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missmentelle · 4 years ago

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Hi MM/Bee! I'm a recent college graduate. I always worked hard in school and I matured a lot at college, but I'm realizing how low my self-esteem is. I'm obsessing over the things I haven't done/accomplished, scholarships I never applied for, my body image, my high school days, "not being as successful as my high school class", an old crush who I never talked to (who is already super successful), and some days I feel like I messed up my life beyond repair. How do I work on self-love? Thank you!

For starters, I think it’s important for you to know that you aren’t the only person feeling this way. I get similar questions all the time, often from people who aren’t even out of their 20s yet. It isn’t even remotely true that you need to achieve wild success by age 25 or you’ve wasted your life, but I can understand why so many people feel that way.

Our culture is dangerously obsessed with productivity, youth and achievement, to the point that it is actively making all of our lives miserable. It’s not hard to understand where people get this idea that they’re failing in life if they aren’t a 20-something well-travelled millionaire - that is the message our culture throws in our faces all the time - and it’s so unbelievably untrue. We compile “top 30 under 30″ lists, celebrate incredibly young performers and entertainers, and hold up extremely high-achieving lifestyles as something that every one of us needs to be striving for, but we don’t - there is no timeline for “success”, there is no one true definition of success, and people will take wildly different paths in life to arrive at the same set of goals. What you think of as your failure is not actually your failure - it’s a cultural failure that so many of us fall victim to.

I think it’s also important to remember that you haven’t messed up your life beyond repair: you’ve barely started your life yet. Your college years are supposed to be a time of growing and maturing, and that maturation doesn’t end the moment you cross the stage - you’re going to continue to learn and change and grow throughout your lifespan. And growth means you are always going to mess some stuff up - that’s how we grow. All of us have to make mistakes in this life, and all of us have to prioritize rest sometimes; there are always going to be tests we don’t do so great on, social situations we flub, scholarships we don’t apply for, crushes we don’t confess to, deadlines we miss, relationships we let fall apart and goals we don’t achieve. Nobody speedruns life with 100% completion. And that’s okay. Those missteps and mistakes are what teach us to do better next time, or they give us the time to rest and gather energy for the next goal we want to work toward.

Of course, learning to accept yourself and let go of cultural conditioning is easier said than done. For many of us, it’s a lifelong journey, if not the overarching theme of our lives. I wish there was a simple way to achieve it. I do, however, have some tips that can help you get there:

Unplug from productivity and self-improvement culture. Going online and seeing “Shakespeare wrote King Lear in quarantine, here’s how to maximize your quarantine time” and “here’s how I became a millionaire by age 22″ is not actually that motivating - in all likelihood, it’ll just make you feel bad about yourself. The internet is an absolute firehose of content about how you can do more, achieve more, squeeze more out of your day, and it’s completely overwhelming; honestly, most of us feel better when we stop pointing that firehose straight at our own face. It’s easier to believe that you are enough when you stop consuming content that tells you that you aren’t. Self-improvement culture looks positive on the surface, but we aren’t actually making ourselves better people by obsessing over our work and productivity - we’re just making ourselves miserable.

Ask yourself “who benefits from making me feel bad about myself?” It’s not a coincidence that we’ve built a culture obsessed with youth and productivity - that culture is making a lot of people very, very rich. Whenever you can be convinced that you aren’t thin enough, not pretty enough, not good enough, you can be convinced to run out and buy things that might fix the problem. That’s how we ended up with a $10 billion dollar self-improvement industry and a $532 billion dollar beauty industry. Content people are harder to sell to. Of course, knowing that people are profiting off your insecurities doesn’t magically make the insecurities go away - but it’s important to start thinking critically and asking yourself “where do my insecurities come from? Is there really something wrong with me, or is someone profiting from making people like me feel this way?”

Do things that make you happy, just for the sake of doing them. Paint a picture. Plant a garden. Learn to play the mandolin. Read cheesy romance novels. Find some things that you enjoy doing just for you - things that you don’t need to maximize, monetize or optimize. You don’t even need to be good at them. If you enjoy doing it, have at it. So many of us are encouraged to suck the joy out of our hobbies by turning them into a “side hustle” or another regimented form of self-improvement. Find some activities that just make your life better and do them, just for the sake of doing them.

Examine the role of social media in your life. Most of us don’t post a complete, unedited view of our lives on social media - we just post the highlights and keep the tough stuff - the rejections, the times we got ghosted, the bad hair days - to ourselves. And even if you know that cognitively, it still sucks to log onto social media when you’re having a “blah” week and find yourself bombarded with other people’s engagement announcements, med school acceptances, wedding pictures and photos of the new homes people just bought. Social media forces you to compare your “average” to everyone else’s “best”, all the time. And the numbers don’t help - social media lets you do an exact comparison of how many followers and likes you have compared to someone else, and seeing someone get more positive feedback than you can sting. Working on self-love means taking a hard look at the impact social media is having on your self-esteem. How much of your time do you spend on social media? How do you feel after you use social media? Are you following accounts that make you feel better about yourself, or worse? Do you ever feel bad about the number of likes or followers you have? Do you feel like your time on social media is wasted? Do you follow accounts that make you feel better about yourself, or worse? Stepping away from social media for your mental health is an important move for some people - you can still be happy for your friends and loved ones while acknowledging that it’s not good for you to have their achievements broadcast to you 24/7.

Surround yourself with good, supportive people. If you find that your circle of friends tends to diminish each other’s achievements, be overly critical of each other or go out of their way to one-up each other, that’s probably not a circle of friends that’s going to be good for you in the long run. Find people who are genuinely happy for you, and make you feel supported and loved for who you are. If that means you need to branch out of your current social circles, that’s okay - you can find great friends in surprising places, and it’s worth the initial awkwardness of getting to know a new person.

Challenge your definition of “success”. Success does not have to look like a high-paying job and a giant house and expensive cars and 2.5 honour roll children. It certainly can look that way, if you feel that those are meaningful goals for you, but it doesn’t have to look that way. A doctor is not necessarily “more successful” than a poet, and a lawyer is not necessarily “more successful” than a stay-at-home parent. The only person who gets to define what a “successful” life looks like is you. It takes time to unlearn the social conditioning that “money and prestige = success”, but it can be done. Success looks different for all of us.

Set goals that are personally meaningful to you. It’s important for all of us to think critically about what we want, and it’s even more important to think critically about why we want it. Do we want that degree program or that accomplishment or that job because it aligns with our interests? To impress others? To prove someone wrong? Or because we feel like we’re supposed to want it? Try to focus your energy on the goals that you want, that are personally meaningful to you. If that’s law school, great. If that’s selling homemade jam at the farmer’s market, that is equally great.

Remember that success does not have a deadline. I know this is very hard to believe in your early twenties, but your dreams do not shrivel up and blow away the day you turn 30. Life doesn’t end when your 20s are over. You haven’t missed your shot, and you don’t have to figure everything out right now. Growth and achievement are lifelong journeys - people find their dream jobs, accomplish their goals, finish degrees and meet the love of their life in their 40s, 50s, 60s and beyond. The best book I read this year was “Where the Crawdads Sing” a novel that spent 32 weeks on the New York Times bestseller list. It also happened to be the author’s first novel, and it came out when she was sixty-nine years old. Your dreams do not have an expiration date.

Capture the joy and positivity in your life. I think one of the most important ways to feel better about your life is to spend more time focusing on all the good things in your life, rather than focusing on all the ways you could be better. Rather than fixating on whether you could have applied for more scholarships or turned that B+ into an A-, spend more time reflecting on the happy memories you have of your time in college. Again, this isn’t something that will happen overnight - it’s a learned skill that you need to consciously work on. Interrupt yourself when you are starting to fixate on things you could have done better, and make yourself list out three things you enjoyed about college. Connect with old college friends you haven’t heard from in a while. Try to take more notice of good things in your life as they happen to you - take more pictures, keep a journal, make collages, start a scrapbook, keep a box of momentos. You don’t need to have a perfect life to be happy; it’s okay to work on being happy with the life you have.

Best of luck to you! MM

#Anonymous #AnsweredByMM #askmissmentelle

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gasp-iwrotesomething · 4 years ago

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I think we all caught baby fever 🤣 could you write a pregnant Xenia and her feelings over having the opportunity to have a child and getting to fulfill her dreams with mc? And MC is there to offer love and support of course xD thank u!!

Well in that case, I guess I have no choice but to write your request lol! I’d be happy to cure your baby fever, anon--and no, thank YOU for your request and I hope you enjoy! 😄

Summary: An expecting Xenia about to pop reminisces about how far she’s come since the days where her dreams seemed like they would never come true, and comparing that past to now, where she’s basking in the love and dedication of her wife and Queen of Lysende: MC.

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Xenia was happy.

And not the happy that she felt when a mission was completed or a plan was deemed effective; that was an artificial sense of happiness that didn’t match the happiness she felt now. She was content and comfortable, full of a motherly pride and elation that was a tipsy high given by the unborn child in her stomach. She runs her hands over her swollen belly, sensing the presence of the baby living within, her heart a flock of eager doves flapping away. Xenia was in a state of impenetrable bliss, one that’s only heightened by the warmth at her side. MC, Princess of the Spring Quarter, heir to the throne of Lysende... beside her, wedded with the ashen pregnant mistress. She was sewing a bib for their baby; the design one constituted by intricate gossamers and a tiny spider centered in the middle, a crown vaguely resembling the Queen of Lysende’s sat upon its tiny head. The words “A Royally Messy Eater” fringes the bib and always coerced a dim chuckle to reverberate from the Mistress of Spies. She saw the bib to be a little immature but it was to be expected of MC--no matter the title she was filed under, MC would continue to be a silly girl in a noble’s clothes. But Xenia didn’t mind; it was the woman she had fallen in love with, after all. Her beloved heir was the same MC she had chauffeured to Altadellys two years before, the one who had given her lip about trust back when Xenia’s carriage first arrived at the tavern--the same MC she had decided to revive a lifelong dream with.

That blooms a new train of thought in Xenia’s mind; one that told of redemption and unconditioned fate.

As foreseeing as the Mistress of Spies seemed to appear, she had never known that she’d find someone she could achieve her dreams with--never. Definitely not since she was widowed roughly fourteen years ago. Xenia had decided that her fate had no vision of children or becoming a mother--crafting a family with only the four of her hands. Before MC, the spymaster had been forced to give up on the dreams she had spent so long marveling, fantasizing about both when awake and unconscious. It had been difficult to convince herself to vanquish those desires and to mature out of them, but it had been done; just not effectively. As true as it was that she no longer exhausted every thought with past dreams, that wish to be a mother--to bear children and observe how they grew--never died. Like a soul trapped in a coma or what lies behind an unrelenting locked door, the desire sustained nothing but soundless wanting; never allowed to escape by Xenia’s force of nature. Xenia had forgotten the desire over time, yes, but the impulse always remained to crackle and burn like a candle wick set alight--it was only a matter of time before the dream would be uncovered, the intelligent woman remarks to herself.

Of course someone as energetic and carefree as MC would be the shovel to dig up the grave Xenia had buried years ago.

Beside her, MC squeaks as the needle she was sewing with pricks her finger. Xenia jumps and whirls around, protective mode engaging but is met with a dismissive wave. “Don’t worry, I was just a little clumsy while sewing, that’s all.” MC offers a smile that was bright as she re-attends to the half-done bib. But Xenia’s stare lasts longer than it should’ve and soon the prickle of her eyes on MC’s tanned skin is too much to bear. The heir pauses her sewing and cocks an eyebrow at her mistress, who seemed engrossed in thought that softened her eyes. “Is there something on your mind, Xenia? You seem reminiscent.” She inquires as her fingers set aside the bib. The Spymistress blinks and the faraway glaze of her eyes melts, the softness now fond for the striking woman in front of it. “I was just reminiscing about the journey we traveled to reach this destination,” as she speaks, Xenia’s hands gesture to the grey cocoon protruding from her torso--right where their beloved next heir resided, “and may I say that you’re much the same, dear. Your character has been one of consistence ever since you boarded my carriage in the Wilds.” Xenia’s rich tone is gentle and lulling, as if speaking was belittling the memories channeling in her mind.

It was ordinary for the Mistress of Spies to pertain to closeted emotions, only parting the curtains drawn over her feature long enough to gain what she wishes. But here, in her chambers with the love of her life, there were no curtains to open--they disintegrated. In fact, MC dared to say that the window beyond the curtains was open a crack; enough to lure in a faint gust of Xenia’s deepest attributes. MC notes that her features weren’t raveled or leashed--all of it was open and not second-guessed. She loved to see it, since she had spent so much time regarding the mask Xenia wore when they had first met. “Of course, did you expect a different woman to materialize once you gave me a ring at the altar?” She teased. MC abandons the bib, figuring she still had a few more weeks to finish it before the baby arrived, and sidles up to her wife. A palm presses to Xenia’s belly, the solidity of their child tangible through the sublime dress Xenia wore; the violet one that hugged her curves beautifully. “No, that’d be impertinent to you. To tell the truth, I hoped that you’d never change from the marvelous woman you were. Altadellys is full of backstabbers, who hoodwink until they’ve become an ally to you and then betray you for the sake of their benefit. But to have someone only adjoined to one personality--one of charm and vivacity, compassion and wit? That is a bargain most would launch into war over.” Xenia coils an arm around MC’s waist, pulling her closer, as she spiels about the heir with enough warmth to light a candle. MC relaxes into her wife’s caress and sighs.

“Such flattery... those memories must evoke something soft in you, huh?” Innocuously, MC taps Xenia’s side and relishes in the way her wife jolts, swatting away the heir’s antics. “Yes, they do evoke a lot of... emotion.” Xenia lingers on a word for a second too long and MC’s smile lessens, unraveled slightly by the depth her mistress’ voice contained. That alerted the princess to a second meaning that was much more unruly than a simple soft feeling. She sensed that it involved Val--of course it did, Val had been her first love before MC had reared her head into Xenia’s life. She reaches for Xenia’s hands--well, the lower set that was within her range--and cradles Xenia’s uncalloused fingers; soft despite the years of work she had mounted on her back. She was 39-years-old now, just barely at the cusp of 40, and yet she looked like she wasn’t a day over 25. Her ageless beauty was fractured by the hiccup in her chest that steepens as her wife’s emerald gaze roams her face, detecting all of the wrinkles that appeared. “Do you want to talk about it?” Wordlessly, MC insinuates that she knew what was fogging Xenia’s mind--something she often did to avoid giving the spymaster dudgeon. Xenia sighs, her hands embracing MC’s back tenderly. Then her eyes slide to MC’s and a world of emotions, both good and bad, greet the princess’. “Perhaps now is the most appropriate time to speak what’s been on my mind ever since we conceived this little rebel,” Xenia’s lips peel into a ghost of a smile, hallowed by the songbird chirping within her rib cage, “thoughts that have plagued--no, lingered--with me since you and I arbitrated to become mothers.”

MC doesn’t speak. She didn’t dare now that Xenia was dissolving before her very eyes, the walls that guarded her acidified. Xenia’s eyes regain their lost look--the faraway glare--as she affixes them to the crackling fireplace. “Remember when I told you of my dreams and how I had let go of them once Val passed?” Though it is a direct question, Xenia doesn’t search for MC’s response even though MC nods her head. “Well, I’ve been thinking about that entire predicament I had been in and now--at this crossroad in my life--I can watch without feeling lost. As if I could’ve been more at ease had my previous desires been granted.” Xenia speaks softly, her voice satiny and rich, and she pauses for a moment, her expression inscrutable besides the distant flare of longing. “Now I feel a sense of accomplishment and can bask in the reality that my dreams can live on despite their upbringer being... gone. Yet I feel guilt for Val; as I should. It was not a dream I bathed within solitude--we shared the dream and sought the day out dreams came true. But Val is unable to conceive that sense of accomplishment and I wish fate had been more generous to him--he earned more than he was vouchsafed.” Silence accompanies the end of Xenia’s sentence, relayed once MC’s mouth upturns into a courteous smile. She lures Xenia closer, hoping that the warmth she gave off would soothe her lost-in-thought wife.

“I haven’t met Val but the way you describe him... he must be a lost treasure to this world,” MC eases, praying that she didn’t go down a road that Xenia didn’t want her to travel down, but the spymaster’s soft eyes are still tender as they admire the fire’s dance. Xenia nods, her mouth gently curling. Her expression was delightful--nothing that shut MC out with worry. Before, Xenia’s late husband was a touchy subject that often descended into the Mistress of Spies’ taking a sorrowfully sad face. Now she was able to focus on the good rather the bad, able to recognize that a dream had been accomplished. Not just her dream, but a dream that she had once shared custody with her late husband. I have never met Val but I have a feeling that he’d want Xenia happy. Perhaps, whether he’s in an afterlife or not, Val can rest happy knowing that Xenia was in a state where she could be happy--where she could continue living her life.

MC wraps her arms around her wife’s shoulders and hugs her tight. Even if she couldn’t speak for Val directly, she hoped her words would have a weight that could in turn ease the ones resting on Xenia. I just want everyone happy.

“I love you, Xenia. I’ll always be here for you and our baby.”

Xenia’s mouth loses its tension and her lips collect into a conventional smile.

“I love you as well, MC. Thank you.”

Thank you.

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Thank you for your request! I loved writing some soft Xenia for you and I hope this cured your baby fever lol 😉

If you want to request something, here’s the Prompt List, here are the Guidelines, here’s Who I Write For, and here is where you can Request me.

#xenia of the autumn #reigning passions

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tisthenightofthewitch · 5 years ago

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Ghost frontman Tobias Forge on the band’s 5th album, songwriting and what’s to come

In less than a decade, enigmatic rock band Ghost has earned a Grammy, released four albums, two EPs, a live album and its latest double-single, Seven Inches of Satanic Panic, but it has built and continuously expanded upon a deep backstory about the band members themselves — the “Nameless Ghouls.”

Each album cycle welcomes a brand new ringleader/singer, each portrayed by frontman Tobias Forge, who is the founder and sole songwriter of the band. The mythos of Ghost is now massively popular among many of its diehard fans.

Now that the Swedish group has wrapped the final North American leg of its highly extensive Ultimate Tour Named Death tour, they’re gearing up to put out their fifth album — a “heavy” one that Forge promises will be “seminal” in Ghost’s timeline.

So does that mean fans should expect to see a new frontman in the near future? Very likely, but not for a little while. For now, Forge, 38, still portrays Cardinal Copia, a charismatic and theatrical character who adds a tinge of humour to Ghost’s explosive two-hour set.

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The Cardinal claimed the throne after the “death” of Forge’s Papa Emeritus III character in 2018. He was the first to break the tradition of Pope singers in the Ghost timeline, and it seems his run will soon come to an end. Or will it? We don’t actually know.

What we do know is that next March, the “Final Gig Named Death” is set to take place in Mexico City. It will wrap the heavy promotional cycle for the band’s latest album, Prequelle (2018) — which kicked off in 2018 with the Pale Tour Named Death.

Prequelle launched the Swedes into mainstream success with its first single, Rats, which spent seven weeks on top of the rock charts. The album also included the unexpected disco-inspired smash-hit, Dance Macabre

Ahead of the band’s show in Hamilton, Ont., on Oct. 17, Forge/Cardinal Copia spoke with Global News about Ghost’s newest singles, their live spectacle, progress on the upcoming fifth album, and why he doesn’t like to record with heavy metal producers.

Global News: You’ve outdone yourself on the Ultimate Tour Named Death with not only the beautiful stage setup, but the extensive setlist and detailed choreography. It’s very humorous too, yet you still want more. Is it even possible for you to top the current show?

Tobias Forge: I’m certain, yeah. [Laughs] But it’s hard to say that without sounding like I’m soiling the one that we’re currently doing. [Laughs] I am fairly certain that a lot of the things that I have in mind right now, I will be orchestrating about a year from now. It will definitely be a vast and advanced version of what we’re already doing. You have to remember that the even though the show we’re doing right now is our most accomplished one so far, it started with us playing in theatres, and now we’re playing arenas… so the stage setup is still in its Frankenstein phase, meaning that we’re still working with the smaller production we had from first year of this tour. Right now, it’s like we’re repairing an old house, whereas next time we can start something fresh.

Similar to the production jump that Iron Maiden took from the World Piece Tour to the World Slavery Tour in the ’80s then? [Earlier on, Forge reminisced on touring with the band, which he called one of his “old heroes.”]

TF: That would be a very good analogy for it actually. [Laughs] I compare it a lot to what bands like Iron Maiden and Metallica have done and continue to do. They’ve always done it right, and so will we. Next time we can start from scratch with a production that is purpose-built for our album and tour, whereas this is more of a mixture between the stuff that we did on the last album cycle, too. It’s just extended, right? We’ll build the set from the ground-up.

Did you always know that Ghost would become such a theatrical band?

TF: I definitely always had a picture of there being a stage show, but 10 years ago, I had no idea it was going to be as [vivid] as it is now.

Are we going to be introduced to Ghost’s new frontman at what you’re calling the “Final Gig Named Death” next March? Will we meet Papa Emeritus IV? Or is it possible that Cardinal Copia might live on?

TF: Well, it’s the last show of this touring cycle, so something will definitely happen. I just can’t tell you anything about it. [Laughs] But this tour has been really incredible, it’s just time for us to do something new. As much as I love being here in Canada, I think we picked a great time (and place) to end this tour. I genuinely love being on the road. I love playing the show, and ultimately, I’m feeling very good about the band this year — who are so extremely fluid.

Overall, everything is working out really well for us, but now it’s like ‘OK, so the restaurant is just running now?’ [Laughs] You start thinking about the next one. It’s just not enough. You go, “I feel like I’ve pretty much done my thing here…” Except of course for coming in and making the infamous carbonara every night; going through the old ancient recipe, you know? [Laughs] My mind is always thinking forward though, and I’m already thinking about the next time we’re coming back here.

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You actually paid homage to one of Canada’s greatest songwriters recently, Leonard Cohen. What prompted your decision to cover something as iconic as Avalanche for your latest album, Prequelle?

TF: I think it was the one song that right off the bat just felt most Ghost-like. It would feel weird to cover Take This Waltz or something like that. It just doesn’t fit our script. It isn’t actually my favourite Leonard Cohen song. Intuitively, I’d probably choose one of his prettier songs, but Avalanche felt very Ghost-like.

What about the future of Ghost? With such a busy schedule have you even had time to think about a plan of attack for the fifth album?

TF: Oh, I think about that a lot. Currently, we’re in the planning stages of it all, which means that I’m hamstering all my material as we figure out scheduling and who’s actually going to be producing it. I’m working very hard on it right now, and as much as I often contest ideas by thinking about what I should and shouldn’t do, I know it’s easier to define that just by looking at your previous experiences.

So for example, our last four records. Having said all of that, overall, I have a fairly good idea of where I’m going with this one. I want to create a record that lives up to my lifelong dream of being able to kick-off a touring cycle in arenas, so by that logic, this album needs to be by a band that starts touring cycles in arenas. You know? You just can’t f**k around with that. You really need to be on your absolute top game.

Is Seven Inches of Satanic Panic a taste of what’s to come for this album?

TF: It’s not a taste of the new record, no. Those songs are like a side note of Ghost — still fitting in the universe, I think — but they’re definitely not close to what I have in mind. [Laughs] The new record will be more in line with the previous four, in the sense that it will feel like part of the whole story. Whereas that of the singles and cover EPs, which are a little bit more tongue-in-cheek. [Laughs] There’s a dichotomy between a lot of the things that we do though, like for example, the records and the live show.The records are like the script, or Bible, they’re not meant to feel humouristic. Whereas in our live show, we present the ideas in a humorous way. Not in a sense where we are mocking our bible or story, but in the same way that a church might go through rituals with children. Where people are giggling a little because they think it’s silly. “A-ha.” Everybody knows it’s a little stupid, but for some reason, it feels purposeful, because your kid is being baptized or whatever. [Laughs] So that’s that’s what I’m shooting for. I don’t want the records to be too fun or silly, I want them to convey a message and have a clear meaning.

Your lyrics contain such unique concepts and qualities too. Do you write Ghost’s albums all by yourself? After all, this band is your project.

TF: Usually. But what I’ve learned and cultivated a liking to do in the last few years, is collaborating with outsiders. I’ve always been accused of — especially in my own bands — not being able to work well in a team. People have said I’m just overall bad at teamwork, and that was the fact for a long time. But when I made Meliora, I did so together with a producer named Klas Åhlund — who is both a producer and a songwriter. And that’s when it dawned on me that I can work really well with people, but I need to choose who I work with. It’s like … I like kissing people, but I just want to choose who I kiss. [Laughs]I’ve been in bands where there’s always someone, or some people, who just f**king crowbar themselves into the process, and that does not work for me at all. That’s unfortunately when I become like a dictator. Whereas if I choose to work with someone, I’m actually quite flexible. Like working with any professional songwriter, you need to establish a little bit of a vibe together. [Laughs] We need to be aiming for a very similar thing. That person needs to have some sort of … hard-on for rock music, or for what we do in Ghost, otherwise, it might be hard if it’s someone who works against that.

Do you find that collaborating helps with the songwriting, then?

TF: Oh yes. You can make incredible progress in your songwriting that way, because all of a sudden you have this person who’s not at all locked into the traps of being in your band; someone who is not the bass player that suddenly wants a bass solo or the drummer who wants to make the album very drummy. If I find those collaborators, it’s like a catalyst for me to write more, write better and ultimately, step up because I want to impress that other person.

In one or two days, I’ll come up with a skeleton of a song and go, “This is my idea, this is the chorus, but I don’t really have a pre-chorus yet. What do you hear? What do you think?” And then once I hear someone else tinkering with it … I become a little bit like a husband who agreed to a wife-swap. In this case, the song would be my partner, and when I see someone else [kissing] her, I’m like, “No! Let me do this.” Then you go and you do it properly, because it wakes you up. [Laughs] It’s really all about just having to impress someone else. If I don’t make the changes right then and there, then the idea is just gonna drift away. It’s a perfect way for me to write, because it really brings me to life.

You produced Opus Eponymous by yourself, and since then you’ve worked with a completely different producer for each of Ghost’s albums, including Dave Grohl. Do you just not want to do the same thing twice, or are you ultimately trying to find the perfect collaborator?

TF: I believe that there are exceptions to all rules of course, and I believe that a good team truly is a good team. But I also believe that it’s very healthy to make sure that you don’t get stuck in your comfort zone, because it can become too comfortable. I’ve had that in the past with at least a couple of my previous producers, where we’re almost too good of friends; we’ve actually hung out so much, that we’re buddies now. And there’s nothing wrong with that, but it doesn’t always allow for further growth, which is exactly what I want to do. In this case, I have to make our fifth record. I want it to be a seminal record for us. That’s why the process right now is to find that perfectly balanced producer that is gonna make sure that we’re making a rock record — it needs to be a heavy record — but it needs to be someone who understands the factor of, “This needs to be relevant, now.”

Ghost is unique for a metal band in the sense that you don’t often work with metal producers. Is there a reason for that?

TF: I’m sure people in the heavy metal sphere might have noticed that too. … And there’s a reason for that: metal producers are very purpose-driven. They do a fantastic job and they know exactly what they’re going for. They’re experts in doing exactly that. And I have nothing against it, but that’s not what I’m trying to do. So I need to be fully aware and completely awake in trying to find the right producer for Ghost in that moment.

Klas was perfect for me. His whole professional life, he has been writing pop music and playing in Teddybears and writing records for Robyn and Ellie Goulding. You have all these different artists and this huge variety, but he started off playing prog music. He was a guitar virtuoso playing Yngwie Malmsteen/Ritchie Blackmore-type stuff. So when I came and talked with him about making a rock record, he was just like, “Yes, I’ve wanted to do that for such a long time.” It was perfect for both of us, because we were able to talk about all the common denominators. We could reference things from Euro Disco all the way to Slayer just to explain a simple idea. Whereas if you end up with the typical metal producer, they might say, “Slayer, of course. But everything else you mentioned is just ‘ordinary music.'”

I’m not saying that every heavy metal producer is like that, I just feel like metal today, as opposed to 1975, is such a defined genre, that people our age and younger have lived their entire lives knowing exactly what heavy metal is. But people who were around when they made Back in Black didn’t really know what that was. There’s so many rules now. It’s too refined. The whole culture breathes a little bit of a puritan-like conservatism. In order to make new records, I think sometimes you need to try not to think too much about all of these rules.

GLOBALNEWS.CA

#The Band Ghost #Ghost Band #Tobias Forge #Tobias Interview #Cardinal Copia

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itsbenedict · 5 years ago

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Kingdoms and Koopas: Ep. 11

K&K is a Fate Accelerated campaign set in the Mario universe, which I’m running for three players:

Bee @thebeeskneesocks, playing Kandace Koopa

Jovian @jovian12, playing Cozmo Naut

Malky @sleepdepravity, playing Dr. Chevy Chain

Last time | Archive | Next time

Previously on Kingdoms and Koopas, the crew went and shot a movie with acclaimed actor/writer/director Zip Toad, and were wildly successful! However, they did this while ignoring the fact that there was a war going on between the two magic schools, which means that a war between the two magic schools happened without them.

This time, they deal with the aftermath of that event- and end up breaking someone dangerous out of jail for reasons.

(“Pull the lever, Cozmo!”)

So, fresh off the shoot, Kandace gets a phone call from Kammy Koopa, headmistress of Kammy Koopa’s Academy for Young Witches and Wizards. She’s heard of the party’s success in recovering the Music Key from the Orbital Doom Casa, and so she asks Kandace to hand it over. Kandace agrees to do so, but here is the thing: she’s lying. She is lying a lot and does not intend to give Kammy the last Music Key.

Instead, the party hatches a scheme. They want to make Kammy think they’ve handed over the last Music Key, when instead they’ve kept it for themselves. They also want to find out where she’s keeping the rest of them, and maybe figure out what her nefarious plan is- and who she might be working for.

So they need a fake music key, right? Where are they going to get a fake music key? It’ll need to be... round...

I cannot for the life of me believe that the following was Chevy’s idea that she volunteered for, but... a plan is hatched to disguise Chevy as the last macguffin and hand her over to Kammy. Hm! That’s. Going to be. Easy?

Surely it will be easy to do this, All they need to do is make her translucent and blue and the size of a cantaloupe and have a little music note floating inside her and give off a distinctive magical signature. That’s baby school stuff.

Smallening can be achieved via one of Kandace’s spells- she’s got one for the occasion, but the drawback is that while it decreases size, it conserves mass- so small Chevy is very dense and heavy. Thankfully, Kandace has another spell, one she’s used several times in the past- it’s the spell that makes things lighter but softer/rounder, used to allow Chevy to ride along on her broom. By combining the two, the size issue is solved. They now have an appropriately-sized Chevy.

Magic is also the answer to the problem of the magical signature. Since they’re in contact with the princess of the Magic Kingdom, they’re able to call up Opal and ask if she knows the appropriate spell- and she does. Kandace can now smell the magical signatures of items and swap those smells around. (The Music Key magic-smells like mint-flavored sugarless chewing gum, and Chevy smells like formaldehyde.)

The problem remaining is... making Chevy translucent and blue. Kandace doesn’t have a spell for this, so the party heads into town to find something that might do the trick. Legitimate Merchantson is selling some translucent blue paint which surely works the way they’re hoping it does. Chet Rippo has a magical spell he claims will do the job. But what ends up catching their eye is a badge being sold at a badge shop- the Ice Ice Badge, a cosmetic badge that makes the wearer look like an ice sculpture. They walk up and attempt to exchange currency for goods and services, like a bunch of fool idiots.

The badge shop is manned by what appears to be a cardboard cutout of a glamorous-looking Squeek.

youtube

“𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚞𝚛𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚍𝚊𝚢?”

“We’d like that badge there, please.”

“𝚆𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚂𝙴𝙻𝙻, 𝙱𝚄𝚈, 𝚘𝚛 𝙿𝚄𝚁𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚂𝙴 𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚖?”

“What?”

“𝙸 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚘 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚖!”

“Um- buy. We want to buy that Ice Ice Badge.”

“𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝙱𝚄𝚈 𝚊𝚗 𝙸𝚌𝚎 𝙸𝚌𝚎 𝙱𝚊𝚍𝚐𝚎? 𝚃𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚖, 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗!”

“Please repeat the- what? Um, we want to buy that Ice Ice Badge?”

“𝚃𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚖, 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗!”

After going on in this manner for an obnoxiously long time (getting into the weeds of the button order system and stupid phone-bot behavior), the party finally manages to purchase the dang thing, which gets them most of the way there. The last element- the music note floating inside- is accomplished by cutting one out of construction paper and having Chevy swallow it. Don’t... don’t ask how that works, digestively speaking.

Point is, they now have their decoy Music Key. Kandace’s shadow, Carbonado, objects to attempting to deceive the headmistress, but Kandace patiently explains that he can’t prove Kammy isn’t being mind-controlled by a space alien, which makes it okay. That’s just logic. That settled, they head to the school to drop off their mole.

On the way to Kammy’s office, the party is accosted by Jr. Troopa, the school valedictorian- who attempts to steal the key for himself. The party opts to deliver a beatdown, but Cozmo gets Worfed and hurts his hand trying to punch through Jr. Troopa’s implausibly sturdy eggshell. It’s up to Kandace and the currently-disguised Chevy to get this joker out of the way- and Kandace has a brainwave.

“Okay, you want it? Catch!”

Kandace throws Chevy at Jr. Troopa, and then mid-throw- after she’s picked up speed- dispels the magic that makes her light enough to carry. Chevy is restored to her full density, rolls an attack, and just absolutely beans the dude with a massive crit that fills up all his Stress boxes immediately. That was... kind of supposed to be a boss fight, holy crap. [pokemon stadium announcer voice] IT’S A ONE-HIT KO!

With the jerk dispatched, the party proceeds to Kammy’s office. Waluigi, looking bitter, shows the party inside.

Inside, the party sees Kamek- the headmaster of the rival school across the street- unconscious and imprisoned in an anti-magic cage. Apparently, while they were shooting a movie, Kammy won the underground school war and took Kamek prisoner. But that’s all perfectly legal and normal- Kammy’s the right hand of the king, she can do what she wants.

The party hands over Kandace, and with the bonuses from their elaborate deception... manage to beat Kammy’s roll to see through their scheme! She’s fooled, and accepts the Chevy-Key. As promised, Kandace is allowed to take three magic items from the Artifact Storage Chamber behind her office. For Cozmo, a combination broom-backpack that functions as a jetpack. For Kandace, a book called Lifehex that lets her nullify her spells’ drawbacks once per session. And for Chevy... well, Chevy can’t talk or indicate what she wants, so Kandace picks out a prize she assumes Chevy would want: a magical pair of stick-on springy boxing glove Arms. With Arms, Chevy can finally do surgery, fulfilling her lifelong dream! Which she couldn’t do before! Is what Kandace assumes.

So Kandace and Cozmo are sent away... and Chevy is carried through a secret door in Kammy’s office, hidden behind a statue. Inside, Kammy and her hench-Waluigi Yzma and Kronk their way down a rollercoaster and into a massive underground chamber, containing a vault labeled “NOT The Actual Artifact Storage Chamber, The One Upstairs Is The Real One.” This vault contains shelves lined with actually powerful magical artifacts- the sort of thing she wouldn’t risk giving out to students as prizes.

Inside is also a table, on which sit three real Music Keys. The pink key from Gourmet Guy, the orange key from Jojora’s temple, and a green key presumably won from Kam Ekademy by Kammy herself. Chevy, ostensibly the fourth key, is placed on the table alongside them.

Kammy then begins a magic ritual with the four keys- but it becomes quickly apparent that Chevy does not hover or glow, like the other Keys do during this ritual. It’s sort of a dead giveaway that she’s a fake.

That said, though, Chevy passes her Careful roll to hold very still and not give away that she is an alive fake, and so she is left on the table as a very angry Kammy Koopa leaves to go discipline a troublesome student of hers.

Chevy is now alone in NOT The Actual Artifact Storage Chamber, The One Upstairs Is The Real One. Unfortunately, her chain was scaled way down so Kammy wouldn’t notice it, and she’s still the size of a cantaloupe, so... she’s sort of stuck. She can’t fly or climb, which means the only way to get up and out is...

oh my god an actual platforming segment in a Mario game, i can’t believe we finally managed it

So Chevy is hopping her way up the spiraling shelves lining the walls of this chamber, knocking dangerous magic artifacts off and onto the floor. She eventually makes it out a hole in the roof of the vault, and begins the arduous climb up the rollercoaster tracks- hanging on by the skin of her teeth. Literally. Or, well, no, not literally; teeth don’t have skin. Whatever. You know what I mean.

Meanwhile, Kandace and Cozmo get a firm knock on the door of Kandace’s dorm room, and wisely opt to flee out the window. They decide to loop around and sneak into Kammy’s office to free Kamek- they use Kandace’s stunt, Cantricked (use her animate broom to distract someone once per session) to send Waluigi (who was guarding the door) on a wild goose chase, while they themselves crash through the window of her office to get in.

So there’s Kamek in a cage. The cage nullifies magic, which is necessary for containing a Magikoopa of Kamek’s abilities. This means Kandace isn’t going to be able to magic up a solution- so it’s up to Cozmo. Kandace orders him to pick the lock.

Cozmo has never picked a lock before and does not know how to do it. He tries anyway, and as you might predict from the fact we recently established about his lockpicking skills, fails.

But all hope is not lost! Kandace has one more ally- her shadow, Carbonado! He hems and haws about the legality of freeing the headmistress’s prisoner- but Kamek is also technically an authority figure in the Kingdom, so he acquiesces and attempts to use his shadowy form to pick the lock from the inside.

Carbonado has never picked a lock before and does not know how to do it. He tries anyway, and as you might predict from the fact we recently established about his lockpicking skills, fails.

Also he messes up the mechanism so bad that even if they had the key, it wouldn’t work.

Which... is a useful hint, actually. Apparently this lock, though impervious to magic, can still be damaged by mundane means. This is all the encouragement Cozmo needs to start using his head- specifically, his Crystal Skull (Thanks Kandace) aspect, the thing where Kandace transmuted his skull into sapphire as part of a magical experiment. He headbutts the thing so hard it explodes.

They free and revive Kamek, and then... tell him practically everything. Mostly everything. They don’t mention that they still have one Music Key- but they do tell him that they sent Chevy in to scout. And as luck would have it, that’s exactly when Chevy finally makes it up the rollercoaster and knocks on the secret entrance door. They let her out, and she heals up Kamek’s injuries after they return her to normal.

Kamek asks them to help steal the Music Key back from Kammy, which of course they agree to. Kammy’s been acting super shady! And probably mind-controlled! So Chevy leads the party plus Kamek back down the rollercoaster, and into NOT The Actual Artifact Storage Chamber, The One Upstairs Is The Real One.

As soon as they arrive, Kamek begins laughing maniacally. He prepares a big teleport spell, and using it teleports away all of the magical items in the vault including the Music Keys, bwa ha ha! And then he thanks them for their help, because yeah that was pretty much exactly what they said they were going to do, was help rob Kammy. And since they did that exactly as promised, their business is concluded and he teleports away.

So, um. It’s unclear whether it is a good or bad thing that a different arch-Magikoopa assistant to the king is now in control of three out of four Music Keys, but that is now the situation. And at least this one isn’t actively mad at them!

...Unlike the other one, who’s probably going to find out about all this pretty soon and be totally furious at them. Hm. Well.

This seems like an excellent time to go run and hide somewhere, yes? The party heads off to lay low in Duck Hospital, Chevy’s place of work, while they figure out what exactly they’re supposed to do about all this.

Next time: nothing goes horribly wrong at the hospital, probably!

Last time | Archive | Next time

#kingdoms and koopas

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forever-rogue · 6 years ago

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The Edge of Thirty - Part 4

Summary: Everyone seems to be getting married, having babies, or “growing up.” Except Y/N. Suddenly at almost thirty, reality seems to be crashing down on her – and hard. Nothing seemed as daunting as turning thirty…until she met Gwilym Lee anyway.

A/N: Yay, part 4! Thank you guys for all the positive response on this series so far! I’m glad you’re all liking it! Enjoy some fluff before the storm! Taglist is open! xx

Pairing: Gwilym Lee x Reader

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: fluff, some sad feels (tm) (aka foreshadowing??)

MASTERLIST

It was supposed to be a blissful Saturday morning of sleeping in late and watching up to snuggles from Deacon. As luck would have it lately, routine was thrown out the window, and instead of a nice snooze, the harsh vibrating of her phone stirred Y/N from her zombie-like slumber. The nerve of someone to call this early on a Saturday.

Groaning, she stuck an arm out from under the covers and fumbled around on the nightstand for the buzzing device. After a few seconds of fruitless searching, her fingers came into contact with it and pulled it to her ear, answering without checking who it was. A big mistake.

"Y/N L/N," she cringed and immediately regretted her actions at the sound of her mother's shrill voice. She knew that tone and those inflections very well, having heard them countless times throughout her life. Her mother was livid about something. Y/N remained silent for a few moments wondering is she could just chuck the phone across the phone, "are you there?"

"Hi Mumma," she replied meekly, trying to conjure up an excuse for ending the call as quickly as possible, "I'm here."

"Are you still in bed?" internally sighing, she decided not to entertain her question, "Y/N, it's almost noon. You're a grown adult, quiet lazing about, I'm sure there's plenty of stuff you need to do.”

"Mum,” she sighed, and rubbed the bleariness from her eyes. Next to her, Deacon huffed a little bit and crawled further under covers disappearing so only his tail was sticking out, “I’m a grown adult, I think I can make my own decisions. Besides, it’s the weekend and I’ve had a long week and just want some rest.”

She tutted through the phone, clearly not believing a word coming out of her mouth. As much as she loved Y/N, she always worried about her a little more than her other kids. Y/N had always been the most wild and care free child, never one for decorum and rules, “lovey, you need to start getting your life together-”

“Mum,” she cursed under her breath, holding the phone away from her year. It really wasn’t her week, “I don’t need a lecture right now. I know you think I’m a horrible failure.”

“Y/N,” her mother sounded exasperated on the other line, “I don’t think you’re a failure, whatsoever. You’ve accomplished so much, and you deserve to feel proud. I just worry about you sometimes. All your friends are settling down and moving on to the next chapters in their lives. Especially Lucy and Becca. And Benny too. I spoke to his Mum the other day, and she said you had some kind of fight? What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing...look, I know - I know, everyone’s getting married, having babies, and it’s all super exciting!” she sat up in bed and leaned against the headboard, trying to figure out to get her off the phone. She didn’t want to get into this discussion right now. She just wanted a break, “look, Mumma, I’m going to go. I promise I’ll get up and do all the adult things I need to.”

“Lovey, just listen to me for a moment,” her voice changed a little bit, getting more tender and calm, “I love you and care about your well being, that’s all. I just don’t want you to remain the same while all your friends are moving on. It’s okay to change, Y/N, it’s okay embrace getting older. You’re not going to be a twenty-something forever. You don’t have to hang onto the bad things so tightly and refuse to change.”

“I know,” she agreed, squeezing her eyes shut tightly and gnawing at her lower lip, “I’ll be okay. Things will happen when they’re meant to. I don’t like to force things.”

“Just promise me that you’ll take care of yourself, okay? Embrace new things, go out and try new things,” she said softly, “who knows, maybe you’ll even meet a nice man. I know it was hard for you to get over him, but it’s okay to let yourself love again-”

“Love is a strong word,” Y/N shook her head and wished this conversation had never happened. She should have let the phone ring and go to voicemail. A few hot tears rolled down her cheeks as she tried to keep her voice from trembling too much, “besides, I’m not interested in anyone right now.” Lies.

“I’m not saying you have to be, lovey. Just know it’s okay to let people in and to embrace change. I love you so much, I want you to be happy,” her mother paused for a moment, letting out a long breath, “it’s okay to be happy, he would have wanted you too be happy-”

“I am happy, Mum,” Y/N cut her off then and there, not ready to traverse into the dangerous territory she tried so hard to suppress. It was too early on a Saturday morning after the hell of a week she’d had to even think about any of this. She wiped her tears away, telling herself not be weak and cry, “look, I’m going to go. Tell Dad I said hello.”

She didn’t give her mother the chance to say anything else, opting to end the call first. She tossed her phone back on the nightstand, slumping back against the pillows in defeat. She didn’t even want to get out of bed at this point, and decided she’d spend the day there, keeping herself company with Netflix. It had felt like a long week of self isolation, and she was fine with continuing that at this point. Netflix didn’t make her feel bad about every decision she made. Only about the countless hours of binge watching, and that much she could live with.

After talking Deacon for a walk and making him breakfast, or lunch at that point, she flopped back into her warm bed, not even bothering to shower. She hadn’t planned on going out today so she figured it didn’t really matter.

Looking at her phone, she played with it in her hands for a few moments, contemplating if she should call Ben or her friends. Lucy and Becca had sent her a few texts the night before to check in on her but she hadn’t responded. Not out of spite or anger, she just didn’t have the energy. It all seemed to be too much, and yet not enough, at once.

Plus, she had no doubt in her mind that Ben had told them all about their altercation - there were no secrets within their friend group. The look on his face as he had tossed the coffees into the bin had haunted her. She wished she could take it all back, apologize and explain everything in a calm, rational manner.

Knowing it wasn’t a good idea to start anything in her current state of mind, she opted against doing anything and tucked her phone away. Grabbing her remote she turned on Netflix, scrolling through numerous titles to find something to preoccupy her. After what seemed like a small eternity, she settled on The Office once again; seeing the familiar faces of her favorite characters always provided a bit of comfort.

It didn’t take however before she could feel her eyelids getting heavy, the sweet call of sleep reaching out to her. Yawning and clutching her pillow, she rolled onto her side and snuggled into the blankets, pulling them tightly around her. Soon enough, she was in a deep slumber, shifting from dream to dream.

Some included Ben, him yelling at her and ending their lifelong friendship, some included her mother and father, disappointingly lecturing her. A few even included Gwil, looming over her with a self satisfied smile on his face as he whispered as sweet nothings into her ear. It was that last bit that she woke up in the middle of.

“Jesus Christ,” she almost shouted as she awoke with a startle. Her heart was thumping wildly in her chest and she tried to calm down. It hadn’t even been a bad dream, but something had caused her to suddenly wake up. It was getting dark in her room by now, the last bits of daylight were barely streaming in through her window.

Pulling out her phone to check the time, she groaned when she saw that it was nearing five. She’d been asleep for longer than she’d planned, not that it made much of a difference when she didn’t have plans. The phone started to buzz in her hand, pulling her back into reality as she glanced at the screen, hoping it wasn’t her mother calling to check back in on her. It wasn’t - it was Gwil.

“Hello?” she asked tentatively after letting it ring a few more times, not wanting to seem to eager. But she sucked in her breath and eagerly waited for his response.

“Y/N? It’s Gwil,” that voice was almost enough to make her melt. Biting the inside of her cheek to keep from squealing with delight, she listened for him to continue on, “I hope it’s not too soon for me to be calling?”

“No,” she admitted. She liked that he didn’t mess around or feel the need to stick to all these silly dating rules people seemed to believe in, “I like that you’re calling. It means you’re actually real, not just some figment of my imagination.”

“I promised you I’d call,” he said with a soft laugh, “and I can assure you, if you’d dreamed me up, you’d probably get something a lot better than the actual me.”

As if she thought to herself. From what she had seen of him, he was utter perfection. A classically handsome specimen of a man with a sweet smile and eyes that draw her right in, “you doubt yourself so.”

“Eh, it’s all in good fun,” she could picture him, sitting there, leaned back and shrugging his shoulders casually. She didn’t know him well, but at the same time she felt like she knew so much about already. He seemed to notice her silence as she got lost in her daydream fantasies, “Y/N? Are you still with me?”

“Yeah, sorry,” her cheeks heated up as she mentally face palmed herself, “I guess I’ve been a little bit spacey as of late.”

“So I’ve heard,” he says quietly, a gentle tone to his voice, “Jenny’s noticed you haven’t been feeling yourself this week.”

“She’s a clever girl,” Y/N laughed, hoping it hadn’t been too obvious to her other students that she has been down and out for the count this week, “there’s just been a lot going on.”

“I’m sorry you’ve had a trying week,” she closed her eyes and wished she was in his arms right now. They probably gave the best hugs, “how about I try and make it a little better?”

“And how do you propose to do that?” she teased him, perking up a bit at the possibility of seeing him again, “I’m not just a cheap shag you know. That was a one time accident.”

“You consider it an accident?” he mused out loud, desperately hoping that it wasn’t true, “because I don’t. Not a typical start to a relationship, but I think we can make it work.”

“It wasn’t an accident,” she agreed quietly, the fact that he deem whatever they had a relationship was not lost on her. It was both terrifying and exhilarating to have a man, a real man, use those words.

“Are you free tonight?” he asked, you gave him a murmur of confirmation, “how about I take to you to dinner, and possibly dessert if you don’t get too sick of me?”

“I’d like that,” she agreed. peeking at her closet and wondered what to wear. She wanted to impress him, but didn’t want to look like she was trying too hard, “it’s been a while since a man hasn’t just asked me to Netflix and Chill.”

“That’s because those weren’t men, those were boys,” he stated like it was a fact, “and we can always come round to mine, if you really want to watch Netflix.”

“I’ve got my own,” she stated confidently, a surge of confidence coursing through her veins, “maybe this time you can round to my place. But we’ll see how it goes. Perhaps you’ll find me terribly drool.”

“I don’t think that’s possible with you,” he replied, and you bit the inside of her cheek to keep from squealing in delight, “How about I pick you up at six? Text me your address and be prepared to be wined and dined.”

“You’re setting very high expectations for yourself, Mr. Lee,” she giggled as she climbed out of bed and stumbled to her closet to start sifting through her clothes.

“Don’t worry, I intend to deliver,” she could just picture the smug little smirk on his handsome features, “I’ll see you soon, love.”

“Bye Gwil,” she smiled to herself as she ended the call. Looking at the time she saw it was already a quarter past five. She wouldn’t have much time to make herself look decent before he arrived at her doorstep. She stripped off her clothes and ran into the bathroom, cursing silently under breath. She didn’t really know why, but she wanted things to go perfectly with him - it was like she needed him already.

At six on the dot, a knock came at her door, causing Y/N to panic slightly. She was dressed and had her makeup lightly done, but hadn’t done much else.

She hadn’t even had the time to straighten up, leaving her flustered and feeling like the apartment was a mess. To hell with it she thought to herself as she almost tripped over a pair of shoes that she had left by the front door.

“Hey!” she almost shouted as she pulled open the door, trying to slow the thumping of her heart. It was partly due to her nerves, and from her rush to the door. He stood there, eyebrow raised with a smile on his face, and a small bouquet of flowers in his hand. Her breath hitched in her throat at the beautiful sight in front of her. He looked stunning of course, wearing a blue button up which showed off his toned torso, and well-fitting slacks., his hair styled perfectly, ��holy - wow.”

“Hello to you too,” he beamed at her, giving her the once over. She suddenly felt under dressed next to him; she had opted for a simple sundress. He stepped inside and leaned down to kiss her cheek, hanging over the flowers, “you look very pretty.”

“I look horrible compared to you,” she almost huffed, taking the flowers gently and giving them a sniff. They were lovely, just like him. Deacon scurried into the room and barked lightly at Gwil to get his attention. He bent down and obliged him, giving some scratches and pets behind his ears. She watched them closely as she grabbed a vase and arranged the flowers gently, making sure they were all properly displayed. Deacon seemed to be taken with Gwil, “he likes you. He’s a good judge of character.”

“I like him too and your place. Very bohemian,” he said as he straightened back up, tilting his head to the side and observing her. She had the faintest hint of color in her cheeks, which he had already decided he liked. She caught him staring and just shook her head, “you don’t look horrible by the way. No one will even spare me a second glance once they see you.”

“You’re such a flatterer,” she smirked, “you’ve already gotten in my pants, so there’s no need, really.”

“You’re something else, you know that?” he held out his hand to her, which she gladly took, feeling all sorts of butterflies in her stomach. No one had made her feel anything close to this in ages, “how do you feel about Italian?”

“My favorite,” she smiled at him, giving Deacon a wave of goodbye as she shut the door behind them, “just so you know, I’m already impressed. Flowers, my dog likes you, and my favorite food? I could get used to this.”

“I hope you do, Y/N,” he held open the door for her, and led her outside in the warm, summer evening breeze. He held open the car door for her, making sure she was safely inside before shutting the door gently and getting into the driver’s side, murmuring silently to him, “I sure hope you do.”

Dinner with Gwil was easy. There wasn’t a single awkward moment between the two of them and somehow, Y/N had no clue as to why, it felt like they had already known each other for ages.

He was the epitome of a dream: he pulled out her chair for her, let her order dinner, and selected a wine that went perfectly with everything.

Conversation never skipped a beat and it was easy to get lost in his stories, watching him intently as his blue eyes sparkled with excitement. He took the time to speak about himself and ask Y/N about her own life. She’d gone and told him about her awful week, her fight with her best friend, and how the world seemed to be against her lately. But he nodded in understanding and reassured her that it was all normal, a part of growing up and older. It made the heavy pit in her stomach feel a little better. If he survived so effortlessly, maybe she could too.

The two of them talked about anything and everything came that up. It was all so natural, so no moments of ‘oh I wish I hadn’t said that’ or 'oh dear’ occurred. They had agreed to be honest with one another, because after all, a solid foundation was the cornerstone of a successful relationship. And Y/N had done that - she had been brutally honest about everything. Almost everything.

“Have you ever had an actually serious relationship?” Gwil asked as he took a bite of steak, flushing it down with a sip of red wine. Y/N froze in time, gripping her fork so tightly that her knuckles were starting to turn ghost white. For whatever reason, he hadn’t noticed, “love?”

“No,” she choked out, avoiding his cerulean gaze as she intently stabbed at the pasta on her plate. Part of her was nagging at her to just to tell him now, to tell him the truth, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Not now, “not really. I hope that doesn’t turn you off.”

“It’s not a big deal, just my curiosity,” he gave her a sly wink, nudging her foot with his gently under the table. This time he had noticed a different look in her eyes, but chose not to bring it up just yet.

“What about you?” she asked, wondering what he would tell her. It was hard for her to believe that someone like him, an almost unreal iteration of a man, was a perpetual bachelor.

“Ahh, I was wondering if you were going to ask. You’re a curious little thing, aren’t you?” he cheekily raised his eyebrows at her, causing a rush of blood to flow to her cheeks, “I was…engaged to be married for a time.”

“What happened?” she almost blurted out, her interest peaked and at an all time high. The corner of his mouth lifted slightly, but the half smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“We were together for about three years,” he admitted, “and after two years I asked her to marry me and she said yes. About halfway through planning the wedding I found out that she’d been sleeping with one of my colleagues for almost two years. Needless to say, things did not end well.”

“I’m so sorry,” her heart broke a little for him. He seemed liked such a genuinely kind person, it was hard to imagine anyone doing this to him. He left a small laugh and shrugged his shoulders as if to say 'c'est la vie.’ She reached over and grabbed his hand, “no one deserves to have their heartbroken like that, especially you.”

“I’m not hung up on her in the slightest. Besides, it was already almost two years ago now,” he leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice so only she could hear him, “I hope I haven’t scared you off, Y/N. Because I really like you already.”

“I really like you too, Gwil,” she bit at her lip slightly.

Gwil had promised her dessert and made good on his promise, just like the gentleman he was. He had taken her to his favorite little shop, a hole in the wall unsuspecting sort of place, and had let her have free reign. The two of them left the shop with big bowls of the most delicious ice cream, brimming with toppings.

“Why don’t we go back to my place?” she suggested, trying to not seem just desperate to get in his pants. She just genuinely enjoyed his company and wanted to spend more time with him, “that way we can eat dessert in peace. Plus, you can enjoy my awful Netflix suggestions.”

“That sounds like an offer I can’t refuse,” he agreed, deciding to be cheeky and take a bite of her ice cream. She jokingly pouted as he made sure to like every last bit of the spoon, “are you just going to keep staring?”

“Oh, shut up and get in the car,” she had gotten caught staring again. Oh, what he must have thought of her.

“Please explain to me why you’ve got this many movies and shows on your watch list, when all you do is watch The Office?” he flicked through her queue and she smacked his arm in defeat. They were cuddled up in her bed together, deciding to forgo the awkwardness of cuddling on the couch before moving into the bedroom. Besides, that bridge had already been crossed.

“Because it’s a relatable and re watchable show,” she insisted, finishing off her last bits of ice cream. He snickered but decided to oblige her and put it on where she had left off from, “you don’t have to watch it just because of me!”

“I want to though,” he promised her. He put his arm around her, and she instinctively snuggled into his side, resting her head his chest. He smelled delicious; a warm, musky sort of smell mixed with his natural body chemistry. It was almost intoxicating. His heartbeat was strong and steady and she closed her eyes, listening to the rhythm, “besides, I’ve technically never watched any of this show.”

“What!?” she was feeling wide awake and eagerly grabbed the remote from his hand. She paused the show and looked at him, putting a hand on his cheek, “Gwilym Lee. You’ve singlehandedly missed out on the best show of the century! We’re doing this properly – from the beginning and you’re going to watch every episode with me and only me.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” he gave her a dazzling smile, “but I’ll agree to your terms.”

“Good,” she quickly scrolling to the very first episode, “now sit back and enjoy.”

They made it through several episodes, before she felt herself grow tired with sleep. He still held onto her tightly, tracing shapes into the exposed skin on her arm, as she had laid on his chest. His long legs were tangled together with hers, and he was sure this was the most comfortable he had ever been. Having her in his arms felt righter and more natural than just about anything else.

He started to feel himself slip away, and noticed she was snoring ever so lightly. He smiled and kissed the top of her head, which caused her to stir slightly.

“Gwil?” she asked as she turned and looked up at him, glad he had stayed with her, “you’re still here.”

“I wasn’t planning on leaving,” he confessed, feeling suddenly shy under her probing gaze, “u-unless you want me to?”

“No,” she said firmly, shifting so she was looking at him completely, “stay with me.”

He reached over and grabbed her face gently, pulling her in for a soft, sweet kiss, the taste of ice cream still lingering on their lips. When he pulled away, she beamed at him and give him one last peck before laying back down and facing him, ghosting her fingers along his jawline, stopping when she reached his chest. Part of her was screaming at her to just keep going and have him ravish her, but the larger part was content with this – lying down and gently gazing into each other’s eyes. It was sweet, and it made her heart flutter to find him looking back at her with such adoration.

He draped an arm around her waist and pulled her close so their bodies were against each other, and nuzzled his face in the space between her neck and shoulder. He hummed in content, and they remained still like that for a while. It was, to put it simply, perfection.

The next morning, Y/N woke up and found herself in bed alone. She frowned at the realization that he had gone and left without saying a word. She slipped out of bed, but stopped when she heard humming and light singing coming from the kitchen. Poking her head out, she spied Gwil there, cooking away, Deacon watching him intently for any scraps of food. He must have felt her eyes on him, because he looked up and gave her a smile and a wave with his spatula.

“Good morning, darling,” he beamed as she walked over to him. He leaned across the island and gave her a gentle kiss, “hope you’re hungry!”

“You stayed,” she breathed out, still soaking it all in, “and made me breakfast?”

“I took Deacon for a walk this morning too. I had fun with the little guy,” he added liked it was no big deal, “besides, I promised you breakfast after our first…evening together, so I’m making up for it. I make good on my promises.”

“I…thank you, Gwil. That’s very kind of you,” a new weird coursed through her veins. It was a feeling of such appreciation, happiness, and gratitude. She wasn’t sure about a lot of things in life, but she was already sure about him. That was the one thing she knew. Gwilym Lee was a keeper.

Monday morning had come around way too soon. She had been sad to say goodbye to Gwil the evening before, he had stayed over at hers the rest of the day, the impending doom of the upcoming week looking over her. It meant it was back to reality from the blissful weekend she had shared with Gwil.

Putting a happy face, she walked into her empty classroom and sat at her desk, gathering her lesson plans and getting everything ready for the day. At least her students would cheer her up; they always brought a smile to her face.

A knock came at her door that pulled her out of her thoughts and she looked up to find Ben standing there, a nervous, shy smile on his face, and two coffees in his hand. She could almost cry at the sight, the simple gesture brought her so much joy, filling a bit of the hole in her heart.

“Can we stop this?” he asked quietly as she got up and quickly crossed the room, so she was standing in front of him. She looked at him, already feeling tears in her eyes as she nodded lightly, “because I miss you like crazy.”

“Benny,” she through her arms him and he hugged her back tightly, taking care not to spill the coffees, “I missed you so, so much. I’m sorry, let’s never fight again.”

“I missed you too,” he sighed happily, pulling back and handing over her coffee, “I’m sorry for how I acted. Like an arrogant fool.”

“I’m sorry too,” she agreed, clinked cup against his, “I love you, Ben, and one little fight won’t tear us apart.”

“I love you too,” Ben concurred, “but just so you know, I’m going to need the full story on everything – including this man.”

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midnight-heroes · 5 years ago

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I was wondering if you write The Big 3? If so, could I request a Tamaki x Fem!Reader where she can sing very well and writes her own songs, but she’s very self conscious about it. But then one night she gets caught singing to herself and gets really embarrassed by it. ((If you don’t do The Big 3 then perhaps Kirishima or Bakugo?))

You had always been pretty reserved, not wanting eyes on youall the time. That's why when you came to UA, you chose to stick to the medicalside of things. You supported those who were in the spotlight by making surethey were in the best of sheet and by taking care of the critically wounded.You didn't see your role as anything spectacular, but you very well knew thatit was still a critical role in the world of heroes. You just needed tograduate and then you could finally achieve your lifelong dream of helpingpeople behind the scenes. As you worked away at your hero training, you madesome close friends; a small group of students who, by your third year, becameknown as the 'Big Three'. Three powerful students who were undoubtedly going tobecome pro heroes. You were beyond proud of their accomplishments, and your ownof course! You were all incredibly close, which Miro as your partner in crime,Nejire as your best friend and sweet Tamaki as you're adorable boyfriend.

Aside from your life as a hero in training though, you hadanother passion, one you wanted to follow as a little girl. You always wantedto sing. To sing to those you care for, for crowds and all sorts of people. Youwanted it to be your career but alas... as mentioned before, you've always beenreserved. You were shy, far too shy to stand in front of others and sing tothem. In saying this, it meant not many people knew that you had a powerful setof lungs and a voice to rival that of some singers. And you didn't just singsongs written by other artists, you wrote your own lyrics. You came up with thebeat in your head, sometimes tapping it out. You had come to know the firstyear Jiro Kyoka in your third year and sometimes had her come over to help youout. She was one of the few people who knew. After the beat came the lyrics andthey were all stored away in a diary of sorts that you kept on your shelf.

It was the weekend and an off day for you and your dearfriends. This meant no school and no additional training. Every now and then ona Saturday, you would spend a good portion of your day with Recovery Girl towork on the medical side of your education. The other Saturdays were usuallyspent with the group, Tamaki or just on your own. Considering you didn't getall that much time on your own these days, you decided that this week, youwouldn't make any plans for the weekend. Unable to resist your adorableboyfriend however... he was coming over in the afternoon but that meant themorning was yours!

So here you were, lyric diary laid out on your desk besideyou as you brought up a demo on your laptop that Jiro had put together for youto mess around with. Creating music with her had become normal for you to seekher out to see if she had anything new for you to play with. Maybe it was asign you were starting to branch out a bit. It wasn't like you were anti-socialor anything just... shy. Anyway, off topic. You found the demo quite quickly, itstitle being the date that it had been handed over to you. You would give it aproper title later, when the song was done. Clicking on the file, you waitedfor it to load and paused it as it so you could connect your water speakers toyour laptop. Adjusting the volume and double checking your dorm door wasclosed, you pressed play and leaned back in your chair to listen through thedemo before you even thought about lyrics. The first step was to get a feel forthe music. What tone did it give, was it suited for something soft or somethingloud? Knowing Jiro, it was probably going to be upbeat- which you guessedcorrectly, so now you needed to figure out what kind of song it was going tobe. Bouncy... you could do a lot with bouncy.

You found yourself replaying the demo over a few times,taking down some notes in the column of your page before you finally started totake down lyrics, singing out loud to see how it truly sounded with the music.Line after line spilled from your lips and onto the page when you weresatisfied and then you would take the song back to sing the verse over, only tonot like parts of it and change it up a little. Sometimes it was a quickprocess for you, other times, it took days. Hell, you wrote a song in the bathonce and it was finished before your toes started to prune. What? The bestideas come to you when you're in the bathroom.

A couple hours passed of you scribbling down ideas, writinglyrics, crossing out lyrics and you even had about three different titlesscratched out at the top of your page. Another hour had passed of you sittingthere, staring up at the ceiling as you let a different playlist play throughbefore you went brain dead over this song. Once you got tired of that, youfinally shut the music off and stood from your chair, stretching your armsabove your head until you heard a satisfying pop. Shaking your limbs to relaxyour body, you soon found it in yourself to leave your dorm room and headdownstairs to grab something to eat. You needed brain food in order to continueyour project. Said brain food consisted of a slice of cake that surprisingly noone had stolen yet and a bottle of juice. You enjoyed your 'meal' downstairs,chatting with a few of your classmates to tear your brain away from your song.You just needed a small break is all and if you were lucky, it would befinished before Tamaki came to spend time with you.

By the time you got back to your room, you only had a coupleof hours until Tamaki would arrive and then the two of you would either chillout in your room or you'd leave the grounds to spend time together elsewhere.Determined that you could let the last few verses perfect in that time, youstarted your project again, unaware that you hadn't shut your door properly. So,there you were, back to your routine, singing softly and writing away in yourbook, pausing the music every now and then when you really needed to focus andfinally. Finally, you had your finished product in your hands. All the lyricswere there. Sure, it may need a little fixing later- if you wanted to go thatfar, but this was it. Now you just needed to sing it through, and you'd be goodto pack up and clean up in time for Tamaki.

In your excitement, you had lost track of time and stilldidn't bother to check as you brought the demo to the start. Pressing play, youpulled your feet up onto your chair, resting your book against your knees andjust listened to the opening rifts. Counting yourself in silently, you came inwith the first verse, singing louder than you had been while writing thelyrics. Effort was put into your vocals unlike your previous mumbles, confidentthat your room was soundproof enough so no one would hear you.

Unknown to you, your three friends had just come back to thedorm, going their own separate ways after sparing each other a 'see you later'.Tamaki put his hands into his pockets, glancing around the sitting room,quietly searching for you. Not seeing your downstairs, he assumed you would beup in your room, so that's where he headed, stepping into the elevator to getup quicker. He was nervous about spending time with you, as he always was, butthe trip to your dorm was easy enough. It was as he was reaching your door thathe stopped, a look of shock coming across his face. Were you... singing? No,surely you were just listening to music but... that definitely sounded likeyour voice. Walking up to the door, he stopped right in front of it, seeingthat it hadn't been closed properly.

Able to hear your voice so much clearer now, a dark blushspread across his face and he tensed up, unsure if he should knock, walk insideor just walk away. You had asked for him to come over, but he had no idea youwere able to sing. Since when were you capable of singing like an angel?! Hehad no idea how long he was frozen in place in front of your door, but it waslong enough to know the song was starting to come to an end. The shy third yearhesitantly swallowed his nerves, raising his hand to knock on your doorlightly, but it was enough to make it swing open a little more. As the musicwas starting to quieten as it was reaching its end, you heard the knock fairlyeasily and found yourself having to catch your lyric books seeing as you jumpedalmost a bloody foot in the air.

You looked over at the door with wide eyes and the momentyou saw Tamaki standing there with a red face, your own face fell into a heavyshade of crimson. "Oh my- Tamaki, I.." you weren't sure what to sayand he clearly didn't either, adverting his gaze as you quickly turned thetrack off. "Should I uh, should I come back later?" he asked, rubbingthe back of his neck but still not making any eye contact. Quickly jumping outof your fluster, your stood up, abandoning your book on your desk to cross theroom to the door. "Of course not. C-come on in," you stuttered for amoment, opening the door all the way for him so he could come inside. The shymale walked into your room and awkwardly stood off to the side, as he usuallydid when you invited him over. "So um, how much did you hear?" youasked, shutting the door and leaning against it, biting the inside of yourcheek. God you couldn't believe that you hadn't shut the door properly.

"U-Um... well... a lot," he answered, keeping hisgaze downcast. "How long h-have you been able to s-sing like that?"he asked timidly, finally looking up to make brief eye contact with you. Briefbecause you quickly covered your red face as you slid down to the floor."Oh my god I can't believe you heard me sing, this is a nightmare,"you whined, shaking your head, "I'm not even that good, that's why I do italone." This caused Tamaki's eyes to widen a fraction. You thought thatwasn't good? What on earth would have convinced you of that. "Y-You wereamazing!" He stammered out, a determined look on his usually hidden face.You looked up at him with hopeful (E/C) eyes, searching for any sign of a joke.He wouldn't joke about something like this though and that brought a smallsmile to your face. "You really thought I was good?" The elf like boynodded his head quickly, the first small sign of confidence he had shown sofar.

"C-could um... could you sing again? This time… for-forme?" he stumbled and how could you refuse? You finally had someone else toshare your gift with.

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aleapoffaithfiction · 5 years ago

Text

VIII.

“And you? You my destiny.” - Shyne

“More wine Mr. Marshall?”

Whether you’re from New York City or not, we’ve all in some way, shape, or manner ogled over the renowned skyline and created our own fantasies of everything that it is supposed to represent. Whether we’ve fed into the brutalizing gangster narrative painted in The Godfather or tried to figure out life and love along with the famous four in Sex and The City, it’s meaningful and will always represent either a new beginning or the backdrop of your wildest journeys and dreams. Tonight, as I’m in the midst of its beauty, it’s serving as a testament to either a potential new beginning or a distaste of some sort. I’ve been too focused on the soothing waves lightly rolling along the Hudson River and the patrons dinning around me to be able to figure out which predicament I’m actually in.

“Bring the bottle.” As my lips curved, my eyes panned over to the barely touched glass on my side of the table and they eventually landed on him. I’m assuming that was supposed to impress me and it might of if we were a bit more acquainted with one another. I’ve never been cozy with overindulging with any type of alcoholic beverages while on a date, because I need to be of sound, mind, and body in order to properly comprehend body language and most of all, the dialog between myself and the person I’ve chosen to go out with. Even with this so-called history that Quinton believes we have with one another, I still don’t trust him enough to expose my comfort zone with him. He’s not Taylor.

The River Café. It’s uniquely right under the Brooklyn Bridge and literally over the river. I’ve heard more than enough people rave about it for it to be in contention as one of the elite restaurants in borough and there’s no hiding the reality that it is also one of the most expensive places to have a bite to eat. Its romantic ambiance sets the mood with the dim lighting and panoramic views but in my opinion Dom Salvador, the Brazilian samba funk innovator, is the true main attraction. I’ve found myself nodding my head and occasionally snapping my fingers along to many of the tunes the celebrated pianist played since we’ve arrived. Quinton deserves credit for taking my stomping ground suggestion into consideration. Being in Brooklyn is a reminder of where we’ve come from, but sitting in this stunning restaurant in the heart of Dumbo, is a testament of how far we’ve come. Touché.

“How is your fish?” I chose the black sea bass as my main course. There was something about it being sautéed with lobster brown butter that attracted me to it over everything else. It was served with grilled artichoke ravioli and fresh artichoke. It’s pretty good, I can admit. The gnocchi I had for an appetizer may have been slightly better, but I’m not complaining. Quinton began his dining experience with an ounce of caviar that immediately cost him a hundred and eighty bucks. Caviar tastes like shit, so I wanted no parts of that.

“It’s really good. I’m enjoying it. And your steak?”

“It’s decent. I’ve had better.” I didn’t expect him to show up in a suit, but he did, in politician blue. In that field, your head can never leave the game. Who’s to say that he won’t run into some multimillionaire that he may need some campaign contributions from or maybe he’ll shake hands and kiss babies with a few supporters before we call it a night.

“Have you eaten here before?”

“Once before. It was a business dinner.”

“It’s my first time here. I’ve heard about it, but I never kept it in the back of my mind to come. I’m impressed for the most part. The location is literally perfect.” That it is. I can even say hello to our France gifted Statue of Liberty from here.

“It is right?”

“Absolutely.”

“So, let me ask you this. Why sports?”

“Why not sports? Don’t get me wrong, the sports industry within itself has a lot of bullshit within it but what industry doesn’t? You just have to learn how to move amongst the vultures. Overall, I don’t think a lot people realize how sports are one of the primary aspects of life that brings people together. When you step into those arenas, stadiums, or fields, you see people of all ethnic backgrounds sitting together, uniformly, and basking in the moment. Sports drive our emotions, serve as our conversation starters and endings, are reasons for our road trips, and bring tradition within our families. They began lifelong friendships, cure pain, and have served as a shift within this country and many others for centuries. I fell in love with them. They’re what thrilled me ever since I was a child and I had a parent who advocated for that.” I’ve gotten that question a lot; sometimes in a sexiest manner and on occasion, out of genuine interest. I’d like to think it’s what I was meant to do. I have a high regard for our nation’s doctors, lawyers, business people, artists, and everything else, but I’ve never had a passion to be anything else other than who and what I am right now.

“I don’t know. I’ve always thought you’d end up being an actress or some type of model.” Should I be insulted by that? I don’t know. “Why?”

“Of course, you’re beautiful, but you’ve also always been great at speaking and being expressive.”

“So, then we can attribute that as to why I’m so good at my job now. Why politics?”

“It wasn’t always my passion. Initially, I wanted to be a forensic scientist. Well, now that I think about it, I guess I always wanted to be involved with the justice process in some aspect. I’d like to think that’s what politics is but just in a much grander fashion.”

“Justice? So that’s all you’re in it for? The justice aspect of things?” I find that hard to believe. Sure, politicians have power but, in my opinion, it’s typically for all of the wrong reasons when it comes to most of them. I’ll give credit when it is due to those who actually do bring about the shifts in culture, growth, and renewal that they speak of but other than that, I’ve never been drawn to anything about it. I’m no American flag waving, super patriotic chick. Most would say I’m living the modernized American dream since I have no husband or children within my home seemingly by choice, but what the hell is the American dream anyway? What makes it the ultimate goal?

“I’d be liar if I said that is the only thing on my mind. I do want to make a difference, but not only within this city, but also within this country. For me, that’s a duty much like it is for a military officer who willingly signs up to protect and serve, but politics comes with networking unlike any other and that’s the type of networking that I need so that I can continue to take not only myself but also my businesses to new horizons.”

“I see.”

“You sound displeased.” His soft chuckle followed the sound of his fork hitting the plate. He then took a sip of his wine and leaned in to get a better glimpse at my facial expression.

“I’m not displeased. I can’t or won’t knock your hustle.”

“My hustle?”

“Everyone has a hustle.”

“This is true. I haven’t heard that word in quite a while but we know it well, being from here and all. Let me ask you this about your hustle Sarai. We all know and see how well you’ve done for yourself. We’ve applauded it and continue to do so. But is that it? All that you want to do with that powerful voice of yours is use it for sports? You only want to lend your voice to analyze, occasionally critique, and celebrate a bunch of pompous athletes who will never do the same for you in return?” This man has a lot of nerve.

“I lend my voice to what moves the world no matter what is going on. As I said, sports are a vital part of the culture of not only this country, but the entire world. People turn on their televisions every day, tune in through mobile devices, tablets, and whatever the hell else, just to be able to hear what I have to say. Those pompous athletes you speak of approach me whenever they’re able to catch me out somewhere and they either thank me or humbly admit they can understand why I critiqued something they did. I have no problem lending my voice to them, because they’re ordinary people with once in a lifetime talent, who live their lives under microscopes of misjudgment and scrutiny. As a politician, shouldn’t you understand that? Aren’t you supposed to be a voice for the people?”

“Yes, for the people.”

“And they’re people just like anyone else is.”

“I see bigger things for you. I always have. Why do you think I’ve been so adamant about us having a moment like this? It’s not only because I’ve always been attracted to you and interesting in having something more, but also because I want you with me during this journey. I believe that we can really get out there and make a real difference within this world. The Obamas were just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to black faces like ours being in positions of power. I don’t want what Barack accomplished to be a one and done because that’s what these white motherfuckers are working their hardest to make sure of. No one’s pushing back enough as far as I’m concerned but I’m going to be the one to do so.”

“You just said that you saw me becoming an actress or a model and now all of a sudden, I’m Michelle Obama’s successor? That’s funny. Ultimately, I’d like to believe we’re both already making a difference. No?”

“We are, but we’re just in the early stages of it. We’re still gold fish in a world full of sharks. You want to get ahead in this world? Not only do you have to be a shark too, but in our case, we have to be the sharpest ones because we don’t get to slide by with mediocrity like the others do.”

“I agree with that in some aspects.”

“Sarai, I don’t want to do this alone and this country prides itself on the foundation of family. I need a family. I can’t continue running for these higher offices without a wife by my side and eventually, a couple of children too.”

“You just said Sarai I don’t want to do this alone, and then you went on to explain all of the political reasons why you need me. What am I supposed to be? A prop? I’m not into politics. I’m a Democrat by default and it’s only because it’s the lesser of two evils. That’s all I have in that department and as far as I’m concerned, I’m fine with it. In addition to that, is that what our foundation is supposed to be? You’d be sliding a ring on my finger, when? Tonight? Next week? Maybe a month or two from now? And it’ll all be for the sake of you continuing to catapult your political career? Excuse my French, but you must be out of your fucking mind Quinton.” The octaves within our voices hadn’t shifted whatsoever and if anyone were closely observing us, you’d think we were two people gleefully enjoying one another over a candlelit dinner and yet the reality is, propositions are being laid out on the table and underhanded insults were being slipped in somewhere in between them.

“Your mother said you would say that.”

“My mother? You spoke with my mother about this? Oh yeah, you are the idiot that I’ve always thought you were.”

“An idiot? So, you’re calling me an idiot for having yearned for you for all of these years while you deliberately ignored me? I’m an idiot for ignoring the advances of women of many different statures all for the sake of having Sarai Nazaire, the around the way girl, as my wife?” I nearly spit out the wine swirling around in my mouth onto the table in response to the manner in which he said my name. He’d said it like I was some damsel in distress who needed his rescuing.

“Are you blaming me for decisions that you made on your own accord? You chose to ignore those women. You could have done whatever you liked. Also, I wasn’t ignoring you. I had a lot going on and I wasn’t in a place to nurture a relationship.”

“But you were in enough of a place to be with Shamel?”

“I didn’t do much nurturing of that.” And neither did he. I tried. If no one will give me credit for it, I certainly will give it to myself. I tried to be a lot of things for that man but from his perspective I came up short in every category. There wasn’t a single aspect of me that he believed to be more than or even just enough for him.

“And even with our history, there isn’t anything about you and I that makes sense?”

“What history? Are you speaking of our friendship or the one time we slept together? I hope for the sake of us walking away from this table with somewhat of a decent connection to one another, that you’re speaking about our friendship.”

“I’m speaking about everything; everything that happened and everything that you resisted. You’ve never given me a chance.”

“What do you think I’m doing right now? Why do you think I’m sitting here? I’m trying to give you a chance and yet you’re sitting there propositioning me instead of courting me. Am I supposed to be flattered?”

“I am courting you. I want to court you. I’m not trying to jump into all of this as quickly as you assume. I’m simply letting you know my intentions. I don’t want to date you just for the sake of dating. I want us to work towards having a future together.”

“How can I feel good about hearing something like that when I know that it comes with a motive?” If he and I were to choose to move forward after this date tonight, I’d know that there may possibly be only a small portion of our union that has some authenticity to it.

I’ve never considered myself to be the hopeless romantic type of woman who idly sits around waiting for my prince charming to show up at my door in shining armor and sweep me off of my feet. I don’t even know what I want or need out of love. Far more than anything else, I believe that aspect of life is the most complex and it doesn’t seem to have the patience for me, and that’s alright I suppose because the feeling is sort of mutual.

Even in admitting that, I can’t fake it until we make it with Quinton. I’m not capable of smiling until my cheeks feel like they’re going to shatter, while I pageant wave at crowds of people as a figure within his enormous shadow. We’d eventually become something more corrupt than Watergate and more scandalous than Clinton and Monica Lewinsky. We’d unravel in a manner that this country has never seen a First Couple ever do before. He’s barely tolerating my resistance now, so imagine the reaction he’d have to it once his ego is unbearably and uncontrollably colossal.

“With the places that we’re at within our lives, everyone who we encounter that shows interest will have some sort of a motive.” I, too, have had thoughts that mirrored his. I’ve observed women toss out all of their integrity for a chance encounter with someone prominent and affluent enough to raise their stature within society.

I’ve had men offer to buy me a drink at bars just to be able to speak about their glory days as a high school athlete while noticeably slipping in desires that they believe I can help them with. There are family members who I’ve probably only spoken to once or twice since my birth who have given odd interviews to tabloids for a few bucks about aspects of my life they know nothing about. So, while his statement holds its truths, how can I ever live comfortably if I believe anyone who I encounter has it out for me?

“Well Mr. Politician, let that be so. I won’t applaud you because you’ve made your motive known, but I will politely decline your offer. You’re not a bad guy Quinton. You’re just not my guy. I don’t know who that is or where he’ll come from, but I’d rather wait a lifetime for a man that I’m going to actually have undeniable chemistry with rather than force something for the sake of political bliss. You’re asking me to sacrifice everything about who I am and what I stand for, for you. I’d never ask that of you or anyone else. As you said, there are women out here who would love to be on your arm. Stop turning them down and open yourself up to finding the one for you. Do that for yourself, because this is a cold world and I’d hate for you to have to lay next to someone at night who you don’t even love because you want to sit in the highest office in this country. It’s not worth it, at least for me it isn’t.”

While staring at him, I raised my arm to move one of my tight curls out of my face. Suddenly, my lips rose into a grin that quickly erupted into a giggle. The morning I woke up against Beckham’s chiseled chest with his arms tightly wrapped around my body, he joked about my hair being in his mouth at one point while we slept. As we lay there, he switched my name during every sentence that spilled from his rose toned lips. I was Diana Ross, Donna Summers, and Chaka Khan. He even joked that if I’m going to keep my hair like this, then I’d have to put on one of those bonnets that black mothers wear outside to embarrass their kids. I hadn’t laughed so hard since the last time we were together. It seems like all of my laughter comes from him being around him these days.

“You’ve made your choice. I guess I have to live with that.” He grabbed the bottle of wine off of the table and refilled his glass to the edges of the brim. He then tightly gulped it down while my eyes washed over the motion of his Adam’s apple. The tension radiating from his frame snatched what was left of my appetite. We certainly don’t have to bother with dessert.

“You’ll be living with a choice that’s what’s best for both you and I. You don’t want me. I’m sure if I allowed it, you’d climb into bed with me tonight, but anything more? It’s not realistic. I’ve never felt wanted by you and you’ve never felt that from me. We both deserve more. If you don’t believe so, then I do. I deserve someone who looks at me like I was born to be his. I’d prefer to be with a man who indisputably wants me and only me.”

“Well I hope you find that, Sarai.”

“I’m not looking for it. If it comes my way, then that’s amazing. If not, I’ll be alright.”

Silence fell between us and once again, my eyes were gazing out at the striking scenery surrounding the restaurant. As fucked up as it sounds, this would have been a beyond perfect date if that unknown man that I speak of were sitting across from me tonight. Instead of tension, there’d be flirtatious giggles and glances of affection. My heel clad feet would be intentionally grazing against his calves to entice him just as much as he’d be doing to me simply by existing.

While speaking, my ears would be listening to anything he chose to say while my eyes would be reading the clear message of him having every intention to have me gripping the sheets and crying out his name in our bedroom, within his. Not being able to take it anyone, we’d call for the check with half eaten plates in front of us and would waltz off into the night with a care or concern about anything or anyone other than one another. In a perfect world, that’s how things would be, but this world isn’t perfect and neither am I.

“Check please.” I guess he wants to get out of here just as bad as I do.

“Quinton, I’m going to go. I can cover this if you’d like.” I ruined his night. It’s the least that I can do, right?

“There’s no need for you to do that. You’re here by the way of my invitation. I have it under control. Enjoy the rest of your night.” Everything about his tone reeked of dismissiveness and yet I’m unbothered. I get it.

“I’ll see you around, okay? We usually catch one another at church from time to time.”

“I suppose so.”

Upon my arrival to the restaurant, we greeted one another with a huge hug and yet as I’m making my exit a few minutes short of an hour and a half later, I can feel his cold glare following my every move. I insisted that we meet here instead of allowing him to come and pick me up from my place. I’m not comfortable with too many people knowing where I rest my head at night. I know him well enough to know he’d surprisingly pop up at my door and that would easily leave a bad taste in my mouth, so I saved him the future embarrassment and myself the annoyance. With the way this evening ended, my driving here was clearly God being on my side.

Though the night was barely young, boredom coerced me into cruising around Brooklyn for the hell of it. It was my favorite past time in my hooptie Honda Civic during those summers when I’d be on break from college and had time to spare after putting in the necessary hours for whatever internship I was working for that particular summer. There’s something about it that makes me feel close to my father. I’d turn corners on familiar blocks and those great memories of the two of us taking this borough by a storm would come to the forefront of my thoughts. I’d remember the conversations we’d have with him endlessly dropping knowledge for me to carry with me on life’s journeys and the constant words of reassurance so that I’d always know how proud of me he was. We’d playfully debate about who is greater between Michael Jordan and Magic Johnson, why the Fresh Prince of Bel Air is better than the Cosby Show, and why Allen Iverson will never be my husband. In his neighborly manner, he’d speak to everyone sitting out on their porches and would even buy ice cream for whatever kids were outside if the Mister Softie truck was around. Though my mother would scold him for spending so carelessly, he did it anyway.

It’s cold now. The sidewalks don’t have girls jumping double-dutch, boys aren’t riding by on their bikes, nor are people sitting out on their porches scoping the scene and gossiping about what’s hot on the block. Those memories aren’t coming to me either. Instead, my mind is consumed with something or rather someone else. It’s funny how that works; do you call it a crush or infatuation? Interest or just simple attraction? I don’t know how to define it but this is the first time I’m learning just how out of control our emotions can be.

On the surface, you can put on a performance like you have it all together and absolutely nothing can faze you, but internally? There’s this train wreck on an endless loop. This doesn’t feel like a train wreck though. Instead, there are flutters within the core of my body. Chills trickle up my arms and onto the napes of my neck, and trigger goosebumps that linger around enough to unnerve me. My toes curl, chest tightens, and taking breaths becomes a task to focus on. My duties and concerns for those beyond myself now includes an additional person. How has it come to a point of me not wanting to fail him? How did I get here?

I don’t know how to navigate any of this. I’m a small fish taken out of a pond and thrown into an ocean of the unknown. What now? Do a swim and explore what may be one of the most beautiful experiences of my life? Do I stay right there in the one place I landed and resist learning or exploring everything out of fear? Do I hopelessly swim and end up getting viciously eaten up by something that is beyond me? Shamel was easy, frustrating as fuck, but easy nonetheless. Easy became toxic but in the midst of that, I never had to think this much. We just co-existed. I fear the expectations. I may not live up to the fantasy style of hype that circulates about me.

Just as Quinton had mentioned, I’m the cool around the way girl who can carry a conversation with the dudes probably even better than I can with the chicks. I’ve seen men on social media deem me to be the type of wife who can make the platter of hot wings and then come and flop down on the couch to watch the NBA Finals with my man. It’s possible, but I’m so much more than that. I have my baggage and bullshit with me too. Is that okay? When the make-up is off, my hair is up in the sloppiest ponytail ever, and a t-shirt three times my size with some socks and Nike slippers are covering my body, will I still be the fantasy? When I’m nagging about something that’s irritating me, having one of those days when I don’t want to be bothered with anyone or anything, or having some sort of a mood swing because Mother Nature is running her monthly course, will everything still be all good? I don’t know.

“Oh, fuck you Fantasia. Fuck you.” I’d been letting Apple Music do its thing by allowing my own playlists to flourish while I drive. Having the formatting on shuffle made the transition from Biggie’s “I Got A Story to Tell” to Fantasia’s “When I See You” completely catch me off guard. I’d quickly gone from being lost in my thoughts to listening to Fantasia sing them.

“Screw that.”

I switched to a playlist filled with the Best of The Bad Boy Records Era. I kept the sappy and moody vibe, with just the right amount of Hip-Hop added in for the drive back into Jersey. I saw my home in my rearview mirror as I slowly drove past it. Though I should have parked in my garage and called it a night, my hands remained attached to the steering wheel and my foot pressed on the gas to continue the journey to the person and place invading and conquering my every thought. In one of our many conversations we’ve had, we discussed how many cars he owns and all three of them were very much parked in their usual spots, but the additional cars were a warning that he had company in the house. Somehow, in the back of my mind, I knew that he did, and yet I’ve come here anyway.

I remained unnoticeably parked in his cobblestone driveway for minutes in an attempt to gather my thoughts. It feels like I’m the one who’s pursuing him nowadays. I’m the one in an odd chase.

Hey. Are you busy?

Seconds later, the bubble appeared at the bottom of the screen.

No. What’s up?

I’m not sure what vibe he’s giving. There’s something about that reply that seems short or rather standoffish.

I’m in your driveway.

And looking desperate as hell while at it.

Come in the house. I’ll have someone unlock the door.

I’d be uncomfortable and fearful of what could or would go behind the walls of his home. One innocent slip up with the wrong person could easily cause a world of trouble for me more so than him.

You think maybe you can come outside?

What am I thinking? The man is on crutches. That wouldn’t be fair.

Never mind. I know you have company and I don’t want to disrupt. I’ll just come by tomorrow.

It’s what I should have done in the first place.

Give me five minutes. I’ll come outside.

It was less than five minutes. Despite the crisp cold air, he crutched himself out of the door in a pair of Nike shorts and a hoodie. There was one Virgil Abloh designed Jordan I on his one foot and of course his protective boot on the other. I suppose the beanie hat covering his blonde curls is what is supposed to serve as his protective barrier from the chill. Once he opened up the passenger side door, he tossed his crutches into the back, and carefully slid into the front seat. For the sake of comforting his ankle, he used the side panel on the bottom of the seat to adjust it further back from the normal position it’s usually in.

“Sarai. What’s up?” He finally closed the door and I couldn’t be any more thankful. The fall air was beginning to win against the low heat I had going in the car.

“Nothing major. How are you?” His large hands reached up to readjust his hat as he responded with a shrug.

“Chillin’. Nothing major for me either. I went back home to Louisiana for a couple of days. That was cool.”

“That’s good. I’m sure it was good to get a change of scenery since the injury has had you so cooped up in the house.”

“Yeah, it was a nice little visit. I got to kick it with my brothers and my sister. We even did a family dinner and both my momma and my pops were there. That shit rarely happens these days, so, I’m pleased with how it all turned out.”  “Did you visit LSU?”

“Not this time. I’m going to visit later on in the month. I’m designing an exclusive Air Force I with Nike and I plan on giving the whole team pairs. So, while I’m down there, I’ll probably kick it at a game.”

“That’s dope. I’m sure they’re going to appreciate that coming from you. Not only are you a hometown hero, but you’ve certainly cemented your legendary status within the LSU history books.”

“For sure. I care about giving back but in this case, I definitely care about inspiring those boys to know that I haven’t done anything that they aren’t capable of achieving.” His humbling spirit is a major part of the foundation that draws me to him. It exudes itself during any conversation he’s having.

“That’s real.”

For the first time since he sat inside of the car, our eyes met and he slowly panned his own down to assess every aspect of my frame. His lips flattened as he tightly pressed them together and with a slight nod, he turned his head forward just as it had been before.

“How was the date?”

Breathless; it’s how he left me. I opened my mouth to speak and whatever words I thought I mustered up to tell him instantly fell flat.

“You’re not wearing a dress like that to church.”

“It was thought provoking and extremely disappointing.”

“And that’s why you’re here?”

“No.”

“Then why are you here? Let me correct that before you assume. I’m not bothered by your presence. I’m anything but that. You’re just confusing. I spend a lot of time trying to figure you out and I feel like I understand some areas and I come up short in others. I’m just wondering if you’re here because things went badly with him.”

“I’m not here because of that. I already knew how things would go with him before I even went but I needed to, because he’s been in this weird state of limbo and has been filled with hope for years and I needed to know why. Now I know.”

“And that’s all it was?”

“That’s it.” It’s been years since I explained myself to a man. Shamel and I ended damn near four years ago and I despised explaining myself to him because I was made out to be a liar no matter what I said.

“So, you’re here now. Now what? We talk and you run depending upon the way the conversation goes? Or is this the official moment when you friend zone me?”

“Odell, I’m not friend zoning you.” A huff escaped my lips as my fingers trailed from the top of my head and through the curls cascading over my shoulders.

I couldn’t bear to look after him after blurting out what I’d been so afraid to say. Early on, I attempted to keep him as nothing more than a random figment within the professional realm of my life. That failed. I then chose to view him as an acquaintance I run into from time to time and that flopped before I could put it to the test. After spending all of those days in the hospital, the friend zone felt appropriate and as if it could be a success between he and I, but I’d been telling my mind a disastrous lie that my emotions refused to adapt to.

“I just don’t know how any of this works. You say I’m confusing and I can be, but this is just as confusing.” I motioned between he and myself for emphasis.

“Well let’s figure it out.” The intensity of his glare silenced the mental clutter. The tone of his voice created a safe and comfort zone unlike any other.

The warmth of his palm met the top of my hand and I instantly flipped it over so our palms could meet. Our fingers laced, interlocking everything we weren’t saying and sealing a deal we’d yet to make.

As the faint music played, the clock grabbed my attention.

“I have something for you.”

“You have something for me? Like what?” His lips curved into that all too familiar smirk of his and his eyes blissfully gleamed. Rather than saying it, I exited the car and quickly made my way to the trunk. I’d been riding around with the box and garment bag in there for over a week and now I can finally cure my anxiousness.

“What’s that?” Again, I didn’t say anything as I leaned in from my side and passed them over so he’d be able to place them on his lap.

“Open the box first.” Once I closed the door, I turned the heat up just a notch more. I didn’t think fall would be hitting this hard. Usually the weather is all over the place, but this year, that shit seems to be no joke. We’re going to be brutalized with snow at the rate things are going.

“Okay.” Like a kid on Christmas, he rubbed his hands together in glee and quickly lifted the lid off. In an instant, he erupted into a booming fit of laughter. I had to join him, because it was so infectious.

I have decent friendship with Angelo Baque, who is more the former brand director of Supreme. We met two years ago at New York Fashion Week and we’ve remained in touch ever since. He even had me model in an ad campaign for the brand last year that was plastered all over New York City in anticipation for fashion week. So, though his Supreme days are behind him, it doesn’t mean that he isn’t in good standing with the brand. It ended up being fairly easy to have a custom Supreme x Louis Vuitton printed walking boot created for Odell.

“Sarai. This is fire.” He closely examined it with bits of giggles that eventually turned into laughter once again. It amused me just as much when I picked it up. It’s fashionably loud and just as gaudy as he can be sometimes. If he’s going to have to wear a big ol’ medical boot, why not make it something representative of himself?

“You like it?”

“Hell yeah. This is perfect. You already know that I sometimes get frustrated as hell when I look down at that boot and you just fixed that problem.”

“I know. That’s why I got it.”

“I love it. I love it so much.”

“I know you have so much of the collection in your possession already because I’ve seen it on your Instagram, but you don’t have this. It’s a sample piece that never made it into the collection. I asked your mom for your size and by a miracle, one of the two jackets of its kind can fit you.” I held the box to make it easier for him to unzip the garment bag and he pulled out the vivid red bomber style of jacket. Everything about it screamed his name when I laid my eyes on it and I had to have it for him, no matter what the price tag was for it. Luckily, it wasn’t as overly hefty as I thought it would be. It’s the perfect piece to pair with the walking boot. Just because he’s injured, doesn’t mean that he can’t be as on point as he usually is when he’s out and about.

“And I thought I had connects. Whew! This is crazy. And it’s a one of one? At least for me it is. I’ma have to stunt with this one. It’s only right.”

“I know a few people.”

“Shit, a few more than me. Sarai, this is amazing. You got me cheesing like a kid on Christmas right now.”

“I know.”

“Oh, so you know me huh?” Why did he have to bite his lip after such a question? My backside shifted in the seat as my thighs pressed together much tighter than they already were.

“I know some things.”

“I want you to know everything.” Our hands met again as I reached to turn the heat off. I didn’t need it anymore.

In an attempt to mask the fluttering radiating throughout my body, I slid further down into the seat.

“I’d like that.”

My eyes panned over to the clock once again. Just as I did, midnight was finally upon us.

“Happy Birthday Odell.”

All week long, I’d been contemplating how I’d go about acknowledging him on his day. I didn’t want it to be the typical call or an impersonal text message. It certainly wasn’t going to be some social media post with a long heartfelt caption like I’m sure he’s going to receive from many throughout the day. Since I’d be bearing gifts, I knew it needed to be done here, but the exact timeframe was a silent debate. Finally, I settled on coming right around this time.

“Thank you, baby.”

Like he’d been doing since he was finally able to trap me into his world at the Bleacher Report party, he leaned over to invade my space. As my head turned, his plush lips brushed mine in a fiery passion and demand. He took possession of all seven of my senses and shifted us into a place where only he and I exist. The warmth of his minty breath rid our space of any bit of cool air trickling into the car.

“Sarai.” He huskily whispered my name; savoring every syllable as if he’d never heard anything more beautiful. Our breaths mingled as his lips pressed into mine.

I would have thought after all of the footage I’ve watched, all of pictures I’ve looked over, and all of the time we’ve spent speaking that I’d know quite a bit about his lips because they’re certainly my favorite part of him to look at thus far, but absolutely nothing could prepare me for this. Nothing.

His tongue sensually brushed over both of my lips in a plea for entry and I granted it. The warmth of his tongue grazed mine and his arm wrapped around my waist and drew me closer in a ravenousness that could not be ignored. He awoken parts of me that have been ignored for nearly four years. I yearned for a type of touch that I haven’t been able to properly satisfy through my own store-bought measures. I’ve laid awake at night wondering how his kiss would feel and as he sucking on my bottom lip in a tease that is sure to send me to an early grave, my wonder didn’t have a chance of measuring up to what I’m feeling right now.

“Take me home with you.” My heart thrashed against my chest as I pulled my quivering bottom lip in-between my teeth. Dear, God.

“Not for anything more than just me spending time with you. That’s it.”

“You have company in your house. You can’t leave them.”

“Yes, I can and I am. Drive.” It wasn’t a request but rather an order.

He settled back into the seat and boldly pulled the passenger side seatbelt over his body and properly secured it. For the sake of my own comfort, he removed the box from my lap and placed it back onto his.

I gazed into his tempting dark chocolate eyes for just a minute to see if he’d change his mind, but he sat patiently waiting for me to make my move and so I did.

I slowly pulled around his driveway and drove off into the night.

#odell beckham jr fanfic #odell beckham fanfic #fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic #fan fic

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frankiefellinlove · 5 years ago

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Bruce's eulogy for the BIG MAN:

I've been sitting here listening to everyone talk about Clarence and staring at that photo of the two of us right there. It's a picture of Scooter and The Big Man, people who we were sometimes. As you can see in this particular photo, Clarence is admiring his muscles and I'm pretending to be nonchalant while leaning upon him. I leaned on Clarence a lot; I made a career out of it in some ways.´´

´´Those of us who shared Clarence's life, shared with him his love and his confusion. Though "C" mellowed with age, he was always a wild and unpredictable ride. Today I see his sons Nicky, Chuck, Christopher and Jarod sitting here and I see in them the reflection of a lot of C's qualities. I see his light, his darkness, his sweetness, his roughness, his gentleness, his anger, his brilliance, his handsomeness, and his goodness. But, as you boys know your pop was a not a day at the beach. "C" lived a life where he did what he wanted to do and he let the chips, human and otherwise, fall where they may. Like a lot of us your pop was capable of great magic and also of making quite an amazing mess. This was just the nature of your daddy and my beautiful friend. Clarence's unconditional love, which was very real, came with a lot of conditions. Your pop was a major project and always a work in progress. "C" never approached anything linearly, life never proceeded in a straight line. He never went A… B…. C…. D. It was always A… J…. C…. Z… Q… I….! That was the way Clarence lived and made his way through the world. I know that can lead to a lot of confusion and hurt, but your father also carried a lot of love with him, and I know he loved each of you very very dearly.´´

´´It took a village to take care of Clarence Clemons. Tina, I'm so glad you're here. Thank you for taking care of my friend, for loving him. Victoria, you've been a loving, kind and caring wife to Clarence and you made a huge difference in his life at a time when the going was not always easy. To all of "C's" vast support network, names too numerous to mention, you know who you are and we thank you. Your rewards await you at the pearly gates. My pal was a tough act but he brought things into your life that were unique and when he turned on that love light, it illuminated your world. I was lucky enough to stand in that light for almost 40 years, near Clarence's heart, in the Temple of Soul.´´

´´So a little bit of history: from the early days when Clarence and I traveled together, we'd pull up to the evening's lodgings and within minutes "C" would transform his room into a world of his own. Out came the colored scarves to be draped over the lamps, the scented candles, the incense, the patchouli oil, the herbs, the music, the day would be banished, entertainment would come and go, and Clarence the Shaman would reign and work his magic, night after night. Clarence's ability to enjoy Clarence was incredible. By 69, he'd had a good run, because he'd already lived about 10 lives, 690 years in the life of an average man. Every night, in every place, the magic came flying out of C's suitcase. As soon as success allowed, his dressing room would take on the same trappings as his hotel room until a visit there was like a trip to a sovereign nation that had just struck huge oil reserves. "C" always knew how to live. Long before Prince was out of his diapers, an air of raunchy mysticism ruled in the Big Man's world. I'd wander in from my dressing room, which contained several fine couches and some athletic lockers, and wonder what I was doing wrong! Somewhere along the way all of this was christened the Temple of Soul; and "C" presided smilingly over its secrets, and its pleasures. Being allowed admittance to the Temple's wonders was a lovely thing.´´

´´As a young child my son Sam became enchanted with the Big Man… no surprise. To a child Clarence was a towering fairy tale figure, out of some very exotic storybook. He was a dreadlocked giant, with great hands and a deep mellifluous voice sugared with kindness and regard. And… to Sammy, who was just a little white boy, he was deeply and mysteriously black. In Sammy's eyes, "C" must have appeared as all of the African continent, shot through with American cool, rolled into one welcoming and loving figure. So… Sammy decided to pass on my work shirts and became fascinated by Clarence's suits and his royal robes. He declined a seat in dad's van and opted for "C's" stretch limousine, sitting by his side on the slow cruise to the show. He decided dinner in front of the hometown locker just wouldn't do, and he'd saunter up the hall and disappear into the Temple of Soul.´´

´´Of course, also enchanted was Sam's dad, from the first time I saw my pal striding out of the shadows of a half empty bar in Asbury Park, a path opening up before him; here comes my brother, here comes my sax man, my inspiration, my partner, my lifelong friend. Standing next to Clarence was like standing next to the baddest ass on the planet. You were proud, you were strong, you were excited and laughing with what might happen, with what together, you might be able to do. You felt like no matter what the day or the night brought, nothing was going to touch you. Clarence could be fragile but he also emanated power and safety, and in some funny way we became each other's protectors; I think perhaps I protected "C" from a world where it still wasn't so easy to be big and black. Racism was ever present and over the years together, we saw it. Clarence's celebrity and size did not make him immune. I think perhaps "C" protected me from a world where it wasn't always so easy to be an insecure, weird and skinny white boy either. But, standing together we were badass, on any given night, on our turf, some of the baddest asses on the planet. We were united, we were strong, we were righteous, we were unmovable, we were funny, we were corny as hell and as serious as death itself. And we were coming to your town to shake you and to wake you up. Together, we told an older, richer story about the possibilities of friendship that transcended those I'd written in my songs and in my music. Clarence carried it in his heart. It was a story where the Scooter and the Big Man not only busted the city in half, but we kicked ass and remade the city, shaping it into the kind of place where our friendship would not be such an anomaly. And that… that's what I'm gonna miss. The chance to renew that vow and double down on that story on a nightly basis, because that is something, that is the thing that we did together… the two of us. Clarence was big, and he made me feel, and think, and love, and dream big. How big was the Big Man? Too fucking big to die. And that's just the facts. You can put it on his grave stone, you can tattoo it over your heart. Accept it… it's the New World.´´

´´Clarence doesn't leave the E Street Band when he dies. He leaves when we die.´´

´´So, I'll miss my friend, his sax, the force of nature his sound was, his glory, his foolishness, his accomplishments, his face, his hands, his humor, his skin, his noise, his confusion, his power, his peace. But his love and his story, the story that he gave me, that he whispered in my ear, that he allowed me to tell… and that he gave to you… is gonna carry on. I'm no mystic, but the undertow, the mystery and power of Clarence and my friendship leads me to believe we must have stood together in other, older times, along other rivers, in other cities, in other fields, doing our modest version of god's work… work that's still unfinished. So I won't say goodbye to my brother, I'll simply say, see you in the next life, further on up the road, where we will once again pick up that work, and get it done.´´

´´Big Man, thank you for your kindness, your strength, your dedication, your work, your story. Thanks for the miracle… and for letting a little white boy slip through the side door of the Temple of Soul.´´

´´SO LADIES AND GENTLEMAN… ALWAYS LAST, BUT NEVER LEAST. LET'S HEAR IT FOR THE MASTER OF DISASTER, the BIG KAHUNA, the MAN WITH A PHD IN SAXUAL HEALING, the DUKE OF PADUCAH, the KING OF THE WORLD, LOOK OUT OBAMA! THE NEXT BLACK PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES EVEN THOUGH HE'S DEAD… YOU WISH YOU COULD BE LIKE HIM BUT YOU CAN'T! LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THE BIGGEST MAN YOU'VE EVER SEEN!… GIVE ME A C-L-A-R-E-N-C-E. WHAT'S THAT SPELL? CLARENCE! WHAT'S THAT SPELL? CLARENCE! WHAT'S THAT SPELL? CLARENCE! … amen.´´

´´I'm gonna leave you today with a quote from the Big Man himself, which he shared on the plane ride home from Buffalo, the last show of the last tour. As we celebrated in the front cabin congratulating one another and telling tales of the many epic shows, rocking nights and good times we'd shared, "C" sat quietly, taking it all in, then he raised his glass, smiled and said to all gathered, "This could be the start of something big."´´

´´Love you, "C".´´

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calzona-ga · 6 years ago

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Meredith Grey might just be heading to jail, but she's also in love and finally not afraid to say it, so at least we've got a bright side to look on.

In the season 15 finale of Grey's Anatomy, Meredith (Ellen Pompeo) wrestled with the fact that her boyfriend Andrew DeLuca (Giacomo Gianniotti) had decided to take the fall for her well-intentioned insurance fraud and had been carted off to jail, and after trying the Spartacus trick with Richard and Alex—only to get all three of them fired—she made a huge decision.

She visited DeLuca in jail, and through the glass, said three little words she hasn't said to anyone since (or aside from) Derek Shepherd: "I love you." And she also said a few other words about how she's turning herself in, going to jail herself, and hoping to plead her case with an understanding judge.

In other words, Meredith Grey is about to finally face some consequences for her impulsive actions. And it's kind of about time.

"We were really excited by exactly that in the writers' room," showrunner and executive producer Krista Vernoff told E! News. "Ellen and I were laughing on set. She was like, ‘what do you mean this is my first offense? I break rules all the time!' And I was like yeah, but you've never been busted. It's your first offense."

Meredith does love to break the rules, always in the name of saving or helping and without much thought for what it might do to her—she's the queen of self-sabotage, remember.This time isn't much different, other than the fact that insurance fraud is a really, really big deal, and a really bad way to solve a terrible problem.

For those of us who have been wondering why on earth Meredith's first instinct was to write down her own daughter's name to help out a patient when she's got so much of her own money and a whole money-filled foundation within arm's reach, Vernoff says Meredith's decision wasn't one made out of logic.

"To me, she was looking at a system that is broken, and a system that is asking [this father] to quit his job if he wants to be able to afford the surgery for his daughter, but quitting a job will basically get him deported. Quitting his job will mean he can't provide for his family. His wife is being held…the systems are so broken and it enraged her. And when you make a decision from a place of rage, it's rarely a well-thought-out decision."

Plus, that girl's going to need a lot more surgeries than Meredith herself could pay for, at least not without that father feeling extremely indebted to one particularly kind doctor.

Whatever reason she did it, it's done, and Meredith's legal troubles are only just beginning.

Vernoff says they purposely "really laid the groundwork" for viewers to think that this would turn out like every other time Meredith has done something very stupid in the name of saving a life, and that it would be a one-off episode, or a mistake that would eventually cease to matter, like that time she screwed with the Alzheimer's trial. This time, it's very much not.

"We had her smuggle Megan Hunt's kid into the country, basically illegally, and we never came back and talked about it. It just was done. So we've seen her break a lot of rules and not have consequences, so we were like, everybody will think this story is over when she does this thing. They'll think it's a one-off story because we've done that several times before, and it will shock the hell out of the audience when very real consequences and ramifications come down because of it," Vernoff says. "And very real consequences and ramifications have come down, and they will be played through the next season."

That means that yes, this firing is real, and yes, this potential jail time is very real.

"You're not going to come back in the fall and find all the fired doctors working at the hospital, and everything's handled. That's not what's happening," Vernoff promises. "I don't know what's happening, but I know when we get into the writers' room in June, we are going to follow through on that story."

It's obviously hard to take your main character, your title character, and threaten to send her to jail, because we're all going to immediately assume that Meredith Grey will be just fine. That's especially the case with two more seasons ordered and no real talk of the end of the show, but it's also a prospect that has the writers' room excited heading into season 16.

"I mean, it's a bold stroke," Vernoff admitted. "We were pretty excited. We were pretty excited when we figured out that that's what we were going to do. It really felt like look, we've been making this show for 15 seasons. It's almost 350 episodes, and what do you do that you haven't done before? How do you keep it fresh? How do you keep it new? How do you keep the audience from getting ahead of you, and this felt like an answer to that."

The other new territory Meredith is exploring is a new and very serious relationship with DeLuca, which is now inextricably tied with her crime. He watched Mer write down her daughter's name in place of a sick little girl's name to save a stranger's life, and that only confirmed how in love he was. He said "I love you," and Meredith couldn't yet say it back, but he was still immediately ready to sacrifice his career to take the fall for her.

Meredith later revealed she was only unable to say it back because it scared her to say it after the last person she said it to was Derek, and then the next thing she knew, she was stuck in a hyperbaric chamber and DeLuca was handcuffed and on his way to jail, for her.

As new as these legal consequences are for Meredith, season 15's love story has been equally as new and a whole lot of fun.

Ever since Derek died in season 11, Meredith had kind of taken a step back from her own love life. She tried a little bit of reluctant dating, but one night resulted in her screaming at a guy to leave in the morning, and her fling with Nathan Riggs (Martin Henderson) was discarded (by Meredith) the moment his presumed-dead fiancée returned.

The Riggs storyline, as Ellen Pompeo described it in her iconic 2018 THR essay, was a result of ABC racing to "get a penis in there," and when the network didn't love the storyline, it ended.

Then Vernoff, who had left the show after season seven, returned, and the show gave Meredith some space to get some s—t done.

In season 14, Meredith finally achieved her lifelong goal of winning a Harper Avery (as complicated as that award would become), and cemented Meredith Grey as the sought-after surgeon her mother raised her to be, and that she and Cristina Yang had always dreamed of being.

"When I came back to the show in season 14, Ellen wanted to make sure I wasn't just coming in to pair her up with another guy," Vernoff explains. "She was a little tired of playing romance. She'd been doing it for a lot of seasons, and I said, great, let's not."

Pompeo, in fact, had a request.

"She said, ‘I want to be like a medical superhero,' and I said, ‘Done.' And that's what we did for that season," Vernoff says. "It was great, and we loved it, and I think that I earned her trust and we became creative partners, and then it was like, OK, are we ready? Can we dip our toes back in?"

As Vernoff reminds us, at the end of the day, the show is about the romance, and season 15 was even dubbed by the writers the "season of love," a season full of "fun and joy and light."

"It's a romantic…medical romantic…it's a romantic dramedy with a little bit of medicine thrown in," she says. "It's not a medical procedural, right? So romance is a key ingredient, and Ellen was super game coming into this season. She really enjoyed everything she got to play last year, and then this year, she was ready to play with this."

This, specifically, began as a drunken kiss, crept into Meredith's very sexy dream sequences, briefly entertained itself as a love triangle, and then slowly blossomed into one of our favorite Grey's Anatomy ships maybe ever. (Yes, we said it. Ever.)

"I feel like we slow-rolled that. We started it as an unexpected fantasy, born of an uninvited kiss or a complicated accidental kiss at the wedding, and then it evolved, using [matchmaker] Cece, and Link as a little bit of a temptation triangle, and then that became DeLuca about halfway through the season, and we just eased our way into it."

That, Vernoff says, was all in service of making Meredith's big "I love you feel" feel earned. And if that tear that rolled down our face when we watched it was any indication, it definitely did.

"That is a collaboration," she explains. "That is us writing a thing and then Ellen playing the hell out of it, so that by the time we got that "I love you," it felt true, and it felt earned, and it felt exciting and it felt unfinished because it's behind glass and because it took her so long to say it back to him, and because she has verbalized how scary it is for her because the last person she said it to was Derek. It gives us places to go next season that are interesting and complicated."

A season and a half ago, you might never look at Andrew DeLuca and think he'd be the perfect man for Meredith Grey. He was sleeping on couches and crying over his ex-girlfriend, Sam Bello (Jeanine Mason) moving to Switzerland to escape deportation. He was the guy who Zola remembers as a sort of vagrant with a guitar.

He's also a fair amount younger than Meredith, and he's a resident where she's a highly accomplished attending, the chief of general surgery. That's obviously not a new pairing on this show which began with an intern falling in love with the chief of neurosurgery, but still, no one was putting the two together just yet.

Then DeLuca kissed Meredith at Alex and Jo's wedding, and then Meredith was having dreams, and suddenly we were all dreaming of Giacomo Gianniotti speaking Italian to us in an elevator, and of Ellen Pompeo speaking it right back.

The age and power dynamic difference in this relationship and Meredith and Derek's tumultuous romance is not exactly the same, but there's a certain sense that this relationship is able to run because Derek and Meredith once walked.

"We weren't designing it to do the opposite, but certainly that dynamic gave us permission to do this one. It felt like, OK, we told that story, and now is it OK for Meredith to be dating a resident? Is it OK for this age gap or difference in life experience to exist, and the answer is yes, because we saw it really successfully early in the series with Derek and Meredith," Vernoff says. "He was older, he was more experienced in life, so we just wanted to see Meredith happy again, and we wanted her to fall in love in an unexpected way, and we liked the chemistry between her and Giacomo."

Some fans were unsure of what to think of the relationship because of our long road with DeLuca so far, and some worried or thought that it might just be a fling, like all of Meredith's other attempts at romance post-Derek. In the writers' room, MerLuca was always the real deal.

"We never thought it was a fling," Vernoff says. "I think if you added 10 years to DeLuca, you wouldn't have thought it was a fling. You would have thought this was a guy that she likes, and who's sticking when the other ones are not. But because there's a little bit of an age difference between them…not a huge age difference, but just enough that you don't usually see it on television…It's our societal sort of unconscious bias that I think made people dismiss it initially because we have decided somehow culturally that women who are older than men, that that's somehow an invalid pairing."

With Derek's death, it's kind of like Meredith got even older than she actually is. She closed herself off for a while, and saw herself as finished, her sex life closed down, which she even said out loud a couple of times. But watching the series all the way through again (highly recommend) shows that Derek was really only one part of Meredith's story. The years since have felt like a new story, one filled with a joy that the show had never had before, with a Meredith who no longer feels like everything in her life is doomed, because the worst has kind of already happened and yet she has survived.

Since Derek's death, Mer has gained two sisters who have become her best friends, roommates, and basically her co-parents. She's gotten everything she ever wanted, and is now seeing that there's more out there that she didn't even know she wanted. It's like she gained back those years she lost when Derek died.

She hired a matchmaker. She started dating a resident 10 years younger than her. She flitted around a work party trying to act "normal" after her surrogate father caught her making out with her boyfriend. She's committing crimes out of the goodness of her heart, she's saying "I love you" to a man in jail, and she's smiling more than she's maybe ever smiled before.

"When Ellen Pompeo smiles, we smile," Vernoff explains. "I feel like that's the world of Grey's Anatomy. It's like, when Meredith is happy, it comes through, and we feel happy."

And doesn't Meredith (along with the rest of us) deserve that happiness?

"She went through such a journey of grief with Derek and rebounds and sort of almost recoveries, and you know, one step forward, two steps back, and to watch her light up in this way for the first time…I don't think we've seen her light up this way since Derek. And that's been really wonderful."

Meredith's future may now be a huge question mark filled with court dates and time behind bars and a job she's been fired from, but it's also a bright future that includes a supportive boyfriend, a found family that will fight like hell for her, and at least two more seasons on our screens.

So all told, things are looking pretty good for Meredith Grey.

#grey's anatomy #Krista Vernoff #eonline

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