#but i did absolutely fixate on new vegas for like a year

[deerfellow]

qsmp fallout au fic when,,,

all ik is that fit would totally be a ghoul

[boldlyvoid]

CONGRATS ON 800, LOVE! IM SO SORRY I HAVENT BEEN ABLE TO SUBMIT SOMETHING EARLIER (this is shemarmooresfedora but from another acct because mine has been shadowbanned for some reason)

i’ll do ❤️🤡💄🛏 please and thank you

maybe like spencer invites you to something as his date and you’re both crushing on each other but it’s not official until the reservation only booked one room

I LOVE YOU DORY!!! i am so sorry you're shadowbanned that is so weird? i hope this cheers you up a little! thank you for all the love and support, and for helping me create little Jo in Amoreena <3

cw: flirting, fake married, mutual pining, high school reunions, assault, love confessions, one bed, implied sex, kissing,

1.4K

When he got the invitation in the mail, he thought nothing of it. He left it in the pile on his counter and went off to work the way he always would. He hasn’t been back to his old high school since he was 13, the 15 year reunion was coming up and he was invited.

He wasn’t going to go. He never went to any event unless it was a CalTech alumni event. Because there he was respected, there he was Doctor Spencer Reid, the FBI’s asset and excellent graduate. He was a nobody, a kid and a loser in high school.

“You okay?” Y/N notices he’s quieter than normal, he’s staring off past his desk and she’s worried for him.

“Huh?” He turns to her, “I’m fine.”

“Doesn’t look like it,” she whispers, “come get a coffee with me down at the kart?”

He nods and stands silently, following her out of the room and away from all their friends, in the elevator she knows he’s more comfortable.

“What’s going on, Spence?”

“My high school reunion is coming up, and I really want to go and prove to them that I’m not a dork anymore…” his voice is low and his eyes are fixated on the floor.

Her face drops, she pulls the emergency button and wraps herself around him. “You have never been a dork, Spencer. You have always been magnificent and they’re too dumb to see that.”

He holds her in return, settling as he rests his chin on her shoulder. She feels nice and warm, her hair smells like apples and her laundry detergent is all over her shirt.

“Would you come back to Vegas with me and pretend to be my girlfriend? Say things like that and make them think I’ve got it all?”

He cant see how much she smiles while they hug, “yes, I’d love to be your girlfriend for the day.”

—

She buys the nicest dress imaginable, they fly out to Vegas together and she’s so excited she forgot to ask for her own room. Or at least that’s what she tells him because she really wanted a chance to sleep with him, in more ways than one.

Even to just cuddle with Spencer Reid would be a gift, so she goes all out to seduce him. She looked impeccable, He was thinking it was her way of helping him show off… he was so clueless she was going to have to be the smart one when it came to getting him to see her as more than a friend. She wanted him, she was going to show him just how good she would be to him if she was his.

Her dress hugs her in all the right places, she wraps an arm around Spencer’s middle and holds him close. They walk in like they own the place, everyone is taking turns looking at them as they walk to the name tag table.

“Hi, Spener Reid,” he smiles, “and my plus one.”

“Hi,” Y/N waved at the woman behind the desk.

“Hello,” she smiles, “here are your name tags, Mr. and Mrs. Reid.”

“Oh we’re—“

“Thank you,” Y/N smiles, she takes the name tags from the woman. “Newlyweds, my rings getting resized, he’s still adjusting to the title.”

“Ah, my husband was the same, called it wedding bell shock,” she smiled, old enough to have a husband with shell-shock as well.

“Can I have a pen?” Y/N asks, “or a marker?”

“Here,” she hands her a sharpie.

Y/N leans onto the table to scratch out the Mr. and replace it with Dr. “He has 3 Ph.D.’s you know? My husband is the smartest man in the FBI.”

“Oh,” she looks shocked, “thank you for your service sir.”

He blushes and nods, “thank you.”

Y/N peels the sticker off and sticks it to Spencer's chest before leaning in to press a kiss to the tip of his nose, she gets lipstick on him. She smiles and wipes it off, “there, still cute.”

The rest of the night is much of the same; she hangs off him, telling all the people who used to bully him that she was so madly in love with him, he was super smart and he was so strong and sexy on the job.

She slips away from him to get a drink while he explains how profiling works to his crowd of new fans. She’s filling her cup with punch when a weird, balding man slides up beside her, his hand touching her waist. She looks at him quickly, recognizing his name from the worst childhood story Spencer ever shared with her.

“Hey there, hot stuff,” he tried to hit on her.

She puts her cup down calmly and takes his hand off her, bending his arm behind his back and slamming him face-first into the punch bowl. She pulls his face back up by his hair, “that was for touching me.”

Then she slams him onto the floor where he coughs out punch from his lungs. “And that was for what you did to my husband as a kid, he was a Kid! You may have peaked in high school, but at least Doctor Reid doesn’t have a widow's peak, like yours. He is the smartest, sexiest, and most wonderful man in the world and you're nothing but a loser.”

Spencer turns around at the sound of her voice, “oooo” echos around the gym as everyone looks at the scene unfolding. Patrick, the asshole quarterback that traumatized him as a child, was on the ground covered in red juice as he complained about a sore arm.

Y/N smiles at him and waves before rejoining Spencer, “he doesn’t know how to keep his hands to himself.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Spencer suggests and she is all too eager to skip out of the room with him, right past Patrick.

—

She slams him against the wall as soon as they’re inside the hotel room again, kissing him with more desperation than she’s ever felt in her life. She needed him, he was her last piece and then she’d be complete.

She breaks the kiss to move down his neck as she loosens his tie and unbuttons his shirt. “Are you sure we can be friends after this?”

“I’d hope my husband was my best friend,” she whispers against his skin.

He pulls her away from his neck, hands on her cheeks so he can look at her and read her expressions as best as possible, “I’m serious, I don’t want to do this if it’s going to make working together hard.”

“You’re an idiot,” she smiles, “I have been in love with you for months Spencer. I want this, I have wanted you for so long…”

His breathing changes as she explains her feelings, leaning in to kiss his neck again and make her way down his chest. “I’ve thought about this for so long Spencer, you have no idea how many dirty thoughts I have about doing things like this with you.”

“I got 1 bed on purpose,” he gasps out, “I wanted to sleep beside you… I hoped—

She smiles against him, “I know. That’s why I didn’t tell you to get 2…”

“You’re really not kidding?” He sounds so desperate it’s almost sad.

She stops her kissing and looks at him again, “why is it so hard for you to believe all the things I’ve said about you tonight? I’m not just trying to impress them, I’m telling the whole fucking world that the person I am in love with is the smartest man they will ever meet. People should bow at your feet, Spencer, let me appreciate you for how incredibly wonderful you are and stop doubting my feelings.”

“You love me?” Tears well in his eyes and he feels like a complete idiot, “why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I wanted you to admit it first,” she whispers, equally as embarrassed. “I have a huge crush on you Spence, it’s not just that I love you, I never want to stop. You’re so nice and kind and funny? And you make me smile every day and I laugh even on the worst days ever because you’re there, and when I think about the future and reunions and events like this that I have to go to one day, and all I want is to bring you along and show everyone that you’re mine.”

She rambled more than he did, “so please, will you unzip my dress and join me in our one bed, husband?”

“Absolutely, my beautiful wife,” he turns her around, moving her hair off her back, he kisses her shoulder softly.

He moves the zip down as slow as possible, kissing every inch of newly exposed skin as he did so. When he reached the end, she pushed the straps off her arms and let the dress fall to the floor.

Mission accomplished.

[babymetaldoll]

M&Money (Matthew Gray Gubler/Reader)

Prompt: Chocolate is a currency 

Pairing: Matthew Gray Gubler/ Reader 

Summary: After all their friends are gone, Matthew and Reader stayed playing poker and betting all their chocolates on longboards and kimonos.  

Category: Fluff 

Warnings: Bad poker references and mentions of sex.    

Word count: 2,1k

Masterlist

(Y/N) stared into Gubler’s eyes trying not to move a muscle. Her look was fixated on his, as the two of them tried to read each other. Matthew raised an eyebrow slowly and she did exactly the same, resting her back on the chair and letting out a deep breath. 

- “You are bluffing”- Gubler claimed, with a cocky smile. 

- “Am I? really?”- (Y/N)’s lips curled in a small ironic smile, and her eyes traveled from him to the cards she was holding in her hand. 

- “You are so obvious, Bunny, you don’t have a poker face”

- “Gub, you do know you only play a profiler on a tv show, right? you are not one in real life”- his girlfriend teased him, enjoying the moment of “tension” between them. 

It was Saturday night and all their friends had already left, after yet another poker night. More than playing cards and betting, it was about getting together and laugh, having a few drinks, and just make fun of each other’s lousy bluffs.

By the end of the night, almost everybody but Gubler had lost all their M&M’s. And of course, the actor kept obnoxiously repeating “you shouldn’t play poker with someone from Vegas”, just like every time he won. 

Gubler usually won, and (Y/N) had enough of that nonsense. She was the only one left with enough M&M’s to keep on playing, and after everyone left, she decided to make Gubler pay.

Yes, they were gambling M&M’s, ‘cos at the Gubler house the currency happens to be chocolate every poker night.    

- “Actually, after you master the fundamentals of poker, all there is to learn is the psychology behind poker bluffs, and my love, you are absolutely see-through”

Matthew shook his head and smiled at (Y/N).

- “You should never play poker with someone from Vegas, Bunny”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes, annoyed.  

- “Again with the same cheesy line, Gubs?”

- “I’m sorry, babe! you have a tell”- Matthew snickered watching how his girlfriend was starting to get upset. 

- “Oh, do I?”

- “Yes”- Gubler played with the cards in between his fingers, enjoying (Y/N)’s eyes burning with anger. He was successfully getting under her skin. 

- “Which is…?”- she questioned him immediately and took a sip of her whiskey. 

- “I won’t tell you!”

- “Why not?!”

- “‘Cos there’s no fun if I do!”- he smiled again and left his cards on the table- “So? do you fold?”

- “I raise”- the girl counted her chocolates and moved all her yellow M&M’s to the pile right in the middle of the table.  

- “Oh! I see!”- Gubler was enjoying being a cocky ass- “So you really wanna lose everything you’ve got”

- “Less talking, more betting, Matthew Gray”- (Y/N) furrowed her brows, giving her boyfriend an annoyed glance that made him chuckle. 

- “Why are you so eager to lose?” 

- “Why are you so sure you are gonna win?”

- “Oh trust me, Bunny, you are going down”

- “Wanna bet?” 

- “We are betting”- Gubler snorted pointing to all the M&M’s on the table- “And by the way, here’s your 35 yellows and I raise… everything I’ve got”

The actor piled all his chocolates in the middle of the table and smiled. (Y/N) didn’t know if she wanted to kiss him or slap him… most likely, it was both.  

- “All in?”- she asked and bit her lip. The couple didn’t say a word for a few seconds. They just stared at each other, waiting for the first one to crack. 

This time, it was (Y/N). She just nodded and pushed all her M&M’s across the table in silence. 

- “Ok, Bunny, show me what you’ve got” 

- “Nope, first, let’s make it interesting”- the way she smiled, Gubler couldn’t tell if she was bluffing or not. So far, he was sure the girl had nothing, but if she kept teasing him like that, maybe she had a good hand.

(Y/N) didn’t know if Matthew had a good hand or not, she just loved to play with him. And most of all, she loved to win, and she wanted to win so badly, she was going all in. 

- “Interesting how, Bunny?”- his voice was velvety and it made (Y/N) bit her lower lip as he spoke. 

- “I raise, and bet… my new longboard”- Gubler stared at her still. Neither of them moved, trying to see each other’s tell. (Y/N) smiled, finally she was making him doubt his hand. 

- “So you got bored of riding it? ‘cos when it’s mine, you are never going to get it back”- Matthew sipped his whisky and smiled. 

- “Are you gonna raise?” 

- “Yes, I bet the hidden screws…”- but (Y/N) chuckled and shook her head as soon as he started talking.

- “Gubs, the “one day I’m gonna give these to a special girl” screws have been in my drawer for the last two years, so stop using them as an extraordinary item and give me something impressive.” 

Matthew opened his mouth to argue, but he knew she was right, so he just smiled. His pretty chocolate eyes shining in joy. 

For someone who enjoyed hanging out with his friends all the time, he was glad everybody had left early. He loved that moment with his girlfriend. After all those years, he could tell he could never be bored with her, even when they were betting M&Ms or just laying on the couch watching movies. 

His mother had told him once that’s when you know you find the one. And he hadn’t stopped thinking about it ever since.  

- “My favorite kimono”- Matthew settled, and didn’t even flinch. (Y/N) held her breath. He wasn’t bluffing if that was what he was willing to risk, right? Two important things were on the table at that minute, and it was time to show their cards. 

- “Ok”- the girl whispered and nodded. Gubler smiled and waited still. 

- “You first, Bunny”- the way he whispered those words made (Y/N) feel she might have been wrong. She didn’t know if he was bluffing, but she kept her hopes high. 

Matthew kept a big grin on his face as (Y/N) moved slowly revealing her hand. 

- “Four of a kind”- the girl announced proudly. But Gubler didn’t even react. He didn’t frown, he didn’t smile. He didn’t even look at the cards. He just stared at her.  

- “What do you’ve got, hon?”- and still, Gubler didn’t move- “Come on! don’t be a shitty winner, show me your hand”- Matthew chuckled and moved slowly. Painfully slowly.  

- “Shit”- she whispered as she saw the cards on the table.

- “Just a shitty flush!”- he groaned and let his body lay on the table, pretending to be deeply affected, as (Y/N) jumped from her chair and shouted. 

- “Loser!!! I won!! I fucking won!! I need to take a picture of this! I gotta send this to Paget! she ain’t gonna believe it! I win! you lose!!” 

Yes, she wasn’t the best winner but, who is, really?

- “Enjoy your moment, Bunny”- Gubler mumbled still pretending to be upset, and made his best not to smile. 

- “I want my kimono”- the actor gave her a mock groan and stood up.

- “Can you just take the M&M’s and be happy?” 

- “Nop, I want my kimono”

- “I’ll trade it for…” 

- “Nope, my kimono, Gubler”

- “Nobody likes a bad winner”

- “Nobody likes a loser”- her snarky words were reciprocated with an annoyed stare, that made (Y/N) laugh even more. She grabbed her phone and snapped a few more pictures with Gubler like that to have a memory of her glorious moment. 

Winning to Gubler in poker was actually something to be proud of, even if it had been by random luck. 

Matthew walked slowly to his kimono closet, followed closely by (Y/N), who kept jumping and giggling, still excited with her achievement.

- “Please, be careful”- he whispered as he stared inside the closet and picked his favorite. He touched the fabric carefully, letting his finger play with the silk for a few seconds. 

- “Stop groping my kimono, perv!”- (Y/N) forced him to move from the closet and held the item closely.

- “It’s mine now! mine! mine! mine!”- Gubler held his breath and tried to remain serious, though it was turning to be harder if (Y/N) kept acting like a kid. 

- “I don’t think it fits you”- he teased, and (Y/N) gasped immediately- “It’s too big for you, maybe I should have it back, yes, I will have it back, ‘cos you are not even going to wear it after all.”

- “No no, no, Gubs, it’s a poker bet! this kimono is mine”

- “Prove it!”- he demanded and (Y/N) stared at him blankly- “If it’s yours… prove it”

- “Why?”- she giggled and bit her tongue. 

 It wasn’t poker, but (Y/N) knew Matthew’s tell when it came to sex. The way he was looking at her, how he moved one step closer, almost touching her. How carefully he licked his lips. He was crystal clear. 

- “Why what?”

- “Why should I wear it? it’s mine, I can do whatever I want with it”- the girl grinned and giggled, watching how Matthew started flustering in front of her.

- “I could simply just let it hang in my closet forever, and it would be ok, ‘cos it’s mine now, I don’t have to wear it, I don’t have to prove you anything…”

Teasing him was so fun, and he never let her have that much control either. It was weird, and it was tempting. (Y/N) was definitely enjoying it. 

A few seconds later, she turned around and started walking upstairs, knowing no matter how badly Matthew would fight it, he would follow her to their room. 

- “But why would you want to do that with this fantastic kimono? Did you feel it? It’s the softest thing on earth, here, (Y/N), feel it”- the girl chortled as her boyfriend wrapped his arms around her and forced her to stop. They stayed in the middle of the stairs, Gubler locking his arms around her, his eyes clearly undressing her without saying a word. 

- “Yes, hon, it’s soft”- (Y/N) whispered, and tried to look away for a second. Matthew’s eyes were too intense on hers. She could feel how he pressed his already hard cock against her, like a warning. A warning of what was coming, a sign of what she was accomplishing.  

- “I bet you have never felt anything as soft as this kimono against your skin”- the words sent shivers down her spine, as Gubler’s voice on her neck was low and velvety.

- “Last time you bet me something, you lost”- she moved again from him and continued walking upstairs- “So I don’t think you should play those games with me”

- “Not funny”

He followed her to their room and laid on the bed. (Y/N) walked around the room holding and looking carefully at every inch of her prize. Gubler stared in silence for a few seconds, and then, he continued. 

- “It’s the softest thing on earth, you should wear it”

- “Mmm, I’m not sure”- all that teasing was funny, but Matthew was feeling already a little frustrated.

- “Come on”

- “I don’t feel like it” 

- “(Y/N), please”

- “Why?”

- “You just won the kimono”- he stood up and walked to her

- “So?”

- “So? you should be enjoying the softness against your skin”- and that was all (Y/N) could take, ‘cos as soon as she heard those last words, she started laughing. Gubler was a little confused. 

- “What? what did I say?”

- “Why don’t you just stop the bullshit and admit you gave me the kimono ‘cos you’ve got a weird kimono thing”

- “What?!”- he was busted

- “Just say you wanna fuck me senselessly while I wear this kimono and I’ll put it on”

- “I don’t know what are you talking about”- Gubler trying to look innocent under those circumstances was impossible. He knew it, (Y/N) knew it, anyone who could take a look at how painfully tight his pants were at that moment, would know it. 

- “Really?”- he nodded, in one last effort to look innocent- “Oh, sorry, I totally misunderstood this conversation then, I’m gonna hang this kimono in the very back of my closet and I’ll never wear it then.” 

Gubler sighed, defeated for the second time that night. He wrapped his arms around her waist and rubbed every word he spoke against her lips slowly. 

- “I want you to put on that kimono so I can fuck you senselessly against the wall”

The girl let out a sigh of satisfaction and took off her shirt immediately. 

- “You command and I obey, daddy.”

- “But I’m gonna need that kimono back”

- “Don’t push it, Gub”.

[madeflowersgrow]

Kristen Stewart is probably best known for their role as Bella Swan in the Twilight movies that came out around the time I was in high school. I wasn’t really into Twilight at the time. Not because I didn’t like it, I guess I just never looked into it. My friend group, though mostly other girls, were also not big on Twilight. If anything, they were more interested in Supernatural and the Harry Potter movies which were still being made. That said I do remember them having us sit in a classroom to watch Twilight during some kind of testing day at the school. I can’t exactly remember why we were put into a random classroom to watch the movie but I never forgot the atmosphere and feel of the movie. I love rain and the movie seemed to perfectly capture the feeling of a rainy day. And the soundtrack was pretty great too.

It wasn’t until earlier this year that Twilight became my comfort movie. I’d moved in with my dad and his girlfriend after being on my own for nearly 11 years and for whatever reason I found myself watching Twilight constantly. I began a bit of a collection too. I would find many different versions of the Twilight movies and buy each one. I found a beautiful brown box collection of all five films region coded for Ireland. And a copy of Breaking Dawn part 1 that came with a fake flower that was actually part of the wedding decorations on the set when they filmed the scene. As of right now I have about 20 copies of the Twilight movies, each one different than the other. I find it amazing how many different ways they produced the same set of films and I wanted to see if I could find each different variation.

About 3 weeks ago I was in San Francisco for a concert and while there I decided to see Spencer, a new movie about Princess Diana played by Kristen Stewart. I was blown away. I had never seen a performance like it by Kristen Stewart and there were many moments where I forgot it was them at all. When I got home I started looking in to what other films they have been a part of and was astounded to realize they’ve been a part of about 50 different films, not to mention a few directing credits for movies and music videos.

Of course, I remembered watching Catch That Kid when I was younger, but other than that and Zathura I hadn’t seen a fraction of the work that Kristen Stewart has worked in.

Here is a list of the movies I have so far: The Flinstones in Viva Rock Vegas (2000), Panic Room (2002), Catch That Kid (2004), Speak (2004), Fierce People (2005), Twilight (2008), Twilight New Moon (2009), Twilight Eclipse (2010), Welcome to The Rileys (2010), Twilight Breaking Dawn part 1 (2011), Twilight Breaking Dawn part 2 (2012), Personal Shopper (2016), and Lizzie (2018).

I’m blown away. I think Kristen Stewart will someday receive a Life Achievement award. It’s honestly a little sad that the Twilight movies are what they are most known for when they have been a part of some absolutely amazing projects, many of which are now part of the Criterion Collection, many independent Sundance films, just wow. It’s so wonderful how they never got held back by being type-casted by the Twilight movies.

What I plan to do is continue collecting the rest of Kristen Stewart’s work, preferably in physical media form, and make a post about the movie including a synopsis, what it did well, what I liked about it, and whatever else comes to mind. They won’t be in any particular order and I don’t plan on making a post to review the Twilight films. I just thought it would be fun to share the little hyper fixation I’m currently on and bring awareness of the many amazing films that Kristen Stewart has been a part of.

[lunarliza]

Fake Boyfriend | Chapter 1: Two Truths and a Big Fat Lie

JJ x Kook!reader Series 

You’re a Kook Princess who has everything you ever wanted... until your handsome Kook Prince dumps you for a hot new fling. To save your reputation, you bribe the one person he hates the most, JJ Maybank, to pretend to be your boyfriend for the summer. All’s fair in love and war. But where do you draw that line when you’re suddenly wishing your fake boyfriend is your real one?

ahh yes, my third rendition of a fake dating/enemies to lovers story. this is just a short lil intro but i’m excited for this series! 

“He did what?” 

“Yup, broke up with me right over the phone,” you repeated to your hairstylist, Boris, who almost snipped off a chunk of your locks in utter shock. 

“What a complete asshole!” Boris groused, clipping away at your dead ends, “What did you say after? Please tell me you told him off and slashed his tires or I have failed as a mentor.” 

“Well I was so angry and shaken up I didn’t know what to say,” you pouted, “So I just said whatever and hung up.” 

It had been a couple days since your nasty break up with your ex-boyfriend who blind-sided you and ended things out of nowhere. Needless to say, you were a cluttered mess and this was your favorite form of therapy: self care, a new hair color, and mindlessly ranting to Boris-- the one person on the island who would absolutely destroy anyone who did you wrong. 

“Y/n!” he droned, “How are you gonna let him end a two year relationship and just say ‘whatever’? No, you need to get to slashing right after I fix you up or else you’ve missed your Carrie Underwood moment!” 

You sighed. “I know I should’ve gone all psycho bitch on him, but I didn’t want it to seem like I care all that much! Besides,” you mumbled the next part, “he’s got a new girl already.” 

The grown man nearly dropped his shears. “Already?! This just happened like two days ago!” 

“I know,” you cringed, “My friends came over last night to investigate her Instagram. I think she’s their family friend or something. Word on the Eight is that she’s here for the summer from California and is staying at his house.” 

Boris scoffed and tossed his finished scissors on the counter in frustration, starting up the curling iron. “So he dumped you after two years and dates someone else a day after?” he shook his head, “Unbelievable. He probably had her on the side when you guys were together too. Honey, you’re so much better off without him.” 

“Yeah, you’re right!” you agreed cooly-- as if you weren’t bawling and moping over old camera roll pictures just minutes before pulling up to the salon. 

Boris lightly blow dried your newly dyed hair while you admired it through the mirror. “I like this color a lot,” you commended, “I was a little iffy that it wouldn’t look right, but I knew you’d work your magic.” 

Your freshly manicured hands played with the ends before Boris began curling the back strands. 

“You deserve it, sweetie. Forget about that piece of trash and move on with your life! You have all summer to find a new beau,” he chimed, “Where are you going tonight again?” 

“Just dinner with the girls. My friend Sarah’s dad got us reservations to Chalet Basque so we’ll definitely be treating ourselves.” 

You giggled when he began doing fake French impressions of the servers. Leave it to him to lighten your mood during trying times. When he finished the last curl, he basked you in a hairspray that smelled like rosewater and spun you in the seat for the final ‘voila’ moment. 

Boris never failed to make you feel like a full-on beauty queen during your weekly glam seshs. 

As he undid the little cape around you, you spotted a familiar combo of tall dark and handsome waltz through the front door from the corner of your eye.

“Shit,” you cursed, a little louder than intended, and shielded your face, “It’s him! And he brought the girl!” 

Boris’ eyes widened. “That’s her?” he yelled-whispered, eyeing the couple that just plopped down in the waiting area, “Oh you’re so much prettier.” 

You smiled and covertly peeked over at them-- the island’s new supposed ‘power couple’. You almost hurled when you heard kids on the Eight were coining them that name. 

There he sat, Max Vega, in all his preppy, muscular, Spanish-rooted glory. He was even wearing the expensive polo you got him last Christmas. Oh, he looked so cute with his jet black hair slightly slicked back with a single strand hanging on his forehead. Just the way you loved it. 

Tucked under his arm was his new trophy girl. Her beach-waved blonde hair came all the way down to her perfectly shaped hips and her tan model legs draped across his while they watched some video together on his phone. 

Your heart sank at the way he tapped her nose when he said something cute to her. The same way he used to do to you. 

Before you could turn away, his chestnut eyes met yours and he stiffened. You hurriedly tried to avert your gaze, but saw him begin walking over to you through Boris’ giant mirror nonetheless. 

“Y/n!” he greeted, coming up behind you.

“Max! Oh what a surprise!” you mimicked his fake seething enthusiasm, whipping around the chair. 

“Yeah,” he scratched the back of his neck, “I didn’t think I’d run into you here.”  

You held back a scoff. As if you hadn’t made weekly trips to the place to get your hair, nails, and eyebrows done since you were ten. You seriously wondered sometimes if you were truly in love him or if he was just pretty. 

His girl stood a little behind him, clutching onto his toned arm like a shy little bunny. “Anyways,” he snaked his hand to the small of her back, “This is Anya. She’s my dad’s partner’s daughter from Huntington Beach and is staying in our guest house for the summer.” 

The giant perky blonde straightened her back and held out her hand, that wasn’t wrapped around your ex-man, to you. “Hey girl! It’s so nice to meet one of Max’s friends!” 

You heard Boris lightly gag in the background and had to suppress your impending laughter. 

With all the willpower you could muster up, you rose from the chair and put on the most forced smile you have ever done. “I’m y/n, nice to meet you too.” 

“So uh, you look nice,” Max noted at your elaborate hairdo, “What’s the occasion?” 

“I-” 

“She’s actually going on a date tonight,” Boris butted-in as-a-matter-of-factly. You whisked your head around to the man, giving him a frantic ‘wtf’ look.

Max wrinkled his brows. “Oh... well that’s nice. Who with?” 

You racked your brain for a name. Any name. 

Briefly, you glanced out the shop window and caught a glimpse of a trio skipping by outside. One of your friends, Kiara Carrera, linked arms with two of her best guy friends as they munched on ice cream cones from next door. Your eyes fixated on a certain blonde boy in a snapback and untucked black button up.

Bingo. 

“Uh, it’s with JJ. JJ Maybank. You know him right?” you brought up slyly. 

Your ex was definitely taken aback- especially at the mention of the one guy he despised most on the island. “Oh, what? W-Wow,” he sputtered, “I didn’t know you guys talked like that.” 

“Yeah, I mean it just kind of happened. Sarah set us up,” you continued to fib, crossing your arms. You felt bad having to lie like that, but the look of pain and confusion on Max’s face almost made it worth it. 

Almost. 

Before he could pry any further, the nail technician called for Anya from the other side of the salon. 

She cheered and bid you goodbye before yanking Max along with her to get their couple’s treatment. The same one he refused to get with you no matter how many times your begged. Who knew all it took was a leggy blonde with a butt thrice the size of yours to do the trick. 

You sighed in relief once they disappeared to the pedicure station and smacked Boris’ arm. “What’d you do that for?! A date?! He had to know I was lying!”

“Ow!” he rubbed his tattooed arm, “Look, if he’s moving on, then you gotta act like you are too. Trust me, you’ll thank me later for this.” 

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

note: lowkey basing the girl off of cher horowitz from clueless lmao. anyways chapter two to come

chapter two

[merrysithmas]

remember when boris rants about stealing the painting and how sorry he is to theo and hes just like yeah wtf are u talking about and boris is like u didnt? know? that u dont have the painting??? do u think that boris feels relieved he told theo and now theo knows or he regrets it thinking that he might’ve ruined this second chance fate just gave them? do u think if boris knew theo didn’t know he would just never mention it? or he would tell theo even tho that would implicate theo hating him?

I think Boris would absolutely tell Theo even if he knew that Theo didn’t know — I’m not sure he would’ve told him right then exactly, but he would have come clean. It’s just the heist setup happened to coincide perfectly with Theo’s fucked up comphet engagement so Boris kind of had the cards stacked against him — had to come clean right then to get Theo to ditch and go to Amsterdam with him. Whereas if Theo wasn’t in the middle of selling out his gay art thieving soul for a substitute mom Boris likely would’ve whisked Theo away maybe under pretense but told him in Europe. BUT the reason why Boris would have absolutely told Theo no matter what is this:

At that point there is a HUGE narrative parallel - Theo was obsessed with and preoccupied by an object that didn’t exist (TGF), and Boris was tormented by and preoccupied by a misdeed no one knew he committed (stealing TGF). The irony! All of their wrought up agony and self-flagellation was essentially for nothing, and yet all the more meaningful because they go through these soul transforming experiences by themselves - pressed on by guilt and longing, and internal locus of pain, a desire to do good in a world of bad.

Boris wishes to change Theo’s perception of him as a thief and liar — because Boris does not want to be a thief or liar, not to Theo. He sees himself as bad — this one act of theft has haunted him (and he supposes ruined Theo’s life) and the guilt of it has brought him around to good. This guilt Boris doesn’t realize he feels because he simply is good already.

And Theo realizes, after finding out the Goldfinch was a schoolbook, that his years of paranoia and effort to replace the past (Mrs Barbour, his marriage to Kitsey) were not done out of some greater arc of adoring beauty or in attempt to keep a piece of art (in essense, Theo’s memory of his mother) immortal. They were done because Theo ascribed meaning to it - false meaning, because when he unwraps TGF it is nothing but a relic of childhood, a schoolbook, a story he keeps telling himself. A lie. Who he has become, not who he should be. All of his efforts to stagnant time (drugs, displaced Pippa obsession, falsely marrying Kitsey, New Mom Mrs Barbour, antique dealing/scamming, lying to Hobie, hoarding TGF to keep it “safe”) were not done to preserve art and beauty but were selfish, an attempt to keep his mother alive, an act that rotted his soul in all those areas. He tried to do good by his mother (who said “we lose people yes, but it is more of a shame how we lose things” right before she died). Theo took this to mean - preserve the Goldfinch at all cost because his mother died, but he sees it really is a message from her meaning: people die, but we must not lose the important things we have because of it, least of all our souls.

This 8 year gap they’ve had from one another represents something very important: number one it is both a physical and metaphorical absence/distance from the one they feel closest to because of painful secrets, unreconciled mental health issues, and the past holding them back. It shows that not only would they have likely died in Vegas if they did not meet to save each other (and break up before they got too self-destructive), but they would have also likely died had they not met again in the future and reconciled. Theo maybe in a depression as he realizes his faux marriage and stand-in mom did nothing to ease his psychological burden and the continued ire he feels towards blaringly fake social niceties with Kitsey would only be exacerbated 100 fold, plus he’d perhaps eventually seek the painting and find it gone - his soul, gone. Sold out. Somewhere across the world - with Boris.

Boris on the other hand would have likely died of heroin overdose, plunged into the depths of his momentary pleasure-seeking, without Theo to question his motives and symbolize a potential future, a connection to the present, and someone who “of course” loves him. And on top of it - he has the painting, stole someone’s life, sold it for his own selfish gain, profited off of it — and for what? so he can buy heroin? OD in a dark apartment in Antwerp? what meaning is there to his life with the painting? it is a clamp on his soul, an anchor dragging him down to his hell, an enabler (financially) of all his worst habits. His soul’s end.

Boris had to tell Theo to ease his guilty conscience, it is his confession, his request for clemency from the Universe, an entreaty for absolution. It is the symbolic act which shows Boris cares for something/someone more than the cares for himself - his opportunity to be the hero, to be upstanding, to tell the truth. And it took him ten years to get the courage to do so, to grow, to learn in that distance that his riches and profits and hedonism means nothing alone.

And Theo had to find out TGF was stolen from him to clearly see the utter fakeness and transparency of his life of lies - upheld by his imaginary beliefs. It is this realization exactly that makes it so easy for Theo to willingly give up The Goldfinch (his life’s fixation) in Amsterdam to Martin for Boris’ life. That act represents that Theo sees the Golfinch for what it has been for him, a symbol, smoke and mirrors, and his life for the past 8 years as a self-delusion. He learns his soul is worth more than that, as Boris clings to the painting (Theo’s soul) refusing to give it up in the face of death - that art depends on the observer. To Theo, his own life is often worthless, but to Boris, it has grown precious and priceless - and as Boris tells him, saved Boris’ life.

So Theo returns the favor in seeing that Boris’ decade long journey of self discovery is worth more than a painting Theo didn’t even know he didn’t have - Boris: his only real friend and a person he loves, in the present. The thing he can’t lose even though his mother died — Audrey’s real message to him.

That’s my long way of saying, yes, he would’ve told him. Boris’ confession symbolizes the moment when they both grow up, when they both take responsibility for their own lives, where they come together and save each other so they can live into adulthood. Theo by giving up TGF for Boris and killing a criminal for him - essentially showing Boris someone sees him as more than a criminal, more than a “priceless” painting/money/profit, more than the cherished past. And Boris saves Theo by telling him the truth, helping him see his life for what it was, helping him realize someone truly cares about his opinion and esteem, someone values his company, someone thinks he is worth more than a painting in a museum from the most tragic day of his life.

Essentially, that they both matter.

[alfredosauce50]

Who’s the bad guy? (2p + 1p America x reader) 15

Wordcount: 2,212 The reader is referred to as she/her

For a get-together between four people to come up with an intricately-thought out plan that dragged on into the small hours, it was not even that good in Allen's opinion.  Nothing but a table lamp illuminated the interior of the house, but that was no big deal for all the souls under that roof were huddled together in the living room. Tens and tens of ideas and strategies were scrapped, tweaked and polished until it all came down to this. Alfred had suggested doing a team up with the NYPD for backup, to where Happy agreed to with no objection at all. Allen and Flavio, on the other hand, were not so keen on this idea. 

"What did I say about getting the police involved with our business, Alfred?" The redhead murmured with a click of the tongue. "I'm not on the best terms with them and Flavio sure as hell ain't either because of his shithead of a brother. I don't wanna repeat this anymore." His voice was husky and low with vexation as he addressed the small group huddled around the coffee table. A soft hum of agreement was heard from the blonde just next to him whose arms were wrapped around his knees buried in his chest. 

"Yep. I don't want to be rounded up for questioning because of my brother. So telling the po po about this is an absolute no no." He added, causing the men sitting opposite to exchange looks. The one with blood-stained bandages returned his visage to the rest and leaned forward in a hunch. Lines of white coiled around his shoulder and chest, and the pristine condition of them all was ruined by bright red blotches seeping into the material from underneath. His brows lowered in a small frown and so did his eyes. What were they to do without the support? They needed all the help they could get; no longer would they be afraid of being outnumbered if the whole department was there with them, but being outgunned would forever be a problem. How else were Luciano and the empire he built able to survive so long engaging in the most heinous crimes? His name was on the very top of the list of FBI's most wanted, and yet, nobody had even scored something as pathetic and significant as a single lead. Not the feds. Not anyone. All except for a few well-informed inhabitants of New York City. Alfred's eyes flew open and lit up. "Yo... I just came up with the best fucking idea ever." He finally broke the silence and he scanned the faces with a mischievous grin that practically screamed you-are-never-going-to-guess-what-I-came-up-with. "Let's go and consult with the police! We can threaten them with the knowledge we have about Luciano and his gang," His cousin clicked his fingers. "And we give them a couple of conditions to follow before we give it to them. Alfred, you actually suggested something smart for once." Happy let out a small laugh. "Yeah, that idea isn't half-bad!" Said man narrowed his eyes at his cousin. "Hey! That's not nice!" "Since when was I nice to you?" "... Touché. But things have improved, I guess." Alfred shrugged. The other just sat there and made no response. He was taken aback by what he said, but he was not wrong. "Anyway, let's not run off on a tangent. So our plan to get the police to help us is to bribe them with information on the most wanted cartel they never could get their hands on. Then we give them a few rules to follow that'll work in our-" He dragged the last word on for a while and let it change into something else. "-your advantage. Flavio's too." "-And we also tell them to drop all of my criminal charges." Allen added. An awkward silence ensued, but it was broken by a few coughs. Before then, Flavio and Happy had their brows raised at him. Alfred's lips stretched into a thin line after the coughing ceased. "Okay... I'm not even gonna ask." It was unexpected for him to leave the conversation there, and yet it wasn't. The redhead eyed him with an incredulous look and fixated his visage on him for a while as if he expected those lips to move again along with his sharp tongue. Knowing him, he would be up his ass by now with a few insults thrown here and there about his questionable background. But this time, he heard nothing but a statement indicating his intention to continue moving forward with a change of subject. It was nice, actually. Weird too. An unprecedented event it was, for he never anticipated himself to ever experience feelings of gratitude towards his cousin. Allen folded his arms together and darted his eyes away to the rest. "Great. So that's solved." He murmured. He too, leaned forward in a hunch when his mind floated off to the other details of their skeleton of a plan. "Wait." Everyone returned their attention to him. Rubbing his chin with an index finger and thumb, he glided his tongue over his bottom lip. "How are we supposed to get the police to help us without... Making it obvious that the police are helping us? You know how the whole world knows when the cops pull up with their bright-ass lights?" A hum rumbled from Alfred's throat and he nodded. "I see where you're coming from. Their uniforms also give it away." "Exactly. They can't just suddenly crash the place, cuz that little piece of shit has eyes and ears everywhere. They'll disappear down the friggin' sewer before we can infiltrate the damn place." His cousin pointed at him with a million dollar smile. "I just had another epiphany." He mumbled, sounding as though he was biting back an explosion of obnoxious laughter. "Disguises, dude. Undercover cops! We'll have em all waiting around outside in the cafes and stores and shit. They'll look like normal citizens, but nahh-" Shooting up on the spot, he pulled out an imaginary gun from under his imaginary clothes and fired it a few times at the door. "Bang, bang, bang! Put your hands up in the air where I can see them!" Happy knitted his brows together and gawked at him with disbelief. It was understandable that he was being paid a six-digit salary to protect a big shot like him, but seriously? He'd rather risk his life for the president. "Alfred-" He hissed. "Just- just- sit down." The other let out a disappointed whine and sat back down. "What? Was my idea bad?" "No. I just want you to act your age." He responded. Alfred felt his eye twitch. "I don't wanna act like an old fart like you!" "The fuck did you say?" Happy growled. "I'm not old! I'm only a few years older than you, you manbaby!" "Well, it sure looks like a whole lot more than that!" As the two bickered on, Allen pulled the butcher's paper splayed out on the glass surface closer to himself and popped off the cap of a pen. Letting the nib glide across the sheet quickly, he wrote a few dot points that really looked like a few squiggles. The figure with a baby pink scarf coiled around his neck leaned over to watch him work his magic with illegible writing. "Whatcha writing?" "Everything we just said." He grumbled, drilling his scorching gaze at the two men wrestling each other on his carpet. A vein was popping around his neck as he bit back all the anger he had lodged in his throat. Even at a crucial time like this when your whereabouts and fate were unknown, they still had the audacity to argue about their insecurities, and it made his blood boil. "Because right now, Alfred and Happy aren't contributing." Allen rose his voice sharply when their names rolled off his tongue. The two stopped what they were doing and sat up at the mention of their names. When they caught the hint of death glinting in those dangerous scarlet eyes glaring at them, they paled like they had just seen a ghost. And If they did not cooperate with him, a ghost was what they were going to become. Allen set his pen down without breaking away from their intense stare down. That way, he would know if they were listening or not. "According to Flavio, Luciano's next auction is going to be held in two days at the Four Seasons Hotel. We're going to one of the police departments tomorrow to get them to join us. Together, we'll solidify a plan." He needed to ask Flavio a few times if he was sure that the venue for the auction was correct. It was just too close to them that it was suspicious. It was as if Luciano wanted them to come to him. Usually, they would take place in other cities- different states even, like Las Vegas. Thankfully, there was no need to fly across the United States just to get to The Bellagio. All they needed was a short car ride to Manhattan, to the same godforsaken site where you were taken in the first place. *** The moment the group stepped into the police department, all eyes were on them. Mixed reactions were stirred, ranging from awe to disgust depending on who you were gawking at. Striding down the halls were a billionaire, his bodyguard, a fugitive, and a guy who liked fashion. Making their way past a wall displaying New York's most wanted, Allen pointed at one of the men and joked that he looked like Alfred. "Hey! This 11201 motherfucker looks just like you! He looks more like you than you do!" They were not given the warmest welcome per se, for the figure in the bomber jacket was shoved to a wall shortly after teasing his cousin. His face collided with the cold harsh surface and he let out a painful grunt as his skin began to sting. A dent was already made by the strong impact of his head making contact with the wall. A burly man standing at about 6 feet tall had appeared out of nowhere to hold him there against the wall. Letting his piercing icy blue eyes search those red ones, he neared his face with a patronizing glare. "You've got guts walking in here, Allen." Before any of them could explain themselves, Alfred walked up to them with a smirk. "Karma got right back at ya." With invaluable knowledge on Luciano's cartel delivered straight to their door, it was impossible to keep it closed. Even if they needed to be convinced to accept some of the conditions, it all worked out in the end. Now, everyone was on the same page with the same goal in mind-- to seize an illegal auction, save a hostage and arrest the mastermind behind it all. *** Restaurants and eateries that lined the street were swarmed with hungry patrons whose mouths all watered for a delicious lunch. For those who already ate, retailers and boutiques called for all the shopaholics to enter them with their inviting display of high-end goods. And outside those establishments was the bustle of life, people walking and talking with friends and family to fill the air with the hum of lively chatter. To be frank, the sheer number of those there in that particular street was unbelievably high, especially for a working day. But what was the reason for the influx of people? Half of those in the cafes were not even intending to eat anything. Two-thirds of those browsing in the shops never touched their wallets. Instead, their eyes kept darting to the entrance of a five-star hotel. Those who were situated at much closer proximity were noting down the faces and appearances of guests stepping out of the polished cars and limousines that pulled up in the driveway. Comparing to what they were all wearing, the onlookers of what looked like a party or convention were pathetic. The women adorned themselves in beautiful dresses flowing like fabric waterfalls, and on top of that, they decorated their necks, wrists, and ears with priceless jewelry that glimmered under the sun. Their male counterparts did not fall far behind either. Although they were less flamboyant than their partners, their tuxedos were just as dashing. A man with choppy blonde hair continued to flicker his bright green irises to the esteemed guests stepping out of their vehicles, but when he spotted a young woman that fit a certain description nailed into his brain through the art of repetition, he reached up to scratch his ear. Or at least, it looked like he was scratching his ear. "Hostage sighted. She's wearing a black knee-length dress with spaghetti straps. She just entered the hotel with a man... Dark auburn hair and weird looking eyes. Standing at about five foot seven. Wait..." The revelation pierced through his body like an arrow. Clamping a hand over his mouth as he gagged into it, he swallowed down his lunch he had consumed around an hour ago. "Fuck me." He whispered, never tearing his dumbfounded expression away from the man. "It's Lucky Luciano."

[defleurtradingco]

Epoch- Sleep

(Previous: Green, Next: Cruelty)

“So uh, that like, normal now or, I don’t think I seen a vampire sleepin’ like that before.” Monte asked, arms crossed with his head turned towards the living room.

“He is fine, and safe here. Do not worry for it for now. There are slightly more important matters to address right now, unfortunately.” Solaina answered, sighing and draping a throw blanket over the downed Lowrey who’d fallen asleep waiting for Monte to arrive.

“I mean like, how do ya breathe with yer face mashed inta the sofa cushion like that-” “You’re asking how a vampire needs to BREATHE?” Gray scrunched his nose up at the sight.

“I’m just sayin’-”

“Anyway-” Solaina cleared her throat loudly as she came back to the dining room area. “So, first things first Mr. Randal has relayed to me that he is in need of assistance in locating his lost family. I would like to make it a point that he has not provided me very many details in the matter, so we have very little to go on.” She gave the cat-man a pointed look. He shrunk back in his seat at the table.

Monte idly picked at a spot on his lip. “Woulda helped ta tell ME that in the beginning dude. I thought you were out here doin’ a job, not lookin’ fer people.”

“I WAS- I AM.” Gray sputtered defensively.

“Then is there any reason you are withholding information?” Solaina asked, with a slightly more demanding tone.

Gray squirmed in his seat, more figuratively than physically, as he wiped a palm on his pants. “Listen- things are just really complicated right now and I don’t wanna accidentally say something that’ll make you think something else-” “Like what??” “I mean ya held a gun up to ‘er, so I dunno what could possibly be worse at this point n’ all-”

“Listen I-” Before they could all delve further into the argument that was inevitably brewing, the front door opened. Liam didn’t walk in immediately however. Instead, he opted to poke his head in first. “I-is everything all right?? I heard you needed to borrow my house for a uh...” He came inside slowly, his attention mostly directed at the couch. “A uh… meeting.”

“Yes, or rather, a bit of an interrogation at this point.” Solaina sighed again in frustration. She needed something cold. “Where do you keep your glasses?” “Oh er-” Liam had already made a beeline for the sofa. Or rather, the vampire on it. “To the left of the sink in the cabinet- the fridge should have ice in it, or if you want something else feel free��� Goodness why in the world is he down here?! He was upstairs when I had left!” “He let me into the house.” “There was a spare key under the mat you know! I told you.”

“A’right a’right doc calm down. I’ll take ‘im up.” Monte came over ,leaning down and picking Lowrey up with relative ease and throwing him over his shoulder. “Thought he woulda been heavier, color me surprised.” “I wouldn’t know,” Liam muttered as he followed Monte up the stairs and away from the other two.

Solaina stood practically over Gray, looking down at him with her glass of ice water in hand.

Gray only bunched himself up onto the chair more than he already was.

“You know, the less I know, the less I am able to help you.”

He didn’t respond.

“But...” Solaina continued. “I am aware that sometimes situations can be… delicate. As this one seems to be. Perhaps there are reasons you cannot share. And that may be just the way it is.

Still…

Is there absolutely nothing else that you can share with me?” With some small sound of reluctance, Gray swallowed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. He thought about it for several long moments, as they both listened to the thumping around on the second floor. Monte exclaimed something but neither of them could make it out.

“...All I can think of right now’s goin’ back to where it all started n’ going from there.” He mumbled.

Solaina could make it out enough to understand. “And where would that be?” “Back home?” “Back home,”

“Yeah, I guess. I dunno. I’m runnin’ outta ideas...And time. Probably.” “Where IS your home?” “Back in Vegas, it’s in the suburbs away from the Strip so we’d hafta go back and poke around a bit but… I haven’t been able to head back there in some time. I hope it’s still there… It was kinda an old neighborhood but, over the years the place seems to have built up some.”

It wasn’t the best starting point in the world, but it was more than they had before. And it would have to do.

Solaina took a sip of her water.

“Can you provide me the address?” “Yeah,”

“Good.” She went back to her temporary workstation at the table and sat down, setting her glass aside. “You should get some sleep. We will head there to look around in the morning. Perhaps we will run into something or someone who can help.”

Gray scooted his chair away from the table.

“And you shouldn’t leave again.”

“I’m not...”

“Good.”

He couldn’t help but roll his eyes as he moved away from the table, over to the living room couch to sit down. As he did so, Monte and Liam came back downstairs.

“Tellin’ ya that guy looks like he’s on Death’s door. I seen cartoon close ups of characters bein’ all grody look better than him.”

“He doesn’t look THAT bad! He’s just...” Liam sounded (understandably) frustrated. That much came to a brief halt when he spotted Gray sitting on his couch. He was all dusty- and the thought of a dusty couch made him squirm-

Instead he made himself follow Monte to the dining room. “So?? What’s going on then??” He asked impatiently.

“Any progress while we were droppin’ off th’ potato sack upstairs?” Monte added.

“Mr. Randal will take us to his old home tomorrow. From there we will do a bit of investigating and see whether or not we can find any new information on his missing family.” “Huh...old home… where does he live??” Liam asked, heading over towards the fridge. He needed something stronger than ice water.

“He will show us tomorrow.”

Monte raised his only brow, before looking over his shoulder at Gray sitting alone in the other room. “...Right I guess… Sleepover then. Wooooo.”

“No, NO sleepovers. You can stay here overnight but we’re not doing anything that’s making a mess- I mean look at all the dirt and dust you’ve tracked in already! There’s a DOOR MAT outside for a REASON you know!” Liam was quick to point out.

“Doc- you’re gonna bust an artery over nothin’-” “No I am NOT going to bust ANYTHING over nothing! It’s a matter of- you don’t track a mess into other people’s houses!!”

“Ain’t nothin’ a damn vacuum can fix in a couple minutes!!”

“No one takes ANY consideration into how much TIME I put into CLEANING this place-”

Solaina kept her attention fixated on her laptop. Every so often she checked her email, or her phone, but beyond the usual business, there was nothing from Adrian.

Not even after she’d alerted him of the smuggling situation at Area 51.

It annoyed her.

[electric-sugar-darling]

Entertainer’s turmoil

It’s a conflicting thing being an entertainer in the time of COVID.

Before the lockdown, I had the fortunate opportunity of not only having a singing/performing job as my main money-making job, but also to be able to local theatre as well. In fact, before lockdown, I was experiencing a bout of burnout because my schedule then had been “if I wasn’t performing at work, I was running straight to a rehearsal or show,” and before lockdown, my life had been exactly that for nearly 16 months straight. I was on the verge of stepping away from it all temporarily, to take a breather and focus my energy into an entirely different direction because everything I was doing was more out of necessity and obligation. There is certainly such a thing as too much of a good thing, and my love for it was very dangerously waning as a result.

Then COVID.

It happened gradually at first, but looking back on it now as if it were in the distant past (at least, that's how this entire year has felt like so far) it feels like it was all pulled out from under me (and many other performers) in one fell swoop. My rehearsals were cancelled. Then my gigs were cancelled. Then entire shows were being cancelled. And then my place of work where I performed (along with the rest of the casinos on the Las Vegas Strip) were shut down. And suddenly, the entire country was put on standstill. Frontline workers and essential workers still worked, but the rest of us were put on pause. And initially, it did bum me out. Mostly because it was such a breakneck shift from all my waking hours being filled with some sort of activity, to suddenly nothing there at all, and just nervously twiddling my thumbs, waiting for the next day, because day by day is really the only way to live currently. No movie or media about a pandemic could ever prepare us for a real-life pandemic. Especially with the way the current administration is handling it. But eventually, I saw it as some cosmic message to the entire world that our current way of life was too busy, too hectic, too obsessive with hustle mentality. And I decided to take the universe's hint and to take the break I was given, and reassess how I channeled my energy.

It's been a little over 3 months since then. And boy, have I reassessed.

I could go further into what all those things that I've reassessed are, but instead I'm going to just focus on one: being a performer in a time where large crowds are highly discouraged, or straight up not allowed at the moment.

I'm a singer, a performer, a musician, a theatre kid, all wrapped up in one. All of those things require an outlet. And an audience. I identify greatly as an introvert and as someone with severe social anxiety. But there is no amount of words that describe the transformation I instantly go through when audience lights go down, when stage lights go up, when curtains rise, when the overture begins, when I'm making my first entrance in a show, and I essentially come alive on a stage for the entire world to see. The filter is gone. The overthinking is (mostly) gone. It's a moment of do-or-die, when all the people’s eyes are on you, demanding to be entertained, yet also scrutinizing you all at once. Yet still, with a musical phrase, with a choreographed scene, with a line of dialogue that I've repeated to myself 1,000 times in different inflections through countless evenings studying and rehearsing, with a flourish and a smile, I am alive and fearless in the moment where your eyes are fixated on me, and on my colleagues, wondering what's going to happen next. There is no other feeling quite like it. And I miss it immensely.

However, there lies the conflict.

As much as I do miss my stage, my outlet, my performance, I can't deny the existence of this pandemic. A virus that's literally killing hundreds of thousands of people this year alone, and severely weakening so many others. Millions of cases, asymptomatic or not, with such a high chance of spreading it to others if you're one if the irresponsible ones (oh yes, and mini PSA: WEAR A FUCKING MASK.)

But it's especially heartbreaking for me as a singer and performer, because our craft not only requires being in a room with hundreds, thousands of people, crowded into one place. But I read an article stating that singers are one of the biggest spreaders COVID due to the extent that we use our voices to literally carry over entire rooms, and that we have the most potential to spread COVID particles to not only our colleagues, but to audience members as well.

Workers going back to work now that cities are opening up again (which is wildly absurd and irresponsible to me), and they can at least wear a mask to protect themselves. But as singers and performers, we can't wear masks, as it would inhibit nearly everything we're doing on stage. Speaking, singing, facial expressions, properly breathing during dance numbers. And so myself, and many other entertainers in this business, are faced with the harsh reality of our industry possibly being one of the last, if not the very last thing that would return to a "normal" state.

And therein, another conflict lies within the conflict. Because the casino I work in has recently attempted to open up again, and without giving too much away about what exactly I do, part of the jobs that have returned are certain singer-entertainer jobs that require us to be in close proximity of guests. We are required to masks around guests, but we are to remove them when we are singing. But guests are not required to wear masks, for fear of facing backlash of inhibiting on their "rights." We can protect ourselves for as much as it's worth, but guests get the reign to be as careless as they want, to not only increase the chances of possibly spreading the virus to themselves and others, but to us as well (even with masks and new casino safety guidelines which are ALSO being ignored by many tourists), who are being REQUIRED to return and serve these people who'd rather shirk good health and moral responsibility for a chance to go on vacation again? OH, the absolute privilege of it all!

I want to eventually return to performing. Perhaps not to the same all-hours-full capacity that I once was at before the lockdown began, but I do miss putting a show together. A lot of my performer friends do as well. And thank goodness for things like virtual shows, socially distanced livestream shows. And the prospect of people finding new and/or safer ways to express themselves as artists have blossomed, mostly out of necessity, of having an outlet to express. I have had a few alternative options myself in lieu of live performance, for which I am grateful.

But I can't in good conscience be fully supportive of opening theaters and performing spaces or anything of that capacity again at the moment, when Las Vegas, and other cities around the country, are already being the perfect test sites of what we SHOULDN'T have done, letting people run amok with the option of being unmasked, and thus, the sudden rise of COVID cases.

I miss my art. I miss sharing my art with my colleagues. I miss showing the world my art. But to try and bring it back to any in-person capacity with the current state of things, of administrations and businesses making morally reprehensible decisions for the sake of monetary gain, meanwhile willingly putting millions of lives at risk every single day that they won't at least make a ruling to make masks mandatory, doesn’t feel the least bit right. I say with a heavy and conflicted heart that this art will have to wait a little longer.

[smoakmonster]

A is for Aerial

Prompt: Eye Contact Summary: AU. Felicity is an amateur and struggling trapeze performer in Vegas. Slowly but surely, her new partner Oliver teaches her how to overcome her fears, both on and off the stage. Word Count: 4.8k Tagging: @thebookjumper, @olicityhiatusficathon Also available on AO3.

~

This is the time to try Step out your life is waiting And as you fall you'll find That you can fly (x) (x)

~

She stands on the precipice, waiting, trembling, wanting the inevitable to be over...wanting it to never start.

She hates this part, the unsteady moment just before the world turns upside down, the endless pause before she has to once again defy reason and place her trust--her life--in the hands of something else...in someone else. She’s about to willingly send her body tumbling towards the earth without mercy, and maybe still lingering on the platform, with the very tips of her feet suspended over the edge, makes her a coward. But no matter how many times she does this, her fear of heights never wavers. There is not a lot that she is certain of any more in this life, but gravity is most definitely always and forever a sure thing.

It is the one constant in her profession. Almost as much as the constant spotlight that she never wished for.

Felicity takes a deep breath, repressing the urge to run. Already, her body is rebelling, her stomach so tight she can’t catch a full breath. It’s only thanks to years of training that she doesn’t immediately hurl on the spot. She’s learned to hold back even her most natural instincts. (At the expense of everything else, of course. But the show must go on, as they say. Or in this case, it actually has to start. And it always starts with her.)

It’s the worst part of every show, the lull before the first leap.

In the throbbing silence, she tries pushing her mind into a calmer state, as she imagines herself more in control than she feels. The rush before the plummet is a far-away, nonexistent thing that she can conquer. For just a moment, she lets the buzzing under her skin consume her from the inside out, until she consciously tries to turn it around. This is how she harnesses her fears, molding her terror into a tool, into something to be tamed, just like he taught her.

And it almost works.

Until she accidentally looks down.

Oh no no no.

A sudden wave of nausea hits her. Felicity gulps, her heart flying into a panic. She slams her eyes shut as she abruptly takes a step away from the cold edge of the platform. She can practically feel the spike in her blood pressure, feel the wildness of her pulse throughout her body. Her ears ring to the point of pain, and she feels like she’s drowning. Oh God. It’s so close now. Can your veins implode? Is that a thing? She’s pretty sure she read an article once…

She makes two tight fists. “I can do this. I can do this. I can so totally do this,” she chants to herself.

Yes, you can.

She hears his warm voice in her head, and immediately her eyes fly open, her line of sight automatically finding his from way across the stage. He watches her with calm, quiet expectation. Even in the dim lighting, she can see the gentle certainty in his eyes, eyes that are somehow always so full of strength and patience. And there’s something else his look carries, something softer and familiar...reserved especially for her. Hope.

But either way, I've got you, his eyes seem to say.

When he gives her a brief nod of reassurance, she smiles back out of habit. He won’t move until she’s absolutely ready to go. He never forces her to do this.

It happens so quickly, she swears it’s impossible. He winks at her.

It’s so unexpected, she almost laughs. Now this is something she could truly drown in and have no regrets.

And it works.

Just for a minute, she forgets. She forgets they have an audience. She forgets about the impending drop into the unknown. She forgets about her mother’s medical bills and student loans and how she’s one strike away from being fired. She forgets it all.

It’s just the two of them, waiting for each other in the easy silence, looking out for one another like old friends do, never needing words.

Felicity licks her lips and takes a final step forward, drawing courage from his confidence. He follows her lead.

I've got you.

He told her that once, a week after her accident, a week after her fear of heights really began to consume her. She's never really recovered emotionally from that event. Sometimes she thinks she never will.

I've got you.

With one last look at her partner, she does the unthinkable.

She lets go and falls.

xxx

Ten weeks ago

“I want her.”

His voice is calm yet commanding, echoing across the wide, open training space, calling to her like a beacon, hitting her straight in the heart.

She’s pretty sure she forgets how to breathe.

And it's not because she accidentally swallows a sip of water down the wrong pipe.

And it’s not just because the new trainer is such a sight to behold that gazing at him literally steals her breath away. Although, to be fair, objectively speaking he is tall (taller than most people in their line of work), with an insanely good jawline and decent (and by decent, she means DEFINED) upper arms; yet they're not so big that they overpower his whole physique. Somehow, he strikes the perfect upper-to-lower-body proportion.

But no, she forgets how to breathe when he looks right at her with a severe intensity, trapping her with his gaze. Not that she currently has the ability to move anywhere with any particular speed, even if she wanted to. But the way he's watching her...deeply yet almost kindly?...she doesn't want to move.

“You want Felicity?” her manager asks, effectively breaking their bizarre connection. She hates being talked over like this, but the last time she interrupted him she nearly lost her job, so she's not taking any chances. “Listen, that girl is not ready for that level--”

“You hired me, because you needed my help,” he cuts her manager off smoothly, while maintaining eye contact with her and crossing his arms, which just brings the bicep game to an unnecessary level of distracting. “This is what my help looks like. I did my research. Felicity’s act consistently brings in the most revenue. You want your business to pick back up? Either she works with me, or I walk.”

The room falls into an uneasy silence, and she feels ten pairs of eyes all slowly turn towards her, feels the judgment and jealousy of her colleagues.

But she keeps her eyes fixed on the man in front of her, the stranger coming to her defense.

After some more awkward silence, Felicity shifts in her seat, ignoring the sudden pinch in her side, and ignoring the pinch in her chest under his constant gaze. She clears her throat and decides to address the issue. Other people may be shying away from this guy, but she's not about to be intimidated into doing something she physically cannot handle...anymore. As much as her boss drives her crazy, who does this newcomer think he is, grumpily ordering people around?

“Um, hello. Speaking of walking...I can’t really do that...right now.” Felicity playfully waves her cheap crutch around, as if to prove her point.

Externally, he doesn't react much to her words, other than his frown seems to get even heavier, and then he takes several steps closer to her until...wow, he’s basically hovering within her personal space.

“Give us the room, please.”

Like ants in a thunderstorm, her fellow performers scurry away, abandoning her to whims of the Mysterious Macho Man, who, the longer she studies him, is starting to look vaguely familiar.

Nervously, Felicity sweeps a few stray hairs behind her ear. “Um. Hi.”

Immediately, his entire demeanor softens as he offers her a gentle smile. “Hi. I'm Oliver.”

She blinks, caught off guard by his sudden personality shift. How did he do that? Was all that fierce gruffness before an act? Or is this behavior now an act?

“Felicity--but you knew that already.”

When they briefly shake hands, Felicity really really tries to ignore the way her heart kind of freaks out by the touch.

“Is it a stage name?” he asks, moving to sit beside her on the bench.

“No. It's just...just my name.” She shrugs.

He nods solemnly, as though acknowledging that he understands some deeper truth she’s just revealed.

“Felicity? Can I ask you a question?”

“I think you just did.”

He smiles briefly, then grows serious again. “Do you want to do this?”

He gestures to the workout mats, before pinning her with his gaze once more, those deep blue eyes searching her own for a long time. It’s nerve-wracking having this level of intensity fixated on her. So Felicity does what she always does when she’s nervous. She talks.

“If by ‘this’ you mean work with you, I don’t know. As you can see, I’m not in my prime condition. And my boss hates me and is basically looking for the next possible opportunity to fire me. Oh, and have you heard? The new show is going to have a trapeze in the middle of the dining room. Because nothing says Vegas like watching acrobats try not to fall on top of your lobster. Not that I’m particularly acrobatic--”

“Felicity,” he interrupts softly. “Do you want to be here?”

She hesitates but can’t bring herself to lie to him. “I don't really have a choice.”

He swallows, something grave crossing his face, but it’s gone before she can really assess it. “That makes two of us.” He utters it so quietly, she almost misses it.

She frowns, wondering what in the world that could mean.

But before she can dare to ask, he’s changed his temperament again. “Well,” he says a little more brightly, but it’s a false brightness, the kind that comes from years of experience working in shows like this. It’s a facade she’s achingly intimate with. It’s the facade she forces herself to wear every day when she looks in the mirror. “For now, we need to build your upper body strength. Without your legs distracting you, you can focus. You can get better.”

She snorts. “Yeah, sure. Because legs are such a hinderance. Besides, the doctors say that I’m…”

“I'm not talking about getting better here”--he touches her knee, and her whole skin positively freaks out, tingling in response; she swears she almost jumps despite her bad leg.

“I'm talking about getting better here.” This time, he points to her head. “Anyone can swing from a bar. But do you have what it takes to keep doing it night after night with hundreds of people watching you?”

She sighs. She’s been asking herself that question every day since she foolishly took this job.

“Do you have a degree in clinical psychology as well as physical therapy?” she asks him, half teasing, half not.

He winks at her, almost flirtatiously, like they’re already good friends. “I'm a quick study.”

She hopes that she’s also a quick study, because rent and medicine for her mom kind of depend on her ability to learn and learn well.

xxx

Seven weeks ago

Felicity follows Oliver on crutches to the middle of the training room, to just underneath the tallest structure in the room.

Looking up, she pouts. “What is this?”

“It’s a bar,” says Oliver as though that explains his intentions entirely.

She shoots him a glare. “Thank you. But you don’t really expect me to be ready for this yet?”

“Yes, I do. You’re gonna do a chin up today.”

“What?” she gasps, dread filling her stomach. “No, I can’t…Oliver, I can’t…” She licks her lips, terrified. Her leg in a boot feels about ten times heavier. Sure, she knows how to do a chin-up, but she’s incredibly out of shape. It was one thing to plan to return to the bar, to the heights of the unknown. Gradually. Eventually. One distant day, safely weeks away. But to have the task set before her right now…

“I’m scared,” she admits softly.

“I know,” he whispers back, stepping nearer, filling up her space again. But she welcomes his body close to hers, because his presence is hardly threatening as much as it is comforting. Oliver is comforting.

And maybe that thought should scare her more, how quickly he’s become so important to her, but it doesn’t. Everyone in Vegas may wear a mask, but he’s the first person she’s ever met to let the mask slip--even for a moment. She doesn’t see an act when she looks at him--and when he’s looking back at her with those saltwater sea blue eyes that are amazingly warm--she sees a person. Oh, it would so easy to let her guard down around him completely, to open herself back up to a world of pain at the gamble of gaining one true friend.

Especially when he’s looking at her like he does know her fears exactly.

“And I know it’s my own fault that I’m in this mess--”

“Hey, it's not your fault.” His hand comes up to rest briefly on her shoulder, offering her a gentle, reassuring squeeze, which has become a favorite friendly gesture of theirs.  

“Yes, it is. I'm the one who's afraid of heights. I'm the one who lost my balance--”

“It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter if you make a mistake. Your partner should be able to anticipate your every move. He shouldn't have let you fall.”

The way he says that last part...it’s almost like his words carry some other hidden, indignant meaning with them.

She licks her lips, still a bit unsure. She studies the bar overhead. “But when I fall from that thing--”

“If you fall--” He raises an eyebrow.

She raises her own right back. “When I fall...I have nothing to catch my weight.”

“I’ll catch you,” he answers, his tone definitive and his eyes certain.

Still, a lot can happen in this line of work. Accidents can happen.

“Come here,” he tilts his head, almost bashfully, always asking, never demanding. He is truly unlike any trainer she’s ever met.

She spins into place, pressing her back against his chest, waiting, listening to the thumping of her heartbeat filling her ears.

But then his hands come up, pressing into her sides like they were made to hold her, and her heart starts to race for a different reason. Oliver proves to be the perfect distraction.

She blinks, and suddenly she’s being hoisted into the air as though she weighed merely the equivalent of a pillow and not...well, a lot of pillows.

“I believe in you,” he declares, just as his hands abandon her sides immediately when her grip makes contact with the bar. She has no choice but to hold on for dear life.

“Ohhhhhhkay. I am chinning, and I am upping. Look. Am I doing this right?”

She’s not in control of her legs at the moment, and so the one that can move is making cyclic ballerina moves.

“You’re doing great. Now, bend your arms and push.”

“I…” She tries. In her defense, she really does try. But after a third arduous attempt, Felicity begins to feel her grip slipping. “Oliver!”

And he’s there, just as he promised he would be. “Hey, I got you. Gotcha gotcha gotcha.”

She slides more-or-less gracefully directly into his waiting arms. To her surprise, he doesn't set her down right away either. Instead, he holds her close, his hand on her back like a heating pad, soothing her muscles down to her bones.

She swallows when she realizes how close his face is to her now, how even their eyes are.

“How was that?” she breathes, certain the huffing in her voice is due to her attempted workout and not from their newfound proximity.

“That was…” He seem to be struggling to form words as much as she is. And that observation is oddly comforting as well, realizing that this amazing man is only human, too.

“Awful, wasn’t it?”

He laughs. “It’s a good start. You’ve just gotta keep practicing.”

“Mm-hmm. Well, thanks for the vote of confidence, teacher,” she quips. “Does that mean I have a shot at trainee of the month?”

“No.” He’s serious again.

“Oh.” She tries not to sound too disappointed.

“Because you're not just my trainee. You're my partner.”

“Excuse me?”

“We’re in this together. What happens to you, happens to me.”

“So when you said you were hired to help our show, you meant…”

“That I’ll be joining your act. Specifically.”

“Oh,” she says again, because for some reason that’s all her brain can come up with right now. Just the thought of spending even more time with Oliver and performing with him indefinitely...it’s a lot. But everything about Oliver is a lot. That’s generally just the Oliver way.

“Is that going to be a problem?” he asks when she’s quiet for some time.

“No!” she replies, perhaps a little too quickly, if his confused frown is anything to go by. “No, that’s not a problem. Why would that be problem?”

“Good.”

“Good. Can you put me down now?”

xxx

Six weeks ago

“Why me, Oliver?” she asks him one day, in response to his insistent prompt of “Talk to me, Felicity.” Oliver continually reminds her that in order for them to put their lives into each other’s hands, they need to know a little something about one another. They have to trust one another completely. She likes to remind him that trust takes time. To which, of course, Oliver accurately comments that they don’t have the time.

He’s quiet and pensive for so long that she thinks maybe he didn’t hear her question. Finally, he answers her and his tone carries a raspy weight that hadn’t been there before. “The day we first met...I've seen pity enough to recognize when it's not there. And you...you looked at me different than anyone else. Like I was a mystery and not a victim. Like I was a whole person.”

When he looks at her, Felicity’s lips part in surprise. He’s unknowingly doing for her what she’d unknowingly already done for him. They make each other stronger, better. Maybe they really are partners.

“I recognized you the first day,” she confesses.

He frowns, not following her train of thought at first. But then it hits him and she watches the horror flash across his face before he composes himself. “You didn’t say anything,” he utters despondently.

“I guess I’m just curious as to why you'd rather spend your life hiding, performing in these ridiculous shows instead of returning home to your family?”

Not surprisingly, he doesn’t answer her question. He just asks one of his own. “How long have you known?”

Trying to turn the conversation back to lighter ground, she replies with, “I may not have the MIT degree that I wanted, but I can still Google. Don’t worry. I can keep a secret.”

“I know. That’s why, why I chose this place…”

‘Why I chose you’ goes unsaid, but she reads the confession behind his eyes just the same.

xxx

Two weeks ago

“Open your eyes, Felicity,” Oliver whispers against her temple, with his arms already a firm brace around her torso. They stand at the edge of the platform, preparing for their final jump of their final rehearsal of their final day training together. After this, her act will officially be starting back up again.

Everything hangs on this last leap. No pressure.

“Hey, you don't have to do this.”

Felicity lets out a little, humorless laugh.

That's the thing about Oliver. As skilled of a partner he is, as patient of an instructor, he still never ever pressures her to get the job done.

“Yeah, I do.” She licks her lips, squinting one eye open to skeptically regard the net, which, from this height, appears a long, long way down. “It’s just...are you sure I can do this?”

He gives her shoulder a quick squeeze. “You’re stronger than you look. You just have to believe it. You have to prove them wrong.”

“Who, the team? They’re uh...they’re just trying to help--”

“Not them. You don’t owe them anything.” His rough, slightly angry tone takes her aback. “I’m talking about the audience. The only way to overcome your fears is if you let them carry your fears for you.”

“What does that mean?” She twists her head to look back at him.

“There will be people out there expecting you to fall, expecting you to fail. And yes, there might even be people out there who would enjoy it. But you can’t let that stop you.”

“But...what happens if I fall?” She feels like she’s back where she started, like a child asking for protection.

“You won’t,” he answers immediately. “If you could hold onto me with an injured leg, you can hold onto me with a healed one.”

She nods a few times, trying to make herself believe his words. After all this time, she’s still unsure, still unprepared, still...still afraid of heights.

And after all this time, Oliver interprets and anticipates her fears better than most. Better than anyone.

“Don’t trust the ropes or the wires or the net,” he breathes against her neck. “They’re not what’s holding onto you. I am. You have to believe that I will catch you.”

Oliver grabs hold of the bar floating in front of them, before spinning around to face her, suspending his weight at a weird angle that must do wonders for those glorious abs of his. Focus, Felicity. Focus.

She follows his lead, but he leaves the final step, the final choice to her.

“Hold onto me tight.”

She stretches out to him, trying to ignore the sudden image flooding her brain of him saying something like to her under different circumstances...very platonic circumstances. Her arms come up and wrap around his waist with practiced ease.

“How do I know when to let go?” she breathes, keeping her eyes on him.

“You'll know.”

xxx

She’s falling, plummeting to the earth, to her end...her stomach churning, leaping higher into her throat with each drop. The same roar fills her ears, drowning her from the inside out.

But then, at the last second she remembers what to do--she spins and propels herself forward and into place, extending her arms up and out, stretching herself as far as she will go, and then...waits…

For an eternity, she waits, suspended in the air, lingering in her forever fear of losing his grip and never getting back up again.

A second passes.

And then she feels it. She feels herself surrendering to gravity, the rushing panic consuming her, fire and ice spreading all over skin, as her heart grows heavy.

He’s forgotten about her.

He won’t catch her in time.

Every night, he does this to her. Every night, he asks for her trust. Every night, she waits for him to find her in the darkness, to reach out and rescue her before it’s too late…

Big, warm, familiar hands encircle her own, catching her just in time, pulling her up. His touch is like coming alive. His palms against her skin are at once the most jarring and yet soothing experience.

His eyes lock with hers as soon as she looks up, and they share a knowing, relieved smile.

She allows herself just one surreal moment to study him as he hangs upside down, holding onto her like it’s his life that depends on her not falling. As they watch each other, they fall into natural, well-rehearsed habits.

He never lets her go until she’s ready to give him her trust once more. And every time he asks her, she freely gives it

Relax, his eyes tell her.

She nods briefly, and yet what Oliver doesn’t realize is that both the solution and the problem to her fears is currently wrapped around her, currently keeping her body suspended from the earth, while also keeping her mind and heart grounded.  

He says not to ignore the audience, but when he looks at her like this... the entire world could be collapsing around them and she'd be clueless and content.

And she finds herself drowning for a different reason, falling into a blissful sea of strength and stability, where gravity doesn't exist because for the first time she feels like she's flying. She feels free. 

She takes a few deep breaths, just like they've practiced a hundred thousand times.

And as usual, she feels the effect almost immediately.

This was his idea, of course, to hold on to her like this for what feels like minutes without end. Casually. As though this ridiculous display of strength is effortless.

He nods to her. Hold onto to me tight.

That’s the signal for the second trick.

And it’s as she’s flying through the air again, a sacred truth finally surfaces in her mind, one she once was hardly comfortable enough to admit to herself.

She jumps, not just because it’s part of her job to do so.

She jumps, because it means she gets to feel him hold her.

She jumps, because night after night he keeps his promise. He keeps her safe.

xxx

He finds her in her dressing room, in the process of rubbing off her makeup.

“Hey, you did great out there tonight,” he says, propping himself against her doorway.

“Thanks, but I think it was a team effort. We really sold it.”

“Yeah, we did.”

“See?” she answers brightly. “You don’t have to compliment me just to keep me from quitting. I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Oh.” She stops with her routine, so she can face him properly, uncaring about the state of her face. “Then what are you doing?”

“I’m...just saying a nice thing about my friend.” He shuffles on his feet, a bit unsure.

“Friends? Is that what we are?” she teases.

“Well, I...I thought, the implication with everything’s that happened the last few weeks…”

“Relax, Oliver. Of course we’re friends.”

Felicity moves closer to him, smiling sadly at his obvious relief, though he still looks a bit…out of sorts for some reason. The Oliver she knows is usually so cool and collected, and this Oliver seems so...nervous. All the weeks she’s spent training with him, and he’s never once given her a sign that he’s anything but confident. He’s seen her without makeup dozens of times before. He’s seen her with less material covering her, in tiny bedazzled pink and purple leotards. What is with him tonight?

“Oliver?” she asks, rubbing his arm gently, in that way that always seems to soothe after a long night.

“Hmm?”

“I just wanted to say thank you.”

“For what?”

“For believing in me, I guess. For helping me get here.”

“It was a team effort,” he echoes her words from earlier with a smile, though it’s still not quite the full and easy smile he usually wears around her. He seems so closed off, a fraction of the man that she knows, which has her worried, inwardly trembling that the mask is starting to come back on, that maybe everything she’s wanted for them was a false hope...

“And you never, ever have to thank me, Felicity.”

He closes the gap between them, until they’re breathing the same air. Slowly, so slowly she doesn’t notice right away, he starts to lean closer. But then he stops, just to brush his nose against hers, just out of her reach. And suddenly she realizes they’re standing on another precipice, and he’s asking her to take one more leap with him.

This time she’s gladly the one to jump first, crashing her lips into his.

He responds immediately, pulling her up into his arms, carrying her with intimacy. He kisses the same way he trains, with everything in him, pouring himself into the act, making her feel protected but also cherished.

“What took you so long?” she mutters against his lips when they finally part to breathe but still cling to each other.

“You’re not the only one who’s afraid, you know.”

“Do you trust me with this?” she whispers, laying her hand directly over his heart, nestling her fingers against his chest, her other favorite spot.

He doesn’t even have to answer her, because the glow in his eyes gives him away. Yes.

And so they take the leap together, falling into the unknown, as they fall in love more deeply day by day.

“I hope this wasn't just another trust exercise,” she teases.

He chuckles warmly against her head before he kisses her hair.

It turns out to be their greatest trust exercise yet, in fact. Neither lets the other one go.

[asterlark]

listen i am always here for Kent Parson Being Sad so: anything u want involving kent + being sad

Kent doesn’t know why today has sucked so fucking bad.

It’s not like he did anything all day to warrant being this exhausted. It was a rare off day, so he’d scheduled absolutely nothing to give himself a break from being so goddamn busy all the time. Turns out, that was a bad plan. An empty apartment with too much time to think and no motivation to do anything productive was a dangerous combination. It was like the world’s most depressing math equation.

He’s been huddled up on the couch all day wearing his comfiest sweater and beanie with a thick blanket he’d stolen from his mom’s when he got signed. Swoops makes fun of him for that– “You know you live in Vegas, right, the actual desert?” – but fuck him, Kent keeps his apartment at a nice 55 degrees at all times to be able to wear his New York clothes. It’s cathartic, okay. And he hates the desert.

Kit’s been ignoring him, too, which isn’t out of character for her, but it still stings. She’s perched haughtily on the back of the couch, and scratches him whenever he moves.

It’s just been… a bad day. He woke up feeling off. And things kept happening– he spilled his cereal, he cut his hand opening Kit’s food, he has this hangnail that’s been bugging him all day– and they aren’t big, or important, but today they felt gigantic. Everything today has just been a reminder of the ways that he fails, the ways that he can’t keep up with the rest of humanity. The ways that he’s well into his twenties and can’t take care of himself.

He’s been watching game highlights all day, which is the only thing calming him down at the moment. Hockey has been the one constant in his life, something that’s always been there for him; he puts work in and it comes back to him. It’s simple. Nothing else has ever been that simple.

Then– then. A video comes up in his “Up Next,” because YouTube is fucking evil and knows he’s watched this video over and over, and he doesn’t even try to scramble for the remote because who fucking cares, and it autoplays and he sees his own seventeen-year-old self stepping onto the ice.

He taps gloves with a few other guys, then laughs way too loud at someone’s joke, someone who’s out of view. But Kent knows who it is.

He and Jack line up at center ice, and they share the Look, the fucking trademark look, and within ten seconds of the faceoff ending they’ve snapped the puck clean into the goal. And, God, he remembers that celly. They’d hugged so tight, and Kent had whispered something stupid in his ear, and Jack had grinned at him, the way he only did on the ice, elastic and carefree– that part wasn’t captured on camera. Neither was the kiss they shared when they got back to the hotel.

Kent doesn’t recognize that blonde kid smiling in the video. He was so fucking happy, and he’d encountered obstacles but he’d gotten over them, he thought he could do anything– he thought they were in it together–

He can’t fucking breathe, and he turns the TV off before it gets to the worst part, the short interview their coach had added at the end of the highlights reel, where Kent can’t stop grinning and Jack’s accent is so thick, Kent’s hair too short and Jack’s too long, both of them untouched by the world yet, both of them invincible–

He can’t breathe. He pulls his beanie off and throws it as hard as he can, but it’s not satisfying when it lands. He wants to throw the remote at the TV. He wants to break everything, it’s been years and he can’t do this, it’s been years and he doesn’t know why he’s not over it, normal people get the fuck over it. He just can’t stop fixating. He just can’t stop holding himself back, holding everybody back. Not even his own cat fucking likes him.

It’s not even mostly about Jack right now, though, is the thing. He can’t get over how happy he used to be. He doesn’t understand what happened, how he let himself get to this point where he didn’t recognize himself. He doesn’t know how to describe himself anymore. He used to be this carefree guy, the class clown, the wild child. The only thing that’s stayed the same about him is being good at hockey, and that’s only because he has no fucking life. He used to do things, hang out with people, make connections. Now he has one friend, tops. And his team probably only tolerates him because he’s captain.

He wishes for the millionth time that he could just get away, that he could just stop. That if he woke up tomorrow and decided to take a vacation, it would be okay. He misses Syracuse, misses snow and his mom and sister, misses their tiny house his mom refuses to sell. He misses his home rink and his peewee coach who was more of a father than his actual dad.

Kent loves hockey. He really, really does. But sometimes he wishes he could just be that little gap-toothed kid again, learning to skate for the first time, his mom cheering him on from the bleachers.

He pulls his mother’s quilt tighter around himself and tries not to think about the last time something besides hockey made him truly happy.

While he’s trying to talk himself out of whatever this is he’s feeling right now– y’know, everyone has bad days, so what if the bad outweighs the good, at least you have good in the first place, shithead– Kit actually steps down from the back of the couch and settles in his lap. He doesn’t dare move for fear she’ll leave or scratch him again, but she seems to be asleep already. He tentatively places a hand on her fluffy side and feels that she’s purring and almost cries like a sappy moron.

“Hey, at least you validate me,” Kent says. “That’s probably just because I feed you, though, huh.”

Kit sighs in her sleep and flops onto her back. Kent places his hand in the middle of her ridiculously soft stomach, something she’d never let him do if she was awake, and tells himself again– Everyone has bad days. At least you have a damn cat.

[vicariousbicycletour]

Exit Bag (Brief Behind the Scenes)

An addiction to the solitude not found in cities, parks, or even the crowding mountain trails. My soul’s preferred and possibly deranged fixation on stressing my self in isolation. The stressed physical conditions and the battle of consciousness of a solo touring cyclist that leads to perfect freedom. My interactions at market counters, random people I’d ask for directions and suggestions, the police i ran into, all were very brief leading to a refreshing fluid state of self- consciousness. Not to say that conversation can’t be enlightening as well, and the people who took me in for a yard campground or carpet, for whatever particular reason it became necessary for a bit of help, these people each came with there own peculiar perception of the world. Yet if the buddha is in all of us than the forthright way to reach satori would be in honest, intense self reflection, not easily achieved in our new digital regime. This is a brief glimpse of the perspective that drives me into these remote locations, the inspiration for both the trip and the song lyrics. The rest of this essay is a bit of a behind the scenes, literary style, of the stories untold in the video to give you a full picture of the events, say magic, that transpired.

My trip began thirty miles north of the northeastern California Oregon border, after my good friend Tim drove me down, camping together for a few nights along the way from Portland. Instantly I had forgotten my helmet where Tim had dropped me off after biking 10 miles, then my charger was missing when I reached the state border. Dammnit, but as I sat there stressed a car with three kids just a bit younger than myself pulled over and told me how cool my bike trip sounded. They gave me a joint and cruised off. Highway 395 was a constance of farm lands through the high desert, meaning that I slept against fences, looking for big bushes or preferably quick sloped land in a turn so the cars wouldn’t catch the reflection of any of my gear. This became a cat and mouse game of watching the high beams pass by like a surveillance chopper just missing it’s mark. I was greeted by the first slush in the high mountains and it was also goathead season, a weed with a spiked seed, the bane of my trailer tires, for a good duration of the trip. Reno was my first town with a bike shop and I had planned to land a place to stay on the WarmShowers bicycle touring app to recuperate.  At this point I had eight patches between my two trailer tires so I rolled right into the bike shop.  Little did I know this would be where I would meet my first night’s rest angel.  My angel was an oddity in the shop.  He was a man locked in methadone handcuffs, and lovingly referred to as Uncle. After failing to secure a night’s rest using WarmShowers I gratefully accepted his offer to sleep on his floor for two nights to regain my energy, chargers and other supplies.  He was an angel indeed. Although, my luck in Reno wasn’t all good.  As I was leaving town, I had the unfortunate experience of losing my keys.  Thankfully I found them after doing a pointless 70 mile round trip ride to my previous camping spot.  This camp was on a down slope 50 feet off the highway.  One more trial in the undying shitstorm ordeal after another that comes with travels.  Plus, affirmation in the zen principle that the more items you own the more mental turmoil associated with these items.

After Reno I headed back to the Sierra Mountain range, Lake Tahoe some 50 miles away.  I had mismanaged my morning and thought to little of the mountain climb ahead.   A stark contrast to the lowland desert town I had slept in. Just reaching the first minor climbs, late in the evening, I pulled over to check my brakes.  While investigating, I was again helped by a man who drove me up the incredibly steep ski resort mountain and took me to the town on the other side of the mountain for snacks and a beer before driving me back to the top of the mountain where I spent the night.  I gloriously rode downhill into the small yuppy town next to Lake Tahoe the next morning. My first large body of water, filmed in Exit Bag, stretching on a beach like bay. Wandering around filming the ducks, looking at the illusive sand under 6 inches of clear gorgeous water, my soul content in ethereal contemplation, as family tourist in there cars watched my possibly bizarre behavior. I lost my condition to adhere to social rules long ago on other travels, the thoughts of my perceivably odd behavior, only brief thoughts of my self conception now impenetrable in my mind.

These stories are just a small illumination of the solo touring life style.  The thoughts the psyche goes through while alone in deeply remote areas is something that is impossible to convey. Even after years of self introspection I know I would never be able to explain the condition and development of my mind and who I am.

Before this point I had done very little filming, fearing the loss of my charger. I’ll skip ahead to more relevant information, but I wanted to build the emotion behind the video, illuminate a deeper understanding of the trials and tribulations associated with my travels in hopes that the same excitement or wanderlust can cross-pollinate in the extremes it does for me. It’s probably the fact that this video, was my life in stronger intensity, but I can watch this video endlessly and always feel the same energy flow through me as the credits come.

The opening scene is a perfect example of what I mean, an unassociated back stories that develop a richer understanding of the scene. Me stretching in a thunderstorm, an amazing and liberating sensation, yet the night was merciless. At one point in the video you see me crouched under a make shift tarp tent, making an egg tuna wrap, drinking whiskey. This was the start of the storm and although the temperatures were fair, the extreme winds and sporadic rain made it impossible to really set up camp. I’m not an alcoholic per say, at home I stick to a few beers a week, but that half gallon was bought mainly out of desperation to hang on to money, it was a ridiculously cheap deal and it ended up being drank by a women just on the other side of joshua tree who let me stay in her airstream. A serious alcoholic who drank nearly that entire bottle alone and then proceeded to sexually assault me. Anyways I was ecstatic to have this footage, but sleeping in a metal staked tent that was starting to leak was not an enjoyable night. The wind loosened a flap on my sleeping bag through the night as the wind and rain kept up, howling, screaming synthetic fabric woke me in the middle of the night with a shock, half drunk in my warm, wet sleeping bag I had to fasten my tent again, it was the make shift machete stake that had come loose. Stumbling in the dark, stormy desert night I kicked the blade edge just between my large and neighboring toes. Now adding blood into my, sandy, sweaty, wet sleeping compartment. The morning rose with clear skies and a foggy head. This was my first night back on the road after staying with the people who I hitched with from central Nevada all the way to Quartsite Arizona, where they would stay the winter in a long-term campground, home to a huge gem show that attracts wild masses of people. I started back on the road after the ritualistic coffee, porridge and self dug toilet. Not, but a few miles in I found a friend, a plastic four inch t-rex who was abandoned roadside, unseen by the cars flying by. In some strange way, feeling as though I saved a lonely survivor of that horrendous night, I was not alone and my spirits were renewed as we traveled with one sided conversations through the duration of my travels. Shit gets weird while traveling, and the 24 hours surrounding the opening 13 seconds of film is probably what truly exhilarates me from the start of Exit Bag, the calm stretching, but a necessary readjustment of my shooken temperament amongst the soul renewing lightening I placidly sat in.

The long hitching was barely touched in the video, but it gave to some very interesting scenes from Vegas that could never have been developed otherwise. Some cyclists think it’s cheap to take rides, but for me it offers a whole new experience not achievable with just a bike. I was in central Nevada, 30 miles left in my first 120 mile stretch with absolutely no amenities, chiefly water being a huge concern. I had stayed the night at an abounded hot springs in the middle of nowhere, a truck driver was just finishing up his soak and told me the background story of how the farmer kept it clean and in use for his family, but the aging bar had long since been closed. It was nice crossing paths with him and he left me with some snacks and electrolyte drinks, which I greatly appreciated. The day leading up to this was three little mountain passes back to back. Long stretches of straight forward mild elevations that seemed endless in their expansive view, slight headwinds that i cursed as they kept at a sub 9 mile per hour pace. Two things I learned from biking in central Nevada. A gallon of water per day is hardly enough in full fall exposure, each gallon of water an 8 pound weight fixated on slowing the pace. Also 15 miles is a long distance, but it’s even longer when you can see that 15 miles in a long undying open stretch. Biking in head winds with mild elevations I could see as far as I could bike without taking a break, a very defeating feeling when the objective is getting from point A to point B without running out of supplies. Between the excruciating boredom, lack of any water sources and the uncaring community I was happy to stay with my roadside angels long term. When I decided to hitch car after car would pass by with little consideration for what perils I put my self in, as if they would prefer I learned my lesson by death, than stop to even give me a liter of water. I was finally picked up as I started to ride and hitchhike simultaneously. I looked back to see a slowing van, could it be? Yes! A hippie couple headed south for the winter, Oregon licensee plates and warm feelings had me very comfortable instantly and as we reached conspiracy riddled Racheal Nevada, an alien themed town I was excited to visit, I was more than happy to take there offer of going to at least Las Vegas and eventually much farther in there 80s Dodge van.

It sounds like a broken record of disaster and ethereal, bizarre joys, and it is. The things you see at a much slower pace, tarantulas in the road leading to Joshua Tree or my precious little dinosaur friend, probably thrown out by an ungracious child. The strange people you meet in passing for directions or the much more intimate encounters with people who give you a roof or yard space for the night. The wild lady in Benton California, a reflection of who I may become as she rattles off theories of Sasquatch.  I would later get a tattoo in L.A to always remind me of that encounter.  The mountain who speaks years of wisdom, sang through the songs of the birds who have lived there for generations. All this lost in our new digital dependent society. The lonely mountains only lonely, because their most vocal decibels have left them for cardboard houses, visiting them by car once a year to take family photos to prove they were there, that they “conquered” the mountain. Yet I know the mountains, their theories deeply engrained in my quiet eager mind. A famous beat poet, Gary Snyder first turned me onto the theory that the mountain is always moving, and if you stay with him long enough, so will you move in stillness and knowledge, passed down since the dawn of the earth’s creation, long before muddled theories of self-conservation and a glorified perception of who we really are. Our minds are the most complex muscle on earth, but we fragile beings on a time scale that is nothing more than a blimp in the cosmos.  The importance of finding your Exit Bag is incalculable in importance as the world, the universe, the oceans, the mountains, have much more to teach us than we have to teach them.