#a friend of mine sent me a postcard that they lost too

[ivan-fyodorovich-k]

I don’t know what she thought I’d get out of that

[blackcherryvelvet0909]

The Start of Something New (Silver/Gold)

Note: This contains Canon/OC and spoilers for Diasomnia Chapter 7. Possibly a bit ooc for Silver (restudying his dialogue/speech patterns currently)

“And that’s where I am currently.” Gold hopped over a root protruding from the ground as she walked along. “Thanks a bunch for the study guide you lent me - it’s gonna come in handy for finals.”

“Of course,” Silver - her friend and current strolling partner - replied. “Let me know if you need any more help with certain subjects. We can set aside time to review before your exams.” 

“Aw, you don’t have to! You’ve got your own studying to do; I’ve heard the exams for third years can be a real pain.” 

“As have I.” Silver sighed in mild exhaustion. “I’ve been told that Professor Crewel’s final project is especially taxing. Even the slightest mistake can cause the potion to turn…one slip and I either have to retake it or repeat my entire third year.” 

“I know you’ll do well,” Gold reassured. “From what [Name] has told me, you’ve gotten a lot better at preparing that stuff since last year. You’ll knock it out with little problem, I know.” She lightly tapped Silver’s wrist with her middle and forefinger. “Just be sure to show me the final product once you get it back from Crewel. I’d love to see it!” 

A small smile graced the fair man’s face as he glanced down in her direction. “I’ll be sure to.” 

For a couple minutes, there was silence between the two as they navigated through the woods and back to campus. Gold had needed to procure a flora sample for alchemy class; as she was still largely unfamiliar with that part of the island, Silver had offered to accompany her. It wouldn’t be right to let her get lost. Silver had come by to visit her at Ramshackle earlier to deliver her the aforementioned study guide anyway. As one of the housewardens at Night Raven College, it was his responsibility to help his underclassmen in any subject or area, no matter their dorm affiliation. That, and Gold was a very dear friend, so of course Silver would help her in any way he could. 

“Have you heard from your dad lately?” Gold asked, breaking the brief silence. 

Silver’s smile returned as he nodded. “Yes - yesterday, actually. I got a postcard in the mail, along with a letter and a few photos. Father and mother are visiting Port o’Bliss, at least at the time they sent the parcel. They also sent some souvenirs and snacks for Sebek and I.”

“That’s so nice!” Gold ducked under a low hanging branch as they approached a clearing in the woods. “I’m happy they’re enjoying their retirement.” A playful grin stretched across her face. “Or is it a prolonged honeymoon thing?” 

“A bit of both,” Silver chuckled. “They’ve made themselves at home in Red Long Country, but they’ll travel about from time to time. Father has seen most of the world, but mother has barely seen a fourth of it; Father wants to let her explore it before they truly settle down.” 

Gold let out a hum of agreement. “They deserve it after all they’ve been through.” As they stepped into the clearing, the sun above mildly shaded by clouds, Gold made another comment. “It’s also nice to hear you calling Persy your mom, too.” 

“It took some getting used to,” Silver admitted, “but she is married to Father, so that’s who she is.” He let out a brief laugh, “Though she was that long before then.” 

“I could tell. When Sebek told me last year, a little bit after I got here, that he and Persy weren’t married and she wasn’t your mom, I was surprised! You treated her like one from the get-go; at least now it’s official and doesn’t feel off anymore.” 

Silver nodded in agreement. “They sent Malleus a package as well. I delivered it to him shortly after I retrieved mine; I’m sure Sebek and I will find out what’s in it later.”

As Silver and Gold passed through the clearing and entered the woods again, they came upon a small pond, about Silver’s length and a half of hers. The sun’s rays that peeked through the leaves above made the clear waters glitter like diamonds. Birds chirped from the high branches; bushes rustled as wildlife went about their own business. There was little need to worry about any of them threatening the two - Silver’s uncanny connection with the fauna of the world decreased that possibility significantly. If they left them alone, they’d leave them alone. It wouldn’t be too surprising if one of those birds, maybe even a squirrel, came down from their perches to pay the young man a visit, however. 

“Did you see all those flowers that came in the carts today?” Gold asked.

“I did,” Silver replied. “They’re for the upcoming dance, I think. There were a lot of them.” 

“You think it’ll be bigger than last year’s?” 

“Possibly. As Malleus is spending his fourth year as a student teacher, he might have a hand in coordinating the event - Andromeda, too. I think they would enjoy something like that together.” 

“As long as they’ve got the budget,” Gold joked. “They might make the other professors’ blood pressure go up if they spend too much on it.” 

“Malleus isn’t above dipping into his own funds to make he and Andromeda’s visions a reality.” Just as Gold expected, a little red bird fluttered down and came to rest on Silver’s shoulder, chirping a greeting. Silver gave it his attention and petted its feathered head gently with his finger. “It’ll prepare them for what’s to come in their future.” 

Gold sometimes forgot they were all in the presence of a future monarch and his queen consort. The Draconias had more money than she could ever dream; by extension of a pending marriage, it was Andromeda’s, too. Just a tenth of their money would set Gold for life. Seven, the prospect made her want to vomit. Maybe one day she could earn enough to live comfortably similar to that. “Do you have your outfit picked out for it?” Gold inquired, changing the subject before she got too caught up in the what-ifs. 

“I do.” Silver watched as the bird took off back into the canopy of trees before he continued. “Father set aside funds for me to get a suit tailored to my measurements, among other things.”

Man, some people really were set, huh? 

“That’s good.” Gold stopped to lean against a tree, granting herself a brief respite beside the pond. “I’ve still got to come up with what I want to wear. I got the concept down, and I’ve made sure it aligns with the dress code. Now I just have to come up with the money.” 

“Will your paychecks from the lounge be enough?” 

“They should be…at least I hope. Most of the shops around here are pricey, which I expect from a college town. I could order one online, but it’s a little risky cause I won’t really know the fit, quality, stuff like that until it gets here. I’d like to try a potential dress on first before buying it, you know?” Gold sighed to herself as she thought about everything that could go wrong. “I don’t want to have to return it and risk a replacement or alternative not getting here in time for the dance.” 

“And if it comes to that?” 

Gold shrugged. “I guess I just won’t go. The dance isn’t mandatory, so…I could just hang out at Ramshackle until it was over.” 

Silver’s expression turned to concern, disappointment, at the prospect. “I’d hate for you to miss it. I know you want to have a good time with the rest of us. What happened to your dress from last year?” 

“I still have it, but…” Gold looked a little embarrassed to admit why she couldn’t wear the dress, but she didn’t want to leave the man guessing. “I’ve apparently gained a little weight somehow. It’s a bit too tight in my waist area now; it’d be too risky to wear, not to mention uncomfortable.” 

Gold didn’t look like she’d gained weight, at least to Silver. She wouldn’t lie to him though. With a determined look in his eye, he said, “If your checks won’t cover a dress here on the island, I’d be happy to give you the amount you needed to pick one you liked.” 

Gold’s brows raised, eyes widened, heart clenched in guilt and surprise. “Silver, no, it’s okay. It’s just a dance, I-” 

“A dance you really want to go to.” Silver to a step closer to her, now standing in front of her. “Please, Gold, I really don’t mind. I have more than enough left over for food and other things I need.” He mumbled under his breath, “Sometimes I wonder if Father spoils me for how much he gives me.” 

Gold overheard that and let out a small giggle. Silver glanced down at her and smiled - a soft, genuine smile. This guy really was the princely type, wasn’t he? Yeah, he was an actual prince from a kingdom long since passed, but still, he really seemed to have stepped straight out of a fairytale. Gold let out another sigh, this one of relent. “If I feel my checks won’t cover it and the stuff I need, I’ll ask you for a loan.” 

“You promise?”

Gold laughed this time. “I promise, I promise!” 

“Good.” Silver’s hand brushed the back of hers. “And it wouldn’t be a loan - it’d be a gift.” 

“You know, you really need to be careful with stuff like that. Someone could take advantage of you one day.” 

“Maybe,” Silver leaned in a little closer, “but I know you never would.” 

There was that odd feeling again. It always came up with Gold when Silver was this way with her. Not in this exact scenario, per say, but when he was kind and gentle towards her. The qualities a good few of her friends shared, but Silver was just…different, somehow. It was hard to look him in the eye without her heart skipping a beat. That handsome smile of his haunted her many a night, too. Gold wondered if this was the effect he had on everyone else; she should ask around later. 

“Well, whatever happens, I’m dreading wearing heels.” Her feet ached just thinking about it. “I know they look good, but they really begin to hurt your feet after a while.” 

“I don’t believe you have to wear heels,” Silver pointed out. “They’re not part of the dress code; I recall it only states you have to wear formal footwear.”

“I know, it’s just…a girl wants to look pretty, you know? Vil knocked everyone out of the park last year with his; while his are more downgraded, Riddle pulls them off like no one’s business.” Gold shifted her feet, which were nestled in her dark brown loafers. “Everyone who wears them just looks so good! And they look even better when you’re all dressed up. I just wanna look cute.” 

“You still would without heels.” Excuse her, what? Gold whipped her head around to look at Silver again, eyebrow raised. “I’m serious. I don’t believe heels are what make a person look good. If someone wants to wear them with their clothes, I think it’s fine - but it isn’t the thing that makes them look pretty or cute. It’s the person themselves.” 

Gold smirked and gently elbowed Silver. “Oh, so you’re calling me cute, huh? You think I’m soooo pretty?~” 

“Yes.” 

She could have choked. For a moment, her heart stopped. Gold forgot to breathe altogether for a few seconds. Silver was just going to say that out loud, so matter-of-factly and not expect her to balk?! Her cheeks were burning, she could feel them. Silver took a step back as his expression fell. “I’m sorry, did I offend you?” 

“No, not at all!” Gold protested. “I just…didn’t expect you to answer like that.” 

“Do you think you’re ugly?” Silver seemed shocked at the very idea. “You’re not, you’re-” 

“I know I’m not!” Gold interjected, as politely as she could. She really didn’t want Silver to explain how he viewed her and make her blush even more. “It’s just,” she let out an awkward laugh, “you’re so honest it’s almost unbelievable. You need to be careful saying stuff like that.” 

“Why?” 

How pure can one man be? Lilia really had to be doing something with his kids to make them this way. Was it the food? Maybe it was the food - it realigned some of their brain cells in a certain way. “Um, well…” Gold tried to find a good way to explain it without being weird. “I guess…I guess someone might think you like them.” 

“But I do like you.” 

“Well, yeah, as a friend, but I meant in a more…intimate way.” 

“Ah!” Silver gasped as he flinched. Was that…was he blushing? From embarrassment, clearly. “I…” He turned his head downward, Gold now unable to view his face. “I apologize if I made you uncomfortable.” 

“No no, you didn’t,” Gold giggled. She reached out to pat his arm. “It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean it like that. Thank you for the compliment.” 

Silver didn’t respond, just kept staring at the grass. He was quiet for so long Gold began to worry. Then, just as she was about to ask if he was alright, he raised his head and faced her again. “Well, in any case, don’t feel pressured to wear something that hurts you. If you decide to wear heels and they begin to hurt your feet, you can take them off and I’ll carry them for you.” 

Gold laughed again. “And what would I do then? Just walk around barefoot?” 

“You could borrow my shoes, if you wanted.” 

Gold laughed a lot louder this time, imagining herself wearing Silver’s shoes and Silver wearing whatever heels she picked out. “Everyone would be staring at us!” As she calmed herself down, a lint of her laughter poked through her next sentence. “But hey, you look better in heels than I do, so maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.” 

Silver sniffed in amusement. “You think so?” 

“I know so! I remembered when you rocked it at the Fairy Gala. The heels weren’t too big, but you pulled them off really well!” 

Silver chuckled again. “Thank you. I’ve worn larger heels a time or two before then. They were father’s…I guess you could say I was curious about how they felt.” 

“Well, consider me confident in your heel-ing abilities.” Gold raised her arms above her head in a stretch. “Now if I can just learn how to dance properly, we’ll be golden.” 

It was Silver’s turn to raise a brow in question. “You don’t know how to dance?” 

“No, I do - you’ve clearly seen me dance a good few times. It’s just certain ballroom ones I have trouble with. I learned the foxtrot when I was little, and have danced a dramatic version of the tango once, but other than that it’s like I’ve got two left feet.” Gold flexed her fingers as she dropped her arms back down to her sides. “I’m going to watch some videos online and try to learn from there. Maybe I’ll drag [Name] and Grim into being dance partners.” 

Silver seemed to contemplate something for a moment as he stared at Gold. A few seconds later, he voiced his thoughts. “Father taught me how to dance since I was a child. I believe I’m pretty good - would you like me to teach you?” 

Silver, ever the man of charity. And with no ulterior motive in sight; aside from Kalim and [Name], maybe Deuce, that was quite rare. “Really? You wouldn’t mind.” 

“No, I don’t mind.” That fair smile of his returned to grace the world with its presence. “I’d love to dance with you.” 

Yeesh, at this rate Silver might as well be dubbed “Most Likely to Be Prince Charming” in his yearbook photo. Gold made a note to put a word in with whoever was in charge of that later. For now, she let her heart flutter once again as Silver offered his hand to her. “Here?” she asked, glancing about the forest area where they currently stood. 

“If you like.” 

Yep, definitely plucked from the pages of a fairytale. “Alright.” Gold took his hand, feeling the leather that fit snug around his palm and fingers. “Waltz me silly, housewarden, sir.” 

The man laughed as he pulled her to him and rested his other hand on her waist. “Just Silver is fine, thank you.” His hands were strong, firm, yet as gentle and soft as their owner. Silver handled her carefully, protectively, as he guided her on how to step and where. When he stepped back, she stepped forward. When he stepped right, she stepped right. And so on and so on. Round and round and round until there was nothing else in the world but the two of them. 

Gold was so caught up in the dance, in Silver’s hold and gaze, she didn’t notice he was humming until minutes later. She listened closely to the tune, smooth and soft, almost like a lullaby. Gold had never heard Silver sing before, let alone hum. It was…soothing. “What is that?” 

“What is what?” Silver asked, seemingly knocked from his own thoughts as he abruptly stopped. His movements stalled, too, and Gold immediately missed it. 

“That song, the one you were humming. I’ve never heard it before.” 

“Oh.” Silver looked flustered. Did he even know he’d been humming? “It’s a song Father taught me when I was young. Malleus knows it, too, as does Sebek. It’s a lullaby from Briar Valley - I believe Queen Malenore was its creator.” 

“It sounds really nice.” 

Silver made a small noise of amusement. “I’m not as good as father; sometimes I even find myself making up my own words.” 

“Keep going,” Gold urged. “I like it.” 

Silver’s expression softened to something like endearment. “You’re sure?” 

“Mhm.” Gold squeezed his hand, hers still safely held in his gloved one. “You sound nice.” 

There he goes, making her feel like she’s going to collapse under that smile. Somehow Gold kept her legs steady as Silver guided her back into the waltz, fluid and slow. The calm breeze, the occasional chirp of birds and rustle of trees and bushes, the sound of their feet stepping along the fresh green grass, were Silver’s orchestra. His humming slowly morphed into hushed lyrics, scarcely audible to Gold’s listening ears. It was beautiful - he was beautiful. She wondered if he knew. 

I know you

I walked with you once upon a dream

I know you

The look in your eyes is so familiar a gleam

And I know it’s true, that visions seldom are all they seem

But if I know you

I know what you’ll do

You’ll love me at once 

The way you did once upon a dream

The third time Silver repeated the last lyric, Gold nearly stripped over her own feet as she missed a step. She gasped out as she stumbled. Silver caught her before she could fall, wrapping his arm tight around her waist to steady her. The movement brought Gold against his chest. His hold and build was strong, as she knew it was, but…again, there was a difference to it than it would be with Jack or Sebek. Silver was so close now, the tips of their noses inches from touching. His warm breath cascaded over her lips, as hers did his. Likely in her scramble to find something to break her fall, Gold’s fingers were now laced with Silver’s in the hand she still held. 

For a moment Gold beheld the whole of Silver’s perfect features, handsome and beautiful. Then, at some point, her gaze solely focused on his aurora colored irises. They were like a brilliant sunset, just as the night was beginning to glimpse the sky. In seconds those eyes went from wide to hooded as Silver stared back at her, just as entranced by her pretty hazel pools. They reminded him of woods in the light of sunrise, browns and greens basked in a golden light. The beginnings of words danced across his lips, mumbled nonsense, until he finally found what he wanted to ask. 

“...Are you alright?”

It took a good minute for Gold to process what he’d said. “Y…Yes.” 

“Good…” For a few more seconds, they remained unmoving, locked in their embrace. Then, slowly, Silver relaxed his hold on her waist. He blinked a couple times to regain his barrings on the world. “Can you stand?” 

Gold nodded her head as she moved away from Silver’s warm chest. She shifted her feet once, twice, before releasing her hand from his bicep, which she’d apparently been holding. It didn’t feel too bulky under her fingers, but not too lean either - just right. She adjusted her school uniform as Silver straightened his dorm uniform. There was palpable silence between them once more, but not like others they had before. This one held an unspoken, unknown tension neither could place. 

Gold was the one to finally break it. “Sorry for using you as a break for the fall,” she said, tittering awkwardly. 

Silver shook his head. “No no, it’s alright. I wouldn’t have wanted you to injure yourself.” 

“Like I told you,” Gold quipped, “two left feet.” 

“You did well,” Silver assured, yet there was a muse to his tone. “With enough practice, you’ll be able to handle yourself just fine.” 

“I’m so happy I have a good teacher.” 

“And I’m happy to help.” 

Another pause in conversation. One simply gazed at the other, not a thought conjured. They only beheld the other and basked in the feeling of happiness that overtook them at the sight. Then Silver glanced up at the sky and said, “We should get going. From the sun’s position, it will be dinner time soon.” 

“Good, cause I’m starving!” Gold announced, trying her best not to feel awkward anymore. She peeked in the pocket of her jacket to make sure the flora sample she’d taken earlier hadn’t fallen out. Nope, still there! Thank goodness. She patted it as she added, “And I’ve gotta get this to the fridge as soon as possible. Crewel said it could spoil if it was out in the heat too long after being plucked.” 

“To Ramshackle, then?” Silver asked, though already knew the answer. 

“To Ramshackle,” Gold repeated. “And then to the cafeteria.” She paused, then looked up at Silver as he came to stand beside her again. “Do you…want to walk there with me? To the cafeteria, I mean.” 

His grin was radiant. “I’d be happy to.” 

Idle conversation filled their little bubble as they began to walk, all about nothing in particular. Though try as they might, neither could totally keep their thoughts from straying. For Silver, it was to how soft Gold felt in his arms; how she looked even prettier up close, and how nice she smelled. He thought about how wonderful it felt to have her compliment his singing. For Gold, her mind went back to remembering how strong his hold was; how handsome he was; how he found her pretty and cute and was willing to do so much for her for nothing in return. It felt so weird, yet so lovely how he made her heart soar whenever he was around. Each was so, so very happy to have the other in their life. 

Was it really just friendship? It was, of course it was, but…there was a certain sweetness that strayed from the norm. Who would make a move on the other to explore it? 

Silver. 

“Is there someone you’ve asked to the dance?” Silver asked, casually. 

“Nope,” Gold responded. “I just planned to hang out with our usual group. You?” 

“No.” 

“Well, I’d take the leap if I were you. There’s no telling how many would love to have you as their date!” 

“Yes…”

Gold stared ahead as she walked on, scanning the area for any possible obstacles she’d have to avoid tripping over or knocking into. When she turned her head to look back up at Silver, he was gone. Her brows furrowed as she turned around to search for him. There he was, a small several steps behind, crouched down in front of a small outcrop of pretty flowers. Silver looked over each carefully before picking one: a purple lilac. He stood swiftly as he examined the bloom in his hand. 

“That’s pretty,” Gold commented as she took a few steps towards him, expression relaxed, yet curious. “What’s it for?” 

Silver didn’t respond. Instead, he turned to face forward and walked up to Gold. His gaze was centered on her as he stretched out of hand, lilac gently clutched in his fingers. It was an offering - a silent question. Gold eyed the flower, confusion clear on her face as she glanced back up at Silver. The man felt his stomach tie itself in knots, his heart pumping in his chest, his nerves begin to buzz. Nervous, yet determined and sure of what he wanted. 

“Gold…Callidora.” The sound of her real name caught the woman off guard. She now certainly had his full attention. Silver lowered himself onto one knee, just like what he’d seen many a prince and knight do in many a storybook from his childhood. He kept direct eye contact with his friend…the one who held this intimate affection he’d been oblivious to for a long time. This is what he had to do. This was the first step to something new - he only hoped she returned the feeling. 

“Will you go to the dance with me?”

For a moment, Gold said nothing, body and mind held in stunned silence. Silver’s expression was sincere, serious about the entire matter. This was no joke, not something he was doing on a silly whim or flight of fancy. All possibilities of what this could mean flew about in the young lady’s mind. First a thought of a favor, then one of simple friendship, and then…once more, there was only him and her in the entire world. Callidora didn’t have to think to put a grin on her face. She slowly reached out and took the flower from her friend - her man of interest. 

“I hope you’re ready to wear heels,” she said between the beginnings of giddiness. 

[pwblogarchive]

June 2009

June 3, 2009

“fuck it/this/me”

Wake up to despise a world I once loved

Why would you bring me in if you knew what youd become

Curse everyone and everything even the sun, Draw the blinds

I want to be tucked in and put back to sleep only like a dog this time

Set the sails

Drop anchor in the middle of a storm

I've got a conversation

And a bottle to keep us warm

Let's break it on the bow

as it sinks

hummingbird with hammers for wings

the swan doesnt remember the last song it sings

Take what you love most and burn it to the ground

the smoke in the air won't leave me be

All around

Count the embers tell me

They don't look like me

They won't sing to me

If I wake in the morning I only need two more miracles to become a saint

Everything I promised everyone I'd be I just aint

Bury me with my friends

At the crossroads of dead end

And oh all my old friends

Oh Yeah I hate them

Why bother make new ones too

Just more for me to lose

Put myself in this prison called life

Got a sentence of a lifetime

But I know the warden is god

And I could get paroled at anytime

the letter begins

Dear old feuds

Don't worry I'm headed

Somewhere new

I just hope they let me in the gates

i hope they dont have a calculator to add up all my mistakes

You can't give me any more time than I already have

And then they sent me a postcard from hell

"Wish you were here"

I'm getting close

The gps says were near

Got a key to a lock that doesn't exist

got a world on my back that i cannot lift

drink the world, til its forgotten about

I never know what I'm talking about

Don't care about anybody

But the ones that are gonna carry my coffin

Will my love be the same as I left them

Will my pall bearers be the same as my bestmen?

Tell my friends to forget about becoming famous

Not that it matters this junk is so goddamned contagious

Losing it and I love being lost

Dad, tell me which is worse

Your last breath in the worst city on earth

Or your last kiss from the lips you were built to love from birth

I'm so sick of the neon lights

But every dog will have its day

And when I get mine

I'm gonna paint this world gray

[snapplefuc]

when i smoke a cigarette on the balcony today,

i am doing it on my own. it is snowing, just like last year when i did this, but his high school friend doesn't stand next to me interrogating my own philosophy. i am not expecting to see him in a day or two, and in fact i don't expect i'll ever see him again and that fact is the only thing that keeps me even a little warm in a 9-degree winter storm. it makes itself known as an inconceivably small twist in my chest, like a vein has cramped up for a single moment and the pain can only be felt after it's already been resolved, and then you question whether your nerves really understood the hurt at all or if it was all in your head from the beginning.

this feeling is so familiar to me, only because it reminds me of him.

today is my only day off and i have spend eleven and a half minutes of it with fingers glowing red from the burn of frostbite just so i could achieve my nicotine fix. i think of that day, a year ago now but not so coincidental that the dates exact. i think of what a different person i had been, and yet also probably the closest i'd come to what stands in the snow in slippers, the faux fur insoles wet from sweat and the outside humidity. i think only a few moments prior to that conversation, or maybe immediately after, i'd sobbed my eyes out into our roommate's chest wondering if i really had imagined it all, if i had ruined someones, plural, life over my own mock storyline. this is a cycle i did not start, but i have continued, for too long.

today is my only day off, and it feels particularly quiet but not particularly empty and i think about how winter started less than a month ago, and yet for so much longer prior i have been expecting the snow to dampen everything around me and bury me alive. i surrendered myself to a storm that hadn't yet come; it would have, eventually. but i didn't even bother preparing for it. i didn't bother preparing for the inevitability that comes with being someone's first love at 20-something years old, and i blatantly ignored the signs that this would end well for no one. it's a habit I've perfected over the past sixteen years. it's one that runs through my blood and promises to grow masses in my liver unless i'm willing to suck in the nausea that wells in my stomach and undergo radiation. my sickness is not my fault, i argue, and it reminds me that the following death i succumb to and the grief of my mother is mine and mine alone.

for a moment i block out the chill that aches in my joints now and think of where he is, in paradise. it is no less than 75 degrees wherever he is, and i envy his setting but not the story he's written for himself. i hope for his sake that he is able to learn what i am, that he might look across the desk isle at my notes and see i am just as lost as he is but understand that it's his to make something out of. he never did finish any of my books, though. his scent has only just been washed out of my sheets and two weeks ago he began to talk to other people and i understood so much better that i was not the savior he had saw in me last october. even worse now, if he did sent me an S.O.S in a postcard marked from, lanai, i couldn't possibly be the savior he might see in me now, either. in my spectral form, where i see him laying on the couch-bed staring into the ceiling with a three day hangover, wondering what happened, i hope he understands that this is the most human either of us could have ever been.

i tap my cigarette out before the ash has time to whittle down to the filter drop it on the ice the slicks the concrete. when i stand there is an ache in my knees that takes a few moments to hit me, and when it passes, there is a lingering ache that i'm sure is felt only by me and not my nerves. it begs for a name, and i whisper grief.

[divinelysewn]

i still often think about how badly your mom despised me. i couldn’t ever tell if your dad liked me. he would thank me for being a good friend and person in your life, someone to keep you on track and care for you, and then often i’d feel like he didn’t really care for me. maybe it’s because he shows it differently, maybe it’s because i just couldn’t read him. i guess at this point maybe it’s the autism. i felt pathetic trying to seek your family’s approval. i think a part of me thought if i couldn’t get it from mine, i’d try elsewhere. your dad was always so supportive of you, i think i really just wanted that too. the many criticisms from my father left me wanting a figure who seemed at least interested in my life. your mom was another story, i never really knew why she didn’t like me… and at the end, when it definitely hurt in the moment, that was when she hugged me and let me cry to her. when i felt like i was a part of your family. it’s crazy, because i fought tooth and nail for my dad to understand, to accept you. i stood up for you constantly, defended your identity and what i thought of you. i never told my family about any of the times that you broke my heart. it hurt so fucking bad that you could never defend me back— that it seemed you never wanted to. i loved your family— your brother and aunt, especially. when your brother and his girlfriend at the time unfollowed me on all of my socials, i was confused as to what it meant (silly thing now, but the sentiment was still there). i was hurt and i asked you to maybe try to figure out why. i never found out why. i still don’t even know if he liked me. i still care about them immensely. i have a stack of postcards from my travels for your aunt that i just haven’t sent because it’s obviously too late. i hate that i never got to say goodbye to her but that’s just how the bridge falls.

i hate everything you did to me. i lost all capacity for empathy towards you when i took off the fucking rose colored glasses that were somehow superglued to my stupid face. i drove so fast that night. i cannot believe i wasn’t pulled over. i could have fucking died. and you never deserved as much as i gave you. my heart, my soul, my time, my energy. you ripped me apart and pulled me so thin that i reacted. and you hated the reaction. i did too. but you cannot poke a caged animal over and over and expect it to never fight back. i was so broken from you. you still victimize yourself, im sure, as if me closing off my affections and setting emotional boundaries because you used me as a fucking plaything was to hurt you. you mistreated me until i believed i deserved it. you hurt me and cried when i was upset. when i deserved to cry. when i deserved to be held and loved and cared for. you didn’t respect me. you only respected what i could do for you, what i could give you.

i lost so much weight because of you. i lost 15 pounds in two fucking weeks, which i thought was impossible, but when you take into consideration i could hold nothing down and didn’t even drink enough water to pee, it somehow isn’t shocking. i had a headache for two weeks due to the tears. i slept in my cold childhood room, i begged for my daddy when i came home that night, sobbing and shaking. i relapsed worse than i ever had. my dad slept on the floor in my room that night. i was so empty and broken and my stomach hurt so bad because something told me to leave you after you kissed your ex a week after you asked me to be yours. i never did. and all of a sudden we were in a similar situation again. i saw time and time again how little i meant to you, and somehow i kept trying. oh how pathetic i was, how embarrassing and disgusting of you.

i hope you think of me forever. i hope i’m in every girl you ever kiss and hold. i hope you think of me when you see the stars and tarot cards, against the cold winter nights and the frogs that croak near your house. i hope i’m in each breath of weed, the tattoos on your arms. i’ll be in ariana grande and mac miller, in coldplay and pierce the veil. i hope your memories of me never fade until i have found peace for the horrors you caused me. i can’t love the way i used to, i can’t trust the way i used to— because of you. you called me crazy for reacting to your betrayal. i hope you fucking choke. every action you’ve ever taken put you in this position. you made your fucking bed. lay in it.

[emma-nation]

The Devil In I - Bela x OC (Resident Evil Village AU)

“Step inside, see the Devil in I”

Summary: Aleena Novak is a 19 years old orphan who desired more than living in a village in the middle of nowhere. A talented artist with a big future ahead, she gets the scholarship of her dreams in United States. But everything changes when her twin brother, Auryk, steals an important artifact from Castle Dimitrescu.

In this adventure, Aleena will find way more than she expected.

“You’ll realize I’m not your Devil anymore”

Pairing: Bela Dimitrescu x OC

Genre: Between T and M (Trigger warning for violence, blood, abuse and eventual smut)

Tag List: @nydeiri

Notes: This is my first RES fic, so I'm sorry if I mess it up a bit. English is also not my main language, so a mistake or two may happen. I hope you enjoy it :)

Trigger Warning: Language, abuse, blood and violence.

Eastern Europe - July, 2009

"If he could learn to love another and earn her love in return by the time the last petal fell, then the spell would be broken. If not, he would be doomed to remain a beast for all time. As the years passed he fell into despair and lost all hope. For who could ever learn to love a beast?"

Mother closed the book, placing it on the bedside table between Auryk's bed and mine. Then, she lowered herself and kissed my forehead like she did every night. Her long, blonde hair tickled my face and left a trace of her sweet lavender fragrance in the air. I giggled.

"Good night, sweetheart," she spoke.

"Good night, momma."

"Cherish your last night as a six years old. Tomorrow you will become a..."

"Princess?!"

"A seven years old girl. The prettiest girl in the village."

"Pffft," Auryk let out a displeased grunt from his bed, covering his head with the pillow to avoid listening another word from the conversation.

"And you too," mother sat by his side on the bed and repeated her nightly ritual of kissing his forehead to wish him a good night too. "You'll become the most handsome and brave warrior in this village. Do you understand?"

"I hope so. Good night, mom."

"Good night, buddy."

Mother left the room, leaving us both in the dark. However, we couldn't sleep. Not because we were thrilled about our incoming birthday party as any regular child, but because we knew our lives were about to change. Seven years old was the age every child from our village was introduced to the truth and started being trained to fight the evil that haunted our lands. Auryk and I spent minutes, or maybe hours, in silence, staring at the ceiling.

"Leena?" He was the first one to speak. "Do you believe a spell can broken? I mean, like a curse?"

"I don't know, Ryk," I answered, feeling my thoughts starting to drift away. "Maybe we're doomed after all. Or... we could learn how to love the beasts."

The birthday parties always happened during the daytime, rules of the village. We could no longer be outside after 6 PM. Mother got help from the other women to prepare the treats and organize the decorations. Auryk was disguised as a pirate and I... I was Belle, from the Beauty and the Beast.

"So, what do you think you will be getting this year?" My best friend Elena asked while we were playing with our dolls. She was about two years older than us.

"I don't know," I shrugged. Being a merchant, my father always returned home with the most unusual gifts: a magical music box, a voodoo doll that had a life on its own or a fragrance that chased away the monsters - and everybody else too. "A new book. I'm hoping for a new book."

It was only by the end of the party Adrian Novak made his entrance. That was the mystery about him. Nobody knew when he would show up, or if he would show up at all. He still had that same annoying smirk on his face. The corner of his mouth holding a cigarette. The months away made his beard grow longer, as well as his dark hair. In the sunlight, the scar above his eye was even more visible.

"Auryk," he shouted, "come here, son. I've got something for ya."

My twin brother, who had been climbing trees with his friends stop frozen in spot for a second. I couldn't tell if he hated or feared that man. Maybe both. He slowly followed father's command, approaching him cautiously.

"Hi, dad."

"Happy birthday, son," father ruffled his dark straight hair with his strong and calloused hand. "It's about time you grow up."

He handed my brother a large package. From our experience, we knew exactly what it was, a shotgun.

"T-Thank you, dad."

"I'll be spending some time at home. Tomorrow we'll start practicing."

Auryk consented. He shot me a quick glance. From our twin bond I could tell my brother was far from happy. When he blew his candles that afternoon, he didn't wish for a weapon. We wished to be a normal child.

"What did you get, Leena?" He asked once we were locked in the safety of our bedroom.

"Pencils and a drawing book. Dad thinks I'm talented."

Not really. Adrian Novak would never allow his daughter to hold a shotgun. That was, according to him, 'a man thing'.

"Good, at least one of us got what they wanted. Happy birthday, sister."

"Happy birthday, brother."

4 Years Later - October, 2013

It wasn't easy to be the weakest of the twins. Although he was born first, Auryk was the tinniest. The one who was always getting sick or getting injured. The one who couldn't hit a single fucking target when he had the alcoholic breath of his father on his neck.

He aimed for a crow, sitting still on a fence. How hard could it be? Even the eldest man from the village could do any better than that.

BANG! He shot again. And missed.

"Again?!" Adrian angered, shoving him hard on the shoulder. "What the hell is your problem, kid?"

"I don't know, okay? This gun... it's heavy!"

"Heavy? And why do you think we've been exercising for all these years, huh?! We do not live in Disneyland, Auryk. We need to fight monsters, abominations. Someday I won't be home and you need to be prepared to protect our people. Do you understand?"

Tears started forming in the corners of the boy's blue eyes. He couldn't cry. Not in front of him. Crying was a sign of weakness and he couldn't be weak. Not right now. Auryk started to think about all the things he could be doing. He thought about the ocean, as he had seen on TV and books. He could feel the warmness of the sun on his skin. The sand between his toes. His mom and sister were also there, of course - they'd carry them with him everywhere. And he would study Math and Physics. There would be no guns, no monsters, no blood, only numbers, only formulas, only theories. He smiled. He no longer felt like crying.

"I'm sorry, dad," kindness was always the answer, his mother said. "But this isn't for me, you know? I don't like it. I... Remember that boarding school my teacher mentioned? I thought maybe I..."

His words were interrupted by a hard slap on his face. Auryk could taste a small amount of blood coming out from his lower lip.

"So that's what you want? To become one of those little fancy fags? Maybe you're not my son after all."

Adrian started walking away, leaving his son alone, sitting on the floor.

"I AM!" Auryk yelled, enraged. "I am your son."

"Then prove it."

"You shouldn't take so hard on him," Savannah poured her husband a cup of tea. "He's just a boy."

"He's eleven years old, for god's sake," the husband punched the table strong enough to make it shake. "He needs to man up a bit. You should stop spoiling him."

As I left my bedroom I found my brother sitting on the stairs. He didn't have to be so close to listen to the conversation between our parents, father's voice was loud enough to echo through every wall of our small and cozy home.

I sat down by his side, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

"Maybe you should do it, Leena. You'd do it better, I know."

"I'm not so sure. Remember when I tried to shoot a scarecrow and almost shot that old witch?"

"Come on, you aimed on purpose! I know."

Auryk finally let out a small laugh at the memory.

"You're good at everything, Leena," he spoke fondly. "You're an extrovert, you're everybody's friend, you can cook, you can draw and paint... you're a true artist. I'm a mistake."

"You're not a mistake, Ryk," I pulled my brother closer, resting my cheek against the side of his face. "We're only at the wrong place and you know it."

Going back to our bedroom, we pulled from the drawers the postcards our grandma Louise sent us from San Diego. Mom had been born in California and lived there her entire life, until she met father during one of his trips. God knows what made her fall in love with that man. Adventure? Danger? I expected better from myself when I turned eighteen. Otherwise, I'd never want to fall in love. Love could be my ruin, just like my mom's.

"Leena..." Auryk held the postcard tightly, "do you think... if he died... do you think mom would take us to nana's home?"

"I don't know, Ryk," I didn't want to think of my father's possible death. But I also dreamed of a better life. "Maybe."

"What the hell?" Father's voice in the kitchen made me jump in fear. I knew that tone. I grew up used to that. Something was wrong in the village. We had to hide.

"To the basement, now!" He emerged at the bedroom, holding a rifle. "Lycans were seen surrounding the area."

We barely had any time to react, mom came and dragged us both to the basement. Father left, carrying his arsenal of weapons as usual. There were other hunters in the village but we always knew how badly it could end. Somebody could always get seriously hurt. Or worse.

The basement had been carefully prepared for that kind of situation years before. It had a big bed, two armchairs, a heating source, some stored food and a shelf. Mom sighed and forced a smile.

"So," she walked to the shelf, "what is it going to be today?"

"Frankenstein," Auryk suggested. My brother loved mystery and horror. As if his life hadn't enough of it.

"Romeo and Juliet," I spoke. There was something about forbidden romance that always caught my interest.

"Okay. I... I'm gonna say a prayer and you two can read the books you picked by yourselves. What do you think?"

"Great!"

Mom kneeled down by the bed's side, holding a crucifix. I could join her if I wanted to, but I'd rather watch in silence. I grabbed my book, sitting on one of the armchairs and pretending to pay attention, while I tried to distract myself from the fact my father could be the Lycans' next prey. Or all of us, if they managed to break into our house.

"Leena?" I woke up hours later with my mom shaking me. "Leena?! Where's Auryk? Where's your brother, Leena?"

I had no idea. I had fallen asleep and apparently, so did mom. She checked for the basement's door, it had been locked from outside.

"No..." she tried to force it open. "No! I can't be..."

All Auryk had to do was to successfully kill and take a Lycan's carcass as a trophy to his father, right? That was what that old douchebag wanted him to do, to prove his courage, his manhood. We had his shotgun, a binoculars and a knife, that should be enough, but first, he needed a good plan.

Looking down to his hands, he had the most perfect idea. Without thinking twice, he sliced a cut through his palm, letting some blood pour on the ground. Then, he found a tall tree. He climbed it and observed. The smell of blood his trail left behind should be enough to attract a creature.

"Come on... come on..."

From a distance, Auryk could hear the sound of destruction and death. There was a battle going on somewhere nearby. Once again Lycans should have found a family or a group of hunters.

And then, he could hear it. The heavy footsteps, the screeching sounds, the sniffing. The mutant creature was only a few meters away from the tree. He aimed, but it was still too distant. He needed to move to a closer branch.

It all happened in one second. He was almost there, reaching for the spot he had picked, but his weight was too much for the tree's branch. In a blink of an eye, he was lying on the ground. His vision was blurred. His head hurt intensely, as well as his arm. It was broken for sure. He possibly had a concussion too. He tried to stand up and run but his legs wouldn't follow his commands. The Lycan was coming straight at him.

"AURYK!" His mother screamed behind him. "NO!"

Time seemed to freeze in that fraction of second. How did she manage to escape the basement? How could she have found him?

But without hesitation, Savannah threw herself on top of her son, protecting him from the jaws and claws of the monster. Auryk couldn't see much, but he could smell it. He could feel it. Blood. There was blood everywhere. He couldn't tell who it belonged to, he or his mom's.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

A fast sequence of shots suggested the hunters had found them. The creature stopped moving, stopped howling. It was finally dead.

"M-Mom... it's dead. We... We're safe."

She didn't answer. Instead, he heard another familiar voice.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!" It was from his father. "Savannah! Savannah!"

"D-Dad..." Auryk tried to speak, but the words got lost along the way. "I... I..."

Adrian lifted him by his jacket, holding him inches above the ground.

"YOU KILLED HER! YOU KILLED YOUR MOM, YOUR STUPID BASTARD!"

"I..." tears streamed down the boy's face, his injured brain trying to process what had just happened. "I'm sorry.'

After he was thrown back to the ground, he was hit with a hard kick on his stomach. He turned his head around to notice a small figure hiding behind a tree, watching the whole scene in pure horror.

"L-Leena..." he muttered.

"This is all your fault, Auryk. You're a disgrace to this family."

And then, he passed out. Rumors said he was unconscious for days or maybe weeks. When he woke up, he wished everything had been a nightmare.

Present Days - July, 2021

Nobody mourned Adrian Novak when he died. Not his children. Not his village mates. No human being would ever feel any sympathy for a man who abused and blamed his eleven years old son for his mother's death. It had been two years since Adrian left this world and I couldn't feel any more free.

"Hey," I left another message on my brother's voicemail, "in case you've forgotten it's our birthday today. I'd like to have my twin home, you know? Call me when you get this message."

It was useless, I knew. Auryk would only pick up his phone when he wanted to. Or when he was too drunk. God knew where that guy would be at that time, probably waking up at some girl's bed or getting some rest from... working.

After grabbing myself a cup of coffee, I checked the door's mat. Bills, bills, newspaper and... California Institute Of Arts? I remember having an argument with Auryk about this matter at some point. He wanted me to fill the application and send them my portfolio. I insisted we had no money, not even to pay for the tuition. I won - I always win every argument by the way.

"Your damn son of a..." I placed the envelope on the kitchen's table. I was a coward, I confess. However, I didn't know which pain was worse - to be sure I wasn't good enough or to be sure I was, indeed, but I'd never have money to leave that hellhole. Anyways, I decided to leave it alone. I had more important things to do.

My morning routine: to go to the middle of the woods and do some training. My father used to say fighting wasn't a girl thing, but I was no regular girl. And never in this life I'd allow someone to tell me what to do.

After running, climbing and doing a set of push-ups, it was time for combat training. Travelers from abroad taught me some different set of moves, I'd like to think I created my own fighting style. I was also very good with knifes, daggers or any kinds of short blades, they were useful during a close distance combat. My shooting was a work in progress, once or twice I'd miss the center of my handmade targets.

Then, like everyday, I'd go back home, shower and follow to my shift at the village's pub.

"Hiya, Leena," Gustav greeted me when I arrived. "I heard today is a special day... the day a little girl..."

"NO!" I stopped him. Gustav was my best friend. We had known each other since we were children and somehow, he liked to make my birthday a special - and embarrassing - event.

He placed a handmade fairytale-like book on the table. There were some edited pictures, mixed with some messed up drawings about my birth and childhood. He called it 'The Princess Who Carried The Light'.

"God, you're soooo stupid..." I rolled my eyes and moaned, before wrapping him into a very tight hug. "I love you, you know that?"

"I know. You'd probably marry me, if you weren't into girls."

We laughed together, as Olga, our boss emerged from the kitchen, bringing a cake with nineteen candles.

"Here's to another year," the older woman opened a wrinkled smile, "make a wish, my darling."

I fell pensive for a moment, besides having my twin brother back home, safe and sound, what else could I wish for? California, that scholarship, a new life... that's for sure.

"I wish for... a new life, a new adventure," I pronounced aloud while blowing the candles.

"Careful," a male voice spoke behind me, "words have power, little sister. You may get what you want."

"Ryk!"

I jumped straight to my brother's arms. I could swear that in only a few weeks he had gotten a little bit taller, and stronger too.

"I wouldn't miss my own birthday, right?" He smirked. "So, where's the cake? Please, chocolate... tell me it's chocolate."

"Your silly boy," Olga spread some icing on his nose. "Of course it's chocolate, as you love. And with cherries too."

Auryk responded with a satisfied smile. Olga and her husband, Kristoff, were those responsible for taking care of him after the Lycan attack, years ago. They sort of adopted him like one of their biological children.

"Oh!" The woman exclaimed taking a closer look at Ryk's forearm. He had gotten a tattoo. I hadn't been informed of those news either. Apparently, my brother had more secrets than I could even start to imagine. "This is... new. It seems like my kids are really growing up."

"And only now you noticed that, Olga?" Gustav joked.

Olga shook her head, grinning at herself and returned to the kitchen. The customers were starting to fill the pub. I stared at Ryk again, wondering what other secrets my brother could be keeping.

"So, what does that mean?" I pointed to his newly gotten tattoo, a strange and ancient symbol it seemed.

"Protection from the evil. This is what we need the most in our lives, especially in a place like this. What reminds me -" we turned around, taking a small box from the pocket of his jacket. "Your gift."

I took the black velvet box from his hands, it contained a golden necklace with a magenta gemstone as pendant. My blue eyes drowned themselves in the stone. It had a mysterious glow. Something hypnotizing. Something magical.

"Whoa..." was everything my mouth could pronounce. "And I bought you an Astronomy book."

Auryk stood up from his chair and went behind me, taking the necklace from my hands to wear it around my neck himself.

"This is supposed to protect you from any supernatural and inhumane beings. I won't lose you to them, Aleena. Not like I lost mom."

"Ryk, I... I can't even thank you enough."

"You don't have to. Just... stay alive."

First, I was overflowing with happiness. It either had to do with the fact my brother was home, alcohol, or both. Also, Olga should thank me. Most of the costumers of the day only stopped by the bar because of me. They absolutely loved me and knowing it was my birthday, they had to come and see me. A few of them even gave me some extra tips or a small gift, which was even greater.

"Okay, party girl..." Auryk helped me to get inside of the house as I tripped over the door mat. "Time to go to bed now. Don't you think?"

"Come on, Ryk! Have some spirit! You're home, Olga gave me the day off tomorrow, I earned some money..."

"You told Mrs. Hansen you secretly had a crush on her daughter during Middle School, you danced on top of a table, you're gonna get a hangover..."

"Party pooper!"

I threw myself at the couch. Auryk stood in front of me with arms crossed, looking like a father about to give his child a lecture.

"What?!" I yelled. "It's not like you've never been drunk before. Remember when you stole Adrian's..." I started to laugh, remembering the episode.

"When you were going to tell me about this, Leena?" He showed me the envelope. The Art Institute envelope. The one I had been struggling to open.

"Oh! I forgot. My bad, I didn't open it myself yet. I probably didn't get in anyways."

"You did."

I did?

"It's not like we have money to pay for my tuition. Also, how are we supposed to move to California, Ryk? I work at a pub and you..."

"I've gotten more than enough for that. You know that getting out of this place has always been the plan, since we were children. Leena, I've done some big jobs those last few months. I have the money to grant us a comfortable life in California."

"Smuggling, Ryk!" I raised my voice, saying aloud the information that was supposed to be a secret or not. "You've been stealing to grant us this life."

My brother stared at me in silence. I couldn't tell if he felt offended or embarrassed about my words.

"I'm getting out of here, whatever it takes," he ran a hand through his dark hair. "And you are coming with me. In two weeks, we move to United States for your enrollment."

"But..."

What I was trying to protest against? Leaving the village and starting a new life with my brother was everything I always dreamed.

"Look, I promise you," Auryk placed both of his firm hands on my shoulders, "once we settle down, no more smuggling."

"Okay," I sighed. "We leave in two weeks then."

There was a loud knock on the door. Being drunk as I was, I figured out I should have forgotten my purse at the pub. Or it could be a neighbor with some very stupid emergency.

Auryk opened the door and there was a strange looking man standing there. We wore sunglasses and a hat, behind his back he was carrying a giant hammer. According to the rumors and stories I heard from my parents, that was one of the Lords of The Four Houses, Karl Heisenberg.

"Auryk Novak?" He asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Come with me, kid. You've gotten yourself in big trouble."

[desire-tenderness]

I will return to old Brazil

I’m three weeks away in New York on a laser and independence trip, I miss home. It’s only two days away and soon I’m back in Brazil to meet my family and friends. I was taking the opportunity to organize some of the things, like some clothes and documents, that’s when I missed my passport. “Where did it go, my God?! My credit card was on the cover. I’ve turned this apartment upside down and can’t find it anywhere. There’s no way I lost! This shit only happens to me. I only have two more days stay in this Irbnb, how will I solve the problem of passport loss in two days without my credit card!? I don’t have a penny more.” [ranting, going into outbreak] “OK, relax, I’m smart! I need to raise money for at least another day or two, I have enough for daily meals. Well, didn’t I want to experience something unique and inspiring? Here’s a chance to have a tragic story to tell and laugh at later.” [I thought out loud]  “I can manage as a street performer, starting tomorrow. I take my ukulele and some blank sheets of paper and make illustrations of pedestrians, I hope to reap the benefits of that. The last place I remember seeing my passport was yesterday when I was at the MoMA. Now I need to go back there and hope that I find in the "lost and found" of the place.” [The next day] I woke up early today and I’m already on my way to Central Park, hoping to find a space on Bethesda Terrace to play. The first time I went I saw a young man playing the cello so beautifully, it made me overflow with emotion. I played some songs, I noticed that I had a very positive return looking at the cover of Ukulele, I was curious to tell how much money I had made with those 5 songs played. It’s quite amazing the satisfaction of playing there, people seem to want to hear me play. I thought of ending with Naive - The Kooks and so I did. - I'm not saying it was your fault Although you could have done more Oh, you're so naïve, yet so..   {music}

Soon formed a circle of people singing together, I was shivered, did not imagine that The Kooks still had an audience. A little girl left $16 on the cover of the instrument, it made me float. With less than a minute to go, I saw a wonderfully attractive boy, at least 15 feet away, "do I know you?" I thought while I messed up a song. At the end of the last song I thanked him and forced my eyes to reach the boy again, but he was no longer there. The minute I thanked her, the same little girl started pulling a leather saying "one more, one more". I didn’t have a repertoire anymore and I couldn’t think of anything. The sky was with an attractive texture and the climate had a palette of color that sent me the song Postcards From Italy - Beirut and without thinking too much about whether or not it made sense for the moment, I started playing and singing. As I played, I closed my eyes to feel the instrumental climax of the song that was approaching. And when I opened my eyes the same boy I saw from afar was standing in front of me watching my show. Who was he? Timothée Chalamet. My whole body was frozen with the fright, but I didn’t want to leave anything evident. If I showed my anxiety, that space would turn into an afternoon of autographs and I don’t want to take your time. Did he give me money? The cover of the instrument had received more notes of paper, but for being with eyes closed I could not see. He smiled and nodded, turned away. I kept silent. Second then I hurried thanking everyone for my return, guarding my instrument and taking my bag. I run after him. - Hey! Timo! He turned at the same second, confused, trying to find who called him. He must have noticed me tightening my stride to get close to him as soon as possible. - Hi! Our is a pleasure, I can’t believe it’s really you. I let you go so you wouldn’t make a big deal out of it, but I needed to talk to you and thank you for listening to me play and a lot of other stuff. Sorry, I’m talking too much, all right? I spoke so fast that I hardly breathed. He laughed. - Hi, Beirut, huh? It goes well with today’s weather. It was nice! Am I well and you? Alias, your name? - Do you like Beirut? Gee. My name is (xxxx) but it doesn’t matter now. - Yes, you do. Are you from New York? - No, I come from Brazil. I’m traveling.. The words were disappearing from my mind as the minutes passed, I was somewhat hypnotized. - Cool! I really want to see Brazil someday. Do you want a photo? - Man I want a photo yes. I never thought that moment would be here and now. We took the photo, he thanked me for coming to him and for me playing with such emotion. He finally said that it was "very harmonious". And with a lot of pain in my heart I let him go. "Gee, I met Timothée chalamet two days before returning to Brazil! I must confess that fate has killed, just bring my passport back." [I thought out loud] Arriving at the Moma I received the terrible news that my passport was not there, it was my only hope going down the drain. I wanted to cry out of desperation, but I was also totally happy to have met Timothée and to have taken a picture that I will keep for the rest of my life. "I wish I’d been calmer and sane, I guess I just thought I was crazy. I hope he hasn’t noticed my despair, anxiety and complete fascination. Well, back to what I need to focus on.. Do I get some freelance work at some designer studio? Well, it could be a coffee shop. " The day has gone by so fast, the clock is almost 4:00 p.m. I think I’ll have a cup of coffee and a bite to eat, and I’ll get a job, if that’s not too embarrassing. I thought I’d walk around the West Village and find some cool coffee over there. Said and done, I found a coffee visibly attractive and had a delicious smell coming out the door, but it was empty. I think this is the perfect opportunity for a presentation, so I’m gonna eat something first. I ordered a latte and a lobster, one of my favorite treats. That crispy puff pastry, filled with vanilla cream, caramel and flor de sal makes me roll my eyes. I ate with such desire that I began to remember how surprising my day was. I thought I would make an illustration of the Timothée, a drawing of how I met him, the ambience was delicious to draw in peace and so I did. I noticed that someone came through the cafeteria door, I heard the sound of the door open. It was him, he was again in the same environment as me. The coincidence was so much that I could hardly believe it, I kept my calm. He sat across the room, pretended not to see it.

On the local radio started playing First date - Blink, obviously I started singing and trying to finish my drawing as soon as possible, who knows he could see before going. "Lets go! Don’t Wait! this night’s Almost over Honest, Let’s make this night last Forever' {Music} Suddenly someone came to my table and put a glass of Vanilla Malt and a snack with a great smell. When I looked up he completed the harmony. - Forever and Ever, Let’s make this last Forever. Hi again! "Are you kidding that this is really happening? And if it is not? Well, I will act as if I were dreaming, I can do better in this communication" - I don’t believe it. This is crazy, what are you doing here at my table?! - Would you like me to leave? - You’re crazy, of course not, sit down, please! - So, what are you doing? Wait, that’s... that’s me?! Fuck!  [He pointed to the drawing] - hãnn yes, look.. this coincidence I will never live again. Now in my head I go through a cruel dilemma. - Which would it be? Excuse me. [He took the marvelous drawing and took a photo] - Should I finish it and give it to you, or should I ask for an autograph and frame it? - Hmm look.. my autograph is nothing, I would ruin the drawing, but it’s so awesome, I would love it if it was mine, but I took a picture, it’s worth the frame! - Arranged, Mr. Chalamet. I told him about my passport drama and how distressed I was. His face of "Holy shit, I’m sorry, you’ll have a headache" didn’t help. But he offered me real help with this red tape. "Does that mean I’ll see you beyond today?!" - Okay, you’re tense. Let’s break the ice by relaxing with a theatrical technique. I say a word, you think fast and say the first one that pops into your head. -Okay... Can I get started? [What’s going on here? ] -Yes, of course, yes! - Silver - Gold - Desire - Fire - Friend - you - Call me by your name - And I call you by mine. Oh shit! [laughed with his hand in his mouth] - That’s pretty cool hahaha let me ask. What are you going to do now? I’m really surprised to see you "living normally" - It is sometimes I get this feat. But anyway, I have no plans. - Do you want to go to the street cinema and see what classic is going on today? - My God, yes I am, thank you for the suggestion. We left the cafeteria and I didn’t ask for a job, I don’t regret it, my day is being fucking awesome. We went to the cinema of East Village and Singing in the rain was on display, that was perfect! I’ll watch one of my favorite movies with Timothée, it’s the fourth time I’ve pinched myself and I notice it’s not a dream. This day cannot end. We took the tickets and entered without him being stopped or recognized, I was relieved. And sitting next to him in a movie theater, all I could think about was how I wanted to be able to take his hand, kiss it as classically as the movie we’re watching. He made a story, I’m dying to open my phone and see, knowing that I’m next to him and nobody else but me and he knows, fuck!

At the end of the movie we came out, another coincidence or not, it was raining. I had my instrument and drawing sheets in my purse, but I wanted to literally sing in the rain, only without an umbrella. I dropped everything on the stairs and called him into this brief shower of rain. EPIC. I danced and sang in the rain with Timothée Chalamet and he seems absurdly happy about it.

We end with: "Come on with the Rain I have a Smile on my face I walk down the Lane With a happy refrain Just Singin', Singin' in the Rain" - Do you fancy a bagel or something? - I’m in! Tompkins? - Sure, and you have better? I answer, no way. - That’s so sweet, come on! And so we continued, hungry, laughing and wet. I think he appreciates moments like this, you can see in his eyes extreme pleasure and relief, that’s beautiful. The hunger was so great that we ate 3 bagels with bacon, eggs and cheese. We were wet so we ordered for the trip and ate outside. During the final bites we’ll talk about my passport again. - Where was the last time you saw him and when did you realize he was gone? - The last time was in Moma, the day before yesterday. But I went back there and they did not find.. I realized last night when I was starting to leave part of the suitcases ready to "go back to Brazil tomorrow". - Have you looked in the pockets of the clothes you wore when you went to Moma? - I looked at that jacket 10 times and I couldn’t find it. - Why do you think it’s in my jacket? I always carry a full pair of pants. - My God this is so obvious! I took the laundry to the building, if it is there I owe you my life. - Stop it. Can I go with you and film you finding your passport? [He laughed] - That if I find, will know a mix of relief, gratitude and anger. [laughs together] - Come on.

Yes, my passport and credit card were always "with me", were in the inside pocket of the pants as he had said. I was about to explode with relief!

I was ready to corrupt the good impression made during the day, but I was so excited and happy that I jumped in his lap grabbing his neck and kissing his cheeks.

He was silent as he stared at me confused as he held my thighs around his waist. I felt his breath on my neck, I didn’t want to leave, but I needed to.

- I’m sorry, really, I’m just happy. Thank you. - Don’t worry, it’s fine. I’m glad you found it. Do you still want that autograph? - Of course! [ He signed my drawing and took another picture of it, but this time with me holding the art. ]

- Sing one last song before I go. - My God that hard, I don’t know. Huh.. Sing with me? - If I know. Then I started singing Marvin Gaye’s Ain’t No Mountain High Enough, he seemed surprised. "Just call my name I’ll be there in a Hurry You don’t have to Worry'Cause, baby, there Ain’t no mountain high enough Ain’t no Valley low enough Ain’t no river wide enough To Keep me from Getting to you, baby" We laughed and finished. I was almost crying. Shame, I’m not a child. - So that’s it, I will be eternally grateful for today. Thank you and good luck girl, it was a pleasure. He turned and opened the door, waved his hand. And I recited.. "Now, when Twilight dims the sky above Recalling Thrills of our love There’s one Thing I’m Certain of I will Return to old Brazil" He smiled and came back to me, kissing my forehead. - Until one day, anywhere in the world. - See you, Timolito. He came out and I cried. {This is a fanfic. All I write about is my feelings and desires. TEXT BY: L.M }

[purplesurveys]

1195

survey by n0b0dysp3rf3ct

—:: Who ::—

... was the last person you saw face to face? I passed by my brother last night when I had to go to the kitchen to fill up my tumbler.

... was the last person you texted or messaged online? Angela; I was just asking her for the difference among A4/A5/A6 since I’m now planning to buy a binder and sleeves for my rapidly increasing collection of photocards and postcards. It really frustrates me that A4 is the biggest one and A6 the smallest :((((

... was the last person who asked you for a favour? Kata, my manager. She filed a half-day leave last Friday to get herself and her family vaccinated in her town, so she had sent me over a very long to-do list of deliverables that she asked me to fulfill while she was out. Eventually she ended up filing a whole-day leave since she felt feverish after being under the sun all day, and also possibly from side effects of the vaccine, so I ended up carrying the entire workload for the day. I like Kata and she’s a very easy person and superior to work with, so I honestly couldn’t complain about it.

... was the last person you lent something to? Ooh, I don’t remember. I don’t really lend people things.

... was the last person who told you a secret/confided in you? Andi was just sharing to me their worries about taking the LAE (scheduled for today) and how they’ll be okay if they don’t pass.

... is the tallest person you know? Jo is like 5′7″ and we all look like beans when standing next to her. One of my uncles is also very tall; around 5′10″ or 5′11″ if I’m not mistaken.

... the shortest person you know? I think Aya? That’s just a smart guess, though; I haven’t seen most of my friends in more than a year.

... your oldest (in years) friend? Mik is turning 28 this year. Sometimes I forget just how much older he is than me since we vibe really well together during the rare times we did get to hang out. I’m still bummed we never got that smoke break we wanted to have.

... is the oldest (in length of time) friend? Angela.

... is your youngest friend? Hannah was born in 2000. Peter was born in 2001 but we aren’t that close yet.

... is your newest friend? I haven’t made any new friends recently. Stan Twitter is lonelier than I thought it would be; everyone is already friends with everyone so it’s hard to break that space. Not to mention everyone is also grossly younger than I am – I keep seeing profiles with ‘2004′ on their bio :/ I should start making an effort to look for older ARMYs lol, I definitely feel like I’d have more fun that way.

... is your closest relative? My eldest cousin on my mom’s side, my Kuya.

... was your favourite teacher? My music teacher from high school. I neeeeeever liked music as a subject and it was never a priority of mine, but she always kept our classes something for me to look forward with her advice and the way she was always able to make lessons interesting.

... was your least favourite teacher? Those who made it clear they didn’t like me, even though I didn’t do anything to deserve such hostility.

... did you spend the most time with when growing up? My siblings and cousins since we all lived together at one point.

... knows you the best? My two best friends.

... always beats you in games or sports? Andi would probably be able to beat me in any game. They just let me win because they know I can be a sore loser.

... who is the most creative of the people you know? My family is pretty artistic and I have a lot of talented relatives - my sister and my cousin Maggie paint and draw; my mom can make any kind of craft she wants, with her hnds; and one of my grand-aunts regularly does paintings. I think all of them are amazingly creative in their own way.

... is the funniest person you know? Probably Andi. Hans makes me crack up too.

... is the most organised that you know? My mom.

... that you know has travelled the most? My dad. Both our fridge doors are filled from top to bottom with magnets from places he’s travelled in due to his line of work. He’s toned down quite a bit in the last few years and has taken to staying within Asia, but back then his traveling history was super expansive – Germany, Jamaica, Italy, Belize, Aruba, Italy, France, Monaco, Denmark, Norway, the UK, US, Estonia, Portugal, etc.

... has always been there for you? Angela never left my side.

... has given you the most personal gift? I can’t possibly pick, my friends are pretty good at giving me gifts...like Andi getting me a Petals For Armor CD and a Punk shirt that hasn’t been produced in a while, and Angela giving me a personalized Friends mug because she knows I like my coffee and she knows I like Friends.

... has an annoying laugh? I don’t think anyone I know has an annoying laugh.

... never forgets a birthday? That would be me.

... do you live with? My parents, my two siblings, and our two dogs.

...,do you have the most in common with? I’m not so sure about this one, actually. I share bits of my personality with a lot of people - like me and Jo liking BTS, me and Andi liking wrestling, Blanch and I having similar personalities, me and Laurice being super meticulous when it comes to our work, etc. - but I haven’t met anyone who’s virtually a duplicate of mine when it comes to my traits and interests.

...is the sportiest person you know? I’m also not sure. Most people I know are into watching a bunch of sports, but none of them actually play.

...was your last missed call? It was an unknown number that I kept ignoring because THEY WOULDN’T TEXT WHO THEY WERE. If you have enough load credits to call me multiple times, then surely you can text me and introduce yourself first, and maybe then I can pick up the phone.

...did you last open your door for? My sister knocked last Friday because someone wanted to talk to me via landline. It was weird since no one calls via the phone anymore, but I have a gut feeling it was that ^ same person who had been trying to call me through my phone but never texted me. Eventually I learned it was one of the bloggers I’m talking to for work who just wanted to ask a few questions about our ongoing engagement.

... has your heart? Kim Taehyung. Expect the same answer for this type of question moving forward.

... has your respect? I gotta hand it to Tina for consistently doing well in her studies and excelling in every subject while doing photo and video editing for two orgs, working on her thesis, and being a board member in our mutual org, all while living alone. She does so well I wish I can tell her to give herself the occasional break to avoid burnout.

...do you share a special song with? I don’t think I have that with anyone.

...do you miss right now? Literally allllllll my friends.

...last made you angry? It’s been a while since I’ve directed my anger towards another person. When I get pissed off these days it’s usually over a situation that goes awry or out of my control.

...did you last buy a gift for? So this was not technically meant to be a gift, but what happened was I accidentally secured two orders of the same poster set, which was a part of this new BTS photobook coming out later this month, from two different shops. One of the shops merely posted an ‘interest check’ for the poster set so I signed up for it thinking it was harmless, but when they got back to me they already attached an invoice :/ I ended up having to pay for it just so things won’t get complicated between myself and the shop anymore; and I told Angela she can just keep the extra set I bought and that she can consider it a gift.

...did you celebrate your last birthday with? My family and technically my workmates since I didn’t file a leave that day. I also had food delivered to their house so I guess that can count as my ‘celebration’ with them.

...have you gone to a concert with? I went with Angela for my first Paramore show.

...can make you laugh? Anyone can tbh. It’s not very hard to make me laugh.

...has taught you how to do something? Nina taught me how to embroider and do basic needle/thread skills back when I was still getting into the hobby.

...has lost something of yours? I am almost certain my ex never kept the handwritten letters I used to write her. She never seemed to remember or bring up the things I wrote.

...has broke your heart? Gabie but I’m over it.

...has stood you up? Hasn’t happened to me before.

:: What ::

Is your favourite colour? Pastel pink.

Can you do that most your friends can’t? Type fast, apparently.

Is your birthday? April 21.

Colour eyes do you have? Dark brown/black.

Form of transport do you take to work/school? I work from home. But under normal circumstances I would drive my car.

Music do you like to listen to in the car? I connect my Spotify to the car’s Bluetooth and listen to whatever artist or playlist I’m into at the moment. The music I put on could also depend on my current mood for the day.

Languages can you speak? Filipino and English. I’ve also been able to pick up looooots of Korean phrases and expressions because of the amount of content I watch. I’m nowhere near fluent, of course, but I’m increasingly able to pick up what people say based off a few Korean words I’ll hear in a sentence.

Was the last thing you drank? Continued from idk. I finished off my glass of water from dinner.

Was the last thing you ate? My mom made pasta.

Time did you wake up this morning? Depends on how late I slept the night before and how tired I was, but it usually ranges between 5:45–7:30 AM.

Colour are your bedroom walls? They’re white.

Drink do you usually order when eating out? I never order drinks unless I’m at La Creperie, in which case I always get their San Gines hot chocolate; for everywhere else that isn’t a bar, I just get water.

Food can you cook well? ...I can’t cook.

Animals have you had for a pet? Dogs, rabbit, lovebirds, goldfish, and technically a cat but she was mostly Nina’s.

Are your initials? RC.

Kind of activities do you like to do on the weekends? I’m still kind of stuck at home during the weekends :/ so I can’t do much, but I’m not complaining since I actually prefer staying in these days. Anyway, most recently I’ve taken to catching up on BTS content I’ve missed over the last 8 years, so I like watching shows they’ve done like Bon Voyage, Run BTS, etc.

Movie do you know line by line? Two for the Road, TITANIC, and probably most of White Chicks.

Band(s) have you seen in concert? Paramore, One Direction, a bunch of local bands.

Do you buy/get to treat yourself? It’s usually food - I like giving myself a feast every Friday night - but I’m putting that in the backseat for now as I’ve realigned my money to be spent on BTS merch. My big purchases are saved for the albums for now, but every now and then I’ll see a postcard or photocard I like and buy them. Once I complete the albums I’ll be moving on to the concert DVDs, then the special packages, then probably BT21 plushies. Needless to say I have a longggggg way to go haha.

Colours your phone cover? I have a clear case.

Part of the world would you love to visit? Another continent would be nice.

Question do you dislike being asked? Even though I know people mean well, I don’t like being asked “How are you?” but tbh it’s more of a me thing because I just never really know what to say.

Subject were you good at in school? History.

Careers do your parents have? They both work in the hospitality industry.

Brand of clothing do you buy most often? For clothes clothes I’m not really loyal to a particular brand; I buy from different brands and shops all the time. But for shoes, I like sticking to Nikes.

Chocolate bar is your favourite? Not a big fan of chocolate bars. I love Reese’s Cups, though.

TV show have you watched every series of? Friends, Perfect Strangers, Breaking Bad.

Radio station do you listen to the most? It’s a little hard to tell at this point considering I haven’t driven regularly in over a year. But back when I used to do it, I usually flipped among 93.1, 99.5, and 87.5.

Podcasts are you subscribed to? I’m not the biggest fan of podcasts. Find them a tad bit boring.

Is your favourite dessert? Macarons or cheesecake.

Can’t you do that most around you seem to? Ride a bike.

Are 5 qualities you value in a friend? Loyalty, thoughtfulness, honest, sensitive to my needs and those of others, and intelligent.

Are 5 qualities you value in a partner? ^ Pretty much the same thing.

Size pizza do you usually order? Family size usually.

Cuisine do you like to order or cook? I’ve been getting Japanese so many times recently. I rarely go outside sushi.

Colour(s) dominate your wardrobe? Black and white, and colors that were in at one point like mustard yellow and pastel pink.

Toothpaste brand do you use? Colgate.

Sounds can you hear right now? My insanely loud aircon.

Is the weather like today? Like hell. I believe we’re reaching a heat index of over 50ºC every day now, so...that’s fun. It gets absolutely difficult to work in the afternoon when the temperature is at its most brutal, and its times like this I wish I got to work in the office so that there’s aircon and I could at least work comfortably :/

Are your plans for tomorrow? Just work and have tons of meetings, the usual.

:: Where ::

Do you keep your phone when not using it? I keep my phone near me even when I’m not using it since I could always get an important notification.

Were you born? Manila.

Do you go to unwind? Most days it would be the rooftop, but under normal circumstances I like staying at a coffee shop somewhere to escape life and my responsibilities for a short while.

Is your best friend right now? I believe they’re both at home since they have no reason to be out anyway.

Can you go nearby to have a good time? Personally, I would just go to the Starbucks near our village lol. If I’m feeling a bit more adventurous I’d head to Katip, which is prrrretty close by but not quite.

Is the nearest restaurant? We have a McDonald’s literally right beside the village. Then besides that is a Shakey’s, and right across that is a Burger King, then the aforementioned neaby Starbucks. Just makes me realize how urbanized my town has gotten in the last few years.

Is the nearest beach? If I had to guess, the nearest beaches would be in Batangas which is 2-3 hours away, but it really depends on how fast you can drive lol. I’m not too good with long car rides so in both times I’ve driven there I had always taken 4 hours.

Did you meet your closest friend? I met Angela in grade school, and I met Andi at a local rally in my university.

Did you go for your last vacation? Tagaytay, though it was a staycation more than anything else.

Is the nearest mall or superstore? It’s like a 3-minute drive away from the village.

Did you last get an injury? I have loadsssssss of new scratches and gashes all around my wrists from playing with Cooper.

Is the most extravagant place you’ve stayed at? It’s a toss-up between Aids’ or Gian’s house. Gian would probably win since I never actually got to go inside Aids’ place, and his was the first house I’ve been to that was able to literally take my breath away. OH and Shaun’s house was pretty fucking swanky as well.

Do most the local kids play? I would have no idea since I’m neither a kid nor a parent.

Have you been with your family? This is a very vague question lol...what do you mean where have we been? We’ve been to different towns around the country and several countries together, if that’s what you’ve been asking.

Did you spend Christmas last year? We visited a couple of relatives, and we also spent it at home.

Did your parents grow up? My mom grew up within Metro Manila; my dad in a city a little outside of it.

Did you buy the shoes you’re wearing? I’m barefoot at the moment and always am at home.

Would you like to go right now if you could? If life had still been normal I would probably be having after-work drinks at a bar near the office.

Do you miss the most from your childhood? I’m not sure how to answer this with where.

Is the best restaurant you know? I’m still searching for it.

Will you never go again as it was so bad? It’s not that it was bad, but I’d probably never dine at 8Cuts again because their burgers are not worth the hype and are very overpriced for their size.

:: When ::

...was your last vacation? My family’s last legit vacation was in August 2019; but we did have a quick escape to Tagaytay in January of this year.

...did you graduate? I officially ‘graduated’ from college in August, if you could even call it that.

...did you decide what career you wanted? Somewhere between my 2nd and 3rd year of college. That was when I decided I hated journalism and preferred PR, but since PR is under journalism’s umbrella there was no need for me to shift courses.

...did you have your first kiss? Continued. Like WHEN when or how old was I when? In any case, it was in January 2015 and I ws 16.

...did you learn how to swim? Idk, pretty early on. My parents liked taking us to water parks when we were younger, so we had a lot of exposure. I’m not sure if there was ever a time where something just clicked and I learned how to swim; I believe it had just come naturally.

...did you have your first relationship? By the end of 2014.

...did you meet your best friend? I met both of them in school, but at different points.

...do you feel the most at peace? Probably when I’m able to stay at the rooftop all alone.

...do you usually fall asleep? I’ve readjusted my body clock now (I used to want to be in bed by 9 or 10 PM, lmao) and I stay up until anywhere between 12-2 AM on weekdays.

...do you usually wake up? Ranges between 6-7:30 AM.

...did you last watch a movie? September.

...did you last go to a party? Around Februaryish, 2020.

...did you last cry? I can’t really recall. The last moment I can remember was crying over Life Goes On sometime last month, when I heard it for the first time. I’m just not sure if that’s accurate or when exactly in April that happened.

...did you laugh really hard? I always have a good laugh at least once a day.

...did you buy something pricey last? Idk what you would count as pricey but I bought the new BTS photobook set when it dropped back in April. Cost me around ₱3750. I wasn’t able to buy from the first press (it sold out in like 7 minutes lol) which included an exclusive poster set, so I had to look for a local shop that was already offering the poster set separately, and ended up shelling out another ₱2200 for it...which means all in all I spent around ₱5950 for it or roughly $125.

...did you have an argument last? Earlier this evening but I don’t want to get into it as it made me cry from sadness and frustration for the first time in months.

...did you last have a sick day? May last year.

...did you last recieve a hug? I have no idea. February, I think? when I hung out with my friends.

...when is your best friend’s birthday? July 22 or September 15, depends on which best friend.

...did you learn how to drive? I started getting lessons when I was 17, but I didn’t start feeling comfortable with it until I turned 18.

...did you last receive a surprise? Around a couple of weeks ago when my dad came home with Jollibee for us.

:: How ::

Many pets do you have? Two.

Many houses have you lived in? Three that I can remember, but I know my parents moved around a bit when I was a newborn.

Often do you shower? Every morning before my shift. I hate feeling sweaty and icky when I report for work.

Well can you cook? I can’t at all.

Many close friends do you have? I have two people I count as my absolute best friends, but I have a handful of close friends as well.

Many Brothers or sisters do you have? One of each.

Often do you go swimming? I don’t swim much at all, really...I haven’t done it since 2019, so that should say enough. As relaxing as it is, I feel like the clean-up afterwards can be such a challenge lol. Like if you swim in a pool you have to rigorously wash the chlorine off of you; and if you swim in the sea you have to also be thorough about making sure you’ve removed all the sand from your body.

Many times have you texted today? I don’t think I texted today but I did spend my whole day on chat platforms.

Do you like your toast (colour, topping)? I don’t have super particular preferences; I just like mine on the burnt side.

Do you like your tea and/or coffee? My coffee has to be sweet for me to enjoy it. I can take black coffee/Americano; I’ll just wince a lot with every sip. No tea for me thanks.

Do you like to celebrate your birthdays? With a lot of food.

Are you feeling today? A little frustrated because of an argument incident this evening. But I’m shaking it off and just focusing on the release of Butter tomorrow. My first BTS comeback!!!

Serious are you about your career goals? Very.

Many rooms are in your house? In total, 9.

Many bedrooms in your house? 4.

Did you do in your school exams? I was never consistent. I slacked off a looooooot in grade school; couldn’t give less of a shit about my classes then. I got a bit more hardworking in high school, but I still was a bit lax and I allowed myself to not put a lot of effort in subjects I didn’t care a lot for and that I know I would never have to use in real life, like chemistry or accounting, so there were exams I really excelled in and others that I would fail. It was only in college I started taking my studies incredibly seriously and I believe that showed in the grades I eventually got.

Close do you live to your parents? They’re like, five steps away.

Close do you live to your siblings? My sister’s literally in the room next to mine.

Sensitive to criticism are you? I know it’s something that can never be avoided, so I’m always open to hearing them, especially if it’s meant to help me. It doesn’t mean I enjoy it as it is being given.

Motivated to make changes are you? Depends on my mood and mindset. 

Creative are you (1-10): -0.5.

Hard working are you (1-10): Probably a 22 if I really put my head into a task.

Sporty are you (1-10): I dunno, maybe a 6? I do like playing table tennis, but I’m pretty meh at any other sport.

Musical are you (1-10): 0.

Do you prefer your eggs? Runny yolk; scrambled; or a really packed omelette.

Often do you go out to eat? Before the pandemic, I liked eating out 2-3 times a week.

Would your best friend describe you? Not sure, I never tried asking them this. I hope it’s all nice things, though.

Can someone cheer you up if you’re sad? Send me photos of V. Hahahaha

Often do you meet up with your friends? ...What do you think? D:

Important is religion to you? It is not a part of my life whatsoever.

Old were you when you first stayed overnight from home? 15 or 16, I can’t really remember.

Old were you when you got your first pet? I was maybe 6.

Tech savvy are you? I know enough to survive my own, but I obviously can’t hack into other computers or things like that.

Do you show you appreciate those you care for? Buying them food.

Often do you cut your hair? I only take a trip to the salon once a year.

Often do you paint your nails? Never.

Many countries have you visited? Six.

Boyfriends/girlfriends have you had? Just one.

:: Why ::

... did you choose your username? Because it was straightforward.

... did you take this survey? I like surveys made in categories, and this seemed interesting and varied enough.

... did you choose the career you did? I found that I enjoyed it MILES more than journalism.

...did you last leave the house? I had to go to a local LBC for a work errand.

...did you last give up on something? She wasn’t worth the effort anymore. She hadn’t been for a while, but it took me forever to realize.

...did you search the last thing you searched? I wanted to sing along to the song but it was in Japanese, so I had to look up its lyrics.

...would you give up on someone completely? Oof, I guess you can refer to one of the previous questions. ^

:: If...::

You could live in any country which would you choose? Canada.

You could choose any animal as a pet which one? I’m perfectly content with dogs.

You could be famous for something what would you like? Being known for a funny tweet would probably be enough lol. I have no desire to be famous.

You are sad, how do you combat it? I don’t really get sad anymore these days, so I can’t super remember the go-to tactics I depend on...I guess I like listening to sad songs and allowing myself to wallow in the sadness, because I know I have to accept and process my feelings first before I can be able to calm down.  

You can drive when did you learn? I learned shortly before I started college, when I was 18, because no one was going to be able to take me to university when the school year started.

You could have any job what would it be? Idk, I like the one I have now.

You could go anywhere for a vacation where would you go? Somewhere with a completely different feel and atmosphere, like Norway, Sweden, Finland...that part of Europe, basically.

You could eat anything right now what would it be? Samgak gimbap :/

You wrote a book what genre/topic would it be? It would be a book of essays or maybe a memoir.

You had a theme song what would it be? Idk I don’t really think about this.

You could meet any band/singer in person which one? Billie Eilish seems awesome and easy and fun to talk to.

You could act in any movie which would it be? No thanks.

You get married what venue would you like? Hotel.

If you have kids do you have names picked out? I have one name picked out for a girl but that’s it.

Could describe your dream home what would it be like? Brutalist and minimalist, with large windows, cove lights, and a lot of white space.

You could go back in time what would you change? Break up with Gab earlier.

Could use 3 words to describe your childhood which ones? Could’ve been better.

Could get the answer to any question which question would you choose? When I would die and how, just so I can have peace of mind.

You could have an endless supply of something what would it be? Money, because of course.

Meet anyone who no longer lives who’d you choose? My great-grandfather, mom’s side.

:: Can ::

... you ride a bike? No, never learned.

... you ski? I’ve never even seen snow, so no.

... you bake a cake? I can try but it will probably be very clumsily made as I don’t bake.

... you sing well? I wouldn’t say that. I like singing when I’m alone, but it doesn’t mean I’m any good.

... you do your own taxes? I’ve never tried haha so I guess not.

... you remain calm in a crisis? Depends on how serious it is.

... you do first aid? Let’s just say I wouldn’t volunteer if it comes down to it because I feel like I’d commit one fatal mistake that would make the situation graver. 

... remember your best friend’s family members’ names? Both of their families, yes.

... you fire a gun? I’ve never tried so I doubt it.

... your parents drive? Yep.

...your best friend dance well? They’re not ‘dancers’ per se but sure, they can bust out a move or two.

...you make people laugh easily? Not everyone, but sure.

...stand up for yourself? That’s what I’m trying to learn these days.

...you do a martial art? No.

:: Would ::

You like to learn a new language? That’s always a welcome opportunity.

Save the life of a stray animal? Absolutely.

Know what to do if there was a hurricane? We have several ones come in the country every year so yeah, I can definitely say we’ve long been well-prepared for them.

Try a new cuisine? I do this as often as I can.

Risk your life for anyone? Yes.

You like to get back in touch with someone? No, I’m good now.

You drive in the middle of the night to get a stuck friend? Ina heartbeat.

You Know how to perform CPR? In relation to the first aid question, I wouldn’t volunteer myself in case I make a wrong move.

You likely win in a game of chess? I don’t even know how it works, so no.

You stop talking for a day for $100? Easily.

[toughfaun]

Hi, I don't really post what I'm writing here. I've never really had the confidence and I am in a constant battle with my agoraphobia.

I only showed this story that I'm working on to one person. He never got the chance to tell me what he thought about it.

I don't like the silence so I was hoping that in posting this here, even if no one sees it, even if no one cares, that it will bring some type of peace.

Word Count: 1.5k

Title: Lucy Lovingstein

Status: Work in Progress

View on Google Docs

She rushed into the room bringing a gust of wind with her, her shoulders tense, her hair tousled as if fingers were ran through it repeatedly with ambition, and her face a scowl held hostage, cheeks puffed out as if her mouth was full though I knew it wasn’t. “I left him, Patty.” She threw her body down onto the chase in front of me, the place I would have normally sat while I was reading, but decided not to today. “I left him.”

Him, being the man she left us for, left me for. His name was. . .well, is that important? No, it is not. It was an ugly name anyway. 

She fell in love suddenly and left just as so. Sudden was her nature, after all, slow was too much for her. It always had been and always would be, which is why she fell out of love with me far quicker than I could have or wanted to. She left for a dazzling city with him. The city being New York, where life was so fast that you had to run even in your sleep. She’d sent a postcard, barely any handwritten words. I could count them on one, maybe one and a half hands. ‘Life is great.’ She started, ‘Miss you much.' and there at the bottom she signed her first name as I knew it, ‘Lucy’ but with a new last name, his last name ‘Lovingstein’ it was likely made up by one of his ancestors but it was real for him. As stupid as it were, was, is.

He took her to places that she had never seen, lived life faster than a winning racehorse. While I sat here at home, working as I usually did and then coming home to an empty home as I usually did and made dinner and read all alone as I usually did. Nothing ever changed for me, not even that, not even the pain in my chest when I got the picture she sent me, the return address was in Vegas. The Vegas. And when I opened it, sure enough, there was a photo of them there, lips locked, hands in places nearing the obscene but the ring was still visible, gleaming even in the photo. Even now where we sit, my heart beats to her rhythm as if she and I were lying side by side again.

I’d made my peace with our lost love many years ago now, she was gone all of twelve, it took me ten and my late cat, Valentine, to feel less lonely. But now she walks in out of the blue, the first I have ever laid eyes on her in years and she barges in undeterred as if she’d left only yesterday, without a single call or even a letter or hell, another postcard. Her confidence has never shocked me more.

“Lucy,” I started placing a bookmark between the pages. “There are so many problems that you have risen that I don’t even know where to start.”

“Do you really still talk like that?” Her eyes were blue still, duller now than in my memory. Perhaps they were the same hue and my memory just applies a filter of sorts, one that makes things brighter and heightens the emotions.

Should I allow her to distract me? “Talk like what, Lucy?” I guess so.

She looked away as she removed her scarf, “As if your life is a book. As if everyone’s life is from pages of text instead of a world of color.”

I placed my book down on the table next to my mug of tea, still steaming but likely not for long. “Why do you talk as if you know me still? As if this is not the first time we have seen each other in twelve years?”

“I wrote you, sent postcards, pictures.” She laid her scarf down on the arm rest and looked back at me, I once again noticed her eyes. Such dull, sad eyes. “You never sent anything back. That is not my fault.”

"Ah yes, because you didn't constantly move and travel. Because I always knew where you were. It's certainly all fault of mine." She would forever be infuriating. I wonder, even now, how I ever loved her.

She waved her hand in the air, "It's no longer important, really. But I must tell you everything now, about him, about why I'm here, about all of it." Her voice cracked toward the end, perhaps it was emotion, or perhaps she needed a glass of water - either way I had little patience for it.

Most of me wanted to yell at her. Tell her how wrong she was to barge into my home, though it was probably on me for that. I'd never moved the spare key in twelve years, she must have guessed so, perhaps it was clear to her too that nothing had changed for me. Though that was no excuse for her to not even express the slightest glimpse of courtesy. Not a hello, or a how are you. But that was Lucy, she often skipped over greetings but not often did she skip over a goodbye. Maybe she liked muddied beginnings and clear endings. 

She wanted you to know when she was done with you. 

Over the years of both knowing and knowing of Lucy, I have received many a clear ending and muddied beginning. From friends to lovers suddenly when she kissed me. From lovers to nothing when she left me. From nothing to. . .distanced acquaintance when she sent the first post card and many start and stops whenever she felt like.

Though remembering it now, I'm unsure if our ending was ever truly clear. Perhaps our relationship was more of the metamorphosis type, not that I'd ever decided that or cared that it was. She left me.

I knew it was probably my weak willpower that allowed the thoughts of simply conceding and allowing her room to talk to enter my mind. Though perhaps, I was on to something, that if I allow her to speak her mind that maybe, just maybe I will finally be done with her. That the dull ache I feel now will finally subside and I can move on. Heaven knows I've already given my wounds much time. "Fine." I said finally, after a long stare down with her. The air in the room had gathered intensity, but not the uncomfortable kind, or the heated kind. It was the air of an anxiousness that had urgency, excitement, and a tad bit of familiarity. "Go ahead and tell me everything." As I gave her my full attention, I realized that even I, after all these years, missed her and the sound of her voice. I suppose that too had not changed. 

"There are so many stories to tell, there are so many paths and timelines that overarch into what he and I had and what it became. But I'll spare you those different tidbits-"

"How kind." I added. 

"Please save it until the end, Patty. I really would like to just say what I have to say and be done with it."

I nodded and continued my silence, a feat I had mastered over the years. Perfect silence.

"As you know, we married in Vegas eleven years ago now. And it was a happy marriage for awhile, for a long time." Her voice became somewhat solemn for a moment before it picked up. "But I was having the time of my life, seeing new things every day. Meeting new people every second. It was hectic and I wish I could describe how fast my heart was racing throughout all of it. The joy I felt, the amazement, the fulfillment. It was exhilarating." 

She had a smile on her lips and her eyes were faraway, likely reminiscing. Images from her mind's memory banks pulled to the forefront, she probably didn't even see me sitting there anymore. A memory was projected over me, maybe it was of the busy crowds of Vegas, the ancient beauty of Greece or Rome, perhaps even the Amazon jungle. Whatever it was she was seeing, it brought joy to her lips and a slight spark to her eyes. 

In a blink it changed.

"Eventually things changed between us. His love didn't feel the same anymore, he only wanted me to see the world through his rose colored glass. I wanted to see so much, but he wouldn't allow it. So I began to sneak off. I saw so much, the poverty, the history, the real people these places created. And I learned so much from them, for years I would just take a week and say I was going shopping or something and just disappeared learning all I could then coming back with random items to disguise my whereabouts." She chuckled. "It was when he finally caught me, that I began to see that I was simply a woman behind a lens for him. That everything about me, in his mind was rugged at first and so he was going to sand me down over the years. Transform me into his version of Lucy Lovingstein, the real me didn't matter to him, it never did." 

She stood then, walking towards the window slowly. Passing my tea that was definitely no longer steaming, and looking forlornly at the street through the glass as she pressed her body against the wall.

[10oclockdot]

10oclockdot 2020 year in review

As I seem to drift farther and farther from tumblr (though the #Peace posts and my side project on On Kawara keep a thin tether attached), 2020 actually saw me stepping more solidly into my stated vocation as an academic, even if I also lost my job as a university professor this year. Trying to look on the bright sides.

Here we go:

10. I got my first properly peer-reviewed article accepted for publication in 2020. After 2 years of submitting to journals and a protracted review process, “Why is Reverse Motion Funny?: Happy End and the Comic Potential of the Cinematographic Mechanism” was accepted by Journal of Film and Video for publication... TBA. Based on some gossip I read online later, I might be waiting upwards of two years for the article to ever come out. But hopefully not. Either way, it was accepted, and that’s at least something for the CV.

9. Will DiGravio’s excellent The Video Essay Podcast (here) was a great companion this summer while I was working on a big project (see #1), and just for fun I decided to complete some “homework” he assigned on the podcast. My submission is here. Everyone else’s submissions are here.

8. Early in the year, I updated a compilation of all the times John Ford used the hymn “Shall We Gather at the River” in one of his films. An eagle-eyed YouTuber found one more. Here’s the new version.

7. When some prominent Math YouTubers put out a call for videos on favorite numbers greater than a million -- aka #MegaFavNumbers -- I couldn’t see a reason not to join in, and made this video, based on one of my old tumblr posts. In it I also mention that as of late 2019 I’m also published on the Online Encyclopedia of Integer Sequences. Not sure if I ever mentioned that here. Anyway, contributing a #MegaFavNumber seems like a fitting project for a year in which I also became a math tutor. (Here’s the full playlist.)

6. I didn’t make much art this year of note, but this bit of constrained poetry executed as a 10-part conceptual painting is easily one of the best and most important artworks I’ve ever made (if any could be assigned importance).

5. I finally watched Twin Peaks: The Return. Here’s a post I made about that, which somehow became the most popular new thing on the blog this year. Aphelis also liked this gif I made for him. Nobody seemed to understand this post (or maybe I just think it’s better than it is), but that’s okay, I guess.

4. I started a new video essay series called “Video Postcards.” There are only two so far (”About Time,” and “Drone Swarms”), but the idea is to keep making them on a regular basis (monthly, maybe?). The concept is that each video is addressed to a friend of mine, and I weigh in on some topic that we’re both interested in and have talked about before. I actually SEND the addressee the postcard you see me writing in the video, with the link written out on it. After they view this private video correspondence, they get to decide whether the rest of the world will get to see it too. So far 2 for 2.

3. It was hard to write much that was meaningful this year politically (at least, it was hard for me). But I still wrote a short story that I’m proud of called Somewhere in the middle of an angry mob in Jerusalem, ca. 2000 years ago (here). I wish every Evangelical Christian in the country (my heritage) would read it. Oh, I also drew this cartoon about who establishment democrats really are. Oh, and this diagram over on Facebook about the inscrutable slowness of the apocalypse.

2. My first professional publication came in the form of a long data-driven article for Bright Lights Film Journal that dropped back in January: “Tracking Mass Ideology on IMDb’s Top 250: How Shifts in Societal Values Appear in the Popular Film Canon” (here). The Bright Lights people were so easy to work with that I’m looking forward to writing another article for them in the new year, if they’ll take it. This article even drew the attention of the great film reviewer Darren Mooney (of the m0vie blog), who invited me to record an episode of his podcast The 250 (here) on Sherlock, Jr. (Buster Keaton, 1924). We taped it a couple months ago, but it should land in the new year. I’ll share it here when it does. 

1. And, of course, after three years of work and a rejection from [in]Transition, my first feature-length project, a video essay called A Supercut of Supercuts: Aesthetics, Histories, Databases, was accepted for publication at Open Screens Journal. It should be live in January. I’ve also sent it out to some film festivals with what little money I could scrape together for that purpose. Hopefully at least one of them wants to play it, so I can add some laurels to that poster!

See you next year!

[shriekbackmusic]

Some Kinds of Light                LYRICS

AGONY BOX

I had a shonky kind of weekend I have a number of regrets There is a haze across a number of days I haven’t seen through it yet

It’s not the bug it is the feature like many monsters we recall there is quite a range of things that are strange and many things that will apall…

Gotta keep the lid on the Agony Box (we all saw what you did in the Agony Box) there is nothing inside you can hide - the confusion is no longer funny The tribulations are all in the Agony Box bouncing off the walls of the Agony Box it’s a battle of faith with a wraith for the love and the money

Pandora and her boyfriend they sent a postcard from the place where joy and sorrow meet down on the street and all the echoes of disgrace.   I had a sermon at the ready: ‘the metamorphosis of pain’ i saw them yawn at the back at my obvious lack and I would not do that again

If i were you I’d not shake the Agony Box There is too much at stake in the Agony Box are you just a blob in the mob in this bucket of Crazy? There is nothing but time in the Agony Box all of your crimes are in the Agony Box If you can bear the despair all the rest will be gravy

a swarm of military secrets - a million nutters in a jar- the pilgrims I’ve met they all try to forget the stuff that made them what they are I finished burying the bunny the thought of it still makes me weep It was all over - I thought I had closure: now I see her in my sleep

Gotta keep the lid on the Agony Box (we all saw what you did in the Agony Box) there is nothing inside you can hide - the confusion is no longer funny The tribulations are all in the Agony Box bouncing off the walls of the Agony Box it’s a battle of faith with a wraith for the love and the money

agony’s your friend it’s hope that gets you in the end...

BOLLO REX I can feel the air is shaking and the sky begins to burn and the lonesome claxons sing to me - and ‘the Crazy is loose’ and the tide’s on the turn The aparatchiks bluster for the gen’ralissimo. All this is true, but if i were you I would not SEEK to know

GORILLA SITS ANYWHERE HE WANTS HE’S GOT A SHOTGUN BABY…. SHOTGUN BABY BOLLO TANKS THE GRID GORILLA SITS ANYWHERE HE WANTS HE’S GOT A SHOTGUN BABY…. SHOTGUN BABY AND THE WILD SHALL WILD REMAIN…

with an enormous effort of the will one quells… …the cultural logic of late capitalism the enormous anti-natural power of dead human labour stored up in our machinery.. The physical impossibility of death in the mind of anyone living.. … The implosion of the real in a hyper-real nebula in which even the action of the medium can no longer be determined The inexorable decline of liberal humanism… the structural possibilities of steel and aluminium.

I’LL JUST SAY - ANYTHING AT ALL I’LL BE YOUR SHOCK JOCK BABY …SHOCK JOCK BABY …AND THE WILD SHALL WILD REMAIN I’LL JUST SAY ANYTHING AT ALL I’LL BE YOUR SHOCK JOCK BABY FATBERG RISING …BOLLO SPIKES THE MOOD

here come History, with the caps lock on WITH THE CAPS LOCK ON

when the hypothermic shudders in the final throes he gets the urge to dig a hole and rip off all his clothes while this is not effective - indeed it seals his fate - it yet will keep him occupied and busy while he waits

WE CAN ALL  DO ANYTHING WE LIKE IT’S ALL A CRAP SHOOT BABY, CRAP SHOOT BABY BOLLO’S SPIKED THE MOOD AND THE WILD SHALL WILD REMAIN

And when we struck the fatberg there was a long pause …. And when we struck the fatberg there was a long pause ….

(………)

…and a rampant surge as the facts emerge… and what sinks will not converge - what sinks will not converge…

what’s my Safe Word, baby? what’s my Safe Word, baby?

bring me safe to harbour.. safe to harbour

(And I have asked to be       Where no storms come) Where the green swell is in the havens dumb,    And out of the swing of the sea)

(last stanza by Gerard Manley Hopkins)

PUTTING ALL THE LIGHTS OUT

Coming from the back room

Looking for a positive sign

Angle and line

Circles, ellipses, shadows and eclipses

A meditation on a different time

A meditation on a different time

Watching all the flowers bloom

Breathing in the scent of a rose

Strange how it grows

A whim and a notion, moving like the ocean

Up she rises and there she blows

Up she rises and there she blows

It’s alright if you jump when the moment comes

It’s alright that what’s done can be still undone

It’s alright to be lit by a setting sun

Putting all the lights out

Driving with your eyes closed

Listen to the crash boom

Feeding on the fear in the dark

The eyes of a shark

Spices and citrus, acid over litmus

All aboard on a drifting ark

All aboard on a drifting ark

It’s alright when the wind blows dust and dirt

It’s alright when the day brings harm and hurt

It’s alright to be there when the last comes first

Putting all the lights out

Driving with your eyes closed

Putting all the lights out

Driving with your eyes closed

Underneath a full moon

Living in the light from the stars

A glow from afar

No sooner no later, burning all the data

Until the next time au revoir

Until the next time au revoir

It’s alright when the trip gets too surreal

It’s alright when the end is not revealed

It’s alright when the future stays concealed

Putting all the lights out

Plug into the mainline

Driving with your eyes closed

Habits for a lifetime

Putting all the lights out

Swimming for the shoreline

Driving with your eyes closed

Making up for lost time

WEATHERMAN

Cease fire – he’s at liberty

Running around like a man of mystery

Bring it on, bring it on, bring it on

Cross wire liability

Blowing around in the wind of history

It’s all gone wrong, all gone wrong, all gone wrong

The weatherman

Will hang you out to dry

Yeah hang you out to dry

You’ll be sorry you messed with the weatherman

The weatherman

Don’t need a reason why

Don’t need a reason why

He’ll just change, change, change with the weather

In the absence of civility

Fill a vacuum with brutality

What comes around, comes around, comes around

Can’t ringfence gullibility

With a voice groomed for neutrality

A dead-end sound, a dead-end sound, a dead-end sound

The weatherman

Will hang you out to dry

Yeah hang you out to dry

You’ll be sorry you messed with the weatherman

The weatherman

Don’t need a reason why

Don’t need a reason why

He’ll just change, change, change with the weather

Too much, never enough

Too much, never enough

Too much, never enough

Too much, never enough

Brace up – here come tougher days

For avenging snowflake renegades

Overload, overload, overload

Heads up – so many ways

Feel the energy on the barricades

Hit the road, hit the road, hit the road

The weatherman

Will hang you out to dry

Yeah hang you out to dry

You’ll be sorry you messed with the weatherman

Too much, never enough

Too much, never enough

The weatherman

Don’t need a reason why

Don’t need a reason why

He’ll just change, change, change with the weather

Too much, never enough

Too much, never enough

The weatherman

Will hang you out to dry

Yeah hang you out to dry

You’ll be sorry you messed with the weatherman

Too much, never enough

Too much, never enough

The weatherman

Don’t need a reason why

Don’t need a reason why

He’ll just change, change, change with the weather

Too much, never enough

Too much, never enough

ALL ABOUT NOTHING

We got some backwards evolution

Got some attrition coming down

Old-fashioned aggro and pollution

Can’t recognise your own home town

In the race to the bottom

Who’s on top and who’s forgotten?

Lose your friends, lose your marbles

Are you digging this farrago? ‘cos

Here come the boys

All puffed up and all about nothing

Into the void

Eyes down and all about nothing

Just smoke and noise

C’mon, c’mon it’s all about nothing

Inside out and upside down

What comes around is all about nothing

We got some shameless intervention

Got some deep dealing underhand

Anaesthetising good intention

All helps to reinforce the brand

It’s the will of the people

Some very angry sheeple

Truth is out, truth is over

Shot with a gold revolver now

Here come the boys

All puffed up and all about nothing

Into the void

C’mon, it’s all about nothing

Just smoke and noise

C’mon, c’mon it’s all about nothing

Inside out and upside down

What comes around is all about nothing

I hear complaints about the neighbours

I know they take their own sweet time

I don’t mind their bad behaviour

Any friends of theirs are friends of mine

So take it out to the city

Fire up anger and not pity

Kick it out, kick it over

Get your arse up off the sofa ‘cos

Here come the boys

All puffed up and all about nothing

Into the void

Eyes down and all about nothing

Just smoke and noise

C’mon, c’mon it’s all about nothing

Inside out and upside down

What comes around is all about nothing

It’s all about nothing

All about nothing

It’s all about nothing

All about nothing

THIS IS THE SCIENCE

I tried my hand at some sacred geometry

There were some things I didn’t understand

I crossed the line and I messed up the symmetry

What happened then kinda got out of hand

Down in the basement when the window slammed

Next thing I know cyclonic disturbance

The heavens opened and the sky turned round

Now I’m waiting for a plague of serpents

Coming up from the underground well

Hide in the shop with the shutters down

This is the science of idiot thinking

This is the science of too much fun

This is the science of heavy drinking

This is the science of really dumb

Fabulating in a state of hysteria

The only way to keep the panic at bay

It’s getting harder to divine the mysterious

Lock the door throw the key away

Out on the pavement in the light of day

This is the science of all books burning

This is the science of not much sense

This is the science of backwards learning

This is the science of the present tense

I take the blame for the sordid experiment

A little knowledge and a dangerous thing

I’m really sorry that I busted the firmament

It ain’t over til the archangel sings

Up on the corner with a broken wing

This is the science of fire and famine

This is the science of wayward plans

This is the science of hacks and spamming

This is the science of science be damned

This is the science

This is the science

This is the science

This is the science

HYPERACTUAL

Blastwave Susan in the heaving night (she will not survive the gale) Deep confusion with no end in sight (like a lizard loves a whale - like a lizard loves a whale)

We all molegrip tight (you know it) (just flow with it) there’s a golem in the mall Head into the Light aglow with it it is epically banal it’s all Hyperctual

Fright-Night Gladys has no stated goal (they will drag her out in chains - they will drag her out in chains) She enjoined a battle for the soul (she is funky like a train - she is funky like a train)

We’re all glow-stick bright (all sold on it) (pure gold on it) You can pixellate it all Whiter now than white (with mould on it) It’s all: ‘fuck the protocol - It’s all Hyperactual’

Shakti Cromlech has a Disneyland display (she is quite replaceable - she is quite replaceable) putting on the Pluto head and going all the way (she has bought  the rights and all - she has bought  the rights and all)

We got balls of light (no doubt of it) (so proud of it) it’s a tricky one to call Counterfeit Delight! (no clout to it) - got its bags there in the hall It’s all Hyperactual…

The Fire Has Brought Us Together (with chords)

(Am)Keep the engine running and I’ll sing you a song: it all goes right until it all goes wrong (F)Everything sugary and fuelled with science. (Am)There was a man and he was me: all as vivid as it could be (D)back in the American Century (Am)(with a rigorous programme of defiance)   (F) (Am)All quite factually banal and (Bm) stimulating as a root canal (C) incurable as some diseases  (Am) When we all discovered how weird things are all the (F) skeletons singing in the Dalloway bar with the ‘ying-tong ying tong’ ‘oom-pah-pah’ (Am)(and the wild wind blows wherever it pleases)

C1 (Am - F) all of this mercy has fallen away And if it was up to me the fire has brought us together there would be something special where there used to be no more than this.. the fire has brought us together

(B) well Romcom Robinson the ghost and me we all went out on the terrible sea and - (D) as we gazed at the primitive ocean - to a (C) muscular rhythm on the barreling oars - I wondered why my spirit soared and was (B) I was feeling a pure emotion?

for the (Am) ocean’s meaningless and immense and, it was clear that these events had (F) overwhelmed our usual praxis I said:  (Am) ‘shantih shantih - praise the Lord’ but the paralysing rattle on the slippery boards (F) had neutralised my prophylaxis

C2 (B - G) all of this mercy has fallen away And if it was up to me the fire has brought us together there would be something ringing where the bells should be no more than this.. the fire has brought us together brought us together…

mid 8: (F B Dm Am C)

(Am) Well there it is, I don’t know why there’s a fearsome clarity I can’t deny - I’m (F) contemplating what its face is…

In (Am)Tracy’s desecrated bed or in the disused Wexford shed, (D)down in the Valley of the Dead … ..and (Am)many of those kinds of places… (F) (Am)..and this cluster of events (Bm) as we watch they all condense (C) into something quietly tragic (Am)

gazing up at the fathomless stars: (F) (that one’s Venus, which one’s Mars?) Om-Mani-Padmi - Ooh La La! (Am)- got no use for that kind of Magic..

all of this mercy has fallen away (Am - F etc) And if it was up to me there would be something beautiful and clean and free no more than this the fire has brought us together

The Fire has brought us together and if i had my way - I would save this nonsense for another day no more than this.. The Fire has brought us together no more than this.. no more than this.. no more than this

THE ELATED WORLD (Cornell Boxes)

the stubble, the rubble you roll with it but it never fits in the Broken World

the love nest, the warm breast, the all-desiring, intensifying, unsated world

the heartbreak, the arse ache, the pawnshop ring and the broken wing in the Raindog world

delighted unblighted the shining gaze, all the untouched days in the newborn world

the elated world, the elated world, the elated world..

the burst thing the worst thing the trauma blow that will never go in the violent world

the fake claw the chainsaw the infra red and the Evil Dead the Horrific World

gated sedated the liquid cosh antiseptic wash in the Locked-down world

the first strike the MAD spike the fizzle yield in the farmer’s field in the fissile world

The Elated World …The Elated World The Elated World

the shapers, the scrapers the fast eroding, the kind of stroking, the haptic world

So massive impassive the concrete beam and the soviet dream in the Brutal world

dissectors and vectors the clipboard rules the precision tools the schematic world

the starfish the moon dish the lunar seas and the lunar cheese in the astral world

The Elated World …The Elated World The Elated World

GALILEO

Shaken gently, never stirred

Spoken quietly, always heard

And a one and a two and a three… analysing

Taken over, looking round

Broken cycles locking down

And a one and a two and a three… analysing

Thirty eyes in a constellation

Ten dozen clocks in a strict rotation

Four moons rising observation

Starry messenger exhortation

Hold up the sun, hold up the sun

Throw the coins in the fountain

Bring down the moon, bring down the moon

Galileo counting

Spyglass skyward, secrets found

Time and distance ever bound

And a one and a two and a three… analysing

Spinning softly round a distant sun

Tracing motion, numbers run

And a one and a two and a three… analysing

Seven psalms in contemplation

Two pendulums in oscillation

One heretical disputation

Starry messenger inspiration

Hold up the sun, hold up the sun

Throw the coins in the fountain

Bring down the moon, bring down the moon

Galileo counting

Hold up the sun, hold up the sun

Satellites in the night sky

Bring down the moon, bring down the moon

Galileo Galilei

[nextdoortotheblues]

One of my favourite poems ever, and i'm not joking.

"June 3, 2009

fuck it/this/me

Wake up to despise a world I once loved

Why would you bring me in if you knew what youd become

Curse everyone and everything even the sun, Draw the blinds

I want to be tucked in and put back to sleep only like a dog this time

Set the sails

Drop anchor in the middle of a storm

I’ve got a conversation

And a bottle to keep us warm

Let’s break it on the bow

as it sinks

hummingbird with hammers for wings

the swan doesnt remember the last song it sings

Take what you love most and burn it to the ground

the smoke in the air won’t leave me be

All around

Count the embers tell me

They don’t look like me

They won’t sing to me

If I wake in the morning I only need two more miracles to become a saint

Everything I promised everyone I’d be I just aint

Bury me with my friends

At the crossroads of dead end

And oh all my old friends

Oh Yeah I hate them

Why bother make new ones too

Just more for me to lose

Put myself in this prison called life

Got a sentence of a lifetime

But I know the warden is god

And I could get paroled at anytime

the letter begins

Dear old feuds

Don’t worry I’m headed

Somewhere new

I just hope they let me in the gates

i hope they dont have a calculator to add up all my mistakes

You can’t give me any more time than I already have

And then they sent me a postcard from hell

“Wish you were here”

I’m getting close

The gps says were near

Got a key to a lock that doesn’t exist

got a world on my back that i cannot lift

drink the world, til its forgotten about

I never know what I’m talking about

Don’t care about anybody

But the ones that are gonna carry my coffin

Will my love be the same as I left them

Will my pall bearers be the same as my bestmen?

Tell my friends to forget about becoming famous

Not that it matters this junk is so goddamned contagious

Losing it and I love being lost

Dad, tell me which is worse

Your last breath in the worst city on earth

Or your last kiss from the lips you were built to love from birth

I’m so sick of the neon lights

But every dog will have its day

And when I get mine

I’m gonna paint this world gray"

Pete Wentz

[bamon4bamily]

TVD 9X04 (part 3) Enjoy! =)

Cut to - Matt at the Mayor’s house.

 EDWARD: Thank you for coming, Sheriff. Did you find anything in those documents?

MATT: No, but I was sent this… (shows him the note and key)

EDWARD: Who is it from?

MATT: Anonymous…

EDWARD: As in those guys that wear the weird mask?

MATT: No, I mean… you know what I mean… what kind of game are they playing here?

EDWARD: Seems to me that someone is trying to push your buttons.

MATT: No shit! Sorry…  I’m just getting really tired of these mind games.

EDWARD: Sheriff, if I may offer you some advice, keep your head cold and your heart colder; that’s how you win the game.

MATT: You need to tell me what’s in that black box?

EDWARD: The winning chess piece…

MATT: Again, with the riddles.

EDWARD: It’s no riddle, Sheriff, it is, quite literally, a chess piece.

MATT: I don’t get it. How is a chess piece supposed to help?

EDWARD: Oh, Sheriff, you underestimate the power of intrigue…

MATT: Guess I do. So, what does it mean?

EDWARD: It means whatever meaning Darius chooses to give to it… and that’s when we’ll hold the advantage.

MATT: I still don’t get it.

EDWARD: Patience, Sheriff, you will, you have my word.

Cut to - Caroline and Stefan in their room.

 CAROLINE: Why didn’t you tell me about your “master” plan?

STEFAN: Because I knew you would get upset.

CAROLINE: So? We don’t have to agree on everything, but we need to trust each other…

STEFAN: Please, don’t take it like that; you know I trust you, more than anyone, I just didn’t want you to get mad at me.

CAROLINE: About Katherine? 

STEFAN: No, not about her, about boycotting your Halloween party… I know it was important for you.

CAROLINE: Are you serious!? Stefan, please! I know I’m a control freak, but I understand priorities!  

STEFAN: I know; I’m sorry. I’m still overwhelmed with this coming back to life thing… and terrified of losing you...

CAROLINE: (Kisses him) Don’t be, I’m not going anywhere. Having you back was the best birthday gift I could ever wish for, and, just like you, the thought of losing you again scares the crap out of me, but we need to stay strong. 

STEFAN: I love you, Caroline, and all I want is for you, for us, to be happy, for whatever time we may have... whether it’s days, months, years, the only thing that matters is that we are together.

CAROLINE: I love you so much (Kisses him). Listen, I know you want to help with all of this, but you are human now, we can’t risk it. So, please, stay here, keep the girls and the students safe, and let us do the fighting.

STEFAN: If it’s what you want, I’ll do it. Just promise me you’ll make sure to come walking through that door safe and sound.

CAROLINE: I promise. 

Cut to – Whitmore College, Sam is in Elena’s dorm helping her pack.

 SAM: (Picking books from her book shelve to pack) Um, Twilight?

ELENA: Well, that’s obviously not mine; that’s… that’s… Bonnie’s!

SAM: Really? Then why does it say: Dear Elena, cause guilty pleasures are nothing to be ashamed of! Love, Bonnie. Winking smiley face…

ELENA: Oh god! (Covers her face and whispers to herself) This is so embarrassing…  (Sam laughs).  

SAM: Definitely going on the “to take box”. So, have you told Bonnie and Caroline when we are leaving?

ELENA: No, I’ll tell them at the Halloween party, I hate goodbyes. I just want to enjoy the night with my friends, then leave the next day as if nothing was going to change… No waterworks.

SAM: I understand, but will they?

ELENA: Bonnie, yes. Caroline, definitely not, but she’ll get over it eventually.

SAM: I know this must be hard, leaving everything you know behind, but they will always be your friends, no matter how far you are from each other.

ELENA: I know, but what if we drift apart? More than friends, they are my family…

SAM: You won’t drift apart; strong bonds never break. They’ll visit, you’ll visit, you’ll face time, WhatsApp, send postcards…

ELENA: You are right; if anything they’ll be psyched to have free lodge in Germany.

SAM: They will; and when they visit, we can go backpacking, have a blast. (Holds her face) It will be fine.

ELENA: I love you, Sam. I’ve said those words many times before, but I need you to know that this is the first time that I feel what real, healthy love, really is.

SAM: I love you too. You have no idea how thankful I am that I found you. (They kiss then progress to… well, you know!).

ELENA: We can pack later…  

Cut to – later that night, Bonnie’s room. Damon knocks on the door.

 BONNIE: Come in.

DAMON: Hey Bon-Bon, thought you’d be in the mood for some vamp-cakes (hands her a plate).

BONNIE: Yum, yes, always. Thank you…

DAMON: (Sits next to her on the bed) Listen, Bon, I wanted to talk to you about all of this… I need to know that you are fine; and that you will be fine…

BONNIE: I am, and I think I will be… I know I’m psychic but I can’t control the future… Where is this coming from, Damon?

DAMON: I… I’m… listen… I… I’m…

BONNIE: You’re babbling, what’s going on?

DAMON: Okay, I’ll be completely honest with you, Bon. I’m scared, terrified actually. I’m supposed to be the fearless tough guy but I’m freaking out, and I have no idea how to handle it…

BONNIE: Hey, listen, you are not supposed to be anything… This is scary, we’ve never faced anything like it before. I’m scared too, but we are fighters, no matter what comes our way, we don’t give up.

DAMON: It’s just that… I… I…

BONNIE: Damon, look at me, we will get through this… we always do, Batman and Robin, remember?

DAMON: (Smiles) Sorry, Bon, I’m acting like a freakin cry baby … I think I had one too many…

BONNIE: Don’t be sorry, Damon, it’s okay to be scared.

DAMON: Do you remember that night in Prague? I got so hammered and started crying like a little girl?

BONNIE: (Laughs) I remember… you broke into an old puppet shop and put on quite a show. It was hilarious, I think I actually peed my pants…

DAMON: Oh, you did! We had to trick a lost tourist into giving you her pants!

BONNIE: Oh shit, yes! I remember… that was insane! (They laugh hysterically).

DAMON: One of the best nights of my life…

BONNIE: (Holds his hand) It’s going to be fine, we will win this fight, and if we don’t, we’ll deal with it the best we can.

DAMON: Thank you, Bon, for everything. You are, beyond a doubt, the most amazing woman I’ve ever known, and I’m honored to be your friend.

BONNIE: Okay, you need to stop with the solemnness before you make me start crying like a little girl. Let’s just eat some vamp-cakes and continue our GOT binge watch, deal?

DAMON:  Bon, I…

BONNIE: I know, the Jon Snow stab, we’ll skip that part.

Cut to – Freaky old mansion library, Darius anxiously holding the black box Matt gave him. A voice speaks…

 VOICE: Patience, Darius. The time will come, you have my word. For now, prepare the ground troops.

DARIUS: But it’s too soon, we haven’t even run tests.

VOICE: We don’t have time for tests, and timing is essential to the game.

DARIUS: This is a very risky move…

VOICE: I know, but sometimes we need to take calculated risks. Trust me, this move will end in checkmate.  

Cut to - Early next morning, Bonnie’s room. Damon and Bonnie are asleep in her bed (fully clothed, be patient, the time will come😉). Damon had fallen asleep the night before while they were binge-watching GOT. Caroline comes into Bonnie’s room.

CAROLINE: Hey, Bon… (looks at Damon and Bonnie laying in bed, makes her signature OMG face; Damon and Bonnie wake up). 

Finally!! Now, was that so hard to admit?

BONNIE: (Throws her pillow at Caroline) Get your mind out of the gutter, we fell asleep binge watching GOT. 

And, have you ever heard of knocking? What if we were actually doing what you were imagining…?

DAMON: (Teasing) Isn’t it obvious, Bon? She’d want to stay and watch… (signature wink n’ smirk).

CAROLINE: (Throws the pillow back at Damon) Ew, no! You’re disgusting! Anyway, our Halloween party might have been hijacked but we are still going all out with our costumes. So, finish whatever this is, and get ready to go shopping.

BONNIE: Really, Care? I mean, what’s the point?

CAROLINE: Are you seriously asking me that question?

BONNIE: Never mind, forgot who I was talking to. Give me half an hour, okay?

DAMON: (Teasing again) Oh, Bon, it’s going to take much longer than that! (Winks).

BONNIE: (Hits him with the pillow, pushes him out of her bed) Shoo, shoo!

DAMON: Fine! But I’m coming too! I already know what I’m looking for.

CAROLINE: Fine, you and Stefan will need some supervision, so, go get ready, we are leaving in 30! (Damon leaves). (Mocking Bonnie) Say what you will Bonnie, denial only makes it more obvious… (as Bonnie throws the pillow at her again, Caroline vamps her way out just in time to miss the hit).

Cut to – a freaky underground bunker, a man dressed in a military uniform comes out of heavily guarded and shielded door.  

 MILITARY GUY: As per orders, Unit 1 has been activated, Sir. Are you sure it’s safe to proceed against protocol?

DARIUS: No, General, but we don’t have a choice.

MILITARY GUY: Sir, if I may say so, this is very irresponsible; should the program fail, in any way, we will have a serious problem on our hands.

DARIUS: I know, so let’s hope it doesn’t.

MILITARY GUY: Hope, Sir? It scares me that a man of science is relying on faith…

DARIUS: As it does me…

MILITARY GUY: I only signed off on this mission because I was given a direct order from the boss, but make no mistake, Sir, if this gets out of hand, I will make my own decision on how to address the situation.

DARIUS: That’s a smart choice, General. Anyway, I need to leave, I have to go buy myself a Halloween costume. I trust that you will keep a close watch.

MILITARY GUY: As instructed, Sir.

Cut to – a costume shop. Bonnie, Caroline, Stefan, and Damon are scrolling through the shop.

 CAROLINE: (To Stefan) Ohm, don’t even think about it! (He is holding a poop emoji costume).

STEFAN: Oh, come on, Care, it’s hilarious!

BONNIE: (Defending Stefan’s choice) Got to admit, it really is!

CAROLINE: No, it’s not, so please stop encouraging him and go supervise whatever dumb ass costume Damon is probably picking.

BONNIE: (To Stefan) Sorry, I tried…

STEFAN: Fine, so what do you suggest?

CAROLINE: Whatever you want, except that!

STEFAN: I don’t even know why I’m getting a costume if I’m not going…

CAROLINE: We are having a pre-party at the house and taking the girls trick-or treating.

STEFAN: Okay, what about this… (picks a Britney Spears costume).

CAROLINE: Are you kidding me?

(Katherine, who just happened to be at the same shop, walks towards them holding a costume)

KATHERINE: I think this one would be perfect… (she is holding a Dracula costume)

CAROLINE: Oh, great! What the hell are you doing here?

KATHERINE: Isn’t it obvious? Guess it’s true what they say about blonds…

CAROLINE: (To Stefan) Thought you locked her in?

STEFAN: What can I say, she’s resourceful.

CAROLINE: Listen Jeeper-Creeper, get out of my eyesight before I…

KATHERINE: Relax, Care Bear. (Sarcastically) I was just trying to help, but whatever (hangs the costume back) … I’ll leave you to your bickering, I have my own costume to find.

CAROLINE: God, I hate her! But… (grabs the costume Katherine had chosen) it is ironically perfect, right?

STEFAN: It is... got to have a sense of humor! 

CAROLINE: And, you'll look hot as hell in it (smirks, they kiss). 

 In another part of the shop, Bonnie finds Damon.

 BONNIE: Find anything?

DAMON: Actually… (turns around with two costumes, Batman and Robin, hands her the Batman costume). What do you say?

BONNIE: (Laughs) You’re crazy… but I’m in!

DAMON: That’s my girl! (Awkward moment… then Caroline walks up to them just in time to save them from themselves).

CAROLINE: So, Bonnie, what you pick?

BONNIE: (Shows her the Batman suit) What do you think?

CAROLINE: Good, I was afraid he’d (referring to Damon) go for a stripper costume or something along those lines…

BONNIE: It’s not Damon’s, it’s mine… (with a funny low voice) I’m Batman…

CAROLINE: Oh god! I should have seen this coming. (To Damon) Is there anything you don’t ruin?

DAMON: Oh, come on, Care! You are just jealous because you know you could never pull it off.

CAROLINE: Definitely not as good as you can pull off green fairy shorts and a lame cape.

DAMON: No, wait, what?

CAROLINE: (Caroline takes the modern cool looking Robin version costume from Damon’s hands) Sorry, this one is taken, so you’ll have to do with this one (takes an old-school Robin costume, which is, in fact, a tight AF spandex green short & shirt with a yellow cape).

DAMON: Oh, hell no! I’m not wearing this!

BONNIE: Hey, we had a deal!

DAMON: Bon-Bon, there is no way I’m wearing this…

BONNIE: But it’s the only Robin costume left, a pact is a pact.

DAMON: Oh, you are… fine. I’ll do it, just know that I’ll get you back… both of you.

CAROLINE: (Mocking him) Oooo, I’m sooo scared… fairy boy! (laughs and walks away).

DAMON: This means war, Bennett…

BONNIE: Bring it on!

 Cut to – Matt’s house. Khuyana and Tyler are having lunch in the kitchen, Matt comes downstairs, he just got up.

 KHUYANA: Another all-nighter?

MATT: You know it…

KHUYANA: You look… tired.

MATT: Is that a nice way of telling me I look like crap? (He does).

KHUYANA: What’s going on with you, Matt? We are worried.

MATT: Don’t be, I’m fine. Just getting ready for the big night.

TYLER: Man, you seem off lately, are you sure you’re O.K?

MATT: (Snaps) I said I’m fine! So, drop it!

KHUYANA: Matt, stop! We are just trying to help.

MATT: I’m sorry, I’m just under a lot of stress…

KHUYANA: We all are, Matt… talk to us, what’s going on?

MATT: I can’t right now, I need to go.

KHUYANA: Again? You are barely home anymore, or in contact with any of us, you don’t even know how the final plan is going to come down.

MATT: I’m working as hard as I can on my end. You can brief me later. (Sarcastically) I’m sure whatever “genius” plan you have cooked up, I’ll be able to jump on board.

TYLER: You’re being a dick, Matt.

MATT: And you are being as useless as usual. I mean, if this is what you are bringing to the table, you should have stayed dead, bro.

KHUYANA: Matt!! What the hell has gotten into you!

MATT: Oh god, sorry man, I’m just exhausted. You know I didn’t mean that; I am being a dick, I’m really sorry.

TYLER: Just chill, man, talk to us…

MATT: I really want to, but I need to go; I promise we’ll talk later. (Kisses Khuyana, bro-hugs Tyler, then leaves).

KHUYANA: I’m worried about him.

TYLER: So am I…

Cut to – Salvatore mansion, Alaric putting the twins to bed.

 ALARIC: So, girls, pinky swear?

TWINS: Pinky swear!

ALARIC: We have a deal! We’ll go trick-or-treating, then mom and I will leave to another Halloween party, and uncle Stefan will stay here with you. So, there is nothing to be afraid of, okay?

JOSIE: Okay, daddy, but promise that you and mommy will be fine…

ALARIC: I promise.

LIZZY: Pinky swear?

ALARIC: Pinky swear! Listen, mommy is on her way to give you guys a goodnight kiss, how about I read you a story while we wait for her?

TWINS: Yes!!!

JOSIE: Sabrina, daddy, please!

ALARIC: Sabrina it is!

 Caroline, Stefan, Damon, Bonnie, and Katherine walk through the front door.

 KATHERINE: Thanks for the ride! I’m gonna grab myself some comfort food and call it a night. (Leaves).

CAROLINE: I swear she is tempting my patience! Let me go kiss the girls goodnight and I’ll be right down…  I think we can all use a nightcap, am I right? (To Stefan) Bourbon on the rocks, please?

STEFAN: Sure thing. (Kisses him then goes upstairs. Stefan, Damon, and Bonnie serve themselves a drink and sit down in the living room).

DAMON: So, Stefan, what costume did you end up getting?

STEFAN: (Pulls his costume out of a bag, Damon and Bonnie crack up). You got to admit, it’s kind of ironic… What you two get?

BONNIE: (Pull hers out of the bag with pride) How cool is this?!

STEFAN: It’s badass! I’ll trade you…

BONNIE: Don’t think Care would be okay with that… plus, my costume is part of an ensemble (to Damon) right, Damon?

DAMON: Don’t you dare go there, Bon…

STEFAN: What, come on, show!

DAMON: Nop, don’t want to spoil the surprise.  

BONNIE: It’s not that bad, Damon… come on, show him.

STEFAN: Can’t be worse than mine…

DAMON: Oh, trust me, it can (pulls out his costume, Stefan bursts into a hysterical laugh).

STEFAN: Oh, this is too good! Well, I hope you shave your legs… fairy boy (keeps laughing along with Bonnie, Caroline comes back down).

CAROLINE: I see Damon showed you his costume… (Mocking Damon) I’m sure you’ll look fabulous! (They all laugh).

DAMON: Sure, laugh all you want…

BONNIE: Well, the time has come (puts up her drink for a cheer) … whatever happens tomorrow, I just want you to know that I love you guys…

CAROLINE: Bon… don’t.

BONNIE: Care, we don’t have to act like it’s no biggie, it is… and no matter how confident we are about our plan, there is no way of knowing it will work. 

CAROLINE: I know but let’s keep it positive and just have a good time tonight, okay?

DAMON: In that case… who’s up for some drunken twister?

 They spend the night drinking, playing and laughing…

To be continued... Halloween special coming up next!! Hope you stop by, read and enjoy! =)

[beatricethecat2]

if/then (2.0) - 19

So this was meant to end in a full arc, thereby getting Myka and Helena’s separation out of the way, but there was too much information to stuff into one chapter (I should know better by now). I’ll finish it up in the next one which will not go up as quickly as this one (give me a few weeks, folks). But the momentum is there and I’m hopeful I can keep going! Typos are all mine and links to previous chapters are in the replies. Also lemme know if there's too many things in italic. PS: Thanks to all of you who are still reading this and have left likes, I really appreciate the support after dropping the ball for so long!

////////////////////

“What about this one?” Abigail holds up a garment covered in clear plastic.

“That’s…” Myka’s stomach knots, she hasn’t pulled it out in ages. “You know what that is?”

"Should I?” Abigail looks it over again. “Oh! Maybe toss it entirely—”

“No!” Myka lunges forward but stops short of grabbing the dress, her hand balling into a fist then falling to her side. “Just pack it away, ok?”

“You sure?”

“It’s all I have left.”

“Of her?”

“Of my apartment. Of my old life. If it reminds me of her, that’s…that’s too bad.” Myka fishes a navy blue sock from the pile to avoid engaging with her grief. Better to gloss over it than risk another lecture from Abigail.

“Bad mojo anyway,” Abigail says, shoehorning the dress into a garment box.

“It’s me who’s cursed,” Myka clarifies, comparing the sock to several others laying over her thigh. “If getting rid of it would solve that, believe me, I would.” Finding no match, she lays it next to a brown one. “How many stray socks can a girl have?”

“You were never in one place long enough to keep track.” Abigail holds up another dress but lays it on the “to go” pile before Myka even responds. “Speaking of places, have you heard from Claudia lately?”

“No. She’s at some conference in San Francisco. We still haven’t managed to meet up.” But at least she’s back in the country, so she’s hopeful they will soon. Claudia did call her the first minute she could, but Myka was already on her residency.

“You’ll be gone again before she gets back?”

“Yeah.”

“Any word about...”

“No. And it’s driving Claudia nuts.” The ‘official’ word on Helena and Christina’s disappearance is that Helena finagled, in an intricate move the police had never seen before, out of her ankle tag and off into the night. Claudia was out buying groceries when it happened, but that alibi didn’t sit well with the cops. She was detained and questioned for weeks, even after a cashier and security footage corroborated her story.

“The nerve of her, cheating on you then taking off her kid. After all you’ve done for her.”

“I should have seen it coming. She talked about taking off all the time.” Myka looks at her lap and counts the socks on her thigh, needing something to help her stay calm. Claudia’s description of the police interrogation was more harrowing than the one she went through. “I’m still worried about them, though.” She’s sick of pretending to be hurt and angry all the time. Maybe she’s at that step in grief where she gets to back off a little.

“You’re too nice,” Abigail answers, pushing the sock pile to the side and sitting next to Myka on the bed.

“If she hears of anything, she’ll call me, but…I-I think they’re really gone.” Though she’s certain Claudia knows where they are, but can’t say and it’s killing her. It’s like living in an arctic winter, one where the sun never fully rises, waiting for the enormity of earth to tilt on its axis so daylight will finally break.

“Do you think they’re with—”

“Don’t.”

“You need to talk about it.”

“I have. I’m moving on. New job, new city, new life.”

“You have a life. Running away from it isn’t the answer.”

“What life? All I have here are shadows.”

“But LA? All muscles and makeup.”

“Why not? My job there won’t remind me of everything I’ve lost.” Myka slips her thumb under the socks on her thigh and slides them towards her knee. “This is stupid. I’ll do it later.” She tosses the bundle on the pile.

“Let’s keep going. I’ll empty your dresser.”

“Just dump it on the bed.”

“Uh-uh. You yelled at me when I dumped the socks.”

“To quote you, ‘I can’t control everything.’“

“I said stop trying to control everything. There’s a difference.” Abigail stands and walks over to the dresser. She slides a drawer out but balances it halfway as postcard flutters the floor. She bends down and picks it up, smiling as she reads the contents.

“I recognize a name here.”

“It’s for a show she’s in.”

“A show in LA. Are you meeting up with her there?”

“No. She’s back in São Paolo already.”

“But you’ve talked to her.”

“Emailed. Why?”

“You like her.”

“I like her work.”

“Her 'work,’ huh?” Abigail tosses the card at Myka.

Myka catches it like it’s a dainty football. She glances at the names then sets it on the bed. “The residency was really intense. It was nice to have a connection, professionally. We talked about our careers, where we wanted them to go. Besides, can’t I have other friends?”

“No.” Abigail teases, raising a brow.

“She’s nice and all but I’m not into her like that.”

“Maybe you should be.”

“Too soon.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Whatever.” Myka grimaces.

“You’ll change your mind once you’re in LA.”

“Now you want me to move?”

“If it improves your love life, I’m all for it.”

“Then you better dump that drawer or I’ll never finish packing.”

Abigail dumps a drawer of t-shirts next to the socks. “Don’t let your new job get in the way of romance.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Myka says adding a small salute. But that’s exactly what she plans to do, and Abigail knows it.

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

The instant her boxes arrive in LA, she’s sent back to the East coast to attend several high stakes auctions. She makes a quick stop in New York, though it’s a tight fit between Boston and DC, as she and Claudia’s stars have finally aligned. The few times they’ve talked, Claudia deviated little beyond the standard script. But she constantly reminds herself, were the truth were ever overheard, the whole operation would be in jeopardy.

Coffee shop next to work. You know the one. 8pm, Claudia had texted. It’s now 8:15 and Myka’s waiting, sipping overpriced water, sitting on a stool by a window. She watches people dip in and out of the subway entrance, focused only on their next engagement, envying their seemingly simple lives and ease movement. She’s ignoring the kid with a skateboard, the one texting from a bench outside. He’s probably her tail, or Claudia’s, as she’s learned to sense them these days. Better to be over-cautious than not cautious at all.

The coffee shop staff starts their cleaning duties. She checks the time, 8:23. Where is she?

Claudia bursts in just then. “Sorry, meeting. Stupid dude wouldn’t shut his pie hole. Gimme a hug! I can’t believe you’re here!” She opens her arms and Myka stands abruptly, knocking over her stool as Claudia sweeps her into a bear hug. It takes a moment for her to hug back properly, thankful there’s no pretense where Claudia’s involved.

“They’re gonna close soon. You want something?” Claudia eases up her embrace.

“I’m ok,” Myka says, holding up her water, but not taking her eyes off Claudia. Four months, she thinks. Nearly four months since she’s seen her. Seen them. And three since she talked to Helena.

“What?” Claudia says.

Myka can feel the wide grin tugging at her lips, relieved the see Claudia is safe and sound. She tries to tone it down for appearances but gives up after minimal effort. “It’s really nice to see you. And your hair...it’s, shorter. Redder.” She slips her fingers through Claudia’s brilliant blue streak.

“Needed a change, you know?” Claudia says with a shrug, then nods to the counter. “I’m gonna...”

“Yeah.” Myka watches her go, hyper-aware their every move is being watched and reported back to someone, somewhere. Morgana stressed this, before she left for LA, during a brief but unsettling chat on a packed subway platform. She turns back to the street, the skateboarder’s still there, now joined by friends conveniently skating closer to the window.

“Follow me,” Claudia says, returning with a cup in hand.

Myka grabs her bag and turns left out the door then left again after a few paces. They enter a set of double doors into a lobby, occupied by a giant red sculpture of a balloon rabbit. Corporate culture’s design choices have always confounded her, then again her new job taps into that aesthetic, so she should take note.

“Visitor,” Claudia says as they approach the front desk.

“ID?” the desk guy asks.

Myka fumbles through her bag then hands over her license. The man takes her photo then hands her a pass. She follows Claudia through a set of turnstiles, looking over her shoulder as she goes. The skateboarders have mysteriously disappeared.

“Sooo, how’ve you been?” Claudia asks, tapping her card on the elevator keypad.

“Busy moving. New job and all,” Myka replies.

“Must feel like Siberia here compared to LA.”

“It’s pretty cold. I wasn’t expecting it.”

“Can you believe it snowed last week? And they say climate change isn’t a thing.”

“It snowed in June in Colorado Springs once.”

“Yeah, but spring’s sprung here, man. I shouldn’t be digging out my parka.” The elevator doors open and they step out into a sparse lobby area. “This way,” Claudia says. Myka follows her down a white and clinical corridor, filled with doors like a dystopian office suite. Claudia waves her keycard over a panel and when the light blinks green, she pushes the door open, motioning for Myka to enter.

“All clear,” she says as the door clicks shut.

“Where are they?” Myka asks, dropping her bag on the floor and leaning, palms down, over the conference table.

“I don’t know,” Claudia answers, crossing her arms over her chest.

“You said all clear. I need to know.”

“I thought you knew!” Claudia counters.

“What? No.”

“Seriously? What the fuck H.G.?” Claudia looks towards the ceiling and throws her hands in the air.

“Claudia, I—“

Claudia holds up a hand. “First thing’s first. She didn’t sleep with her. She wouldn’t shut up about you needing to know.”

“I know,” Myka says, but her knees buckle slightly, a true confirmation hitting her harder than she thought.

“Second thing. This fucked up spy thriller shit is all to save your ass. I’m pissed at you for not reading me in when I thought we were working together.”

“We were but—”

Claudia holds up her hand again. “Then I get sucked into HG’s crazy-town vortex and spit out when she and the kid vanish.”

“You didn’t know?” How could that be? Claudia was listening in when Helena called, wasn’t she?

“I did, but not presto, chango, poof! Did you?”

“No! She said was they were being sent somewhere safe, that’s all.”

“Any ideas where they’d go?”

“Somewhere in the UK? It’d have to be, right?”

“They’ll have new identities.”

“Helena must have left some clues.”

“If she knew where they were taking her.” Claudia's eyes light up and she digs out her laptop. She sits at the table taps on keys.

Myka sits next to her. “You think she planned this beforehand?”

“With Christina involved? Hell, yeah.”

“What are you looking up?”

“I put feelers out but maybe we can narrow the search.”

“How?”

“Was there anywhere she blabbed about going? Somewhere she felt safe?”

“Her grandparent’s house.”

“Where were they from again?”

“One of those places with double consonants.”

“Myka, that’s most of Wales.”

“Bring up a map. I can find it. It wasn’t that far from Cardiff.” Claudia does as instructed, Myka angles the laptop, eyes following major roads north. “There.”

“You sure? Because look.” Claudia points to other similarly lettered towns: Cilfyndd, Senghenydd, Trecenydd.

“No, it’s Pontypridd,” Myka says, conjuring hazy recollections of Helena’s stories. “She said something about a bridge and ‘pont’ means ‘bridge’ in French.”

“Welsh ain’t French.” Claudia types in the town and clicks search. “Huh. 'Bridge by the earthen house.’ Bingo. But too obvious a hiding place, no?

“Christina said Helena was teaching her Welsh.”

“No, ‘Merry Christmas’ in Celtic languages.”

“So Scottish and Gaelic.”

“And Cornish. Oh and Guernésiais.”

“What’s that?”

“This weird French they speak on Guernsey."

“Soooo, then we’re back to anywhere in the UK.” Myka slumps down in her chair.

“There’s got to be somewhere else. Think!”

“Anywhere her parents went to a festival? Or along a river or canal. “

“That narrows it down.”

“Somewhere only we would know, somewhere no one else is looking.” Myka chews on a nail as she thinks.

“Where would MacPherson, Mrs. Fredric, Interpol, and The Feds not be looking.”

“The Feds?”

“They tried to hack me once. Must of got wind of what happened across the pond. Such amateurs. I totally screwed with them until they backed off.”

“Huh. Could they be hacking me to?

“Probably.”

“And isn’t Interpol on our side?”

“They want me to chill, so I don’t accidentally give away clues. Czar Kurlansky smacked me on the knuckles.”

“You’ve met her?”

“Kinda jumps on you in the weirdest places. Freak.”

“Yeah, she does that.” So Claudia’s being blocked and she’s being hacked. This is getting even more impossible. “What if we keep looking anyway, but throw out false information. And on the down low keep chasing them for real.”

“If we had something to chase? Sure.”

“Between the two of us, we’ll find something. We have to.”

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

While Myka’s proud of the multilayered tale she and Claudia have been building, a few months later, they’re still no closer to finding Helena. There was some excitement over a legit search of Myka’s name, one originating in the UK, but when Claudia stripped it down, she hit a dead-end server in Estonia. Claudia even went to London to track down clues, talking with work mates and the police. But the longer they spin their wheels, the more their resolve wanes.

Myka throws herself into work to keep her mind off time passing, traveling most weeks across the country and beyond. She keeps to herself whenever possible, concentrating, with difficulty, on her paintings, attending art events only to make contacts for future shows.

She met with Amanda a few times when she was floating through town, her self-absorbed banter providing a slight reprieve from obsessing over Helena. Abigail, on the other hand, is entirely another matter. With her, she has no choice but to soldier through the lies. Details matter, so her front has to be ironclad. It’s exhausting but a good exercise if she’s ever questioned again.

Abigail begs Myka to take time off for her thirtieth birthday, so they can “celebrate being middle-aged together.” Myka tries to brush her off, saying she won’t even be in town, but Abigail forces her hand, threatening to show up on her doorstep anyway.

But when Abigail arrives, Myka is actually excited to see her. A friendly face is few and far between, and no matter the lies. Plus it’s comforting to be in the presence of a friend who knows her so well.

“That red-eye’s a bear,” Abigail says, scanning the room and shoving her bag between a pile of boxes. “Where’s your stuff?”

“I haven’t unpacked.”

“It’s been months! This place looks worse than Helena’s.”

“It’s habitable.”

“My Myka would have decorated place to the hilt by now, but this one…” Abigail waves a hand at her. “I don’t know who she is.”

Myka looks around the room to avoid Abigail’s accusatory glare. She’s right, the place barely has furniture or decorations, a far cry from anywhere else she’s lived.

“Now, come here and give me a hug. I haven’t seen you in ages!”

Myka strides forward into sinks Abigail’s extended arms. The familiar embrace warms her to the core.

“I’ve got a great night planned! But maybe a nap first. You do have a bed, don’t you?”

“Very funny. In there.” Myka points toward a door behind the kitchen.

After a late lunch and some quick shopping, they head out to a not-to-be-missed restaurant. They indulge in an opulent meal with copious wine, all the while catching up. Abigail relays the finer points of her research, while Myka rattles off work-trip anecdotes, and for a moment, it feels like old times.

As the meal winds down, Abigail calls a car but won’t tell Myka were they’re going. Twenty minutes later they’re entering a building with art deco sconces and terra-cotta griffins on the tableau. They take the elevator all the way to the top and step out into an open-air bar.

“Not bad, huh? Great view,” Abigail says, settling onto a stool overlooking downtown LA.

“Yeah. But it’s not New York, is it?” Myka replies.

“Oh, now you miss it?”

“To be fair, I haven’t gone out here much, so there’s no real comparison.” Myka takes a sip of her wine and looks around the room; she’s been avoiding places like this, ones filled with couples laughing, touching, kissing, reminding her of what she once had and maybe will never have again.

“Notice something else?” Abigail swirls the olive in her martini and but points her eyes towards the bar.

“No. What?”

“About the clientele.”

Myka looks again. It takes a moment, but she gets it. “It’s mostly women.”

“Exactly!”

“I’m not looking to meet someone.”

“Maybe I am.”

“Dressed like that, your chances are good.” Myka tips her glass at Abigail’s acquired-for-this-trip little black dress.

“Thank you.” Abigail grins as she looks down at her attire.

“So we’re here because you’re looking?” Myka asks.

“I’ll take my chances.”

“Or…” Myka narrows her eyes and sets her jaw. “You’re going to trick me into telling you who I like so you can try to hook us up. Like up used to do in grad school.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Abigail spears the olive in her glass with a toothpick and pops it into her mouth.

“I didn’t know you were into women.”

“I’m taking a page out of your book. Why limit myself?”

“True.”

“But if you don’t want to play the game, that means….” Abigail narrows her eyes.

Myka holds Abigail’s gaze and takes a sip of her wine, watching the wheels turning in Abigail’s head.

“That Luiza chick, the one from your residency you talk about all the time. What’s going on with her?”

“I don’t…we’re just friends.” It’s true, she has mentioned her a lot, but only to steer clear from talking about Helena.

“But you want to be more than friends, don’t you?” Abigail raises a brow accusingly.

“Why would you think that? You’ve never even met her.”

“There’s this thing called the internet. I looked her up. You have a type, you know: pale, dark, brooding.”

Myka shakes her head. “She’s not brooding. And her hair’s brown.”

“But it’s dark. And long.”

“She has bangs.”

“So?”

“Her eyes are blue.”

Abigail snorts a short laugh. “See, you’re into her!”

“Why?”

“What color are my eyes?”

“They’re, um…” Myka leans forward and Abigail opens her eyes wide. “Brown.”

“You just made my point.”

“It’s the first thing you notice about her! They’re really light.”

“That may be, but the way you’ve talked about her? You’re totally into her.”

“As a friend.’

“Oh, come on!”

“She’s out of my league.”

“A-ha!” Abigail hops a little off of her seat. “You’ve got to go for it. It’s way past time you move on.”

“She has a girlfriend, ok? Can we drop it?” Myka’s lips pinch together, disgusted with the topic and her impromptu fib, but she’ll say what she needs to to get Abigail off her back.

Abigail’s expression says she’s not buying it, that Myka’s knee-jerk reaction was over the top. She stares at Myka, weighing a response. Myka holds steadfastly onto her tongue.

“You could have told me that earlier.”

“I didn’t think I had to,” Myka gripes. These conversations, increasingly the norm, are driving her batty. All the half-truths and outright lies make her queasy to her stomach, like being on a boat that’s perpetually bobbing. If only she could tell Abigail the truth, that Helena’s out there, somewhere, waiting...

Abigail sighs. “How about that icy-hot blonde? The one checking you out when we ordered drinks.”

“No one was checking me out.” Here we go again. This is exactly why she didn’t want to go out.

“Oh, yes they were,” Abigail stresses. She points with her eyes across the room. “The Amanda-esque one, with cheekbones for days. Your other type."

Myka looks towards the bar where Abigail's pointing. The woman in question smiles as she catches her eye. Myka grits her teeth but swigs her wine to hide her disdain. Keep it together, Bering. Don’t let Abigail know you know her. “She wasn’t checking me out.”

“Oh, yes she was.” Abigail waggles her eyebrows and elbows Myka in the ribs.

“I’m not here to hook up.”

“Who cares! You need the practice. Go talk to her, get us more drinks. Oooh, ask her if she’s an actor.”

“Everyone here's an actor.”

“You’re not.”

Myka rolls her eyes. Actually, I kinda am. “If you like her so much, go talk to her yourself.”

“I will!” Abigail rises but Myka grabs her arm.

“Whoa, whoa, hang on. I’ll go.”

“I knew you'd be into her."

Into punching her in the face. Myka closes her eyes and takes in a deep breath, releasing it slowly through her nostrils. This pageantry grinds on her nerves but she has little choice. She reaches for her bag but Abigail blocks her.

“I started a tab, remember?”

“Right.” Myka swallows the lump in her throat as she stands and smooths her dress. She could have good news, give her a chance. She’s just keeping you safe like Helena asked her to.

“Need some flirting tips?” Abigail offers.

Myka turns back. Abigail’s grinning ear to ear.

“Like you have any.”

“Go get her, tiger.” Abigail winks and Myka rolls her eyes again.

She makes her way toward the bar by weaving through a few tables. As she approaches, Morgana scoots to the side, making room for her to stand.

“Can I see the wine list?” Myka asks the bartender, who magically appears to help.

She hands her the list. “Looking for something in particular?”

“Something light and not too sweet.”

“Try the Muscadet. It’s crisp,” Morgana suggests. “Or the Vinho Verde if like a bit of fizz.”

“Do you own this bar, too?” Myka snips.

“Would that surprise you?’

“I guess not.” While it’s absurd to be taking wine recommendations from this woman, she doesn’t have the energy to debate. “A Muscadet and another martini, please,” she says to the bartender.

“Coming right up.” The bartender nods and leaves to fulfill her order.

“Who’s your friend? She’s awfully pretty,” Morgana says eyeing Abigail across the room.

“Stop it. You already know who she is,” Myka grumbles. “Please tell me you’re the bearer of good news for a change?”

“I come with a warning. You and Claudia need to rein it in.”

“Rein what in?”

“Your chatter. You shouldn’t be looking for her so publicly.”

“Are we getting close?” They can’t be, they’ve literally been making things up as they go along.

“Claudia can push, but you can’t. There are rumors you’re not as innocent as you’re supposed to be.”

“So?”

“That puts the operation at risk. Puts Helena at risk. And Christina. You really don’t want that. “

“Did something happen?” Her eyes dart around the room, the queasy sensation returning from earlier. Did she do something to put them in jeopardy? Were they being watched all evening?

“They’re ok, but they won’t be if you don’t rein it in.” Morgana raises a brow so sharply it feels like a slap. “Settle down. Remember where we are.”

“A bar?”

“A public place. A social situation. Read my cues and act accordingly.”

“Flirt with you?”

“Act like we’re having a pleasant conversation or I’ll have to drag you into another room. And how exactly will you explain that to your friend?”

“Fine.” Myka smiles but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

The bartender sets down her drinks.

“My friend Abigail started a tab,” Myka says and looks over at Abigail. Abigail gives a thumbs up and smiles enthusiastically. Myka smiles back, trying harder to play the part she’s been told she has to. She’d forgotten during dinner just how fucked up her life was.

“Got it,” the bartender says and moves on to the next customer.

Morgana lays a hand on Myka’s shoulder. “I know this is hard, but you need to step back. You’re taking too many liberties out in the open.” She squeezes her shoulder and lets go.

“Can’t I be over being mad at her? Can’t I care about her?”

“Publicly, no. Privately, yes. Remember, she cheated on you, disappeared without a trace, kidnapped Christina, ruined your life. You moved three-thousand miles away to forget about her and move on. If that happened for real, would you be looking for her?”

“Maybe?”

There’s a resolve in Morgana’s eyes that snaps Myka into line. This is serious. She’s right. I’m being selfish. We’re being selfish, Claudia and I. She wets her lips and nods in tiny, hesitant strokes. “Tell me what I need to do.”

“Take an interest in someone. Anyone. Maybe your friend, over there.” Morgana nods towards Abigail.

“Abigail? No way. She’s my best friend.”

“What better cover?”

“I need a best friend if I can’t talk to Claudia as much. And I wouldn’t, couldn’t, date anyone else. Lying about you is one thing, but dating…that’s too much.”

“Just take an interest in someone. Take it as far as your comfortable.”

“I hate this,” Myka grumbles.

“It gets easier with time.”

“That’s just a thing people say.”

“Just try.” Morgana twirls her tumbler between a thumb and forefinger, then tosses the remainder of her drink down her throat. She lifts her glass, motioning to the bartender for another. “You need to initiate this interest. Anyone pursuing you might be a plant. One slip up and….” She lays a hand on Myka’s arm again, but this time leans towards her, speaking in a near whisper in her ear. “They’ll use you to force the agency’s hand. And then no one’s safe.”

Myka shivers as Morgana’s hand skims down her arm and takes hold of her hand.

“Be strong for them. You can do this,” Morgana says, squeezing Myka’s hand then letting go. “I’ll give you the number of someone I can read in.”

The bartender delivers Morgana’s drink. Morgana leans over the bar and plucks a pen for the bartender’s apron. She writes a number on a napkin and hands it to Myka.

“Um, thanks, but…” Myka takes the napkin but can’t make a decision like that right now. Lying about dating someone she’s not actually dating might just break her spirit entirely. “I’ll figure it out.”

“Keep it, just in case,” Morgana says and waves the bartender away. “And be more mindful in general. Meticulously so. What will you tell your friend about our meeting just now?”

“That you gave me your number.”

“Good.”

Myka grabs her drinks but lingers. Morgana’s not very forthcoming, but she’s the only link she has to Helena. There must be something else she can pull from her, something to ease her mind, but what exactly that might be eludes her.

“I know this is foreign to you, but this op is a long game. I’m doing everything I can to make sure you both get out intact.”

“Thank you,” Myka says. Her smile is genuine this time.

“Need some flirting tips?”

“No. Why is everyone asking me that today?”

“Don’t overthink it,” Morgana answers. She leans forward and kisses Myka chastely on the cheek. “There. You’ve done your duty for tonight.”

Cool liquid trailing down Myka's skin alerts her that her hands are shaking. She sips Abigail’s drink to not spill more, thinking should have ordered something stronger than wine for herself.

“Happy Birthday, Myka. Now, go join your friend and enjoy the rest of your evening.”

-TBC-

[cleverbroadwayurl]

She Used to Be Mine (Jeremy Heere x Reader Pt 19)

Song: She Used to Be Mine from Waitress 

Need to Catch Up? tumblr has now officially takes things out of the tags that have lists. The link to every part and my masterlist is in my description for easy access! 

A/N: Oh my god I finally posted! I went on vacation and had so many exams the weeks before, and I had so much other work, so I’m sorry that this is so delayed! I should be back to regularly posting soon after next weekend (I have another event coming up)! 

Taglist: @retrogarden @be-more-heidi-hansen @catatonic-kuragin @scarsonthecuffsofyourjeans @bluhimaweirdo @stargirl-murphy 

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of an abusive boyfriend, mentions of character death, mentions of abuse, mentions of injuries, mentions of math, sad Jeremy, IF I MISSED ANYTHING LET ME KNOW

He watches you walk away, off into the distance before realizing how creepy that probably is. Jeremy grabs his keys from his pocket, phone still situated where it had been before. He walks carefully back to his car, hoping, wishing, that this is the last date you’ll ever be on with your boyfriend.

Jeremy jammed his key into the lock, exhaustion seeping into his regular routine, the typical for Thursday afternoons after an hour and a half math recitation. His brain is a mess of grey matter, he can feel the dullness inside of his eyes, paler than usual skin, even though his day consisted mostly of sitting, he still felt the tiredness through his legs. His backpack weighed down on his shoulders more than it normally did as he opened the door and threw his keys back into his jean pocket. He opened the door to his and Michael’s dorm, his eyes scanning over the posters that had been hung there when the two had moved in, the two carpooling in Michael’s PT Cruiser while their parents drove themselves and the boy’s stuff in their separate cars.

He throws his backpack onto the left side of the room, trash only slightly littering his side—he didn’t have time to clean up before his Calculus I exam that day. Darkness enveloped him as you continued to step through his side of the large dorm room, Michael’s side untouched from this morning. His brain had instead been skimming over the extremely long related rates and optimization problems. As much as they logically made sense, the calculation of them always weighed him down, each answer ending up being some fraction or decimal he didn’t particularly appreciate. His brain went over the process once again, constantly refreshing and double checking his answer, worried that he’d made a minor error and messed the entire thing up. He toes off his shoes, leaving them askew for the moment—he’d clean them up and put them away later. His brain was too tired for any real coherent interaction for a while.

His eyes scan the room, stopping for a second on the TV and switch against the wall that perfectly split the room into 2. Of course, a gaming console was how the two thought it would be best to divide the room. Jeremy had been right at Red Robin all those months ago: the bean bags wouldn’t fit in here. As Jeremy turns to sit onto his bed, eyes scanning the white walls that consume him, his eyes fall onto the postcards, the posters, the notes that had been sent to him. Of course, almost monthly, Christine would send him a friendship letter, an update about how magical college was and all the friends she was making. She’d updated him a few times, telling him that she decided to go to counselling because the stress was too much sometimes, and he had never been prouder of her. His eyes continue circling around the room, taking note of the blue sweater that hung near his bed in case he got cold in the middle of the night or right before getting out of bed.

Jeremy swings his feet around and lays down on the bed, a little bummed that Michael isn’t there so he can vent to him about his answer that was a fraction his professor said it wouldn’t be a fraction but it was. So, laying down and taking in the glow in the dark stars that he’d transported from home and stuck onto his ceiling at school would have to do. Another 15 minutes or so pass, and Jeremy is still going over each pencil mark, each moment of erasing over and over again. It isn’t until he gets the same answer 4 or 5 times in his mind that he gives it a rest, deciding that it would be healthier to focus on something else for a little bit. The exam is over, 2 out of 4 done. With no other classes for the rest of the day, Jeremy also takes a second before deciding that homework could wait until his brain was more coherent that it currently was. That, and the only class he had the next day was calculus yet again. The only logical thing his brain can come up with is to watch something on Netflix while curled up under the covers until Michael gets back from his classes.

As Jeremy gets up and grabs his laptop, his phone vibrates. There’s a text from one of his newer friends on it, asking him how he thought the exam went. He supposed that the text was a good thing. He has friends—he was making friends, too. It wasn’t hard to once he’d kind of broken out of his shell and got more comfortable with himself. And that was of course after Jeremy realized that most of his peers felt the same things he did ever so often. Of course, he left out the part about the weird super computer that tried to take over the school; he assumed that wasn’t a universal experience.

But Jeremy ignored the text for the minute. His brain wasn’t ready to comprehend everything in a healthy way yet. He knew that he was going to obsess over that one problem up until the minute that the grade would be entered into Blackboard, which could be hours, days, even sometimes weeks. He sets his laptop onto his bed before crawling back into it, fingers gliding over the mousepad, searching for the one app and closing a certain web browser. He finds it easily, and the app launches. Two fingers glide over the mousepad once again, scrolling down and eyes skimming for something mindless, something that could easily take his mind off of the events of the day but not too mentally challenging. His eyes hit “Keep Watching” and he stops, looking into the subheading.

Finally, he feels okay enough to reply to the text.

Jeremy: I don’t even know, I got a fraction for the related rates thing. Didn’t she say that we were going to get a nicely worked out problem?

He sends the text before locking his phone and putting it on “Do Not Disturb” so that he couldn’t be distracted by the outside world for a little bit. His eyes go back to the Keep Watching subheading and the content in it when he freezes. Right there, in plain print, easy text, is the piece of media you and Jeremy had watched together all those months ago.

Fuck, he remembers that night instantly, his mind rewinding to you with that bright orange cup, head against his chest, eyes fluttered shut, calmness finally flowing in and out of you. It was the most relaxed he’d ever seen you. He knew that it probably wasn’t a wonderful slumber, given your entire situation that affected your entire life to the point that you couldn’t even keep it together, strong as you were. He can remember the way his stars glowed, the way his sweater draped around you and somewhat onto him. He can remember the way you’d shifted right before he’d fallen asleep, almost snuggling into him more than before, hands calmly gripping his body, reaching out for him like he was the only thing in the world that mattered to you.

With a shake of his head, Jeremy is brought back. It’s 3:43 on a Thursday, months after the event, you’re probably hundreds of miles away. His heart hurts inside of his chest, bad enough that he feels like with to sharp of an exhale, it would come tumbling from his lips. He has no idea what happened with you. He has no idea if you’re okay, no idea if you’d managed to get free, managed to get rid of the stupid, what his British Literature professor called, Separate Sphere ideology, the Angel of the Household falling into freedom. His brain replays the moments in the gazebo, the leaves clapping with gusto as the breeze passes through, the way you smiled at him, moments where he was able to actually help you instead of just guessing and praying that things were okay. The way you told him that you got lost in time when talking to him. The way your lips curled into a smile, the genuine laugh, the looks of desperation almost peering into freedom. They were things he couldn’t forget, things that stuck on his mind for hours at a time.

At least this was only a basic remembering, no sensory details completely throwing him for a loop, causing his stomach to work in tandem with his mind. Seeing you in social media posts made the memories worse, they stung with each second they passed through his mind as his limbs would tingle, hands shaking and gripping, waiting for the memories to pass. As much as he wanted to admit that he was okay with not knowing about you, letting you go, he wasn’t. Deep down, it was apparent to everyone. He would lie awake, toss and turn, dream about the good, the bad, and what he assumed happened to you. Of course, it was always the worst in his nightmares, something he didn’t wish to dwell on while the sun was up, and the best in his daydreams. You hadn’t posted about your boyfriend recently, but you didn’t really before either, especially after you’d started even talking to him, even less since the incident—which is what he called that one night in passing with others. The only people who really knew the details about the incident were his dad, Michael’s moms, and Michael himself. Everything was under lock and key—both you and the issues you had—he was really the only one who knew exactly how you were feeling, the things you had been, or maybe still were, going through. He can remember Michael’s surprise when he first told him about you, about your situation, about your strength, about your new life, how much you’d changed. From happy to struggling to understand what was reality and what was something that was gaslit and given to you on a counterfeit silver platter.

And you’d gone silent lately. You were almost completely off the grid, to him at least. It was painful, every breath sitting inside of him, heavier than any gravitational pull in the universe. His heart, his mind, couldn’t help but fill in the blanks. Had you died? Had you done something too rebellious and ended up worse than the last time he saw you? Did you need help to live? Did you need help to even survive?

He can remember the way your hand brushed against his, the way your breath evened in hugs, that very first night, the way his hands glided across your back and helped you clean up. He can remember how your hand felt in his, your head against him, soft calmness seeping from you and into him. He can remember you leaning against him and his entire body lit aflame as he helped you up and down the stairs of the gazebo, the way your smile felt against his lips—clumsy kisses that had managed to turn into something absolutely beautiful and worth craving nearly daily. He can remember that smile that was etched into your shining face as the sunlight created an aura around you, leaves fluttering in the background. Jeremy remembers your hand slipping from his, a final farewell, or something similar leaving your lips. He remembers watching you walk away—why didn’t he watch longer?

Jeremy reaches his hand out, shaking as he tries to move the cursor away from the piece of media. He stops. Sharply, quickly, he shuts his laptop and casts it aside. Rolling over, the tears that had been forming in his eyes now spill down his cheeks. He can feel his legs contracting, toes curling so hard that his muscles begin to hurt, hands gripping the blanket. You were okay. You had to be okay.

Right?

[hannahharrington]

CRYING IN EUROPE (postcards from italy)

I struggled with whether or not to post this; I still am, honestly, because it is very raw in every sense. This is something I wrote a year-minus-two-weeks-ago, holed up in an AirBNB in Rome, about losing my good friend Jaymee and the bizarreness of having the best and worst time of your life simultaneously. I did not look at it ever again until a few days ago. It wasn’t written to share with anyone, only because I needed to put thoughts down at the time. Any editing has been very minimal.

The last section I wrote yesterday.  

CRYING IN EUROPE (postcards from italy)

1. The first time is on the first day. I land at Heathrow only to find out the express train isn’t running because of the snowstorm and the tube is beyond fucked. I nearly cry out of frustration and jet lag exhaustion but I don’t. I end up emerging from Shepherd’s Bush Market half a mile from the hotel and have to drag my suitcase through blustery snow that whips me so hard in the face it makes tears leak out of the corners of my eyes.

2. The second time is the next morning, five minutes after I first find out you’re dead. I guess the first five minutes are a mix of me just having woken up, an hour before my alarm, still on New York time as I scroll idly through my phone messages only to see it blowing up with the news; and maybe shock can be used as an excuse, even though we all knew it was coming.

3. Over the Hilton London Kensington breakfast buffet for Hilton Honors Members. I’m telling Barry how I was supposed to see you before it happened. My voice cracks and eyes overflow with tears, and I’m apologizing and Barry is being so kind about it even though I can tell he’s not really sure what to do or say, which is okay because I don’t know either. It occurs to me later that in all the years we’ve known each other, this is the first time I’ve ever cried in front of him.

You said you were terminal, and released to home hospice care, and I told you I would fly to California if you wanted and read you mean celebrity blog comment sections, like how I did for you when you visited me in Brooklyn (I’ll never forget how we laughed until we cried like middle schoolers at a sleepover). I followed your lead in trying to blunt reality with a joke because that’s what you always did. The last thing you posted on any social media was a repost of our Facebook “Friendaversary”, saying how you were due for another one of my dramatic readings. I was going to buy a plane ticket when I got back from this trip. I was supposed to be there.

4. The first cigarette I smoke.

5. And the second, all while thinking about how terrible a person I am for smoking because you hated it and hated having cancer and hated that I would do something that could make me sick. You wanted me to stop, and if this were a movie I’d quit on the spot. But it isn’t and so instead I stand chain-smoking and hating myself.

6. In the shower.

7. We go see the Hamilton matinee hours after we find out, and it’s the cruelest twist of fate, experiencing this thing you loved so deeply and brought into my life and that we shared together. You’re the reason I saw it with everyone else at the matinee Obama attended. I lost the lottery, the lone one of all of us without a way in, and I was feeling a little sorry for myself and about to leave. I went to say goodbye to you, and immediately you pulled your Jaymee magic and got me a ticket at the literal last minute. And it really did feel like magic.

When you first saw it at the Public, I tried the lottery and lost, and I joked for you to go on without me, to die a million happy deaths. You said if I were being mugged and you were the only one who could save me, you’d still make me wait until after the show. I know if I skipped it you’d literally come back to life and kick my ass. But that doesn’t seem like a bad deal. I’d never see Hamilton again, I’d burn all of my playbills, even the one from the off-Broadway run I got signed by the original cast at the stage door. I’d tear the donut bag in half, the one we joked about being good luck, the one I had Lin-Manuel Miranda autograph. I’d do all of that if it gave me five more minutes with you.

I keep my shit together more or less until the second act. When Hamilton pleads to Washington with Why do we have to say goodbye?, I start crying and don’t stop until curtain call.

8. Right before I left on this trip, I threw together a playlist for my phone. The last song I added was Eva Cassidy’s cover of “Fields of Gold”, thinking it’d be pretty background soundtrack for train rides through lush, rolling Italian countryside. A year ago I went down one of my weird little Internet research rabbit holes and read all about Eva, her melanoma, how she died and her last performance, and wondered why there hadn’t been a movie made about that particular beautiful tragedy. After Hamilton I tell Barry I feel better, like it was an emotional release, but then the next afternoon we go to a pastry café and they play a jazz standard cover of “Fields of Gold” over the speakers and my chest seizes.

9. Friday night we’re supposed to meet up with Jen for dinner before she flies back to Philly. I’m sick to my stomach in the cab ride over to her hotel, and when we get to her room I drop my purse and hug her and don’t let go. That thing happens where I’m trying not to cry and it makes me cry harder and I can feel Jen crying too. We sit and Jen and Danielle talk about their travels and the whole time I feel on the verge of throwing up. Finally I say we need to talk about you, about what we’re going to do. Jen says June told her sometimes in Filipino culture they ask for donations for the family instead of flowers, so she’s not sure what’s preferred. I don’t know why I was expecting Jen to have more information, something to make me feel better, but nothing she tells me does. I take one of the Ativans my mom gave me for the plane ride because I can’t calm down. You said they gave you Ativan at the end. You said it helped. It helps me too.

I excuse myself from their room and get lost in the dimly lit maze of their hotel, until finally I find a side exit to the courtyard, and I light a cigarette and text my mom, who happens to be around. I try calling, but this stupid SIM card I got won’t let me connect to the US, so I wait until I’m back at the hotel and Barry is out at his show. The instructions to dial out don’t tell me the overseas rates, but I call my mom anyway, and spend twenty minutes on the phone with her sobbing like a child.

When we check out of the hotel, I’ll find out the call cost me over a hundred pounds, which probably with the obscene exchange rates approximates to three hundred dollars. I rationalize that’s what I would have paid out of pocket for an emergency therapy session anyway.

10. I find your aunt on Facebook and ask her what the family wants done. An hour later she messages me back to say flowers would be lovely. Your mother is beside herself with grief, she says. You were her best friend, she says.

It feels better to be doing something, to feel productive, so I make it my mission to organize the flowers for your memorial. The whole next day between sightseeing at Kensington Palace I’m looking up florists in San Mateo, figuring out who wants to contribute, making sure everyone is included. Bridget agrees to place the order. It’s midnight my time when I run downstairs for a smoke. Bridget and I are trading texts, trying to figure out what to write on the card. I’m not a writer, she says. You should do it, she says. I start crying because I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this. When I go to head back into the hotel, a British girl with blue hair sees me wiping at my eyes. She calls me love and asks if I’m okay. I’ve been in New York too long; my own public meltdowns don’t even embarrass me anymore. I’ve forgotten that the rest of the world doesn’t politely ignore you when you’re losing your shit on the sidewalk. I know how I must look, crying messily in my pajamas, walking around like an open wound just bleeding over everything.

I try to stop the tears long enough to assure her I’m fine, really, and when I stumble out the words that a friend of mine just passed away, she grabs me in a hug before the words finish getting out. She’s so nice that it makes me cry even more and I let her convince me to take the free cigarette she offers. She tells me she’s here with her gay husband and I joke through tears that I’m here with mine too. We stand and talk about Camden Market and the magic of New York at Christmastime, and when she’s satisfied I’m not a suicide risk she adds me as a friend on Facebook.

11. Things feel different in Venice. I start to feel like maybe I’ve hit the bottom of this, it’s only up from here, and even as I’m thinking it I know it’s delusional. I had the same feeling when my dad died, and I learned then that grief is not linear. There can be moments where it’s all temporarily bearable, only for a fresh wave of pain to knock you flat on your ass a minute later.

But for most of Venice I feel lighter, like the darkest clouds of the storm have passed. We get lost in the labyrinth of alleyways and eventually I duck into a Murano glass shop. Back in January when I went to Fort Myers, I took an Uber from the airport, and for the first time ever I had a woman driver. During the drive to the beach somehow the subject of this trip came up. I mentioned I’d be in Venice, and she told me how her day job was at an art gallery. They made jewelry from Murano glass, a Venetian technique. She made me promise to seek it out when I went.

The shop has all kinds of figurines, and in the back corner I discover these thimble-sized cows. Cows were your thing. Not just thing—borderline obsession. I still don’t know what it is about them you loved so much, but you did. When I was in Amsterdam I passed by an actual Cow Museum, snapped a photo of the storefront and sent it to you. You couldn’t believe I didn’t go inside. Now I’m here in Venice, looking at these little cows and thinking of you, and of course I have to get them. I scoop four of them into my palm and go to the cashier and whatever part of my heart that’s been healing over gets ripped open raw again. My throat burns too much for me to manage anything more than a cursory grazie as I watch him bundle them delicately in bubble wrap. It almost feels selfish to hurt this much, when there are people in this world who loved you longer and harder and better than I did. But I do.

12. In Florence Barry and I split up for the day. He runs off to the Duomo while I visit the Ambrogio market, the one the owner of our B&B tells me is for locals. I pick up random ingredients for my mother, whose burgeoning interest in the culinary arts still baffles me considering I subsisted on almost nothing but microwave dinners as a child, and two sweaters for myself. 

I’m back at our apartment-sized suite, arranging the packaged pasta and sun-dried tomatoes on the wooden table for an Instagram photo when I click some random button that takes me to my inbox.

There’s only one message in there and I realize it’s from you, from over two years ago. I click to see it’s a video taken in Marie’s Crisis. Some pitch perfect soprano sings bars from an unrecognizable show tune at the piano, and then you turn the camera to yourself, bobbing your head along with a coy smile. I can’t believe it. I click out accidentally and have to Google for instructions on how to find it again. The video is only fifteen seconds but I watch it ten times in a row and then put my head down on the table and cry until it hurts.

13. Bucket list items have a greater sense of urgency now than they used to. At the last minute I find a woman who agrees to take me to a horse farm in Tuscany. She meets me at the Piazza Cavalleggeri behind one of Florence’s countless gorgeous ancient basilicas and takes me to meet her business partner so he can drive. He’s an old guy who speaks zero English, and it becomes evident when he climbs into the driver’s seat that he has Tourette’s. Every ten seconds his tic makes him jerk the steering wheel so the whole car swerves. We lurch our way up narrow roads that wind up huge hills, endless greenery on all sides, the woman chattering happily about vineyards and olive trees as I brace myself in the backseat, positive the guy is going to tic us right into oncoming traffic and certain death. It rains on the way there, and the woman worries it’ll be too wet to ride, but sure enough we arrive and the sky clears up just long enough for me and two other American girls to go for an hour-long trek. It’s been ten years since I’ve been on a horse, and I’m nervous about it, but the second I’m in the saddle everything comes back to me. We ride through steep hills, surrounded by the kind of scenery that’s beyond picturesque. It’s so gorgeous it doesn’t look real, like an oil painting. For the first time in days I feel a weightless kind of happiness. I know as it’s happening that this is something I will remember for the rest of my life.

When the woman drops me back off in Florence, I trip over myself thanking her profusely, holding back tears because I don’t want to explain that that was maybe the most beautiful experience of my life and I’m so grateful that for three hours the Jaymee is dead, Jaymee is dead, Jaymee is dead track stopped spinning in my head.

14. Rome is a welcome change of pace. I like big, bustling, metropolitan cities; they make me feel comfortable. Safe. Even just through glimpses out the taxi window I can see Rome is bursting at the seams, vibrant and colorful and a startling clash of ancient and modern. Our driver asks where we’re from and I say New York. He laughs and tells us he doesn’t like America, but he likes New York.

On a tour of the Vatican museums, our guide shares all the juicy stories of how Raphael and Michelangelo loathed each other, and the illicit love between Antinous and Hadrian, and we marvel at the frescos on every wall and the breathtaking scope of the Sistine Chapel and the inside of St. Peter’s basilica.

I was skeptical as I always am of anything to do with organized religion, but you liked the new Pope. You thought he was progressive, refreshing. You’d joke all the time about your “Jesus problems”, how you struggled to reconcile your Catholicism with your personal politics.

Afterward Barry scurries off to scale the bell tower. I ask our guide if there’s anywhere in the basilica to light candles, like how you can do in St. Patrick’s. She tells me it’s not allowed—it’s too much of a hazard, especially after a crazy man declared himself the second coming of Jesus and attacked Michelangelo’s Pietà with a hammer, chipping off fifteen pieces in the mayhem, including Mary’s nose.

Instead of waiting for Barry outside in the square I retreat back into St. Peter’s, to the closed off chapel. The guard asks me if I will be praying. It forces me to confront what I’m really planning to do, and after a heartbeat of hesitation I stutter out a yes, slip through the parted curtains to the pews. I’ve never prayed in my life; I have no idea how to do it. I look to see how others around me kneel and try to imitate the stance, hands folded in front of me, knees against the padded rest. It all feels clumsy and awkward until suddenly it doesn’t. Suddenly I’m just crying. I watch my thick tears plop onto concrete and absently wonder how many people before me have spilled salt on these floors. Probably a lot.

I don’t know how to pray. In my head I’m just screaming please forgive me, and I don’t know if I’m saying it to God or to you. I guess I know now what Catholic guilt feels like.

I should’ve been there. I should’ve brought Schmackary’s cookies and the good luck donut bag and flown out to California and seen you. Why didn’t you tell me how bad it was? Why did you have to make your yes a joke? (A quip about doctor’s orders, it comes as no surprise you embraced the gallows humor.) Why couldn’t you be earnest? Why couldn’t just say I need you right now, I don’t have much time, please be here? Did you even know? Because I swear I didn’t. I thought I could wait. I thought you had more time. None of it fucking matters because I can’t forgive myself, not ever.

…And that’s it. That’s where I stopped writing. I didn’t cry on European soil again after that. Not because the last cry was cathartic or healing; it wasn’t. The healing would come later, long after my plane touched down again in New York. It happened in ways I can’t explain, slowly, until one day the thought of you didn’t automatically bring me to the brink of tears or knock the wind from me like a sucker punch to the gut, where the tenderness of loving memory ran parallel with the heartbreak rather than being subsumed by it. Eventually the day came where I could think of you and how you were and what we shared, not only of the ways I failed you. A year later and I still think of those too, sometimes. And there are still tears, sometimes.

I feel like I always had this idea that you go through The Worst Thing and life just evens out after that. My Worst Thing happened when I was in my teenage years and I was supposed to be in the clear afterwards. But life doesn’t work that way. There’s no plateau, no neat ever after. And every so often we break in ways where yes, you can scrape the pieces together and carry on, but you’re never made whole again. You’re never the person you used to be. You become a new version of yourself, mismatched and full of jagged lines, and you find a way to forge ahead.

In the immediate soul-crushing wake of the 2016 election, someone created a Subway Therapy project in the tunnel of the 14th Avenue station that stretches from Sixth to Seventh. I went to see it then, a modern day marvel: the long tiled wall papered with thousands of bright post-its, each full of encouragement and commiseration from fellow grief-sick New Yorkers. The sight was a life preserver in the sea of misery I’d floated in that entire week. I was not alone in the feeling, however singularly devastating it felt.

Countless others have been here. I am not the only one to have shed my tears on ancient chapel floors, unable to imagine I would ever feel okay again. Experts painstakingly restored the Pietà after the attack, but if you were to find your way behind the bulletproof glass and touch the Virgin Mary’s cheek, you would still feel hairline traces of their work, a difference of texture; if you were to peer close enough, you would see the faint lines on marble that belie its pristine repair. It was broken once. It could not be remade exactly as it was. It’s no less a masterpiece.

That day in the 14th Street station, I peeled off a blank post-it and wrote out an Abraham Lincoln quote I’d read once: Perfect relief is not possible, except with time. You cannot now realize that you will ever feel better… And yet this is a mistake. You are sure to be happy again.

Time buffers out the rough edges. It is the only thing that does.