#Meena is usually a good girl

[tigresslanzhu]

The Warning

Ash: Mr. Moon, Meena and I have something to tell you.

Buster: Okay?

Ash: But you can‘t be angry until we finish.

Buster: Uh-oh. I hate these conversations that start that way.

Meena: Uh, me too, so I’ll leave you to talk to Ash about her contribution… [begins to walk away]

Ash: Meena!

[visualtaehyun]

My running commentary for ep. 6 of Love Sea spans six (!) entire pages in my notes compared to my usual 2-4 so imma toss em all up on here for a change, gonna get back to specific language things in a new post later but i'm too lazy rn to explain any thai in my comments lol (i'll just link y'all previous explanations if applicable 👍 here's to 'teaching' thai by straight-up pushing you into the water and hoping you'll start flapping your arms enough to qualify as swimming lmao)

Rak อ้อน's, smiles sweetly, asks to eat at home to honor mut's cooking

'or bc the feelings have changed already?' MUT'S IN LOVE 😭

Title: ตอนที่ หึงคืออาการของคนมีความรัก

why does rak อ้อน so much omg 😭

bro. when mut stops vi from telling him about prin, saying he'd prefer hearing it from rak once he opens up to him, and vi says: 'Don't let this end as just a transaction.' 🥹 พี่วีเอ็นดูหมุดไปแล้ว she loves her best friend and clearly thinks mut is so good for rak 🥺

soft tone, plink-plank music and a sweet smile but the line- "คุณเพิ่งด่าไอ้เด็กเหี้ยนั่นว่า เอาเวลาว่างไปหาอะไรใส่หัว ดีกว่าเสือกเรื่องของคนอื่น ผมไม่อยากเป็นคนเหี้ยครับ" ("You just told that bitch to invest her time in educating herself instead of being nosy. I don't want to be like her.") lmaooo

'usually everyone hears about me from someone else' :<

the word subbed as gigolo that rak uses to describe his father is แมงดา - can mean pimp or male prostitute or gigolo but certainly comes from how male horseshoe crabs will cling onto a female's back during mating season, taking advantage of its mate, and is thus used to disparage men who benefit off of women financially

that lil kiss on the top of rak's head? surely fort adding on haha

Vi all alone, looking kinda blue, while mook งอน's, keeps rejecting her calls, and tries to distract herself by going out with friends (one of which is clearly Som Supatsorn from Cosmos <3)

Mut's allowed in rak's room!!!

the way rak manhandles mut into exactly the position he wants to cuddle in 🥹

he really is so cat-like <3

oho. i can already see the commentary coming about how mut started touching rak without consent/while he's sleeping 🌚 don't listen to the haters, p'may, that entire scene was piping hot and this is fiction anyway

love that mut calls them คุณมุก and พี่วี :) really goes to show the difference in familiarity levels

fucking love how shocked both kom and mut are to see each other here 😂 and how dumb-struck and speechless mut is bc he doesn't know how to explain lmao

Mut: "อย่างที่มึงคิดนั้นแหละ กูโดนซื้อมา" - Kom: 🤦‍♂️

lmao rak looks so pouty-jealous AND TATTLES ON KOM TO CONNOR 🤣

so interesting to me that connor and rak use ฉัน/นาย with each other

Kom uses ผม/คอนเนอร์

I can't believe mut just found out that rak and connor used to sleep with each other and didn't connect the dots before djsjshdhw not true actually, I read too much into the dialogue and know now from reading even just the prologue of Love Sea that they're really just best friends

this fight is so funny55555

Ugh i love this. seeing the besties bitching to each other, how comfortable they feel in each other's homes, just everything about their behavior makes it so clear how close they are! (same for kom and mut too)

Vi: "1-10?" - Rak: "หงุดหงิดระดับ 8 อยากง้อแต่กลัวเสียฟอร์ม พอใจมึงยัง" I LOVE THIS

Vi is such a schemester 🤣

love that mut sits by the water as he's stressing about rak while on the phone with kom

I've only had meena for a minute and i already love the girl 🥺 loves mint-choc icecream, calls herself เค้า with ing-ing (and she does so too), the cutest haircut, walking holding hands with her friend, and she really is a clever girl

this actress is so talented for her age wow

Mut honey 🥺 the fact that he starts to ง้อ by disparaging himself like nooo rak would never think of you that way, he doesn't care about the money or contract at all!

nooo the way rak talks to his niece 😭❤️

Meena 😂 i love her

love how น้ารัก sounds so close to น่ารัก :)

she's 13, gotcha

Meena: "งั้น ให้พี่มุกมารับมีนาก็ได้ไง" Rak, smiling: "ไม่ได้ มุกมันตัวแค่นั้นนะ" :>

Meena's reactions are everything 🤣

immediately calls mut พี่

Mut: "ไม่สิ พี่จะทำให้เขา ต้องรัก พี่" ("No. I'm going to make him 'must love' me.") -> throwback to the scene where he said he couldn't possibly ask someone like khun tongrak to ต้องรักคนอย่างผม (or sth like that)

this kid55555 love that she just declares I'm gonna call you น้าหมุด and you've no choice in this lmao, also switching from หนู to มีนา

Mut: "วันนี้คุณว่าง่ายกว่าปกตินะ" ("You're surprisingly docile today.") ว่าง่าย = docile, obedient, submissive, compliant, to listen well!

me, this entire episode: peat's eyes are so gorgeous

"Go ahead and do it." 🙅‍♀️ "อยากทำก็ทำ" = wanna do it then do it/if you wanna do it then go ahead

omg 🥺 "ผมเป็นของคุณอยู่แล้ว" ("I'm all yours.")

🫢 the implication here that mut is fucking rak's mouth HOLY diddly dOO

not only do we get to see that of fucking course was vi fibbing up a storm about her grandma but we also get to hear chanya speak french 🥰

I. Love. This. Show!

[countryrebel1995]

I didn't want to have to make this post, I've seen enough shipping drama on Tumblr over the years that I usually steer clear of it, but there’s been so much Nooshy bashing in the tags lately that I feel compelled to weigh in on it.

Why do people like Nooshy? Well, to put it simply, even though she’s never the center of attention in "Sing 2", Nooshy manages to be a girl with layers, and there's a lot to appreciate about her. When we're first introduced to her, she's a street performer so she can make the money that she needs to survive, but she’s also genuinely passionate about her craft - she loves to dance - and she enjoys getting a chance to share that passion with someone else whenever they come along.

While she can be snarky and prickly and slow to trust strangers, she’s also very nice once you get to know her. After a young turtle kid almost screws up her performance, she's still very playful and accommodating towards him. When she’s brought backstage to the Crystal theater, she compliments some dude's hat just to make him feel good about himself. While she initially agrees to help Johnny because he offers to pay her, she starts to stick up for him and genuinely support him, because the way Klaus treats him isn't right. She decides to help the Moon Theater troupe put on their big show, even though she's only known these people for about a week and their plan will surely be very dangerous, because the way Jimmy Crystal treats them isn't right either and she wants to help them stick it to the man. After Johnny tells her that he and his family used to be a gang of notorious criminals, Nooshy never judges them for their shady past, and is actually quite happy to see how close he and his father are now (especially since it's implied that she might not even have parents herself). And during "A Sky Full Of Stars", she encourages Johnny to never give up and follow his heart, because he's her friend and she wants to see him succeed.

Nooshy is snarky and mischievous, but underneath it all, she's actually a very kind girl, and very loyal towards the people who earn her respect. And by the end of "Sing 2", she gets her happy ending when she not only gets a new paying career doing what she loves, but also finds a place where she belongs among the Moon Theater troupe.

The reason why I just went off on that rather long tangent, dissecting her character, is to drive home the point that Nooshy has done nothing in the canon films to warrant the way people talk about her sometimes.

I've seen people insult everything about her and her fans for shipping reasons, because they see her as a threat to their preferred ships (even though she and Johnny are not even canonically a couple by the end of "Sing 2"). And there's a real double standard when it comes to this too, because no other character who's been shipped with Johnny over the years gets this kind of treatment. Meena doesn't, Ash doesn't, Ryan doesn't (even though the claim that Nooshy haters sometimes make - that people only like her as one half of a ship - could just as easily be said about him).

And this is really nothing new. Characters getting trash-talked over shipping wars is a tale as old as time when it comes to fandoms, and people are entitled to their opinions. The reason why I made this post is because lately, the Nooshy bashing is starting to cross a line.

Over the last few months, I've been seeing a growing number of comments complaining about people including Nooshy in their fanart. I've also been seeing a growing number of posts outright insulting people who like Nooshy or like to ship her with Johnny, saying that they're stupid and shallow and should just go away because they’re a blight on the fandom.

How about no.

In a fandom, people are allowed to like whatever character they like, or ship whatever couple they like, so long as they're not hurting anyone. If you hate Nooshy so much that you can't stand seeing any fanart of her or fanfics of her, because you don't want to be reminded that she exists, then I'm sorry but you're either just going to have to deal with that or stop engaging with the parts of the fandom where people want to appreciate her. Because quite frankly, your hatred for this character is no one else’s problem except your own and people are not going to stop liking her just for your benefit.

[italianpersonwithashippersheart]

Finally watching Love Sea new ep. The boys continue the trend from last episode for me and they are just getting better.

The family sounds nightmarish and I am slightly hopeful we won't have to watch the series forgive them. But I wouldn't be surpise by it.

The girls are..... unintrusive at least (sorry to the people like them I still don't).

Kom is a good boy. Possibly the best boy of the series yet. I love him. The actor that plays him is also very pretty (I got a hint of his dimples and I just need more of him ok). He and Fort have a great platonic chemestry, their back and fort is super believable for two friends.

This is super nitpicky but doesn't Connor voice sound totally different then the first episode or is it just me? Is it just that the sound design is wak like usual? I don't know why but his voice in the phone call was super bothering me. Sounds don't usually have that effect on me in thai bls.

Also do you guys think the reason we are getting weirdly muffle voices, no pictures and just phone calls of Connor is because they haven't picked the actor or because the real identity of who plays Connor is a secret? Mydramalist only has a Voice Actor for Connor, not a real casting. So maybe it's first. It would be funny if it was a well known BL actor though. Like a surprise attack.

Meena is adorable and I already love her, just I knew I would from the dash spoilers. I love her name. Her maturirty and knowing of the real adults thing in her family feel very realistic for her stituation and also a little familiar. We are probably going to see her get her hurt and I need every person that will hurt to get killed.

[tailing-sun]

Shadow High OCs Bio 7: Tara Rajneesh

COLOUR PALETTE: Galaxy

YEAR: Third

GENDER: Female

FOCUS: Performing Arts

STYLE: Celestial. Dazzling. Classy.

QUOTE: “The stars align for me.”

BIO: Professional triple threat (and amateur astrologist) Tara Rajneesh rules the Performing Arts scene at Shadow High and shines not just like a star, but like a whole constellation on stage. Though her creativity is unbounded and her performing choices are always bold, she can barely do anything in her day-to-day life without first consulting her horoscope. She loves to be the centre of attention, and thanks to her standout energy and eccentric personality it just kind of happens naturally. A thespian at heart, Tara has no interest in film acting, and prefers the inherent transitive quality that only the stage can offer. As for which roles she likes best, lead roles are great, and villains are even better! She’s starred in plenty of productions back in her home city of Chicago, but her dream is to play the Queen of the Night in The Magic Flute at the Met.

OTHER:

-Tara’s one of those girls who has a different boyfriend every month because of some drama or another, to the great interest of Candy.

-Her parents are both from Hyderabad, India, but she was born in Chicago.

-Her age is seventeen and her sign is Sagittarius.

-She stands taller than most of her female classmates at 5’8” (without heels).

-She’s bilingual, and speaks Hindi with her parents. Although their English is already pretty good, they insisted on teaching her Hindi to preserve their culture.

-Her clothes are relatively simple, usually stretchy and form-fitting due to her practically living on stage and needing to move for blocking. This doesn’t stop Tara from accessorizing as much as possible with sparkling, glittering, star-studded bangles, necks, and hair pins.

-She gets along with Dia Mante and Glitch Crowne, bonding over music and the stage.

-Much to her classmates’ annoyance, she’ll sometimes read them their horoscopes unprompted and/or dragoon them into a tarot-reading session.

-To de-stress, she likes to go stargazing. She’s even got a telescope.

-Though she definitely gives off diva vibes, it’s mostly because she’s usually in her own head and feels every emotion at 200% at all times. By no means is she rude, snobby, or even intentionally selfish, in fact she runs a student support group on the side for classmates to gather and vent about school-related stress.

-She likes modern musicals well enough, especially dramatic ones, but her first love is opera.

-She sings coloratura soprano and is a seasoned actor, but struggled a bit with dancing.

-Despite the flack other Shadow High kids give her for it, Tara follows RH exchange student Meena Fleur on social and even trades school gossip with her. (Thanks again @sunshine7eyes)

[joethetoonfanandoutcast]

Do you hate MoonLane? Is Buster not "good enough" for Suki?

I don't hate the pairing, but I hate getting my hopes up over something that the animators didn't intend in a future installment, despite its potential. That happened before with Scrat/Scratte and Penelope being in the Tune Squad in Space Jam: A New Legacy.

They don't have enough interaction time compared to WildeHopps, Mr. Wolf and Diane, Po and Tigress, Marlin and Dory or the usual male-female pairs you see in movies. And those pairings are far more popular with execs and audiences alike.

Also, judging by the theme in the Sing films, the tall characters who come from a big successful establishment are always mean to Buster or anyone close to him and are not meant to be liked. So big city girl/small town guy doesn't seem like it'd be for them. I guess that would mean Buster isn't good enough for her if Illumination would rather keep her in character, being picky towards shows and picky towards guys or women. I wanted to believe her taste in who she dates would be different than what shows she watches.

Plus, there's also the matter of "tropes are tools" that Hollywood has to uphold and the matter of Illumination wanting to "not please everybody and be more relevant to the future", so both mean they'll most likely use the "first friend is true love" cliche, where Eddie is Buster's love-interest because the two male best friends since childhood being lovers thing hasn't been done in an animated movie. It doesn't help that he's liked more than her.

Nor do these facts help:

The pairing falls in last place with Johnny (Jash or Jooshy), CrystalMoon (the toxic Foe Yay ship between Buster and Jimmy), or Meena/Alfonso.

The focus of the franchise being on the main cast of unlucky woobies, and Suki is not one of them. A story about a sad past could be given to her with Buster pitying her, but given the filmmakers' feel towards her, why would they do that?

The Sing cast is overstuffed with characters in their films as it is.

There isn't a lot of chemistry nor will the writers make it exist in the third film.

Hollywood doesn't like tall attractive girl/short cartoony guy pairings. Why do you think we get a lack of that?

A main character/sequel plot device pairing is unheard of.

Not to mention many would rather have Suki with Jimmy, some tall handsome guy, or a woman who's like her, especially since everyone's craving for more w/w rep in cartoons. We know Rosita, Norman, Meena, Alfonso, and Clay won't be touched.

So I don't hate MoonLane, but I feel like the pair shouldn't exist in the fandom if it or she is not meant to be liked by the audience.

[thelatekuijames]

≽·≼

“Oh, it’s—it’s not you—I’ve always been too shy, with everybody, I don’t really know how to shake it. It’s why the shop’s called Blush Boutique? Because, well, kids in our neighborhood used to tease me, 'cause it was easy, but this one girl who was a few years older than me made them knock it off. And after, she said that it was good, that a blush just shows you have strong feelings—" They stopped mid-ramble then, and shook their head. "Anyway, that’s not important. But I’ll try, I promise. Um…” They felt more determined now, to prove that they would treat Meena normal, though they weren’t sure exactly what that meant—they’d rarely been comfortable with anyone. Teeth kneading at their lower lip, they returned to the problem at hand. The block of fear seemed immovable, a monster looming in the uncertain dark. But as she touched their chin, bypassing the usual boundaries, they got an idea and unhooked the cordless headphones around their neck, offering it to Meena. Before they could hesitate again, they withdrew their phone, hit play on the last song they’d been listening to, and passed the vampire the device, so she could skip through their playlists if she wanted to. Evergreen by Omar Apollo started up, tinny and muffled from the headphones. "Probably too slow for a house-destroying party," Kui admitted, ducking their head. "I just like his songs, even when I'm not tragically in love with anyone. You can look through anything on there—" they added. "I've been collecting, taking in as much as I can whenever I can." They grinned, poking fun at themself a bit. "That's the only way I learn, I think. Leaving all the doors open, for anything new to walk in and surprise me."

"I'm pretty sure thing house is far too grand for minimalism. Don't you?" She countered. Her smile only growing as she tried to picture it, only to scrunch her noise up slightly at the thought. "You and I are in agreement there," She nodded in agreement. Only for her brow to raise. Her gaze curiously scanning the other up and down as she watched them seem stunned by her mere question. "I like you, Kui. You're, honestly, a breath of fresh air and I need that these days. But, I'm going to need you to not overthink it too much, okay love? It's just music and I'm just some girl. Not whatever pedal stool the rumor mill around town likes to put me up on. I just mean that I'm surrounded by far too many people as is who walk on egg shells around me and I'd hate for you to be one of them. So, forget about what everyone else likes. Just focus on me. It's just you and me. So, what do you like? No wrong answers. Promise," She told Kui, guiding the fae's chin up to meet her gaze as she gave them a reassuring smile. "And only? What are you on about? All the way to 2017 is fairly impressive. That's what? Six full years of pop culture you've managed to catch up on? It's better than I have and I've lived through them. And so, you're a fan of Beyoncé. Well, that's a start," She teased. The corner of her lips tilting up softly as she gave Kui a light nudge.

[rentnhop]

How to find ideal bike on rent in Delhi ?

Delhi has not only been the favourite city of a few emperors but it was also famous among the artists and hence among the shoppers too. Since hundreds of years ago, Delhi has been famous among the traders trading various goods. From designer clothes to jewellery to furniture to everything else, Delhi was home to all the traders, businesses, different services such as bike rental in Delhi and this quality of this city attracted a huge number of consumers.

The number of consumers increased day by day over the years and so did the traders and soon Delhi was the must visit for the shoppers who wanted something expensive. But that does not mean Delhi is only a good option for the rich socialites seeking unique and expensive stuff. This place is really famous for its market selling good quality things and also bike renting in Delhi services at cheap prices too.

If you have good bargaining skills, shopping in Delhi markets can give you a never before experience. So bring out your best bargaining skills with your bike on rent in Delhi and let’s see which market is famous for what type of goods.

Famous Markets In Delhi

Meena Bazaar

Famous since the time when Mughals ruled India, this market is not any lesser than a dream to ladies. In the Mughal Era these bazaars were called Khus Roz which means ‘’day of joy’’ and were specially held for women. The emperor and some princes were the only men to be in these bazaars. Nowadays this market have lost its old charm but still is charming enough to attract the ones who has an undivided love for traditional Indian wear and jewellery. Usually a very crowded place, this market can be reached with bike on rent in Delhi ormany bike rental available in Delhi. Most important thing to remember while visiting this market is that you must take one day out to fully explore this market in real terms.

Sarojini Nagar

A place that is famous for having the cheapest prices for the designer wear and branded clothes, Sarojini Nagar market is the place of trade of export leftovers and designer clothes and other thing having minor manufacturing defects. The prices in this market are solely controlled by bargains. In the case of modes by which one can commute…many motorbike rental in Delhi are available and with Rentnhop you can hire the cheapest bike rental in Delhi. 

Chandani Chowk

Who is unaware of the Chandani chowk market in Delhi. Mostly famous for its bridal collections at very affordable prices, Chandani chowk deals in everything. From clothes to spices, electronics and food….what in Chandani chowk is not famous?? Everyone is advised to visit this market at least once. You can get bike on rent in Delhi for Chandani chowk. Rentnhop offers best bike rental in Delhi. So, do yourself a favour and take a tour to this market.

Janpath

Mostly a market for girls and ladies, Janpath have a wide variety of goods available for all the ones having a love affair with fashion. From fashion jewellery to clothes and footwear and many more thing, Janpath have everything someone want to shop for at very cheap prices. Hence this market is a welcoming place for all fashionistas and young ladies. But prices here again are solely controlled by bargaining.

Paharganj

Another market in Delhi famous for its wide variety and cheap prices, Paharganj market too is a heaven for fashion lover and the once planning to shop for home décor and related stuffs. This market is famous for leather products like bags and shoes.  Merely 12-13 kilometres from Sarojini Nagar many bike rentals in Delhi are available to get to this market. You can even avail royal enfield on rent. What else you can ask for?? Tie your shoelaces…grab your bags and go shopping in Delhi without even hurting your pockets. Isn’t it amazing?

[tigresslanzhu]

At Every Hotel

Rosita: Clean up this mess, Johnny!

Johnny: What? Don’t we have hotel staff to do that for us?

Rosita: We can help them out wherever we can. There’s no excuse to decide that hotel time is lazy time, right, Meena?

Meena: Exactly! I don’t see a reason why we can’t clean up after ourselves.

Johnny: Meena! She’s brainwashed you!

Rosita: Uh, no! It’s called being a good girl and not giving people a hard time and behaving! You should try it sometime!

Johnny: I CAN’T BE A GIRL IN LESS THAN AN HOUR!

Rosita: Sheesh!

[hbalto]

Girl Talk and Toxic Boys

TRIGGER WARNING: THIS FANFIC CONTAINS A VERY BRIEF SCENE INVOLVING SA, THOSE WHO ARE SENSITIVE TO THE SUBJECT ARE ADVISED TO NOT READ THIS STORY

Rated T for what is mentioned above, hints of other sexual situations, and the act of women talking about their men.

(NOTE: This takes place before the events of Sing 2)

“Alright, gang, great job on tonight! See you tomorrow!” Buster said as he clapped his hand together with his usual optimistic attitude.

“Finally,” Ash groaned. The teenage porcupine felt twice her age as she stretched her arms and legs out of exhaustion. As she put her guitar back in its case, Ash wondered just how exactly she was going to get home tonight. Call an Uber? Nah, too expensive. Walk? Nah, too far. Ask a friend? Well, maybe but-

“Hey, Ash! Great job today, sweetie!”

Ash turned to see the smiling face of Rosita, the mother pig with the voice of an angel. 

“Thanks, Rosita, you did good, too.” Ash smiled back.

Ash, much like everyone at the New Moon Theater, saw Rosita as the mom of the group (both figuratively and literally) and had all grown close to her, and her family. Ash, Johnny, and Meena had all found themselves being the babysitters for all 25 of Rositas piglets on more than one occasion. But that was alright, Ash was pretty okay with kids, and quite a few of the piglets loved to hear her shred on the guitar. 

Out of all the people in the theater group, Ash and Johnny were the ones who felt the most close to Rosita. Johnny’s mother had died before he could even have memories of her, and Rosita was usually the one who comforted Johnny whenever he felt inadequate, nervous about an upcoming performance, or just felt as though he needed a mothers touch. All of Rosita’s piglets labeled Johnny as their “Big Brother.”

Ash’s mother was still alive, well, that’s what the young porcupine thought, anyway. Ash hadn’t heard from her mother in about a year and a half, the teenage porcupine’s last contact with her mother mostly consisting of phrases like “disappointed,” "disappointment,” "foolish dreams,” “give up” etc. Needless to say, Ash’s parents had never approved of her goal of becoming a rockstar, and were furious with her decision to move out at young age to pursue her dream with her now ex-boyfriend Lance.

Speaking of Lance, ever since the outdoor show, the cheating dinkelshplat had been calling Ash for weeks, begging her to come back to him while giving her empty apologies. Ash was just annoyed at first, but after the tenth call, she decided to block his number in order to avoid further contact. Rosita was proud of Ash for her decision to try and officially kick Lance out of her life.

“Do you need a ride home, honey?”

“Huh?” Ash asked, Rosita’s question snapping the young rocker out of her thoughts.

“Do you need a ride?” Rosita asked, her voice ridden with motherly love, as always.

“No, Rosita, I’m fine, besides I wouldn’t want to keep you-”

"Oh, no, please, it’s fine! Norman can handle the kids for another few minutes.” Rosita insisted.

Ash knew better than to say no to a mother’s kindness. “Okay, sure.” Ash relented.

“Great!” Rosita exclaimed. “Just follow me to my car.”

Ash grabbed her guitar and followed the mother out to her family van.  

Ash climbed inside and got comfortable as Rosita and climbed in right after and started the car.

“Hey, safety first.” Rosita stated, after seeing that Ash had yet to put her seatbelt on.

“Yeah, okay.” Ash groaned, rolling her eyes.

“You may be a rebel Ash Johannsen, but when you’re with me you’ll at least be safe.” Rosita stated in a stern tone.

“Understood, ma’am.” Ash replied, half-jokingly.

There were a few moments of silence as Rosita drove Ash toward her home. Rosita didn't really want the ride to be so quiet, so she decided to make conversation.

“So,” Rosita started “how’s life been?”

“It’s been alright, I guess.” Ash stated, her paw on her chin as she stared out the car window at the buildings they passed.

“Has Lance tried to contact you recently?” Rosita asked, wanting to make the conversation interesting.

Ash turned to Rosita. “Believe it or not, yes. And not in a way that I’m okay with. Well, in a way that I’m even more not okay with.”

Rosita became concerned. “What do you mean?”

Ash went on. “First, it started off with constant e-mails, all of them saying the exact same thing: ‘I’m sorry, babe; I left her, babe; please take me, babe.”’ Ash described, imitating Lance in a way that made Rosita chuckle.

“And so, I blocked him on there. Then, he decides to use actual mail. Who even uses actual mail to talk to somebody anymore? And once again, it’s the same schtick: ‘I’m sorry, babe; you sing better than her, babe; I really regret it, babe.”’

Again Rosita chuckled at Ash’s imitation of Lance.

Ash’s face got serious as she went on. “but now that he’s realized that won’t work either, now he’s doing something else...”

Rosita looked at Ash, her face riddled with concern. “What’s he doing now?”

Ash continued. “He doesn’t do it often, but now what Lance is doing is that he occasionally, probably like a few times a month, will knock my door, constantly, saying that he just wants to talk and begs me to let him in.”

Rosita was now very concerned. “He does what!? Have you called the police about this?”

“Yeah, but Lance has his ways. He knows how to dodge the law when he’s near it.” Ash said sadly.

Rosita pulled up to Ash’s apartment complex and put the car in park before turning the young porcupine. “Do you know how to file a restraining order?” Rosita asked.

“Not really.” Ash answered. 

“Don’t worry, tomorrow, you and I are going straight to the police station and filling one out so that we can make sure that Lance never even comes near you again.” Rosita stated in a determinant fashion.

Ash was touched. “You’d really do that for me?”

Rosita embraced Ash “Of course, sweetie, you’re like a daughter to me and I would do anything to protect you.” Rosita said sweetly.

The touched Ash embraced Rosita back, happy to be feeling the warm embrace of a mother, the feeling that she had been missing for so long.

When they both let go, Rosita dove into the side of her car door to look her something before pulling out a can of mace. “Here, use this in case Lance tries to get too close to you.”

Ash took the can of mace before asking “Why would you have this?”

Rosita chuckled before answering. ”I honestly didn’t think I would need it after I got married; but with Buster’s outdoor show, that skintight black suit, and this,” she slapped the side of her butt. “I’ve noticed that I’ve been getting ogled at wherever I go. I can’t count the number of scenes Norman has caused whenever he catches somebody looking. ‘STOP STARING AT MY WIFES BUTT!’’ Rosita yelled, imitating her husband before she and Ash shared a laugh.

“Awesome.” Ash said after she finished laughing. “Anyway, thanks for the ride, Rosita. I’ll see you next rehearsal.” Ash said as she climbed out of Rositas van.

“Sure! Bye sweetie!” Rosita said cheerfully.

“Bye.” Ash replied before slamming the van door shut.

After watching Rosita pull away and drive off, Ash turned walked into her apartment, wanting nothing more than to rest after a long day of rehearsing.

*DING!* went the elevator is it stopped at Ashs floor. Ash tried to laugh as she remembered just how hard and time-cosuming it was to haul groceries up to her home. It wasn't until she got off the elevator that she saw that someone was standing outside her door, loudly knocking on it.

'Not again,' Ash groaned internally as she walked up to Lance, still pounding loudly at at his ex-girlfriends door.

"Will you stop that!?" Ash demanded. "You'll wake the neighbors."

Lance turned to face Ash, and it didn't take a genius to notice that he had been drinking heavily. "Heyyyyy, baby." The male porcupine slurred.

Ash's brow furrowed. "I'm not your baby," she deadpanned, having this scenario and conversation almost down to a routine. The only difference being that Lance was absolutely wasted.

"Sssure you are *hic* that Becky girl don't mean a thing to me anymore." Lance slurred, leaning up against the door frame to maintain balance.

"Oh, really? I think you should go to back to her." Ash stated assertively as she shoved Lance out of the way in order to unlock her apartment door.

Lance followed Ash into her apartment as he replied "Nah, baby, she cant compare *hic* to yoouuuuuuu." Lance slurred, his drunken state almost making him fall over as he finished his sentence.

Ash looked at Lance incredulously. "Look at you, you're drunk! And you're only 19! How did you even get into a bar?"

"Ha haaaaa! Oh, you know me, baby. I a know a guy." Lance replied, doing a drunken impression of a stereotypical Italian-American.

Ash stood firm. "You're drunk, Lance. Get out!" The young porcupine rocker stated firmly as she pointed toward her door.

Lance ignored Ash, continuing to move closer to her. "Naaaahhhh, I think I'll stay here. That way, I can make it *hic* up to you for what I diiiid." Lance slurred as he continued to move closer and closer to Ash, invading her personal space.

Ash was getting nervous, and honestly scared. "You had your chance, Lance, and you blew it. Get out! We're over!"

Before Ash could say anything else, Lance grabbed on to her lower hips, towards her skirt and growled "I'll tell you when we're over, bitch."

Lance then lunged at Ash, knocking them both on to the floor.

Since Lance was now on top of Ash, he took this opportunity to start ripping at Ashs clothes as she screamed.

Lance leaned into the frightened Ashs ear and whispered "Nobodys gonna hear you, baby. We *hic* soundproofed this place, remember?"

Ash knew that Lance was right. Back when they were living together, in order to avoid complaints from the neighbors, Lance and Ash had used money they saved up for a special occasion to have a carpenter soundproof the apartment for them. Nevertheless, Ash kept on screaming as Lance tore off her skirt and raised up her shirt, exposing her bra.

Lance was just about to unbutton Ashs pants when, in her state of panic, Ash suddenly remembered that she put the can of mace that Rosita had given her inside one of her pockets. With that, she quickly took advantage of Lance being distracted by the task of unbuttoning her jeans as she reached into her pocket, pulled out the can, aimed for Lance's eyes, and fired.

It was a direct hit.

"AHHHHHHHH!!!" Lance let out a shrill scream as the mace burned his eyes, causing him get off of Ash and stand up, rubbing his eyes with pain. Ash then took this opportunity to angrily do some extra damage by kicking Lance in the nuts, causing him to once again cry out in extreme pain.

Although partially blind due to to the mace, Lance was still able to run his way put of Ash's apartment.

"AND STAY OUT!" Ash screamed angrily after him before slamming her apartment door shut.

Ash breathed a sigh of relief; even if she didn't put out a restraining order, there was no way that Lance was coming back to her after that.

Still, it was obvious that she felt like absolute crap. Ash couldn't believe that Lance really had done something like that to her. Ash needed to talk to someone, someone who would really listen to her, someone who wouldn't judge her, someone who loved her, someone like....

a mother.

Rosita and Norman had finally tucked all 25 of their piglets into bed, and were just about to go to bed themselves, when Rosita heard the text message alert sound on her phone. The mother pig checked her phone and found that the message was from Ash, it read "Come over to my place, please now? Apartment 22."

Without hesitation, Rosita picked up her purse, turned to Norman and said "Honey, I'll be right back. Ash needs me, and it sounds like an emergency."

Norman looked disappointed. "Are you sure you cant at least put on a show in that suit for me before you go?"

Rosita huffed, while her "Shake it Off" performance had helped her and Norman renew their commitment to one another, her skintight black suit improved their sex life even more, almost to the point where Rosita was starting to think that Norman loved the suit more than her.

"Maybe tomorrow night, honey. I really gotta go." Rosita said.

"Oh, okay." Norman groaned as he lay down, feeling defeated.

Rosita rushed down to Ash's apartment complex, feeling nothing but worry for the porcupine who was like another daughter to her.

When Rosita got to Ash's door, she knocked and Ash almost immediately opened the door to let the mother pig in with a defeated look on her face.

"What happened, Ash sweetie?" Rosita asked, her voice filled with motherly concern as they both sat down on Ash's sofa.

"Well, when I got to my apartment door, Lance was here, he pretty much pushed his way in, and then he tried to..." Ash trailed off as her eyes went wide.

It had finally set in on what horrific event had almost befallen Ash not 30 minutes ago. Ash had almost been violated, brutally violated. Violated by a man she used to trust, a man she used to trust intimately, a man who, despite his cheating, never took advantage of her sexually. Ash had been betrayed, again.

"Then he what, Ash?" Rosita asked.

"H-h-he..." Ash stammered as a lump began to form in her throat, and tears began to form in her eyes.

"He tried to what, baby?" Rosita asked, moving closer to Ash and putting her hands gently on the porcupines shoulders.

"He t-tried to r-r-r-r..."

Rosita's eyes went wide as realization kicked in. Lance had tried to sexually assault Ash, she was falling apart, and now it was Rositas job to put her back together.

Rosita gently put a finger to Ashs lips and gently said "It's okay, honey, you dont have to finish that sentence."

That's what made the dam break.

Ash then wailed as she sunk into Rositas arms and cried harder than she'd ever cried before. Rosita then to work, calming her, shh-ing, whispering sweet words into Ashs ear, and telling her that everything was going to be okay.

"I promise, Ash, I'll make sure he never touches you again."

[princessphilly]

Word Count: 1975 (you know I start small then build up)

Tag list: @newlibrary , @luvsherleafs @spine-buster , @m00nlightdelights @lovethepreds @myhockeyworld87 @Defiant-mouse, @callllumhood @yzas-stuff , @stars-canucks @laurenairay @cutiesara23, @besthockeyfics @hockeyallthetime @tazerass , @markymarkstrom @letsgobaby, @himbos-on-ice @hockeywocs @bloodthedevil @nhlboyshavemyhart88 @whatishockey @dreamer1430 @shelbsatans

CW: people failing to be mean, some angst. We are still rated pg-13 but we will be hitting NC-17 soon.

Add me to the tag list!

It’s okay to admit that you are enough. It’s also okay to struggle with admitting that to yourself. At least, that’s what I learned when Meghan Markle still had her old blog, The Tig, up online before she became the Duchess of Sussex. Honestly, she’s one of my goals; her father is a trip and she’s managed to live well despite his issues. I’d like to be able to do whatever she did with my mom. - journal 9/2

**

“The man over there says thanks.”

Jamila looked at the waiter, confused. “Um, okay,” she questioned as she looked where the waiter was discreetly pointing. A tall, brown haired guy raised a whiskey neat in salute. Jamila gave him a tentative grin. After the waiter left, she hissed, “I didn’t send him a drink, Lisa! What the hell?”

Jamila had to admit he was attractive but not her usual type. Her type was the outdoorsy type, the kind who could fish, hunt, and actually be able to live off the land if society collapsed overnight. This guy… he looked like money and power, the kind to hire someone to take care of him.

After a moment, it became obvious what happened as Alyssa and Frances came back over. Jamila put on her best movie-star fake smile as those two came by. They were the worst kind of people; backstabbers who even when they got caught, still got away with it because they knew how to suck up to the people in power. Jamila knew exactly why they didn’t like her: she had enough fame left over that she didn’t need to be their friend to earn a good reputation in their phD program.

“Meet any nice guys,” Frances asked with a sly smirk on her face.

Jamila gave Lisa a sideways look as Alyssa said, “I mean, there’s Jonathan Toews, he’s single. I bet he’d be interested in a washed-up actress.”

“Hmmm, I have no idea who you are talking about,” Jamila honestly said.

Alyssa smirked as she replied, “He plays for the Blackhawks, Meena.”

Jamila grit her teeth as Alyssa used her first name. She hated when people used her first name, it brought up too many bad memories. Before she could reply, the attractive brown-haired guy was standing next to her with a faint grin on his face. “Um, hi,” Jamila said as Lisa, Alyssa, and Frances stared at him.

“I figured I’d say hi after you sent me that drink. I would have bought you one but I don’t know what you’re drinking and it wouldn’t be nice to assume. My name is Jonathan,” he said with a flirtatious wink.

Jamila hesitantly replied, “My name is Jamila and I’m just drinking merlot tonight.”

“Another glass,” Jonathan asked, his deep voice doing things to Jamila’s insides. She bit her lip as she looked at him, trying to decide if she wanted to encourage him or not.

“Sure.”

As he found a waiter, Jamila looked at Lisa. Lisa motioned to her phone and Jamila checked her screen. That’s jonathan toews, the guy those bitches were talking about. He plays hockey and is the captain of the blackhawks

Jamila texted back, what is hockey n y should i care

Then the waiter came with a fresh glass of merlot and Jonathan passed it to her. Jamila took a deep sip, loving the taste. Merlot was truly her favorite and they had a good house vintage. Jonathan asked, “Are you new to Chicago?”

“I’ve been here for a year. It’s alright,” Jamila replied. “This is my first time going out on the North Side though.”

Jonathan gave Jamila a slow smile and her breath caught. He definitely was attractive but not her usual type. He said, “Then that’s why we’ve never met til now. I would have definitely remembered such a beautiful woman if I saw you before.”

Jamila giggled. “That’s a good one. You get one point for that.”

“Just one point? Is it an assist or a goal?”

“Um,” Jamila stalled. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

The sly smile on Jonathan’s face turned into a wide smile. This girl was not only hot but he could tell that she was truly clueless about hockey. Tonight was a win-win for him. “I’m going to assume it’s a goal then.”

“Okay.” Jamila shrugged as she took another sip of her wine. “I’m still not completely impressed so you still need to work on it.”

Jonathan laughed, causing some people to turn towards them. Jamila caught Alyssa and Frances giving her the evil eye and she smirked. Reaching out a hand, she touched Jonathan’s upper arm. Jamila had no idea what hockey was but whatever it was, he definitely was built. Jamila turned slightly as she rubbed his arm, making sure that those two bitches could see that she was touching him.

“You like what you feel,” Jonathan asked, his voice slightly deeper with a sultry tone.

Unable to resist the bait, Jamila replied, “Of course,” licking her lips. There was no problem in flirting with him, she thought to herself as he smirked at her.

Jonathan’s eyes were on her lips. She had full lips, made for kissing. Jamila wasn’t his usual type but Jonathan didn’t have a problem with that. “There’s more that you can-,” he started before someone bellowed, “TAZER!”

Jamila whipped around towards the sound, annoyed to have been interrupted before her attention was caught by the kind of guy of her dreams. He was tall, auburn haired, and looked like a lumberjack. He was perfection and he came over to them.

“Duncs,” Jonathan called.

The lumberjack said, “Heyy Tazer.”

Jamila smiled. Maybe this whole drink mix-up thing was working out for her, she thought until she saw her LA friend, Shan, come up behind this Duncs guy. Shan’s brother Alex was with them, his ever present backwards cap covering his hair.

Jonathan loved Duncs as a brother but right now, he was annoyed and pissed. He had been close to sealing the deal but Jamila was now looking at Duncs like he was the last man on earth. Then Jamila gave him a brilliant smile and Jonathan suddenly realized that he was totally fucked.

“Hi,” Jamila purred, forgetting that her hand was still on Jonathan’s bicep. Duncan looked at that and raised an eyebrow at his captain. Jonathan gave him a glare and Duncan made a motion with his hands.

Before Duncan could reply, Shan yelled, “Jamillllaaa!! Long time no see!”

“Hi Shan,” Jamila drily replied, glad she used her preferred name instead of her first name. Shan was a fellow child actress, a Canadian who managed to get supporting roles at Disney over the years before transitioning to a character actress when she became an adult. Shan was the only one whose parents were actually on-set all of the time and paid attention to what was going on. Consequently, Shan was the only one who didn’t have substance abuse problems, etc. and the only one from her former shows that Jamila kept in contact with.

Jonathan looked at Shan and Jamila. “You two know each other?”

Shan drunkenly giggled as Alex closed his eyes. “We were both Disney kids back in the day.”

Jamila sardonically smiled. “Those were fun days.”

��I’m sorry,” Alex replied. “Shan’s got a role in one of the next Marvel movies so she decided to celebrate.”

“Congratulations,” Jamila sincerely stated. Getting a role in the MCU was a steady check and something to celebrate. Then Jonathan took a double take and looked at her and Jamila groaned. He bit one of his thin lips and then he smirked before putting a finger to his mouth. Jamila exhaled and gave him her biggest smile. He recognized her but he didn’t say anything. Jamila leaned over and whispered into Jonathan’s ear, “You just got a second point.”

“Then maybe you should let me have your number,” Jonathan purred into Jamila’s ear.

Jamila smirked, rolling her eyes but before she could respond, Shan slurred, “Wow, Jamila, you waste no time. You were just telling me yesterday that you didn’t know a damn thing about hockey and tonight, you’re talking with Captain Serious.”

Jonathan wanted to shake his teammate’s sister because Jamila shut down, pursing her lips.

Oblivious, Shan continued, “Now, you don’t have an excuse not to go with my brother to the bowling thing.”

Alex face-palmed as Jamila pinched the bridge of her nose. She had totally forgotten about that and of course, when Shan was drunk, she was loud and obnoxious.

Pasting her best fake smile on her face, Jamila said, “I think it’s time for me to go.”

“So soon,” Duncan teased.

Jamila smirked at him, looking him up and down. “I need my beauty rest and to not strangle my friend.”

Jonathan gritted his teeth as he watched Jamila eye his friend. Then she turned to him and blew him a kiss. “It was nice to meet you, Jonathan,” Jamila said, giving him a wink.

Jonathan smiled back and Jamila was taken aback for a moment. There was a promise in those dark brown eyes and she felt her body begin to respond. Then he licked his lips and for a moment, all Jamila could think about was maybe those lips on her body. Slightly shaking her head, Jamila waved her fingers before going to call an Uber. This was a night.

**

After getting home, Jamila tossed her bag onto her front table. She suddenly felt exhausted even though it was barely after 11:30pm. Walking into her living room, Jamila saw her other cell phone glowing. Picking it up, she cursed. There were fifteen messages and ten missed calls, all from Janine. The messages started off nice, asking how Jamila was doing to nasty, calling her all kinds of names for not picking up and giving her “mother” money.

Tossing the phone back onto the table, Jamila sighed. Getting a separate cell phone just for her mother’s calls was the best but it was draining just to look at it.

Janine Brown was a bit actress, stage-mother, and now two-bit manager. Janine had always wanted to be an actress, even when she was attending grad school at MIT for physics. There, she met Jayesh Vyas, a student earning a PhD in computer engineering. Within six months, they were married and expecting a child; after two years, they were divorced after pressure from Jayesh’s parents. Jayesh returned to India and Janine was stuck with an 11 month old baby with dimples made of gold.

By the time that Jamila could remember, she was in front of a camera. Her life as a child was in front of a camera; first as the adorable adopted child in Granger vs Granger, then the youngest kid in The Elliot Show as a young child. Then from age 12 to 17, Jamila starred as Jane Lee in the Disney show, Plain Jane. School was on set. Birthdays were celebrated on set. Everything revolved around a set year round until right after Jamila’s 17th birthday.

The aftermath of that birthday was a stay in rehab, a cancelled show, and living with her dad and stepmom full time in Atlanta.

Jamila promptly deleted all the messages and voicemails before going on online banking. After authorizing a transfer to Janine’s account, Jamila showered, put on pajamas, and grabbed her pink Lepidolite and pink quartz crystals. Sitting cross legged, Jamila worked to calm her anxiety so that she could have a restful night sleep.

But in her dreams, she tried to focus on a pair of blue eyes and a lumberjack look. However, she kept dreaming of a pair of deep obsidian brown eyes, a crooked smile, and a deep voice telling her everything he was going to do to her

[musicprincess1990]

Hi cute,

I can't get over the cavernous wasteland thing on your post, I mean is that how you talk in real life or that's just for us? If is the second, I feel special, hope you know...

Anyway here's a sentences for you... for Sherlolly, "I just have the most beautiful dream... you were there... just less clothed"

Just for you, darlin’! 😉 Lol when I'm with my posse, the people I feel most comfortable with, I like to think I'm quite clever, but in other situations, I tend to struggle because of anxiety. When I'm put on the spot, or otherwise dragged out of my comfort zone, my mind tends to go blank, and words utterly fail me. Writing is one of the main ways I express what I can’t say aloud.

And that just went super angsty, sorry about that.  Love the prompt, took some liberties with the first sentence, hope that’s ok with you! 😘

*

Dreams

“I just had the most beautiful dream…” a slurring and thoroughly pissed Sherlock mumbled into the haphazardly folded scarf in Molly’s lap, against which his face was pressed.

Molly smirked to herself at the scene.  Honestly, how could a man of his size and mental capacity be such a lightweight?  According to John, who was in only much better shape than the detective, they’d only had two shots, and their night of investigating a string of pub robberies came to a crashing halt.  John had called her immediately, knowing that Mrs. Hudson would be out, and that Molly… well, Molly never went out anymore.  This was getting out for her.  Besides, she was endlessly, stupidly in love with the daft genius.  How could she have said no?

“You were there,” Sherlock went on, reclaiming her attention. “Just… less clothed…”

She stiffened as her mind replayed his words.  Had he really just…?  Did he mean…?  He couldn’t have…

Without prompting, he continued, “You were wearing that little red bikini you keep hidden in your wardrobe.”

The breath she’d been holding whooshed out through her mouth, her tension easing a bit, but not entirely.  “How do you even know about that little red bikini?”

“Guest room,” he replied.  “Photographs from Lyme.”

Oh, bugger.  She’d forgotten all about those photographs, taken during an all-girls holiday with Meena and a few other friends from uni, just after graduation.  Molly had purchased the bikini in question from a shop near the beach.  She’d worn it only once before stuffing it into her suitcase, and naturally, that one time happened to coincide with the day that Meena got out her camera.  And Sherlock had seen them, and apparently, had chosen to file it away in the corner of his mind palace reserved for her.  But… why?

“Why exactly were you dreaming about me in a bikini?” she asked carefully.

“You were only in it for a few minutes before I took the bloody thing off.”

Molly’s stomach did several backflips in rapid succession.  “I… you… wha…?”  Sherlock sat up abruptly, his eyes meeting hers with perfect clarity.  Molly sighed in exasperation, her head thudding against the wall behind the sofa.  “You’re not the slightest bit drunk, are you?”

“Weeeeell, I might be a bit less inhibited than usual, but not drunk, no.”

“Then why—”

Her sentence was cut off by his gloriously full lips attaching themselves to hers, and a shudder rippled through her as his hands skimmed her sides.  Of their own accord, her fingers dove into his curls, while his mouth continued to taste and explore and drive her absolutely mad.  A hint of Scotch still lingered on his tongue, with subtler notes of pub mints and an afternoon coffee lingering just beneath.  As he withdrew and met her gaze, Molly grinned unreservedly.

“You know, you didn’t have to pretend to be smashed just to kiss me.”

“Pfft,” he scoffed.  “That was just to see how you’d react to my drunken confessions.”

“Git,” she muttered, lightly punching his arm.

He swooped in an pressed another quick kiss to her lips.  ��But I did, in fact, dream about your little red bikini.”

“About taking off my little red bikini,” she shot back.

“Well, yes.  As lovely as it looked on you, I can only imagine how good it will look off.”

“And if I told you I hate that little red bikini?”

“Perfect, just leave it off altogether.  It’ll only get in the way, anyways.”

Molly giggled and shook her head.  “Git,” she repeated, and he replied with a waggle of his eyebrows and a lingering kiss.  She wondered, distantly, if she might be dreaming this whole thing up, but decided that even if she was, she planned to enjoy every delicious moment.

[alexaloraetheris]

Oh my GOD, Stupidog has just lived up to his name.

So I was walking my dog today, and I usually walk like 'a soldier crossing enemy lines' (Meena's words not mine) so Stupidog has to trot a bit to keep up with me. This is usually a good thing. Usually.

Today, a very cute Beagle was walking on the other side of the street, and Stupidog couldn't take his eyes off her. And since I wasn't stopping or slowing down, neither was he. He was 100% not looking where he was going.

Then I hear a very alarming CLANG!

I turn around, and Stupidog is looking unsteady right next to a light pole.

He literally ran into a metal pole because he was too busy looking at a girl!

I was like 'Dude... You're castrated.'

(he's fine, btw, just an idiot)

[druidx]

Accepting an Invitation

Warnings: Grief, self-harm, graphic thoughts of self-destruction, mild alcohol abuse. (Please let me know if you think anything else should be added to this)

Context: Set after the events of the main quest. Grief makes people behave... worryingly.

"Ah, may I speak with you Arch-Mage?" I looked up at the tiny Breton girl approaching me, squinting at her through the raindrops in my eyelashes. She had robes that demarcated her as a conjurer. "Is there something I can help you with Magister?" "Ah," she bit her lip. "It's just that, back in the Lustratorium, we noticed you were having some... difficulties." I applauded her delicacy. The simple potion I'd been making had exploded on me, sending glass shards of the alembic shattering all over my workstation. I'd cursed a lot, then put the alchemical burners out with a Frost Bolt before stalking out. Rain dripped off the conjurer's cloak, and she twisted her fingers. "Are you... alright, Arch-Mage?" she asked. "Yes, thank you," I replied, keeping my voice level, pleasant even. Blatantly ignoring the fact I was sat in the middle of the Lustratorium's garden, on the ground, with neither cloak nor parasol to protect me from the rain that hammered down about us.

"Could I... fetch you anything?" "Some wine might be nice. There should be something cheap in the kitchens." "That's not what I-" I raised an eyebrow. She quailed. "I'll go fetch you a cup," she said, backing away. "Just bring the bottle!" I called out to her departing back. She glanced back over her shoulder, a quizzical look. "Saves on washing dishes."

I tipped my head to the sky, letting the rain pool in my eyes and soak my hair. Allowing myself to just... be for a moment. The scent of wet dirt and sweet flowers reached me, the gardens silent aside from the hiss and thud of raindrops. For a single, blissful moment, I was nothing but the rain and the earth, the dance of a leaf, the hum of a brave insect. Then everything came crashing down, and I once again began to wonder what was wrong with me lately.

A day ago I'd been in Frostcrag Spire, making potions quite happily, until I wasn't. Everything spoiled, and I'd split grape must over a favourite book. I thought maybe it was the solitude that was wrong, and so I'd come to the Imperial City. I'd spoken to Phintias at the First Edition about getting the book restored, and he promised to look at it himself. Then I'd wandered, adrift, through the city, dipping in for a drink at the Bloated Float, only to barely touch the thing. I'd tried sleeping, only to be too fidgety, so I'd taken my weapons and dealt with a cache of vampires in the City's sewers, then unpicked and resecured the locks of everyone in the Elven Gardens district, just because I could. Exhausted by three am, I'd fallen asleep in the Arboretum like a common beggar, only to be woken and moved on at six am by an apologetic imperial guard – because, of course, everyone knew the face of Cyrodill's new Champion.

I'd returned to my home at the waterfront and slept until midday. Determined to be productive, I'd taken a satchel of ingredients to the University, but had instead wandered around the archives for a bit. Unable to settle and read, Tar-Meena had chased me out, Arch-Mage or no, because I was disturbing the other magisters. I'd wandered into the Orrery because the spinning globes usually calmed me. Instead, the grinding of gears had irritated after only a few moments, so I'd gone into the Lustratorium and burnt everything I touched, culminating the said exploded alembic.

"Good day, Arch-Mage," came an amused masculine voice. "Good day, Raminus," I agreed, my eyes still closed, feeling the weight of the silk robe increase with every drop. "Conjurer Peneles asked if I would bring you this bottle of wine," he said to explain his presence. I heard the rustle of robes and assumed he'd sat on one of the benches close by. "Would you care to join me, Arch-Mage?" "Can't you just bring it here?" I asked. I lowered my head, swiping at my face to remove the worst of the rain, and gave him a pout, something that was probably most unbecoming. "No, Arch-Mage. I would rather you came here," he said. He sat on the bench, huddled against the wall. His heavy woollen cloak was soaking through already, and he looked most miserable. "Actually, I'd rather we went to the living quarters and discussed this over a bowl of soup." "Raminus, just give me the wine and go inside. I can see you're cold and damp." "Because you're immune to both, hum?" he asked, and I saw a smile quirk his lips. "I am the Madgod's avatar," I reminded him. "If I don't do something crazy like sitting out in the rain from time-to-time, I'd go sane." "That's not why you're out here, though, is it?" he said. "Conjurer Peneles told me about your accident in the alchemy labs. What's wrong?" I heard the frown in his voice, the majority of his face shrouded under the cowl of his hood. "You're a Master Alchemist. It's unlike you to do something so disastrous. The theatrics of freezing your station, on the other hand..." He expected a laugh, however small. I couldn't give it to him. He sighed. "Please, Arch-Mage. Come inside. If for no other reason that you're scaring the apprentice wizards. And to prevent your inevitable demise at the hands of whoever is fed up of your constant whining when you catch a cold."

I considered his words, feeling a little sad about upsetting the students. "I'll go sit in the Arboretum," I said with a sigh. No matter what I did, it wasn't right. "Then I shan't be upsetting anyone." I stood and pointlessly brushed garden from my robes. "Arch-Mage..." "I'm sorry Master Wizard. Sometimes one just needs to sit in the rain, surrounded by plants, and contemplate." I strode towards the steps next to his bench. As I passed, he rose and caught my arm. "Magister, a moment," he pleaded. I nodded warily, and when he was sure I wouldn't bolt, he let go of my arm. Raminus unfurled the bundle of cloth he was carrying, and threw a fine woollen cloak around my shoulders, drawing up the hood. Only when he was satisfied it was wrapped snugly around me did he reach down and offer me the bottle of wine. "Please know, Arch-Mage, I still consider you a friend. If there's something on your mind, I'm happy to discuss it. Anytime. Except, perhaps, when I am practising my Destruction spells." He gave a dry chuckle. I stared for a moment, then took the bottle of wine from him. Rain dripped down my face, strangely salty to my lips. "Thank you," I said hoarsely. I hustled past him, rushing up the stairs, and on to the Arboretum.

~*~*~

I ambled around the Arbouretum for a bit, unable to find somewhere that felt as safe as the Lustratorium garden. Instead, my directionless feet took me to the Imperial waterfront, to the tiny graveyard therein. The area was blissfully empty. Mostly likely due to the rain, but I knew hardly anyone came down to this end of the tiny spit of land outside of the docks. I sat, savouring the cold smell of spray from Lake Rumare, the tingle of gooseflesh as I pulled off Raminus' cloak to fold as a seat. There was hardly any sound, this far out. The call of the docks carried on a low breeze, the slosh of the lake at the water's edge. I popped the cork on the bottle, a wisp of fruit ether snaking up my nose, and took a long pull of the bottle. It was rough stuff, grainy and vinegar-sharp, like a hard bruise. I appreciated the Breton girl doing as she'd been told; I didn't want to waste the good vintages on this.

I shifted a bit on my cloak-cushion, trying to get comfortable, but something kept jabbing me in the small of my back. Irritated, I reached around, drawing out a black-lacquered dagger. The Blade of Woe. I'd forgotten I'd left it there. A tiny dagger, in a tiny holster, at my back where it wouldn't easily be found. Lachance's invitation into the Dark Brotherhood had also been my back-up plan on numerous occasions. I shook my head at my naivety. One murder, that's all it had taken. One stupid, avoidable, accidental murder. I should have known better than to assume that a ghost was just a ghost in the Shivering Isles. Should have realised that Sithis could see into Sheogorath's realm as easily as into Mundus. Even if his recruiter had to wait for me in Bravil.

I looked at the blade, the way the rain trickled and dripped from the midnight surface, as black as any nightmare Vaermina could spin, feeling a void open in front of me. What had I left now? Raminus had been running the University for me during the Oblivion Crisis, Oreyn the Fighter's Guild. The Thieves pretty much ran themselves, and the Shivering Isles had Haskill. The Oblivion Crisis was over. Three months of constant work, and what had I to show for it? Emptiness and pain. Martin. Baurus. Jauffre. Steffan. All gone.

I thought I might be crying. My screams joining the screams of the dead, as they echoed in my skull. But all I could see was the void, black as the blade in front of me. Nothing but pain left for me. Alone again. Falling head-first into an empty, black chasm of grief. Ice filling my veins to make me numb, to pull me down.

I missed them so much I couldn't breathe. Insidious fingers of ice reaching into my chest to choke, to squeeze. Pressing down to splinter my ribs, to crush my heart beneath the nameless weight.

But then in the darkness, red. They'd been taken from me. Pushed, in extremis. Each loss, avoidable. Red anger, spilling out like blood in ink. Sloshing up the walls. A tide to coat everything it touched. To fill the empty well of nothing. Claiming, and taking. I'd tried to remain pure of intent for my Emperor. To believe in the Divines, to wear Their holy armour for him. But in the end, they'd forsaken me. I hadn't been enough to save him. Then let them forsake me! Let me be driven from their light, the scales tipped away from their favour.

The tide of red lifted me from the blackness, engulfed everything before receding, a sanguine film of flotsam left behind. My hand gripped tight the black Blade of Woe. Its name suited the one who would wield it. My heart sealed, locked down tight. That icy embrace now a crooning comfort.

I would take Lachance up on his invitation.

[almondharry]

you look so good : three

you look so good [10.8k]

“Don’t do it, M.”

“Do what?” Her voice was all too innocent. 

“I know what you’re thinking.”

Part three: Neumann’s Game Theory 

Neumann’s Game Theory

July 5, 2003

Genevieve’s forearms were gripped in an iron tight hold. Her mother’s long and bony fingers wrapped around like medieval vine; they curled and held Genevieve in place. With lips set in a thin line, her mother’s perfectly plucked brows were drawn in a scolding glare. The strength behind it could cut diamond.

“How did this happen?”

“I… I don’t know,” Genevieve mumbled. “I was playing and running really fast and I didn’t see the rock.” Her chin met the center of her collarbone. Loose pieces of gravel rolled under her shoe, the crunch calmed her. It was her favoured alternative over maintaining the heavy eye contact that glared from above. A drop of red splattered onto the pavement.    

“Oh, Genevieve.” The defeated sigh that slipped from her mother’s lips had less to do with mourning the dress, but more to do with the innocence that framed her rose tinted glasses. “Darling, there is only one thing I ask of you.”

Genevieve was no foreigner to her tone. It was laced with a classic sweetness, one that teachers liked to lay on thick when explaining instructions to kindergarteners.

Genevieve waited. She poked a finger in the horizontal slit of fabric that hovered above her knee. The broken threads were an easy fix; she had seen her mother tackle far worse from her work. She hypothesized it would take her six minutes at her sewing machine to restore the misalignment. It wasn’t those fancy new electric ones that had ten different settings. It was fashioned mechanically and had a joint foot pedal that Genevieve pretended was its best friend. It was humble and did all the required stitching.

“Yes, Mama?” Thin red streaks slid down the sides of her leg, tiny rivers went their separate ways. They darkened the navy blue of her dress.

Her mother’s eyes skimmed over Genevieve’s features in desperation. They took in her sweaty hairline, scratched cheek, and pouty lips.

Her tone dropped to a hush. It was a secret meant to be sealed between only them. “Never chase a boy, Genevieve. Don’t do it.”

***

October 31, 2019

Genevieve wasn’t used to the stop and go. It was something she never thought twice about when she was younger and needed to get across town, but now it was painfully obvious. A middle aged man in a green tie and second hand suit sat across the aisle from her. His ankle crossed over his knee and a newspaper open in his lap. At the front, three seats folded up and made room for a teenage girl in a wheelchair. She untangled the cord of her white headphones. A mother attempted to calm down her shrieking toddler. The boy, red faced and wet with tears, stomped his feet and waved his arms impatiently.

Genevieve didn’t mind the ruckus. Between being trapped in a self-imposed exile at a still library or the solitude of her apartment, the hustle of the city gave her much needed normalcy. Her head pressed against the window, she regretted her decision when the driver hit the brakes suddenly. The potholes on the concrete made her bang her forehead several times, but she kept it there because she liked to see her breath fog up the glass with each little puff. The cloudiness stained the window for a second before it disappeared. She enjoyed counting her exhales to pass time.

She was at a prime number, sixty-one, when the buzzing of her phone interrupted her recording.

Incoming Call. Meena.

Her thumb slid across the screen and she brought the receiver closer to her head. “I’m coming, I’m coming.”

“Where are you?”

“Right now? Just by King Street. Shouldn’t be any much longer. Maybe twenty minutes tops.”

“Well, hit the gas, you’ve been requested.”

Genevieve mentally went over the list of people who beckoned her. She had already texted Liam and informed him that she was running slightly behind schedule. That only left Niall.

“Niall?” She laughed. ”Tell him I can’t give him a ride tonight, my car is at the shop.”

“No, not Niall— wait, how are you getting here?”

“The bus.”

“Ooh,” she hummed in realization. The toddler was now invested in a juicebox, his nose sniffled and palm wiped at his eyes for dried tears. There was still honking on the street and Genevieve nodded along to the soft music from the car radio beside them. “Those things are never on time, no wonder you’re so far away.”

“Sixteen minutes now.”

“I could’ve given you a ride if I had known.”

“It’s alright, I’ll be there soon anyway.” Green Tie flipped the page, Genevieve briefly glanced at the stock market numbers. “What’s going on there? Have they got on yet?”

“Nope it’s some poetry thing right now, they won’t be up until later. Liza said something about two more people on the set list.”

The invitation for Liam and Genevieve had stretched out to a few more familiar faces. It was Halloween night, that meant The Cabinet had colourful drinks, orange and yellow streamers on the walls, and faux cobwebs lining the bar tops. Usually Ted wouldn’t have put much thought to it, but when he noticed the direct correlation in risen sales, he made it a full blown out theme. There was a popular promotion; if you came in with a costume you get a small percentage off your drinks.

“Liam just popped into the loo to fix his face paint. There’s a guy here with a very detailed Ironman getup. Niall has taken a liking to a brunette in a lingerie set. I think she’s supposed to be a bunny, or a hamster. My drink is making my lips blue.”

“Riveting.”

“I think so too. It makes me a more believable zombie while getting me buzzed. Talk about a two for one special—” There was shuffling, ice cubes clinking against glass—“oh shit, I think… I think I see Professor Biggins.”

Genevieve groaned. He had become a common topic of conversation with Meena. She would mostly drag his name through dirt for giving her a mark that she strongly argued she didn’t deserve. He was the type of professor that had a God complex. To do above and beyond in his class—the only thing that Meena allowed herself to do—you had to fight through the trenches with your own bare hands. “Don’t do it, M.”

“Do what?” Her voice was all too innocent.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

“It’s a perfectly casual setting. I’ll just buy him a drink and ask him to give me his thoughts on my rough draft,” she said. “I have a copy on my phone.”

“Really? Are you serious?”

“Okay, well it isn’t a rough draft.” She let out a disgruntled huff. “It’s actually my final that I worked my arse off for the past week. But I’m not gonna let him know that, of course. Knowing him, he will rip it to shreds and make it seem like a mess of jot notes instead of well developed arguments.” Genevieve heard a gulp over the line when Meena threw back her drink. “You know I saw Lucy Wallace leaving his office hours in tears. Lucy Wallace! Can you believe it? I’ve never seen that girl with less than a four point oh, and he broke her, Gen.”

“Oh my God, leave him alone, he’s probably there to relax and not be bothered by students.”

She scoffed. “Relax? If I can’t sleep because of this bloody essay then neither should he. It’s only fair.” Genevieve could picture Meena squirming off her bar stool. “And if he really didn’t want to run into his students, he should’ve thought of that before choosing a pub on campus.”

“You’re walking towards him, aren’t you?”

“Yup, ten steps away,” she said, without an ounce of shame. “I hope he recognizes me behind this makeup. For being such a young prof, you’d expect him to be somewhat lenient and not have a stick up his arse. I swear to you Gen, this man hasn’t a clue what mercy means.”

“I’m sure you’ll give him a proper schooling on it then. With the whole definition and everything.”

“And nothing less,” Meena agreed. “Text me when you get in, yeah?”

“Take it easy on him.”

“Not a chance, see you soon.”

***

Genevieve spotted Liam instantly. His Captain America shield, leaned against the wooden peg of the table, really gave him away. A simple light fixture dangled above them and spilled a dull orange hue. Across from him, Angie sipped a pink drink and Liza was in the middle of telling a story with expressive hand gestures. A witch hat contained her curls and matched the long black maxi dress that she had on. Genevieve grimaced at the dried beer on the floor; the soles of her shoes grew tacky with every step towards the table.

“—She was a complete psycho! Had too many screws loose!” Liza exclaimed with brows at her hairline. “I had a feeling from the start, Liam! But it seems like anything I say falls on deaf ears!”

Angie rolled her eyes with a bored expression. The jewelled bracelets that covered her wrist hit against the neck of her glass as she brought the rim to her lips. “She wasn’t that bad.”

“She wouldn’t let you come out with us.”

“That was a... misunderstanding.”

“She refused to get along with any of us for more than twenty minutes.”

“Some people like to keep to themselves. Introversion and all.”

“She threw your clothes off the balcony and almost started a fire.”

Angie hissed at the painful memory, her face crumpled as she swallowed her drink. It was easy to mistake her reaction as a liquor burn. “Okay, yeah, maybe that bit was a little too much.”

“Wait a second, she threw your clothes? From the balcony? Don’t you live on the twenty second floor?” Liam’s eyes could drop out of their sockets and roll on the table like a pair of dice.

“Lived. And it was the whole suitcase, unzipped, the whole shabang. Quite the show.” Genevieve’s eyes wrinkled with amusement when Angie waved her hands in a jazz like theatre fashion, a sarcastic smile pulled at her painted black lips. “I was just happy that my clothes broke the fall for my laptop. But she did manage to crack my camera lens.”

“She sounds delightful,” Genevieve said at last when she approached close enough to the group. Her teeth caged her bottom lip to bite a smile. Liam’s head whipped around and he stood up to grab an empty stool to join the table.

“Gen, don’t get her started, please,” Liza scoffed. She leaned forward and wrapped an arm around Genevieve’s neck to pull her in for a quick hug. Despite being taken aback by the immediate friendliness, Genevieve relaxed into her embrace. “We prefer not to have a reenactment of her many grieving nights. Thank you for making it.”

“Of course! Liam wouldn’t let me miss it. When do you guys go on?” Genevieve balanced herself on the stool after her jacket was shrugged off on a nearby hook. She shot Liam a nod in thanks.

He raised his glass of beer. The foam rested well below the halfway level. He pointed his index finger at it and his brows curled in question. Genevieve’s lips mouthed ‘sure’. He threw back what was remaining of his drink down his throat before he headed towards the bar. He slid at the empty spot beside Niall, who didn’t pay any attention, too engrossed in the brunette in front of him. He was given a twisted pinch on his side, he jumped and yelped in his seat and Liam snickered as the brunette walked away.

Liza’s eyes snapped to the inside of her wrist, they doubled in size when she analyzed the hour and minute hand. “Shit, in about fifteen. I should get going.”

The Cabinet was far from a fancy establishment. Genevieve recognized a few people from her course littered around the space, everyone had a drink in hand. There was a modest platform that served as a makeshift stage. Amps, mics, and a keyboard was plugged in and the thick black wires resembled withering snakes.

Liza’s block heels sounded against the floor as she hurried towards the side of the stage where a crouched down Zayn fiddled with a specific setting on the amp, dressed in all black. His neck arched towards her when she was close enough. He had a guitar pick between his teeth like a toothpick, it made his smile crooked. He plucked it out and  gave it to her in exchange for the microphone in her hand.  Beside him, another girl turned the knobs on a bass, probably giving it some last minute tuning.

“If I remember correctly, you must be Gen. Liam and Liza mentioned you a bit.”

“I am. All good things, I hope?” She laughed.

Genevieve was impressed by Angie’s outfit. Her shirt’s bell sleeves were wide and the length of her skirt stopped at two inches below the knee. Layered necklaces and rings glinted under the light. A scarf tied across her forehead held back her hair, but it peeked out slightly. It was the crystals on the table and a deck of cards that founded her hypothesis. “Let me take a guess… you’re a fortune teller?”

“Close, try again.”

“A gypsy?” Her voice squeaked in a higher pitch.

“I’m Angie, the tarot reader.”

“I’m gonna be honest, I don’t know the difference at all.” All the trinkets that laid on the table overwhelmed her. There were crystals in all shapes and sizes and charms that sat in a green bowl.

“Don’t worry, most people don’t. Here, do you want to give it a try? My great aunt swears by this deck.” Angie raised a brow. “She said something about how she had it spelled by a Sufi in India. Just between us, I think she’s ripping off the storyline of The Monkey’s Paw. But with her, who knows? Or maybe it’s the retirement home rotting her brain.”

“What is this exactly? How does is work?” It piqued an interest. Genevieve watched closely as Angie scooped the deck of cards to shuffle with expertise.

People tended to be a bit wary about myths, legends, and the ‘other world’. Genevieve understood the fascination that came along with it, but her belief regarding the supernatural was as weak as a packed public library’s wifi signal. Her belief stayed with something she could see and understand. For her, this was the existence of concrete numbers. If anything, a deck of cards was just another application of game theory. It was all permutations and combinations that were behind seeing the past or forecasting the future, not magic.

“There are two types of reading. You can do a question based or more of an open reading,” Angie said. “We’re gonna do an open one because that was the only one my aunt was willing to teach an eight-year-old on a snow day.”

“Sounds good, how do I start?”

“After the deck is shuffled, I’m going to lay out four piles of three cards each. All you have to do is tell me which pile you gravitate towards and we can go ahead with your reading.”

Genevieve nodded.

Angie’s fingers tapped the edges to align the corners; soon, the pile was neatly ordered. She gripped the two ends of the deck and bent them in a concave curve. One of her thumbs let go and the tension released, the cards slapped against one another in a harmonic way. After the shuffling, she distributed the cards on the table, her fingers looked like they were snapping at a poetry show except no sound came out, the card between her thumb and index prevented it. The cards were faced upside down, the intricate swirly blue pattern was identical on each card.

“You know what to do,” Angie hummed after she finished with the deck. She took a generous sip of her drink while waiting for Genevieve’s response.

She rapped her fingers on the table. There wasn’t a specific reason as to why her fingers drifted to tap the second pile to her right. Maybe because Genevieve’s hand was already propped on the table and it was the nearest deck her fingers could reach. Or maybe it was the Indian Sufi controlling her actions. Whatever it was, Genevieve hoped for the best.

Angie flipped the three cards over to reveal their faces. The blue pattern was replaced with three distinct images.

“Wow,” Angie said sharply under her breath. A whistle blew from her lips as she scanned the cards to interpret their meaning. On the first card, three women stood over flowers and fruit, all holding identical cups in the air. The second card had a skeleton in black armor riding atop the back of a horse. In his hand was a black flag. The last card had a royal figure behind a veil, a well-built pillar at each of her sides. “Three of cups, death, and the high priestess. Now that’s a complicated combination.”

“How so?”

“Well the three of cups means friendship which goes against the death card. And not to mention the high priestess means new knowledge. Which is a bit off. I think this has more to do with—”

Genevieve smelled his cologne before she saw him.

She felt heat lift off his skin from his close proximity. The space was packed, leaving him no option but to step into her bubble. His presence made Genevieve’s spine solid as a metal rod. The little hairs on the back of her neck bristled. Threatening scavengers wheeled hungrily above their table.

A glass full to the top was slid in front of her, the frothy foam almost dribbled over the rim.

“Don’t listen to her, this is all rubbish,” a voice to her left sounded, his breath hitting the shell of her ear. Genevieve wiggled on her stool at the jet of warmth that shot down her arm.

“Harry, you twat! Not on the cards! You know I have to give them back!” Angie lurched forward to swipe the cards nearest the drink. She began to collect all the spread out cards into her deck with a scowl. Genevieve could’ve sworn she felt a shy lingering palm hover over the small of her back, but Harry wasn’t brave enough to actually do it.

“It’s best you put them away before you give away another false reading. Wouldn’t be the first time, right Ang?” His voice was light and airy. It gave Genvieve the impression that Angie was the easiest to pick on in their group. From jokes about scorned exes to innocent jabs here and there, she took the brunt of it all.

As if it was even possible, Harry leaned further towards Genevieve, she was half a centimeter away from falling off her stool. He tapped the wood beside the glass with his pointer finger. “Liam sent this over by the way.” Genevieve nodded, without turning in her seat. Her throat was too dry to give a response, she gulped down her drink like it was water.

“Oh piss off,” Angie brushed off. Her eyes scanned Harry’s outfit and her mouth dropped open in offence. “What happened to the pirate get up? Wait, hold on a minute, do you guys know each other?” Her curious eyes bounced back between the two. Was the Indian Sufi working overtime?

Genevieve downed a large gulp to refrain from spitting her drink out. “What? No! Why do you ask that?” Genevieve coughed before Harry could answer.

Angie shrugged. “Looks like you coordinated outfits.”

Genevieve’s eyes snapped to green ones before they flickered down to his chest. The print was a carbon copy of the fabric that hung off her shoulders except for the number in the dead centre of the shirt. Thing 1. Thing 2.

Genevieve rolled her lips as she tried to think fast on her feet. Harry saw it in her eyes, the acute sense of panic. The answer being a simple yes prompted too many questions. Genevieve didn’t want to get into the how’s and the why's. It would be like untangling knotted necklaces that had very thin chains.

Sure, they did know each other at a different time. Now, years apart, the answer failed to uphold any truth. It was the same as admitting they didn’t know the other at all. Something passed between the two of them—a mutual understanding, a silent conversation.

Harry cleared his throat, his attention gravitated back to an expectant Angie. “By coordination, you mean picking the most common shirt as an excuse for an outfit, then yes, of course, we coordinated. Along with whoever is wearing a size small in this halfway across the world.”

“Forget it, I need another drink.” Angie’s curiosity went as quickly as it came. She slid off her stool and marched towards the bar. Her necklaces and rings jingled together like windchimes with every step.

And then there were two.

Harry pretended not to notice Genevieve wrap a broken fray of her jeans around her pointer finger. It was one of her many ticks. She picked at her clothing before an important presentation, a tricky exam, confrontation. She gave the thread a hard tug and it ripped off. She had one leg crossed over the other tightly on her stool. Her thumb caged the first knuckle of her ring finger.

Harry attempted to make eye contact, and she met his gaze for the length of a heartbeat.  

Harry watched as Genevieve released a relieved breath. Her tongue ran over her lips. “Thank you,” she sighed.

Neither of them knew if it was for bringing her drink over or keeping the veil on their past.

Before Harry could respond, there were two taps into a microphone. The electric shrill came to a stop; heads turned towards the stage.

“Having a good night everyone?” The small crowd gathered near the stage grew slowly as Liza adjusted her mic stand. It was like the beginnings of the holy mecca. An incoherent response was given in a cheer. “We’re The Red Day, thank you for having us! Our first song is one I’m sure will sound somewhat familiar. Here is Nine Hearts!”

Niall and Liam whooped and hollered from their new position closer to the stage. Encouraging claps and cheers were shouted. Angie raised her drink in support. Meena abandoned her professor for their set.

At the first few chords of Liza’s guitar and Zayn’s keys, Harry’s head turned to catch a glimpse of Genevieve’s reaction. He didn’t know if her music taste differed from what it was. Was she still into the same bands? Did she still hate karaoke? Somehow he thought his questions will be answered with a hopeful glance. Then his chin met his shoulder, a frown pulled at his lips. The stool beside him was vacant. She left a wet ring of water on the table, the only proof of her presence.

Genevieve was no longer there.

***

Sweat coated the back of Genevieve’s neck and the high points of her face. Drinks sloshed over rims and a couple drops misted her skin. The small space began to feel like a furnace, the dial set at the highest setting. Energy vibrated with ease through the huddle of strangers she found herself among. Her lack of height and the dim lighting did little to aide her view of the stage. Genevieve elbowed towards the flash of blond that caught her eye.

The song switched when Genevieve stumbled beside her friends.

“There you are!” Niall screamed, but his voice was muffled. He trapped her neck in the crook of his elbow, pressing a messy kiss to her matted hairline. “Haven’t seen you all night!”

“You have me now!” Genevieve knocked elbows with a boy who rushed to the bar. Her index finger and thumb squished Niall’s cheek. Even with the facepaint, his skin was flushed a certain shade of red he only got when was buzzed or severely sunburnt. “What’s this?”

“I’m a mime!” His costume only registered to Genevieve when her eyes landed on the black and white striped shirt. Her mouth parted in a drawn out Oh.

He pushed his drink into her hands before his raised to spread in front of him, an invisible glass barrier became apparent.

“You’re the loudest person I know, whose brilliant idea was this?” She snorted when his face contorted into extreme expressions. “Could’ve mistaken you for a clown. It’s more fitting.”

That prompted a deep chuckle from Liam. He was an arms length away. A blue drink in hand. With closed eyes, he nodded his head to the mellow beat of the music. A few lighters were in the air.

“Two costumes in one, I am going above and beyond! For the people, you know?”

“So generous.” Genevieve helped herself to his drink. It would be something that Niall would snatch from her if he was sober. Instead he swayed with the rhythm and mouthed the lyrics obnoxiously all while he clutching his heart.

Genevieve could only imagine the heat of the potted stage lights aimed at Zayn, Liza, and the unnamed girl. Sweat beaded their temples. She hadn’t been lucky enough to familiarize herself with their sound. As Genevieve concentrated on the music, a stubborn knot in her shoulder dissolved.

Liza was the frontwomen, a guitar strap slung around her neck and red lips kissed the mic. Zayn was a natural behind black and white keys, practiced fingers knew their placements as if he was recalling the alphabet. No-name controlled the bass with expertise, the sound traveled through floorboards and made toes curl. They were skilled at holding down a beat. The tempo and chord arrangements went together effortlessly. It testified to the hours spent at their craft.

Liza’s voice was deep and rough and settled in your bones. Zayn occasionally leaned forward into his mic to add light harmonies that complimented her voice. The contrast between them made for a balanced sound. The amps thundered as they progressed into the pre-chorus. The crowd became rowdy with anticipation. It was an electric, needy, callous disorder.

“I need to pee,” Liam winced, his eyes pinched in pain. He was in the middle of a funny dance. He adjusted his bulge and shoved his unfinished drink into Genevieve’s hand.

Genevieve’s protest didn’t make it out in time because Liam was gone in a flash. Her mouth hung open. His figure drowned in a sea of people.

The song neared an end. A roar flooded the bar, the praise and claps were deafening. It was obvious as daylight, they were pocketing hearts away with every strum of a guitar. Liza’s chest heaved to catch her breath. Her hair bounced as she crouched down, the mouth of a plastic bottle met her lips. While she hydrated, to keep the momentum up Zayn pressed closer to his mic.

“Evening everyone—”

Niall cupped his palms around his mouth in a makeshift megaphone. “Yeah, Baby!”

Zayn closed his eyes and exhaled a shaky breath before he gave an acknowledging nod. “And Niall.”

“Woo!” Niall—an embarrassing soccer mom on the sidelines—didn’t quite know when to stop with the positive reinforcement. A couple heads turned towards Niall and by association, Genevieve. Zayn began to thank the crowd and plugged the student radio that he had started with Liza as another place to find their music.

Genevieve’s elbow dug in the soft pillow of Niall’s side. “You know him?” She raised a brow and pointed her chin towards the stage.

“Who? Zayn?” Genevieve nodded in confirmation. “Top lad. I smoke with him at the back after every gig. You should come. He has the best stuff.”

Genevieve’s jaw hung open in mock offence. “He’s your pot buddy now?”

“That’s what you get for abandoning me.” Niall shrugged. “I move on fast, you know?”

Genevieve recalled the last time Niall had reached out to give his invite. It was one of those weeks where too many things piled right after the other. Where days blurred into one because professors couldn’t grasp the concept of strategically placing due dates, despite having fancy doctorate degrees. “It was finals week!”

“More the reason to do it, if you ask me.” He wiggled his brows. He sighed when she pouted. “Don’t be jealous, there’s still enough of me to go around.”

Genevieve rolled her eyes freely and took a swig of the amber liquid, it slid down her throat with ease. The chords of the last song floated into the air and Genevieve didn’t bother to fix the strands of hair that stuck to her face. Her feet swayed with Niall’s, featherlight and carefree. Their arms pretzeled each other’s shoulders as they lost themselves in the music. It was a mix of knocking knees and withholding the other’s weight. Their drunken stumbles didn’t hinder their experience, if anything, it amplified it.

Liam and Meena nursed their drinks on the other side of the bar. Attempts at reclaiming their spots proved futile as the crowd grew more relentless and chaotic. All hopes of a good view died at once, like an annoying house fly under a swatter.

Meena caught Genevieve’s glazed eyes. They held eye contact, it was something they did at parties or pubs. Touching base to make sure all things are in order. Are you okay? Do you want to leave?

Genevieve shot her a thumbs up with a bubbling smile to dismiss Meena’s worries.

Meena narrowed her eyes on Genevieve’s shoulder. Her own fingers came to pinch at her top. Don’t you sleep in that?

And?

It’s wrinkled.

Genevieve spotted Meena’s professor over her shoulder. He laid some bills down on the table and folded his wallet. He then made his way slowly approaching Meena. Of course, he wasn’t in her peripheral so she had no idea. Genevieve raised her pointer finger and pointed behind her. After half a second of confusion, she turned around and plastered on the fakest smile for Professor Biggins; a perfect enactment of a comedy and tragedy masks. And so the conversation of her shirt was dropped.

Liza and Zayn wrapped up the last song, coming to a graceful end. They said their goodbyes and were off the stage in no time. Zayn proficiently folded the stand of his keyboard. Liza made sure her guitar was snug as a bug in its case.

It was a blur. Niall shoved around the group of people which were taking too long to dissipate. Genevieve squeaked when a harsh tug trapped her wrist. Niall lead her towards the door of the back exit where Zayn and Liza helped themselves to a few water bottles. Their equipment leaned against the wall.

Niall threw his arms around Zayn instantly, the sudden force caused him to stumble back. Zayn recovered easily from his falter, then beamed at Niall with a wide smile.  

“You lot killed it! Insane! Absolutely smashed it!”

Genevieve nodded at Niall’s words. “It was amazing to watch, I’ll be sure to catch the next set.”

“We will definitely let you know when we get it lined up.” Liza glowed with post stage euphoria. You could reach out and practically touch the energy still buzzing around her. “Oh, Zayn! This is Gen!”

The quick introduction was met with a kind smile and nod.

“Ah, yes! Liam mentioned you.” Zayn’s thumb struck towards the iron gate. A red exit sign was fixated on hinges above. “We’re going out for a quick smoke. You’re welcome to join.”

It was a common theme, Genevieved noted. There was no awkwardness or tough exterior that needed to be cracked to befriend Zayn, Liza, and Angie. No deadbolts or fastened chains, instead a welcome mat situated boldly outside their door. Genevieve found herself taking a step in.

“Liz, you coming?” Zayn inquired when he spotted Liza shuffling towards the opposite direction.

“Gonna grab some drinks first. Rum and Coke good for you?”

“Yeah, hurry back.” Zayn pushed open the door and they stumbled outside one by one.

The cool breeze made it seem like they just exited a sauna, the heavenly contrast stretched a wide dopey smile on Genevieve’s lips. It was a narrow alley of two red brick walls. Flies circled the lined dumpsters, but they were far enough that the smell wasn’t unbearable. She had been here on many occasions. She once held back Meena’s hair as she vomited in the corner, then again when Niall needed a place to quietly cry after his first breakup, and once more when Liam became insanely paranoid after a happy pill.

Zayn and Genevieve bounced back the typical introduction. He studied life sciences, had three younger brothers, and was doing research with a professor Genevieve once had. Alongside his work at the radio, he proctored exams and did part-time hours at a record store down the block. He smiled with his tongue flattened behind the row of his top teeth. He had buzzed his hair to purposefully display the tattoo behind his ear.

Niall and Zayn got talking about the upcoming game. They made light conversation until the door flung open, abruptly. It slammed against the wall with great force.

“Fuck.”

The ugly screech of metal against brick didn’t falter Genevieve. The sight the door revealed did. Zayn grabbed the swinging door just before it had the opportunity to collide again.

“Jesus, H, you’re gonna have to pay a fortune if that falls off its hinges,” Zayn warned.

“All I have is ten quid.” The self deprecation was laid on thick, a nonchalant shrug tacked on the end of his sentence. In his hands were tall glasses, the pad of his fingers turned slightly white from their hold. “—And your drink.”

“Where’s Liz?” Zayn asked holding his drink to his lip as he looked over the rim.

“She popped into the loo for a bit,” said Harry. She is thankful for the few drinks circling her veins because it helped lessen the intensity of his gaze when he noticed her standing there. “She’ll be out with Angie in a minute.”

It feels like she’s in elementary school and in trouble. Her previous departure was still fresh in his head, it flared an insecurity in him that he thought was long put to bed.

Lately, Genevieve made him feel one prominent emotion. Her quick dismissals made him invisible, like a little boy in red shorts at a gym class line up that everyone knew would be picked last. He was a blackened steel pot pushed to the backburner. However, the difference between that boy and Harry was the years that separated them. He has learned the art of confrontation. He won’t hide in bathroom stalls during lunch, he will not cower from her rejection. He is here, whether she likes it or not.

Genevieve avoided him by taking an interest in the sky above with her fingers braided behind her back. She expected him to hand the drink and turn around, but like always—she is proven wrong about him.

Genevieve doesn’t realize how tight the ally was until Harry’s shoulders brushed the crest of her collarbone to take the vacant spot beside Zayn. She had instinctively pressed her back to the rough brick wall to create as much distance as possible. The back of her sneakers squished old cigarette butts lodged in the cracks of the pavement. She held her breath for a moment and deflated when the only thing left of him was a gust of wind.

“Perfect.” Zayn dipped his fingers to the back pocket of his jeans.

They were pre-rolled. The white of the paper is less transparent at one end and more opaque on the opposite. The two joints are rolled into a twist in a way that doesn’t make the length lopsided and uneven.

Genevieve wasn’t an habitual or chain smoker. In fact, she hated the smell of reminiscent smoke. She indulged herself every once in a while. Especially when the pace of everything increased to uncontrollable speed, when deadlines weighed down on certain pressure points and occasionally, when Niall begged her to. It was effective to take the heaviness off her, the feeling of carrying extra body weight would evaporate.

Zayn and Niall picked up their conversation, Harry adding his two cents here and there.

You can hear stumbling drunks coming out from the front doors of The Cabinet. A pair of heels dangled from a girl’s grip as she made a run to cross the street with a friend. It was nearing the time where tabs were closed out and cab rides would be split.

“Fuck,” Zayn groaned with one spliff trapped between his lips and the other one behind his ear. He patted his front and back pockets like he was looking for his car keys or wallet. His brows frowned as he repeats it again. “I think I dropped my lighter.”

“Oh, that’s no problem.” Niall waved. “Gen, you always keep one on you, yeah?”

It’s humiliating.

The simple question among different company wouldn’t be much of a concern. It was innocent and didn’t hold much significance in a stranger’s eye. But Harry’s ears perked up and brows jumped at the little piece of information. The way his eyes fixated on her added a double meaning, it was enough to make something crawl under her skin.

Tiny centipede legs stomped all over her. The scales of a snake slithered itself around her neck, gradually suffocating her airways. Her mouth filled with live cockroaches.

Genevieve’s stomach churned.

“Gen?” Niall elbowed her side, breaking her out of her trance.

“Yeah?”

“Lighter?”

“‘Course.”

It was a weak fumble, her fingers trembled as she plucked it out from her back pocket. It was the most mundane looking thing on the planet. The white colour was chipped at the sides. The sparkwheel was dulled, but worked just fine. The flint spring was probably a bit beaten down.

With the back of her nail, Genevieve flicked the guard off. Her thumb pushed down and her free hand cupped around the igniting spark. It took two tries before the fork gave away and released the gas from the valve. A candle light heat absorbed into her skin. She brought the flame towards Zayn. His face was a soft yellow, and the tip of the spliff glowed a burnt orange. The flame died when it was no longer needed. His hollow cheeks inhaled a drag. Lips curled and he hummed in content. When he exhaled, a pungent smell of cannabis floated through the air.

Zayn handed it to Niall before swapping it out with the unlit blunt. Genevieve repeated her motions once more.

“Shit,” Niall sighed in bliss. “This one’s a good one.”

He handed the joint to Genevieve. Her thumb and index finger pressed the rolled paper to her lips. The smoke was smooth and Genevieve held it in her lungs for a moment. White smoke puffed out and Genevieve wishes it was thick enough to block Harry’s intentive peering. Zayn offers him a hit, but he declined by raising his drink to his mouth.

Genevieve takes another drag and taps off the ashes before passing it back to Niall.

It goes on like that for a bit. A calming silence fluttered between them. It took about twenty minutes for the high to settle in. There is an upward buoyancy in oil which is greater than the downward force of its gravity. That is why oil floats when mixed with water. Genevieve’s insides feel like someone stirred a spoon in the mixture; uneven bubbles of separated oil danced towards the surface freely.

She noticed her reactions weren’t as sharp when she laughed a beat after Zayn’s joke. It was easier to smile; two invisible strings pulled at the corners of her lips like she was a puppet in a grand show.

One side of her face was warmer than the other. The alcohol and weed blurred the edges of her view, but she felt his eyes on her. She stamped her eyes shut and threw her head back, soft giggles broke through. Everything was funnier when you were stoned. Her knuckle collected an escaped tear from her glassy eyes.

If Genevieve was sober, Harry would’ve looked away when she caught him. There was something charged in the air. He hadn’t seen her like this much before. She anticipated him to blink away when Genevieve locked her eyes on his. But he was shameless, and as usual, she held his stare for a moment too long.

Her fingers swiped the blunt from Niall. She took another hit in hopes of deluding herself into thinking that the tension between them was imaginary.

She inhaled too quickly. The smoke trapped in her windpipe and she spluttered a few coughs. Her eyes stung and fresh tears surfaced. Genevieve passed the spliff back to Niall and tipped her head back. The wall behind her propped her weight as she took a minute to calm her breathing.

In her compromised state, she could only think one thing clearly. She had to get out of here.

“I’m gonna grab some water.”

She didn’t wait to hear their response. She pushed herself off the wall. The door pulled open under her grip and Zayn and Niall said something she couldn’t make out. Her eyes squinted to focus under the soft yellow lighting. She made a beeline towards her jacket. It was easier to navigate the premises since a large amount of people had filtered out. Genevieve took out her phone and typed away.

Going hooome. -Gen

A bing sounded from her phone. The name of the group chat lit up as she wrestled an arm into her jacket.

If you wait half an hour, I’ll take you. Need to sober up first. -Meena

Gen whyyyy, stay for a bit longer! -Liam

I’m so stoned. I’m gonna go home and stuff my face with food. Or sleep. -Gen

Don’t worry, M! I’m already out! Where are you btw, didn’t see you? -Gen

Washrooms! There is a huge line :( -Meena

A girl is wearing a nice skirt, should I ask her where she got it from? -Meena

Munchies? -Niall

You know it -Gen

Eat a bag of chips for me -Niall

Maybe two -Niall

Ask her about the skirt. I have my money on H&M -Niall

Text when you get home safe -Liam

Genevieve walked for five minutes. The door of The Cabinet was far enough to be a miniature entrance of a dollhouse. She had missed the last departure time of the bus and decided the crisp night air would make for a sobering walk. Her reflexes were still a bit delayed. The traffic lights glowed on the sidewalk pavement until she harshly blinked to steady the blurred image. Everything was sluggish, her vision muddled and a few green and red circles floated about.

She recalled the corner shop from her childhood house, it sold cheap DVDs. The sleazy man at the counter never denied burning them illegally. The image quality was broken and poor. Her hands were a clump of squared pixels that took a minute to buffer.

The last button of her jacket was secured when loud footsteps mirrored hers from behind. She gripped the metal chain link of the bag sat on her shoulder tightly.

It was dark. Especially now that she passed the strip of convenience shops, no open signs lit up the streets.

She inhaled a shaky breath through her nose and a jagged puff came from her parted lips. The sweat from her palms caused her grip on the bag to slide down.

It could be nothing. Maybe she was hearing things. She didn’t want to assume the risk of turning around. Instead, she counted her steps from each lamp post to the next. They weren’t consistent. The range was from ten to sixteen. The mean would lie around twelve. The mode was eleven.

Before she began to compute the median, she choked on a sharp intake of air as the footsteps neared closer than ever.

Her neck stretched and examined her surroundings. You were intentionally supposed to put yourself in a very visible place or somewhere where a witness could be found, something she once read in an article online. Genevieve made note of the houses that still had their lights on.

“Are you avoiding me?” An exhausted voice huffed out. Impatient with a hint of naked hurt. “You are, aren’t you?”

Fear clenched her jaw. Her brain waved tiny red flags, the ones that topped cupcakes. The familiarity of the voice shot a clear fishing line and sank its hook in the flesh of her shoulder. The reel was being taken in and slowly she turned around. The crunch of gravel distracted her from the erratic thump thump thump of her pulse.  

“Harry?” She wheezed. She expected his name to roll off easily, but she stuttered and added another syllable. His name sat on her tongue with the weight of a rounded pellet.

“‘Course, who else would it be?”

“Holy fuck.” Stress alleviated only when he stood under the light of a lamp post. Her shoulders eased as the impending horror diluted. “Don’t you know not to creep up on someone who is walking the street alone? I thought you were a murderer!”

“Oh–shit, I didn’t think of that,” he confessed with a sheepish smile. A wave of humility flooded his features and he glanced towards the sky. With his fists deep in his jean pockets and head thrown back, he never looked more youthful. “Well if it’s any reassurance, I’m not.”

“Lovely.”

He spluttered a laugh at her impassive tone. “Is that a new thing of yours? Not answering questions?”

“What gives you the impression I’m avoiding you?”

“You ran out of there like a bat straight out of hell.”

“I have an 8 a.m tomorrow.” She didn’t. “Nothing personal, don’t be so sensitive.”

Harry uttered a string of words under his breath so incoherent they never made it to Genevieve’s ears. His boot kicked a pebble off the sidewalk to the empty street. Genevieve and Harry watched it skip twice before it laid in an anticipated still.

His boots resumed their trek towards the direction she had previously set her path to. It was a line of residential houses. Each one had identical roofs, a sharp triangular hat. He passed four houses before it dawned on him. He didn’t feel another presence trail after his shadow. Long legs halted in an abrupt stop. He peered to his left before he turned around fully, arms raised in question. “Well, come on then! What are you waiting for?”

“What are you doing?”

“Walking you home.”

Genevieve snorted. “That is the last thing I need”

“Oh, come off it. You’re out of your mind, literally. And you yourself said that there are actual murderers on the street.”

The prolonged silence didn’t falter for a moment. Crickets chirped and a frog groaned from the nearby pond. Genevieve held his stare without remorse. He needed to offer a compelling reason as to why walking her home was his concern. It hadn’t been for the past three years. She was far from a little girl who needed her hand held to cross the street.

It took a moment, but he finally caved.

“I’m headed in that direction anyway.”

Genevieve didn’t throw him a bone right away. His proposition molded into a clay-like fixture and took shape in Genevieve’s mind. The newfound tangibility allowed her to rotate it on an xyz plane to analyze from every which way.

Her weak inhibitions, admittedly the reason behind her decision, coupled with a lack of energy to put up a fight contributed to possible human error. She dragged her feet towards him, a ball and chain clasped snug around her ankle. Her mother’s words vanished into thin air.

The moon, a clipped toenail, played a game of hide and seek with surrounding clouds. It would peek out every other second—a shy toddler that clung to their mother’s calf. Thin overgrown grass blades swayed with the wind and became italicized, upright, then italicized again. A steady and delicate whoosh sounded between them rhythmically, their own personal metronome.

It was alien to walk side by side him. Short legs worked twice as hard for every step he took. To her memory, it was never this demanding. Her breaths, once even, began to puff out in quick jabs after a few steps. It blemished the silence and perked Harry’s ears. In an instant, his pace was adjusted and Genevieve was no longer the victim to his strides.

Harry’s index fingernail scratched above his top lip. It was his attempt to hide a budding smile. “You smell like maple.”

Harry had a tendency to short circuit, there were times he blurted out a phrase or thought meant to be kept in the space between his ears. He had explained it to her as an involuntary muscle spasm, he could control the twitch at times but he would slip up once in a while. His statement was full of surety, an irrefutable fact. For a second, she ignored it.

He turned to her with a boyish grin, it coined a painfully deep dimple to his left cheek. It conveyed that this was no slip up, it was deliberate.

“What?” Her laugh was dry and perplexed under his observation.

“And weed, but mostly maple—like the syrup. Is it a new perfume?”

Genevieve pressed the neck of her shirt to her nose and sniffed the cotton. She only smelled the weed. “I think you’ve finally lost it. Haven’t you?” Harry grinned to the floor, bashful and content. His hair flopped on his face. “Along with a couple of inches. Finally figured out where the barber is located?”

“You don’t like it?” He feigned offence.  

“Doesn’t matter what I like, I don’t think I’ve ever seen your ears. It’s different, that’s for sure.”

“Good different? Bad different?” He prodded. “You gotta give me something to work with here.”

“Neither… I guess? It’s just changed, is all.” The pathway curved into a right turn. They passed by a low shrill of a heater attached below a window. “People change, it’s expected.”

“Not as much as we like to think, no,” he countered, his fingers threaded his hair back. “You are a prime example, haven’t changed a bit.”

Genevieve was unaware if he had taken to being the devil’s advocate as a part time hobby, but regardless she took his bait. They still had quite the trek to cover. “What makes you think that?”

“Well for starters, you still run a bit late.” A snicker fell from his lips, adolescent yet collected. A thumb jutted out from his closed fist.

“Well, it is better than not coming at all.”

“You only drink Stellas.” His index finger appeared. She felt like he put her smack dab in the middle of a boxing ring. He was red gloved offence which left her to fulfill the defence vacancy.

“—A classic. Can never go wrong with it.”

“Can’t smoke without coughing.”

“Hey. Happens to everyone. Mild error.”

“And carry that lighter.” The slow ringing in her ear ascended in volume like a train arriving at a platform. Tight sheets of saran wrap roped around her face. “One that’s not yours.”

Ah, there it was.

Her lungs were empty, winded as though he had delivered a suckerpunch to her gut rather of a small observation. Out of the four fingers, his middle one had a metal band. An ornate rose— bloomed, its petals laid vulnerably wide open. Would it leave a scar? Her bottom lip cushioned the front row of her teeth as she sorted her brain for something, anything.

“It’s a very useful tool. Comes in handy multiple times, more than you can imagine.”

He had a good eye, perfect vision, and an even better insight to see right through her.

Harry pursed his lips. “I’m sure it has.”

The shift in the atmosphere right before it begins to pour mesmerized Genevieve. The air would be stale and thick. It held a suffocating weight and the unbearable humidity made it harder to draw a breath; each inhale came through the narrow valley of a plastic straw. That’s how it felt standing beside Harry. She had forgotten about it for years, but now it mocked her head on.

“But these—” the pad of his index finger tapped his temple twice—“These are new, right?” He expertly switched topics when her head bowed down and an ashamed stare fixed on the pavement for a moment too long.

The reply wasn’t immediate and Harry kicked himself for bringing it up in the first place. He disrupted the natural current of the conversation and it was achingly obvious. He should’ve kept his mouth shut, probably even locked it and tossed the key down the gutter. They don’t talk about it, it’s something they don’t do.

A punishing silence dragged on for an eternity. She forgot how to string together a sentence. Time was needed to collect the pieces of her scattered brain.

Eventually, she gave out a long defeated hum. “They are, how do they look?”

The glasses sat on the bridge of her nose were wide framed. If you looked closely they had a tortoise pattern, the colour of toffee. When she smiled, the apples of her cheeks pressed to the underside of the plastic.

“So good.” He didn’t miss a beat.

She smiled, halfheartedly.

Good. Nothing had felt good for a long time. Genevieve didn’t realize it for a while. Denial was a wicked witch that masked what lay in front with a dozen spells. The days continued to come one after the other. Consecutive and strict. Then Mondays got confused with Thursdays. Months came and went. And suddenly it was years later. Everything was gone. He was gone, until he wasn’t.

“Enough about me.” She cleared her throat before it knotted in on itself. “How’s Esther?”

“Annoying as ever.” He rolled his eyes, words dipped in fond admiration. It was love, gentle and timid. “She doing great. We’re talking more now.”

“That’s good,” she sighed. That was the bitterest pill of them all. Harry was good. So good.

“She wanted to meet you.”

Her head shot up, she brought her hand to her chest. “Me?”

“Yeah, she asks about you a lot.” Genevieve gulped at the piece of information. She assumed Harry would have avoided bringing her up to others. The only way Genevieve could see herself in his current life is as an abandoned cardboard box, shoved in the back of his closet. Only opened to reminisce about what was. “Didn’t know how to tell her you won’t pick up my calls.”

“I got a new number. Dropped my phone in the toilet.”

“‘Course you did.” Her building came into view and Harry feels like someone flipped an hourglass. Each grain fell too quickly. Harry’s vision darts around his surroundings as if he is in search for a lost valuable. He doesn’t look for an item in particular, but he hopes to find another topic of conversation to prolong the definite departure. His hands tremble. No matter how tight his fist clenched, the grains slipped.

He began his sentence without knowing how it will end. “You should… you should come over for dinner.”

The helplessness in his plea made Genevieve question his invite. “Dinner?”

Shaky fingers combed his hair back. He gripped the crown of his head in tepid frustration. “Yeah, or I don’t know, lunch? Breakfast? Brunch?—”

Genevieve saw the anxiousness grow in his eyes, a beast slowly rising from its slumber. If he had all the time in the world, he would spend it on completing his list. They would be there all night.

She knew better than to make promises she couldn’t keep. Committing to dinner with a non-existing appetite wasn’t at the top of her list, priority wise.

“—This is me,” Genevieve stated to put him out of his misery. A yawn escaped her. She wanted nothing more for her pillow to bear the weight of her head, which felt like a million pounds and more.

“I know.”

She coughed in her fist, a flush crept up her neck. Of course he knew. She busied herself with plucking the bundle of keys from her bag. “How far off are you?”

“Oh not by much.” His unclear answer made Gen tilt her head. A question mark hung in the air. “Just that way,” he added. A thumb pushed towards the street on the left. It didn’t even have a name plate on it.

It was one of the things about him that made Genevieve red in the face on multiple occasions. It was never a linear answer with him. He danced around to an nth degree. What do you want to eat? Anything. What time can you come around by? I don’t know, maybe seven. Where will you be at Tuesday? Can’t tell. Can you do this for me? I’ll try. At times, Genevieve wanted to dump a can of grey paint on him because that is the only colour he knew.

“Where do you live, Harry?”

“Are you inviting yourself over?” He was all cheek and wit. A tactic Genevieve saw him pick up from the master himself.

“Just answer the question.”

Genevieve doesn’t know why his living accommodation takes an interest. She conditioned herself to stop caring for his well-being and whereabouts ages ago. That’s something they don’t tell you about broken friendships. You can never resort to a hundred percent erasure of someone. There is no backspace or delete button.

Maybe a part of her wanted to know if he was actually safe, secure and stable, or if it was a front. She wanted a person to compare herself with. Sometimes Genevieve pictured them as two athletes on a track field sprinting towards the finish line. The white line signified growth, healing, and closure. Genevieve was always behind him.

“Edison and Fourth, apartment nine,” he clarified. His weight shifted from his heels to his toes. “It’s decent, but has a slight mice problem. Zayn has set up traps.”

Genevieve blinked robotically when she mapped the intersection in her brain. She frowned when the red pin dropped on the map. “That’s like a thirty minute walk in the opposite direction.”

“I’ll manage, I think I saw a bus stop not far away.”

It would’ve been a much shorter and efficient route straight from The Cabinet. Instead, his insisted pit stop tacked many more steps than needed.

“You really didn’t have to go out of your way to walk me.”

“Yes I did,” his firm tone didn’t waver. The next words flowed like ripples do in a river. “I always will.”

Genevieve slipped her fingers into her back pocket and retrieved her phone. It was warm from her body heat. Her thumb hovered over the screen until it lit her home screen, the bottom half of her face illuminated with a fluorescent light. Her thumb tapped over an application before she typed in the address previously given as the desired destination. A bubble popped up with a potential driver and route. “I’m calling you an uber.”

“No you aren’t. It’s a waste of money.”

She looked up with a bewildered expression. “Don’t be crazy.”

“Cancel it.”

She hadn’t confirmed it, her credit card information covered the screen, but she wasn’t going to let him be privy to that. “No.”

It was unexpected, to say the least.

He jolted towards her in a way that blinded her eyesight to only the colour of his shirt. Red. Red. Red. Her nose brushed against cotton over his shoulder, lint rubbed against her nostrils. His smell reminded her of the grocery store aisle with all the detergents and softeners.

The lack of distance distracted her for a moment. “What are you—hey give that back.”

His fingers brushed against hers were like hot coal. The device was swiped away as if he had the hands of a practiced kleptomaniac.

“I said I am fine as is.”

Maybe it was the effects of alcohol and weed that set something off in Genevieve. It flicked a switch that she had no idea existed, his fingers crawled deep in her chest and pushed the lever up. Anger bubbled and frustration swelled in her. The simmering volcano rose.

“Can you just stop! All of it!” The pads of her fingers dug into his shoulder as she gave a hard push. He staggered back two steps from her force. When space was created between them, Genevieve exited a narrow tunnel, seeing the whole picture and not just some biased misrepresentation. “Showing up everywhere, giving me drinks, walking me home.”

Harry’s face crumpled like a ball of paper being thrown in the nearest trash can. His posture slumped, shoulders caved in on themselves.

“That’s a bit harsh, no?” When Genevieve didn’t reply to him he bit his lower lip. His unsure steps neared her, his voice dropped to a different modulation. Tender and watchful. “Genny...”

“—No, no.” Her words broke by a parched laughter that bordered hysteria. She backed away cautiously when his eyes glimmered with something. He was doing it again. The signature pleading glaze enticed its prey. It got him many things in life: assignment extensions, a bed, with a blonde if he was lucky. “I’m not doing this with you, not again.”

“Can you just hear me out?”

Genevieve’s expression was frozen in a revengeful scowl. She compressed her lips together, an attempt to not spew out nasty words. The skin around her lips turned a shade of white from the lack of blood flow to the vessels. There was only so much self control one could contain. She reserved her ration for a particularly complex problem or when Jonah was getting on her last nerve. Genevieve hadn’t penciled in a portion to give to Harry in such a long time.

“What’s there left to hear, Harry?” She exploded and his shoulders dropped immediately. A yellow light turned on behind a window pane in the building above her from the sudden raise in volume. She inhaled a slow breath in order to contain herself. Her fingers knotted in her hair and she inadvertently felt her throbbing pulse. Her hands motioned in the space that divided them. “This, us? Whatever you’re trying to find again, is not there. You’ve got an amazing life, even better friends. Hell, they’re probably a thousand times better than I ever was.”

“Not true, don’t do that—”

“You don't get it, do you?” Her voice croaked. Genevieve trained herself to not break composure near Harry. She memorized the floorboard to such a detail that she could navigate the house blindly, but now her weight gave away on a loose piece of hardwood and it creaked. “You’re making me think about it all again and it won’t be long until I go weeks without sleeping. I need you to...” Her nostrils flared to inhale a breath, she held it in her lungs as if it delayed the inevitable. But the silence spoke.

I need you to leave me alone. I need you to go away.

He shook his head rapidly. Stern determination fixed in his every word, “I’m not doing that. Not again.”

“Why the hell not?” She spat. Her nails pressed stinging half moons into her palm. Her words, rather vindictive and eroded, were rightfully just. “You were so quick to do it before.”

She looked into his eyes, they were level headed and cool; a complete juxtaposition when compared to hers. Harry wondered when her face became gaunt and the darkness of eyebags took up a permanent living.

“Genny.”

She wasn’t five years old anymore, but a horizontal sting settled above her knee. Her skin ripped open, red splattered all over the floor. He wore red. She saw red. She spilled red.

“I’m tired, Harry.” Admitting this made Genevieve feel small. She closed her eyes and waved her white flag.

Being around Harry was gruesome. Genevieve could only compare it to a drained battery. She didn’t have enough fuel to do this with him. The cogs were rusted from not being used in ages. He brought the rim of a metal container to her lips. His fingers clamped on the back of her neck to keep her in place as he tilted the container up. He poured battery acid down her throat. Concentrated sulfuric acid blackened her insides and poisoned her with every sip.

“I’m so tired.”

***

“On Hallowe'en the old ghosts come about us, and they speak to some; to others they are dumb.” - Hallowe'en by Eleanor Farjeon

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[punkscowardschampions]

Drew & Ro

Drew: Hi, Ro 😊 Ro: Hello Drew: How are you? Ro: Fine thank you, are you okay? Drew: That's good, me too Ro: If you're looking for Meena, I haven't seen her today Drew: No, no, she's at the restaurant Drew: I just wanted to talk to you, is that okay? Ro: oh Ro: I'm sorry, of course Ro: what would you like to talk about? Drew: just what you're up to, what's going on with you lately Drew: the usual stuff Ro: I've been learning 'Gaspard de la Nuit' for an upcoming piano recital Ro: it has been likened to solving endless quadratic equations in one's head, so I've been kept fairly busy with it Drew: Wow, you're so smart Drew: it's very impressive Ro: not really, I just enjoy music and I needed a sufficiently challenging piece to perform Drew: Of course you are Drew: you're like the smartest girl in your year, right? Drew: with my sister Ro: I don't know about that, but I do work hard, as does your sister Drew: So, what are you doing once you've finished practicing? Ro: It's highly likely I'll need to do some yoga to unwind Drew: That's cool Drew: I like to work out too Ro: you should add some poses, it's really beneficial for so many reasons I won't outright preach at you about Drew: Tell me about it 🙂 Ro: Well, increased flexibility is obvious and well known, as is I'm sure, increased muscle strength and tone but it will also help prevent you getting injured during your other work outs and any other sports you enjoy doing, whilst improving your performance in those Ro: it will ensure you can maintain a balanced metabolism and aid weight loss too but I don't think you need to worry there Ro: those are the physical benefits anyway Drew: Wow, see, super smart Drew: Will you teach me sometime? Ro: I've only ever taught piano to children but I'm willing to try if you are Drew: I'm a good student Ro: What's your favourite subject? Drew: Economics, it's useful, one of the only classes that is Drew: how about you? Ro: if I was being forced to pick one, I'll follow your reasoning and choose Latin Drew: What's Latin good for? Ro: studying medicine Drew: Oh Drew: you're going to be a nurse, that's amazing Drew: caring too Ro: No, I'm going to be a doctor Drew: Even more amazing Ro: what do you want to be when you grow up? Drew: 😂 Am I not grown up yet? Ro: I don't know you well enough yet to answer that Drew: I'll be 17 in about a month Drew: you're 15, right? Ro: Yes, but it's less about age and more about experience, not to mention maturity happens later for boys in every sense of the word Drew: I've got plenty of experience, and maturity, I can assure you Ro: it's okay, you don't need to assure me of anything, I started doing yoga when I was really young, I'll still teach you Drew: Ali does it all the time too Ro: she does Ro: she has a much stronger core than I do Drew: but you're flexible Ro: Ali's very flexible too Drew: Yeah Drew: do you wanna go out sometime, like? Ro: excuse me? Drew: Why not? Ro: because it feels like you're playing a joke on me or something Drew: I wouldn't do that Drew: if you don't want to, I understand Ro: I just don't understand why you want to Drew: Because you're smart and pretty Ro: you're almost 17 and this is the first conversation you've ever had with me Drew: You're quiet Drew: I didn't wanna scare you Ro: honestly, your chosen timing is the only thing putting me on edge Drew: What's wrong with my timing? Ro: how it corresponds with what's going on between Ali and Caleb Drew: It's nothing to do with them Ro: I'm just saying, I'm not willing to be her stand in for the next 9 months, and if that's why you asked me, please don't do so again Drew: I've never even been out with Ali Ro: okay Drew: Well I'm sorry if my asking made you feel uncomfortable Ro: It's fine, you aren't the first boy to make me feel uncomfortable Drew: I didn't mean to, I just wanted to get to know you better Ro: how did you intend to do that? Drew: By going out, talking some more Ro: of course, but I'd like to know where Drew: where would you like to go? Ro: I'd like you to take the lead, as you asked me Drew: I can do that Drew: [time to ask Meena about nerdy shit going on/places 'cos that's all he needs to do] Drew: would you prefer [a a more traditional date moment] or [b something more casual but her] Ro: which one would you prefer, it's your night too Drew: I'd like to take you to [a] Ro: I'd like to go there Drew: How does Friday night work for you? Ro: what time? Drew: 6? Ro: Can you make it 7? Drew: Sure Drew: but I will have to leave at 10 at the latest Drew: I do the dishes when the restaurant is done for the night so Ro: that's okay I have to get up early, there aren't enough hours in the day for everything I need to do otherwise Drew: 👍 Drew: That works for me too Ro: I'm sorry for questioning your intentions, it's only that I come second to Ali very often in a lot of things Drew: That's not how I see you at all Drew: but it's fine, I wasn't offended Ro: I'm glad, I don't wish to offend you Drew: I'll let you know if you do, but it seems unlikely Ro: because I'm 'quiet' or because you aren't easily offended? Drew: that just doesn't seem like the sort of person you are Ro: there's a hopefulness within that statement which I would hate to discourage Drew: I'd like to get to know the real you, whoever that may be Ro: I've just realised I know nothing about you yet either Drew: It's a chance for us both Drew: assuming you're equally as interested Ro: I'm not uninterested, I was initially wary, that's all Drew: Not holding that against you Ro: I understand if you chose to and it, in turn, causes you to be wary of me Ro: that would be a fate deserved Drew: Of course not Drew: just shows you're sensible Ro: like I said earlier, you're not the first boy to make me feel uncomfortable and had this been a joke of some kind, that wouldn't be a first either Drew: I understand Ro: you're clearly different Ro: unless you're planning to balance a bucket of pig's blood over the door when I walk through Drew: oh, that's that film with the girl from kick ass in Ro: it was a book before that, as well as an older film Drew: oh, cool Drew: but yeah, no pig's blood, I promise Ro: I promise no human blood Drew: 😂 well that's good Drew: thanks Ro: you're welcome Drew: Sorry to be abrupt, but Meena needs me to walk her to her class so I've got to go for now Ro: It's fine, there's no need to inconvenience Meena for my sake Ro: and anyway, it would a lie to pretend as if I'm a stranger to abruptness or a French exit myself so Ro: you obviously take your responsibilities seriously, which means your maturity claims can't be entirely unfounded Drew: She is the most important person in my life Drew: to try and claim anything else would always be a lie 🙂 Ro: I prefer the truth Drew: then that suits me too Ro: farewell for now, Drew Drew: 👋