#. . .I hate that no one fucking stamps passports anymore

[casquecest]

I'm off M-W next week, and I am either off this Sunday completely or done by 5 PM, and so I am now contemplating going on a wee trip.

[secretsofthedarkestkind-arch]

Elena starter for @storieswrittcn​ (this may or may not have gotten away from me, Remember you said you like novella. I also took part of the ramble part one but altered it also)

We are outsiders Living inside a broken world We are outsiders And I know sometimes it can hurt But it gets better yeah we'll make it through We'll stay golden when we're black and blue We are outsiders But we're not hiding anymore This is who we really are

It had been fifteen years since she’d seen either of her brothers face to face. Fifteen years since Lee had spoken to the eldest. Fifteen years since she had thought of Mystic Falls, thought of all the ghosts that lurked within the town's shadows. Lee Salvatore had made it a habit to push anything regarding her brothers, that town, or their past to the deepest recesses of her mind. She had built life after life without them, embracing the warped gift of eternity. She hadn’t truly looked back after she’d transitioned. Finally able to become who she really was without the suffocating opinions of the church, her community, or her family.

It wasn’t an easy journey. Slow in it’s progression. Lee’s aunt had always told her she was a soul gifted before it’s proper time; her sexuality, the way she was born, her passion and skill when it came to art, her desire to see the world. None of it fit in the 1800’s. But as times changed pieces of Lee started to belong. Each change brought new opportunities, allowing Lee to start to put herself together. 

She was still an outsider, still judged--but what else would you expect living in a broken world? What didn’t fit into the neat little boxes of people’s minds, what didn’t fit the societal norm, was still given so much hate. The only difference was now there were those who fought for equality, unafraid to use their voices to promote change. Those people gave Lee hope, gave her strength. Finding those people throughout the last 145 years had shaped her.

Lee Salvatore was still an outsider, but she was also so much more. She was an artist, one with more alias’ than she could count on both hands. She was a college graduate, several degrees tucked away in a safe. She was a traveler, passports filled with stamps and a mind filled with memories she had never imagined to have. But most of all, Lee was finally able to look in the mirror and accept the person she saw; the youngest Salvatore was who she truly was. She held no more self hate. No more whispers of ghosts past haunted her. She was an outsider, but she wasn’t hiding who she really was anymore.

While Lee had taken the road of self discovery, her brothers’ hadn’t. They’d been living in a siblings quarrel, at least Damon was. Stefan suffered at every turn at their brothers hand whenever they fell into each other's orbit or Damon specifically sought him out. Lee was drugged into it whenever Damon crossed too many lines, risking their exposure to the world. 

Stefan had called her no more than seven hours ago asking for her help. There was a trail of bodies leading straight to town, ‘animal attacks’ that couldn’t be explained were catching the eye of news outlets. She hadn’t even known Stefan was back in Mystic Falls. When Lee asked him why he couldn’t just leave, he explained there was something holding him in Mystic Falls that didn’t allow him to--something that could finally give him a sense of belonging--and refused to believe the attacks were Damon. All he wanted was for Lee to be there with him, help keep the spotlight off their kind. The vampire might loathe her brothers, wanting nothing more for them to be miserable, but she wasn’t going to allow Damon to out them. 

Which is why Lee was driving down the main strip on her motorcycle. The town was busy; teens scattered across the storefronts trying to enjoy their last hours of summer vacation. She came to a stop at one of the only stoplights in town, rolling her shoulders dreading whatever was to come when she reached the boarding house. The youngest Salvatore felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand, a shiver going down her spine, every nerve ending coming to life in a way she hadn’t experienced in years. Lee let her head turn to the right, following the pull of whatever was happening.

‘What…” The lithe form of a brunette teen who was walking beside another girl was at the center of her focus. “Turn around.” Lee knew the brunette couldn’t hear her words. Her plea was answered as she turned, eyes almost searching. Those eyes, that’s what did it. “Who are you?” A horn from behind her snapped Lee out of her trance, for a nanosecond the two locked eyes. The vampire’s eyes hidden behind her aviators. The next Lee was pulling off, possibly faster than she should have been. Now she had the true answer of why Stefan refused to leave. 

----

Lee placed a few notebooks, her sketchbook, and a few pens into her satchel--the one she’d had since she was a teen; a gift from her aunt she’d never been able to part with. She glanced up at the ceiling hearing Stefan’s footsteps on the roof. A sigh left her lips, why had she agreed to this? She was roughly 160 years old and able to enroll herself in a Small Town America High School. It was ridiculous; a complete stalker move. There had to be other ways for Stefan to get to know this girl, if that’s even what he was truly hoping to do. For how Stef had explained the situation, Lee could tell he was only doing this because of Katherine.

Subconsciously her thumb started to play with the band of her daylight ring. She was thankful for the chance of life Katherine Pierce had given her but there was so much Lee wished was different. Shaking her head to break out of her thoughts she moved toward her closet to get dressed. Lee scanned through her options, To be me or be who society thinks I should be? It was a debate she hadn’t had in a long time. To make this work she couldn’t disturb the waters between her and her brothers too much. A short laugh left her lips, that was a joke. The three couldn’t be in the same room without starting something. As it was right now, it was just two of them. With that thought in mind Lee grabbed an outfit that would be her. 

Guys white wash skinny jeans that weren’t too tight to show her tuck, a grey and white hooded baseball tee that had a pocket on the left chest, her grey vans, and her black leather jacket she’s had since the 90’s. She finished the look with a black watch. One more look in the mirror and she was pocketing her phone with one hand and slipped her satchel over her shoulder with the other.

She knew Stefan would already be off. His stalker-like tendencies being on overdrive since the ‘animal attack’ last night after Lee had arrived. She ignored Zack who was in his office and headed to the garage, she wasn’t going to run to the school. There wasn’t anything wrong with arriving in style.

-------

Stefan met her in the parking lot. Lee took her helmet off and ran her fingers through her hair, glancing at her brother, her own sunglasses covering her eyes. “Why do you always insist on dressing like that?” He asked, judgement clear in his voice. 

“This is me Stefan. You know that. Let it go. You asked for my help so take me as I am or I get on this bike and leave.” She told him. Lee wasn’t going to put up with his judgement. The world had given her enough of that. Plus her brother had already had his fair share of giving her judgement when they were younger. “I hope you know what you’re doing.” Lee stated, “This is definitely traveling into creeper status.” Stefan didn’t answer, just turned to walk through the crowd of students covering the lawn reconnecting after a summer away. She moved into step beside him, she knew they stood out; leather jackets, both well built and confident in their strides, the aurora of not giving a fuck rolling off them both. 

They finally found their way to the admissions office, standing shoulder to shoulder. Stefan handed over the file that was supposed to hold all they needed but Lee knew was missing more than a few things. She wondered which of the two would compel the woman. Stefan could but where all he drank was Bambi and Co blood who knew how long it would last. Lee sighs, she’s ready to make the move when something behind them stops her. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, her nerves firing up again, and she felt that pull to turn around. She also could feel a warm buzz in the air, a witch.

“Hold up. Who’s this?” The first female says, the witch.

The secretary’s voice brings her back to what’s in front of her, saying exactly what she knew was coming. “Your records are incomplete. You’re both missing immunization records and we do insist on transcripts.” Lee glances at Stefan out of the corner of her eye. The last transcripts she had were college one's back in the 1980’s. She hadn’t done high school since the late 70’s and that was only to get into Yale. Their art programs the top in the country. 

Thoughts of the past make her miss her chance, Stefan is taking his sunglasses off, “Please look again,” Lee adjusts her satchel hoping Stefan can do this right. “I’m sure everything you need for both of us is there.” Lee chews the inside of her lower lip, her free hand moving to remove her sunglasses just in case. 

The secretary looks back down, “Well you’re right.” Lee tucks her sunglasses into the collar of her shirt as the woman looks back up at her brother. “So it is.” Stefan-1, Humanity-0.

“Thank you,” Stefan, ever the polite one, says. As they turn to go, Lee glances over at her brother’s schedule. Seems they have all but one class together--Lee has art and Stefan a creative writing course. That works.

“You’re welcome,’ The secretary says, her eyes landing on the two teens in the hall. “Ahh! Miss Bennett, Miss Gilbert I’m glad you’re here. Do you think you could show our two newest students around?” She stands up from behind her desk to walk around to the siblings. “This is Lee and Stefan Salvatore. I think they both have a few classes with you both.” Lee takes in who she now know as a Bennett witch, why the magic felt warm. She gives the teen a charming smile before the pull is to much, her head being forced to turn to the brunette beside her. The vampire takes her in, all she can see is someone new. Lee doesn’t see Katherine when she looks at her. “Hi,” The charming smile turning into a much softer one. “I’m Lee.” She offers her hand to the girl.

[pinencurls]

Feels Like Home

Hiii this is another one shot I had in my drafts for awhile, hope u enjoy!! 

A trip to visit Bestfriend!Harry pulls up feelings from the past.

To find places that feel like home when you're so far away from your own is always a blessing. I often find myself cooped up in train carriages for long empty hours travelling up and down the country - sometimes to nearby neighbouring countries too, with only a book and the view for company. Work in the photography and journalism industry can take you pretty much anywhere, photoshoots and research pieces usually mean I have to travel frequently. I've probably spent more weekends in hotels the past few years than I have in my small London flat, its lavender walls presenting more as a storage place these days and occasional safe haven for when I return.

Most of it is manageable - and exciting, really really exciting. A few times a year a piece will land me in the States and away from my bubble of European arts and culture. The company I work for has a New York branch outside of the London one, so in the times that I find myself flying miles away from home, I'm lucky enough to be welcomed by one of my oldest friends' open arms - and his guest room.

Harry works a lot too, splitting time between London and New York, but on this trip - as always, he's sworn an evening out of his day to pick me up from the airport. I don't get to see much of him anymore, we grew up spending every summer in each other's houses, our parents' old friends from university, but he moved away three years before me and never came back, at least not in the same way that allowed youthful abandon to drive us into the woods to build forts and swim in the river, or make us forget how old we were and fall asleep on his mum's old sofa watching questionable rom coms. I'd happily slip back into our shared holiday practises - every time I visit him there's a shadow of nostalgia when he brings two teas and a joint out to the living room, the same smirk clear on his now slightly unshaven face.

I try to focus on that moment, only a few hours away now. We'll spend tonight and tomorrow together before he can't miss any more studio sessions and I have to report to the office and start my week of work - an article on the rise of youth activists in underprivileged areas of the city. It's a heavy topic but something I've been interested in for a while - I love the music and cultural subjects I've written on before but I've wanted to branch out into a more political field for awhile now. Sandy, my editor, assigned me this a few days ago, a smirk on her face when she nonchalantly delivered it to my desk Monday morning.

. ... . .

My arms are folded up against my chest at an unnatural angle - I've spent the last hour like this in an attempt not to elbow the snoring banker to my left who is, undoubtedly, taking up more than his fair share of the three-seat row. I can't see much good coming from waking him to point this fact out so I stay settled in my awkward position. An eight-hour flight in the middle seat was never going to be comfortable anyway.

My morning had been typically rushed, I missed breakfast in favour of catching my flight before it left without me and found myself bustling through the crowds of families, business people and tourists that fill the airport as soon as I leapt out of the taxi. I didn't have to check any luggage in so sped through security straight to the gate being called overhead. I swear I've got to stop booking early flights if I'm never going to wake up in time to get a croissant from Pret en route.

I turn my focus to the phone in my hands and slip my headphones over my ears. There's only an hour left until we land, seeing no point in starting an inflight movie now, I open my "calm times" playlist and close my eyes. Soon I'll be sleeping on an unnecessarily expensive mattress bigger than this whole row.

. ... . .

"Excuse me, M'am?" The chipper voice of a flight attendant wakes me up, slightly muffled under the Adrienne Lenker song that continues to play through my headphones. The seat to my right, previously filled by a woman a few years older than me, is empty. On my other side, the suit-wearing man spreader is starting to stir. "We'll be landing shortly, please secure your seatbelts and pack away any loose items."

I stumble over a quick 'Thanks' as she leans out of our row and moves on to the next, her perfect customer service smile ready again. The missing woman makes her way down the aisle towards us and takes her seat, she seems hurried and agitated. Out the corner of my eye, I watch as she wrings her hands a few times, sighing heavily and leaning back in her seat. A nervous flyer. I lean over and pull my bag up from the small slot under the seat ahead and slide the book I'd taken out hours before, not having read a page of, back on top of my sweater and the wine gums I'd bought as a makeshift breakfast in my final flurry before boarding.

Overhead, the usual pre-landing announcements chime as people clip in their seatbelts and slip superstitious remedies between their lips. Suited man spreader has chosen a particularly eye-watering peppermint gum to finish our flight off with.

Closing my eyes I focus on the quiet music, too distant to take me out of my body as it's interrupted by the chatter of excited travellers and constant beeps around me. I don't hate flying, but I have developed a favoured fondness of trains. I've seen the ins and out of so many towns and mindlessly people watched for hours, always having the option to hop off at the next station and stretch my legs if any part of the journey is particularly unbearable or a city is too enticing to leave unexplored.

I fiddle with the two buttons along the side of my phone for a second, raising the volume a little and willing my thoughts away from the swooping plane as the familiar wary feeling settles in the pit of my stomach. Maybe I'm a nervous flyer too. But, with a clunk and a slight wobble, we're back on the ground. I keep my eyes shut a little longer, knowing the gridlock of impatient passengers to come is unavoidable. The orange light above me dims and I release the seat belt that had been cutting tightly into my shoulder. The woman beside me is noticeably calmer and we share a giddy - we're strangers but we're smiling at each other - look for a second.

I call Harry when I'm through baggage claim, having packed only a rucksack and a small duffel - both fitting as hand luggage, I head straight through customs where the queues are just starting to build up. I beeline to a near-empty desk on the far right as the dial tone rings against my ear for the third time-

"Hello!" Harry greets down the phone, his voice sounds far away, most likely using the speakers in his car whilst he parks - "M' just parking, love."

"I just got to customs, I'll be ten minutes - meet you outside yeah?"

"I was gonna come in, I'll only be a second." He always pushes to meet me before I make it out the airport, obsessed over the classic reunion scene from all his favourite rom coms. It was well-intended and actually really sweet but it wasn't worth the risk of new rumours being spread across the gossip sites if photos got out of Harry Styles meeting a 'mystery girl' at the airport, as I'd previously been labelled the few times shots of us out dancing in the city or talking over lunch in L.A had gotten out. Harry's protective over his private life and I prefer to keep out of his public one.

"I'm almost through customs...I'll literally be one minute Harry, just wait in the car - wait a sec..." I hold the phone up against my shoulder when I'm beckoned towards the free customs desk, smiling politely and sliding my passport towards the teller. I reply 'work' to her question and thank her when she pushes it back to me, freshly stamped with red ink. "-Okay I'm out, are you by the taxi bit again - you know you're not actually allowed to park there?"

"Actually I'm just...oh god you really are blind aren't you?" He laughs down the line, I look up, confused and only halfway across the long white room towards the exit. Even amongst the crowds, there's an unmistakable figure waving from the benches to the side, phone in hand. "Hey."

I laugh and hang up, slinging my duffel over my shoulder and making my way over to where Harry is now standing, an infamous grin etched across his face. Before I can complain about just how close I am to the car park already, he leans down and engulfs me in a hug.

"Been a while, hmm?" Out of instinct, my arms wrap around him and hold tight. He's right, it's been almost five months since we last saw each other in person. I was away the last few times he came home to London and he's always jetted back to L.A for important meetings by the time I'm on my way back. "Missed you, lovie."

Pulling away to get a better look at him, I rest my hands on his shoulders, his hair's a little longer, and he looks tired but cheery - as usual.

"I missed you too." There's that weird hesitant few second feeling when neither of us breaks eye contact and for a moment it suddenly feels surreal to have each other as real people you can touch and hold.

"Now help me with this bag - the flight fucking murdered my back."

He misses a beat and my duffel hits his leg abruptly, he grunts and grumbles for a second before picking it up and draping his free hand over my shoulder, turning us to face the exit. I forget for a moment that the group of very unsubtle girls on the other side of the room will fuel the newest dating rumour by the morning with photos of Harry pulling my against his side and holding my hand casually - like every few days out of the year we get to spend in each other company, it feels like we're fifteen again and blur into the background, too caught up in our own conversations to notice anybody else.

"Come on - I reckon someone's already pissed that I'm parked in the taxi rank."

... . .

It's late in my jetlagged brain, but not late enough in the city to miss the last bit of rush hour traffic. Harry taps his ringed fingers against the steering wheel to the beat of Peter Gabriels 'Sledgehammer.' I've pulled my knees up to my chest and slouched against the passenger door staring up at the busy lights and cloudy sky. My eyelids dip momentarily, the blurred scenery lulling me out of focus.

"Don't fall asleep on me, I've got a nice dinner planned yet." Harry protests, squeezing my hand in his, eyes on the road as he lifts and moves our now intertwined hands in the air, swaying along to the final chorus playing through his iPhone."C'mon, a little bit of Peter Gabriel should wake you up."

"I hate Peter Gabriel," I mumble and pull my hand from his, poking his cheek when he lets out an exaggerated gasp. I can't help but laugh at his appalled expression, too distracted to object when he pulls my hand back into his and continues his fun as the speakers click and a new song comes on.

Our faces glow yellow against the street lights. My legs ache and my head feels heavy - I tilt it back against the window and watch as Harry sings along to an old Scott Mckenzie song. He's let our hands fall against my seat now, focusing on the busy roads as he turns closer to his apartment. I notice now, for the first time, his subtle disguise; the grey hoodie and dark shades pushed back in his hair. He looks...soft. He laughs when he slips off-key and shoots me a glance, smiling again when he takes in my half-asleep state. He squeezes my hand, his rings are cold and clunky and wake me up a little. I peer out at the road ahead - Harry lives fairly near the airport so we must be getting close, the cafes start to look familiar and I figure we're only a few minutes from home, and sleep.

I wake again at the jolt of the car stopping and the consistent white noise of the engine cutting off when Harry's keys clatter against each other. His door opens and shuts - I think I'm awake?

I must have shifted slightly in my sleep because when the passenger door swings open I stay upright against the seat. I look up to see Harry's hand stretched out towards me.

"C'mon, missing my luxury homemade dinner s'gonna be a lot more comfortable in a real bed" He teases, his smile yet to leave since I first saw him twenty minutes ago sat on that bench - sticking out despite his 'disguise'

I take his hand and tumble slightly haphazardly to stand, looking up briefly to see Harry with both my bags over one shoulder, lifting his free arm to wrap around me. We start towards his building, moving easily through the lobby and into the elevator. I look up again from where my head's resting on his shoulder, surrounded by his hoodie. Yeah, he looks...soft.

When we get inside I head straight to the guest room, nudged forwards by Harry's instructions for me to get some rest before he starts dinner - I've stayed in Harry's apartment enough times to know my way around fairly well, the guest room, where I always stay, is down the hall on the left. The bed is made and there's a fluffy white robe folded on the nightstand. Already head to toe in comfy travel wear, I clamber under the duvet and breathe in the freshly washed sheets - washing detergent with a hint of Harry's vanilla aftershave. My eyes are heavy and my thoughts wander a little. It feels like home.

... . .

When I open my eyes, it's to a darker room. Harry must have come in and closed the curtains while I was asleep, my bags have been leant up against the dresser too. I sit up and look around the room, rubbing my knuckles against my eyelids, still groggy from sleep, but hungry now, the lack of a real breakfast and unsatisfying plane food catching up to me. The alarm on the bedside table reads nine pm, I'd been asleep for almost an hour - I change out of my well-worn flight clothes and into a sweater and soft grey jogging bottoms Harry had left at my London flat last time he stayed over, although it'd been long enough ago they might as well be mine by now.

The kitchen sounds get louder as I make my way out of the guest room and down the hall, yawning into the crook of my elbow amidst pulling a soft yellow scrunchie off my wrist and taming my hair into a lazy, loose ponytail. Harry's occasional grumbles and soft singing fill my ears when I reach the end of the hall and get the full sight of him, in just a t-shirt and jeans now, leaning over a pan of spaghetti trying to twist a strand onto the fork in his hand before dangling in into his mouth with a light hum.

"How's it going, chef?" He turns to see me, eyes wide as he fingers the end of the pasta into his mouth and smirks down at me.

"S'good, was just about to come get you," He turns momentarily to fiddle with what looks like courgette and red pepper frying in a pan behind the spaghetti before looking back at me and motioning for me to bring him the plates he'd left stacked on the counter.

He mixes the courgette, pepper and a fresh-looking tomato sauce into the main pot and stirs it all together before filling my plate up and handing it back to me - all while looking incredibly pleased with himself. He nods over to the table and I set my plate down, taking two wine glasses from beside him and filling them with the wine he's just opened. After double-checking the stove's been turned off safely and our glasses are full, Harry takes the seat in front of me.

"So-" He starts, smiling up at me over the gorgeous dinner set in front of us. "How're you?"

A burst of laughter escapes my lips at the situation, We hadn't been in the same room for months and within the first hour of reuniting I'd fallen asleep, now we were sat down to dinner, ready to discuss our day like old times.

"I'm good, sorry I fell asleep before we could talk," He chuckles before taking a sip of wine, we hear about each other's lives at least once a week - usually phone calls when our jet lag causes our time zones to match up, and always texts throughout the week - this kind of small talk seems silly when I'd spoken to him just this morning before my flight. "How's your mum and Gem?"

"They're well, haven't seen Mum in a little while, every time I call she always seems more interested in you," He replies between bites of spaghetti, "Apparently you're quite the enigma these days."

"Wha-How!" Anne was like a sister to my mum so our families were always close growing up, she often acted just as motherly to me and my sister as she did her own children.

"You don't call anymore." Harry smirks, recalling a frequently used quote from Anne herself.

"That's such I lie - I saw her a few weeks ago when she came down to see Gem and I always call, it's hard you know, I have my own parents to keep track of too."

Harry laughs at this, pleased to have his mothers attention shifted from his own absence for once.

"I'm not sure, apparently she's been gossiping with your mum and you're never home anymore." He must not notice the irony of his words because he's hosting the smuggest expression, staring back at me over his glass.

"Hey - you disappeared first, I'm allowed to have my turn." I fire back, shaking my head jokily.

Harry doesn't seem to catch my light tone though, or he's not keen on my choice of words. He turns rigid opposite me and stares back, agitation brimming in his gaze.

"What's that mean?" He's not bubbly and blushing anymore, sober now with a steady assertive tone as he questions me.

"Come on Harry, m' just joking, relax," He doesn't. "You moved away years before me and never came back, it's not exactly a secret, I didn't mean anything by it."

His fork clatters when it lands on his plate. He puffs out a heavy breath of air before speaking up again, making no effort to hide is disdain this time.

"Fuck off, I came back." I look up to watch him, he hardly curses outside of mild frustration or a lighthearted voice, this is different. "That's not fair and you know it."

"I'm not blaming you Harry I was just making a joke - forget it." The remaining food on my plate is an unsuccessful distraction, nothing's enough to stop Harry when he starts.

"No, you always do this. I didn't disappear, I was working for five years and then I continued to work after that, I came home as much as I could so don't pretend I was all aloof or something." I'm used to holding his gaze through an argument, and this is an argument we've had before - "It was my job to travel for months at a time, you can't blame me for not being around every time we see each other like I just ran off and never called."

"So it's not work for me then?" I shoot back, instantly angry that he finds it so easy to offload all the blame onto me when he's the one who made a meaningless comment into a fight in the first place. "And it fucking felt like that."

Harry's quiet. I finish the last of my wine and pour a second glass.

"I came back."

"Not properly." I put my glass down and massage my fingertips over my temple, this isn't the time to unpack childhood grudges. "I'm only here for a week, can we not fight...please?"

Neither of us speaks for a few moments, my words linger in the air. We never have much longer than a few weeks together before one of us is off again, there's never going to be time to confront that stuff. The transition between only having Harry a few hours away, treating his home like mine on the weekends me and my sister, Ellie, would visit him and Gem and moaning our way through hellish GCSEs together (he was a year ahead so always had a little more to complain about) to him travelling the world and everyone knowing his name was almost nonexistent. It all happened so abruptly, Harry went to London for a few days to film his follow up audition and never came back. I didn't see him until the Christmas of that year, by which time he'd already moved into a place in London and experienced so much that it was hard to act like anything would ever be the same again.

"What did I do wrong, just tell me and I'll fix it, please," Harry begs, earnest as he finally speaks up.

"I don't blame you for anything Harry, I didn't mean it like that..."I sigh, wringing my hands out as nervously as the women beside me hours before on the plane. "Let's just have dinner, yeah? It's really nice Har."

We finish our food with a little more small talk, he asks how Ellie's doing even though he already knows from Gemma's updates that's he engaged now and thinking about moving to London, I ask after a few of his bandmates I met last time I was in L.A. Things are too quiet when we lay down on his sofa to watch the notebook for the 20th time. Neither of us recites the lines we know off by heart and always mock - the air hangs heavy with the lingering anxiety of an argument we're never going to settle, we sit apart stiffly and far too composed for film nights we've shared since we were kids before heading our separate ways to bed.

... . .

Work goes well, the young people I talk to pretty much write the article for me with how much insight they offer up. There are so many parts to the topic that deserve to be covered well that my workdays and evenings at Harry's blur together and soon I've emailing my final draft to Sandy for notes and packing for the airport.

Neither Harry or I have brought the first nights argument up and it looks like it'll be brushed under the rug before I leave tonight. There's been a definite cloud over the last week - I think a more before I speak and Harry's eyes linger on me a little longer when I do.

He stills seems frustrated by our fight, I can't blame him, I am too. He's sat on the sofa with a guitar in his lap, going unplayed as his eyes trail after my last-minute rush around the apartment to gather together all my possessions that had found themselves seeping out into his home over the past week. He watches closely, contemplating whether to speak or just let me go like nothing happened.

"Have you seen my sweater?" I call from the guest room, the wardrobe's empty and my bags are laying on the coffee table in front of Harry - my sweater missing from both.

"The one you brought with you?"

He appears in the doorway, leaning against the frame of the door and peering down at where I'm kneeling before the bed, searching through the very empty and sweaterless dresser, humming a response back at him.

"Yeah, that'd be mine." I snap my head back to look at him, he must be joking.

"Um no, it's mine," He smirks, eyes still sad but fainter now in the looseness of the moment. "I've had it for years, I bought it in Amsterdam in that little thrift store by the cafe with the really good bagels."

"No," He chastises. "I bought it in Amsterdam in that little thrift shop by the cafe with the really good bagels, and you took it home when you left."

He's definitely wrong. Sure I might not remember all of the trip I took to Amsterdam to visit him on tour, but I remember the hours we spent traipsing through thrift store on his day off munching on really good bagels.

"Wrong - please return it now, kindly." I stand and hold out my palm to him.

"No can do," He grins, nudges my hand away from him to fall limply by my side.

"Harry, come on!" I whine, letting my maturity slip slightly as my patience lessens. "I'm already running late, I've gotta finish packing and I can't miss my flight."

"Why not?" He challenges, smiling still but paired with a serious tone now.

"Because, I'm not about to swim back to London."

"No, why can't you stay?" My hand wavers slightly at my side, I'm not sure if he's joking or I can hear sincerity in his voice - it reminds me too much of his solemn begging from Saturday night. "Just stay, a little longer."

He's asked me to before in the past. He isn't afraid to try and steal another day off of me to tag along to an artist friend of his' show the next night or just to get dinner at a restaurant I 'couldn't miss'. On occasion, I've given in to his pestering and rearranged a flight for a few days later. I could, I could. I'd just handed in my work for the week and it was only Friday morning, I won't be needed again until Monday. Flight's would be ridiculously expensive to change this late though, and this 'stay a little longer' felt less for the sake of good food and his favourite spin class and more of a, we need to talk - 'stay a little longer.'

"I can't," I reply simply, closing off the conversation by brushing past him into the hall towards his own room in search of my stolen sweater.

"I'll pay for your flight back." Harrys voice trails after me. "You've worked hard all week, you can afford to take the weekend off."

"I cant." I brush off again, avoiding his gaze as I scan over the room in front of me, heading to his tall chest of draws first and pulling open the one I know is filled with jumpers.

"I want to talk," Harry says softly. He lifts one arm from where he has them crossed over his chest and motions to the chair in the far corner, I investigate and sure enough, my sweater is tucked under a small pile of t-shirts. "Love, you can't ignore me."

"M' not, we're talking aren't we?" I'm just hovering in the middle of the room now, sweater in hand but Harry's tall figure blocks my way out adamantly.

"You know what I mean,"

"Harry, I can't-"

"I'm not letting you leave like this again." He takes a few steps across the room as he talks, "You said we couldn't fight cos you're only here a week, so stay a little longer."

"I don't want to fight." I shake my head, pulling my hand away when he reaches out for it.

"Then we'll just talk."

He's got that determined, soulful look about him. He reaches for my hand again and I let him, he brushes his fingertips over my knuckles lightly. His other hand comes up to my face and guides my head to look at him, still peering down at me expectantly.

Harry and I have always been open with one another. There was never enough time to tiptoe around what was bothering us when he was only home for a few weeks before work or another tour called again. Our parents always joke that we were twins separated at birth, the way we used to huddle in the garden as little kids and whisper to each other. He's my best friend, no matter how far apart we are he never hesitates to talk through his troubles with me, sure there are times we drift with our schedules, but there's too much pulling us back together for it to last long.

"I can't," It's a whisper, but he's close enough to hear it. I pull my hand from his and turn my head to the side. Inhaling, it's far too shakey to hide my nerves and before I can control it there are tears stinging my eyes.

"Love-" Harry coos, fighting my own hand to clear the tears from my cheeks.

"-I can't, Harry I," I say again, the lump in my throat making my words sound choked. He's looking down at me with that sad soft expression again and I can't piece together how we got here. "I can't."

He pulls me into his chest. His arms rest around my shoulders and he presses his face into my neck. He mumbling something but I can't make it out anymore, everything's warm and teary and slightly distorted by heavy breaths.

"We've gotta talk....we've gotta talk," He gets louder, "Love?"

I pull back to see his face. There's a red blush over his nose and cheeks and his eyelashes shine where they're wet. I push back, creating some space between us and clearing my throat.

"I didn't mean anything, we don't have to-I shouldn't have said what I did, I'm not angry, and I have no right to be so can we just, can we please just forget it?"

He shakes his head lightly, rubbing his hands against the back of his neck and standing straighter, feeling taller and intimidating.

"It's more than that, you know," He's swallowed the wobble in his voice, continuing to talk clearly now. "It's not about that, we've needed to talk for awhile - I don't want to leave it for weeks and weeks again, I can't keep pretending like nothing's going on."

"I've got a flight to catch Harry I really can't do this." I insist, walking around him and through the clear doorway, although his footsteps chase closely behind.

"Miss the flight!" Harry shouts as we make it to the living room and I start packing away the last few things on the coffee table. "I'll get you a ticket for Sunday night, just stay."

My throat burns when I push down another round of tears and furiously shove books down the side of my bag. Harry hovers to my side, fiddling with his rings and bouncing his knee back and forth.

"I love you."

I have a flight to catch. I have a flight to catch.

"Don't say it like that- I love you, of course, I love you too" I sigh, slowing down and turning to face him. "...my car's going to be here in fifteen minutes."

"No, I love you."

I have a flight to catch. I have a flight to catch.

"I have a flight to catch."

... . .

I feel shittier on the plane. I've got the window seat this time though so at least I can mope in peace. Not much more had been said after that, my car came, I thanked Harry for having me and our hug lasted longer than usual, again.

Maybe I should have stayed. Maybe I should have talked about the feelings that he'd noticed too before I left, or better yet, the first night I arrived. I'd spent hours stuck in an unproductive thought spiral on the subject over the years, we've had moments in the past, Christmas eves when we're the last ones up and the space between us dwindles down the further we get in our confessions or catching each other in a particularly domestic act in one our homes when it feels like it all just comes naturally and why isn't it like this with any of the guys I've dated?

It doesn't go unnoticed by us that we acted like a couple more often than we did close friends. Gemma and Ellie have confronted me, and most likely Harry too, together and separately for answers on several occasions. I always say the same thing - "We're just friends, we've always been close."

This time's different though. Harry's never brought the subject up outside of the jokes comparing us to his friends in relationships, he's always been in relationships and there's no chance of me broaching the issue of any potential romantic feelings I may or may not have for him while he's seeing somebody, even when he wasn't, it's not worth the risk of it all blowing up in my face and having to spend infinite Christmases in awkward humiliation.

I'd played with the idea of us as a couple, allowed myself to daydream about what it could be like for a few moments before reminding myself how low the possibility of Harry ever feeling the same is. Even if he did, the long-distance friendship we have now would never survive as a relationship - you can't go months without the person you're trying to build a life with.

But, maybe I should have stayed.

Maybe, when he told me he loved me, I should have been braver. In the one moment, it all finally felt clear and possible, and like I wasn't completely delusional and hopeless, I should have told him I love him too.

Either way, I have eight long, back aching hours ahead of me to decide.

[mymindsmadness]

This is actually the second time I’ve had to write this since near the end, MW decided it was going to crash and not save it last time… I have the worst luck with docs.

Anyway, hope you guys like part 2! I’ve been in kind of a writing slump lately and feel like it’s all been blah, but you guys seem to enjoy it lol

PART ONE

___________________________________

He looked the same, Harry couldn’t help but think as Draco sat opposite him, his body tight and facing the door in case he had to make a run for it. A little more distinguished, and the hairs around his temples had started to lighten from a cornsilk blond to a wispy silver. The colors blended together so well, Harry was sure no one would really notice but him, and only because he couldn’t look away.

The last time Harry had seen Draco in person had been the day of Draco’s release, though it had been one-sided. The night that Harry had left, Malfoy had made it more than clear that he had no intention of running away. As upsetting as the news had been to Harry, there was something admirable about it too. Things for Draco, and certainly the Malfoy’s as a whole, couldn’t have been easy. Still, he remained. He fought his demons and held his head high. Harry had watched as someone shoved Draco aside that day, spitting vicious things under their breath. Instead of retaliating (as Harry so desperately wanted to do), Draco brushed off the pressed edges of his suit and continued on. Harry couldn’t go to him after that, not when he saw how well Malfoy was doing.

He asked about him when he could - when Hermione or Ron managed to pin him down for a floo call. Ron always wrinkled his nose and changed the topic, but Hermione would simply eye him for a moment before complying.

As for Harry... well, he kept running. He wasn’t sure what he had been running to or from. All he knew was that he had to keep moving. It felt like there was phoenix fire in his heart and felix felicis in his veins. Each day brought a new adventure that landed him in a foreign place. Every now and then he would settle in for a week or so to tune up Sirius’s bike, but he always itched to move again. His hair had grown without him realizing, and his beard soon matched it. Harry found it easier to throw it back in a hair tie rather than cut it. When it reached his shoulders, he begun to see Sirius in his features. He couldn’t bring himself to cut it after that. The tattoos had started as tributes to his parents and fallen friends, but they soon became tokens of the places he visited. Each one was like a passport stamp, telling a story that had yet to be finished.

And now... now he was back. Despite the adventure, despite the fun, despite the freedom... it always came back to him. Then again, it always had come down to Draco Malfoy, hadn’t it? He was always part of Harry’s life; the opposite side of his coin. Harry bedded exotic men and women, some bearing a resemblance to Draco, some not. He had touched, and kissed, and fucked his way through more countries than he cared to admit... but it was never enough. No matter how amazing or new each encounter had been... it was always that night with Draco that would lull him to sleep. The feeling of Malfoy’s frowning lips against his own as Harry snogged the tension away. The strength in Draco’s arms as he squeezed tighter against Harry’s back, Sirius’s bike miles above the clouds. It had been the first time in Harry’s life that he had felt... free. He had been chasing that freedom ever since.

“Typically, when one invites someone out for tea, they have some semblance of conversation prepared. Or did you just invite me to this muggle cafe to watch me squirm? I hate to break it to you, Potter, but I no longer hold an animosity towards muggles.” Harry smiled deeply as he pulled a cigarette from his jacket pocket. He remained grinning around the filter as he watched Draco through the bright orange of his lighter’s flame.

“That’s good to know.” Harry offered simply, watching Malfoy squirm under his gaze. “You haven’t changed much otherwise. You’re still a spoiled prat.” Harry tossed out, mostly because he couldn’t help himself.

As predicted, Draco bristled, his spine straightening. “I’ll have you know that I am far from spoiled! I live in a very sensible flat and have given most of the Malfoy fortune to charity. Everything I own now is mine because I’ve earned it!”

“I know.” Harry cut him off calmly, the lines around his eyes deepening. “I’ve asked about you.” At this, Malfoy turned a flattering shade of pink, his spine relaxing.

“Well that’s... foolish, is what it is.” He fidgeted with the edge of his empty tea cup. “We haven’t spoken in a decade and one night of... youthful indiscretion does not make for any type of friendship.”  

“I told you, I’m not here for friendship. I came back for you, Draco.”

He wasn’t sure if it was the use of his given name, or the candidness of his words, but Draco’s whole body seemed to freeze, wide mercury eyes pinning Harry with something akin to fear and skepticism. Harry knew that he was coming on strong, but this had been ten years - no, twenty - in the making. He was tired of pretending, and dancing, and running.

“Bloody Gryffindors.” Malfoy’s slightly buttoned nose scrunched (something Harry found wholeheartedly endearing). “You don’t have to say everything that comes to mind! Some of us tend to think before the words make their way out into the world!” His voice was rising slightly, an edge of panic to them. “And what gives you the right - after all this - I could very well be involved! And you! You’re just here! All fit, and scruffy and calm! It used to be I couldn’t bloody well get you to shut up!”

“First of all, I told you, I’ve checked up on you. If you were involved I wouldn’t be here.” Harry offered, watching Malfoy through the smoke. “Secondly, I suppose I’ve learned over time to only say the things that I mean. And I do - mean it. Thirdly, you think I’m fit?”

“You’re mad.” Draco breathed, his gaze dropping away with a shake of his head. “This is not how one is courted, I’ll have you know.”

“Oh?” Harry’s smile was deep and full again. “I guess we can start with dinner then.” He could practically see the refusal written on Malfoy’s face. “Or we can go back to pretending that we weren’t always obsessed with each other. Frankly, I’d really like to find out about your life from you.” Stubbing out his cigarette, Harry reached across the table and covered Draco’s hand with his own. “I don’t want to play these games anymore, Malfoy. I don’t want to keep pissing off to foreign countries and shagging blokes that remind me of you. I’ve been mad about you for most of my life, and I’m tired of running from that.”

Draco’s eyes lingered on their joined hands before slowly fluttering up to Harry’s face. The was a long pause before he sighed lightly. “If we’re going to dinner you can’t wear that bloody jacket. And for the love of Merlin, stop smoking! Wizard or not, those things will kill you.”

Smiling, Harry squeezed Draco’s hand once. “Yes, dear.”

[justalittlelitnerd]

99 Percent Mine by Sally Thorne

“A guy like that is strong in a way that’s deeper than muscle and bones, because he wears his softness on the outside. I think I met my ideal man when I was eight, and no one else has ever measured up.”

Title/Author/Publisher/Year Published: 99 Percent Mine by Sally Thorne | Published by William Morrow in 2019

Time it took to read: 1 day

Plot Summary: Darcy Barrett has traveled the world. She has spent her entire life on the move, no, on the run. From her overbearing twin brother. From responsibility. From her many failures. But mostly she’s been running from the most perfect man in the world, Tom Valeska. She met him when they were 8 and no man has stood a chance. But Tom is her brothers. 99 percent. When Darcy and her brother inherit their grandmother’s cottage with the sole stipulation that they fix it up and sell it Darcy finds Tom back in her life. And for once she doesn’t want to run away. Which sure is partly because she can’t find her passport (she swears her brother stole it). But Darcy also decides that 1 percent of Tom Valeska isn’t enough anymore. She will make him 99 percent hers. 

Who would I recommend this to: Lovers of romance and The Hating Game and unique characters. 

Similar Books: Christina Lauren’s Josh and Hazel’s Guide to Not Dating comes to mind simply because of the history and the friends to lover trope. I really loved this book so if anyone has suggestions let me know!

What I loved: Darcy. Her boldness. Her fearlessness. Her insecurity. Her complexity and her desires and just how deeply she feels for everything, but in particular how strongly she loves Tom. Tom. His strength. His protectiveness. His love for the Barnetts and his desire to be a part of their family and his fear that they will leave him. Patty. Because who doesn’t love a big strong man with a tiny dog? 

What I disliked: Tom leaving for so long just when things were getting good. Darcy and her brother being assholes fighting over Tom like he’s a toy.

Quotes:

I’m still holding my hard stare with the alpha and I get a ping of triumph in my gut when he looks away first. I’m the alpha now. “We must go to the same barber, because you’re looking real pretty, too. Now, order something or get out.” The boss boy is not used to this from a woman and to his surprise he likes it. He chews gum in an openmouthed way, his avid eyes on my face. “What time do you get off work?” I imagine a Ken doll left out in the sun too long, and I step on that soft tan head like it’s a cigarette. “Not for a million years.”

Patty is a shiny shorthaired black and tan Chihuahua, with a big apple dome head. She’s got a judgmental narrowing to her eyes. I don’t take it personally anymore, but sheesh, this dog looks at you like you’re a steaming turd. It’s just her face. She remembers me. What an honor to be stamped permanently in her tiny walnut brain. I pick her up and kiss her cheeks. “What are you doing here so late, Tom Valeska, world’s most perfect man?” Sometimes it’s a relief to hide your most honest thoughts right out in plain view.

I can never decide if Tom’s hair is the color of caramel fudge or chocolate. Either way, yum. The texture is like a romance novel that’s fallen into the bath, then dried: vaguely sexual crinkle waves with the occasional curled edge and dog-ear. I want to jam my hand in it and make a gentle fist.

As his eye fixes onto my boot, the streetlight creates a black blade under his cheekbone. I’d click my camera right now. Now, as he looks at my legs and his lashes create a dark crescent shadow. Now, when those eyes cut to mine and there’s a spark of light in them, and another thought about me in his head. Then he looks away.

Get it together, Darcy. It’s not his fault he was born with your favorite kind of bones. He’s a sweet shy solid-gold human. Someone’s fiancé. You’re a teenage dirtbag. Leave him alone.

I look at the two empty coffee cups and feel the weight of his goodness and I want to tell him the truth in return. The thought of how a million people must abuse his kindness—myself included—makes me crazy. I want to walk two steps in front of him, wherever he goes, bulldozing the world a little flatter for him. 

He smells like he always has: a blown-out birthday candle, sharp and smoky. It’s that smell in your nostrils when closing your eyes and making an impossible wish, and your mouth is watering for something sweet.

“Being messed with by Darcy Barrett? It sounds like she’s joking with me, but it feels like she’s telling the truth. And I never know which is right.”

If he keeps pressing me, I’m going to tell him what the problem is: Primarily, that I want to unzip his pants. Second problem, I’m the worst fucking person to be having these thoughts about an almost-married man. Third: I’m so jealous of Megan I’m going to rev the engine of a combine harvester and convert her into a bag of bloody grain. But these have always been my problems.

I dodge sideways toward the back door—I need air. I need sky and stars and cold; I need to sit on the rings of Saturn dangling my boots into the black universe to be alone, but he steps easily around me, and now I’m the one leaning on the sink. “Are you okay?” I want to grab him by the shoulders and check for physical damage. I’ll crack open his chest to check how bad his heart looks.

I somehow walk to the front door on my trembling legs and the cool evening air floods in. I will find the nearest ocean and walk in, all the way down to Atlantis, and inquire about real estate. 

“I am throwing myself at her feet. Every minute of every day. She just doesn’t notice.” His hand cups the back of my head and my entire world is his muscles and the smell of his T-shirt. The wax-sweet smell of birthday candles and wishes and ugh, it’s going to hurt when he lets me go.

My stomach falls down an elevator shaft. Those words, spoken aloud in his voice, crackle through my synapses, and right now, I’ve never been more alive. I am heartbeat and full lungs. If you were mine. What a glorious thought to cross his mind; I never imagined it would. “What else would you do?” I’ve got that husky voice he likes. The animal in him is honest with me. “Everything. If you were mine, I’d do everything.” Our gold bubble locks shut, and a little universe fills it. The possibilities are infinite.

I have now found something I like better than sugar, and I’m an instant addict. Worse, a junkie. I’ve subsisted on his one-second glances my whole life, and now I’ve got his mouth on mine? I know what I’d do to keep him. He should feel afraid. The first touch of his tongue loosens my knees and I’m grateful that he’s holding me up. I shudder a breath out. He inhales it, changes our angle, exhales it back to me. Air is better from his lungs. Life is better with his kiss. The word mine is now something I need to make him understand.

“No one else is kissing you anymore,” he tells me in a conversational hush, not breaking our contact. “Your mouth is mine.” The thought is more than he can bear; now we’re twisting each other’s clothes and the kiss is like a conversation with no words—louder and louder, talking over each other: Listen to me. No, you listen to me.

Tom is sharing this secret part of himself; I’m bitten, spread, gripped, and I have never been wanted this intensely. He will kill and live and die for me. It’s big, what he’s feeling. All I know is, I’m his now. I put a hand on the back of his neck as he presses a kiss to my shoulder.

“Hey,” Tom says, and when I look up at him my heart unfurls. There’s no better word for it. It’s like a time-lapse photo of a rose opening whenever I think about how he is mine. 

[rilojetty]

a haunted man who can't out run his ghosts

Doe Madeira was the same as she had always been.  Short, but loud.  Hands on her hips, sunglasses perched atop her head.  A girl on a mission, and it occurred to Rilo then and there, seeing her from across the venue, that he’d never really known her as anything other than Preston’s.

Why was she here?  That was the real question.  That was the child tugging the sleeve of his oversized sweatshirt, nagging him with a query he couldn’t answer.

She was tapping something out on her phone, blowing a pristine bubble with her gum that he could even see from where he was hovering in the wings of the stage.  He did this before every single show.  It didn’t matter how large or small the crowd was, the sheer fact that anybody would ever be here for him was enough to knock him on his ass.

But, for Doe to be here?  Here in Santa Monica, when he knew for all too well of a fact that she was in college on the east coast?  Why?  What was her motive?  Was she alone?  Was he here, too?

Of course he wasn’t.  Preston Raimi was nothing more than a ghost in his hallway at this point.  A glimpse of a past life, a former Rilo that didn’t exist anymore.  He wouldn’t dive under his sheets and find him waiting for him, not anymore.  Not for a long time.

When he was younger, twenty and high on life, Preston was the harbor lights that he always found his way back to.  Warm and comforting, like a much-needed embrace after a long day.  Preston was eighteen, a freshman, and somehow he’d gotten it into his brain that he’d lucked out with getting Rilo to look his way.  If only he could have realized how backwards he’d had it all.

It occurred to him, then, that he didn’t really know Doe.  He knew the Doe from Preston’s stories.  He knew the girl who had flashed her tenth grade English teacher so that Preston could slip late into class undetected.  He knew her as Preston’s first kiss, first time, first love, really – even if Preston would never say those last few words out loud.  And yet, just from looking at her, it was like he’d met her a thousand times before, a thousand lifetimes ago.  Instead, he’d only met her once, right near the end of his and Preston’s romantic residency.

She’d surprised him with a visit, and Rilo was convinced in that moment that he could have been blind as shit and still been able to detect the magnetism that existed between the two of them.  Doe wedged her way between the two of them, staking back her rightful claim as Preston’s person.  Suddenly, she was the one adjusting his hair, the one dragging him this way and that way, and Rilo slipped back into the shadows of his apartment just long enough for them to get reacquainted.

It was during that time that he took another look at the offers he’d been getting in from record labels.  Somewhere between Doe prattling onto Preston about how he had to transfer schools to save her before she dropped out and Preston shuffling awkwardly on his feet as his hand found its way to the small of her back when he didn’t catch Rilo looking his way, Rilo accepted the offer to record a demo with an indie label in Los Angeles.

After that, he and Preston were becoming two ships passing in the night rather than anything else.  He could see the expiration date on their relationship even if Preston was trying to put a sticker over it.  He saw the NYU tabs open on Preston’s phone before Preston could swipe away from them, Preston could see Rilo slipping away from them, spending more time in the studio and less time in the cramped twin-sized bed that was more comfortable than the queen mattress on Rilo’s apartment floor just because it was Preston’s.

“We’ll keep in touch,” Preston was promising against his mouth as April turned to May, as his room became stripped of his Hoodie Allen posters (yes, seriously) and his headphones and stacks of mixtapes that nobody besides Preston still made – replaced with boxes and boxes and more boxes.  “I’ll spend the whole summer making tapes for my rock star boyfriend, writing you love letters and shit.  It’ll be disgusting.”

Preston sounded so hopeful and sure of himself, sure of their chances, that Rilo almost believed him.  Almost, but not quite.

The last time Rilo Jetty saw Preston Raimi was at LAX.  Preston had a beanie of Rilo’s atop his head, damn near chewing a hole into is lip.  Rilo wanted to hate Doe, wanted to hate her with every vein in his body, for taking Preston away from him, for being able to sweet talk Preston into a time zone three hours ahead of his own.  He couldn’t, though, because it wasn’t her fault.  Preston didn’t have to follow her.  No.  No, it wasn’t Preston’s fault, either.  Maybe this was never supposed to be a permanent thing, only temporary.  Rilo was a stamp in Preston’s passport and Preston was a chapter in Rilo’s life story.  God, he wished he didn’t want him to be the whole book.

Preston’s hands slid up to rest on either side of Rilo’s cheeks, and Rilo reciprocated by hugging him tightly around the waist.  “Tell New York to be good to you,” he murmured against Preston’s temple, pressing a kiss there shortly after.

“Tell LA I hate it for getting to have you,” Preston grumbled back, and Rilo could have kissed him a thousand times.  Wished he’d taken him out of that airport and to the cocoon of his apartment.  They could make it their apartment.  He could get Preston signed to the label when he had enough seniority to make that sort of a move.  Would’ve, could’ve, should’ve.

Preston slipped into airport security, and Rilo followed him until he lost him as the glass window turned to a wall, until he was out of sight.

His best friend, Darcy, would tell him it was just the latest of many fuck-ups he’d accomplished.  Afterwards, she’d pour him a shot – or five – and they’d put on the same shitty Netflix movie they’d watched a thousand times before.  Preston sent pictures from the plane, from the airport, from the ride to his new apartment that Rilo knew better than to ask with whom he’d be sharing it.

“You know, people do long distance relationships all the time and survive them,” Darcy pointed out, looking over at the kicked puppy staring down at his phone, brows furrowed.  “Like, all the time.  There’s, iMessage, and FaceTime, and even that dumbass app that lets you send your heartbeat to another person.  Apple is tailor-made for LDRs.”  She reached into the bowl of Lays, popping a few into her mouth and not waiting to keep going, her words coming through crunches.  “You’ll be fine.”  A beat later, and she was continuing.  “And also, you’re, like, twenty-one.  Calm down.  Stop looking at apartments in New York,” she wrangled the phone away from his house, and he realized that she’d been kidding until she actually saw the tabs open on his phone.

A pat on her shoulder, a gentle, “Oh, buddy,” and then she was back to the movie staring ahead of him – sitting on his phone.

Anyway, that had been a long time ago.  A whole ‘nother Rilo had lived through that first heartbreak than the Rilo standing backstage, looking at Doe Madeira in the crowd.

She wasn’t alone, he quickly noticed.  She was with a tall blonde and a girl with short cropped hair, each of them nursing a glass and Doe peering around the stage like she expected to see somebody looking back at her.

He averted his gaze before she could get to his silhouette, the stage lights dimming a moment later and his guitar finding its rightful place around his shoulders.  He was at the freaking El Rey Theatre, for crying out loud.  He was celebrating a new album release tonight and doing a “hometown show” as his agent called it.  LA wasn’t his hometown.  His hometown was a small-town way up fucking north in Washington, where nobody ever visited.  But this was the first big venue he’d ever booked, six years ago (six. years. ago.) so “in a way, it’s like going home again!”

Rilo wasn’t sure where home was anymore, but he went on that stage anyway.  Eyes sparked with tears as soon as he heard the crowd waiting for him.  It happened every time he went on stage, every time he was reminded of the fact that this was his life now.  People actually gave a shit about him.  People actually wanted to see him, hear him.

Everyone, that is, except the one person he wanted to be there.

He ignored the knot in his stomach, started strumming the chords to the first song that had ever gotten him anywhere.  I Want to Write You a Song, the first thing he’d ever written for Preston.  It was like, despite everything, he was here on stage with him after all.

✤ ✤ ✤ ✤ ✤ ✤ ✤ ✤ ✤ ✤ ✤ ✤ ✤ ✤ ✤ ✤ ✤ ✤ ✤ ✤ ✤ ✤  

Rilo had stopped doing stage doors a long time ago, once his team had decided it wasn’t really something he could safely get away with anymore, but tonight, he was making an exception.  He signed every autograph, posed for every selfie and every boomerang and recorded video messages for moms and brothers and boyfriends.  He was out there for well over two hours, he was getting to everyone.  If nothing else, it was a good distraction from who’d been in the crowd tonight.

He tried really hard to not think about Preston more than he had to.  It didn’t matter if he was the muse for every aching song he’d written in the past few years.  Preston was someone he kept buried inside a mental filing cabinet.  Preston was just for him.  Not for the girl who was still fucking hovering alongside the brick wall, giggling with her friends and stealing glances Rilo’s way.

Why.  Was she.  Here?

Where was Preston?  He could argue with himself that maybe Preston and Doe had fallen out of touch, but he would know just the same that that was absolutely not true – not only because they’d been friends since they were damn near in diapers, but because he’d… maybe looked Preston up on social media when he shouldn’t have.  He still saw his life in the fragments that Preston chose to share with the world.  He saw him in Union Square, had screen recorded a video of him flawlessly rapping Ice Ice Baby to his followers and another of him and Doe dancing to “It’s Tricky” by Run DMC at their friends’ wedding.

So, why wasn’t he here?  Where was he?  Did he know Doe was here?  Here, in California, at his show… did he know?

He finished up with the last round of fans, telling them to get home safe as they dispersed down the side streets in every which way.  He was turning back for the door, and then he heard her.

“Good show tonight, Jetty.”

He paused, hand hanging in the air from where it was reaching to head back inside.  He turned to look at her, at Doe.  Cute as shit, looking back at him expectantly.  If he was a narcissist, he’d assume that she figured he didn’t remember her.  But he knew that she knew he did.

And so, he didn’t play dumb, even though he was great at doing just that.  “You’re pretty far from New York.”

Her eyebrows raised, impressed.  “Long story,” she said dismissively, lifting her shoulders into a shrug.  “I mean, I couldn’t miss the Rilo Jetty’s homecoming show.”  A beat, and she was continuing.  “Not because, like, I couldn’t, but because Tedster over here wouldn’t allow it.”

The tall blonde at her side was blushing, face breaking into a smile when Rilo met her gaze.  “Big fan, bigger loser.  Hi.  Teddy.”

“Rilo,” he responded autonomously, and she gave him the most bewildered face in response.  Of course you’re Rilo, he could hear her words bouncing around his mind without her having to say a word.

“We’re not actually in LA for your show,” she spilled out, blushing even under the streetlights.  “Our friend’s getting married and taking her to Disneyland seemed like a safer bachelorette party than Vegas.”

“Because I’d never go to Vegas,” the third girl, the one with the short hair, crowed in an unmissable Irish accent, looking at her two friends in disbelief.  He realized that she looked familiar, as did Teddy.  Maybe they’d shown up in Preston’s Instagram posts – he knew he’d never really spent much time checking through Doe’s pages, only ever if he was too drunk, reflecting on the past too much.  “I’m much more content with Chip and Dale than Chippendales.”

Doe scrunched up her nose.  “As if anyone goes and watches Chippendales when Thunder from Down Under is right there.”

Rilo felt out of place in the conversation, smiling shyly back at them.  “Well, congrats.  Chip and Dale are…definitely the better option.  You’ve got a point.” Doe rolled her eyes, smirking between the two of them.  “You know, Cait, you should probably send him an invite.”

The girl, Cait, apparently, looked at Doe in shock.  Her eyes flicked between Doe and Rilo in embarrassment.  

“Obviously I wouldn’t send you a wedding invite,” she argued.  Her blush went deeper.  “Not that you don’t deserve…” she whipped back around to Doe.  “Why would I invite Rilo Jetty to my wedding?”

Doe had a glint in her eyes, one of mischief, and her eyes flicked back over to Rilo.  “He’s old friends with your groom.”

It pieced together, then.  Why she looked familiar.  Where he’d seen her.  The last time he’d looked on Preston’s page had been a particular weak moment just after his birthday, just after Valentine’s Day.  Her hair had been longer, then, and she’d been the focus of a film photo on Preston’s page, laughing at him, weakly holding her hand in front of her face like she didn’t want her picture taken.

He didn’t need to ask who the groom was.  He knew.

Maybe he did hate Doe Madeira.  Just a little.

[namjoonchronicles]

titillate | nj

➤ author’s note: The truth is. Virgos are the toughest to love. Namjoon knows how difficult it is to show emotions, when he’s used to bottling it up. Maybe he just needed some, push. Or maybe, he just needed someone to show an example. So he could learn.

Sound of typing filled the entire room.

His languid, long and slender beautiful fingers glide across the keyboard, dancing over each keys. His hand moving to his mouse, swishing on the mouse pad, clicking and his eyes wildly moving out with extreme focus. The faint smell of coffee lingering in his nostril from the empty cup he left by his charged phone on the large speaker. His tongue still had that sweet taste from the candy you gave him to help him stay up. He was reminded about how coffee is bad for his kidneys and livers if he were to drink them too much, and he wordlessly agree to take minty candies to help him alternate between the two.

His phone beeped outrageously loud all of a sudden and he was careful to not move his lap too much and thanks to his long arms, he was able to tap the 'stop' button before it goes blaring again. You nuzzled your face to his stomach even more, making a small moan that got stuck in your throat while Namjoon is fumbling with the phone to turn off a reminder he didn't remember setting. The note on the reminder says, "...take me to bed." Namjoon blinks twice and glanced at the top of the screen for the time. 2.30AM. He darted his gaze to the screen and then cupped his face with his hands before running them up and down, trying to feel refresh.

He drops his eyes to his lap where you lay your head on, clinging to his sunshine yellow hoodies that he wore to his home studio today. 

"Look at her, making a bed out of my lap. How can someone be so small." He rested his elbow on the arms' rest, placing his cheekbone on the heel of his palm and looked at you, endearingly. He started smiling out of context. And he didn't even realize he was doing it until his cheeks started to hurt. He mashed his lips together, and began cracking his fingers and neck. It was getting so late already, and you had an early morning tomorrow, you told him. But you didn't want to go to sleep without him so you cling on, rest your head on his shoulder, sit in his lap, before you fell asleep.

A pair of plump lips pressed against your forehead, between your brows, on both of your eyelids, on your nose and finally on your lips, sending a whirlwind of dreamy affections into your sleep before Namjoon carried you bridal style into the bedroom you both share. Down the hallway, passing the living room, last door on the left. He was as gentle as he can be, knowing how clumsy he could get, he was extra careful. Even biting his lip, trying not to wake you up as he lay you down on your side of the bed. He unfolded the blanket, and covered you with them. With his warmth nowhere nearby, you furrowed your eyebrows in your sleep, started mumbling his name out. "Okay...okay, hold on." Namjoon whispers as he circled the bed, taking off the current hoodie he was wearing, over his head.

You felt the bed dipped as he climbs on, handing you Koya plushy and his hoodie over to you. You hugged Koya and his hoodie before sighing happily with a smile. "I'm so sorry, I still have a little more to do..." He murmured against your cheek, ghosting his lips on before finally stamping a lingering peck on them, and rubbing your hair, affectionately. He turned to the night lamp and placed his palm on them to turn it on. He switches the main lights of.

While opening the cupboard in the walk-in closet, he exhaled through his nose, hovering his eyes on the long rows of clothes, wondering which new T-shirt he should wear so he doesn't feel cold tonight being half naked and all. He picked one and walked out with it, still balled in his hand. He walked past the bed with a little torch from his phone. Then his attentions flew to a perfume bottle by the make up table, and he picks them up and shook it. He remembered it was heavier when he last used them before he left for Tokyo. He sprays it on his wrist, but it barely got out a sizeable amount. More like a half of a drop.

"Did she use them all up?" Namjoon mumbled to himself, putting the bottle above his eye level hoping to see the amount of liquid left with the little light he has. But he gasped, witnessing that the bottle is completely empty, dry as a desert. He'll have to purchase a new one.

He had a blank, I-didn't-sign-up-for-this face before throwing the empty bottle into the bin underneath your make-up table when he heard a large, papery sound that it hits as it was discarded. It didn't even reach the bottom because of the amount of papers being thrown in it. He hooked his index finger around the brim of the bin out from its hiding place, hovered his torch over the content. What he saw instantly made his heart flutter.

Post-it notes. Two, three, four...perhaps ten crumpled post-it notes with handwritings of black markers on it.

Namjoon grinned and bit his lips before deciding to sit on the floor next to the bed, smoothing each and every post-it notes while crinkling his eyes, cutely. He flattens his palm on each one and began reading.

"I shouldn't call him again. I just got off the phone with him. Why am I like this." Namjoon chuckled. This is fun. It's like he's reading your inner thoughts. You must have been so bothered by it that you began writing them out like this. Long-distance relationship aren't going too well with you this time. And he wasn't even away from 10 days like the last time he went to Los Angeles. It was a nifty 3 days in Tokyo. Just a few hours away. He didn't know you were acting like this while he is abroad. This is so cute though?

"Namjoon has the warmest hands in the entire world. I want those hands. Let me have it."

"It's been two hours since I last saw him. My needy ass decided to facetime him. Worst decision ever. Because now I want to kiss his face."

"I miss him... :'( :'(" Aww. That's adorable.

"I swear the next time he comes home, I'm ripping his passport. And then his clothes," Namjoon narrowed his eyes while grinning and then comments, "She didn't rip my passport but, she did rip my clothes."

"I think I've sighed a thousand times now. I think at this rate, I'm gonna sigh my lungs out. Where is he? I miss my Namjoon. I want my Namjoon."

He literally can't stop smiling now. He was so overwhelmed by these affections from you and even surprised himself on how much he could love someone. "...I miss you too." He sounds like an idiot, talking to a post-it note but he couldn't help it.

He didn't know he was capable of having these feelings. Before he met you, he didn't realised you were going to be so special. It's like you turned him into someone else, someone he didn't know existed within him. It was like a spiritual awakening for him. Something so raw, intense and highly defining. He knew right on, that your soul was pure. He even doubted himself if he was able to embrace that innocence, questioning himself whether or not he deserved this kind of love, whether he was entitled to take it for himself, whether it is selfish for him to want you and only you; and that was when he began to grasp that he is unable to let you go.

Because you have made a mark inside him, made it your territory, built your throne and took over. Because you have turn his walls down, broke through his fortress, rammed your entry against his heavily guarded castle, and paint his walls with your colors. You made this heart beat again. Brought warmth into his coldest nights, lacing your words with unlimited devotion, and provide him with things he never knew he needed. A liberation. The source of his strength, a shoulder to cry on, the arms he calls home.

That's why when he obtained this little cute post-it notes you hid from him, he felt an ardous need to give back as much as he has received. Only that, he's not quite entirely sure on how to do so, being a guard-up soul pretty much growing up, betrayed by his first love long before he knows you and what true love really meant. He grew extremely anxious about not showing you much when he felt so loved. He hated himself for not being able to show a lot to you. You held back pretty much a lot too; judging from all these post-it notes you hoped he didn't find. "She must have felt overtly clingy and tries not to express herself too much," Namjoon thought to himself. He smoothens the next crumpled post-it note.

And it was as if the post-it notes, heard him. They indirectly answer to him.

"...I don't want to scare him away. Loving Namjoon is like oxygen to me. I had to do it, no matter what. He might not like it if I show him too much affection. It happened before with that other guy..."

What other guy. Which idiot doesn't like a clingy girlfriend? This guy better not be around you anymore. He's a fucking lunatic.

"I'm so glad Namjoon is so receiving. He's like a living teddy bear."

Namjoon could almost hear you giggle when you add a laughing sound at the end of the post-it note. "You don't scare me away." He smiled and heard you shuffle in bed, so he glanced over his shoulder to see you if you were awake. He tipped his eyes over your arms, and saw you hold tight to his hoodie, Koya is squished by your head. You have completely abandoned your pillows to lay your head fully on Koya, half of your face is covered by Namjoon's hoodie you were hugging. You keep an ample space for him to lay in, despite being in deep sleep, it was endearing to see. Namjoon couldn't help thinking that when he is away, you'd probably behave the same way. Maybe built a pillow fort in his place so you could pretend he was beside you. That way you could sleep better.

Namjoon stood up on his two feet and walked beside the bed. He massages the base of his neck and then the back of his neck, looking at you with twinkles in his eyes. He ran his palm down his chest, between his defined pectoral muscles and lean stomach before leaving you as is. The dustbin is back in its place. The floor is clean, without any post-it notes left. Only the empty perfume bottle inside. Namjoon shut the door, the shirt he chose still crumpled in his hand, his sweatpants hanging low on his hip as he walked out before he tipped his head to one side, remembering something. He went back to the bedroom door, opens them and left a gap between. He looked at you peaceful sleeping face before he leaves one more time.

"She can't sleep with the doors closed." He shook his head and put on the shirt he chose, before walking back down the hallway into his home studio. He left a gap open to his studio door too, incase you woke up and realized he isn't there next to you.

But to you, as long as you have Namjoon's hoodie, Namjoon's plushy, or Namjoon's smell, you'll be fine. As long as there's one out of five senses were fulfilled, Namjoon doesn't have to worry about a thing. Although, sometimes you crave skin ship and you've been holding back a lot because you don't want to clutch on him and make him feel uncomfortable. Your clinginess could make certain people squirm, and they can be a bit unbearable. But little did you know that Namjoon was feeding on it, entirely. So much, that he began to feel addicted to it. It's like he has been drugged without him knowing and it got him hooked. Even those hours, days and weeks away from you, he'll have timers set in his phone:

"45 hours, 17 minutes, and 4 seconds more, until I can feel those hands." "Just 12 more hours to home." "I'll just have to succumb a bit longer." "I have to hold it in, a bit more."

He even made your touches feel like prizes to him. "If I finish this song by today, I'll get to hold her." Even when usually, you're the one who would initiate most. And tonight, or morning (since it's already 4:05AM), Namjoon shook his head to stay awake, blinking his eyes wide open to keep himself focused though he was needing sleep, muttering to himself like a hypnotizing chant, that, "One more track, and I'll get to be in bed with her. Just one more," he slaps himself in the face, "...Kim Namjoon, let's go."

Alarm beeping. The familiar smell of Namjoon's shampoo, dancing around your nostrils, waking you up. Swimming through your unconsciousness and half-shut eyes, you try to fish your phone from the side table, only to be confined by a huge pair of arms circling your waist, and one limb draped possessively over the lower part of your body, restricting your movement. With a little effort, you managed to take the phone and shut the alarm off. Namjoon groans and nuzzled his face further into your chest. You immediately froze, not wanting him to come awake because you know he probably stayed up pretty late last night. Also, the tip of his nose was dangerously close to skin between your nipples. You were extremely awake. You hoped the heat will wake him up, because you'll hate yourself for having to tell him to move. But it doesn't seem soon.

You were enjoying this. Smiling to yourself, you were playing with his gorgeous hair, pushing his bangs back because you love his forehead so much. You ran your index finger on the mole he had on his hairlines and mouthed, "So cute." You had to bit your lips to resist squeezing his cheek and wake him up. Sleeping Namjoon is an adorable sight, and you would like to keep it that way, as long as you were allowed to. Especially when he is extra clingy like this. You ran your index finger down between his brows, the bridge of his nose, floaty touches on his Cupid's bow and his supple pair of lips. "How can anybody be this attractive? What did you eat to be so attractive? This should be illegal," You narrowed your eyes, pouting in envy. As if he heard you, he moaned in his sleep, pulling you closer, gathering you closer than you already are. This is very surprisingly alluring. Is this what Namjoon is really like?

You know you would have love him even when he gives you nothing back. It would have been an honor to have your heart be broken by him. You were actually certain that he would have hurt you, in the first few meetings you had with him. But the closer you look, the more his mask--his tough guy appearance begins to wane off. He was cautious. Extremely cautious. Possibly because he had been fooled before. And you know those frightened pair of eyes, beneath his tough and charismatic exterior, his irises left nothing in disguise.

This man was as afraid as you were.

Afraid of getting hurt. Afraid of emotions. Afraid of things he can't control. Afraid of being in love.  Afraid to want and need, and be left behind. To crumble again.

Because perhaps, his first love hurts him so much that he dare not to love again. All you could do was assume, back then.

It was not easy. You yourself were a tough shell to break. But for some reason, Namjoon made you bare it all for him. It's almost haunting as it is mesmerizing. He did little to nothing, and your heart pounds embarrassingly faster at every mention of his name. He could pass by the same area, and you would be clutching your heart as if it was going to stop any time, air stuck in your throat--suffocating you alive but not really dying. You could hear his voice across the hall calmly talking, and you would have sweats running down your spine. A thirst you can't explain, a hunger you can't contain--all to be blame on one man named Kim Namjoon.

To have such power on you, to make you whimper and breathlessly disoriented like a deprived explorer in the desert sea? Who allowed him? Who gave him such despicable authority? You knew, that there was a universe in him, and you can't wait to explore and undress his pretty little thoughts.

The innocent encounters, the accidental gazes--how it lingers longer than it should. It wasn't love at first sight, it was love at many sights. It was something about his personality, the way he brings himself forward, how he amplifies thoughts people would never have said out in the open, his bravery, his strength, his diligence and beautiful brain. All the things he did, deserves the world's attention. Namjoon can break through barriers, even the hurdles he never knew existed, and he could keep going making histories for himself, blinded by thirst of the things he called goals and success. He would let himself be trampled on, just to get back on his feet, taller and mightier than his fallings, how he changed criticism into food that he feeds on and make it a buffet for his naysayers--you could go days about things that Namjoon did that makes you immensely proud of him.

"You go ahead continue to be awesome, and let me protect your heart." You played with his hair, taking the advantage of him in deep-sleep to kiss his temple, the side of his brain, hoping that your love will penetrate through the skin, giving him a shield and assurance that things will be okay from now on. Your rested your cheek on his head, and gently scratch the back of his head, your fingers disappear in his grey locks. Then you felt his large palm unravel, one still holding you close, the other sliding along your spine in a very careful, oddly cautious straight line that shouldn't be coming from a sleeping man. Your face contorted in confusion as you repelled a bit to see his face. He still had his eyes closed, but the corner of his lips were curling into a smile. He looks at you through heavy-lidded eyes as you try to process the information at an insane speed.

It wasn't until he dipped his hands underneath the barriers of your panties, and squeezed your butt cheek that sends you yelping in surprise, that you realized what he was trying to do. "You were sleeping..." you growled, heavily startled at the sudden switch of atmosphere. He nodded lazily, and began nipping the skin around the base of your neck, murmuring, "...I have a problem I need you to solve."

Gulp. The sun isn’t even fully up yet.

The post-it notes you wrote, ended up in his office studio, stringed in one line underneath his air-conditioner for everyone who walks in to see. It was placed next to his trophies, his prized possessions, his collections of toys, higher than all of it, worn like a medal. Your keen eyes didn't missed it when you paid a visit, one day. Embarrassed and perplexed, you cupped your face while he gushes closely, inches away from you. 

"Will you please take it down...I...It wasn't meant to be displayed like that. Gosh, I sound so needy." Your voice muffled and Namjoon started to remove your hands away, "...I like it. It makes me feel good. Your inner thoughts are very... intense and, fierce. It... titillates me."

"I'm starting to feel that you tricked me over a sad emoticon message to make me come over, thinking you're upset about something. I'm banning the use of that emoticon from today onwards." You monotonously say and he chuckled deeply, "...But I am upset. My friend down there, is."

"Namjoon!" You gasped.

"Did you locked the door?" "Nope." "Excellent."

[renhelps-blog]

MOVIE STARTERS VOL.1  ( TAKE THE 10 ) ( netflix original ) ACTS 1 & 2

            ** contains offensive material. feel free to change pronouns as neccesary.

OPENING ACT

❝ it’s called acting. ❞

❝ if you wrote a script that i suck your dick for five minutes, i would do it. ❞

❝ i wouldn’t suck your dick for six minutes. ❞ 

❝ does that make me gay? ❞ 

❝ why am i the one paying you to suck my dick? ❞ 

❝ that just makes me a really good actor. ❞ 

❝ would you rather suck my dick? ❞ 

❝ i don’t wanna suck anyone’s dick. ❞ 

❝ i’ll get you your money. ❞ 

❝ don’t worry about it. ❞ 

❝ i don’t know what you’re talking about. ❞ 

❝ fuck it. ❞

❝ call the cop. ❞

❝ i don’t care anymore. ❞

❝ what happened? ❞

❝ i am so screwed. ❞

❝ you are such a drama queen sometimes. ❞ 

THE 1997 TOYOTA COROLLA

❝ i’ll see you there. ❞

❝ the word for please is ‘por favor’. ❞

❝ start the car, let’s go! ❞

❝ don’t slam the door! ❞

❝ what the fuck are you listening to? ❞

❝ i gotta change this. ❞

❝ i’m learning portuguese. ❞

❝ what’s wrong with this? ❞  

❝ why isn’t it working? ❞ 

❝ can we not with the merchandise? ❞ 

❝ when did you start smoking? ❞ 

❝ i needed to change things up, okay?. ❞ 

❝ it was either this or scientology. ❞ 

❝ it makes my face look fat. ❞ 

❝ are you even listening to me? ❞ 

❝ that’s pretty selfish of you. ❞ 

❝ i can’t go to a concert. ❞ 

❝ i’m booked up. ❞ 

❝ do you know what i had to do to get these tickets? ❞ 

❝ grow up. ❞ 

❝ get a life. ❞ 

❝ what are you packing for? ❞ 

❝ i’m going to brazil. ❞ 

❝ not yet, but i will. ❞ 

❝ we’re going to the concert. ❞ 

❝ we’re not going to the concert. ❞ 

❝ i’m serious this time. you’re not going to talk me out of it, okay? ❞ 

❝ you’re still coming with me, right? ❞ 

❝ i’m coming with you, okay? ❞ 

❝ stop being such a downer. ❞ 

❝ i’m not a downer. ❞ 

❝ it’s like the boy who cried wolf and then got gang-banged by the wolf and all his friends. ❞ 

❝ i don’t wanna hear another word from you. ❞ 

❝ can we go over this whole moving to another continent idea? ❞ 

❝ i just want to make sure we’re not gonna regret it forever. ❞ 

❝ that’s a good idea. ❞ 

❝ shit, you tryna smoke that? ❞ 

❝ you wanna snort it? ❞ 

❝ you’re fucking crazy. ❞ 

❝ i’m in. ❞ 

❝ that’s what you’ve been doing in your spare time? ❞ 

❝ that’s weird. ❞ 

❝ i don’t know how to explain this. ❞ 

❝ your plan is fucking dumb as shit. ❞ 

❝ does that make sense? ❞ 

❝ have fun making minimum wage. ❞ 

❝ we don’t have any job prospects, so we can’t make money. ❞ 

❝ we don’t know anyone. ❞ 

❝ we don’t have a social life. ❞ 

❝ we have to wear a condom when we have sex. ❞ 

❝ that means no pulling out. ❞ 

❝ let’s take it down a couple notches. ❞ 

❝ i’m dicking down some beautiful brazilian, getting confident, i start long-stroking her. BOOM. condom breaks. ❞ 

❝ i don’t know you. ❞ 

❝ i ask the tough questions, ___, and so should you. ❞ 

❝ you have a very bright future ahead of you. ❞ 

❝ thank you. i know i do. ❞ 

❝ this shoulder has your name written all over it. ❞ 

❝ if you need a good cry, man, let the tears flow.. ❞ 

❝ what are you talking about? ❞ 

❝ i have no problem taking your sloppy seconds. ❞ 

❝ i prefer your sloppy seconds. it’s like your stamp of approval on the pussy. ❞ 

❝ really? this is how you wanna come at me this early in the morning? ❞ 

❝ why don’t you ask about my grandma’s demetia while you’re at it? ❞ 

❝ i’m going with or without you. ❞ 

❝ i freaking hate this place. ❞ 

❝ i don’t mean for this to sound racist, but that music is killing me. ❞ 

❝ ‘brazilian’ is my favorite porn search word before ‘drunk’ and ‘amateur’. ❞ 

❝ we will take the first flight in the morning. ❞ 

❝ my word is my bond. ❞ 

❝ would you pay me $300 if i performed sexual favors on your body? ❞ 

❝ stop standing in the door like a fucking weirdo. ❞ 

❝ i got something i wanna talk to you about. ❞ 

❝ you really didn’t think i was going to find out, did you? ❞ 

❝ you’re carrying a lot of dead weight. ❞ 

❝ he fucking stole from you and you don’t even fucking know it. ❞ 

❝ i don’t have that kind of money. ❞ 

❝ i’m fucking crazy. ❞ 

❝ did you get in trouble? ❞ 

❝ he’s gonna go to the police. ❞ 

❝ go home, pack, and get your passport. we leave today. ❞ 

❝ i was so nervous to sell my stuff on craigslist, ‘cause there’s a bunch of weirdos, but you look totally normal. ❞ 

❝ there’s a ot of weirdos online trying to take advantage of you. ❞ 

❝ you gotta check out the merchandise. ❞ 

❝ i was thinking that you could drive and i could ride shotgun. ❞ 

❝ you’re almost as big as that truck. ❞ 

❝ you think i’m stupid?! ❞ 

❝ i don’t do that. that’s not my thing. ❞ 

❝ you’re so nervous. i’m just messing with you. ❞ 

❝ you need to loosen up. you’re so tense. ❞ 

❝ why is he in the trunk? ❞ 

❝ i couldn’t help but notice your rich accent. it’s just so beautiful, the way it rolls off your tongue. ❞ 

❝ he’ll probably send out an amber alert if i’m not back soon. ❞ 

❝ can we not do this while i drive? ❞ 

❝ i have a phobia about things going near my eye. ❞ 

❝ i won’t tell the cops. just let me go. ❞ 

❝ what happened to your accent? why would you fake an accent ❞ 

❝ that’s really a social commentary on how you’re more empathetic to people who speak with accents. ❞ 

❝ i’m going to ask you one more time. ❞ 

❝ i don’t think i’m the best candidate for this job. ❞ 

❝ i’m a great team leader. my resume speaks volumes to that. ❞ 

❝ being a get away driver is not one of my strong points. ❞ 

❝ i’m feeling very spontaneous today. ❞ 

❝ i can’t wait for you to see what i got my mom for mother’s day. ❞ 

❝ can’t this piece of shit go any faster. ❞ 

❝ i am going to consider that disobedience. ❞ 

❝ what do you do when a dog disobeys you? you put that bitch down. ❞ 

❝ he thinks he’s better than me because he drives that imported piece of shit. ❞ 

❝ see what you made me do? ❞ 

❝ i take melatonin every night. ❞ 

❝ they stole my car and are trying to kill me. ❞ 

❝don’t you dare put me on hold! ❞

[dreadwhoop]

Super Torment Mode Diary - Day 13-15 Recap

Day 13 (Jan 7th)

NOTE - A Golbat Mean Looked me as I was in the Thrifty Supermarket. Since this means I am forced to KO it now the area is considered BANNED until Kahuna is beaten (Like the Self-Destruct Clause). NOTE - I was looking at Isle Evelup as a potential break on my ruleset so...and thus did not develop it. Obviously now I know what it is you can. Route 16 - Slowpoke...x2...x3 ok Zygarde has been reformed! NOTE - Remember - Zygarde is allowed to be used. Just keep in mind if it ends up being your highest levelled Pokemon when you fight a Kahuna it gets instantly boxed and if KO'd boxed too so all the rules still apply. As for going back to reform it into the 50% only if you have collected 50/100 Cells/Cores and can free roam. Onto ULA'ULA MEADOW. Petilil...Oricorio...x2...Pet...

###BREAK###

!!!DEFEATED 33 TIMES!!!

Flailed by a Koala at the end of a long battle I am a bad person. LAKE OF THE SUNNE. Nothing here...for now...

ROUTE 17 - Fearow...Raticate...Ariados...Raticate ok

!!!DEFEATED 34 TIMES!!!

Raticate Beats me - just like last time with my Ibid.

!!!DEFEATED 35 TIMES!!!

Gyarados just didn't have enough punch after avenging Ibid. Note - A Ariados used Spider Web to prevent an escape. I almost killed it but then it killed my Pokemon so I could run away. In other words this would be technically like Self-Destruct and the like so...yeah avoid brush now until Kahuna is beaten. Now at PO TOWN. I turned down Team Skull's offer to heal my team because I'm so much better. Oh wait...

!!!DEFEATED 36 TIMES!!!

Golbat and Raticate sigh. I hate Team Skull sometimes.

!!!DEFEATED 37 TIMES!!!

Team was ASS. I'm being destroyed so hard.

##BREAK###

!!!DEFEATED 38 TIMES!!!

Great way to start this session. Finally stumbled my way into the SHADY HOUSE.

NOTE - Finding the Smoke Ball may in fact circumvent my rules about fleeing from Self-Destruct/Web users since you are able to do this prior to them applying. Natures which force you to stay...if they do...have to continue being ruled as strictly unable to look on routes.

!!!DEFEATED 39 TIMES!!!

Raticates are strong.

!!!DEFEATED 40 TIMES!!!

Guzma finished me off so there's this.

Day 14 (Jan 8th)

Oh apparently my Snowy Sandshrew only evolves via an Ice Stone. Let's do it! COOL! Time to rematch. Got Guzma down this time.

NOTE - Gladion wishes for us to visit a new island. This is NOT a Kahuna battle so it doesn't count as allowing yourself to roam the isles. NOTE - The Trainer Passport Stamps should indicate such. OH NEVERMIND OFFICER NANU IS THE KAHUNA! LET'S DO THIS!

!!!DEFEATED 41 TIMES!!!

Really bad matchups vs Sableye and company. Ground...Dark...Ghost... Thus begins my second wall in this run. Don't take it too seriously but I get bodied a lot here!

###BREAK###

!!!DEFEATED 42 TIMES!!!

Yeah team too low for a Level 38...

!!!DEFEATED 43 TIMES!!!

A level 39 Persian eh...well ok. 2/3 Pokemon down but yeah still gotta win. Also Persian used its Z-Power.

!!!DEFEATED 44 TIMES!!!

Too low-level

!!!DEFEATED 45 TIMES!!!

Tentacool held on like a legend but too low level again. You know what? Since the levels are so high if I don't have a single pokemon above 30 on my team rotation just take the L and try again. So this whole team I have now? A sacrifice team. Yeah it's come to the point I don't even care to nurture them with refresh. Very demoralised.

!!!DEFEATED 46 TIMES!!! NEXT! I'm kinda losing the will to continue this.

!!!DEFEATED 47 TIMES!!! NEXT!

!!!DEFEATED 48 TIMES!!! Jeez...

!!!DEFEATED 49 TIMES!!!

To be fair Mudbray really made work on getting 2/3 down but Persian swallowed it with the Black Hole Eclipse move. NOTE - Mudbray evolved after battle. Got Mudsdale! Too bad I had to Blackout and thus box it. If I lose once more this will be 10 Times, a new record, and I am going to impose a new Rule to denote such an accomplishment.

!!!DEFEATED 50 TIMES!!! Okay Nanu new rule.

NOTE - A New Rule - After 10 losses in a row to a single trainer (in this case Nanu) you can create a CUSTOM TEAM for this one-off situation. Because of the nature of this rule you cannot shuffle the queue in your box but you can get your highest Pokemon out. Any are allowed. No healing of course and the other rules apply just assume you rotated into your ideal team.

Now once you have defeated your opponent box them all as before and then grab the ones next in the queue. Understand? Good.

Oh yeah do note where the Pokemon were before you take them out the BOX! Here's the constructed team I had - sorry for not putting levels down but in general they were low to mid 30s. Haunter I believe was about 28 and thus lowest. Highest I think was either Misdreavus or Decuideye around 35 or 36. Klefki - 2nd row, 5th in, Box 3 Zygarde - 5th row, 1st in, Box 3 Absol - 3rd row, 6th in, Box 2 Misdreavus - 4th row, 2nd in, Box 1 Haunter - 4th row, 3rd in, Box 1 Decuideye - He's LAST in the queue when this is over.

Oh yeah one more thing - You can repeat as many times until you win. Because fuck it.

!!!DEFEATED 51 TIMES!!! I can't even win with a constructed team oh no. Try again.

Oh he heals everything because it's fair. FINALLY.

NOTE - Now I've done the Ula'Ula Trial I can visit the 3 islands I have already seen (Aether Foundation doesn't count you can go back on the boat to return just note when you return back to Aether Paradise you can't roam again until you defeat the next Kahuna). In any event this is great! More Pokemon to hunt and with a Smoke Ball the possibilities are much greater. Onwards!

###BREAK###

I did another Pokemon Checklist and from it grabbed the following: Sandygast, Elekid, and Mimikyu. Passed on Barboach and Sableye since they seem to be on the last island anyways. I also used Sharpedo to break rocks to places I couldn't access earlier. Also picked up an Archen from buying the other fossil.

###BREAK###

After all this remember Sharpedo can break those rocks to get to the island. Also don't forget to go to them Cafes for Battle and the Hano Grand Resort area just to see if anything else has opened up! NOTE - I'm just 1 away from 50% on my Zygarde Cube. Can I find a 50th? Yes - I found a 50th on Route 1 I missed previously. TIME TO UPGRADE ZYGARDE! Of course I'll have to wait until his rotation returns to me.

AETHER PARADISE

Gonna rare candy to get Electrabuzz. Decided to bite the bullet and also Water Stone for a Starmie. I just realised 5 of my 6 pokemon are Gen 1 right now!

!!!DEFEATED 52 TIMES!!!

Lol a Primeape did me in of all things. It's cause Starmie just couldn't take the hit. OH WELL. Lady at the counter after defeating Faba (South of him) heals so no talking to her anymore!

!!!DEFEATED 53 TIMES!!!

Completely bodied and walled by a Muk. What a great day I had. Here's my mental state visualized below.

Day 15 (Jan 9th)

!!!DEFEATED 54 TIMES!!!

Sweeped 1HKO by the Muk. Team was too weak. NEXT! Cool the 3rd Scientist has a Porygon2. It has...Signal Beam...Recover...Recycle... NOTE - Because the Aether Foundation has a PC you can switch Pokemon out then if you have KO'd Pokemon AFTER the initial raid (so past the warehouse section) then you have to swap asap. TORMENT. I PPMaxed Confuse Ray. NOTE - As I've mentioned countless times - if one has their Pokemon healed before you can react to going to a PC then it's allowed to carry on with them!

###BREAK###

Time to meet my 3rd wall in this playthrough who I've heard casuses problems even for people playing normally.

!!!DEFEATED 55 TIMES!!! Guzma's Goliospod's Razor Shell is so fucking potent.

!!!DEFEATED 56 TIMES!!! I had no chance...Emergency Exit into Fell Stinger/Shadow Sneak/Sucker Punch Ariados LOL

!!!DEFEATED 57 TIMES!!! Now I have a sac team. Sigh.

!!!DEFEATED 58 TIMES!!!

NOTE - If I lose one more time I may knock the Rule from 10 losses in a row down to 5. I may revise the strategy so it's like so: Island 1 - Up to 10 Times Island 2 - Up to 10 Times Island 3 - Up to 5 Times Island 4 - Up to 5 Times Final Challenge (Indigo Plateau) - Assign your Team WHAT THE HELL FIRST IMPRESSION MOVE??!?! Yep ran into this at long last. What a defeat.

!!!DEFEATED 59 TIMES!!! Okay Guzma CUSTOM TEAM TIME:

Absol - LAST IN THE QUEUE Klefki - Row 4, 2nd in, BOX 1 Decidueye - Row 3, 2nd in, BOX 2 Misdreavus - Row 3, 1st in, BOX 3 Torkoal - Row 3, 4th in, BOX 3 Haunter - Row 2, 3rd in, BOX 3

!!!DEFEATED 60 TIMES!!!

I fucking hate this mode. Got to the last pokemon but Pinsir took me down.

!!!DEFEATED 61 TIMES!!! I hate this game.

Finally beat Guzma. Now I got to box this entire team. Here I find out Lillie and Gladion are NOT the same person. Now it's time to face This is going to be so funny being bodied now. I have no chance against Lusamine.

!!!DEFEATED 62 TIMES!!!

Lusamine obviously beat me but it's not a Blackout so let's carry on shall we? LOL. Let's get off this Aether Place nightmare and onto somewhere else. Aether Paradise accounted for how many losses? 11? Ula'ula was a hard island to surmount at the end there.

On PONI ISLAND now. At SEAFOLK VILLAGE. The last Island. I must admit - I'm seriously worn from all this. But I will carry on. I just got an Aerodactyl for some reason. Fished up a Wailmer! Got it! Magikarp...x2...x3 k (Shame I never found the Anchor Pokemon. Never knew of it until post-game). Pokemon Centre here has some GREAT TMs. Draco Meteor can be taught at the Pokemon Centre here long as you meet the right conditions. Onwards to PONI WILDS. Pelipper...Gastrodon...x2...Granbull...x2...Pelipper. NOTE - So this is the first time I've seen an Evolution to catch but not the preform. Gastrodon and Granbull are totally ALLOWED to catch but this is because they are exceptional cases. I ran before but explain below I catch them later.

###BREAK###

NOTE - After giving it some thoughts...here's the rule of capturing Evolved Pokemon. If there's no way to get their younger forms other than to breed the older forms then you can get the older forms first provided you do check this is the case. So - Gastrodon and Granbull can join! Exeggute! - I got it! I instantly evolved it to Dragon Exeggutor.

!!!DEFEATED 63 TIMES!!! Ace Trainer with a Sharpedo and a Skarmory.

!!!DEFEATED 64 TIMES!!! Rubbish team.

!!!DEFEATED 65 TIMES!!! Rubbish team.

Got him! Thanks Klefki. Had to rotate out for sacrifices and got a little lucky but a win is a win.

###BREAK###

!!!DEFEATED 66 TIMES!!!

Oh gutted - Klefki got robbed from a crit hitting it and a miss in response.

!!!DEFEATED 67 TIMES!!!

Yeah well the Boss Trainer of this route did me in after weakened by the last trainer. Guess who is back...Zygarde!

!!!DEFEATED 68 TIMES!!!

Ok I didn't do so well there. Zygarde couldn't really hit the Flying-Types. Bad match-up.

!!!DEFEATED 69 TIMES!!! Well I got 1 down :D

Meh I'll just evolve Shelder so it's a Ice Type too as Cloyster.

!!!DEFEATED 70 TIMES!!! Got 1.

I end once again in high-spirits.

At least I'm not playing Omikron.

###BREAK###