#and besides i block liberally so if you say something i feel in my soul is gettin me tight i'll get you outta my face immediately 🤣

[prettyymafia]

idk i think i'm really good at ignoring people in general so i find tumblr users making callout posts over a controversial opinion their ex-mutual made so nonsensical and terminally logged on lol

[ayo-cowbelly]

when the fire goes out, how do we stay warm? - part 1/?

next part ~ masterlist

welcome to my new series ~ an angst dump of “what if anakin and obi wan’s roles on zygerria were reversed?”

you can blame the New SW Canon discord for this. Their angst-loving asses fueled this fire, and what was supposed to be a snippet spiraled into this.

the yarra root i got from discord- we had a huge discussion about tatooine slave culture, and said yarra root is something tatooine parents will put in their child's tea/drinks, to kill them/"put them to sleep", so the masters won't hurt/kill them (it is seen as an alternative to a brutal, painful death). We also discussed the idea that people on tatooine will take their children (or just themselves) and go out to the sand dunes and "let the Desert decide their fates", so when Anakin mentions being "swallowed", that's what he means. Just to clarify.  

Hope you like it!

@youngcreativenerdgoddess @alabasterswriting @ilonga @rynae-reblogs @everything-or-anything @waterrose3 (i love y’all, thanks for the support!)

***

Obi-Wan looks down into the arena from his place beside the Zygerrian queen. He wants nothing more than to jump down there, to yell, to scream, to do something- but he knows he can't. To blow their cover now is to destroy any chance of saving the colonists. But he wishes he could save more than just them. He wishes he could liberate this whole damn planet. He wishes he could get rid of the threat the Zygerrians posed, somehow- even if he had to rip the crown out of the slaver queen's cold, dead hands.

Obi-Wan looks across the arena as the queen speaks, not looking at Ahsoka nearby (in that horrible outfit, that made people leer at his grandpadawan, like she was a mere object. They looked at her the way Obi-Wan had seen people looking at Anakin during his brief time on Tatooine all those years ago).

Oh. Anakin. Where was he?

Obi-Wan was furious that the Council had sent Anakin, of all people, to this slaver planet. The should have remembered Anakin's past, his time as a slave when he was just a child. They should have remembered that Anakin was once considered nothing more than property, an object to be passed around to different Masters. Obi-Wan should have remembered, he should have fought harder.

He hopes Anakin doesn't know of this auction, as Obi-Wan knows that Anakin would tear down this entire planet if he found out. He would scrape tooth and nail to destroy this disgusting empire. For Anakin mostly acted on his emotions, not that it was necessarily a bad thing- but he sometimes forgot to look at the big picture. There was a balance there, one Anakin struggled to find.

Balance always seemed to elude him.

Obi-Wan worried greatly. After this dreadful mission, they'd actually talk, for once. About everything.

He focuses back on the queen's words, as she announces the Togrutan governor. Obi-Wan tries and fails to look away from the man's beaten form.

And then the worst happens.

"My friends, behold! Anakin Skywalker, the Hero With No Fear- on his knees before us!"

Obi-Wan barely registers Ahsoka's horrified gasp, for he is equally as distraught. Below him, on the sandy platform, is Anakin. A shock collar is on his neck and dirt on his face. His clothes are ripped, and his hair is mussed and greasy. Obi-Wan wants so badly to run to his brother before Anakin does something rash and gets them all caught.

But when Obi-Wan looks over Anakin's frail form again, he sees something. Something so much worse.

The fire in Anakin's eyes is... gone. There is no defiance, no opposition, none of that trademark confidence- only the hollow gaze of someone who is dreaming of being anywhere else. All at once, Obi-Wan's previous fears vanish. Before, he had been worried that Anakin would say something sarcastic, signal for his 'saber, fight back; but now, Obi-Wan knows that isn't the problem.

Anakin had been a slave, once. Before he was a General, a hero, a Jedi, a Master, a brother, or a husband (yes, Obi-Wan knew. Anakin had never been subtle, and try as she might, neither was Padmé)- before any of that, he was simply Ani. A slave, a son, a child of a cruel Desert that took more than it gave.

This is who is before them now. It wasn't Anakin down there, it was Ani, and that was so much worse. Obi-Wan Kenobi's (previously unknown, for he had never imagined it to be possible) greatest fear had come true, before his very eyes.

For the first time in over ten years, Anakin Skywalker was not fighting back.

"This Jedi, this watchdog of a petty, corrupt senate, a preacher of freedom and peace though he brings only war and death- is nothing more than a puppet! And now, he will kneel before us," The queen boasts, proudly smiling at the cheering crowd.

At this moment, Obi-Wan wants her life to end. He wants it to be at his own hands. How dare she do this, how dare she make Anakin go through such a thing, how dare she-

Oh. She's speaking to him now. "Show him his true place," She commands. Obi-Wan nods numbly, a pathetic movement of a broken man. Obi-Wan feels broken, he does. He feels crushed, splintered, shattered into a million tiny pieces-

Anakin had broken, and as Obi-Wan is his brother, he will too. Two halves of the same whole, and if one goes down the other surely will as well. They are nothing without the other, and are only something when together.

Some may ask, "What is the galaxy without Obi-Wan Kenobi?"

The real question is, "What is the galaxy when Anakin Skywalker stops fighting?"

Obi-Wan doesn't know the answer to that. He doesn't know what it's like to witness your dearest friend, your son, your brother, your soul, fractured into pieces-

Or maybe he does, now. He doesn't want to think about it.

He remembers things Anakin once said, about his mother and Yarra Root and a saying.

"I would rather my child die than be a slave like me."

But Anakin, Ani (for as much as they are different, they are also the same) had once been a slave. And now, he is again. Or maybe he always had been, and only his title had changed with time.

Has Anakin ever truly been free?

How could Obi-Wan have let this happen?

He approaches his former apprentice (though everyone knows that statement is a half-truth; no Master-Padawan pair had ever stayed so close as they had after Knighthood) and he almost wants to claw his eyes out. Anakin is kneeling on the hard ground, his shoulders are hunched. Obi-Wan has never seen him look so... defeated.

As Obi-Wan nears him, Anakin turns. His eyes are glassy, his cheeks are gaunt, and above all he looks haunted. "Obi?" He says weakly.

Obi-Wan doesn't care about their cover anymore. "Yes, dear one, I'm here."

Anakin shudders, his voice cracking from disuse and the delusions of fear. "I- I wanted to help, I was going to- the Root, Obi, the Root- I'll find it, so they can rest- let them rest, let me rest, please-"

"It's going to be alright, I promise. Just hang on," Obi-Wan whispers, and his younger brother makes an aborted movement, one he guesses was meant to be a nod. Obi-Wan looks up at R2, not able to take anymore of this con.

His and Anakin's lightsabers soar gracefully through the air, and Obi-Wan catches them both. Ignoring the angered roar of the spectators, he pulls with the Force and removes the shock collar, trying not to look too closely at the angry red mark it left on Anakin's neck. When Obi-Wan goes to hand Anakin his lightsaber, his brother flinches, but makes no move to take it. "I don't- I don't want it- I want to rest- I want to rest, like Mom- let the Desert swallow me, Obi, please-"

"Anakin, please just hold on, for me. Sleep, and I will be here when you wake up." Obi-Wan blocks the Zygerrian guards' shots as Anakin closes his eyes, slowly crumpling into a fetal position on the ground. The Jedi Master glances up to the balcony, where Ahsoka is holding the queen, green blade pressed close to her neck.

Obi-Wan grips the two lightsabers (lighsabers that would forever be entwined, just as their souls were. Though Anakin loved Padmé more than anything, with his mother a close second, Obi-Wan was somehow more. He was his other half, and they would be brothers until the end). Blades ignited, he scowls up at the slaver queen. "Your Majesty, I feel it is time for your reign to end."

"Oh?" The queen has the gall to laugh, even with a blade to her throat. "Is this what the Jedi are now, wild beasts that fight wars and threaten royalty?" She's not sending her guards to detain him, not yet. She's waiting for him to move, to break, to fight (fight when Anakin cannot).

Obi-Wan doesn't reply. Instead, he jumps.

He goes for the nearby guards first. Their heads roll onto the ground, cleanly severed. One by one, they fall at the enraged hand of a Jedi- no, this is not the fighting of a Jedi, this is the fighting of a brother, an other half, someone who is seeing red because their sibling has been torn apart. Obi-Wan had felt anger before, but never like this. This is cold, and detached, but it is also hot and painful and so horribly real-

And Obi-Wan is drinking it up, letting it fuel him as he practically flies through the arena.

Rex is taking out the Zygerrian reinforcements, his aim always ringing true. Ahsoka, who now seems to be nearing the Dark path Obi-Wan has started down, has killed the prime minister and is slowly backing away with the queen. Obi-Wan jumps up to them, signing at Rex to meet them outside.

"Get Anakin" He signs to the Captain, who nods once and as gently as possible lifts his General (the clones are much stronger than they look, Obi-Wan has learned) and exits. The Jedi turns to the enslaving, despicable ruler. She smiles cruelly, blood from where she must've bit her tongue starting to coat her teeth. She looks almost primal, exuberant, her eyes flashing with excitement-

She knows Obi-Wan is in pain, and she is reveling in it.

"Kenobi, is it? I must say, I've never seen a Jedi so unhinged. You've surprised me."

"I do like to keep my opponents on their toes," He says roughly, trying to keep his voice steady.

"You and I are similar in that fact." She smirks, making Obi-Wan's blood boil. How dare she compare herself to him (him, who had let Anakin be taken, let him be dragged off to Force knows where, to then be thrown in chains-)

Who was he to act so above this slaver? Yes, she had been the one to do this Anakin, but Obi-Wan hadn't helped at all (never mind the fact that he hadn’t known); and doesn't that make him just as guilty? He had been too preoccupied in the mission, the part he had to play.

That always seemed to happen to them. Obi-Wan was always busy with duties, while Anakin spiraled. Obi-Wan never noticed, never helped. His eyes flutter closed, just for a second, and he is met with the image of his sleeping brother, cheeks sunken and face pale. The guilt eats at him, painfully carving out a place in his heart.

The world fades. Obi-Wan lunges. There is a scream.

However, the scream doesn't come from the queen. It comes from Ahsoka.

"Master, no! It's not- you can't-"

"Ahsoka," Obi-Wan whispers, one blade mere breaths from slicing through the queen. "Anakin-"

"-Wouldn't want you to do this," She interjects. They are both aware of the unspoken truth that hangs in the air; Anakin would do it himself, before either of them could even move. "Master, please, she'll be taken back to Coruscant, but we can't do this." She gestures to his ignited lightsabers.

Obi-Wan looks to his weapons, then to Ahsoka, and back again. The blinding anger slowly melts away, leaving an icy-cold feeling in his bones.

The queen glowers. "Master Kenobi, I grow tired of this. Perhaps we can work up an agreement?"

"I will not barter with slavers, you witch," he snaps. He tries to shrug off Ahsoka's wince, knowing she was surprised at his tone. She had never heard her grandmaster so... outraged. Impatient, tired, disappointed, sure- but not this.

This is almost Dark.

The Zygerrian queen chuckles. "How about this: If you agree to my terms, I will let your friends go, no questions asked."

As much as he doesn't want to listen, Obi-Wan is enthralled by the promise of Anakin's safety. "What do you require?"

"Master, you can't-" Obi-Wan shakes his head, and Ahsoka, upset as she is, quiets.

The conversation resumes. "It seems I'm in need of an attendant, if the girl behind me is a fake. Would you be willing to take up the role?" Her tone and word choice are misleading. There is no option, no room to decline- if he tries, she will have them all killed. She is in control of the situation (Obi-Wan certainly isn't, he lost control when Anakin came out in a shock collar- don't think of it- don't- stop- no- ANAKIN-)

"You will let them go?" Obi-Wan asks quietly.

"They will be free," The queen answers, the irony of her words likely not lost on her. How rare it must be for her to let a person go, let alone three and a droid.

The lightsabers hiss as they turn off. Ahsoka looks horrified, and Obi-Wan's stomach churns at his decision. 'But Anakin will be safe,' He thinks to himself.

The queen grins. She has won.

***

 if you want to be tagged in the next part, let me know! also i love comments vv much so please let me know what you thought!

[morningfears]

Stacks

Rating: M | This is smut! No one under 18!

Summary: College!AU. Calum is usually into being watched but tonight, he wants to try something different. Ft. Voyeurism and public sex.

Word Count: 3.5k

The library is quiet around you, completely still and devoid of life. It’s the middle of June and though you’d rather be anywhere else, you’re thankful for the air conditioning and the lack of usual library inhabitants as you stare blankly at the history textbook lying open on the table in front of you. It’s barely nine at night, far too early to call it quits but late enough to feel tempted, and you force yourself to bite back a sigh as you lift your head to glance at the blonde sitting across from you.

Luke looks just as miserable as you feel as he stares at his literature textbook. His eyes lack the usual spark and his curls are unruly from the constant movement of his hand running through them. He checked out nearly an hour ago and, if you’re being honest, you’re ready to join him.

You quietly stare at him for another long moment before you sigh and lean back in your seat. “Honestly,” you begin, a little too loudly for the library, “I’m over this semester and it’s barely started. Who the fuck decided that summer classes should be a thing?”

“The same person that decided tuition should be a thing, probably,” Luke offers with a shrug as he continues to stare, bored beyond belief, at the open book lying on the table in front of him. He hasn’t turned a page in close to fifteen minutes and, normally, you’d call him out. However, this time, you’re in much the same position.

You nod thoughtfully at Luke’s assertion and move to rest your elbows on the table. “The university complex is ridiculous and overrated. We’re spending eons in classes, re-learning bullshit we were supposed to learn in high school, and we’re not even guaranteed to get a job at the end of it. What are we guaranteed? A piece of paper in a fancy cardboard holder and a year’s free membership to the Alumni Association, if we’re lucky. That’s a bullshit trade-off if I’ve ever seen one,” you huff as you return the cap to your highlighter and toss the yellow marker onto the table. “I need coffee.”

“Or sex,” Luke hums, his tone never changing as he grabs your discarded highlighter and begins to twirl it between his fingers. “Speaking of, where’s Cal? Wasn’t he supposed to meet us here?”

“He had to help with orientation today. Represent the frat at the information session,” you sigh as you shove your history textbook back into your backpack. “He texted me, like, twenty minutes ago, though. The freshmen they’re hosting at the house are apparently all lightweights and have mostly passed out so he’s on his way. Wants to go over math notes or something with you.”

Luke frowns at this and shakes his head. “Why does everyone come to me for help with math?” Luke questions as he copies your actions and shoves his own textbook into his backpack. 

“Your mom’s a math teacher, Luke,” Calum reminds him as he emerges from between two shelves, a carrier full of coffee in hand and a grin on his lips, “and you did so well on your exams that you got to skip math. Not all of us are fucking nerds.” Luke makes an indignant noise at this while Calum turns to you with a smile and presses a kiss to your forehead before he takes a seat in the open chair beside you. “And not all of us chose majors that require the most basic math class and nothing harder,” he teases as he glances at you.

“Not my fault you want to do something with your life,” you shrug as you grab the cup from his outstretched hand, “I’m getting a liberal arts degree that’s going to keep me in debt and jobless for the rest of my life. But at least I sorta like my classes.”

Luke whines at this and shakes his head once more. “Can we stop talking about class and the future?” Luke questions as he takes his own coffee from Calum. “It’s depressing and I don’t want to have a mental breakdown in the library. Remember that one kid freshman year?” When you and Calum nod, Luke continues, “People still bring it up and tease him about it. And he’s, like, a super senior.”

“Fuck this bullshit,” you grumble as you nudge your coffee cup to the side and drop your head to the table with a ‘thump’. “I give up. I’m going to become a stripper. Did you know that was an actual goal of mine for, like, ten minutes when I was a kid?” you mumble, your voice muffled by the table. “Wanted to be a stripper or a Playboy Bunny. Couldn’t decide. Thought about both. Maybe a Suicide Girl.”

Calum makes a thoughtful noise beside you before he reaches out to stroke your back gently. “If you want to test any, or all, of those fantasies, see if you’d be any good at them, I’m more than happy to help judge,” Calum offers with a grin. When you reach out to swat at him half-heartedly, he grabs your arm and tugs you into his side with a laugh. “I’m kidding,” he assures you, a grin still present on his lips, “academia is for you. You’re just tired. You guys have been here for hours.” He pauses for a moment, looks you and Luke over, before he continues, “Seriously, you should take a break. Say fuck the reading, both of you. Let’s go run through the fountain naked or something.”

“Honestly, I love you, but fuck off,” you sigh as you prop your head on your arms and glance over at Calum. “I don’t feel like going streaking at the moment. I’m tired. And hungry. And also horny. It’s the worst combination of negative emotions and I’m actually going to combust if I don’t get out of this library. My soul is becoming one with these walls.”

Calum is quiet for a moment as he watches Luke draw haphazard circles on the table with the capped end of the highlighter while you stare blankly at your coffee cup. He wants to break the two of you out of your school-induced haze and, the longer he thinks about it, the clearer the perfect idea becomes. You’d mentioned it once, early in your relationship and under the influence of far too much weed, but Calum remembers clearly that you’d had a thing for Luke before the two of you got together. And Luke, God love him, doesn’t have a filter and has mentioned on several different occasions just how attractive he finds you.

Calum had admitted to you during a late night conversation after a few orgasms and in desperate need of sleep that he’d like to watch you with someone else. It was a fantasy he never though he’d have, he prefers to be watched, but the idea hit him and he hasn’t been able to shake it. That night, you’d been on board after a moment’s hesitation and Calum is thinking that now might be time to act. Especially, he rationalizes to himself, here in the deserted third floor stacks.

He knows that there’ll never be another opportunity like this. The library is nearly empty, quiet and devoid of life. The campus itself is empty, most students have gone home for the summer, and is running on a skeleton crew. Even if you were to get caught, which Calum highly doubts, it’ll likely be by someone who isn’t paid enough to care.

With that, and yours’ and Luke’s desperate need for a study break, in mind, Calum decides to propose his solution to the two of you. He breaks the lengthy stretch of silence with a quiet hum of, “I think I might have another idea. You guys trust me?”

Calum expects a moment of hesitation but without missing a beat, you nod. “Of course,” you assure him, lifting your head slightly to glance over at him, “you know I do.”

“Not in the slightest but I’m dying of boredom so I’ll bite,” Luke shrugs, although both of you know that he trusts Calum with his life.

Calum rolls his eyes at Luke’s response before he leans over and presses a kiss to your forehead. He hesitates for a moment, almost unsure of himself, before he steels his resolve, stands from his seat, and begins walking toward the back of the room. He’s heading for the back row of shelves, out of view of the cameras, and you frown as you watch him. When he doesn’t hear footsteps behind him, he glances over his shoulder at you and Luke. “You guys coming?” he calls over his shoulder, grinning when you and Luke share a wary glance before you both stand and hurry after him.

“Okay, not that I don’t fully trust you,” you begin as Calum leads you and Luke into a corner illuminated by the streetlight outside the window, “I just don’t get it. What are we doing in the dustiest corner of the library?”

The lights aren’t as harsh in this area, the florescent bulbs are blocked by the high shelves, but there’s still enough light pouring in that you can see the dust covered shelves and cobwebs. You can also see Calum and Luke clearly enough to notice that Calum has a mischievous glint in his eyes while Luke looks just as confused as you feel.

“You remember what we talked about a few weeks ago?” Calum asks you as he steps closer and reaches out to place his hands on your hips. When you stare blankly at him, he sighs. “We talked about things we wanted to try. I said I wanted to watch.”

It takes a moment but when Calum sees a flicker of recognition in your eyes, he grins. “Wait, what?” you laugh, “Here? Now? With Luke?”

“What are we doing here, now, and with Luke?” Luke questions, his eyebrows furrowing further with confusion. “What are you trying? What are you watching? I feel so lost right now.”

“Shut up for a second, Luke,” you mumble, glancing over Calum’s shoulder at him. He holds his hands up in surrender and turns his attention to the dusty, broken spines of old books as you turn yours to Calum. “Are you serious? Why here, why now?”

“I’m serious,” Calum nods as he squeezes your hips gently. “Here because it’s quiet and empty, now because the two of you need a break. Do you still want to?”

“I mean, yeah,” you nod, certain that sleeping with Luke is something you want, “but are you sure you’re okay with it? I don’t want to say you’re possessive but…”

“You’re possessive,” Luke chimes in, his attention still on the bookshelf and back still turned to the two of you. When you’re silent for a moment, he shrugs. “You’re right there, I can’t help but hear you.”

Calum rolls his eyes at this before he returns his full attention to you. “I’m okay with it,” he nods. “If I don’t like it, at least we’ll know and I can go back to being possessive,” he shrugs, adding the last few words with a grumble as he cuts his eyes to Luke (who you’re certain has a grin on his lips).

“Okay but that doesn’t mean Luke wants to,” you sigh as you glance over Calum’s shoulder once more.

“Luke definitely wants to,” Calum nods. He’s certain that Luke will say yes. He knows that this is something Luke has wanted for a while and will jump at the opportunity.

“If you two would stop talking about me like you think I can’t hear you, I’d tell you if I was in or not,” Luke huffs as he turns to face you and Calum. “What do I definitely want to do?” he directs to Calum as soon as Calum turns to face him.

“You definitely want to fuck my girlfriend.”

Luke stands there, frozen with his eyes wide and mouth hanging open, for a long moment before he shakes his head. “What? No, I don’t. What gave you that idea?” When he glances at you and sees your raised eyebrows, he backtracks. “I mean, I do. I find you very attractive and great and would love to but you’re with Calum! And I would never…” Luke trails off when he realizes you and Calum are both smiling at him. He’s slightly confused and doesn’t understand what’s happening as he grumbles, “Stop laughing at me. I don’t know what you want me to say here.”

“Just say yes,” you encourage him with a grin. “Cal and I were talking about it. He’s always had a thing for being watched but now he wants to try the reverse, watching someone else.”

“Why me?” Luke asks, eyes still wide and a blush creeping up his neck.

“Because she wants you just as bad as you want her,” Calum shrugs as he wraps his arm around your shoulders and grins at Luke. “Either take it or leave it, Luke. This is the only time I’m going to play nice and share.”

Luke glances between you and Calum for a long moment. He wants to be certain that you’re both serious, that you’re not playing a practical joke on him, but he knows that neither of you would do anything that cruel to him. He knows that you’re both serious and, although he’s somewhat nervous, he doesn’t want to let this opportunity pass him by.

“Okay,” he nods, “yeah. I want to do this.”

Calum grins at this and nods before he releases your shoulders and brings his hands to your cheeks. He pulls you in for a quick, passionate kiss before he releases you and steps back. “I don’t think anyone will check back here but remember we’re in public. Keep quiet, baby,” he reminds you with a grin. After he nudges you toward Luke, Calum leans against one of the stacks, settling into a space where he can still see your face, and nods. “Go for it.”

Both you and Calum know that Luke won’t take the lead in this scenario. You know that he’s afraid to cross any lines or upset Calum so you make the first move. The moment Calum nudges you forward, you close the open space between you and Luke and pause before you touch him. “Is this okay?” you ask, wanting to be sure, “Can I touch you?”

“Please,” Luke nods, “it’s more than okay. Fuck.”

You grin at his excitement as you wrap your arms around his neck and tangle your fingers in his hair. You know that, even though the library is mostly empty, you’re still in public and need to be mindful of how long you take. However, you want to savor the first few moments. So you’re slow, soft and gentle, as you rake through the curls. “You can touch me, Luke,” you smiles, granting him permission, “I promise, Cal won’t be mad.”

Calum nods his agreement when Luke glances over at him but otherwise remains quiet as he watches Luke place his hands on your hips. Luke attempts to tune Calum’s presence out as you gently pull him down to press a soft kiss to his lips. Luke is somewhat rigid against you but the moment your fingers gently tug at his hair, he’s melting against you.

Calum watches as you lead the kiss. He watches Luke’s fingers dig into your hips, your fingers tug at his hair, your lips working seamlessly together. Calum shifts to get a better look as you crowd closer to Luke, your chest pressed against his as you release his hair and drop your hands to his shoulders. Luke breathes a sigh of content as he moves his hands to your ass. Calum grins at this, happier than he thought he would be at Luke finally playing along, and adjusts himself in his jeans as he watches your hands move down Luke’s chest.

“You can touch me, Lu,” you mumble against the column of his throat as you pull away to catch your breath.

“You should touch her,” Calum reminds him. “I’m enjoying this but we’re in public.”

Luke blinks as if he’s only just remembered this fact and nods. “Public,” he mumbles, his hands squeezing your ass before they move to the button of your shorts, “right.”

With the thought that the two of you are on a timer, Luke gains the motivation he needs to begin moving uninhibited. Calum is mildly impressed as he watches Luke dip his hand beneath your skirt and nudge your panties to the side. You feel your knees buckle as Luke’s fingers find your clit and he grins into the kiss as he wraps his arm around your waist to hold you up. As you focus on the feeling of Luke’s fingers rubbing at your clit, brushing your slit and attempting to open you up, you follow his lead and unbutton his jeans.

Calum steps just a little closer as Luke turns you and presses you against the window. Luke has his lips back on yours, his tongue licking into your mouth as he bunches your skirt up. He slips two fingers into your heat, working to prepare you, as he uses his free hand to nudge his jeans down just enough to free his cock. He feels something against his arm and pulls away from you, confused, only to find Calum holding a condom out to him. “Thanks,” he mumbles as takes the foil from Calum.

Calum nods his acknowledgment before he steps back and allows Luke to continue. Luke doesn’t want to rush this, he wants to savor the moment, but he knows that the two of you need to hurry. So as you press kisses to the column of his throat, he rolls the latex onto his length.

As Luke brushes his length down your slit, you meet Calum’s eyes over his shoulder. His eyes are dark with lust and his bottom lip is swollen from biting it. His arms are folded over his chest but you can see the bulge in his jeans and you know that he’s likely aching to be touched. You know that your night is far from over, you can tell by the smirk on his lips, and the thought makes you moan as you return your fingers to Luke’s hair. “Come on, Luke,” you groan as you tug at his curls, “fuck me, please.”

Luke groans at the feeling of your lips on his neck, of your hands in his hair, and nods as he places his cock at your entrance. He sinks in slowly, wanting to savor the moment, but as soon as he’s buried inside of you, his thoughts all vanish into nothing but how tight and warm you are around him. He remains still for a moment, breathing deeply as he attempts to control himself, before he sets a moderate pace.

His fingers are on your clit, rubbing the bundle of nerves quickly, as he fucks into you. Your free hand is splayed on the glass as you wrap your leg around his waist and attempt to hold yourself steady. You can feel the glass vibrating behind you, can feel the exhilaration as you think that anyone passing by might be able to see, and it all overwhelms your senses as you meet Calum’s eyes once more.

You keep your eyes on Calum’s as you cum and he has to bite back a groan as he watches you. He wants to step in, kiss you and hold you tight to his chest, but he remains in his position as he watches Luke chase his own orgasm. It only takes another moment, not long after your release, for Luke to join you in the afterglow of an orgasm. He’s still for a moment, quiet, before he pulls out.

The two of you are quiet as you adjust your clothes and Luke moves to step away but before he can, you pull him in and press a gentle kiss to his lips. “Thank you, Lu,” you mumble against his lips before you gently pat his cheek and step around him to reach out for Calum. Before you can speak, Calum pulls you into a heated kiss. His hands are against your cheeks, holding you in place, as he leaves you breathless.

“I liked it,” he mumbles against your lips in response to your unspoken question. “I really fucking liked it,” he breathes as he grabs your hand and guides it to the bulge in his jeans.

“I think I’m done studying for the night,” you breathe as you gently squeeze him, “we should go back to my place. My roommates are gone.”

“Or we could go to mine,” Calum breathes, “I don’t think my roommate will mind. He might even join us.”

The both of you glance at Luke who looks mildly surprised but nods just as quickly. “Fuck yeah,” he breathes as he grabs the hand you’re holding out to him, “I don’t mind at all.”

Author’s Note: I started this, like, ages ago for a request. And I just now finished it. If whoever requested this initially is still around, I’m sorry and I hope you liked it.

[faded-euphoria]

Lover’s Scar’s

I don’t really know what this is.. I wrote it a while ago when Lucas had first joined NCT with my OC.. so...

People have soulmate tattoos for different reasons. Some have flowers that bloom according to their other halve’s emotions. Some have abstract maps or their soul mated favorite things, like piano keys or artistic splashes of color. Some soulmarks change and others don’t, some get colored when the other person starts to love you or get larger the closer you get to your soulmates.

There are rare types of soulmarks though. Jae doesn’t have hers yet, and she wonders if she’ll have flowers or maybe moon phases on her legs like some people do. She’s so excited- but when will she get one?

Jae wakes up one morning and raises her hands to brush the sleep out of her eyes to find her hands patterned with crisscrossing geometric lines and harsh diamonds of black over her knuckles. Every inch of her hands from her wrists onward is patterned in harsh black lines almost like a pair of gloves.

It never changes. Never gets an ounce of color. Never shifts to a different pattern. She goes to forums to try and figure out what her soulmark means because she’s never met anyone with a mark like hers. That’s where she learns that there is a very rare type of soulmark, usually only one color, where one half gets a mark on their body in the place the other hates the most on their body.

Therefore, he hates his hands. Her heart sinks, because she will never be able to explain it to him when she meets him; she hates her whole body. She always thought that the world turns on people have their worst days and their best days and all of that energy rarely goes everywhere.

So what does it matter if you can’t stand to look in the mirror for more than a few seconds? What does it matter if eyes on your bare body makes you feel like snakes are crawling under your skin? She’s never loved her body. It’s been a wordless hatred. It doesn’t affect her or her relationships, or at least she tries net to let it. She always thought that it didn’t matter if she hated herself, but now that means someone out there has a mark covering their whole body.

Her life goes on, she goes to college and forgets the self hate she conflicted on someone else. Yet, it’s hard to date when everytime she looks at her hands she’s reminded of it. One of her friends convinces her to go to a bar on the other side of town. The bar has garnered a lot of attention, even if there are rumors that it’s connected to a local gang. While she’s leaned up against the bar a man buys her a drink, and she’s surprised because guys that attractive don’t hit on her.

Eventually, after a few drinks and more than a few jokes, the smiley man asks about her soulmarks. “That’s kind of a rare tattoo for a girl like you to have, why’d you get it?” Her hands hover in front of his face and she considers her hands and in a brief moment of honesty, she confesses that it’s not a tattoo but a mark.

He asked a few more questions before she asks him why he’s so curious and he just grins, “To be honest I thought it could be a gang symbol, but I thought I thought I knew most of their symbols by now.” And to be honest, she was sure that the smiley man who’s charmed the crap out of her couldn’t be a gangster. But, the black tattoo of a snake on his arm tells her he is. It’s in red ink, however- when you ask him about the strange color he just laughs, and says that those in the inner circle have a different color than black and that the boss has a different color altogether. Curious, she asks him who his boss is, and he leans in and whispers a name she’ll never forget. A name that gives her shivers.

“Scarless- though, it’s a bit of a sarcastic joke when it comes to him.”

“Why?”

“Because he has scars all over his body.”

Part of her doesn’t believe it. How could someone have scars all over their body? You exchange numbers with the man, who named himself Mark Lee in your phone. He tells her that if she ever wants to go to the club without paying the exorbitant entrance fee, to just call him, and that he’s here on most business nights anyway.

When Jae leaves her friend chastises her for not going home with the ‘friendly stranger’. “I’m not into gangsters, but he was pretty nice for one.” She tells her. Meanwhile, back at the club, Mark makes a phone call. Lucas answers, waking up in his bed- though he couldn’t sleep that well. “This better be good, Mark.” He says, grumpy, because all he wants to do is sleep, but being boss means always being on call. “It is, boss, I just came from Dream.”

“Spit it out.”

“I just met a girl there. She had tattooed hand and she said they’ve never changed.”

Lucas’s grip tightened on his phone. Mark is the only one who knows about his scars, his soulmate mark, and that he hates his hands. That means Mark just met Lucas’s soulmate. “Is she still there?” He’ll leave right now and run to Dream if it means finding her, finally. “No.” Mark reptiles. “Mark-” “Relax, I got her number for you.” Lucas teeters on the edge of telling Mark he hates him, or to thank him. Finally sighing into the phone as he gets up from the bed and walks to the bathroom where there are floor to ceiling mirrors. “Are you okay, bro?” Mark asks when Lucas’s been silent, looking at himself in the mirror while he thinks about what he wants Markto do. “Send me her number.” He says eventually, hanging up before Mark can reply.

He looks at himself in the mirror again, he was always thankful that his soulmark didn’t go all the way to his face. The white geometric lines and softer curves cover every inch of him, sometimes intersecting with shapes and animals, there is a curling white snake on his forearm, a sword jutting from his thigh, and white peonies crest his shoulders in a mess of jagged lines. Everything besides his hands and face are covered in the marks. Originally, when he had first gotten his soulmark he’d hated his soulmate, what kind of person hates themselves that much? Pretty soon the white lines gave him a reputation.

Most people thought his soulmark was self inflicted, or that someone tortured him. Either way it helped stabilize his reputation for being ruthless and brutal. Because if he had done that to himself he would have been crazy, and if he survived torture like that, then he was stronger than all of them. The rumors weren’t wrong, he’s killed more than a dozen people just to get him through last year, let alone the body count he’s racked up to get him to the throne he now sits on.

He’s the kingpin of a very large organization that mostly traffics drugs and sometimes specializes in stealing secrets from pharmaceutical companies. He’s ruined more lives then he could count, and before he got his soulmark he couldn’t even stand to look at his hands- the tools of his destruction.

Lucas decides to track Jae’s phone for a few days. It looks like she’s a college student, she spends most of her time in the library, stops by the local coffee shop down the street from her apartment every morning before class, and sometimes the late afternoon.

At first, he tries to stay away from her, but he finds himself checking in on her location every now and then. One day he realizes that she’s in the library studying right down the street from him, so he walks there, hides behind a bookshelf while he watches her study, tattooed hands curling around the coffee cup.

He surprised, she’s stunning. As visually beautiful and as haunting as the tattoo that covers his body. How can someone that looks like her hate their body so much? After that he tries to reason with himself, that someone who looks so innocent and pure like she does doesn’t need someone like him in their life, but try as he may, he can’t get you out of his head.

He hates how much of a stalker it makes him feel like, but he goes to the same coffee shop in the morning to see you, but not before making sure that every inch of him is covered in a black suit. He’s not paying attention to where he’s going- peering into the windows a little to see if she’s taken her usual seat. And he crashes right into her making her bag spill open into the side of the cafe. He apologizes and helped her gather her things, and offering to pay for the spilled drink.

Jae’s flustered- but there is something magnetic about the businessman who seems more preoccupied with your stained notes then how you spilled your coffee on his expensive jacket. Just her luck that she’d embarrass herself in front of someone so cute. The two of them end up sitting by the window. She knows they must look like quite the pair, the businessman and the college student, but she can’t help but lean into every word he’s saying. She blushes when he smiles at her, his charming grin wreaking havoc on her unsteady heart.

Eventually, they part ways and Lucas can’t help but curse to himself because his heart is pounding in his chest, and his mind is a million miles away when he goes to talk some sense into one of his middlemen who’s gotten a little too liberal with the amount the charge the gange for the use of the docks. Even as he punches the man until his jaw breaks, he can’t get the image of her smiling out of his head.

She runs into him again and again at the coffee shop, she jokingly asks him what keeps him coming back, because this is the cheapest coffee on the block and his suits are always expensive and tailored. “Maybe coffee isn’t why I keep coming back.” He winks at her, making her go bright red. Lucas is honestly such a prince to her, always taking her bag and helping her take off her coat. He talks with suck a quiet sureness, treating her with such gentleness that she’s never gotten from anybody. Maybe some small part of her doesn’t like being treated like a china doll, but it’s nice to be taken care of for once.

Then one weekend, her friend convinces her to go back to Dream. They’ve just gotten there when you spot a familiar man sitting in a booth looking more tired than you’ve ever seen him, his usual suit had been discarded for a black button down shirt and black jeans that make him look younger.

Lucas doesn’t see you yet, and his usual black shirt is pushed up to his elbows, and she notices something strange when he lifts a glass of whisky to his lips. That’s when her eyes wander over his arms. Jae almost gasps, because there are lines covering his arms, they are pure white, and barely stand out against his skin, they don’t extend to his hand and …it can’t be.

The quiet businessman a few years older than her can’t be her soulmate.And before she could walk over and confront him about it, a group of men joins him in the booth. Though she recognises one as Mark. She moves carefully, leaning up against the wall beside them, directly behind Mark. She can barely hear the but she can still kind of see into the booth, in the tangle of people you aren’t noticed.

“You better have good news for us Kai, or else we’re going to have problems.”

“The shipment won’t come through for another 3 weeks-”

“That’s hardly good news. I thought you were trying to impress us not piss us off.”

“I might be able to make it quicker with a little encouragement-”

“Now that’s just bull-” Lucas cuts Mark off. “Who are you working for other than us? Because I think the only reason you would want to slow our business is to benefit your own operation and we both know you don’t have the people for that.”

“I’m not working for anyone.” The guys replies. Lucas makes a tut-tut sound that sends chills up Jae’s spine. “You know liars make me angry, I never let liars leave a meeting with me alive.” He’s different than the Lucas she knows, this one is cold, colder than the lines that cross his skin. Before you can blink Kai has a knife against Lucas’s cheek. Mark goes to stop him, but Lucas raises a hand up.

“You better be careful, you wouldn’t want someone to mark up your pretty little face too.” Ina split second, the knife is embedded into Kai’s hand pinning him to the table, the other man has his hand over Kai’s mouth to silence him. “You think I care about scars?” Lucas says, his hand still on the knife as he twists it once, Jae flinches.

“Take him to the back and remind him what will happen if he tries to cross me again.” Lucas says. “F*** you Scarless.” Jae inhales a sharp breath and Lucas’s face snaps up to meet hers. Cringing when he sees her, but she’s not looking at his face. She starts to make her way to the exit, tearing her eyes from the blood on her soulmate’s hands, before she can get there she feels a hand on her arm. “Jae wait.” Lucas says. “Let go of me.” He obliges letting her go.

“You didn’t tell me.” She says sourly. “Why didn’t you tell me? What you do for a living…” Lucas is too close to her, one arm blocking her from leaving the hallway. He sighs, looking down at her before he lifts a hand to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear. “I didn’t want you to look at me like you are now- that’s why..” She ignores the way that it felt so right to have his skin on hers. Ignoring how her body is leaning closer to him wanting nothing more than to wrap her arms around his neck in embrace. “Why did you do that to that man back there?”

“He would have continued to abuse my good faith if I let him. Let me take you somewhere we can talk about this.”

“No- I don’t think I want to go anywhere with you.”

“You’re my soulmate, we have each other’s marks on our body’s” He reaches for her hands, but she evades him and pulls her arms back. “No, you can’t be. I can’t have someone like you as my soulmate.” She says quietly, trying not to make her words feel venomous, but if the hurt Lucas, he hadn’t shown it. Instead smoothing his face into a look of cool disinterest as he steps aside to let her pass down the narrow hallway.

That night he punches the walls of his bathroom until the mirrors are shattered around him because he can’t stand to see his soulmate mark anymore. He runs into her again though. No matter how much he wanted to leave her be.

Jae was being harassed at a bus stop. He slides in when the man tried to grab you, making her spill her bag. Lucas just sighs and helps you pick it up. “Thank you.” She quietly says as he hands her a notebook. Her hands shake- and though she puts on a brave face, he knows that the encounter has her shaken.

“Let me walk you home,” he says, reminding her that it’s dangerous on the streets at night, but he fails to mention he the type of person she should look out for. She still lets him walk her. Eventually even letting him take her bag. They fall into a quiet conversation, skirting around what he really wants to know.

“I’ll tell you why I hate my hands if you tell me why you hate your body.”

“No way, I’m not into this whole ‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours’ thing, no sir.” He smirks, shaking his head in your direction. “Come on, humor me- I deserve to know why I have marks all over my body.”

Jae sighs, admitting internally that he has a point. “Why do you hate your hands?” “I’ve killed and hurt so many people. I’ve watched my hands do so many bad things that I’ll never be able to forget.”

“Do you regret it?”

“No… I did what I needed to do to survive, but that doesn't mean I don’t feel guilty.”

“Emotionless Lucas? Feeling guilty? The world would stop cowering if they knew.”

“Why do you hate your body then?”

“Just because it’s my body, never seemed to be a good enough reason to love it.”

He knows that she’s lying but he lets it slide. Suddenly they’re back at her house, and against her better judgement, she invites him in for a drink. She lets him kiss her, and she’s not surprised when its an electric connection between between the two of their lips casting sparks onto her skin.

They start to date, kind of, she lets him sit with her in the mornings and talk. Which leads to him inviting her over for dinner, but they quickly discover that they both suck as cooking. Still, it’s fun to try with with him from time to time, fun to try new things that push both their comfort zones. When he comes in one morning stressed out of his mind, she makes an at-home spa night to help him relax and he finds he loves it so much he takes her on a couple of dates to a spa that’s very expensive.

He just says “I’ve got it, baby.” when he racks up a tab after seeing how much she loves full body massages. Seeing her becomes his favorite part of the day. Until she doesn’t show up. He goes to her apartment to look for her- bringing flowers as an excuse. He finds her door knocked down and a bloody handprint on the wall along with a not that says; “I told you we’d get revenge.” and he pales, because no. She’s his soulmate, the sweetest part of his life, and if he loses her then he doesn’t know what he’d do- how he’d ever get out of bed again or dream at all.

He calls the inner circle, mobilizes the whole gang to comb the entire city for her. Then he checks her phone’s location, and she left her cell phone on. He follows the signal until it goes dead and then tracks it down to the bad part of town.

His gang comes in with guns blazing, wiping out every single one of the rival gang’s members until he gets to the room Jae’s in. He chokes when he sees her. She’s got a black eyes and cuts on her arms and bruised ribs from where someone kicked her. He reaches out to her, and her eyes don’t focus on him, she just flinches back from the careful hands that are releasing her from the chains.

That’s when Lucas realizes that the revenge wasn’t really to take her, it was to turn her against him. His hands are so gentle when he takes her in his arms, takes you back to his apartment and puts you in the shower with him. Her legs are still too weak to hold herself up so he just sits there, fully clothed, with her washing her and cleaning her wounds as she sobs into his chest. Then he has his medic see to it that you have her wounds properly taken care of, wrapped up, and that she has taken some pain medication. When she gets back to him, he wraps her up in his blankets. It’s the first night they’ve shared a bed. Yet they find themselves sleeping peacefully for the first him in a long time.

When he wakes up he realizes that this is it. He never wants to let her go. She’s the only thing he wants in his life. Nothing else matters to him. He looks over and sees her staring at him, her eyes finally focused and she sees him for who he truly is. He feels like he’s disarmed- his hands neutralized. Neither of them realizes it, but their soulmate mark fades a little then. Just a little.

“I never wanted this to happen to you.” Lucas says, little tears falling out of the sides of his eyes. She reaches up and brushes them away. “I told you I didn’t want this for a reason.” she pulls him closer, and he grips onto her so tenderly as she tucks her face into his neck. He presses kisses to the top of her head.

Then he says the words that he’s been thinking for a long time,”What if...what if I wasn’t in the mafia anymore? What is I wasn’t a gangster? After everything that’s happened, could you, would you still be with me?” It takes her a moment of thinking but eventually, she nods.

He’s got a bunch of money saved up. Enough for the two of them to live off of forever. It’s more than enough to disappear. He talks to Mark, who helps him fake his death, move to the countryside, and then he takes over. Jae and Lucas rent a large cabin on top of a hill with a view of mountain that’s about 5 miles away. Lucas buys a few extra houses in the town down the road and becomes a realtor while Jae gets a job at the local cafe.

They spend quiet winter mornings cozied up at the fireplace with take home coffees in their hands watchings multiple movies. Sometimes he has nightmares that makes him wake up in cold sweats every so often. Sometimes she sneaks glances at herself in the mirror, hating every second her eyes are on her body.

Lucas always tells her how beautiful she is to him. And maybe one day she'll love every inch of herself as much as he does, but she knows one thing she can do now: she can love every inch of him.

Years later she thinks that maybe the marks on Lucas’s skin were just scars because the two of you know all scars fade eventually...

[real-jane]

Carousel-of-May (Drabble-a-Day, May 2020)

Day 20 - Conflict of Interest

His testimony lasted for nearly an hour. He spoke clearly, and his words echoed up in the high-gabled ceiling of the courtroom. Most barristers make closing remarks on behalf of their clients, but no amount of flowery legal language could say what Draco felt in his heart. His statement wrapped up thusly:

When I was nine years old, my father became pledged to a man we have come to know as Voldemort—but their acquaintance stretched back much further. My father has been embroiled with the deeds of Tom Riddle since he framed Rubeus Hagrid. My mother was not aware of my father’s involvement back in those days, but it has come to light in this court that he has been an orchestrator of dark acts for almost four decades, at the behest of his master.

One of those acts was fathering a son.

I am the sole heir to the Malfoy line, which was built on the backs of muggle-born witches and wizards. My inheritance was written in blood. My father used my mother to secure the legacy of his bigotry, and used me to attack the children of people who opposed him. I have been a tool of his abuse, and a victim of it. But I am not without guilt.

I took the dark mark when I was old enough to know better. I was brainwashed, you can be sure, but I knew what it meant to bear the skull and serpent tattoo, and I will have to bear it until my body is one day cremated, as punishment for my actions.

I have killed no one. I have harmed many. I owe countless apologies to my peers. There is one person to whom I have done the most harm, and to whom this legacy of poison can never be explained or atoned for. Myself.

I have kept myself from knowing love. From developing friendships with people who would have cared for me. From pursuing an education which might have liberated me from my father’s influence. I have kept myself from my mother’s bedside as she lay dying, and kept myself from grieving her after she passed. All this because my father made me believe I could not give or receive affection without violence. The one thing I cannot do is sit by and allow my father, Lucius Malfoy, to continue existing on this planet.

Every meal he is afforded is a meal denied to a wizard he killed. While I believe I do not have it in me to take the life of anyone unless they threatened someone I love… I do not have a family to protect. Nobody loves me. So, I have to protect my legacy and my family name and prevent my bloodline from ever continuing. I will not father children. The Malfoy line ends with me. A fish rots from the head. He, my father, is the head. His death will bring peace to several generations of wizards, just as Voldemort’s death brought peace to mine.

I request he be killed swiftly, and his death not be prolonged by last meals or any bounty of mercy. If he is afforded any rights at all, let him make his confession to a Muggle priest, perhaps the only living soul who could believe there is good in him.

I can live with the death of my father. It will pain me, what he did to me, until my memory goes. I hope I live long enough to forget him.

Thank you.

There was a heady silence in the court as Draco sat down again, but she leaned over and squeezed his knee in reassurance. “You did well,” she whispered. He nodded curtly, patting her hand.

The court did not take long to deliberate and in the end, the sentence was passed.

Lucius Malfoy would hang by the neck until dead.

It was only right that a man who so hated the Muggle world should have a Muggle coward’s death. An old-fashioned death, the kind which was exacted on petty thieves back before prisons existed large enough to hold petty offenders. Except his crimes weren’t petty, and Azkaban was too luxurious for the likes of him.

Draco slumped down in his seat. Lucius Malfoy was taken away in chains by the Azkaban guards, and the crowd filtered out of the room, leaving only Draco, his council, and a handful of court reporters, who he had agreed to speak to after the trial had concluded. He stood behind the defense table and pressed his hands to the wood.

His council held up her hands to quiet the tiny throng. “Mister Malfoy will take one question apiece, so make them count.”

“Mister Malfoy!”

“Go ahead, Jameson,” his companion said.

The man in brilliant yellow robes stood with a notepad and Quick Quotes Quill poised. “The court ruled in your favor. How are you feeling?”

Draco cleared his throat. “Justice has been done, and I believe it will be a relief to many.”

“Why did you give the closing remarks instead of Ms. Granger?” another reporter asked, a woman named Marissa from a small gossip rag.

He glanced at Hermione Granger, who was standing pensively beside him, appearing strong and unbending as she had always done, since the day he came to her asking for help. “Would you like me to answer?” she asked. He shook his head.

“While Ms. Granger has always represented my interests above and beyond the call of duty, I felt it necessary for the court to understand that Lucius Malfoy’s crimes cannot be summarized on paper, nor can they be considered in any way inconsequential to my family’s legacy.” He shrugged. “No one is able to tell my story but Me. Even if they are as eloquent as Ms. Granger.”

Rita Skeeter held up a clawed hand. “Are you open to dating now that your trial is over, Mister Malfoy? And if so, may I tell my readers we have an eligible bachelor on our hands?”

He blushed. “That is one facet of my life to which you shall never be privy, Miss Skeeter.”

“So that’s a yes, then.” She winked and Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“Any questions pertaining to the actual trial?” Hermione did roll her eyes, and he was greatly amused.

A man stood, this time wearing becoming tweed robes with a jaunty hat and a mustache to match. “My question is for Ms. Granger: why did you take on this case in particular?”

Draco felt her tense up. “Surely that is something your readers don’t care about,” Draco said.

“On the contrary. I feel my readers will want to know how a member of the golden trio came to represent a former Death Eater.” Giles Gibbons was known for his direct and honest questioning, which always flowed freely from him, as if his extemporaneous thoughts were tightly organized in his head—he was neither disrespectful nor coddling. Which is why Draco suddenly felt quite self-conscious that Hermione might be required to answer such a personal question. She wasn’t the one on trial. She was his council. An incredible barrister, to be sure, but she was not under sentencing. The fact he had bullied her up until third year and been a part of a murderous cult was not a factor in their working relationship… was it?

Hermione sighed. “Mister Gibbons, while I appreciate your frankness and fluidity, which is indeed an admirable quality in a fountain pen, I don’t believe it is my responsibility to answer why I, an experienced barrister and woman of integrity, would take on a worthy case. You may think you understand what those words mean—former Death-Eater. Golden Trio.—you did not live through the origins of them. For me to try to explain to you why Draco Malfoy is worthy of defending... He had a case, he came to me, I said yes. That’s all you need to know.”

Draco tried to pry his jaw off the floor. Yes, he was grateful to her for all she had done to help him, but he had figured she had done it out of some misplaced sense of duty… and not because she really believed his case worthy of defending. His heart leapt.

“That’s all the questions we’ll take for now.” Hermione took the blank look on Draco’s face to mean that any further questioning would prove fruitless. “If you have other questions you’d like for Mister Malfoy to speak to, you may send them to my office. Thank you.”

She gripped his elbow and tugged him away from the reporters, who murmured lowly amongst themselves. Draco strode to keep up with her but even in her stilettos, she wildly out-paced him. She stepped into the lifts well ahead of him and Draco had to dive through the doors to make it inside. Once they reached the main floor of the Ministry, she kept up the grueling pace until they were outside in the smoggy London air, and he could finally grab her elbow, yanking her out of the crosswalk and the path of a shiny black cab. She collided with his chest.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed. “I’m a bit touchy.”

He released her, and she brushed her hands down the front of her robes. “Well.” He breathed out. “That’s over. I’m… relieved.”

“Good,” she peeped. She didn’t look at him, choosing instead to sit on the steps of a small monument to some inconsequential Muggle royal, which was a few blocks away from the secret entrance to the Ministry.

“Are you… alright?” Draco stood at the base of the steps.

Hermione curled up her fingers into her palms. “We… won. We won. And still Gibbons insinuates defending you makes me some kind of saint! As if—UGH! As if you’re less of a person, and nothing your father did matters because… I’m sorry,” she sighed. “I’m so mad. What a piece of shit.” She clearly wanted to scream or something. Draco reached for her shoulder before he could stop himself. He grasped it and squeezed. When she looked up at him, her eyes were shining with frustrated tears.

“Please don’t cry,” he said softly, sitting beside her. “I cannot bear it. I… do think you’re a saint. For taking my case on, for helping me write my remarks and gathering so much evidence against my father.” He laughed. “Hell, if it weren’t for you, we never would’ve found three-quarters of our witnesses. You’ve got dogged determination, and I could not have done any of this without you.” His hand slid down her arm to her elbow. “You’ve spent the last six months of dinners discussing this case over Chinese food and formatting theories—I’m sure you’re long past ready to have normal cases again.”

She leaned into his touch. “I’m not, Draco. I’m not ready.” Hermione took his hand. “This case has been everything to me.”

“I understand.” But he didn’t, really. Not in the same way.

She nudged him with her shoulder. “Fuck what Jameson asked. What are you really feeling?”

Draco looked away.

Well?

He felt... like he had a weight pulling from his sternum which would eventually cause him to hunch like an old man long before his body truly gave out on him.

Like everything he had worked for was finished, and so… now what?

Like his mother would be proud of him, and missing her so much that the thought of her sprung tears in his eyes--if only she could be there with him.

He felt feverish.

He felt sad.

He felt high on accomplishment.

He felt hungry.

He felt hot and desperate to be touched and fuck if he wasn’t ready to unbutton his collar and breathe again.

“Too much to properly articulate.” He touched his top button but did not undo it.

She nodded once. “May I say something, not as your barrister… but--” she stopped. She looked up at him. He raised an eyebrow, but she took that as permission to continue. “I can’t listen to you talk anymore about having nobody. I can’t listen to it because I’ve spent the last six months--what is that? A hundred and… eighty days, or so?--caring very much about what you need.” She grazed his cheek. “I’ve represented some real gems, which happens when you start out as a public defender, and I am proud of the work that I did. But I failed you, because… it is not your best interest I have had in mind. It’s mine.

“Draco… do you not see how much you matter? To me? Don’t you feel it? If you don’t, it’s fine, I can live with that, but… you can’t spend the rest of your life believing nobody cares about you or what happens to you.” She searched his eyes, but he was too stunned to react. All he could do was stare at her. Hermione touched his cheek again and smiled sadly. “Alright. Well. Now you know, and… I should go. I don’t remember what it’s like to have a night off,” she said with a light laugh, tinged in sadness. They had truly spent nearly every single evening together working on his case… He had come to depend on the doorbell ringing at four pm, which signified she was waiting with takeout in one hand and an armful of files. She always had a determined smile on her face. She always forced him to peruse her latest finding before cracking open the reusable container with his food inside, and they marked the end of every evening with a glass of scotch. The next morning, her owl would appear with a scroll summarizing what they had discussed the night prior, and a promise she was looking into this thing or that, and she’d show him her findings that night--and did he want Chinese again, or would Indian do? The realization settled in him, and Draco did unbutton the collar of his shirt, then. He was sweating.

She was the part of his day he looked forward to the most. He would wait on a knife’s point for four o’clock to roll around, snapping at his assistant when she disturbed his anxious reverie, and the moment Hermione stepped inside his apartment, he would let out a breath that had been choking him all day long. He set his watch by her.

He dreamed about her.

He noticed when her hair was different, when she picked a new lipstick. He noticed when she shifted on her heels because her feet were aching because she had been standing beside him all day at the preliminary hearings. Everything about her was attuned in his mind.

“I think I love you,” he realized out loud, before the thought could bounce around in his brain long enough to decide if it was right to say. He stood abruptly and held out a hand to her. Her hand was shaking, but she took it, and Draco pulled her up. He walked down one step so she was eye-to-eye with him. “No… I know it. For certain.”

Hermione smiled softly. She touched the skin at his throat where his button used to sit, tracing the circular indent there. His Adam’s apple jumped. “You don’t have to say that.” She sounded desperately sad.

“I do. I can’t hide things from you, and I don’t want you to represent me anymore.”

Her eyes were teary again--why was she so sad? “Why not?” she sniffed.

“Conflict of interest.” He leaned down and kissed her. “I love you, Hermione.”

As the realization passed over her face that he was being honest, that he felt the weight of her words, she smiled brightly, and the tears streaming down her cheeks became happy ones. He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her jaw, and hugged her off her feet. She laughed as her shoes fell to the ground with a clatter, and he spun her around. When he set her on her feet again, she barely came up to his chest, so he bent down to kiss her again, which was all he really wanted to do.

“Why are you so short?” he teased. She wrinkled her nose.

“That’s rich coming from a behemoth.” She put her arms around his neck and linked her fingers. “Say it again?”

Draco straightened, forcing her to stand on her tip-toes on his shoes. He brushed her hair off her face, which he had dislodged in the spin of his declaration. “I lied to the court, but I did so unconsciously. There is one person for whom I would kill, and who I know, without her having to say it, because her actions have proven it--loves me. And it’s you. Please don’t leave me tonight, or any night hereafter.”

Hermione nodded. She inclined her head to kiss him, and smiled wryly. “So. What should we get for dinner?”

“Ms. Granger, for once, let me feed you.”

It was a lot, he had to admit, to contend with in one day. There was a heaviness in him, for the finality of his father’s life and the end of the trial, but one thing would remain constant in his life. It was more than he could ever have hoped for.

Her.

*

Read the rest of the drabbles here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23957782/chapters/57620938

[shadows-of-the-night11]

Forming Bond(s). Bumbleby.

@valkurion-transverse I told you this was going to take me some time but I was going to write it for you. I have to admit, this was hard. You asked me for a 007 or road trip AU and I literally went like, how am I going to pull this out? But I tried and here it is! I hope it’s not so bad and you enjoy, my friend. You’re awesome.

Blake feels like she’s burning and she’s not sure if that’s because of the rage bubbling inside of her or because the building is literally on fire. Maybe it’s a mixture of both, although she doesn’t have enough time to dwell on that. This place is going down in more ways than one and she doesn’t want to die there. No, she can’t die then and there. She can’t afford such luxury.

“Blake, this way!”

She follows the voice even when the smoke is too thick to see a thing once she turns the corner. She doesn’t have to see when she recognizes that voice. Sure, they met a couple of days ago, but if she makes it out of there alive, it’s all thanks to that person. She’s going to trust her because Blake knows when to trust someone, or at least, she wants to believe so.

“Yang!” She calls back. “Where are we going? We have to get out of here!”

“That’s what we’re doing, Blakey! The entrance is blocked and Taurus is looking for you. If we move to the obvious exit he’s going to find us and I’ll be damned if I let him take you again.”

Blake is stunned for a brief moment because Yang doesn’t know her. She doesn’t know her story and yet, she risked her life to save her. Yang is a huge flirt, but she’s also a skilled fighter and she doesn’t hesitate to help others. Blake is certainly not a fair maiden, although she was glad to have some extra help. Yang arrived with that charming smirk to help her and Blake; well… she decided to take the offered hand.

“What’s the plan?” Blake asks without faltering on her run.

“This place is already burning so we’re blowing it up! Red is waiting for us already and as soon as we get out of here, the ice queen is going to start the firework party!”

“What are you? Some Charlie’s angels parody?”

“What? No! We’re way cooler. We’re pretty badass agents and this is more like a Bond movie.”

“A very bad one where we die if you don’t hurry up, Xiao Long.”

They move through darkness and smoke, occasionally stopping and hiding when there’s trouble ahead. They stay covered and yet they are cautious, ready to jump into action if the situation calls for it, but they keep moving.

The whole thing certainly feels like a Bond movie for Blake and she fights the urge to roll her eyes at her own silly thought. She doesn’t have to ask to know that she would be the Bond girl in this scenario. With a shake of her head, Blake dismisses the whole 007 train of thought.

Once they made it to the parking lot, Blake relaxes slightly. She tries to find the car waiting for them, but there are no signals about “Red” whoever that is.

“Come on, Blakey! This is our ticket out of this place.”

“A bike, really? That’s your big plan?”

Blake is wary of the vehicle. It shines in the dim light and the contrast of yellow and black make her roll her eyes. Of course, this is the type of thing Yang Xiao Long would own.

“Hey, I told you this was a trap, but I never said it was set to get us. We need to get out of here as fast as possible and no car is as fast as my dear Bumblebee. We’re going to speed out of here and watch the sky light up!”

“Of course you named the bike Bumblebee. I’m not sure it can fly if I'm being honest.”

“Cut the sass, kitten. You can either stay here complaining about the name or you can get on so we can get out of here.” Yang says adjusting her helmet before offering Blake the second one. “Besides, I think yellow and black go great together, don’t you think?”

Yang winks and Blake can’t help but blush. Her cold façade crumbles when the blonde is around and she can’t figure it out. She has worked for years to build walls that no one can crack, but then Yang was there and stole the first smile Blake gave to anyone in months.

Blake tries to hide the color of her cheeks putting the helmet in place before mounting the bike, her arms firmly wrapped around Yang’s waist while the blonde starts the engine.

“Hold on tight! This is going to be fun!”

“I seriously question your definition of fun.”

A second later they’re speeding out of there and dear god, Blake holds with all her force into Yang. She doesn’t dare to ask her to slow down because Blake can feel the heat before she sees the explosion on the bike’s mirrors or hears the “boom” to the point of feeling it in her own bones.

She looks back once they’re at a safe distance. She thinks about the past hours, the past months, the past years and how it all started. This is the end. This is where the road stops and Blake can hardly believe it. Adam Taurus should be dead because there’s no way he made it out of there in time. He’s dead and Blake thinks back at the first time she wished for this.

Blake allows herself a moment to think about that man and all the pain he caused. It wasn’t just about her and a failed relationship, but about the thousand of Faunus that he hurt, he destroyed and killed due to his personal views and ambitions. She loved him at some point, but her vision of him shattered. He wasn’t a tortured soul. He was evil, cruel and the villain of this story.

Blake is finally free from his hand and his lies. She’s able to see the light at the end of the tunnel for the first time in years. She takes a deep breath, even when the air smells like oil, gunpowder and the soft delicate scent of Yang’s luscious hair. She’s free thanks to Yang and her team. After so long, she found her own liberation.

Blake isn’t alone anymore and now, she’s not afraid.

“Dragon! Are you okay?” A third voice calls from the approaching red sports car.

“Hey, girls! We’re alright. Thanks for the backup. That went better than expected.”

“Correct, that was a great performance.”

Blake looks at the car to find silver and blue eyes staring curiously at her, although not unkindly.

“Thank you, for everything,” Blake says with a hesitant wave.

“Of course. Yang can be hot headed, but we all know that if someone needs help, we’re not just going to turn around and forget about the issue.”

Those words take Blake by surprise, but she nods in agreement. She tried to fight Adam for so long, but he was stronger than her and he knew her far too well. It was hard to fight a war alone and yet, she never gave up. There were many lives at stake and Blake had to keep fighting until Yang appeared.

Yang is something unexpected in more than a way. She’s like fire and sunshine mixed in one, like a sun mixed with a little hurricane. She’s strength, but also kindness and beauty. Her fighting style is like nothing that Blake has seen in her life, a perfect blend of explosiveness and accuracy that just a few can master. She’s able to defeat anyone on her way and she’s going to do it looking good in a tailored suit.

“Anyway, the name’s Rose. Ruby Rose. Of course, my code name is…”

“Red.” Blake finishes with a small playful smirk. “Your red hood is not a good disguise, but it’s practical if you want people to know what your code name is.”

For a brief moment, Blake wonders about the connection between Ruby and Yang since both girls think they are some kind of James Bond in a world where Agent 007 doesn’t exist.

“Oh, I like her.” Someone else says. “I’m Weiss by the way.”

“Aka; the ice queen.”

“Yang, that’s not true.”

“It would be heiress, actually.” Blake intercedes and three pairs of eyes lay on her. “Weiss Schnee, heiress of the Schnee Dust Company and the youngest CEO on the four kingdoms. I know what you did. Taking the company from your father and correcting his mistakes and bad decisions, it was very brave. I have to say I’m impressed.”

“Thank you,” Weiss answers, but her eyes follow Blake’s every movement. “Excuse me, but, who are you and how do you know about this? Those facts aren’t exactly public.”

“Let’s say that we were here for the same reason; getting Adam Taurus out of the way. He knew things about you and your company. And I, I’m Blake Belladonna; the new leader of the White Fang. If you’re looking for social equality and peace, you have an ally now.”

“That’s great!” Ruby exclaims excitedly.

“Maybe you should join us.” Yang offers.

“What exactly are you? If you’re not Charlie’s angels and Yang here claims to be James Bond.”

“Ha! I’m better than him.”

“We’re an organization that looks for global security menaces. We find and eliminate people like Adam Taurus, although we fight for those who can’t defend themselves. We try to keep the world safe even if no one knows our names. We’re called huntresses and we fight for everyone, human, poor, elders, kids and Faunus.”

“Are you looking for peace?”

“Exactly.”

Blake offers a small smile while taking off her bow to reveal her Faunus nature. They all nod at her and Ruby squeals something along the lines of “You’re so cute.”

“Alright then. I think we can give this a try.” Blake agrees.

“What’s the plan then?” Ruby asks once she’s over Blake’s cuteness.“Road trip?”

“Sure thing, Rubes!” Yang calls excitedly. “I race you both to the coast line! I’ll show you how fast my baby can go and you’ll regret buying that obnoxious machine!”

“How dare you?” Weiss replies already starting the car, the roar of the engine filling the night. “The nerve of assuming that old thing can beat a Schnee! Prepare yourself, Xiao Long!”

“Weiss, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“I didn’t survive this night just to die because both of you need to race to our deaths!”

“You’re not dying, Blakey. We’re going to win this thing. If I win, do I get a victory kiss?”

Blake really wants to argue, but they’re moving too fast for her to think properly. She’s holding into Yang again and this time, the blonde feels how sharp Blake’s nails are.

"Maybe."

“God damn it, kitty cat. This is going to be fun.” Yang thinks while speeding even more.

[melchixr]

Curator’s Assistant (Part One)

Anon said: Idk if u still want prompts (((I always am ))) but melchritz w melchi as a art museum curator or something who likes art because it's perfect™ and is super upset when the new assistant moritz comes in bc he's so unorganised it h u r t s but what hurts more is melchior is actually falling in love with this mess against his better judgem e n t Fuck that i’m doing a S O U L M A T E S A U

So anyway, I guess I’m making this into a chaptered story,,,,, i hope ya’ll appreciate that lmao i’m sorry. also first person which i’ve never done before so <<<<<<3333

Words: 1195

Other chapters: Part two  Part Three

I once read that there is a different version of heaven for everyone. And when you die, you go to your own specialized, personalized heaven. Well, if God turns out to be real, and I somehow wind up not getting sent straight to hell, then I would wind up in a heaven similar to an empty museum. The fountain in the courtyard was flowing, and all the lights were on, but there wasn’t a single living soul in the building. Well, besides the girls down at the front desk, and a couple of custodians.

But the halls were empty. No museum-goers or employees roaming around looking suicidal. And no horrific children with sticky fingers swinging at my vases or canvases.

That’s why I’m content with my office being in the farthest corner of the museum, with the modern art. I wandered the empty white corridors with wide windows and into the huge room.

“Ernst!” I called out to the man on the far side of the exhibit, walking around the colorful blocks on the ground and avoiding the massive pelican statues made of trash hanging from the ceiling. The resident artist was setting up paint cans and his large canvas for the ten o’clock live exhibition. He turned around, a goofy smile and a splash of pink paint already on his face. “We’re expecting a big crowd today. I was looking at patron statistics and Wednesday’s have become our most popular days, surprisingly.”

“Should I do another afternoon exhibit then?” he asked, standing and wiping off a handful of brushes on his jeans.

I shrugged, pulling the daily schedule from my book bag, “Well we have field trip leaving at four so wanna do another one in the classical wing at two?”

Ernst just smiled at me the big, warm smile that made me suddenly realize why Hanschen, our head tour guide and art historian, was so happy when they wound up being soulmates.

But I still found the pair perfectly insufferable whenever they were together. For some reason, the now engaged couple always felt the need to retell the story of how Hanschen felt Ernst’s burn first but Ernst didn’t feel Hanschen’s until he had left a message on Ernst’s machine while the artist was at work. The painting was hanging up in their apartment still, with a huge red streak across the canvas and the words ‘HOLY FUCK’ painted on it sloppily.  “Sure thing, boss. Are there canvases downstairs?”

“New shipment came in last night.”

Ernst gave me a plucky thumbs up sign, signalling me to continue on my way and unlock the oak door before me that had the words ‘M. GABOR: HEAD MUSEUM CURATOR’ engraved in gold below the window. “Wait, Melchi, is there a new custodian?”

I paused awkwardly, thinking of all the recent museum news I had stored away. No. No new custodian. And I would be the first person to know.

“No. No, absolutely not,” I stammered out and finally looked over to the younger, much more liberal minded man. “Why?”

“A guy went into your office earlier that I didn’t recognize. But he had keys so I assumed he was maintenence.”

I knew literally every single person who worked here. From Tony in the giftshop, to all ten tour guides, to Pat and Sam, who cleaned up the fountain each night. And last time I checked no one else in the world has a copy of my key besides the owner of the museum.

Ernst saw the cogs in my brain turning so he simply made a shrugging motion and tucked his things into his cart, rolling it loudly out of the room.

I’ve never unlocked my door faster and been more shocked to walk into my own office. My desk was still on the other side of the fairly small room, but the big bay windows looking over the courtyard that would soon be filled with a smatter of art-lovers.  And that was all well laid out and neat.

But right in front of the door was a rickety old desk covered in pieces of paper and a handful of books I didn’t recognize. It definitely wasn’t there when I left last night. The most terrifying thing was the packaging thrown all around at random. Packaging for what  I assumed was the 1345 ink on parchment piece from the Yuan Dynasty I was supposed to pick up today just laying on the ground at my feet. “WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!” I barked loudly at the person standing on the other side of the desk. Picking up the art piece as daintily as possible, I looked at the figure that definitely didn’t belong in here. “Who the HELL are you?”

The figure was a man. He was very thin by the look of it, wearing a slightly baggy thrift store dress shirt and slacks. His hair was jet black and stuck out in every direction in frizzy curls. And not curls like my little brown flips. Just an absolute mess.

“What are you doing in my office?” I growled, looking into his eyes. I couldn’t quite tell the color because the bags below them were so intense that it just looked like a void behind a pair of wire framed glasses. “Get out! Get the FUCK out right FUCKING now before I call the FUCKING cops!”

The man was flinching at every word, but when I took a deep breath in before shouting again, he blurted out. “I’m Moritz Stiefel, your assistant!”

The pause for breath gave way into a long pause as I thought back into the hundreds of time where my boss had tried to tell me that I’m stretching myself too thin and need an assistant if I demand on being the only curator in the whole museum.

And the hundreds of time I told them no, I really don’t.

“My assistant….” I muttered and set the art piece down on my own desk. “So I’m thinking that they hired you, gave you the key on the desk without ever thinking of telling me.”

The guy, Moritz, didn’t respond. Possibly out of fear that I’d pull the plethora of books off my wall and chuck them at his head. I continued with a groan. “Anyway, if you’re going to assist, you might as well be a good one, right?” He nodded. “Fine, first things first, clean this shit up. My office is a tidy area and you aren’t changing that.”

“Yessir.”

“Second, don’t call me that.  How old are you? Twenty? I’m not some old man,” I sat at the desk and took a long sip from my thermos. My eyes gravitated towards the little stream of ink on the side of Moritz’s neck. 

It wasn’t rare to see ‘Love Tattoos’ out in the open. Lots of people showed them off proudly, especially when they had already been turned red. I guess it was a badge of honor to have your soulmate say that special dumb fucking phrase. But Moritz’s was still black.

Huh, okay. I dunno why my brain felt the need to focus in on it.

The practical stranger began to pick up the packaging. “I’m uh...I’m twenty-six.”

“God, you look like a high schooler with a sleeping disorder how are you older than me?” I told him in a stern voice and continued. “Anyway, I want you to ASK before you pick up deliveries from me next time. And when you’re done cleaning can you run up to the program manager’s office and give Janet my weekly update?”

“I don’t know where that is and why can’t you just email it?” Moritz said bluntly. I really liked this guy more when he was shy.

Sighing, I stood and approached my new coworker. “Cause nothing gets done in here when you email. And when you’re done, run to starbucks and get me a grande soy latte, triple shot.”

“I’m an assistant, not an intern!” Moritz bit back indignantly.  He was gonna learn really fast not to speak to me like that.

“My assistant. Chop chop.”

[wildfires-n-thunderstorms]

photo credits: not mine; ctto

Journal Entry No. 1 October 10, 2017

I wish I could think of something more creative and less generic than ‘Journal Entry No-whatever’ but I’m really not feeling very innovative as of now. I used to have journals or diaries, is what I called them; actual notebooks, actual writings and I used to think I did it in order to preserve memories and emotions but now that I ponder upon it, perhaps I just did so because I believed no one I knew could handle my real thoughts, felt like if I expressed them I would be rejected because they wouldn’t be able to reconcile the person I am on written ink versus the person I present to them everyday. And I needed to let it all out, I needed to let the real thoughts come out for it was suffocating my head until nothing no longer made sense. It was when I wrote things down that I make sense of anything, I discovered that I sound a lot smarter in writing - I surprise myself sometimes too.

I stopped making diaries (except the few notebooks in recent years where I ‘tried’  to write again) because of two things: 1) I had no time and handwritten diaries are just tiring. I became busy and suddenly before I even had a minute to ponder over my emotions, reflections and what-not, there’s another deadline I have to chase after. I had no time for emotions; if it was too much, I’d breakdown for an hour, cry all the shit I can, and then resume work. I had no time to write about things unless it was something I had to pass later in class. 2) I felt like it made things worse. I felt like writing my thoughts had made me vulnerable, as if I opened myself up for the world to read and it was a weakness. At church, they taught me that the devil can’t really read your thoughts; he just has an inkling of your desires and motivations through your actions - and I believed in the spiritual. I really do, no matter how contrasting my opinions and actions may be, I believe in God and angels and the bible, etc. I felt like I gave the devil a walk-through of how he could drag me to hell with him through writing my shit on paper. I felt it was counter-productive and that through writing in my diary I had made my problems more dramatized and romanticized which caused me to overthink and over-complicate shit to no end instead of letting me handle my fucking issues pragmatically. 

So you may ask... why am I writing again (well, typing really)? I don’t really know. It’s just that shit is so confusing and I just have so much. Like, it’s too much. And it’s overflowing, and it’s suffocating, and it’s deadly. I don’t want all my repressed emotions, all the anguish and resentment to just bubble up inside me like poison. I don’t want to die, and I don’t want to end up with my mind too hurt and helpless that it eventually convinces me that I do want to die. I’m not saying it directly, but we all know what I mean by that. 

Sometimes there are moments that are just, wow, this is too fucking much. I can handle pain, and hurt, and I’m resilient, I’m strong but wow, this is too fucking much. There are days that really just test me; really just tempt me to let it all go, or to pour all of this weight in my chest into something I’ll regret later on. God, I need help.

Perhaps I am writing because this is the manifestation of my poor soul shouting S.O.S. Same as my sudden alcoholism, or the few cases of cigarettes I’ve smoked in the delusion that it makes everything better when it really just gives me tension headaches that last for more than 24 hours - out of all pain, I hate headaches the most, or the sudden fucking urge to hurt myself - and that’s the worst of them all. I sometimes look at something sharp and then at my skin and wonder just how much relief I’d feel or if there’s any. I’ve done it before, I could do it again. 

Look, we need to stop with the stereotypes, okay? When you’re reading this, my entries, I don’t want you to imagine a goth girl with heavy, dark make-up, metal music sounding in the background while I wallow in my friendless loneliness because I am far from that. 

I am a normal person you wouldn’t suspect of having such depressing thoughts in a normal day. I am a very easy-going person, who’s very patient and kind with everyone, very non-controversial since I hate it when the spotlight’s on me and very non-confrontational. I have about 20 very close friends that love me no matter how frequent or infrequent our interactions become, and then many more friends and acquaintances that I also interact with, perhaps half of them having the potential to actually care about me. People see me smiling, people see me having fun, people see me coping with stress, people see me comforting other people who are stressed and people see me handle my shit; however, what people don’t see is that despite all that, I am miserable inside; people don’t see me crumple down naked on the bathroom floor, the tears wracking my body as I attempt to drown myself on a tub of water because I find that it’s easier not breathing underwater (how the water just blocks everything; how I can’t hear anything as the water filled my ears, how I can’t see anything past the water, how I can’t feel anything other than the calmness of the water; how liberating drowning felt versus actually breathing in my life) than the painful efforts my lungs endure as I try to breathe while I fucking sob and attempt to silent those sobs because my roommates are just on the other side of the door and I don’t want them to hear or know that something is wrong. Because what if they ask me? How will I even put into words, words that can justify how I actually feel? So nobody knows it; because I don’t know the right words to make them understand, and besides I wouldn’t be able to attempt a sentence before my voice breaks and I hate hearing my voice break and then see their sympathizing or pitying faces staring back at me attempting to look as if they understood. Not sooner than I try to open up to them, I will be cracking a joke to lighten the atmosphere because the tension and their silence is asphyxiating. I don’t know how to ask for help; or even, how they can fucking help. I have friends that love me, family that love me but they can’t help me. They can’t save me from myself and my demons.

I am so tired of being abused. I am so tired and done with it. I am so tired of people hurting me, and I’m so tired of not knowing how I could make this all better. 

This is all for now,

alias: Disastrous Coleen

[itsclydebitches]

Could you write a julip fic where they have to share a bed like in every fanfic ever and are both in denial

I sure can, Anon! I’m afraid I didn’t end up with much denial though. They both want it ;) 

AO3 here. 

Commissions here. 

***

Jesse was cursing as he tried to maneuver open the door, one hand dragging his suitcase while the other carried an already-full laundry basket. He realized why it was so difficult when he got in far enough to find the small mountain of luggage blocking his doorway.

"Oh Christ," he whispered. "It's a girl."

Annville High wasn't anything like the seminary school his father had wanted him to attend: small, liberal, and sporting all sorts of new-fangled policies, including co-ed dorms. There'd been emails sent early in the summer, shitty "Get to know your roommate!" things that Jesse had deleted without opening. Looking back, maybe he should have at least bothered to learn his roommate's name. Or gender.

There was someone moving inside. Jesse was sweating as he heaved his way in and it had nothing at all to do with the effort of lugging his stuff.

Please be ugly, please be ugly, please be the most horrendous girl I've ever seen in my life—

"Holy fuck."

She whirled, eyebrows up at the profanity, and Jesus, Mary, Joseph, she wasn't ugly by anyone's definition. Jesse managed to tear his eyes away from curves and a low-cut halter just long enough to see the plaque reading "Tulip" on her desk. Either that was her name or she just really liked flowers... and somehow Jesse didn't think she was the flower-liking type.

Tulip huffed a laugh. "You've got a mouth on you. Alright. Jesse, ain't it? Look, Jesse, I'm no more a fan of this room sharing business than you are, so you just keep to your side and I'll keep the hell to mine. Don't touch my stuff, don't fucking touch me," Tulip laid a hand delicately on a can of pepper spray, "and put a freaking sock on the door or something if you're bringing anyone back. That's a sock plus warning me ahead of time. No dirty plates or food left about—I'm not having our room infested with bugs and shit—keep your things neat, use Febrez if you've gotta, and if you forget to turn your alarm off on the weekends I will chuck it out the window." She paused. "Got any questions?"

"Yeah," Jesse said slowly. He took in the explosion of clothes that was Tulip unpacking. The two desks (one already claimed), and the small window she'd referenced. Jesse raised his finger and pursed his lips, feeling an awful sense of dread overtake him.

"Where the hell is the second bed?"

***

The second bed, it seemed, was still on its way.

"—Ikea," Jesse was saying, throwing up his hands as Cass roared with laughter. "Some idiot senior breaks the bed last year, they don't bother getting a new one before the start of the semester, and they've got to give us that shit? What exactly am I paying this school for?"

Cass kicked his legs out into the hallway, back to the wall, shoulder against Jesse's as he wiped tears from his eyes. "You're not payin' a bloody thing, Jesse. Your rich daddy is. Hey, I know, how about you call him with an update? Bit of complain' to ease the soul. Remind him why you wanted to go here so fuckin' badly..." Cass snickered at Jesse's glare. "Oh fuck, tell him—tell him—tell him your roommate's a girl."

Jesse buried his face in his hands. "He can never know."

"Please, God, let me hear that conversation."

"...I will if you let me sleep in your room."

Cass went from comic to disgusted in a heartbeat. "Fuck that. These rooms are small enough as it is. Besides," he stretched again, linking hands behind his head. "I've got that Fiore bloke as a roomie. Gonna be hittin' that allll night."

Jesse was up and stumbling away, that horrible image clinging to the front of his mind. Cass' laugh sounded behind him.  

***

"You get the floor."

Tulip had said it as if she was shocked it needed saying at all—as if it was just common sense that she would get the only bed currently available. Hell, maybe that would have been the case years ago with chivalry and shit, but now? Jesse had every intention of telling her to stuff it...

...except she'd glared, crossed her arms, and somehow Jesse had found himself on the floor at lights out.

"Profuse apologies my ass," he muttered, remembering the Dorm Head's simpering speech from earlier. Jesse punched his sweatshirt into a better ball—no pillow because it was supposed to come with the bed—and tried to turn over without hitting more of Tulip's unpacked luggage. He'd had a shitty, cold shower earlier, cafeteria food that felt like it was crawling back up his throat, and now this. Honestly, Jesse was almost regretting following Cass here and giving up seminary.

Almost.

Tulip was still.. wow.

Despite being regulated to the floor, Jesse couldn't help but like the girl. It wasn't just that she was hot (though she was that, certainly) but the fact that she was the kind of no-bullshit person he thought he could suffer through four years with. He'd seen all sorts of awesome band tees and crime novels falling out of her suitcase. At dinner she had sat with the shy Emily girl, suddenly looking more open and caring than he would have ever guessed. He heard her telling DeBlanc that she'd filched M&Ms to put on her pancakes tomorrow morning. She was just cool.

Huh. Maybe a little too cool. Literally.

Jesse propped himself up on his elbow to see that, yep, Tulip's whole frame was shivering in the moonlight. Back to him, she was just a tight, quivering ball of blankets, black hair sticking out at the top. Jesse had barely noticed the temperature. He really only cared about gruesomely hot summers, not cool September nights.

Another thing this school has to answer for: shit heating, he thought.

Jesse hesitated only a second before standing. He went as noisily as he could, stepping on the squeaky floorboard he'd found earlier and (accidentally) running into another bag. Tulip had gone deadly still as he slid atop the covers and onto the bed. Jesse carefully draped an arm around her middle.

There was peace. Than a crack! against his nose and Jesse was thrown off the bed.

"The fuck!"

"Told you not to touch me," Tulip growled, sitting up. She rubbed the back of her head where she'd reared and hit him. "You some sort of rapist or something?"

"What? No!"

"Keep your voice down, you're gonna get us in trouble."

Jesse ground his teeth. She’d hit him. He would have washed his hands of this, marched down the hall and invaded Cass' room—sex or no sex—except that Tulip was just... sitting there, and something told Jesse that if she really thought he was a danger he'd be dealing with far worse than a sore nose. He slowly reached up again, reseting his forearms on the bed's edge.

"Bed is big," he said, tentative. "Not, you know, big, but big enough for two I'd say."

Tulip remained quiet.

"You seem kinda cold. I'm pretty warm. The floor feels like something the Spanish Inquisition invented." For the first time Tulip cracked a smile and Jesse slapped the mattress in triumph. "C'mon. I think I'm making a pretty good case here."

Silence still. Tulip looked him over once, agonizingly slow, and Jesse felt a spark run down the length of his spine.

"You're still missing something," she said.

Jesse floundered a moment. "Um... please?"

Tulip snorted. "Close enough. Newsflash, Custer: don't crawl into a woman's bed without asking first. Don't care how fucking noble your intentions are."

"Ha. Noted."

Jesse slung himself onto the bed again, this time getting to go under the covers. Tulip still rolled to face the other wall, but she didn't stiffen as he fit himself alongside her: knees hooked in knees and one arm up around her head. He lightly traced the edges of her hair and thought, stupidly, that he should get this girl something. Maybe she did like flowers.

"Go to sleep, idiot," Tulip muttered. Jesse let out one explosive laugh before doing just that.

Anything his roomie wanted.

***

"Jesse Custer?" 

The kid was definitely the hall monitor type, pompous without being more than a year older than Jesse. He looked officially at his clipboard. "I've been told that your room still needs a second bed? They're delivering it now. You'll need to clear out your stuff so that we can move in the pieces and assemble it."

Jesse blinked. He thought about how they'd just finished unpacking all their shit. He thought about Tulip's back pressed against his chest.

"Sorry," he said blandly. "Must have the wrong dorm."

He shut the door in the kid's face and Tulip, watching, smiled.

[lovehaswonangelnumbers]

New Post has been published on https://lovehaswonangelnumbers.org/karmic-tools-weekly-forecast-april-21-27-2019/

Karmic Tools Weekly Forecast: April 21 – 27, 2019

Karmic Tools Weekly Forecast: April 21 – 27, 2019

By Kelly M. Beard

The video version of this forecast, as read by Kelly, is available here.

The Karmic Tools Weekly Forecast covers the current planetary transits which affect people in different ways and to various degrees of intensity. Take notice when it is a Personal planet (Sun / Moon / Mercury / Venus / Mars) interacting with a Social (Jupiter/Saturn) or Collective planet (Uranus / Neptune/Pluto). And pay extremely close attention when it is a Social planet interacting with a Collective planet because that means something *big* is brewing that will move large groups of people along their evolutionary paths. Tuning in to the energy and rhythm of the planets can serve as a useful *guide* as you move along your Individual Path. It also helps to understand your place within the context of the larger Social & Collective Story. Below, you will find out how these energies tend to manifest, as well as guidance and direction. 

*NOTE*  There are some days when there are NO CONTACTS (besides the Moon), please note that there are no missing entries, we just list the actual Activations of each week + the day they happen.

Weekly Forecast: April 21 – 27, 2019

4/22 ~ Sun (essential self & core drives) ~conjunct~ Uranus (disruption & liberation): This energy serves to provoke a radical shift within you, catalyzing the desire to breathe fresh, clean, new vital energy into your idea of who you are and what you came to contribute. It may not be comfortable, but it is necessary and even moreso for those of you who are rigid in your habits & thinking, or depend on others to validate who you are and what you contribute. Sometimes a little disruption serves to get you focused on what is really important to you. And at this time, change is in the air. It is far better to use the intensity of collective change to shift on personal levels, rather than try to go it alone or worse, play the martyr or the victim. It’s time for your most unique Self to contribute the piece only you can. This activation may bring the suddenly clarity you need and a refreshed attitude toward life, which can help tremendously as you fortify the connection to what makes you feel truly free & independent. If you resist the shift, you will manifest other disruptions that are far less productive, much more frustrating and significantly more costly.

4/24 ~ Pluto Retrograde @23* CAPRICORN: Pluto is in a long process of purification & transformation (2008-2024) and retrogrades annually, facilitating evolution on a more subtle level, although if your chart is activated, it may not *feel* subtle. On a personal level, Pluto helps you dig up any destructive unconscious patterns, strips you raw and confronts you with who you are and how you will survive when nothing and no one else is available to help or support you. I like to think of Pluto as our ‘buried treasures’ and like diamonds, it often requires a very special task to release from within and bring into the Light. Often, because Pluto rules death, rebirth & transformation, something is sacrificed for your own greater good. Although it may be sometimes painful and debilitating, it doesn’t have to be, but is almost always (a) necessary and (b) ultimately *liberating*!!

Pluto is traveling through the Capricorn sector of your chart, digging deep and activating any other planets you may have in Capricorn (and Cancer/Aries & Libra by default). So, it’s good to look at this as an on-going purification & transformation of this department in life (and, subsequently the other three areas too). Pluto moves generations and great numbers of people along their evolutionary path, however, every year when it retrogrades, it turns that energy inward, giving us unique access to our own depths, where our SoulSelf resides. When it goes forward, it is a very gradual awakening process that develops from there. Transformation happens behind the scenes and often out of the prying eyes of others, as well as your own conscious monkey-mind, this is deep Soul Work that only you can do. What have you really purified & transformed this year? or what would you like to?

Use this time to set intentions for purification in the sense that you are supported to strip away the non-essential and reconnect with your purest, original intent. Change is greatly supported at this time, so anything that you are really ready, truly willing & finally able to change, can be transformed forever. Capricorn gets everyone focused on choices & responsibilities, as well as the structure of your life that supports & protects you and the overall stability of whatever House it rules.

4/27 ~ Mars (action & desire) ~square~ Neptune (dreams & illusions): This can be an annoying energy, to say the least. Basically, you may be confronted with challenges which are a direct result of earlier choices. These are the kind of choices you eventually realized were wrong and “hoped” the consequences would somehow pass you by. Not. You may feel very discouraged, possibly depressed, and be filled with fear & doubt. The key to getting through this energy is to take a step back, reflect on your choices and what led you to this point and, as objectively as possible, evaluate what went wrong. The tendency with this energy is to want to give up completely on the path you have chosen when all that is probably necessary is a little tweaking. Try to identify the aspect that is causing the conflict. If you don’t feel that you can be objective enough or that you struggle with identifying this aspect, enlist two other people to give you their opinion and then follow your gut instinct on the direction to take from here. The other temptation with this energy is to be deceptive – either to your Self or others. Either way – don’t give in – it will only come back to bite you (harder) later. Your physical energy is likely to be low as well. Do not force your Self to do anything you are truly not “feeling” right now. Instead, meditate on what action may be necessary when your energy returns. Be still. Avoid confrontations with others as it is just the energy pushing you out of comfort zone, into new territory. This is a test of sorts and the best way to deal with it is to face your fears and clarify your desires. My personal two-cents about these two planets (Mars & Neptune) in a difficult angle, is to reflect on what actions (Mars) have been taken (and NOT worked) toward the fulfillment of your dreams (Neptune) – and start your “tweaking” there.

*****

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[sapphyrelily]

Nasty Kouhai Repellent

I can’t write anything funny but here have this

Based on this thread

It started with the bottle.

The spray bottle.

And it was all Semi’s fault.

(It is always Semi’s fault.)

But the bottle, oh gosh, the bottle – Shirabu has never been so mortified or offended or repelled in his entire life.

Or so drenched.

He thinks he can hear Kawanishi snickering behind him, but his attention is entirely focused on the person in front of him, and the spray bottle still raised, poised to spray.

He takes a deep breath, and shakes the water out of his hair.

Semi takes a step back, entirely unfazed, and repeats himself. “Go practice receives with Hayato for a bit.”

Shirabu glares at him. “With all due respect, senpai–”

He ducks as he is sprayed again, but the action only serves to make his hair even wetter than before. He growls and pushes his fringe back, uncaring that it makes him look like an idiot. “–with all due respect, I’ve already practiced receives and it's time I practiced my sets.”

“Your receiving is still terrible. Even Taichi receives better than you.”

The snickering turns into a poorly hidden cough, but he doesn’t turn around to glare at the perpetrator. “I need to practice my setting before we begin the practice matches.”

“No, you’re going to practice your receives, because I’m going to be aiming at you during the practice matches.”

“Is that a threat, Semi-san?”

He doesn’t duck in time, and has to wipe the water out of his eyes. By the time he looks up, Semi is gone – thank the heavens – but Yamagata is standing next to him, grinning and ready to go.

He groans, but doesn’t have any choice but to follow him.

-----

He is in the midst of shutting his locker when a hand shoots out to stop him, snatching the spray bottle from the shelf.

He sighs and turns to the thief, watching as Tendou scrutinises the bottle.

“Satori, give me that.”

“Hmm? What’s this for?”

“You know that thing where you spray cats to stop them from doing something?”

“You’re not– Oh my gosh, you are serious.”

“Where have you been the whole day that you haven’t seen me using that?”

“Practicing! You know, like you were supposed to be doing, but didn’t.”

Semi shrugs. “It’s effective, at least. I feel a lot less stressed.”

Tendou shakes his head and clicks his tongue, but his smirk tells a whole other story.

-----

Practice is a mess.

Shirabu’s been sprayed so many times that his hair is perpetually wet, and he’s creating puddles that other people slip in.

He wonders how the spray bottle has enough water for that to be an option, but decides not to question it. It’s not like Semi has decided to upend the bottle over his head yet, though he thinks they might be reaching that point.

The only upside, he thinks, is that he finally heard Coach yelling at him for doing such an inane thing.

“Eita! WHAT are you doing with that spray bottle? We are a volleyball club, not a gardening club!”

“I’m fighting pests, Washijou-sensei,” he hears. “Water is my pesticide.”

He doesn’t hear the next part because he dives to save a ball – but what he does hear makes the next ball bounce off his fingers instead of his arms.

“STOP DOING STUPID THINGS AND GO PRACTICE YOUR SERVES OR SOMETHING.”

He laughs so hard that he completely misses the next ball and slips in a puddle of water.

-----

It’s incredible, he thinks, how the spray bottle becomes something of a legend just two days into its introduction.

The bottle is taken out first at morning practice, passed from hand to hand, hidden within the mess of water bottles whenever Coach turns their way.

But at every other second during breaks or between drills, the bottle will reappear from the depths of hell, and some unfortunate soul sprayed with it.

Oh, and it has a name now.

Shirabu has no idea when it appeared – or who put it there – but the bottle has large script running across one face, in the form of the words Nasty Kouhai Repellent.

(+ Tendou is added in smaller script under it, and Shirabu doesn’t even want to know why.)

He feels deeply offended – Semi-san is such an asshole – until he sees other people using the bottle as well.

It’s a blocking practice, he recalls, when the bottle appears not in Semi’s hands but Tendou’s, and he feels a light sheen of mist drifting over him.

Beside him, Kawanishi looks equal parts surprised and taken aback, and he gapes for a moment before starting to laugh.

His best friend fixes him with an unimpressed look, but quickly backpedals when he’s sprayed again. “Taichi! Block properly!”

“I am doing my best, Tendou-san,” the blond intones, taking a few steps away from the net. “Please stop spraying me with that.”

“No! You need to use some effort, it’s not so hard to block, you’re a middle blocker, for goodness’ sake–”

He steps aside easily as Tendou ducks under the net, chasing after Kawanishi and spraying wildly. “Taichi! Get back here!”

Shirabu sinks to the ground, barely suppressing his laughter, and doesn’t move until Goshiki comes up to him to practice spikes.

-----

He doesn’t think it can get worse, but it does.

Training camp has always been a time of intensive training, and he’s usually too tired after it to do much.

This year, there’s practice after practice, and he finally puts to use all the daily running that Coach makes them do.

He ducks into an unlocked classroom and is about to crawl under a table when a leg sticks out and trips him, making him crash into several tables.

Great. His attacker is bound to have heard that, and now he has to find a new place to hide.

Before he can curse the person who tripped him, something is shone on his face, and he has to throw up a hand to shield his eyes.

“Shirabu?”

“Semi-san?” He lowers his arm, squinting in the darkness. “What are you doing here?”

“I’d ask you that, but I think I know.” He looks from the downed boy to the closed door. “Is Satori after you?”

“Yeah, he thought I was Taichi, but I think he’s chasing me now just because.” He pauses, then fixes him with a look. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Semi lifts his other hand, brandishing a spray bottle with a grin. “Revenge.”

He cuts him off before he can say anything else. “I hear someone. Make some noise to draw him in, I’ll spray him.”

Shirabu usually doesn’t listen when Semi’s being bossy, but he can make an exception for this.

He shifts the tables back into position, making no effort to be quiet about it, then hops atop one to wait for the fallout.

His eyes aren’t very good in the darkness, but he can make out when the door opens and Semi jumps up from beside it, spraying liberally at the figure standing there.

But the figure is too tall and broad to be Tendou, and he almost chokes when he speaks.

“Semi, what are you doing?”

His tone is mild, a tad confused and irritated, and gosh, what Shirabu would give to see Semi’s face right now.

“Oh, Wakatoshi. I thought you were Satori. Sorry about that.”

“Apology accepted. Kindly refrain from doing that in future, it will make someone catch a cold.”

“It’s summer.”

“Then you understand what I mean.” Ushijima turns to leave, but pauses, and it looks like he’s trying to see what Semi is holding on to. “Is that the spray bottle?”

(He’d been wondering that too. )

“Oh, this? It’s a different one. Satori has the original.”

“Ah. I had hopes that someone had taken it from him.” Ushijima’s tone is bland.

Semi snorts. “I’ll get it back. Eventually. Where is he?”

“The last I saw, he was chasing Yamagata down to the bathrooms.”

“Thanks. I’ll get him. Oi, Shirabu, come on.”

He starts when he is called – why does Semi want him along? – but slides off the table, bobbing his head in greeting as he slides past Ushijima. The older looks faintly surprised to see him, but lets him by without a word.

It’s only when they’re halfway down the hallway that he hears him call, “If you see Tendou, tell him not to run in the hallways or the bathroom. It is dangerous for everyone involved.”

Semi raises his hand in acknowledgement, but does not turn back.

-----

Shirabu finally finds out why Semi brought him along when they reach the bathrooms and the ash blond refuses to take another step.

“No, I am not.”

“Yes, you are. Your clothes are already damp, and you haven’t showered yet.”

“I’m not your meat shield.”

“You are now.” He shoves him into the bathrooms. “Go take a look around and see if Satori is in there.”

“You owe me so much for this.”

Semi sprays him, his expression unimpressed. “Go.”

He grumbles and turns to trudge through the bathroom, peeking around corners as if someone might jump out at him.

But the bathrooms are completely empty, and he returns to the entrance with slightly more confidence and the hope that he wouldn’t get sprayed another time this evening.

“There’s no one in her–”

He opens the door, but there’s no one outside it either.

The corridor is completely empty, and he curses Semi for the umpteenth time.

-----

Kawanishi throws a bundle of clean, dry clothes at him, and he scrambles to catch them. He nearly misses the towel tossed in his direction as well, raising an eyebrow at the closed door of the sleeping area.

Kawanishi shakes his head. “You don’t want to be in there. Just go and shower.”

“Why? Did someone finally get in trouble, because that I have to see–”

“Tendou-san is trying to get Ushijima-san to spray Goshiki in the face.”

“I have to see that.”

He pushes past his friend, only for an arm to go round his middle, pulling him back. “No, you don’t. Tendou-san is 'practicing' on all the second years, and you’re next if you go in.”

“Tendou-san can’t be any worse than Semi-san.”

“Yes, he is,” Kawanishi tells him with a long-suffering sigh. “I had to change my clothes twice.”

Shirabu grumbles, but he does turn away. “Fine. I’ll go shower.”

“Thank you.”

Kawanishi whistles so cheerily as they trek to the bathrooms that Shirabu isn’t sure who is happier to be escaping the water assault.

-----

He is halfway through shampooing his hair when he hears Kawanishi calling him. “What?”

“I said, hurry up and get out here. Semi-san is chasing Tendou-san with the spray bottle.”

“Oh my god.”

He sticks his head under the faucet and tries to wash the shampoo out as fast as he can. He thinks he can hear his seniors' voices from beyond the bathroom door.

“They just ran past,” Kawanishi informs him, helpfully. “Semi-san has a spray bottle in each hand.”

“I’m coming, I'm coming!”

“They’ve just disappeared around the bend. There’s a lot of crashing and swearing. Oh, I think Tendou-san got a bottle.”

Shirabu stumbles to the door, a towel haphazardly thrown around his waist, his hair still pouring water. He pushes Kawanishi aside, peering out, just in time to see Semi and Tendou tear past, the redhead holding the spray bottles in front of him like guns.

“YOU’LL PAY FOR THIS!”

“You were supposed to shower anyway!” Semi yells back, and then they are gone again, voices echoing off the empty hallway.

He looks up, a question on the tip of his tongue, but Kawanishi gently pushes him back into the bathroom. “The spraying messed up Tendou-san's hairstyle.”

“Well, that’s interesting to know.”

“Go finish your shower.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

-----

What’s more amazing, he finds, is how the bottle(s) have not disappeared, even after the training camp fiasco.

He doesn’t know what happened, but at some point, Coach must have given up on yelling at them, because the bottles sit openly on the ground now, and nobody says anything about them.

It’s only been a week, he thinks miserably.

(A week, and he has yet to come out of a single practice with his hair dry.)

(At this rate, he would actually catch a cold.)

(But, he thinks, If I kill Semi-san first, then I would never have to catch a cold.)

(It sounds like a better idea every time he gets a faceful of water.)

A fine spray of mist lands on his arm, and he doesn’t need to turn to know who did it.

“Tendou-san, please refrain from spraying me. I might catch a cold.”

“It’s summer, Taichi.”

“It is still possible.”

As if on cue, Shirabu sneezes.

Kawanishi waves a hand in his direction. “Case in point.”

Tendou eyes him sceptically, but puts the bottle down when a second sneeze works its way out. “I’ll tell SemiSemi to stop it just for today.”

“Thank you,” Shirabu says sarcastically, but Tendou is out of earshot.

“You’re a good actor,” Kawanishi says.

“That wasn’t acting.” He sneezes again, and wipes his face with a sigh.

He hopes he doesn’t get sick.

-----

He sneezes three times in quick succession and the ball he was supposed to set drops in front of him, hitting his foot and bouncing away. “Sorry!”

Reon shakes his head kindly. “You’ll get the next one.”

He nods numbly and lifts his head, but he can feel another sneeze coming on as the opposing team serves again.

He manages to set the ball before another sneeze erupts from him, but he knows without looking that the set is terrible.

“Kenjirou!”

He cringes – and sneezes again. He turns to face Washijou hesitantly, barely suppressing another sneeze. “Yes, Coach?”

Washijou glares at him, and he tries, he really does, but he ends up sneezing again, hard enough that his eyes water.

By the time he stops sneezing – or not, he can feel yet another one coming on – he sees that he has turned away, and there are hands on his shoulders, guiding him off court.

He doesn’t – can’t look to see who it is, but he gratefully takes the tissue pressed into his hands, covering his nose and mouth with it and trying to regain his breath.

A towel is draped over his head, and he glances up through its folds.

Semi raises an eyebrow at him, and he manages to form half a scowl before he starts sneezing again.

“Okay, we’re going to the nurse. Coach is right.” The ash blond grumbles as he pulls Shirabu after him, and he doesn’t even have the energy to point out that it’s Semi’s fault that he’s sick.

(He thinks they got excused from practice.)

(Hallelujah, because he can’t breathe anymore.)

The nurse’s office is empty save for them, and after giving him several packets of tissues, some medication and reminding him to drink lots of water, they are sent off. Semi insists on walking him back to the dorm, and he doesn’t protest.

(He is making him hold all the packets of tissue, anyway.)

Semi doesn’t say a single word as they walk back, and Shirabu can’t muster enough energy to make a snarky remark. It makes him feel weird, as if something is missing, but his head is pounding badly enough that he couldn’t care less.

He does not realise what is happening until it’s halfway done – his shirt pulled off him, and a new one forced on. “What-?”

“Don’t argue, just finish changing your clothes and go to bed.”

It takes all of his energy to protest, “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“Yes, I do.” The towel is put back on his head, his hair ruffled aggressively as he tries to rub the water out of it. “It’s my fault you’re sick.”

It takes a few moments to register that, and he manages a short laugh before he starts sneezing again. He takes the tissue offered, blowing his nose loudly.

Semi sighs above him. “I am sorry for making you sick.”

“Oh, of course.”

“Don’t make me regret being nice to you,” Semi threatens, rubbing his hair more ferociously. “You’ve been a lot less rude since the spray bottle, and it’d be nice if you could keep it that way.”

“That’s your fault,” Shirabu whines around the tissue. “I’m not ready to lose my spot on the team for killing you.”

He flinches away, expecting a spray of water, but getting a hard tug on his hair instead.

Oh, right. The bottle is in the gym.

A packet of tissue is thrown onto his lap, and his hair is ruffled more gently. His head hurts enough that he leans into the soothing sensation.

“Here. Take the pills and go to sleep.”

He is rudely jolted by a bottle shoved into his hand, his other palm cupping a few pills. He briefly wonders where the tissue has gone, but swallows the pills obediently and passes the bottle to the waiting hand.

Then he is being pushed onto the bed, a blanket thrown over him, and a box of tissue placed next to his head.

He blinks blearily at the box, but his head is heavy and his nose is too clogged for more comprehensive thoughts.

Oh. Semi’s glaring at him.

“Do not move,” he enunciates slowly, “From this bed. I’ll come check on you after practice.”

He thinks he wrinkles his nose, he isn’t sure, but then Semi’s snorting and flicking his forehead. “Brat.”

It sounds almost affectionate, and it makes him want to stick his tongue out at his retreating back.

The room is quiet after he leaves, punctuated only by the wheezing caused by his blocked nose. It’s difficult to fall asleep, but one advantage of this arrangement, he finds, is that he is no longer being assaulted by the spray bottle.

(Small victories, one at a time.)

(Some other day, he’ll get rid of that bottle for good.)

[wellhellsbelles]

down the hall

okay, so by determination and sheer force of will, yours truly was finally able to bust out a short fic for riarkle once again!!!! this one had been sitting in my documents for a while, partially finished, so i’m glad i was able to pull myself out of my writer’s block for this. :)

anyway, here’s the link for it on ao3 if you’re into that sort of website (the au has a little real-life backstory to it at the beginning if you’d wanna see that)

enjoy!

//

She meets him one night while she’s holing herself up inside the lounge on their floor, trying desperately to escape the noise of the annoying freshmen echoing throughout the hall.

//

Riley’s a transfer student. She took a smart route (at least, that’s what everybody’s told her and that her student debt has convinced her) by going to a community college for the first couple of years after graduating high school. She gets an Associate’s degree in art and then pops over to the university, deciding to live in the dorms for at least one year to get that good ol’ college experience she missed out on earlier.

But man, is it crazy.

Her college doesn’t do a good job at splitting the transfers up from the freshmen in the dorms, so she and a few other unlucky souls get caught up in sharing a floor with a bunch of teens who are being released from their “oppressive overlords” (aka kind, generous parents) for the first time.

These kids don’t seem to understand that they are officially on their own now, and that the outside trashcans behind the dorms exist for a reason. Riley talks shit about them with her roommate, Maya, whenever she gets the chance, but most of the time, much to Riley’s chagrin, Maya is off somewhere else to complete a plethora of art projects for her BA in Studio Art.

So Riley’s left by herself most weekends to deal with the onslaught of hyped-up still-teenagers that are bouncing off the wall and partying whenever they get a chance.

It’s not that bad, really, though; at least, not as bad as she makes it seem. Some of the other students are nice and respect the floor rules, and retain the manners their parents spent years teaching them. But when it does get unbearable, she escapes to the lounge before any of them can, claiming the room so that she can watch shows on Netflix to drown out the noise surrounding her. It serves to be a great plan, except until someone crashes in on her plans one night, taking over her time in the lounge.

He's one of the few transfers on their floor, she remembers him mentioning he was a transfer, along with joining her and the other transfer in liberating themselves from the freshmen group they were forced into (they aren’t freshmen!!!) He seemed like a nice guy, but obviously he doesn’t respect boundaries and her lounge time.

“Um, excuse me,” she announces her presence, tapping him on the shoulder slightly with her index finger. The boy (she thinks his name is ‘Farrel’, at least, that’s what his door tag says) looks up briefly from the huge textbook in his lap to give her a once over, his eyebrow arching on his forehead.

“Yes?”

Riley can tell right away he’s the analytical kind, probably verging on nerd territory. Don’t get her wrong, she’s certainly one herself, too. It takes one to know one after all.

“I kind of use the space at this time of night . . .” she trails, trying her best to remain amicable.

She’s not one to get all irrational and angry right away, not over something as trivial as a nonexistent ‘claimed’ Riley-time in the lounge, but she feels as though she ought to fight for it a bit. It is her only real source of sanctuary, and she intends to keep it that way, especially because this time had been honored by the other rowdy kids on the floor up until now.

“Well, there’s plenty of room for the both of us. I don’t see why we can’t both sit in here,” he says with a shrug. “There’s a couple of armchairs and a table still open over there.”

Strike one—she doesn’t need some smug asshole pointing out things to her like she’s some sort of simpleton. Riley is no man’s philistine.

“Okay, but I just want to be alone in here for a little bit. Would you mind moving out? I promise I’ll be gone in a couple of hours.” She’s not being ridiculous, she promises.

“I’m just going to be sitting in here reading my textbook. I don’t understand why we can’t both just sit in here. It’s not like this couch has your name on it.”

Oh, okay. Definitely a strike two if he’s gonna sass her up.

“Really? Last time I checked it did, right on the tag on the side here,” Riley points to the arm of the couch where the tag is sticking out. The boy remains intrigued, settling his textbook to the side so he can check out if what she’s saying is true.

Oldest trick in the book.

While he investigates the tag, Riley takes the opportunity to steal his spot in the middle of the couch, moving his textbook to the floor and replacing the empty spot beside her with her laptop. The boy flashes his eyes back up, quickly becoming unamused at Riley’s usurpation of power.

“Uh huh. I see how it is. You know, I could easily go get our RA—” Strike three. Her eyes widen and she begins flailing her arms around.

“Please don’t!”

“And tell her that you’re not sharing the lounge at all, which as I recall we all deemed this a “community space”, which translates roughly to “not just yours”,” he says, his arms crossed as he looks down at her impatiently. Riley remains still for a long moment, the two of them just staring the other down, but then—

“Ow!!! What the heck?!”

She throws a pillow at him.

Overall, not her smartest move, but she’s not about to let him win without a proper fight. Why not with pillows?

“En garde!” Riley exclaims, pointing another pillow at him.

“This is how you want to settle this?” he asks, incredulous. She nods.

“This is the only way to settle our dispute. Now en garde!” Riley slaps him on the arm with her pillow, disorienting him once again. He eyes her warily but picks up the other fallen pillow at his feet, steadying himself into a proper fighting stance.

“So whoever wins gets the room for the week—”

“Night,” Riley corrects. The guy shakes his head.

“Nuh-uh. Definitely the week after all this toil you’ve put me through. I was just having a nice quiet evening until you started shrieking at me that this was your couch and then began accosting me with pillows. I deserve a week for this.”

“Fiiiiiine,” Riley groans, acquiescing despite that not being a favorable outcome for her. Fair is fair, after all.

“Okay, then. Bring it.”

Riley does bring her best. She really does. But this guy is obviously skilled in the art of pillow warfare. He disarms her after three tries, and Riley gawks at her pillow lying in the enemy’s arms with disdain.

“How?” she asks, pointing at the stolen pillow. He shrugs.

“I’ll admit, it’s not the first time someone’s made me engage in this brand of war. I’ve got experience.”

“So you cheated,” Riley says blankly, her nostrils flaring a bit. He raises a brow at her.

“How can I cheat if you’re the one who challenged me to a duel in the first place?”

“Sounds like something a cheater would say,” she crosses her arms, her nose pointed to the air.

“Sounds like something a sore loser would say,” he fires back, his sea-blue eyes trained on hers.

“I’m not a sore loser! You’re the stupid person who stole my spot in the lounge, Farrel,” she jests back, only to earn a blank stare from him, a complete 180° from how he was acting before.

“What did you just call me?” he asks.

“Farrel. That’s your name, isn’t it?” He places a palm upon his forehead, snorting.

“No, it’s Farkle.” Riley makes a pft sound, her face curling in disbelief.

“Uh, no, it’s definitely Farrel. I’ve passed by your door like, a billion times! The name tag clearly says ‘Farrel’.”

“I think I know my own name, Riley,” he tells her. “But here, let’s take a little fieldtrip to clear some things up.”

He grabs onto her wrist and pulls the door open to exit the lounge, veering left immediately after they leave the room. After passing a couple of doors down they stop in front of the worn, wooden door, his fingers releasing her wrist so that he can point at the tag on the door.

“See? Right here, in plain letters. It spells ‘Farkle’. F-A-R-K-L-E.”

“Well, it’s kind of a weird name. Can you blame me for thinking it was something else?” Riley asks. Farkle gives her a look of disdain, his lips thinning.

“And ‘Farrel’ was normal?” She shrugs.

“It was to me.” Riley gazes at him a moment only to catch the slow curl of his mouth, a hint of amusement playing at his lips. Eventually, he starts busting out laughing, his hand gripping his stomach from the fit he’s in, and after a few seconds later, Riley finds herself cackling beside him, his laughter infectious.

After it dies down a minute or so later, Riley can’t find it in herself to be mad at him anymore.

On the contrary, she quite likes his presence. Farkle seems to mirror the same sentiments, because he blurts out,

“Wanna watch Netflix with me?”

Riley blushes a little at the implications of it, but she doesn’t really seem to mind it too much. She likes Farkle a lot, and she’d really love to spend more time with him. Besides, as a transfer student, she hasn’t met a lot of people yet, and hanging out with Farkle would add to her (hopefully) ever-growing friend list.

“Why not? I suppose the lounge is big enough for the two of us,” she smiles, nudging her shoulder into his playfully. Farkle smirks back, following alongside her as they walk back into the lounge, closing the door behind them so that they can share the comfort of the lounge together. Farkle plops down on the couch and Riley follows suit, waiting for him to open up his laptop so that they can start watching whatever their hearts desire.

Well, what Riley’s heart desires, at least. He lets her pick what she wants to watch (after bickering about it for several minutes until he gives), and she decides on The X-Files. While he cues it up, Riley disappears from the room briefly to pop some popcorn, turning off the lights once she’s returned to the room so they can get the full theater effect.

And as the show starts, maybe they slide closer together. And, just maybe, Riley curls up against Farkle’s side for comfort.

What really ends up making the night is Farkle’s constant smartass commentary.

“See, that’s just not believable,” he says in the middle of their third episode, munching away at the handful of popcorn he’s grabbed. Riley smacks him on the arm lightly, pursing her lips.

“Just shut up and watch the show, Farkle,” she hisses at him. As she leans back against him, the corners of his mouth tug upward, his cheek pressing against the crown of her head.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he says quietly.

Riley thinks this might be the start of a beautiful friendship.

And who knows? Maybe he’ll be the Mulder to her Scully.

She wouldn’t mind that at all.

Not one bit.

And when it doesn't even bother her when the giddy screams of the freshmen on her floor echo throughout the hall, she knows she made the right choice.

[wfitvacations]

Digital detox retreats don’t work, but here’s why you should hike unplugged

Escaping digital life isn’t healthy, research says

While it seems like the healthiest of ideas to unplug from electronics for a week or more, the reality is, it’s pretty stressful. Time goes faster than ever these days, and you’ve got obligations and stuff to reply to. Right?

Hi, I’m Cat, I’m the owner of West Coast Fitness Vacations, a wellness retreat in B.C., Canada that specializes in outdoor fitness and weight loss. Our health retreat is modern, results focused and setup for today’s woman whose juggling 97 things at the same time.

In this article: 

Why digital detoxes are stupid

What the heck is a digital cleanse?

The better solution for digital detox retreats

Finding the unplugged balance

Some apps to help you be healthier with usage

Being without your phone is a luxury these days, which is why, as a luxury fitness retreat, we invite our guests to do just that – but only during program hours. As we disconnect digitally, we reconnect with our self, people, nature, and the world in front of us.

VANCOUVER ISLAND RESIDENTIAL WEIGHT LOSS CAMP (BIGGEST LOSER STYLE) – 1-4 MONTHS

Whistler Fitness Vacations takes guests on this gorgeous hiking trail, Half Note on Whistler Mountain.

Life Hacker agrees – unplugging simply doesn’t work.

In this awesome article they say:

During the food/juice type of detox, the allure is that you’ll feel so great you won’t even miss the junk food; you’ll eat cucumbers for breakfast every day for the rest of your life now that you’ve pushed the reset button. But there’s no equivalent way to return from a digital detox. You can turn off most of your notifications, and get in the habit of putting your phone down more often, but it’s not like you can actually live a phone-free life.

QUICK NOTE: 1/ The title of this blog says to hike unplugged, but definitely bring your phone on hikes for safety. Oh, and hike within the cell range, always. There’s nothing glamorous about falling down a hill onto a logging road, only to discover you’ve sprained your ankle really badly (and can’t call anyone to pick you up). 2/ The research that says digital detoxes aren’t healthy is here and here 🙂 

Digital detoxes are as stupid as juice fasts

I firmly believe that going completely offline is nothing less than anxiety inducing.

My program is setup to be a part-time digital detox that supports participants in developing a healthier relationship with their mobile devices. Phones are not the enemy, and just like yo-yo dieting, extreme rules from other wellness retreats to ‘unplug to reconnect’ is, in my opinion, promoting extreme behavior.

READ: Digital detoxing is the tech equivalent of a juice cleanse—and neither of them work

I’m proud to promote balance. Balance and harmony without the extremes… that’s how I roll. Just like I won’t tell a weight loss retreat client to ‘never eat chocolate’ I wouldn’t enforce a ‘never have your phone’ policy in Whistler. It just doesn’t make sense, and frankly, I don’t know what the digital detox retreats all over the internet are thinking.

Promoting all or nothing behavior is setting up for an unsustainable relationship with technology. And this is likely to trickle over into all-or-nothing diet or exercise mentality. I’m not buying the benefits of digital detox retreats, bottom line.

7 GREAT REASONS WHY A WELLNESS STAYCATION IN CANADA IS MORE ENTICING (THAN EVER)

How our fitness vacations unplug in Whistler

Many of our customers choose a weight loss retreat with us partly because of the digital detox component during scheduled program hours. It’s nice to go on a hike where the other participants aren’t ‘on the scroll’ while walking over rocks, or chatting on their phone. Sometimes you can feel like you’re between everyones conversation with other people on group travel, and it’s hard to find the right moment to jump in and get to know them.

Besides the anti-social factor, it’s also a safety precaution that we request customers not to use ear buds for any reason – even for music. This is because the guides might need to shout out to them at anytime, whether it be wildlife, fallen rocks, or a crew of fast bikers coming in less than 2 seconds.

How it works is from the morning start (9am) until lunchtime (11.30am) your phones are on flight mode, unless you’ve got an emergency that you’re monitoring. I mean let’s face it, if you’re waiting for news from your fathers oncologist, you’re not going to enjoy the hike being blocked from the news.

At lunch you can – of course – session on your phone, and then from 12-2pm it’s digital detox time again. Then from 2pm onwards, it’s all yours to do as you please. You are, after all, an adult.

So what about photos?

We’re one of the few weight loss retreats in Canada where the fitness guides leading your day also double up as photographers. I provide staff with iphones for this task. Nearly all the images on this site were taken by our guides. They’re not professional grade, but definitely good enough for you to leave the photos to us.

We airdrop every week, or everyday if you want – it’s nice to have group photos of the best view points from your day. Of course, if there’s a special photo or view that you’d like to take with your own phone, you can – but only occasionally.

There’s also no cameras allowed during program hours because we’re a fitness retreat and the guided cardio adventures are required to keep a training pace. If we stop infrequently throughout the trails for various guests to take photos of choosing, then it turns more into a leisurely tourism tour. Can’t have that!

My phone was on flight mode while traveling through Bolivia. I didn’t pay data, and could connect whenever there was wifi for facetime etc.

I’ve been unplugged on my travels, and it really bugged me.

I’m not addicted to my phone, but I do enjoy being a good daughter, partner, friend and human. If someone wants to get hold of me, its 2020 and they damn well should be able to, no matter where I am in the world. I want to be that person for them. After a while when people drop off the response game, the out-reacher stops outreaching. I don’t want ‘my people’ to wonder if I’ll be there for them.

Unplug from technology and swap virtual tweets for the sound of real birdsong – even for one hike. You’ll find a restored sense of wellness.

With many of us spending the majority of our day scrolling down our smart phones or responding to emails, it is difficult to fully switch off and relax. This over-exposure to technology can leave us feeling disconnected to the present. This can lead to feeling stressed and overwhelmed; affecting sleep, focus and even our relationships with others.

I think that telling someone not to do something is a surefire way to make them want to do the opposite. I’ve always found the straight up digital detox retreats quite limiting, especially if you’re there for a few weeks.

Finding your highlight reel

Giving yourself the gift of an outdoor fitness vacation is saying YES to reconnecting with your healthier, happier self. Whistler Fitness Vacations is one of the many personal coaching retreats with outdoor fitness activity that’s also supported with personal development. Our life coach led workshops guide you towards clearing your mind and thinking more holistically.

You’re surrounded by incredible scenery – why not put your phone down and look up? Be in the moment, rather than watching others instagram stories and highlight reel. Embrace your own highlight reel and you’ll return home not only fitter, but also rejuvenated mentally. Experiencing the world at a slower pace, leaving behind the virtual, is nothing short of liberating!

DID YOU KNOW THAT YOU CAN LIVE AT A WEIGHT LOSS RESORT FOR 2-6 MONTHS?

What is a digital cleanse?

A digital cleanse helps us detox bad tech habits that infringe on our lives so we can regain more presence. Did you know that Americans spend up to 11 hours a day looking at screens and gadgets like the computer, cell phone, TV and video games? – Ashley Stern

Fit getaways are the perfect time to move your focus towards your fitness, away from your phone. Schedule unplugging – you don’t need to go completely off grid. Just give yourself a few boundaries, start slow such as going to the bathroom without your phone, or a workout. Log-off 60 minutes before bed, buy an old school battery powered alarm clock so you can go tech free in the bedroom.

Minimize social media, finish the conversations you’re having on various threads and don’t post any new ones before you step away. If you post and ghost, there’ll be more pull drawing you back into the phone before you’re ready. It’s refreshing to interact with the world around you in real time, which is basically the draw of digital detox retreats.

Not a phone in sight! Whistler Fitness Vacations strength training sessions, with full focus 🙂

Unplug for an afternoon, to experience a slower pace

Get back to nature with a hike through the landscape or explore the coast by kayak on excursions that will surely thrill your senses. Whistler Fitness Vacations is a restorative trip that includes all kinds of outdoor activity; hiking, biking, kayaking and fitness classes.

You’ll become a great cook, and have soulful discussions with the other guests – if you’re open to it. But not if you’re on your cell phone, without letting an email or text pass you by, always having half conversations until the next ping.

Giving yourself permission to switch off and be unavailable for 6-8 hours per day is a challenge for some, but so worth it. It’s such a gift to give yourself, the ability to switch off so that your mind can be calm.

Letting go of your digital addiction will infinitely support healing from adrenal burnout, and poor sleep. When switching off, you’ll get into the pattern of improved emotional balance. You might also reevaluate your relationship with digital phones, ipads and computers.

DID YOU KNOW THAT YOU CAN LIVE AT A WEIGHT LOSS RESORT FOR 2-6 MONTHS?

Get to know the other guests at Whistler Fitness Vacations – we unplug only during program hours.

Digital detox retreats make you want to binge

Binge on your phone that is. Going without your phone cold turkey is equivalent in human behaviour to going on a nasty juice fast. As soon as you leave the unplugged retreat, you’re overwhelmed with 200+ messages and notifications, with even more pressure to catch up.

Fad dieting and fasts don’t create life long change, and nor does abstinence from your phone. That’s why Whistler Fitness Vacations is so different with the space we create for our guests.

They have the freedom to use their phone before 8am and after 2pm… and at noon. In turn, they gain deepened sense of self without the pressures of digital life.

For those addicted to social media, they’re reminded how likeable they are in person, not just online. Social skills are also boosted, and insight is gained on how to stay grounded with your phone usage.

WEST COAST FITNESS VACATIONS – OUR SAFETY PLAN FOR REOPENING

As the owner of West Coast Fitness Vacations, I’m reachable pretty much anytime. Click here to get in touch!

Plugging into life

Your phone is toxic to your relationships. You should put it down. Turn it off often. Agreed? So how come you haven’t done it? Yeah. Me neither. – Denise Brodey

At one point, not too long ago, I’d catch every.single.notification. I felt owned by pings, and judged by silence. One by one as they rolled in, jumping to (pretty much obey my phone) like a dog not wanting to miss a cookie opportunity. 

And in my quiet times I noticed that this world of screen everything, human experiences in my day were starting to feel like a luxury. (I think there’s a lot of us who feel that way).

Balance is the goal, not abstinence – digital detox retreats can teach us that, if setup the right way.

In the end, it’s all about human connection. Digital and physical, they’re both important.

SUMMARY

Career goals include real words, human handshakes, your business network saying your name on the phone, a customer call that ends in gratitude.

We don’t need to join digital detox retreats to find a healthy relationship with technology.

We have powerful influencers like Thrive Global (engaging us through the screen ironically) to have less screen time. They promote a life less digital in a fresh and cool way.

Research is conclusive that phone addition is really a thing. People are taking note of that. Here are 7 scary things you didn’t know about cell phone addiction.

It’s becoming socially unacceptable to be on your phone when face-to-face with someone who is talking with you. Need help? There’s an app for that.

Everyone knows not to sleep with your phone, or have that dreaded neon light in bed. Here’s what the studies say.

Today’s a great day to go for a hike in the forest, with your phone turned off until you need it. If you feel like you’re on your phone too much, activate screen time. That’s a tracker that lets you know how much time you spend each day. Strive to find balanced, healthy ways to manage your technology, similar to what you do with your diet and exercise.

The post Digital detox retreats don’t work, but here’s why you should hike unplugged appeared first on West Coast Fitness Vacations.

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Girl Quotes

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• A beautiful girl can make you dizzy, like you’ve been drinking Jack and Coke all morning. She can make you feel high full of the single greatest commodity known to man – promise. Promise of a better day. Promise of a greater hope. Promise of a new tomorrow. This particular aura can be found in the gait of a beautiful girl. In her smile, in her soul, the way she makes every rotten little thing about life seem like it’s going to be okay. – Michael Rapaport • A gifted small girl has explained that pins are a great means of saving life, “by not swallowing them. – Charles Edward Montague • A girl can wait for the right man to come along but in the meantime that still doesn’t mean she can’t have a wonderful time with all the wrong ones. – Cher • A girl conceived in China has to run an eerie kind of gauntlet if she is to survive. many parents will use the ultrasound technique. and, if it reveals. a girl, they’ll abort her. If it reveals the baby is a boy, they’ll celebrate. – Steven W. Mosher • A girl should be two things: classy and fabulous. – Coco Chanel • A girl with brains ought to do something with them besides think. – Anita Loos • A guy and a girl can be just friends, but at one point or another, they will fall for each other… maybe temporarily, maybe at the wrong time, maybe too late, or maybe forever. – Dave Matthews • A liberal is a person who sees a fourteen-year-old girl performing sex acts onstage and wonders if she’s being paid minimum wage. – Irving Kristol • A toddling little girl is a centre of common feeling which makes the most dissimilar people understand each other. – George Eliot • A wise girl knows her limits, a smart girl knows that she has none. – Marilyn Monroe • Alas for those girls who’ve refused the truth: The sweetest tongue has the sharpest tooth. – Jack Zipes • All girls should have a poem written for them even if we have to turn this goddamn world upside down to do it. – Richard Brautigan • All little girls should be told they are pretty. – Marilyn Monroe • Always been a goal-oriented girl. it was both her strength and her weakness. She had a drive to completion that always gets things done, but it also made her inflexible, and stubborn. – Neal Shusterman • Always know that if you’re not happy with yourself, no one else can change that, no girl or guy, no amount of money; only yourself. – Shannon Leto • Always take a compliment, Caroline. Always take it for the way it was intended. You girls are always so quick to twist what others say. Simply say thank you and move on. – Alice Clayton • Any girl can be glamorous. All you have to do is stand still and look stupid. – Hedy Lamarr • Any man who can drive safely while kissing a pretty girl is simply not giving the kiss the attention it deserves. – Albert Einstein • As Deborah Rhode describes, “When 1,100 Michigan elementary students were asked to describe what life would be like if they were the opposite sex, over 40 percent of the girls saw advantages to being male; they would have better jobs, higher incomes, and more respect. Ninety-five percent of the boys saw no advantage to being female, and a substantial number thought suicide would be preferable.” – Deborah Rhode • At a recent show, I looked out and I saw this girl crying in the audience and it really affected me. I wanted to stop the song and go and give her a hug. I should have, actually – I regret not doing that. – Elena Tonra • At the fourth grade level, girls at the same percentages of boys say they’re interested in careers in engineering or math or astrophysics, but by eighth grade that has dropped precipitously. – Chelsea Clinton

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'Girl+', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '68', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_girl').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_girl img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); ); • Basically, anything a sexual predator might do to woo a small suburban girl, I was trying. – Lena Dunham • Be that strong girl that everyone knew would make it through the worst, be that fearless girl, the one who would dare to do anything, be that independent girl who didn’t need a man; be that girl who never backed down. – Taylor Swift • Before marriage, a girl has to make love to a man to hold him. After marriage, she has to hold him to make love to him. – Marilyn Monroe • Between the ages of fourteen and twenty-four, foreplay changes from being something that boys want to do and girls don’t, to something that women want and men can’t be bothered with. … The perfect match, if you ask me, is between the Cosmo woman and the fourteen-year old boy. – Nick Hornby • Big girls need big diamonds. – Elizabeth Taylor • Boys think girls are like books, If the cover doesn’t catch their eye they won’t bother to read what’s inside”. – Marilyn Monroe • Boys will be boys. And even that wouldn’t matter if only we could prevent girls from being girls. – Anne Frank • But I am a girl with a keen interest in having it all, and what follows are hopeful dispatches from the frontlines of that struggle. – Lena Dunham • But I’ve always been fascinated with that prettiest-girl-in-the-class person that I never was, getting inside her head and showing that she’s just as tormented and messed up as everybody else. – Cecily von Ziegesar • Byrd, the former Klu [sic] Klux Klan Kleagle, is taking a stand over states’ rights, or his rights over State, or some such. Whatever the reason, the sight of an old Klansman blocking a little colored girl from Birmingham from getting into her office contributed to the general retro vibe that hangs around the Democratic Party these days. – Mark Steyn

[clickbank-storefront-bestselling] • Diamonds aren’t a girl’s best friend. Freedom is. – Camille Grammer • Due to the potent combination of my sexual recklessness and the slutty nature of some of the girls I have slept with, I have accumulated enough stories and anecdotes about abortion that they could name a Planned Parenthood clinic after me. – Tucker Max • Eating has always come up whenever and wherever. Maybe it’s because we’re girls, we have a lot of interest in eating. – Kim Hyo-yeon • Even today, well-brought-up English girls are taught by their mothers to boil all veggies for at least a month and a half, just in case one of the dinner guests turns up without his teeth. – Calvin Trillin • Every girl is a goddess. – Francesca Lia Block • Every girl likes feeling hot and sexy and beautiful and likes hearing it. – Hayden Panettiere • Every girl should use what Mother Nature gave her before Father Time takes it away. – Laurence J. Peter • Every girl wants to be the one girl that can change that guy – Lauren Conrad • Everyone fixes up their face if it’s not ideal, you know? That’s because of the race-mixing. For example, a Russian marries an Armenian. They have a kid, a cute girl, but she has her dad’s nose. She goes and files it down a little, and it’s all good. Ethnicities are mixing now, so there’s degeneration, and it didn’t used to be like that. Remember how many beautiful women there were in the 1950s and 1960s, without any surgery? And now, thanks to degeneration, we have this. – Valeria Lukyanova • Everything here is so weak, little girl. Everything breaks so easily. They want such simple things. – Neil Gaiman • Fun is fun but no girl wants to laugh all of the time. – Anita Loos • Girl with the burning golden eyes, And red-bird song, and snowy throat: I bring you gold and silver moons, And diamond stars, and mists that float. I bring you moons and snowy clouds, I bring you prarie skies to-night To feebly praise your golden eyes And red-bird song, and throat so white. ~Vachel Lindsay “To Gloriana” God wrote His loveliest poem on the day He made the first silver poplar tree, And set it high upon a pale-gold hill For all the new enchanted earth to see. – Grace Noll Crowell • Girl, when he gives you kisses twain, use one, and let the other stay; And hoard it, for moons die, red fades, and you may need a kiss—some day. – Ridgely Torrence • Girls are like exotic birds. They are pretty to look at but hard to catch. – Howie Dorough • Girls are so queer you never know what they mean. They say No when they mean Yes, and drive a man out of his wits for the fun of it. – Louisa May Alcott • Girls are trained to say, ‘I wrote this, but it’s probably really stupid.’ Well, no, you wouldn’t write a novel if you thought it was really stupid. Men are much more comfortable going, ‘I wrote this book because I have a unique perspective that the world needs to hear.’ Girls are taught from the age of seven that if you get a compliment, you don’t go, ‘Thank you’, you go, ‘No, you’re insane. – Lena Dunham • Girls aren’t beautiful, they’re pretty. Beautiful is too heavy a word to assign to a girl. Women are beautiful because their faces show that they know they have lost something and picked up something else. – Henry Rollins • Girls blush, sometimes, because they are alive, half wishing they were dead to save the shame. The sudden blush devours them, neck and brow; They have drawn too near the fire of life, like gnats, and flare up bodily, wings and all. What then? Who’s sorry for a gnat or girl? – Elizabeth Barrett Browning • Girls have a way of knowing or feeling what you feel, but they usually like to hear it also. – John Steinbeck • Girls have an unfair advantage over men: if they can’t get what they want by being smart, they can get it by being dumb. – Yul Brynner • Girls like to be played with and rumpled a little too sometimes. – Oliver Goldsmith • Girls like to see girls dressed up like princesses occasionally. – Nelly • Girls see these defined roles they’re supposed to follow in life, but when I was a young child, my parents told me I could be anything. – Joan Jett • Girls should go on thinking that there is a world out there and that it is theirs for the taking. – Anne Bancroft • Girls are like buses, miss one, next fifteen, one comin. – Gucci Mane • Girls. You never know what they’re going to think. – J. D. Salinger • Give me a girl at an impressionable age and she is mine for life. – Muriel Spark • God forbid you be an ugly girl, ‘course too pretty is also your doom, ’cause everyone harbors a secret hatred for the prettiest girl in the room. – Ani DiFranco • Growing up, I wanted desperately to please, to be a good girl. – Claire Danes • Hannah expected this to make her sob even more, but instead she found her tears drying up and her tummy growing warm. How dare they? How dare they do this to little girls? She understood now why her parents go so angry when they saw the result of bombers in the white hot streets of the Middle East, why men and women wailed in anger as well as grief as they lifted the limp bodies of children from the rubble. How dare they? No, she wasn’t going to die like this, wrapped up like some helpless baby. – Stephen M. Irwin • Harder is Better! Post work out! Foot in the Ice Bath. A girl has to make a living! #hardcandytoronto. #addictedtosweat – Madonna Ciccone • Have you heard about the morning after pill, or what I like to call breakfast in bed. Well have you heard about how some of the girls who have taken have died a few days later? Talk about two birds, looks like I will be going to the game this weekend boys. – Daniel Tosh • Honestly if a girl’s wearing, like, a Gucci shirt with a Gucci belt and a purse and a visor, that’s not cute at all. You can’t get away with that – with me – but you can always sprinkle it in there with your own stuff and it’s all good. – Kreayshawn • How long do small girls play with their dolls? As long as they are not married and do not live with their husbands. After marriage they put the dolls away in a box. What further need is there of worshipping the image after the vision of God? – Ramakrishna • How long is a girl a child? She is a child, and then one morning you wake up she’s a woman, and a dozen different people of whom you recognize none. – Louis L’Amour • I abstain from any kind of release for six weeks before a fight, no self-pleasure, nothing. Even in my dreams, I’ll be about to have sex with a beautiful girl and I’ll say, ‘Sorry darling, I’m fighting in a few weeks.’ That’s control, bro, when you’re turning down a hot chick in your subconscious. – David Haye • I always see guys get all, like, flexed on other people, trying to show off that they are tough, and it is just, like, no girl really likes that. – Kreayshawn • I always tell my mom I don’t have regular problems. I have problems, like, what type of girl is going to say they’re pregnant by me today? Those are the types of issues I have. – Fetty Wap • I am an artsy girl. It’s no secret that I am artsy, you know. – Kreayshawn • I avoid the young adult section altogether if possible, although it’s sometimes fun to catch a girl lying on the floor, reading “Gossip Girl.” – Cecily von Ziegesar • I basically became a cheerleader because I had a very strict mom. That was my way of being a bad girl. – Sandra Bullock • I could not lose unless I was caught in bed with a dead girl or a live boy. – Edwin Edwards • I did find a wonderful girl last year, but the photographs that we did were more about motorcars. – Helmut Newton • I don’t get it when girls say ‘I’m fine’ but don’t mean it. – Conor Maynard • I don’t like that sort of school… where the bright childish imagination is utterly discouraged… where I have never seen among the pupils, whether boys or girls, anything but little parrots and small calculating machines. – Charles Dickens • I don’t want to be one of those people who falls out of cabs drunk. But I don’t want to be known as some boring girl who just sits at home and doesn’t do anything. – Pixie Lott • I don’t want to be remembered as the girl who was shot. I want to be remembered as the girl who stood up. – Malala Yousafzai • I don’t want to be stinky poo poo girl, I want to be happy flower child. – Drew Barrymore • I doubt whether any girl would be satisfied with her lover’s mind if she knew the whole of it. – Anthony Trollope • I get some letters from girls that if their mothers knew what they were writing me in these letters, they’d get their butts whipped. – Rick James • I got started dancing because I knew it was one way to meet girls. – Gene Kelly • I hate dainty minds,’ answered Marjorie. ‘But a girl has to be dainty in person. If she looks like a million dollars she can talk about Russia, ping-pong, or the League of Nations and get away with it. – F. Scott Fitzgerald • I have never been a material girl. My father always told me never to love anything that cannot love you back. – Imelda Marcos • I have often been downcast, but never in despair; I regard our hiding as a dangerous adventure, romantic and interesting at the same time. In my diary I treat all the privations as amusing. I have made up my mind now to lead a different life from other girls and, later on, different from ordinary housewives. My start has been so very full of interest, and that is the sole reason why I have to laugh at the humorous side of the most dangerous moments. – Anne Frank • I have the same goal I’ve had ever since I was a girl: I want to rule the world. – Madonna Ciccone • I just don’t want to cozy up to the guy whose girl I have every intention of stealing. – Aprilynne Pike • I knew the men were probably terrible people who whistled at pretty girls, treated their wives like servants, and voted for Nixon every chance they got, but as far as I was concerned, they beat the hell out of a Volvo-load of liberals for hard work and good times. – James Crumley • I like Dancing of Indian girls more than my parents’ prayers . Because they dance with love and passion . But my parents just say their prayers because they got used to it . – Ali Shariati • I like the idea that I can talk to any teenage girls. You know, in a language that makes sense to them. – Louise Rennison • I like women, especially beautiful ones. If they have a good face and figure, I would much prefer to watch them being murdered than an ugly girl or man. – Dario Argento • I love a girl with a sense of humor. Someone who can make me laugh and that I can get along with and talk with and who is just sweet overall, inside and out. – Logan Henderson • I love to see a young girl go out and grab the world by the lapels. – Maya Angelou • I love you girl…to the moon and back. – Abbi Glines • I loved when my boyfriends would call me their Amazon girl. – Patti Hansen • I may be a man, but I fight like a girl. – Andy Cohen • I met eight great members. I really don’t think that anyone else could get along like how our nine girls get along so well. Because we’re girls, there can be a lot of jealousy going on. Thinking back on it now, I think I’m a kid who received a lot of good fortune. – Kim Hyo-yeon • I might get some more animals or something, but I’m done with the kids. I got a boy, I got a girl, and I got an older boy. I’m straight. – Jada Pinkett Smith • I never cheat unless you count the girls I cheat on – Drake • I pray to God I get inside a girl’s head one day and see what in the WORLD they are thinking. – A. J. McLean • I really can’t deny it, I am who I am. I’m pretty normal. I’m not that smooth type of girl. I run into things, I trip, I spill food. I say stupid things… I really don’t have it all together. – Katie Holmes • I think girls are the most beautiful when they become a mother. – Minzy • I think it’s important to make all women feel like they’re princesses, because every girl is a princess. I’m serious. – Justin Bieber • I try to not be too hard on myself regarding my diet. I’ve always been a workout-to-eat kind of a girl. I like to eat, to say the least. – Jennie Finch • I want girls to feel the confidence you get from being smart. – Danica McKellar • I want to make sure I’m with a girl that’s a good kisser, and that when I wake up, I have coffee and a cigarette. That’s all I really want out of life. That, and world domination. – Ryan Adams • I wanted to give young girls something positive to look up to…I wanted to give them their Blizzard of Aahhhs, Ski Movie or High Life, but done in a way that also shows the elegance, grace, community and style that is unique to women in the mountains. – Lynsey Dyer • I was about half in love with her by the time we sat down. That’s the thing about girls. Every time they do something pretty… you fall half in love with them, and then you never know where the hell you are. – J. D. Salinger • I was coming off of The O.C. and had very little interest in doing another teen drama. And then I got sent theGossip Girl book series, and I was like, ‘I might not be ready to leave high school after all.’ – Josh Schwartz • I was not a Southern California girl. I hated having my photograph taken. I felt shy and embarrassed around famous people. – Allegra Huston • I was so thrilled that I was having a girl, because I just am so girly myself, but I think the teenage years are going to be very interesting. – Sarah Dessen • I wish my mother had left me something about how she felt growing up. I wish my grandmother had done the same. I wanted my girls to know me. – Carol Burnett • I wrote the story myself. It’s all about a girl who lost her reputation but never missed it. – Mae West • I’m convinced that a world in which girls are educated is a safer, more stable, more prosperous place. – Barack Obama • I’m not a vomit in the club kinda girl. – Lady Gaga • I’d never really babysat. I feel like I’m Blair, or ‘Gossip Girl.’ A teenager, basically – and now suddenly I’m a mom? – Cecily von Ziegesar • If a girl looks swell when she meets you, who gives a damn if she’s late? Nobody. – J. D. Salinger • If a girl thinks she isn’t beautiful, I’m here to prove her wrong. – Kendall Schmidt • If I get married one day, or meet the girl I like, I’ll prepare 100m to 150m of candles, or maybe red carpet – Lee Donghae • If I had to give a definition of capitalism I would say: the process whereby American girls turn into American women. – Christopher Hampton • If I were a girl, I’d despair. The supply of good women far exceeds that of the men who deserve them. – Robert Graves • If the media is sending girls the message that their value lies in their bodies, this can only leave them feeling disempowered and distract them from making a difference and becoming leaders. – Jennifer Siebel Newsom • If we are to maximize the potential of young girls everywhere, we have to think, in this instance, literally outside the box. And the first step of doing that is to see the box for what it really is: A perfect, pretty PROBLEM. – David Trumble • If we’re going to reach a broader audience, we have to stop thinking about that audience strictly in terms of teenage boys or even teenage girls. We need to think about things that are relevant to normal humans and not just the geeks we used to be. – Warren Spector • If you can educate girls, you can change the world. – Cathie Black • If you can make a girl laugh, you can make her do anything. – Marilyn Monroe • If you invest in a girl or a woman, you are investing in everybody else. – Melinda Gates • I’m a cereal girl. I have always loved my cereal ever since I was a kid. – Rachel Stevens • I’m a Mommy’s Girl – the strongest influence in my young life was my mom. – Susie Bright • I’m a role model for lots of young girls. – Jennie Finch • I’m down to bleach my eyebrows again. I tell you what, though – that didn’t go down well with my boyfriend. Girls love it. Guys, not so into it. – Florence Welch • I’m into the girls fancying me and stuff, mad for it. – Liam Gallagher • I’m no expert on girls, but when one tries to pinch you four times, I’m pretty sure that’s flirting – Ransom Riggs • I’m not God but if I were God, ¾ of you would be girls, and the rest would be pizza and beer. – Axl Rose • I’m still chasing girls. I don’t remember what for, but I’m still chasing them. – Joe E. Lewis • I’m the girl who still believes prince charming exists somewhere out there. – Taylor Swift • I’m tired of playing little girls. I’m a woman now. I can’t run around forever being the Little Miss Fix It who bursts into song. I want to get out of Hollywood and get a fresh approach. – Deanna Durbin • I’m usually the sparkle in a closet full of conservative clothes. Either that or my customer has a closet full of my clothes and a few conservative suits from Calvin Klein. I think you’ve got to give a girl what’s missing from her closet. If something jazzy, tacky or sexy is what’s missing, I provide it. – Betsey Johnson • I’m weirdly flexible, so when I dance, I dance like a 17-year-old girl. – Michael Angarano • In America every woman has her set of girl-friends; some are cousins, the rest are gained at school. These form a permanent committee who sit on each other’s affairs, who come out together, marry and divorce together, and who end as those groups of bustling, heartless well-informed club-women who govern society. Against them the Couple of Ehepaar is helpless and Man in their eyes but a biological interlude. – Cyril Connolly • In my 20s I was going round seeing agents who were patronising because I was fat and a girl, which was a double whammy. I knew what it was to feel out-of-the-loop. – Victoria Wood • In school, I was the quietest girl ever! I had a lot of trouble in school. Kids were mean to me. – Cher Lloyd • Independent minded girls that are naked sounds like a great start to something. – Joshua Homme • It had never once occurred to me that the paper I wanted to work for would not want me. Certainly I never expected to be rejected solely because I was a girl! – Kathryn Tucker Windham • It’s all up to you, girls. You have to be strong. These are the days of post-women’s liberation. You have grown up by now and you have to take care of yourself. No one’s going to help you. – Kathy Acker • It’s like — I don’t know, sometimes it’s like chasing a pretty girl on the beach. And things I never thought I could do… I can do. – Ryan Adams • It’s not beauty but fine qualities, my girl, that keep a husband. – Euripides • It’s the good girls who keep diaries; the bad girls never have the time. – Tallulah Bankhead • It’s tough now to meet a girl who wants to hang out with you because she likes your personality – who hasn’t seen you on TV and is like, ‘Hey!’ – Shaun White • Ive always loved when girls carry their wallets as a clutch instead of a bag. – Alexander Wang • I’ve been looking for a girl like you – not you, but a girl like you. – Groucho Marx • Just watching a girl can give me the best reason to smile. Girls are something very special and you got to treat them that way. That’s why I always say don’t stare right at a chick. She’ll begin to fidget, wondering if her hair’s messed up or if her make-up is smeared. It’s kind of like going to an art gallery to see beautiful paintings. If you look at a painting just the right way, you get the most out of it! – Michael Jackson • Kissing babies and hugging fat girls. – Dave Bautista • Like every other girl in the world, my most embarrassing moment had to do with a guy completely turning me down. His loss! – Kelly Clarkson • Little girls, like butterflies, need no excuse. – Robert A. Heinlein • Many a man in love with a dimple makes the mistake of marrying the whole girl. – Stephen Leacock • Modern art is what happens when painters stop looking at girls and persuade themselves that they have a better idea. – John Ciardi • Modesty is invisibility… Never forget it. To be seen – to be seen – is to be… penetrated. What you must be girls, is impenetrable. – Margaret Atwood • More men than women like ‘Strangers With Candy’. Pretty girls don’t like the show. They don’t like to see an ugly lady. – Amy Sedaris • More than anything, acting helped me discover who I’m not. I’ve learned that I’m a girly girl, but not a prissy girl. – Debby Ryan • My mother was my Girl Scout leader, and George’s mother was his Cub Scout leader. In fact, that’s when some say her hair turned white. – Laura Bush • My real dream is to have a whole, like, buy a whole piece of land. Imagine, like, a long driveway. Like, a cul de sac-type street, with maybe, like, seven houses. Me be right here. Have my mom be able to be right here. My brother over here. My girl’s grandmother and family right here. Friends over there. That’s my real dream. – J. Cole • Nature makes boys and girls lovely to look upon so they can be tolerated until they acquire some sense. – M. William Phelps • Never call a girl fat, even if you’re joking. – Demi Lovato • Never love someone whom you think you need to mend – or who makes you feel like you should be mended. There are boys out there who look for shining girls; they will stand next to you and say quiet things in your ear that only you can hear and that will slowly drain the joy out of your heart. The books about vampires are true, baby. Drive a stake through their hearts and run away. – Caitlin Moran • No girl wants a secretly gay boyfriend, every dude wants a secretly gay girlfriend. – Joe Rogan • No legal ceremony–no election of the woman–no penalty for the perfidy of the man–no law to compel him to do his duty, no compensation for the poor woman who is turned adrift like the girl of the street, penniless, to sell herself on the best possible terms. This is Divine marriage, or Moses and the Bible lie; and this is Bible divorce–putting away! – Victoria Woodhull • No one ever told me I was pretty when I was a little girl. All little girls should be told they’re pretty, even if they aren’t. – Marilyn Monroe • No one knows how it is that with one glance a boy can break through into a girl’s heart. – Nancy Thayer • Nobody loves a fat girl, but oh how a fat girl can love. – Jim Croce • Only one girl has ever really wrapped my stomach into pretzels. She didn’t give me butterflies. She gave me pterodactyls I’m talking terrible internal bruising and the first time I kissed her was like the first time I saw fireworks, which was like the sky first kissing me in the eyeballs – George Watsky • Over 270 girls were kidnapped for going to school in Nigeria! They are still missing! I’M outraged and you should be too!! I’m supporting www.globalfundforwomen.org Join me and take a stand!!!!!!! #Bringbackourgirls #revolutionoflove – Madonna Ciccone • Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute and it seems like an hour. Sit with a pretty girl for an hour, and it seems like a minute. – Albert Einstein • Put yourself in Hamlet’s shoes. Suppose you were a prince, and you came back from college to discover that your uncle had murdered your father and married your mother, and you fell in love with a beautiful girl and mistakenly murdered her father, and then she went crazy and drowned herself. What would you do? Go back for a masters? – Art Buchwald • Sex is something I really don’t understand too hot. You never know where the hell you are. I keep making up these sex rules for myself, and then I break them right away. Last year I made a rule that I was going to quit horsing around with girls that, deep down, gave me a pain in the ass. I broke it, though, the same week I made it – the same night, as a matter of fact. – J. D. Salinger • She was a natural blonde, with delicate hands and feet, and in her youthful photographs one saw a girl with mocking eyes and a tragic smile, the course of whose life would conspire in time to transpose that pair of adjectives. – Michael Chabon • She’s the wild, feline, untamed part of you, your sexual alter ego and the opposite of the “good girl” or “little lady.” Some of us know her better than others do, but I would venture to guess that your erotic creature hasn’t seen nearly enough light of day. – Sheila Kelley • She’s the kind of girl who climbed the ladder of success wrong by wrong. – Mae West • Some guys like to undermine a girl’s self-esteem with little verbal jabs. Eventually it all adds up. One bee sting doesn’t hurt a horse, but enough bee stings can kill a horse. – Oliver Gaspirtz • Sometimes I see really skinny girls. They may look great, but…they’re not happy. Have a cupcake. – Kathy Wakile • Straight to the top, rooftop glows. With a hand full of girls and they all so foreign. Brain so poisoned, rainbows flowing. – The Weeknd • Take away the Big Bang and what has God done? Burned a bush and got a girl pregnant. Great, he’s a high school junior. – Stephen Colbert • The American girl makes a servant of her husband and then finds him contemptible for being a servant – John Steinbeck • The best accessories a girl can have are her closest friends. – Paris Hilton • The best thing a girl can be is a good wife and mother. It is a girl’s highest calling. I hope I am ready. – Nancy E. Turner • The cuter girls kinda went off from the older women because we’re younger, and we’re cuter, we’ve got better bodies, and for some reason that’s like a huge issue with older people. – Heidi • The emotional, sexual, and psychological stereotyping of females begins when the doctor says, ‘It’s a girl.’ – Shirley Chisholm • The girl has a funny way of romanticizing things. – Karen Russell • The girls show more skin these days, but I think, generally, they behave the same way as when I was growing up. – Cecily von Ziegesar • The jamaat was an almost silly mish-mash of people: Rude Dawud’s pork-pie hat poking up here, a jalab-and-turban there, Jehangir’s big Mohawk rising from a sea of kufis, Amazing Ayyub still with no shirt, girls scattered throughout – some in hejab, some not and Rabeya in punk-patched burqa doing her thing. But in its randomness it was gorgeous, reflecting an Islam I felt could not happen anywhere else … If Islam was to be saved, it would be saved by the crazy ones: Jehangir and Rabeya and Fasiq and Dawud and Ayyub and even Umar. – Michael Muhammad Knight • There are many facts within fiction. This captivating story provides invaluable insights into the childhood of a girl who has Asperger’s syndrome. Fiction allows the author to explore different perspectives and add poignancy to the experiences of sensory sensitivity and being bullied and teased of someone who has Asperger’s syndrome. The title Delightfully Different describes Asperger’s syndrome but also the qualities of this novel. – Tony Attwood • There are no good girls gone wrong – just bad girls found out. – Mae West • There are so many girls, and so few princes. – Liza Minnelli • There are two things that are more difficult than making an after-dinner speech: climbing a wall which is leaning toward you and kissing a girl who is leaning away from you. – Winston Churchill • There is a small window of opportunity for freckled girls to tan. – Jeffrey Eugenides • There is no shortage of evidence that when we support the fundamental freedoms of women and girls, they are able to realize their full potential to engage in, contribute to and benefit from sustainable development. In doing so, we will all reap the benefits; in our homes, throughout our communities, and across our nations. – Sam Kutesa • There is not one female comic who was beautiful as a little girl. – Joan Rivers • There was a little girl, When she was good, she was very, very good. But when she was bad, she was horrid. – Jun Mochizuki • There was the time I bought three cars in the span of three or four weeks. It was crazy; it wasn’t greedy. It was mine, my girl’s, my mom’s. I got Benzes for my ladies. But I felt crazy. You have to understand I come from a world where we’re very modest. But that’s not greedy. That’s nice, right? – J. Cole • There were about ten years of trying, failing, trying again, suffering rejection, etc. My first published book, ‘Story of a Girl’, was the fourth book I wrote. – Sara Zarr • There’s no point for me to party. I have a girl that I love. I don’t need that. – Ryan Cabrera • There’s only a very small representation of girls among you. Too little. Women have much to tell us in today’s society. Sometimes we are too machistas and we don’t allow enough space to women. But women can see things from a different angle to us, with a different eye. Women are able to pose questions we men are unable to understand. Look out for this fact: she is the only one who has put a question for which there is no answer. She couldn’t put it into words but expressed it with tears. – Pope Francis • These Jews who run things, who are producing this mental illness ¬-teenage suicide…all these Jewish sicknesses…that’s nothing new. The Talmud’s full of things like sex with boys and girls. – David Duke • This attitude means you haven’t met a girl worthy of your attention. You’ll want to get caught if the right girl comes along. – Simone Elkeles • This is why I can’t be with Levi. Because I’m the kind of girl who fantasizes about being trapped in a library overnight-and Levi can’t even read. – Rainbow Rowell • This was how the modern working girl behaved. She didn’t hide her femininity or apologize for it, as they did in the old days. She flaunted it and, having been given more than any woman before her, demanded even more than that. – J. Courtney Sullivan • This-this was what made life: a moment of quiet, the water falling in the fountain, the girl’s voice. . . a moment of captured beauty. Those who are truly wise will never permit such moments to escape. – Louis L’Amour • To find out a girl’s faults, praise her to her girlfriends. – Benjamin Franklin • Today’s girls are tomorrow’s women – and leaders. – Isabel Allende • Too many girls follow the line of least resistance, but a good line is hard to resist. – Mae West • Wait until France gets a hard shot in the nose. Wait until France reacts with some nasty work. They’ll get a golf-clap from the chattering class over here and a you-go-girl from Red America. France could nuke an Algerian terrorist camp and the rest of the world would tut-tut for a day, then ask if the missiles France used were for sale. And of course the answer would be oui. – James Lileks • We are living in a material world and I’m a material girl. – Madonna Ciccone • We do not suffer by accident. It does not often happen that the interference of friends will persuade a young man of independent fortune to think no more of a girl whom he was violently in love with only a few days before. – Elizabeth Bennett • We had no irony when it came to girls, though. There was just no time to develop it. One moment they weren’t there, not in any form that interested us, anyway, and the next you couldn’t miss them; they were everywhere, all over the place. One moment you wanted to clonk them on the head for being your sister, or someone else’s sister, and the next you wanted to….actually, we didn’t know what we wanted next, but it was something. Almost overnight, all these sisters (there was no other kind of girl, not yet)had become interesting, disturbing, even. – Nick Hornby • We have lingered in the chambers of the sea By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown Till human voices wake us… and we drown. – T. S. Eliot • We must not close our eyes to the fact that there are conspiring men who would pollute young boys, and girls of corresponding age, for sake of increasing profits. – David O. McKay • We’re every age at once and tucked inside ourselves like Russian nesting dolls. My mother is an 8 year old girl. My grandson is a 74 year old retiree whose kidneys just failed. And that’s the glue between me and you. That’s the screws and nails. We live in a house made of each other and if that sounds strange that’s because it is. – George Watsky • Well Stephanie, I’d like to thank you for giving me such a kind Christmas gift, but unfortunately I didn’t get you any gifts. But then again, what can you get for the girl whose had everyone? – Chris Jericho • Well, we’re living in a material world, and I’m a material girl… or boy. – Adam Sandler • What are you two doing flirting with this nerd? I told you, you are supposed to be in charge of the 50 dancing girls I had set up for Miz’s celebration. – Alex Riley • What better job is there for a 17-year-old girl than being in a pop group? – Susan Ann Sulley • What do I like in a girl? I like a girl that likes me, a girl that knows how to smile and see the bright side of things. A girl that makes me a better person. – James Lafferty • What does being a girl have to do with it? There’s no time to think when you’re on the spot. – Bisco Hatori • What I know in my heart is that women and girls on the ground are powerful and that they are leaders. – Charlize Theron • When a girl cries over a guy,she really loves him.when a guy cries over a girl ,he will never love another girl like her. – Lil Wayne • When a girl is beautiful, she gets to pick – she never has to wait for someone to choose her. – Adriana Trigiani • When it’s all over I won’t miss the bruises he gave me to impress girls, or the occasional scar which will give me a story to tell my grandchildren, but I’ll definitely miss the pranks and the laughing and all the making fun of each other. I’ll miss the funky advice he gives me about everything – football, girls, video games, clothes. Most of all, I’ll miss having an older brother. – Skandar Keynes • When you were a little girl, Madam…..was this the woman you dreamed of becoming? – Andrew Sean Greer • Whenever I’m about to have sex with a girl, I play it smart and just automatically assume she has herpes; because that way I don’t have to tell her about my herpes. – Anthony Jeselnik • Whores are the most honest girls. They present the bill right away. – Alberto Giacometti • Why does a man take it for granted that a girl who flirts with him wants him to kiss her – when, nine times out of ten, she only wants him to want to kiss her? – Helen Rowland • Why is it that every time a girl says a guy is bothering her, it’s fluffed off with oh, he just likes you, as if that makes it okay? – Kelley Armstrong • Yet little by little, I was also becoming the girl who was learning to live with this, all of it, letting it weave together with everything else, the good and the bad, as life moved forward, because thats what life did, regardless of whether we were ready for it or not. – Donna Freitas • You and I both know there’s got to be some greater storyline for you than ‘girl gets heart broken, was sad forever’. I think a nice one would be ‘girl gets heart broken, was sad for a while but in her heartbreak she found freedom, friends, and the ability to look back and laugh at all she’d learned. She now lives her life on her own terms and still has fantastic hair.’ – Taylor Swift • You are the one girl that made me risk eveything for a future worth having. – Simone Elkeles • You don’t have to wait for anyone’s approval to do things. You don’t have to try to get a job and go through set steps before you start a career or start your life. That’s what I want young girls to know – you can do anything you want. Just start. – Petra Collins • You eventually get used to looking at girls picking their leotards out of their bums and that sort of stuff. – Adam Garcia • You know you love me. Xoxo, GossipGirl. – Cecily von Ziegesar • You know, honestly, if a girl can make me laugh, I’m pretty much sold. – Ryan Lochte • You may admire a girl’s curves on the first introduction, but the second meeting shows up new angles. – Mae West

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[equitiesstocks]

Girl Quotes

Official Website: Girl Quotes

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• A beautiful girl can make you dizzy, like you’ve been drinking Jack and Coke all morning. She can make you feel high full of the single greatest commodity known to man – promise. Promise of a better day. Promise of a greater hope. Promise of a new tomorrow. This particular aura can be found in the gait of a beautiful girl. In her smile, in her soul, the way she makes every rotten little thing about life seem like it’s going to be okay. – Michael Rapaport • A gifted small girl has explained that pins are a great means of saving life, “by not swallowing them. – Charles Edward Montague • A girl can wait for the right man to come along but in the meantime that still doesn’t mean she can’t have a wonderful time with all the wrong ones. – Cher • A girl conceived in China has to run an eerie kind of gauntlet if she is to survive. many parents will use the ultrasound technique. and, if it reveals. a girl, they’ll abort her. If it reveals the baby is a boy, they’ll celebrate. – Steven W. Mosher • A girl should be two things: classy and fabulous. – Coco Chanel • A girl with brains ought to do something with them besides think. – Anita Loos • A guy and a girl can be just friends, but at one point or another, they will fall for each other… maybe temporarily, maybe at the wrong time, maybe too late, or maybe forever. – Dave Matthews • A liberal is a person who sees a fourteen-year-old girl performing sex acts onstage and wonders if she’s being paid minimum wage. – Irving Kristol • A toddling little girl is a centre of common feeling which makes the most dissimilar people understand each other. – George Eliot • A wise girl knows her limits, a smart girl knows that she has none. – Marilyn Monroe • Alas for those girls who’ve refused the truth: The sweetest tongue has the sharpest tooth. – Jack Zipes • All girls should have a poem written for them even if we have to turn this goddamn world upside down to do it. – Richard Brautigan • All little girls should be told they are pretty. – Marilyn Monroe • Always been a goal-oriented girl. it was both her strength and her weakness. She had a drive to completion that always gets things done, but it also made her inflexible, and stubborn. – Neal Shusterman • Always know that if you’re not happy with yourself, no one else can change that, no girl or guy, no amount of money; only yourself. – Shannon Leto • Always take a compliment, Caroline. Always take it for the way it was intended. You girls are always so quick to twist what others say. Simply say thank you and move on. – Alice Clayton • Any girl can be glamorous. All you have to do is stand still and look stupid. – Hedy Lamarr • Any man who can drive safely while kissing a pretty girl is simply not giving the kiss the attention it deserves. – Albert Einstein • As Deborah Rhode describes, “When 1,100 Michigan elementary students were asked to describe what life would be like if they were the opposite sex, over 40 percent of the girls saw advantages to being male; they would have better jobs, higher incomes, and more respect. Ninety-five percent of the boys saw no advantage to being female, and a substantial number thought suicide would be preferable.” – Deborah Rhode • At a recent show, I looked out and I saw this girl crying in the audience and it really affected me. I wanted to stop the song and go and give her a hug. I should have, actually – I regret not doing that. – Elena Tonra • At the fourth grade level, girls at the same percentages of boys say they’re interested in careers in engineering or math or astrophysics, but by eighth grade that has dropped precipitously. – Chelsea Clinton

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'Girl+', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '68', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_girl').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_girl img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); ); • Basically, anything a sexual predator might do to woo a small suburban girl, I was trying. – Lena Dunham • Be that strong girl that everyone knew would make it through the worst, be that fearless girl, the one who would dare to do anything, be that independent girl who didn’t need a man; be that girl who never backed down. – Taylor Swift • Before marriage, a girl has to make love to a man to hold him. After marriage, she has to hold him to make love to him. – Marilyn Monroe • Between the ages of fourteen and twenty-four, foreplay changes from being something that boys want to do and girls don’t, to something that women want and men can’t be bothered with. … The perfect match, if you ask me, is between the Cosmo woman and the fourteen-year old boy. – Nick Hornby • Big girls need big diamonds. – Elizabeth Taylor • Boys think girls are like books, If the cover doesn’t catch their eye they won’t bother to read what’s inside”. – Marilyn Monroe • Boys will be boys. And even that wouldn’t matter if only we could prevent girls from being girls. – Anne Frank • But I am a girl with a keen interest in having it all, and what follows are hopeful dispatches from the frontlines of that struggle. – Lena Dunham • But I’ve always been fascinated with that prettiest-girl-in-the-class person that I never was, getting inside her head and showing that she’s just as tormented and messed up as everybody else. – Cecily von Ziegesar • Byrd, the former Klu [sic] Klux Klan Kleagle, is taking a stand over states’ rights, or his rights over State, or some such. Whatever the reason, the sight of an old Klansman blocking a little colored girl from Birmingham from getting into her office contributed to the general retro vibe that hangs around the Democratic Party these days. – Mark Steyn

[clickbank-storefront-bestselling] • Diamonds aren’t a girl’s best friend. Freedom is. – Camille Grammer • Due to the potent combination of my sexual recklessness and the slutty nature of some of the girls I have slept with, I have accumulated enough stories and anecdotes about abortion that they could name a Planned Parenthood clinic after me. – Tucker Max • Eating has always come up whenever and wherever. Maybe it’s because we’re girls, we have a lot of interest in eating. – Kim Hyo-yeon • Even today, well-brought-up English girls are taught by their mothers to boil all veggies for at least a month and a half, just in case one of the dinner guests turns up without his teeth. – Calvin Trillin • Every girl is a goddess. – Francesca Lia Block • Every girl likes feeling hot and sexy and beautiful and likes hearing it. – Hayden Panettiere • Every girl should use what Mother Nature gave her before Father Time takes it away. – Laurence J. Peter • Every girl wants to be the one girl that can change that guy – Lauren Conrad • Everyone fixes up their face if it’s not ideal, you know? That’s because of the race-mixing. For example, a Russian marries an Armenian. They have a kid, a cute girl, but she has her dad’s nose. She goes and files it down a little, and it’s all good. Ethnicities are mixing now, so there’s degeneration, and it didn’t used to be like that. Remember how many beautiful women there were in the 1950s and 1960s, without any surgery? And now, thanks to degeneration, we have this. – Valeria Lukyanova • Everything here is so weak, little girl. Everything breaks so easily. They want such simple things. – Neil Gaiman • Fun is fun but no girl wants to laugh all of the time. – Anita Loos • Girl with the burning golden eyes, And red-bird song, and snowy throat: I bring you gold and silver moons, And diamond stars, and mists that float. I bring you moons and snowy clouds, I bring you prarie skies to-night To feebly praise your golden eyes And red-bird song, and throat so white. ~Vachel Lindsay “To Gloriana” God wrote His loveliest poem on the day He made the first silver poplar tree, And set it high upon a pale-gold hill For all the new enchanted earth to see. – Grace Noll Crowell • Girl, when he gives you kisses twain, use one, and let the other stay; And hoard it, for moons die, red fades, and you may need a kiss—some day. – Ridgely Torrence • Girls are like exotic birds. They are pretty to look at but hard to catch. – Howie Dorough • Girls are so queer you never know what they mean. They say No when they mean Yes, and drive a man out of his wits for the fun of it. – Louisa May Alcott • Girls are trained to say, ‘I wrote this, but it’s probably really stupid.’ Well, no, you wouldn’t write a novel if you thought it was really stupid. Men are much more comfortable going, ‘I wrote this book because I have a unique perspective that the world needs to hear.’ Girls are taught from the age of seven that if you get a compliment, you don’t go, ‘Thank you’, you go, ‘No, you’re insane. – Lena Dunham • Girls aren’t beautiful, they’re pretty. Beautiful is too heavy a word to assign to a girl. Women are beautiful because their faces show that they know they have lost something and picked up something else. – Henry Rollins • Girls blush, sometimes, because they are alive, half wishing they were dead to save the shame. The sudden blush devours them, neck and brow; They have drawn too near the fire of life, like gnats, and flare up bodily, wings and all. What then? Who’s sorry for a gnat or girl? – Elizabeth Barrett Browning • Girls have a way of knowing or feeling what you feel, but they usually like to hear it also. – John Steinbeck • Girls have an unfair advantage over men: if they can’t get what they want by being smart, they can get it by being dumb. – Yul Brynner • Girls like to be played with and rumpled a little too sometimes. – Oliver Goldsmith • Girls like to see girls dressed up like princesses occasionally. – Nelly • Girls see these defined roles they’re supposed to follow in life, but when I was a young child, my parents told me I could be anything. – Joan Jett • Girls should go on thinking that there is a world out there and that it is theirs for the taking. – Anne Bancroft • Girls are like buses, miss one, next fifteen, one comin. – Gucci Mane • Girls. You never know what they’re going to think. – J. D. Salinger • Give me a girl at an impressionable age and she is mine for life. – Muriel Spark • God forbid you be an ugly girl, ‘course too pretty is also your doom, ’cause everyone harbors a secret hatred for the prettiest girl in the room. – Ani DiFranco • Growing up, I wanted desperately to please, to be a good girl. – Claire Danes • Hannah expected this to make her sob even more, but instead she found her tears drying up and her tummy growing warm. How dare they? How dare they do this to little girls? She understood now why her parents go so angry when they saw the result of bombers in the white hot streets of the Middle East, why men and women wailed in anger as well as grief as they lifted the limp bodies of children from the rubble. How dare they? No, she wasn’t going to die like this, wrapped up like some helpless baby. – Stephen M. Irwin • Harder is Better! Post work out! Foot in the Ice Bath. A girl has to make a living! #hardcandytoronto. #addictedtosweat – Madonna Ciccone • Have you heard about the morning after pill, or what I like to call breakfast in bed. Well have you heard about how some of the girls who have taken have died a few days later? Talk about two birds, looks like I will be going to the game this weekend boys. – Daniel Tosh • Honestly if a girl’s wearing, like, a Gucci shirt with a Gucci belt and a purse and a visor, that’s not cute at all. You can’t get away with that – with me – but you can always sprinkle it in there with your own stuff and it’s all good. – Kreayshawn • How long do small girls play with their dolls? As long as they are not married and do not live with their husbands. After marriage they put the dolls away in a box. What further need is there of worshipping the image after the vision of God? – Ramakrishna • How long is a girl a child? She is a child, and then one morning you wake up she’s a woman, and a dozen different people of whom you recognize none. – Louis L’Amour • I abstain from any kind of release for six weeks before a fight, no self-pleasure, nothing. Even in my dreams, I’ll be about to have sex with a beautiful girl and I’ll say, ‘Sorry darling, I’m fighting in a few weeks.’ That’s control, bro, when you’re turning down a hot chick in your subconscious. – David Haye • I always see guys get all, like, flexed on other people, trying to show off that they are tough, and it is just, like, no girl really likes that. – Kreayshawn • I always tell my mom I don’t have regular problems. I have problems, like, what type of girl is going to say they’re pregnant by me today? Those are the types of issues I have. – Fetty Wap • I am an artsy girl. It’s no secret that I am artsy, you know. – Kreayshawn • I avoid the young adult section altogether if possible, although it’s sometimes fun to catch a girl lying on the floor, reading “Gossip Girl.” – Cecily von Ziegesar • I basically became a cheerleader because I had a very strict mom. That was my way of being a bad girl. – Sandra Bullock • I could not lose unless I was caught in bed with a dead girl or a live boy. – Edwin Edwards • I did find a wonderful girl last year, but the photographs that we did were more about motorcars. – Helmut Newton • I don’t get it when girls say ‘I’m fine’ but don’t mean it. – Conor Maynard • I don’t like that sort of school… where the bright childish imagination is utterly discouraged… where I have never seen among the pupils, whether boys or girls, anything but little parrots and small calculating machines. – Charles Dickens • I don’t want to be one of those people who falls out of cabs drunk. But I don’t want to be known as some boring girl who just sits at home and doesn’t do anything. – Pixie Lott • I don’t want to be remembered as the girl who was shot. I want to be remembered as the girl who stood up. – Malala Yousafzai • I don’t want to be stinky poo poo girl, I want to be happy flower child. – Drew Barrymore • I doubt whether any girl would be satisfied with her lover’s mind if she knew the whole of it. – Anthony Trollope • I get some letters from girls that if their mothers knew what they were writing me in these letters, they’d get their butts whipped. – Rick James • I got started dancing because I knew it was one way to meet girls. – Gene Kelly • I hate dainty minds,’ answered Marjorie. ‘But a girl has to be dainty in person. If she looks like a million dollars she can talk about Russia, ping-pong, or the League of Nations and get away with it. – F. Scott Fitzgerald • I have never been a material girl. My father always told me never to love anything that cannot love you back. – Imelda Marcos • I have often been downcast, but never in despair; I regard our hiding as a dangerous adventure, romantic and interesting at the same time. In my diary I treat all the privations as amusing. I have made up my mind now to lead a different life from other girls and, later on, different from ordinary housewives. My start has been so very full of interest, and that is the sole reason why I have to laugh at the humorous side of the most dangerous moments. – Anne Frank • I have the same goal I’ve had ever since I was a girl: I want to rule the world. – Madonna Ciccone • I just don’t want to cozy up to the guy whose girl I have every intention of stealing. – Aprilynne Pike • I knew the men were probably terrible people who whistled at pretty girls, treated their wives like servants, and voted for Nixon every chance they got, but as far as I was concerned, they beat the hell out of a Volvo-load of liberals for hard work and good times. – James Crumley • I like Dancing of Indian girls more than my parents’ prayers . Because they dance with love and passion . But my parents just say their prayers because they got used to it . – Ali Shariati • I like the idea that I can talk to any teenage girls. You know, in a language that makes sense to them. – Louise Rennison • I like women, especially beautiful ones. If they have a good face and figure, I would much prefer to watch them being murdered than an ugly girl or man. – Dario Argento • I love a girl with a sense of humor. Someone who can make me laugh and that I can get along with and talk with and who is just sweet overall, inside and out. – Logan Henderson • I love to see a young girl go out and grab the world by the lapels. – Maya Angelou • I love you girl…to the moon and back. – Abbi Glines • I loved when my boyfriends would call me their Amazon girl. – Patti Hansen • I may be a man, but I fight like a girl. – Andy Cohen • I met eight great members. I really don’t think that anyone else could get along like how our nine girls get along so well. Because we’re girls, there can be a lot of jealousy going on. Thinking back on it now, I think I’m a kid who received a lot of good fortune. – Kim Hyo-yeon • I might get some more animals or something, but I’m done with the kids. I got a boy, I got a girl, and I got an older boy. I’m straight. – Jada Pinkett Smith • I never cheat unless you count the girls I cheat on – Drake • I pray to God I get inside a girl’s head one day and see what in the WORLD they are thinking. – A. J. McLean • I really can’t deny it, I am who I am. I’m pretty normal. I’m not that smooth type of girl. I run into things, I trip, I spill food. I say stupid things… I really don’t have it all together. – Katie Holmes • I think girls are the most beautiful when they become a mother. – Minzy • I think it’s important to make all women feel like they’re princesses, because every girl is a princess. I’m serious. – Justin Bieber • I try to not be too hard on myself regarding my diet. I’ve always been a workout-to-eat kind of a girl. I like to eat, to say the least. – Jennie Finch • I want girls to feel the confidence you get from being smart. – Danica McKellar • I want to make sure I’m with a girl that’s a good kisser, and that when I wake up, I have coffee and a cigarette. That’s all I really want out of life. That, and world domination. – Ryan Adams • I wanted to give young girls something positive to look up to…I wanted to give them their Blizzard of Aahhhs, Ski Movie or High Life, but done in a way that also shows the elegance, grace, community and style that is unique to women in the mountains. – Lynsey Dyer • I was about half in love with her by the time we sat down. That’s the thing about girls. Every time they do something pretty… you fall half in love with them, and then you never know where the hell you are. – J. D. Salinger • I was coming off of The O.C. and had very little interest in doing another teen drama. And then I got sent theGossip Girl book series, and I was like, ‘I might not be ready to leave high school after all.’ – Josh Schwartz • I was not a Southern California girl. I hated having my photograph taken. I felt shy and embarrassed around famous people. – Allegra Huston • I was so thrilled that I was having a girl, because I just am so girly myself, but I think the teenage years are going to be very interesting. – Sarah Dessen • I wish my mother had left me something about how she felt growing up. I wish my grandmother had done the same. I wanted my girls to know me. – Carol Burnett • I wrote the story myself. It’s all about a girl who lost her reputation but never missed it. – Mae West • I’m convinced that a world in which girls are educated is a safer, more stable, more prosperous place. – Barack Obama • I’m not a vomit in the club kinda girl. – Lady Gaga • I’d never really babysat. I feel like I’m Blair, or ‘Gossip Girl.’ A teenager, basically – and now suddenly I’m a mom? – Cecily von Ziegesar • If a girl looks swell when she meets you, who gives a damn if she’s late? Nobody. – J. D. Salinger • If a girl thinks she isn’t beautiful, I’m here to prove her wrong. – Kendall Schmidt • If I get married one day, or meet the girl I like, I’ll prepare 100m to 150m of candles, or maybe red carpet – Lee Donghae • If I had to give a definition of capitalism I would say: the process whereby American girls turn into American women. – Christopher Hampton • If I were a girl, I’d despair. The supply of good women far exceeds that of the men who deserve them. – Robert Graves • If the media is sending girls the message that their value lies in their bodies, this can only leave them feeling disempowered and distract them from making a difference and becoming leaders. – Jennifer Siebel Newsom • If we are to maximize the potential of young girls everywhere, we have to think, in this instance, literally outside the box. And the first step of doing that is to see the box for what it really is: A perfect, pretty PROBLEM. – David Trumble • If we’re going to reach a broader audience, we have to stop thinking about that audience strictly in terms of teenage boys or even teenage girls. We need to think about things that are relevant to normal humans and not just the geeks we used to be. – Warren Spector • If you can educate girls, you can change the world. – Cathie Black • If you can make a girl laugh, you can make her do anything. – Marilyn Monroe • If you invest in a girl or a woman, you are investing in everybody else. – Melinda Gates • I’m a cereal girl. I have always loved my cereal ever since I was a kid. – Rachel Stevens • I’m a Mommy’s Girl – the strongest influence in my young life was my mom. – Susie Bright • I’m a role model for lots of young girls. – Jennie Finch • I’m down to bleach my eyebrows again. I tell you what, though – that didn’t go down well with my boyfriend. Girls love it. Guys, not so into it. – Florence Welch • I’m into the girls fancying me and stuff, mad for it. – Liam Gallagher • I’m no expert on girls, but when one tries to pinch you four times, I’m pretty sure that’s flirting – Ransom Riggs • I’m not God but if I were God, ¾ of you would be girls, and the rest would be pizza and beer. – Axl Rose • I’m still chasing girls. I don’t remember what for, but I’m still chasing them. – Joe E. Lewis • I’m the girl who still believes prince charming exists somewhere out there. – Taylor Swift • I’m tired of playing little girls. I’m a woman now. I can’t run around forever being the Little Miss Fix It who bursts into song. I want to get out of Hollywood and get a fresh approach. – Deanna Durbin • I’m usually the sparkle in a closet full of conservative clothes. Either that or my customer has a closet full of my clothes and a few conservative suits from Calvin Klein. I think you’ve got to give a girl what’s missing from her closet. If something jazzy, tacky or sexy is what’s missing, I provide it. – Betsey Johnson • I’m weirdly flexible, so when I dance, I dance like a 17-year-old girl. – Michael Angarano • In America every woman has her set of girl-friends; some are cousins, the rest are gained at school. These form a permanent committee who sit on each other’s affairs, who come out together, marry and divorce together, and who end as those groups of bustling, heartless well-informed club-women who govern society. Against them the Couple of Ehepaar is helpless and Man in their eyes but a biological interlude. – Cyril Connolly • In my 20s I was going round seeing agents who were patronising because I was fat and a girl, which was a double whammy. I knew what it was to feel out-of-the-loop. – Victoria Wood • In school, I was the quietest girl ever! I had a lot of trouble in school. Kids were mean to me. – Cher Lloyd • Independent minded girls that are naked sounds like a great start to something. – Joshua Homme • It had never once occurred to me that the paper I wanted to work for would not want me. Certainly I never expected to be rejected solely because I was a girl! – Kathryn Tucker Windham • It’s all up to you, girls. You have to be strong. These are the days of post-women’s liberation. You have grown up by now and you have to take care of yourself. No one’s going to help you. – Kathy Acker • It’s like — I don’t know, sometimes it’s like chasing a pretty girl on the beach. And things I never thought I could do… I can do. – Ryan Adams • It’s not beauty but fine qualities, my girl, that keep a husband. – Euripides • It’s the good girls who keep diaries; the bad girls never have the time. – Tallulah Bankhead • It’s tough now to meet a girl who wants to hang out with you because she likes your personality – who hasn’t seen you on TV and is like, ‘Hey!’ – Shaun White • Ive always loved when girls carry their wallets as a clutch instead of a bag. – Alexander Wang • I’ve been looking for a girl like you – not you, but a girl like you. – Groucho Marx • Just watching a girl can give me the best reason to smile. Girls are something very special and you got to treat them that way. That’s why I always say don’t stare right at a chick. She’ll begin to fidget, wondering if her hair’s messed up or if her make-up is smeared. It’s kind of like going to an art gallery to see beautiful paintings. If you look at a painting just the right way, you get the most out of it! – Michael Jackson • Kissing babies and hugging fat girls. – Dave Bautista • Like every other girl in the world, my most embarrassing moment had to do with a guy completely turning me down. His loss! – Kelly Clarkson • Little girls, like butterflies, need no excuse. – Robert A. Heinlein • Many a man in love with a dimple makes the mistake of marrying the whole girl. – Stephen Leacock • Modern art is what happens when painters stop looking at girls and persuade themselves that they have a better idea. – John Ciardi • Modesty is invisibility… Never forget it. To be seen – to be seen – is to be… penetrated. What you must be girls, is impenetrable. – Margaret Atwood • More men than women like ‘Strangers With Candy’. Pretty girls don’t like the show. They don’t like to see an ugly lady. – Amy Sedaris • More than anything, acting helped me discover who I’m not. I’ve learned that I’m a girly girl, but not a prissy girl. – Debby Ryan • My mother was my Girl Scout leader, and George’s mother was his Cub Scout leader. In fact, that’s when some say her hair turned white. – Laura Bush • My real dream is to have a whole, like, buy a whole piece of land. Imagine, like, a long driveway. Like, a cul de sac-type street, with maybe, like, seven houses. Me be right here. Have my mom be able to be right here. My brother over here. My girl’s grandmother and family right here. Friends over there. That’s my real dream. – J. Cole • Nature makes boys and girls lovely to look upon so they can be tolerated until they acquire some sense. – M. William Phelps • Never call a girl fat, even if you’re joking. – Demi Lovato • Never love someone whom you think you need to mend – or who makes you feel like you should be mended. There are boys out there who look for shining girls; they will stand next to you and say quiet things in your ear that only you can hear and that will slowly drain the joy out of your heart. The books about vampires are true, baby. Drive a stake through their hearts and run away. – Caitlin Moran • No girl wants a secretly gay boyfriend, every dude wants a secretly gay girlfriend. – Joe Rogan • No legal ceremony–no election of the woman–no penalty for the perfidy of the man–no law to compel him to do his duty, no compensation for the poor woman who is turned adrift like the girl of the street, penniless, to sell herself on the best possible terms. This is Divine marriage, or Moses and the Bible lie; and this is Bible divorce–putting away! – Victoria Woodhull • No one ever told me I was pretty when I was a little girl. All little girls should be told they’re pretty, even if they aren’t. – Marilyn Monroe • No one knows how it is that with one glance a boy can break through into a girl’s heart. – Nancy Thayer • Nobody loves a fat girl, but oh how a fat girl can love. – Jim Croce • Only one girl has ever really wrapped my stomach into pretzels. She didn’t give me butterflies. She gave me pterodactyls I’m talking terrible internal bruising and the first time I kissed her was like the first time I saw fireworks, which was like the sky first kissing me in the eyeballs – George Watsky • Over 270 girls were kidnapped for going to school in Nigeria! They are still missing! I’M outraged and you should be too!! I’m supporting www.globalfundforwomen.org Join me and take a stand!!!!!!! #Bringbackourgirls #revolutionoflove – Madonna Ciccone • Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute and it seems like an hour. Sit with a pretty girl for an hour, and it seems like a minute. – Albert Einstein • Put yourself in Hamlet’s shoes. Suppose you were a prince, and you came back from college to discover that your uncle had murdered your father and married your mother, and you fell in love with a beautiful girl and mistakenly murdered her father, and then she went crazy and drowned herself. What would you do? Go back for a masters? – Art Buchwald • Sex is something I really don’t understand too hot. You never know where the hell you are. I keep making up these sex rules for myself, and then I break them right away. Last year I made a rule that I was going to quit horsing around with girls that, deep down, gave me a pain in the ass. I broke it, though, the same week I made it – the same night, as a matter of fact. – J. D. Salinger • She was a natural blonde, with delicate hands and feet, and in her youthful photographs one saw a girl with mocking eyes and a tragic smile, the course of whose life would conspire in time to transpose that pair of adjectives. – Michael Chabon • She’s the wild, feline, untamed part of you, your sexual alter ego and the opposite of the “good girl” or “little lady.” Some of us know her better than others do, but I would venture to guess that your erotic creature hasn’t seen nearly enough light of day. – Sheila Kelley • She’s the kind of girl who climbed the ladder of success wrong by wrong. – Mae West • Some guys like to undermine a girl’s self-esteem with little verbal jabs. Eventually it all adds up. One bee sting doesn’t hurt a horse, but enough bee stings can kill a horse. – Oliver Gaspirtz • Sometimes I see really skinny girls. They may look great, but…they’re not happy. Have a cupcake. – Kathy Wakile • Straight to the top, rooftop glows. With a hand full of girls and they all so foreign. Brain so poisoned, rainbows flowing. – The Weeknd • Take away the Big Bang and what has God done? Burned a bush and got a girl pregnant. Great, he’s a high school junior. – Stephen Colbert • The American girl makes a servant of her husband and then finds him contemptible for being a servant – John Steinbeck • The best accessories a girl can have are her closest friends. – Paris Hilton • The best thing a girl can be is a good wife and mother. It is a girl’s highest calling. I hope I am ready. – Nancy E. Turner • The cuter girls kinda went off from the older women because we’re younger, and we’re cuter, we’ve got better bodies, and for some reason that’s like a huge issue with older people. – Heidi • The emotional, sexual, and psychological stereotyping of females begins when the doctor says, ‘It’s a girl.’ – Shirley Chisholm • The girl has a funny way of romanticizing things. – Karen Russell • The girls show more skin these days, but I think, generally, they behave the same way as when I was growing up. – Cecily von Ziegesar • The jamaat was an almost silly mish-mash of people: Rude Dawud’s pork-pie hat poking up here, a jalab-and-turban there, Jehangir’s big Mohawk rising from a sea of kufis, Amazing Ayyub still with no shirt, girls scattered throughout – some in hejab, some not and Rabeya in punk-patched burqa doing her thing. But in its randomness it was gorgeous, reflecting an Islam I felt could not happen anywhere else … If Islam was to be saved, it would be saved by the crazy ones: Jehangir and Rabeya and Fasiq and Dawud and Ayyub and even Umar. – Michael Muhammad Knight • There are many facts within fiction. This captivating story provides invaluable insights into the childhood of a girl who has Asperger’s syndrome. Fiction allows the author to explore different perspectives and add poignancy to the experiences of sensory sensitivity and being bullied and teased of someone who has Asperger’s syndrome. The title Delightfully Different describes Asperger’s syndrome but also the qualities of this novel. – Tony Attwood • There are no good girls gone wrong – just bad girls found out. – Mae West • There are so many girls, and so few princes. – Liza Minnelli • There are two things that are more difficult than making an after-dinner speech: climbing a wall which is leaning toward you and kissing a girl who is leaning away from you. – Winston Churchill • There is a small window of opportunity for freckled girls to tan. – Jeffrey Eugenides • There is no shortage of evidence that when we support the fundamental freedoms of women and girls, they are able to realize their full potential to engage in, contribute to and benefit from sustainable development. In doing so, we will all reap the benefits; in our homes, throughout our communities, and across our nations. – Sam Kutesa • There is not one female comic who was beautiful as a little girl. – Joan Rivers • There was a little girl, When she was good, she was very, very good. But when she was bad, she was horrid. – Jun Mochizuki • There was the time I bought three cars in the span of three or four weeks. It was crazy; it wasn’t greedy. It was mine, my girl’s, my mom’s. I got Benzes for my ladies. But I felt crazy. You have to understand I come from a world where we’re very modest. But that’s not greedy. That’s nice, right? – J. Cole • There were about ten years of trying, failing, trying again, suffering rejection, etc. My first published book, ‘Story of a Girl’, was the fourth book I wrote. – Sara Zarr • There’s no point for me to party. I have a girl that I love. I don’t need that. – Ryan Cabrera • There’s only a very small representation of girls among you. Too little. Women have much to tell us in today’s society. Sometimes we are too machistas and we don’t allow enough space to women. But women can see things from a different angle to us, with a different eye. Women are able to pose questions we men are unable to understand. Look out for this fact: she is the only one who has put a question for which there is no answer. She couldn’t put it into words but expressed it with tears. – Pope Francis • These Jews who run things, who are producing this mental illness ¬-teenage suicide…all these Jewish sicknesses…that’s nothing new. The Talmud’s full of things like sex with boys and girls. – David Duke • This attitude means you haven’t met a girl worthy of your attention. You’ll want to get caught if the right girl comes along. – Simone Elkeles • This is why I can’t be with Levi. Because I’m the kind of girl who fantasizes about being trapped in a library overnight-and Levi can’t even read. – Rainbow Rowell • This was how the modern working girl behaved. She didn’t hide her femininity or apologize for it, as they did in the old days. She flaunted it and, having been given more than any woman before her, demanded even more than that. – J. Courtney Sullivan • This-this was what made life: a moment of quiet, the water falling in the fountain, the girl’s voice. . . a moment of captured beauty. Those who are truly wise will never permit such moments to escape. – Louis L’Amour • To find out a girl’s faults, praise her to her girlfriends. – Benjamin Franklin • Today’s girls are tomorrow’s women – and leaders. – Isabel Allende • Too many girls follow the line of least resistance, but a good line is hard to resist. – Mae West • Wait until France gets a hard shot in the nose. Wait until France reacts with some nasty work. They’ll get a golf-clap from the chattering class over here and a you-go-girl from Red America. France could nuke an Algerian terrorist camp and the rest of the world would tut-tut for a day, then ask if the missiles France used were for sale. And of course the answer would be oui. – James Lileks • We are living in a material world and I’m a material girl. – Madonna Ciccone • We do not suffer by accident. It does not often happen that the interference of friends will persuade a young man of independent fortune to think no more of a girl whom he was violently in love with only a few days before. – Elizabeth Bennett • We had no irony when it came to girls, though. There was just no time to develop it. One moment they weren’t there, not in any form that interested us, anyway, and the next you couldn’t miss them; they were everywhere, all over the place. One moment you wanted to clonk them on the head for being your sister, or someone else’s sister, and the next you wanted to….actually, we didn’t know what we wanted next, but it was something. Almost overnight, all these sisters (there was no other kind of girl, not yet)had become interesting, disturbing, even. – Nick Hornby • We have lingered in the chambers of the sea By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown Till human voices wake us… and we drown. – T. S. Eliot • We must not close our eyes to the fact that there are conspiring men who would pollute young boys, and girls of corresponding age, for sake of increasing profits. – David O. McKay • We’re every age at once and tucked inside ourselves like Russian nesting dolls. My mother is an 8 year old girl. My grandson is a 74 year old retiree whose kidneys just failed. And that’s the glue between me and you. That’s the screws and nails. We live in a house made of each other and if that sounds strange that’s because it is. – George Watsky • Well Stephanie, I’d like to thank you for giving me such a kind Christmas gift, but unfortunately I didn’t get you any gifts. But then again, what can you get for the girl whose had everyone? – Chris Jericho • Well, we’re living in a material world, and I’m a material girl… or boy. – Adam Sandler • What are you two doing flirting with this nerd? I told you, you are supposed to be in charge of the 50 dancing girls I had set up for Miz’s celebration. – Alex Riley • What better job is there for a 17-year-old girl than being in a pop group? – Susan Ann Sulley • What do I like in a girl? I like a girl that likes me, a girl that knows how to smile and see the bright side of things. A girl that makes me a better person. – James Lafferty • What does being a girl have to do with it? There’s no time to think when you’re on the spot. – Bisco Hatori • What I know in my heart is that women and girls on the ground are powerful and that they are leaders. – Charlize Theron • When a girl cries over a guy,she really loves him.when a guy cries over a girl ,he will never love another girl like her. – Lil Wayne • When a girl is beautiful, she gets to pick – she never has to wait for someone to choose her. – Adriana Trigiani • When it’s all over I won’t miss the bruises he gave me to impress girls, or the occasional scar which will give me a story to tell my grandchildren, but I’ll definitely miss the pranks and the laughing and all the making fun of each other. I’ll miss the funky advice he gives me about everything – football, girls, video games, clothes. Most of all, I’ll miss having an older brother. – Skandar Keynes • When you were a little girl, Madam…..was this the woman you dreamed of becoming? – Andrew Sean Greer • Whenever I’m about to have sex with a girl, I play it smart and just automatically assume she has herpes; because that way I don’t have to tell her about my herpes. – Anthony Jeselnik • Whores are the most honest girls. They present the bill right away. – Alberto Giacometti • Why does a man take it for granted that a girl who flirts with him wants him to kiss her – when, nine times out of ten, she only wants him to want to kiss her? – Helen Rowland • Why is it that every time a girl says a guy is bothering her, it’s fluffed off with oh, he just likes you, as if that makes it okay? – Kelley Armstrong • Yet little by little, I was also becoming the girl who was learning to live with this, all of it, letting it weave together with everything else, the good and the bad, as life moved forward, because thats what life did, regardless of whether we were ready for it or not. – Donna Freitas • You and I both know there’s got to be some greater storyline for you than ‘girl gets heart broken, was sad forever’. I think a nice one would be ‘girl gets heart broken, was sad for a while but in her heartbreak she found freedom, friends, and the ability to look back and laugh at all she’d learned. She now lives her life on her own terms and still has fantastic hair.’ – Taylor Swift • You are the one girl that made me risk eveything for a future worth having. – Simone Elkeles • You don’t have to wait for anyone’s approval to do things. You don’t have to try to get a job and go through set steps before you start a career or start your life. That’s what I want young girls to know – you can do anything you want. Just start. – Petra Collins • You eventually get used to looking at girls picking their leotards out of their bums and that sort of stuff. – Adam Garcia • You know you love me. Xoxo, GossipGirl. – Cecily von Ziegesar • You know, honestly, if a girl can make me laugh, I’m pretty much sold. – Ryan Lochte • You may admire a girl’s curves on the first introduction, but the second meeting shows up new angles. – Mae West

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[victoriagloverstuff]

The Sound of Black Voices, The Sound of My Father

I. Who Will Build this Ark of Bones ?

Once upon a time I had a house full of cousins, convivial aunties, resounding uncles with gold belt-buckles and big happy teeth, a black grandmother who washed my hair in the sink and taught my mom how to cook greens so tender and comb through my coils. On Sundays we’d all be at the local Baptist church, the whole choir was blood, I would clap and spin and scoot up to the stage in a rile of girlhood and pride, dad would be leading everybody, being the commanding, larger-than-life, chief-of-a-loving tyrant that he could be, for the good times. Nothing mattered but the tone when he got to singing—no one should question the authority of a voice like that, the fear that it would go silent was enough to convince us to endure every scream.

One by one those bodies visiting our house turned into ghosts, figments of my imagination. Day by day our routine was slipping into disaster’s taunting shadow and it seemed everybody was waiting for dad to fulfill a prophecy and enter the afterlife, sing to us from the other side. When he did, his haunting compliance so well-timed it’s my eternal fable for unconventional acts of deep generosity, my mom and I were out in California having left the paradise of phantoms I called home for a safer environment, a less complicated dream. By the time we got word, our Iowa fairytale had turned into a Reparations graveyard.

Maybe they weren’t legal heirs to the rights to his songs but my grandmother, aunts, uncles, cousins, deserved something—a gold record, a Stetson or fringed suede and denim jacket, one of his many guns packed in a suitcase like grams—that announced Jimmy was here, was ours. By the time it was my mom’s turn to look through the remaining belongings all that was left was her stuffed childhood monkey, Zip, some pictures and letters he’d written me and her in his broken penmanship, and a shoebox full of tapes he’d been keeping under their circular bed, recordings of his latest music.

Enough for a new beginning.

After all, his voice remained immortal, black with grief and guile, sweet and childlike, chills down the spine, gritty and remote, knowing when it’s time to tremble and when to be still in the low of limbo.

  II. Can’t You Hear It?

Listening, knowing one another by sound and voice, is the first law of black liberation—without this skill there is no self-preservation. From differentiating between urgent aggression and routine to separating moments of life-threatening anguish on a slaveship from the casual agony of another day in the hold, from deciphering the outcome of a session on the auction block through the cadence of those in attendance bidding in, to listening for the music of keys and shoes and rippling bills of sale and commands, all while still in disbelief at having become human contraband.

Next came the soul-threatening business of navigating life and forced labor on plantations, using the well-tuned ear of black survival to decode a symphony of footsteps, whips, Bible verses, moans, hisses, work chants, screams, hooflandings, rainfall, collapse, talking drum rising from the tap-rooted foot to the shamed skull, all of it echoing in the trapped and huddled sound of the English syllabics mangling in the planters’ mouths, acting as one of many indications that violently broken logic was the fulcrum of the West and would be used to keep black bodies in captivity in one form or another, for as long as circumstance or the bodies themselves would abide. And if we listened closely enough to that cacophony, we could detect within it the performance of hatred and domination used to mask the violent, obsessive, almost fanatical love American whites harbor for black bodies, black people, and everything we produce—how they tend to often covet and resent all otherness for the trance of envy or awe it strikes in them. We who hear this grand hypocrisy with our whole bodies are the first fugitives from it, running and not in fear.

“That box of tapes my dad left opened up a life of listening to the recorded voices of black people, developing almost pathological kinship with resonant timbres.”

We had to learn to listen through the wall of their deflected self-loathing on the road to turning their heroes and healers—us—into capital, before we could even hear ourselves think. We had to improvise small acts of subversion and freedom using our sensory attention and then project that provisional understanding of where we had been taken and why onto our own musical and spoken and mimed forms as we invented songs and styles of movement to relay the stories our hushed listening helped us gather and remember and invent. Our music became a form of collective listening and we used it to deliver dire messages as well as just to cope and retreat into beauty in otherwise-wretched places.

Learning to read could get us killed on plantations, but a literacy in rhythm and tone so acute we could communicate several very different intentions in one five-word arpeggiated blues phrase, was lost on those too literal, too evil to hear truths they didn’t comprehend: watchmen and slavers. And anything they could not ruin upfront became our grail, our pastime paradise, salvation. The improvisational musics we invented under those hyper-traumatic circumstances—deep listening projected outward, become mirrors to our jailers, deleting their obscene vanities, exposing them to themselves by inventing pure sonic opposition.

III. Alone Together

My own listening practice began early and as a matter of survival and generational reckoning, because I was born into a household brimming with music and conflict, to parents who were either up all night singing and testing chords on the piano, or up all night fighting, with little in between. Everyone was acting funny, all the adults around me were a little lost and crazy—so not only was I both spy and informant for both sides, I was ruthlessly neutral; no one seemed like a victim and at the same time everyone did, and l listened closely.

Before I was three, I’d learned to listen for quarreling between my parents and decipher its severity. I knew how to listen to figure out if dad was sleeping and if so, with or without the phone off the hook. I could tell by the energy in his voice what kind of mood he was in, manic or brooding, and I could tell if mom was hysterical by the pitch of her moments of catatonia. I had to listen to my own breathing or lack thereof to block them out, the acoustics of survival that traveled in my DNA were needed in my household, where the race and gender problems played themselves out in microcosm and became inverted: the black man was in charge here and also petrified of the creative power that guided his rule; the white woman was his willful slave and not meant to get away. I was the evidence of what they could not otherwise say, that life begets life and it’s okay.

I listened in my sleep, my subconscious a vigilante. I’m not exaggerating. I developed a kind of clairaudience that helped me remain one step ahead of the misguided adults around me, I could feel them unraveling acoustically before they knew a new shambles was closing in on them, and I could dazzle them with my innocence just enough to remind everyone who the child was, who was responsible for whom (though I also learned that it’s a blurry equation, responsibility, everyone is everyone’s burden). I had to be responsible for my own psychic protection and it made me feel close to my ancestors—before I even knew their story, I felt it, was guided by events I had not lived in this lifetime, and the guidance came in the form of sound awareness, a kind of keeness no one taught me, born of necessity. Listening offered the distance and dimension I needed to endure, it’s how I drew a boundary around my body in that chaotic space, how I came to be a form, why I am a destiny.

  IV. The Man’s Gone Now

There’s an undeniable connection between close listening and absence, a sense that something is missing or has been stolen from us and might be tiptoeing toward us in the night from an unnameable erotic distance, pursuing triumphant reunion. This quiet almost anti-social optimism needs a place to play hide and seek with fate and the song and the sound offer an idyllic landscape. For this reason we rarely broadcast (to the limited radio imagination) our deepest acoustic preoccupations, and the diasporic music that collective listening generates is not always guarded by anything besides generational memory.

In the West the only thing more jarring than being free-spirited enough to make something up as you go along and enjoy it, is the confidence to not spy on yourself while doing it, to not maintain a record of exactly what happened, to not write it down or find some other form in which to engrave every nuance of every event into a lifeless monument.

In Black culture the record is the memory and the memory is the body, so the record is the body, and when it changes form, the spirit, the soul, the feeling and stories and teachings are passed down body to body like trusts without much fear that they will be lost. Even now, as we are lost, we’re not always inclined to create static archives that might lead us back someplace that makes sense. Our archives have always been alive, entities, capricious and at risk and traveling with us and guarding our sense of meaning, the sonic territory we can draw from no matter where we happen to find ourselves, this way nothing ever really goes missing, there is no myth that cannot be repopulated and reborn in any moment. Though spiritually this makes us versatile giants, economically in America it means we don’t always possess the mixture of opportunism and self-esteem that inspires us to keep track of our sh*t in a culture that uses formal recordkeeping as another excuse for the distribution of capital and real estate.

“Listening, knowing one another by sound and voice, is the first law of black liberation—without this skill there is no self-preservation.”

At the same time I realized that the distribution of land and resources in the US was often manipulated by large institutions that invest a lot of money into buying archives, creating exclusive portals through which documented history can be accessed and studied and changed, I saw that my family’s ransacked home and all of the missing parts of my father’s legacy revealed more than just circumstance. With all of that information scattered among estranged family members, a man’s story becomes compartmentalized, eventually forgotten, unless someone does the work of telling it, recording it, gathering it all back in one place, as sound, as verbal action, as music’s own memory, as more music, as better listening.

For black people of the diaspora, that place is often on a vinyl record, because the truth for us remains in the sound. That box of tapes my dad left opened up a life of listening to the recorded voices of black people, developing almost pathological kinship with resonant timbres, and a feeling of brotherhood, sisterhood, toward people I had only heard on a record or tape.

Eventually, after years and years of that practice, I started making my own archives, assembling recordings of black voices in ways that defy typical archival logic simply because the data collecting is improvised and at the mercy of in-the-moment human interaction, what I can grab from one basement or closing record depot—our archives, like our listening, will be collectively improvised. When we finally accept the value of keeping autonomous records of our histories, and demand places to keep those records, places we ourselves own and run, when that demand is universal for diasporic artists, it will be collective improvisation, our shared black technology, that stirs it and ensures our success, lets us tonally recover what has been materially erased or made into ruins. We can make music with those ruins, reanimate them, listen and speak them into new forms.

V. A Brief History of My Improvised Listening

Stevie Wonder’s Ribbon in the Sky One of the first songs I remember hearing and listening to for hours on end was Stevie Wonder’s Ribbon in Sky. I was learning a dance to it and I think sometimes I left out a step on purpose so that my instructor would have to rewind the tape, because I loved that song that much. At home with my Walkman™ I would pace my room and mark the dance and trace the imaginary ribbon with my eyes like some kind of cat entranced by her own leash. I was a prisoner of the song’s somber fantasy and I loved waiting for the divots in Stevie’s tone—I loved the pacing, the whole composition. I guess it’s the first time I remember a song soothing a void I had otherwise ignored, filling in a missing space, running toward me in the dark carrying visions of my father and his mother, and that happy broken home in Iowa transported to Hollywood on the edge of Stevie’s we won’t lose, with love on our side.

Jimmy Holiday I’m Gonna Use What I Got, To Get What I Need Dad wasn’t just singing, he was crying and bargaining with eternity. To me, he had always been a king, always been glorious and formidable and in charge of everything, so hearing my dad talk about being born in a shack and struggling, and needing something from the world, was devastating and a relief. I heard this song on one of those tapes we managed to get away with, and I wore it out, studied it. I wanted to protect the boy he had been on that white man’s farm picking cotton, making weight, with no school to attend. I wanted to console him when he hopped a train to Louisiana and started recording and had to find women enamored enough to sit up nights and listen to him sing and write down the songs because he could not write them himself, had not been allowed the time to learn to read or write.

Eleven words that hit me like daggers. Dad had suffered, had been afraid, wounded, neglected, and was afraid to be loved even after all of his success. He remained, psychologically, the young black boy from the country who just wants to sing into the comfort of night and feel free. Listening to my dad describe prevailing over deprivation, I understood the interplay of vulnerability and violence he had used as a survival tactic; I observed men like him at every level of society, male archetypes who had to pretend to be tough and unruly in order to hide their dangerous sincerity. 

Minnie Ripperton’s Loving You I learned this ballad for another ballet solo, this one en pointe. I wore a cherry red unitard and stiff red pointe shoes to match, and was meant to glide across the dance floor like an erotic young nymph, an apparition, someone impossible, at least that’s what I told myself. I decided I was redefining beauty and the weightless bourrees and unwound turnings were my physical manifesto, my way of using my body to tell the world that I loved myself after all, that that love came easy, that I could relax and listen to birds chirping and not worry about some great tragedy lurking behind that mindless bliss.

Loving you, is easy ‘cause you’re beautiful, and everything that I do, is out of loving you. Dedicating this song and solo to myself made it clear to me that I needed my own love and attention, and also made me feel like a desired object of that universal gaze—I felt redeemed and more self-possessed than ever before in all that dance’s bloodred confidence. I didn’t know a black singer could sound so carefree, the way Minnie did, no grinding on her throat, no foreboding blues, just soft almost dainty relishing in common emotion. A new way of being was made available to me with her song, a happy disguise or a part of myself I felt the world unworthy of, my rapacious joy, the part of me I expose when I’m dancing had an analog in Minnie’s soft voicings, of pure unfettered romance.   

Billie Holiday In college, she was all I could hear over the self-important rhetoric of my philosophy seminars. I’d leave some critical theory course where we’d spent three hours discussing Freud’s concept of the Death Drive as it relates to warring nations in the throes of late capitalism, and I’d be nauseated. Did this compulsive violence deserve the dignity of high concepts? Not in my estimation. If we’re gonna talk about self-made martyrs and epic self-destruction fueled by displaced love and tenderness without talking about Billie Holiday we’re gonna be liars forever. Her crackling and medicinal tone was how I made it through that indoctrination in western thinking that we call a college education. Don’t get me wrong, I loved Foucault and Derrida and Joyce and them, but without Billie Holiday I might have told everyone about themselves more often than I already did (that white boyfriend I had to dump because he said, verbatim, “who actually listens to Billie Holiday,” like black culture was some kind of Disneyland and she was a mascot for his idea of it, acted shocked that anyone could be that misguided). I urge everyone to listen to “Strange Fruit” or “I Cover the Waterfront ” while reading Plato’s Apology and not believe in miracles.

Miles Dewey Do what he says Davis His voice is broken, gutted, a grammar of aching gashes, but when Miles Davis says My father’s rich and my mother’s good looking, I have never suffered and I don’t intend to suffer and I can play the blues, I forgive everyone for about five minutes and tell all my friends to get rich and scream this through the open roofs of convertibles and it’s lit.

James Baldwin When YouTube democratized listening and looking beyond the capacity of radio and television, I spent months listening to James Baldwin speak. I had found my other father, another prophetic Jimmy, in the most unlikely corner of the digital omniverse—how had I gone so long without hearing a voice like that? After Baldwin, I found Sun Ra and Rahsaan Roland Kirk and Amiri Baraka and Nina Simone and Lorraine Hansberry and Abbey Lincoln, speaking out loud, healing my sense of story and of cadence and oratory as a practice. The meta language that can be heard, the breath or slight cough or rustle of fabric, all of that poetry felt like gold, felt like the first time I heard my dad cry I’m gonna use what I got, to get what I need.

Midnight Girl When I was in grad school and a friend was helping me digitize some of my tapes, I found a recording of my dad singing at home in Iowa. It’s my favorite love song of all time because it feels like it’s for me, for my mother, for my sisters, for all women who feel in some way abandoned by convention. It’s a song about permission to not belong to a man, to recognize when you have more to forge than romance and its specific kind of alienation—in a way it’s him saying goodbye and also saying I’m here always, deliberate, intentional.

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