#car wrap West Palm Beach

[iprotectioncoatings]

The Pros and Cons of Using Paint Protection Film

You wash and wax your car regularly to keep it looking like new. But have you considered using paint protection film? This clear polyurethane material can be applied to areas of your car that are most susceptible to rock chips and scratches, and it can help preserve your paint job for years to come. Here's a look at the pros and cons of using paint protection film on your car.

Pros: 

1. Paint-protection film provides a barrier that protects your car's paint from small rocks, bugs, and road debris. 

2. It is nearly invisible and does not change the look of your car's exterior in any way. 

3. Paint protection film can last up to 10 years with proper care and maintenance. 

4. If the paint protection film becomes scratched or damaged, it can be easily removed without damaging your vehicle’s paint job underneath.

5. The cost of installation is typically much lower than what you would pay for a full new paint job on your vehicle. 

Cons: 

1. Paint protection film West Palm Beach require careful installation due to their precise fitment. 

2. The film can discolor over time from exposure to the sun, leading to an uneven appearance. 

3. It is possible for dirt and debris to become trapped beneath the film, which can be difficult to remove without damaging the underlying paint job. 

4. Paint protection films are not scratch-proof, so they may not provide enough protection from heavy wear and tear or car crashes. 

5. Depending on the material used, some paint protection films could potentially degrade with prolonged exposure to gasoline or other petroleum products.  

Overall, there are both pros and cons to using PPF West Palm Beach on your vehicle. While it offers excellent protection against minor chips and scratches, it is important to consider whether the cost outweighs the benefits for you and your car. With proper installation and maintenance, paint protection film can help keep your vehicle looking like new for years to come. 

Ironclad Paint Protection & Coatings 7231 Haverhill Business Pkwy Ste 204 Riviera Beach FL 33407 561-231-0589 https://www.ironcladppc.com/

[paradiseprincesss]

any cillian murphy character with praise? thank you 💗💗

million dollar man - robert fischer x reader

hi anon! i hope i did your request justice - thank you for being my first request! i listened to million dollar man by lana del rey on repeat while writing this, hope you enjoy xoxo.

summary: robert takes you on vacation for your anniversary, and you give him a little late night fashion show in your beach home.

word count: 2k

a/n: if you haven't already noticed all my fics are based off songs LMAO im gonna start linking the songs each fic is based off of kk thats all

warnings: 18+ minors dni!! smut, swearing, kissing, fingering, oral (f receiving), p in v, sexual content ahead lol

the west coast was breathtaking, the palm trees, warm weather, the beaches - all of it was beautiful.

robert had taken you on vacation to the west coast to celebrate your one-year anniversary together. he paid for it all, of course, and you were ever so grateful for it.

currently, the two of you were speeding down the coast at sunset in the cream coloured luxury convertible he had stored at one of the beach homes he owned down here. the wind was blowing through your hair, his hand was on your thigh, and to tie it all together - the sun was gleaming down on you as it set over the shore.

robert glanced at you while attempting to focus on driving down the coast, but he found himself getting distracted - your beauty was breathtaking, and tonight, you were the only thing he could find himself focusing on.

dating a man worth more than just millions was new to you - but you had adjusted to it just fine over the last year. robert spoiled you, this shouldn't come as a surprise, though.

constantly showering you in gifts; he would buy you designer bags, shoes, clothes, cars, and jewelry - anything you wanted, you could have. at least, that's what he always said.

he gave your thigh a little squeeze as he raced down the road, eventually pulling up the beach house- no, mansion - that he had owned down on the west coast. the home itself was breathtaking, an oceanfront property that screamed luxury. as the car came to a stop on the driveway, robert took your hand and gave it a small kiss. he got out of the car, swiftly coming to the passenger side and opening the door for you.

"come on, honey, i have something i want to show you." he said, helping you out of the car. a curious expression painted your face as he took your hand in his, leading you into the home.

as he opened the door for you - you gasped.

in the large foyer of the home, there were bouquets on bouquets of red roses everywhere - your favourite. amongst the beautiful floral arrangements, there were multiple boxes and bags all with gift wrapping or ribbons on them, from designer stores - goyard, chanel, louis vuitton - you name it.

"robert..." you say softly, looking over at him with your hand still in his, and he smiles at you proudly.

"i love you. happy anniversary." he says, wrapping his arms around you, and kissing you softly.

"i love you too." was all you managed to mumble against his lips - he spoiled you on a daily basis but this - this was something else; you'd never had a partner willingly give you this much for an anniversary before - but you also never dated a millionaire before. as you pulled away from the kiss, you look up at him with a doting expression, "how can i ever thank you for this, robbie? you're so good to me..."

he looks at you with love - and smirks, his voice dropping low.

"i still have one more thing for you upstairs, gorgeous." he whispers, hands snaking down to your ass - giving it a little squeeze.

you bite your lip and nod, as he gestures you to go up the stairs, following you. as you reach the master bedroom - you see even more roses littered all over, and a medium sized white box on the middle of the bed, adorned with a matching white bow, and little white card on the top.

you reached over to pick up the little memo, and it read:

happy anniversary, my angel. i adore you.

love, robert.

glancing down at the box - you read the label, it was from your favourite lingerie store, la perla.

carefully unwrapping the bow and opening the box, you peeked inside to see a gorgeous white italian lingerie set. you let out a shallow breath, and turned around to see him smirking slightly.

"i want to see my little angel dress the part," he says lowly, "why don't you go put that on and give me a little fashion show, hm? how's that sound, angel?"

you look up at him innocently, and bite your lip as you got lost in his icy gaze for a moment, "anything for you."

grabbing the contents in the box, you rush to the bathroom to go try it on for robert. closing the door behind you, you shed your dress and put on the lingerie - complete with a garter belt and straps. looking at yourself up and down in the mirror, you couldn't even lie - you felt so sexy.

the white set he got you was stunning, the white lace sat perfectly on your skin - and the little bow details on the set was the cherry on top. as you were about to step out from the bathroom, you slipped on the white heels that were in the box.

of course he wanted you to wear heels with it - he's just that extra. but hey, he paid god knows what for them, so...

as you opened the door, you found robert sitting on the edge of the bed, his tie visibly loosened now. as he heard the door to the bathroom open, he quickly looked over at you.

"my god," he breathed, "come here, pretty."

following his instructions you walked over to him, his gaze not once leaving your body; drinking your beauty in.

"c'mon, give me a little spin, honey." he coos, throwing pet names left and right at you. doing as you're told, you indeed give him a little spin, and he suddenly gets up, standing behind you.

"bend over the edge of the bed for me, honey." he softly tells you, and again - you do as your told, bending over the bed for him, your white lace panties leaving just about nothing to the imagination.

"god, your body is fucking lethal." he groans, pressing his hard bulge on your clothed cunt, making you moan in bliss at the feeling. "fuck, your moans are just as pretty as you are," he chokes, "my pretty girl."

"robbie..." you moan, and he quickly flips you around onto your back, pushing you onto the bed, making you slightly startled - but you giggle.

"love making you happy," he says, leaving sloppy kisses all over your neck, trailing down to your breasts, "i'd do anything for you, honey - anything. give you the world if i could, fuck."

his hands ghost over the lace and little bow adorning the bra, and the feeling makes you shiver. you were certain that you were already soaking through your panties, and you let out a whimper at the feeling.

he took his time with you - admiring you as if you were an art piece. eventually, he unclasped your bra, and he immediately took your nipple into his mouth. your hand went straight for his hair, and you started moaning breathlessly.

"fuck, robbie, baby." you say, out of breath, "please."

he didn't offer you a reply, instead, he just went straight to the other nipple, and teasingly nipped at it, all whilst snaking a hand down to your clothed cunt - fingers ghosting over your clit. the feeling made you moan and you needed him inside of you - now.

after giving a few more kisses to your breasts, he got on his stomach to lay between your legs, teasingly pulling your panties down and giving you absolutely no time to react before licking a stripe up your cunt.

"fuck." you moaned at the feeling, and you swore you felt him smile against you.

he ate you out as if he hadn't eaten for days - like a starved man. tongue licking every inch of your pussy, sucking your sensitive clit, as his name was falling from your lips like a mantra.

"god, you taste so good." he mumbled against your soaking cunt, and you felt your cheeks heat up at the praise, but he kept going, "pretty face, pretty tits, pretty pussy. you're the fantasy."

that got you moaning, begging - and you felt yourself get close.

"i-i'm, oh- i'm s-so close." you moaned, and he continued to dip his tongue into your hole all while sucking your clit - going back and forth between the two.

you felt that familiar sensation in your stomach, and you felt yourself tip over the edge - incoherently begging, whining and moaning his name over and over.

"you look so fucking pretty when you cum." he softly says, after wiping his mouth with the back of his hand - the sight making you dizzy. your slick on his now even pinker lips and chin, pupils blown out.

scrambling out of desperation, you helped him out of his white button down as he worked on undoing his belt.

"good girl, fuck-" he says as you help him out of his clothing, "you're so well behaved, aren't you pretty girl?"

you smile up at him, still dazed from the way he made you cum just a minute ago, and he pushes you back down on the bed as he stroked his now free cock.

he teased your entrance with the tip of his cock, making you whine. "be good, baby." he warns - but it was gentle, just teasing.

you pout at him but that pout is wiped right off your face as you feel him sink into you, stretching your cunt out completely. you let out an almost pornographic moan, and your hands fly to his shoulders for some sort of support - something to grab onto.

"jesus- fuck, how do you get tighter every time i fuck you?" he groans, fucking into your cunt at a fast pace, making you whimper and moan.

"right there, oh my goddddd." you say, breathlessly, the feeling of cock stretching you out causing you to see stars.

"right there?" he coos, brushing a strand of your tousled hair out of your face, "right there, pretty?"

you just nod frantically, hands gripping his biceps and shoulders - unable to reply from the levels of pleasure he was bringing you in that moment, cock pounding into your tight cunt at a brutal pace.

he felt you tighten around his cock and let out a noise that was fucking filthy - his moans were something you swore you could listen to on repeat, all day, all the time.

"good girl, good fucking girl." he praised through a moan, and you just moaned his name over and over.

"robbie- ah, feels so good!" you whimper, feeling the knot in your stomach about to pop.

"you gonna cum pretty girl? be good for, shit-" he moans, "be good for me and cum." he says in a saccharine voice, his gaze never leaving you, causing you to blush - even though he almost always kept eye contact with you while he fucked you.

his words caused you to scream his name, and you made a mess all over his cock, cumming so hard you felt tears stream down your face.

"look at you-" he groans, feeling himself close to release, cock still pounding into your cunt at a ruthless speed, "so fucking beautiful when you cry. shit, baby, gonna fill you up. stuff you with my cum.”

you found yourself crying under him, tears of love; tears from overstimulation.

"p-please," you weakly say, voice a little raspy, "cum i-in me."

"fuck, i will, good girl..." he groans, shooting his load into your cunt with a moan.

he pulls you into a rough kiss, which you moan into as you felt his warm seed being stuffed into your cunt.

he pulls away after a moment, panting and out of breath - a small smile on his face. after a few beats of silence, he puts his hand on your cheek, cupping your face gently - lovingly.

"happy anniversary, pretty girl."

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Twenty

Yiorgos, our taxi driver, chugs up the driveway with his boot stuffed full of cases and bags. It is hot already, even though he told us that the winter drew on longer than normal this year, but now the summer seems to have come early, completely swallowing up the spring. The Cypriot heat is bone dry today, and when we step out of the car and take our cases with us, a haze of dust from the path rises into the air and leaves a thin film on my sandals. The sun is sharp edged on the stone of this old building, and a scallop shaped bird bath in the garden has dried up. I run my fingers through the ridges of warm stone as Yiorgos hauls all of Claire’s bags out onto the ground, and gaze out towards the horizon from this vantage point, high enough to see the pale slash of Coral Beach to the west and the blue ridges of the Cedar Valley in the distant east, yellow sun glancing off their inclines. The wind does not blow. It is perfectly, silently still. 

“It’s hot.” I declare, fanning myself with the paperback book I packed for the plane, and Jude pushes his sunglasses onto his face. “Is it?” He says vaguely. He is wearing long trousers and a sweatshirt, and Shane has the decency to look irritated on my behalf. “Some of us would find this hot, man, yeah,” He says. “We weren’t all dragged up in the Chihuahuan Desert, or whatever it’s called,” He wipes sweat from his brow and begins hauling some of the bags up the steps to the worn wooden doors at the entrance of the house. There is an arc of sweat on his back, and hair at the nape of his neck is damp with it. He was never all that great in the sun. 

When Claire throws open the doors she does so with great flourish, and then flits through the house and does the same to all of them. I spot her up on the balcony above the pomegranate trees as I carry my things inside, like a Disney princess with her long, thick hair swishing around her shoulders, the look of complete and utter bliss fixed upon her pretty face. She was so excited about this holiday, and now being here, seeing how beautiful it is after all of the meticulous planning, I feel like I can relax. 

The house, with its smooth plastered walls is cool inside, as though the thick stone has held onto the damp of winter, but still, I go to the sink in the kitchen to get a palm full of water for my hot forehead. The shutters there are thrown open to a sea view, and far to the north east of the bay where the white sand meets the cliffs, a huge, top heavy rock juts out of the sea. I am squinting at it when Jude comes up behind me to wrap his arms around my waist. 

“It’s Aphrodite’s Rock,” I tell him. “I read about it in that guide at the tourist office. The myths say that she was born right there at that very spot.”

“She’s the Greek’s answer to Venus, right? Goddess of Love and beauty.”

“And marriage and prostitution and all of that fun stuff.”

“I bet she was a wild gal back in the BC days.”

“You know that the guide also said that that portion of the beach was voted the top place in the Mediterranean to have sex,” I don’t know why I just said that, and stiffen awkwardly in his arms, quickly adding, “It’s also a nudist beach,” as though that will save me somehow, but actually it only makes it worse.

“Oh,” He teases with a ticklish kiss on my cheekbone. “If you feel like heading down there at any point I wouldn’t be totally opposed.”

“Yeah, you me and a bunch of creepy old men, I bet, and anyway,” I twist around to face him “I’m already competing for time with your bloody thesis, I don’t really fancy wasting a precious day hiking all the way down there just to get my pasty baps out for a crowd of strangers.”

He throws his head back and groans, arms falling limp at his sides. “Please, we just arrived, don’t mention the ‘T’ word.”

“Get it done early,” I warn him with a stiff finger in the chest. “I’m not spending this whole holiday third wheeling it with Claire and Shane because you can’t stop procrastinating.”

“I’m like, 95% there. I swear, it’ll be like, one evening, max,” he whirls around and starts plucking bags from the heap on the terracotta tiles with a sudden burst of efficiency. “I’ll do it tonight, it’ll be over. For now we have to unpack and pick a room, and then I think we should take a walk and see if we can find somewhere to swim so we can get that sticky aeroplane feeling off us.”

“A room?” I echo, fixated on that part, “You think we should share?”

“Well, I don’t know,” He says, standing still with his arms full of cases. “Would you absolutely hate that?”

“I wouldn’t hate it, I just, you know…”

He nods, “We can sleep separately, I don’t mind.” 

“I’m sorry,” I add quickly, “It’s nothing personal, I just don’t want to feel kind of, situation-ed into something we’re not ready for.”

“Is that a word? Situ-”

“No.”

“Well, okay.”

“You’re not offended?”

“No!” He says, and rightly enough, he doesn’t sound it, but maybe he’s just a good actor. “It’s not like that with us, we’re going slow.”

I chew on my lip, “Well I feel like you’re just saying that.”

“Evie,” He sighs. “It’s different with us, I know that you’re anxious, and it doesn’t bother me. Actually, it’s nice, I’ve never done the waiting thing before, and I’m enjoying it, because I’ve been appreciating everything else that we’ve been doing.”

“Back when I was at school the waiting period was about eight months,” I tell him, and it’s just an innocent anecdote but I swear his face drains a bit. “Girls would go out with their first boyfriend for ages first, and if they made it as far as eight months then they’d get the ride. Usually like, in a car or at someone’s house party.”

“Sounds romantic.”

“Yeah, right. That was just a stupid story, by the way,” I say hastily. “It’s not like that’s the pattern I want us to follow or anything, it just popped into my head there, and like, eight months is ages to wait, and it’s not like we even know where you’re going to be in eight months, sure you’ll be long graduated by then and you could be off anywhere in the world…” I trail off because his smile has faltered and he’s starting to look miserable. “I’ll come with you now to look at the rooms,” I seize a few more of the bags and follow him up the stairs to a creaky landing with shuttered windows that still block out the light. 

I insist that Jude take the double room out of pure guilt, even though he seems perfectly fine again, but mostly I choose the small box room because it has that very same beautiful view as the kitchen beneath it. Instead of unpacking anything I sit upon a painted wooden chair by the window and gaze out at the stillness of Pissouri, the azure blue of the sky and the brittle sand coloured stone of the cracked roads that wind up and down the hills. Once again I look for Aphrodite’s Rock and find it, as though a flickering torch of twisting flames was transformed into stone in an instant. The sand at its base unfolds into a meadow of Neptune seagrass, and I imagine I can see the goddess there, standing boldly in her nakedness amongst the cliffs. Somehow she sees me too, and she smiles up at me, her gaze unwavering, insistent and sure. I stare back until she dissolves to nothing in the blink of an eye. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[superiorexotic24]

Expert Car Paint Solutions in West Palm Beach

A car’s paint is one of its most defining features, setting the tone for its style, personality, and presence on the road. But over time, even the most pristine paint jobs can fade, chip, or get damaged from environmental factors, accidents, or wear and tear. When this happens, finding expert car paint solutions becomes crucial to restoring or enhancing your vehicle’s beauty and longevity. In West Palm Beach, Superior Exotics Color & Paint offers some of the finest and most advanced paint services, delivering both aesthetic excellence and long-lasting protection.

The Importance of a Professional Paint Job

A high-quality paint job is much more than a cosmetic upgrade. It plays a key role in maintaining the integrity of your vehicle by:

Protecting against the elements: Sun exposure, rain, road salt, and other environmental factors can erode your car’s paint, leading to rust and other forms of corrosion. A well-applied, high-quality paint job provides a crucial layer of protection.

Increasing resale value: A car that looks great will hold its value better than one with chipped, faded, or damaged paint. If you're planning to sell your vehicle, a professional paint job can make a significant difference in how much you can get for it.

Boosting personal satisfaction: Driving a car that looks fresh and polished not only makes a good impression but also enhances your pride in your vehicle.

Superior Exotics Color & Paint as a leading Car Paint Shop West Palm Beach understands that car owners in West Palm Beach have high standards when it comes to their vehicles. Whether you’re driving a luxury car, sports model, or family vehicle, they provide expert solutions that elevate your car’s appearance while ensuring lasting durability.

Why Choose Superior Exotics for Your Car Paint Solutions?

Superior Exotics Color & Paint stands out as a leader in the car paint industry, offering a range of expert services tailored to meet the needs of even the most discerning vehicle owners. Here’s what sets them apart:

1. State-of-the-Art Techniques and Equipment

At Superior Exotics, they use the latest in paint technology to ensure every car that comes through their doors receives the highest standard of care. Whether it’s a custom paint job or a simple touch-up, they rely on state-of-the-art techniques to achieve flawless results. Their paint booths are designed to eliminate dust and contaminants, providing a clean, controlled environment where your car’s new coat of paint can be applied with precision.

2. Skilled and Experienced Technicians

When it comes to painting a car, experience matters. The technicians at Superior Exotics have years of expertise working on a variety of vehicles, including exotic and high-end models. Their knowledge allows them to handle complex paint jobs that require specialized techniques and attention to detail. Whether it's a custom color or a multi-stage process, their team knows how to get the job done right.

3. Comprehensive Paint Services

Superior Exotics Color & Paint offers a wide range of services, making it a one-stop Car Paint Shop West Palm Beach for all your car paint needs. These include:

Full-body paint jobs: Perfect for giving your vehicle a completely new look, whether you’re restoring its original color or opting for something bold and unique.

Scratch and chip repair: Over time, scratches and chips can detract from your car’s appearance and lead to more serious damage. The team at Superior Exotics expertly repairs these imperfections, leaving your vehicle looking like new.

Paint correction: For vehicles with swirl marks, light scratches, or other surface imperfections, paint correction services restore the finish to a smooth, glossy state.

Custom paint solutions: Whether you want a matte finish, a metallic sheen, or a custom wrap, Superior Exotics has the expertise to bring your vision to life.

4. Premium-Grade Paint Products

Using substandard paints can result in a finish that fades, chips, or peels over time. At Superior Exotics Color & Paint, only the highest-quality paints are used, ensuring a vibrant, durable finish that will last for years. These premium-grade products are designed to withstand the elements, especially the intense sun and humidity of Florida, helping your car look its best for as long as possible.

5. Custom Color Matching

One of the most important aspects of a professional paint job is achieving the perfect color match. Whether you're looking to restore your car’s original factory color or create something completely new, Superior Exotics offers precise color-matching services. Their technicians carefully analyze the existing paint and formulate a blend that seamlessly integrates with your vehicle’s current shade.

Tailored Solutions for Every Vehicle

At Superior Exotics Color & Paint, they understand that every vehicle is unique, and so are the needs of its owner. That’s why they offer tailored paint solutions that cater to different styles, budgets, and requirements. Whether you’re driving a luxury sedan, a classic car, or a performance vehicle, they can create a paint solution that reflects your individual preferences.

1. Luxury and Exotic Cars

Owners of high-end vehicles often demand a higher level of attention and care when it comes to car painting. Superior Exotics specializes in painting luxury and exotic vehicles, using advanced techniques to ensure the highest standard of finish. Their team is trained to handle even the most intricate paint jobs, ensuring that your prized possession leaves the shop looking flawless.

2. Family Vehicles

While family cars may not require the same level of customization as exotic vehicles, they still deserve a paint job that looks great and stands the test of time. Superior Exotics offers affordable solutions for everyday vehicles, including full-body repaints and repairs for chips, scratches, and dents.

3. Custom and Performance Cars

If you want your car to stand out from the crowd, a custom paint job from Superior Exotics can turn heads wherever you go. Their team offers a variety of finishes, from matte and satin to metallic and pearlescent, as well as custom graphics and wraps that add a unique flair to your ride.

The Process: From Consultation to Completion

At Superior Exotics Color & Paint, the process of revamping your vehicle’s paint is designed to be as smooth and stress-free as possible. Here’s what you can expect:

Consultation: The first step is a detailed consultation where their team will assess your vehicle, discuss your needs, and recommend the best solutions. Whether you’re looking for a touch-up or a complete overhaul, they’ll provide expert advice and a clear plan for achieving the best results.

Preparation: Once the details of the job are agreed upon, the team at Superior Exotics meticulously prepares your car. This involves thorough cleaning, sanding, and priming to ensure that the new paint adheres properly and delivers a smooth finish.

Painting: Using advanced techniques and premium-grade materials, the paint is applied in multiple stages to achieve the desired finish. Depending on your preferences, this might include base coats, top coats, and protective clear coatings to enhance the paint’s durability and appearance.

Inspection: After the paint has dried and cured, your vehicle undergoes a detailed inspection to ensure the work meets Superior Exotics’ high standards. Any imperfections are corrected, and the car is polished to a high-gloss finish.

Final Delivery: Your car is returned to you looking better than ever, with a paint job that’s sure to impress.

Protective Coatings and Paint Maintenance

To keep your new paint job looking its best, Superior Exotics also offers protective coatings, such as ceramic coatings, which shield the paint from UV rays, dirt, and minor scratches. These coatings not only help maintain your car’s glossy finish but also make cleaning and maintenance easier.

For those looking to preserve their vehicle’s appearance long-term, regular maintenance and touch-ups are essential. Superior Exotics Color & Paint offers ongoing services to ensure your car’s paint stays in top condition, from routine washes to more comprehensive detailing services.

Conclusion

When it comes to expert car paint solutions in West Palm Beach, Superior Exotics Color & Paint is the go-to destination. With a commitment to excellence, state-of-the-art facilities, and a team of skilled professionals, they provide high-quality services that meet the needs of every vehicle owner. Whether you need a full-body paint job, a minor repair, or a custom finish, they have the expertise to bring your vision to life and keep your car looking its best for years to come.

[looksautodetailing]

Looks Auto Detailing in West Palm Beach offers top-notch auto care services.

Looks Auto Detailing in West Palm Beach offers top-notch auto care services. Specializing in Window Tinting, Auto Detailing, Paint Protection Film (PPF), Ceramic Coating, and Car Wrap Services. As an Authorized LLumar Film Dealer, we offer the highest quality films in the industry that comes with a Best-In-Class Warranty. Their expert team installers use the most advanced techniques to provide outstanding results and unparalleled customer satisfaction.

Name: LOOKS Auto Detailing Address: 7033 Norton Ave, West Palm Beach, FL 33405 Phone: (561) 578-7645 Website: https://www.looksdetailing.com/

[italianexotiicbeauty]

( verse title: the freelance arena. )

verse tags: from point a to point b with speed ( freelance gofer. ), don't let the bright flashes blind you ( freelance photographer. ), calm the mind & stretch the body ( freelance yoga instructor. )

occupation: verse dependent.

Freelance Gofer. ( A gofer, go-fer or gopher /ˈɡoʊfər/ is an employee who specializes in the delivery of special items. Examples of these special items include a cup of coffee, a tailored suit, and a car. Gofer is a linguistic simplification of the two words go + for = gofor. Gofor reflects the likelihood of instructions to go for coffee, dry cleaning, or stamps, or to make other straightforward, familiar or unfamiliar procurement's. ) 

professional photographer ( this doesn't require an explanation. )

yoga instructor ( self explanatory. )

work schedule: monday to wednesday & friday, 10 am to 6 pm | thursday, saturday & sunday: days off

locations:

gofer - mesa, az // las vegas, nv // boston, mass // savannah, ga // atlanta, ga // los angeles, ca // miami, fl // west palm beach, fl // chicago, il // san diego, ca photographer - new york city, ny // chicago, il // charleston, sc // miami, fl // new orleans, la // savannah, ga // san antonio, tx yoga instructor - san francisco, ca // boulder, co // denver, co // boston, mass // portland, or // seattle, wa // austin, tx

important things:

gofer: refuses to acquire ladies/men of the night or drugs for any client, it's an immediate contract violation and services will be terminated. photographer: willing to travel for work but must be reimbursed for it ( or straight up paid extra expenses ) or she'll refuse. yoga instructor: does private lessons/sessions via zoom ( one or two people max ) & always outside ( weather permitting ). obviously, in person sessions are for larger groups ( unless travel expenses will be paid in advance ).

species: human

orientation: bisexual greyromantic

tattoos: ( added 07/21/2023 )

across her upper back. august 1984 ( gothic style font, down the side of her left leg. ) Infinity symbol wrapped around her right ankle with little sister written around the loops. right forearm, inside.

piercings: ( added 07/21/2023 )

three holes in both ears, and her right tragus.

[bluemoonperegrine]

Ted's on First - Part II

This part is twice as long as the first. All that's left is a shorter, concluding scene to wrap things up, and I'll post the whole shebang on ao3.

Ava was adding up both tables’ bills when something hit the delivery door hard enough to shake the counter. She glanced at the clock on the wall: 3:31.

He was right on time, as always.

“What was that?” Trinity asked with one hand inside her leather jacket. Neo and the other two customers seemed mildly alarmed as well.

Ava nodded at the swinging door that led to the back of the store. “Delivery.” 

Neo raised an eyebrow. “At this hour?” 

“We’re open 24-7,” she said, already headed for the swinging door. Tom grinned as she walked past and handed her the bucket of scrambled eggs and hash browns. 

The exterior door shuddered again as Ava crossed the storeroom’s industrial tile floor with the heavy bucket. In Creole she called, “Keep your pants on!”

Not applicable, Ted returned. Somehow his grunts and groans translated into a deep, distorted voice she heard in her head.

After setting the bucket of food aside and bracing for her friend’s strong odor, Ava opened the door and grinned. “Very funny.” 

A hulking, red-eyed humanoid made of leaves, vines, flowers, and fungi blocked most of her view of the Everglades stretching to the south and west. Ted brought the swamp’s fetid smell with him, which at this time of year included the sweetness of Swamp Rose. Several of the pink blooms dotted his chest and shoulders.  

Ted ducked through the doorway and threw his arms wide with a happy burble.

Ava hugged him as best she could. Ted’s mass of foliage was firm but cool and soft. Once you got past the swamp smell, leaning into him was pleasant, as she’d learned soon after meeting him three years earlier. Her piece of crap car had thrown a tie rod, sending the old Corolla skidding off the back road and into a marsh. It had happened so quickly that Ava remembered little other than slamming into the seat belt and airbags and a lot of pain.

Kendra had kept Ava conscious, but wasn’t able to do more as smoke curled into the car’s interior. Help was coming in an unfamiliar form, her grandmother had said. Trust her and him, she’d urged.

Something large splashed through water and muck. Then an enormous, glowing-eyed plant creature tore off the car door like tin foil. Her grandmother’s words helped her see how those red eyes begged her to not be afraid. So when Ted extended a green hand big enough to palm a beach ball, Ava was wary but curious.

Being desperate and in pain had helped, too.

Ava ushered her friend in with a bright smile. “How’ve you been? Staying out of trouble?”

The leaves and vines comprising Ted’s broad face formed his version of a smile. Urf urf urf! he laughed.

“His middle name is trouble,” Kendra said a short distance behind Ava. “Hello, my friend— aah!”

Ava whirled around to find her grandmother gaping at a large black dog—a Siberian Husky?—with no collar looking right at her. She wasn’t a dog person, but this one didn’t seem aggressive or afraid. It was quiet and not baring its teeth. If it had noticed Kendra standing a few feet to its left, it gave no indication.

What’s wrong? Ted rumbled.

“There’s, um, a dog.”

A spirit?

“Yes,” Ava replied. “But it doesn’t see Grandma.”

Should it?

Ava shrugged.

“Not necessarily,” Kendra said.

The dog didn’t react to Kendra’s voice, nor her waving one hand at it.

For no apparent reason the black dog wagged its tail, turned around, and trotted through the swinging door. 

Ava blinked at the door that hadn’t budged. “Okaaay…”

What happened?

“The dog—”

The Latino’s voice carried from the dining room. “Ted?”

Ted gasped with delight as Ava and Kendra did double takes and the cook on the other side of the door said “Name’s Tom.” 

JACK! Ted bellowed.

Ava heard multiple, rapid footfalls from the other room, the British woman exclaim “Ted!”, and the unmistakable sound of guns cocking.

Two long strides took the swamp monster halfway across the storeroom. 

“Ted,” Ava hissed, “wait here! Neo and Trinity are armed—”

Ted stopped short and gave her a puzzled look. From “The Matrix”?

Neo’s voice carried through the door. “Stay calm, miss. We’ll be—”

Another gun cocked. 

“—staying right there,” said the British woman.

Trinity gasped, “Elsa Bloodstone!”

Ava heard a dog’s growl, then a deeper one that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

“Traitor!” Neo shouted an instant before a gun fired and the dog yelped. As people screamed and scrambled in the dining room, Ted ducked his head and plowed through the no-longer-swinging door.

“Don’t melt anyone!” Ava shouted as she caught up. “Security cameras—” 

One of the women screamed like a banshee, and something flew toward Ava’s head as she entered the room. She ducked an airborne semi-auto pistol, which hit a refrigerator’s stainless steel door and clattered on the floor. 

Although Ted’s bulk blocked much of Ava’s view, she did see Tom huddled against the counter opposite the grill.

Somewhere in front of Ted the British woman—presumably Elsa—snarled, “You shot—” A thud sounded, and someone groaned. “—my mate—” 

Thud. 

Groan. 

“—you wankbastard!”

The windows rattled as Ted roared, then thundered down the aisle behind the counter. Ava stayed put, transfixed by the fluid motions of Trinity and Elsa in a hand-to-hand fight straight out of a Wachowski sisters flick.

With some effort Ava tore her attention away and looked for the others. There was no sign of Neo or Jack, but Kendra stood on top of the counter. Ignoring the women’s deadly dance, she gaped at the floor on the counter’s far side.

“Get down!” Tom hissed. 

A knife flew through the air between Ava and the cook.

Ava dropped to the ground.

She and Tom exchanged equally wide-eyed looks as Ava mustered the courage to peek over the counter. Kendra had seen a lot in her long life, so her gaping at something didn’t bode well.

Ted, now on the far side of the counter, lumbered close to Kendra’s position and stared down with worried eyes. Growls and whimpers came from that direction, then the sounds of fabric tearing and stomach-turning snaps and cracks. The black dog darted through the counter beneath Kendra, paced for a moment, then rushed back.

Closer to Ava a woman grunted, presumably from a hit. After a few more strikes, Elsa barked, “Stand down, you stupid git!” 

Ava heard little other than her rapid breaths and the deep growl that had underscored the chaos.

“Silver?” Elsa said. 

The growl paused. “No,” replied a voice low, strained, and gravelly. 

Ava’s curiosity edged out fear. Gripping the edge of the counter, she peeked over the yellow laminate. 

The petite British woman had a handful of Neo’s duster in one hand and held the much taller, bloodied man upright. His head lolled as he struggled to stay conscious with his eyes fixed on whatever was growling near Ted and Kendra. 

Elsa scowled over her shoulder at Ted. “This is a right mess. You two couldn’t have made more specific plans to meet up?”

Ted’s eyes hadn’t left the creature growling at his feet. Not now, Elsa. He’s hurting.

The deep growl turned into a sigh. “Not for much longer, my friend.” Not for the first time since her abilities had manifested Ava questioned her sanity; she thought she’d heard a Latino accent!  

A dark, shaggy head and similarly shaggy shoulders rose over the counter. Ava’s eyes widened as the monster grew taller and taller with tatters of motorcycle jacket falling from dark-furred arms. Blood dampened a patch of fur in the middle of its back. Ted and Kendra grinned at the Bigfoot-like creature that stood a head shorter than the swamp monster.

 “Chingada madre,” the hairy creature moaned as it shook off the few remaining bits of jacket. “This wasn’t even a month old!”

Realization dawned, and Ava’s jaw hit the floor. The DILF was a werewolf!

As the werewolf—Jack—and Ted hugged, movement on Ava’s side of the counter got her attention. Tom waved one hand and mouthed, “What’s happening?!?”

She had no idea where to begin.

“Ava!” Kendra shouted from her spot on the counter. 

“Who’s there?” the werewolf said in Kendra’s direction, which Ava ignored because her grandmother was pointing to her left.

She looked and found a battered Trinity hauling herself up with one hand on the back of a booth behind Elsa and Neo. Glaring at Ted and Jack with her not-swollen-shut eye, the formidable woman drew her free arm back. That hand gripped a silver knife by the blade.

“No!” Ava shouted as she jumped to her feet. On instinct she grabbed the metal napkin dispenser in front of her and hurled it at Trinity.

Trinity’s knife flew end over end as the napkin dispenser missed the target. A flurry of Waffle-House-branded napkins erupted as shouts and roars filled the dining room. 

Elsa grunted and Neo hurtled backwards, slamming into his companion. The pair crumpled on to the bench seat in a tangle of limbs.

“Ted! Jack!” Elsa cried, then jumped back because Ted was stomping down the aisle despite the knife hilt sticking out of his chest. 

Without breaking stride Ted extracted the blade with two fingers. Silver, he grumbled, offering it to Elsa handle-first. 

The short but powerful woman took the knife with a grateful smile.

The werewolf sprinted up to Elsa with the black dog at his side. “Mi vida,” Jack rumbled. “Are you okay?”

Ava didn’t hear her reply. Her attention was on Ted, who loomed over the semi-conscious thugs sprawled on the bench in front of her. She smelled his acid’s acrid scent before his oversized hands began to glow.

Tom, who’d gotten to his feet, gasped. “Holy mother of pearl!” 

“Ted, no!” Ava cried.

Her friend froze in mid-reach. With anger burning in his red eyes, he met Ava’s gaze and cocked a leafy eyebrow.

“If you’re gonna, uh…” Ava hesitated, feeling the others’ eyes on her. “You know, take care of them…” 

She looked at Elsa, whose expression conveyed mild irritation and impatience, then Jack. The formerly short, slight man who now resembled an old-school wolfman gave her a rueful smile with his lower canines poking out. 

The large black dog wagged its tail. 

Tom seemed stunned.

Ava widened her gaze to address Ted, Elsa, and Jack. Nodding at Neo and Trinity, she said, “They’re bad guys, right?”

“Yes,” the three said in unison.

“They’re hunters,” Elsa added, seeming vaguely guilty. “The kind that kill any non-human on sight, and often their human friends.”

Tom whimpered as Ava grimaced.

Kendra jumped down from the counter to stand beside Ava. “Screw ‘em,” she said.

The werewolf looked in Kendra’s direction. “Who is that?”

“What?” Elsa asked as Ted urfed.

Chuckling, Ava caught Ted’s eye and nodded at the swinging door currently wedged into a dent in a stainless steel food prep table. “Do it back there on the tile. There’s a drain in the middle of the floor.”

Ted blinked at her, then grinned as the light from his hands faded. He tossed Trinity over one shoulder, Neo over the other, and trudged all the way around the counter and into the storeroom.

Elsa set the silver knife on a nearby table and grinned at Tom and Ava. “Friends of Ted’s, I presume?” 

“Y-yeah,” Tom stammered, pointedly not looking at the werewolf.

“We are,” Ava said. “He—” 

A sizzling sound carried from the back of the store. Praying that the smoke detectors wouldn’t be triggered, Ava raised her voice and continued. “He comes by every other month so we can catch up over hash browns.” 

Jack stepped up to his mate’s side with a chuckle akin to a growl. “So that’s why he said he’d be here.” He extended one clawed hand over the countertop. “Where are my manners? I’m Jack Russell, and this—”

Ava giggled despite her best efforts.

A smile brightened Elsa’s face. The woman was pretty when she wasn’t scowling. “It’s okay. It’s funny.”

“Wasn’t intentional,” Jack added with a pointy grin.

Between the seven-foot-tall werewolf’s bulk and the sharp claws, Ava found herself staring at the offered hand.

Elsa sighed, slid her hand into Jack’s much larger one, and tugged it back. “You can shake hands when you don’t have claws.” To Ava she said, “Elsa Bloodstone. I’m glad—”

Twin beams of light shone through the floor-to-ceiling windows. On other side of the glass a pickup truck approached one of the parking spaces near the door. 

“Jack!” Elsa said. The werewolf had already vaulted over the counter and run for the storeroom. She turned to Ava, who was sprinting to the front door. “Want me to get rid of them?”

Kendra appeared beside Ava. After giving her grandmother a smile, she replied, “I’ve got it.” 

She locked the door moments before a young man with a mullet sticking out of his trucker hat tried the handle, then frowned at her through the glass.

“Sorry,” Ava said, “we’re closed.”

“This is Waffle House. You can’t be closed!”

“We’re. Closed.”

Kendra chuckled.

The man opened his mouth to argue, and the eerie cold Ava associated with the spirit realm surged from her grandmother. 

The man blanched. “Uh, yeah. Okay.” He backed a few steps away, then bolted for his truck.

Smirking, Ava turned to Elsa. The couple’s ghost dog—ghost wolf?—stood at her side.

“How did you do that?” the Brit asked. “He looked like he’d seen a ghost!”

Ava shrugged as Kendra threw her head back and laughed.

Ted's on First - Part I

This is the first scene (~1200 words) of the long-awaited Waffle House fic. It's taking me forever to get this thing written, but I'd rather take the time to do it right.

Although this is set in the Bittersweet Symphony universe, you don't have to have read any of it to follow this.

Rating: Gen Characters: Elsa Bloodstone/Jack Russell, Ted Sallis (Man-Thing), original characters Word Count (eventually): ~3500 Warnings: Canon-typical violence (eventually)

Ava knew the pair was trouble the moment the plate glass door swung open. A gust of humid, marsh-scented air preceded two fit thirty-somethings whose dress better suited a pop culture convention than southern Florida.

“Mornin’,” Ava called over the din of her washing dishes behind the counter and the mess of eggs and hash browns Tom had sizzling on the grill. Between the late hour and their location on the outskirts of the Miami metro area, the two of them could run the Waffle House.

A swarthy, clean-shaven man of Indian descent nodded acknowledgement as his eyes swept across the nearly empty diner. Dried mud spattered his dark boots and the bottom of his black duster. The fact that his long coat was buttoned closed despite the warm night air outside suggested he was packing. All he needed was a pair of sunglasses to cosplay Neo from The Matrix.

Ava glanced at Kendra, who perched on her usual stool at the far end of the counter. The big-boned woman with natural Black hair was watching the new arrivals as well. Kendra nodded, then returned her attention to the door.

Neo stepped aside to make way for his companion: a Black woman with her hair in cornrows. Her garb was similar to Neo’s with the exception of her medium-length leather coat. She also surveyed the nearly empty dining room, skipping over Kendra to linger on the customers sitting at the table on the right side of the door. Those two, an attractive older couple who’d been playing footsie under the table, wore motorcycle safety gear.

“Sit anywhere you’d like,” Ava told Neo and Trinity.

After giving her a cursory smile, the woman headed for the table on the left side of the door. Neo followed. 

Ava dried her hands, pulled her order pad and pen from the pocket of her yellow apron, and strode around the end of the counter toward the older couple. Kendra smiled and said quietly in Creole “I’m watching” as Ava moved past her.

Despite his back being to her, the tanned, forty-something man with salt-and-pepper hair sat up straight as Ava approached. After frowning over his shoulder in Kendra’s direction, the handsome man gave Ava a friendly smile. His companion, a fair-skinned, dark-haired woman who was beautiful even with her brows knit together, continued studying the single-page menu.

Ava prompted, “Need another minute or two?”

“Mi vida?” the man asked his probable wife. Neither wore a wedding band.

The woman frowned harder at the menu. “Nearly,” she replied with a light British accent. “You go ahead.”

“Okay.” After glancing over his wife’s shoulder at Neo and Trinity sitting their table ten feet away, he turned to Ava and smiled. “The cheeseburger platter, please—”

Ava jotted it down. “Lettuce, tomato, pickle?” 

“Yes, please,” he said with a Latino accent. “And a cup of coffee. It’s late, you know?”

The man’s smile had grown bigger somehow. Ava felt herself returning it as she admired his green irises and how the corners of his eyes crinkled—

The British woman pointedly cleared her throat. “I’m ready to order.”

“Right!” Ava blurted. She felt her face heat up as she met the woman’s displeased countenance. Her husband chuckled, as did Kendra from her spot at the end of the counter. “What can…”

The Latino was looking over his shoulder again as if he’d heard Kendra. The notion was ridiculous, as was how something dark had seemed to move under the table. The couple was probably playing footsie. 

After taking a breath to compose herself, Ava addressed the British woman. “What can I get you?”

“The steak hash brown bowl,” the woman said frostily, “with jalapeños—”

 “Ahht!” the man mock scolded.

The woman heaved a sigh and leveled an impatient look on her husband. “Jack, I am not using that silly lingo.”

Jack’s face fell. “But you have to! It’s a rule.” He grinned at Ava. “Right?”

Ava gulped, wishing her customers were the usual ones who came in after the bars closed. Drunks she could handle. These two were weird and she still had to deal with Neo and Trinity. “Uh…”

The woman handed the menu to Ava as she shook her head at her husband. “You can,” she said, trying to withhold a grin. “You know what I like.”

Her husband’s smile became more of a leer, which made Ava blush and the woman chuckle. “Go on, and stop torturing the poor girl.”

Jack turned back to Ava with a polite smile. “She’ll have hers scattered, chunked, diced, peppered, and capped.” He grinned at his wife, who rolled her eyes as the corners of her mouth tugged up.

“And to drink?” Ava asked them both because she had no idea who’d reply at this point.

“Tea?” Jack asked his wife.

The woman gave Ava a skeptical look. “Is it orange pekoe?”

Ava yearned for drunk patrons who only wanted coffee. “I guess? It’s Lipton’s.”

“Coffee,” the woman sighed, “black.” She looked fondly at her husband. “Bring lots of cream for him.”

“Yes, please,” Jack said. In a stage whisper he added, “Don’t mind her. She’s hangry.”

“I am not hangry!” The woman’s mouth snapped shut. She blushed as her husband chuckled.

Ava willed herself to not react and risk provoking the not-hangry British woman. “Back in a minute with coffee,” she said and retreated, catching Kendra’s eye as she walked past. Her friend followed her behind the counter as she called the order to Tom, a ruddy white man who looked older than his fifty years.

Grateful for the clanks of metal utensils on the grill, Ava murmured to Kendra in Creole, “He can hear you.”

Kendra looked his way. “Seems that way,” she said quietly. “He doesn’t see me, though.”

Ava put two mugs on the counter and poured coffee, leaving room for cream in one of them. “Untrained?”

“Maybe,” Kendra replied. She didn’t seem concerned. “Jack seems harmless. But he is keeping an eye on the other two. His wife is too. She’s using the reflection in the window.”

Ava took longer than necessary putting coffee creamer cups in a bowl for the Latino. “This really isn’t a good night for things to get interesting.”

“It’ll be fine,” Kendra said, laying one hand on Ava’s shoulder. The touch had no weight, only a gentle coldness. “Don’t you worry.”

Ava nodded, grateful for her grandmother’s presence. 

As she picked up the mugs with one hand and the bowl of creamer in the other, she looked at Neo and Trinity at their table on the far side of the counter. With only stars and headlights from I-75 traffic lighting the night sky, the floor-to-ceiling window behind the customers acted as a mirror. Kendra, who looked about thirty, wasn’t there, of course, but Ava’s reflection was. They both were tall, but Ava lankier. Her black hair was in a multitude of thin braids, the bunch of them gathered at the nape of her neck with an elastic hair band. Her black T-shirt, pants, and yellow apron and visor were nothing to write home about. College tuition and bills had to get paid somehow.

Trinity and Neo must have felt her eyes on them. They glanced at her simultaneously.

“Coffee?” Ava asked.

“Yeah,” Neo said with a neutral American accent. “That’d be good.” Trinity nodded agreement.

Ava returned it as she headed for her other customers. “Coming right up.”

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

For anyone who's read "Past Is Prologue," Kendra is the same Kendra in that fic. 😊

Also, I was lazy in the Bittersweet Symphony fics and made Elsa American. She's British here because it's more accessible for anyone who hasn't read that series, and easier to differentiate her from other female characters when writing from Ava's POV.

[slasherrabbitmadness]

Beach day with the Slashers

Female Reader -Bo- Gender-neutral -everyone else-

Bo- Fingering but no penetration. Dirty talk.

Angst and Fluff with Herbert and Dan (They pronouns used for Y/N) Fluff with Michael and Jason.

Michael Myers (1978 with the extra height of the 2018 one)

> Wants to visit the beach during the day. He’ll even have his mask off. Instead of enjoying the beautiful view of the sun hitting the blue ocean, you spend your day staring at your handsome boyfriend.

> Michael is just there to scan for new victims. He kills people who litter, hates seeing wrappers and cigarette butts littered across nature.

> You egg him on to go swimming, it takes a lot of coaxing. “Please, Michael, just for a little bit.” He points to your belongings on the towel, “They’ll be fine, who’s gonna want to steal some sandwiches and some towels?” He shook his head. You got down on your knees and gave him sad puppy dog eyes. He grumbled then lifted you onto his shoulder, you squealed as you placed your hands on his firm back, rubbing his taut muscles.

> When he got up to his pecs in the water he threw you in. You came up for air, “Mikey, what the hell!?”

> “What? You wanted in the water.” He gave a small smile.

> He made you swim in front of the beach while he just stood in the water and watched. He knew you’d be fine, it was your belongings he was worried for. You caught his eyes, his already dark blue eyes were now matching the deepest parts of the ocean. He barreled through the water, pushing you aside. You watched him as he made his way up onto the beach.

> Some fuck had the bright idea to do some stealing. He just happens to choose the one man’s belongings you don’t fuck with.

> Before that guy had time to react to a six-foot-three man, hauling ass like he is a tiger chasing after a deer, Michael clocked him so hard in the face the man immediately went down.

> People stood around Michael, some congratulating him for knocking out a thief, others gawked “My God he swung that punch so hard.” “Is the thief even breathing?” Michael stood over your belongings, and turned back towards you, just making your way out of the ocean. Michael was mad, but not as mad at what he saw next.

> Some random beach Chad made his way over to you, “Yo, that was wild huh?” You gave a quick, “Ya.” not caring to speak to him, just wanted to get back to your boyfriend. “He just knocked that guy out in one punch.” You made your way up the beach, he grabbed at you “Hey, be careful, probably want to stay aw-”

>The poor sap never stood a chance, Michael swung his fist so hard Chad went flying back into the water.

> “I’ve had enough, we're leaving.”

> You were gonna protest, but when you scanned the crowd, you realized that yeah, we’re gonna go home.

> Walking back home, Michael held your hand, tightly. “Mikey?” He grunts, “You don’t like people touching your belongings, huh?” You turned to look up at him and he caught you in a kiss. He snuck his tongue in, dominating yours, you moaned and he pulled away. You whined and he smiled.

> “what’s mine is mine.”

Jason Voorhees

> He’s the beach’s lifeguard, so if you wanna spend a beach day with Jason, you’ll have to do it after hours. You would, but Jason takes the evening shifts too.

> Everybody loved Jason. Kids loved him, he was always so nice to them after all. He gave them swimming lessons. He was always so patient with them, never getting mad if a kid was struggling to grasp the basics.

> Men and Women loved Jason. His stoic demeanor, his calming presence...his bulging muscles. Jason was oblivious to all kinds of flirting. “Your hands are like, so big!” said a bubbly tanned beach bunny. Jason just grunts. A muscle-bound beach bro asked, “Bet you lift a lot eh, what’s your macros?” Jason just looked at his large bicep, he shrugged.

> When you visit him at work he gives you small waves then his eyes go right back to the water, not wanting to miss anything. Dedicated <3

> He doesn’t take a proper lunch break, he’ll eat his food while watching the beach, scarfing down the food as fast as possible.

> After a long day, you’ll finally have Jason all to yourself.

> Night swimming!

> You and Jason have splash fights, that he often wins, his large palms create huge splashes that knock you back into the water.

> Keeps you incredibly close in the water, will bug you to wear a life jacket if you ever swam without him. He’s very protective.

> Holds you close to him the further out you go. He won’t let you go, so it’s the perfect time to smother him in kisses.

> Jason hums into your kisses, his large hands running up and down your back, the water and his hands feel perfect on your skin.

> Jason couldn’t be happier that you're together.

Herbert West + Dan Cain - Poly relationship or what Derrick Barry calls a ‘throuple’

> “Please Herbert, for me?” He grimaced at you. Don’t you know how busy he is? Perfect specimens don’t just end up dead you know? Someones gotta end a life! You sighed and brought out the big gun. “Well, Dan said-” The moment Dan left your lips, Herbert was pushing you and him out the door.

> You and Dan had a blast, building castles, collecting seashells, playing some beach volleyball with another friendly couple.

> Herbert sulked under the beach umbrella, nose in a large medical textbook.

> “If you come with us, Herbert, we’ll get you a grape freezie!” Dan coaxed but it did not affect Herbert. Herbert waved you both off as if you were two mosquitoes bugging him.

> You and Dan walked hand in hand, swinging them in between yourself on your way to the little concession stand. “You sure it was for the best we brought him, Dan?” Dan looked at you and frowned, your eyes were a little glossy. “He only came because you were coming.” You felt the tears rolling down your cheek.

> “fuck, Herbert, you little monster.” Dan cursed to under his breath. Dan knew Herbert gravitated more towards him. It’s not that Herbert didn’t like you, just Dan was there first. Dan never told you but he often caught Herbert staring at you, a softness in his eyes that Dan knew meant one thing…

> “I’m sorry…” You mumbled, quickly rubbing the back of your hand over your eyes. Dan shushed you and brought you in for a hug, kissing the top of your head.

> “Don’t be, Herbert should be. Some Vitamin D is much needed for his pale little body. I’ll talk to him, okay? In the meantime, focus on me!”

> Dan and you continued with the most fun day ever. You ate your freezies, swapping flavors halfway through. A little boy asked Dan to help with flying his kite, Dan’s height coming in handy.

> Herbert stewed in his spot under the umbrella, watching you and Dan have fun, “Hmph, wasting time.” He kept peeking from his book, eyes on you, how you smiled when you looked into Dan’s eyes, how you leaned in closer, head resting on his shoulder. How Dan wrapped his arm around your waist, lips on your ear whispering...God knows what, Herbert can only imagine.

> “They could just yank me away from this, make me spend time with them...not that I want to. But if they dragged me away from my book then I’d have no choice.”

> When it got late, You and Dan packed away everything into the bags, Herbert supervised. How helpful/s

> Dan had you drop a few of the smaller items at the car on your own, he made Herbert help with some of the heavier items. As your figure became smaller and smaller in the distance, Dan turned to Herbert, “You know, they wer-”

> “I can’t believe you two, frolicking about so openly.” Herbert had cut Dan off. Herbert fumbled with the bags while trying to push up his glasses. Dan fumed.

> “You mean act like a couple, which we are, which you're a part of. Or are you only a couple with me?”

> Herbert snapped “excuse me, you and Y/N are most certainly a couple, which I have no part of.”

> Dan scoffed and shook his head “They want to be with you too, Herbert, They do like you, They feel upset with how you treat them. Now I know deep down you adore them, you best start showing it.”

> Herbert stopped, he looked at Dan and then at you in the distance starting the car.

> Later that night, Herbert had asked if you’d help in the basement. As tired as you were, you went to help. Herbert scarcely looked at you, but he found ways to touch you. Hands ghosting over yours as you handed him some flasks. Grabbing your hips softly to move you out of the way.

> “Everything good, Herbert?” You asked. His eyes looked everywhere but you. He stepped a little closer to you, His face only a foot away.

> He smashed his lips onto yours and wrapped you up in his arms. His hands rubbing along your sides, pulling you in so tight you were surprised he was strong enough to bring pain that way.

> “Don’t cry over me. Okay?” Your face felt hot, you nodded. “You are mine too, not just Dan’s, okay?” You nodded again. “Good. Now kiss me.”

> The kiss started tender but that just wasn’t gonna cut it with all the tension between you two.

Bo Sinclair /Female reader/

> Lookin’ at all the pretty girls go by.

> Catches you catching him staring, flashes his baby blues at you, “C’mon darling, you know you're still the apple of mah eye.”

> Gets pissed when other guys check you out. Strolls on over and wraps an arm around you, sneering at the Chads and Kyles.

> “You just had to wear that sexy little number, didn’t ya?” He snarled in your face. You grabbed your tits in the cute red bikini and gave them a Lil shake.

> Bo yanked you away from the beach, you protested, hitting his large forearm, “Bo, what the hell? Oh come on, you act like a leech an-” He cut you off, his lips slammed onto yours, the kiss was teeth and a little tongue action.

> Bo had yanked you away to some run-down looking bathrooms, the paint was so old it looked like the original coat from the 1960s

> “Now, Darlin, looks like you’ve just been wanting to rial me up now, huh? Wanting those sons of bitches to fuck you?” He leaned in close to your ear, his heavy breathing making you shake with anticipation. He suckled on it, causing you to buckle at the knees.

> “Bo, no I didn’t wan-want ah, the- them to” You were panting as he made small circles on your clit over your bikini bottoms. His fingers were calloused but he could be surprisingly gentle.

> “Now, yah best be quiet so no one hears ya, understood, Doll?” You whimpered and Bo flashed you his pearly whites. “That’s a good girl.”

> You should make him jealous more often.

[jjyusmile]

haunted | kevin moon

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ meltingjukyu’s spooky season ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

pairing: bestfriend!kevin x {gender neutral} reader!

words: 1,444

notes: this was requested by the lovely @haechansbeas​ ♥ as a part of my spooky season prompt list!

warning: majorly fluffy!! friends to ??? ~ we could even make a part 2 of this ,,, just really fluffy and soft, tbh i’d be hiding behind keb the whole time anyway soooo

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

“hey, why don’t we try the bumper cars instead!” kevin urged as you dragged him along the narrow corridors of the eighteenth-century manor by his hood. Although likely to be fake, the cobwebs indicated just how idly this house sat in your town’s carnival lot until late october.

during one of your lectures, a group of your friends decided that the weekend before halloween would be your annual visit to west lusmith’s spooky spectacular. for a small town, just outside of vancouver, they sure knew how to put on a show.

although most of the event featured generic fun fair rides and enough donut stalls to make you puke, the highlight of the night is mrs lusmith’s nocturnal fortress. they barely shifted the zombie mannequins during the year, so much so that it had hardly changed since you first visited when you were seven. you knew your way around this house like the back of your hand.

this year, kevin was the unlucky soul that was dragged along with you; every year he makes up some kind of excuse to get out of it, but this year-

the sudden yelp from behind made you flinch more than the gruesomely realistic robotic ghost that jumped out from behind the kitchen counter.

“kevin moon, I swear to god. if you make me jump out of my skin one more time, I’m leaving you here,” you threatened, trying to ignore how kevin’s grip on your wrist was coming awfully close to grazing the skin underneath.

his oversized sweatshirt synched at the ends accentuating his slim frame. the beanie casually positioned on his head let small strands of his auburn hair peak through hitting the frames that rested against the bridge of his nose.

noticing how close he had gotten to you, his eyes widened dramatically as he straightened up, towering over your small frame. how could someone so large be more scared than you were?

although he had composed himself as you wandered down the dimly lit corridor to the next room, his hand lightly grazed against yours. the action innocently reminding him that you were still there, but for you – for you, it was different. it wasn’t the frightening actors that made your heart skip multiple beats a minute.

each room was filled with ghastly creatures whom you’d encountered before, but kevin hadn’t. each one was met with a tug at your shirt, a quick grab of your wrist or his hands on your shoulders as he cowered behind you. wandering around the house, you got used to the feeling of your fingers intertwined. you told yourself as you scaled the back staircase, with kevin in tow, that you were merely protecting him from the horrible creatures that roamed the hallways of this house.

little did you know, he told himself this was the best way to get close to you.

for a moment, everything went quiet. the wind had halted its continuous attempt to creep through every crack that lined the house. there were no screams that could be heard from the other rooms, as you halted in your tracks, kevin lightly bumping into you and attempting not to fall down the remaining steps.

“what’s wrong?” kevin whispered from behind you, afraid to break the silence that washed over the house. his breath brushed against the back of your neck as he grew more concerned by your stillness, sending shudders running along your spine.

“it’s too quiet. it’s never like this.” you whisper back, not taking your eyes off the beaten window frame that began half way the stairs beside you. the only vision you could make out was the flicker of bonfires that scattered along the lake edge beside the carnival.

but it wasn’t a scary attempt of one of the ghostly actors that lined the halls of this house… it wasn’t your sudden awareness of how close kevin’s face had gotten to yours during the eerie silence…

it was the low rumble of thunder that ran its way over the town followed by a roar of lightning illuminating the darkening sky. you reacted instantly, spinning around and crashing your body into the closest comfort.

your head rested against kevin’s chest as your arms wrapped tightly around his waist, securing any safety you could from the warmth that radiated from his sweatshirt.

thunder and lightning, kevin thought to himself, frozen in place at your actions. you feared nothing – not killer clowns, not invasive zombies nor the howls from obnoxious frat boys attempting to scare their girlfriends. but you were haunted by thunder and lightning.

his arms wrapped protectively around your shoulders as he rested his chin atop of your head. you were the perfect height to fit snuggly in the crook of his neck. as one hand gripped your shoulder to hold your body secure against his, his other palm ran down your back in a steady motion, the action visibly relaxing your tense posture.

he hummed lightly as you were brought back to reality. the comforting murmur that escaped his lips to distract you drew your attention back to him. lifting your head slightly, you caught his gaze as his eyes scanned over your face with his eyebrow furrowed in concern. without letting go of your waist, one hand came up to push back the strands of hair that had fallen into your eyes, your shaken body slowly beginning to get back to normal.

you averted your eyes to look anywhere but into his own as they shone under the moonlight that reflected through the window that you were too afraid to look through again.

“you okay?” he ducked to catch your gaze again as your cheeks heated. shyly, you nodded your head twice, reassuring him.

without taking his eyes off you, his palm stroked down your arm to intertwine his fingers with yours and pulled you away from the window and out of the front door of the house. he didn’t flinch at the ghosts that jumped out at him this time. a silent agreement between the two of you that the skinship was merely to make sure you were okay. but you both knew that wasn’t the case.

spotting the boys by the burger van, you pulled away from kevin to head in their direction. yet, kevin was quick enough just to catch your pinky in his to keep you close to him. you halted and turned to look down at the contact that sent tingles over your body, looking up at him with a knowing smile that he mirrored just the same.

“go on then, how scared was he?” hyunjae shouted as the group made their way over to you, burgers and hotdogs in hand as they messily devoured them.

turning your attention toward the boys, you were about to brag about how kevin was scared of a ghost half his size when-

“actually, it wasn’t me who got the biggest fright this time…” he smirked as he gazed down at you, his pinky still tightly securing yours in secret behind your back.

completely oblivious to your secret interaction, haknyeon spoke up: “we were just heading over to play volleyball down at the makeshift beach by the lake. a few of the kids from school have a fire set up and they promised me s’mores so I am going to get my s’mores,” he annunciated the most important parts of his sentence with emphasis.

kevin’s attention hadn’t shifted from you since you left the darkened staircase in the manor. as your turned to face him, your eyes silently asking whether you were going to join, he answered simply by grasping the rest of your fingers in his grip.

“really?” you grinned adoringly, as you turned to see everyone begin to make their way over to the lake. the chill of the nights events made you shiver slightly as your attention was drawn back to kevin. a beanie being placed over your head. his beanie. you turned to him just in time to see his free hand ruffle his hair to make it semi-presentable to the rest of the carnival.

his smile lifted his cheek bones as they glowed prominently under the carnival lights. the way his eyes glistened under the moonlight had you staring longer than you usually would have as his previous gesture spread a warmth from your heart across your body.

he cleared his throat as a twinkle of mischief shimmered in his eyes. “okay then, oikawa. show me what you got!”

cheekily, he winked at you before turning and dragging you toward the group of boys who were setting up for a long nights worth of fun.

[micahstravels]

“Claw Marks”

*I wrote a lot of this over the past few months, then pulled it all together and finished it while I was alone in isolation. Like so many other people, last year did not go as expected. The result (of many factors) is that I will be moving out of New Zealand, my home for the past four years. Even though I made this decision, it still feels very surreal.

Most of what is written here is from the last year: some is my own processing, some is recapturing moments, and some are just snapshots of things I write but devoid of the context in which I wrote them. 

Maybe this will not all make sense, but my hope is that maybe you’ll find some of your own thoughts and emotions articulated.

Again, thanks for reading.

—

The Slow Turn

A year changes you a lot.

What has unfolded over the past few months was everything I did not want to happen, a series of events that hit the ground like a pile of dominoes, one right after the other, and by the end of November I was on the floor.

I came across a quote from David Foster Wallace during that time. “Everything I’ve ever let go of,” he writes, “has claw marks on it.” Look, I am aware that I cannot hold on to things forever, at some point I must let go. But there was always a difference between freely relinquishing what’s in my grasp and having my fists pried open.

Of course, a habit of mine is that I shred things out of fear.

I board a flight leaving from New Zealand in early December. As the country shrinks, I feel hot tears soak into my face mask, and I know that the next time I fly away like this, it will be with everything that fits into two suitcases, maybe three. “The next time I fly away like this, I know, it will be for good,” I wrote on the flight.

But what no one knows is that I knew this in the middle of last year, when I awoke one morning with a gnawing kind of feeling that this country was giving me the last of what it has to offer—there wouldn’t be much left soon. For even in July I had a sense of what was coming in November. What has followed I can only describe as an inner shift, akin to someone placing their palms on my cheeks and slowly turning my head, forcing me to look away.

What is happening now is the slow turn, as my grey eyes hold the faces of all the people this country has brought me to love. The slow turn, a shelf full of books, a plant growing up the bare wall, early morning sun. An old green car in the driveway. The slow turn. Two friends on the other end of the phone, they are saying they are happy for me, this is the right thing, red eyes, tears streaming, I am crying too, I say sorry twice and they say don’t you ever apologize for this again. The slow turn, my name to take off the lease. The slow turn. A final drive out to the beach with the black sand, the one where I used to sprint into the Pacific. Out to lunch, my mom asks if I am sure, I’m sure, I say while I sit on my hands. The slow turn, “I’m sure, but I hate this,” I write on the flight back.

A slow turn, a pivot. Everything I’ve ever let go of has claw marks on it, he said. I will attempt not to shred anything as I return only to pack up, which is the same as being told not to be afraid.

“The next time I fly away like this, I know, it will be for good,” I wrote on that first flight.

I book another flight. This is the beginning of the end here, my time to wrap up. What do they call it? A transition.

—

No Easy Way Out

Here, finally, I relinquish my right to a direct route.

A fictional right; a right I never had to begin with.

—

“Culpable”

tengo que tomar una decisión: volver (regresar) o irme de nuevo (correr)

dime, si te dejo una vez más ¿me perdonarás?

—

Load-shedding

There are two main ways to carry a load: on your back or in your arms. It appears that one cripples you, while the other builds endurance.

Look, I know about this burden—I just need to consciously decide how I want it to mark me.

—

My Bottom Lip is Bleeding

I thought I was going to pass out in spin class the other day. I remember it being a 30-minute class, turns out it was sixty. By the 30-minute mark I’d given everything I had and then some, but then the instructor starts calling out halfway there! and that’s when I knew that I was in trouble. I kid you not: the instructor looks dead at me from his bike and says, bite down, girl, it will help you keep going and forget the pain. I’m so embarrassed to be singled out, but whatever. Bite down, girl. I clench my teeth together tight and keep pedaling. The feeling I experience after it’s over is one of exhilaration, akin to pride.

Two days later, at 6:32 in the morning, a rejection email, after I’ve given everything I have—and then some. I sit up in bed, howling softly.

Bite down, girl. Just bite down.

Look, I don’t know what I am going to do or what is going to happen, but I know this:

I hope one day to look back on this tender season in my life, and I hope for two things—(1) that I kept going and (2) that the feeling I experience when looking back is one of pride.

—

The Return

I forgot the Spanish word for dreaming (soñar) and then later I forgot the word for glasses (lentes) and then in the middle of a conversation I forgot how to properly construct a sentence in the past tense. 

This terrifies me. I have to go back.

There are some things you can afford to forget; this is not one of them.

—

Implosion

We spent an entire lecture discussing the ethics of using aborted fetus stem cells as a treatment for Parkinson’s. One life sacrificed so another could be prolonged, I write.

The offhanded way the lecturer talked about it—as if this were a minor inconvenience to research, as though this shouldn’t even be a debate at all—left a gross taste in my mouth. A student raised his hand and asked if the stem cells strictly came from aborted fetuses or if spontaneous miscarried fetuses would also be used. The lecturer replied that miscarried fetuses should always be treated as human remains, therefore the wishes of the family must be respected, whereas aborted ones are considered medical waste and thus, “in his opinion” should be released and used for research purposes. If I had the guts that few people have I would’ve raised my hand and said exactly what I thought about that. “In my opinion.”

Instead I write: I do not know what to do with or where to put this knowledge; it weighs heavy on my chest.

The thought of entering such a sterile yet fascinating field terrifies me. Will I learn to live with this weight? Who will I become in the process? I get home and drive to the beach; it’s pouring.

Who am I with this?

The past two years have been marked by a lot of questions, specifically about where to locate my beliefs in this fast-paced yet very complex, very septic world I’ve ventured into. There have been so many things in this field that I love, but there are so many ethics that I do not have answers to. Euthanasia for terminal, painful diseases? Stem cell therapy? Funding for Western diseases or the same funding instead for clean water? 3D printing organs? Cell cloning? Aborting babies with cystic fibrosis, with down syndrome, with cleft palates?

Do I want to study in the West? Do I even like living in the West?

I am twenty-four and find myself caught in the undertow of a forceful wave that I thought I could swim through, but it’s just a lot stronger than I originally expected. So many people around me seem to be riding these waves effortlessly, taking in the information and spitting out model answers, picking it all up and rearranging it neatly to fit into a worldview that is both contemporary and politically correct. But what if all of this doesn’t fit in mine?

I think about this a lot, about the way I want to look at and approach this world. I also think a lot about who I would like to be. And, in my final year of this one degree, I’ve reached the conclusion that if any stray piece of information can be molded, compressed and folded so that it stacks tidily within a worldview, I don’t think that speaks to the flexibility of the worldview—I think it speaks to its demise.

I think it foretells of a worldview that will uphold anything and everything, collecting opinions and beliefs as they come, unwilling to shed the information that doesn’t fit, until it can’t anymore, until it collapses in on itself. A worldview that was always destined to implode.  

The task ahead of me is to figure out how to build one that will last.  

—

December

The end of this year.

I feel sun-bleached, really. Or something like it.

I look across the table at my friend, at the half-eaten sandwich on her plate. The weariness we feel from a difficult year is evident between us: she barely touches her food while I devour everything on the table that is edible. I want to ask if I can eat her sandwich; I almost ask the waiter to bring me another plate of food. And a refill.

I think to myself that we are both starving differently, each malnourished in a kind of overtired way.

We were all running so fast, I say, we weren’t prepared for the standstill.

She looks at me. But what were we even running for?

Ocean Vuong, in one of my favorite books, “I am not with you because I am at war with everything but you.”

A standstill, yes. But now, also, a turnaround, a furious sprint away from a war in which I don’t remember enlisting but fought in nonetheless. A long run in the other direction, a long run back home.

What were we even running for? I will not—in an attempt to build this life—venture so far off into the distance that when I turn around the people I want to show it to most are gone. I will not.

I have come back to you because I am done fighting everything that took me away from you.

—

“Open to hear a new voice message”

0:59. “Hey Micah, hope you’re good. I just wanted to check in on you. Look, there’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while and I think now’s a good time. And it’s that I don’t think you should let the fear of what has happened over the past few months and years make you into something you’re not. I just see lately that you’ve been grabbing all of these back-up plans out of fear that one or all of them are going to fail. But I’ve never known you to be someone to look for worst case scenarios. You have never been indecisive and you were never easily overwhelmed or even frantic. And I find that being with you now, there’s something off, there’s something within you that doesn’t belong. I think you’ve become scared and that’s ok, we all get scared, but I think it’s time to not be scared anymore. I see how the fear of what has happened has begun to shape you into something you’re not, and I think it’s time to let that girl go and bring the old one ba—”

0:33. “It cut out on me. Bring the old one back, that’s what I was saying. Anyways, I just wanted to tell you that. You know I love you and I’m always rooting for the real you, but I will also root for you even when you’re scared, just as long as you commit to letting that scared part go. And I think—no, actually, I know—that what’s ahead is daunting, but you don’t have to be afraid of it. Anyways, I have to run but iloveyousomuch and I’m here for you, always. Have a good day, see you soon.”

Everything I’ve ever let go of has claw marks on it, he said. Fear included.

—

June

When he walked away, I was overcome by a feeling that I was off-balance; the world felt like it was spinning. He left and I tried to steady myself, to sit upright again.

But those damn eyes left me reeling.

"Your eyes, an ocean, I drag a raft out to sea, no one has found me.”

—

Molting

To live in this peaceful country at this point in history is, as the news says, to be free. Everyone that can is migrating back here. But for me, that freedom was always relative, that is, it’s now contingent on the fact that you can no longer come and go as you please.

But I have to come and go: a whole piece of me lives somewhere else in the world.

Nonetheless, I find myself conflicted about leaving, conflicted about staying. I request a sign and get a picture of someone ripping off the outer layer of my skin, like someone helping a snake molt out of its old scales. In other words, this season has ended.

When I was a little girl growing up in Australia I used to find leftover cicada exoskeletons stuck to trees. At six, I used to wonder if it hurt the insect, and if it did hurt, did the cicada just shake off its outer layer anyway, out of necessity? In Mexico, at twenty-four, I sit on the beach and watch a hermit crab pull its spindly body out of a shell that has become too small.

I can’t stay in a country that won’t freely release me anymore, I can’t stay in a country that has nothing left for me, it is time to go. This knowledge hurts but I process it anyway, out of necessity.

I think about the snake, about the cicada, the hermit crab—the girl. All of us molting an exterior layer that has built up over time, shedding what we’ve outgrown, the difference between the creatures and I is that their instincts told them this would happen. The difference between us is that they’re not sobbing while they do it. I pick up four years of my life, like a shimmering, translucent wisp in my hands, it weighs nothing, it weighs everything, and I lay it on the ground and I make myself leave it behind.

Everything I’ve ever let go of has claw marks on it, that’s what he said; that’s what I’m doing now, only gently.

This dead skin glows like a green light behind me, green like the neon exit sign that I am now running towards in this new, baby-soft skin.

I just don’t know where I’m running to.

—

Mornings

I want to write about my family, without saying too much.

I want to write about what it’s like to drive down a windy road, my dad at the wheel saying that we need a plan, we need a timeline, and I agree, I want a plan and I want a timeline; my mom says nothing. The Mexican desert is a blur past my tinted window, burnt orange, flecks of gold, a cloudless blue sky—and all I can think about is how I need a plan, I need a timeline. I pull out my phone to take notes, as if all of these things that we have been hoping for, for three years now, could be scheduled. If they could be scheduled they would’ve happened by now.

I want to write about the two people I love most, without saying too much. We take a road trip to the centre of the country, where we ate at a different restaurant for breakfast, lunch and dinner for ten days. There were colourful buildings, a sunrise ride up in a hot air balloon, late nights watching Lost reruns. My dad buys fresh pastries in the morning, my mom and I walk through the market for hours, we order hot chocolate so thick and creamy and rich that we cannot finish it. 

When we returned everybody said that it looked so beautiful, you must’ve had such a good time, but what is sharpest in my mind is how they both looked, what it was like to wake up in the same space as them, the many conversations over breakfast, lunch and dinner, the two of them holding hands as we walked between the colourful buildings, how it felt to know that an undercurrent of many things that are still not ok ran beneath us, but here in these moments, we are ok.

For I cannot write about this without writing about the ache we have all had to adjust to. An ache with a pulse, I wrote in 2018. I will not say too much except that the past three years have been hard, some days so gutting it took my breath away—I was spiraling—a lot of calls across the world where I put the phone down and howled. In November a series of events hit the ground like a pile of dominoes, in November I was on the floor, in November the elapsed time was now marked in years—in November I almost gave up. In November I was ready to raise the white flag, in December I flew to Mexico with the intention of raising it, come for me disappointment, I surrender, just let me catch my breath and then take me. 

But how can I write this? That is not the whole story. The untold part of the story continues, such that throughout this elapsed time, these three years, I have looked at my dad on multiple occasions and he refused to raise that white piece of cloth, I look to my mom and she won’t either. They are better than I am, more resilient than I am, and even though this hurts like hell, if they will not raise a flag in surrender then I will not either. I will not give up, either.  

A month into my time at home, I wrote down Renaud’s words:

"I will love you until we run out of mornings. Then I will love you in the dark.”

There is much to say of a family in the dark; every family experiences it at some point. But for ours, I can only write about how it stripped us of a lot but gave us back so much more. For it is dark but I know their faces, even if I can’t always see them, I know what things feel like, where we all fit in this black space, the presence of an extra Person whom we all take turns sleeping next to. One morning, my mom holds me like I’m a child again and I weep just like one; I weep out three years worth of disappointment. “Then I will love you in the dark.”

Everything I’ve ever let go of has claw marks on it, he said. But not this, this I will not be letting go of, ever. I would like to write a lot more, about two months at home in Mexico that returned something lost to me; the mornings when I woke up to the dog scratching at the door, my dad on the couch wrapped in a blanket, my mom in the kitchen stirring oatmeal—and everything is not ok but everything in that moment is good, we are good. But this is all I will write here, for the rest of the story is written down somewhere else; the rest of the story is for me, for us.

Besides, there are mornings are coming, the ones where the light trickles in gradually, slowly, and then all at once everything is bright again. These are the mornings that are coming; I mustn’t waste my energy.

[nazariolahela]

Something Domestic: Chapter 17

A/N: Hey y'all! This story is told in first-person narrative, from Riley’s (MC) POV. There will likely be smidges of canon in this, but not too much. Thanks for reading, and please leave feedback, and/or if you would like to be tagged.

I just wanted to give a quick thanks to everyone who read this series. It was so much fun to write. Big thanks to everyone who gave feedback and bugged me about releasing new chapters on time. (Which I couldn’t seem to do towards the end. Haha sorry about that.) Anywho, I really appreciate everyone who took the time to read my writing. Y’all are amazing. 😘😘

Catch up here

Series Tags: @burnsoslow @aworldoffandoms @dcbbw @ladyangel70 @texaskitten30 @sunandlemons @jlynn12273 @indiacater @jared2612 @rainbowsinthestorm @drakesensworld @badchoicesposts @msjr0119 @katurrade @blackcoffee85 @cynicalworlds-blog @hopefulmoonobject @cmestrella @sugarandspice-milkandhoney @superharrietsuper @custaroonie @lady-calypso @ritachacha @olympianpantsuit @desiree-0816 @the-soot-sprite @kate-mckenzie @narrytheworld @octobereighth @lynne1993 @queen-anastasia-universe @loveellamae @sarzkh31​ @iaminlovewithtrr​ @queenjilian​

Synopsis: When Riley Brooks takes a new job as a nanny for the affluent Rhys family in New York’s Upper East Side, she assumes she’s just going to care for the children of the couple who hired her. But instead of just school pick-ups and afternoon snacks, she also finds herself spending time with Liam, the handsome divorced dad. Can Riley control her feelings for Liam while still performing the job she was hired for?

All characters are the property of Pixelberry Studios. Thanks for allowing me to borrow them.

Chapter Summary: Will Riley and Liam get their Happily Ever After?

Epilogue - Six Months Later

Hana and I stand in the living room of our old apartment, packing up the last of the boxes. It still hasn’t hit me yet that this will no longer be our home. We had some good memories here. I pick up a framed photo of us in the Hamptons the summer after we graduated college. It’s only from a few years ago, but I can’t believe how young we look.

Hana balances a box on her hip, peering over my shoulder at the photo. “Oh my gods, look at us.”

I turn around and hold it out to her. “Do you want it?”

She shakes her head. “You keep it. I already took the one from our vacation at the shore. I look better in that one anyway.”

“Yes you do,” I laugh and set the photo into a box and tape the lid shut. I stand up and take one last look around the apartment, making sure we didn’t forget anything. I smile to myself as I recall the last four years. I remember we had to sleep on an air mattress in the living room that first night because the moving truck wasn’t scheduled to show up with our furniture until the next morning. The washing machine on our floor broke a week after we moved in, so we had to wash all our clothes in the tub. There was also the time our upstairs neighbor tried to get us to have a threesome with him.

Hana glances out the window then turns back to me. “Your ride is here. If you want, I can take the keys down to the landlord.”

I unhook mine from my keyring and place it in her palm before wrapping her in a hug. I can’t stop the tears from escaping. “I’m going to miss you so much.”

She laughs through her own tears. “I’m only moving to the West Village. It’s literally a 30-minute drive. I promise we’ll get together once a week.” Her hand moves to my cheek to brush away my tears and the sunlight pouring in through the window catches the diamond of her wedding ring. Hana and Meghan got married last week in an intimate ceremony. The engagement was a short one and caught everyone by surprise, especially Hana’s parents. They were against it at first, but eventually came around and walked her down the aisle. I stood in as Hana’s Maid of Honor, with Meghan’s older brother serving as her Best Man.

“Promise you won’t turn into one of those married bitches who ditches her best friend for her wife?” I sniffle.

“As long as you don’t turn into one of those trophy girlfriends who ditches her best friend for her rich boyfriend.”

We laugh and share another hug before I grab my boxes and make my way downstairs. When I reach the sidewalk, I spot Liam leaning against the side of his car, looking mouthwatering in dark wash jeans and a white t-shirt. A sexy smirk spreads across his face. After the drama with Madeleine, Liam and I became official. He wanted to move me into his penthouse almost immediately, but I told him I had to wait for my lease to expire before we took that next step. Although to be honest, I’ve been spending nearly every night at his place.

He approaches me, taking the boxes from my hands and presses a searing kiss to my lips. “Got everything?” he asks as he moves to set the boxes in the trunk.

“Yep, Hana’s dropping the key off right now.”

He slings an arm around me and pulls me to him, kissing my forehead. Hana emerges a few minutes later, holding her own boxes. Liam walks over and takes the boxes from her as she and I share one last hug.

“What are you doing this weekend?” I ask her.

She beams. “Well, we’re meeting with the adoption agency for a home study. But I’ll call you next week. We can get lunch.”

My heart warms. Hana and Meghan applied to adopt a child a few months ago. I was over the moon when she shared the news. We all suspect the sudden engagement and marriage was a way to fast-track the adoption process.

A few moments later, Meghan’s car pulls up behind Liam’s. Hana and I say our goodbyes as Meghan grabs the boxes from Liam and puts them in the back seat of her car. Hana hugs Liam then climbs in the front seat. I make my way over to Meghan.

“Hey! I just want to say thank you for always being there for Hana. Even when I wasn’t. She’s very lucky to have you.”

“I’m the lucky one. But thank you. I know we’ve had our differences, but you mean a lot to her, and I want you and me to be friends.”

“I think we can do that,” I say before pulling her in for a hug. “Take care of my best friend, please.”

“I will.”

Meghan gives us a quick wave, then climbs into her car and pulls away from the curb. I wipe the tears from my face as Liam comes up behind me, wrapping his arms around me, and plants a kiss on the top of my head. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Ready to get out of here?”

“Ready when you are.” He opens my car door and holds it while I climb inside. He then jogs around the front to his side and slips in. He presses the push start button and the car roars to life. Shifting the car in gear, he pulls away from the curb and sets off down the street. I stare out the window and watch our old apartment building disappear. Liam reaches over and takes my hand, entwining our fingers, and presses a soft kiss to the back of it.

“Have you heard from Andrew lately?”

I dig through my purse with my free hand and fish out my cellphone. I open my messages and show him a photo of Andrew, Derek and Adam, and their new nanny Emily all lounging on the beach in Cabo. They all look so happy. Emily took over as Andrew’s live-in nanny a few months ago. I was the one who recommended her. She has a degree in early childhood development and she’s great at what she does. The best part was that she was more than willing to take the job. As much as I enjoyed working with Andrew and his dads, I just couldn’t commit to the live-in part. Thankfully, they were very understanding. They send me weekly updates, thanking me for bringing her into their lives. Although I will miss working with them, I know I made the right choice.

Liam glances at the photo and smiles. “I’ll take you to Cabo if you want. I’ll take you wherever you want to go. Just say the word.”

“You can start by taking me home. To our home.”

He nods and moves through traffic on the way to our home. I’m excited to see the kids. I ended up leaving the agency shortly after Liam and I got back together. It was hard at first, but I love that it gives me more time to spend with Charlotte and Philip. Now that Liam and I are a couple, we wanted to make sure the kids understood what was going on. After he gained sole custody, we sat down with them and explained our relationship. They were beyond elated to have me back. Philip immediately asked me if we could go to the park. Charlotte asked me if her daddy and I were getting married.

Liam pulls the car up to the building and parks it in the underground parking area. We grab the last of my stuff and make our way to the elevator. Once we’re inside, he gently takes the boxes from my arms and sets them on the floor. He then wraps his arms around me, gripping my ass, and pulls me to his body. Our lips meet in a passionate kiss. His lips trail down my neck and shoulder, sending chills throughout my body. I fist his t-shirt, feeling him grow hard against me. This elevator better hurry the fuck up so I can officially fuck him in our apartment.

When we reach the top floor, the doors glide open and two high-pitched voices break us apart.

“DADDY! RILEY!” Charlotte and Philip shout in unison as they greet us in the foyer. Belinda waves goodbye as she slips out. Liam decided to keep Belinda on as a part-time nanny. Meaning she only watches the kids when needed. Charlotte’s arms wrap around my leg. I pick her up and hug her.

“Riley! Can we go play with my new dollhouse?”

“Later, sweetie. I need to finish unpacking. Why don’t you go wash up? It’s getting close to dinner time,” I tell her, pressing a kiss to her rosy cheek. Philip runs up to me and hands me a picture he drew. I examine the artwork. Stick figure Liam and I are holding hands with stick figure Charlotte and Philip on either side of us. I smile and make my way into the kitchen, attaching it to the fridge. Liam comes up behind me, wrapping his arms around my stomach, and nuzzles my neck.

“Look at my little van Gogh. Let’s take your stuff up to our room. Then we can order something to eat. And later, I can eat you.”

My cheeks flame. Thankfully the kids aren’t within earshot. Moments later they come bursting into the room. He smirks and disappears up the stairs. I call out to Philip and Charlotte. “Hey, guys! Dinner will be here soon. Let’s go get washed up.”

A little while later, the food arrives and we sit down to eat. I glance around the table and observe. This whole thing feels right. I have a perfect man sitting next to me, two amazing kids that love me and I love like they were my own. I also have wonderful friends who care about me. I have the urge to pinch myself because none of this feels real. Liam looks over at me and gives me a warm smile that sends the butterflies in my stomach aflutter.

Later that evening as we’re putting the kids to bed, Charlotte grabs my hand.

“Riley? Are you going to live with us forever?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Liam smirk. I crouch down and brush her hair out of her face. “I hope so, sweetie. I love living with you and Philip. And your daddy, of course.”

She nods, her eyelids growing heavy. “Good. You should stay here.”

I lean in and kiss her forehead, then make my way to Philip’s room. He is sitting on his bed, holding his favorite bedtime story. “Riley? Will you read me a story?”

I glance at Liam standing in the doorway, then turn back to him. “Isn’t that your daddy’s job?”

“I want you to do it.”

I chuckle and sit down at the foot of his bed, taking the book from him. He curls under the covers and waves his father over. Liam sits cross-legged on the floor next to his bed as I read to Philip from his favorite book. Within a few minutes, he’s out like a light. Liam smiles and takes the book from my hand, placing it in the bookshelf. He grabs my hand and guides me down the hall to our room. I swing open the door and notice the dim glow of candles and rose petals scattered all over the bedroom. So that’s where he disappeared to before dinner. My eyes widen in shock.

“Liam? What is all this?”

I turn around just as he drops down to one knee, pulling a velvet box from his pocket. His blue eyes glow in the candlelight.

“Riley Brooks, queen of my heart. Ever since the day I met you, you’ve changed my whole world. Every day with you these last six months feels like a dream that I don’t want to wake up from. You’ve embraced my kids and love them as if you gave birth to them. You stayed patient with me through all my ex-wife drama. And even when I put you through hell, you could have told me to fuck off and never talked to me again. But you didn’t. All I want in this world is to dedicate my life to being the best man that I can be… for you. I have yearned to say these four words for a very long time… Will you marry me?”

He opens the box and reveals the most stunning emerald-cut solitaire engagement ring. This bad-boy has to be at least 10 carats. I don’t even want to know what he spent on it.

“Ohmygods, Liam!” I choke out through my tears. “Yes! A thousand times yes!”

He grins from ear to ear and slips the ring from its box, then onto my finger. He rises to his feet and cups my face in both hands, his blue eyes staring directly into mine. “I love you, Riley.”

“I love you, too.”

He brushes his lips to mine in a tender kiss that quickly grows intense. He presses my body to his, and I wrap my legs around his waist. He carries me over to the bed and places me on the mattress, trailing his lips down my neck and across my collarbone. His hands go to work slipping off my shirt and bra.

“You won’t be needing these for what I’m about to do to you.”

Oh wow. A chill runs through my body, one he notices. He grins and trails hot kisses down my chest, taking one of my nipples in his mouth and gently tugs it in his teeth. The sensation shoots straight to my core and I let a soft moan slip from my lips. He begins to make his way down my stomach when I stop him.

“Wait!”

He looks up at me. “What’s wrong?”

I sit up and roll us over until I’m on top, straddling him. His eyes widen as I lean in and begin kissing my way down his chest. I don’t break eye contact as I slowly unbuckle and unzip his pants. His chest rises and falls in rapid succession.

“Riley, you don’t have to do this.”

I reach up and place a finger on his lips as I kiss a trail down his stomach until I reach the waistband of his boxer briefs. “Shh...Let me do this for you.”

I pull his underwear down and his cock springs free. I circle my tongue along the tip and pump it twice before wrapping my lips around him. His hands reach down to tangle his fingers in my hair, tugging it slightly. I take this cue to flatten my tongue and run it along the underside of his dick. I look up and see his eyes rolling in the back of his skull. I grin as I continue pumping and sucking, bobbing my head up and down.

His voice comes out as a harsh, husky whisper. “Riley, baby. I’m not going to last much longer.”

I quicken my pace, switching from long slow pumps to short fast ones. He grips my hair tighter and guides my rhythm, fucking my mouth. The tip of his cock hits the back of my throat, and I moan, causing him to moan in response.

“Riley… baby. Fuck… I’m gonna... come.”

I suck in my cheeks and pump harder and soon after he spills down my throat. I swallow and lap up his hot cum. He pulls me up his body, breathing hard, and presses a deep kiss to my lips.

“Holy shit. Would it be too much to ask for you to do that every night?”

I laugh. “Only for you, baby.”

He rolls us over and settles on top of me, fitting his long body between my thighs. “You couldn’t be more perfect if you tried. I love you. And I want to spend every day for the rest of my life showing you how much I love you. I know I already asked you this, but will you marry me?”

I smile and run my fingers through his hair pulling him closer to me. “Yes.”

[brightbeautifulthings]

MAYHEM BY ESTELLE LAURE BLOG TOUR & CHAPTER EXCERPT

The Lost Boys meets Wilder Girls in this supernatural feminist YA novel.

Available July 14th, 2020

It's 1987 and unfortunately it's not all Madonna and cherry lip balm. Mayhem Brayburn has always known there was something off about her and her mother, Roxy. Maybe it has to do with Roxy's constant physical pain, or maybe with Mayhem's own irresistible pull to water. Either way, she knows they aren't like everyone else.

But when May's stepfather finally goes too far, Roxy and Mayhem flee to Santa Maria, California, the coastal beach town that holds the answers to all of Mayhem's questions about who her mother is, her estranged family, and the mysteries of her own self. There she meets the kids who live with her aunt, and it opens the door to the magic that runs through the female lineage in her family, the very magic Mayhem is next in line to inherit and which will change her life for good.

But when she gets wrapped up in the search for the man who has been kidnapping girls from the beach, her life takes another dangerous turn and she is forced to face the price of vigilante justice and to ask herself whether revenge is worth the cost.

From the acclaimed author of This Raging Light and But Then I Came Back, Estelle Laure offers a riveting and complex story with magical elements about a family of women contending with what appears to be an irreversible destiny, taking control and saying when enough is enough.

About the Author:

Estelle Laure, the author of This Raging Light and But Then I Came Back believes in love, magic, and the power of facing hard truths. She has a BA in Theatre Arts and an MFA from Vermont College of Fine Arts in Writing for Children and Young Adults, and she lives in Taos, New Mexico, with her family. Her work is translated widely around the world. 

Twitter | Instagram | Get Your Copy

Read on for a special chapter excerpt of Mayhem!

three Santa Maria

“Trouble,” Roxy says. She arches a brow at the kids by the van through the bug-spattered windshield, the ghost of a half-smile rippling across her face.

“You would know,” I shoot.

“So would you,” she snaps.

Maybe we’re a little on edge. We’ve been in the car so long the pattern on the vinyl seats is tattooed on the back of my thighs.

The kids my mother is talking about, the ones sitting on the white picket fence, look like they slithered up the hill out of the ocean, covered in seaweed, like the carnival music we heard coming from the boardwalk as we were driving into town plays in the air around them at all times. Two crows are on the posts beside them like they’re standing guard, and they caw at each other loudly as we come to a stop. I love every- thing about this place immediately and I think, ridiculously, that I am no longer alone.

The older girl, white but tan, curvaceous, and lean, has her arms around the boy and is lovely with her smudged eye makeup and her ripped clothes. The younger one pops some- thing made of bright colors into her mouth and watches us come up the drive. She is in a military-style jacket with a ton of buttons, her frizzy blond hair reaching in all directions, freckles slapped across her cheeks. And the boy? Thin, brown, hungry-looking. Not hungry in his stomach. Hungry with his eyes. He has a green bandana tied across his forehead and holes in the knees of his jeans. There’s an A in a circle drawn in marker across the front of his T-shirt.

Anarchy.

“Look!” Roxy points to the gas gauge. It’s just above the E. “You owe me five bucks, Cookie. I told you to trust we would make it, and see what happened? You should listen to your mama every once in a while.”

“Yeah, well, can I borrow the five bucks to pay you for the bet? I’m fresh out of cash at the moment.”

“Very funny.”

Roxy cranes out the window and wipes the sweat off her upper lip, careful not to smudge her red lipstick. She’s been having real bad aches the last two days, even aside from her bruises, and her appetite’s been worse than ever. The only thing she ever wants is sugar. After having been in the car for so long, you’d think we’d be falling all over each other to get out, but we’re still sitting in the car. In here we’re still us.

She sighs for the thousandth time and clutches at her belly. “I don’t know about this, May.”

California can’t be that different from West Texas.

I watch TV. I know how to say gag me with a spoon and grody to the max.

I fling open the door.

Roxy gathers her cigarettes and lighter, and drops them in- side her purse with a snap.

“Goddammit, Elle,” she mutters to herself, eyes flickering toward the kids again. Roxy looks at me over the rims of her sunglasses before shoving them back on her nose. “Mayhem, I’m counting on you to keep your head together here. Those kids are not the usual—”

“I know! You told me they’re foster kids.” 

“No, not that,” she says, but doesn’t clarify. “Okay, I guess.”

“I mean it. No more of that wild-child business.”

“I will keep my head together!” I’m so tired of her saying this. I never had any friends, never a boyfriend—all I have is what Grandmother calls my nasty mouth and the hair Lyle always said was ugly and whorish. And once or twice I might’ve got drunk on the roof, but it’s not like I ever did anything. Besides, no kid my age has ever liked me even once. I’m not the wild child in the family.

“Well, all right then.” Roxy messes with her hair in the rear- view mirror, then sprays herself with a cloud of Chanel No. 5 and runs her fingers over her gold necklace. It’s of a bird, not unlike the ones making a fuss by the house. She’s had it as long as I can remember, and over time it’s been worn smooth by her worrying fingers. It’s like she uses it to calm herself when she’s upset about something, and she’s been upset the whole way here, practically. Usually, she’d be good and buzzed by this time of day, but since she’s had to drive some, she’s only nipped from the tiny bottle of wine in her purse a few times and only taken a couple pills since we left Taylor. The with- drawal has turned her into a bit of a she-demon.

I try to look through her eyes, to see what she sees. Roxy hasn’t been back here since I was three years old, and in that time, her mother has died, her father has died, and like she said when she got the card with the picture enclosed that her twin sister, Elle, sent last Christmas, Everybody got old. After that, she spent a lot of time staring in the mirror, pinching at her neck skin. When I was younger, she passed long nights telling me about Santa Maria and the Brayburn Farm, about how it was good and evil in equal measure, about how it had desires that had to be satisfied.

Brayburns, she would say. In my town, we were the legends. 

These were the mumbled stories of my childhood, and they made everything about this place loom large. Now that we’re here, I realize I expected the house to have a gaping maw filled with spitty, frothy teeth, as much as I figured there would be fairies flitting around with wands granting wishes. I don’t want to take her vision away from her, but this place looks pretty normal to me, if run-down compared to our new house in Taylor, where there’s no dust anywhere, ever, and Lyle prac- tically keeps the cans of soup in alphabetical order. Maybe what’s not so normal is that this place was built by Brayburns, and here Brayburns matter. I know because the whole road is named after us and because flowers and ribbons and baskets of fruit sat at the entrance, gifts from the people in town, Roxy said. They leave offerings. She said it like it’s normal to be treated like some kind of low-rent goddess.

Other than the van and the kids, there are trees here, rose- bushes, an old black Mercedes, and some bikes leaning against the porch that’s attached to the house. It’s splashed with fresh white paint that doesn’t quite cover up its wrinkles and scars. It’s three stories, so it cuts the sunset when I look up, and plants drape down to touch the dirt.

The front door swings open and a woman in bare feet races past the rosebushes toward us. It is those feet and the reckless way they pound against the earth that tells me this is my aunt Elle before her face does. My stomach gallops and there are bumps all over my arms, and I am more awake than I’ve been since.

I thought Roxy might do a lot of things when she saw her twin sister. Like she might get super quiet or chain-smoke, or maybe even get biting like she can when she’s feeling wrong about something. The last thing I would have ever imagined was them running toward each other and colliding in the driveway, Roxy wrapping her legs around Elle’s waist, and them twirling like that. 

This seems like something I shouldn’t be seeing, some- thing wounded and private that fills up my throat. I flip my- self around in my seat and start picking through the things we brought and chide myself yet again for the miserable packing job I did. Since I was basically out of my mind trying to get out of the house, I took a whole package of toothbrushes, an armful of books, my River Phoenix poster, plus I emptied out my underwear drawer, but totally forgot to pack any shoes, so all I have are some flip-flops I bought at the truck stop outside of Las Cruces after that man came to the window, slurring, You got nice legs. Tap, tap tap. You got such nice legs.

My flip-flops are covered in Cheeto dust from a bag that got upended. I slip them on anyway, watching Roxy take her sunglasses off and prop them on her head.

“Son of a bitch!” my aunt says, her voice tinny as she catches sight of Roxy’s eye. “Oh my God, that’s really bad, Rox. You made it sound like nothing. That’s not nothing.”

“Ellie,” Roxy says, trying to put laughter in her voice. “I’m here now. We’re here now.”

There’s a pause.

“You look the same,” Elle says. “Except the hair. You went full Marilyn Monroe.”

“What about you?” Roxy says, fussing at her platinum waves with her palm. “You go full granola warrior? When’s the last time you ate a burger?”

“You know I don’t do that. It’s no good for us. Definitely no good for the poor cows.”

“It’s fine for me.” Roxy lifts Elle’s arm and puckers her nose. “What’s going on with your armpits? May not eat meat but you got animals under there, looks like.”

“Shaving is subjugation.”

“Shaving is a mercy for all mankind.” 

They erupt into laughter and hug each other again.

“Well, where is she, my little baby niece?” Elle swings the car door open. “Oh, Mayhem.” She scoops me out with two strong arms. Right then I realize just how truly tired I am. She seems to know, squeezes extra hard for a second before letting me go. She smells like the sandalwood soap Roxy buys sometimes. “My baby girl,” Elle says, “you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to see you. How much I’ve missed you.”

Roxy circles her ear with a finger where Elle can’t see her.

Crazy, she mouths. I almost giggle.

[robinskey]

Home (Billy x Reader)

Request: Hey! Wondering if you could do a Billy Hargrove x Reader on a roadtrip? Maybe heading back to Cali for a look around the old stomping grounds. Thank you much! 💚💜

A/N: Love the road trip idea! Thanks for requesting, my love! Hope you enjoy. :)

Warnings: Swearing, mention of abuse (just the word “abusive”, basically-I don’t go into detail at all)

About a month before summer break, you and Billy decided to start planning a road trip to California.

Normally, Billy was a spur-of-the-moment kind of guy. He rarely used any forethought before making a decision. Instead, he preferred to play things by ear and just sort of hope for the best. Though his unpremeditated plans went awry, things usually worked out okay in the end.

When just doing something for himself, okay was enough. But this trip wasn’t just for himself. It was also for his girl-who had never visited the golden coast. For that reason, this trip had to be damn near perfect.

Billy picks you up in the Camaro one Sunday morning. While he helps you load your bags into the trunk, a low buzzing sound reaches your ear. For a moment, you wonder if something’s wrong with his engine. Then, you realize the hum is coming from him.

You fail to suppress a grin as you both get into the car.

“What?” Billy asks.

“Nothing,” you say. “I just like seeing you happy.”

Billy smirks and reaches across the console for your hand. His rough, calloused palm slides into yours, fingers intertwining.

“I’m always happy when I’m with you,” he says, even though you both know that’s a lie. He’d never admit it, but Billy’s expressed a plethora of emotions while in your presence. You’ve seen his anger flare at a guy for looking at you the wrong way; you’ve held Billy on the nights when his grief over the loss of his mother becomes too much to bear. And, even though he tries to act all macho, Billy has expressed his fears to you more than once-most of which revolve around his abusive father.

But you don’t want to think about Neil right now. You can’t think about him right now. So you simply smile back at Billy and listen as he lists off all the places you’re going to visit on the West Coast.

***

You and Billy take turns behind the wheel for the next day and a half. Because you both stocked up on snacks for the trip, you don’t need to stop for food. When you pull into truck stops to use the restrooms, you know you only have about thirty seconds before Billy will be calling into the bathroom, asking if you’re done in there yet.

Usually, you’d scold him for his impatience. Your boyfriend is seventeen years old, not an eight-year-old on his way to Disney World. But you see the way his eyes light up as he points out landmarks and hear the way he cheers with every state line crossed. Billy can’t wait to arrive in California-to arrive home.

At sunset on the second day, you make it to Arizona, the last state you need to pass through. You expect Billy to floor the gas and drive 100 miles per hour until you reach your destination. Thus, you’re shocked when your boyfriend turns to ask if you’d mind spending the night in a motel. However, getting a good night’s sleep on an actual mattress sounds like a dream after spending the last thirty hours powered by car naps, so you don’t question his decision.

Twenty minutes later, Billy pulls into the parking lot of a place called the Cactus Inn. (You make a joke about the bed being prickly and unstable, since succulents aren’t the best building material.) Billy scores a front-row spot only a few feet from the reception area. Aside from a beat-up pickup truck and an old station wagon, the lot is vacant. The lack of customers isn’t exactly the best sign, but you’re both exhausted and can’t fathom driving another mile tonight. You pay for a single room. The original key given to you by the concierge doesn’t even turn in the lock, so you offer to make the trip back to the main office while Billy stays with the bags.

“Oh!” The guy behind the counter drags out the word. He chuckles, then rifles around in the desk drawer, finally producing a key without a tag. “That lock is whack. Just take the skeleton key. It’ll unlock any room you want.”

You frown at the man, who-judging by his bloodshot eyes and blissed-out demeanor-has clearly been smoking something a little stronger than Billy’s cigarettes.

“Are you sure? Can’t you, like, get in trouble for that?”

The scruffy man shrugs indifferently. “Probably. But my dad owns this damn place. What’s he going to do, fire me?”

When you return to room 202, however, both Billy and the luggage have vanished. For a second, you think he went to sit in the Camaro, but the car’s empty, too. Then, a light clicks on behind the curtains, and a slim silhouette passes the window. The door flings open a half-second later. A shirtless Billy leans against the doorframe, one of his arms extended to the other side.

“Care to come in, beautiful?”

“Well, yeah. That’s kind of why I got the key,” you say, ducking under the bridge formed by his body and the door. “How did you even get in?”

“Got bored. Picked the lock,” Billy explains as you zip open your duffel bag.

“I was gone two minutes, Billy. Two minutes, and you’re breaking into a hotel room,” you groan, pulling out your toothbrush and toothpaste, along with a fresh t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants. You duck into the bathroom to change.

“We already paid for the hotel room, Y/N. It’s not breaking in if it’s yours,” Billy calls. He allows the door to creak shut, and metal squeaks as he moves the chain into place.

“I’m pretty sure any time you can’t enter a building without picking the lock, it counts as breaking in.” You yank your shirt over your head, hop into your trousers, and unscrew the lid from your tube of toothpaste.

“Whatever.” There’s a rustling sound; then, Billy appears at your shoulder with his toothbrush. You squeeze a bit of paste onto his brush, then yours.

As the two of you scrub at your teeth, you watch your reflection in the mirror. The backdrop of the dismal hotel room fades away, and you picture this scene in a different setting: in the future home you’ll share with the love of your life. You get so caught up in your fantasy that Billy has to gently nudge you out of the way so he can spit into the sink. After he’s washed his mouth out with water, he presses his chapped lips to your bare shoulder. The contact sends a shiver up your spine that jolts you out of your daydream.

Springs creak as Billy settles into the bed. He holds the covers up so you can crawl in, then reaches over you to flick off the light switch, submerging you both into darkness. Billy’s toned arms wind around your waist, fingers interlacing over your stomach. He buries his face into the nuzzle of your neck, and his slightly scruffy face tickles your skin.

“This time tomorrow, we’ll be falling asleep to the sound of waves crashing on the sand,” he murmurs.

“Can’t wait.”

That’s the last thing you remember before you fall asleep.

***

When Billy tries to drag you out of bed at three in the morning, you chuck pillows at his head. He dodges every single one of your terrible throws. You beg for another hour of rest; Billy promises you can sleep in the car. That isn’t enough to convince you to leave the down mattress and cotton sheets, so Billy picks you up bridal-style, plops you into the passenger seat, and hands you a wadded-up jacket to use as a pillow. You lean your head against the window, lips pressed into a pout.

Billy slips into the driver’s seat a few minutes later, having loaded all your things into the trunk. When he reaches over to squeeze your thigh, you curl your legs into your chest defiantly and stick your tongue out at him.

“Come on, baby. Don’t be like that.”

“I certainly will be like this. We paid for a whole night in a hotel room, and you let me have four hours,” you huff.

“Well, first of all, I paid for the room, princess,” he says, backing out of the lot, “and second, we have to leave this early if we want to get to the beach on time.”

“On time?” you mumble. Your eyelids are heavy, so you shut them.

“On time to see the sun rise over the ocean,” Billy says, and there’s a sort of wistfulness in his tone that you’ve never heard before. If you were awake enough, you’d tease him about it.

But as it stands, your brain can barely process the words coming out of his mouth.

“That sounds nice,” you murmur before the world fades back to black.

***

“Y/N.”

“Mm?”

“Wake up, babe. We’re here.”

Your eyes flutter open and meet Billy’s. He’s leaning over you, his hands on your shoulders. For a second, you think that you’ve just arrived at another rest stop. Then, Billy gently tugs you out of the car. The air is dry and slightly chilly when the breeze hits your bare arms. Your feet sink into the earth ever so slightly; grains of sand lodge themselves between your toes. In the distance, an endless expanse of clear blue water ripples with movement and marine life.

The last of the stars have faded from the sky, replaced by a pale pink hue covered in fluffy clouds. The very top of an orange ball of light peeks above the horizon like a nervous toddler afraid of strangers. Billy hoists you onto the hood of the Camaro before hopping up himself. You swing your legs over his. He wraps his arms around your midsection and pulls you into his lap, just as the sun starts to appear above the skyline.

Low-tide waves collide with the shoreline. They glimmer with the golden reflection of the sunlight before retreating back into the depths of the ocean. As the sun rises higher above the water, more color bleeds into the atmosphere. The previously-pastel pink darkens into a vibrant salmon streaked with scarlet and sunflower yellow.

You glance up at Billy. He stares at the sea in awe. You slip one finger under his chin to draw his attention, and he gazes down at you with the same expression. His eyes glitter with wonder, nostalgia, and the reflection of the sun’s palette.

“What do you think?” he asks, breathless, even though you’ve barely moved in the last forty-eight hours.

“It’s beautiful,” you whisper, bringing your lips up to meet his. You swear you can already taste the saltwater on them, as if he simply absorbs it through the air.

“Welcome home, baby.”

Taglist: @novaddictx @anabundance0ffand0ms @scarrasco1325 @sweetboibilly @readinthegarden12

If you want to be added to the tag list for a specific character/my writing in general, leave a reply or send me a message! Thanks again for reading. <3

If you want to check out more of my writing, here’s my masterlist. :)

[iambloop]

Monkey Bars

I could never jump across monkey bars as a kid.

My lanky arms allowed me to get across to the second bar without letting the first one go. The trouble was getting to the third one. I could not establish a firm grip on the third bar while holding on to the second - at best, I could brush my fingers against it, the metal burning hot after an afternoon under the summer sun. To get across, I had to take a leap of faith. I’d have to swing, and then, I’d have to let go. There would be a moment between holding on to bar two and grappling bar three, a moment when I would be doing neither of those two things. In that moment, there would be a small chance that I would not make it across, that the metal would slip away from my clammy hands. No, I have never been able to deal with that kind of uncertainty.

The playground is empty this morning. The metal is glistening under the sun, reflecting the morning dew resting on the rusty swings - yellow, red, pink, green, the preschool colour palette with patches of grey where the paint has worn off, and elsewhere, mounds of rust. The weather isn’t particularly chilly but a thin jacket would’ve been nice. I feel my ankles tugging at my calves - cramping from the cold, cramping from the thought of cramping, cramping in anticipation of the gruelling marathon (my first) that they will be running later today.

I started running a few years ago, when I was in college. Avi had suggested it - he was annoyed at the sound of my feet pacing around the house all day. He’d ask me why I kept walking around, and I told him, I couldn’t sit and think. We started with a “eh, okay, let’s give it a shot”, and eventually,  we started to enjoy running. So much so that on the weekends, we’d drive to this quiet part of the city and run west on a narrow trail cutting across this dense forest. The trail led to a barren flatland - barren, except for the odd patch of grass here and there, and flat, except for an arrangement of boulders. Provided that the rocks weren’t too hot from the day’s sun, we would climb the boulders and sit at the top. There was the city airport, before which there was a highway, and just before that, the barren flatland with the set of boulders, and on top of them, Avi and I. We would spend those evenings being distant witnesses to the drama of cars scrambling across the highway and the screeching cry of aeroplane engines.

How do you answer when somebody asks, “What are you thinking about?”

The good thing about Avi is that he doesn’t ask those questions. I think he wants to know though.

The bad thing about Avi is that he’s particular, to the point of being obsessive. The good thing is that he’s not one to lose his temper. So when I walk back home with white eggs instead of brown, I expect him to skip eggs and just eat a cheese sandwich.

Instead, he throws a fit about it.

The good thing about Avi is that he’s predictable. The bad part is that despite this, I cannot be certain about his emotional response to the wrong kind of eggs. What nobody tells you about living with another person is that it’s a lot like being married - sometimes, you fight about things that don’t matter because of your inability to fight about things that matter. In this way, Avi reminds me of my mother - after all, they’re the same zodiac sign, born 31 years, 11 months and 8 days apart.

My greatest fear is to end up exactly like my parents. Living with Avi can be a gay recreation of that nightmare.

But the nightmare is not complete yet. When the horror is external, at the very least you can run from it, but how do you run from mirrors? They’re everywhere. My reflection carries a trace of my father - we share a bald spot on the left side of our foreheads and a paunch that’s popping right out (in my defense, I’m not fat - I just have bad posture). Some nights, when I’m doing the dishes after dinner, I feel like carving my nose out of my face and replacing it with the soap soaked sponge - maybe then I’d look less like him. But I talk like him, my mother says. Can I wash his words off my tongue?

Now I taste toothpaste.

When Avi is screaming at me about the eggs, I think about bubble blowers. I imagine our apartment is filled with pink bubbles, bubbles that fall to the ground and rub against the marble. Bubbles and foam that collect in my mouth. Bubbles and foam are choking me now.

Spit.

When Avi is screaming at me about the eggs, my mind is unable to connect eggs and anger - it feels like this is about something more. I think he’s been unhappy, but I’m not really sure. His mother came to live with us for a week last year when we were having a bad phase, and she left her copy of this book about love languages. I read it.

I found out that Avi’s love language is quality time. The last time he seemed really happy was a couple of weeks ago, when we drove down to the bakery and ate croissants there rather than getting them packed for home - he says there’s something about the aroma of the place that makes him feel warm and nostalgic. I really like going there too, but that’s because of this cute girl who works there.

When he stops screaming, I suggest a trip to the bakery. He looks at me silently.

Is he even there anymore? Absence can coexist with physical proximity. My father taught me that.

The thing about living with someone is that eventually, their silence becomes interpretable.

But I’ve always liked the quiet. And so, really, this is an annoyance - it’s not true silence if the tension is palpable. I’d much rather he get it all out at once, but he’s not like that at all. The outburst is a temporary crack in the veneer of his composure - forgotten quickly, instantly, just leaving behind a trace of frustration in the room, like the aroma of burnt sugar that makes my nose all itchy. I feel a sneeze tickling my nasal passage, but it just won’t come out. I wish I could sneeze at will - it’s such a satisfying release.

Instead, I massage my calves and eat a banana.

⁓

Initially, when I started running, it would feel like I was choking on air. The body adapts quickly though. Running is not a mechanically complex task - in essence, you are just putting one foot ahead of the other, one monkey bar after another. But it takes more than just crude stamina to run a marathon - you need a pace that can last the distance. The pace decides not just your movement but your breath too. Too slow or too fast, and running stops being fun. There’s no constant answer to the question of pace either - it has to adapt with the gradient, the weather, and the mood. That adjustment process becomes natural after a certain amount of practice. It is sufficiently natural to me now, so when I hear “go” at the marathon, I start hopping. Within a minute, I’m gliding across the asphalt.

What is the relationship between the mind and the body? It’s impossible for me to sit and think.

At the 7th kilometre mark, I see someone throwing up. Marathons are not for everyone.

This one time, I tried to swing across the second bar to the third one. I fell. I didn’t try after that.

At the 11th kilometre mark, I am more sweat than skin.

I have this memory from my childhood. On winter mornings, my father would drive me to school. It used to be so cold, we’d wrap our hands in gloves, rubbing and blowing to keep them warm. On the route, we would spot an old man. His face was wrinkled, like a raisin - he was significantly old, maybe older than me and my dad put together. He’d be running in just a vest and shorts, with beads of sweat trickling down his face, all trickling across different paths, all headed for his vest.

Maybe one could make salt from his flesh on those winter mornings.

Maybe one could make salt from my flesh right now.

The relationship between the mind and the body is a codependent one.

At the 19th kilometre mark, the sky is no longer blue - it has morphed into a shade of yellow and orange, with the sun resting on the horizon, bleeding streaks of crimson. At this point, I am no longer running. I am my 15 year old self on a beach.

The water is warm from the summer day, and the waves strike against my chest, rising to my chin, then falling back down. I am my 15 year old self, floating in the warm salty ocean of sweat while looking at the most beautiful sunset that I have ever seen. I hear my mother’s terrified shrill cry. She’s standing at the shore, ordering me to not go deeper into the ocean. She doesn’t know how to swim, but I do.

I am my 5 year old self, jumping across monkey bars. I hear the same shrill cry as the metal slips away from my hands. Pothole. I nearly stumble onto the asphalt. I hear the same shrill cry. Fear is my inheritance. Can I abandon it now?

At the 23rd kilometre mark, I feel a strong impulse to leave everything behind and run away.

At the 27th kilometre mark, I am sliding downhill. The sun has set and my sweat has dried. I spread my arms across, and now, I am a bird. I stretch my palm wide - my fingers slice through the breeze, breathing life into the folds of my hands.

The relationship between the mind and the body is a symbiotic one. The thing about running is that it’s the only time when my mind and my body are in sync with each other.

At the 31st kilometre mark, I am wondering why I have never spoken to the girl who works at the bakery.

At the 34th kilometre mark, I am thinking about Avi.

The thing about monkey bars is that there are two ways to get across. You can jump all the way through or climb the top and crawl. My problem is that neither of those work for me.

Sometimes, when Avi talks to me, I get the feeling that we are not speaking the same language. Of course, syntactically and for all meaningful purposes, we speak the same language, but is that sufficient to say it is the same language, when we don’t even understand each other?

Sometimes, I feel like I’m still living with my parents.

You can prepare for every aspect of a marathon except what comes after the 36th kilometre mark.

At the 36th kilometre mark, I am thirsty and 5 minutes past the last water stop on the circuit.

Each metre beyond the 36th kilometre mark is a needle piercing through the rubber sole of my running shoes.

Is feeling thirsty the same as needing water? The ascetic must say no. The runner must say no.

Is feeling thirsty the same as needing water? I am my 14 year old self, my cupped hands pressed against my lips as my mother pours jal into my palm. I was raised on a diet of positive affirmations, of new age spirituality mixed with ancient religion. I am my 14 year old self, a witness to my mother’s pretense - “everything is okay”, she murmurs under her breath.

Sometimes, I feel that she is telling me lies that she does not believe.

Where is the line between instinct and intellect? I know I mustn’t drink more water, but my body is begging for it now. The problem with lines is that I don’t know where to draw them - now I am my 17 year old self watching my mother pace around the house. “Nothing is okay”, she says. Has it ever been okay?

The difficult part is acknowledging that okay and not-okay are not mutually exclusive states of being. The problem is the illusion of danger doesn’t look very different from danger itself.

Is feeling thirsty the same as needing water? The reason I run but don’t pray is because running doesn’t pretend to ascribe greater meaning to deprivation and suffering - it’s just a way of getting across. Marathons don’t pretend to end at the doorstep of some divine reward.

The last thing you want when you’re soaked in sweat is for a pigeon to shit on you. Then you run your hand through your hair and feel something sticky inside it.

The greatest hurdle of a marathon is the 36th kilometre mark. It is your parched throat begging for water. Everything new is uncomfortable, unfamiliar, unknown, uncertain. Everything new is a needle piercing through the rubber sole of my running shoes.

The thing about pain is that it cannot be ignored.

The thing about running marathons is that pain must be ignored.

But what is pain? Pain is a signal in your head. From an evolutionary perspective, pain facilitates survival, but to run a marathon, I have to numb the signal out. I have to ignore it, go on despite it. This requires training. You cannot run a marathon without this. All training is an unlearning of natural instinct.

There is a loud ugly man inside my head, I murmur to myself.

The loud ugly man wants things a certain way - easy, comfortable, familiar, certain.

When I deviate from that, the loud ugly man makes my heart race and my head spin.

The loud ugly man is my father’s absence.

The loud ugly man is my mother’s cry.

The 36th kilometre is my enlightenment. “Everything is okay”, I murmur to myself.

Running is not so different from jumping across monkey bars. Once you figure out how to get from the second to the third, the rest comes naturally. Somewhere between the 36th kilometre mark and the end, I tell myself I’m going to go back to those monkey bars and try to do them all the way this time. Then I remember, that’s not possible anymore - now, my folded feet touch the ground.

⁓

Latch on.

Rubbing my eyes, I gag from the stench of human flesh marinated in salt. I really should’ve showered before sleeping. The fridge has a fresh stock of brown eggs, and the living room has a trail of blood droplets that encircle the sofa.

“I cut myself while clipping my nose hair.”

Swing.

I sit down next to Avi while he’s pressing the ice-wrapped-in-cloth against his nose. His eyes look glassy, like he’s holding in a sneeze. I hope he doesn’t sneeze blood on me.

“Do you want to go to the bakery aaj shaam ko?”

“Chalo.”

— (Artwork by Aditi Gupta)

[perogipoj]

all this before coffee

Dedicated to my black sheep family, who will always be golden.

 Barbed wire, blank walls and an empty sky. Cocoa Beach.  Brevard County, FL. Jail.  Also known as SHARPS.  Tammy walked into the classroom with an air of bravado coupled with the eyes of a child. I never met a teacher before she said shyly, glancing at her handcuffs on the uncomfortable chair.  Even … I hesitated, even in school, I asked gently. I adjusted my own hips to adjust for the cold hard beneath me.  I mean, a teacher for real.  Her eyes looked down, and I implored with my eyes this time to the corrections officer to remove the handcuffs.  Her shoulder length hair was marred by black roots and mustard colored ends.  There were scars on her arm from cutting.  Her teeth were perfect when she decided to smile. Opening the GRE materials, I joked that I am useless at math but fairly good at grammar.  Tammy looked beautiful.

 Some of us take many things too far.  That has seemed to be my pattern.  Even healthy habits turned into obsessions.  Jogging turned into running which became marathons and a cruel treatment of my body.  Some can run into their seventies without injury as some people live to a hundred while smoking and drinking whiskey to the end.  Mindful eating became anorexia and bulimia.  Going organic made me broke with the kombucha and hemp that flowed through my veins.  Being tidy led me to compulsive house cleaning, often with bleach scouring my hands and my eyes colored in pink tears.  Personal grooming turned to hours and dollars of hair coloring, clothes I could not afford, Botox, and breast augmentation. Wanting affirmation led to dangerous and toxic sexual situations.  

 Jaylen, I was warned, was “special.”  I would normally groan inward, used to so many parents highlighting their children as such, usually to explain poor grades.   The volunteer walked all twelve years of Jaylen, his mannerisms large and chaotic, into the room in which all toys and colors were removed.  I hate reading, he said, standing with his arms crossed in front of him like a knight.  Why? It’s stupid.  Can you read, I asked, opening the second-grade reader I was given. I don’t need to read, I can dance.

 I met The Peruvian on a last minute, pathetic online date.  I was at a job expo to acquire my first teaching job after finishing my master’s degree at a world-famous university.  I almost flunked out.  I could not focus.  I cried over social histories in German, a language I lacked grammatical skill in, dreading the meetings with just my professor and another grad student. Black tea, discussions of Marx I got lost in, his approval nodding at the stout Russian girl I already had difficulty understanding in English, never mind in German.  In college, I was stellar.  On time to each class, writing papers late into the night with a gusto of my fingers and a smile on my face.  The world looked bright. On a sweltering day with an incompressible and unimportant commencement speaker, we burnt in the sun and passed around a flask of vodka under our graduation gowns.  Life is beginning.  I held the parchment color graduation schedule. My name had a star next to it.

 I saw that Tammy was no longer shackled when she entered the gray room.  Since the week I met with her, she had elevated herself to the trusted inmates who could clean, deliver meals, and hand out the dog-eared pages of books on a squeaky cart.  So, you scored extremely high on many levels, Tammy.  Let’s take a look at the reading comprehension packet I assigned on The Scarlet Letter.  She smiled more brightly.  I pressed her for intrigue. Ma’am, she said glowing, my commissary is so lit now I don’t have to eat the garbage they give us.  They try to pass off expired food when I deliver it.  I wanted to call them out on those pistachios.  I don’t have time to answer these packets you give me. But I read the book.  What did you read, according to you?  We clasped hands.  Of course, the minster got off and Hester had to wear the giant A over her pilgrim costume.  I dipped my head. Of course.  She could read Hawthorne.  

 I will be the gladdest thing

           Under the sun!

I will touch a hundred flowers

           And not pick one.

 I will look at cliffs and clouds

           With quiet eyes,

Watch the wind bow down the grass,

           And the grass rise.

 And when the lights begin to show

           Up from the town,

I will mark which much be mine,

           And then start down.

-          Edna St. Vincent Millay  

 Jaylen came running into the room from the play center and basketball court which I assumed was a courtesy to me.  He needed to get the wiggles out.

 Nassau Point in the summer at Aunt Tillie’s, driving the Long Island Expressway until it ended to countless grey and white mottled roads.  Passing vineyards that used to be potato fields, cramming my mouth with the last bit of contraband Doritos which were called a Special Treat to nullify us on the vast expanse from New Jersey to the tiny white house.  Decorated in “Early American” with a front glass porch smelling oddly pleasant of moth balls and sunlight.  The huge lawn rolling into the bay with a dock that appeared and disappeared with the tide.  Kids took showers in the dank basement, carved out of a space teeming of a hoarder. A crusted bottle of prell shampoo and a withered sliver of ivory soap.  I met Man-Boy With Very Hairy Legs for the first and last time.  Stroking my legs up and down, he asked if I had a boyfriend.  I was ten, and smug that I could run through poison ivy and never get a rash.  Do you want to fool around, like do stuff?  He whispered into my ear everything I did not know yet.  That’s what married people do!  With his laughter, I leapt my long legs and ran, up the hill, to the driveway where my father was shucking corn.  I got away. This time.

 I was so excited to see Tammy.  But she was not in attendance.  I left the CO the beat-up copy of Antigone for her. I never saw Tammy again.  “All men make mistakes, but a good man yields when his course is wrong and repairs the evil.  The only evil is pride.” This quote was for my betterment, not for Tammy’s.

 A time of reckoning, and a time of complete growth.  A time of a schedule not placed by us.  A journey into us through the connection of others, who became best friends.  Vitamin fusions, lining up for medication in ribbed short paper cups, and Group.  Totally released from responsibility, my linens and clothes were washed, returned the same afternoon in compact squares surrounded by plastic wrap.  Jokes of communal constipation. So, this is my brain mapped.  Here is what displays depression, here anxiety, this is insomnia, that part shows a lack of memory and concentration.  What is that big blue of the Pacific Ocean?  She looked at me, clicked her keyboard.  PTSD.  

 I want to draw a Parrot! P-A-R-R-O-T and speak like one! Wordless, I handed him the blue and black expo markers for the old white board.  With precision, he drew the bird.  I need more colors, he explained in one breath can I talk like a parrot.  I smiled at him at led him to his desk. Let’s try to pay attention today, and I will get you more colors and you can show me how a parrot talks. I began my lesson, and his eyes drifted into imagination.  I needed to get him more colors.  

 I told The Peruvian I was pregnant.  Now I can never afford to divorce you he muttered, enraged.  Married two months earlier, I realized our honeymoon baby was not welcome.   The protesters were angry, and I felt sick. Him on his laptop, me crying to a social worker.  Do not sedate me, I plead, I need to feel this sin.  Sliding my shoes off in the car, my trunk grinding with mountain rolls of cramps and uncontrollable sobbing coming from a divine place, I declined lunch in West Palm.  I never want to do anything fun.  Changing my pad alone in a car beneath the ceiling of the parking garage in City Place, I then tilted my head and fell asleep again.  My birthday came and went.  You didn’t remember my birthday.  With that evil glint in his eyes, he turned his head and told me that was because he did not love me.

 I purchased a ream of paper and a new box of 42 colors Crayola, legit, sharpener in the box, for Jaylen.  He immediately sat down and drew and drew.  Can we put some words to these if we use the colors you want?  He looked up at me shyly and wrote down five words from the fifth-grade reader.  How did you know that?  Easy, my Grammy teaches me.

 I did not smoke to fit in. I smoked because it felt good out in the parking lot, vying for shade, with the Tech supplying communal cigarettes and a light.  The wave went through me and my lips burned with the dirt and smoky taste.  You look like Strawberry Shortcake trying to smoke a cigarette!  My mother was a sophisticated Virginia Slims smoker, sitting on the brick steps in her tennis skirt, so beautiful, watching my brother play in the backyard waiting for my father to return from work.  I sat next to her in awe, breathing in the sprinkler water and counting its pattern, hum hum-hum-hum, hum hum-hum-hum.  

 I took a cigarette break on my Uber ride home.  I knew I would not smoke much when I got home.   However, I did not consume much except cigarettes and black coffee.  I felt Parisian.  The house got messy, and my thighs grew softer. Investing only in ponds cold cream and drugstore mascara, I laughed deeper and threw myself into work more than ever, with determined concentration, forgetting my posture, hunched over in zeal working sixty hours a week.   Anxiety attacks did not make my head and hands shake while driving. I binged watched Law and Order.  Being unhealthy never felt so healthy.  

 I called the jail to let them know I am available for other inmates if they needed me.  I went the next day to help a young man learn English as a second language. All went well until he stood up screaming asking for a guard then switching to Spanish.  

 Here is your key, you can find your mailbox in the teacher lounge.  Here is the form to join the union, Mr. Pescatelli will most certainly find you about that.  Do you know what a block schedule is?  In the morning you will be teaching Advanced Placement European History to our magnet students.  After lunch, you have sophomore World History in the fourth wing. The afternoon will have different challenges.  If you ever need assistance, security is just down the hall.  Welcome to Ft. Lauderdale High School.  Welcome to my first year of teaching.  

 …

 I met the Sophisticated Scandinavian Man in Boston in the Spring.  A PhD candidate from a social democracy intrigued me.  I was twenty-two and he was twenty-eight.  I felt like a puppy taken in from the cold.  There is a long story for this, maybe later.  The times in which he devoured me, lavished upon me, he loved a short story I wrote, “All this before coffee.”

 Sonya met me in the prison classroom.  In anticipation of a new student, I posted Jaylen’s parrots, travel posters, pictures of presidents listing their failures before they took office.  Hello, she said, reaching her cuffed wrists out to me.  I am Jaylen’s mother.

 All this before coffee.  All this after a DUI.