday at 11:19 PM Oh, ok! Fish out of water thing. highglossfinish — Yesterday at 11:21 PM His singing voice is the only good thing about the movie. thenightetc2 — Yesterday at 11:22 PM "they're weak to that type!" Sharpwing — Yesterday at 11:22 PM I'll have to take a look at The Disaster later XD Mimic — Yesterday at 11:23 PM and there's some Lin Manuel Miranda flow. thenightetc2 — Yesterday at 11:23 PM Hehehehehe yesss. Mimic — Yesterday at 11:23 PM ONLY THE BEST LESSONS IN THIS MOVIE thenightetc2 — Yesterday at 11:24 PM aw nooooo highglossfinish — Yesterday at 11:24 PM None of this would have happened if you hadn't gone through the Everglades. thenightetc2 — Yesterday at 11:24 PM very true. They could have caught a later bus.  Missed the show, maybe, but they could have found her after Smokescreen — Yesterday at 11:25 PM Whoa, that goose looks weird thenightetc2 — Yesterday at 11:26 PM Prediction: Gabby remembers the lyrics, at least Mimic — Yesterday at 11:26 PM it's a spoonbill. basically, it's a flamingo-goose hybrid that is designed to look a lot stupider. Smokescreen — Yesterday at 11:27 PM Ohhhh. How big ARE they? Like. They look like they could gnaw on my whole head. thenightetc2 — Yesterday at 11:28 PM awww ...they had NO plan just slip it under the door highglossfinish — Yesterday at 11:32 PM All of this could have been prevented by showing her mother the paper with the song her dead uncle wrote for this specific person. thenightetc2 — Yesterday at 11:33 PM To be fair her mom hasn't exactly been a "listener" highglossfinish — Yesterday at 11:34 PM Not to her daughter. To an old dead man, maybe. "We could have spent our entire lives together...oh well!" thenightetc2 — Yesterday at 11:37 PM ...she asked YOU to take her highglossfinish — Yesterday at 11:38 PM Who needs tickets? thenightetc2 — Yesterday at 11:38 PM I'm SURE there were some seats left in this farewell concert for a very famous and popular singer! highglossfinish — Yesterday at 11:38 PM And no one guarding the doors! Smokescreen — Yesterday at 11:39 PM The true fantasy is getting everyone to learn the song in like, an hour highglossfinish — Yesterday at 11:39 PM Was there any reason why he couldn't have just...gone with her? And is that the name of the venue they're plugging into this very poignant song? Oh no you don't! Well! That was stupid. Mimic — Yesterday at 11:44 PM extremely so thenightetc2 — Yesterday at 11:44 PM Good songs.  Dubious everything else. Smokescreen — Yesterday at 11:45 PM this video is basically my thoughts on that movie! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AeSBvMdJF6U YouTube Fargield Monkey kung fu panda

Mimic — Yesterday at 11:45 PM https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-5kUWn3HqXw also I've been holding onto this. YouTube Screen Rant Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen Pitch Meeting

highglossfinish — Yesterday at 11:46 PM Glorious. Smokescreen — Yesterday at 11:46 PM Woojit, you have shown me monkey highglossfinish — Yesterday at 11:47 PM I do like how they're charming in real life, but no, disgusting little monkey.

thenightetc2 — Yesterday at 11:48 PM Nice. Smokescreen — Yesterday at 11:50 PM Aw, they are cute! thenightetc2 — Yesterday at 11:50 PM Well then. And this doesn't cause... problems. Well! :smile: Amazing. thenightetc2 — Today at 12:02 AM I love the logic here. Oh my god highglossfinish — Today at 12:06 AM Dear Unicron. thenightetc2 — Today at 12:06 AM There's no way for me to check that! Mimic — Today at 12:07 AM it's just not possible thenightetc2 — Today at 12:08 AM What is it with Decepticons and trying to harvest the sun. highglossfinish — Today at 12:09 AM It's not even a good sun. thenightetc2 — Today at 12:09 AM There are lots of suns!  Galaxy's full of 'em!  Just take one nobody's living near. Memorable's one word for it! Mimic — Today at 12:11 AM right??? thenightetc2 — Today at 12:12 AM ..."Venom pitch meeting" highglossfinish — Today at 12:12 AM There are some words for it and that sure is one of them. thenightetc2 — Today at 12:12 AM I mean, it is certainly a thing that people remember. highglossfinish — Today at 12:13 AM Rom-com. thenightetc2 — Today at 12:13 AM And other times a romance! One of the best rom-coms I've ever seen! He's Elon Musk; THAT'S his deal. Excellent. highglossfinish — Today at 12:17 AM Well, that was more fun than Vivo! Mimic — Today at 12:18 AM to be fair, it's a little easy to clear that bar thenightetc2 — Today at 12:18 AM Fewer musical numbers, and yet Well.  That was fun!  Thank you for the stream. highglossfinish — Today at 12:19 AM Thank you for being here! Mimic — Today at 12:19 AM thanks again! highglossfinish — Today at 12:20 AM Of course! Good night! thenightetc2 — Today at 12:20 AM Goodnight! Mimic — Today at 12:20 AM good night! thenightetc2 — Today at 12:24 AM Vivo like, "You know what's stupid and annoying?  When people care about the environment and think you shouldn't import exotic animals and set them loose in sensitive ecosystems!  And you know what's the WORST?  When people like peace and quiet!  They probably want to murder you" Hopolites — Today at 12:25 AM Florida's ecosystem is already fucked, it doesnt need a monkey Mimic — Today at 12:26 AM Agreed. but clearly, we're sympathizing too hard with the... weak excuses for antagonists thenightetc2 — Today at 12:32 AM But I have to admit I'm genuinely glad that apparently her mom let her quit the troop. highglossfinish — Today at 12:45 AM "You know what's especially fun? Not paying for tickets to things." thenightetc2 — Today at 12:53 AM And really, why should you.

[theliterateape]

A Troubling Hare

by Paul Teodo

I have a lot of problems. Let me restate that. A lot of problems have me. Having a problem is an illusion. It implies I have control over that problem. I don’t. The problem has control over me. When the problem has me it makes sense to get some help, indicating that this problem must receive more help than I alone can muster up. If a medical problem has me I go to a guy who went to school and has a license to cut me open without getting into too much trouble. If a mental problem has me I go see a shrink, or at least a good friend with a ton of patience for my whining or who can look stuff up on the internet and help me feel better. If my car starts jacking me around I go to a mechanic and spend a lotta dough, especially if I have an Italian or German model.

Let me tell you about a few problems that have me. 

BPH. Benign Prostate Hyperplasia. It’s got me big time. Some days I piss 20 times. I know, I’m closing in on seventy and it’s normal for stuff to be going on down there. But damn, it’s a nuisance.

What is BPH? It’s got to do with a guy’s prostate gland. The prostate gland plays a major role in male reproduction and ejaculation. A normal prostate is about the size of a walnut, mine’s about the size of a fucking cantaloupe. 

An enlarged prostate blocks the flow of pee from the bladder to the urethra and when that happens a man becomes obsessed with locating places to piss because he always has to piss. And the problem with pissing a lot is you begin to lose your inhibition about to where to go. Bushes, trees, dark alleys, well lit alleys, Starbucks, libraries, building lobbies, bottles strategically stashed in automobiles, lamp posts, anyplace a dog lets loose, all are fair game. 

So what do you do if this problem has you? Talk to the guy who went to school and do what he says. And he’ll say No COFFEE, and a few other things. I love coffee. But since I quit I’m down to pissing about 10 times a day, and only once or twice at night.

Well done, Doc.

I got more. 

Technofuckingphobia Yes, that’s a real word, except for the F-part, and more importantly it’s a very serious condition, especially in the 21st century, and it’s got me bad, real bad. Ask me to copy and paste, download an app, stream, or how much RAM I have, and my bowels turn to foam, my knees wobble, and my teeth chatter like a naked man perched upon an iceberg. 

And having a cell phone has made it worse. I’ve become dependent on the damn thing; emails, texts, photos, weather, music, directions, how many steps I take going from one stupid place to the next, all have become obsessions. I read a study a few months ago that said the average American, while awake, checks his cell phone every 72 seconds (less frequently when not awake). So most of you have already checked your phone since starting this little piece, or worse yet, are reading it on the damn thing now.

C’mon! 

Was I leading a miserable existence before I spent nearly a grand on a hand held computer that scares the shit outa me? I think not. And my techie friends tell me it needs to be encapsulated in a protective cover,(the difficulty of installation akin to stuffing an offensive lineman into a gymnast’s leotard), in case I drop it, or more likely throw it against a fucking wall when I can’t figure out how to use it, with a special ring tone for special people, which I have no idea how to set, with alerts for everything I’m supposed to do that I would prefer not to. And now I receive texts from people standing right next to me, which for the life of me, despite my protestations, I can’t ignore. 

And to highlight my total lack of control, if I misplace this electronic demon, I panic like a junkie jonesing for his next fix.

And then there’s the Tinnitus. Remember I’m almost seventy. What? 70…Tinnitus. What? Catch my drift?

I am condemned to a constant ringing in my right ear that varies in decibels depending on where I’m at and who I’m with. Put me in a reverberating room with a few people talking all at once (meaning anyone who has a speck of DNA that identifies them as having a trace of Italian or Jewish ancestry dog-paddling around in their cells) and I feel like I’m struggling to awaken from the depths of a coma. I’m foggy, befuddled, helpless, and morose. I lean forward with a twisted look of confusion splattered across my face feeling like I’m in a therapy group facilitated by Nurse Ratchett with Jack Nicholson at my side.

A few years ago I read that bananas helped tinnitus, so I began to consume 4, 5, 6 a day. The only change was the massive wads of hair that began to sprout from my back and the uncontrollable desire to scamper up a tree and swing from its branches.

OK I overplayed it with the tree.

And now, pray tell, I have been stricken with Leporiphobia. This malady is exhibited by a deathly and uncontrollable fear of rabbits. I shudder and become dizzy when I think of or encounter the tiniest of bunnies or a full grown big eared Jack. This condition is a rarity in the medical journals.

However, a point of note; in a 2012 survey the Journal of American Psychology polled 100 professional athletes concerning their fears or phobias. Hands down Andy Roddick, player on the men’s Pro Tennis Tour and winner of over 30M$ took the grand prize for weirdness. Leporiphobia has him! He admitshe is terrified of rabbits. All he has to do is think of one and he panics. Seeing just a tiny bunny brings him to his knees. He’s actually withdrawn from matches where he was heading for the winner’s circle and then regressed into “rabittual” thinking (OK I made that word up but it’s a great fucking word.)

Allow me to digress. 

I met Lydia in a coffee shop; my kind of coffee shop. No internet. People were talking. I was not sure if they were Jewish or Italian. I couldn’t hear. She leaned closer. I still couldn’t hear. We stepped outside. A truck rumbled by. I couldn’t hear. Finally, she stood on her toes, cupped her hands, and hollered.

“I’m Lydia.” I could hear…fairly well. We talked about the theatre and I asked her to a play. We went. We sat in the front. I could hear. It was great.

We went to dinner, a very quiet place. I gazed across the table into her gray-blue eyes. That was greater.

Afterwards she came to my place. It was very quiet. That was the greatest!

After a few of those datey kinds of experiences we wanted to do normal stuff; stuff we were interested in day to day._

She asked, “What do you like to do that is somewhat normal?”

“Bike,” I responded, enjoying her directness.

“I don’t own a bike.” she replied.

“I’ll buy you one,” I said thinking I was gallant.

She said, pursing her lips, her hands perched on very shapely hips, “I can buy my own.”

She did. I liked that.

“Do you want to go for a ride?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said, “But it’s so hot.”

“We won’t go far,” I said once again, trying to be gallant.

“We’ll go as far as I want,” she said.

“OK,” I said knowing that attempting to be gallant was no longer a good idea.

So I put air in my tires and waited to see if she wanted any.

“Could you put some in mine?”

“I’d love to,” I said.

“Thank you.”

Off we went down a dusty path of crunchy gray limestone; thick bushes bordering each side of the trail.

We came to a clearing in a small town. The bank sign read 97 degrees-1pm. The sun broiled my back, sweat puddled in my navel, and my hands slid from the rubber grips of my silver Trek.

“It’s so hot.” Her voice rose over the noisy limestone. “Are you hot?”

“What?” I couldn’t hear her.

“Hot!” she screamed.

I was near death, my head ready to explode. “I’m fine,” yelling over my shoulder.

“Wait!” I heard her voice. It must have been very loud.

I jammed the brakes, my bike twisting sideways.

We skidded to a dusty stop. She was huffing and puffing.

“Are you OK?” Salty sweat stung my eyes.

“This is your idea of fun? How can you stand it? This is normal?”

“What?” This time I pretended I couldn’t hear.

“Hot!”She wiped her brow with the back of her hand. 

“I try to stay cool: water, and stuff.”

“What stuff?” Her indignant voice rose.

I had to pee.

“Sometimes I take off my shirt.”

“Go ahead. But I can’t take off mine.”

I had to pee more.

“Go ahead,” she repeated.

I removed my shirt.

“Let’s go,” she said. “It’s too hot to stand here and talk.”

We started once again, crunching along the shimmering trail.

And that’s when it happened.

Two dark blurs darted from the brush directly in front of my bike; the one in front larger than the one who trailed. The larger one turned and glared with his devil-red eyes, into mine. And without any notice, he leapt off the ground, a full four feet, and went for my throat. My legs froze. I gasped and choked on my own spit. He was on me screeching a high pitched hideous rodent like noise; fangs gnawing at my flesh, his bristly fur scraping my chin. I yanked my right hand away from the brake and threw him off, his pin-like nails scratching my sun burnt skin. His body thumped to the ground. I jammed on my brakes. My wheel turned cock-eyed and my torso flew over the handlebars. 

I landed next to him; so close I could see his whiskers and his pinkish nose twitching with a sense of evil. 

He wriggled his nose again, paused, and scampered into the brush.

“It was a rabbit!”I think Lydia screamed. While I was aware of that, tinnitus is accentuated in a panic situation, and I needed to pee even more.

“I can’t believe it!”

I could. I lay on the limestone gazing up at her.

“Why did you bring me here?”

“You wanted normal.”

She stepped off her new bike, whose tires I had just put air into, trying not to be gallant.

“Are you OK?” she asked.

I wasn’t. I could be extra gallant and say fine. “I’m…” I paused, “hurt. Severely.”Trying to gain some sympathy.

“Oh my God,” she said.

Shards of gravel were imbedded in my tender skin. Bloody chunks of flesh dangled from elbows and knees. My left shoulder was locked tight, conspicuously off-kilter to its twin; pounding with a sledgehammer heartbeat.

“What can I do?” she asked tears welling in her eyes.

I lay there, my fears, problems, and pain running away with me.

My cell phone was shattered. How would I text myself a reminder to buy a new one?

I needed to pee.

But there was Lydia standing over me, offering to help. We met in a coffee shop, my kinda shop. No internet.

My ear ringing like the 3 o’clock dismissal school bell at St. Frances.

“How can I help?” she repeated. 

I thought I saw the rabbit peek out from the brush. Leporiphobia had stricken me. 

“Kill the fucking rabbit.”

She smiled a deep warm smile. She made me feel better.

She touched my cheek. “I will.”

I believed her.

[abecedarycomic]

Recipe for Deviled Gallimaufry

A heaping of deviled gallimaufry big enough for the whole brood! Smokey, spicy, meaty and unrepentant, get ready to cook up a sinfully good dinner right in your corner of Hell! You can’t have too many family dinner recipes; and one that uses locally-sourced ingredients! There’s always room for that!

Sponsored Content This post is sponsored by Sabbatic Goat. Sabbatic Goat is the preferred app for planning your next arcane ritual, summoning, or infernal convocation. Download Sabbatic Goat in the app store today and use promo code ABCDRY to receive 13% off your first union of opposites. Contains in-app blood pacts.

Why a Gallimaufry?

One of the first routines to fall by the wayside when I’m being tormented for an eternity is family dinner, which is a shame, because I have bestial craving for it. It’s hard to justify the time spent catching popes, striking unspeakable deals, and making a reduction for dinner, when my clan’s hunger can never be sated. Still, I inevitably perk up and feel better when I make these things. They’re reminders that the varieties of suffering are endless. And there’s nothing like a hot meal on cold nights infinitely removed from God’s light, pure and simple.

My unholy spawn can’t get enough deviled gallimaufry. While I’m cooking, they can barely resist clawing and rending my body to pieces in their impatience. My big boy especially loves the pitch-soaked slabs of senator. His wretched probosci wetly funnel hocks of meat into a maw that never stops gnawing. His younger brother loves to settle on dinner like a putrid mist, rotting everything and causing great blooms of mold, just the way he likes it. My husband, the Deceiver, always breaks out in a vessel-popping rictus grin when I put this dish on the supper table, and our littlest one can’t wait to drag a steaming bowl of gallimaufry back to her cage. With her thousand mouths it’s a guarantee she’ll be rattling her chains for seconds soon enough!

Deviled Gallimaufry Ingredient List

1 gallon fetid water

½ cup extra virgin oil

2 cups pitch

½ cup boiled blood with extra pulp of tyrants

1 handful of maggots

1 cup soothsayer heads

½ pound flayed senator

3 simonious popes

1 avaricious cardinal

2 charbroiled heretics, entombed

3 ounces leprous scabs of an alchemist

1 head of frozen traitor

1 pound sodium

1 tablespoon mustard seed

¼ cup ground black pepper

¼ cup smoked hot paprika

Sulfur sauce

Deviled Gallimaufry Preparation Instructions

Toss the sodium into a large pot of fetid water and bring to a rolling boil.

Whisk the extra virgin oil, pitch and boiled blood together, over medium high heat in a stained steel pan.

From the feet of uncommitted sinners, harvest 1 handful of maggots and mince until fine.

Soothsayer heads come attached to their body, twisted backwards in the packaging. Pop the heads off and discard the bodies, they are useless husks. Soothsayers tend to cry a lot, so poke out their eyes and rinse them of their lamentations. Bash their faces until bloody.

Add the maggots to the pan and whisk to dissolve, until aromatic. Then add the soothsayer heads and flayed senator to the pitch and oil along with the mustard, pepper and paprika. Reduce to low heat and cook until the deviling is coagulated.

Meanwhile, decapitate the simonious popes. This is easy as their heads come stuffed in a rock. The heads are bitter and disgusting, but their bodies are juicy and fat. Hold their feet to the fire until golden brown and demonic. Pro tip: use a simoniac rock to beat the soothsayers in step 4; just make sure all the pope has been removed first.

Un-entomb the heretics (careful: they are usually still on fire!) and hack them to pieces, along with the cardinal.

Mix together the popes, cardinals and heretics in a large bowl. Zest the leprous scabs into this mixture and then add everything to the boiling water.

Boil for 10,000 years, or until the wailing and gnashing of teeth subsides. Add the thawed traitor’s head and continue to simmer for 10,000 more years until whimpering.

Stir the deviled reduction into the gallimaufry and serve immediately. Add sulfur sauce to taste.

Enjoy!

gallimaufry, n. 1. A dish made by hashing up odds and ends of food; a hodge-podge, a ragout.

“The Devil mince me into a Galli-mafry, if I do not tremble for fear.”  — 'The third book of the works of Mr. Francis Rabelais, Doctor in Physick containing the heroick deeds of Pantagruel the son of Gargantua', François Rabelais, transl. Thomas Urquhart (1693)

Follow the Abecedary on other platforms! Visit the Abecedary at abecedarycomic.com to see the uncensored version of this week’s comic! Follow the Abecedary on social media: Facebook Twitter Instagram

[abecedarycomic]

Recipe for Deviled Gallimaufry

A heaping of deviled gallimaufry big enough for the whole brood! Smokey, spicy, meaty and unrepentant, get ready to cook up a sinfully good dinner right in your corner of Hell! You can’t have too many family dinner recipes; and one that uses locally-sourced ingredients! There’s always room for that!

Sponsored Content This post is sponsored by Sabbatic Goat. Sabbatic Goat is the preferred app for planning your next arcane ritual, summoning, or infernal convocation. Download Sabbatic Goat in the app store today and use promo code ABCDRY to receive 13% off your first union of opposites. Contains in-app blood pacts.

Why a Gallimaufry?

One of the first routines to fall by the wayside when I’m being tormented for an eternity is family dinner, which is a shame, because I have bestial craving for it. It’s hard to justify the time spent catching popes, striking unspeakable deals, and making a reduction for dinner, when my clan’s hunger can never be sated. Still, I inevitably perk up and feel better when I make these things. They’re reminders that the varieties of suffering are endless. And there’s nothing like a hot meal on cold nights infinitely removed from God’s light, pure and simple.

My unholy spawn can’t get enough deviled gallimaufry. While I’m cooking, they can barely resist clawing and rending my body to pieces in their impatience. My big boy especially loves the pitch-soaked slabs of senator. His wretched probosci wetly funnel hocks of meat into a maw that never stops gnawing. His younger brother loves to settle on dinner like a putrid mist, rotting everything and causing great blooms of mold, just the way he likes it. My husband, the Deceiver, always breaks out in a vessel-popping rictus grin when I put this dish on the supper table, and our littlest one can’t wait to drag a steaming bowl of gallimaufry back to her cage. With her thousand mouths it’s a guarantee she’ll be rattling her chains for seconds soon enough!

Deviled Gallimaufry Ingredient List

1 gallon fetid water

½ cup extra virgin oil

2 cups pitch

½ cup boiled blood with extra pulp of tyrants

1 handful of maggots

1 cup soothsayer heads

½ pound flayed senator

3 simonious popes

1 avaricious cardinal

2 charbroiled heretics, entombed

3 ounces leprous scabs of an alchemist

1 head of frozen traitor

1 pound sodium

1 tablespoon mustard seed

¼ cup ground black pepper

¼ cup smoked hot paprika

Sulfur sauce

Deviled Gallimaufry Preparation Instructions

Toss the sodium into a large pot of fetid water and bring to a rolling boil.

Whisk the extra virgin oil, pitch and boiled blood together, over medium high heat in a stained steel pan.

From the feet of uncommitted sinners, harvest 1 handful of maggots and mince until fine.

Soothsayer heads come attached to their body, twisted backwards in the packaging. Pop the heads off and discard the bodies, they are useless husks. Soothsayers tend to cry a lot, so poke out their eyes and rinse them of their lamentations. Bash their faces until bloody.

Add the maggots to the pan and whisk to dissolve, until aromatic. Then add the soothsayer heads and flayed senator to the pitch and oil along with the mustard, pepper and paprika. Reduce to low heat and cook until the deviling is coagulated.

Meanwhile, decapitate the simonious popes. This is easy as their heads come stuffed in a rock. The heads are bitter and disgusting, but their bodies are juicy and fat. Hold their feet to the fire until golden brown and demonic. Pro tip: use a simoniac rock to beat the soothsayers in step 4; just make sure all the pope has been removed first.

Un-entomb the heretics (careful: they are usually still on fire!) and hack them to pieces, along with the cardinal.

Mix together the popes, cardinals and heretics in a large bowl. Zest the leprous scabs into this mixture and then add everything to the boiling water.

Boil for 10,000 years, or until the wailing and gnashing of teeth subsides. Add the thawed traitor’s head and continue to simmer for 10,000 more years until whimpering.

Stir the deviled reduction into the gallimaufry and serve immediately. Add sulfur sauce to taste.

Enjoy!

gallimaufry, n. 1. A dish made by hashing up odds and ends of food; a hodge-podge, a ragout.

“The Devil mince me into a Galli-mafry, if I do not tremble for fear.”  — 'The third book of the works of Mr. Francis Rabelais, Doctor in Physick containing the heroick deeds of Pantagruel the son of Gargantua', François Rabelais, transl. Thomas Urquhart (1693)

Follow the Abecedary on other platforms! Visit the Abecedary at abecedarycomic.com to see the uncensored version of this week’s comic! Follow the Abecedary on social media: Facebook Twitter Instagram

[abecedarycomic]

Deviled Gallimaufry Ingredient List

1 gallon fetid water

½ cup extra virgin oil

2 cups pitch

½ cup boiled blood with extra pulp of tyrants

1 handful of maggots

1 cup soothsayer heads

½ pound flayed senator

3 simonious popes

1 avaricious cardinal

2 charbroiled heretics, entombed

3 ounces leprous scabs of an alchemist

1 head of frozen traitor

1 pound sodium

1 tablespoon mustard seed

¼ cup ground black pepper

¼ cup smoked hot paprika

Sulfur sauce

Deviled Gallimaufry Preparation Instructions

Toss the sodium into a large pot of fetid water and bring to a rolling boil.

Whisk the extra virgin oil, pitch and boiled blood together, over medium high heat in a stained steel pan.

From the feet of uncommitted sinners, harvest 1 handful of maggots and mince until fine.

Soothsayer heads come attached to their body, twisted backwards in the packaging. Pop the heads off and discard the bodies, they are useless husks. Soothsayers tend to cry a lot, so poke out their eyes and rinse them of their lamentations. Bash their faces until bloody.

Add the maggots to the pan and whisk to dissolve, until aromatic. Then add the soothsayer heads and flayed senator to the pitch and oil along with the mustard, pepper and paprika. Reduce to low heat and cook until the deviling is coagulated.

Meanwhile, decapitate the simonious popes. This is easy as their heads come stuffed in a rock. The heads are bitter and disgusting, but their bodies are juicy and fat. Hold their feet to the fire until golden brown and demonic. Pro tip: use a simoniac rock to beat the soothsayers in step 4; just make sure all the pope has been removed first.

Un-entomb the heretics (careful: they are usually still on fire!) and hack them to pieces, along with the cardinal.

Mix together the popes, cardinals and heretics in a large bowl. Zest the leprous scabs into this mixture and then add everything to the boiling water.

Boil for 10,000 years, or until the wailing and gnashing of teeth subsides. Add the thawed traitor’s head and continue to simmer for 10,000 more years until whimpering.

Stir the deviled reduction into the gallimaufry and serve immediately. Add sulfur sauce to taste.

Enjoy!

Follow the Abecedary on other platforms! Visit the Abecedary at abecedarycomic.com to see the uncensored version of this week’s comic! Follow the Abecedary on social media: Facebook Twitter Instagram

Recipe for Deviled Gallimaufry

A heaping of deviled gallimaufry big enough for the whole brood! Smokey, spicy, meaty and unrepentant, get ready to cook up a sinfully good dinner right in your corner of Hell! You can’t have too many family dinner recipes; and one that uses locally-sourced ingredients! There’s always room for that!

Sponsored Content This post is sponsored by Sabbatic Goat. Sabbatic Goat is the preferred app for planning your next arcane ritual, summoning, or infernal convocation. Download Sabbatic Goat in the app store today and use promo code ABCDRY to receive 13% off your first union of opposites. Contains in-app blood pacts.

Why a Gallimaufry?

One of the first routines to fall by the wayside when I’m being tormented for an eternity is family dinner, which is a shame, because I have bestial craving for it. It’s hard to justify the time spent catching popes, striking unspeakable deals, and making a reduction for dinner, when my clan’s hunger can never be sated. Still, I inevitably perk up and feel better when I make these things. They’re reminders that the varieties of suffering are endless. And there’s nothing like a hot meal on cold nights infinitely removed from God’s light, pure and simple.

My unholy spawn can’t get enough deviled gallimaufry. While I’m cooking, they can barely resist clawing and rending my body to pieces in their impatience. My big boy especially loves the pitch-soaked slabs of senator. His wretched probosci wetly funnel hocks of meat into a maw that never stops gnawing. His younger brother loves to settle on dinner like a putrid mist, rotting everything and causing great blooms of mold, just the way he likes it. My husband, the Deceiver, always breaks out in a vessel-popping rictus grin when I put this dish on the supper table, and our littlest one can’t wait to drag a steaming bowl of gallimaufry back to her cage. With her thousand mouths it’s a guarantee she’ll be rattling her chains for seconds soon enough!

gallimaufry, n. 1. A dish made by hashing up odds and ends of food; a hodge-podge, a ragout.

“The Devil mince me into a Galli-mafry, if I do not tremble for fear.”  — 'The third book of the works of Mr. Francis Rabelais, Doctor in Physick containing the heroick deeds of Pantagruel the son of Gargantua', François Rabelais, transl. Thomas Urquhart (1693)

[abecedarycomic]

Recipe for Deviled Gallimaufry

A heaping of deviled gallimaufry big enough for the whole brood! Smokey, spicy, meaty and unrepentant, get ready to cook up a sinfully good dinner right in your corner of Hell! You can’t have too many family dinner recipes; and one that uses locally-sourced ingredients! There’s always room for that!

Sponsored Content This post is sponsored by Sabbatic Goat. Sabbatic Goat is the preferred app for planning your next arcane ritual, summoning, or infernal convocation. Download Sabbatic Goat in the app store today and use promo code ABCDRY to receive 13% off your first union of opposites. Contains in-app blood pacts.

Why a Gallimaufry?

One of the first routines to fall by the wayside when I’m being tormented for an eternity is family dinner, which is a shame, because I have bestial craving for it. It’s hard to justify the time spent catching popes, striking unspeakable deals, and making a reduction for dinner, when my clan’s hunger can never be sated. Still, I inevitably perk up and feel better when I make these things. They’re reminders that the varieties of suffering are endless. And there’s nothing like a hot meal on cold nights infinitely removed from God’s light, pure and simple.

My unholy spawn can’t get enough deviled gallimaufry. While I’m cooking, they can barely resist clawing and rending my body to pieces in their impatience. My big boy especially loves the pitch-soaked slabs of senator. His wretched probosci wetly funnel hocks of meat into a maw that never stops gnawing. His younger brother loves to settle on dinner like a putrid mist, rotting everything and causing great blooms of mold, just the way he likes it. My husband, the Deceiver, always breaks out in a vessel-popping rictus grin when I put this dish on the supper table, and our littlest one can’t wait to drag a steaming bowl of gallimaufry back to her cage. With her thousand mouths it’s a guarantee she’ll be rattling her chains for seconds soon enough!

Follow the Abecedary on other platforms! Visit the Abecedary at abecedarycomic.com to see the uncensored version of this week’s comic! Follow the Abecedary on social media: Facebook Twitter Instagram

Deviled Gallimaufry Ingredient List

1 gallon fetid water

½ cup extra virgin oil

2 cups pitch

½ cup boiled blood with extra pulp of tyrants

1 handful of maggots

1 cup soothsayer heads

½ pound flayed senator

3 simonious popes

1 avaricious cardinal

2 charbroiled heretics, entombed

3 ounces leprous scabs of an alchemist

1 head of frozen traitor

1 pound sodium

1 tablespoon mustard seed

¼ cup ground black pepper

¼ cup smoked hot paprika

Sulfur sauce

Deviled Gallimaufry Preparation Instructions

Toss the sodium into a large pot of fetid water and bring to a rolling boil.

Whisk the extra virgin oil, pitch and boiled blood together, over medium high heat in a stained steel pan.

From the feet of uncommitted sinners, harvest 1 handful of maggots and mince until fine.

Soothsayer heads come attached to their body, twisted backwards in the packaging. Pop the heads off and discard the bodies, they are useless husks. Soothsayers tend to cry a lot, so poke out their eyes and rinse them of their lamentations. Bash their faces until bloody.

Add the maggots to the pan and whisk to dissolve, until aromatic. Then add the soothsayer heads and flayed senator to the pitch and oil along with the mustard, pepper and paprika. Reduce to low heat and cook until the deviling is coagulated.

Meanwhile, decapitate the simonious popes. This is easy as their heads come stuffed in a rock. The heads are bitter and disgusting, but their bodies are juicy and fat. Hold their feet to the fire until golden brown and demonic. Pro tip: use a simoniac rock to beat the soothsayers in step 4; just make sure all the pope has been removed first.

Un-entomb the heretics (careful: they are usually still on fire!) and hack them to pieces, along with the cardinal.

Mix together the popes, cardinals and heretics in a large bowl. Zest the leprous scabs into this mixture and then add everything to the boiling water.

Boil for 10,000 years, or until the wailing and gnashing of teeth subsides. Add the thawed traitor’s head and continue to simmer for 10,000 more years until whimpering.

Stir the deviled reduction into the gallimaufry and serve immediately. Add sulfur sauce to taste.

Enjoy!

gallimaufry, n. 1. A dish made by hashing up odds and ends of food; a hodge-podge, a ragout.

“The Devil mince me into a Galli-mafry, if I do not tremble for fear.”  — 'The third book of the works of Mr. Francis Rabelais, Doctor in Physick containing the heroick deeds of Pantagruel the son of Gargantua', François Rabelais, transl. Thomas Urquhart (1693)