#I wish I had known that the ebb and flow of friendships would be one of the most difficult parts of life

[moorishflower]

Eating Out (Dream/trans!Hob Explicit)

i heard we were writing trans Dreamling and then I saw that one ask someone sent @gabessquishytum and I blacked out for a few hours and woke up with this on my desktop please enjoy

Contains: FtM Hob Gadling, public sex, oral sex, free use/multiple partners, voyeurism, multiple orgasms, scent kink, hair kink, little bit of eldritch Dream as a treat

The club is almost violently loud, and the instant that Dream materialises within it he wishes to leave.

He could. There is nothing holding him here. Not even his new agreement with Hob Gadling, that they meet twice a month, holds sway here – they have already held their pre-arranged meetings for December, have 'caught up' with each other, as Hob calls it, though Dream always feels as though he has nothing to contribute. He tells Hob about the unceasing tedium of ruling a kingdom, of settling disputes between his creations, of shoring up the defences of the Dreaming such that it will be prepared for any onslaught, and it is all the same, always the same things over and over again for aeons, but Hob leans towards him and listens with the most fascinated air. He asks questions. He is interested.

Dream would much rather hear about Hob's life. His many lives, in fact, within the last two centuries. It seems as though Hob is always doing something: viewing art with noted professors on the subject, or attending poetry readings, or assisting in the building of various installations of a political nature at protests, or organising a play put on by trans youth from local universities. In this century he is highly invested in matters regarding gender and sexuality – which Dream supposes makes sense. His own gender would have been considered at best a novelty in his own time, and at worst an affront to God. These days, however, he lives openly and freely as the man he has always known himself to be.

It is all of these things, and more, that are the reasons why he is here tonight. The Dreaming is stable at last – there are no pressing matters for him to attend to this eve – but he is shortly expected to meet with Lucifer in order to renegotiate their ancient treaty of tentative peace, and he is, as Hob would say, not looking forward to it. He is, in fact, dreading the experience. He is certain that Lucifer has neither forgotten nor forgiven his brief foray into Hell when he retrieved his helm, and the humiliation they were forced to endure at his hand. He will freely admit that he was. Not as gracious. As he could have been, upon his triumph.

He does not want to think about it. And so he is here, looking for Hob Gadling.

It occurs to him, however, as he watches the ebb and flow of people around him, that Hob may not wish to be found this night. He had assumed, when he'd reached for Hob's presence in the Waking and drew himself towards it, that he would appear in Hob's flat above the New Inn. That is where he is most often to be found, this time of night, unless he has prior engagements.

This club, though...it is of a distinctly sexual nature. Its patrons dressed in leather and latex, and some dressed in almost nothing at all. There are sheltered alcoves with faux-leather seats where two or three or more humans whisper quietly to each other, and kiss, and touch sensuously; there are other stations that Dream recognises, but only from dreams: a St. Andrew's Cross, a whipping post, a wooden bench over which a young man bends while a woman dressed entirely in white lace strikes him with a thin crop, raising fine red weals on the pale skin.

Perhaps he ought to leave. If Hob is here to procure a partner for the evening, then it is no business of Dream's.

Except.

Except the thought makes him. Unhappy.

He examines this realisation with detached interest, because he knows if he allows himself to become invested in the idea there will be no going back. Hob is his friend. They have known each other for over six-hundred years. He does not want to ruin their friendship, burgeoning as it currently is.

Neither does he wish for Hob to be here, seeking something that he believes Dream cannot provide for him.

Is that the crux of it? The source of his displeasure? Hob has come here, seeking fulfilment, instead of seeking out Dream? He would have no reason to approach Dream. Their friendship has never had a sexual component.

Although.

He remembers the way Hob had looked at him in 1589, so proud of the largess he had provided, eager for Dream's approval. He remembers the slow up and down glance of 1389 when he had approached Hob's table, when he had still been a beardless ruffian, binding his chest with scraps of wool. He remembers, in 1789, how Hob had looked at him, how he had tugged at his ear, how eagerly he had come to Dream's defence.

Perhaps he had simply not been in the best position to notice any interest. Hob's, or his own. Too prideful. Too convinced that Hob was just like every other human, grubbing about in the dirt for power and acclaim. Too assured of his own high status – one such as he, friends with one such as Hob?

He knows better now. Knows that Hob has lived rich and varied lives, which Dream has, for the past several months, taken succour in, experiencing them through Hob's tales, learning more and more about his friend. Liking what he has learned.

This, he decides, is a new aspect of that learning. And perhaps a new chapter in their friendship, if Hob is amenable. It has been long and long since he has laid with a human – he spares a moment to thank the memory of his sister for withholding her gift from Hob, for it means that Hob is not, strictly speaking, mortal – and perhaps it would be wise of him to observe Hob in this environment first. If Hob is here, he reasons, then necessarily he will be familiar with the etiquette of such a place.

And if Hob is otherwise occupied with a lover already...

He decides not to continue that thought.

A path forward decided, Dream wends his way through the crowds. The club is densely-packed with people, all ages, all nations and creeds and genders, and of them all he is the least-appropriately dressed in his coat and t-shirt and jeans. He does not bother to change, and no one approaches him – he is as a ghost, drifting between the revellers, a visitor to this holy house of Dionysus and Pan, following the faint trail of Hob that guides him like a ball of twine. Gentle prodding at daydreams reveals that Hob was here at the bar, that he, also, had been dressed-down for this occasion, in a white button-up and a pair of loose trousers. Still, others had looked upon him and had, in gauzy fantasies, wondered what he would look like dressed in less. Had wondered what his stubble would feel like against their cheeks. Had imagined his hands – broad, callused, peasant's hands – on their hips, their thighs, their genitals.

Dream does not linger in these daydreams for long, but pursues his true quarry, slipping through the gathered throngs, enjoying, for the moment, the feeling of stalking his prey. It is only infrequently that he is allowed to feel this, the thrill of the hunt, the pursuit; he is, by necessity, a guardian of his dreamers, but he is dreams and nightmares both, and often he longs for an end to the mournful tedium of his duties. Longs for peaceful oblivion or, at the very least, something that he can sink his teeth into.

The club is much larger than he had initially thought, and Dream follows Hob's trail up stairs and down corridors, until he finds himself in a section of the venue that has been cordoned off; several security personnel stand stationed at pre-set points, keeping a watchful eye on the proceedings within.

There are significantly fewer clothes in this part of the club, Dream realises. And what is worn is designed for easy access.

It is less crowded here, but no less quiet – the air is filled with the sounds of pleasure, moans and squeals and throaty whispers, creating a chorus of rising debauchery that drowns out the thumping music below them. He remains unseen, untouched, as he slides through the gaps in the crowd, around amorous couples, ignoring the slick sounds of bodies entangled and flesh entwined, until, at last, he reaches the end of the trail.

Hob Gadling has arranged himself in a secluded section of the upper floor, where dark curtains have been set up to give a modicum of privacy, though the acts happening just beyond are still within full view of the rest of the floor. He is seated in a chair, one of the low, slightly reclined ones that pepper the rest of the club, though this one has been considerately draped in plastic sheeting. The reasoning behind this is immediately obvious: Hob Gadling sits with his thighs spread, revealing the hole that has been cut in the groin of his loose trousers, and there is a woman kneeling before him, with her face buried between Hob's legs.

Dream does not care about the woman, though objectively he recognises that she is beautiful, and clearly quite happy with her current position. His eyes are fixed on Hob, who has his head thrown back, sweat dappling his forehead, mouth open as he gasps and pants. His neck is pulled taut, revealing the tempting line of his jugular, and his shirt has been unbuttoned to reveal the thick hair on his pectorals, almost completely hiding the scars beneath. The woman between his legs does something that must be particularly pleasing, because Hob's eyes slip shut, and his hips rut upwards, and even through the music and the noise and the crowd Dream can hear the sound of his moaning, reaching a fever pitch as he climbs towards climax. When he comes, all his muscles strain at once...and then he slumps, panting, while the woman leans back and licks her lips. The entire lower half of her face is soaked in fluid, and Hob's thighs glisten with the same. It is clear that he has been here for some time.

There is a small sign, Dream realises, that has been set up beside the chair, and a few people positioned around it, reading its words, watching with interest. Some of them watching with eagerness. Eat me out, the sign says. Accepting all comers. Face-sitting offered for best orgasm. Beneath this titillating invitation is a short list of the things that Hob is not interested in. No PiV, says one, and, No S/M.

He watches the woman climb to her feet and then lean down again, whispering something into Hob's ear. It makes him laugh, whatever she says, a full-throated, beautiful display, his head tossed back as he guffaws. Then the woman kisses his cheek, and Hob takes the opportunity to pull her in for a generous hug. Dream has been on the receiving end of such hugs before, but he has never considered that he might be gifted them under such. Specific circumstances.

Then the woman moves away, and he is treated to the sight of Hob on full display. And Dream stops. And looks. And breathes.

Hob had been beautiful, with the woman between his legs, but now that it is only him he is even moreso. With no one in the way Dream is able to see the thick trail of hair on his belly, leading down to the dark thatch of his pubic hair, curls wet with spit and slick. The lips of his sex are parted, red and swollen from the attentions of Dream knows not how many, and here, too, he is wet and open and wanting, with his cock jutting proudly upwards. The plastic sheeting beneath his seat is soaked in his own fluids, and even as Dream watches a newcomer approaches, speaks quietly to Hob and, at Hob's cheery nod and grin, kneels down and begins to lick the plastic clean.

He could remain here unseen, Dream realises. To interrupt Hob's revelry would surely lead to a foul mood later on, but. But.

He wants.

For all that he is neither flesh nor blood, he responds as the form he has taken bids him to, his trousers growing tighter as his erection fills, his stomach clenching with desire, his heart beating faster. His mouth floods with saliva at the sight of Hob's hairy thighs flexing, the dark, spit-damp and abundant curls of his sex, the thin trail of sexual fluids that drips from his fluttering opening and is caught on the tongue of the man kneeling in front of him. And he feels a flash of jealousy, when Hob reaches down and pets the man's hair, and says something softly to him. He recognises the look in the man's eyes, one of fervent adoration, and knows that, were he in the same position, his own expression would be much the same.

He does not wish to ruin their friendship, but. But.

He must make a decision. To remain here, unseen, a silent watcher, is a violation of Hob's trust in him. To reveal himself is to potentially face Hob's ire, but he might take pride in the knowledge that at least he tried.

Dream inhales, breathing in the sharp smell of lust and sex, and steps forward, allowing himself to be seen.

Hob does not notice him at first, still murmuring to the man between his legs. After several moments, though, he looks up, and Dream sees the exact second that Hob spots him: his eyes go wide, and his legs reflexively clamp shut, nearly trapping the man between them, and his muscles shift as if he plans to launch himself upwards before his expression turns resigned, and he relaxes back into his seat. A quick word is had with the kneeling man, who shrugs and then clambers to his feet; he gives Dream a lingering glance as he takes his leave, as do several others of the assembled patrons.

"Dream," Hob says, raising his voice to be heard above the muffled music and the moans and screams emanating from other rooms on this floor. He is still sitting with his knees locked together. "What are you...I mean, far be it for me to judge what you do in your spare time, but what on God's green earth are you doing here?"

"Seeking you out," Dream says. He takes a step forward, and then another, until he has come to a stop almost directly in front of Hob. There is a pillow on the floor, he notices. He had not seen it before; it bears the indents of many previous lovers. He wonders how many have serviced Hob this evening.

He sinks down to his knees.

"Um," Hob says. His eyes are huge, the pupils so dilated that his irises appear as two drops of ink in white clouds. "Dream? What...?"

"I will leave if you wish me to," Dream says. He lifts his hands, letting them hover uncertainly over the heavy curve of Hob's thighs, but not yet daring to touch. He can feel the warmth emanating from Hob's body, more intoxicating than any wine or stimulant, and another wave of wanting crashes over him. Were he standing he thinks he would be staggered by it. "But. If you have no objections. I would very much like to stay."

"No objections," Hob says, voice rising to a squeak. His legs fall apart again, slowly at first, tentative, but widen with more generosity as Dream accepts the invitation, and lays his palms at last on Hob's thighs. They are just as muscled and warm as he had thought them to be, the hair on them coarse where it rubs between his fingers, against his fingertips, and there, at their centre, Hob's sex revealed to him once again. His cock still firm, jutting upwards, his labia still spread and glistening as Dream lowers his head to breathe in the scent of him.

"You smell ambrosial," Dream murmurs, and Hob barks a sudden laugh.

"I've come six times," he says. The tension is slowly leaving his body, allowing him to slump backwards as Dream strokes his thighs. "I smell like sweat and jizz, more like."

"As I said." And to drive home his point, Dream bends down and presses his nose to the sopping curls of Hob's cunt, inhaling deeply. Sweat, yes, and Hob's excitement, and the saliva of others, easily and summarily dismissed in favour of Hob's natural scent, and his friend's murmured, "Oh, oh fuck," as Dream lets his nose brush along the side of his prick. It strains towards him, twitching faintly with Hob's heartbeat. Impudent thing, Dream thinks, though not without a great deal of fondness, and he looks up at Hob through the wild fringe of his hair, blinking slowly.

"You know, I wasn't expecting this," Hob says. His hands clench at his sides. "I only come here maybe twice a year. I wasn't...You don't have to..."

"I wish to."

"...just because I'm. Here. What?"

"I am precisely where I wish to be," Dream says. "And if you truly have no objections. I wish to sample you."

"Jesus Christ," Hob says, and his head falls backwards, thumping against the cushions. "Yeah. Yeah, fuck. Do you know how long I've thought about this?"

"Since 1789," Dream says. He drags the tip of his nose along the length of Hob's cock, and then presses a soft kiss to the head of it, greatly enjoying the sound of Hob's muttered curses. The smell of him is growing denser, sharper, as fresh wetness drips from his cunt.

"Longer," Hob says. "Since the moment I saw you. Thought about bouncing on your cock later that night, even. I would've ridden you so fucking hard."

"Perhaps later," Dream murmurs, and then, for the first time, takes Hob into his mouth.

The effect is immediate, electrifying: Hob goes rigid, mouth opening in a soundless cry as his hips rut forwards, pressing his pubic bone against Dream's nose. His prick is thick, compact, perhaps three inches of trembling nerves that slide along Dream's tongue like silk. The taste of him here is not as strong as it would be directly from the source, but the musky salt of it delights Dream's senses, enraptures him. He lets Hob set the pace at first, trying to gauge how tired he is, how sore...though it quickly becomes apparent that six orgasms in an evening is not, apparently, his friend's limit. Hob does not cry off, nor beg for Dream to give him a moment, but sighs and moans and laughs as Dream sucks at him, first softly, and then with greater force, tracing the thin skin of Hob's prick with the tip of his tongue, then letting it fall free of his mouth so that he can instead lavish attention on the plump lips around it.

Here, he thinks. Here is where his mouth is intended to be, at the nadir of Hob's sex, where his labia are spread like flower petals and his cunt clenches and leaks. Dream hums to himself in delight as he laps a searing path from the root of Hob's prick down to his twitching, wet opening, kneading Hob's thighs with his fingertips as he does so. There is so much hair here that it is impossible to keep his face dry – nor would he want to, even if he could – and Dream leans in to taste, pushing his nose through Hob's pubic hair, committing the scent of him to memory as he licks and sucks at everything he can reach. His wild hunger makes him crude, inexpert, but when he glances upwards to gauge Hob's pleasure he finds his friend flush-faced and panting, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, one hand pushed back into his own hair. When he sees Dream looking he smiles.

"Do you know how gorgeous you are?" he asks. "Between my legs? I've imagined this for so long."

The encouragement is. Pleasing. More than he had thought it would be. Enough that it makes his own cock twitch as he basks in the pleasure of Hob's praise. "So beautiful," Hob says, and he lifts his hips slightly, demanding. Dream is eager to indulge him, and buries his face once more into Hob's sex, licking, now, at his cunt, pressing the tip of his tongue inside to where he is wettest and hottest, savouring the taste of him. The scent that has gathered in his hair, surrounding him now, filling Dream's nostrils, making him dizzy with lust. He cannot resist the temptation to bury his tongue deeper, and then deeper still, longer than any human Hob would ever have taken to bed. Muscles clamp down around him, and Hob makes a startled, thrilled little noise, and then begins laughing again, one hand at last stealing to Dream's hair. He does not clutch, but strokes, softly, like a favoured pet, and Dream purrs, mouth sealed around Hob's cunt, tongue buried in him until there is no more space for anything but Dream.

"You're a marvel," Hob says; Dream flicks the tip of his tongue against the opening to his cervix, soft, soft, and Hob's whole body goes as taut as a bow. "A fuh-hucking marvel oh God, oh fuck, Dream!"

A crowd has begun to form, Dream notes, though it is distant and unimportant information, useful only as much as these people may now see that Hob has chosen him, that Hob favours him. He is too focused on the task at hand to feel anything but the faintest hint of possessiveness – why should he, when he already has what he desires? – and he sets to it with relish, pumping his tongue in leisurely strokes, deep enough that Hob will feel him later, like a sweet bruise. Above him, Hob swears a blue streak, his neglected cock pulsing, prompting a sharp outcry of pleasure every time that Dream bumps the base of it with his nose. Eat me out, the sign had said, and Dream intends to follow it to the letter – there will be time enough, he hopes, to worship every other part of Hob later.

"Dream," Hob says, "Dream, I'm, I'm close, I'm–"

Dream does not wish to be warned. He wishes to be covered in the smell of Hob, drenched in him, and so he presses his tongue sharply up at the same time as he moves his hand to stroke Hob's prick with his thumb, humming in satisfaction as above him Hob shouts, thighs clamping hard around Dream's ears, a gush of fluid oozing around Dream's tongue as he works Hob through first one panting, keening peak, and then a second one just after, smaller, Hob squeezing rhythmically with his thighs, his cries of completion turning to whimpers and then to silence, just the sound of his breathing, like thunder, and murmured noises of appreciation from the gathered crowd. Dream slowly pulls back, and looks with satisfaction as Hob's gaping cunt, at the trickle of spit and come that drips from him, smoothing the curls there flat and sleek.

"Oh," Hob says. His voice is shaky, but inexpressibly fond as he reaches forward and cups Dream's cheeks with his palms. "Oh, I've made a complete mess of you."

He does not need a mirror to know that Hob's words are true. Dream can feel the warm air of the club brushing cold against the wetness on his cheeks, his chin, where it drips in thin lines down his neck. Hob smiles at him, his thumb stroking Dream's bottom lip.

"I think I might have one more in me for tonight, if you're interested," he says, and then with his foot he stretches out and tips over the little sign he had set up beside his chair. "But maybe somewhere where it's...just us? If there's no objections?"

His voice is hesitant. Searching. Dream gazes up at him, dazed, as he had known he would be, with how much he wants, and not only with how much he wants Hob's body, but his laughter as well, and his joy, and his time and his company. No, there are no objections.

"It would be my pleasure," he says, and Hob, still smiling, leans down and kisses the damp tip of his nose, and then the corner of his mouth, and then Hob's lips cover his own, gentle, and around them the club continues on in its revels but, for the moment, it is only them, and it is perfect.

[westcrescent]

 

𝐗𝐈𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐔𝐘𝐔𝐄 & 𝐒𝐇𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐄.

" We’re like the moon and the water— ever connected yet constantly shifting. "  

Ethereal and graceful, in the tranquil waters of the Xiyang God Realm, Canghe's reflection often danced among the moonlit water, his presence a gentle reminder of the celestial magic that surrounded them. Ruyue had known the moonwater prince since childhood, their bond formed in the luminescent gardens where they often met and played with sparklers every new year's eve.

Canghe had a way of bringing lightness to her heart, his playful spirit infectious. Together, they would chase fireflies and whisper secrets to the stars, their laughter echoing through the stillness of the night.

As they grew, the undercurrents of their friendship began to shift. Ruyue felt a flutter in her chest whenever Canghe was near, his presence stirring something deeper within her. She admired his fluid grace and the way he moved through the water as if he were part of it, his essence intertwined with the moon’s glow. Yet, despite the soft spark between them, words of love remained unspoken, a silent tension that danced just out of reach.

“Why do you always look so serious, Ruyue?” Canghe would tease, his eyes sparkling like starlight. “You’re a goddess-in-training! Embrace the joy of being alive!”

She would smile, but beneath her laughter lay the complexity of her feelings. “It’s hard to be carefree when I know what’s expected of me,” she replied, her tone wistful. “But with you, I can forget for a while.”

Their moments together were precious, a sanctuary from the weight of expectations that pressed upon her. They would talk for hours, Canghe’s laughter intertwining with the soft murmur of water, creating a melody that resonated in Ruyue’s heart. Yet, every time she sensed the depth of her feelings, she pulled back, afraid to tarnish their friendship with the uncertainty of romance.

One fateful night, as the moon hung high in the sky, casting silver light over the water, Canghe took her hand, his touch sending ripples of warmth through her. “Ruyue, do you ever wonder what lies beyond friendship?” His voice was low, filled with a sincerity that made her heart race.

Her breath caught in her throat, and the air around them seemed to still. “I… I think about it,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I don’t want to lose what we have.”

Canghe’s gaze softened, his eyes reflecting the moon’s glow. “Neither do I. But sometimes, I feel like there’s something more between us.”

Ruyue’s heart ached with longing and fear. She wanted to lean into that connection, to explore the depths of her feelings, but the fear of changing their relationship held her back. “Maybe we should just let things be as they are,” she suggested, though her voice trembled with uncertainty.

He nodded, understanding yet disappointed. “I can respect that. I wish I knew how to tell you how much you mean to me without risking what we have.”

As the night deepened, their hands slowly parted, an invisible barrier growing between them. Ruyue felt a pang of regret, the bittersweet taste of what might have been hanging in the air. They spent the rest of the evening in silence, their hearts full of unspoken words.

As seasons changed, so did their paths. Ruyue focused on her training, learning to embody the strength of the lunar deity, while Canghe remained a spirit of the waters, his existence entwined with the ebb and flow of the tides. Their friendship persisted, yet the underlying tension remained—a delicate thread woven through their shared moments, unacknowledged yet ever-present.

Even as they ventured through their separate journeys, Ruyue would often find herself by the water’s edge, gazing at the moonlit reflections. In those quiet moments, she remembered their laughter, the weight of his hand in hers, and the bittersweet echoes of what they had shared. Though they never crossed the threshold into romance, the love they felt lingered like a gentle breeze, a reminder of the beauty that existed in the delicate balance between friendship and something more.

Years later, as Ruyue stood on the banks of the shimmering lake, she caught sight of Canghe, his form illuminated by the moonlight. He smiled at her, a familiar spark in his eyes, and in that instant, she knew their bond was unbreakable. They had navigated the currents of their emotions and emerged with a friendship that was both profound and bittersweet—a testament to the love that thrived in the spaces between words.

"If it isn't Xiyang Ruyue."

"Canghe." she smiled, a sigh slipped pass her lips, shoulders deflating as she loosens up around him just like the old days. This unbeatable sense of familiarity, it felt like home. "You're still giving me that look, Canghe."

"You know what this means." he gives her a reassuring smile, ever so warm, like the lakes in summer. "You will always find me at the banks of the lake, and I will always look at you the same way," "You told me before, that the moon and water never meets, but I can be your constant. I’m drawn to the light reflected on the water, but I also know that the depths hold their own magic."

“Canghe.. thank you, for laying your heart bare. But you know my ascension ritual is approaching, I find myself unable to bear the weight of.. this. Of us. My heart is a tempest of uncertainty, and I fear that allowing our feelings to blossom might steer me from the path I am meant to tread." Ruyue's words hung in the air like mist, and Canghe's expression shifted as he processed her feelings.

“I understand,” he said softly, though the weight of his words felt heavy. "As you step into your destiny, know that I am proud of the person you’re becoming, I do hope that the light of those shared days will guide you forward. I'll always be here, Ruyue. As long as theres a drop of water in the world."

She watched as a flicker of disappointment crossed his features, but it was quickly replaced by an understanding that tugged at her heart.

"Thank you Canghe. I hope you think of me whenever you look up at the moon. When it's your time to ascend, I'll be watching over you."

Her lips curved with a grace that seemed to echo the serenity of the night sky, it was a smile that held stories of laughter, dreams, and bittersweet memories, inviting those who saw it to share in the depths of her heart.

[razieltwelve]

The Girl Of Many Talents (Final Rose x Game of Thrones)

Syrio waited patiently at the docks. Night had descended upon Braavos, but his ship was not quite ready to leave. It had not been an easy decision to leave the service of the Sealord, yet he had felt compelled all the same. Since his late teens, he had been acknowledged as the finest sword in the city, and his time as the First Sword had only cemented his position. But his heart yearned for more.

The world was a vast place, and he had yet to see much of it. He wished to see what he could while he was still young enough to travel, and the honours heaped upon him here could not replace the simple joy of being his own man again, of choosing for himself where he would go and when he would leave. To be the First Sword was to serve the Sealord, and Syrio Forel had served loyal and well, but he had served enough.

To his credit, the Sealord had not chastised him when he had told him of his plans. Instead, he had thanked Syrio for his service and bid him go where he would. It had stung a little to be treated so cooly, but it was not common for a First Sword to leave, and so the Sealord had suffered a loss of face. Indeed, Syrio counted himself fortunate that the Sealord had not sent assassins to avenge the insult, for many of his predecessors would have.

Perhaps it was because of their past. He had known the Sealord before he was the ruler of Braavos, back when he had been a cunning man seeking to revive the fortunes of his faltering House and Syrio had been a prideful bravo, still eager to prove himself and far too quick to draw a blade when wise words and a watchful eye would have been better. Were they friends? Syrio liked to think so, but there was little room for friendship when a man became Sealord. Instead, a man had to worry about knives in the dark and the great game between kingdoms.

Movement in the shadows nearby caught his eye, and Syrio reached for his sword. He had returned his favoured blade, one given to him by the Sealord when he had made him First Sword. It would have been rude to keep it, and Syrio was not a man to be rude unless the situation called for it. Still, the sword he had purchased was a good one, and he still wielded the skills of the First Sword of Braavos, though he no longer held the title.

“Good evening,” Syrio called out to the cloaked stranger just barely visible in the flickering torchlight. “Are you out for a stroll or perhaps something more?”

The figure raised their head, and he found himself staring into a face so perfectly ordinary that it could not be natural. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and he drew his blade. A Faceless Man? Surely, his old friend had not taken his departure so poorly.

And then the ordinary man’s lips twitched, and he was no longer staring at a man but at a familiar girl with a faint smile. 

“Good evening, Syrio.”

Syrio did not quite relax. Girl she might be, but Alera Antaryon was the eldest child of the Sealord and quite possibly the most dangerous person he had ever met. Skilled with a sword, yes, but even more with words and wits, Alera was a plotter and schemer whose guile had crushed the enemies of her House whilst the magics she could wield had given pause to even the Faceless Men. There were few who would dare to cross the Sealord, but amongst those who truly understood the ebb and flow of power in the city, there were even fewer who dared to cross his daughter.

“Good evening to you, Lady Alera.” He inclined his head. “Is this about business?” Was she here to kill him? If so, he’d not make it easy although he did not like his odds. She would not have come here unprepared, nor would she have come alone.

“No.” Alera came closer, and Syrio’s eyes flicked to the guards who slipped out of the shadows. They were her own personal retainers, hand-picked for their skills and loyalty. Her father had allowed it after the first assassination attempt against her, and her guards had dealt with every subsequent attempt thereafter. “I come on my father’s behalf.”

“Oh?” Syrio sheathed his blade. “And what have you to say on the Sealord’s behalf?”

Alera’s lips curved up into a whimsical smile, and he would have been fooled into thinking her a kindly young woman if he had not known better. “You are a good man, Syrio Forel, and you have served my father well since he appointed you. Yet there are things a Sealord cannot say in public that his daughter might say in private.”

“And what might you say then?”

“He will miss you,” Alera said. “And though he could not give you face when you resigned, perhaps he can make up for it now.” She tossed him a pouch. It was full of coins. “Your ship sails for King’s Landing. You will need the right currency when you arrive. That will help.” She nodded and one of the guards came forward with a sword. “And the man who was once First Sword of Braavos and who remains my father’s friend should not have to content himself with store-bought steel.”

He accepted the sword graciously and drew it. “A fine blade.” He found himself smiling. It was the equal, perhaps even the better, of the one he had given up. “A truly great gift.” He bowed. “I apologise for thinking poorly of your father. Let him know that Syrio Forel remains his friend now and always.”

“I had hoped you would understand.” Alera came forward herself and handed him a medallion. “This will identify you to my agents in Westeros.” She handed him a piece of parchment. “When you go to King’s Landing, seek out that address. It is run by an agent of mine. They will aid you in whatever you wish to do, and they have been instructed to provide you with ample funds. They will also be able to inform you of other agents I have that might be able to aid you in your dealings.”

“My lady...” Syrio was moved. “You do not have to do this. I understood very well what I was giving up when I resigned.”

“Yet my father and I both wish to do this.” Alera smiled fondly. “You are a good man, Syrio Forel, but the world is not full of good men, and we would have you return to us one day.”

“You have my thanks.”

“Do you know where you will go?” Alera asked.

“I think...” Syrio paused. “I will go first to King’s Landing, as my ship is bound there, but then I will go North. I read of the Wall when I was but a boy, and I wish to see it and many other things with my own eyes.”

“I see.” Alera nodded. “Then go with my father’s blessing. May fair winds and following seas be ever at your side, Syrio Forel. And if you should ever see or hear anything that might be interesting to me or my father...”

“I will be sure to pass it on to your agents.” Syrio chuckled. “You know, Lady Alera, you were by far my finest student, yet I cannot help but feel that you are still improving. I shall return one day, and we shall see how skilled you can become.”

“I look forward to it.” Alera glanced past him. “Your ship is almost ready.”

“Then I must go.”

“Farewell, Syrio.”

X     X     X

Alera - a girl who had once been Jahne Nabaat - watched Syrio Forel board his ship. It was a pity to lose him. He was by far the most skilled of the warriors in her or father’s employ, but he was also not a man much enamoured with the treachery and guile of politics. To be sure, he could handle himself in that arena, but she meant what she had said. Syrio was a good man. He would have been perfectly content running his own school of swordsmanship or simply travelling the world and seeing what he could.

But as sad as it was to see him go, forcing him to stay would have been worse. Men of Syrio’s calibre were not to be antagonised needlessly, and her father had enough enemies as it was without worrying about his First Sword’s loyalty wavering. Besides, this could also be spun to their advantage. With her father seemingly weakened, his enemies would be more likely to reveal themselves.

When they did, Alera would be waiting with knives in the dark, whispered rumours in the market, and cunning deals signed and sealed. She bit back a smile. Perhaps it made her wicked, but she did so enjoy these sorts of games. And she had several pupils of her own, boys and girls from allied Houses, who could be taught using the coming conflict as a lesson. They would see the fall of her House’s enemies, and they would know not only that they had made the right choice to ally with her House but also that allying with her personally was in their own personal best interests. After all, many of them had siblings to worry about, competitors in the often muddled battles for succession amongst the nobility. 

More to the point, she had already known that Syrio would head north. He had spoken of that desire more than once while training her, and she did need eyes and ears in the North. Few Braavosi were suited to the harsh climate and rugged inhabitants of the North, but Syrio had a good chance of making it work.

“My lady.” One of her retainers stepped forward. He was a slim fellow, hired for his stealth and cunning rather than his fighting ability. “I have received word from an associate in Pentos.”

“Oh?”

“It is about a certain Beggar King and his sister.”

Alera’s lips curled. Oh, this was going to be fun. “And what did that associate of yours have to say?”

“Many things, my lady, but he did say something most interesting about an impeding marriage...”

Alera chortled. “He plans on marrying his sister off, no doubt.” She snorted inelegantly. “It is a tragedy to see a House as great as the Targaryens reduced to a naive girl and a stupid, spiteful boy who fancies himself a king. Still, tell me everything. The boy is beyond help, but the girl might yet be useful if we could get our hands on her.”

X     X     X

Author’s Notes

Ah, Jahne, still being Jahne. Yes, Braavos suits her to a tee. Her father is the Sealord, but she is his daughter... and his most trusted advisor and assistant. In truth, many already speculate that she will succeed him, and there are few who dare to draw her ire.

Syrio was one of her tutors, and as you can see, she and her father are both fond of him and genuinely wish him well. Of course, if he can still be useful, Jahne isn’t going to complain.

And being who she is, Jahne likes to be kept apprised of events happening in the other Free Cities. After all, they are the enemies and rivals of Braavos, and she abhors slavery. Although there is zero possibility, in her opinion, of actually overthrowing Robert at this point, Daenerys is still a useful piece on the board, one that she might be able to parlay into something beneficial. Of course, if or when Dany gets her dragons, Jahne will definitely be interested.

If you’re interested in my thoughts on writing and other topics, you can find those here.

I also write original fiction, which you can find on Amazon here or on Audible here.

[hqprotectionsquad]

Notice Me (Kenma x Reader)

Title: Notice Me Pairing: Kenma x F!Reader Summary: If you move in with Kenma, you save money and you get to go to your dream school in Tokyo. Just one thing: you start developing a crush on your roommate who you barely know. Word Count: 2441 A/N: This is the original fic I had planned before I lost it for a few bits. I wrote a whole HC set for this, which is very similar because I wrote down everything I could remember. This would be an extension of a sort in that case.

A few months ago, it was never like this. You were just about ready to attend a junior college because your top choice university waitlisted you for your program. You were okay with it, considering the price was significantly less than what you expected to pay at university. What are two years working on transferrable credits anyway? In the grand scheme of things, you were making the right choice.

And then you got off of the waitlist. You jumped for joy and your parents baked you a cake for your achievements. Everything was dandy, up until you remembered the tuition. It wasn’t like you’d be in crippling debt if you attended, just debt that isn’t as crippling.

Luckily, your neighbor, Kenma is also moving to Tokyo, to study something like business or management or something like that? You don’t do much of exploring his personality until you hear a plan that your mom proposes to you.

“Mom, are you serious?” You can’t believe what your ears are hearing.

“Of course! We don’t have much money to send you, let alone boarding. So while you’re in Tokyo, you can stay with Kenma! Kenma will have a large enough apartment, according to his parents when I spoke to them about this.”

“You already spoke to them about it?!”

“Yes! And you both move in two weeks.”

It’s weird, packing up your entire life is weird. Waves of nostalgia crash every time you notice an old toy you used to play with or old photos you forgot existed. Soon enough, you’ve got everything you need in boxes that will meet you in Tokyo.

Tokyo. It still feels like a fever dream. Something that is, but you aren’t sure how it happened. A few months ago, you were days away from enrolling in junior college, and now, you’re going to Tokyo.

Today, your family packs the car with all of your clothing and things that can be easily carried. Later on, you’re in the apartment, settling your items. Soon enough, your family’s back in the emptier car on their way home. Everything goes too quickly.

The process of getting to know Kenma goes too slowly. Sure, you’ve been his neighbor for your entire life, but you’ve never really spoken to him, even though you’ve gone to the same high school and boarded the train together in the mornings.

Now, if you have classes in the morning, you take the train with him to the university. Still, after a few weeks of moving in together, you haven’t spoken much to him. It’s like ebb and flow, except he’s flowing at his own pace.

On the train to classes one day, you ask, “Kenma, do you want to have dinner together? I can pick up something after my last class.”

“No, it’s okay, I’m streaming something tonight.” So that’s all the noise he makes at two in the morning, not that you could assume anything based on the yelling.

“Oh. I didn’t know you streamed. Um, what do you stream?” You don’t want this conversation to stop. From all the years you’ve known him, you were actually jealous of Kuroo for being able to know Kenma so well. This could be your chance to see what’s going on behind that pretty face of his.

“Mostly games.” He digs into his messenger bag and you assume that the conversation is over. This is it, he probably just wants to be roommates without being friends. “You forgot this earlier, by the way. On the counter.” He puts a book into your hand.

“Thank you.” And thus begins your habit of forgetting things and him retrieving them for you. For the most part, it’s not on purpose; you’re just a forgetful human being. However, one time, you checked to see if he’d actually notice if you left something. It was a bit of a gamble, but you just wanted to see. Sure enough, Kenma came right before your class began to hand off a notebook.

These drop-offs are simple, yet his attention to detail is what draws you to him. His perspective means everything when you’re asking him for his opinion on assignments or life events.

You wish there was something more, though. He’s so reserved. It’s not like he’s actively trying to hide something, but maybe, he just wants to be by himself.

That’s such a lonely life.

He has his friend Kuroo, as far as you know, who is a year older than you two. You’re at the extremes of your mind, weighing the pros and cons between your two halves. If you try to befriend Kuroo, that could be your way to knowing Kenma, but Kenma might also be confused by your friendship with his friend. If you don’t try to befriend Kuroo, then you’re essentially stuck in the same place without a stimulant to move forward.

So you do what any college student would do; decide your fate on a coin flip. Heads is get to know Kuroo, and tails is to stay stagnant and find a way through. You flick the coin off of your thumb and it sails into the air until it finds solace in your hand. You slap the coin onto your opposite hand, and what do you know, it lands on—

“Heads.”

Huh. You’re going to have quite a time. You even begin laughing to yourself because you have no idea how to start.

“You know, Kuroo’s a chemistry tutor.” Your friend informs you after she sees your brain unfolding when you go out for a literature study session. She seemed very concerned, but you reassure her that you simply had a crush on your roommate and you aren’t sure how to go about it.

“I’m taking introductory chemistry, and I’m not near failing, Mika.”

“Exactly, it could just be supplemental and you use the studying so you can get a better grade.”

“You know what, I think you’re right. I’m going to do that.” A smile graces your lips and it’s something in between a smirk and a genuine grin, but you’ll take it.

The next time you visit the library, you stop by the corkboard by the entrance. You trace your fingers to find the chemistry tutoring sign-ups and you find Kuroo’s name at the top of a page in bold font. Lines are filled left and right, and you find an opening for two days from now. Now that you’re looking at it, there aren’t too many girls who have signed up for him, just mostly boys. You suppose you’ll find out why soon.

When you approach a table on the day you’ll be tutored, your mouth gapes when you see the face of this guy. How are there more boys who sign up for him than girls? If you weren’t faithful to your mission, you’d probably be reconsidering everything.

“Hey, I’m (Y/N), you’re Kuroo, right? You’re tutoring me in intro chemistry,” you say as you take a seat and unload your notebook and textbook from your backpack. You place your items onto the table, including your trusty highlighters and pencil case.

“Hey.” He offers you a smile. “Glad you could make it.” He does one look over you before asking, “Haven’t we met before? This isn’t an attempt to pick you up, but I mean if you wanted me to, I wouldn’t object.”

You roll your eyes and grin. This guy has no shame from the get-go. “Maybe in passing. I’m Kenma’s roommate.”

“Right, right, that’s where I’ve seen you.” Kuroo nods. “So did you want to get into the parts you have trouble with or do you want to do a brief overview first?”

“Brief overview would be good.” You start to get into all of the general basics of chemistry, like the formulas and diagrams you’ll need for tests. The way Kuroo explains all of this makes so much sense, even the things you thought you knew before.

“Alright! Water break.” It’s been about an hour, but judging by Kuroo’s expression, you might be here a little longer. Even though the world has passed by around you, it feels like you just arrived and introduced yourself.

“Have you considered being a teacher? You’re really good at explaining.”

After chugging down half of his bottle, he runs some fingers through his hair and you’re surprised he can even get them out based on the messy appearance. “I’ve thought about it, but I kind of want to go into forensics or research. Something like that. But something tells me you’re not here because you want to do better on your tests.”

“Red-handed,” you say with your hands up. “What makes you think that though?”

“You’ve kind of got everything down, but I wouldn’t expect anything else from a pretty and smart girl like you.”

Your mouth hangs open just the slightest bit and you have to force yourself to press your lips into a smile. You try to look anywhere else except meet his eyes. “I,” you stop to breathe. “I’m flattered, but um, I guess I did come here with a different intention than just studying.”

“And that would be?” Kuroo clasps his hands together and leans forward. By the looks of it, he’s even tilting his head so his ear faces towards you.

Your breath can’t make a silver barrier between Kuroo and your flushed cheeks. “I, um, kind of have developed a crush on Kenma, and since you’re his friend—”

“Damn. I really thought I could get a girl from tutoring, but it looks like she’s only interested in my best friend.” He then does this thing where it looks like he’s smirking and fake crying at the same time and you can’t really tell what he’s trying to accomplish from this. Still, he bites his lip and you’re led to believe he’s actually a little upset that he’s being passed over.

“I’m sorry, Kuroo.”

“Why are you sorry?” He laughs through his question.

“I don’t know.” With your smile on your face, you peer down at your chemistry notes, the ones you’ve just written. “I’m really thankful for all your help with this. I’m sorry if it seems like I’ve taken advantage of you.”

“Believe me, it’s no big deal. You’re one of the first girls I’ve tutored and you’re pretty cool. I still don’t know why I keep getting guys to tutor, don’t know what witch cursed me with that.” Kuroo clicks his tongue before continuing, “But you’re his roommate. Shouldn’t you at least know him up to a certain extent? I just don’t get it when you could just try to seduce him.” He pauses. “Don’t actually do that, it probably won’t work, it’s Kenma.”

“Exactly. He’s been my neighbor for basically all of my life, but I don’t know him enough to try to start something. I can’t tell if he enjoys my company or not.”

“You know what, I know you’re Kenma’s roommate and you barely know him, which is understandable, because it’s Kenma. Come check out the intramural games and you’ll get to meet the team.”

You tilt your head at his statement. “Intramural games? For what?”

“For volleyball. Kenma’s the setter, I’m the captain for our team.” Kuroo nods. “Saturday at 4. I’ll invite you out for ice cream and it’ll be all cool.” He starts packing up his stuff and shoving it into his backpack.

“Alright, I’ll see you then,” you confirm while you mirror his actions. You bid him goodbye and the last thing you hear from him is mumbling that you had to, of course, like his best friend.

Saturday comes and you wish you could say it wasn’t a blur, but with all of the volleyball lingo—still unsure what some of the positions are, but at least you know Kenma’s—and the men just talking amongst themselves, it’s not hard to get stuck in the whirlwind.

���Are you okay, (Y/N)?”

You give your head a little shake before looking to see who was speaking to you. “Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks for asking, Kenma.”

“If you don’t want to be here, I can take us back to the apartment. I’m sure Lev’s loud voice is hurting your ears.” He casts a strained glance to the man leaning back on the counter, slurping his ice cream like it’s a soup. The rest of the lot is in the circle, speaking to teammates, and whoever happened to respond to Kuroo’s invitation. Turns out you weren’t the only one that wanted to share in the company of the team.

With your unfinished ice cream cup still in your hand, you bid goodbye to Kuroo and the other team members. Turns out there really is a whole world outside of your small circle at the university. Without them, you wouldn’t have realized how interesting life could be if you continued to hang out with them all.

You wondered if you kept this up, maybe you’d have a chance with Kenma, and so you did. They were all kind enough to allow you to tag onto their plans, even if you’ve stuck onto them like unwanted glue residue. They never grumbled when you walked into cafes with Kuroo, nor did they whisper underneath their breath when you joined them for movie nights at Tora’s apartment. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say you were becoming very good friends with all of them, including your roommate.

Nowadays, he’ll subtly expect to have dinner together when you are both free and you’ll commute to school with him on the days that your classes start around the same time. All the while, you’re still trying to talk to him. Ask him about the weather, what can he recommend as far as video games go — anything that will get him to move his mouth. He really enjoys talking about the games he plays and it seems like that’s his life. Behind his nonchalant expression, fiery eyes dance.

One day on the train, he sits next to you. Everything takes you back to earlier in the year when you barely knew him. All it took was volleyball and the intervention of a very important person in Kenma’s life. He’s no longer just a roommate. He’s a friend, someone to talk to, someone who listens to you.

He turns his head and looks you up and down, from your eyes to your shoes. His gaze is sure but slow, and you aren’t certain of his intentions.

Finally, he asks, “(Y/N), are you flirting with me?”

Hearing this come from his lips tugs your own into a smile. “You finally noticed?”

navi! | master list | tag list form

[lettertomyaggressor]

A letter to my aggressor

I’m trying my best to respect your boundaries but I have to write you to let you know in what way this past week has been difficult for me. Maybe my concept of time in some ways draws us together.

Feeling like Sunday was the ultimate deal breaker confuses the hell out of me. While my behavior was foolish, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise.

I’m not a perfect person. I have flaws just like anyone else. I was not prepared for the whirlwind of a relationship this has been. I don’t know how to repair the damage that has been done.

I want you to understand that I feel like I have developed extremely bad habits as a result of trying to reassure myself that there is nothing to be afraid of. I want you to understand that I’m not trying to shame you as you seem to think.

I walk away from situations where I feel self conscious because I am afraid my insecurities will manipulate the situation, making it even worse. I demand your attention as a way of trying to force you to give me the apology I feel I deserve. An apology I truly feel has never fully been given. I look back on this past week and wonder how I am deserving of feeling abandoned if the reason for it is because my actions made you feel that way. Transactional analysis is a poor approach to resolving conflict. Is causing more damage really an effective way of proving a point? I’m saying it now so that both of us can hear it.

Loving you has been very difficult for me. I’m aware the odds are stacked against us. It shouldn’t have taken therapy for the two of us to understand that. We are both smart enough to have known that from the beginning and we should feel some level of shame in that. When this relationship started, it was wrong. As a result of that, we default to doing things to hurt one another when we feel misunderstood. We have created this mess together and we are both responsible for the damage we have done. I analyze these behavioral patterns and easily see the toxicity that surrounds them, so in a way I actually support your choice to wedge some time and space between us. Time is something incredibly valuable that we have wasted on trying to teach each other more about ourselves.

I wish I were in a strong enough place to feel more comfortable than I’m feeling right now, but I am glad that I continue to question it. I am still healing and I still feel like I need the support you said you had to offer. I have to say that when I look back on the past year, I still blame myself for a lot of what we have experienced.

I should have walked away when our trust was compromised. It would have been the appropriate response to the pain I was feeling. I should have given myself time to think about what I needed in order to heal and if it aligned with what you were capable of providing. In fairness, it shouldn’t surprise me that nothing has changed. When I developed the strength to ask for help, my needs were met with empty promises and very little follow through. And somehow, though I see some progress, very little has changed long after the conversations were had. However, had I only worried about myself, I don’t think I would have chosen to stay with you and I don’t think I would have felt any better for it. The thing is, I compromised myself hoping you wouldn’t feel punished for your honesty — the basic foundation trust and healthy relationships are built upon. The only thing that compromise aided was my ability to evaluate the situation more objectively, enabling both of us to analyze our faults in our attempt to be better people individually. I’m proud of my decision to do that. As a reward, I got to see more of the person in you that I saw from the beginning and wanted more of. It was both detrimental to my healing and toxically intriguing because I thought it evolved your perception of me and honored the qualities within myself that I wanted to be acknowledged for — the things in myself that I actually am proud of.

Being intimate with you is different from anything I’ve experienced before. Becoming infatuated with the idea of you is where my perception continually ebbs and flows, physically and emotionally. I guess this is where the age gap comes in to play. Maybe I mistook what is standard for you, by way of experience, as passion or love for the person I am.

And yet, I am still sitting here, beating myself up over it because a part of me questions if the pain you’re experiencing physically in regards to a pinched nerve renders you unable to fulfill our relationship sexually and perhaps fuels your insecurities. It feels like you could be choosing now to punish me because the lack of intimacy defeats you. Communication is valuable because it can be used in more ways than one. Your inability to communicate using your words is compensated by your ability to communicate with your body, but when the physicality is removed, I expect you to change your strategy. Ghosting me is not the appropriate response to feeling like you aren’t being heard. I may remove myself physically when I feel misunderstood, but I always follow through by using words to explain my reasoning for it. Ironic, isn’t it?

When you don’t communicate verbally it causes more damage than clarity for me. I’m ashamed that having that understanding, I am not utilizing this past week as an opportunity to exercise or eat more or rely on my physicality to better myself when words are taken away from me. I wonder if I will ever stop evaluating my self worth by worrying about whether or not I’m pleasing other people. My way of feeling heard — while it may be verbal — is equally assertive.

So much of myself is harboring a lot of self debilitating thoughts and feelings for putting other peoples’ needs before my own. I need to move passed that. I will never be strong until my mind and body are equally prepared to be assertive when faced with conflict.

Our unresolved conflict comes to surface by the things that trigger me. Triggers that manifest themselves in the negative coping strategies I have developed as a result of trying to please you. In my innocent attempt at trying to forgive you, I switched positions from the victim to the aggressor.  I began leading conflict with ego rather than the kindness and support I promised you. I’m sorry for that. I was blind to the damage that was imposing on both of us. I want to take this moment to acknowledge such irresponsibility on my end. I want you to know I had every intention to follow through, even without knowing life would fall so strongly upon you this past year. I think I can still be proud that I stuck through it because I have learned a lot about who I am as a result of these experiences, even though I would have rather learned with more of your support. I will have to forgive myself and accept that in order to, at the very least, maintain a friendship with you which is why I am angry that you feel it is your responsibility to make choices “for the both of us.” Sadly, we have both overlooked the positive qualities that have held us together through these challenges. I respect your decision to try to mend things by making a choice beyond what I’m comfortable with as an effort to aid me in my healing, but I am not sure there is enough trust between us for me to be able to see it in that way so I have to admit that your efforts do the opposite of what you intend to do. I am left feeling abandoned, misunderstood, and insecure — three feelings that have been detrimental to the progress we could have otherwise made. Three feelings that provoke such a visceral response to what you see as things I should have moved on from by now. The trauma that was never properly handled is thriving in the toxic way we communicate so it makes sense that neither of us feel heard.

I’m not sure how you will perceive this email because I realize it may invoke more shame but I want you to understand that is far from my intention. Walking away from this situation without this understanding means we will have failed ourselves and each other. As much as I rely on your support to carry on, I find your tactics to be weak, immature, and not conducive to any sort of progress. As the initial aggressor, it is not your position to teach me a lesson that we both need to learn.

However, if you choose to, it will magnify what I see as our faults and insecurities. I will eventually need to determine the ways in which I am not a victim. I have confidence I will eventually move on now that I have this understanding. I do not want to constantly revisit the pain any more than you want to but it is necessary. If you would prefer to do that alone, or you feel that you already have, this letter serves as my attempt to explain why I feel so alone. I am asking you to find a different way to lend me support as I have tried desperately to do for you. In return, I think I am capable of giving you the forgiveness you are asking for. It will enable us both to heal in the ways that we deserve and to move on, honoring the promise that we will always be friends. I love you.

[amanduhcrush]

I just wanted to take a moment to reflect on friendship. All the friendships that have touched my life. The people who I have memories with. You know, the stories I tell my girlfriend late at night about our good times. It may be a song or a band that comes on shuffle that brings the story to light. Forever the Sickest Kids. Senses Fail. Halsey. Dominos. Vance Joy. Eyes Set to Kill. The one’s I’m taking about are imprinted upon my soul in such a way that I can really go back to the days. The days where these memories were made. I remember the story. 

It may be a part of the natural ebb and flow of the universe-conversation-flow that leads me to bringing you up. A park, a house, a metaphor. The optics of my memory nerve, focus as quickly as they can within my heart to bring out the colors of our good times.

Whatever it may be that prompts the story - retelling it to my significant other truly brings me joy. I love sharing the stories of the people, songs, places, and times I’ve shared with you, with my girlfriend. It’s so cool because it introduces her to a whole new part of me. A part my story - before her and I met. 

It takes me back to the jokes. The laughs. The stupid times we’ve had. All the trouble we’d get in just by goofing off and being happy that we had freedom. No parents around to tell us what we could and couldn’t do. So sometimes we just made fun of each other and sometimes we pushed each other to grow. No matter what, I always view these times with loving eyes and a little razzle-dazzle. You’ve made my life feel charming.

The razzle-dazzle I add with my own lens of life, is there because I truly love you, dear friend. You are beautiful in every way possible. Oh yes, even the unlovable things you do make you beautiful. And, honestly I can admit that I’m waaaay human all the time. Always saying things I regret and doing things I wish I had known better not to do. If any of the things I’ve done have gotten in the way of our friendship, please know that I ask for forgiveness. I wasn’t always the best and wasn’t always the smartest.

But regardless of the past, I just want to say that I miss you so, so much. And I just want to thank you for teaching me some of the lessons that I needed to learn.

I want you to know that I cherish you. And the little bits of razzle-dazzly, love and sparkle I add to the stories when I tell Kady, is because of the grace I know you’d grant me. In reality, I tell her about how you’ve made me laugh, how you’ve done goofy things, how good and amazing of a person you are, and how much you’ve helped me grow. 

Sure, we’ve had our ups and downs. But please understand, I love you so much. Always. Because time never changes true soul friendships. I know we are in each others memories, holding little bits of space, dazzling with little bits of shimmery color.

And I wish I knew you more, today. Because I know how great of a person you are. You’ve shined bright lights on the darkest parts of my soul. And, I can still feel your presence in my life. Sometimes I’m distant, because I’m a goof. But that never means I do not care about you. I’m usually casually thinking of you. Maybe hoping a little bit...

...hoping a bit that you would text me and say “sup” like it’s been a trailed off conversation from a few days ago. I’d like to check in. We can share how we’ve changed and grown. How we’re struggling. And all our hopes & dreams. I know I’ve changed a lot, but for some reason I still feel like the same ol’ Amanda, Meg, Wargz, soul-sister,  goof-butt you remember. My heart feels the same. Always will.

So if you want to talk, just know... to steal a sentiment...lovingly from one of you, “the backdoor will always be open…”

--------------------------------------------- A friend is someone who

knows the song in your heart.

And can sing it back to you

when you’ve forgotten the words.

------------------------------------------------

[leviosarpg]

Congratulations, BAB! You have been accepted for the role of GISELLE ROSIER! Bab, you have no idea how thrilled I was to receive an app for Giselle, and boy did your app deliver. “You just gotta stop choking on who you are, and if you do, you’re allowed that - you gotta stop doing it so damn politely.” I swear that line hit me like a train...or a bag of bricks, because goddamn if that isn’t Giselle in a single line! Bab, this app was so flawless, I’m still reeling from reading it-- you managed to craft this vision of Giselle in her full beautiful, hypocritical glory but you made me sympathize with her. Your Giselle is an old soul who feels the weight of the world upon her shoulders--elegant, refined, but a little lost nonetheless, and you have me rooting for her, more so than I ever could have imaged. Thank you for bestowing this app upon me, Bab, I can’t wait to see your Giselle be brought to life!

Don’t forget to send in your account to the main and complete the items listed on the CHECKLIST!

THE PLAYER

name/age/pronouns/timezone: bab, 24, she/her, gmt+1

THE CHARACTER

desired role: Giselle Rosier

Giselle - Derived from the Germanic word gisil meaning “hostage, pledge“

Rosier - Rosier is French for "rose tree” or “rose bush“

Giselle immediately took my fancy because I love playing high and mighty characters with an impending fall. Her push and pull between the two sides who both advocate their respective truths plus her crumbling friendships that had kept the flame of fanatism alive for so long make her question everything and I feel like those are the perfect foundation for some juicy, dramatic threads which I love lmao time to mess her up big time!

gender/pronouns: female, she/her

extracurriculars: Slytherin prefect. Giselle was bestowed with the honor of prefect in her fifth year alongside Tom Riddle. Initially she was known to be especially strict towards muggleborns, as of lately her stern attitude has softened for unknown reasons.

The Harbingers. The role of prefect introduced her to Tom Riddle, her fellow male prefect for the house of Slytherin. They quickly grew closer, Tom fueled her fancy for long, intricate conversations throughout their walks through the halls of Hogwarts and thus he saw a highly worthy member for his group.

Dueling Club. Perhaps this isn’t the best reason to join a club that could possibly cause serious damage upon others, but dueling is an outlet for Giselle. The thrill of not knowing what her dueling partner’s next step will bring and how her counter-curse will impact them is a rollercoaster ride she wants to experience again and again. This rather adventurous side is reserved for her fellow club member’s only, outsiders certainly have troubles believing her out-going enthusiasm when it comes to club activities.

para sample:

first. diary, prologue.

If you’re reading this, there is an ebb and flow to your life.

Things becoming, art created, transformed; conversations organically layering onto other bruises, and right now, you are in the thick of it, but I promise you that rock bottom can be the strongest foundation for a stronger life. I promise you, the biggest revolution is ahead of you. The truth is, we never quite know the craters we left on someone else’s heart, not until it is too late anyhow. If you are reading this, you’re going to be okay. I promise you.

You just gotta stop choking on who you are, and if you do, you’re allowed that - you gotta stop doing it so damn politely.

- Giselle Rosier, September 1, 1945

second. echo.

seven.

Mid July and her smile is wide and effortless. The dry heat of the summer lays heavy and she has been going at it for days - a weary traveler, a foolish and gentle spy. A young Giselle lurks through life like it is an old house, teasing the wallpaper until it falls down. Layer by layer, story by story. Motions to people with the edge of her voice, with a change of her expression. They say her talents overflow, walking hand in hand with her never-ending curiosity. Outside the cityscape of London, she is sitting on the curb, wearing dried up loafers, a sweaty brow and the guilt of giftedness on her shoulders as she yet again slowly reads a book way ahead of her age. Sometimes reading out loud drowns the low hum of her family, so heavy with expectations whether or not she is listening. Her mother is there, the hummed secrets fading into light tunes when Giselle is around. Her brother is there, the huffs and puffs of him practicing potions in the kitchen still echo in her ear. Her father is there and she is supposed to think that she is exceptional. All her interests come so natural to her, the eagerness she displays is extraordinary to others but a mere flow of nature to her.

twelve.

Mid October and the sky is greying. She doesn’t say much and by now people know better than to light all the dark rooms in her house. And she can feel it, the tide of the past July. It’s like this one morning she looks across the dinner table and everything that has ever been left unspoken was being said. No one ever had to tell Giselle anything, she always managed to overhear snippets of her family’s whispers, the sight of her mother’s plastic smile became too familiar. Giselle can see it now, the way her parents speak in dim lit words, the way they mention her estranged brother’s name with little feeling and even more disgust. Summer returns with a vengeance, to collect its debts. How often do we wear smiles that hurt, smiles that tell us we have burned too long? Giselle feels heavy and the worst thing is, she knows the weather of leaving; the stale air, the dry summer heart.

When Giselle grows old enough to understand the poisonous hatred carefully cultivated between purebloods and muggleborns, her whole body tells a story of pain, like a sickness she refuses to treat. This is why she dislikes summer. The smell of warm summer rain hitting the dark pavement brings her back and it carries a memory she never wants to encounter again. At times it is difficult to continue to be radically soft in a world that sometimes gives more vinegar than honey.

fifteen.

Lately she has been trying to dream of something more, but how could it be any different? She negotiates with her quiet, she wanders, she bleeds. But no matter where Giselle goes, she returns to the Thames. And tries to dream again. Her mother once told her she is like a song played on loop. Enjoyable for a few listens until it bothers you and blends into the background. Funnily enough, Giselle always seeks to be present. Like, really present. Feeling every chill crisp morning running through her spine and the sore movement of her legs carrying her forward after another long day of school. The prickly nights lost in libraries as she drags herself through the endless pit that school is at the age of fifteen. Cold fingers reaching for a scarf that smells like that place she used to call home. Maybe this point was the closest she had ever come to the truth - souls laid bare. The whole wavelength set in an azure heat, the vibrations of her thoughts she did not dare to speak in the seemingly endless halls of her family’s home. This - the checked clocks and borrowed time, the heavy and relentless rock on her heart. Maybe that was the truth in its rawest form. Undeniable and without place. After all this, maybe she didn’t belong to anyone anyhow. Just to herself, in secret.

eighteen.

By now, her heart lies behind iron bars. She lets only few people probe her wounds, even less trickle deep within the tiny empire she had built within her chest. Oddly enough, it takes little for the foundation to shake, little for her to give them her country; and yet no one dares. She goes through life with a terrible intensity. Nights ago, numbness consumed her and she wished to be swallowed up by the dark earth. Too many vowels in her mouth, too many crumpled up receipts in her pockets. Her mouth twisted into rivers, pouring into too many oceans at once. At times, she says quite a lot and nothing at all. She always takes too much and gives too little. Reaches for people and finds salvation in the gaps of their words, only to wreck havoc again. Pushes and destructs, disappears like mist rising in the sky. It is always the same. They come for her storm and flee for calmer waters. No one writes a song about hurricanes.

third. diary, epilogue.

You’re 18 and you’ve had your heart broken. And it isn’t anything like the first time but nothing like the last time. You have exactly 15 sickles until winter break and crushing anxiety about tomorrow.

Outside the blue is heavy over the castle and the buildings blur to look like something out of another century. Majestic and grotesque. But all you can think about is the eternal void that is life. Sometimes you think believing in some kind of manufactured god would be better because you wouldn’t put so much stock in people’s words, in their alleged worth.

You tell yourself these things, you haven’t written home in a month. You feel you’ve lived a lifetime and there are unread letters in your nightstand’s drawer from family and foreign friends who love you but all you can think about is the ways you could disappoint them, like your brother did. And it is overwhelming and yet underwhelming because you constantly remind yourself this happens everyday and better you anyway because art.

You cannot be 80 when you are feeling 18.

— Giselle Rosier, November 18th 1944

OTHERS & EXTRA (OPTIONAL)

Headcanons

Despite her parents’ utmost efforts to pretend like this isn’t the case, Giselle has an older brother called Matthieu. Hailed as an ace in school and envisioned as a potential candidate for ministry of magic in the distant future, he was their parents’ entire pride for the longest time. The tides turned quickly when he fell in love with a muggle girl the summer after this graduation and decided that his infatuation was more important than everything else. He is now estranged from the family and Giselle has neither seen nor spoken to him in six years and couldn’t possibly fathom the consequences if she did attempt to contact him.

Now considered an only child, the pressure to continue the successful Rosier line lies heavily on Giselle’s shoulders. It caused her to cast a wall around herself, one that she has to climb herself to reach people and turns her judgemental, condescending, looking down at others. She knows the slightest penetration, the tiniest doubt sown into her mind could make the entire purpose of her existence thus far crumble, years of her family’s efforts dissolved into nothingness.

Enormous are the attempts to hide the fact that she likes muggle-made things. Muggle fashion, muggle music, muggle art. But the epitome of her hypocrisy was the liking she found in Olive Hornby, a muggleborn Gryffindor with a glow so bright, the moon would subdue to her. Although Giselle had her valid share of dates and experiences with other peers, she cannot deny that her mind still wanders off to the brazen muggleborn who had dared to make their lips meet.

Aesthetics/vibes/moods: loosely tied up hair, gold, dainty earrings and necklaces, being first at breakfast, white blouses, black loafers, reading glasses, last warm days of autumn, brown leather bags, caramel, twilight, sun rays shining through tree tops, brown sugar, cinnamon, pearls, last to leave the common room

You can find a moodboard here!

Magic

Education Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

House Slytherin

Best core class Potions, charms

Worst core class Herbology

Wand Rosewood and dragon hearstring, 12 inches

Patronus White swan

Boggart Herself as an outcast of society, accepted by neither side

Amortentia red bean paste, fabric softener, chimney fire

Quotes

„I was interested in everything and committed to nothing.“ Gregory David Roberts.

„I don’t do anything with my life except romanticize and decay with indecision.“ Allen Ginsberg.

„A star-shower of blossom, of dew-like pearls, fruitfulness, beauty, life, rapture and fragrance.“ Victor Hugo.

„Life happened. In all its banality, brutality, cruelty, unfairness. But also in its beauty, pleasures, and delights. Life happened.“ Thirty Umrigar.

Personality

MBTI INTP - The Logician. Logicians view the world as a big, complex machine and have the ability to recognize how all parts are interrelated. Their endless ideas may seem counter-intuitive at a glance, and many never see the light of day, but they will always prove remarkable innovations. They are a reserved personality type, but if another person shares an interest, t hey can be downright excited about discussing it. Oftentimes Logician personalities get so caught up in their logic that they forget any kind of emotional consideration and sometimes dismiss subjectivity as irrational. They tend to become forgetful, missing even the obvious if it’s unrelated to their current infatuation.

Western zodiac Scorpio. A scorpio is a water sign, which live to experience and express emotions. Although emotions are very important for scorpios, they manifest them differently than other water signs. In any case, you can be sure that a scorpio will keep your secrets, whatever they may be. Scorpios are known by their calm, cool behavior and their mysterious appearance. Scorpios hate dishonesty and they can be very jealous and suspicious, so they need to learn how to adapt more easily to different human behaviors.

Chinese zodiac Fire tiger. People born in a year of the tiger are brave, competitive, unpredictable and confident. They are very charming but are also likely to be impetuous, irritable and overindulged. Moreover, fire tigers are optimistic and independent but possess poor self-control.

Temperament Choleric. People with choleric temperament tend to be goal-oriented and prove themselves to be logical and straightforward. They dislike smalltalk and enjoy deep, meaningful conversations. Choleric types would rather spend their time in solitude than in the company of shallow, superficial people.

Alignment True Neutral. A lawful neutral character acts as law, tradition or personal code directs them. They may believe in personal order and live by a code or strandard, or they may believe in order for all and favor a strong, organized government. Being a lawful neutral can mean one is a truly reliable and honorable person or it could pose as a dangerous alignment when it seeks to eliminate all freedom, choice, and diversity in society. It is the view of this alignment that law and order give purpose and meaning to everything. Therefore, whether a low is good or evil is of no importance as long as it brings order and meaning.

[until-theend-oftheline]

Silver Linings

Pairing: Bucky x Reader, Clint x Reader (friendship)

Warnings: Mention of canon typical torture and violence. Fighting.

Square Filled: Craving their touch

Word Count: 1800ish

A/N: This one is written for @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan marvel mayhem challenge. My prompt is bolded in the text: “Life messes us up in so many ways, messes all of us right the hell up”

It also fills one of my squares for @marvelfluffbingo

It is my first time writing Bucky (or any of the characters really) so please judge kindly.

Thanks to the amazing, sweet and my expert on all things marvel @emilyevanston for betaing this for me.

***My fics are not to be saved nor posted on any other sites without my express written permission.***

Clint and Steve were walking down the halls of the Stark tower as Steve was catching Clint up on their latest mission. Everything had worked out in the end, but that didn’t mean there haven’t been a few kinks along the way. A young Siberian man from the village they had been trying to save from invasion had recognized Bucky as the man that had tortured and killed his parents when he was a boy. He had attacked, before Steve and Bucky had gotten the chance to reason with him, resulting in his death as he was caught in the crossfire between the Avengers and the invaders.

Needless to say, Bucky hadn’t taken it well and honestly Steve was worried about him. He had been quiet all the way back and the instant they had reached the Stark Tower he had disappeared into his room. Steve had breathed a sigh of relief when Y/N had arrived. Bucky had been a different person ever since he met her. Well maybe not different, but more like the Bucky he had once known; the boy he had grown up with. Steve had hoped that her presence would help him somehow, but now that he heard the loud voices carrying from the Bucky’s room and towards the kitchen, he regretted being so stupid. Bucky wasn’t the same. Y/N had never seen him like this before and Steve should have known better. He should have stopped her or at the very least warned her what she was walking into.

It was too late now though as the door to Bucky’s room opened and closed with a loud bang and Y/N stormed right past Clint and Steve without as much as acknowledging their presence.

“Oh boy,” Clint mumbled looking after the fuming woman before his eyes met with Steve’s. “As much as I would love to send you after her, you’d probably have better luck with grumpy down there,” Clint nodded towards Bucky’s room with a smile. Clint turned around and followed Y/N before Steve had a chance to scold him, but Clint still felt the bitchface Steve gave him on the back of his neck. It’s only effect was the smile on Clint’s face widening.

Truth be told Clint has angered his own wife more than once as he brought the baggage of their job home with him. As pissed as she had gotten, her love and affection hadn’t wavered and Clint saw the way Y/N looked at Bucky. He knew hers hadn’t either. She just didn’t understand. She was a nurse and a damn good woman, but their jobs were something else. How could anyone understand what it was like to have someone rob you of yourself? Have you kill for them without hesitation or remorse. The truth was that no one could understand. Not unless they lived it.

Clint took a deep breath as he spotted her in the small park behind the Tower. She was sitting on the grass with her legs pulled up under her as she watched the ebbs and flows of the fountain before her. She didn’t look angry. Just like Clint had expected the expression on her face was one of agony. Bucky’s pain hurt her because she loved him. She had gotten angry because he wouldn’t let her in. He wouldn’t let her help. Clint had seen the same reaction in Laura more than once when they first met. It had taken him years to let her in and even now somethings were still hard for him to share with her. He couldn't imagine what it was like for Bucky. Decades of torture and killing, of course, he was afraid to let her see the darkness.

“Hi? Mind if I sit?” Clint asked, with a small smile as she looked up at him. She didn’t say anything she just shook her head quietly. Clint felt bad for her, just like he did his own wife once in a while. He understood why Bucky tried to push her away even if he was making a mistake. He even knew that was the exact thing Steve was trying to make him see right now. Y/N wasn’t stupid she knew what kind of a man Bucky was and she knew who he had been in the past and who he had been forced to become. She knew all of it and she chose to stay. Clint knew the argument Steve would make because it was the only one Bucky would hear. Y/N had the right to make her own choice. She had the right to decide what she could and could not handle.

“I don’t need your pity,” she mumbled as Clint sat down and he couldn't help but smile.

“Good cause I don’t pity you,” he answered and her head snapped around to look at him in surprise. “You knew he was a mess when you met him and honestly I don’t think you are the kinda woman that wants to fix him either,” Clint gave her a small nudge with his shoulder and earned a smile.

“I’m not. All he has been through made him who he is now. I love who he is,” she answered truthfully before looking back to the rushing water. “I just wish he would let me in sometimes that’s all.”

“He will. In time,” Clint assured her. He couldn't be sure of course but he saw the way Bucky looked at her. He loved her and trusted her. Him redrawing at times didn’t have anything to do with her even if Clint knew Y/N probably didn’t see it like that.

“Y/N even if it wasn’t him some of the memories are still there. All of them are hiding deep down. It was still his hands that kill those people. He saw it all happen powerless to stop it,” Clint explained even if the memories pained him. If they could help Bucky and Y/N maybe they were good for something.

“Clint I’m sorry…” she began but he just shook his head with a sad smile.

“No pity. Not for you. Not for me. Not for Bucky. He’ll pull through. Listen this life messes us up in so many ways, messes all of us right the hell up but we’ll push through. Bucky too. We’ll focus on the silver linings,” Clint sent her a wink giving her hand a squeeze. He couldn’t help but feel relieved when she laughed.

“I’m a silver lining?” she laughed, causing Clint to shrug.

“To Bucky yes. Laura and the kids are mine,” he answered with a grin as he got up offering her his hand. She took it allowing him to pull her back onto her feet. “Just try and be patient with the schmuck,” Clint grinned wrapping his arm around her shoulder, leading her back to the Tower and a hopefully calmer Bucky.

Y/N tensed as they reached the kitchen and Clint sent her a reassuring smile, nudging her towards the hall and Bucky’s room. “It’ll be fine,” he assured her, praying he wasn’t lying.

She took a deep breath before knocking on the door, slowly pushing it open. Her heart broke at the sight that met her. Steve was sitting in one of the chairs, his elbows on his knees leaning against his best friend. Bucky was on the edge of the bed hiding his face in his hands not looking up until Steve greeted her.

The shock and pain in Bucky’s eyes, when they met hers, took her breath away. A part of him would always fear to lose her each time she walked out of his sight, but today he had been sure he had.

“Hi Y/N. I’ll give you two some privacy,” Steve stood up giving Bucky’s shoulder a squeeze and Y/N a grateful smile before pushing past her out the door.

“Y/N. I’m sorry I didn't mean to yell at you like that,” Bucky spoke the second Steve closed the door behind him. He didn’t move though. He sat completely frozen as if he was afraid the slightest movement would spook her. Y/N felt as if a knife was pushed through her chest. She hated he still thought she could be scared of him. She never had been and she never would be. She knew that telling him that wouldn't make a difference, not right now at least. She didn't run away because he had scared her. She ran because she was angry and hurt he wouldn't let her help him. That he wouldn’t let her even touch him when all she had needed was to feel his warmth, assuring them both he was home.

“It’s fine. Couples fight,” Y/N answered quietly as she crossed the room to sit down next to him. They didn't look at each other, as they sat in silence. His right side was pressed against her left and their eyes fixated on their hands slowly edging closer to each other. They gently started to intertwine and not until they were, did Bucky look at her. His courage fueled her and she looked up to met his gaze.

“I can’t talk about this with you doll. I’m sorry. You’re…” Bucky paused not knowing how to explain it but Y/N just smiled.

“Your silver lining,” she grinned and Bucky raised his eyebrows in confusion.

“You’re my what?” he chuckled lightly squeezing her hand and Y/N pulled a face at him, before looking down at her feet almost shyly.

“Can you do something for me?” she asked. Her voice so low it was barely audible and Bucky’s smile fell. He hated seeing her hurting or sad, especially over him.

“Anything doll. Anything,” he instantly assured her and her eyes met his again. Still looking nervous, she chewed her lip and Bucky wanted to lean in and kiss her to make her stop.

“Hold me?” she asked quietly, making Bucky smile. It had been all he had wanted to do from the moment she walked through the door. He had been so incredibly stupid, pushing her away when he needed her the most.

“C'mere darling,” Bucky laid back on the bed gently pulling her into his arms. He relaxed, closing his eyes as he felt her fingers tender patterns in his chest. She was right. She was his silver lining and just one moment like this with her was worth all the pain he had gone through to get to this day in time.

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Sebastian Stan/ Bucky Barnes Tag Team

@emilyevanston @sea040561 @petra-arkanian-1497 @serienjunkiegirl @jackasaurus-strax @feelmyroarrrr @holyfuckloueh @dolphinpink310 @evansrogerskitten @smoothdogsgirl @rebelslicious @roxyspearing @mizzzpink @all-my-favourite-things91 @blacktithe7 @valecitainwonderland @badassbaker @petra-arkanian-1497 @grace-for-sale @thinkwritexpress-official @sebbytrash

[johnny-depplyloveyou]

An eulogy for Chris Cornell by Josh Brolin

Everywhere I look, I think I see Chris walking toward me: tall, a long mane of lion curls, a slight smile under either a beard or a pencil thin mustache.

Every time I look at my phone and it says Christopher and I think it’s all been a dream, something imagined, that you create subconsciously so that it can never be realized.

Every time I think of Chris, it’s like he’s in front of me, telling me what he’s been doing: his kids, Vicky, a fair they went to, or how much fun he had when we all went karting, a song he’s mining the magic out of.

This is the thing that never goes away, the impact someone has on you. It will ebb and flow with time in its intensity, but it will always be there until someone is doing it about you.

An impact. That’s what we all hope to have: a great memory, a witticism, a song, how they deal with their children, moments, when in repose, they call you to just say “Hey, man, I miss you”.

Chris Cornell touched on happy, his kind of grace. We all have our own happy. He’d ridden his various treacherous roads on the psychic motorcycle rebelling, reacting, rebounding, etc. And now, older, familied, this was a time of just working on himself, said family, a deeper music and how to pull for more love out it all. His was an uphill climbing trajectory. There’s the professional, yeah, that too, but people don’t die professionally, they only die personally. And personally, was an uphill climb — a winded climb, just by nature of his sensitivity — but uphill nonetheless.

Chris Cornell the human being.

Chris Cornell who loved his family: Vicky, Lilli, Toni and Christopher.

Chris Cornell who was my friend: simply, my friend.

I met Chris at the Hollywood Café. I was drunk, and afterward, backstage, sat on his lap and told him how great I thought he was. He smiled, I’m sure a little irritated, but let me pontificate until I felt he had really heard how deeply he had affected me. I had a tendency to be fairly aggressive toward the things that moved me, and Chris, from the moment I heard him live (so intimate, as only he could be), grabbed each of my cells by the throat and never let go.

Chris Cornell was my friend: simply. It came from the music sure, the way his voice reached out like ET’s finger, but it was the lap dance I gave him that set it all in motion.

Over the next 7 years, Chris and I became close. I got him: the isolation, the love and tension to create, the elation of finding the love of your life and manifesting a happier life with that love, and he got me. Our lives paralleled and with that a loose friendship came true intimacy and reveal.

When you are well known for your chosen profession you have a tendency to protect yourself. You wall off and deny that people are talking about you. You know how to deflect conversations. You start to question if you know anymore what a general openness looks like.

Then, if you are diligent, if you care about your personal legacy, you fight for that intimacy.

When I told Chris that Kathryn and I were getting married he sent me a song that he had written for Vicky after they first got together, a song that he was going to sing at our wedding. His quote:

“I started writing this song years ago right after I met Vicky. I sang an early version to her over the phone before we were engaged but I felt for years that I hadn’t distilled all of the magic I felt with her into song form. About a month ago I finished it. This version played into a hundred dollar mic seems to be the only way to capture the hugeness of how I feel about her.

I was thinking recently that you might relate to it.

Big hugs to you both!

C”

Kathryn and I listened to the song just as we had listened to another of Chris’s songs early in our relationship, both of us with tears.

Once in a while someone comes along in your life who just oozes personal. You share inspirations, values, desires, wishes, hopes, like a teenage journal, hoping it will one day answer back to you.

My buddy Chris answered back.

Chris Cornell, the human being.

“Hey, man. I’m just calling to say I miss you.”

The other day I started pulling up all the emails, all the voicemails, and just gazing into the memories of different conversations, moments, milestones. My wife and I listened to him sing “Happy Birthday” on my voicemail. “Happy Birthday dear yoooouuuuu. Happy Birthday to you. I love you, man”…click.

You live a life, and to be grateful for that life lived is having lived. Chris Cornell was a human being and like all human beings, we have an expiration date; all different than one another: May 18th, 2017 was his.

But Chris will always be in my heart. I will hold him not high, not angrily, but face to face, like we were, supporting each other through this wacky, circus tent of a life.

There was a moment he wrote to me years ago, and it’s a moment I’d like to share with you. It speaks beautifully for itself as to who he was: a sensitive, protective warrior of a father. What the human aspect of everything meant to him. How he just wanted all of us to find common ground and appreciate this gift that we have for just the little while we’ve been given it.

“JB — Thought of you again today. We live above Benedict Canyon and my daughter’s Parrot flew out of a window and down over the canyon. Hoping he wouldn’t die, I dressed up like Pitt in Seven Years in Tibet and headed down into the wilds of the canyon. As I descended, I saw a female bluebird in a distant tree. Thought it was mine. I chased it around until I saw she was nesting and wasn’t in fact green.

I spent the next 2 hours in the screaming sun alternately crashing thru brush and sitting still so I’d be able to vibe out his spot. Decided it was too big a canyon and I would never find him. I cut back up behind my house and sat in the shade near where the bush whacking started.

I sat there for a half hour feeling like I betrayed a little friend who relied on me for his safety.

I waited another few minutes and gave up. I paused for one second before going inside and tried one last time to chirp for him. I waited and listened, and suddenly I heard a faint chirp back down in the brush. There he was! Wanting very much to be rescued. Little green birds that talk are the needles in the haystacks formed of needles on top of a bed of a valley of needles.

But they sometimes chirp.”

Brother, you are near, you are dear, and I’ll see you when it’s time. But for now, my heart billows and embraces everything that you were, that you are, that you forever will be. I hear you “in the haystack formed of needles/ on top of a bed of a valley of needles/ but I hear you/ and know that you are there”. Yes, I know that you are there. I’ll miss you, but I know that you are there.

JOSH BROLIN

Also here’s Josh’s Instagram post for him

www.chriscornell.com

[h4rr3h]

ohio is for lovers, chapter two harry and evan and everyone else

“You look like someone punched you in the vagina.”

“Thanks, Niall.” Harry snaps.

Sunday, March 25, 2018

The Mission House, Green Room

169 Bleecker Street, New York, NY

“You look like someone punched you in the vagina.”

 “Thanks, Niall.” Harry snaps.

 He shrugs and sit next to Harry in the backstage green room of the Mission House.

 “But himmmm?” Harry whines, for like, the fortieth time.

 It takes Niall five deep breaths to choke down what he wishes he could say to Harry and comes up with a rare supportive comment, “for what it’s worth I don’t see her going through with it.”

 “What makes you think that?” Louis interjects, “he’s literally one of the nicest people I’ve met, he’s going to be a doctor for Christ’s sake. He drives an Audi A5 Coupe, he volunteers at the animal shelters -”

 “Oh I’m sorry I wasn’t aware you had a crush on him,” Harry snips as Niall faux snores.

 Louis scoffs, “whatever man, she’d be stupid not to. Out of all of us, he’s the only one who actually has his shit together.”

 He wasn’t wrong.

 “Anyways,” Harry starts, “I think tonight is a good night to play the new song.”

 Niall raises an eyebrow, “you’re like four beers in, I don’t think you’re ready to play anything new in your state, Mate.”

 “You forgot the two tequila shots,” Louis reminds.

 Harry’s hazy, and completely drunk. He always plays better a little buzzed, he was more daring, and a little less uptight. But completely fucking blitzed? Well this is uncharted territory.

 “I think it’ll be fine,” he slurs.

 The longer he stands upright the more the room starts to spin. He swears he didn’t feel this drunk five minutes ago. It doesn’t help that he hasn’t eaten since this morning’s pancakes at ten o’clock.  

 Evan is fucking engaged to the Valium. In some ways he could believe it and in some ways he couldn’t. Louis was unfortunately right. On paper, the dude was perfect. He’d checked off all of Evan’s boxes long ago and what was even worse was that they had history. They dated on and off throughout high school and after a year apart their freshman year of college, they’d been inseparable ever since. Sure, Harry had Jordan. And he did love her in a way. What way that was, he wasn’t quite sure of yet. He couldn’t help but feel something was missing between him and Evan; some vital ‘aha!’ moment that was just six years too late in hitting her. That someday she’d wake up and feel the same way he did.

 Now, to be clear, Harry is not lovesick. It ebbs and flows inside of him. He’d go weeks, even a month or two without having that tugging ache on his heart of wanting what he couldn’t have. Then he’d have a few beers and whine to the boys about it and have a shag or twelve with Jordan to set himself straight again. Before anything, Evan was his best friend. Besides Louis, of course. He cherished her friendship above everything and it made him feel sick every time he wanted her in that way.

 “We’re not doing anything new tonight,” Louis reasons, “now let’s get some water and carbohydrates into you before you get up there and blow chunks, alright?”

 “Did someone say carbohydrates?” Evan chimes from the doorway, wielding two large platters of food.

 “Alright, we’ve got...mozzarella sticks and potato skins, take your pick -”

 Harry dives in the second the platters hit the table, shoveling food into his mouth, “thanks Ev.”

 Evan tilts her head towards the door, Niall and Louis catch on but Harry is too busy stuffing his face to see her subtly kicking the other boys out of the room. She shuts the door behind them when they walk out.

 “You alright?” She asks when Harry finally comes up for air.

 Harry feigns confusion, “yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?”

 Evan puts her hand on her hip and gives him the look, the one she gives every so often when she sees through his bullshit, and Harry knows it.

 “Well for starters, you’re drunk. You never get drunk before a gig.”

 “Nerves,” he replies, shoving a whole mozzarella stick in his mouth.

 She rolls her eyes and takes another step closer to him. Evan reaches out, holding his face between her palms, “I know you, you’re upset over something. You can’t lie to me. I always call you on your bullshit.”

 She looked at him and it was like that first night when they met when could have have kissed her the first time and maybe then they wouldn’t be in this mess. He’d perfected resisting the urge over the years as the fates had presented him many opportunities. Her eyes were watery like they were when she was holding back from crying, he’d seen it time and time again, and he hated himself for bringing her an ounce of pain like that.

 “I’m just going to miss you, is all,” Harry manages.

 Evan pulls him in, wrapping her arms around his middle. Harry’s resistant at first, he’s drunk and daring and feeling all too many emotions at once. He can’t say anything, and just stands there holding his arms loosely around her.

 “I’m not going anywhere. I already told Huck I’m not moving until after the wedding. You still have me.”

 If only he did, he thinks.

 Still held in an embrace, he could feel the wetness of Evan’s tears seeping through the fabric of his shirt when she pushes her face into the crook of his neck. For as long as he’d known Evan Bosco, he’d only seen her actually cry twice; once, when their cat Gretchen died, and the second, at the end of Titanic. Evan was an level headed person; logical. She wasn’t directed by emotions or feelings, she was precise in her actions and in her life and well, if she thought marrying Jacob-fucking-Huckabee was a good idea, then it probably was.

 “Are you just sure you’re ready for your last name to be Huckabee?” Harry mumbles into her ear, his chest vibrating with a quick chuckle.

 Evan snorts and gives him one last squeeze before letting go. She wipes her eyes and sniffs, trying to hide her tear streaked cheeks.

 “You should probably get out there, everyone’s waiting for you.”

 Harry shrugs, “they can wait, you’re more important.”

 Evan approaches him again, sliding her hand to the back of his head, twisting the short curls at the nape of his neck between her fingers. She lets her thumb slide against his cheek  and jaw and bottom lip and Harry thinks for a second that she may actually kiss him. His heart is racing so loud he’s damn well sure she can hear it loud and clear. He notes something in her eyes, is it hesitation? You goddamn wish, he thinks.

 Stupid girl. Can you feel it? Can you feel it?

  Evan sits around the booth with the rest of the gang, minus the three bandmates. They’ve crammed themselves into their usual spot. Sharna’s elbow is digging into her hip while Huck’s arm is wrapped protectively around her middle. Polly and Jordan are bickering over who’s more politically correct on this week’s latest cause. There’s more space now than there will be later when the eight of them are stuffed into the U-shaped booth that hugs the bar table. Empties already line the far edge of the table’s surface and there’s a mix of half watered down drinks and shot glasses in clusters that clang every time someone bumps the table.

 Huck is drunk and grabby. He’s subtle, though. He’ll press a kiss below an ear and then into the smallest exposed part of collar bone. His hands will dive between Evan’s thighs and gently squeeze; ‘just warming my hands’, he’ll say. His breath smells like the three whisky sours he’s downed in the last hour and a half. Glassy eyed, Huck whispers in Evan’s ear, sending a shiver down her spine, “you excited?” He asks, toying with the ring on her left hand.

 She smiles, “yeah,” comes out in barely a whisper.

 Evan plants a kiss on his jawline, and wiggles out of his grip, “I’m gonna go get some food for the boys backstage, I’ll be back in a jiff,” she says before giving him another peck on the cheek.

 She orders Harry’s two favorite bar foods; mozzarella sticks and potato skins. Jojo behind the counter adds it to the gang’s running tab that they’ve had since Evan’s twenty-first birthday nearly four years ago. She shutters to think of what the total of it is, but wipes it easily from her mind. She looks down at her hand and watches the diamond on her ring finger twinkle under the dim bar lighting.

 “Damn, girl!” Jojo reaches across the bar and grabs Evan’s hand. “Huckabee splurged. Congrats!”

 Evan grins, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, “thanks!”

 “If you need anyone to bartend the wedding, I’m your girl,” she winks, “don’t even have to pay me. Just make sure Huckleberry has some hot groomsmen for me to feast on.”

 “I’ll see if he’s got any hot med school friends for you,” Evan teases.

 “Looooord almighty, a doctah?” Jojo emphasizes her southern twang and starts fanning herself with a stack of paper napkins.

 Evan clutches her stomach laughing, an annoyed patron at the other end of the counter bangs on its mahogany top for Jojo’s attention, “sorry, have to take care of the createns,” she mutters under her breath, and within a half second musters up a cheesy customer service smile, “what can I get for you, darlin’?”

 She can’t help but feel the ring on her finger weigh her down like a dead weight. Evan blames it on the sensation of having something new (and a very heavy something, at that) on a finger that had previously been bare for twenty four years. She twists the metal back and forth, occupying herself by watching people in the packed bar. People watching was a common pastime of hers. She longed to understand the meaning of people and why they do what they do and why they don’t do what they don’t do. As Niall would always tell her ‘it’s just not that deep, Mate’ but she liked to think that human existence could be boiled down to more than just wants and needs.

 The bar always seemed hazy with the strings of  globe bulb lights that lined the ceiling in perfect tight zig-zags. Evan liked the dim lighting because it hid her bar burn when she would drink a little too much. It also made you feel a certain way; warm, happy, like nothing could hurt you here because everything and everyone glowed and things that glowed couldn’t hurt you.

 “Food’s done!” Jojo drops the two platters onto the bartop, snapping Evan out of her momentary daydream.

 “Thanks Jo! Have a round with us if you can?”

 She glares to the line of people waiting, “I don’t think tonight’s the night, but enjoy one for me,” she winks.

 The walk from the bar counter to the sorry excuse for the Mission House’s green room is short. In reality the green room used to be a freezer, but when the place nearly burned down ten years ago the owners converted it into a green room for local bands they hired to play. Harry, Louis and Niall were the top bill on Sunday nights. They had a small following with their band and Evan knew Harry wished he could do more with it than he was. He by no means had the dreams of becoming a rock star of any sort, but anything was better than teaching third graders how to play Hot Cross Buns on the recorder.

 “Did someone say carbohydrates?” She rings, displaying the trays in her hand, “alright we’ve got mozzarella sticks, potato skins, take your pick -”

 Harry lands face first into the platters before she’s had a second to finish. He’s drunk, she knows that at the very least but she wants to know why. He takes gigs much too seriously to get drunk. She spots at least four empty beer bottles while Louis and Niall are still nursing their first. She catches a glance at his bloodshot eyes when he mumbles a ‘thanks Ev’ at her.

 With a nudge of her head, the other boys take her hint and leave her to it with Harry. She knows he’d lie through his teeth to the boys about what was going on in his head but he never could get a damn thing past Evan, and she knew that very well.

 “You alright?” She asks gently.

 There’s a flicker of something in his eyes, “yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?”

 Evan puts a hand on her hip and fixates her eyes on his, locking with them for a second and giving an empathetic sigh, “well for starters, you’re drunk. You never get drunk before a gig.”

 He breaks the eye contact. “Nerves,” he says while gulping down another deep fried piece of cheese.

 Evan knows what she’s doing well. Harry wears his heart on his sleeve and it’s never too hard to tell when he’s upset about something. When she rolls her eyes at him, she makes sure to do it nice and slowly so he can see. She closes the space between them in a single step and reaches out, forcing his face between her palms, “I know you, you’re upset over something. You can’t lie to me. I always call you on your bullshit.”

 He gives her a look she hasn’t seen him give in a very, very long time. On the night they met, in fact. It happens so quick she thinks she may have been making it up in her head. Whatever it was, Evan can’t quite place it. Tears start to form in the corners of her eyes. While marrying Huck meant spending the rest of her life with the man she loved, she couldn’t help but feel her heart break when that same notion also meant leaving behind the other man she loved.

 “I’m just going to miss you, is all,” he mutters.

 Evan tugs on his shirt to pull him into her. She can feel every muscle in his body tense up when they touch, as if he’s holding something back from her. Her arms slither under his and she hugs him so tight she’s worried he’ll puke up all the greasy bar food he’s just shoved down his throat at warp speed. Harry doesn’t budge, and his arms lay loosely around her form.

 “I’m not going anywhere. I already told Huck I’m not moving until after the wedding. You still have me.”

 Forever and ever and ever and ever, she thinks.

 Evan presses her face into his shoulder and lets herself cry into him. She prays he can’t feel her body shake against him as she lets out the silent sobs. Evan wasn’t much of a cryer, but when she did…

 “Are you just sure you’re ready for your last name to Huckabee?” Harry’s chuckle tickles her, and his voice is so light and fragile in a way she’s never heard before.

 She snorts, welcoming the lightheartedness and gives Harry one last hug before finally letting go. She wipes her eyes and cheeks with the back of her hand and sniffs away the saltiness, “you should probably get out there, everyone’s waiting for you.”

 “They can wait, you’re more important.”

 It’s like all the air’s been sucked out of the room and Evan pauses for a half moment before coming back to Harry. She slides her hands behind his head and toys with the slop of curls that lie there, twirling them around her index finger, that damn ring weighing her down. Evan’s hands slide to the sides of his face, grazing her thumb across his cheek, tracing the sharpness of his clenched jaw, and finally a swipe to his bottom lip.

 Stupid boy. Can you feel it? Can you feel it?

  The gig is great as usual. Despite Harry being drunker than a skunk, the boys managed to pull off one hell of a show and Harry at least had the decency to start puking after they were finished.

 “Water and bread for you, buddy.” Louis pats his back.

 Harry is about a half step away from unconsciousness, his face buried in the crook of his arm that is spread across the table. Jordan is leaning on him, not too far behind in her state. Evan mentally prepares herself for having to listen to that all night long, neither of them were very...quiet, so to speak. Everyone is drunk and happy again and the moment in the green room is long gone from Harry and Evan’s minds.

 At least for the time being.

 “Hey did you invite your dad tonight?” Sharna slurs, “nope, wait. I’mma text him.”

 She struggles like a child to unlock her phone and whines, dropping it to the table when it doesn’t work.

 “Can you please not get that excited over my father? It’s gross.”

 “Your dad is a fucking DILF and you know it,” her friend pips, sipping from the little black straw in her AMF.

 Evan gags, “shut the fuck upppppp,” she groans, covering her ears.

 The rest of the table is laughing hysterically, except Niall. This pisses Sharna off. She’s funny. What she said was funny. Everyone should be laughing.

 Niall never laughs at Sharna’s jokes. She should know this by now.

 “So Niall, how’s the novel coming?” She asks with a touch of poison in her voice.

 “It’s great,” he starts, “I’ve already killed your character off.”

 Sharna responds with a middle finger while she sucks up the last of her drink, the straw making a slurping sound as it struggles against the ice to get the last bit of liquid in the bottom of her empty glass.

 Polly is asleep leaned up against Louis. Evan can hear her little snores and see the tiny pool of drool collecting on her boyfriend’s shirt. He gulps the last of his pint  before patting her on the cheek lightly to wake her up. Polly grumbles and curls herself into him more, “up and at ‘em Little One. You’ve got class bright and early and I have to be up in four hours to make some macchiatos for overworked White Collars.”

 She groans and finally obliges and manages to stand up long enough to jump on Louis’ back. They both wave as they head for the door. Evan chuckles as she watches them leave and turns to give Huck a little peck on the neck.

 “I love you,” he whispers low enough for just the table to hear, “I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

 He’s drunk and kind of going cross eyed when he says it, but Evan knows it’s sincere, “I love you too,” she responds, and gives him a solid kiss on the lips.

 The bile in Harry’s throat threatens round two.

 “I think it’s time for us to go,” Harry mentions, “you coming home tonight?” He motions to Evan.

 Huck is glassy eyed and she knows he’ll pass out the second he hits the sack, take up half the mattress, and not move until morning. She was already feeling the effects of a hangover, and didn’t feel like adding no sleep to that menu.

 “Yeah, I’ll get this one a cab home and meet you back at the apartment.”

 She nudges her fiance and he slowly and sloppily slides his way out of the booth, hanging onto Evan for dear life. Or in this case, for his balance, and the two stumble to the sidewalk where she hails him a cab with the snap of her fingers. With the help of the taxi driver, and a hefty tip, she sees him off and starts the very short walk back to the apartment.

 The air is chilly but not freezing. Her bare legs prick with tiny goosebumps from her ankles to her thighs and she can’t help but think about Harry and what happened before the gig. They have these moments, every now and again, seconds between moments where she thinks things may be different, where one of them would actually have the gaul to say how they really feel. But things like that don’t happen for people like Evan Bosco. So she settles for marrying the brain surgeon and hopes one day she’ll get over that missing piece in her chest.

 Meanwhile, Harry stays inside with Jordan, who at this point, is totally asleep.  He gently nurses two more shots and a Rum and Coke before ordering an Uber for his girlfriend. She’ll end up waking up at 6am puking her brains out and he didn’t feel like spending his morning holding back her hair. Harry wanted to go home and drink until he couldn’t remember his name and try and forget this day ever happened.

 Apartment 11A is dark by the time Harry reaches the door. He looks around for signs of Evan, and sees her boots tipped over on the mat next to the entry and a half drank glass of water on the kitchen counter. He stumbles to the bar cart awkwardly shoved in a small corner of the kitchen and pulls out the fullest bottle of alcohol there is (which happens to be tequila) and brings it to bed with him.

 Monday, March 26, 2018

185 Bleecker Street, Apartment 11A, New York, NY

 It’s no surprise when Harry wakes up with a blinding headache. It’s already half past ten, which means he’s missed his first lesson at work. He makes up a half assed apology via text to his boss and lies about an aunt who passed away, then rolls back over for another hour or two until he’s woken up by Evan’s hurling noises.

 Down the hall in their shared bathroom, Evan pukes out the contents of last night’s celebrations. She may have helped herself to a half bottle of wine when she’d gotten home, tempted by it sitting on the counter when she tried to responsibly chug a glass of water and an aspirin before going to bed. She hears Harry’s footsteps coming up the hallway when another bout of vomit spills out of her.

“Don’t come in here,” she moans, her voice broken and hoarse, “I’m disgusting.”

 “I got you a glass of water!” He reasons.

 “....Fine.”

 Harry opens the door and walks slowly into the bathroom. Not for her sake, but for his, the slower he moves, the less dizzy his hangover makes him feel.

 Evan snaches the glass from his hand and gulps it down, “thanks,” she says, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, “why aren’t you at work?”

 “Called out,” he replies, taking the glass back and a sip for himself, “why aren’t you at work?”

 She glares, “called out.”

 Harry lets out a breathy laugh, “c’mon, I’ll make you a bacon, egg and cheese sandwich on a bagel.”

 Evan clutches her chest dramatically, “music to my ears!”

 Despite that one time he set the stove on fire, Harry was actually a halfway decent cook (at least in his mind). The two ate their breakfasts at the table with two cups of coffee each, respectively. Neither wanted to bring up their talk last night. They’d both felt it, that second between a moment when they feel brave, as if they could break through some sort of invisible wall of bullshit that the both of them put up and finally break it down.

 Harry, mostly for the sake of his hangover, didn’t want to bring it up for a variety of reasons. He was clearly drunk, as Evan already knew at that point, and hoped that would be enough to keep her quiet. Pride was another, for obvious reasons. But she’d pulled him in first and she cried. He looked to his shoulder for a moment and saw the black smudge of her mascara still on his shirt. It was all too much for him to think about at this hour with this bad of a headache. He wanted to finish his meal and crawl back into bed and sleep for about another week straight.

 Did she feel it too? He thinks. Probably not because she’s still got the ring on her finger and he watches her play with it over and over again like she’s adjusting a fucking noose around her neck while they talk about today’s weather and how winter seems to be finally over. She couldn’t have felt it too, Evan’s a bold woman, she goes for things that she wants and if she had wanted Harry in that second then she would have wanted him in all the other seconds too. And he can’t wait for the day he can finally wake up in the morning and not have Evan Bosco on his mind.

 He felt nothing, not a damn thing, she thinks as she takes the last bite of her breakfast sandwich. Also, she thinks that her ring is too loose because it slides too easily between her knuckle and the middle joint in her finger. Was it this heavy on her hand last night too? She felt the cold metal slip again as she balls up the napkin and tosses it on her plate. Evan’s lucky if she’s had at least two hours of sleep from the night. She knew she shouldn’t have mixed the red wine with liquor from the bar but desperate times call for desperate measures.

 “So what are you up to today?” Harry asks.

 “Well, I have an article due by the end of the day tomorrow, but I think I’ll check in with my dad and see if he wants to go out for dinner or something. I haven’t seen him in a couple weeks.”

 As the Millennial Voice column expert in her father’s travel magazine, Evan was tasked with writing a monthly column on the hot spots in different cities that twenty-somethings would enjoy. But, due to the lack of budgeting, this usually just consisted of Google research rather than actual travel.

 “I miss Papa Bosco. I haven’t heard any of his -ism’s lately,” Harry chuckles.

 Evan Bosco Sr., who not only was fluent in Klingon, was also a walking, talking fortune cookie of life advise. Most of which he had taken out on his daughter’s friends, “oh I’m sure he’ll have plenty saved up for you next time you see him.”

 “I love a man who can make me cry about my life choices,” Harry smirks.

 Evan rolls her eyes, “or lack thereof. Any big plans for you today?” She asks.

 He shrugs, “I’ll probably just loaf around and eat my weight in Chinese food, maybe jerk off in the shower - “

 “You’re deplorable,” Evan snides, tossing her crumpled napkin at him.

 Harry sips his coffee, feeling the chip on the edge of his monogrammed mug slice the soft flesh of his inner lip. He winces a bit, and licks off the blood.

 Monday, March 26, 2018

987 Amsterdam Ave, Apartment 5B, New York, NY

 Evan busies herself with unpacking the bags of groceries she’d collected for tonight’s dinner. Her father wasn’t home yet, and she was sure due to the large amounts of missed calls and texts that he’d have a lecture waiting for her. Almost twenty-five years old and Evan was still subjected to her father’s lectures. She knows he did it out of love, but sometimes, she just wished he’d let her fuck up without there having to be a lesson about it afterwards.

 More often these days, Evan found herself missing their old apartment. It was modest, for the city. The walls were white and covered in exposed brick and held framed photos of maps and photography of all the places they’d explored together. It was a little cleaner, with Evan gone. No empty glasses left on the coffee table, just to the bottom left of the coaster, leaving yet another ring in the table’s surface. And no matter how many times Evan Sr. had to yell at his daughter about it, she never learned.

 She missed the smell of the bakery across the street wafting through their windows in the morning, making the entire place smell like warm, buttery croissants. She missed their neighbors across the hall with their hyperactive Yorkie, Chico, who never seemed to stop yipping. Hell, Evan even missed the way her socks always slid against the hardwood floors and she’d bust her ass every so often when she would pivit just right. She felt as if she had a semi permanent bruise on her hip from falling over the years.

 But most of all, she missed coming home to her father. Who, despite still having social anxiety at age forty eight and mumbled more than he actually spoke, was the most loving creature on the face of the planet. She checks the time, there’s still about another ten minutes before he would be walking in the front door, tossing his messenger bag on the floor, and reaching into the fridge for a beer. Just one, though. Always one.

 Throughout their time travelling during her childhood, Evan found out that the greatest thing about it weren’t the sights, or the culture, or the tourist traps. It was the food. Between the two of them, they’d created what they dubbed “The Holy Grail” of recipes from their travels. Transcribed into a notebook with crunchy pages and stuck together with food splatter,  shoved into the cabinet above the fridge, Evan knew she could make any meal in this book and immediately be back on her father’s good side.

 Tonight it was Paella, the recipe was given to them by the Chef of a little hole in the wall place in València. It was her father’s absolute favorite meal and he swore he could never get it just right like Evan could.

 “Surprise!” Evan declares as her father walks in the door, both confused but also relieved to see his daughter.

 Evan Bosco Sr. drops his bag at the door and slides past his daughter to stalk into the kitchen for his one beer, “you weren’t at work today,” he mutters.

 “Yes...well...it’s been an interesting twenty four hours. Plus I slept in and -”

 It takes her father approximately three and a half seconds to recognize the symptoms and before she can finish her  sentence, he interjects, “you’re hungover.”

 Her father cracks a smile, probably the first one all day. Evan Sr. wouldn’t say that he hated his job, he just hated how draining it was, and sometimes it took smelling Paella cooking in the kitchen to bring you back down to Earth again.

 “I am, but,” Evan holds up her left hand to show off the ring, “I’m also engaged.”

 Evan Sr. presses his lips together and tilts his head to the left. He gulps once before processing the diamond on her finger, “I’m happy for you, sweetheart.”

 Evan recognizes that look on her father’s face. It was the same one he had when she came home from school one time in seventh grade and told him it was now her life’s dream to drop out of middle school and join the Peace Corps. It was first a flash of confusion, followed up by mild disgust and then finished off with the sudden realization that he had to pretend to support his only daughter in a terrible decision.

 “Are you?” She quizzes.

 Evan Sr. nods, “sure am! Just been a long day.”

 He takes a long swig of his beer and places it onto the counter with a shaky hand. The green bottle double clinks onto the counter.

 “How’s Harry taking it?” He asked, stirring the simmering food in the pan.

 Evan grabs the wooden spoon from his hand, “fine, why?”

 Her father takes another choking gulp of his beer. He’s halfway done in just the two gulps he’s taken so far.

 “Just curious,” he pips, putting an arm around his daughter’s shoulders, “he is losing his best friend, after all.”

 Evan Bosco Sr. of Columbus, Ohio wanted nothing more than for his only daughter to marry the man of her dreams. Evan Sr. knew that Jacob Huckabee was not going to be this man. He knew this for a while, and while he always wanted to support his daughter in her decisions, couldn’t help but feel slighted by the latest development in her relationship status. Slighted, not only because had Jacob not considered his fiancee's father’s opinion in the matter of their union, but also because he was the most absolutely boring person on the face the the planet. This, all coming from a man who studied the courtship rituals of insect mating in college.

 For fun.

 “What is the male obsession with thinking they’re going to lose someone who gets married?!” Evan groans, “I’m not going anywhere.”

 “I know,” he pats her on the back, “it’ll just be an adjustment for him. I’m sure he’s going to have to find a new roommate.”

 “Why don’t the two of you move in together since you’re like, so obsessed with each other,” Evan rolls her eyes.

 Her father grins, “Harry will always have a place in this household.”

 “Yeah,” she scoffs, “I swear if you had it your way I’d be marrying him,”

 It felt a little too toxic to say and her father bit his tongue and fought back what he wanted to say. Recalling a time not all that long ago, when Harry was in a vulnerable state and confessed all that he felt for Evan Sr.’s daughter and he let himself reflect for a moment to a time in his life when he knew what it felt like to be absolutely helpless in love with someone.

 Being a single father was not the life that Evan Bosco Sr. had planned for himself. He’d met his forever girl (or so he’d imagined) at age eighteen. They had dreamed of a life together traveling the world with each other. However, Elizabeth Highwater, or Just Lizzie, as Evan Sr. had called her through their nine year courtship, had never wanted children. So after a few years of marriage and a few spins around the globe Evan Sr. had suggested settling down somewhere and starting a family. It was six months after that conversation that Lizzie had found herself pregnant with a child she didn’t really want. She stuck around at first, playing doting wife and mother. But there had been a new man that offered her an out and a new life, the life a Highwater was expected to have. And all of this did not involve being the wife of Evan Bosco Sr.

 So she left. One day on a chilly November night with nothing more than a packed suitcase and a note left behind to her husband and only daughter. Evan Sr. lied to his daughter about her mother’s whereabouts until age twenty-three, twenty years after she’d left. He had told her that her mother was really a mermaid, and that she had to go back to the ocean for a little while, but she’d eventually be back. It seemed stupid, but in a way it helped him heal as well.

 But Elizabeth Highwater did not come back. At least not until her new husband had called Evan up a year or so ago to tell her that her mother had died. Evan remembers feeling a whole lot of nothing and then a whole lot of something seemingly all at once. She always harbored resentment for the woman like an anchor inside of her. She hated her mother for leaving her, and even more for breaking her father’s heart. She saw it it in the crinkles in the corners of his eyes and in the way the world seemed to always rest on his shoulders.

 Evan had flown out to her parent’s hometown of Columbus, Ohio and met her step father for the first time and saw the house they’d lived in together and the evidence of her mother’s life without her child over the last twenty years. It was a good life, by the looks of it; big house but not too big, nice car, a boat trailered in the backyard. Evan’s time in Ohio had been summed up by something that Niall had dubbed the “Ohio Incident”.

 But we’ll get to that later.

 “As long as you’re happy, Pumpkin, so am I.”

 Evan Sr. feigns a smile, pressing his lips together so tightly they turn white.

 She takes a step closer to her father and places a single hand on his shoulder, “dad, you’re a terrible liar.”

 He raises a brow and finishes off his beer before walking away into the living room.

 Evan paces around the kitchen, occupying herself with setting their places at the kitchen island that took the place of a dining room table. She pours a glass of the wine she had brought over and sits on the counter while the last of their dinner cooks.

 Why did he seem surprised? She thinks to herself. Aren’t boyfriend’s supposed to ask permission from the father of their girlfriend for their hand in marriage? Perhaps she’s thinking too much about it. Perhaps Huck had mentioned it in passing and her father had forgotten, or chosen to forget about it. Huck knew how close Evan was to her father, he wouldn’t overlook such a tradition.

 Would he?

 Monday, March 26, 2018

185 Bleecker Street, Apartment 11A, New York, NY

 “Jordan for the last time I’m not going to your fucking parent’s house for the weekend! I have too much to do here. Just please drop it,” Harry throws himself onto the couch while his girlfriend stomps around the edges of the living room, circling him like prey.

 They’d gotten into another argument, shocker, at first in the early afternoon when Jordan had called Harry complaining as to why he didn’t spend the night with her, nursing her through her vomit inducing hangover. By the time she’d laid it all into him it was half past five and he was starting to get hungry. Knowing Evan would be at her father’s, he invited her over to order some take away and could maybe make out with her. If for, at the very least, to get her to shut the fuck up.

 “I just don’t understand you! One second you’re here and the next I feel like you’re on the other side of the world. I can’t keep doing this - “

 “Stop, stop, stop.”

 Harry leaps up and puts a palm over Jordan’s mouth, “for the love of God, stop complicating things. I just really don’t have the time to go upstate this weekend!”

 He removes his hand slowly.

 “It’s much more than that, Harry,” there’s a flicker in her wet eyes. She’s about to cry. Shit. “I can’t do this right now. I think we need to have some time apart, And I’m not talking our usual time apart. I’m thinking this may have to be permanent.”

 She sits on the edge of the couch and Harry follows. She wipes just below her right eye with the back of her hand and sniffs, “I see all these happy couples and I always wonder why we can’t be them. I know you just think I’m a brat that nags at you all the time,” she’s crying more now and Harry starts to feel terribly, “but I do love you, and I do want a future with you. But if you can’t even spend a weekend with my family...for something I told you about months ago and suddenly you don’t have time? That’s not normal Harry.”

 Harry stares at his hands, “I don’t want to hurt you, Jordy.”

 “Yeah well, you’re a little late for that,” she replies, and the sting hits him square in the chest, “I just want to be happy. I want to celebrate each other. I want what Evan and Jake have! I want to get married one day and spend the rest of my life with someone who loves me just as much as I love them.”

 That was all it took, and Harry didn’t feel so bad about her tears anymore. Deep down, he knew it wasn’t her fault. How was she supposed to her her boyfriend was in love with his best friend? He resented her statement. The wound was still fresh and the hangover in trying to forget the whole thing was still lingering.

 “I don’t think you can be that for me right now, Harry.” Jordan says.

 She stands and kisses the top of his head, “I’ll let myself out.”

 Harry doesn’t reply to anything. It takes him ten minutes after the front door shuts to take a deep breath again. Usually when this happened, he knows Jordan would be back soon; in a couple days, a week, a month tops. But something about this time feels different.

 It’s not long after Jordan leaves that Evan arrives back home. She smells like wine and Spanish food and her father’s cologne. She can sense the tension in his face the moment she lays eyes on him.

 “Everything alright?” She questions.

 “I feel like you’re asking me that a lot lately.”

 “It’s because you’re incredibly transparent. I know you better than you know yourself, you know,” she grins.

 Harry falls silent and looks to the floor, “Jordan dumped me again.”

 Evan fails to act surprised, “please remind me how this is new news?” She says, hanging up her coat and kicking off her boots.

 Harry huffs and stands, picking her boots up off the floor and places them on the shoe rack next to the door, “she said she wants to be with someone who loves her just as much as she loves them.”

 There’s attitude in his voice and Evan can sense it, “yeah, still failing to see the big shocker here, Harriet. What do you expect from the poor girl? You guys break up like every other week for some stupid shit and then get back together without ever working anything out. Of course she’s going to realize you don’t love her back.”

 Harry’s breath catches for a moment, “I do love her.”

 Evan rolls her eyes.

 “Okay maybe not like that, in that way,” Harry defends, “but I do have love for her…I’m just not in love with her.”

 “Ding ding we have a winner! Only took you how long to figure it out?”

 Harry lets out a breathy laugh and swings an arm around Evan, “yeah, yeah. So how did Papa Bosco take your big engagement news?”

 She pauses before answering, “strangely. I don’t know. It’s like he wanted to say something but didn’t. But not something like ‘oh I think this is a terrible idea’ but like he, I don’t know, like he’s waiting for me to figure something out.”

 Oh if she only knew.

HELLOOOOOO!!!! Thank you again everyone for the kind words of encouragement and how you’re feeling about this fic! Please let me know! Just a note for the next update, it will come a day late as the 5th I’m throwing a party for my mom’s 60th birthday and I won’t be able to post, so the next chapter will arrive on May 6th.

For any questions/comments/concerns, please do not hesitate to take advantage of my ask!

[lunafeather]

judeehopps replied to your post “If anyone else has seen The Last Jedi already and wants to discuss,...”

I’m curious about what you think. What did you think of it? I have mixed feelings...

Overall I enjoyed it a lot, but it did have a lot of issues. I think I liked The Force Awakens a lot more, so I’m glad that JJ Abrams will be directing Episode IX and not Rian Johnson, though obviously Abrams isn’t perfect. This film also continues Star Wars’ penchant for gorgeousness; so many scenes and shots were absolutely breathtaking in their beauty. This might be my favorite film when it comes to that.

Spoilers below the cut! (Also, fair warning! I have a lot of thoughts)

I wasn’t a fan of the limited interactions between our main trio, especially Finn and Rey -- whose relationship literally drives the narrative of this trilogy. Don’t get me wrong, that hug at the end literally made me squeal with joy it was so pure and sweet, but that is seriously all we got and like??? I DO ship Finnrey but I also just enjoy watching their friendship so this was a major downside.

Speaking of ships, I am VERY anti Rose/Finn. I feel like the kiss at the end of the film was incredibly forced and awkward, and came out of nowhere. They have okay chemistry, but I didn’t get a romantic vibe from them at all, so for her to swoop in with this huge romantic gesture and pull out the “I love you” before passing out was very out of place. I feel like they barely know each other, and Rose’s feelings are heavily impacted by her initial view of Finn as this Rebel Hero, and that her jump from awe to fury to love is just a natural progression of her fangirling, and not actual love. Not to mention the fact that Finn literally just froze when she kissed him, it wasn’t reciprocated at all. I hope that they have an adorable “WOW that was awkward” moment in the next film but that they remain friends only.

I really enjoyed Rey’s arc over the film. I think she is more powerful than we realize and I really hope we get to see that power as she trains to be an actual jedi (I’m sure we will). I also really enjoy her parallel’s to Luke in that she is insistent that Kylo can be turned and tries to sway him against her mentor’s wishes, that she is just SO GOOD inside (I, like others, was afraid they may try to tease her switching to the dark side, but I’m glad this film just reiterated how good she is), but I also love that where Luke succeeded, Rey did not. I think it would be very predictable and boring for Rey to “save” Kylo the way Luke “saved” Vader.

Branching off of that, the trailers had a lot of people spouting that whole, “ohhh this is just another copy cat/rehash of Empire, just like TFA was identical to ANH” (which is bullshit anyway, TFA had many homages to ANH but the story was different in a few key ways) crap that I am glad was destroyed immediately. All this chatter about the AT-ATs and the rebels trying to escape a base and Degobah and blah blah blah. None of it was founded, the film was actually VERY different from ESB. Which isn’t necessarily a good thing.... but I digress.

I am a tad miffed that Finn’s force sensitivity wasn’t touched on AT ALL. As far as I’m aware, someone has to be force sensitive to use a lightsaber and Finn used Luke’s at the end of TFA. I hope they touch back on that in Episode IX.

A big thing I am distressed about is the fact that one of the original trio is basically going to be killed off in each film. Han in TFA, now Luke in TLJ, and obviously Leia will need to be killed off in Episode IX... It’s really fucking depressing. Part of me hopes that they will write IX in a way that Leia doesn’t need to die but never appears on screen -- I feel like of the three, she would be the one to survive. It’s possible, narratively, but I doubt they’ll do that. Still.... Also, seeing as Luke became one with the force or whatever, I feel like he will train Rey from beyond, the same way Obiwan often advised him after his death. So maybe we’ll at least have that.

Upon further reflection, I feel like the Casino excursion was very misplaced and unneeded. It was hectic and rushed and urgent, the whole movie was, and I wasn’t a huge fan of that. Star Wars movies ebb and flow with their pace, usually taking place over a moderate amount of time, but obviously this film had a very short time span and I gotta say, I’m not digging it. I prefer the story building, character building pace of the other films.

Humor was out of place a lot of times. The other movies were funny, yes, but the humor in this one was much too....modern? Even in TFA the humor was more classic, in this film it was annoyingly snappy. I really hated the opening scene and its “joke” with Poe pretending he couldn’t hear Hux. Hux should be scary and looming and menacing but that scene just made a fool out of him, and for that to be the OPENING scene is just.... no. Turned me off immediately. Some of the humor was spot on, like Chewie being watched by the family/friends of the bird thing he was trying to eat. THAT was good. Even Rey knocking that giant piece of rock over the cliff and annihilating those aliens’ cart of stuff was good. But most of the other humor was off.

My favorite moment/shot, and I’m sure it’s a lot of people’s, was Holdo hyperspacing into Snoke’s ship. Everything about that was GLORIOUS. The quick burst shots of the lightning blue spikes cracking the ship, the DEAD SILENCE -- no music, no sound effects, nothing -- until the delayed noise of the explosion, I was AWED. The ENTIRE THEATRE gasped and then hushed in the same awed silence as myself. What an amazing idea and execution.

Other favorite shots, Kylo and Luke standing on opposite sides of the screen, waiting to battle -- the colors and composition were beautiful. Crap, there are more but I can’t remember them now.

Mother fucking LEIA ORGANA, using the force to survive being blown into space. SHE DID THAT, Y’ALL. Do you have any idea how powerful she has to be to do that kind of shit??? I seriously thought they were gonna kill her off.

Luke Skywalker being a sassy shit during his astral projection gave me so much life. I love him.

I’ve seen a lot of disparaging comments about Yoda showing up but I actually liked that bit. I think it was one of the times when the humor was on point, and they had to have used a puppet because he looked great.

After a lot of discussion with my ex, we came to the conclusion that Leia must have known Luke wasn’t really there at the old rebel base. Initially I thought it was a vision/wonder twin connection like Kylo and Rey were having (which..... wtf???? Why was that happening? Could it not?) but then everyone else saw him so.... still, I think Leia knew it wasn’t really him. I think that’s why she didn’t touch him/hug him -- because they are VERY huggy twins -- and why she left Han’s dice behind. I think she knew she wouldn’t see him again, which breaks my heart. Because how alone is Leia now? She lost the love of her life, she lost her son, she lost her brother. Ughhhh.

So yeah, this stupid “connection” between Rey and Kylo the film was trying to force on us just.... irked me. I have heard that R*ylos are fangirling over the movie, which boggles my mind because Rey literally hates his guts?? She was disgusted by his naked chest and demanded he clothe himself?? She literally tried to save him because she’s a good person, not because he’s ever done anything to deserve it or because there’s some kind of “love connection” there?? He fucking mind raped her, guys. He almost killed the first person to ever COME BACK FOR HER. (again, why did this movie focus on the Rey/Kylo shit when there is a goldmine with Rey/Finn??????) Oh he’s also a fucking pyscho murderous asshole who killed Rey’s friend and hero in cold blood.

Anyway.

Snoke as a villain: Disappointing. Boring. Anticlimactic. I pity that we didn’t get backstory on him, though I suppose we never got any for the Emperor until the prequels. Still.... Snoke was a very thin and half assed master villain. Shouldn’t there be waaaaaaaaay more lore about the Knights of Ren? Is that going to come into play in Episode IX, seeing as Kylo is now the Supreme Leader? Also, how the fuck am I supposed to take Kylo seriously as the next major villain when he continues to throw temper tantrums and be easily manipulated by outside forces?

On that note, did he choose to spare Leia because of that conflict inside of him, or did Leia force sense him and mind influence him to not shoot?? WE’LL NEVER KNOW.

Second to last point: Not enough Chewie.

Final point: I liked the examination of perspective. Luke’s story of what happened the night Kylo went crazy, Kylo’s story, and finally the truth. How we twist things to feel better/to get what we want. How every story is biased. I thought that was neat.

I lied, one last thing: I am on the fence but leaning towards hating Rey’s parents being “nobodys”. I think it’s an interesting choice but not one that lends anything to the narrative. I think the hype around her parentage was stoked just so they could say, “HAHA she actually isn’t anyone special, you were speculating for nothing!”. Speculating is fun. Bloodlines are fun. Let nerds discuss! A big part of me hopes that Kylo was lying to Rey to make her more upset and thus “more likely” to swing to the dark side. To encourage her fear that she really was abandoned for no reason. BUT it would also be unique to have her be so special despite coming from nothing.

Alright, I’m done. I may think of more but that’s it for now. My rating would probably be like.... 6.5/10. In the top 5 but not the top 4. Enjoyable and beautiful but nothing special and a let down in regards to story and character development.

[kiyabujayniah1996]

How Do I Know If My Reiki Is Working Fabulous Useful Ideas

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Reiki Healing For Dogs

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Reiki Symbol Vector

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[hillbillyhocuspocus]

November 6th, 2018 // North Node Enters Cancer - South Node Enters Capricorn // Shell-less Crabs

             One of the lesser known, or least talked about aspects in basic astrology are the lunar Nodes. We are all born with them, and.they're not planetary bodies, but mathematical points. The Moon's North and South Nodes are points, indicating where the Moon's path around Earth crosses the ecliptic. The ecliptic is the belt through which the Sun and planets appear to travel from our perspective on Earth. 

           Our personal natal Nodes can tell us a lot about our past, and future. While many aspects of a natal chart focus on personality in the now, or forever, these two points focus specifically on who you have been, and who you can be. If you are someone who believes in "past lives", the South Node gives clues as to who you may have been, and what kind of karma you carry over in this life. If you're not a believer in past lives, it can show you who you used to be in this life, or your younger self. Your North Node on the other hand gives you clues as to what sort of "destiny" you shall fulfill if you will. If you listen to your guides, follow the signs, and put in the work, your North Node is an accomplished fate, your most divine way of being, or your best self. 

             Lately, as a whole consciousness, we've been under the influence of the Lunar Nodes stationed in Leo/Aquarius. As we all have a natal chart, each progression happens to each of us in personal ways. Though often you can spot these themes appearing in and out of your life in various forms, and before you know it, everything begins being filtered through the shifts. While stationed on the Leo/Aquarius axis, the North Node called all under it's influence to stop always putting them-self last. These energies asked you perhaps to be a more authentic version of yourself, as Leo rules the self, however positive, or negative the effect on your community/those close to you. We put "groups" per-say on the back burner, and maybe even friendships. Some may have lost their identity in the groups they belonged to, forcing them to take a step back, for some "self care". Although we have seen many protests, and rally’s akin to our sisters, and brothers of the 60's and 70's, often times those who attended may have used the cause, rebellion, and group to boost them self on social media, or brag about what they were doing to change society. A downside of the Leo archetype, ego inflation. There's a balance to be found.

               The Nodes which have been stationed in Leo/Aquarius since May 9th of 2017 are about to light up with activity! They will be shifting on November 6th, 2018 into Cancer/Capricorn axis! There are many monumental shifts occurring during the first half of November, and  this is just the start! Other than shifting into a new sign, the Lunar Nodes will also be squaring Uranus, planet of shocks, surprises, and technology! Not only will these two transits shift within hours of one another, but they will both be in their respective signs, and at exactly 00:00 degrees. This energy is special, potent, and powerful, and it's headed our way! Uranus will also be fully Retrograde in the sign of Aries on this same day! I've written another article on this you can find HERE

              Uranus has been headed into a retrograde period before finally entering the sign of Taurus for good next year, 2019! Think back to May of this year for clues on what to expect once that happens fully. 

         This shift could change everything you've been doing in your life as of lately, and possibly your entire life, forever. The Lunar Nodes being so intertwined with themes of destiny, and fate, has me feeling like this change will be HUGE, and! Fated! 

             Looking at the signs the Lunar Nodes will shift into brings us into one of those good ol' fashion astrological conundrums. We will be reaching to be more Cancer-esq...while also trying to wiggle free of Capricorns stern grip. The puzzle is in Saturn, and Pluto being stationed in Capricorn. These factors nullify one another at first glance, then upon closer inspection begin to swirl, and melt into one another.           

                Cancer calls water home, and that's where it wished it could stay forever. Of the water element of the zodiac, Cancer is cardinal, Cancer flows with the ebb and flow of the tide, and climbs the silvery beams Mother Moon shines. The season for Cancer lets a warm, spicy breeze blow by, June, and July are the perfect time for swimming in the Northern Hemisphere. Water is often symbolic of feelings, and emotions, which Cancer feels with their soft insides more than they could ever let you see. Cancer is related to all things feminine, mother, nurture, home, family, spirituality, and hysteria. 

            When we examine the South Node shifting into Capricorn, we've gotta look at all of those things we need to let go of, inked in Capricorn nature. Now, as I mentioned we are still fiddling with Saturn and Pluto there, so we must find a way to keep what is valuable, let go of what is not, and integrate the jagged edges.            Capricorn is represent by the Sea Goat. The Sea Goat may have no business trying to climb towering mountains, however it must, it is it's job, and it must reach the top with honors. The Sea Goat is serious, is stern, and the course is charted with absolute precision. Chaos is not permitted in the realm of Capricorn, unless it's under hoof, and out of sight. The Sea Goat knows the rules, and suggests you follow them, in turn teaching you the path of the Sea Goat, the only way to the top. Like it's counterpart, the Cancer, the Sea Goat is skilled in occult practices. Where Cancer feels the flow, Capricorn transforms the ground the rivers flow on. Where would the river flow without the stability of ground beneath? Capricorn is related to all things masculine, power, authority figures, our fathers, our governments, our systems, structure, stability, excessive control, restriction, torture, punishment, and pain. 

           Our journey thus far with Saturn, and Pluto's placement in the sign of Capricorn have had us reviewing lessons on these topics, as well as showing us the darker underpinnings of the systems we have intact. While things have moved more slowly in these realms due to Saturn, we've had more time to observe, and really see. We've had time to really commit, and attempt to stabilize the out of control aspects in our lives, the more sinister chaos that often sits below the surface. While the Capricorn is an earth sign, it is still half fish. It's lower half has the ability to breath in the sea, and blend the experiences of Earth and Water. It is up to us to make the choice...

land or sea?  Harsh punishment, or empathy?  Control, or freedom?  Slavery, or Brotherhood?  Work or family?  Do we succeed because of what we accomplish, or are we all born equally successful, perfect?  How can we make our reality feel more like "home"? 

         On November the 6th when Retrograding Uranus Squares the Lunar Nodes, which will on the same day shift axis, something may happen out of the blue which will completely re-write whatever you have going on in your day to day. Whatever plans you may have been making, whatever goals you may have set for yourself, whatever you thought you knew... think again!

Before going any further, and just as a reminder…      A planet going “retrograde” means that, from where we are on Earth, it APPEARS to be moving backwards. The opposite of retrograde motion (or Rx for short) is direct motion. The planet is not actually moving backwards however, it is an optical illusion.  The planets are still moving forward through space, but because the planets do not revolve around Earth and Earth is also in motion, so many times throughout a year some planets appear to go backwards. In that process, it backs up over a certain range of degrees in the zodiac and ends up passing through that range three times: first forward, then backward and lastly forward again. There are also “shadow” periods as a planet begins to make these passes, and leave them. 

              At first this may only happen internally, emotionally, or even subconsciously due to Uranus in Retrograde motion. Some little pin prick of a feeling may enter your awareness...some strange feeling like nothing was the same as it was the day before. Everything can be exactly as it was, but somehow you just feel "different"..."weird"..."strange".  During shifts like this, especially with retrograde planets, I always feel some sense of deja vu, or like everything around me is somehow so surreal. It feels like being re-set in a way, or like the whole world is a piece of fiction, and I'm just watching. Until slowly the small pin prick bleeds into a new state of awareness, and I begin to take a more, and more active approach. 

           Uranus is associated with innovation, discovery, progression, rebellion, individuality, change, surprise, electricity, and technology. When Rx Uranus squares the Lunar Nodes we may see internal technology glitches, and crashes, as well as new technology being released, and marketed. We may experience technological malfunctions even in household appliances, or anything with moving parts. Similar to a Mercury Retrograde, but more radical. It's very fitting this would happen right as we approach the 5th of November! Ahaha! V from V for Vendetta is a prefect example of the kind of technology glitches which would spiral from Uranus. 

                  As the Lunar Nodes shift you may find yourself re-thinking, and re-evaluating what direction your heading. Some may quit, or leave their jobs in favor of more family time. Some may switch to working from home rather than outside of it. All will be drawn to escape the hamster wheel that is minimum wage Hell in favor of what is truly important, those who love you...your family...or the family you have chosen. Family is who's there for you, not always blood. You may try more to nurture those who you love who cannot escape the tie between work/survival. Taking on a motherly approach, packing their lunch with more care, making sure they're as comfortable as you can make them before they are in the grip of their bosses. Internally you will not be able to look away from their pain any longer, it will tug at your heart strings each time you/they have to go to their work environment where they are belittled, punished, and used. 

             There are lessons to learn in each sign of the Zodiac. There are things we can take from each sign of value, and it's not wise to throw Capricorn's structure wholly out the window. It will take the careful planning of Capricorn to reach the goals Cancer has set for us for the next 2 years. We can use Capricorn's willfulness to not waiver from our goals, and their determination to climb the summit of releasing the chains of society.     

           The Lunar Nodes will remain on the Cancer/Capricorn axis from November the 6th, 2018, until May.05.2020. 

The crab removes it's shell...and is held by the sea.

[wiseruinscloud-blog]

Improve Your Leadership with Conversation Phrase

Unless you're able to speak you can't lead well. Many people in leadership functions know that this intuitively -- you need to be a"good speaker," whatever this means. The direction is all about communicating.

But what exactly does it mean to a practical level?

I recall some of the principles of the dreaded Speech 101 of college, and I can recall a few of the adventures. Coaching was received by me before talking to a crowd of 5,000 +, that gave me some tips. However, helpful as experiences and these classes were, I don't feel as though that they gave me a few of the skills required to communicate effectively.

What really matters, I discovered, was a conversation. The day of daily trade. The chatter around the water cooler. The little talk prior to the assembly. The huddle from the cubicle. The update in the elevator. All these small addresses were where leadership became evident, civilization was formed, and achievement was born.

In ten factors below, I discuss ten simple phrases that may form your conversational skill, and by extension, progress your leadership. Whether you're an individual contributor to your company, a vice president, or a project manager, these phrases can be used in private conversations, meetings, talks with your team members, or interactions along with your supervisor.

1. I would like to be transparent with you.

Exactly what it says: I'm going to lose shred and all pretense of dishonesty. What I'm about to say is really really important. I appreciate you that far.

When to use it: When you are solving an issue, or dreading a point.

This cogent term can be expressed in a way that was faulty. People say,"I'm likely totally truthful with you." This one bothers me. Why? Since it indicates they aren't usually totally honest with me. Why is it that they need to maintain their honesty for a prelude to what they're going to state? Honesty must be a given.

To make a powerful stage, you may worry about your transparency. Transparency between individuals is what attracts them together. It is an element of friendship and camaraderie. You can't be friends with somebody without some level of transparency and opening about life's shared experiences.

Being"entirely transparent" helps you to draw your listeners and to assist them to feel that the value of what you're saying.

2. I wonder if...

   What it says: I'm curious about it, and I am interested enough to create this statement. I would like you to consider it.

   When to use it when you are making an argument or proposing a solution that might receive negative comments.

The term is tentative to keep you from sounding like a know-it-all. You are admitting, in an understated way, that you don't have all the answers. But you really have a crack at it, and you are likely to state it.

The"wonder" verbiage helps ignite a little bit of interest in other people, also. If you are"wondering" on something, you may get them wondering, too.

When you are at a meeting, and you'd love to provide a solution, begin by saying"I wonder if..."

   I wonder whether we could move Jason.

   I wonder whether our focus on layout may be overshadowing the performance of the device.

   I wonder should we need to consider conversion optimization before we raise our prices.

"I wonder if" becomes a tender, but effective approach to press your stage and progress your ideas.

3. Could I share a personal example?

   Everything it says: I will share a little bit of information that's personal. But before I do that, I admire your time enough to ask your consent. What I am going to talk to you will be profound and meaningful. Please hear my story.

   When to use it: When you're demonstrating a stage, supporting an argument, or even teaching a life lesson.

The more personal experiences someone stocks, the more folks are drawn to her or him. There is a reason why actress gossip is a multimillion dollar industry. We love to hear about personal experiences, even when their last name doesn't end in"-Kardashian."

Personal illustrations are far more persuasive than generic platitudes or exhortations. As soon as we tie character into our dialogue, it moves individuals.

In any case, humans are wired to enjoy tales. People want to hear If you tell a story. It isn't important whether it's a brief story or an epic novel; folks want to hear it.

So next time you're telling a staff member how to enhance his programming, or he needs to come to work on time, then ask"Can I talk about a personal case?"

4. Let me just turn around the question, also ask you.

   What it states: You brought up a fantastic matter. I really respect your opinion on it, therefore I want to ask you the identical question. Please tell me your ideas; I shall listen.

   When to use it: Use this term whenever you aren't sure of this problem, don't have a very crystal clear response, or wish to help the person you are speaking with coming to a comprehension of the problem they're facing.

One of the most effective strategies to manage queries is to flip them back around to the particular person who's currently asking the issue. I have had this occur to me personally. So I hurriedly scurry off to find him I have a question that I think only the boss might answer. I ask the question. And my boss yells it:"Allow me to just turn around the question, and ask me"

Maybe he rephrases the issue or provides a different angle. Whatever the scenario, I am confronted with answering. A good deal of times, I encounter some breakthrough comprehension of the issue.

This term helps individuals to think through their particular problem, which is an essential ability. At precisely the exact same time, it empowers them to make decisions by themselves.

5. Allow me to show you a bit of research.

   Exactly what it says: '' I care to do some work of finding facts. Here are a few real-world examples which prove what I'm attempting to convey.

   If you're attempting to show your point when to use it.

Utilize data to show the way As opposed to convincing people with techniques and electricity moves. Convince them via research amounts, and legitimate info.

You have supplied yourself when you go to the work of information. To begin with, you've shown that your purpose is worthy of the time and study. By demonstrating that study, you prove your point.

Needless to say, this usually means you have to do the research, so don't forget that component that is prior.

6. Let's try it your way.

   What it states: You have a great idea, and I'm eager to implement it. I am your partner on this. Keep in mind, though, this is the idea. You came up with this, and we're going to determine how it works.

   When to use it: If there is a team member indicating a concept, and you need to put it.

This term expresses confidence in the participation of somebody else. You are investing her with a significant amount of decision-making ability and power. But you inform her that she is responsible for the action being taken.

7. How do you really feel about that?

   Exactly what it says: '' I care, not just about what is happening, but the way you're feeling about it. You as a single issue. Your emotions matter.

   When to use it: When you sense an individual has an underlying emotion they haven't voiced or any time you're arbitrating a battle between a few people.

Businesses operate on information and numbers. We make decisions. Yet not one of us can deny the importance of feelings in life's ebb and flow. Feelings as much as anything else drives people.

We as leaders need to understand such emotions so as to make the decisions that are most successful. Feelings could be powerful, and they're able to boil over into rash behavior or lead to decision making. A truly instinctive leader react accordingly and will understand feelings.

In private dialog, you can change the whole tenor and mindset with an easy question,"How do you feel about this?"

8. This dialog has made me feel _____.

   What it says: '' I would like you to know my feelings about the matter, and in particular, how this conversation has affected me. It has been an important dialogue, and I think you should understand what I am feeling.

   When you are wrapping up a dialog when to use it and would like to leave the person. It is sometimes powerful for mollifying a battle with someone.

On the subject of transparency in dialogue, I recommend that you utilize this phrase, much less a technique, however, as a means to disclose your issues.

After, I had a personal conflict with an individual. This individual -- older, more powerful, well known respected -- spent a couple of hours pointing out the flaws in my personality and behavior. It was a difficult couple of hours for me. In the conclusion of the conversation, I told him"This dialogue has made me feel..." and, with no defensiveness, I shared with a bit of the pain.

He wasn't precisely the planet's most sensitive man, and that's okay. But I think that my comment helped him stop and think about the cathartic venting that he had spent a couple hours engaging in. I wasn't attempting to make him grovel. But since he had given a few hours of torture that was to me, I thought I'd share my feelings, in response.

That's only one instance of where this term can be utilized. You could even use it as a circumstance that is non-conflict-driven. By way of example, if you have the really good meeting with a client and made some progress, you can say"This dialogue has made me feel really good about where our job is going this June. I think we are likely to find some notable success."

9. That is a really great observation, also I'd like to devote time before we go any    23, reflecting on that.

   I want to think about it, although what it says:'' I am not capable of answering this query. What you have just shared is really important, and matters may be changed by it. I want to spend some time contemplating it.

   If you're faced with a tricky decision that you need to believe about when to use it.

Leadership is not about instantaneous decisions. At times, you have to think over things. One term that grants you the runway for doing so is your"That is great, and let us pause" phrase:"That is a really fantastic point you have made. I really need to Consider that rather than make a decision for now"

This phrase has power. To begin with, you're acknowledging the input with. Second, you're buying yourself time to think about it.

10. I really don't have a response on this at the moment.

Exactly what it says: I am not omniscient, but I think I may be able to think of something. When to use it: This term buys you time to create a determination. By never pontificating away at exactly the identical time, you're expressing a modicum of humility.

Honesty is always the best policy, even if your honesty directs you to say"I don't have any clue." It's much better to admit ignorance than pretend you have knowledge in some place that you don't.

The qualifier"now" leaves the door open for you to come back and say,"I wonder if..." to offer a proposed answer.

Leadership consists of much more than just simple phrases. But unless you have some amount of effectiveness that is, your leadership cannot thrive.

These terms, when combined with authentic intentionality, can enable you to communicate. To venturing responses, from understanding feelings to turning queries, your job as a leader will be to conduct yourself in a respectful yet powerful manner, 1 conversation at one time.

Hope you like the information. You may like to read Eight things, Great Leader Do