#first parking services tells me to go fuck myself

[rotpunks]

i am going to start biting motherfuckers

[octuscle]

Fatal shortcut

You know those days. The traffic is murder. You can't go another inch. Your destination is within reach, but it will take you three green lights and at least 20 minutes to cover the last 100 meters. Bloody hell! Honk the horn? It's no use… But now carefully pull onto the green lane, then cut across the high school parking lot and you're there. Why do you have your baby, the Mercedes G-Class, after all? I put on the turn signal, the car takes the sidewalk like nothing, carefully into the parking lot, look left and right and…… BANG! Damn it, the Mustang has clearly taken my right of way. This is guaranteed to take longer than 20 minutes… The two morons in the car look like they only have their heads to wear football helmets and pour beer through their mouths. The typical stereotypical football college jock bros. The day just keeps getting better…

"Yo, Chuck! Bro, did you see what that punk did there?" "Sure, Brad! He definitely took your right of way." I try to protest. But I'm way too caught off guard when the guy, who is obviously Chuck, stands up in front of me. God knows I'm not small. I'm a well-trained, muscular six foot two. But Chuck is easily ten centimetres and at least 20 kilograms taller than me… He grabs my balls. Damn it, I want to punch him, but Brad's already got me from behind. And Brad is barely smaller than Chuck. "There you go, you little faggot!" Chuck hisses at me. "Are you lying in wait for your wankers in the parking lot again? But this time is the last time!" He spits in my face and his grip on my balls tightens. Brad turns my head in his direction and spits again. Then the two of them get into their car, put it in reverse. And disappear.

I stand there a bit like an idiot. I'm far from being small or a faggot. And the last thing Chuck and Brad were to me were wank templates. I mean, I have nothing against gays… But thanks no, not for me… I'll take a look at the damage to the car. It's no big deal, the Mustang looked worse. I get back in the car, drive the last few meters into the underground car park, throw my keys to Stephen at reception and ask him to take the car to the garage. When I get off work later, I'd like to have it done. He puts his hand to his temple and says "Sir, aye, sir". Hehehe, I don't mind hierarchies being recognized.

"You little faggot"… I can't get that phrase out of my head. Shit, I'm really unfocused today. Maybe I just need a distraction. I go to the gym during my lunch break. Somehow I feel the need to look like anything but a faggot. I train bare-chested. Dressed only in compression shorts. Not really appreciated here. But I don't care today…

Shit, I'm not in top form here either… What I normally lift without any problems is all too heavy for me today. At least it's the cross trainer… Even though I'm not really the cardio type. When I get in the shower, my cock gets hard. Shit, that's embarrassing. But I also have to say that there's really only premium meat running around here today. And I'm one of them. Definitely one of them. Even the clean-shaven guy in front sees it that way. Clear body language. It doesn't take long before I'm leaning against the shower wall. And for the first time in my life I get fucked… And how! I can hear the angels singing. It feels so good as the stallion cums in my ass. To say goodbye, he gives me a kiss and a pat on the ass. And he says loudly to one of his buddies. "What a waste for such a submissive pig to have such a magnificent cock!"

The fuck was great, but apart from that I'm really not myself today. I feel like I've been missing the last year. For the life of me, I can't remember a lot of things that happened. It's like I wasn't there. I'm glad when Stephen calls me at around 5 p.m. to tell me that my car is back. I thank him, pack up my things and go down to reception. Stephen grins at me almost insolently and says that this service is an exception and that he now has something good on me. Completely confused, I say, "I'm fine, dude" and take my car keys. But there is no black G-Class in my parking lot. There's a baby blue Mercedes SLK, in good shape, freshly polished. But it must be 15 years old. I press the key. The doors open. What the fuck?

I just want to get home, this day is a disaster. As I park the embarrassing car and walk past the concierge, Michael calls after me, "Hey, Johnny boy, can you give Mrs. Smith from 2316 a lift?" I turn red. I walk back to the concierge desk. "So what, my name is Jonathan, but it's actually Mr. Hays to you. And why would I stop on the 23rd floor when I live on the 38th. Besides, I don't know Mrs. Smith." Michael grins at me with his one-million-dollar smile. "Rough day, John, uh, Mr. Hays? You might as well ask the old lady if her drain is still acting up. And before you try to break into the wrong apartment, I understand you live in 2304." He hands me a package. I drive up to the 23rd floor. I give her the package. She asks if I can plug in the new coffee machine straight away. "Of course, mom," I say. I ask if her drain is working again. She says it would be nice if I could have another look. I ask if she has any rubber gloves. She nods. I pull the dirt out of the blocked drain. She slips me a dollar. I go to 2304, open the door. And drop onto the bed. It's right next to the door. 2304 used to be the room for the lady's maid from apartment 2312. On the one hand, I feel very much at home. But on the other hand, I should be somewhere else. Somewhere with a view of Central Park. With more space. I pull out my cell phone and start working my way through Grindr. Maybe I just need someone to take me really hard again today

That was a night of really wild dreams. Really wild dreams. But obviously everything is fine now. I feel fit. My morning wood has never been better. I stroke my chest. Didn't it used to be hairy? I'm fantasizing again. What it would be like to be a real guy. Successful, at least 1.82 m. Well, I'm not going to grow any more. But maybe that's because of some Italian roots or something. That's where I got my hairy armpits and good beard growth. Shit, I'm still hard as nails. So routine like every morning: wank, jog, shower and then off to the office. I should be there at 07:00 so that the mail is distributed and the conference tables are all set before the Masters of the Universe arrive at the office. It's 07:05 when I walk in the door. Stephen grins and just says, "Subway?" "Don't ask, bro!" I reply, rolling my eyes. I didn't really need a bachelor's degree for my job. Jogging in the morning to stay in shape is more important. At the end of the day, I usually have 15K steps and 40 floors on my fitness tracker. And that's not usually the end of it. By the time I get home, Michael usually has a number of assistance activities for me. But hey, the address on the Upper Eastside sounds impressive, which I would never normally have been able to afford as a young professional. I'll even put up with the apartment on the first floor with a view of the backyard and the job as a temporary janitor.

Of course it's embarrassing to still live with my parents. But if I wanted to afford my own place, I'd probably have to move 200 miles away from Down Town. And I want to stay here. That's important to me. Also for financial reasons. The subway tickets alone would be too expensive if I had to travel further. I mean, the little bit of scholarship… And I don't earn much in the kitchen of the cafeteria. Stephen and Michael are good friends. If I didn't have them, I wouldn't make it. But they have good contacts. Stephen in the office, Michael at home. They always know someone who needs a massage with a happy ending. Or a greedy college boy face for a blowjob. The men are usually well-groomed. Too well-groomed, actually. That's why I always look forward to my part-time job as a trainer at the high school gym. If I'm lucky, I get to meet Brad and Chuck. I mean, they're not gay or anything. We never make eye contact. But I still get to blow them sometimes. Even though, of course, it's pathetic when you're a sophomore in college sucking high school seniors. But fuck, you won't find cheesier dicks with a more pronounced scent of musk and sweat anywhere!

Yo, have I even dropped my name yet? It's Janusz, 19 years young and repping as an exchange student up in the Big Apple. Just call me Jonny, keep it chill. Hailing straight outta a tiny village near Krakow, Poland, in case that detail tickles your pickle. Still wrapping my head around this English gig… But let me tell ya, my French game is on point, or so the bros claim. Thrilled to be out of the parental crib and living it up in this wild city. Dang, the possibilities here are endless! Senior year vibes, you know what I'm saying? And now that I joined the wrestling squad, it's like BOOM! More close body action in a week than I got in a year with the 'rents around! Truth bomb: I make most of my cash tagging along with my wingmen Brad and Chuck, the school heartthrobs. I'm like their trusty sidekick. It's lit! Hoping to snag an athletic scholarship next year, fingers crossed. Sure, these two golden boys ain't wrestlers (legends in the bedroom, though), but football studs. It'd be epic if we could keep the bromance alive in college. Purely platonic, of course. Or not… 🤷‍♂️

[lanadelnegan]

Wildest Dreams

Jeffrey Dean Morgan x Reader

Song inspo: Wildest Dreams by Taylor Swift

Summary: Y/n's celebrity crush, Jeffrey Dean Morgan, makes her dreams come true when she meets him at a bar after the walking dead comic con.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, *Jeffrey is single*, plot, smut, sexual tension, cursing, sex, oral, daddy-kink

This is my first attempt at fanfiction ever, ahhh! Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it!

This can't be happening right now. I can't believe he's actually right there. I'm about to touch him.

"Well hello there." Jeffrey's smile widens as I approach his open arms. "What's your name, darlin'?"

"Y/n...Hi" I smile and let him wrap his arms around me.

"That is a beautiful name, y/n. You ready?"

"Yeah, but can we pose a different way though.. maybe looking at each other?" I ask, hoping he can't hear the nervousness in my voice.

"Absolutely, doll." He turns his body facing mine and gently places his fingers around my jawline, looking directly into my eyes and lifting my chin to meet his gaze. "Relax." His tone is soft but demanding.

The photographer counts to 3 but it feels like 10 because Jeffrey's hazel brown eyes are burning flames into mine. I swear this man is staring into my soul as if he can read every thought I've ever had about him. Including that one, because the left side of his mouth suddenly raises and he lets out a "negan-like" chuckle that only the two of us can hear.

I'm the first one to break away from our embrace and I can feel my cheeks redden as I take another glance at him. I make a mental note to never forget what he looks like in person and let my stare linger a little too long on his chest hair peeking out from his white t-shirt. His smirk grows wider and he leans down, putting his mouth next to my ear. "You... are adorable."

When he leans away, the smell of tobacco, leather, and sweet mint fills my lungs.

Even now as I sit in my car, his scent is burned into my nose and the front of my shirt.. I'll never wash it again. My eyes close and my head falls back against my driver's seat.

The rest of my evening is spent binge watching The Walking Dead -season 7 of course - and ordering too much room service. I should go out. I drove 3 hours to Austin, TX.. by myself, which is a big deal for me. I should at least explore the city while I'm here.

I shower and throw on some jean shorts and a cute top, pretending I'm not bothered by the fact that I just washed any trace of my parasocial boyfriend off of me. At least I have this. I hold the picture we took and study it for the 48th time today.

After google searching "nightlife in Austin", Sixth Street seems to be where it's at, so I head that way and although it's only 7 minutes away from my hotel, it takes me 30 to find parking. I have no clue where exactly I'm going or what I'm doing, but hell - I met Jeffrey Dean Morgan earlier. If I could do that, I could do anything. I apply some lip gloss and tell my anxiety to go fuck itself before climbing out of the car.

Bright neon signs from every building light up the street and I smile to myself at the couples holding hands walking past me. I browse around at my options for drinks - not food - because I destroyed $70 worth of room service earlier - and make out the faint sound of Wildest Dreams by Taylor Swift coming from one of the pubs up ahead as if it's calling my name. "Shakespeare's." the old sign reads, and I know that's the one. I make my way into the mildly crowded pub, find a seat at the end of the bar, and don't waste any time ordering a drink.

I bring up the picture of Jeffrey and me on my phone and study it.. for the 49th time today. I'm lost in my thoughts when a deep voice fills my ear. "Shit. That is one handsome dude." He takes a seat next to me and orders himself a drink while I stare at him wide-eyed and unable to speak. Oh.. my god.

Jeffrey orders his drink and turns his body towards me slightly with that signature grin on his stupidly handsome face. He breaks the silence since my lips seem to be paralyzed at the moment.

"Tell me what you're thinking, y/n." ... he remembered my name.

"I'm thinking that there is no way this is real life right now." I grin and look around, trying to mentally focus on suppressing the redness in my cheeks.

He laughs as the bartender places his drink down. "Want me to pinch you?"

"You can do whatever you want to me." I say under my breath as I sip my drink, surprised by my liquid courage. If he heard me, he ignores it and I internally cringe at myself.

"Cheers, darlin'." We tap our drinks and I throw my head back to finish mine completely. I sense his gaze on me and turn to face him completely. "So.. What are you doing here?"

"What are you doing here?" He fires back.

"Apparently having a drink with my celebrity crush." I laugh and cringe again. I need to stop.

"Crush? Me?" sarcasm drips from his smirk as he sips on his whiskey. "Would have never guessed.. not with the way you were blushing like hell during our picture."

My mouth drops open. "I was not!"

"No? Lemme see then." He nods towards my phone in my lap.

I pause hesitantly before handing him my phone and unlocking it for him. Bad idea. Instead of looking at our picture, he clicks on the camera button and turns it to selfie mode. He raises my phone in front of us and leans into me. I'm caught off guard but quickly lean into him, our faces touching and I smile as cool, calm, and collected as I can be in this moment.

He snaps a couple pictures of us and looks at them. "We are fucking cute as shit." He shows me and I laugh.

He pulls some glasses out of his jacket pocket and slides them on his face while holding my phone. I watch him in awe as he takes it upon himself to browse through my phone. My heart drops when he goes to the home screen and sees himself as my wallpaper with cute little hearts and cherries surrounding him. Fuck.

I wait for his reaction but it doesn't faze him. And if it does, he says nothing. He stares at the screen a little longer then finally glances at me with a smirk before turning his attention back to my phone. His thumb presses the tiktok icon and I watch curiously. He's not seriously about to suggest we make a tiktok together. Ick.

Worse. Instead, he clicks on my favorites and multiple squares of his face pop up - edits of him. I almost reach for my phone, but part of me likes that he sees it. What is wrong with me.

He looks at me and raises his brow. For the first time all night, I don't blush when he looks at me and it seems to amuse him because he chuckles and looks back at my phone. He clicks on one of the edits and watches himself on top of another woman kissing her passionately. I watch it with him unashamedly. Before it ends, he suddenly clicks my screen off and hands me my phone back.

"Why did you save that?" he asks with a serious tone.

"Uh, I jus - I liked it." I shrug.

"You like watching me make love to women?"

I laugh to myself. "Uhhh. Yeah, I guess so."

He pauses and stares at me, this time with a serious expression. "Do you wish it was you?"

My eyes widen and I open my mouth to answer but no words come out.

He stands and puts his jacket on. Oh great, I scared him. Good job y/n.

"Let's go." He throws a $100 on the bar and motions for me to stand up too.

I'm obviously not going to question this man. If he tells me to bark, I'll bark. I almost faint when I feel his big palm firmly placed right above my backside as we're leaving.

We exit the bar with our heads down as we quickly walk to his car. He opens the passenger side and I get in, waiting for him to appear on the other side. Leather, mint, and tobacco fill my lungs and I'm gone once again.

I'm so lost in my head that I don't even notice that he's already in the driver's seat. "Whatcha thinkin' about?"

"Don't ask me that. I don't even know anymore." My answer amuses him and he drives a few blocks away to one of the "rich" hotels. The entire ride over is awkward silence with the exception of Jeffrey blowing puffs of cigarette smoke towards the crack in his window every few moments.

"Y/n." He puts the car in park and turns towards me while flicking his cigarette out the window and rolling it up. "At any point tonight if you want to leave or.. you.. want me to stop, I need you to tell me, okay?"

I look at him and his face is the most serious I've seen it all day.

"Okay." I whisper.

"Come here." Is all he says before I'm leaned towards him over the middle console and so close to his face that our noses are touching. I wait for him to make the move but he doesn't. He looks down at my lips and sighs. "Fuck. I'm not going to kiss you."

I back away a little, feeling embarrassed before he continues explaining. He brings me back closer to him and his hand caresses my cheek. "I need you to understand that tonight is a one time thing, y/n. You.. you can't catch anymore feelings for me than you already have, okay? I'm going to make you feel good, but I'm not going to break your heart in the process."

The smell of his minty cigarette breath tempts me and I have to mentally restrain myself from not crashing into this man's lips. But I just nod instead.

"Good girl." Is all he says before he gets out of the car and comes around to open my door.

The way up to his room is quick and discreet. It's 11pm so we only pass two people on the way up and they didn't seem to recognize him. Even his hotel room is already filled with his signature scent, minus the tobacco.

"Would you like to stay the night with me, y/n?"

"Um, obviously. Are you kidding? ..Yes, I'd love to." I laugh and look around his room.

The lights are off, but the room is bright enough with the city lights shining through the windows. I fall into the bed dramatically on the side closest to the window.

"I'm gonna take a quick shower. Make yourself comfortable, okay?" he grins before closing the bathroom door. I stare back at the closed door and imagine what he looks like getting undressed behind it.

I glance around the large room and notice his phone sitting on the nightstand next to "his side" of the bed. He went through mine.. so it's only fair if I -

I reach over and grab his phone. 042266. I type in his birthdate and the phone locks. I laugh to myself. Too easy, old man.

There's a recent text message from.. my number? I click it and the picture he took of us at the bar pops up. And another one - our picture we took at comic con. He sent them to himself.

I don't want to intrude on his personal business too much, so instead I open his camera and take some goofy selfies. The bathroom door opens while I'm mid tongue out. He stops and stares at me as I slowly set his phone down on the bed. I shrug at him and he shakes his head a little and laughs. He appears in nothing but a white towel wrapped around his waist. I turn my gaze away before I get carried away and my eyes get permanently glued to his torso.

"It's okay, y/n. You can look at me. In fact, I want you to."

I look back at him and don't even bother hiding how hard I'm checking him out now. I observe every hair on his chest and my eyes travel south until I'm imagining what he looks like under the towel. A lucky water drop runs down his flat stomach and disappears and I'm hoping the drool I just felt run down my chin was just my imagination. He walks slowly over to my side of the bed and stands next to me.

"You ready to find out what my cock looks like, y/n?"

If I was drinking water right now, I would have just spit it out all over him. I nod and he drops the towel. His cock springs free and I stare at it in awe. He's about 7-8 inches of thick perfection and I've never seen something so hot in my life. He looks down at himself, a proud smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

"Tell me one of your fantasies, y/n. We're not doing anything tonight that you haven't already thought about."

"I - well, one of them is.. putting it in my mouth." I look up at him innocently.

"What are you waiting for, then?"

I get up and push him gently for him to sit on the bed, then get on my knees in between his legs. If I weren't still buzzing from the drinks earlier, there is no way I'd have the confidence to do this.

He leans back slightly with his hands on either side of him on the bed and looks down at me through lust filled hazel eyes.

"It's all yours baby." He smiles and tucks his bottom lip under his teeth.

I slowly take him into my mouth, savoring the taste of him - like man and fresh leather soap. I groan around him as I take him further and the growl that escapes his throat encourages me to take him as far in the back of my throat as I can.

"Fuuuck baby." His deep voice strains and I watch as his head fall back with pleasure. I continue steadily sucking him and stroking where my throat won't reach. His moans grow louder with each time he hits the back of my throat.

He suddenly thrusts his hips up slightly, causing me to gag and jolt back a little.

"Goddamn it, y/n. You are not making me cum yet." He hanks my hair back and his cock pops out of my mouth and stands strong against his stomach. It's big and wet and throbbing, and my legs clench together and the sight of him.

I stand up and take my shirt off, then my bra. Then slowly slide my shorts and panties down while facing away from him. A satisfied moan escapes his lips and he wastes no time grabbing me and throwing me on the bed. He positions me until my head is on the bed and my ass in the air before I feel his cock press against my soaked pussy from behind. He rubs himself against my wet slit until I'm whimpering and begging him to put it in me.

"Beg for me, baby." He slaps my ass and the sensation causes me to jump a little.

"Please, Jeffrey. I need you. Please."

"Baby, now I know that's not what you call me in your fantasies, is it?" Another slap to my bare ass makes me yelp.

"Daddy.. please!"

His dark chuckle fills the room and every one of my senses is on fire. His scent, his voice, his dick all surround me until I'm crying and pleading for this man to ruin me. "Please daddy, I need you. Please."

"Sorry, princess. I'm taking my time with you." He flips me over suddenly until I'm laying flat on my back. His knees push mine apart, signaling me to spread open for him until he positions himself above me. He leans over me until our faces are inches apart.

My hands roam over his lean body and scratch his back lightly as his lips travel down my neck. His hard cock slides back and forth between my slit and it feels too good every time it brushes my sensitive clit.

"Goddamn, you are soaking my fucking cock and I haven't even put it inside you yet, baby." he groans and bites my nipple gently before taking it into his mouth and sucking so hard it hurts.

He finally leans up, sitting on his knees, and positions his cock right at my entrance.

"Was I or gentle or rough in your fantasies?" He rubs the head against my clit before sliding it back down. My pussy is weeping for him at this point.

"Rough.. please." I choke out.

"Please.. what?" He growls.

"Please daddy!"

He chuckles. "You want it rough baby?" I nod and a tear runs down my cheek at how bad I need him.

"Be careful what you ask for." In one motion, he enters me fully, causing me to scream out at the sudden sensation. My body feels like it was just completely ripped in half, and I wouldn't want it any other way so I cry out for him to do it again. He smirks before pulling out all the way and ramming himself back in.

He starts thrusting at a steady pace and I concentrate on the way his balls feel slapping against me.

Even more tears fall from my face from the extreme emotions he's making me feel. Horny, desperate, obsessed, in.. love.

Fuck.

"Baby. Why are you crying?" He slows his pace and leans over me, assessing my eyes.

"I - I don't know. I - I just.."

"You want me to stop?" his voice is filled with lust and concern.

"No! .. No, don't stop. I just.."

I love you.

"I want it slower." I lie.

"Y/n.. I know you better than that already." He says gently as he thrusts into me deep and agonizingly slow. His lips brush over my ear. "Tell me, baby." He kisses my neck before grabbing my jaw firmly and looking for answers in my eyes. "Tell me, y/n, or I'm stopping."

I close my eyes and blurt out before I can stop myself. "I - I think I love you."

Jeffrey's expression falls serious and he looks back and forth between my eyes while slowly releasing my jaw. His head drops and his eyes close as if he just got slapped, but he continues fucking me.

"Goddamn it, y/n... I told you.. I told you not to catch feelings."

I just stare at him and cry. "I'm sorry."

He closes his eyes again tightly as if contemplating what he should do next. Before I can say anything else, his lips crash against mine. I kiss him back passionately and his tongue slips into my mouth. He picks up the pace with our kiss and his hips and I moan into his mouth.

"Fuck, baby. What am I gonna do with you?" his breathing grows faster and heavier with mine.

"Jeffrey.. fuck, I'm - I'm."

"Cum for me, baby." He growls and quickens his thrusts again.

I scream out for him and he moans into my neck.

"Jeffrey.. you know what else I fantasize about?" I ask him while trying to catch my breath.

"What's that, baby?" His balls slap against me over and over and over.

"What you taste like when you cum."

He lifts his head to look at me and paints a devilish grin across his face. "Yeah? You want me to cum in that pretty mouth, baby?"

I nod without question. I've dreamt about what this man tastes like for so long. If this is our one and only night together, I need to know.

"Fuck." He pulls out of me and leans back on his knees, bringing my head with him as his fingers tightly grip my hair.

"You ready, baby? Open up." His voice is deep and hoarse as he moans out and I swear I've never heard a man sound as sexy as he does right now.

His warm, salty cum fills my throat and I greedily swallow every drop of him, licking his tip until he's completely drained.

"Holyyy shit. Look at my dirty girl." He grins down at me and strokes my hair like he's proud.

He drops down in the bed and holds his arm out for me to lay next to him. I lay my head on his chest and listen to his rapid heart beat. A few minutes pass and I'm hoping he forgot about my little comment earlier. Well - big comment. I can't believe I told him I love him. I mean, I do love him and I think I have for awhile now, but why did I have to be a psycho and tell him that.

He finally breaks the silence. "Y/n.. We have to talk about it."

I sigh. Here it goes. "I know.. listen.. I didn't mean it. Obviously, I barely know you. I was caught up in the moment and I was just.. emotional. I promise I'm - I'm not crazy. I know this is a one time thing and I'm okay with that."

"Hmph." I feel his chest rise a little and he sighs. I lift my head up to look at him and he smiles wide at me before kissing my lips.

"That's too bad y/n.. Cause I was thinking we could do this again tomorrow."

The End.

If you read this, thank you so much. This is my first time writing fanfiction, so pls be nice. If you hate it, I'll cry. :') Xo,kb.

[official-magnus-institute]

hey Jon can we have that book recommendation I’m curious

STATEMENT OF DONNA RHETTE, REGARDING 'THIS FUCKING BOOK'- VERBATIM FROM TEXT. STATEMENT TAKEN FROM REVIEW LEFT ON www.lionstreetbooks.com/i-spy-housewarming/K-6482749278.html

(tw: stalking, scopophobia, loss of child, arson)

STATEMENT BEGINS.

@_Donnarhette

★☆☆☆☆

do not purchase this book do not buy anything off this website theyre stealing your information. this website is unreliable and customer service does not respond they do not pick up their phones.

i bought this book for my 5 year old daughter. she kept waking me up in the middle of the night for weeks beforehand. it was normal, kids do that, kids are scared of monsters. but i would always read her i spy. we have every other edition, down to the miniature versions and the seasonal ones. eventually, she learned where everything was, though, and the books got boring, so i looked up 'i spy books' for the 80th time this month. it brought me here, and i purchased the book for shipping.

the very next day it was brought here, and i was astonished at first, but once i saw the condition of how it was packed, i figured why it came so fast. it was a wreck, the corners all beat, a handful of packing peanuts and some thin paper tossed cattywompus inside. the shippers mustve played hacky-sack with it before tossing it up to the house

even so, my girl was excited. she had completely forgotten about the supposed monsters, she just wanted the book. it's a unique edition for sure, instead of looking for small items on a small scale, it just looks like pictures of parks or buildings, along with riddles like 'i spy a tricycle, i spy ten cards, i spy a crack in concrete that's hard'. it was a change of pace for me, even- a challenge. but my daughter was doing phenomenally.

the photographer must be local to my area, because i recognized the photos soon. hell, i think i saw the back of my head in the bank one. but it got strange when it came to a picture of a street.

my street of my home.

now im thinking, 'maybe it's personalized, it's google maps, and they look up the address for the buyer before they send it out?' but that was... impossible. after i ordered the book it came the very next day, there was no way theyd be able to just cram this page in last second. not only that, but there was the riddle.

i spy a sewer grate, a baseball, a torch,

i spy a busted-up box on the porch.

i shut the book on that page and told my daughter to go to bed. there was fuss, but something was wrong. i tuck her in and she complains again about monsters in the window. all through the night, theres monsters in the window, and i snap at her when she wakes me up the 3rd time.

at that point she was crying, and i was.. yelling. i dont feel good about it, god, especially not now, but i was tired and scared. thats no excuse. so was she.

after telling her it would be ok, she slept in my bed with me. i held her tight the whole night through, and i would do my research in the morning, i assured myself.

but i didnt het a chance. by sunrise she was gone. not in her bed, in her pillow fort, not in the kitchen, the den, nowhere. i phone the police, and i end up running down the street screaming her name.

as i get back home, though, i felt compelled to that damn book. god, why did i go back to that damn book??

it was a picture of us through the window.

'i spy ten earrings, 2 rings, and a comb

i spy a mom and daughter at home.'

it was like my tears froze from shock. i steeled myself and flipped to the next page.

'i spy a woman, big tears and brown curls

i spy a book, but i see no girl.'

as i said, the police are investigating this store. burn in hell you freak. ill see you there.

Well. It took some digging, but there's your recommendation. We were able to get I Spy: Housewarming from the crime scene - or, more so, the wreckange. Donna was griefstruck, this adding onto the loss of her husband shortly before this, leading to a burst of arson. The book was recovered just fine, seemingly one of the Leitners that can withstand some flames.

J. Sims, The Archivist

[catwyk]

tsv finale spoilers below. i wrote this during my first listen through. its long as fuck. im dead im ruined.

cull calling out to rane instead of faulkner.... rane is truly the real leader now

FAULKNER......

"katabasian rane? sister thurrocks?" im gonna be sick

"hes basically a cow" spit your shit carp

"people in my life keep leavin to serve a cause i just cant understand" BASHES MY HEAD ON THE WALL

"we must love them for fleein from our touch e must not run after them" oh baby :(

this is actually fucking destroying me right now oh poor faulkner. failed by the world.

"of course i recognize you. youre carpenter's ghost" // "yes. i am" // "that must mean that im being punished. arent i?" he sounds so small and young oh my god

"if this is my punishment, then why am i smiling?" OKAY PARALLELS TO HIS VISIONS IN S2. OKAY. IM NOT GOING TO CRY. I WONT.

his monologue is ruining me actually oh god.

"they invented their own faulkner. and they forced me to be him" THATS WHAT IM SAYIN

he called her his sister...

im sure hes gonna die

"you crashed a car??" // "yeeah. i crashed a car." i love her

"they need to fix you, they need to make you better, and ill, ill watch over your bed, ill be there, carpenter. ill pray, ill pray and pray for as long as i need to" christ alive. i need to lay down RIGHT NOW.

méabh de brún too good at acting like shes in pain im abt to dial an ambulance

EM??? EM MENTION. EM MENTION

ok this is fuelling my hc that faulkner reminded carpenter of em in some painful and undefinable way

"i should tell paige that story, if i get to see heg again"

"OUR paige?" CRYING FOR A MILLION YEARS. AND HIS "HUH" AS WELL WHEN CARPENTER CONFIRMS

twin mouths truther forever

"i hate you too, faulkner, i truly do. and i love you, too. in spite of everything" // "always on the very precipice of understanding one another"

faulkner's "DEAD, DEAD, DEAD!" is fucking me up b narr the voice actor everrr

SHES GONNA LEAVE HIM A CAIRN 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

"there'll be a place for you, and itll be beside me" DRIVING STRAIGHT INTO A LAMPPOST AS WE SPEAK

NO HES GONNA TRY AND KILL HER ISNT HE

"yeah. perhaps thats it. do you?" again. coolest fucking character on the planet

"this is when the waters parted, and at last..! at last he understood!" jesus christ. jon ware the writer that you are

"say you were raised in the service of a god of fire. so you feel like the world would be a much better place if more things were on fire" i busted out laughing WHAT a tone shift

"dennis duplace helped. hayward.. dad.. carpenter.. im leaving all of you behind" i am a husk of a person. lucille valentine knocking it out of the park

"best feeling in the world, seeing you walk away" holy fucking shit this is DAMAGING ME.

i wanna write every quote thats making my heart sting but the transcript is already up so theres no real point

every single va is popping the FUCK OFF by the way. i have to keep reminding myself theyre acting so i dont like. kill myself

val saving hayward was NOT on my bingo card what the fuck

"and before she died... she remembered who she was" OHHHHHHH MYYYYY GODDDDDD

hayward doing his own rites of the cairn maiden for himself :(

no gods coming for hayward but "fuck it. this one's not... for any of you. this ones for me"

WHY IS FAULKNER BACK. NONONO ITS ONLY GONNA BE BAD. PLEASE NO

i never realized the parallel between faulkner's gardener father and his gardener god

carpenter meant so much to him :(

"Sister! I love you! Where are you going? Dont turn your back on me! Dont you dare- Sister! I need you! SISTER! SISTER! MARCO! MARCO!" FAULKNER NO NOT LIKE THIS NO NO NO NO NO NO NO

FUCK YOU JON WARE (<- COMPLIMENT)

THE FAULKNER BODY FAKEOUT. SEE ABOVE POINT

carpenter's scream...... oh god.. oh méabh de brún the woman that you are

"he could be a face from my childhood. or his" charlie.......

HES BEEN BLOND THIS ENTIRE TIME????????????? i should have fucking known

"but no matter how it starts, no matter how it turns out for us, it can end with love, cant it? it can end with love. it can end with kindness." i said oh my god out loud

the delivery of "and then i let him go" why not just drive a railroad spike through my lungs

"the river is vast, and no dam can block every channel, and ours is a world of miracles." i said jesus christ out loud

i wheezed when she just. got back up this old bitch cannot die can she

not nana glass' song............

FUCKING TAINSLEY. CHEKHOVS TAINSLEY.

oh my god. a final heartbreaking credits scene

i had to just sit and lean back for a second. what a fucking ending. what a fucking podcast. this is one of those pieces of media that takes up residence in your brain forever. im never gonna stop thinking about this

[whiskey-tango-matcha]

Critical (m, cold)

It’s an Elijah fic! Okay, so, I wrote this fic specifically for @waterfallofspace because she’s sent me so many amazing prompts and I’ve been blueballing her saying I’m going to use them. So I used as many of the prompts you sent in as I could in this one, along with a prompt from an anon about a critic coming to the restaurant, and this text post from @ithadtobesneezing. What can I say, all of you inspire me :) 

Hope you all like it, let me know if there’s anything you’d like to see in the future, and I’ll stop rambling so you can read it lmao. 

A little under 3k words. cw: male snz, colds, mention of contagion but no explicit contagion, vertigo/dizziness, a passing out moment, light mess. 

Critical

“We have a problem.”

If there was one sentence Elijah didn’t want to hear today, that was it. “I haven’t even set my shit down yet,” he said to Greyson, running a hand down his face. “Can we have a problem in twenty minutes, when I’ve mentally prepared myself?”

“Unfortunately, it’s an urgent one,” Greyson said, pushing his computer monitor towards his boss. He had the reservation sheet pulled up; Elijah raised an eyebrow.

“Is the problem OpenTable?” he asked, dropping his bag on the ground and siting heavily in his chair. Greyson gave Elijah a look and tapped the screen hard enough to brighten the spot he was touching.

“The problem is this,” Greyson spelled out, clicking on the name Trevor James. Elijah, still not following, just shook his head. “It’s a critic,” Greyson said.

Elijah huffed out a laugh. “Grey,” he said, “I know every critic in this city’s name. Trevor James is not a critic.”

“Wanna bet?” Greyson asked, pulling out his cell phone and clicking the screen rapidly. He held the device up to Elijah’s face, making the other man squint and pull back from the bright light.

“Christ, Greyson, hold it a little closer why don’t you,” Elijah pushed his glasses up his nose and grabbed the phone from the chef, whose eyes widened in sudden realization.

“Oh, fuck, you’re wearing your glasses,” Greyson groaned. “Oh, shit. Tell me you didn’t catch the plague that the servers have been passing around.”

“I didn’t catch the plague the servers have been passing around,” Elijah parroted, a liquid sniffle betraying him immediately. Greyson slammed his head into his hands, defeated. “I didn’t,” Elijah insisted, squinting hard at the phone. It was a conversation between Greyson and a chef at an Italian spot in the financial district; the chef at the other restaurant was warning Greyson about the newest alias of the New York Time’s most renowned food critic, Natalia Gomez, who had showed up at his place unexpectedly and docked them a star. Elijah knew Natalia well; they had been first acquainted when he was managing at Eleven Madison Park in his twenties, and she was working for Forbes; she was known for being ruthless even back then.  Apparently, ‘Trevor James’ had made her way through half of Manhattan under the fake name, collecting stars with every unexpected drop-in. It was dirty, but it was propelling her to national attention – the only thing critics really gave a fuck about at the end of the day.

“Lij, you really cannot be sick for this service, like I’m sorry but we can’t lose a star; we just got two last year, and -”

“I’m fine, Greyson,” Elijah snapped, placing the chef’s phone back in front of him. “I – HNGTSHH-ue!” Elijah caught the sudden sneeze in his elbow, cursing himself for the comically-poor timing. He sniffled again and sat himself up, attempting to look as put-together, as unruffled as possible. “I’mb good.” Fuck.

“Fuck, Elijah,” Greyson moaned. “This woman is going to tear us to fucking pieces, and you pick today of all days to get fucking sick?”

Elijah gave Greyson a look that could cut glass. “I’m not sick.”

“Your nose is literally twitching.”

“Fuck off, you dickhead it is n- hhNGSTHH! IGTSZCH! Huhh -!” Elijah allowed himself a moment stuck in pre-sneeze torture before putting his arm down and sniffling pitifully. “Okay,” he said, grabbing a tissue. “I have a cold. Happy? It’s ndothing. I’ve done full events with a fucking cold, I think I can handle one critic for one night.”

Greyson was already pawing through their medicine drawer like a madman. “Dayquil,” he said, placing the bottle of orange liquid on the desk. “Cough syrup. Ibuprofen. I don’t think -”

“Chef,” Elijah said, an attempt to snap Greyson out of his mania. It seemed to work; Greyson whipped his head towards his boss, the endless bottles of medicine seemingly forgotten for the time being. “What I need from you is to go prepare to cook the meal of a lifetime. Okay? I’m a grown man. I can handle myself.”

The two of them held eye contact for a few moments before Greyson sighed and looked back at the reservations. “Okay,” he said. “Just… let me know if you need -”

“I won’t need anything,” Elijah insisted. “Just go do what you’re best a- ahh… ahhTSHZUE!”

The chef set his jaw as Elijah yanked another tissue from their shared box. “Bless, boss.”

“Go do your fuckin’ job.”

***

Elijah didn’t have a cold.

Or maybe more accurately, he didn’t just have a cold.

From the moment his feet had hit the floor this morning, Elijah knew that he’d picked up the awful flu the servers had swapped back and forth for weeks. His head and neck hurt, his lymph nodes were swollen, and he could feel the tendrils of a soon-to-be fever snaking up his back before he even got in the shower. The servers had complained over and over about this illness, but he’d assumed they were all just being dramatic, as servers are wont to be.

He assumed wrong.

“Hey, Elijah, so I think we should put the critic at twenty-seven, I know you had her at thirty-one but -”

“GTSHHH-uhh! hhhNGTSHZUE! ITSHZ-ue! Hhh…”

Mark, caught completely off-guard by the intensity of Elijah’s sneezes, placed the floor chart he’d been holding on an unset table and pulled out a chair for his boss to sit in. Elijah did so, grateful, and invited Mark to sit next to him with a flourish of his hand. He did, and regarded Elijah with a look of disquiet before addressing the elephant in the room. “Um...you good?”

Elijah gave Mark a watery glare. “Yeah,” he said, his voice low and congested. “What were you sayigg?”

The floor manager warily picked up the floor chart again and pointed to the two tables he’d been considering for the critic. “So, twenty-seven still has the city view, but the sun doesn’t set near it. At thirty-one, she’s going to get the sun right in her eyes; see, she’s coming at six, and -”

“HFTSHH! HRRSHH-ue! HTSHHH-uhh! Fuck – hhhETSZHUE!” Elijah doubled over at the waist, barely able to get a hand to his mouth before the volley of sneezes escaped. Mark, eyes wide, fast-walked away from the table, only to return a few moments later with a box of tissues. His boss pulled a handful out, grateful, and cleaned himself up before regarding the younger man.

“Sorry,” he said, sitting up and rubbing an eye behind his glasses. “Yeah. Twenty-sevend sounds like a good pland.” Elijah directed a wheezing cough into his elbow and cleared his throat. “Andything else?”

“Uhh… I mean, other than once again asking if you’re okay, then no, nothing else.”

The GM attempted a smile. “I’mb okay,” he said. “Is Riley on tondight?”

Mark nodded, silent. Elijah gave a nod in return.

“Let’s put her on Natalia, okay? I ndeed someone strong serving her.” Mark nodded again and escaped to the kitchen, leaving Elijah to wallow. This is going to be such a goat fuck, he thought, pushing himself to a standing position and grabbing the table when a wave of vertigo passed over him. Oh, shit.

A minute or two must have passed while Elijah closed his eyes and willed himself to stay upright. Finally, the vertigo unraveled its fingers from his aching head and he opened his eyes. For now, he was fine.

Elijah walked carefully back to the office in search of more Dayquil, those two little words rattling in his fevered mind. For now.

***

“Guys, the mbost important reservation tondight is Trevor Jambes at six o’clock. It’s an alias for Natalia Gomez, the critic at the Time’s. Riley is ond it, but I really ndeed you all to – to… hhh…” Elijah trailed off, an arm raising to catch a sneeze that didn’t seem like it was going to come. After a moment, Elijah lowered his arm and sniffled. “I ndeed you guys to be on your best behavior. Okay? Ndo gossiping on the floor, everyone ndeeds to check their uniforms for spots, just… let’s all act like we’re civilized tondight. O – HNGTSHHH-ue!”

“Bless, Elijah,” a few of the servers chorused. Elijah nodded, pulled out a tissue from his now-ever-present box, and blew his nose quietly. Greyson stood and placed a hand on Elijah’s shoulder to signal that he would take over.

“If not for the restaurant, be on your best behavior for your boss, who one of you infected with your disgusting germs,” Greyson joked, prompting a collective chuckle from the group. “We’re already biting our nails waiting for Elijah’s nose to blow this whole thing for us, don’t make us worry about you blowing it, too.” Elijah reddened, and the servers laughed in earnest this time.

“Hilarious, Chef,” Elijah muttered, rolling his eyes. Greyson did as he was told, while Elijah held on as tightly as he could to his consciousness. The wave of dizziness earlier seemed to set off a ripple effect, and now anytime Elijah moved his head a little too quickly he was about three seconds away from passing out.

“...boss? Hellooo? Earth to Elijah!”

Elijah yanked himself back to the present and looked up to see Greyson standing above him, looking worried. The servers had exited the dining room to go eat family meal – when did that happen? - and the two of them were alone. “Yeah, what’s – hhNGTSHZZUE! Guh, fuck. Snrf. Whadt’s up?” Elijah asked, wiping his nose on the back of his hand.

Greyson raised an eyebrow and sat back down next to his boss. “Are you sure you’re alright? I mean, you took Dayquil, right? How are you still sneezing so much?”

Elijah gave Greyson a look. “I have a cold, Grey. Combes with the territory.”

“Yeah, but like… you also look fucking awful, dude. Like not trying to be an asshole, but you look like you’re about to keel over. Do you have a - ?”

“HNGTSHH-ue! HTSZZHHUE! HhhNGTSHZUE!” Elijah wrenched away from Greyson, managing to bury his face in his elbow just in time. Greyson pulled back, pushed the tissues towards his boss, and waited for the other man to clean himself up before gently placing a hand on Elijah’s forehead.

“Dude,” he said when Elijah pulled away. “You’re burning up.”

Elijah rolled his eyes – mistake, he thought, steadying himself on the table once again. He took a big breath and swallowed painfully before responding. “Shut the fuck up, Grey. I’mb fine.”

“Yeah? Because you’re holding on to the table for dear life right now.”

The GM bit the inside of his cheek and let go of the table, allowing the wave of dizziness to wash over and move past him. When it did, he regarded Greyson again. “I’mb good. Just go get ready to service. I’ll take some mbore meds. Dond’t worry about mbe. Okay?”

Greyson stood and shook his head. “Whatever you say, Lij,” he said, defeated. “You trying to ignore the fuckin’ flu has nothing to do with me. Try not to sneeze on the critic, okay?” He exited to the kitchen, and Elijah slowly lowered his head between his legs. He took some deep breaths. Everything is going to be okay, he told himself. It has to.

***

By the time six o’clock rolled around, Elijah was 100% sure he wasn’t going to make it through the night without passing out.

The first hour of service, he’d been able to sit in the office and try to hype himself up, while avidly avoiding the looks Greyson flashed him every few minutes. That was the easy part; the moment the critic showed up and the hostess came back looking for him however he really didn’t know how he was going to pull this off. “Yeah,” he said to the concerned-looking hostess. “I’mb coming. Thanks.”

Elijah took a deep breath and pushed himself to a standing position with little drama, then swallowed hard as he put on his blazer. He checked his reflection in the tiny mirror Greyson had put up in their office a few months ago – looking absolutely horrifying, congrats – then grimaced and looked away. He took one more slow breath in, uncapped the Dayquil he’d been chugging the past ten hours, and took a long swig. Good as it’s going to get, he thought, walking out of the office and pushing through the swinging kitchen doors.

The restaurant was packed; it was a Tuesday night, but it was spring break and every local in the area knew that Elliot’s was the place to see and be seen, even during the week. Elijah breezed past the server’s station, ignoring the looks the servers were flashing him, and approached the host stand.

“Is she still at twenty-sevend?” Elijah asked the hostess, and she nodded without looking back at her boss. Elijah nodded in return, swallowed hard, and waltzed into the dining room.

Natalia Gomez was not the kind of critic the Time’s usually employed; that is to say, she was anything but unremarkable, which was generally what you wanted in your critics. Natalia certainly stood out in a crowd; tall, curvaceous, big hair and a bigger laugh – stunning was the first word that came to Elijah’s mind, but he shook it away as quickly as it entered. Critics were the bane of every restaurant owner’s existence. Not meant for ogling, but for tearing to shreds from the comfort of the back-of-house, post-service.

“Good evening, Natalia,” Elijah said, approaching the critic’s table. “Good to see you, as always.”

Natalia turned away from the window with ease and smiled at Elijah. “Elijah,” she said. “Can’t pull one over on you, can I?”

Elijah returned the smile, with difficulty. “It appears ndot,” he said, clearing his throat. “Chef has prepared a tasting menu for you this evening, if you’re interested.”

The critic laughed, the sound light and tinkling like water poured into glass. “You know me too well,” she said, handing her menu over. Elijah nodded, picked up her bottle of wine, and refilled her glass.

“I’ll send himb out shortly,” Elijah said, placing the bottle back where it was. “Enjoy your night, Natalia.”

Elijah turned and walked away from the table, not stopping at the host stand, not stopping at the server station, not stopping until he was at the pass, in Greyson’s line of sight.

“Chef,” he said, as clearly as he could. “Tasting mbenu’s a go.”

Greyson nodded and signaled Matt to start putting Natalia’s first course together. He turned back to Elijah and asked, “Are you going to take the first course out?”

The GM swallowed hard, grabbed onto the prep table, and shook his head. “I don’t think -” he started, then stopped suddenly. Elijah’s grip on the table loosened, he blinked hard, and his eyes rolled back. He felt his knees buckle, heard Greyson say, “Lij!” and finally lost consciousness.

***

When Elijah came to, he was laid out on the infamous tablecloth bed that every manager seemed to succumb to when they were ill. It took a moment, but when he remembered where he was and what was going on, Elijah attempted to push himself to standing.

“Whooaa, boss, go ahead and stay right there,” Greyson, who Elijah hadn’t realized was sitting behind him in one of the office rolling chairs, said, gently pushing Elijah back to the ground. “You’re not going anywhere til I take you home.”

Elijah slowly sunk back down and cleared his throat. “Why aren’t you cookigg? Shouldn’t you be mbakigg Natalia’s tasting?”

Greyson looked down at his boss with bemusement. “Natalia’s long gone, boss,” he said. “She ate, we talked for awhile – she said she loved everything. She sends her regards; she said she’s sorry she booked on a night when you’re so sick.” Greyson turned his chair to fully regard his boss. “You never told me you guys knew each other.”

The GM shrugged weakly. “Doesn’t mbatter, right? She’s still a critic. She doesn’t give a fuck if I’mb her best friend; her job is to critique at any cost.”

Greyson knitted his eyebrows together. “I mean, but she does give a fuck though, Lij,” he said, handing Elijah a bottle of water that the GM gratefully gulped from. “She felt badly. I feel badly.” Elijah gave Greyson a confused look, and the chef shrugged. “I know I made you feel like you were going to ruin our star rating because you’re sick,” he said. “I’m sorry. You know I care about your well-being, right? Like, more than I care about stars.”

The GM closed his eyes slowly and took a deep breath. This conversation would have been a lot even if he wasn’t flu-ridden and fever-addled; in this state, he was sure he was about to burst into overwhelmed, sick tears. “I know, Grey,” he managed. “Thangk you.”

“Anytime,” Greyson said, clearly grateful to be done with the conversation. “Now, just lay there and try not to keel over, okay? I’m just going to check out the line, and then I’ll drive you home.”

Elijah managed a weak smile. “I’ll do my best,” he said, and thanked whatever God there was that Greyson’s back was turned when a single, grateful tear fell onto the tablecloth nest.

[p-t-love]

Things “Bulls” Like

I recently read a post about the collected thoughts of “Bulls.”  A Bull is the “other man” in a hotwife / cuckold relationship.  I got so aroused reading this.  I’ve selected some of the hottest ones.  I’ve also added a few that I’ve heard myself.

I like fucking a married woman if her husband has no idea. It’s great knowing I can convince her to cheat.  

I like watching the faces of husbands as they deal with the emotions of watching their wife get fucked by another man.  

I get off rubbing in a husband’s face how slutty his wife is with me.  

I love seducing a married woman and making her husband a cuckold for the first time ever.  

I enjoy cumming all over a married woman.  It’s like I’m marking my turf.  

I love keeping a married woman out overnight or taking her home with me.  I know her husband is sitting awake, wondering what she’s doing.

I like fucking a wife in front of her husband and telling him what a good piece of ass she is, or how good her pussy feels.

I like the first time a married woman sees my cock and tells me that I’m bigger than her husband.

I like cumming on a married womans face knowing she has to clean up before she goes home, and cumming in her mouth knowing it will mean I’m always a part of her.  

I enjoy seeing her wedding ring while I’m fucking her. It’s a power trip fucking someone else’s woman.

I love hearing a married woman beg me to fuck her, because I know she doesn’t get it at home.

I love fucking a wife in their marriage bed.  

I love claiming another man’s wife as MY slut or girlfriend.

I like walking into a hotel to get a room with a married woman.

I like hearing someone’s wife thank me after I fuck her, or if its a couple I like hearing her husband thank me for fucking her.

I like sending her husband to get me a beer or something while she sucks my dick.

I like giving her to a friend to use and treat her like my property. They love that shit.

I like telling her husband that his wife’s pussy is mine now.  

I love when a wife tells me fantasies or experiences she’s had that she’s never told her husband about.  

I love when a married woman wants to do things with me that she doesn’t do with her husband.  

I like to call a husband on speaker phone while I’m owning his wife in bed.

I like to call a husband and tell him I’m done with his wife and to come pick her up.

I like to take a married woman with me into a drug store, stand in line together and have her buy a box of condoms for us.

I like coming in a wife’s pussy while her husband watches and waits his turn.

I like getting a wife to tell her husband how much bigger I feel inside her.

I like to show up at a married woman’s work place and pick her up for a lunch quickee with her coworkers watching her leave with me.

I like to call a husband at work and and tell him his wife is servicing me.

I love to make her lose track of time so her husband comes home and catches us in the act.  

I like having a married woman tell me I was the best fuck she ever had, especially if it’s right in front of her husband.

I like to make a husband stand guard while I fuck his wife in a public place, or fuck a wife in the back of a car in a parking lot while her husband is in the driver seat.

I get off trying to make a husband jealous while I fuck his wife.

I enjoy feeling up a wife in a public place, where others might see her.

I like introducing someone’s wife to my friends, telling them she’s my girlfriend.

I dig the risk of knowing her husband might catch us.

It’s fun having a married woman tell her husband that she can’t do without me.

I get off big time fucking a married womans ass in front of her husband.

I like showing up unannounced and lead her off to the bedroom.

I get off knowing that she might get caught but is willing to risk that to get laid.  

I love to go out with a wife and her husband to a bar or club, and have the whole place know it’s me that she’s going home with.  

I like when a wife I’m fucking tells her friends about us.

[welcometololaland]

Thanks for the self-rec asks! I'm feeling very...not into my own ao3 right now so INSTEAD i'm going to send the asks on and tell you five things (in no particular order) that i've been thinking about this week <3

ONE: Swimming - I NEED TO FINISH THE SWIM FIC AKA THIS AMAZING WORK BY @carlos-in-glasses. I started reading and then I went overseas and I felt like I didn't have the time to go through and scream line by line and I'm so excited to dive back in (hehe see what I did there) now that it's finished!

TWO: State parks and secret service agents - not necessarily together, but I've been lowkey dreaming of obtaining my own slightly insane-looking garden gnome and a stock tank for a while thanks to the beautiful fic created by @iboatedhere (I don't have a pool and a stock tank seems like a good option right now). Also the secret service AU snippets are life giving (recent one here).

THREE: Guaranteeing nothing - screamed (literally) my way through the first fourteen chapters of Never a Guarantee and now I need to finish it!!!! @clottedcreamfudge and her writing make me so fucking feral in the best way and this fic is no exception. I had much fear about my sanity going into this because I knew it was going to drive me wild but my crops have been watered and I eagerly await completion of the arcs.

FOUR: Mythical things (aka. a dearly beloved universe) - to be fair, I'm not sure I ever stopped thinking about Jen's masterpiece - as if you were a mythical thing - because it lives rent free in my head (genuinely one of my favourite fics ever). I'm thinking about it a lot more now that @strandnreyes has put the idea of writing a sequel in my head (snippet is here). A re read is in my sights and I'm very excited about it! If you haven't read it, you absolutely have to.

FIVE: TK and Carlos getting unprofessional - @rmd-writes and I have been playing around in this document for ages, co-writing something so silly it borders on crack and it's the most fun I've had writing fic in ages (thank you to @celeritas2997 for putting up with us lol). Everything I do by myself seems so hard right now but this feels so easy and (I think it's fair to say) it's almost done? 1 and a little bit more chapters? I'm EXCITE. You can read the most recent snippets of the fic colloquially known as "(un)profesh" here (rmd) and here (me).

ALSO to anyone who has shared a doc link with me - I promise I am also thinking very hard about those and will give them the time and attention they deserve when I get home! I never know whether people like me specifically mentioning those types of things so I'll just like...sit down but please know i'm thinking of you and sorry that I haven't been around much!

[codename-adler]

Hello, Andrew.

(If this isn’t Andrew then bug off. I’ll know.)

So. Hi. I’m Aaron Minyard. Your brother. Your twin brother, you know. Did you know? I didn’t know. That was some surprise. Good surprise, though. Only good. Promise.

I don’t know if you know how I found out? I was at the park, doing things, you know, doing my own thing, and some police prick kept yelling for me, only, by your name. He swore I was you. Officer Philip Higgins, at your service. Well not really, he was ready to drag me back to where you belong (I don’t know where that is). But you must know that. How he is, I mean. Not where you belong. Although you just might. I hope you know. You could help me out then.

But, uh, getting ahead of myself. Imagine I start asking you all sorts of philosophical questions and truths when we haven’t even met… Yikes… You’d probably tell me to fuck off, and I’d agree with you. So I’m not gonna do that. It’s not why I wanted to write to you anyway.

Brotherhood is what I wanted to write to you about. I woke up that day, never in a million years imagining I’d go to bed a brother. Like, I have a brother . You. You are my brother. My twin brother. And I’m yours. I don’t know who was born first (I was, I’m sure of it), but… Twins , Andrew! That’s wicked cool.

And not just that. We are IDENTICAL. ("Monozygotic" twins, it's called. Epic.) Even Higgins was fooled, and frankly astounded when he found me. His face! Although he must’ve thought the same thing about mine, and twice worse at that. I can’t really wrap my head around the fact. That there’s a whole other person, completely separate from me, that looks exactly like me nonetheless. It seems impossible. I guess it’ll only really sink in when we’ll see each other, right?

I wonder if you and I have the same teeth. Mine are alright, I think. Not exactly Colgate-worthy, but I’ve got all of them, in the right place, which is good enough for me. I never really paid attention, before. I've learned that teeth are often different, even if slightly, in sets of identical twins. I read about it in a textbook at the school library. When I found out, I mean. I don’t want you to think that I have a weird tooth fetish or something. I just really like biology.

There’s so much to a body that you don’t realize makes a body a person. How does my hair look on you? Or like, the other way around. Higgins said we have the same eyes. But to what extent? Where do yours end and mine begin? Is it in the shape? The color? The light’s reflection in them? The lashes, perhaps, or the eyebrows above? What about the eyebrows? Two bodies, side by side, exactly the same in every way, yet one is you, and one is me. Wow. It just… It never stops. My brain exploded just now. Again. Does yours do that too? Since you’ve known?

Like, imagine we have reverse parts! I mean, you know how my right half is your left, and your right half is my left? Maybe our moles are mirrored. That could be how people tell us apart. “Hey, there’s Aaron with the left-cheek mole! Not to be confused with Andrew, with the right-cheek mole!”, you know? Jeez, we can’t be that identical, can we?

Can we really?

I don't have much experience with twins. There were those Conway girls in 4th grade, not identical, just fraternal twins. They still looked a whole lot like each other. It's crazy to remember them, now. To think, that as I was fascinated by the pair of them, not only did I have my own other half, but you were so close. And I didn't even feel it. Is that bad? Is there something wrong with me? With... us? Do you think, because of what happened when we were born... because of Mom... our connection suffered? Don't tell her that. Please don't tell her that. But how? How could I not feel anything missing? I never knew, Andrew. Never once had an ounce of a doubt. No phantom limbs, no echo in my mind, no unexplainable pains nor random premonitions. You were never there. Even now, as I write to you, I really hope you'll be at the other end of my letter, because you still feel... void. Like this is all a joke my mind is playing on me. I hope you're really real. Not just a pipedream.

Maybe we can work on it. The twin "bond" thingy. Maybe you knew? Not, like, knew-knew, just... knew? Or maybe looking back on things now, you realize you knew? I'm trying to do that, to look for memories where there could have been something tipping me off, but I have a shit memory. It's so vague and fuzzy most of the time. Does that happen to you? So much for wanting to be a doctor...

So did you? Know?

I hope you did, in some kind of cosmic way, as they say. Because if you did, maybe the connection, our twin bond, isn't totally broken. We can get it back to full strength. 

If you'd like, that is.

Imagine the fucking bad luck of it all if we were those ill-fated twins of big stories, destined to be sworn enemies, and everything would have been fine if that damn policeman had just minded his own business! Ha! 

I haven't really talked about Mom or the family. I hope you're not expecting a dad, because I haven't got one of those for you. I'm sorry. I would have liked for you to have a dad. I mean, when they find your long-lost family, you hope for the whole package, right? So yeah, no dad. But we got an uncle and an aunt, and a cousin! I'll tell you about them if you want to. I'm just worried I'll scare you off if I start right away, on top of the mess I'm already telling you now. But we got time, right? I shouldn't feel rushed, I must remember that. We found each other and there's no way I'm letting go. And we'll meet soon, right? I know Mom refused the offer your foster mother gave us, but Mom doesn't have to know... Not immediately, at least. I mean, she did carry us for 9 months, but I also shared the womb with you from the beginning, so I don't know who's got priority over who... But I'm choosing to give it to you. 

I'll stop my nonsense here, now. I don't want you to start believing your newfound brother's a total nutcase. I'm not, promise. I hope you're doing okay on your end with everything that's been going on. Your foster mom seems nice. That's nice. So, yeah, again I'm really glad you're here now, and I'll be seeing you soon, yeah? Okay.

Bye now.

- Aaron

[an-aura-about-you]

a little more procrastination, a little more Handbook for Mortals!

let's do Chapter 8 part 2:

when we last left our hero, Scheherazade told us she was flirting with Jackson. we didn't actually see her flirting with Jackson because the narration thought it was more important to show us the logistics of everybody going home.

-Zade walks into her apartment and reiterates to us that she likes both Mac and Jackson for some reason.

-Zade wonders if it's possible for her to love two people and thinks it's not, but sorry, you can't convince me that polyamory wouldn't be a viable solution. High Noon Over Camelot changed my brain chemistry too much for me to not consider trying it.

-she also seems to think Mac and Jackson are friends but I don't really know if that's true. this is the first time she's brought it up, we haven't had any scenes with just Mac and Jackson by themselves, and with how she laid everything out with Tad back in the chapter that introduced him (that I mercifully spared you from reading) it's weird that it wasn't mentioned before. granted, she could be lying again like she did about what happened after she saved Sofia. I am whipping this dead horse until the remains are dust.

-the writing level of this book is so bad that I was actually impressed when Sarem used the correct its in a sentence.

-Zade takes a moment to think about Lambo Girl but decides she's just not as worried about being kamehameha'd in a parking garage as she is about which boy she wants to kiss.

-ok. so I am actually super lenient when it comes to cartomancy because I don't do a lot of it and thus don't have a lot of practice. typically I use my tarot cards to prod my brain for answers by association. "I have drawn x card, which means y in this position in the spread, and this makes me think of z. Why is that?" that's how my own readings tend to go, a way for me to examine why I think the way I do and what I want to do about it. as a result, I believe there is no wrong way to read tarot cards.

or rather, I thought that until I read this book. because Sarem writes the one possible way to do a tarot spread wrong. observe:

I promised myself to do a reading on her when I was done with this. (For what it's worth, I did--and I came up with nothing. The cards made no sense, which told me that someone had gone to great lengths for me to not get a reading on the situation at all...So I pushed the whole incident--and the girl--out of my mind and decided not to worry about it till it came up again.)

what.

the fuck.

do you mean.

you came up with nothing?

how do you come up with nothing with a deck of tarot cards?? no associations spring to mind whatsoever??? did the cards become blank? were they replaced with garbled text and images making them illegible? how are they not making sense? by contradiction? contradictions happen with people all the damn time! also how would this go down in the movie that's totally gonna be made f'real? essentially skipped over like this? just paid lip service?

this is the scene I was saying would be better with a crystal ball or a scrying mirror because this bullshit would make way more sense.

-let's add another tally to bigoted language because it's spirit guide time.

-based on how Zade words her query, she's looking for commitment, which just feels weird when you aren't even really dating either of them yet. don't you wanna, oh I dunno, do that first??? The Straights Are Not Okay.

-Zade is sad about her lack of communication with her mother when she's making the active choice to not contact Dela. we're gonna learn in a little bit that Dela has also chosen not to reach out to Zade, so idk what to tell these knuckleheads. they're just determined to play sea lion and squirrel.

-Zade takes the time to explain what all the cards she lays out means except the Devil because she doesn't know why it's there. really????? you get a card from the Major Arcana in your spread and you aren't even a little tiny bit curious about why that's there???? or the fact that it's appeared between the Magician and the Lovers and shares imagery between both of those cards??????

in fact let's go over it a little bit. the book doesn't specify the orientation of all of these cards, so I'm gonna be a basic bitch and assume none of the cards are appearing reversed.

brushing up a bit from biddytarot.com, the Devil is the shadow self, attachment, addiction, sexuality, and restriction by choice. and without looking up the other cards in this set of three, I know the Magician and the Devil both have their hands positioned As Above So Below and the Lovers are mirrored in the captive couple in the Devil.

honestly, the thing I'm taking from this is Zade is the one causing her own problems. if Zade is the Magician, and she does see it as literal for herself, then the Devil combining imagery from the other two cards is putting Zade in that spot as well. she only sees the Lovers as representing a potential relationship for herself, and while I do agree that that's not necessarily wrong, it does feel like willfully overlooking that it's also a card of choices. when taken as a complete story in these three cards, it will not reach that happy liberation until Zade relinquishes whatever darkness is keeping her from making a choice.

for someone so determined to get back home and do a tarot spread, she sure is willfully blind about what it's trying to tell her.

-we get the spreads for both Jackson and Mac and Zade is ultimately like either of them would be good. hmmmm I wonder if the tarot cards are telling Zade that she needs to make her own damn choice on this one???? think that's a possibility????

-we then jump to an italics scene and get an update on what Dela's doing. she's been doing tarot spreads on Zade to figure out what she's been up to. seems weird we're getting Dela's pov on this, but then maybe Zade didn't have anything to say about how the first card she got for the three she laid out for her future was the fucking Tower??????? I mean, she basically ignored the Devil, so this tracks.

-Dela then gets a customer so we can get info on how tarot cards work in this universe. said customer is a woman who gets more specific description than any of the other women we've been introduced to apart from Zade combined. even more than Lil, who did get a description but it was that of Generic Goth With Tattoos.

-ugh, Dela's talking about Destiny too, but like. I guess there's only so much fighting about it I can do? if it's right there in the story, then that's how it is, but stories in which a character can't escape destiny can be so much better. idk, the thing that I would say if this is a real world situation is the truth: that there are things that we will never be able to control. some things are set in stone, but idk if the things I think of as set in stone are the same things Dela thinks of as set in stone.

-omg it's the lemonade scene. you guys are not ready for the lemonade scene.

-get ready for some serious tallymarks.

-but before that let's play another quick game of When Is This Story Set? Zade buys a small lemonade from Hot Dog on a Stick in the Fashion Show Mall in Las Vegas, Nevada for exactly $2.09 after tax. the same lemonade today costs $3.99 before tax. I don't know what Hot Dog on a Stick's prices have been historically, but if I had to guess, I'm willing to bet this price is circa 2011 when Sarem first started writing H4M the screenplay.

-the teen boy cashier is all goo-goo eyes at Zade and he compliments her hair. I don't even understand why everyone is complimenting her hair? I don't mean that as a slam on it because it's simple, even though it is based on how she described it. (I don't think I ever bothered to mention it because of how unimportant it is? but she's dyed the lower half of her hair like pink and blue and green and shit.) but Zade's hair is the thing she's gotten the most compliments on. she told us back in Chapter 0 that the people she knew back home said she was sweet and kind, but nobody she's talked to in the book has said that about her. it's one of those things we have to take her dubious word for. and that's about to be made even more dubious.

-the narration points out this cashier is probably 19 or 20, so fully an adult and not much younger than Zade, but it feels gross for Zade to look at him and think, "Talk to me in ten years." like. why are you saying a jailbait line if he's not jailbait?

-I will give Sarem this, at least she's writing Zade uncomfortable with Alan the cashier's attention. this is clearly her glamour going on, the thing Lambo Girl said she had.

-but uh-oh! Alan's girlfriend also works at Hot Dog on a Stick and she's mad that Alan's making goo-goo eyes at Zade! so instead of telling Alan to quit it she goes to yell at Zade? why?

-Zade's telling us she's not afraid of this teenage girl getting up in her face about this, but why would any adult be? especially when said teenage girl is more than half a foot shorter than you? it's a simple misunderstanding and you could just walk away.

-Zade tells the girl not to start anything with her, but she's getting mad.

-"I'm not really sure why I had allowed some lemonade girl to bother me--" an excellent thing to bring up since that is exactly what you are doing by not walking away. you know full well she's being unreasonable and she's at work. she, theoretically, is already in plenty of trouble for starting shit with a customer. you don't need to do anything else. but I know you're gonna.

-"I wanted to teach her a lesson." and here's what Zade does to do that: she uses her magic to make the vat of lemonade explode, dumping the entire contents of lemonade on her. the narration says it sent "shards of glass in every direction" so you can't fucking tell me she didn't get absolutely glassed. Zade even had enough presence of mind to spare everyone else. add this assault to the violent actions tally.

-things Zade could have used magic for but didn't: saving Sofia's life

things Zade used magic for but didn't have to: putting up a tent, assaulting Hot Dog on a Stick girl

-she straight up says, "When life hands you lemons..." as she walks away, the thing she should have done before it escalated to this point.

this is how the chapter ends, with Zade assaulting and humiliating a teenage girl due to a misunderstanding that we know full well was because of Zade's magic. the girl was saying some hurtful stuff to her, and it's true there was no need for it, but Zade was the adult here and she chose to do something that could have killed another person because she was called a skank and a bitch. jesus fucking christ.

[crimson-calligraphyx]

14: Like A Villain

Noah

When it was past midnight and I still hadn't heard from Olivia to pick her up, an unsettling feeling sat in the pit of my stomach. She never called me, and she didn't pick up the phone when I called, either. It was possible she didn't have service at the hospital, or maybe her phone was on silent and she didn't hear it, but it was unlikely they'd allow visitors this late. Hell, even bringing her there at nearly 10 pm was pushing it—most visiting hours are from noon to 6 pm.

After I spoke to the receptionist at the hospital, rage replaced the anxiety that I had. Olivia had lied to me when I called her last, saying she was in the waiting room when she had actually left the building. I was already annoyed that she wouldn't pick up the phone, but realizing that I now had to search for her was infuriating. I tried giving her one more call before I began to drive around aimlessly, only to throw my phone into the passenger seat in aggravation from another unaccepted call.

I made my way towards town slowly, taking my time to scan the street in hopes of spotting her walking. For all I know, I could've gone the complete opposite direction of where she was, but my gut was telling me downtown would be the right place to look since there was nothing but woods the other way. When I glanced to my left and saw the liquor store, I had the sinking feeling that that was where she wound up. I groaned and threw my head against my seat when I saw they were closed; I couldn't ask any of the employees if they had seen her.

I resumed my search for Liv, crawling by the commons, scanning each and every bench that I passed. Somehow, by the grace of God, I spotted her—sprawled out on a bench, one arm dangling off the side, a bottle lightly grasped in her hand. My immediate reaction was relief, but that quickly dissipated when I realized she wasn't conscious. I threw the car in park and hopped out, marching my way over to her.

She was snoring lightly with her jaw slack, and her head was tilted to the edge of the seat with her dark hair splayed over her face. I remembered the first time I saw her like this and thought how beautiful and innocent she looked while she snoozed on my lap, but this was not the case at the moment. Seeing that the 375ml she had in her hand was bone dry made my stomach churn, just imagining how revolting it was to drink all of that in one go. It made my blood boil with how foolish she was being—she was more than just vulnerable. Anyone could take advantage of her right now, or she could have wandered off into the road and wound up in the same situation at Vic.

"Liv," I call out and she doesn't so much as flinch. "Olivia," I speak louder, giving her shoulder a push. I clenched my teeth and shook her a little harder, this time being rewarded with her slowly opening her eyes. I heard the bottle slip out of her hand and roll under the bench as she groggily pushed herself up in a sitting position. She brings a hand to her head, looking up at me with one eye closed while she registered that I was standing in front of her. I watched the panic spread over her face as she attempted to stand, stumbling into me. With an aggravated sigh, I looped an arm around her and somehow walked her back to my car.

I sat her down in her seat and buckled her in as she stared at me with tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she slurred. To hinder myself from yelling at her, I ground my teeth together and took a deep breath before I shut the door and made my way into the driver's seat. Her body was slumped into the door, left hand covering her face as she full on sobbed. I felt my heart drop; it fucking killed me to see her like this. I wanted to express to her how awful of a situation this was, but I knew the second I opened my mouth, it would come out as condescending, not comforting.

When I pulled into the driveway, I took her hand in mine and gave it a squeeze. She looks over at me, her eyes reddened and puffy, and her cheeks tear stained. She did stop crying, but she was struggling to catch her breath, her chest heaving from how hard she had been sobbing. I felt myself deflating from regret of my silent treatment and gave her hand another reassuring squeeze with a small smile. “I-I’m sorry, N-Noah,” she stammers. I sigh, “I’m not saying it’s okay…but I’m glad that you’re okay.” She gives me a sheepish nod but remains silent. “What were you thinking, Olivia?” I ask, keeping my voice as calm as possible. She shrugs and hangs her head. “I’m just so scared,” she whispered. I let go of her hand and tip her head in my direction by her chin so that she was looking at me. “I know you are, but you know this isn’t the right way to handle that.” “I-I don’t know what is.” I pursed my lips, “You know that I’m here for you, Liv.” “But y-you left m-me at the hospital alone,” she retorts. “Because you begged me to, Olivia! Was this your plan all along?” I shouted, causing her to flinch.

I see fresh tears start to well up in her eyes as she scrambled to remove her seatbelt and fumbled with the door handle before she practically fell out of the car. “Fuck,” I mentally kick myself in the ass, unbuckling my seatbelt and ran over to her side of the car. “Olivia, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean that!” She was clumsily making her way up the walkway, her body resembling a marionette being pulled from all directions as she tried to keep her balance. I catch up to her and sling an arm around her to assist, but she pushes me away from her. “Leave m-me alone,” she grumbles, “I can walk on my own.”

I felt anger flare in me from her shoving me away and growled as I took hold of her again. I hoisted her up effortlessly, throwing her over my shoulder as she thrashed in an attempt to free herself. I was thankful to see that the front door was left unlocked, opening it and dropping her on her feet in one swift movement once we were in my living room.

“What the fuck, Noah?” she shouts, “I’m quite capable of walking on my own!” I fold my arms over my chest, raising my eyebrows at her in disbelief. “Really? I’m pretty sure you would’ve wound up on your face if I didn’t literally bring you in here.” “Yes, really! Stop being a fucking dick!” “Then stop acting like a fool and cool it with the drinking!” I holler, throwing my arms out. “Fuck you,” she growls, shoving me in the chest. “You’re treating me like a villain, Noah! It’s not against the law to drink alcohol last I checked.” I snatch her by the wrists, “Stop. Pushing. Me. Or so help me God,” I say through clenched teeth. “You’re right, it’s not—but public intoxication is, Olivia—” “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Jolly comes rushing into the living room, “what the actual fuck is going on here?” Nick Ruffilo comes out shortly after, panic written on his face as he takes in the commotion. “Apparently I’m not allowed to drink,” Liv spits out as she leers up at me, jaw tense with anger. “I did not say that. You need to limit yourself because you do some pretty stupid fucking things when you’re drunk,” I fire back at her. She scoffs, “As if you’ve never done anything stupid while drunk—” “I’ve never fallen asleep on a public bench in the middle of the night—” “Alright, that’s enough!” Jolly exclaims, putting himself between us.

Nick wraps his arms around her from behind and pulls her away from me while Jolly guided me into the kitchen by my shoulders. The expression on his face was a cross between anger and curiousity as he waited for me to explain the situation. I sighed, combing my hair back with my fingers in aggravation. "I couldn't get ahold of her," I start, "and later found her passed out on a bench downtown. Drunk, mind you." He cringes, planting his fists on his hips as he nods in understanding. "Alright, yeah, that's...not good." "I'm just worried about her, you know? She's been under so much stress, and she drinks to cope with it. I want to help her, but..." I trailed off with a shrug of my shoulders, not sure what else to say. "There's not much you can do, unless she wants to help herself, Noah. Just be there for her when she needs someone—" "I am there for her!" I snapped, "It's like one minute she wants me to comfort her, the next she literally pushes me away and says she can handle it herself." He puts his hands out, telling me to calm down. "I know you are. I can see clear as day how much you care about her, but getting angry and fighting with her—especially when she's drunk—is only going to make it worse."

I nodded as I absorbed his words. He was right; when drunk, she wouldn't be thinking clearly, therefore my words wouldn't register with her. The only thing that would stick would be my anger, and that's not at all what I wanted. If she developed a fear of me snapping at her, she would never want to confide in me again and that didn't sit well with me. I wanted nothing more than to be her safe place.

"I got her to lie down in your room, Noah," Nick announces as he joins us in the kitchen. "She kicked me out saying she wanted to be alone, but she's still crying." I watched his face fall with concern. "Thanks, man. I'll go check on her," I say with a nod. I made my way towards my bedroom, bracing myself for the worst. I knocked softly before entering, taking note of her body trembling as she whimpered, facing the wall. I felt my heart sink, knowing this was because of me. "Hey," I say softly, sitting at the edge of my bed. "Go a-away," she says in between breaths. "No, that's not happening. I'm sorry for yelling at you, Olivia," I apologized, running a hand down her upper arm. She shoulders my hand away and rolls further into the mattress. I sighed and kicked off my shoes, lying down behind her. "Please don't push me away," I whispered into her hair after placing an arm over her securely. "I'm really sorry. Yelling at you was uncalled for and didn't solve anything."

Her body continues to quake against mine as she remains silent other than her unsteady breaths. I kissed the back of her head and tightened my hold on her. "You don't have to say anything, but I want you to know that no matter how many times you push me away, I'm not going anywhere. I'm stuck to you like glue, Liv. I made a promise to be here as much as I possibly could, and I'm keeping it." I could feel her start to catch her breath, her shakes lessening. "I overstepped and should have never snapped at you like that. It kills me to know that you're upset because of me, and I don't know if I can honestly forgive myself."

"I-I'm just a f-fool," she mumbles. I closed my eyes and sighed with sorrow. "Come here," I say softly, gently tugging on her shoulder to have her roll over. She obliges, burying her face in my chest. "Look at me, please." She cranes her neck and my heart shatters when I see the endless stream of tears spilling from her swollen eyes. "I'm so, so sorry, Olivia. You are not a fool, okay?" Her lips tremble as she tries not to cry. "What you did was foolish, but we all make mistakes. The reason I got as mad as I did was because of the danger you put yourself in—you could have been assaulted or wound up in the hospital like Victoria. You understand that, right?" She chokes on a sob, nodding. "It was no excuse for me to say those things and yell at you, and I wholeheartedly apologize for that. I got mad that I couldn't get through to you and you physically pushed me away." "I-I'm sorry," she squeaks out. "I shouldn't have shoved you; you were only trying to help." "Exactly," I give her a soft smile as I swiped away the tears that rolled down her cheek, "I need you to understand that I want you to thrive; I don't want to see you fall deeper into this addiction. I know I can't magically make it disappear, but I want to be able to help you get through it. Every step of the way."

She breaks and starts to cry, burying her face in my chest again. I allowed her to let it out by kneading my fingers into her hair soothingly and kissing the top of her head. I lost count of how many times she apologized until she eventually fell asleep, holding her the whole night.

|Chapter 15|

[deviant-nomad]

This Christmas Party Was So Fun That Now I’m a Communist, by Brennan Lee Mulligan

Highlights:

[I] thought to myself, “This is the most fun I’ve ever seen anyone have. ... This is… so great. This is… completely fucked.”

This party cannot be allowed to happen again. It was too much fun! No human being can justify having that much fun. There is an indirect but tangible connection between my family’s inability to purchase health insurance, and the quality of the hors d’oeuvres at this party. The world that makes my childhood friends go on large, unnecessary detours to get a shot at their dreams is the same world that heaps largely unappreciated splendors on these party-goers. It’s not an intuitive conclusion to draw, but when you think about it, the reason this chocolate truffle tastes so good is that my brother and I went to a state school. The reason this champagne is on the house is that the house is largely on Africa, South America and rural India.

This party is so much goddamned fun and it has to be stopped.

I wondered if I had been too harsh. Perhaps there was some kind of justice to all of this that I, as the malnourished, hayseed-child of the working poor, could not fully comprehend.

In that moment, I knew that I would never again experience a party this fun. Because the next time I was at a party this fun, I’d be burning it to the ground, holding high the banner of the revolution.

--- 

If you had guessed there would be a fortuneteller at this party, you would have been dead wrong. Because there were two fortunetellers at this party.

This party was so insane, extravagant and incredible that the hosts hired not one, but two separate soothsayers. The services of two women capable of piercing space and time with their minds were required for this shindig. Next to one of the three fully-stocked open bars, there was a woman wearing a bird on her head who was reading palms. And downstairs, in a hallway filled with ancient Buddhist art recovered during the Chinese invasion of Tibet, there was a Romani woman giving Tarot card readings. I mean, take your pick, really. Do you prefer the occult prognostications of cartomancy, or the intimate and personal revelations of the mysteries of your own goddamned hand? Because this party had both.

This party was so far off the fucking chain that you could have one of two magic women tell you what was going to happen to you in your future. And if you didn’t like what she said, you could get a second opinion, and never be more than thirty feet away from a fondue pot.

There was also a magician in a tuxedo walking around doing sleight of hand tricks. So to reiterate: Three different wizards were working at this party.

This party was the most fun anyone has ever had. And something needs to be done about it.

I arrived at the party as they were still setting up. The penthouse, located a few blocks from the eastern edge of Central Park, was in a word "palatial." It felt like I had stepped out of the gilded, art deco elevator into the distant palace of some Caliph at the height of the Ottoman Empire, were it not, I should add, for the many Christmas decorations being put up by an army of party planners. Pine garlands the length of city buses, with the circumference of an elephant’s leg, wrapped around marble banisters on staircases that ascended to impossible balconies overlooking Park Avenue. Shelves lined with ancient and powerful scotches, first edition books beyond reading, paintings and sculptures by artists so French that, were I to whisper their names, I would first need to buy a Rosetta Stone app. And all of this was being slathered in artisanal glass ornaments, gilded candles, sprigs of holly and every other thing that turns the darkest part of the year into the hap-happiest season of all. Guys, this party made the trailer for The Great Gatsby look like the strip mall parking lot where two divorced parents meet to exchange their children.

In the scraps and shreds of memory that come to me from that wild night of celebration, I remember certain landmarks. As guests exited an elevator that opened directly into the foyer of the apartment, they were greeted by butlers holding glasses of bellinis, champagne and sparkling water. They walked to a floor of waitered tables and a small dance floor, while being serenaded by a rotating cast of singers and pianists. These areas were overlooked by balconies with performers and entertainers of various stripes and shades, and from these balconies led hallways that arrived at various catered dining rooms and seating areas, all cozy, lovely and intimate, all just the right size to see that, yes, other people were having fun, but not too many other people were having too much fun too close by. And throughout it all, guests were bombarded with trays of lobster, caviar and truffle oil brioche canapés.

This party was like if the Dalai Lama and Elrond Half-Elven owned a castle together, and had decided to throw a birthday party for Santa Claus. More money than I have yet made in my life was spent on this party. It was immediately the most fun I’ve ever had, and within minutes, I was deeply unsettled.

As the immaculately dressed and bejeweled guests wended their way to banquet tables of delicious food and various dance floors, they were lit from not a single actual light bulb. I don’t know when I realized it, but aside from candlelight and the glow of the city through the windows, there was not a single visible source of light in the entire party. “Why do the rich find light bulbs so distasteful?” I thought. Every light had been tucked, hidden or sequestered from view, ensconced in little cubbies or stowed underneath cabinets, so that a warm glow filled everything, and you couldn’t tell how or from where. It became almost maddening as soon as I recognized it. Where is all this light coming from? Is this why I’m poor? Too much direct light?

While I was trying to piece this together, the music had once again changed, and I peered from the balcony where I was standing, to see the hired singer and pianist walk from the small raised stage with its rented Steinway through the doors into a literal servants’ quarters, like in Downton-motherfucking-Abbey. AND THERE WAS A PARTY IN THERE! A separate party for people working at the first party! The performers, jugglers, soothsayers and probably sex-workers that had been hired by the hosts had a separate catering group attending solely to their needs. This party was so dope, it was spawning sub-parties to bolster the spirits of workers for what I’m now calling “The Motherparty.”

I ducked into the servants’ party to discover that one of the singers had a day-job at the New York Metropolitan Opera. This Christmas party was so fucking great, that one of the 16 people they hired to sing in one of the rooms is a professional Opera singer at the Met.

I began to notice how many people were working at this party. There were the many performers and entertainers, and a fleet of photographers, separate from the gentlemen running the rented photo booth, which swarmed all night with beautiful young women immortalizing their splendor. One such woman was photographed while instagramming herself in front of the photo booth, which is maybe how wormholes are created. There were business staff, house staff, building staff, the host’s personal and executive assistants, custodians, and caterers, all of whom disappeared into grey hallways, designed to be ugly but also kind of invisible, a place where the help disappeared to. When you’re rich, you can afford to have sections of your home into which you never go.

As I watched the quick, nervous movements of the help, I began to look at who was actually attending the party. I ate my free lobster and furrowed my brow. These people probably didn’t even call their free lobster “free lobster.” They probably just called it “lobster.”

I watched the beautiful children of the rich mingle and converse. Young, gay men so fabulous that I couldn’t even tell you the most basic elemental details of what they were wearing. Possibly a fabric? Maybe not. It could have been a ceramic. I just don’t have the facts. Some young Ivy League dudes, pupating senators and ambassadors. The young women were gorgeously dressed, adorned with jewels, and so beautiful that they seemed photo-shopped in person. It would be easy to write off these airbrushed debutants as vapid, but they weren’t. They all had sharp, predatory eyes and laughed quickly and with fierce intelligence. They were ubermensches, as much the daughters of their bloodthirsty, corporate fathers as their supermodel mothers. These stunning women would spend the rest of their ball-gowned lives handing out their fathers’ likely ill-gotten fortunes to worthy charities, and going to parties just like this one.

From a distance, it was hard to tell the mothers and the daughters apart. Rich women don’t age, they just desiccate. Their jewelry, hair, gowns, even their posture and attitude all stay the same as their elegant, somewhat more humid daughters. A rich young woman and a rich old woman, standing next to each other, kind of look like a snake having perfectly shed its skin.

The old men were by far the most diverse bunch. Old billionaires wear whatever the fuck they want. One man wore a maroon, velvet, three-piece suit and a paisley cravat, and he must have been sweating in it, but I couldn’t tell because he had doused himself in a cologne that I’m going to call “A Million, Billion Different Kinds Of Fruit, by Calvin Klein.” There were two shaven-headed men of Caucasian descent, wearing black hakama robes and some kind of pendants. They had white socks and sandals, and from the way people were bowing to them, I’m guessing they were some kind of religious officials, but I can’t be quite sure. Whatever faith they practiced, it wasn’t Christianity, Judaism, Islam, Buddhism, Hinduism, Sikhism, Baha’i, Taoism, Shinto, Confucianism, Voodoo, Wicca or the Dreamtime Faith of the Aboriginal Shamans. If I had to guess, I would say they were either members of the Illuminati, or we are living in the Matrix and they are priests from the remaining human city in the real, outer world.

I don’t know what religion they were from. Do we get why that’s scary? Aside from the fact that a vast chunk of my education centered on world religions and mythology, religions really want you to know about them. That’s their whole business model. They tell you why things are the way they are and then you give them money. So the fact that there’s a religion that I’m too poor to know about is deeply troubling.

These rich old billionaires were the kindest, sweetest old gents. In conversations I overheard more than once, a man worth more than my entire extended family (which is Irish and therefore vast and mighty) talked about another man at the party as “just being the sweetest soul,” or referred to a cupcake at a certain café as “sinfully seductive.” And I realized, these men may have been cutthroat sharks before, or they may have inherited their fortunes, but none of that matters now. They won. They won life. They are lions that, having killed enough gladiators, are now left gloriously alive to become old and toothless. The host of the party had an entire wall covered in plaques and trophies. I read most of them, and still couldn’t tell you what he did for a living. Because whatever he had done, he certainly didn’t need to do it anymore. His accomplishments referenced his humanitarianism, his civic heroism and his contributions to culture and civilization. So whether or not this man had worked at Bain Capital gutting companies in the American Heartland didn’t matter, because he had rescued a bunch of Tibetan art and now he was kissing other billionaires on both cheeks and saying, “Tom, I’m in love with you!” because who gives a fuck, I’m rich!

I watched these crazy old holiday wizards and their jeweled scarab wives, their Oxford sons and Cambridge daughters, and thought to myself, “This is the most fun I’ve ever seen anyone have. Louis the XVI would've shit a brick if he'd ever thrown a party this good. This is… so great. This is… completely fucked.”

I began to notice that people were looking at me funny. For a moment I became scared that they realized I was poor. Perhaps I had used the wrong fork, or a moth had flown in lazy spirals out of my wallet, or my toes had popped out of the holes in my shoes. But then I realized it was my expression that was drawing looks. I looked flabbergasted and astounded. And they didn’t.

That’s when I realized it. These motherfuckers weren’t going to the best party of their lives. They weren’t even necessarily going to the best party of their week. Who knows? Maybe one of these plutocrats was sneering at the lack of a third fortuneteller. “No augur divining mysteries from the movement of birds? No oracle breathing poison and screaming prophesies? You call this a Christmas Party!”

Well fuck that!

This party cannot be allowed to happen again. It was too much fun! No human being can justify having that much fun. There is an indirect but tangible connection between my family’s inability to purchase health insurance, and the quality of the hors d’oeuvres at this party. The world that makes my childhood friends go on large, unnecessary detours to get a shot at their dreams is the same world that heaps largely unappreciated splendors on these party-goers. It’s not an intuitive conclusion to draw, but when you think about it, the reason this chocolate truffle tastes so good is that my brother and I went to a state school. The reason this champagne is on the house is that the house is largely on Africa, South America and rural India.

This party is so much goddamned fun and it has to be stopped.

The last singer finished a tear-jerking rendition of Ave Maria, and the DJ came out. A man who looked like a young, handsome Santa Claus wheeled out his holly-studded turntable and then killed it. Every song he played was fucking perfect. Cecilia. Signed, Sealed, Delivered. Rescue Me. This goddamned DJ could do no wrong. And the patricians began to dance.

And oh how they danced. I used to think that only we poor, starving bohemians could truly dance with the hedonism and reckless abandon of our pagan ancestors. I was WRONG, guys. Starving artists don’t dance with reckless abandon. We dance like we’re trying to forget that the rent is past due. We dance to sweat off that last box of Annie’s Mac & Cheese. We dance to trick the endorphins into healing our tired, unkempt bodies.

The rich, however, dance as if possessed by Pan himself. The young and old alike gyrated, wiggled and bounced like they had not a care in the world. Sorry, let me rephrase that. The young and old alike gyrated, wiggled and bounced BECAUSE they had not a care in the world. And it was magical. Every face beamed with glorious jubilation. I saw five separate people fall in love that night, and I know it’s going to work out, because of just how good that party was. It was the most magical night I have ever witnessed, and so help me God, I will toil unyieldingly to ensure it never happens again.

For a brief moment I surveyed the upper balcony. The host and his wife smiled gaily, singing along and dancing. They looked so serene. So happy. And I saw the host turn, and start handing out tip money to the staff. $50 bills flew from his fingers into the waiting hands of the army of party workers. And they thanked him for his kindness. And he was kind. He was a kind man, this white-suited oligarch. In that moment, I wondered if I had been too harsh. Perhaps there was some kind of justice to all of this that I, as the malnourished, hayseed-child of the working poor, could not fully comprehend.

The caterers left the hall, and the DJ stopped.

That’s when I noticed that while the dance party had been happening, a Pinkberry and a Wafels & Dinges had both opened inside the penthouse.

Let me say that again.

A Pinkberry and a Wafels & Dinges both had their grand openings during and inside this party. Two, miniature, satellite restaurants with mobile service stations, serving free food, staffed by uniformed employees, with their full assortment of products, had sprouted up within the span of ten minutes. For every fortuneteller in this party, there was a restaurant in this party. And the choir sang. And the people ate. And the champagne flowed. And the two fortunetellers ordered extra nutella on their wafels & dinges. And the velvet suit fruit man hugged a young gay boy wearing a scarf with the whole Bhagavad Gita written on it and whispered, “We are never, ever going to die.”

In that moment, I knew that I would never again experience a party this fun. Because the next time I was at a party this fun, I’d be burning it to the ground, holding high the banner of the revolution.

Merry Christmas. Happy New Year. Fight the Power.

— Brennan Lee Mulligan

[purplesurveys]

1943

Are you more afraid of death or not completely living? Not completely living. Death happens to all...I can easily accept that. But I don't think I can forgive myself if I end up not living my life to the fullest I can make it.

What are you most afraid of? I feel like my answer here changes every time I'm asked this, haha. To prove that point, today I'm feeling most afraid of being helpless in vulnerable situations. Scenarios like getting raped, being held at gunpoint or knifepoint, being demanded that I turn over my wallet... stuff like that.

If you had $100 dollars, how would you spend it? Hundred percent it'd go to savings. ~5000 bucks is still a very big deal and I don't want to spend it recklessly right off the bat.

What’s something you would love to have happen right now? For traffic in this country to be permanently eradicated, lol. I came from Makati earlier today and was in a State of Shock seeing EDSA still as stacked as goddamn ever. As if it was weekday rush hour. Unbelievable. I want to go out less and less everyday – the traffic takes up most of people's energy and patience anyway, lmao.

You were given the opportunity to get a new cellular device, what do you choose? I'd go for the iPhone 16, I guess. I'm not desperate to have it since the features haven't changed much, and my 13 still feels relatively new to me; but if I get a freebie pass for a new phone I might as well get the latest version.

How nice of a person are you, honestly? Tbh I try to be as nice as I can to everyone, but I admittedly have a bias toward service crew...or, really, anyone who is from a lower income class. Parking attendants, security guards, baristas, servers, Grab drivers... god knows how other people may have already treated them or spoken to them that day. So I'm nice. It's free to do. If the meal I wanted to order is out of stock, it's not the end of the world; let's just get another one. Versus older, entitled people who'd have a meltdown if their stupid fucking pasta is unavailable.

For people who look middle class or rich, I'm also nice but I generally keep it formal, if that makes sense. I'm just nice enough to not cause a scene – mostly because I expect more from them to be more educated and be just as nice. It's also the richer people who are more uptight or act super entitled, so I've learned not to overly bend over backwards for them.

Is there anyone of your preferred sex who tends to mess with your head? My mom sometimes does.

What have you recently gotten the most compliments on? My hair, since I dyed it brown a few days ago. It's still super fresh and noticeable, so people have been telling me how nice it looks.

Do and your best friend(s) act the same, or are very different from each other? There's many overlaps but I feel like in the grand scheme of things we're more different from each other than we are the same.

On a scale of 1 to 10 how shy are you? I want to say a 6. I won't shy away from small talk, but I also gauge my level of interaction based on how un-shy the other person is. If they seem talkative, I'd definitely talk to them. But if they seem introverted or don't want to be bothered, I won't force myself on them.

Have you ever fallen for your best friend? Yeah.

Who was the last person you made plans with? I asked my sister to go with me to the vet tomorrow for Cooper's monthly appointment.

Are you currently wearing a charm bracelet? Nopes.

Do you have any embarrassing usernames? Not currently, but my first Twitter username fucking sucked lol. In my (very weak) defense it was 2008, I was 10, and nobody knew yet what constituted a good or cringy username at the time...but in any case I think it's safe to say that username aged like milk and I try not to acknowledge its existence LOL

Do you have a backpack in a shape of an animal? Not me, but my sister. Girly is OBSESSED with plushies and anything animal-themed these days, so she's racked up quite the collection of animal-shaped stuff.

Do you ever get called the quiet girl? Yeah definitely, especially when I was in grade/high school. It wasn't my favorite environment so I just waited till college to open up.

Have you ever itched yourself until your skin was raw? Yes, I have pretty bad and sensitive dermatitis :( I actually have a patch on my thigh now – it started itching on Thursday, and now it's equal parts bruise and equal parts rash. The rash I could understand, but I could not for the life of me understand why the edges started bruising.

Do you always clear your history after using the computer? No, not really. I clear my cache and cookies if I notice my usual pages not loading or if the laptop seems generally slower, but that's it. I don't want to lose past links.

Have you ever had your food stolen by a bird? Definitely could have happened before but no particular memory sticks out.

Do you have any Christmas pajama pants? Nope.

Do you ever wear red lipstick? Sometimes. Depends on the colors I'm wearing that day.

Did you go to high school with your current best friend? I did :)

Have you ever wanted to be vegetarian or vegan? Yes, when I was a teenager. I followed this vegan baker blogger who at that time for me was the coolest person in the world, and I wanted to be like her sooooo badly. I still find her very rad, but I've grown out of the vegan ambition haha. Only the super rich can afford being vegan here, anyway.

Do you like eggnog? I haven't tried it but I really want to and I also feel like I'd love it!

Who is the person you dislike the most? I dislike the people I dislike equally. There isn't one I'd have the strongest feelings for.

Girls, how old were you when you first got your period? I had just turned 10. Like, three weeks after turning 10.

Do you take part in paying the bills for your household? My parents insist I don't, but I hand them a certain amount anyway every two weeks. They can funnel that to anywhere they want.

What is your favourite way to eat rice? I mean there is no 'favorite' way for my Asian ass lmao. Rice is just rice for me; it's second nature and is in every meal I eat. Whether white rice, fried rice, kimchi fried rice, brown rice, bagoong rice, garlic rice...all of them are heavenly and are non-negotiables for me, hahahah.

Do your parents know how to text? Yeah. They were pretty much the generation that started the phone craze.

Do you text your parents often? Ish, but it's just in the nuance. I talk to/update them on Messenger all the time, but not so much in text format.

Do you watch Youtube videos often? I love YouTube hehe, I watch videos on it all the time and allot a few hours each day.

Do you prefer to have a lot of friends? No. Too exhausting at this point.

Do you sleep with one blanket or many blankets? Just one. You'd only ever need one here.

What is the FIRST thing you do when you wake up? Check the time and do the mental math re: how long can I keep sleeping. If I don't feel like going back to sleep anymore, I check Reddit for news.

What do you usually have for breakfast, if you do at all? I don't have breakfast; I'll just have a cup of coffee.

Do you have any rituals you perform before you leave your home for the day? Erm, not really. I have a basic routine, but not a ritual. I just put on minimal makeup, fill up my tumbler with water, and say bye to the dogs lol, nothing special.

Have you ever cried in front of your parents over a boyfriend or girlfriend? Nope.

What brand is your digital camera? I don't own one.

Who was the last person to cook something for you? The real, correct answer to this would be the crew at Yabu since I ordered food delivery from them for lunch today, haha.

Do you talk to any of your ex-boyfriends/girlfriends? Nope.

Do you know where your best friend is? She's either home or out somewhere with her fiance.

Who was the last person to comment you on Facebook? Angela, I think.

What is your display picture of on Facebook? It's me posing in front of the concert arena before Yoongi's show.

Have you ever kissed the same sex? Sure.

Have you stuck with your New Year's resolution? I don't make any.

Do you need to lose any weight right now? Nope.

When was the last time you had a period? Around two weeks ago.

How frequently are you inclined to read, and how much? Not very frequent at all, honestly. I just don't have the time; and when I do, I usually don't have reading as a priority. Maybe once or twice a month would be a good estimate.

How does the rain affect your mood, if it does? I like the rain and find comfort in it more than anything.

Chipotle order? We don't have Chipotle here, but Army Navy does have a Chipotle chicken sandwich that's literally my favorite fast food order.

Mythical creature you think/believe is real? Well, none.

Favorite form of potato? Fries.

First thing you’re doing in the purge? Idk but I think I'd definitely be hyperfocused on protecting the dogs.

Are you one of those lucky people with 20/20 vision? No, not since I was like 10. I don't even know who I inherited it from; my mom and dad have never needed prescription glasses, and yet I have horrible eyesight.

When was the last time you spoke to the last person you kissed? December 2020.

Have you ever been your friend’s shoulder to cry on? Of course.

Grab your keys and tell me what each one is for. I only have two – house key and car key.

What is your wine of choice, if any? I don't have any. I drink wine quite often but was never interested in learning the different kinds. All I classify them as is either This Is Okay or This Is The Worst, lol.

Is your bed against more than one of your walls? Yup.

Have you ever made out in your room? Last time? Sure. 4 years ago.

Do you have a crazy aunt? I can think of one Trump fanatic grand aunt and anybody who's on that side of the political spectrum is crazy, so.

Have you ever been to an art museum? Of course. Lots of them.

What fictional character/s remind you of yourself? Diane Nguyen and Monica Geller.

Are you afraid of spiders? A little bit.

Are you afraid of snakes? Only if they're out to kill me, lmao. Otherwise I've held snakes before.

Do you often post about politics on social media? Of course. To stay silent is to oppress.

[gamesbyalbie]

So, I started writing something this past week (inspired by DPR Ian's incredible music video for Don't Go Insane, and my feelings about [redacted]). This is all a work in progress and I'll be releasing it in sections. Anyways, here's the first part of...

The Cursed Journey

PART 1: PROXY

I don't sleep anymore. Anxiety and caffeine provide me with the energy I need to live and free up hours of otherwise wasted time. 

However—quite unfortunately—they've also stolen my ability to rest.

Most nights I lie in bed for 30-45 minutes but that's merely a formality, a tribute to a past life, a wish I'm certain will never come true. I get nothing from it—except for rare occasions where I stray close enough to dreaming to scrape up a bit of creative fodder—but it's one of the only things I do for myself.

Actually, it might be the only thing I do for myself.

It's not like I do it for long—I couldn't even if I wanted to (which I don't). It's just one half hour out of a full ass 24. Statistically, that shouldn't be the time when I get the most surprise calls. Yet, somehow...

"Fuck me. What now?" I growl, slapping my hand over my phone. It tumbles off the nightstand, because of course it does. A deeply dissatisfied groan rumbles out of my chest like distant thunder. Taking the sheets with me, I crawl halfway out of bed.

This is the third time this week. Who the fuck is it? I wonder, arms supporting my torso while my legs are still on the mattress, looking like I'm waiting for a wheelbarrow race to start. There's something degrading and weirdly primal about this position—stretching to reach my phone, grunting like an ape. I swear, if it's Michael, I'm going to—

The Ward

My blood runs cold. Shit. My arms start to shake. I slip down onto the floor and stare at my phone. It rings several more times before I finally gain the courage to answer. I press the button and a hologram of a woman's face appears. I recognize her and her bob vaguely—she has very distinctive bangs—but I can't remember her name. "Hello?"

"Hi, I'm calling for Ody Specter."

I can't tell if she genuinely doesn't recognize me, if she's being polite and pretending, or if she's following some kind of script. Then again, maybe I just look like shit. "You've reached them." I lean against the sharp edge of my bed frame. The discomfort clears some of the fog from my mind.

"Hi. This is Kelly calling on behalf of the Writer's Ward. Are you sitting down? I'm sorry to say that I have bad news."

That's all you call with, I want to reply. Instead I say, "What is it?"

"It's—"

"Is it Min-joon?"

"Oh, uh, no." She stammers. With how surprised she looks, you'd think I'd just jumped out of a wardrobe wearing nothing but a jester's hat. Probably the script then. "No, um, Mr. Park is stable as far as I'm aware."

The weight crushing my ribcage shifts. Nothing's alleviated, but it changes in nature.

"It's actually Kim Ji-yeon." There's a pause. "Mx. Specter?" Silence. "Did... did the call freeze?"

My mouth hangs agape. Less than two hours ago I was venting my frustrations and fears to Ji-yeon. She was comforting me. My brain cannot process this information. How? How could she— 

"Ji-yeon, she... is she there?"

"She's in transit to the facility."

"What? Uh, when? When did this happen?"

"Around 15 minutes ago." Damn, they move fast. Not that I should be surprised. This is their sole purpose and there's been no shortage of practice. "She made an alarming call to her editor. By the time emergency services reached her apartment, she was unresponsive."

How did the curse get her? Ji-yeon was the best of us. Of the few remaining writers, I would've picked her as the most steady, the most consistent and confident. Hell, she has two new books slated to come out next week.

Maybe... did I not see it? Could I have done something? Was it obvious? Min-joon would have noticed. No, shut up.

"I see. Um..." I rub the back of my neck while trying to force my eyes to stay open. I need coffee asap. "Okay. You need me to come down?"

"Yes, she'd selected you as her proxy. We need you to sign the onboarding documents for her. I believe you're familiar with—"

"Yeah, I'm well-acquainted with the process." Kelly's still relatively new. I'm certain I've done this more times than her. "When do you need me there?" I glance at my watch. 03:17.

"The flight carrying her is set to arrive within the hour. Can you make it here by then?"

"Sure." My fingers pinch the bridge of my nose. I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting off an inevitable headache. "I'll be there in ten."

"Great. Thank you. So sorry to bother you, I know you're probably hard at work. I apologize if this is distracting or..." She probably means to say "puts you at risk" but she's smart enough to leave that unspoken.

"It's no problem. I'm," not happy. "I'm more than willing to do this for Ji-yeon. She would've done the same for me."

She literally would have. It occurs to me that I'll have to select a new proxy. Maybe I should just sign my own papers now. No, shut the fuck up. "Anyways," I tear my mind away from that disturbing thought. "I'll see you soon."

"Alright, see you. Thanks again."

End

My hand falls limply to the floor. The phone clatters onto the concrete. I allow myself a few seconds to stare into space, but I have no time to spare. That's more clear now than ever.

My knees crack as I rise to my feet. I'd been sitting weirdly at my desk all day. In general, yesterday was a bad day. I barely passed 15,000 words and Michael's already breathing down my neck. Almost a month has passed since my last big release. I've been worried, fearful that my well was drying up.

"You're too hard on yourself. Go to bed. Reset your brain."

Ji-yeon told me that. She's the reason I was in bed. Shit. She knew I was "asleep." Is that why she called her editor? Would she have called me if she—

I get dressed quickly. Forcing myself to stop thinking. Well, thinking about that. My mind turns to stories, to the words I'll have to write on the ride over, because I can't stop now. 

This... this can't happen to me.

I won't let it.

End of Part 1 of ? • NEXT PART

More Cursed Journey • More by Albie • Image Source

The amazing music video that inspired this:

[011naked-thoughts]

Oh me?

I value familial connections

But not just between family members but also friends

I enjoy supporting and uplifting other women and

went to an all girls school which taught us in topics

Like philosophy, languages, sciences, mathematics,

etc. I was always the top student in all of my elementary school so it was very enlightening to come to high school and be surrounded by extremely intelligent individuals. I felt like I had to push myself harder because I was on scholarship but I also did so lazily lol. In high school, I mainly tried super hard for topics I cared about which included Latin.

My friend Brittany and I were vying head to head very year to get the Latin Scholar Pin at Graduation. I knew her scores were high on every test for the 4 years like approx 96-97% so I had to basically get 99-100% on all my Latin examinations to win this pin.

There were times I was super lazy and would wait the hour before class test to study and memorize Latin but because it was just memorization really I knew I could do it quickly. Sometimes I also enjoyed putting my brain through these “under pressure” situations because it was fun. I would sit in my high school’s chapel and memorize passages of the Latin form of the Aeneid etc.

When I was elementary school, education was extremely easy. I scored in the 98-100th percentile on average for all New York State examinations and it was fairly easy. However there was some feelings I felt I had tied to being a bright student. At times I felt like I studied to impress my parents and before long that sort of acknowledgment because too tied to my self esteem.

When my personal life became volatile, I also struggle in school. Because I felt like I had to detach myself from doing things just for the sake of what people wanted me to do. I just wanted to do what I wanted to and at times I would rebel specifically against something if I knew someone wanted to me do certain things especially if I didn’t personally want to.

In college, I struggled with my education because I didn’t care about it at all, I was struggling with my family and personal life, heartbroken generally, friendships were all too intense, and it was super hard because my parents also expected me to commute. Which looking back was a huge obstacle to my education as I was super exhausted all the time but I was too much of a perfectionist to speak up.

In college, I was struggling really bad with relationships so I would fuck around and go into tests almost in a zombie mode and I largely circled random answers and just really didn’t care much. I failed out of pharmacy school but I was too scared to tell all my friends at that point and even you.

Back tracking a bit, there were some high points of college even though I struggled. I definitely enjoyed theology classes and considered minoring in theology at one point. I enjoyed volunteer service and I was happy to stumble into Alpha Phi Omega.

Right after graduating high school and before starting officially at SJU, I worked my first official official job at the Office of Education at SJU. I was a secretary to the Director of the Manhattan Campus school of Education.

I worked in the office downtown by Battery Park and I did enjoy it. It was very leisurely and graduate students of the education school would come by for help with administrative tasks. I always found I enjoyed working more than going to school, so I always focused on working extremely hard.

I found a lot of value in work and I felt I learned so much more hands on than school and I also got paid so I enjoyed that. During this time I was also volunteering at this elderly care center in the UWS for over 3-4 years so as I started this naive journey into Pharmacy - I leveraged my volunteer work with a program at SJU so that I could get paid for volunteer hours and transitioned from Volunteer Associate to Pharmacy Associate at the Hospital.

I felt sad for the elderly at the care center because a lot of patients had no visitors and were extremely lonely - so I tried to help as much as I could. I pushed elderly people from their rooms to the main auditoriums for Shabbat services and fun activities etc - then when I transitioned into the Pharmacy Department / I started making medication deliveries to different floors.

After that I worked at Mad Square Pharmacy for 4+ years and became a great technician. My guy friends said they had no idea how I counted hundreds of prescriptions so fast but it eventually was body memory. Pharmacist enjoyed working with me so I was requested to work at multiple different pharmacies if I was needed. After four years it became too easy for me to destroy a queue and I felt suffocated by the routine of the just everyday behind retail pharmacy and I was failing out of pharmacy school because I didn’t study for my tests but I was good at my job.

After that I moved on to an extremely toxic workplace but it did push the boundaries for music education and gave me a taste of working in a connected field. Going to events meeting the Mayor and planning Galas definitely got to my head and also I drove myself sick to a mental breakdown, sadly.

Of course every downfall has a some silver linings and some magical things happened to me even in the darkest places. After this chaotic time, I ran away to Australia and my mental health was extremely weak and I felt very disconnected from myself….

Flash forward and

I was working in a Physical Therapy office in the city. It was a super easy but low pay margin job but it was great place for relaxation and healing for me. The job was extremely easy and the doctors would say that my friend who preceded me in the position would make a lot of mistakes everyday and I rarely if ever made a mistake.

I’m a bit of a perfectionist when it comes to work.

After that I entered another toxic workplace in sales. Although toxic - I was super inspired by young people my age who were pushing the envelope to push themselves forward. Walking onto a sales floor back in 2018/2019 was so exciting.

I achieve great things here even though I fell off. I am still super proud of myself of how far I got, how much I learned, and being able to close 3 deals in one day and score a hat trick was the cherry on top.

Flash forward to now, life has been up and down and around - but still I am focusing on being extremely consistent with my work. I super enjoy waking up everyday and connecting with people globally and helping move situations forward with a purpose in a corporate sense.

My dream currently would be to become Director of Asia Division but that could be a made up position lol. Even in my current job - although at times there are some emotional situations - I’m so proud of myself for doing more this year and pushing my work boundaries and impact on the global supply chain industry. I never thought I’d even have the opportunity to move yearly contracted projects with global corporations.

I’m definitely team oriented and as I work more and more / I realize every one has bad and good days and sometimes someone’s bad day doesn’t define them. Good thing my memory is extremely selective so I try to just move on and forget if someone pisses me off.

I’m happy to have acted as some sort of guider or role model to my junior co-worker. I’ve seen her struggle and grow so much and it’s amazing to see her move out on her own and also personally impact and impress the global supply chain industry.

I realize I enjoy helping people solve problems, but I’m also trying to solidify my boundaries so I don’t get caught up in others’ lives before solving my own issues.

I love the misfits .. the outcasts … the rejected.

Brings me back to when I visited a house for AIDS patients in Camden and a wheelchair community as well…I have empathy for these communities because I also feel like I’m a misfit and I’m an outcast but I do believe there’s some beauty in that.

And yes it’s true - I do very much value people who are older than me. I’m glad I got to connect with my grandma earlier this year and my heart felt super squishy and stuff when I was able to give her a scarf when she was here :) hehe

Wow you told me to tell you about me

And then this happened

[katerin-no-kulikova]

I got a semi-fucked up story from my grocery run today. It includes general fuckery from some men who failed the vibe check, so skip if that makes you uncomfortable.

So there I am, killing a couple of minutes in a smith's parking lot, catching some Pokémon, when I notice out of the corner of my eye, two men frantically waving at me from a gigantic Ford pickup. This is like, the kind of pickup that is ridiculously tall. So I roll down my passenger window and one of the guys starts trying to sell me his services to fix the dent on my car.

I've had this dent for years, and save for an attempt to fix it myself, I've largely left it be. It's in a weird spot, but it ultimately doesn't effect the functionality of the car.

While I appreciated the guy's commitment to the hustle, I was ultimately just there for groceries and didn't even have any cash on me. I asked for his business card in case I actually got around to getting the dent fixed. This is when my moderately annoyed feeling went into bad vibes.

He starts talking about a "one day only" price and quotes me $250. I tell him I can't do it today. And he starts on about how he can "do it right here" and he has his tools and "I have samples". I tell him I can't do it today, sorry. He talks about how car metal is like a soda can and he can pop the dent right out. I tell him "I've tried that. It's NOT as easy as you're saying". He says he'll show me, gets out of his truck, and walks to the back. I roll up the window and call my roommate, despite the fact that she's at work, halfway across the large city we live in.

The call goes to voice-mail. Shit. So I cross my fingers and call my other roommate's boyfriend. (my other roommate is out of town so he wasn't an option) To my surprise and relief, he's not at work, and gets to the parking lot in under 15 minutes. The guys in the truck pulled away as I started visibly losing my composure on the phone, but they continued to drive around the parking lot.

We went in and got the two goddamn things I came for in the first place, and we thoroughly checked my car when we got back. Didn't find anything that shouldn't be attached to the car, and no airtags detected. At that point the truck that I had been stressing out about had left and we went our separate ways. I swept the undercarriage more thoroughly when I got home and found nothing.

Hopefully I don't see that truck around my neighborhood. All three of us involved got huge human trafficking vibes from the whole thing. I told the manager in the smith's about it, but it sounds like the truck guys do this a lot and the store doesn't seem to give a shit.

If I had ignored my instincts, best case scenario, I would've given them the money and they would've fucked up my car a bit. Worst case, they abduct me and sell my organs or worse(we all know what worse is).

So if you're going to fuck around on your phone in a parking lot, keep your goddamn doors locked. Keep a weapon in your car(I have a machete between my seat and the console). And TRUST YOUR GODDAMN INSTINCTS. If you even have an INKLING that something is off, DO NOT LEAVE THE CAR. Call someone if you can. Call the police if you're so inclined. If you can't call anyone or you start getting too scared, set off the car alarm, honk like crazy, turn on your hazard lights. DO NOT LEAVE THE CAR.

I've had people try to peddle shit to me before. I've bought junk off of people in parking lots because they clearly need the money. There is a huge difference between the lady who sells incense in the walmart parking lot and what the fuck happened today. Stay safe people.