#I’m like sneakily drawing these while working so it’ll do for now

[squuote]

@pilksus hands you these evil things

[themonotonysyndrome]

REDACTED verse - Another day in Dahlia

Summary: When worlds collide, Aaron and Smartass has the ‘old, married couple’ moment when a wolf is loose in a hypermarket. 

-

Dahlia is lively today, the afternoon sunlight dazzling upon the city. Familiar faces, familiar sights and familiar roads are everywhere. 

And yet, the man who couldn’t stop bickering with his lover since the two of them stepped out of IKEA is a changing man living in this familiar city. 

Aaron likes to think that he retains his best qualities despite the passing of time. Firm, true and level-headed - traits that have served him well both in his personal and work life. Traits that have earned him recognition, achievements and praises. However, against a fiery soul housed within an infuriating yet gorgeous body, Aaron has never felt so breathless and helpless. 

And most importantly, lovestruck. 

Unstable and uncharacteristically hesitant, the pieces of himself that are held together with patience have been pulled apart by its seams. But they weren’t destroyed; no, they rearrange themselves into an amazing new form. Aaron isn’t quite yet certain what that new form brings, but already, he could feel himself grow into a man that wholly compliments his lover. 

Like a planet revolving around a beautiful, bright star. He can’t help but be drawn by the star’s gravity. 

There’s balance between them, despite their strong-willed personalities. They sooth the other when one burns too brightly, they offer guidance when the other is unsure. Balanced and happy, that’s what they are. 

There’s never emptiness when silence envelops them. Isn’t there a saying that whenever you’re with your loved one, silence is never oppressive? 

Although, to be fair, silence doesn’t last long whenever they’re together. Not when there’s always something to bicker, something to discuss and something to tease about. 

Case in point, the ugly as fuck lamp that Aaron fought tooth and nail to convince his partner not to buy. 

“Look, it’s not even your money; I was going to use mine for it!” 

“It’s not about the money, Smartass.” Aaron replies back with a roll of his eyes. They’re at the parking lot getting ready to head off to the hypermarket next. The two of them had spent four hours of furniture shopping at IKEA after his Smartass made an offhand comment last week about his couch being way too old and lumpy for gaming nights and movie marathons. 

But before either of them realise it, what was supposed to be a simple couch purchase turned into perusal of dining tables, desks and floor lamps. Aaron got them back on track when you excitedly pulled him towards that last part.

Aaron had never before questioned your taste in furniture before but at that point, he starts to draw the line at a red, human shaped floor lamp. It bows slightly with the most creepy smile he had ever seen on a statue before. 

“I just don’t want to have a heart attack everytime I wake up, alright? You wanted it in our bedroom, beside our bed and it’s creepy beyond all reason.” 

“It’s functional though.” 

“So were the other floor lamps.” Aaron easily pointed out. He opened the car door and waited, unamused, for you to get in. Unfortunately, judging by how your arms folded across your chest in a stubborn pose, his spitfire didn’t want to drop their conversation. 

“What if I put it in the living room?” You suggest instead, the familiar defiant spark made itself known. 

Aaron held himself back from groaning in despair. Why are you so hung up about that lamp!? “I don’t think it’ll fit with the… aesthetic of our house, OK?” He tried the tactical approach first, knowing that a straight up no would not pacify his partner at all. “How about this; we’ll go with your couch and desk and my preference for the dining table. There. Is that good enough for you, Your Highness?” 

You purse your lips, but the both of you know that you’re not so hung up about the floor lamp to drag this argument any further. Aaron wisely chooses not to comment how your lips slowly curve into a smile. 

“Fine. I’ll let you win this round - ”

“Oh my god - ”

“But in return, I’ll be taking over for lunch later.” 

Aaron immediately shut his mouth, surprise and secretly a little giddy that his Smartass had taken the initiative of making a meal for them. That lasted for about a split second before something dawn onto him. 

“You want free reign at the hypermarket later, right?” 

This time, you beam happily but say nothing as you finally slip inside of the Mercedes. And as usual, silence spoke louder than words. Aaron exhales loudly, not knowing whether to laugh or mutter a curse. Trust in his lover to have the final say, ultimately. 

But that’s one of the many reasons why he fell so hopelessly in love with you. 

-

The hypermarket is busy for a Saturday. Smartass pointed at the sales and promotions board display in big letters and numbers when the two of you entered the building, hand in hand. Ah, that makes sense. Children run about clutching snacks in their little hands to convince their exasperated parents into buying, worned out staff restock empty shelves and the scent of fresh produce and floor detergents clings in the air. A familiar sight. 

“How do you feel about crabs?” Smartass begins the conversation. Aaron doesn’t understand why you bother asking him when you’re already dragging him towards the cold, seafood area. Aisles of fresh fish of all kinds are clearly displayed for visitors, the more expensive kind are packaged and a few men are working behind the butcher service counter. 

“I can go for some crabs. It’s been a while anyway.” Aaron answered, grabbing a nearby stack of baskets for their grocery. He tried to recall the last time they had any seafood and his mind helpfully supplied a restaurant where they went to for dinner in March. 

He lets you gather your thoughts as you stare at the frozen crabs critically as if they were spreadsheets. “I’m thinking of rice with a side of buttery crab meats, Salmon sashimi, Shiitake soup and lotus root salad. Sounds good?” 

As soon as he invited his Smartass to permanently move in with him, you had totally taken over the kitchen. Apparently you weren’t terribly amused when he admitted that he’s not much of a cook but hey, he never once complained when you served the best homemade vegan burgers with a glare and a silent, “Go ahead. I dare you to say that they taste like shit. Make my day, Aaron.” 

So instead, after he cleaned their dishes, Aaron proceeded to throw his lover on their bed to thoroughly thank you for the meal. 

Four hours later, the flushed and surprised expression on your face was so worth it. 

But we’re getting off tangents here. 

“Sounds absolutely delicious.” Aaron replied and startled his Smartass with a sudden kiss on your cheek. “Now stop glaring at the crabs and pick some already. We have half of the ingredients back home and I’d rather not spend the rest of our remaining Saturday in the hypermarket. So let’s get to it.” 

Smartass hum in agreement and grab your own basket. Together, they made quick work of what they needed to buy. Not just for lunch, but for the upcoming weeks too. Crabs, Salmons, some meat and later pea sprouts, red cabbages and lotus root - the both of them are more inclined to healthy meals rather than take outs and it really helps that Smartass suggest preparing ingredients that they could cook for the rest of the week, given their busy work lives. Vegetable dishes are flexible and easy enough to cook into anything anyway. 

They moved on from the frozen, seafood aisles and the produce section to where the personal care products are. Aaron holds up his phone in between them so Smartass could check what’s next on the list. 

“Oh shit. I totally forgot that my shampoo and conditioners just ran out.” Smartass blurted. “Thanks for adding that into our grocery list.” 

Aaron scoffs. “You mentioned it twice during dinner last night - in between debating whether or not Game of Thrones is better than Lord of the Rings, mind you - so I can understand why you forgot” Colourful rows of shampoo bottles greeted them when they walk past a couple who’s pushing their trolley carts away from the shelves. He grabs your favourite brand and places them in his basket. “You’re brilliant, Smartass, but I can’t help pity that poor hamster living in your brain for having to run in its ball all day long.” 

You gasp, affronted, while Aaron laughs at the look on your face. Even smacking his arm did nothing to stop his laughter. “You’re too easy to rile up sometimes, you know that Smartass?” He smirks and grabs a toothpaste next. They’re running low on that too. In retaliation for his remark, Smartass sneakily pulled that toothpaste out when Aaron was checking his phone and chose the one with the strawberry flavour instead. 

When Aaron shot you an inquisitive look, you just smiled innocently and quickly distracted him by insisting that they need to get some snacks. 

“That reminds me, it’s not on the list but we have to buy ramune soda. Oh, and some potato chips too.” You pointed out as the two of you rounded away from a large family who stopped in between the body wash shelves and hair serums. “Have you noticed that we go through ramune sodas like crazy lately?” 

The snacks and beverage section is one of the highlights of this hypermarket, in Aaron’s humble opinion. Not only do they have an abundance of the local goods, they also have a wide selection of some really good imported snacks or as Aaon like to call it, your ultimate weakness.  

“Yeah but be honest, are you really going to stop your addiction anytime soon?” 

“What is this? Bully me day?”

“Hey, you’re the one who said it, not me, Smartass.” Aaron is quick to quip back and this time, you roll your eyes. Even if it’s true, it doesn’t mean that you have to like it. 

But that’s Aaron - his words always serve a meaning and come straight from the heart when it’s for the things that truly matter. It’s annoying and yet, it’s one of his best qualities. 

However, just as you were about to rebuke him, the two of you heard a passing conversation nearby the soda shelves. 

“ - not going to play bartender at home again, Angel. Why not? Alright then; let me jog your memory, hmm? The last time I left you alone in the kitchen for more than 3 hours, you came out carrying a tray with the embodiment of everything unholy on this planet separated into three shot glasses.” 

“It was just ramune soda mixed with rose syrup, grass jelly and vinegar!” 

“Asher had a stomach ache for a week, Angel.” 

“But Davey, how do you expect me to get better at it if you don’t let me practice? See? There’s a flaw in your plan!” 

“I’d rather we go to a bar the next time you’re in the mood to poison the both of us.” 

You didn’t mean to eavesdrop on their conversation but you couldn’t help snicker at the stranger’s very much put out and deadpan tone. It gives an implication that this isn’t the first time this ‘Angel’ did something as crazy as mix sodas with vinegar. Hell, even the man’s comment earned a soft chuckle from Aaron. 

“Sounds like he got quite a handful lover over there. Remind you of someone?” Aaron whispered. They couldn’t properly see the couple due to a stack of Dorito boxes in between them but you could spot a tall man wearing a pretty nice looking leather jacket and his partner beside him.

“If you’re implying that I’m unreasonably difficult - ”

“No, no. Just… hmm, passionately stubborn, I suppose.” Aaron nonchalantly replies with a smirk. He guffaws when you poke at his sides and spin around to the rows of ramune with a dramatic huff. Aaron easily follows suit with a fond smile. 

This section of the aisle is quiet unlike the previous ones that’ve been, Aaron noticed. The humming of the air conditioner above them and the crinkling of a plastic bag of chips in Smartass’ hand were the only sounds that broke the comfortable silence. Even the murmurs from the other couple melts into background noises the further Aaron and his walk away. 

That is, until a hair-raising snarl shattered the quietness. 

What’s worse, it sounded like a wolf. 

Aaron reacted instinctively. He opted for the defense - grabbing his Smartass’ free hand, pulling you close to him. His searching eyes are frantic while his mind is trying to make sense that a wolf is somehow in this hypermarket. Full of people. What the fuck!?

Smartass, however, opted for the offense. You grab the nearest glass bottle by the neck and were about to smash it against the metal shelf if it weren’t for Aaron’s quick thinking. He immediately grabs your wrist and shoots you an incredulous look. Silently judging your choices in life. 

‘You have a better idea on how to deal with a fucking wolf!?’ Smartass demanded in silence. Your expression is bewildered; as if you couldn’t believe that Aaron wouldn’t let you shank an unknown threat just around the corner. 

In return, Aaron pulls you closer to his body and glares out, ‘I’m not letting you throw yourself in front of a wolf!’

‘I’m protecting us!’ Smartass countered back, glaring just as heatedly. 

A sweet giggle suddenly interrupted their mental argument. Their hearts skip a beat in fear at the unknown. 

“Ok, ok. How about this, Davey: I'll let you dress me up when we go to the bar tomorrow. How’s that? Does that make my Wolf not jealous anymore?” The same voice they accidentally eavesdropped previously bargained in a teasing tone. 

Smartass and Aaron exchange a bewildered and confused glance. What the fuck did they just said? My Wolf? Was the realistic animal snarl came from the boyfriend!? He must’ve some serious vocal cords and throat to be able to make that sound!

Aaron exhales loudly while Smartass allows him to grab the glass bottle that you were still holding to put it back on the shelf. 

“I think I just lost five years of my life.” Aaron complains.

Smartass said nothing. Without even saying anything, you march to where the couple are. Aaron curses under his breath and quickly chases after you. 

The man in the black leather jacket and his partner glanced at his Smartass when you approached them with a practised smile. One that Aaron knew meant trouble. How could he not when he’s the receiving end of that smile more than he could count. 

When Smartass wants answers, you’ll do everything in your power to get it and Aaron is really not looking forward to wrangling his partner from starting a brawl in the middle of a damn hypermarket. 

“Hi there.” His Smartass began, your body language deceptively open and friendly. “Are you two alright?” 

“Eh?” The one standing beside the tall, frowning man replies with a blink. Upon closer inspection, Aaron realises that he and what looks to be the leader of a local gang are similar in built. 

“Can we help you?” The gang leader interjects. He’s frowning but he doesn’t appear angry. Just confused like his partner. Though he nodded in greeting when Aaron slid up beside Smartass. 

“Didn’t you hear that noise just now?” Smartass plays shock. “It sounded like someone released a wolf in the hypermarket!” 

The man in the leather jacket suddenly looked like he just sucked a lemon; his eyes are comically wide. Meanwhile, his partner’s eyes are equally as wide. Aaron detects a hint of realisation glint in their eyes. Now isn’t that interesting? 

Well, Smartass thought so too. You pressed on. “You heard it too right? Damn near give me a heart attack! I wonder if the nearby staff also heard it - ”

“It’s probably the ventilation system or something.” The gang leader quickly replied, his expression oddly shifted to neutral. Beside him, his partner opens their mouth to say something but he quickly presses his palm over it. They throw a pointed look at him but he resolutely ignores it. “Anyway, good luck with your grocery shopping.” 

Aaron watches him grab his partner by the hand and gently drag them away. It was only when they’re out of sight that they started furiously chatting. 

“Wow, Davey, your slip up was even worse than Asher’s!” 

“We’re so not telling him about this, Angel.” 

“...Does this mean I can tell Babe instead?” 

“Wha - No, that wasn’t an invitation to tell his Mate!” 

Aaron turns to Smartass who just shrugs. Neither of them could figure out what just happened. He’s just glad that you let them escape. 

“Maybe they have some really kinky roleplaying thing going on.” Smartass guessed, wiggling your eyebrows suggestively. 

Aaron runs his palm down his face in exasperation. “I don’t give a shit, Smartass. Can we please just finish up our grocery shopping already? I’m starting to get hungry.” 

“Alright, alright. We just have to grab a few more things and then we can pay.” Smartass assured him and off they continued on their way. 

Though neither of them still couldn’t help but wonder how the hell that man managed to sound like a wolf so accurately. 

Kinky roleplay or not. 

-

I’m tentatively planning to make this into a mini series including the rest of the non-empowered characters with their lovers. I’m already writing for Oliver and Baby so we’ll see how that goes! 

[operationcavill]

Moody

Henry and Y/N have become close friends through Henry’s current project, and things seem to escalate when Y/N agrees to go to dinner with her fellow production team member, Tom.

⭐️ Contains sexual content. Please do not read if you are not a fan of explicit material.

Henry’s moody. He’s been in a bad mood all week and no matter what he does, he can’t seem to shake it. He’s sitting in Y/N’s kitchen, watching her make their tea and talking about what she wants to wear on her date tonight. Her delicate hands dunk the tea bags in and out of the water but he’s focused on her new manicure, she said it was a good color for autumn. He was jealous, a trait he wasn’t too fond of, “Oh, what about a grey sweater? Might wear that, looks good with my hair down.”

Henry watches the steam from his mug rise and he tries to seem excited for her but he’s not, “You always look nice.” He doesn’t even realize that he’s almost whispering. Y/N notices that he’s off, maybe he’s tired or had a bad day at work. He can feel her looking at him but he doesn’t bother to raise his head.

“What’s the matter?” Her hand reaches out to touch his arm but he seems to flinch a little bit so she draws back, “Don’t like the script changes?”

Henry snaps, “Nothings the matter.”

Her face matches his now. She sets her mug down and scoffs, “Jeez, fine. I’m gonna go get dressed.”

“Y/N…” She turns on her heels, showing him a pouty face that is sure to stick in Henrys’ brain forever, “Don’t go to dinner with him.”

“What?”

“We were all out, had a few and told him how beautiful you looked, and I was gonna just do it. I was gonna ask you for a date. He just wanted to beat me to it.” His lips are in a tight line and his arms are crossed.

She scoffs in disbelief, “But Tom asked me like a week ago.”

Henry gets up from the island and walks over to Y/N, getting closer to her face, “Told Tom as soon as I saw you walk into that bar. Said, that’s the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen, look how pretty she is.” Her back is now against the wall and she somehow feels much smaller than usual. “Watched you dance with him, kiss his cheek goodnight. Saw you move your body against him and I wanted it to be me. I wanted to touch you, wanted to kiss you, be with you.” Her heart is beating so fast that she wouldn’t be surprised if he could see it beating out of her chest.

“I-um, I-“ Y/N can’t get her words out. Her eyes are locked with Henry’s and he doesn’t seem like he’ll be moving any time soon. His hand moves to rest on her hip and his thumb sneakily rubs the skin underneath her shirt, “Henry.”

“I shouldn’t tell you what to do but I want you and I don’t want you to go out with him.” His other hand cups her jaw, then rakes through her hair as he moves even closer, “I’ll regret it if I don’t kiss you right now. ‘Cause I know there’s a chance you won’t talk to me after this.”

His lips touch hers and she can feel herself pulse for him, just from one small kiss. Without even realizing it, she deepens it. Her hands slide up his chest and rest there, periodically gripping the fabric. Things quickly become all lips, tongue and teeth; hands squeezing and mouths moaning. Within minutes, Y/N is straddling Henry on the couch, moving her hips against him and then, the doorbell rings, ”Shit, that’s him.” Henry tries to suppress his laughter but he can’t, he chuckles into her neck and nibbles at her skin, “No, no. We have to stop. I have to go to the door.” He groans and grips her ass, singling her that he wants her to stay where she is, ”I have to tell him that I’m sick or something.”

He continues to suckle at her collarbone, “Or you could let him stand there.”

“Just a second,” She tries to fluff her hair and adjust her clothes, and hopes to god that there’s not a hickey on her neck. She opens the door to Tom, who manages to weasel his way in the door without even saying a word, “Um, I’m sorry I didn’t call but I don’t think I can make it out tonight.”

Tom leans against the radiator, acting smug and also completely oblivious to the fact that Henry is on her couch, watching them. “I hadn’t planned on spending much time out anyway.” Y/N suddenly feels her above-the-moon mood fading and wishes she would’ve left him outside as Henry suggested. He reaches out for her and Y/N moves back, “Weren’t this shy when you were dancing on me.”

She can practically feel Henry’s eyes on her, “I-I’m not feeling well. I don’t think I can go out tonight.”

“Come on, I’ll take care of you.” He takes off his coat, throwing it behind him only to have it thrown back forcefully.

“Actually, we’ve got that covered, mate.” Tom turns around in confusion, exhaling angrily as he sets his eye’s on him.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

It’s Henry’s turn to be smug, “Taking care of Y/N.” It didn’t matter if he was just there to pick up a script, he wanted Tom out of there.

Tom looks back and forth between the two, noticing a smirk on Henrys face. “You’re a piece of work, Cavill.” Y/N rolls her eyes and Henry continues grinning. “Can’t handle the idea of not getting every woman you want, had to swoop in when I laid the groundwork?”

Henry drops the grin and his brows pull together, “Y/N, would you excuse us for a moment?” She messes with the sleeves of her shirt and is clearly hesitant, “It’ll only be a second, Love.” Y/N slowly moves to the kitchen, wanting to catch any of the words they’re about to exchange, “If I do recall, it was you who creeped in and thought you could take out my girl.”

“Well, if she’s your girl, why’d she say yes to me?”

“She was saying yes to me right up until you knocked on the door.” Y/N’s cheeks turn red even though no one can see her. “You don’t even respect her enough to take her out, thought you could just come here for a quickie.”

“And what makes you different? You clearly wanted to fuck her, too.” Tom makes his bold statement as if Y/N isn’t even in the next room.

Henry is more that offended, he’s disgusted, “Don’t talk about her like that.”

“Woman like Y/N—“ Henry cuts him off before he can finish.

“Men like you don’t deserve women like Y/N,” Toms jaw tenses and removes his hands from his pockets, “get out of her house.”

“What’re you gonna do? Hit me? What will they think of you then?” Henry is not a violent man by any means, but Tom is testing a side of him he’s never acted upon.

Y/N begins to pace in her kitchen and hopes to god that this doesn’t escalate. “If she wants to, she’ll call you later. Now, leave.” Tom keeps his stance for only a few seconds before getting in his face, “You think I won’t throw you out of here, Tom?”

“And Mr. Perfect ruin his reputation?” Tom pushes Henry, only to be pushed into a wall, knocking over a planter that leaves soil scattered along the floor. Tom groans but musters up the strength to punch Henry in his mouth.

“Henry!” He ignores her, and shoves him out of the front door, making him tumble down her porch steps. Y/N pulls him inside, noticing his bruised face and bloody hand, “Henry, stop it!”

He’s breathing heavily and hisses as she touches his cheek, “I’m sorry,” she walks off to the kitchen, returning to find him sitting on the couch with his head in his hands. He feels her hand at his chin, gently lifting it up to place a frozen bag of blueberries on his face, “M’sorry.”

She sighs, “You can’t do that stuff, Henry.” She sits herself down on the couch and places his hand on the pillow in her lap. “Why the fuck did you do that?” Her eyes are red, like she’s been crying. He lifts his free hand to touch her face but she moves away and goes back to cleaning his hand. “Didn’t think you were that kind of man.”

He can feel her disappointment, “I’m not.”

“Sure as hell seems like it.”

“I’m not. I— I didn’t mean to scare you or ruin your plants.”

She finishes with his hand but he leaves it on the pillow, hoping to feel her fingers again, “People are gonna wonder what happened to your face.”

He grins, “Defending your honor.”

“You’re such a nerd. Why didn’t you just talk to me about it?”

“I got nervous,”

“You got nervous?” She hitches her eyebrow up at him and he pulls her down on her back, so he can hover over her.

“I’m not nervous now,” He can no longer feel the pain in his hand, he’s too focused on Y/N, “I want you, not just a part of you, all of you. I wanna take you to dinner, make you dinner. I wanna teach you how to make that cake you loved. I wanna wake up and give you kisses and get your coffee.” He kisses her forehead and then her cheek, “Two creams, two sugars.”

“Is that you asking me out?” Henry settles between her legs and kisses her neck.

“Yeah,” His stubble tickles her and he tries not to laugh along with her, ”I’m trying to turn you on, stop laughing.”

“You’re tickling me!” Y/N’s hands circle around him, feeling the muscles under his shirt and bringing him close to her, “Come here,” She softy kisses his bruising cheek before sweetly kissing him on the lips.

Things are slower this time, there’s no rush or interruptions to be made. It’s just the two of them enjoying every inch of each other. It’s his shirt that goes first, then hers, “Lemme take you upstairs.” Y/N doesn’t get a chance to answer due to being throw over his shoulder.

She playfully slaps his bum while being upside down, “You’ve got a nice ass.” He takes advantage of the position she’s in to bite the fleshy part of hers, reveling in her squeal. He plops her on the bed, looking mischievous, “Stop staring at me and do something.”

He smirks at her, slightly tilting his head, “Make me.”

Y/N gets situated on her knees and leans forward, placing a kiss between his belt buckle and belly button before scooting all the way back to the headboard. He watches her more intently, observing every single move she makes. Y/N starts by taking her pants off, then her bra. He raises his eyebrow as she readjusts so her back is flat against the bed. Her hands run down her torso, upwards to her chest before finally sinking between her legs. Henry’s mouth slowly opens while her legs spread, and her fingers graze up and down her slit.

Henry responds by undoing his jeans, placing his hand in them and touching himself to match, “Do something.” He’s enjoying the show too much. Y/N’s demand forum is hard to resist but look at her.

“And miss out on you playing with that pretty little cunt?” Her hand briefly pauses but continues with more pressure. She’s never heard him used vulgar language outside of acting, and having it paired with him touching himself? She can feel herself get wetter and wetter. Her legs close and squeeze together, “Don’t fucking close your legs.” His voice raises slightly, causing her to open them quickly, “Such a good girl.”

Y/N watches him undress, leaving him to walk to the side of the bed completely nude. He strokes himself, he uses his other hand to reach over and touches her bottom lip. She fully understands what he wants , but God, she wants to hear him say it, “Not gonna ask me nicely?”

He bends down, looking her right in the eye, “I want to feel the back of your throat before I fuck that sweet pussy of yours.” He straightens up, puts his hands behind her head and gently guides her mouth on to him. Her lips wrap around him, her wet, warm tongue glides along him, “Look at me,” Y/N drags her eyes to his while he adds pressure to the back of her head. Henry moves her slowly and her eyes close as he hits his promised destination. He can feel her mouth fill up with saliva and it just adds to the naughty sight. He only does this a few times before exiting her mouth with a pop.

He wipes her mouth for her and even moves her hair back behind her ears. He then sits on the edge of the bed, holding his arm out for her. Y/N stands in front of him but doesn’t now if she should take the reigns or let him total control. She doesn’t get the chance to decide. Henry pulls her on top him, but not entering her, “Quite the tease, hmm?”

“Is it teasing or is it savoring every second with a cute, sexy, little thing like yourself?” She feels her face heat up and gives an involuntary moan. She ruts up against him, letting him feel just a fragment of how wet she really is, “Lemme fuck you,” he kisses her, his lips floating to her ear and whispering, “Can I come in you?”

If he wasn’t holding her so close, she might have slid right to the floor. She whines, thrusting against him once more, “I’m on the pill,” without hesitation he gets her on her back and kisses her vigorously. His hands squeeze her hip and thigh as he enters her. She feels a pleasurable burning, being stretched ever so slightly by Henry, she giggles, “Wow.”

He smiles and kisses her again, “What was that?”

Y/N wraps her arms around his neck, reveling in the fact that he’s not at all serious, “You just feel good.” He squeezes her body even tighter, aggressively pumping into her this time, making her gasp, “So good.”

He starts to go faster, eventually pulling her by her hips and groaning as her walls quiver with each move he makes, “I bet you’re so cute when you come,” He didn’t realize he said it out loud, it was something that appeared in his mind and he couldn’t keep it to himself. A hand moves between them to thumb at her clit, “Show me.” Y/N is already weak for that accent and when shows any kind of authority in his voice, she could fall apart. He spits, an action she would usually find reprehensible, but the wetness lands on her folds, followed by slap, “I want you to show me.”

Y/N swears she hasn’t felt a build up this immense in years. She looks at him just as he smirks at her, and adds pressure to her clit, “Faster,” Henry obliges and watches her unravel for him.

He feels her come hard and listens to every single moan, groan, and breath she makes while saying him name, “Beautiful.” Y/N is still throbbing when he pounds into her, looking for his own release.

She grips Henry’s hands that are tight on her hips, “Come in me, Henry.” He let’s out what she can only describe as a growl. He starts to get erratic with his movements until his eyes shut tightly, and he exhales shakily. She let’s a another giggle escape her.

“God, you’re adorable.” She motions him to lower himself, allowing her to kiss him.

She can feel Henry smile though their kiss, “I think you’re definitely in a better mood.”

“Definitely,” He briefly breaks the kiss and runs his idea finger down her nose, “You wanna get some nachos?”

Y/N smiles, “Yeah.”

[Tagged: If you’d like to be tagged, just shoot me a message or ask!]

@igotkatiepowers  @xxxkatxo  @lunedelorient  @heartfelt-pen​ @omgkatinka​ @viking-raider​

[imaginethathaikyuu]

you’ve got hundreds of requests and no saeko?? absolute blasphemy :^(( Can I request a scenario where Saeko’s (female) s/o is a really famous horror mangaka (she goes under an alias tho), and one night she’s just sitting at her desk with writer’s block bc she’s just so overworked and then Saeko whisks her away to take her to the beach and they relax and have a great time,,..... pls em... i love ur writing and i love u

hehehe thank u so much for this request ! it was very fun to write :) love u more

fem reader

-

“You’re still working?” 

You jumped at the sound of your girlfriend’s voice, which seemed to come out of nowhere.  

“Saeko… don’t scare me like that. You know I’m on edge when I’m working.” 

“Do you know what time it is?” she asked, stomping into your office and slamming her hands down on your desk. “What happened to giving yourself a nine to five?” 

“I have a deadline,” you replied. “Believe it or not, deadlines and writers block do not make for a good match.” 

“Well, sitting here in this boring room isn’t going to help you,” she said. “I’ve been home for hours and haven’t gotten a single kiss, you know.” 

Typically, you would have found her grumpy mumbling cute; her clinginess always comes out the most on days like these, and you often appreciated that side of her. But right now, you were nothing but exhausted - you were too tired to defend yourself or offer her a kiss. All you could do is try to rub the sleep out of your eyes and stretch out your stiffened legs, all while remembering the deadline that was looming over you. 

This chapter has to be finished in three days. And you hadn’t even finished half of it. 

And Saeko could tell you weren’t doing well. She’d seen this time and time again - being a manga artist was a lot of work, and sometimes, you just didn’t know when to quit. You needed her to make you take the breaks you needed, to drag you away from the desk and get your mind somewhere else. 

As grumpy as she was for not getting any kisses from you all day, she was just as disappointed in herself for not whisking you away sooner. 

“Okay. Enough of trying to draw this scary shit.”  

She walked around your desk and kneeled down in front of you, taking your hands and holding them firm in her own. 

“You’re working too hard,” she said, looking up at you with her strong gaze. She wanted you to know she was sincere. 

“I don’t need you to lecture me -”

“You are working too hard,” she said again. “And as your amazing girlfriend who cares about you and loves you with her whole heart, it’s my job to get you away from this desk sometimes.” 

“Saeko, I appreciate it, but -”

“No buts!” she announced as she stood up, pulling you to stand with her. And then her hand sneakily wrapped around you to playfully squeeze your bottom as she said, “except this butt, sitting in the passenger seat of my van. Get going, missy.” 

“What?” 

“Drop the pen,” she pulled your pen from your grip, “I’ll pack our beach bags, get going.” 

“Beach bags?” you asked. At this point you were just letting her usher you out the door - it was easier than fighting her. “You want to go to the beach? Now? Saeko, it’s an hour drive, it’ll be dark out when we get there.” 

“So we’ll have a nice relaxing night at the beach,” she said. “Should we bring your red bikini? My vote is yes -”

“No.” 

“Fine, no bikinis,” she grumbled. “But no drawing, either. You need a break, and we’re overdue for a beach trip, anyway.” 

That’s when you had to resist; you turned to her and pushed her hands away. “I have to finish, Saeko, this is important -” 

“It’s just as important to take breaks when you need them,” she insisted. “Remember when I was practicing drumming so much my thumbs got blisters on them?” 

“...Yeah.” “And remember when you made me take a break because you knew I needed it?” 

“Yes, Saeko.” 

She grinned at you. “This is the same thing.” 

You knew she was right, and you knew she wouldn’t quit until she got you away from work and to the beach. 

And you had to admit that going to the beach sounded heavenly right now. Hearing the waves, feeling the sand between your toes, seeing the moon and stars with Saeko would give you all the relaxation you’d need. 

Sometimes you hated to admit how right your girlfriend usually was. Right now was one of those times. So for the sake of not hearing her say I told you so, you decided to turn tail and head to the front door

But you didn’t get far. “Where do you think you’re going?” 

“To your van,” you replied. “Where else?” 

Saeko quickly caught up with you, her hands landing on your face. And then her lips made their home on yours; this kiss was just as passionate as any other. Saeko could never just give you a peck - she had to get the most out of every kiss, and this one was no exception. Especially because it was the first one she’d gotten from you all day. 

“There,” she said after breaking the lip lock, “now you can go.”

[dahniwitchoflight]

Homesquared Chapter 4

I cheated and some of my chapter 4 thoughts leaked into the chapter 3 post lol

Mostly about the pretty obvious Garden of Eden metaphor Dirk is for some reason setting up for himself and Rose as Adam and Eve

and I was about to say which begs the question of what the heck role Terezi is supposed to play as but then it’s very obviously as the Snake in the Garden

Terezi is very much just barely holding back some irritation towards how Dirk is treating Rose, but she’s also very intelligent and is aware of How much Dirk sees/knows and controls about their situation, so she’s probably leveraging her powers over Mind as much as possible in order to stay hidden in plain sight from Dirk’s narrative

and she does so in a way that is one of Dirk’s only blindspots - How Mind and other people have an effect in the determination of the Soul/Heart

By acting in a manner and doing things in a way that aligns with his expectations of her, he assumes and pigeonholes her into a type of character and bases his predictions of her behaviors off of that archtype, never expecting her to act outside it, and when he sees her actions and thoughts and desires all align within it, never questions that it might one day change or was different all along. Dirk’s never really been good at reading other people, can’t see without the lens of “how would I do it” blinding him to things he would never think to do, a trap that he keeps falling into with his friends and one he’s probably trying to overcome by becoming Ultimate God Person/combining all perspectives into his own and uncovering blindspots like that

But right now Mind is the darkest thing in is corner still and I think he sort of knows that as well

Terezi walks the crazy wiggled line boundary between their two Souls that defines who each of them is, as expertly as a person on a tightrope, never wavering until she reaches her destination, at which point she’ll leap off of that line and leave Dirk scrambling to try and calculate her next move/who exactly is she/what her goals are, since’s it won’t be following the clearly defined Heart boundary he’s used to drawing his plans by, so she’ll have to choose the perfect moment in order to entice Eve of the Apple of Revelation once more, heck, she might even do that so sneakily that she gets Adam to take a bite as well, since as soon as Rose bites it she’ll have an ally with her against Dirk.

For God created the Serpent originally as well, so thus why did he not imagine it’s betrayal and prevent it before it could have happened? Or else why did he create something he knew was going to betray? Eden was a paradise, so why intentionally create Evil in that paradise?

If Eve corrupted Adam and the Snake corrupted Eve, Who exactly corrupted the first Serpent? That’s something that the bible never goes into really, at least in Genesis, except to say that the Snake was punished for it’s action to forever crawl the earth eating the dust of man’s heel, punishing all snakes, as Adam and Eve’s punishment punished all humans

(Later I think the bible would try to say that the Snake was the Devil all along, but then why punish the Snake and all it’s progeny for it? If it was the Devil’s doing that undid Adam and Eve then why punish them for the Devil’s actions they would have no way of guarding against or now way of knowing it was a lie? Was it not God’s failure? The Walls of the Garden of Eden were supposed to protect his perfect creation afterall)

Gotta say though I really Rose’s design

I would call her Evil Rose, but she things she does she does in ignorance, not really out of evil, it would be like calling Eve evil for listening to the Snake when she was purposefully blinded to it’s intentions by her creation by God.

Once again we get this idea of Knowledge and Choice affecting eachother, Well I say again but really I’ve been watching RWBY a lot lately and the idea that you can’t make a real choice without real knowledge comes up a lot in it’s mythos and it is really applicable here

Terezi’s design as well is incorporating a lot more Red, she really dug those red shoes aesthetic but gave it her own twist, she’s got a red tie, her ever present red cane and glasses and even in that shot of her her horns look more red and solid as well, even though i know it’s just the lighting

So really digging the whole Terezi is the Apple/Snake in the Garden metaphor, she has also been having that tendency to just snack on random plants, intentionally for her own or Dirk’s unaware benefit or not, it’ll make it that much easier to her actions of later betrayal to be seen as “in character and therefore expected and not dangerous” instead of pre-meditated and actually dangerous, to him

And then they start waxing about their various philosophical babble, Dirk seems really determined to also use this to try and figure out that whole problem of how other’s affect the self, he’s trying at least, I think, in his own way. But not for a good reason, not so that he can have a real understanding of that, but because he wants to use it to guard his own self even further

He’s maybe not using Rose here as an equal player, but more like a wall to bounce his own ideas off of and test them, like using a neural learning AI to test ideas or an actual literal wall in a game of table tennis.

Heh, I got a chuckle out of the fact that Dirk’s answer to the Ship of Theseus problem is “why does we even have to remove and replace parts of it, why not keep the original pristine and eternal?”

because it’s funny how avoidant of the problem that answer is, man he really really is uncomfortable with the idea of changing the self in any way

“He's avoiding the question again. It's amazing how one can technically have the maximum amount of metaphysical personal awareness possible, and still not notice these sorts of things. “

SAYS LITERALLY YOU but honestly this is just more fuel to the idea that maybe he can make a genuine connection and understanding with a person if he can recognize how he and her are the same

“It's stuff like this that makes me wonder sometimes whether there's anything about myself that I'm missing. Then I throw that wonder in the garbage can and turn the incinerate setting on.”

but nah he’s still firmly denying that possibility, he’s almost actually equating his trauma of self erosion with the idea that making friends and understanding others changes the self in subtle ways as well

He can’t even stand the thought of his own close friends influencing him to be different in small subtle ways or adjusting his behavior for others because that STILL counts as a change of self that he didn’t authorize or choose. 

Also can’t help but by be reminded of my wacky little fan made Gamma session I made forever ago by them using the name Delta-Detritus and basically be like alright, what if we do SBURB again but BETTER/worse this time?? Which is essentially the thread that most Homestuck fix it fanfiction tends to go towards

Though I am curious now

We got A/Alpha for Alternia which is based of off “Alternate” introducing the trolls as an alternate race to Human Earth

B/Beta for Beforus which is based of off “Before” introducing the planet of trolls that came before the first group

And then Earth C, now, there isn’t a letter C, the third in the greek alphabet is actually Γγ Gamma, (and the fourth is  ΔδDelta)

So I wonder what “name” Earth C really has?

It feels like it should either start with C OR with GA, as Alternia starts with the AL of Alpha, Beforus starts with the BE of Beta and same with Deltritus and Delta

As as “Another for Earth” Gaia isn’t a terrible option all things considered, now you just have to make it sound like a word which describes it’s use to the narrative

It’s is a very split place, having the two timelimes Meat and Candy associated with it, as well it does feel extremely mercurial in nature, being a sort of crosswords between Homestuck and Homesquared proper, and really exists in a place between stories, an ephemeral epilogue of sorts

really a merger of Gaia and Gemini feels the most appropriate here, like Gamini, also the word mini stands out in there as well, knowing that this Planet is sort of on a lesser status compared to the other three since it’s not going to be the birthplace of a session, also has the word Game in it

But then people will wonder why it doesn’t begin with a C since it still is called Earth C so *shrug*  

Honestly C K and G sounds are all very similar in the tongue, so maybe it’s both Camini and Gamini at the same time OH FUCK CA AND GA, ONE HAS CALLIOPE ONE HAS GAMZEE? SHIT IM ONTO SOMETHING (no im not)

I like Camini now better, it comes from a place of Gamma/Gamzee/Game/Gemini but ends up being more about the twinned Ca’s that were used to, Caliborn and Calliope and fits with the establish Earth C theme

So there you go, Earth C’s actual planet name should be Camini 

which also works because: 

Camini

home stove/furnace

smelting/foundry furnace, forge

vent (underground fires)

according to the latin language this word also has multiple meanings and many Irons in the Fire, I think the fandom will appreciate the name haha

Yeah both races are definitely going to both be playing one game of SBURB, despite what Dirk is intending, the pic does make it really clear

There’s something to say how Dirk seems to be represented by Purple and Rose by Orange in this here and then how all of the cave is a backdrop of that same purple.

Look at even the controllers on the machine having purple and orange knobs, even being solely on Dirk’s side of the image

I guess Dirk intends himself to be the force behind Derse, since that’s the force that always “wins” and Rose fitting in her place as the ultimate loser (since of course Dirk will want to win his own game) but also to be like Skaia the force of Prospit

So Dirk intends to be a whisperer like a horrorterror, choosing to manifest his influence that way, while Rose will give visions to her race like Skaia?

makes sense honestly

but again even with the themes of duality, the theme of the trio is bright and center in that piece of ultimately technology, the third influence hidden unseen in the furthest corner behind the curtain of snakelike tubes and wires that Dirk will not expect to interfere, or even have the capability to interfere, Terezi

heck it’s even in the buttons next to the controls being colored red blue and green

there’s so much duality in homestick with destructive red and creative green but then there’s also always been that mercurial breathy blue as the third

God, tell me that doesn’t look like a baby proto horrorterror

I can hear it raging it’s revenge against it’s cruel human creators even as I type

No wonder they become associated with destruction, they know theyre the pawns of two heartless cruel god children playing at life like it was a game

Rose you MUST KNOW how bad this is, it’s not a theoretical discussion anymore, that things exists and is alive and has feelings and you did it to that

and that thing is technically a Dirk too

Is this how Dirk get’s his revelation? Or downfall? As his Heart is unwittingly invaded by the horrified cacophanous screams of his grotesque tortured progeny crying out for his blood?

His end unintentionally ending up as the thing he feared most? Inner self destruction caused by his own sharp and bloody splinters turned and pointed inward, tearing himself apart with the pieces of his own Soul? Caused by his own Hubris?

I will say typing that all out is pretty good

I’m just sad the same will probably happen to Rose too though ): Maybe she’ll make careful more humane species? Something that has the potential to exist and be happy as it’s own creature while Dirk just creates monstrosities forever in conflict with Rose’s race?

They’ll each be the master of their own eventually destinies I suppose but Homestuck seems to have a good track record so far of the Ultimate Female Creator being out to protect the happiness of the children that exist in her creation while the Ultimate Male God just ends up destroying everything in his

[mahalkitajohnnysuh]

Lost and Found

It’s all about balancing different genres in this blog, so here’s another melancholic piece. 

But before I make you sad, here’s a cute Johnny GIF that’s sure to put a smile on your face.

Mahal ko kayong lahat! :) 

–––

Summary: Essie is not her usual self again for quite some time, and Johnny’s starting to get bothered by it. They talk it out, and in the process, learn more about how to make their relationship work. 

POV: I think I wrote this during the start of the year, so this is in 3rd person. 

Word count: 1,600 + words

–––

Essie was slowly losing herself again – the present part of her, that is. 

She found herself holed up in her room most of the time, reading and writing. She watched series by herself sometimes when she felt like it. She needed all the inspiration she could get so she could compose songs. 

Her trip to her home country triggered something in her to be more immersed in the things that she has almost forgotten. 

In college and during her first years at work, she would always have a book in her bag. She would read whenever she was bored or when she waited for her transportation on her way home. Sometimes, she took the time to go to a café, notebook and pen in hand, to write all the quotes from the book she was reading that have inspired her. 

She lost this habit when she moved on to a much hectic job in publishing, which she is still in but in a different country. 

It was as if her trip to her homeland had rekindled her previous passion to the point that she barely talked at home. 

Her boyfriend, Johnny, was concerned. This was not the first time that she distanced herself from her loved ones. 

When she was guilty of her week-long affair with his best friend Jaehyun, she almost killed herself. But now she was living in her bubble and avoided long conversations with anyone as much as possible. 

That applied to him as well, which hurts. He could barely get ten words out of her before she went back to her room after they ate breakfast or dinner together. Most of the time, she ate by herself. When he wasn’t able to cook anything, she would do so herself or get takeout. He was concerned that she had food delivered more often than having a home-cooked meal. 

Despite her aversion to people these days, he noticed that she was more at peace with herself. There was a look of content in her face as he saw her in her room reading a book. Sometimes, he felt her passion for writing when he would look at her write swiftly in her notebook. 

He never fully closed the door to his room so he could always have a look at what she was doing. And of course, the possibility that she would come to him and tell what was up with her. 

But it has been three weeks already, and she continued to float in and out of her world. He felt as if he was gently kicked out, leaving him no explanation and just standing outside of it. 

This time though, he decided to take matters into his own hands. He would break into her world again and demand that he deserved a space inside. He loved her so much that he couldn’t risk losing her to anyone else, not even to herself. 

\\\

Essie, who continued to believe that she was losing her present self, sat on the couch reading another book. 

She knew she was all alone since Mark was abroad, and Johnny left early to work out. She had at least three hours to herself to do what she pleased inside the house. 

She put on an old record and played it softly, opened the windows to let the breeze sway the curtains, and put in a new bunch of flowers from their backyard. She even prepared a pot of her favorite tea and a plate of biscuits on the coffee table to serve as her snacks when she gets hungry from her reading.

The setting was ideal – oh, how she wished she got that beautiful white Gunne Sax dress at the thrift shop to make it even more perfect! She looked down on her peach lace dress she was wearing and smoothed its skirt. She was fine with what she was wearing. 

As she continued to read and flip through the book she was reading (another bizarre Japanese literature book she picked up from the discount bookstore), she didn’t notice that the door opened, and Johnny entered in his gym clothes. He wore a muscle shirt, jogging pants, his trademark black sneakers, and a baseball cap in the same color. As he gently dropped the bag on the floor, he saw his girlfriend humming as she turned to a new page. 

She looked so peaceful with her curly hair down and saw that she wore a smile on her face as she continued to read. 

He didn’t want to ruin her moment, but he wanted to have a moment with her for so long. 

Sneakily, he went behind her and wrapped his arms around her shoulder. “Hey baby,” he whispered, kissing the side of her head, “I haven’t seen or heard from you in ages.” 

His action made the girl stop and place her book on the table. She squeezed his forearms gently and looked up at him. “Hi Johnny,” she whispered back, flashing him a smile. “How are you?”

Her response was a bit heartbreaking. It was as if she had lost in touch with him even if they see each other every day in the apartment. He didn’t let his emotions get the best of him as he kissed her forehead. “Baby, you’ve been distancing yourself again. Why is that?” 

She gestured him to sit beside her on the couch, which he did by jumping over and immediately wrapped his arms around her waist. “Oh, have I? I’m sorry if that’s the case…” He noticed that her hands were still on her sides. 

“Baby, you’ve got to let me know if you need space. I can’t just always guess it by the way you’re acting. You have to let me know if you want to have some time for yourself. And I’ve missed you so much. You’ve been away for two weeks, and yet your mind’s still away now you’re here for almost a month,” Johnny was on the verge of crying as he expressed his sentiments to Essie.

The girl watched him closely – the way his eyes crinkled in distress, the way his eyebrows knitted together in the middle, and the way his lips pouted at the end of his short speech. She was re-familiarizing all these things, as she has forgotten about it momentarily. 

“I’m sorry, John. I didn’t mean to, but I guess you could say that. I do need my own time. I wanted to process everything that happened recently.” 

“Did something happen during your trip?” 

It was Essie’s turn to become emotional. “Yes, dear. It was as if I have reconnected with the person I used to be, the person I wanted to be.”

They stared at each other for a minute, observing each other’s features. Johnny missed looking at her cute button nose and her plump lips while she missed staring into the fading acne marks on the side of his chin. Every small detail counts with them, and these were the things that they kept in mind about each other whenever one would be gone for quite some time. 

“What do you want to be, my love?” 

“I’ve always wanted to be an artist of my own.”

Johnny closed the small gap between them, making his girlfriend sit on his lap. “What do you mean by that? Do you want to act, sing, draw, paint, or whatever?” 

“Well, you’ll see when you watch the vlogs I’ve made. They’ll be up…” Essie glanced at the wall clock across them, “maybe later in the evening. I collaborated with a close friend of mine with the editing.”

The guy’s eyes widened in shock, and he squeezed her tightly. “Wow, my baby has a vlog now! I can’t wait to watch it,” he pecked her on her temple. 

“I think it’ll have installments. So you’ll know more about me then,” she said softly before pecking his cheek. 

He let out a soft ‘oh’ before raising an eyebrow at her. “Is there anything else I have yet to know about you? Don’t I know everything yet?”

His question made her go back to her original spot on the sofa and pick up her book again. “Yes, John. There’s a whole lot of things you don’t know about me still. And maybe you’re the same too. After all, we’ve just started going out. You don’t expect to know everything yet about your partner, right?” 

Johnny stroked his chin while in deep thought, slowly digesting the words she said in his mind. 

“Fair enough. But still, baby…communication is key. You’ll let me know what’s up with you, okay? Don’t keep me guessing or push me away suddenly. Because if you continue to do that, then it might affect our trust with each other.” 

Essie sat still, her eyes boring into him. Her hands were neatly on top of her lap, her book delicately perched in between her thighs. 

“I know, and I’m sorry. But I’m not so sure yet when I’ll be back to my usual self. Or if I’ll be back at it at all,” she chuckled, thumbing through the book and looking for the last page she read. 

“Essie…” He pulled her back again into his chest, and she buried her face in it once their bodies intertwined with each other. 

“Johnny…” She mimicked, her soft voice sounding strange to her ears. 

“Please, baby. I can’t afford to lose you anymore. I want you so bad in my life. Please don’t leave me.” His words were muffled against her hair, but she heard them. 

“Please give me a bit more time and space. I’ll just be here. I won’t leave,” she responded, looking up at him with glassy eyes. 

He kissed her, and she returned it, and once again they were reconnected with the love they have for each other.

–––

FIN

[txtdiaries]

Momentum - Chapter One

SUMMARY | Your perennial crush on campus golden boy, Choi Soobin, isn’t one you think is shared; but a late night study session in the library with the man of the hour might just be enough to prove you wrong.

PAIRING | Soobin X Reader

CATEGORY | college au, crush, slow burn, studying, academia, etc.

WORD COUNT | 4.1k

WARNINGS | swearing

SONG REC | Edge Of Desire - John Mayer

PLAYLIST | momentum playlist

Preview / Chapter One / Chapter Two

Your fingers are itching to slam the book in front of you shut.

Itching to slam it shut so hard that it echoes throughout the practically empty library you’re in - so loudly that the librarians shoot daggers at you with their eyes. You want to lean over, zip your backpack closed, and run out of the ancient hell hole as fast as you can.

You don’t.

You know you could - exams and you don’t mix well, so you’ll probably flunk all of them anyway - but you force yourself to stay rooted in the uncomfortable wooden chair beneath you. You force yourself, for the sake of your future.

Studying physics isn’t exactly what you’d like to be doing on any given Friday night, especially this one, but here you are. After flipping through a book twice the size of your pencil case propped next to you, you finally settle on a chapter explaining thermodynamics. Your eyes scan the words helplessly. You’re totally going to flunk. Luckily for you, though, you don’t have a lot of time to dwell on this sad fact, because a certain gray haired boy makes his presence known suddenly, taking you away from the matter at hand.

“Hey loser.” His voice cuts through the silence surrounding you, and you look up to see Yeonjun, your best friend, sliding into the chair across from you. He’s grinning widely like he knows something you don’t, and you tilt your head at him in curiosity.

“Hi yourself. What’s up?”

“Nothing much. Just that your soulmate is on his way down to the library and should be here in about thirty or so seconds.”

Now you’re really not worried about physics. Except maybe the kind going on with you.

His words send your heart lurching in your chest, and your hands fly up to sort out your hair, your top, and embarrassingly, even your skirt.

“Twenty seconds,” Yeonjun chuckles as you rip open your pencil case, flipping open your small compact mirror to try and fix your appearance, “Not much longer now.”

“Shut up.” You hiss. Usually, you wouldn’t care about how you looked, especially not for a guy. But this was different.

Because it was Soobin. And Soobin was different.

You’d be dumb to pretend that you were the only one on campus to like him. Most of the girls did, and even a few guys did, but you couldn’t blame any of them. The boy was a sight for sore eyes, and his personality only made him that much better. You didn’t put him on a pedestal by any means, you just really liked him. Unfortunately though, other people did too, and the black-haired boy probably knew it. Which means that your chances were close to non-existent. That being said, it didn’t ever hurt to try and put a little more effort in.

“Five, four, three…” Yeonjun counts after awhile of you straightening out your makeup. You click the small compact shut and shove it back into your case, coughing lightly to clear your throat before straightening in your seat. Perfectly on cue, as if timed by Yeonjun exactly, the one and only Choi Soobin walks into the library silently, bag thrown carelessly over one shoulder.

Your breath shouldn’t squeeze from your lungs when you see him, but it does. Amid staring the tall boy down as he walks cluelessly to a table just to the left of you, Yeonjun laughs at you. You ignore him and watch sneakily as Soobin sits down. You’re completely enthralled by his very being, and all he’s doing is sitting down. God, get it together, you think to yourself.

It’s completely silent on your part as Soobin unzips his backpack and pulls out his laptop and study supplies, but you’re internally screaming. You truly understand right then, just why they call it a crush. Every single thing he does adds a dangerous pressure to your chest, and you feel like you could burst with adoration just by watching him do a regular, everyday thing. Yeonjun on the other hand fails to take notice your internal battle as he pulls out his own supplies himself, slapping his notebook and textbook on the table noisily.

You’re about to glare, but you catch sight of something on one of Soobin’s notebooks suddenly, and your heart starts pounding again.

A small bunny sticker in all its glory is stuck to the bottom right corner of his black notebook, and for some reason, it’s absolutely adorable to you.

Choi Soobin, the six foot something man, who - when he’s not wearing his usual button up and skinny jean combo, is usually clad in all black head to toe - has a bunny sticker on his English notebook. Your heart is about to burst on sight, so you look away with a dumb smile adorning your face.

Yeonjun flips through his math textbook, but stops when he sees you.

“What- he can’t be that cute, can he?” The boy glances over as you hide your face shyly, hoping he doesn’t draw attention to the two of you.

“He can, but it was just something I saw. Don’t even worry about it.”

“I think you should go sit with him.” Yeonjun suggests as he pulls a worksheet from its place in-between his textbook’s pages before starting to work.

“What?” Your voice raises a few octaves and a librarian glares at you from behind the front counter rudely. You smile apologetically before leaning in a bit closer to Yeonjun, shocked, “Don’t be ridiculous. I can’t just go... sit with him. He probably already saw us sitting here together anyway. It’ll look desperate.”

“Desperate is your middle name, is it not?” Yeonjun smirks at you playfully.

“I will not hesitate to deck you in the face right now.” You frown at him. He snorts at this before doing an equation on his paper.

“Maybe I should just make the move for you then, since it’s clear you won’t ever speak to him.” He jokes, unaware of the fear that shows through your eyes as you register his words. You’re unable to speak as panic shoots through your entire body, and Yeonjun only looks up with a wide smile, as if he’s just figured out the entire meaning of life.

“Actually,” He starts again, eyes lighting up, “I think I will make the move for you. What do you think of that?”

“Yeonjun, don’t-”

You’re too late as the gray-haired boy leans over in his seat boldly, hands pressed flat against the oak table to stable himself as he calls out gently, “Hey, Soobin right?”

Your blood runs cold as Soobin looks up from his laptop, eyes landing on Yeonjun before flicking to you. He hesitates a second before looking back at the boy, head nodding gently as he says, “Um, yeah. What’s up?”

You feel heat pool in your stomach when he speaks, because damn, you really fucking forgot just how deep his voice actually was, and you feel dizzy as he smiles softly, his kindness evident.

“Well the thing is,” Yeonjun starts, your eyes moving from Soobin to your best friend, “Y/N here, she’s really bad at physics. Like, embarrassingly bad, and I was just wondering if maybe you could be of any assistance? That is, if you’re good at it. I’d help her, but I’m only good at Math, and I’ve also gotta get going soon.”

You open your mouth to defend yourself because one, you’re not that bad at physics, and two, what the hell is Yeonjun actually doing? Before you can say anything, though, he’s talking again, and you silently ask God if the ground can swallow all of you collectively up or something equally as tragic because the boy in front of you will not shut the fuck up for the life of him.

“She’s really shy so she didn’t want to ask you herself, but I said I’d do her a solid just this once and ask instead. Isn’t that right, Y/N?” Yeonjun finally looks at you, and so does Soobin, causing you to feel sick.

“I-”

“Well there you go.” Yeonjun nods firmly, flipping his math book shut before stuffing it in his backpack. He hardly lets anyone else talk before he’s speaking again, “Anyway, thanks Soobin! You’re the man. I hope the study sesh doesn’t cut into any of your own work. If it does, Y/N can buy you a coffee or something to make up for it.”

Your eyes find Soobin again, and he looks just as confused as you. You could kill Yeonjun for this.

“I’ll see you later.” The boy finishes before lifting his backpack over his shoulders and giving you a playful salute, walking backwards towards the exit while giving you a double thumbs up as he leaves, only causing the anxiety in you to grow even more. Scratch what you said earlier, you were definitely going to kill him for this.

“I’m sorry.” You start breathlessly when Yeonuun finally disappears. You look at Soobin, and your cheeks burn when you meet his eyes again, but he doesn’t look annoyed like you expect him to. Instead, his lips are tilted up in a small grin, and one perfect dimple is hollowing out on his right cheek.

“Uh,” He starts, “Do you want to come over to my table or should I move to yours?”

You’re taken aback at his words, and you watch as his eyes widen slightly.

“I mean- what I mean by that is, like, I’m not the best at physics but I can help you if you want.” The boy clarifies, his shyness seemingly getting the best of him. You want to laugh at his change in attitude.

“No it’s fine I can-”

“I’ll just-” Soobin says at the same time, standing clumsily before swinging his backpack over his shoulder. He struggles to get all of his things together, and you pretend to not notice when his pencil falls on the floor as he walks over. He sets down his things, bends over to swipe his pencil off the ground, and you’re hit with the smell of his cologne suddenly as his stuff surrounds you. You could pass out.

You bite your lip and turn your focus to the window, trying to not stare directly at the boy now less than ten inches in front of you as he flicks through his notebook again. It’s snowing outside, mercilessly coming down in small white clumps, and you already know you’re going to dread the walk back to your dorm later.

Soobin clears his throat and flattens the bent page in front of him, finally getting your attention again. The last thing you expected when you came into the library tonight was to be sitting right in front of the boy you were helplessly in love with, but here you were. And it was all thanks to your pain in the ass best friend Yeonjun. Maybe he was onto something when he had Soobin come over, though.

“So, uh, what are you having trouble with?” Soobin asks. His glasses are perched on the edge of his nose, and the lenses glare slightly when he moves his head just a bit closer, talking softly. You try to not stare at his white button up, or the way the sleeves are rolled up to expose his arms, before clearing your own throat and looking down at your book.

“Um, thermodynamics.”

You look up as Soobin hisses almost silently, “Ooo, yikes. Thermodynamics and me, we don’t mix well.”

You grin just a bit and breathe out a laugh, because that’s exactly something you would say, Soobin smiles back shyly.

“It’s fine,” You shake your head, “I understand if you only came over because of what Yeon said. I’m actually not that bad at physics so I’ll manage if you wanna head back over to your table.”

Soobin furrows his eyebrows at you, as if he’s actually confused on why you could have said such a thing. You feel dumb all of a sudden. You should have kept your mouth shut.

“No, it’s okay,” He shakes his head gently, “It’s actually nice sitting with someone else while studying. It’s a nice distraction when things get boring.”

You try to not stare at his lips when he talks, but you can’t help but notice the slight lisp that softens his speech, which causes your eyes to switch from his gaze to his lips. You nod in agreement with him, even though you barely comprehend his actual words. He’s just that distracting.

“Oh- okay then.”

Soobin grins at you and then opens up his english book, starting to write on the paper in front of him messily. 

You try your very best to try and read again, you really do, but there’s no way it’s happening now. If you couldn’t understand the words before, there’s no chance you can now, with Soobin sitting right in front of you.

You’re staring at the pages, eyes moving left to right to feign reading, but really - you’re hyperfocusing on Soobin’s every little detail - scared that if you don’t, you won’t be able to remember any of it the next time he isn’t near.

“What are you studying?” You speak up, surprising even yourself as you look away from your work and over to Soobin’s, leaning over greedily; desperately. You’re sharing the same space as him, you may as well make it worth it.

“Subject and object pronouns,” His dark eyes flick up to you, “And when to use them.”

“That’s not that bad.” You smile softly, meeting his eyes. He looks down quickly, back to his messy handwriting. “No, it’s not.”

Silence falls over the two of you again, and you mentally curse yourself for not being able to hold a conversation. You’ve fantasized about this moment for months: The day when you’d finally talking to Soobin and capture his attention long enough that he can’t physically look away, so much that he has no chance but to fall for you. It’s sad, really. You’ve thought of making him laugh so hard he throws his head back in amusement, or making him smile so big both of his dimples carve a permanent place on his cheeks. You’ve thought a hundred times over about everything except this - sitting right in front of him - in pure silence.

You take notice of the slight bags under Soobin’s eyes as he works, before you look down at your book again. You allow yourself to really hope that he isn’t overworking himself, but you know better. Soobin, who was clearly an overachiever, admittedly did a lot. Not only was he one of the very few University Prefects on campus, but he also did a number of extracurriculars, followed by sports as well. Because Choi Soobin was just that: a golden boy who was just good at��� well, everything. As well as being one of the very rare students to be in the top percentile grade-wise at your university, he was also the type of person to always work, work, work. He wasn’t just a pretty face, and he proved that to everyone, every single day.

“So your friend got out of here pretty fast,” Soobin speaks up, still looking at his work, “That wouldn’t be because of me... would it?”

You open your mouth to deny it, but a part of you - a really small part of you - wonders what would happen if you were to actually tell Soobin the truth. That, yes, he left so we could be alone and I will probably kick his ass later for it. Soobin looks up at you slowly, folding his arms gently on the table as he leans forward just a bit more. He’s testing the waters, you realize. He’s offering himself up. 

You almost choke.

“I-I don’t know.” You lie, “I think he just really hates studying.”

What the fuck? You want to scream at yourself. You weren’t normally so bad at lying, but under Soobin’s stare, you could barely remember your own name, let alone an excuse to save your behind.

You think all hope is lost, and you’re mentally planning your own funeral before the edge of Soobin’s lip twitches, and then stretches into a tiny grin.

“Well,” He says, almost hesitantly, “I’m glad he hates studying, then. I actually, uh, I wanted to come sit at your table when I walked in, I just didn’t want to intrude or anything.”

You don’t know what to say. You don’t know if you should take it as a compliment or not. Surely it was meant to be taken positively, but you just didn’t know how to process it - Soobin complimenting you.

“You wouldn’t have been intruding,” You finally say, noticing how his brown eyes soften a bit when you do, “Yeonjun doesn’t really study anyway, he just talks the whole time.”

Soobin laughs suddenly, and you feel your heart practically explode in your chest at this because you made Soobin laugh, and the sound was so beautiful it left you laughing along with him. You barely feel bad for exposing Yeonjun. After all, he was the one who got you into this mess. He deserves to be exposed.

“I have a friend like that,” Soobin momentarily drops his pencil as he perks up a bit. You do the same, listening to him intently.

“His name’s Tae, and whenever we get together to study, like, debate topics or whatever-” 

You mentally clock that Soobin does that as well - Debate Team. He really has no limits.

“-I’ll be trying to do flash cards or something, and he’s there like, ‘Hey Bin, why don’t we play some video games instead?’ or, ‘Honestly, who cares about the economic crisis in Venezuela?’”

You laugh at his words, and he scratches the back of his neck, visibly blushing. You notice as he looks down, most likely mentally checking himself.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to bore you with studying stories or anything, I just think it’s funny that our friends are so similar.”

“No, it’s fine,” You give him a genuine smile, “You aren’t boring me. I kind of wanted to take a break anyway. Physics is boring.”

“Not as boring as english.” Soobin quirks an eyebrow, “The questions are all, ‘which pronoun should be placed in the sentence, blank walked in the classroom.’ like, this is elementary stuff. I could do it in my sleep, if I ever got any.”

“Oh my god, literally.” You agree, “It’s not hard to tell a pronoun from a noun, or vice versa. I wish they’d actually give us challenging stuff to do for English rather than just refreshing us on grammar or, uh, parts of speech? It’s draining.”

“It is,” Soobin says, voice deepening slightly, as if his exhaustion agrees with you as well. You nod again, still looking at him.

“I feel like… well, you do a lot, don’t you? Apart from studies.” You creep dangerously close to the line dividing curiousity and nosiness, allowing yourself to voice your thoughts at his small comment. After all, if you were careful, what could it hurt?

Soobin rests his chin on his folded arms on the table before nodding up at you, looking a lot younger in the moment. Your heart skips a beat at the sight.

“Yeah, I do way too much. Sports like baseball and soccer that have overlapping seasons -  which is literal hell by the way- and also stuff like debate and student council. I’m also part of this literary club which, if I’m being honest, really kills me.”

“Yeah, I’d die on sight. Even hearing all of that makes me wanna collapse.” You tell Soobin honestly, and he chuckles at your words. The effect is not lost on you as your heart starts picks up frantically against your chest again.

“It’s not too bad, I just consume a lot of coffee and run on exactly zero hours of sleep.”

“All while keeping honors?” You question, giving him a teasing grin.

“All while keeping honors.” He shakes his head at himself, almost in disbelief. You notice this and tilt your head.

“I actually think that’s pretty amazing you know, the fact that you’re able to do so much.”

“It could be more.” He says, shaking his head. You furrow your brows and he backtracks.

“I mean - it’s a lot, don’t get me wrong - but I could be doing more. A lot of people think I should be doing more, anyway.”

You think of your words carefully before saying them, “I think that if it was more, you’d run yourself into the ground. You’re already great, don’t strive to wreck yourself.”

Soobin stares into your eyes as you say this, looking almost stunned. He was probably glad you weren’t telling him to pile on club after club. Telling him that the him he is now, the him who tries as hard as humanly possible, isn’t good enough. For a second, you’re saddened at the thought that someone, somewhere, already had.

“That’s just what I think anyway-” You get cut off by Soobin speaking again in a rushed voice.

“Do you want to do something sometime?”

The question shuts you up instantly.

“Do I… what?” You ask incredulously, staring into his eyes.

Soobin hides his face in his hands suddenly, his shoulders shaking with his laughter.

“Wait, I’m sorry.” He says, hands dropping only after a few moments, “I didn’t mean to spring that onto you like that.” 

You almost think that he’s going to take the whole thing back, and the thought makes you panic. Instead though, the dark-haired boy shakes his head before he speaks again.

“What I meant to say was-” He clears his throat, “Would you want to do something with me sometime? Like, dinner or something?”

You catch onto his awkwardness and bite your lip to keep from smiling too widely.

“Where did that come from?” You ask shyly, trying to keep it together. Soobin bites his bottom lip gently before saying, “I just... well, I’ve been wanting to ask you for awhile. Last week in our communications class when you did that really pretty thing with your hair. When you smiled at me when you saw me leaving my literary club. I don’t know, I’ve been meaning to ask for awhile, I just never got the chance to... until now. Also, we haven’t exactly talked until now, to be fair.”

You feel like you can’t breathe. You didn’t think in a million years that you would even talk to Soobin, let alone be asked on a date by him. He takes your silence as doubt before starting to ramble.

“We could go see a movie or something- oh! We could go to that cool new roller skating place they just built off campus? I can’t remember the name of it right now but maybe that would be fun?”

You chuckle as he continues.

“Um… maybe a picnic? Wait, actually, it’s too cold for a picnic. An indoor picnic could be cool though?”

You lift your hand up between the two of you, momentarily silencing the boy in front of you so you can speak, “Yes I’d like to do something with you, whatever it is.” You watch as he visibly sighs.

“I mean-” Your eyes go wide at yourself, “A date! Obviously. I don’t mean anything else.”

Soobin visibly panics as well, cheeks tinting a harsh pink suddenly, “Oh! I-”

“Well, I-” You try to combat your words, but then quickly slap a hand over your mouth. You’d rather be punched in the stomach than admit to Soobin himself that you thought he was attractive - enough to the point where you thought of doing rated things with him. You feel your own cheeks heat up as he hides his face again. You look down and laugh nervously after they drop.

“It’s fine,” He chuckles, “It’s fine. I feel the same.”

You look up again and smile, noticing that he doesn’t hide his blush this time.

Soobin’s the first to make a move, and he wordlessly slips over a small piece of paper with his number scribbled onto it messily after leaning over it to write for what seems like hours. You feel your body buzz with nerves, as if it’s a sacred thing. The Choi Soobin has just given you his number, and he wants you to actually use it.

“Okay,” He finally says, slipping his stuff into his backpack, “So, uh, you’ll text me then?”

“Yeah.” You nod a bit too eagerly. Soobin doesn’t notice. And if he does, he doesn’t seem to mind as he nods back at the same pace.

“Alright, I should get going then. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you with physics”

You laugh, smiling lightly, “It’s fine. I’ll text you soon.”

“I look forward to it.” He says before swinging his backpack over one shoulder and taking an awkward step back from the table.

“Bye-”

“Bye Y/N-” 

You two cut eachother off before laughing together a final time.

“Bye Soobin.” You retry, “Get to your dorm safe.”

He nods, “Bye Y/N. You too.”

And then he’s gone, leaving you on cloud nine, and ready to scream the news to Yeonjun from across campus.

You couldn’t believe it.

Because Choi fucking Soobin asked you out. And you said yes.

What could possibly happen when you finally decide to text him?

[deadlifts-and-derrida]

Learning to Grow

There's a scene in the 90's animated Spider-Man where Eddie Brock, the human host of the Venom symbiote, is lifting weights in his run-down New York apartment. He's shirtless, bench pressing what looks like an impressive weight. The camera runs over his arms and torso as he recites, between grunts, a litany of wrongs, imagined and real, that Spider-Man has visited upon him. There are brief flashbacks with each item on the list, played out semi-opaque in front of his sweaty muscular torso. As each one fades and we see him clear, his muscles appear to pulse and swell. He's getting bigger and bigger as the scene goes on, muscles engorging with each repetition, each up and down of the loaded bar he's bench-pressing.

This scene captivated me as a child. Any time this episode came up in re-runs I'd be glued to the TV, would find some excuse to go into another room and sneakily turn on a separate television, away from my family, even if it meant watching it on a smaller, less modern set.

I knew I loved muscle before I saw this scene. I even doubt this was the first time I saw a depiction of where muscles came from. This first aired in 1994. I would have been 11. Surely I knew muscles came from working out before I saw this. But it felt like some previously unconnected parts of my brain were suddenly wired together.

If you want to have muscles you have to lift weights!

*

My mom had two blue dumbbells at home. I think she bought them to use at the Step Aerobics class she went to every Thursday night in the gymnasium of the local elementary school, the same school I attended. They were 5 lbs each. I'm sure they would look small to me now. They looked big to me then.

They came with a folded up paper diagram of exercises you could do with the dumbbells. It featured a line drawing of an absurdly muscular man (these are FIVE POUND DUMBBELLS and he looks like a professional bodybuilder!), shirtless, wearing a pair of short shorts. Of course I was attracted to this line drawing. But I remember taking these little blue dumbbells and trying to use them to get bigger and stronger. I tried to use the piano bench to do chest flies. I did lots of bicep curls. I don't think I ever did anything for my back and my legs - classic clueless young man, only exercising the muscles he can see, the ones that look good in a t-shirt.

I didn't go about this in any regimented fashion. They were sporadic attempts. I didn't yet realize how frequently you had to work out to see results. I didn't realize how to organize a weightlifting session at the gym, how to program it to achieve hypertrophy (or, in lay terms, bigger muscles). I thought of it like it was a role-playing game, like if you lifted weights you'd add a little EXP to your STR bar, and eventually it'd level up even if you weren't systematic about it.

So of course I don't think mom's two blue 5 lbs dumbbells did much for me.

*

There was no commercial or public gym in my hometown, nor one within a 100 km drive. There were some private gyms, in people's basements and such. My little hometown, which had about 5,000 people living in it when I was in my early teens, somehow produced four provincial bodybuilding champions to my knowledge, including Newfoundland's only internationally successful professional bodybuilder to date. Fewer than 1% of the province's population. We certainly over-performed in this aspect.

And then there was me. Absolutely nothing to look at. But burning with a desire that I felt ashamed of, felt like I should keep it hidden. Bodybuilding was all around me and I didn't say anything, didn't give any indication that it interested me. Two of those four provincial champions were my next-door neighbours, one of them a year older than me, one of them a year younger than me. It never occured to me to even try to train with them.

I was an awkward nerd. I knew I was gay. I hadn't told anyone. But bullies called me every word you can call a gay kid, because, well, they were bullies.

So I didn't connect with the budding bodybuilders around me. I never lifted in one of the basements where so many successful bodybuilding careers began.

I did pushups sporadically in my bedroom and hoped it would be enough.

Of course it wasn't. Forcing the body to build more metabolically expensive muscle tissue than it absolutely needs is one of the most difficult things to do. A few pushups in your bedroom and a protein-poor diet (I was vegetarian but I wasn't one of the "good kind" who research proper diet) won't cut it.

*

In my second term at University, the Field House opened. This was a new athletic facility. There was some controversy in student circles that we were all being levied a $40/semester fee to pay for the Field House - but in return, we all had access to the facility. We just had to show our student card.

Stress, bad eating, and a post-exam bout of mononucleosis had left me about 145 lbs at this point. I'm 6' tall. There was no muscle on me to speak of - though skinny, I had no abs, no definition in my arms and legs. My arms measured 10" around.

So, although all my leftist friends were angry about the Field House levy, I was secretly happy about it. Finally, I had access to a gym.

I didn't research what to do. I didn't ask for help in making a plan.

For weeks, I went in and ran on the treadmill.

I remember an article by another gay writer about body image, muscles, and exercise. He describes running on the treadmill while dreaming of himself as finally having that muscular body he's long wanted to have.

Now, I want to give the guy a shake and ask him what the hell he's doing on a treadmill if he wants muscles. That's like practicing piano and hoping it'll make you a better cook. But back then - I was that guy.

*

There was a little alcove in the Field House next to the cardio room that had some air-powered resistance machines. I started to use those. I doubt I used them well. No one taught me form. I didn't look it up. This was 2002 - YouTube, a great resource for this kind of thing, was years away.

But it was better than nothing. My diet, still appalling and low in protein, did get a little better as my palate expanded and I learned, on a semester in England in 2003, that I liked and could prepare chicken and fish.

My arms were 12" around. This is still small. It's nowhere near Eddie Brock. But it's better than 10".

*

I was like a timid deer slowly being tamed. Toward the end of my undergraduate degree, I began going to the Strength and Conditioning Centre, in the basement of the old Phys Ed building, where the actual lifters and bodybuilders on campus went.

But I was not yet either of those things.

I was still ashamed of my desires, couldn't bring myself to ask anyone for help, to acquire the practical knowledge I needed if I was ever going to achieve the kind of progress I wanted.

So even though there was a freeweight section full of huge burly men lifting impressive weights, I kept to the machines and the dumbbells. Lateral raises (probably done badly), cable flies (probably done badly), tricep pushdowns (probably done badly), dips and pullups (almost certainly done badly), lat pulldowns (I only ever felt these in my forearms). I never did a bench press. I never did a squat. I don't think I even knew what a deadlift was.

I ate like I was lifting big weights and having gruelling workouts, though. So, in other words, I got chubby and my muscles more or less stayed the same, after those newbie gains earned in the alcove of the Field House with the air-powered machines. I did not look like I lifted weights. I certainly didn't look like a bodybuilder.

*

My mid and late 20s were full of periods where I had no gym access. I ran during those times, every second day. I got fitter, my body firmed up, I felt better. I was also physically suited to middle distance running. But I was smaller, during those times, and I wanted to be bigger.

When I did have gym access I continued to lift poorly, without doing any compound movements (bench, squat, deadlift, overhead press, etc). And I ate to grow, but it was a lot of low quality food. So, during those times, my body got softer. I told myself I was bulking, but my muscles didn't get bigger. My arms were still about 12" or 13", depending on which of these two modes I was existing in.

I still lived in dread of someone discovering how much I wanted to be a huge muscular freak. How I fed my imagination on a steady diet of enormous bodybuilders, folders with thousands of jpgs saved from the internet, treasured memories of the rare times I'd seen a truly huge muscular man out in the wild, in person. Walking in the mall, lying on a blanket in the park, in the checkout line at the supermarket.

I would sometimes fantasize about finding some almost empty bottle of steroids in the locker room. Maybe just one or two pills left. At the time I erroneously thought all steroids were pills - I didn't know anything about steroids at all, at this point. I just knew they made guys big. In this fantasy, I would take the one or two pills I found, and it would make me slightly more muscular than I was. Perhaps 5% more. And that would be enough to make me happy without anyone realizing anything. Of course, it doesn't work that way.

*

I wasn't entirely clueless. In 2009, I started a PhD at the University of Toronto, and had access to its excellent gym facilities. By then I knew I had to do compound movements like bench press and squat. I started to learn how. I didn't seek out help, though, and I definitely should have. Also, a PhD is very demanding on your time. I was following a "split" (how you organize your workouts through the week) appropriate for someone lifting 4-5 times a week, but I was lucky if I got in 2 or 3 times (which, frankly, isn't enough to see much progress regardless of your "split"). 10 or 12 days would go by between chest workouts, between back workouts, between leg workouts.

I suppose I made some progress. Not much. I may have deluded myself into thinking it was more than it was, because I had been going to the gym, in some capacity, for 7 years, and I wanted to have something to show for it.

In early 2012, me and my then-boyfriend drove to his father's in South Carolina. I had just turned 29. I was planning on using the fact we were traveling to buy steroids online. I was paranoid that my IP address could be tracked if I did it at home and it would be safer to do it from some hotel room in Pennsylvania.

I realized, when in a hotel room in Pennsylvania trying to buy steroids online, that I didn't know enough about any of that to actually go through with it. I hadn't done my research. Looking back, my naivete is laughable. Now, if I encountered someone like the person I used to be trying to buy steroids, I would try my best to discourage them for a large number of reasons. One, you, past Michael, clearly don't know how to train and eat to grow; that being the case, all steroids will do is upset your endocrine system's natural balance and increase some health risks without actually giving you the benefits you want. Secondly, you don't know a thing about them. What kind are you going to buy? The answer better be testosterone enanthate or testosterone cypionate; test only for a beginner's cycle. Do you know proper injection technique? Don't even think about an oral-only cycle! Do you know what an AI is? It's an aromatase inhibitor, a drug that prevents most of the negative side effects people associate with steroid use, which ironically come from elevated estrogen, a side effect of elevated tesoterone - you did know that, didn't you? Do you know what PCT is? It's Post Cycle Therapy, drugs people take once they have finished their cycle of steroids to help restart their body's natural hormone production, which is disrupted by steroids. You knew steroids would shut down your natural testosterone production, right?

Luckily, I realized I wasn't ready, and didn't go through with my plan. I don't know what I was thinking. I mean, did I think I could just type "buy steroids" into google? OK, yes, you can actually do that, but it's not a good idea. There are plenty of people out there willing to make a quick buck selling snake oil to idiots like me, and even if they sold me legitimate gear, I wasn't ready for it and had no idea how to use it safely and responsibly, as outlined above.

*

In January of 2013, my parents, always solidly middle class, suddenly became very wealthy, and they passed some of this on to me. I had never made more than $25,000 in a year, and suddenly twice that was sitting in my bank account, with more to come.

One of the things I splurged on was a DEXA scan. It cost $125. You lay still on the bed of a device, and a mechanical arm slowly passes over your whole body twice. It takes about ten minutes. it is the most accurate body composition scan currently available.

I wanted to know how well my efforts in the gym had paid off.

Not at all, it turned out.

I was 184 lbs. This was in the "normal" BMI range for someone 6' tall. But I was 25.1% bodyfat. For a man, obesity is considered anything over 25%. I was the opposite of a bodybuilder. Bodybuilders have obese BMI but very low bodyfat percentages. I had normal BMI but an obese bodyfat percentage.

My lean body mass was only 138 lbs. If I was lean like a bodybuilder, I wouldn't even weigh 150 lbs. I had been going to the gym for 11 years and I had almost nothing to show for it - maybe 10 or 15 lbs of muscle gained from the underfed just-over-a-bout-of-mono 19 year old who first stepped into a gym in 2002.

This was a kick in the pants. Luckily it motivated me. I reformed my diet. No more pizza and burritos except as very occasional treats. Cut way way way back on the booze. Running in the morning every second day, lifting weights every day I didn't run.

I got married in June. I weighed 170 lbs and my bodyfat was down to 19%. I was losing fat without losing muscle, possibly because there was very little muscle to lose.

We went on an extended summer wedding tour, had wedding parties on both coasts. I relaxed a little but didn't give up fully.

And that September, enabled by having some money, emboldened by finally achieving a little success, spurred on by turning 30 and realizing that if I didn't start to do this right then my dream of being a bodybuilder would never come to pass, I hired a trainer.

And on our first meeting, I told him: I want to get as big as I possibly can.

And he said let's get to work.

[three-drink-amy]

The Final Rose

Amy begrudgingly accepts becoming the newest Bachelorette after Gina sneakily signs her up. The prospect of meeting 25 new men all vying for her affection seems intimidating and ridiculous. But the first night, she meets a man named Jake who is kind and makes her laugh. The only problem: he’s not one of the contestants. 

Her hair was being done. A long, sparkly dress was hanging on the door behind her. Her makeup was being applied carefully. Amy was getting ready for what would inevitably be a very notable night of her life and she still had no idea how Gina (and the producers) had talked her into it.

When Gina laughed and told Amy that she’d signed her up to be the next Bachelorette, Amy laughed too. She never thought that a boring New York detective would be chosen to be on a dating show. But in a few weeks, she was proven wrong. Apparently Gina had put together a very compelling video about Amy’s love life. Or rather, Amy’s lack of love life. Gina wouldn’t let her back out. She tagged along to the meeting with the producers to make sure Amy agreed.

The producers explained that while they usually just picked the one of the rejected girls from the Bachelor, Gina’s video about Amy intrigued them into picking a fresh face.

“Wait,” Amy had asked, “You weren’t even looking for a new Bachelorette?”

“No,” one man explained. “We usually pick someone from the season of the Bachelor before. We were stalled trying to pick the contestant that would attract more viewers when we got this video from your friend.”

Amy looked over at Gina and glared. At the time, “friend” seemed like a strong term. Gina smiled and nodded happily at the turn of events. Amy really couldn’t back out. “So why do you think a nobody will attract more viewers?” Amy wondered aloud.

“Because everyone is expecting us to pick Ashley H. from last season, but she declined,” another producer explained. “We were also leaning toward Emma but we weren’t sure she’d have enough draw. And then we realized that we could target everything differently with a fresh face.”

“Plus we could draw in new viewership with our first ever Latina bachelorette,” the first producer added excitedly. Amy wasn’t very convinced. They could seemingly tell. “Look, we understand that this could be a big step. But it could also help you meet the love of your life,” he concluded, raising his eyebrows.

It wasn’t the producers’ less than compelling pitch that had Amy signing a contract, but rather Gina’s watchful eye. Amy knew that if she turned down this opportunity that Gina had offered her, she’d never be able to whine about her love life ever again. Skeptical as she was, Amy signed on to be the next bachelorette.

So there she was, getting primped to go meet 25 men who had signed up to try and win her love. It was the strangest situation she’d ever been in. Amy slipped into her dress, put on her startlingly high heels, and walked out to talk to the producers before the limos started to arrive. To say she was nervous would have been an understatement.

The producers had left to let her greet the guys. She tried to keep all their various pieces of advice in mind, but she was reeling. Amy was wringing her hands when one of the cameramen set down his camera and walked over to her. She thought she was in for a scolding. He smiled kindly to her.

“Nervous?” he asked. She laughed breathily and nodded. “Well if it makes you feel better, it’s my first time on the show too,” he added with a grin. “So there’s always a chance the footage will look like something out of the Blair Witch Project and no one will be able to see how nervous you are.” They shared a laugh at the thought. “Plus, if you think about it,” he continued, “they’re probably nervous to meet you too.”

Amy laughed. “I doubt that.”

“They don’t know you. They’re making the same risks you are. Except they have 24 guys to compete with. I don’t see 24 other girls out here, trying to upstage you,” he said with a raise of his brow.

“Hmm,” Amy mused. “That’s a fair point. I guess it won’t matter if they think I’m a huge, unlovable nerd. I won’t be the one who gets sent away.” She laughed almost evilly at the thought. The producers weren’t going to kick her off because she wasn’t appealing enough.

The thought startled Amy though. She wondered when it was that she got worried about being kicked off. She didn’t want to be here. Shouldn’t want to be here. Was she worried about being kicked off? No, she’d be fine going back home and trying to find dates the normal way. Maybe she was worried that getting rejected by 25 different men would be an epically humiliating moment.

The cameraman was saying something else. Amy was caught up in her thoughts and missed the beginning. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“I just said that even if there were 24 other women, you’d still be a standout,” he said kindly. “That’s a really pretty dress.”

Amy smiled, looking down at her dress. “I didn’t pick it out,” she replied lamely. He nodded awkwardly, picking up his camera and walking back to his mark. Amy shook her head at herself. Why couldn’t she just accept the compliment? He was being nice. She looked over at him as he positioned the camera on his shoulder. “So obviously I should be working on my small talk skills?” she asked with a tone of self deprecation.

He laughed loudly. “Yeah, maybe just a bit.”

Amy was about to make another joke when someone called that the first limo was arriving. Amy steeled herself for a night of inevitable awkwardness and potential humiliation. For the hundredth time, she cursed Gina. She glanced back to the cameraman for another second to see him smile and nod encouragingly as the first limo pulled into view.

The night was filled with meeting too many people. Amy was usually good with names, but this was a whole other level. It was one thing to meet new people, but 25 at one time was a bit ridiculous. Plus by the end of the night, she had to decide the best one she’d met. She hoped the cameras weren’t able to catch how much she was actually drinking. At the end of the night, Amy gave the first impression rose to a guy named Luke. Soon, the guys all wandered up the stairs of the mansion. Amy was more than ready to go to her separate home to sleep for a while. She wasn’t sure of everything that was going to happen the next day, but she knew she needed sleep.

Amy bent down and took off her heels before walking toward the door. The kind cameraman from before stopped her before she could leave. “Hey, Amy,” he called from a door just off the main room. She looked over at him curiously. “We need some interview stuff before you can leave.”

It must have been the alcohol that made Amy sigh and roll her eyes without even trying to hide it. She nodded reluctantly and followed him to the room. She’d barely been sitting for two seconds before the makeup artists descended on her to touch up everything about her appearance. Once they approved of her look, they backed off to stand behind the cameraman. He looked at her appraisingly for a moment. Amy briefly wondered if there was something on her face before deciding that the stylists would have leaped in to fix it.

“You’re not very comfortable are you?” he asked.

“I’m...tired,” Amy answered, sticking to the acceptable truth.

He turned around and looked at the other five people in the room. “Duncan gave me the targets for this interview. I think it might go better if there wasn’t a crowd. She’s still not used to the audience. I think we’ll be fine.”

“What if her makeup needs to be touched up?”

“Then we’ll send up a flare,” he joked. They all looked skeptical, but one by one, they filed out of the room.

Amy hadn’t even gotten the cameraman’s name, but she felt like he understood her. She was instantly appreciative that he was working her season of the show. He ducked to make sure the camera was set up properly for the shot. “So how does it feel having 25 boyfriends?” he teased.

She couldn’t hide her laugh. “I’m waiting to see how fast they can all reject me.”

He scoffed as he played around with the camera. “Can you imagine someone actually having 25 significant others?”

“It’s insane, right?” Amy asked, latching on to the topic. It was something she’d been thinking about a lot. “I mean, millions of people watch this show, but if I had 25 boyfriends in real life, I’d be called a whore easily.”

He laughed as he straightened up and looked at her. “You’re not wrong. Or maybe you’d be a boss. I mean if you had 25 boyfriends and they all knew about each other and they weren’t all killing each other or you? Well, I’d want to know your secrets.”

“I’d want to know how I got 25 boyfriends at the same time,” Amy said with a shake of her head.

“Well yeah, that would be the secret I’d want to know too,” he corrected with a small smile.

“Gee, if they’re looking for new faces now, you could always be the next bachelor,” Amy joked. “My friend, Gina is really good at sending in videos she pieced together showing how sad my love life is.”

He tilted his head back and laughed. “Well maybe it’ll all work out and one day you’ll be able to thank her.”

“I’m not counting on it.”

“There’s that first night optimism,” he teased. “Okay, so basically we want to hear your thoughts on the first night and meeting all the new guys. Sound good?” He asked, getting back to business.

“The truth or the tv appropriate version?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “I’m thinking the one that will draw in viewers.”

Amy sighed. “Okay.” She shook her shoulders a little as she straightened up in her seat. Plastering on the best smile she could, Amy tried to think back on the night without the filter of anxiety. She opened her mouth to speak but he stopped her.

“Stop,” he said quickly. Amy was confused. “Now I’ve only watched this show with my friends, I mean Rosa only hate watches it but I think she’s secretly as obsessed as Charles, but during these interviews on the first night, they’re always excited and seem like they really want to be here.” He sighed, stepping out from behind the camera. “I’m guessing it wasn’t your choice and you don’t totally want to be here.”

“You’d be right about that.”

“Well we’re going to have to work on your acting skills as well as your small talk skills then,” he said with a kind smile. “You can do this. We’ve just got to have you looking like you’re happy and not like you just had a man tell you that you should smile more.”

Amy laughed, her hand reaching up to cover the snort that resulted from it. “Fair enough. So what do you want me to do?”

He walked back behind the camera, eyeing her thoughtfully. “How’d your parents meet?”

She stared at him, wondering how this would help. Getting a bit more comfortable in the chair, Amy recalled the story of her parents meeting. “My mom had just moved from Florida to New York City. A week after she got there, she went to the laundromat. There was almost no one there. At one point she opened a top dryer to throw in a load when she opened the door into my dad’s face. She was so embarrassed that she volunteered to do all of his laundry as well. She found him ice and they talked for a few hours as they did their laundry and my mom tried to prove that she wasn’t trying to maim him. He said his clothes turned out better when she did them than when he does. He wrote down his number and told her to call him so she could tell her all of her laundry secrets. But my mom said it would be simpler if he just asked her out like he wanted to anyway.” Amy smiled happily at the memory of her mother regaling her with the story. “And the rest is history.”

“There’s that smile,” he said softly from behind the camera. Amy realized she was smiling naturally and that had been his plan all along. “So trying to maintain that, how was tonight?”

Amy felt her smile grow, not by thinking of the night, but by realizing what a gift this random cameraman had. He knew how to get the authentic feelings out of her that she needed to sell the show. So Amy talked about the guys and how kind and goofy they seemed. She talked about how excited she was to have this journey with these men ahead of her. While still trying to hold on to the same feeling, she even managed to choke out a line about hopefully finding the man she could fall in love with.

Amy sighed as the cameraman held up his thumb, signalling that they got the desired footage. He walked over and shook her hand. “I think we have more than enough. Thanks for being a good sport.”

Amy laughed. “Thanks for understanding that I’m not a natural for the camera.”

He smiled brightly. “I think you are. You just need a little encouragement. Everyone does now and again. I can’t imagine how terrible I’d be.”

Amy tilted her head and looked at him with an appraising gaze. “I bet you’d be better than you think. But really, thank you. It helps to have someone who seems cool with my awkwardness.”

“Can’t wait to see that on a date with ten guys,” he joked.

Amy cringed. “Ugh, please don’t make me think of it.” She shook her head as she took her heels off again.

“I’m pretty sure that’s tomorrow,” he said apologetically. “But I can find stuff to throw at you from behind the camera to loosen you up a bit if you’d like.” He smiled goofily at her.

Shaking her head, Amy laughed, imagining how that would go down. “I’ll think about it.” Amy picked up the train of her dress, turning to finally leave the mansion for the night. She opened the door before turning back to look at him. “You know what, I don’t think I ever got your name.”

He looked up, a surprised expression on his face before he smiled. “It’s Jake.”

Also posted on AO3!

[sweetcontradiction]

Radio Charlotte

Synopsis: Charlotte’s forced to go to work with her daddy when a pregnant Miranda falls ill

Charlotte’s eyes grew wider and wider as she walked down the long corridor, her grip on Anderson’s hand growing tighter as they neared the end door.

“You need to behave in here okay, babe? I won’t be long. We’ll go for breakfast after.”

Charlotte nodded her head as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. She never understood why her parents always told her that when in her eyes she always behaved perfectly.

“Sit tight with Dixie and it’ll fly by!”

Charlotte clutched the stuffed dog closer to her chest at her dad’s request as they continued their walk into the radio studio. With the constant banging of her little cowboy boots echoing off the walls she prayed they got there soon. The tunnel was long and dark and if she didn't have her dad’s hand she didn't think she would have made it.

“Hello!” the DJ smiled, walking straight up to Anderson and shaking his hand as Charlotte’s eyes finally caught some light. “I’m Glenn.”

“It’s nice to meet you!”

“And who is this little one?” Glenn asked, looking down at a timid Charlotte who was inching closer to her dad’s leg by the second and clutching Dixie close to her chest. The bright lights and musical equipment were making her a little anxious. She had been in a recording studio before when her parents didn't have anyone to babysit her while they went to work but she knew all the people who worked there as her mom and dad’s friends.

“Charlotte.” she whispered, her voice cracking as she peered around the brightened room.

“She’s my daughter.” Anderson added incase Glenn hadn’t worked it out. He wasn’t prone to attending interview sessions with tiny blondes in tow.

“Oh I realized! You look just like your mom, Charlotte.”

At the mention of Miranda, Charlotte piped up, her body slowly moving away from the safety of her dad’s body as she stood independently. Nodding her head, she gave this strange new man a smile. She got that a lot and in her book, it was a huge compliment. She thought her momma was the prettiest.

“Do you want to head into the room? I’m sure we can find you something to eat while I talk to your dad.”

“Yes please!”

Anderson beamed at how polite his three-year-old was coming across before following Glenn into a smaller room with a round table located in the center of it. He noticed the fruit basket in the corner and laughed as Charlotte looked up at him, her eyes big asking for permission.

“Help yourself, babe.”

As Charlotte peeled her banana and adamantly began to chew, Glenn tapped the seat beside him for Anderson to sit down.

“We’ll carry out the interview in here.” he explained. “The tech guys are bringing the mics along. It’s been a slow week.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Anderson took his guitar case off his back and opened it up but before Glenn could outline the basis of the interview, Charlotte came running back over. All the people she could see out of the glass panels were beginning to overwhelm her. She didn't want to have to sit alone, even if Anderson was only two feet away.

“Daddy…”

Anderson didn’t even need to hear the end of her sentence as he extended his arms out and lifted Charlotte into his lap. Getting reacquainted in her dad’s lap, she cuddled in tight to his chest as she nibbled on her banana, her eyes taking the odd glance over at Glenn who was studying her.

“She may have to move when we go live on air…” Glenn warned, giving Charlotte the best apologetic face he could. “Just in case we hear her through the microphone.”

Anderson nodded his head as he held his daughter’s sides.

“My wife is seven-months-pregnant and under the weather…” he explained. “Poor Charlotte here had no choice.”

Glenn nodded his head sympathetically, looking over at the father who had his sleepy three-year-old cuddled into him with her stuffed dog in her lap. He was sure she had better things to do than sit in a cold studio at 8am.

As the time drew closer to 8:30 for Anderson’s interview, Anderson saw Glenn smile behind him as a small blonde woman entered the room.

“Oh good you got my message.”

“Are you Charlotte?” the blonde asked, leaning down so she was face-level with the toddler. “I’m Brianne. How about I take you into the break room and we can do some coloring in?”

Charlotte perked up at that. She loved coloring in at home with her mom. Anderson never really enjoyed it but Miranda could spend hours with her finishing the books and hanging their best pieces of work on the refrigerator.

“Sure!” the little girl smiled back, leaving a kiss on her dad’s cheek as she climbed off him and took the hand of the blonde. She resembled her mom so she was instantly at ease.

“Have fun, sweetie.” Anderson replied as he watched her toddle off with Dixie and her new friend. He could tell she was exhausted, ideally he should’ve brought her in her pajamas but there was no use dwelling on that now.

“So just before we get started…” Glenn began. “Are there any topics that are off-limits?”

“Basically just stick to the music.” Anderson suggested honestly. “I’ll talk about my family all day off-air but I don’t want anything mentioned incase word makes its way around…y’know?”

“Oh, of course!” Glenn agreed profusely. He was astounded that even after the pair had become far less high profile over the last 3 years since Charlotte’s birth that the media still took an interest in them. After Anderson had innocently posted a picture of his daughter on her favorite horse, the few mean comments on both social media and the news outlets were enough to make sure he continued to protect his family. It broke his heart he couldn't boast about them like he wanted to but the number one priority was ensuring their privacy. Charlotte was still a little girl and she deserved to be treated as such — nothing should change because her parents had decided in a career filled with scrutiny.

As the interview got underway and Anderson promoted his new record, he took the occasional glance over to where he could see his daughter concentrating on a drawing. She looked content and so he continued his interview — mentioning that most of the songs were inspired by his growing family but he was relived when Glenn didn't sneakily press the topic.

But just as they were about to wrap up before Anderson launched into his final promo song; they heard the door creak open and a three-year-old walk nervously up to Anderson. She was chewing on Dixie’s long ear so he knew she was apprehensive about something. They were still on air but there was no way he was going to ignore her.

“Dada…”

Anderson tried his best to signal to Glenn if there was anyway to cut them off air momentarily but Glenn shook his head in consolation.

“I need the bathroom.”

“Brianne will take you, baby.” he offered, trying his best to cover the mic attached to his shirt with his hand.

Charlotte shook her head and inched closer to Anderson’s chair.

“I want you…”

Her dad sighed, not knowing what to do. Miranda had trained their daughter to be careful around strangers and he completely understood why she didn't want her assistance in something so private but with Miranda at home sick, he didn't know how it was going to work.

“Babe, you’re a girl —“

“Go in.” Glenn offered, the mic still on but he spoke in a hushed tone. “It’s an emergency.”

Anderson thanked him before pushing out his seat and lifting his nervous little girl onto his hip and carrying her out.

“Anderson will be back with us in a few.” Glenn informed his listeners. “Let’s go to a commercial break.”

Spotting the ladies’ bathroom, Anderson opened the door tentatively before walking in. He winced when he saw another two older women by the mirror fixing their make-up but they didn't look overly bothered.

“Your little girl is so pretty!!!” the older one of the two commented. “What’s your name, honey?”

“Charlotte.” she replied, looking up at her dad who simply smiled back.

“Like the princess?”

“She’s my princess.” Anderson quickly interjected, kissing her chubby cheek,

Charlotte giggled politely before Anderson locked the stall door behind them. As he leaned down onto the floor to be closer to Charlotte’s height - he helped her unbutton the front of her denim skirt before pulling her glittery tights down. Since the toilet was still way too big for someone of her stature, he helped her on as Charlotte looked up at him with exhausted eyes. He watched as they fluttered; she was always clingy when she was tired.

As he gripped her knees gently while his daughter did her business, part of him was thankful she was still young enough to want him there. He wanted to treasure these days before she grew up too fast and began keeping secrets from him. He loved her innocence and with another little girl on the way he prayed she was the same.

“All finished.” she yawned as she loosened the toilet paper in the holder.

When Anderson had checked she was dry and had secured her underwear and pulled her skirt back up, he attached Charlotte straight back onto his hip and unlocked the door. He was surprised to see the two older women still there, chatting. Walking Charlotte over to the sink, he bent his knees so that she could turn the tap on to give her hands a wash.

When he was sure Charlotte had washed them he led her over to the dryer. The little girl laughed hysterically at hot air blew onto her face and made both her and her daddy’s hair fly up. Anderson humored her, laughing along and messing up her hair with his hand.

“Daddy!!!” she laughed playfully before doing the same to him. “I’m telling mom!!”

Anderson jokingly patted her hair, putting her loose curls back into place. He knew Charlotte stuck to her word and a sick and pregnant Miranda was bound to overreact to their little joke so it wasn’t worth the risk.

Just as he was about to leave and head back to his interviews, he caught the two brunettes staring at him.

“I’m so sorry — my wife’s sick so I had to bring her to work with me and —“

“Oh, honey it’s not that!” one eased. “We’re staring because you’re so good with her!”

Anderson blushed, looking down at his daughter.

“She and your wife are lucky to have you.”

Charlotte nodded in agreement, her hands wrapping firmly around her dad’s neck as she brushed her cheek against his.

“Thanks.” he offered sheepishly.

Heading back out, Anderson took Charlotte back into the interview with him. He figured she could collect her drawings on the way out.

Glenn smiled hopefully when the pair walked in. He handed Anderson his guitar and turned the microphone back on, ready to start up.

As he launched into Satisfy Me, Glenn couldn't take his eyes off the mini version of the guest’s wife singing along on the bench at the side of the room. She sang the words to herself, her little body dancing on the seat as she tried her best to contain herself. The toddler knew every word and he was more than impressed.

He laughed when the curly-haired man finished and his team applauded him but no-one more so than Charlotte who was clapping her hands together proudly, bouncing on her butt in pride. She loved watching her parents sing but nothing impressed her more than when they played their guitars. Even at home when they would sit on their porch and Charlotte would sing along to the old country songs; she could never take her eyes off Anderson’s fingers as they strummed out the chords.

“That was so great!” Glenn complimented, standing up and shaking Anderson’s hand. “Thank you so much for coming in today!”

“Thanks for having me!”

“It’s no trouble!” he replied, watching as Anderson stalked over to the bench and took his little girl’s hand. His knees were bent and he didn't look at all comfortable but Charlotte’s tired face was unbelievably content gripping at her dad’s strong hard.

With his guitar back on his back and his little girl at his side, Anderson said his final goodbyes before heading out. He waited as Charlotte ran into the break room to pick up her drawings to take home to show him in the truck and Miranda once they were home.

“Make sure you come back!” the DJ insisted as he watched the pair walk out. “You can bring your other baby next time too. And tell that wife of yours I hope she feels better soon!”

Anderson agreed politely before he turned around with Charlotte and headed back down the long tunnel. With the pitter patter of her boots along the floor again, Anderson turned to her.

“I’m proud of you, babe. You did so good!”

“Thank you, daddy.” Charlotte smiled proudly but she knew she was always well behaved.

“You wanna go grab some pancakes?”

Charlotte’s face lit up and she tugged on his hand harder to show her enthusiasm.

“Can we take some home to mama and the baby?”

“Of course we can.”

[emilysn2019-blog]

We pick up from Part 1 of our What’s New in Kyoto, Japan post with more on temple construction, soda updates (including new Coke and Pepsi flavors), cool summer fun in northern Kyoto, and more. We’ll also share some ‘just for fun’ photos from this visit to Kyoto.

But first, we encountered a family of boar! If you’ve read our Fushimi Inari Shrine at Night post, you know this is not uncommon (and has happened to me before), but it’s no less surreal. Monkeys and boar sightings are becoming more frequent, or so it would seem based upon warning signs at various temples and other locations around Kyoto, especially in Higashiyama and Arashiyama.

Just before the Senbon Torii loop entrance, we heard a weird sound coming from behind a sub-shrine in a clearing. Upon looking over, we saw that it was a mother boar and 4-5 piglets. We were a pretty safe distance away, so I quickly fumbled for my camera to grab a photo. Unfortunately, it’s awful–and the mother and most piglets had already wandered off…

As much as I was tempted to peek around the corner to grab something better, wild boar in Japan are no joke. The last one I encountered sounded and looked like a monster, and caught me off-guard because it was literally separated only by the torii gates and me.

The mother here was about half the size and seemed comparatively “chill” but it still wasn’t worth risking. We hung back and waited for the remaining boar piglet to clear, gave them a bit of a buffer, and then proceeded up the Senbon Torii path.

On an amusing note, one of Fushimi Inari’s stray cats was in this area, and it was slowly creeping towards the last piglet before arbitrarily stopping to plop on the ground. I’m not sure what this cat planned on doing or why it wasn’t terrified of the boar, but even as a piglet, the boar was much larger than it.

If you’re looking for more “wildlife” photos, you’re in luck, as we saw some cats this trip:

That last one sneakily jumped up to inspect (and sit next to) our bags while we were distracted by the cat pictured above him. This is like the cat version of a group velociraptor attack.

Moving on to construction work happening around Kyoto’s temples…

Not really anything new to report here, but the work on Kiyomizudera Temple that’s slated to be completed in March 2020 remains ongoing.

We can’t wait for this to be finished. Kiyomizudera is a must-do regardless, but it’ll be nice to see the sprawling temple sans a giant warehouse.

On a more upbeat note, nearby Chionin Temple has made great strides in its similar multi-year refurbishment project. Here, the giant warehouse surrounding its main hall has been removed, revealing the finished product–at least, the exterior of it.

The interior is slated to reopen in May 2020, and other smaller-scale projects around the grounds should conclude at the same time. Chionin Temple is much more pleasant now, but there are still construction vehicles, workers, and noise up here. Nevertheless, seeing the main hall was a pleasant surprise and we also can’t wait for this complex to be devoid of construction.

North of Kyoto, Kuramadera Temple has entirely reopened following Typhoon Jebi. This area was hit hard by that storm, which caused the Kurama Fire Festival to be canceled, and took down train lines in the area, while also closing off portions of Kuramadera Temple.

While damage is still visible in the temple (and work is visible on the train ride up…and while walking around Kurama and Kibune), everything is once again accessible. This includes the walking path to Kibune.

This is more or less the story of Typhoon Jebi in and around Kyoto. We’ve noticed several other temples–too many to list–are still attempting to recover and repair damage from the storm. Most don’t have extensive devastation, but they do have some structures that were damaged during the typhoon.

Speaking of Kibune, we had an excellent time here eating at a few restaurants doing kawadoko, over-the-water dining.

In Kibune, ryotei have kawadoko patios lined up one after the other, and many of them serve summer specialties.

I didn’t keep count, but there are about a dozen or more ryotei in all. The best of these incorporate the flowing river, waterfalls, rocks, and other landscape elements into their kawadoko.

These are popular in summer for Kyotoites to escape from the heat.

Above is the most famous of these is Hirobun, which draws a wait measured in hours. We grabbed a reservation here and dined elsewhere while we waited.

Hirobun is well known for its nagashi somen, which are flowing noodles that you grab with chopsticks as they pass. Sarah called this one of her favorite experiences ever in Japan–it was definitely a ton of fun and we’d highly recommend it. (I’ll do a full post on it at some point.)

Another summer delicacy in Kyoto is the ayu sweetfish.

Kyoto anglers fish for these in the Kamo and Katsura Rivers, and the best-tasting (and fattiest) ones are caught this time of year. You eat the entire thing, head and all. If you can’t make it up to Kibune, Nishiki Market’s vendors also have delicious ayu that’ll only cost 400 yen or so.

Heading over to Northwest Kyoto for more temple updates…

Genkoan Temple is a modestly popular spot north of Golden Pavilion. It’s inexplicably closed until 2021, a fact we (and other visitors arriving on the same bus as us) didn’t learn until arriving at the temple.

Genkoan is famous for it two large windows. One is round and is called “The Window of Enlightenment.” Its square counterpart is called “The Window of Confusion,” with corners representing life, old age, illness, and death.

Genkoan is also known for its bloody ceiling of the main hall, which was made using floorboards from the disassembled Fushimi Castle. In 1600, this castle was besieged by enemies of future shogun, Tokugawa Ieyasu. The blood of the defenders was shed all over the castle floor, and subsequently installed as ceiling boards of five temples in Kyoto to honor them.

Kotoin is one of the most popular subtemples at the Daitokuji Temple complex, which is one of our top picks for Kyoto. It’s famous for the maple trees on its approach. It has been closed for the last couple of years due to ‘maintenance and seismic retrofit.’ (During which time it has, oddly, appeared in a nationwide advertising campaign for fall colors.)

It was originally supposed to reopen last year in June. That date slipped to October, just in time for the popular autumn travel season. That date was moved forward to this March, and is now slated to reopen in October 2019.

Early readers of the blog might recall our Cool Japanese Vending Machine Beverages and Cool Japanese Vending Machines: Drink 2 posts. In the “sequel” we promised more of these, but haven’t delivered.

In large part, this is because we’ve shifted most of our soda budget from vending machines to convenience and grocery stores.

Nevertheless, sometimes we still partake in the vending machine scene, and stumble upon something that needs to be shared.

In this case, it’s a cautionary tale: the 100 yen coffee pictured above is probably laced with rubbing alcohol, and should not be purchased under any circumstances. That “Best Tasting Coffee” tagline is a bold-faced lie.

At the other end of the spectrum, Pepsi and Coke continue to release interesting new beverages in Japan. At some point, I should do a post rounding up all the unique Coca-Cola and Pepsi options we’ve tried over the last few years.

Finally, some random photos from around Kyoto:

That wraps up our summer updates from Kyoto, Japan. If you’re planning a trip later this year or next, be sure to consult all of our regularly-updated resources (links below) for pretty much everything you need to know!

If you’re planning a trip to Japan that includes Kyoto, we recommend that you start by consulting our Ultimate Guide to Kyoto, Japan to plan all aspects of our vacation. You should also check out our other posts about Japan for ideas on other places to visit! 

Your Thoughts

Any thoughts about the latest developments in Kyoto? What about our wild boar encounter? Does summer in Kibune intrigue you? Would you try one of the ayu sweetfish? About about the unique flavors of Coke and Pepsi? Any topics you’d like to see us tackle in future posts about Japan? Any questions about what we’ve covered here? Does visiting this spot in Kyoto interest you? Hearing about your experiences—even when you disagree with us—is both interesting and helpful to other readers, so please share your thoughts below in the comments!

The post What’s New in Kyoto, Japan for 2019 – Part 2 appeared first on Travel Caffeine.

[alittle-re-in-ven-tion]

hey.... you got any.... fics???? *pokes head out of internet and makes awkwardly creepy face*

Hey there! Actually, I do *opens coat sneakily* rn I have something slightly based off of a convo @lord-of-potatoes and I had. Enjoy!

As long as he could remember, Evan hated gym class. He hated the sports and games they had to play, hated the anxiety of having to pick teams (surprise: he was usually among the last few), hated how uncoordinated gym made him look, and he hated the uniforms. But most of all, Evan especially hated having to change in the locker rooms. Or, god forbid, use the public showers. Evan avoided them like the plague. So when Evan reached junior year, he opted out of gym class as soon as possible. (Jared, of course, continued taking it, on the excuse that he had to maintain his record as champion of capture the flag.) Evan had never been a very body positive person, when he was younger he was lanky, all uncouth long limbs he couldn’t use quite right with no visible muscles anywhere. That didn’t change when he supposedly “grew into” his limbs, Evan still felt awkward and uncomfortable in his own skin. It didn’t change when summers of climbing trees and running and swimming gave him toned muscles in all the right places. It didn’t change when row after row of little white and red scars began to decorate his hipbone and upper thigh. Evan didn’t like changing in front of people, just as a general rule, and no one knew that better than Jared. So although Jared had a tendency to burst into rooms unannounced, he generally tried to knock when going over to Evan’s. This went out the window, however, when Jared got excited. Jared couldn’t remember what he was going to tell Evan, just that it was very important and very, very urgent. “Hansen!” Jared yelled, tearing into the room with laptop in hand, “You’ll never believe the idea that I– oh. OH!” Jared stopped, taking in Evan’s appearance. The poor boy looked like he had just gotten out of the shower and was about to change: his hair clumped together and wet droplets ran down towards his neck, a towel was wrapped around his waist, leaving his torso uncovered, shirt in hand as id he was about to put it on. “Uh, I’m so sorry, I’m just gonna–ah, wait out there and uh,” Jared stammered, clutching his laptop and backing out of the room. Evan grimaced and flushed as Jared left the room and pulled the door shut behind him. “Oh my GOD, keep it together Kleinman,” Jared scolded himself. “It’s just Evan, you’ve known him forever…” But since when had Evan looked like that?? Jared swore he would have noticed those toned abs and muscles had they been there before…the summer had definitely been good to Evan. “Maybe I should take up tree climbing,” Jared thought to himself, thinking of how Evan looked in– No. No, Evan was his best friend he was not about ruin one of his only friendships on some passing…thing. “Hey, you can, um come in now,” Evan said, opening his door out into the hallway. “Right, thanks,” Jared said, trying (and failing) not to make it awkward. He walked into the room and sat down on Evan’s bed. “So, you said you had an idea? For the anatomy project, I assume?” Evan supplied. “The anatomy project– OH YES RIGHT, that I had the idea for, ” Jared attempted to remember what it was. “Uh, I was thinking, ” Jared began, wracking his brain to try and remember what the idea was. A new one suddenly came to mind. “I was thinking that, because its a project on the muscles, we could, like, take a human model and paint the names of the muscles on the actual muscles.” Jared paused. “For, y'know, easy visualization and whatever.” He finished lamely. “Okay, that sounds kinda cool, but who are we…” Evan trailed off, turning to meet Jared’s gaze. Jared raised his eyebrows slightly and nodded towards Evan. “No, absolutely not, I’m not being the model.” Evan protested. “Come on, you’ll be great!” Jared encouraged. “No. Why can’t you do it? O-or, we could get someone else…” Evan trailed off. “Well, first of all, I don’t know if you noticed but your muscles are bit more pronounced than mine, as climbing trees and shit tends to be more physically strenuous than gaming. Second, have you forgotten how bad you are with paint?? You/ve gotta remember the Great Painting Fiasco of Sophomore Year–” “Hey, Jackson Pollocks are hard to be neat with!” Evan interjected. “–and third, who would you have do it? Our entire anatomy class is already paired up, so its just you and me buddy. Whaddya say?” “…Fine,” Evan conceded with a pained expression, “But I’m going to hold this against you.” “Oh, i sure hope you do” Jared replied with a smirk. “It’ll be just like that scene from titanic, y'know, ‘oh Leo DiCaprio, paint me like one of your french girlss!” Jared drawled with an exaggerated falsetto, reclining back to imitate the iconic position. Evan blushed scarlet. “How about I come by tomorrow with the paint and we do it then? I can start with one side and then do the other once it dries.” “A-alright,” Evan agreed, “My mom is working late as usual tomorrow, so we’ll have the house to ourselves.” Evan paused, drawing in breath. “What, ah, w-what should I wear?” “Probably just like, a pair of shorts,” Jared replied, swallowing the urge to simply say ‘nothing’. ~~~~~~~ “Hey, Evan, I’m here,” Jared knocked on Evan’s door the next day, balancing a tray of paints on his arm. “Oh, yeah, come on in,” Evan called from inside as Jared pushed open his door. Evan was perched on the edge of his bed, scrolling through his phone with a bored expression. He was wearing a faded t-shirt with words Jared couldn’t quite make out and a pair of shorts so short any girl who wore them would have been dress coded. “I, uh, brought the stuff,” Jared declared, setting the paints down gently on Evan’s desk and pulling newspapers, an assortment of brushes, and his laptop out of his backpack. “How do you want me?” Evan asked, setting his phone down and sliding off the bed. Jared’s mouth went dry. “Uh, I was thinking we could lay the newspaper on the floor in case of drips, and I can paint you standing up or laying down, whichever one is easier,” Jared responded in a rush. “Standing up might be easier,” Evan decided after a moment. “So, do you want to pull up the chart and get all the paints ready, and I can lay out the newspaper?” “Yea sure, sounds great.” Jared said, busying himself with getting the muscle diagram and stirring all the paints. When he turned back around to face Evan, he was standing shirtless on the newspaper, arms hugging his sides and and a blush creeping across his cheeks and down his torso. Jared took a deep breath. “Okay, let’s begin.” Jared pulled Evan’s arms open, pleading them out perpendicular to his torso. Evan, much to his chagrin, was surprisingly pliant. Jared started with the little muscles on the hands, then the muscles on his lower and upper arms, coming back to the torso after. Evan shivered as the brush ran down his side. “It’s cold,” Evan breathed, goose bumps breaking out across hid arms and legs. “I bet,” Jared responded. “Luckily for you, I only have to finish doing the abs and where they connect to the hip, so you’re almost– done.” Jared said, glancing down at a spot on Evan’s hip where the skin felt uneven. Upon closer inspection, Jared could make out rows of faint white lines, too orderly to be accidental. “Evan, are these–?” Jared began, running his thumb over a scar as he looked up at Evan from where he’d been painting on his knees on the floor. “They’re not, I mean they are, b-but not recently, I haven't–, not for a while, anyway, I’ve been– g-getting better,” Evan stammered. “I–I’m not proud,” Jared shushed him by pressing a kiss to the scars. “We’ve all done things we’re not proud of.” Evan’s breath hitched in his throat as Jared pressed another kiss to the area, then slowly began working his way up, careful not to mess up his work. “Jared,” Evan sighed as Jared mouthed at his neck. “We really need, n–need to, oh, work on this project, I–ah, don’t want to mess up your work, Jared–!” Evan stumbled over his words. Jared pulled away, looking Evan over. “You are completely right, and for once I hate that you’re right, so lets finish this up and then,” Jared continued, pressing a hard kiss to the spot behind Evan’s ear, a promise of what was to come.

[shipsbcshesdiabetic]

Chapter 34

Wednesday, June Seventh, Two Thousand Seventeen, 9:00am- Sunshine Foods

It’s amazing how fast shit gets fucked up. In all actuality, it happens slowly, sneakily building and building until the unnoticeable traces of it suddenly explode around you, and in that moment, you finally realize that you never actually sensed any of it until you’re in that one singularity. In one moment, you’re on cloud 9, and in the next, you have no money, no fallback, and all you can feel is the sense of dread that comes with watching your friend roll a stolen turkey across a busy road to you.

Wide eyed with hunger and fear, Kirsten carefully rolls the frozen bird over the edge of the sidewalk, giving it one last good shove so it’ll have a greater shot of making it across the three lanes of busy traffic. I stand at the other side, waiting and ready to catch it. A white truck passes the lane closest to Kirsten, but it doesn’t matter because the turkey is rolling through the middle lane. This must be what football is like for people who care about football. Right as it reaches the right lane, it just… stops.

I lock eyes with Kirsten. I dart out into the road to get it, but just before I can wrap my arms around the freezing, slippery packaging, a huge truck screams as the driver applies the brakes. I spring backwards by instinct, panicking, thrown by my own stupidity. The 18 wheeler jolts very slightly into the air and speeds up. The driver slams his hand down on the horn as he leaves the scene. After the frenzy clears itself from my mind, I spot the turkey, which is now pressed flat into the road. Red spires of shock move up from it and into me.

Once it seems safe to do so, Kirsten helps me peel the mess of meat and plastic off the road. It comes up with a sickening smack. Grimacing, she drapes the pancake over an arm. The juices drip onto the grass. I get into the truck and look out the front window with my eyebrows raised, not even having enough sense to close my door. I’m still processing it all. Seizing her opportunity, Kirsten dumps the flattened bird into my arms. I hug it close, crossing my arms over it. Kirsten struggles to shut the door as she drives away.

 Welcome to North Dakota

The Peace Garden State

 After unbuckling my seatbelt to get in a better position, I hold the turkey at the edges as Kirsten draws circles on the underside of it with her lighter. The strangest sensation of needing to eat while needing to vomit in disgust twists my throat. My arms grow heavier and heavier. It’s dense like a rock, and the stone grows into my body.

“We need to steal something else. This is shit,” Kirsten says, turning the flame off.

I toss the warm, raw meat onto the dash so it has at least the slightest bit of a chance to cook. It might give us food poisoning if we try to eat it later, but at this point, that’ll be the icing on the cake. I’ve thrown up and seen throw up so much that it’s just another regular process.

“Thank god for our lipstick collection, am I right?” I comment, picking up a pink one with golden packaging. I uncap it and stare at it, trying to convince myself to not bite into it.

“I don’t know where we’d be without it.”

I bite into it, my tongue immediately rejecting it. I hang my head out the window and let it fall out of my mouth. I’m an idiot. I watch it slowly crawl away in the grass as Kirsten pulls back onto the road. I don’t understand why I’m so hungry when we ate yesterday. It’s probably because I’m used to eating three solid meals every day, and I’ve never gone without anything like this before.

Even now that we’re in a condition as stupid and poor as this one, my subconscious belongs to her. Over a thousand miles away, billions of synapses away, and she’s still living in my heart. My love does last. I cannot bear it.

“Should we take a bag of dog food?” Kirsten asks, slapping her hand onto the biggest one.

I suddenly find myself standing in the pet aisle of a very large, well-lit farm supply store. I blink several times to adjust to the light. “Sure. Why though?”

“I hate stealing,” Kirsten admits. What she doesn’t say is that we only deserve to eat animal food, and that’s why she picked this place. I think I agree.

“Me too.”

We stand awkwardly still, staring at each other with self-pity in our eyes, waiting for the other one to pick a bag. Kirsten frowns and her eyes widen.

“Fine,” I say. I randomly pick one. “This one helps your pets keep their coats shiny. Whatever the fuck that means.” I throw my hands out to the sides and spin around.

She sighs and looks up. “Should we get cat food? I think it has more nutrients in it. It’s also easier to carry because it comes in a smaller container.”

I walk over, focusing on the bag she pointed out so I don’t have to look at all the dogs and cats on all the packages staring at us judgingly. “It has taurine,” I say, trying to find something positive about any of this.

“What does that do?”

“…I don’t know. Let’s stick to the dog section.”

We eventually settle on a thirty-five pounder with natural and artificial beef flavoring. Ten dollars, but that doesn’t matter anymore. Kirsten bends over in an L shape and puts her half on top of her back, gripping it tightly at the sides. I lift up my end and put it on my shoulders. We look like we’re in one of those weird two-person horse costumes. We slip out of the employee exit, struggling to keep ourselves in one piece. Kirsten unlocks the door, dropping the bag in the process. Rubbing her back, she helps me heave it in the space in between our seats. Once the bag settles itself in, we notice that we each only have half of our original seat space. We shrug and get in.

“I want to eat something else,” I complain fruitlessly.

“I hope you like eating dirt, then,” Kirsten says, ripping open the bag at the image of the golden retriever’s snout. She selects one pebble and eats it. “You know… it’s not horrible.”

I pick up a handful and look at it for a while. It falls from my fingers back into the bag. I’m suddenly not so hungry anymore. A different emptiness violates me. She’s not here. But, in a deeper way, she is. It’s powerful, like I could see her again if I’d just turn around. If I could just gain the courage to say her name out loud.

I never could have guessed that what we had was so flimsy. It didn’t make any sense until yesterday. It still doesn’t make much sense at all. It was like a secret that felt as solid and as final as a law, as unmovable as the fixed stars that live on the firmament. It’s so expansive that life itself does not understand, yet it was born of consciousness. The air we breathed was supplied by an entity greater than any calculable thing. It gave every discordant force in our sphere an ultimatum- kill us, or let us fester alone. It’s a wonder that something so quiet and tender could cause such a pain- a pain that inspires its keepers to lay down their life and the lives of others for just one more butterfly. It was like I’d end if it ever stopped. And yet, no one approved. Love her, or die. Love, and die. It has all the workings of a tragic Shakespeare play, except instead of dying a romantic death, Romeo’s in North Dakota eating dog food.

Swords drawn bring forth my bleeding heart and expose it to the morning light. I’m in an ancient Verona fighting for a deadened love without armor and without skin, yelling at enemies that don’t exist in a drizzle of illuminated rain. I’m slashing at the air, desperate to sever the lines dividing me from her. In turn, deep lines appear in my flesh. I don’t bleed because I shouldn’t. I live and fight because I don’t want to do anything else, and I don’t know how to do anything else. This resolve cauterizes my lifeblood. The silver of my sword briefly sends righteous light into my eyes. My muscles taut with anticipation, insufficiencies rip up what lies within my ribcage, sending pure, red guilt simmering with the heat of my instability. I walk the streets proudly, waiting for anyone who might dare to take her away from me for good. My veins dare my enemies to slash at them again and again. The rain lightens up. I focus on a random raindrop. To me, it’s the past, present, future, unseen forces, things that were, and the things that will never be. It hits the tip of my sword, covering me in dry blood.

She isn’t going to make my day ever again. She’s not going to show up with a bouquet of flowers, another $1000, and a portable oven for our turkey disk. It would be great if she’d do that, though. But she won’t. I have to accept it and move the hell on. I promised myself that I would never return. Nonetheless, my stream of consciousness keeps diverting to that channel. The phone call changed the wiring of my brain. She changed me. Again. In a matter of moments. The scale in mind keeps tilting back and forth from being aware of my surroundings and being aware of a past I should forget about. The chalices weigh heavily, taking the place of my brain. They are filled with lead and poisoned honey, each cup fighting for the honor of being the most burdensome. Both are thick and dark and equally vile, but one tastes better. I want to beat my head against a fucking wall.

I scoop a handful of dog food out of the bag and start tossing the kibble, one by one, into my mouth. I cry in Beatrice’s arms while we smoke weed in the bathroom. Kirsten yells at me for spilling my handful of dog food. Beatrice gives me a present covered in golden wrapping paper for my birthday. I pick the dog food up off the floorboard. Beatrice shows up to pick me up in the middle of the night for the billionth time. I eat the spilled dog food. Beatrice and I walk into the ballroom. Dog food, and I’m stupid. I hold Beatrice’s hand while she talks about getting rejected from her dream college. Dog food. Beatrice and I look at the stars. Dog food.

I start to feel worse and worse about myself as the memories collect together. Why can’t I let it down the drain? Why must I let myself suffer? Why can’t I kill the affection trapped in my arms and chest? The screen I unwillingly watch keeps dividing, splitting into two memories, then four, then eight, then sixteen, and so on. All the feelings flood out of me. My throat closes up and I clench the contents in my fist. Within the pixels, a bittersweet image shows up- the underlying, the ultimate. I stop eating and rest my head back. The pixels shine in the quiet like candles in a chapel.

 Part I

I stare blankly at a blank gray wall in my room, thinking about what I’m about to do. Dancing on the paint, the light from my window buzzes in my eyes. I know what I’m doing, but I don’t know what I’m doing. I stop sitting in my bed and pace around, badly hunched over. I finished writing a letter to her recently. I’ve been spending all of today preparing myself for what’s next. I know it isn’t going to go well, but I have to try anyway. I don’t think I’d ever be able to forgive myself if I didn’t.

           I had no idea of what to say until very recently. What I had wasn’t a letter so much as a random mess of pain, anger, citations from papers, disrespect, tidbits from blogs, and general stupidity. I was planning a war with the world. Post-it notes were all over my room. It had the energy of a conspiracy theorist trying to prove that George Washington killed JFK and did 9/11. It was so caustic. So I tore it all down. And I wrote a different letter with no notes. No plan. No structure. I started writing it yesterday at 2am, and I didn’t stop until 7am.

She’s a vector of truth. Something fundamentally calming and simple resides within her. When I stepped back and thought about her, the writer’s block unfurled. It was like nothing and everything made sense at the same time. And that’s what I needed. Returning to reality, I find myself standing with my back pressed against a wall. I open my eyes wide and breathe in because I had forgotten to. It falters in the middle of the intake. My reflection looks at me.

And with that, I pick up the piece of paper and walk out my door, down the hall, out the front door, and along the road.

              Once Kirsten pulls up to a laundromat adjacent to an RV park, we dig through our crap to find all our unwashed clothes. I lift up the base of my shirt. It smells like a sweating, rotting thing. I take my dress into the laundromat with me and change into it in the bathroom because it smells the “best”. It has a giant scorch mark on the front, but it doesn’t matter, because I’m only going to wear it for an hour. We really should have washed our clothes ages ago.

           Kirsten emerges from her stall wearing her off-white wife beater and baggy jeans. No leather jacket. A woman gives us a dollar after watching us scour the floor for loose change. We thank her. I hold the bill in my hand, feeling feathery, but that subsides once I remember everything. Now it feels less like being on the receiving end of an act of kindness and more like I sucked money from someone who needed it too. Kirsten puts the bill in a washer and lumps all our clothes into it. It moves slightly from side to side, clanking against the dryer underneath it.

           Kirsten and I look at each other. We remain silent. We agreed earlier that we shouldn’t talk at all today unless it’s absolutely necessary. It’s too hot to talk. There’s also nothing to say.

           My hands and feet feel heavy and enlarged with the excess heat in the building. There isn’t an AC or even a fan. Just vents at the top. I sit on a brown chair with stuffing coming out of the seat, letting my forehead rest against the tan-yellow wall. It probably has all the germs in the world. My muscles shift against my will as if I’ve been swimming for hours.

I’m not sure if I miss money or if I miss when I brushed my hair and cared about others. I’m mentally drained. My forehead wrinkles against the marginally colder wall. I put my legs forward slightly so I can balance myself well enough to fall asleep. A vent from another room gently whispers into me. I wilt. I breathe slowly in and out, focusing only on the hot hair blowing on my legs.

  Part II

           I stand in the bushes near the road’s intersection, trying to figure out how I’m going to cross the highway. The road I was on is perpendicular to it, so I might just stand behind the traffic light and run with the cars. Being able to drive would have made this process a lot easier, but since I failed my driver’s test a few weeks ago, that simply isn’t possible. I couldn’t parallel park, and I have to go back once I think I can safely do so.

           I dart out into the road once it seems safe and stand between two cars waiting for the green light. Something in me tells me to quit, but I shove it aside and wrestle it to the ground. This fear is disgustingly human, and I am doing this for a reason greater than most others. A driver yells at me. I turn around and flip the bird.

           Enamored with my own determination, I passively watch the cars race through the main thoroughfare with a big, dumb smile on my face. Revelations about existence spill around me as the smell of diesel and the vibe of impatient cars fills in every edge of me. Complete lack of safety can feel like the safest thing ever. The realization that I am not her other half rushes in. There was never any room for me. I am one of two dyadic wholes. That’s why I’m capable of this. I don’t die with her. Her philosophy returns. People are so scared of existing. People are so scared of talking. People are so scared of thinking. Maybe she’s projecting.

A spring breeze injects my edges with a delirious sense of hope; it’s as if I’m levitating ever so slightly off the ground. It’s a shock of purity that arrives after not feeling that kind of air for a year, for a lifetime. Endless particles with endless variables ricochet off each other, building invisible connective structures. Dominos fall and rise. Anything is possible. The awesome feeling ends. I’m just me.

The light turns green, and I run.

  “Fucking machine,” Kirsten grunts, beating on the glass door of the washer. She pulls up her sagging shorts.

I stand immediately, recoiling upon sensing the crick in my neck. My back doesn’t feel great either. I watch her slam on the washer’s door until something pops. The sound hits something in my ears, making me feel funny. She opens it. Right after she scoops out wet clothes, the door falls off by the hinges and spins like a quarter until it lies still on the dirty floor.

“We’re leaving now.”

We drape the clothes out over our other stuff in the back. It looks like we’re trying and failing to conceal something weird.

Kirsten finds herself pulling into a gas station. We don’t have the money for gas anymore, no matter how desperately we might need it. After a few ear-ringing moments of silence, Kirsten runs out and slams the door. She’s probably going off somewhere to cry.

It’s too hot to stay in the truck, even with the shade from the gas station. I climb out and sit on a bench next to a ten-year-old boy with a half-eaten orange pop. I stare at the spots of flattened, darkened gum on the white asphalt. My mind travels again.

“I hate women,” I sigh.

He just stares at me, his eyes turning into pools of wonder in his pudgy, tanned face. He goes back to biting into the pop.

“They’re too damn confusing. And it’s not even their fault. There’s something about the sheer beauty of a pretty girl that screws with your mind. You end up believing whatever you want to believe, but you also don’t dare to believe. There’s something so incredible about the touch of a woman. It’s easy to see why a lot of songs are about romance and youth… art is the only outlet for such complex things. Don’t you agree?”

He belches.

I’m too impassioned to see straight. The parked cars turn into dizzy lines. “My girl… well, she isn’t my girl anymore. Not really. And that’s the problem, I guess. I think about her all the time. I want to return to her and make everything okay again, but I feel as though trying to do so would be a deep betrayal of the opportunities I have been given.” I stand and pace, wringing out my hand. “No choice is a good one. No matter what side the coin lands on, the other side is still dark. It’s like… do you listen to your heart despite its logical fallacies, or do you listen to your head despite the fact that it has its own set of fallacies?” I gesture through my monologue.

Kirsten carrying a used straw from the trash comes into my view. She blows through it, sending thick strings and droplets of leftover milkshake onto her pants and the parking lot. My stomach cringes. She makes eye contact with a mother filling her car with gas. Unperturbed by the audience, she walks over and sticks the straw into the tank and sips in a bit of it. My jaw drops. The woman swears and tries to slap her away. Kirsten runs over to our truck, accidentally letting the fluid in the straw drip back into her mouth. She makes a sick face and spits it out all over the white concrete. The woman is still yelling.

           “It was nice talking to you,” I say without looking at him. I roll up onto my feet and start walking toward the truck to leave.

Not many interesting things have happened today. I spotted a Prius with truck nuts on the drive over. That was cool, I guess. But the more I think about it, the more I believe that I don’t really want to have anything to do with interesting things. I’m all mellowed out and drained. I’ve retired. In fact, anything completely out of the ordinary would throw me. Today’s me would hate yesterday’s me. In all honesty, I could probably come up with a few good ideas if I really wanted to. Right now, I just want to make sure that I can still successfully exist.

 Part III

I breathe in and out slowly, trying to maintain my cool. I carefully put my finger on the worn doorbell and press it in. I’m definitely doing the right thing.

I don’t care about the bad consequences that could stem from this. There’s a big difference between a good Bad Consequence and a bad Bad Consequence. A bad Bad Consequence is dying from doing something excessively stupid. A good Bad Consequence of this is that I might live too much. I have no self-doubts in this glorious moment. I look at the paper in my hand.

I hear her footsteps storm toward the door. I can tell it’s her. Something strange creeps up in me. She opens the door.

What the shit what the fuck what in the goddamn fuck what sorry shit God I fucking wish things were simple still but fuck me God fucking damn it fuck goodnight. I’m a fucking idiot loser shit pile.

Barbed wires become me. A “what is wrong with you” expression dances on her crestfallen face, as if she opened some long-awaited package and found severed limbs. My eyes widen with the realization of how stupid this actually is. My emotions go haywire when I realize that I don’t know how I feel about her now or even who she is. Her label is a balancing act between The Girl Who Hurt Me and The Girl I Love. It screws with me. Hot and cold waves wrack my body as I stare deeper into her eyes. It’s hard to feel safe when there are walls within her pupils waiting to shut me out again. Her image flips back and forth between being heavenly and devilish.

It’s then when I realize that she’s just a girl. Just a person.

And I’m just a moron. In fact,

I am a crazy bitch.

Maybe I need to write it on a piece of paper and staple it to my forehead for me to learn.

“Are you going to speak?”

“Maybe eventually,” I squeak. I wish I could have been cooler with that.

  I watch the gas as Kirsten continues to drive toward Canada. I can’t believe it, but we might actually get there all in one piece. Rolling hills, marshes, and trees come into view.

Turtle Mountain Scenic Byway

We decide to stop outside of a hotel to see if there’s any complementary coffee. It seems upscale. As soon as we enter, a lady at the front desk tells Kirsten to cover her shoulders more if she wants to be in here. We look at each other. Kirsten goes out to the truck and comes back with the giant yellow sweater we bought at the mall. It’s like a giant sheet of tinsel that swallows her neck and goes down a foot past her knees. She smiles sarcastically at the lady and drinks the coffee. Crinkling the empty cup in her hand, she travels to the trash can by the staircase, observing it for a concerning amount of time. I slowly walk up to her.

“I want to cook the turkey,” Kirsten states.

“So do I, but that’s just not happening. It’s not possible.”

She turns around with a bad idea trapped in her brain. “Well, if I set it on fire, it would cook, right?” Her hands are on her hips. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her without her arms rigidly at her sides.

“Well…”

“We’re setting this bitch on fire,” she decides.

I guess the punishment fits the crime.

We take the hotel’s trash can without saying anything, leaving the bag. It’s a giant dark gray one that is as tall as me minus my head. We could cook a dead, flattened cow in here. We toss it in the back and find another river to set our literal dumpster fire beside. A muddy one with a quick current comes into view. Kirsten sets the can next to the bank and fetches the turkey. Holding it over the opening, she puts her lighter up to it, praying for it to light. A sizable chunk falls into the base of it. Kirsten rips up a fistful of grass and tries that. I go to the truck, get our sunglasses, and hand her a pair.

“For protection,” I say.

She shrugs and takes it. I peek over and watch as the flames consume the grass. A turkey disk flies past my left ear and clunks against the bottom. It finally catches. We stand back at a safe distance and wait for our food. Soon enough, as expected, something decides to go horrifically wrong. The fire begins to react badly to the plastic. Thick smoke billows out of the top as it crackles madly. Flames shoot out from the top, illuminating every single fiber of tinsel on Kirsten’s golden sweater. The fire reaches several feet above the rim. I recoil before braving kicking it into the river. At least we were smart enough to anticipate needing to do that.

After the fire dies and the can gets swept away in the current, Kirsten and I look at each other, horrified. We plunge into the murky water, scrambling to get the turkey back. Thick mud sucks the bottoms of my flip flops with every step. I lift my legs with twice as much force as I normally would, which gives the impression that I have a really bad wedgie. Kirsten is no more graceful. We slog our way to where the trash can caught itself on a branch in a slower, shallower section. Kirsten flings the floating trashcan toward her, only to find nothing inside. She panics and starts raking the bottom of the river with her hands. I do the same, trying to squint through it. It’s exactly like trying to see the bottom of a glass of chocolate milk. I’m covered to my waist in a film of mud and leaf particles.

My hand grips a chunk of turkey. Thrilled, I tear off the tire-marked plastic and chisel away at the charred part. It’s soaked through. It apparently has a burnt layer, a thin cooked layer, and a raw layer. I do the best I can to get the good parts out of it before tossing it way out into the other side of the river. Kirsten finds a piece of her own and eats it like a dog.

Something fleshy hits the back of my hand. I eagerly grab it and bring it up to me. The image hits my brain, and something within me shuts down. It’s sickly pink. And veiny, and cylindrical, and flaccid, and weirdly tapered off at the ends. As it regurgitates more lake liquid out, it droops even further, causing it to curl and stick around my hand. My eyes cross as I notice all the angry flies and other insects buzzing over the surface.

Oh no.

Kirsten looks at me, pauses and stands still, and drops the desecrated leg and lets everything she was chewing out of her mouth. I examine it from different angles, not daring to believe. I don’t know why I’m waiting so long to toss it back into the abyss.

Kirsten stutters. “I think it’s… um. I think it’s a part of the turkey. The neck part.”

I stare at it. “Are we certain of this?”

I toss it back anyway. Even though I’m 90% sure that it’s just a neck, I’m not taking any chances. My hands sift through the murky water in search of more burnt turkey, shivers going through my spine. I find another piece and tear away the bad sections. I carefully bite into the soggy cooked part, careful to not let my mouth touch the remaining raw portion. Out of nowhere, Kirsten kicks a wave of brown onto my back. I’m sure she just did that to start some shit. Hopeless and angry, I swipe water toward her, soaking her front. Mud, water, and flies obscure my vision. The foul water violates my mouth as I toss more fistfuls of crap. The sound of rocky mud hitting the side of my face echoes in my ears.

  Part IV

           My legs stiffen as I fully realize that I’m standing in the doorway of her bedroom, saying nothing. I look at the piece of paper in my hand. “I’ve written you a letter,” I say, stating the obvious.

           Beatrice doesn’t respond. She just keeps sitting on the edge of her bed, waiting for me to explain, leave, or die where I stand. I can’t tell what she’s thinking. She mostly just looks blank. She finally raises her eyebrows as if I’m an embarrassment to myself.

I look down at the print and think about what it says. My heart is empty of all of it. This was all stupid. Watching her act all dejected tears everything out of me. “This is… weird. I’ve come this far, so… um… so… I,” I pause. “I think I should just say what I was going to say. I’m sorry if this turns out to be weirder than it already is,” I apologize exasperatedly. A breath shudders into my floppy lungs.

It’s currently two in the morning, and I’m sitting on my floor writing this letter to you because I’ve finally made a decision. In situations like these, it seems as though there are no good solutions or ways to move forward. Letting you go is probably the right thing to do, but it also seems like the worst thing I could possibly do. You’ve grown to mean a lot to me, and I don’t think I could ever forgive myself if I didn’t try to show you what you’ve shown me. I hope you like the letter, and I hope that I do too, because I have no idea of what I’m going to say yet.

I can’t get it out of my head that we were meant to be. The force that made God surely made that. The fact that the girl who taught me to love without fear fears the way she loves is nothing short of a tragedy. Religion is meant to be a solace from pain and a tool for self-improvement and salvation- not something that destroys the soul. To “fear God” is not to praise a force that loves conditionally and is ready to beat you into submission at a moment’s notice. We were not made to cower and wrap ourselves tightly in a box in order to avoid eternal damnation from a disapproving force that doesn’t understand. To fear God is to be in awe of God. To fear God is to marvel at how such an infinite love could possibly exist, a love beyond what the human mind could possibly comprehend. To fear God is to never fear anything again. I am not afraid of you. I do not fear your fears.

The wrong kind of fear breeds actions that are against the core of religion. This form of strict adherence causes parents to kick out their children and makes those children kill themselves. It is fruitless. Religion becomes a checklist rather than a source of salvation. But where are the people who demand women to sacrifice two doves at the end of each menstrual cycle? I do not know. Very few, if any, people avoid picking and choosing what in the Bible they should follow, and because of this, we are saved. Kill nonbelievers. Stone young girls if they cannot prove their virginity. Women cannot speak in church. Sacrifice God’s creatures to atone for your sins. Women are property. It’s okay to whip your slaves. The writers of the word of God could not help but be influenced by the surrounding truths in the culture they were brought up in. These injustices were truths as old and as solid as the knowledge that the sun would rise in the morning. Women are dogs, animals burn, and the sky is blue. Today, in this millennium, the sky is blue, and I’m not ever giving up.

What is destroyed by religion can be mended with religion. The Bible seemed to show that slavery is natural, but those in bondage read other lines and let their faith carry them and their descendants into a more just world. Countless wars started in the name of God, but those who walk with God walk in peace. Even thousands of years ago, the rigidity of the powerful religious stripped people of their personhood for so much as picking food on the Sabbath. Jesus ate grains and forgave. God takes care of the forgotten, the unpopular, the powerless, always. Faith embraces all who have it.

Others may not accept us, but all of them pale in comparison to God. There is no male or female in His eyes. He cannot see anything other than our connected souls. In His hands, no one can tell us that we are abominations. No one can make you hate who you are. We are not freaks. Was God wrong for making you this way? It is no test; God is not a trickster. Repressing your feelings will not make you closer to Him. Not being you destroys you. You were meant to let yourself breathe. We have a place here. Kids don’t have families, and we can help them. The idea of you in pain over this hurts me as if you were a part of me. It breaks my heart. I will shield you and dry your tears if you’ll let me. I’ll tell you over and over that God wants you to feel safe. I want to help you feel safe.

To sin is to be without God, and by extension, without meaning. Vices provide temporary relief, but they will die with our bodies, and we will be dragged down along with those simple, empty pleasures we used as a crutch. Sin destroys us. It lies. It suppresses the light of God, ruins lives, and does the opposite of what we want it to do. Lust and gluttony satisfy the flesh, but never the soul. You can consume and consume and consume and find yourself lost in emptiness. It doesn’t stay. It never satisfies. Greed, wrath, and envy burn their host to the ground and stave away any hope of redemption. Pride’s keepers believe themselves to be too good for improvement, for openness. Pride is the treasure of the insecure.

I do not believe that what we have is infested with sin. This happiness feels whole, not empty or temporary. The truth blazes within you; it is not hideous and riddled with the deceit of evil. This feeling is not a lie. The way my heart is stitched to yours is not a lie. I’d have to be a fool to feel cursed. Tear out my brain, rip me limb for limb, kill desire, defeat pride, leave only my soul- and it still wants you. Even so, perhaps we really are abominations for some profoundly strange, arbitrary reason. This is something we cannot know. But this is what I do know. My feelings for you last beyond me. Beyond time itself. Heaven comes down to Earth when I’m with you. You expand my heart and mind beyond the brink. This truth overturns every stone and opens every door. Here I am, with you, in your hands, learning. Everything is complex and ceaselessly pours in. And yet, everything is simple. In this, I am made perfect. I am clean.

“Agape” is the unconditional love that God has for us. It wants nothing; it just is. It flows endlessly without question. Agape is what I have for everything that exists, for I am lucky enough to live here in the constant Now. These subtle forces that allow us to be here and breathe are surely a divine gift. This world is a reflection of God, my consciousness a reflection of His love. I see virtue in even the saddest and strangest of places. You, my dear, are a prism; God’s light refracts through you and ignites everything that can be perceived. You are the opposite of suppression. How can you be a vice if you bring me closer to the light? I’m ceaselessly inspired to love the world with all of me. This pours from me and begs me to do good rather than evil, or worst of all, nothing. This love is ancient and forever. Every place I go is a place I hold dear to me. It’s all heavenly. There are no vice-like pitfalls anywhere, and meaning is infused into all I do. I want to love, to share, to mend, to speak endlessly. I love you with this intensity. Agape.

There’s a character in To Kill a Mockingbird who believes that flowers and those who look at them are damned to hell because they’re pretty and distract from the glory of God. She reasons that beauty is a vice and that no one should enjoy it. That vision dictates that the purpose of humanity is to shun all the good things in life and to stay in a rigid line. If that is so, lock me in a box where I can never see another flower, never touch your face, never breathe. If that is what I am to be, I will stand there forever, beating on the walls, begging to be let into a fear-infused paradise where there is nothing but more lists of rules on a wall.

I believe that God is in the flowers. He is in them, and He is in my adoration of you. Too many people pray to the rules, not praying for love, not understanding that God prays for them to love. God prays to be understood. Flowers are not a refuge from the light; the light is in them. God is not some unreachable thing locked away in the heavens, separate from the world and its people. He is not some white dude sitting on a cloud waiting to smite you for eating pork. His love seeps from everything our senses can perceive.

I see God in the clouds. I see God in pain and in resilience and healing. I hear God during funerals. I feel God in my grandmother’s small church on Christmas Eve when everyone holds candles. I hear God in the old cars in our town when they struggle to start. I see God in homeless people and quiet streets. I feel God when we play music from The Cars in your car at night when no one else is there. I hear God in the streetlights that dance on your face. I see God in the kids that recklessly chase each other in the park. I see God when I talk to kind strangers. I see God in you.

You brighten all of these things. There are bits of you in all I experience. The elements on the periodic table don’t have shit on you. You unearth dimensions that you alone can access, dimensions where existence itself is its own grand purpose- depth within depth. I have been changed beyond comprehension. Even though you’re this brave force of perseverance that fears nothing and can make anyone smile, you’re also meek, gentle, and pure. You can do anything and make me believe in anything. You’re the crown of this world that you beautify.

Despite this, you don’t seem to know who you are. At all. When I look deeper into you, I see someone who is unwittingly full of contradictions- a hypocrite with a heart of gold. I see someone who loves everyone deeply and abhors herself with the same passion. You’re torn between letting yourself out or hiding away forever. You don’t know if you can afford to stop hating yourself. You don’t know if you’re brave enough to try. You’re selfless, yet you give yourself nothing. You are wise beyond your years, but you are unsure if your logic is a delusion. You exude peace, but your mind, heart, and soul take part in a daily bloodbath. You want to be good. You don’t know if you should stop caring or care too much. You’re always in pieces, and you’re always fighting those fragments that make you who you are. These things build up.  They build up until you’re lost in the frenzy of a whirlwind. You’re stretched thin across a continuum of uncertainty, false hope, and second-guesses. In those times, you don’t seem to be any one figure. You can’t make up your mind about who you are supposed to be. I think it’s because you’re everything, infinitely.

“I can see you clearly now,” I say into the light.

Her eyes are wide and dewy. I smile at her because I feel the same as I had when it all began. My heart has been restored. I have her again. Her angelic presence renews me. Our souls separate from our flesh and refract into a singular heavenly globe with us in the middle. The golden light warms as I slowly reach my hand out towards hers. The heavens above open for us. No longer star crossed, the warring and bleeding constellations uncross and file back into their order, further blending our lines together. Old grudges, hatreds, and ways within us and outside us melt away with our enlightened love. No one can ever take this away from us again. Everything that seeks to deaden and choke us out has no power over this anymore. We’re immovable. She grabs my hand after I extend it all the way. The saintly outpour of emotion solidifies as our fingers interlock into an unchangeable bond.

I want to keep you close to me. I want us to keep being there for each other during our lives on Earth and beyond as we rest in death among the stars. I want you to be the one part of my life that doesn’t move. If I had to pick and choose one part of the Bible to follow blindly, it wouldn’t be verse banning tattoos, the one that hates shrimp, or even the one that vilifies clothes made from several different types of string. There’s a part in Corinthians that I happen to like the most out of everything I’ve read so far. It says that signs of worship do not mean anything without love. Giving the world everything is an empty act if you do not have it. Love is the foundation of religion, and in its absence, religion is a farce- almost a sin in and of itself. Love never falters; it is the only true constant. As the world keeps going through the spiraling path of the future, all of these things that we hold dear will pass away. Our bodies will rot, and civilizations will crumble as if they were nothing. Science will grow and diminish, songs will be deleted from the canals of history, and the concept of music itself will cease. Fleeting hateful thoughts will fade out into nonexistence. Inventions and human glory will die. New religions with new books and new rules will rise and sink back into the dirt, and the people of the future and their cultures will forever remain in a state of change. And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love.

  A quiet epiphany overtakes me as I come to and watch myself stew in this low point. In the silence, I feel the four tires moving under me and blank again. I barely smell the stale cough of the air conditioner. I barely feel the caking layer of mud that saturates me from my feet to just below my lips. I barely know that I’m being dumb by letting this truck take me farther and farther from her. This quiet state of wonder, this beautiful space between pain and redemption consumes me in a bath of enlightenment. I have not been blessed with true consciousness until now. I was plopped into existence only moments ago to find myself inhabiting a teenage girl who is running away with a bad friend. A grand possibility that I never could have dreamt of until now puts my sparks back in me. I look down at myself and around the interior of the vehicle as if I am seeing the world for the first time. Peace dulls my senses. I close my eyes and inhale sharply. Everything is so easy. In this nothing, I am overcome with great emotion- more than I’ve ever felt before.

“I want to go home,” I say quietly, earnestly.

“What a shame.”

“I’m not kidding. I mean it, Kirsten. I want to go home, right now.”

She sighs and puts her other palm on the wheel. “Why the fuck would you want to go back, especially now since we’re so close to what we’ve been moving toward? The answer is no. I am not turning around on a stupid whim.”

“I have to see Beatrice.”

She gives me a quick, incredulous look. “Why do you have to see Beatrice?”

“I need to talk to her. I think I can fix things,” I say, my breath heavy with my thickening resolve.

“She doesn’t like you. She probably never really did. That’s why she ditched you. You need to get the fuck over it. You were the one that begged me to go on this stupid fucking trip anyway.”

“Haven’t you ever been in love before?”

Her face hardens.

“I bet you haven’t. I’ve known you for a while. You can’t even pretend to love anything. You don’t understand anything about it because you’ve never felt it.” Vitriol fires me up and flies out with every word.

“I damn well understand enough to know when it is and isn’t there. You didn’t even know how to talk to her. And all the better too, because when I saw you two together, it was her talking endlessly and ignoring you and you saying nothing at all. She never shuts the fuck up. And you don’t know how the fuck to breathe. And both of you are real piles of shit for it. You’re like the Shit King.”

“The Shit King,” I repeat.

“She made you her bitch. You were her pet that she’d drag around to do illegal shit with. She controlled your every damn move. Sometimes, you’re so pathetic that it makes me cry. Did you love slinging weed at parties with her? You used to flinch whenever I’d mention so much as smoking cigarettes. And then she didn’t ever even have sex with you… because why? It’s especially funny because I remember that she’d open her legs for just about anything freshman year.”

“I’ll fucking kill you,” I mouth.

“Do you really want to do all that again?” she taunts, ignoring me. “Live that fake-ass life? Be an accessory?”

“You don’t know one fucking thing about her and me. You never saw us alone. You never read what we wrote for each other. You never felt the way she looked at me. You’re a miserable person to be around. I don’t like being your friend. I only started talking to you because I felt bad for you because you’re horrible and barely have anyone. And would you like to know who inspired me to do that? Beatrice. Fucking Beatrice. I saw how beautiful her fearlessness was and I decided that I needed her and everything else in my life. She’s why I feel comfortable in this world. There’s nothing ‘fake’ about us. It’s not like you’d even know. You can’t get into an actual functioning relationship of any kind to save your life.” I take in a shuddering breath. “Your sister is fucking dead, and you may as well be too at this point. You’re a useless goddamned bastard. You don’t have a reason to live. I do.”

She looks dumbfounded. Her pupils retract into some unreachable asylum. I feel satisfied for the first time in a while. All I know is that I need to do whatever I can to go back to her. I’ll make it all okay again like I did a few months ago. I’ll do it in a thousand different ways with a thousand different letters, each one better than the last.

I gather my thoughts while she dissolves the blow. “I love Beatrice. I don’t love any of this. Take me fucking home,” I say gently.

I suggest that she should pull up a map on her phone so she can find the fastest route. She retrieves it and types in the password. She bites her lip and points to the “no signal” icon with a single shaky finger.

           “Maybe there will be a signal at the top of the hill over there,” I suggest. I try to keep a much softer tone so I don’t hurt her more than I had to.

           Kirsten squints through the trees, or at least pretends to. She nods and turns the truck on, still not looking at me. Sunlight dances on the road as we reach the base of the hill. She pulls off the road and floors the gas, sending us up it. It mainly has medium-length grass as well as a few shrubs. She turns a little to the left after a minute so we don’t fall off. I look behind at the little dots of trees in the forest beyond the jagged edge. The bottoms of my feet writhe.

           Kirsten lamely exits the vehicle, her phone tightly wrapped in her hand. We walk until we reach the very top. I start panting in the unfiltered heat. She squints at her phone and hits the side of it. She lifts it in the air and checks it a few times.

“My data provider never anticipated anything like this.” Her voice sounds weak. More impatient anger billows up inside me.

She reaches her hand higher and higher into the sky.

I groan. “Maybe if-”

A metallic creak reaches our ears. Kirsten drops her phone. Pangs of fear and disbelief stream through the skin of my neck as I watch the truck begin to slowly roll backwards. Kirsten runs out in front of me before I gain the sense to run. The truck picks up speed, rumbling and jumping in the slanted grassy hill. We stop chasing after it once it gets to the edge because it’s no use. The remaining front wheel jolts upwards as it rolls over the lip of the cliff as if it were raising its hand in a desperate “save me” motion. I reach out my own hand as if I could. It falls and claps against my leg in despair.

“Did you put the parking brake on?” I ask.

Her silence answers me.

I gulp in nothing. The wind ripples around my disgusting rag of a dress. We stand for a while in mourning, our bodies turning into wood. My brain slowly processes our situation. I am too dead to be shocked. I am too shocked to be mad. I am merely an observer of the presence of nothing. Chills wrack my body, but I’m too stiff to shiver.

 (this is supposed to be separated with a line but the format is weird)

Kirsten and Lily stand a car’s length apart from each other as they take in the awe of their own destruction. Their faded emotions knock on the doors of their hearts, begging to be let in, begging to be felt, but they do not bend to them. If even one broke in, they would break. They stand stiffly still in the intermittent wind, scared to move, scared to see.

The camera pans up and down slowly like what one might do to capture the image of a world-class playboy model. Blood spurts and streams down from Kirsten’s nostrils to her chin without inhibition. Her busted lip marks her graying face with a pop of color. Her eyes twitch as the picture moves all the way down the length of her yellow tinsel sweater matted with dried dirt. Her scene cuts. Lily’s mouth is agape. The mud that overtakes the front of her body takes center stage as she absentmindedly tries not to let any of it in. Her matted hair moves awkwardly in the wind. Her faded dress recoils harder every second that it has to touch the river’s excrement. The gigantic, gaping burn in the center is a second mouth. Hairy legs peek out from the brown. Just before her scene goes black, the camera zooms in on her arm tattoo.

Deadpan humor permeates the air. It’s all so hilarious in the same way that ironic deaths and terrible jokes that fall flat are hilarious. Everything is funny, and everything has happened. The girls are plagued with dog food branded into their mouths and stained with badly drawn dicks and thoughts of death and strife, but it’s alright. The cold is a form of heat once the nerves go numb. And though it is not yet even noon, the sun sets, leaving them in darkness.