#i need to experience a book store meet cute please universe

[esote-rika]

A bookstore meet cute I wish I could experience | Spencer Reid

Category: Fluff with S4 awkward, nerdy rizz Spencer

Warnings: use of Y/N, unedited (tenses keep shifting, sorry)

A/N: this is just 1.8k words of self indulgent self insert. Like this is inspired by some unpleasant experiences I've had talking with men about books in the past lol, and reader's responses defensive responses had been me at some point. i feel like a conversation with Spencer Reid would heal me, thus this fic. Also, save me, s4e9 Spencer Reid, save me.

He seemed like a fixture to the bookstore, if fixtures moved on their own. Or if they moved up and down the aisles with elegant fingers tracing the spines of the books on display. Or if they dressed like a rumpled professor, complete with the black rimmed glasses. He just seemed like he was part of the space, and you thought that every bookstore should probably come with one - a tall, attractive nerd who drifted all over the room like some sort of phantom. Maybe that would help with the literacy problem. It certainly would bring more people in, make them more interested in reading.

You've been trying to figure him out from afar, as subtle as you can. You're not a creep, after all, but he cuts such a lonely figure that you couldn't help but wonder if he needed some company. A part of you wonders if he's noticed you as well. This store is your late afternoon treat, after all. You come here every Friday, without fail, even when you know the inventory is unreplenished, simply to bask in the presence of books.

And then he started coming in regularly, and you had another reason to come.

You never approached him. Something about simply knowing he's there, while remaining a stranger, is thrilling. You can romanticize him if he's a stranger, project all the wholesome fantasies and book boyfriends you have upon him with no sense of accountability.

It also means you avoid the disappointment if he turns out to be another condescending know it all, eager to put you and your reading habits down because oh your tastes are so girly.

No, this was better. You're a flaneur, you tell yourself, you're here to be part of the space and observe from within, even though you doubt this is what Baudelaire had in mind when he wrote that essay and defined the term.

Still.

You smile to yourself, crouching down to check the books on the lower shelf, and also to catch a glimpse of his legs. He'd been on the other side of this shelf for the past five minutes, and you've gotten a soft chuckle when you saw his mismatched socks.

However, his lean form is nowhere to be seen. He seems to have moved to another aisle. With a small frown, you move to stand up, only to feel a tug.

“Shit,” a quick glance down reveals that a familiar looking shoe has accidentally stepped on your long skirt. You hadn't realized it billowed out around you when you knelt down.

“Oh, I'm so sorry!”

You look up and realize why the shoe looks familiar. It's him. You couldn't see him in the other aisle because he'd moved to your side, so silently you hadn't even heard him.

“Sorry, oh gosh, I didn’t notice.” He steps off quickly, and you watch as his cheeks bloom bright pink. A pink that quickly travels down his neck.

You stifle a laugh at how easily he blushed. “It's fine.” Your attempt to stand is more successful without his foot pinning the fabric of your skirt to the ground.

“I've messed up your skirt though.” He says, looking at the brown smudge left behind on the skirt.

“It's no big deal, it’ll come out.” You shrug, getting a good look at him this time. He's taller than you thought, with a sharp bone structure that's softened by large, hazel eyes and pouty lips. His hair is slicked back, curling at the nape of his neck, the color a soft brown that matches his eyes. Yeah, one of him should really come in every bookstore, you think.

“O-okay, uh, if you're sure…” He says, rubbing his hands on his pants. A nervous energy emanates from him, disrupting your idea that he's calm and tranquil.

Oh well, there goes that fantasy. Still, you wonder if maybe he's nervous because of you.

“I still feel bad though,” He adds, looking around, “Uh, how about I buy you a book for the inconvenience?”

“It's hardly an inconvenience,” You laugh, “But hey, I won't say no to a free book.”

He perks up, “Great. I'm Spencer, by the way.”

“Y/N. It's nice to meet you, Spencer.”

He repeats your name, and you find yourself enjoying the shape his mouth makes as he tests it out, lips and tongue wrapping around the syllables as if he wants to commit the way it feels in his memory.

You mentally kick yourself in the ass, wondering if you've read too many romance novels.

“Likewise,” He smiles, and you have to remind yourself that it's rude to stare at the lips of someone you just met. It's not your fault he has such pretty dimples, and you had the urge to count them. He continues, “So what kind of books do you like, Y/N? Romance?”

Your eyes narrow at that. You wonder how to answer. Yes? Would he judge you if you say yes? Is he one of those guys, the ones who only read heavy, intellectual books and look down on people who read fluff? Do you want to try and impress him by saying no, by scoffing and saying something like of course not I’m looking for a copy of Swann's Way by Marcel Proust? (which is the most “impressive” book you can think of at the moment). The idea seems too gross, too I'm not like other girls, and you immediately cross it out.

“And if I do?” you ask instead, surprised by the edge to your voice.

He blinks, then shrugs, looking entirely innocent. “Then we should head to the romance shelf over there.”

Once again, you're surprised. Some part of you had been expecting a smirk, maybe a roll of his eyes, that look you get when you even dare to bring up the romance genre. But, no. He starts walking to a different part of the store and you're forced to follow.

“Why did you think I read romance?” the words escape your lips before you can stop them.

He ducks behind a shelf, his hair falling down and hiding his face but you get a glimpse of the bright red skin of his neck. He's blushing again.

“Well, it's - ah - that is, I've noticed you here before, and you always seemed to hang out here in the romance section.” He says in a rush, his head still angled away from you.

You feel simultaneously called out, and a little giddy. So he's noticed you, just as much as you'd noticed him.

“So you're a stalker.” You can't help but tease.

He lets out a sound, somewhere between an indignant sputter and a scoff. “What? No! I just happen to be very observant, it's a skill I've learned to hone for my job, and you're not very hard to remember-” He cuts himself off, peeking at you with a horrified look on his face.

Laughter tumbles from your lips, and you clamp your teeth down your bottom lip to stop.

“I was teasing you.” You say, trying to fight the giggles.

He seems relieved, but the crease on his brow remains, a sign of his previous embarrassment.

“And you're right. The romance section has the biggest amount of secondhand books that I can read while I'm here.” You explain. This aisle also gives you the best view of the nonfiction section, which he frequents, therefore giving you the perfect spot to observe him over the past few weeks. Though you leave out that part.

“Ah,” He nods, looking around, “See anything you like?”

“No, I'm actually looking for a copy of The Hobbit right now.”

He lights up, “Oh, you're a fan of Tolkien too? I love him, he's such a genius and completely innovated the fantasy genre! So much so that he - wait, if you're looking for The Hobbit, why didn't you tell me sooner?”

“You just started walking.” You reply, smiling at him. He's adorable when he becomes so animated, hands waving around like his body can't contain his excitement and has to find ways to express them physically. “Had to follow you. But anyway, I'm assuming you've read The Hobbit?”

He accepts your explanation easily, then nods his head. You can't help but compare him to a puppy, so eager and nearly frantic in his excitement.

“I've read every Tolkien book.” He says, and you're surprised to find his voice contains no hint of superiority, or cockiness. Just genuine joy. It's refreshing, “Including The Silmarillion."

“Oh wow,” You laugh, aware of the reputation that tome carries, “I've only seen the Lord of The Rings movies.”

“Well that's not sufficient at all! You're missing out on so much history,” He says, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Mhm, well help me find The Hobbit first, before I move on to the trilogy.” You reply, already walking over to where you know the fantasy books are.

He follows you, smiling bashfully, “You know, I have copies of all the books… I can just lend them to you, if you want.”

You pause, glancing over your shoulder in surprise. “You'd let a stranger borrow your books?”

“Only if you promise to take care of them.” He says, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck.

“I swear on my life, I will not tarry your precious copies of Tolkien's masterpiece.” You make a cross over your heart for emphasis, which makes him laugh. This time, you stare at his lips shamelessly, enjoying the dimples that appeared from the action.

“Okay, maybe we meet up over coffee sometime?” he asks, fiddling with the strap of his bag. “I'll bring the books.”

You fight the urge to squeal. Your body refuses to contain the giddiness, and the sound compromises by coming out as a giggle.

“Yeah, sure.” you watch as he digs into his pocket, handing over a card. “Oh, how very professional.” You say playfully, accepting the slip of paper.

He ducks his head, and you see the beginnings of the blush creeping down his neck. It feels exhilarating, being able to make him blush like this.

“It's just more practical.” He mumbles.

You grab your phone quickly, typing in his number and giving it a call, so that your number goes through his as well. “I'll give you a call. But, you still owe me a book for this.” You motion at your skirt, at the stain of his footprint on the fabric.

He chuckles, “Of course. Can't go back on my promise.” he looks around the store and you're taken by the sight of him, looking like he's part of the space, like he simply belongs here. And this time, with you standing next to him, with him. “Take your pick.”

“I'm pretty indecisive.” You say playfully.

“I have time.” He smiles, and you find he has two dimples on one side of his face, and only one on the other. Your chest feels heavy with something that you can't quite put a name to yet, but you're eager for more of it.

[blossom-hwa]

college model!juyeon

SO the people have spoken (aka 3 people but it’s more than 0 so I DON’T CARE) and without further ado HERE WE GO IT’S A COLLEGE MODEL JUYEON BLURB. please reblog if you enjoyed and check out my other dumb overly long blurbs in the stream of idiocy tag on my blog <3

pairing: juyeon x gender neutral!reader

wc: 2.4k

genre: fluff, a bit of angst when mc is stressed, university!au

triggers: cursing, like the tiniest bit of suggestive stuff but absolutely nothing explicit (it’s really just saying juyeon is hot which wbk)

fashion major!kevin

TBZ Scenarios Masterlist | TBZ Drabbles Masterlist

so juyeon isn’t actual a professional model-model like he just happens to be v tall and v handsome and therefore catches the eye of every single fucking fashion major (and other people too) on campus but i’m focusing on the fashion majors because he is LITERALLY model material. have you seen those fucking arms and that fucking face ANYWAY MOVING ON juyeon is an absolute sweetheart behind those stupid muscles and anyone who works with him swears it is impossible like legitimately impossible not to fall in love with his dumb little smile but the thing is juyeon only really agrees to model for fashion major kevin usually like sometimes kevin will pull in a favor and ask him to model for someone else who can’t find anyone (bc let’s be real kevin’s got a lot of friends he could definitely rope someone into modeling for him /cough the other 2/3 of bermuda line cough/ but more often than not kevin takes juyeon not bc juyeon is like the best model or whatever (he’s good obv but some people probably have more experience) but bc juyeon is the only one who will willingly wear some of kevin’s more questionable choices

and the fucking thing is. he still looks good in them. he walks down the runway in this weird ass shirt and pants or whatever the hell kevin’s cooked up for this assignment and people are like.... IT’S SO WEIRD BUT WHY IS JUYEON PULLING IT OFF

so YEAH juyeon is happily modeling his way through college while doing a dance major (one time kevin did his makeup to purposely make him look slightly sweaty and the crowd went fucking insane) and he’s got a lot of things going for him, looks, talent, hard work, etc. and he’s v good at dancing, one of the top in his year so in exchange for his modeling work kevin goes to his dance recitals/competitions to cheer him on and that’s actually how juyeon meets you

you’re feeling shitty bc you just broke up with your partner for whatever reason, let’s just say it was not an amicable breakup and you were about to hole yourself up in 1. the dorm or 2. the lab and just drown yourself in work to forget everything but kevin is one of your good friends and he rolls up and is like. nah. fuck no i’m taking you out we are going to get lunch and then we are going to go see my model friend at one of his dance recitals i promise you it will be FUN and??? you can’t exactly refuse because it’s kevin and he’s not wrong you actually do need to go outside and get some fresh air bc the only time you have left a building over the past week or so is to 1. go to class/the lab from your dorm or 2. to go to your dorm from class/the lab (you are a science major here bc i am a science major and i am heavily projecting ok don’t come at me. though i will say you do theoretical physics which i DO NOT DO but i think it’s cool if mind-blowing so again. projection. despite the fact that i will not touch quantum mechanics after today with a ten foot pole)

so kevin forces you outside and the day is going ok like it’s nice out and he pays for the food and the dance recital is amazing and juyeon has this mf solo that’s absolutely gorgeous and you’re like hitting kevin in the shoulder like omg dude how did you score a friend this talented and he’s like??? what the fuck do you mean by that are you saying i’m not talented and you’re like. well. and then he threatens to deck you but it’s all in good fun anyway MOVING ON when the recital is over kevin drags you over to meet juyeon bc he’s like! it is unacceptable that two of my good friends do not know each other and juyeon if you’re not doing anything you should come with us to dinner! and juyeon is like well i was going to go out with the dance team but you two could come with us and he’s all smiley and soft and you half want to praise the heavens and half want to go to hell bc he looks so sweet and happy and lovely and it’s an honor to be in his presence but at the same time you haven’t left a building for like a week and you’re pretty sure you still have eyebags that haven’t disappeared (jokes on you they’ll never disappear this is university) but kevin says yes for both of you and so you end up with dinner plans too

and it’s fun! everyone is really nice and even though you know nothing about dance you and juyeon end up having v cool conversation about each other’s interests and all that and you’re so immersed in talking with him that you don’t see kevin giving you side-eyes next to you every five fucking minutes (he’s like well. i didn’t see this coming but i’m not going to complain) and by the end of the night you have juyeon’s number in your phone and you’ve made plans to get coffee before class the next day (you don’t have the same class but they’re in adjacent buildings and at the same time so why not) and you go back to your dorm feeling happier than you’ve felt all week

it continues like this?? like it’s actually v weird bc even when you two don’t have plans to meet up juyeon just magically appears around where you’re supposed to be and when you remark on this at one point juyeon just kinda blushes and diverts the topic which makes you suspicious a little but he’s really sweet and has no stalker-ish vibes and you also double-check with kevin who just fucking starts laughing over the phone until you hang up bc he clearly doesn’t have the brain cells to talk to you anywho this is model juyeon and i haven’t talked about that much but HERE WE GO 

kevin has a fashion show assignment coming up and juyeon doesn’t have much time to hang out anymore between fittings with kevin + his own major so you end up carting your ass to the fitting sessions after kevin invites you once to see what’s going on and juyeon actually gets scared by all the numbers n shit on your papers bc like what the fuck y/n are you a computer and you just whap him over the head with your stack of homework and say no shut the fuck up and model pretty boy (you don’t see but juyeon blushes bc you called him pretty. kevin saw though and he’s not impressed) but you end up not focusing on your homework bc kevin has juyeon put on and take off clothes at multiple points during the session and ofc if it’s pants or whatever juyeon goes into a different room but if it’s just a shirt.... let’s just say you get a free show and at some point you’re just like yeah i have to go and kevin’s like?? there’s still an hour left and you say something like i can’t focus here the vibes are off and KEVIN KNOWS WHAT’S UP but juyeon is adorably oblivious so he’s just like! ok! see you later y/n i hope you get your homework done :) and he’s so smiley and cute and you just want to melt and cry bc he’s shirtless which is hot asf but he’s also smiling like that which is cute asf and you’re getting whiplash

(you still end up joining the sessions every so often. you bring homework to try and get it done but your time is either spent critiquing kevin’s fashion choices or staring subtly (not) at juyeon)

then a not good week rolls around and it’s just been absolutely shitty between crap professors and too much homework and your lab is working on submitting a paper soon and you’re stressed to the max and to top things off you saw your ex earlier and they tried to talk to you and you really didn’t want to have it so you’re in the lab crying over your computer while you try to proofread the stupid paper and your phone is off bc you don’t want to talk to anyone but then the door bursts open and you nearly have a heart attack and there juyeon stands in clothes that definitely aren’t his own (they’re too sleek and fancy to be normal clothes at least) and his eyes are kinda wild before they locate you in the corner of the room, shell-shocked and confused and also still crying a little bit out of stress 

and oh god juyeon’s eyes just soften totally and he walks over and before you know it you’re being pulled into a juyeon hug which is quite possibly one of the best hugs you have felt in a very long time and you’re doing your best not to break down right then and there bc his clothes feel hella expensive and he’s asking you what’s wrong and you can’t speak bc if you do you’ll cry on his model clothing and you finally manage to say that and there’s a beat of silence and then juyeon just goes well would it help if i took the shirt off 

AND THAT JUST SETS YOU OFF AND NOW YOU’RE CRYING AND LAUGHING AT THE SAME TIME AND JUYEON IS HALF SMILING HALF UPSET THAT YOU’RE STILL SAD BUT LIKE IT’S FINE IT’S TOTALLY FINE AND somehow you manage not to ruin kevin’s latest fashion creation (which makes juyeon look unfairly handsome even through your puffy eyes) and juyeon closes your laptop and takes you out to the convenience store (still dressed in his modeling outfit jfc) and over shitty ramen and alcohol (or water/juice/whatever if you don’t drink) you tell him about your crap week and juyeon commiserates and listens

at some point you ask him why he’s still wearing kevin’s clothes like?? surely you weren’t running around in them all day and juyeon just looks down and mumbles something and you’re like speak louder dude i can’t hear you and apparently he was in the middle of a session w kevin and kevin looked super stressed and worried and juyeon asked what was up and he told him about how you weren’t responding to anything and juyeon just. booked it the fuck out of there to find you and well now here you both are

and that. that just touches the FUCK out of you and wow you’re crying again bc of that and out of guilt for not talking to kevin or anyone and juyeon’s freaking out like oh my god please stop crying did i say something wrong and you’re just wiping your tears away with a napkin like no you doofus i’m sorry i made you worried it was just that shitty week and??? why did you sprint out of there IN KEVIN’S MODEL CLOTHES you gotta give those back??? and it looks like silk you know that’s going to be a bitch to clean

juyeon just pouts then and mumbles something under his breath and is like. it’s not more important than you.

which makes you reel bc that sounded a lot more like a confession than you’re really ready to process and juyeon seems to realize that at the same time and now you two are both just wide-eyed staring at each other and juyeon’s ears are going red and you’re still in shock and at some point you’re like... juyeon you stupid bastard say that again and he DOES and okay maybe you’re not dating by the end of the night but you sure are two weeks later when you ask him whether or not this is now a date and if he’s your boyfriend and juyeon spills coffee all over himself

(he mumbles yes as you’re wiping the coffee off his front though so it’s fine)

(it does not help that the coffee has now made the outline of his stomach visible)

anyway in general it’s a v cute and v sweet relationship :D juyeon is head over heels for you and you’re head over heels for him too and you’re not like the over the top sweet and gross couple you two like to keep it a little low-key but ofc that doesn’t stop kevin from banning you from fitting sessions w juyeon out of fear that you’ll like make out while juyeon’s wearing the modeling clothes but that’s just kevin being a little shit so it’s fine

juyeon manages to bring that silk shirt back to kevin in one clean piece

you manage not to die every time you go to one of juyeon’s dance recitals (even when he puts in a fake eyebrow piercing and you almost have a heart attack)

juyeon often likes to come into the lab for nothing other than to watch you work bc according to him its fascinating to watch you manipulate numbers and actually the lab is a v nice and quiet place to get things done when it’s mostly empty so you have a few study dates there

you go to juyeon’s dance practices sometimes when you have nothing better to do and get excited over showing him the physics of some of the dance moves and juyeon understands almost none of it but he’s beaming bc you’re so excited and animated while talking about it and the first time this happens is when you two have your first kiss. you ask juyeon if he was kissing you to shut you up and he says no i just thought you looked so happy that i had to kiss you

juyeon is a gentleman and you are like the sarcastic best friend turned lover but it really works out and yea there are a lot of people jealous that you managed to wrap juyeon around your finger but you’re also wrapped around his it’s v much a partnership where both of you rely on each other and yeah. it’s sweet. it’s lovely. juyeon hot but more important juyeon best boyfriend ever <3

and that’s how it goes.

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 prayer for kevin’s clothes let’s all pray that no tears stain his silk)

[paintedvanilla]

paintedvanilla’s good omens fic recommendations

here we have something I’ve been too shy to make for a while because. to be straight with you. more than half of these are explicit. and well. yeah.

works listed in escalating rating order (general -> teen -> mature -> explicit)

everything is completed unless otherwise noted.

Title: Bowties

Author: dvldegg ( @caerdroia )

Rating: General

Word Count: 776

Summary: “Newt needs help tying his bowtie. Crowley makes fun of Aziraphale. It's just a typical weekend.”

My Notes: This fic caused me to overdose on domestic cuteness.

Title: anywhere i go you go, my dear

Author: chamaenerion

Rating: General

Word Count: 1,533

Summary: “After the Apocalypse-that-wasn't, Crowley is reluctant to leave Aziraphale's side.”

My Notes: I will literally die i swear to god this has nervous and protective crowley and he’s clingy and overall I just wanted to scream I love him I love my boy and they’re so in love and they should always be allowed to be together

Title: Getting a Wiggle On

Author: Kedreeva

Rating: General

Word Count: 7,293

Summary: “Crowley's prank to leave Aziraphale with fake eggs to babysit does not go remotely as planned.”

My Notes: You’ve probably seen this concept floating around tumblr but this fic made me GENTLE because i have daddy issues and whenever people are like “crowley and aziraphale as parents” i have a fucking heart attack

Title: Adopt Don’t Shop - A Good Meowmans Fanfic

Author: lucky_spike

Rating: General

Word Count: 12,434

Summary: “Inspired by Chekhov's cat AU comics 'Good Meowmens', here is a fanfic in which Anathema and Newt are humans, and Aziraphale and Crowley are cats. Not disguised as cats, not trapped in cat bodies, just actual elderly cats that are inseparable.”

My Notes: I know some people think au’s like this are kinda weird but this one is so fucking charming to me idk??? I literally ate this shit up I love being gentle and reading about cats who are in love.

Title: Not Alone

Author: superqueerdanvers

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 937

Summary: “Crowley and Anathema are supposed to meet Aziraphale at the movies, but they can't find a parking place, and they have a heart-to-heart about disability.”

My Notes: I experienced feelings and also emotions while reading this and now i’m a different person

Title: bastard child of water

Author: smallredboy ( @smallredb0y )

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 15,622

Summary: “After a grave mistake, Crowley, a merman, is transformed into a human and exiled out of the sea. Issues crop up as he grows used to his new body, to his new friends and to his new job. But when a merman he's seen in passing pokes his head out of the water one afternoon, Crowley will fall for him and look for a way to regain his body.”

My Notes: THIS FIC MAKES ME LOSE MY SHIT i bribed dave with real life money to finish it and every day i’m thankful i made that decision because this fic is SO. FUCKING. GOOD. IT’S TENDER!! IT’S GENTLE!! IT MAKES ME LOSE MY GODDAMN MIND!!!!!

Title: Demonology and the Tri-Phasic Model of Trauma: An Integrative Approach 

Author: Nnm

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 99,423

Summary: “As soon as Aubrey Thyme, psychotherapist, had opened her office door and seen her new client, Anthony J. Crowley, sitting in her waiting area, she was observing and assessing him. At first glance, she paid attention to the following:

His clothing was expensive and stylish;

He wore very strange but noticeable cologne;

His relationship to the seat he occupied could only, very loosely, be described as “sitting;”

He looked angry;

He was wearing sunglasses.”

My Notes: OH!!!!!!!! MY GOD!!!!!!!!! THIS FIC DESTROYED ME EMOTIONALLY!!!!!!! IT RIPPED MY FUCKING HEART OUT AND FORCED ME TO DEAL WITH #ISSUES AND JUST OVERALL TURNED ME INTO A DISASTER!!!! I READ THIS SHIT IN ONE SITTING!!! I WAS HOOKED!!!! EVEN NOW JUST THINKING ABOUT IT IS DEALING PSYCHIC DAMAGE!!!!!! PLEASE READ THIS!!!

Title: The Odd One Out

Author: RainyDayDecaf

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 2,948

Summary: “It takes being thrown into another universe and meeting other versions of himself to make Aziraphale realize there is something wrong with the way his Crowley treats him.”

My Notes: A product of the shit-script, literally had me feeling emotions but also giggling because movie!Aziraphale deserves to be LOVED.

Title: A Single Feather

Author: qwanderer

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 2,521

Summary: “Here's the thing. Demons must be good at improv, at hiding reactions, at carrying on no matter what. They can’t show a moment of vulnerability, not to each other, and certainly not to angels. They were supposed to be tough, untrusting, paranoid bastards, or else.

So Crowley had developed a highly honed skill of automatically bullshitting, boasting, and mocking while covering up his true emotions, and it was in full force now.”

My Notes: I’m a simple woman. I see a nesting fic, I click on it. And it makes me emotional and afterwards I have to lay face down on the floor.

Title: Untouched

Author: Etaleah

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 3,531

Summary: “A demon's life is a lonely one. What Crowley wants is so simple, yet he can never have it.”

My Notes: I will literally fly into the sun if I see the tag “touch starved crowley” i will scream at the top of my lungs. Somebody please hold this demon.

Title: Penance

Author: Blissymbolics

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 5,910

Summary: “And for a while, it’s enough.

It’ll happen, Crowley tells himself. This time, it’ll finally happen.”

My Notes: Listen. This fic destroyed me, it made me tender horny and just overall ruined my night in the best way possible. I’m having a crisis over it as we speak. 

Title: Starved

Author: Fyre

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 6,351

Summary: “The first time the angel touches him, it’s as they descend from the walls of Eden.

It’s nothing, only a hand put out to steady him. A kindness. And yet a thousand memories from life below make Crawly flinch instinctively at the contact. It’s stupid, really, and he’s sure the angel doesn’t notice. He doesn’t stop to consider the fact that the angel’s hand was soft and for a moment, his skin tingled where it touched. Not right away, anyway.”

My Notes: AHH!! Crowley really said “I am touch starved please love me” like!! Imagine craving someone’s touch for SIX THOUSAND YEARS!! I’D GO BONKERS!! THIS FIC MADE ME GO BONKERS!!

Title: can you keep me close (can you love me most)

Author: taizi

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 3,268

Summary: “When his angel stretches out a hand, cupid’s bow mouth curved into a familiar smile, Crowley knows better. When he’s led to his own bedroom, pushed down amidst the silk sheets and hastily miracled pillows and a sinful duvet, when Aziraphale leans over him and the whole world seems to hang right there in his eyes, Crowley knows that this is not his to keep. It’s not for him to have this.”

My Notes: I can will and must LITERALLY EXPLODE the tension in this one is palatable and I snort hurt/comfort like cocaine.

Title: please, could you be tender?

Author: deadgreeks

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 6,262

Summary: “The first kiss is only the beginning of a relationship. Crowley and Aziraphale need to talk about things. That is not their strong suit.”

My Notes: I ache and I yearn for this type of content they are literally. They are LITERALLY… I’m going to burst into flames.

Title: The Quiet, Persistent, Gnawing Unease

Author: LillipopCop

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 20,850

Summary: “An exploration of the serious toll Hell's physical and psychological grip has taken on Crowley since his Fall.”

My Notes: Fics where Crowley experiences emotional distress own my ass.

Title: Make a Little Birdhouse in Your Soul

Author: Zolac_no_Miko

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 10,573

Summary: “It was a compulsion that he couldn’t quite define. A burning in his blood, a tingle on the palms of his hands. A restlessness that drove him to art galleries, antique stores, and street markets, seeking some object that would please Aziraphale. Something beautiful, or something useful—something he would want to keep. It started with little things, small tokens that didn’t require a special occasion: an embroidered silk bookmark; a rare and delicate tea from the highlands of China; a steel pen and inkwell to replace Aziraphale’s quill pen, and then a fountain pen to replace that. And then things started to get out of hand.”

My Notes: Another nesting fic that almost wiped me the fuck out.

Title: Crown of Thorns [The Walls, the Wainscot, and the Mouse] 'Verse

Author: irisbleufic ( @irisbleufic )

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 275,000

Summary: ““D’you realize,” [Crowley] said, “that we never tire of things humans get bored with on the regular?” Aziraphale shrugged, lazily basking. “I’ve always assumed it’s that we don’t tire of each other.””

My Notes: Please for the love of god and all that is holy if you have not read this fic, read it. I consider it canon.

Title: fires of the flesh, both literal and figurative

Author: mercuryhatter

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2,726

Summary: “Pretty standard "there's a sex curse and Crowley has to have way too many orgasms or be discorporated" stuff.”

My Notes: Yeah this is. Where I’m gonna start to get shy about my notes. It’s funny and it’s hot. Yeah.

Title: The Understanding

Author: Zetared

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 37,918

Summary: “Crowley is untethered. Aziraphale knows how to secure a knot. (He’s read many books on the subject, after all).”

My Notes: In which the underlying plot is a little strange but the overlying porn is very good.

Title: Come Fuck Me Hips

Author: AgentStannerShipper

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3,471

Summary: “Crowley has had a fantasy about Aziraphale for centuries now. Too bad the angel would never take him up on it. Except, as it turns out, he absolutely would.”

My Notes: Everybody has read this and if you haven’t then you better because it’s. It’s good.

Title: If I Regard Iniquity

Author: elektratios

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1,912

Summary: ““Aziraphale…” Crowley’s mouth worked a bit but no more words would come out. He cleared his throat. “Aziraphale, there’s no,” he gestured vaguely, “iniquity here.” He winced at his choice of words. “No-one is watching, no-one is judging. It’s just us.””

My Notes: I will literally dunk myself in the trash holy shit. It’s. It’s good.

Title: that pulse of my nights and days

Author: Ark

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1,694

Summary: “Aziraphale laughs, the delighted, breathy giggle he gives after his second bottle of champagne. “Such a shame we didn’t come to this sooner,” he says, pulling back and—oh, naughty angel!—increasing the length and girth of his cock when he pushes back in. Crowley gasps, and Aziraphale—greedy, too!—tilts in to swallow the sound from his lips, flicks his tongue against Crowley’s as though chasing after the flavor of this elongated pleasure.”

My Notes: This one is uh. This is a dirty one. It’s good but it sure is filthy.

Title: A Home at the Beginning of the World

Author: stereobone

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5,867

Summary: “"Oh," Aziraphale says. "I think Crowley might have moved in with me."”

My Notes: Everyone has read this one too but for good reason because it’s fucking amazing and makes me wanna scream.

Title: The One In Which Crowley Discovers Wanking

Author: for_autumn_i_am

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5,784

Summary: “It began, like most memorable events in Crowley’s life did, with a bad decision; like most bad decisions, it involved poor impulse control and copious amounts of alcohol. The Antichrist had been born, and he put on lipstick and kitten heels to deal with it, but knew that the clock was ticking, and at times when time was slipping away, it helped to hold onto a bottle of gin.”

My Notes: It’s what the title says and it’s hot.

Title: Love Hath Made Thee A Tame Snake

Author: thehoyden

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3,484

Summary: “He was the bloody Serpent of Eden, and he wasn’t going to stand for this kind of flagrant trespassing.”

My Notes: It’s uhhhhhhh… it’s hot!

Title: A Bolt From The Heavens

Author: coloursflyaway

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 11,235

Summary: “Aziraphale is going to show Crowley just how much he is loved. Through touch.”

My Notes: I will LITERALLY collapse on the floor… it’s too much for me

Title: Say Amen

Author: SinningPlumpPrincess

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1,967

Summary: “Despite being in a relationship, they still long and yearn for each other.

Despite being in a relationship, Crowley can't get over that Aziraphale loves touching him.”

My Notes: I’m a very simple woman. I see a fic tagged “dry humping” and I click on it.

Title: Praise Be to Crowley

Author: FishingforCrows

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2,306

Summary: “A simple comment from Aziraphale gets an unexpected reaction from Crowley. Aziraphale is curious to see what happens if he repeats the same comment in the bedroom.”

My Notes: It has praise kink crowley how am I not supposed to find it hot.

Title: Tea for One

Author: Kaesa

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3,072

Summary: “Crowley doesn't have a lot of complaints about sex with Aziraphale, but he can't help being miffed when Aziraphale stops just to have another sip of tea.”

My Notes: A two for one: funny and sexy

Title: rest yourself with me

Author: sabinelagrande

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3,380

Summary: “Crowley has a wonderful invention that he's just dying to try.”

My Notes: It’s funny and it’s hot what more could you ask for?

Title: let the rivers fill

Author: focusfixated

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4,996

Summary: ““Darling,” Aziraphale answered. “I’m here.” His hand stroked through Crowley’s hair, teasing out the snarls of red that tangled around his fingers, matted with sweat and knotted where Crowley had thrashed his head against the pillows. “Can you turn over for me, love?” Weakly, Crowley’s eyes flickered down, and he saw the angel blushing, as if now, suddenly, of all things, he had succumbed to reticence. He was sat back on his knees, and the soft accordion folds of him were dewy with sweat and moonlight. His heart constricting somewhere in his useless chest, Crowley turned over, and spread his legs.”

My Notes: I see overstimulation and I fucking floor it. Please never stop writing fics where they have limitless stamina.

Title: sweet just like frustration

Author: teatales

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 7,174

Summary: “Crowley danced on the line between self-serving and selfless when it came to Aziraphale. He would do anything, anything for the angel. Anything he asked, anything he suggested, anything he needed but didn’t say aloud. But Crowley was also a terribly, desperately greedy thing. And oh, how he wanted. Wanted Aziraphale with every damned fibre of his infernal being. Wanted to be good for him; so, so good that he would never want to leave. Crowley wanted to be the best, his only, his everything. As much as he wished to lie there in exquisite rapture - he was nothing if not lazy - he needed to at least attempt to communicate all that he felt. To make Aziraphale feel even a quarter of what he experienced. He had to try.”

My Notes: Just LOOK at that summary. How can I read that summary without being expected to fucking faint. Jesus christ!!

Title: The Human Way

Author: battle_cat

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2,780

Summary: “They're finally about to fuck on the bookshop couch and Aziraphale wants to know what Crowley wants.”

My Notes: I SEE A FIC WHERE CROWLEY DOESN’T KNOW WHAT HE WANTS AND IS JUST TRYING TO MAKE AZIRAPHALE HAPPY AND I BURST INTO FLAMES

Title: We Waited Long Enough

Author: syrupfactory

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4,170

Summary: “After a few months of (finally) officially dating, Aziraphale is a little hurt when Crowley seems amused by his eagerness for sex. Why? Because Aziraphale actually wants way, way more. Fortunately, that's a fun problem to solve.”

My Notes: THEY EACH THINK THE OTHER ISN’T AS INTERESTED IN HAVING SEX AS THEY ARE AND THEN THEY HAVE MARATHON SEX AND I’M SWEATING.

Title: As Advertised on TV

Author: Mr_Customs_Man

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1,045

Summary: “Everything that Crowley knew about sex, he learned from watching movies. As fun as movies are, they don't provide a comprehensive sex education. Needless to say, he has some misconceptions in regards to the act.”

My Notes: This is NOT a sexy fic!! It is sad and it wrenches my heart and I WORRY. Crowley please communicate your NEEDS.

Title: until you say it out loud

Author: attheborder

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 6,293

Summary: “And Aziraphale is realizing now, to its fullest, something he’s suspected for nearly as long as he’s known Crowley: the demon is no silver-tongued devil. He is no weaver of words, no smooth talker. It would fit in with his image, certainly— shouldn’t a man-shaped being dressed like an oilslick have speech just as dark and slippery— but there’s very little of either of them that’s as it ought to be, really.”

My Notes: This fic ignited me and I burst into flames. You’re probably starting to see a trend in what I like to read.

Title: Coitus Interruptus with Paperwork

Author: mountagrue

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3,780

Summary: “The one where Azira Fell (directly onto Crowley's dick, did not pass go, did not fill out the appropriate forms).”

My Notes: Scream this is funny and horny Aziraphale falls and immediately gets to dicking down his demon while Gabriel suffers the aftermath. 

Title: What Crowley Wants

Author: crookedashes

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 7,022

Summary: “Aziraphale wants to give Crowley what he wants most. It goes a bit sideways.”

My Notes: I die for this content can they communicate like normal people for FIVE MINUTES? Ft. Crowley feeling inadequate and me flying into the sun.

Title: All The Rest

Author: darlingred1

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 11,416

Summary: “If it weren’t for Aziraphale’s persistence, they wouldn’t have had a sex life at all, and Crowley was a demon, for goodness sake! Aziraphale didn’t understand it. (Aziraphale has the communication skills of a doorknob. Crowley isn't any better.)”

My Notes: Aziraphale and Crowley are like *has horny communication issues* and i’m like *nuts*

Title: and in this way their love rewrites the universe

Author: leaveanote

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 9,503

Summary: “They've been desperately in love for a year since the world didn't end, and they've been making little miracles happen for each other. Crowley's latest? A date outside of London, at a drive-in movie theatre in the South Downs. Yes, they have sex in the Bentley.”

My Notes: IT’S SAPPY IT’S TENDER IT’S HORNY IT’S ROMANTIC THEY INVENTED LOVE!!!

Title: sanctuary

Author: leaveanote

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 6,779

Summary: “It's about making a home together. It takes some getting used to, to take all this longing and transmute it into love, into something shared, but Aziraphale is here to help him get used to it. Especially on a stormy day in the cottage.

What better way to spend it than making love over and over and over?”

My Notes: I am literally a mess I read fics where they’re madly in love and want to stay close and I explode

Title: The Skin And Bones Of You

Author: entangelednow

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4,001

Summary: “In which Crowley has spent six thousand years wanting something he doesn't think he deserves. It's only natural to assume he won't get to keep it.”

My Notes: I swear to god i will SCREAM!! IT’S TOO MUCH!! PLEASE NEVER STOP WRITING CROWLEY AS INSECURE.

Title: love like the dawn

Author: leaveanote

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3,755

Summary: “This is sleepy, romantic, domestic morning sex in the South Downs Cottage. Crowley's still getting used to a love this good, the way it remakes him, the way it remakes the world.”

My Notes: I can’t with this like they’re just so in love I’ve lost the ability to breathe this fic stole my lungs and left me for dead

Title: to sleep, perchance to dream

Author: starkhasheart

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3,023

Summary: “Crowley has a kink. Of course Aziraphale is going to indulge him.”

My Notes: Uhhhhhh it’s. Uhhh. Consensual somnophilia is uh… yeah.

Title: on the same page

Author: Chekhov

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: ~85,746

Summary: “Aziraphale Z. Fell is a rising star of the spiritual literary genre - the next Eat Pray Love guy - and his version of Chicken Soup For the Christian Soul is flying off the shelves. It's not that he's not grateful, but it's one thing to enjoy a career in writing and another completely to be pigeonholed into a specific genre, so much so that you are almost forbidden from writing anything else. So yes, maybe he has a bit of a secret. An outlet for his less... appropriate urges. And yes, if his typical readership got word of the sort of paragraphs he could put out on a particularly inspired night, they might suffer some form of heart attack typical for their age. But all of that is well hidden, and there is absolutely no way anyone would ever find out about his Arrangement with A.J. Crowley - the most debaucherous romantic fiction author of the decade. That is... until they have to pretend to be married to each other.”

My Notes: THIS ONE ISN’T FINISHED YET BUT IT’S A HUMAN AU AND EVERY UPDATE MAKES ME FOAM AT THE MOUTH

Title: be mine

Author: leaveanote

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4,994

Summary: “It's their first Valentine's Day together, and Crowley is trying to pick out the right present.”

My Notes: I SCREAM I actually did not realize how many of this authors works I had bookmarked and HOLY SHIT!! THEY ARE JUST SO IN LOVE!! AHHHHH!!

Title: do we get what we deserve

Author: Smalls

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 11,064

Summary: “Crowley had not been a particularly good angel.

Unfortunately, Crowley had never been a particularly good demon either.”

My Notes: Cannot lie this had me openly sobbing on a Friday morning and left me emotionally raw

Title: Renting Crowley

Author: Amorous_Flammetta

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 8,018

Summary: “Crowley acts out Aziraphale's Victorian-era fantasy of taking a rent boy home for the night. Their little game includes costumes, champagne, dirty talk and explicit sex!”

My Notes: ITS A RENT BOY FANTASY BUT IT’S ALSO TENDER AND LOVING AND IT HAD ME SWEATING AND MADE ME EMOTIONAL

Title: do me right and do me wrong (give it up, give it up)

Author: seashadows

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 10,828

Summary: “Crowley copes with attention starvation, tries out some new hobbies, and discovers that asking for what you need is better than the alternative.”

My Notes: I’M GOING TO FUCKING EXPLODE THIS ONE MADE ME SCREAM LIKE I JUST CANNOT HANDLE IT ATTENTION STARVATION WILL BE THE DEATH OF ME

Title: For The Longest Time

Author: darlingred1

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 20,370

Summary: “Crowley kind of misses the pining when it's gone. Aziraphale comes up with a solution.”

My Notes: It was hot and funny and lasted just long enough to really make me antsy for the conclusion.

Title: Clementine

Author: Mussimm

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 49,073

Summary: “The seaside neighbours AU exactly one person asked for.”

My Notes: HUMAN AU WHERE THEY LIVE BY THE BEACH AND FALL IN LOVE AKA BE STILL MY BEATING HEART

Title: Gentle but Intoxicating, Nervous but Tender 

Author: ShortInsomniac98 ( @devilsss-dyke )

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2,868

Summary: “Crowley x vulva-having reader. // It wasn’t what you’d expected when you agreed to come home with him. What you’d expected was a maybe a quick, clumsy fuck, then out the door. Not some nervous but tender man who stammered out an, 'Is this okay then?' This was much nicer, much sweeter.”

My Notes: No comment besides uhhhhhh [sweats]

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #398

“freedom is just man’s invention, & a soldier is just a slave”

What do you do the most when you’re online? Watch/listen to YouTube. Do you have a bobblehead? No. Have you ever spent your birthday alone? No, that sure would suck. Were you afraid of heights as a child? Actually no, but NOW I kinda am. Have you ever had a lead role in a play? No. Would you ever take a solo road trip? No, that sounds super depressing and lonely. Do the mountains fascinate you? Of course! So much history built into a magnificent, awe-inspiring piece of nature. Have you ever been insulted or called names by a significant other? Wow, no. I wouldn't tolerate that for a second. What’s your favorite movie battle scene? The fight between Simba and Scar is very powerful imo. Have you ever been to a same-sex wedding? No, but not because I'm opposed. I'd love to go to one and be the photographer. What’s your favorite Marvel movie? Probably one of the Spider-Man films. I don't remember which it is, and I don't want to spoil it by explaining what I do recall. Did you have a Walkman when you were a kid? No. What’s the most difficult experience you and a significant other have gone through together? Being long-distance when we really wanted each other's physical comfort. Have you ever attempted to pick a lock? Did you succeed? Yes, because Ashley locked her keys in the car. I don't remember if it worked, actually. Have you done the Bratz doll challenge for YouTube? No. I've seen a couple people do it, though, and it's both cool and creepy. Does the hospital in your town have a good reputation? NOOOOOOOOOOOO. What is your favorite nickname that you’ve had? "Bee" from Megan. Have you ever gotten a professional massage? No. I would be SO uncomfortable. If you had braces, do you wear your retainers still? No. :/ Well, the one you put in, anyone. I have a metal one behind the front row of my bottom teeth. If you had braces, have your teeth moved since you got them off? Yes. Do you know anyone personally who’s lost a child? I know way too many people who have suffered miscarriages. Do you take your medications regularly? Yes. What’s one luxury item you wish you could afford? An actually nice house. What’s your favorite thing to do in a swimming pool? Just kinda casually swim around. Have you ever been abused by a cop? No. What is one thing that you took to show-and-tell as a kid? My Snorlax plushy. Do you remember losing your first tooth? No. In the summer would you rather have the windows down or the A/C on in the car? I strongly prefer A/C. Have you ever been addicted to a game? What game? I had a long-time addiction to World of Warcraft for a couple years or so. I still play it now, but I'm not addicted to it anymore. As a matter of fact I get bored of it easily now. Which was better: the original The Lion King or the sequel? The original, but I love both very much. Do any of your grandparents have a tattoo? I don't know if any did. Do you believe that your pets feel love towards you? Roman, 120%. It is so obvious. Venus, no, as reptiles are literally incapable of experiencing that emotion. I do, however, know she trusts me. Are you proud of your body? FUCK no. Have you ever been rushed to the hospital in an ambulance? No. How do YOU believe the world & universe started? I don't know. I feel like MAYBE there is some sort of ultimate intelligence that formed the universe (maybe prompted the Big Bang, though I've always been dubious of that occurring naturally), but I don't think of this topic frequently at all. Does it really matter, after all? We're here, so just focus on that and live in the now. Have you ever stuck gum under a desk/chair? NO, that shit grosses me the hell out. When shopping at a grocery store, do you return your cart or just leave it? Return your fucking cart, please. It is NOT that difficult. What is one thing you’d never want your parents to find out? Certain places I've, uh, "done" things. When you were little, did you like Dr. Suess books? Yep. I seriously loved Green Eggs and Ham. What would you consider unforgivable? Rape is #1. Would you rather give your food to a homeless shelter or money to charity? Food to a homeless shelter, but I'd love to do both. What was your least favorite year of your life so far? 2016 was a fucking NIGHTMARE. Have you spent money on a game online? On one occasion, I asked if Mom would reactivate my WoW account, and when two expansions came out, I asked if she could buy them. I HATED asking. Thankfully, now, I'm rich enough in the game to pay for the "token" currency, which renews your subscription for a month, so I essentially play for free now. Have you been called a bad influence? Yes. Have any self-done piercings? Noooo. I only trust professionals. Ever pierced someone else? Again, no. Leave it to professionals, as well as someone without tremors. If you had a child with down’s syndrome, would you keep him/her? IF I wanted kids, of course I would. It really, REALLY bothers me when DS is the reason behind abortion. Mind you, I am pro-choice, but come on... Don't treat down's syndrome children as a curse. If someone tried to murder your child, do you think it would be wrong to expose them publicly and talk about it on social media? Of fucking course I would. I'd damn that person to hell myself. Is there a toxic person that you miss? I sometimes miss Colleen. Are you still contemplating going back to someone you shouldn’t? With Jason, yes. If he actually wanted me back (that will never happen, but anyway), I fear I'd say yes and probably would, realistically. When was the last time you had a new crush? When I realized I was bisexual. Do you want Jesus to come back soon? Back when I was a Christian, I was terrified of Judgment Day. I don't believe in it now. What is something you can’t wear because of your body type? I COULD wear whatever the hell I wanted, but I refuse to wear crop tops or strapless tops (or strapless bras). Oh, and thongs. No thanks. If you have curves, do you like them? I'm not curvy naturally, I'm just fat. Have you ever worn matching pajamas with someone? No, but that'd be cute. Has anyone ever mistaken you for being anorexic? No way. What fast food place do you avoid at all costs? Arby's, to name one. Are you afraid of deep sea creatures? Yes, especially giant squid. Have you ever agreed to purchase something on Ebay and got scammed somehow? Ugh, I got Ico THREE TIMES and they were ALL broken; they'd freeze in the first few minutes. Has anybody ever given you a promise ring? No. What is your favorite kind of cake? Red velvet. Honestly, have you ever eaten raw cookie dough? Yeah, multiple times. Were you outdoors or indoors more as a kid? I'd say it was a split down the middle. Have you ever had a relationship that began via text? Jason, Tyler, Juan, and Sara all began over text. Girt asked me out over Facebook Messenger. Do you think sloths are cute or ugly? They're cuties! What eyeshadow suits you best? I only wear black eyeshadow. Do you watch the show Wizards of Waverly Place? I did as a kid and really liked it. Have you ever been to the rainforest? No. I don't think I could handle the humidity, though I'd love to see all the beautiful wonders. Are you a member of any clubs? No. Would you shave your head with a friend who had cancer? If it was someone I was very close to and they were extremely self-conscious about it, I'd probably be willing to get very short hair, but I don't think I could handle no hair at all. How did you meet your pet? Roman was one of the kittens of Ashley's mother-in-law's cats. She has way too many cats and needed to get rid of the kittens, and I'd been wanting one like mad. I found Venus via the online reptile-selling hub called Morph Market, and I became VERY interested in the many, many ball python morphs, and when I saw her, I immediately knew that was my baby. Did/Do you have any PEZ dispensers? I did as a kiddo. What are some of the phrases in your personal ‘bingo’ card? "Mood," "can't relate," "hi, how are ya," "jinkies," "yikes," "oof," shit like that. Have you ever been through a trap door? No. Do/did you have to wear a uniform to your high school? No, only middle school. How many video games do you own? A whole lot. Have you ever visited a sex shop? No. Have you ever ridden a bicycle through a busy city? No, I'd be very scared to. Do you use Instagram? How often do you post there? I have two for my varying photography subjects. I post very rarely on both. Have you ever had a scary encounter with a wild animal? I have not.

[mosylufanfic]

You’ve Got Mail

This is for the second day of Killervibe week, the Meet Cute theme! Based on something that happened to a Facebook connection of mine, although as far as I know it didn’t turn out this cute.

You’ve Got Mail

The first note was stuck to Caitlin’s door with a piece of scotch tape. She frowned and unfolded it, wondering if the new neighbor already had a problem with her erratic hours. 

Hi! (read the computer-printed note)

I just moved into 202 and wanted to introduce myself to all my neighbors. I'm Cisco Ramon and I'm starting my Masters' in electrical engineering at the university. Normally I'd knock and say hi but this whole quarantine thing kinda keeps me from doing that. :( 

I speak English and Spanish and a little bit of Klingon. I cook sometimes but mostly get too much takeout so any good restaurant recommendations are welcome! I like tinkering and video games and SF/F books and movies and shows, like you couldn't tell from the Klingon. I have a cat named Buttercup who is a giant butt and I love him. If you see him outside, I’d really appreciate it if you called or texted because he's not an outdoor kitty. 

He'd added a picture of the cat, staring menacingly at the camera as if promising that anyone who tried to pet him would lose a finger. Caitlin smiled in spite of herself. 

Hope you have a great day! Cisco Ramon, Apt 202

He'd also added his phone number.

Caitlin read it through a couple of times before looking across the courtyard and up a floor at 202. It being 11:30 at night, the door was shut tight. There was a muted bluish flicker in one of the windows, like he was watching TV. It would be rude to knock on his door at this time of night. 

Also, they were all practicing social distancing right now.

Caitlin was a champ at social distancing. She could social-distance on Olympic levels.

She went into her apartment, shutting the door behind her.

***

On her way to the hospital the next morning, she left a plastic container full of cookies on the mat of 202. There was a note carefully taped to the top. 

Thank you for your nice note. Here are some cookies to welcome you to the building. They're chocolate chip. If you can't eat them, it's okay to throw them away. I've been baking a lot in quarantine.

She was halfway to the hospital when she realized she hadn't put her name or apartment number on the note. So for all Cisco Ramon knew, some anonymous benefactor had dropped cookies on his doorstep.

She sighed. She really was bad at this, just like Jay had said.

***

There was another note on her door when she got back home, this one hand-written in a sprawling, jagged scrawl.

Hello Cookie Queen!

I hope I'm not creeping you out or anything. I saw you through the window, leaving the cookies this morning, but I didn't want to freak you out by opening up the door right away.

They were delicious. I will happily eat any baked goods that you want to get rid of. That's not a beg, by the way. I can make my own cookies, once I find a good grocery store. (Any recommendations?) Just if you're the kind of person who likes to make entire batches and then has to eat them for the next three weeks, I can help with that. I don't have any allergies or anything.

Anyway I think I've weirded you out enough for one note. 

Cisco

***

Hi Cisco

My name is Caitlin Snow and you already know my apartment number. The grocery store I like is the Safeway at the corner of Livingston and Bellmore because they are very firm about masks and disinfecting right now, much better than the Kroger. Also closer. There's a Taco Galaxy across the street from them that delivers until midnight and I like their chicken taco salad.

She stared at the note for a few minutes, then wondered if he would think she was saying a Mexican place because he was clearly Latino. She crossed out and substituted The Golden Wok on Bellmore delivers, and they do a good sweet and sour chicken.

I am a first-year resident so my hours are kind of strange but please let me know if I can ever help out with anything. 

Caitlin, Apt 106

She chewed her lip for a moment, then added to the last paragraph before the sign-off, I wasn't weirded out.

Then she wrote it out in pen on a clean sheet of paper and found another plastic container to fill with butterscotch oatmeal cookies.

***

Hi Caitlin!

Nice to have a name and stop calling you Cookie Queen. Unless you want me to continue calling you Cookie Queen, that's okay too. Thank you for the second batch! Just as delish.

I took your tip about the grocery store and stocked up. Also got green pepper beef at the Golden Wok. Nom, nom, nom! Any ruling on the Taco Galaxy across from Safeway?

I'm major impressed with the residency thing btw. Are you doing okay? Is your ICU totally packed? I have a sewing machine because I do cosplay but obvi no cons right now, so I've been making masks and stuff too. Do you need any?

Cisco

***

Cisco,

We're doing okay right now. I'm not treating many COVID cases personally because I'm in my first year, but everybody is doing more than they would have normally. If you have extra cloth masks, I know some shelters and the local food bank are distributing them.

I like the chicken taco salad at Taco Galaxy. 

She paused, studying the note. She wanted to continue this conversation. She liked him - his warmth and his humor. Maybe she should start texting him. She had his phone number, after all. Or would that be weird?

She wrote down, Where did you move from?

Caitlin

***

They traded notes back and forth, at least once a day but more often twice. Their correspondence ranged from the mundane - he'd moved from Coast City, she had come here from Gotham - to the personal - neither of them had very good relationships with their families - to the downright philosophical.

I dunno, he wrote one rainy day, I feel like the people who say this is God's punishment or whatever are totally getting God wrong. Like I don't believe in God anymore but if I still did, I don't think I'd believe in that kind of God. 

A virus is a virus, she wrote back. There's debate about whether a virus really counts as alive or not, but it's just doing what all life does. The pandemic is definitely down to human hubris and selfishness and shortsightedness. No need for divine punishment. And I don't believe in that kind of God either.

At work, she would mentally compose parts of her next letter during her rare free moments, and every time something funny or strange or horrible happened at the hospital, she found herself telling him about it. No names, of course, because of HIPAA, but writing them down helped her work them out.

The day he mentioned his most recent ex, she caught her breath, a strange flutter in her stomach.

She did a number on me, I'm telling you. It's weird because I do think she liked me, maybe as much as I liked her. It's just she was in some bad stuff with her brother, and she wasn't really interested in getting out. When I realized that she was using me to help him out, I was done. Probably way after I should've been, but that was the last straw. I'm not saying that breakup was why I picked CCU for grad school and moved here two months early but I'm not NOT saying that.

She lay on her couch reading the note over again. His tone was cheerful, as it usually was, but she could almost feel the regret and self-recrimination behind it. 

Also, did this mean he was single? He hadn't wrapped it up with any other mention of someone else he was dating now. 

I know what that's like, she wrote back. My most recent ex was - 

She lifted her pen and stared at the paper. How to describe Jay?

My breakup with my ex was pretty bad too. You just start to doubt everything that you ever thought or felt. Like, is this real or is this another time bomb he put in your head?

God RIGHT he wrote back. The good exes leave nice little presents for you in your head. You think of them because you see a movie they liked or something they used to wear and it just makes you smile. But the bad ones leave freaking land mines and time bombs.

***

More than once, she arrived home to find a bag of takeout or a tupperware full of some recipe he'd tried out. His tastes were a little more adventurous than hers, but she willingly ate whatever he left. Knowing somebody was thinking about her was as nourishing as the meal. 

And some of it was really good. 

She kept baking, leaving cookies and bread and other treats at his doorstep. Sometimes she experimented, too. 

One day as the first leaves were turning, she left a jar with a note taped to the top. I decided to try something. Let me know if Buttercup likes these.

She got a reply within hours. 

Buttercup would like to formally request to move into your apartment now, because I'm a terrible kitty papa and never thought of making him treats. Also I'm very cruel because I won't let him eat the entire jar no matter how much he yells. You are a genius.

She laughed and wrote back, Obviously you're an excellent kitty papa because you love Buttercup very much. It was a pretty simple recipe. I'll attach it for you so you can make your own. I'm glad he likes them.

She didn't see a reply on her door that night. This wasn't unprecedented, though it was unusual, and she found herself cycling through a few anxious loops of what-if - what if he was sick? what if he had nothing more to say to her? what if it had been just too weird for her to make treats for his cat? what if he was talking to someone else now?

But the next day when she went out to get her mail, she found a note tucked into her screen door. She grabbed it and opened it up. 

Hey I realize this is kind of a weird question since we've been passing notes all this time, but would you be okay with texting? Or FaceTiming or WhatsApp or something? I don't know if you kept my number but here it is again anyway. 

She read the short note through a couple of times, trying to identify the feeling bubbling up in her stomach. 

She did like writing the letters. There was something so calming and old-fashioned about sitting down with paper and pen and writing everything out that was on her mind. And getting a letter back felt like a present. 

But on the other hand, this felt like a step toward something . . . new. Something more. Closer. 

She looked up at 202. A curtain twitched, and she caught her breath. Cisco leaned against the glass, spotted her, and lifted his hand in a wave. 

She waved back. 

She'd seen him a couple of times, leaving something at her door or going to grab his mail. She liked his face and his smile, what she'd seen of them. 

He saw the note in her hand. That much was obvious. Even from here, he looked a little nervous. Or maybe that was her, projecting. 

She pulled her phone from her pocket and tapped in his number. He looked away from the window, reached out to grab something, and lifted his phone to his ear.

"Hi," she said shyly. "It's Caitlin."

His smile spread over his face, big enough to bathe her in warmth from one floor and a whole courtyard away. "Hi, Caitlin," he said. "Cisco here."

She smiled back. "So. How's your day going?"

It would be a long time before they actually got to meet in person, without a mask. But she was looking forward to it.

FINIS

[almondharry]

the pages of summer

Prompt: Romance 101: Y/N is participating in a study abroad program for school when she meets Harry; who is in the same place writing his new album.

This is prompt 12 of @always-jackedup Sarah’s 25 days of summer challenge. This is my first time writing a y/n blurb! Here is what I came up with! Do give a click to the other prompts done by the talented authors who are apart of this!

word count: 9k

————

Studying abroad for a semester was Alice’s idea. She was the loud-mouthed girl who had taken the empty seat beside you in your freshman Intro to Asian Civilization course. You’ve been super glued at the hip for as long as you can remember; she’s the first number on your speed dial, the only one who can make sense of your nervous ramblings. The building blocks of this friendship stacked up one after the other, from stressing over impending midterms to complaining about shitty boys, and of course, empty tequila bottles.

She was the type of girl who thought going to the movies alone was embarrassing, so it wasn’t a surprise when she claimed she needed someone to go halfway across the world with.

“Think of it as a grad trip!” she exclaims with arms thrown in the air, her eyebrows almost touching her hairline.

The carpet on the floor is itchy against your bare thighs from where you’re sitting on her bedroom floor, legs pretzled. Your finger twirls the loose fray of your denim shorts.

Alice has a huge rectangular cardboard display in front of her, the type students used for science fairs, but without the flaps on the right and left. It’s no longer the plain white that you remember it being when she bought it from the dollar store years ago. Instead, it’s full of cut outs in all different shapes and sizes; you particularly like the tiny airplane stickers dotted at the right corner. Your eyes catch a magazine article clipping—Travel on a budget now!—and a picture of some exotic beach; the highly saturated water meant she pulled it off of google images. This moodboard has been a work in process for as long as can be.

Alice started it as a motivator to get her through the times where she desperately wanted to drop out of university. She’d always said that she would reward herself with a trip at the end of her studies.

“We’re not graduating for another semester, Alice.”

“So what? Let’s call it a pre-grad trip! We owe it to ourselves!” She gathers her pin straight hair an inch below the crown of her head before fastening the shiny black strands with an elastic from around her wrist. “You’ll be off to law school and I’ll be starting a full-time job. We can’t really push it to after graduation now, can we?”

A gust of air leaves your lungs in a sigh. She’s right, there is no denying it. Who knows what flexibility your schedules will allow if you delay this into the future. You recall back to the relentless hours you spent in preparations of your LSAT exams. You had deprived yourself from a social life for months, studying for the most important test in your life did take off some years of your life span. Now that your acceptance letter came in you think you can treat yourself to jetting away for a semester with a great friend. You’ve earned it, you tell yourself.

Alice is looking at you with expecting eyes. The anticipation that gleams in her eyes is childlike, the look is enormously similar to a little kid about to open a christmas present they’ve been yearning for.

As a smile slowly crawls on your lips, her eyes double with realization. You agree. The rate at which she jumps up and throws her lanky arms around your neck suggests someone lit a round of firecrackers under her. Her high pitched squeals leave your left ear ringing.

You roll your eyes and laugh into her bony shoulder. “Alright, alright! Let’s bring the globe.”

***

The reason why Alice and you get along so well is because you agree on the same things. You’ve decided to stray away from common study abroad places such as London, New York, Toronto, for your semester. You want to experience life somewhere completely different. Also the fact that those placements have already been snatched up by other students narrows down your pool of options by quite a bit.

You both settle on the city of Tariz. It is a secluded area with a decent population, not large enough to be a well known staple city, but enough to have a bustling sense of community. Their language is a mix of Turkish and broken English.

The brochure you are given and the exploratory google searches here and there only feed your excitement.

Most of the architecture of the city is ancient. High arches and intricate stones decorate multiple streets. The streets are more like tight valleys, the rusted bricked walls of neighboring houses and stores transport you into another time period completely. There is even a dated sculpture planted in the middle of the town circle, it’s details are so well preserved that it seems life like—you’re dying to feel the smooth stone under your fingertips.

Your laptop displays all the potential flight times and costs. With a tap of your finger, the plane ticket is confirmed.

***

The first words you learn are Kirree and Poffasa.

Kirree is local drink of Tariz. It’s a bitter coffee with a splash of milk and two drops of essence that smells like roses. You prefer to sweeten it with honey, rather than sugar. Poffasa translates to please. The combination of these words are used every time you step into the corner shop located on Cardin Street.

The bell clanks above you and signals the worker behind the counter of your arrival. A welcoming grin pulls at his lips, you’ve come in enough times for him to remember your name. He knows to talk to you with more hand gestures and use short words.

You found this family owned cafe on your second week here. It’s situated beside a book store and a florist. There is an open patio outside which you take advantage of every once in a while when the humidity won’t poof up your hair. When the wind blows your way, it carries a strong scent of light florals—it’s quite poetic. It’s also only a ten minute walk from the university you are taking your courses at and two streets down from the apartment Alice and you rent.

“Kirree?” The man behind the counter—Amjad—inquires with a raised brow.

“Poffasa.” You smile.

He taps your order into the system and you drop some copper coins in the cup of his palm. Amjad moves with ease behind the counter, his fancy coffee machine makes a churning sound as he holds the rim of a cup to its long narrow mouth. He stirs milk and essence in a way you’ve seen him do countless times. Although you miss seeing a Starbucks within every ten steps, you’re grateful that you are able to experience a sip of someone else’s culture.

Amjad passes you the drink, it’s a simple latte cup with a bleach white plate at the bottom. Another smile is exchanged between you two, this is usually where the conversation stops.

“Tib tu,” you say. It’s a casual thanks people say to one another, you had picked it up recently.

Amjad’s eyes brighten up instantly. His smile becomes impossibly wide in a way that tells you he’s proud of your slowly developing ability to communicate. You can’t hold a fluent conversation just yet, but enough to keep a casual one going.

“Tib tu!” He laughs and wipes the counter with the rag previously rested on his shoulder.

You are engrossed into your course review settled at a circular table. Your laptop informs you of the requirements for the essay due next week, you crack open the novel and highlight potential quotes to help support your thesis. It is a simple Wednesday afternoon, business is slow, which is ideal because it doesn’t interrupt your concentration.

Hours pass by and you bob your head every once in a while to the soft radio filling the small shop. Neon yellow ink bleeds over a particular line you find interesting when the bells above the door chime and bring in a gust of humid air. Your upper lip curls in disdain momentarily because of the thick sticky air cuts through the coolness of the AC. You lick the pad of your index finger and flip the page.

The steady thump of boots against the floor gets louder as the person nears the counter to your right. Amjad had ducked in the back a moment ago so the customer waits patiently. This would’ve been fine, but then they begin to whistle a tune under their breath. Your focus on the essay in front of you shatters like delicate china.

You look up to see the artist behind this pesky noise. From your position, you are granted the view of his side profile and your eyes widen gradually. Sharp jaw, wavy hair, high cheekbones. He is cute. Something about him screams so familiar; maybe it’s because he has the same build as your ex or maybe the tattoo on his arm is close to the one Alice has. Your brain tells you you’ve seen him before, but you can’t quite put your finger on it.

Amjad comes out from behind swinging doors and your head drops back to your books.

“Zerki! Tim tu ga?”

“I’m sorry—English only.” It’s a British accent, the words are timid and he blends the first two together.

“Ah!” Amjad nods quickly with a wide, understanding smile. You can tell he is excited because this is a new customer. Although this cafe isn’t a tourist location, the university located near it brings in countless study abroad students. You assume he is another student somewhere from Britain.

Amjad swipes a plastic menu from behind him before placing it in front of the customer. You remember him showing you this on your first day here. The descriptions didn’t help much because it wasn’t in English, but the corresponding pictures did clarify some fog.

He puckers his lips and the deep frown between his brows is enough to say he hasn’t been in this city for more than a couple days. His index finger taps a picture and he looks up expectantly to Amjad. You pick up bits and pieces of the conversation. He is trying to ask a question about an ingredient, but Amjad thinks that’s what he wants to order. There is a lot of hand gestures and frowns and crumpled brows as they try to understand each other. This goes on for about five minutes until Amjad looks around the shop with a sigh. His eyes land on you and he instantly brightens up.

He calls your name and your head shoots up. “English? You English speak?”

You remember giving this information when telling Amjad what you’re studying in uni. Your eyes bounce back from the customer to Amjad before slowly nodding. He wants you to briefly translate something for him. The legs of your chair screech against the tiles as you get up and walk towards them.

When you come to stand beside the customer, you can smell the shampoo he uses. The citrus wafts into the air and when mixed with the smell of fresh brew, it is an odd yet pleasant scent. “What are you trying to ask?”

“I just want him to take the sweetener and milk out of this.” He points to the image on the laminated menu.

You raise a brow. “You sure? The Kirree is going to be really bitter, like worse than black coffee.”

“Yeah, that’s what I like.”

You give him an odd look but turn towards Amjad. “Kirree, na sarr, na dou.”

“Ah!” Amjad nods right away, plucking a cup from a tall stack before grabbing a marker. “Nama?”

You meet the green of his eyes. “He’s asking for your name.”

There is a pregnant pause in the air. It lasts long enough for you to second guess if you said your sentence loud enough. Then you see the beginnings of a smile ghosting his lips, the corners are upturned, but barely. Like he knows something you don’t.

He brings his index finger to rub horizontally below his nose. “It’s um, Harry.”

The scratchy sound of Amjad scribbling letters on the cup fills the silence. He turns his back to prepare the drink at the counter.

“Thank you,” Harry says.

“‘Course, it’s no problem.”

You occupy your previous spot and get lost in developing the arguments for your body paragraphs.

***

It’s childish. A part of you prides yourself on the fact that you are a regular at the cafe. You come here so often that you can find your way even if you were left blindfolded on the street. Amjad and you have gotten to know each other so well that he doesn’t have to ask for your order anymore. Hell, the table that you religiously sit at probably has your name neatly engraved on it. It is your quiet cafe.

Then you see Harry. You don’t think much of it when you see him after a week. Then he comes once again, four days later. Then again, two days after that. The days between his visits get shorter and shorter to the point that he is here everyday. You feel the crown that you’ve titled yourself with slowly slipping off your head.

He doesn’t make much noise because he reads—a lot. His designated place is at the table on the other end of the shop, you catch yourself stealing glimpses of him. Sure, it’s attractive that he’s a cute boy who likes to read, but what really gets you are his expressions when he finds a specific line or passage interesting. You’ve seen his brows draw in when he is upset. You know the two deep dimples that poke his cheeks when he finds something witty. You’ve witnessed his lips part slowly when he reads something poetic.

Right now, his chest vibrates and the corner of his eyes crinkle as he shakes his head. He is wearing a plain black sweater. A string of planets coloured in pink, blue and yellow, start from one shoulder and end at the other. You want to drag your finger over the knit material.

It’s slow. The swirls begin in the pit of your stomach and gradually increase in size. The last time you felt something develop this quickly was when you were in grade school, toes hidden in hot playground sand and eyes fixed on to your crush. You could’ve sworn he had an ever present halo hovering above his head. You still have one thing in common with your eight year old self, you both admire from afar and never build up the courage to go after what you really want. One sided pining and yearning is all you know.

Your attention gravitates towards the window when you become numb to the words on your laptop screen. You allow yourself these little breaks to lessen the stabbing strain your eyes develop. You lean back into the chair, from this angle you have a perfect view of the fountain outside. A butterfly flaps its wings insistently to keep its little body afloat, it circles the pointy tip of the structure. The water sparkles under the setting sun, it looks like a picture cut and pasted out of paradise. You wonder what it would be like to thread your fingers in its ripples rather than gripping a pen to your notepad.

You entertain this daydream for a moment longer. Then something pricks your skin, like a million tiny thumbtacks. The feeling of being observed passes over you; it’s silent and formless. You tear your eyes away from the scenery and your line of sight reflexively falls on soft green eyes. They are already focused on you, imploring and bated. A jet of warmth shoots down your spine.

You bite the inside of your cheek and deliberate looking away, but there is something magnetic about holding his stare. It’s playful, yet holds a pulling weight. He isn’t giving up either, hasn’t made one effort to try to blink away. It’s like you both hold one end of a rope, challenging tugs are given from each side to see who will break first.

A smile spreads across his lips, it’s slow like dripping molasses, and suddenly the butterfly isn’t circling the peak of the fountain. It has made a home in the pit of your stomach, thrashing wildly against your ribcage.

The bells clank above the door as a new customer walks in, and like a delicate twig under a heavy stomp, the moment is broken. It’s a middle aged woman with a toddler balanced on her hip. You blink away quickly and pretend to type a sentence on your keyboard. An Indian summer heat bites at your cheeks.

The sigh you release is deep rooted in your belly. The moment you shared was like clutching a fistful of sand. The grains quickly slipped from your hold and before you know it, you’re left with dry, empty hands.

***

A bead of sweat drips down the nape of your neck and trickles down your spine. Your cheeks are splotched red and baby hairs are matted to your forehead. The humidity levels are sky high today. The short walk from your lecture to the cafe is equivalent to a small marathon. You take a right at the intersection and the figure walking in front of you looks disgustingly familiar.

It’s Harry, and he is also walking towards the cafe.

He wears a simple black cotton t-shirt which shouldn’t make your heart skip like a stone over water, but it does. His shoulders slope in humble curves, but hold strength. The material moves with each step he takes and clings to his shoulder blades. Your mouth goes dry from the way his muscles flex under the fabric.

Your gaze flickers down to his left arm, it’s covered in detailed ink whereas his right arm is more sparse. A particular floral tattoo grabs your attention, the petals of the expansive rose begging to be traced. In his palm he clutches a worn leather journal, a long tie of the same material wraps around it multiple times. You’ve seen him spend hours with hunched shoulders and a pen pressed tightly to the papers, you wonder what secrets it wraps. In the same hand, he holds some sort of novel, you see a dog ear folded near the first few pages. You don’t have the opportunity to analyze a title because he is pulling the heavy glass door of the cafe.

The door doesn’t open fully, it stops awkwardly at a forty-five degree angle when he catches your image reflected in the glass. You don’t miss the slight jump of his brows when he first notices that it’s you.

He shuffles to the side with his fingers still wrapped around the handle of the door. With his movements, the door opens wider. The crisp, conditioned air flutters from inside the cafe and goosebumps pimple the skin on your forearms. It takes you a second to realize he is holding the door open expectantly.

“You first.” He cocks his head towards the shop.

You press your lips together to hide a budding smile.

It’s just a door, you tell yourself. People hold open doors for others all the time. It’s a common courtesy. Nothing extravagant. As you step in the space, you can’t help the warmth that slowly spreads in your chest—like a drop of watercolour staining a white sheet.

You don’t have time to overthink this simple act of kindness, you take in the shop you notice it is brimming with people. Kids and teens sip colourful refreshers and lemonades and almost everyone has an iced drink to combat the heatwave passing over today. As you notice most of the tables are being taken up, your eyes immediately pull towards your designated table. A relieved breath escapes your lips as you see that it is the only vacant spot. Your feet rush to it in a hurry and you drop your bag on the chair to stake claim.

You make eye contact with Amjad and gives you a nod, as if saying he’s already in the middle of preparing your drink. Harry is the second person in line and browses the pastry options while scratching the scruff on his face. You take this time to get situated by pulling out your agenda, laptop, and a textbook.

You’ve opened up your last draft and skim over some lines to jog your memory of what you left behind. You had grown accustomed to the quietness of the cafe, but today, the lack of it makes it harder for you to focus on the words in front of you.

The wave of light citrus in the air causes you to halt your typing. Your eyes catch the plaid printed trousers that taper in at the ankles from the corner of your eye. You lift your line of sight to see a simple blank shirt tucked in at the waist. Higher are the ringed fingers which grip two plates that are topped with Kirree cups. Finally, you look up to see it’s Harry, a journal and novel is tucked under his armpit.

His eyes are a muted green, framed with thick lashes. Reading glasses are perched on his head, they keep the few disobedient curls from sweeping over his forehead. You know he gets annoyed by them when he reads or writes, especially when they poke his left eye.

He releases his bottom lip from behind his teeth. “Amjad sent this over.” The Kirree in his right arm raises towards you.

You quickly reach forward to take hold of the plate, making extra sure you don’t let the steaming liquid trickle over the rim, or even worse, accidentally brush your skin against his. You’re positive the latter would leave a deeper burn. “Great, thank you. You didn’t have to bring it over.”

“S’alright. I was headed here anyway.”

You tilt your head to one side, silently urging him to continue.

He scratches the back of his neck, the curls at the nape of his neck shift. Harry’s neck cranes as he looks around the shop. His jawline sharpens when he looks completely to the left. Today everything is bustling. A kid pulls the hem of his mother’s dress with a deep frown to get her attention. Two little girls with matching pigtails fight over a specific coloured crayon two tables down from you. A group of students fill up the remaining tables; from their flashcards, it seems as though they’re conducting a study group. The whole town has chosen this cafe to seek refuge from the brutal heat.

The time he takes to analyze the buzzing environment, you press the rim of your drink to your lips.

“The only other empty chair is this one.” His eyes flicker to the simple white plastic from across you. The tips of his ears are impossibly red. “Mind if I sit?”

You almost choke on your sip, but you contain the liquid from spluttering out by downing the scalding gulp. “‘Course.” The urgency behind your immediate reply makes your face hot.

He lifts the chair slightly before pulling it from the table. The small courteous act of avoiding the ugly screech against the floor sends your heart flooring.

You think your heart would tire eventually, but the annoying thing continues to jackrabbit even after a solid ten minutes of him being seated across from you. Your palms are sweaty and your brain is firing up with a thousand different thoughts every second. How long had you wanted him to sit across from you? How long had you wanted him to exchange more than a smile with you? You’re getting words from him. He’s actually talking to you. It’s all a bit overwhelming.

Hours later, you’re fed up with the mundane reading. You had set a goal to read 800 pages, but you can make it barely through the 200 mark. It stares back at you from your laptop screen, challenging and daunting. A deep defeated sigh leaves your lips and your shoulders sink.

“What are you reading?” He asks, his eyes trained on the novel in front of him.

“It’s a reading for my modernism course. I rather individually pluck my eyelashes out.” He purses his lips to suppress a smile; A candlelight flame dances in your chest. You squint at the cover shielded behind his fingers, but you can’t quite make out the picture or title. “You?”

“Bukowski.”

Your lips part slowly. “Oh.” His eyes follow your movements when you raise a hand to gently tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. “Sorry.”

“No, no it’s okay—it’s hard to see because the cover is well loved.”

“No, I meant I’m sorry that you have shit taste in books.”

His face is blank for a minute, not giving away anything as he mulls your words over in his head. Then the corners of his lips poke up. When you see the dimple is more prominent on his left cheek, you almost let a strangled, breathless Fuck slip out. “You think so?”

You scrunch your nose and nod.

“You should try something by Murakami.” Multiple titles run through your mind and you purse your lips as you mentally browse which one to offer. Something about recommending a book, a song, or another piece of art, can be so vulnerable because people only like things they can see themselves reflected in. You pray to whatever higher powers that exist that Harry won’t think twice about it. “Have you read Norwegian Wood?”

He wets his lips with his tongue. They become a vivid pink, like fresh peonies or a sickening sweet birthday cake frosting. “I’m afraid I have not.”

Your fingers dip into the slit of your bag and before you can register what is happening. Your copy of the novel is slightly curving at the corners and feels more weighted from when you first bought it. This is because countless sticky notes and page markers you’ve stuffed in between the front and back cover. You can’t believe you’re freely handing over your annotated book, it’s full of all your thoughts and views and it seems intimate to give him access to that. You think to take a moment to rip out all your work, but your arm is already extended and he clutches the other end of the book.

***

“He held a door for you,” Alice notes.

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“He sat with you. For hours.”

“—Because the place was full.”

“You caught him staring at you! This sounds exactly like a dreamy movie!”

“It’s not, it’s just—” Your palm gestures vaguely in the air. You’re at a loss for words because if you’re being honest with yourself, you don’t know what this is. What you do know, is the childlike glee you get around him and the stolen glances you pocket away and the shy smiles you exchange. “—Harry from the coffee shop.”

Alice stresses your name in a pointed tone. “Please.” She drags a tiny brush over the sparse area of her toe nail, the fushia pink compliments her newly tanned skin. The smell of polish and acetone is poignant in the living room. “We both know you’re clueless as can be about these things.”

Your jaw meets the floor as you prop up your weight on the cushion of the sofa. “Am not!”

“Are so!” Alice twists the cap on the nail polish tightly. She flips the small bottle and shakes it to insure it won’t drip. “You need people to literally spell out if they like you or not!”

“Being clear is a good thing!”

“But… where’s the romance in that?” You should’ve known telling Alice about Harry would get twisted into something. Alice is adamant that he has a thing for you, but you can’t connect the dots. You thought asking for an unbiased perspective on this situation would bring some clarity, but all Alice knows are the countless rom coms on Netflix and the wall full of cheesy lovey dovey novels she collects. “From where I see it, you both are longing from a distance. How long has this been going on for?”

“Like almost two months.”

Her eyes double in size. “Jesus!”

“I know, I know.” A palm comes to rub over your face to hide the red colouring your cheeks.

“Before we leave you need to do something about him.”

“What do you mean?”

“Find a moment, grab him by the shoulders and lay one on him. It’s not like he’ll see you again.”

You roll your eyes.

***

Harry doesn’t sit alone at his table like he previously used to do. After that day you gave him the novel, he has glued himself to the seat across from yours. It’s nice. You both work in amicable silence together with occasional conversation; you switch between your laptop and novel and he scribbles some words in his journal. It’s not a stream of consistent thought, the words are broken and spaced out and formatted differently. You assume he writes poetry.

It’s an unspoken rule that you’ve both made together. Every week you pick something new off the chalked menu items and alternate buying. Today you pick a slice of carrot cake. You remember him saying in passing that he was fond of it and wondered how different it would be from traditional American or European cake.

The plate sits dead center of the table, a fork at each end. You dig the metal to the pointy end of the cake and cup your palm underneath the utensil when you bring it to your mouth. Harry does the same except he doesn’t use his palm. It’s endearing that a crumb is stuck to the left corner of his top lip. You make deliberate eye contact while you both chew slowly. A rating becomes more clear in your mind as time passes and you see the same behind his eyes.

“Love it,” he concludes.

You continue chewing your bite for a little longer, he’s waiting, expecting to keep this conversation going. Harry scans your features as you derive your final thoughts. He doesn’t realize this, but his eyes have a weighted tenacity that you find yourself squirming under. It’s not uncomfortable, more so intense—He makes you feel like you’re an exceptionally important person. You run a tongue over your teeth before letting yourself speak.

“It’s good.”

“Just good?”

“Good,” you confirm.

He has gotten a sense of your rating scale without you defining it for him. He remembers the coconut slice was mind blowing. The strawberry was amazing. The peanut butter, nutella and banana was exceptional. He recalls you closing your eyes briefly because they rolled back in bliss. The indulgent moan you let slip through made his brain short circuit. The high points of his cheek were the same colour as the cherry drizzle that topped the rhubarb cake.

He digs his fork once more to grab another bite. You refrain.

A sweet smile dances on your face as you tuck your chin in the palm of you hand, your elbow anchors your weight on the table. You don’t know when to tell him that with each bite he takes, he adds on a couple more crumbs to his face. A part of you doesn’t want to tell him at all because it’s so adorable.

“What?” He prompts when he sees you observing him.

“You’ve...” You trail off, but then roll your eyes last minute, deciding not to let him in on it. It’s a miniscule thing. “Nevermind.”

“Now you’ve got to tell me.”

“It’s fine.”

The sinking feeling in his stomach knots his intestines together. A plunging fear of his identity being revealed is something he doesn’t know that he’s ready for. You had asked him what his name was for Amjad to write on the cup. You clearly didn’t know anything about him. He wanted to see how long the cloak of invisibility spell would last on him. There’s something about meeting someone without them having preconceived notions set about him. It’s rare and refreshing for him and he wants to prolong this with you. He gnaws at his lip momentarily, do you know?

“Did you google something?”

You splutter a confused laugh. “What?”

“It’s—I” He threads his fingers through his hair. A panic bounces in his eye. He knows the inevitable, you will find out sooner or later. Should he just tell you now? “Did you—”

Before he gets a chance to finish his sentence you crumple a napkin in your hand and lean slightly across the table.

He is taken aback by your sudden closeness, but relaxes his tense shoulders when the floral notes of your perfume floats around him.

You drag the napkin at the corner of his mouth and collect the persistent crumbs. You feel his eyes trained on one side of your face. There is a charged intimacy in the air that both of you don’t acknowledge. This innocent act speaks louder than any words between you two could. You tell yourself that maybe this feeling is one sided, a complete travesty, but then you see his adam’s apple rise and fall has he swallows a nervous gulp. It’s enough to let you know he feels it too. To keep yourself from doing something you might regret, you pour all your focus to the task at hand. This moment lasts for a couple seconds at most, but the fervor behind it could outlive even the oldest stars.

“There,” you say, your back meets your chair once again. “That was all.”

***

“How much have you gotten through?”

“I’m at the halfway mark. A few scenes have stuck out to me.”

“Oh, yeah?” Your eyes immediately flick up meet his. Curiosity and anticipation pull at each end of your lips to form a smile. Your wrist finishes jotting down the last of correction on your essay, the red pen in your grasp moves on autopilot because Harry has once again captured all your attention. He’s done it numerous times before, it’s just something he is good at. “Which ones?”

There is a soft grin on his lips. “When Toru lets go of the firefly on the roof.”

“Why did you like it?”

“It was such a simple act, but probably meant so much more.”

“You’re right, it did.” You nod. Red ink strikes out two sentences, but your ears are still perked up. “What else?”

“Naoko’s birthday.”

“Really?” The pitch of this word is higher than your previous ones, you’re surprised. You once had a conversation with someone who passionately claimed the scene should’ve been ripped out Norwegian Wood. You stop writing completely and give him your utmost undivided attention. You elbows press to the surface of the table as you lean it slightly and drop your volume to an octave lower. “Is it because they fucked?”

“Yeah,” he nods after a moment of contemplation. You shoot him a look, not because of his scene choice, but his lack of explanation, and he backtracks immediately. It would be awfully disheartening if that is all he had to say about that. “No, no, no. It’s not what you’re thinking. It was just so sad and lonely and—” He takes a deep breath and his nostrils flare. “I really felt for Naoko. It’s an oddly relatable thing—being in that state of mind, feeling that, all while giving yourself to someone. I don’t know, it’s just—”

His words hang in the air, but from the crumpled look on his face, you know exactly what he wants to communicate. The impervious silence between you two stays for a moment.

Talking about books with him was something you look forward to. He likes when you push him to read certain books. He admits once with a bashful look that he was intimidated by you. Your list of recommended books—it only went up to five, ink scratches on tissue you handed him one night before parting—made you seem very well read in his eyes. You dismissed it quickly with a wave.

A smile quirks your lips. “That was one of my favourites too.”

The praise balloons a feeling in your chest that would only contribute to one-sided feelings. You told him your list is no match to what is really out there; your goal isn’t to be a pretentious well-read girl, but it’s to find more titles that make you feel a spectrum of emotions.

He takes a minute to absorb your words. With an understanding nod he goes back to writing in his journal. You think you pick up on a musical note or chord, but you can’t be sure.

***

The blanket of humidity suffocating the town finally breaks on a Friday. In the wee hours of the early morning, you hear the clap of thunder rip through the clouds and pour down a bucket of water. It transitions into a romantic drizzle as noon rolls around.

It was one of those odd days where you are at the cafe before Harry. Your plain black umbrella sits in his chair, drops of water fall off the pointy tip and splatter against the floor.

“What’s this?” Harry grips the hooked handle of the umbrella as he lifts it up. The folded flaps of the fabric move like the arms of a ceiling fan before hitting against each other. “You’ve replaced me already?”

He has a pleased look on his face, clearly too proud of his joke.

You drop all traces of expression from your face and force your eyebrows to curl in a deep, confused frown. The slight tilt of your head to the left completes the faux look. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

He rolls his eyes, pinching his lips to on side in an effort to subdue the smile you both know is about to flourish. “Funny.”

You laugh under your breath. He wipes away the remaining droplets of water on the chair before taking his seat. Fingers comb back his hair, you notice it is a darker brown, a wet curl curves at the shell of his hair in a perfect swoop.

Like always, hours go by without you noticing. The sun has long bid its farewell. You’ve shared casual conversation, another slice of cake, and another book recommendation.

Amjad begins to flip the stools upside down on their respective table, the sound makes you look up. The lights are toned into a dim buttery yellow rather than the stark white you’re used to. He’s closing up for the night. It’s just you and Harry in the space, both of you begin to collect your belongings. You tuck your laptop into its sleeve before plucking your highlighter and pen into your bag. The novel you used is carefully bookmarked and pressed into your tote bag.

“Shit,” Harry hisses. Through the glass window you see the sky is an angry black, flashes of white remind you of when you had taken your high school graduation pictures. The rain is no longer a shy drizzle, it’s a wrath coming down so hard as though it seeks age old revenge.

You are thankful that you’ve brought your umbrella, but Harry can’t say the same for he is looking at the scene in front of you while scratching the back of his head. As he turns to you, you can see the same thought floating in his head.

“It’s alright, I’ve got one.” You wave the umbrella in your hand as you hike up the straps of your bag to your shoulder.

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “We’re headed the same way anyways.” You know your stop comes before Harry’s, it’s only a short walk from the cafe, you plan to pass the umbrella to him so he can continue his path back home.

As you near the door, you call out a farewell to Amjad. “Ta ra!”

“Ta ra!”

The sound of rain drowns out the clanking of the bells as the door shuts behind you. You quickly press a hidden button and the metal arms of the umbrella spread wide open. You shelter yourself under it and shuffle so Harry has enough room under it.

“You’re good at it, you know?” He says as you both begin the trek. The raindrops make a muted pattering against the material of your umbrella.

You face him and raise a brow. “What?”

“Just—living here, communicating, and all that sort. I would’ve never guessed you weren’t from here until I heard you speak English.”

“Yeah?” You breath in the smell of fresh rain, the wind mists some water on your face and a calmness seeps into your bones.

Harry shoves his hands into the pockets of his trousers, his shoulders cave inwards. “Would’ve probably just sat at my table like a fool and wonder why you come here so religiously.”

A smile pulls at your lips. “You would wonder about me?”

“Maybe.”

You laugh at his reluctance to say a proper yes. You know it’s a solid yes. Your eyes focus on the potholes in the sidewalk, rain water creates puddles and you strategically place your steps. “I would too—about you.”

“Now, you’re just saying that.”

“No, I’m serious.”

“Sure,” he hums.

A cool breeze circles the lonely streets, the thin hair on your arms stand up tall. The silence that makes itself prominent is comfortable. You decide this a perfect moment to tell him. You can’t begin to imagine the hurt on his face when he steps foot into the cafe and you’re not there. You’ve been practicing a speech in your bathroom mirror for two weeks now, trying all sorts of combinations to find the right words. Nothing has stuck so you bite the bullet and blurt the first thing that comes to mind.

“I’m going home.” Your heart is in your throat. Your voice is no where near bold and sure as you’d like it to be. It’s a timid whisper and you’re just thankful you haven't stuttered from the bundle of nerves in your gut.

He doesn’t reply immediately, you begin to ponder if the sound of rain submerged your sentence.

“We both are.” He gives you a weird look.

“No—I mean, I’m leaving Tariz. My semester here is ending, for the study abroad thing.”

Though the humidity in the air is long gone, you feel a thick heaviness in it.

“Oh.” The tone of the word suggests that he wasn’t expecting this. Harry scratches the back of his neck looking down at the pavement. “When’s your last day?”

The silence speaks for you.

His eyebrows jump. “Really?”

You roll your lips together before replying. “I’m afraid so.”

“Well, did you like it? The experience.”

You grin. Of course he could ask you this. You haven’t given much thought to this question up until now. You know when you go back home this will be the first thing people ask you, you take the opportunity as a way to practice an answer.

“Loved it,” you say without a shadow of doubt. “It went beyond my expectations.”

Harry gives your hand that fists the umbrella stem a push from below, urging you to raise it slightly higher. When you look up to see him, you realize the material grazes the top of his head. You mumble a quiet sorry before complying, he ignores your apology by prompting another question. “Favourite part?”

“There are loads. But the Kirree, the culture—”you take a brief pause, it builds the anticipation. “Amjad.”

“Amjad?”

“Amjad,” you confirm. It takes so much from you to not laugh at his ridiculous tone. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” The shrug of his shoulders is anything but casual. “I just thought, nevermind.”

You chuckle, shaking your head while trying to keep your smile at bay. “You’re so obvious.”

Wet hair strands glue to your face with the help of the rain. Your fingers peel them from your skin before tucking them behind your ear.

A deep sigh leaves him.

“I am, aren’t I?”

You both stop at the abandoned intersection. A red palm glows from the other side of the road, halting you from taking a step. You both could make a run for it because no cars are zooming the streets at this time, but you don’t. You feel the heat lift off Harry’s shoulder, there is something so intimate about being under the same umbrella on an empty street with him.

A sigh slips through your lips. You’re going to miss him the most. The routine, the secretive smiles, the tension. Alice’s words inject into your skin like a long needle. Do something.

“I liked meeting you too, for the record,” you say after a moment.

“Yeah?” His nose scrunches up as he looks to you. The traffic light above waves from the wind, a colourful glow lights up his profile emphasizing the sharp cut of his cheekbone and jaw. “It was good, seeing you every day at the cafe. Liked it—quite a lot actually.”

The sentence would’ve been fine as is, but the last four words he tacks on the end adds a double meaning. They put a tangible definition to the feeling that you both had been dancing around since day one. A painful silence settles between you two, it’s razor sharp and so prominent. You both know that it’s something you can’t avoid for any longer.

It’s a brush of fingers at first. Innocent enough to be an accident between strangers on the subway or two people walking in opposite directions on the same side walk. Then it happens again. This time his fingers slot between yours. The silver metal of his rings are frigid against your heated skin. You hope the relentless pattering of rain against pavement masks the boistourius thumping of your heart.

You think you’re imagining it all, but then he shifts his body towards you. His towering height looms over you and he leans in slightly. His breath is warm as it puffs on your cheek, a dizzying contrast against the cool drops of water that rest on your skin. Your lips slowly part in awe and his eyes immediately flicker to them.

The sharp tug he gives your hand is enough to pull you in a step closer, chests press against one another. The touch makes you tighten the grip on the handle of your umbrella, your knuckles become a snow white.

“This okay?” He asks softly. It’s a whisper, silvery and light, but flares a torrid heat in the pit of your stomach.

A stated latency is introduced into the wet atmosphere around you, it traps your bodies into a secluded bubble. His thumb brushes a long stroke from the diviot where your thumb and index meet all the way up to the tip of your pointer finger. The slow, tender pace of it almost makes you whimper.

Only when he sees your chin move in a nod does he press the tip of his nose to the skin of your cheek. You almost cry then. It’s a cruel, calculated torture for him to drag his nose from your cheek to your temple. Your fingers slip from his in favour to clutch the fabric of his sweater. You pull the threads closer to you, a silent plea to move his lips near yours. You feel his smile press against your temple. His palm rests on your hip then gradually slides to your lower back. Your lashes flutter momentarily before resting on your flaming cheeks.

His lips brush the smooth, thin skin of your eyelid twice, he plants a gentle kiss at the corner of your eye. He moves down to the apples of your cheek, the cupid bow of his lips lovingly traces the skin there. Your fingers crawl up from his chest and rest where his shoulder and neck meet. As he continues his innocent torment, the pad of your thumb traces the bump of his adam’s apple.

He brings his free hand to tilt your chin up, he aligns his forehead with yours. You both stay there for a moment while taking calming breaths. You notice his skin his warm under your fingertips and the rise and fall of his chest isn’t steady. You never put sugar in your Kirree, it’s always been honey for you. This is because the grains don’t fully dissolve and sit stubbornly at the bottom of your drink. As you crack your eyes slightly open, you see he has something golden on his lips. Shiny, sticky, inviting.

“Please,” you breathe.

His lips are warm, slick, and sweet against yours. You’d seen them quirked up in a smirk, in bashful smiles, in teasing grins. You wonder what they look like pressed so delicately against yours. The pads of his fingers dig into your flesh as he pulls your bottom lip between his teeth. His tongue laps in just the right way—slow, with the tiniest bit of pressure. You cradle his cheek and follow the line of his jaw with your finger.

When you sigh into his mouth, he lets out a tremulous whimper. Harry was like a cup of freshly brewed coffee; scalding hot and tempting. The steam dancing above the rim would blister your mouth, but you took a sip of him anyway. You know when weighed, all the benefits surpass the costs. You’d rather feel him on the roof of your mouth all day than never at all.

His arms snake around your waist and hold you in place. Your lips part for the length of a blink, the glistening of his mouth is mesmerizing under the light of the lamp post hovering above. You can only draw half a breath before he’s leaning in once more. This time his lips are ferocious. The iron grip you have around the nape of his neck pulls tightly at the curls resting there.

Every nerve ending in your body is screaming, ablaze with the same intensity of molten lava. Your mind is swimming with too many emotions, you don’t begin to label what they are, it will be useless in your dazed state. Your palm presses flat against his chest, you feel his heart jackrabbit through his sweater. There is a tingling sensation in your palms that shoots sparks up your arms.

When you both finally pull away, he doesn’t let go of you. He keeps you close to resume his light brushes; his lips against your cheek, chin, temple. It’s when the tip of his nose bristles against the bridge of yours, your shoulders sag with a deep sigh.

“We...” the word wavers when you say it.

“Yeah?”

You gulp. “We missed our walking signal.”

The slow grin that crawls on his face says he is willing to miss a million more.

***

“Aww,” Alice coos towards her laptop screen. A dopey grin splits her face in half. It tells you she’s either looking at the current royal wedding pictures or reading another one of her romance novels. “That’s so cute, she must be so lucky.”

“What are you on about?” You inquire from your position on your bed. Although you had no complains while studying abroad, you firmly believe there is something so delicious about sleep in your own bed.

“I’m reading the Rolling Stone article about Harry Styles’ new album,” she says without turning back. He is her newest celeb obsession, you think it will pass over in a month. Alice has her laptop situated on your work desk that you’ve placed in the corner. From her position, her back hides the screen she is reading. “He said he wrote a song about a girl who he met in Tariz when working on his new album. Isn’t it crazy how small the world is, like we were there just last year.”

“We were,” you agree from behind a parted novel. It’s another Murakami novel. You woke up today and your fingers had a mind of their own when they plucked him off your reading shelf. Something in your bones was begging you to read it. “I’m glad you took me.”

Alice ignores what you say, she’s too busy gushing over the guy on her screen. She is speaking way too fast and going off in a million different tangents all fueled from her excitement. You think you hear her say something about psychedelics and sex. You shoot her a worried look and before you know it, she’s pushing the device onto your lap.

“Here, just look!”

The fans of the laptop start up and blow a gust of heat on your thighs. As you blink to the article pictures in front of you, your heart drops to your stomach.

“Alice,” you say breathlessly as if you’ve just seen a ghost. You blink quickly to help clear the image, maybe you’re seeing things. But the longer you stare at it, you become more and more sure of the face staring back at you.

“What?”

Sharp jaw, wavy hair, high cheekbones.

“Oh my God.” Your mouth is dry. “Oh my God.”

“What! What is it?”

You point an accusatory finger in the direction of the webpage. “It’s him! That’s him!”

Alice’s forehead wrinkles. “I don’t follow.”

“The guy I snogged from the cafe in Tariz!”

Her eyes become the size of Saturn. “No...”

“Yes...”

As the confirmation is uttered in the air, a stillness floods in. You both stare at each other, blinking slowly with blank faces. The suspended silence makes it harder for you to draw a breath. You see the gears turning and locking in place behind her eyes as she grasps onto this new piece of information.

The high pitch squeal that comes from her wind pipes can be easily mistaken for a hyena sound effect. “Fuck!”

“I’m—” Your face is burning and your palms have a sheet of sweat, but your neck and chest is like ice. You fan yourself with your palms. “—I think I’m having hot flashes.”

“I would too if I snogged Harry fucking Styles.”

Blood rushes to your face. “I didn’t know!”

“How did you not know?!”

“Because I live under a rock, you know this. I just thought he was another study abroad student like us!”

“This is so fucking funny.” Alice is howling with laughter. She clutches her stomach and leans forward without any shame. You can’t blame her though, if the tables were turned you doubt you’d react differently than her.

“Fuck, he wasn’t writing poetry.” The inside of your palm slaps your forehead. You feel a sharp throbbing pain pulse at your temples, so you clutch your head and clamp your eyes shut. “Those were probably songs, oh my God, I am so stupid!”

“Babes, babes.” Alice drags the pad of her thumb under her eyes to catch fallen tears. “We’re buying tickets.”

The pillow you throw at Alice lands with a loud smack.

“There is no fucking way I’m going to another study abroad thing with you—ever again.” Your arms limply flail about. “Look what this first one made me do.”

Alice scoffs. “You made out with a rockstar.”

The pointed look you shoot has enough strength to bring down civilizations. “Not the point.”

“Well, I wasn’t insinuating buying a ticket to another place.”

Your lips part with confusion. “Then what?”

“We’re going to catch his show.”

————

Don’t ask me where the city of Tariz is in the world, I made it up. Also all of the language is made up. So is the drink. Lol. Can you tell I didn’t want to do research? My mc is dumb, that scene in NW was ass. Anyway, let me know your thoughts? 

Thank you for amina @harrysdodgyankles for editing the moodboard

My wonderful betas are the best. Thank you so so so much to @drivingmekiwi @midnightcities @shelvesandwhelves @fireawaynjh

[holdthosebees]

Memento Mori

A/N: Here we are again! Reposted w/out the horrifically embarrassing typo, which I’m sure y’all would have forgotten about if I hadn’t just mentioned it. Shoutout to @screechfoxes for reminding me! Anyway I’m still thinking about Mike Crew/Oliver Banks, and I will be until I die. Fic is rated M for mild, nonexplicit sexual content and canonical character death. 

It’s storming on the day that Oliver meets Michael Crew, which feels appropriate enough. Later, Oliver jokes that, if Mike were more of a drama queen, he’d think he’d done it on purpose: the lashing rain, the heavy wind, the crack and roll of thunder shivering through the air. A summer storm, out of season. It’s driven away most of Oliver’s usual customers, the alternative kids and the middle aged hippies; he’s rearranging a display of cat-themed tarot cards for the fifth time for want of something better to do when the bell above the door rings.

The vertigo is immediate. Oliver raises his eyebrows as his stomach lurches; it had been a while since something impacted him like this. Ever since point Nemo, physical sensation has been... not numb, but dulled, certainly. Even the anxiety, once a constant companion, doesn’t leave him nauseous the way it used to. Then he registers the smell of ozone, and he sighs.

The man in the doorway is short and narrow, with a friendly, square face and sandy brown hair dripping rainwater onto his forehead. He’s dressed down for the weather, no raincoat or umbrella, and above the collar of his plain blue button-down Oliver can see a branching white scar.

“Good afternoon,” Oliver says, to be polite. “Anything I can help you with?”

“Oh, I’m just browsing,” the man says. He tucks his hands into the pockets of his trousers, as if to indicate how uninterested he is in touching anything. “I’ll try not to drip on your stuff.”

“That’s very thoughtful,” Oliver says. Then, because he feels a little silly, playing retail associate with a fellow monster, “Sorry--you’re Michael Crew, right?”

“Guilty as charged,” Michael says, with a quirk of a smile. “But please, call me Mike. Who was it that told you about me? Simon? Jude?” He looks at Oliver’s expression, and laughs. “Figures it would be Jude. She’s such a gossip, that one.”

“I suppose,” Oliver says. His conversation with Jude hadn’t been long, but it had left an impression. He’d felt rather like she was trying to recruit him into some sort of alliance, and when he hadn’t been receptive, her demeanor had been... unpleasant. She’d mentioned Michael--Mike--as something of a casual acquaintance, and so he’d expected him to be somewhat like her: so full of gleeful malice that it oozed out the edges.

“Anyway. I figured I’d drop by, see the man who hijacked Harriet’s plans for Point Nemo.” Mike punctuates this with by giving Oliver a slow once-over, up and down. Oliver smiles reflexively. It’s hard to tell whether he’s being threatened or checked out; neither option is as daunting as it might have been, once, but if Mike is planning on starting something he’d rather they not do it in his shop.

“Oh,” Oliver says, “sorry about that. I wasn’t exactly thinking much, at the time.”

“Don’t worry about it. Sea water under the bridge.” Mike says, and smiles, taking a hand out of his pocket to wave the matter away. He has a nice smile, Oliver thinks. Not too wide, not the tooth-baring threat that most of the avatars he’d met seemed fond of. Nice. “To be honest, I don’t have much to do with what the Fairchild’s are up to, these days. I don’t really bother with the macro. Yes, I know, ironic.”

“Seems very reasonable,” Oliver says.

“I thought you’d approve. Your lot doesn’t bother with that sort of thing, right?  Everyone dies, after all.” His smile quirks up at the corner; a shared joke between two dead men.

“Memento mori,” Oliver says. He’s beginning to suspect that he actually is being chatted up, a suspicion confirmed when Mike asks him out for a pint a few minutes later. He considers saying no, citing the shop: it’s too early in the day to close up, after all. But there aren’t any customers coming, and Mike’s cute enough, and it’s not like he has many options. And it’s been a very, very long time.

They talk shop a bit over drinks--”Most people just don’t understand how big eternity actually is,” Mike says, all quiet intensity, and Oliver finds himself nodding along--and then, tentative, like he’s actually nervous, Mike asks Oliver over to his flat.

Oliver hesitates. He hasn’t gotten mixed up in any of the inter-avatar politics; he’s had no need to, and an entanglement just seemed like a pointless bit of risk. Besides, he’s always found the delight in death and pain paradoxically distasteful. He loves it, worships it, recognizes it as the truth that underwrites the universe; that doesn’t mean he has to enjoy it.  

But Mike seems reasonable enough, and he’s handsome in an anemic sort of way. And there’s--something, in his eyes, the tilt of his jaw, an echo of defiant exhaustion, a coldness that Oliver recognizes. He is fairly cold himself, after all.

Going to bed with Michael Crew is--well, it would be overwhelming, if Oliver were capable of being overwhelmed. Touching his skin is vertigo, is free fall, the first crack of thunder when a storm breaks. Oliver licks the scar on his chest and tastes ozone. He can only imagine what Mike feels, touching him. They aren’t human, anymore; their bodies are vessels for something monstrous and huge, beautiful in their horror; but they can still sweat, and bite, and gasp so gently at the shock of sudden pleasure. Afterwards, Oliver lays his head on Mike’s chest and is relieved when he doesn’t feel a heartbeat.

It becomes almost a regular thing. They don’t date. They don’t have a relationship. The part of themselves that could be given to another person was already dedicated to something else; Mike will never look at anyone the way he looks up at the night sky, and Oliver will never feel as sadly tender about anything as he does when he sees the soon-to-be-dead walk past. The secret that Mike keeps is that the world is very big; the secret Oliver keeps is that your experience of it will be small. The space they make fits somewhere in-between.

The truce that they keep between them is simple. Mike comes by the store every few months or so. They make smalltalk, discuss the state of the powers, have sex sometimes. It’s nice. Mike, it turns out, is just as much of a homebody as Oliver; he lets the silences between them stretch on, doesn’t both texting ahead, doesn’t make demands of Oliver’s time. This is, of course, ideal. It is hard to care about investing in another person when you keep in the center of your heart and in your bones the knowledge that they, too, will die.

But still. It’s nice. One evening Mike swings by the store just before closing, and Oliver looks at his grey eyes and narrow shoulders and feels--something. It isn’t joy, and it isn’t exactly lust, and it’s certainly not love--Oliver does remember what it was like to be in love, although the memory feels like a reflection in water, murky and warped and far away. But something unclenches, somewhere in his chest, and he smiles without thinking when he says hello.

“Hey,” Mike says. His hair is a mess, sticking up in all kinds of windblown directions. It suits him. “I brought you something.”

“Oh?” Oliver says. Mike isn’t the gift-giving type; they aren’t exactly in a gift-giving business. Mike nods, rooting through the pockets of his faded grey trousers. What he pulls out looks at first like a lump of pale rock, but Oliver can feel the cold emanating from it, familiar and soft. He holds out his hand, and Mike presses the lump into it.

A chunk of bone, worn smooth, the pockmarks of its structure exposed all along one side. A piece from the spine of a sea creature long extinct. Oliver can feel the layers of dead things condensed on the ocean floor, the sediment of thousands of years of endings. It was, not the last of its species, but second to last. With it died the last chance they had.

When he closes his eyes, he sees the dark ocean stretching out forever.

“Thank you,” he says. He rolls the bone back and forth, savoring it. “It’s--very nice.”  

“You’re welcome,” Mike says. He sounds uneasy. He puts his hands back in his pockets, shoulders hunched. He doesn’t seem self conscious, not exactly, but--this isn’t something that they do, and they both know it. Still, Oliver smiles as he tucks the bone into the pocket of his work slacks, and after a moment, Michael relaxes again.

“Drop by my place, yeah?” he says. “When you’re done closing?”

Oliver doesn’t ask why he doesn’t want to linger. When Mike opens the shop door the is a rush of wind strong enough to tug at the covers of the paperbacks on display. Then the door shuts and the bell rings, and Oliver is left in stillness.

He rings up his last customer, a middle-aged woman buying a crystal pyramid and a book on chakra manipulation. There is a black tendril wrapped around her middle, and Oliver allows himself a moment to feel the soft, cold whisper of his god. It feels good. He knows, intellectually, that he might have felt guilty about that, once.

He closes up, and goes to Mike’s flat. Mike has a cup of tea and some takeaway already waiting for him. While they eat Mike tells him, in dreamy snippets, about his trip to the ocean. The sea, he said, that was big, but the sky--the perfect black, stretching on forever, unmarred by light pollution, the incredible, indifferent distance of the stars--that was something else. He closes his eyes while he speaks, savoring the memory. Oliver doesn’t ask what happened to the sailors he was with. He doesn’t have to. All the avatars serve the End, in their own ways.

They go to bed. When Mike removes his shirt Oliver sees a new scar, a patch of raw red skin in the shape of a handprint on his shoulder. Mike’s mouth twists when he notices Oliver looking.

“Had a bit of a disagreement with Jude Perry,” he says, wry. Then he frames Oliver’s face in his hands and kisses him, all sudden intent, and Oliver feels the vertigo again, twisting with arousal in the pit of his stomach. He smiles.

Afterwards, they lie together, Mike’s head on Oliver’s chest, Oliver’s fingers tangled in Mike’s hair. This is another thing they don’t usually do, the cuddling. Mike’s not a cuddly person, just like he’s not a clingy person, or a gift giving person, or--arguably--a person at all. Oliver finds himself remember the last time he did this. Years and years ago. In bed with Graham, who he didn’t let himself think about for so long that it became an unconscious habit to repress.

But his memories are hazy and confused, another life, full of feelings that no longer fit in his body. And there are details that he can’t line up: what color was Graham’s hair? His eyes? It’s all fading away, now, tangling and strange, like an old movie in a foreign language. Oliver gives up. He closes his eyes and lets himself drift, listening to the quiet rush of Mike’s breathing.

He dreams. In his dreams he is in the middle of the ocean, water like black glass stretching out in all directions. Forever. And above it the sky, the black and endless sky, full of cold and distant stars.

The water rolls. A huge wave, a wall: the back of some great creature, larger than a ship, than a whale, its bulk enough to change the entire landscape without breaking the surface. Oliver sees miles of barnacle-ridden skin, a single sunken eye. And around it, familiar as breathing: the tendrils of death, black and fleshy, like the arms of a kraken drawing it down. The behemoth groans, and the world shakes.

Oliver wakes up. At first he thinks he is still sleeping: he smells salt, and can feel the press of one of the death-tendrils against his hand, fleshy and cold. But no. He is awake, in Mike Crew’s flat. The smell is Mike’s hair; he hasn’t been able to wash the sea off of him, yet. And the touch--

There is a tendril around Mike’s neck.

There is nothing else to do. Oliver presses his mouth to the top of Mike’s head, closes his eyes. Then he slides carefully out of bed and begins to dress. Mike won’t wonder why he left. He won’t notice anything amiss, not until tomorrow, maybe, or the day after that. However many days it takes. Oliver pulls on his trousers and feels the lump of bone press against his hip. He does up the buttons on his shirt, pulls on his coat. It is raining. A soft, light rain, streaking down the window in the grey dawn.

He stops at the doorway, looks back at Mike’s small frame curled up under the comforter. One hand grasping at the pillow.

“Rest well,” Oliver whispers. Then he turns, and closes the door behind him.

[noona-clock]

Obvious

Hey B congrats on your 8k followers! You deserve it. Could I please request a Hanbin library fluff? 💙

Yay! Thank you, @potterloud! Yours was the first request to come in, and it made me so happy. Hanbin? And Library fluff?! YES! I hope you like it, my dear Alex!!

Genre: Library/College!AU/Fluff

Pairing: Hanbin x You

By Admin B

“What are you doing here?” you asked, somewhat breathless after having roamed almost the whole campus looking for your boyfriend.

The two of you had just graduated from university only a few hours ago, and Hanbin had suddenly disappeared after the ceremony.

He had always been a thoughtful kind of guy who needed his alone time, but after almost three hours, you’d let your anxiety get the better of you. You’d started searching the campus, putting a halt on packing up your apartment to find him.

Now that you were here, you weren’t sure why you hadn’t tried the library first. It was the most obvious place... but maybe that’s why. Hanbin had never really been the obvious type. 

Except when he was flirting with you. That he was very obvious about.

You slid onto the bench next to him, and he immediately lifted an arm to put it around your shoulders. As you always did, you leaned into his side and rested your head in the crook of his neck.

“I just...” he began, his voice soft and a bit dreamy. “I wanted to say good-bye, I guess.”

“Good-bye?” you murmured curiously. “To... the library?”

Hanbin let out a low hum before moving to kiss the top of your head.

“You know we can always come back and visit, right?” you whispered.

“Well, yeah,” he muttered in that soft voice he used when he was either thinking really deeply or feeling very nostalgic. Right now, it was most likely the latter. “But are we really? Once we move back, we’ll get jobs, and we’ll be busy, and --”

“Even if we don’t come back to visit, we still have the memories.”

Because, after all, the two of you had met in this very building, the library, over three years ago.

You felt Hanbin nod slightly, his hold on you tightening as you closed your eyes and thought back to that day...

“Quinn, Quinn, Quinn...” you whispered to yourself as you paced down the aisle, your eyes quickly scanning the books to try and find the one you were looking for. A biography on Napoleon by Lisa Quinn, a crucial source you needed for your essay on the French Revolution.

You passed books authored by Parker... Pendleton... Pritchett... Pulaski... Quackenbush... --wait, really? Someone’s last name was Quackenbush? -- Quick... Quillian...

Aha! Quinn!

A soft smile of satisfaction tugged at your lips as you reached out for the book, the bold type of the despotic Parisienne Emperor’s name staring you in the face, waiting to be chosen.

Just before your fingers grasped the spine, another hand darted out and collided with yours.

“Oh!” you yelped - quietly, of course, since you were in the library.

“Sorry!” another voice sputtered - quietly, of course, since he was in the library.

You jumped back a little, mostly out of surprise, your eyes shifting from the bookshelf to the owner of the hand.

And that was the first time you saw Hanbin.

I mean... kind of.

You’d actually noticed him before; he seemed to be in the library just about every time you were, though most of the time he was napping. So I guess it was accurate to say that was the first time you saw him awake.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeated, his cheeks flushed as he smiled awkwardly - and yet, still attractively - at you. And then he gestured toward the book, his awkward smile turning into an awkward chuckle. “Go ahead.”

“Are you sure?” you asked with a hesitant grin, your eyebrows raised as you waited to reach out toward the book again.

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” he assured you with a nod. “Please.”

If you didn’t really need this book for your essay, you probably would have asked yet again if he was positive you could take it... but you did really need it, so you didn’t ask again.

“Thank you,” you breathed as you reached out to pull it from the shelf. Once you had it safely in your hands, you brought it up to your chest, hugging it to you as if you were afraid it would try to get away. “I’ll bring it back as quickly as I can.”

“Oh, no worries,” he replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I can -- I’ll look for it -- I’m sure I can find it somewhere else.”

Your brow furrowed slowly, your lips pursing into a slightly confused frown.

Because...

Where else would he find it?

It’s not like there was another library on campus...

And if the book was available online, you would’ve found it.

Was he... I mean, was he going to buy it?

So why even check it out of the library in the first place?

“O--okay...” you answered doubtfully. And you were just about to turn around and head toward the checkout desk when he quickly spoke again.

“Napoleon, huh?” he asked, the nerves in his voice beginning to peek through.

Your confused frown morphed into a confused smile, and you nodded unhurriedly. “Yep. Napoleon.”

“So, I’m guessing it’s for -- for a history class,” he continued with a very visible gulp.

“Yeah... didn’t you --” you shifted your weight from one foot to the other, trying not to laugh. “Weren’t you wanting this book, too?”

What was going on? Why was he --

Oh, wait.

Was... was he...

A flush grew on his cheeks, and he avoided your gaze, his lips lifted into an extremely bashful smirk.

Ohhhhhhhh, okay.

He was flirting with you.

Usually, you were somewhat oblivious when it came to guys flirting with you; you were book smart, and you lacked the social smarts to pick up on the signs.

Until now.

Because... well, he was being pretty obvious, wasn’t he?

“Actually,” he murmured, taking a small step closer to you. “I... To be honest, I saw you when you came in, and... I just... wanted... to talk to you?”

You felt your own cheeks warming at his words because, now that you were seeing him awake, he was ridiculously cute. In many ways. His face was nice to look at, but he was also just super adorable all shy and honest like this.

So you took another step closer, letting one arm fall from cradling your book and sticking it out toward him. “I’m Y/N,” you told him with a tiny grin.

He immediately shook your hand back, his gaze meeting yours. “I’m Hanbin.”

Back then, you didn’t have the experience to realize... but looking back on it now, you knew from that moment. That gaze and that handshake. You knew Hanbin would be a part of your life.

And so would the library, as it turns out.

You were a history major, so you spent a lot of time researching and writing essays. The writing you could have done anywhere, but the researching led you to the library four out of five school days.

And you led Hanbin to the library four out of five school days.

He did get work done there, obviously, but mainly, he went there to be with you.

Surprisingly, he was always very good about keeping the distractions to a minimum. Yes, he held your hand under the table or squeezed your knee or rubbed your shoulder and there was the odd kiss on the cheek here and there. But, most of the time, he let you work.

He did stare at you a lot, though, but that wasn’t distracting because you were too focused on your work to notice.

That first meeting had been around midterms your second semester of freshman year. So over the course of your sophomore, junior, and senior years, you and Hanbin spent... I don’t even know how many hours in the library.

So, yeah, he wasn’t the only one who would miss it. You would, too. You would miss all that uninterrupted time you got to spend with Hanbin (even though you were doing homework, but still. You were together). You would miss all the times you made him study for his exams, bribing and rewarding him with kisses and promises of more later. You would miss the times Hanbin would bring you snacks because you had about fifty million pages of essays to write. You would miss him sending you texts from across the table because you were too focused to notice he was trying to get your attention.

A smile pulled at your lips as you remembered all those little bits and pieces, and you nuzzled into Hanbin’s neck.

“Did you even hear what I said?” Hanbin chuckled. You felt the vibration of his laugh against your forehead, and it sent a small shiver down your spine.

“No,” you admitted. “I was thinking about all the time we spent in the library.”

“I said,” he continued, obviously repeating himself. “Yes, we have the memories, but this is where I fell in love with you. I don’t want to just never come here again.”

After a moment or two, letting his words sink in, you pulled away. You sat up and angled your body to face him.

“I fell in love with you in the library, too,” you agreed. The pure, genuine smile which appeared on Hanbin’s lips almost made you breathless, but you had more to say. You continued on. “But I also fell in love with you in the dining hall. And on the North lawn. And in the stadium. And in my apartment, your apartment. Right here on this bench.”

His smile had fallen a little, and his brow furrowed in confusion. “What are you --”

“And I’m going to keep falling in love with you in our new place. In the grocery store when we go shopping together. In the park down the street when we take our future dog on a walk. In the car when we go on road trips.”

Hanbin brought his hands up to cradle your face, his eyes searching yours as his lips parted just slightly. You could almost see the words hesitating to come out, so you kept on going.

“I fall in love with you all the time. Every single day,” you told him, reaching up to gently grasp his wrists. “So wherever you are, wherever we are together --”

“That’s where I want to be,” Hanbin finished for you.

You nodded silently, a somewhat embarrassed smirk pulling at your lips because you knew how cheesy it all was.

But it was true.

Hanbin leaned forward just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath fanning out over your lips.

“Do you know how much I love you?” he whispered.

“Yes,” you answered with a soft chuckle. “Yes, I do. You make it very obvious.”

“Good.” He closed the gap in-between you, kissing you softly but fervently. Gently but with all the intensity of a man in love. A kiss you knew was meant for both of you. A kiss to tell you how deep and true his feelings were, and a kiss to remind him you weren’t going anywhere.

The library was part of the past, but you were not. And you never would be.

That much was obvious.

[fadinginfluencerblaze]

Fallen Dreams

 Disclaimer~ Art is devised by me and all editorial work is a solo operation. “Fallen,” will be my last publication before my vacation: https://adventvoice.newgrounds.com/news/post/1057611 If you would like commissions or requests for art work done please visit my patreon  account   https://www.patreon.com/AdventVoice  https://adventvoice.newgrounds.com/news/post/1057550      https://adventvoice.newgrounds.com/news/post/1057522

From several authorities of art and creativity, I’ve heard something after completing “Loving My Dragon,” something I’ve not heard since I was sixteen. My ability in the arts is worth more than a few hearts, likes and the endorsements of a few passerbys. It is better than what people have been forced to digest in the past twenty four years. Could be longer really. Depends on your tolerance for main stream media.

Forced to settle, due to never being exposed to minds similar to my own. Which there are a lot of us. I’ve realized as I dig deeper into the internet, blogs, and journals of other dreamers.

There was a study, a social experiment really, given by Facebook and other online platforms, seeking to gauge how to rate worker performance by emoji. Wanting to reward creative minds who earn the most accolades and applause of the people. It can become rather addictive and I find I may be falling into that same trend. Advertising more or less for the approbation of people and not so much for pay.

I explained this to a few supporters and they were shocked. Believing me to be worth far more than the few seconds of increased impressions on twitter and the level of dinner table conversation I can influence with a few well directed bards and illustrations of the latest trending topic.

Now if only I could find a paying sponsor that believes the same thing. Then me and the Dream Weaver would really go places. Here’s the thing about me, that is different from your average ambitious and dedicated creator. I don’t want to go anywhere my friends won’t be invited to reap the benefits.    

I’ve seen too much in this life to believe I can do anything on my own and be a success at it. You know I remember a time when people could have 500+ Facebook friends and no one spend a dollar with or on each other. On anything that could turn a profit. Nearly a thousand people talking, interacting, mingling and no money is made on the effort. Oh there is a lot of sexy talk, a lot of people locked up cause the girl is underage and the guy is enthralled with her pictures. Oh there was a lot of room fo shows like “Cheaters,” to corner a market in tracking people via location recognition devices on the broadband signatures, but for nearly ten years, no one was making any real money that would put them on the Forbes list as the best entrepreneur, besides those buying out all of the larger retail stores and Disney. Could be why I spend so much money on everyone else and not on myself. Makes me feel like I am saving the small business owners world, one click at a time.

The loss of Tina-Raze  on the                                         internet and access to her work has really made me appreciate the gift of visibility attributed to my own work. Sure I desire a physical gallery, but that cost money and you need dedicated staff. An online gallery is a one man show that will last as long as I have material, drive and an interactive audience. But when outside forces wage against one’s output and you are forced to erase everything and the years put into a showcase are no longer accessible; there is something daunting in the realization that everyday I have a chance to present anything, it should not be wasted on the trivial.

That is a sharp word because I highly doubt any of us have the authoritative right to define what is relevant or trivial to a creator. We can choose to interact with a product of not but we can’t say what someone was seeking to share has no value and thus erase them from existence. Not if we have any respect for the sanctity of the culture of art and the freedom in which we universally share this gift.      

~ I can never say enough of how much I appreciate the time we shared and I hope you return to the creative scene soon Tina-Raze.~

 I was reviewing “The Action Bible,” published by David Cook and illustrated by Sergio Cariello. It is an extensive publication that sought to illustrate the entire Bible, without the mistakes seen in previous renditions. It really took that whole group a while to find the best method to bring the Bible to life for young and old readers. I enjoyed their expressive illustrative skills and dedication to keeping to as much as can be had with a book as fantastic as the Bible.

What surprised me was the decision to eliminate the wings of angels and go with the ‘golden locks,’ signature.  For years the wings of angels and demons played a big part in aiding people in separating the two worlds. Without the wings, we are no more than disembodied spirits, ghosts of our formers selves and have a long journey yet to that pinnacle of glory that awaits the faithful. So it was taught to me at least.

There were a lot of ideas shared with me as boy that I spend little time contemplating now, because I am a man and more than assured of where I will be regardless of the mistakes in this life.

Others may doubt. Others may seek to clip my wings as I ascend. Others may project their insecurities and through bitter imaginations suggest that because of the curse of Ham, and Nimrod, the black race will never have a place in heaven. Some may build a whole world of fantastical proportions and place compartments, as zookeepers, locks and doors upon the gates, with signs that say, “If you never drank yourself into oblivion while on earth, you go here, you never loved anyone but God you go here, if you never where tempted to fuck a woman in the ass, though she begged for it, you go here.”

Another sign reads, “Collect your white wings for perfect attendance on the earth, to every Sunday meeting.” In this corner of heaven, you should have received a notice in your casket upon death, we were sure to send Gabriel, who after years of working for God, never got his golden winged promotion.

All who have been the black sheep of the family and have been to prison more than once in their life time be sure to collect your “black wings,” down isle five. Five is the number for grace and that is the only reason you’re hear, so don’t be cute and try to steal the ‘white wings,’ from your betters, who happen to shine a little sharper in hue and have more gold flakes in their hair.  

Those who were on earth and always fought for a righteous cause but failed to achieve any victory and remain angry behind the loss, you will receive your ‘red wings,’ in the dust falcons chamber. Some of you were clumsy on earth. Always bumping into things. Could never walk in heels or win a fashion show. Never turned the heads of men or appealed to women. Had a haunch in you back from never learning poise and posturing. Be sure to pick up your set of ‘spotted owl,’ wings, found in the east gate.

God is a god of order and angles never complain about their lot in heaven. There in whatever state they are in, there, they are to be content. There is a hint of a karmic code in association with the hue and colors of heaven and I was never one to believe in eastern influences when it comes to what my place in heaven would be like. I bend so far on earth, doing what I am told, I will go to heaven with white skin, white wings and all curse will be lifted from my body upon death and the curse of the previous life that marred me and made me black, while I was alive.  

I don’t think so. No, I’ve believed for a long time now that even black angles deserve to fly.   https://avproductionsblog.wordpress.com/2017/11/03/even-black-angels-deserve-to-fly/   https://avproductionsblog.wordpress.com/2017/03/18/you-read-it-here-first-black-amethyst/

I know I am not one to be denied.

Those of you that know how to twirl and twerk and shake your tail feathers, to win the Twerk Team Auditions https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rba9Z0CcWwQ&list=PLxwfHzPeMrG0N0E5Q3hBI_vRjXl-BqJAR or hang out with DJ UNK https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TeLdCPINh6M and earn 15 minutes of fame for being a video vixen with a phat ass, you can gather your eagle wings in the North tower. You should notice the Notorious BIG Smalls in the butlers uniform, set to serve and assist you wonderful ladies in fitting for your wings. He was always so good at zipping up Faith Evans dresses, we thought he’d like doing that for eternity.

Just stand there and zip wings.

He was way too dark and ugly so he never earned his own, but Puff Daddy sand and danced enough to ensure he’d make it in.  

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0LHyvFryW2M

What a joke, eh that might have been a cheap shot to bring Puff Daddy and Biggie into this conversation, it’s just, I am so sick of color being a barrier for people I guess. But as long as there are people, it will play a part in the minds of men and women that hold their minds hostage and will build politics and kingdoms centered around it. We will split God into figures of hued stone that resembles us in some fashion and suggest if he looks like me, then he is the one that created me. Odd considering how I can create characters of different races, backgrounds and love each with as much joy as the next. Why would I doubt God would love me less because my hair is not wavy or red and ruddy and my skin is not peached or pinked, but bronzed and red? Why is my tolerance for people and the curves, shapes and hues greater than that of a god and I am a mere man?

King Solomon, black but comely: I am glad I’ve never heard it taught, due to Solomon’s hue of skin the temple came down. Why are we so caught up with color that we would actually base our safety on it, risk our lives for it? When in the middle of turmoil, pain, upheaval, or simply in a moment of benign joy during an annual parade in the city, color should be the last thing discussed.

Ever since I was a boy, I’ve held a rigid position on color talk. I had to be set because all of my friends where white. My first love was a gothic princess, that used to put a cat collar and a leash around my neck. I lived in New Jersey and traveled to upstate New York and Ohio all the time and had so much fun playing video games, poker or reading comics with white people. Lived in Kansas where they tried to make me where a confederate uniform for the JROTC program. I did not know if it was a joke of if they really felt I would be honoring someone’s death by wearing that uniform.

I sought to be above the barriers poised by classification and color because I am an artist.  Because I am a storyteller and find relevance in people and can’t deny anyone based on my insecurities. I would not want someone to look at me and deny me access to anything. A communicable discussion, a forum, anything political, or my own comfort and what I believe to be good for me because of my color, because  their preconceived beliefs  denotes I should be marginalized.

I laughed myself into stitches, when during my junior year of highschool I realized all of the black children expected me to eat my lunch on the wall and away from the ‘preppy-white,’ children because they decided to self-segregate. Because they felt they did not have a life style or come from a family that could afford to play golf at the local country club. That they would not and were not admitted to be  apart of a society setting our grandparents and great grandparents were conditionally denied. I was infuriated by the idea of having to defend my home and right to existence, from people of my own color, if I ever married an Asian, white, Indian, Arab, anything besides a black woman. Especially to look at me, you’d never out right believe I was of African decent until I grew out my hair, which I would wear proudly, long and wild.

Fredrick Douglas had nothing on me in my desire to topple the walls the youth of my generation would build around themselves for the sake of traditions that should have been long dead. I would have loved to ignore this conversation, but it is all over the conservative radio, it is misdirected or used callously on liberal stations and it’s become too easy to degrade someone you might disagree with on a benign social discussion, as a racist.

It is too easy to believe I don’t attribute credibility in the claim when you call me an Uncle Tom because I speak well and try very hard not to curse when it would be so much more convenient to do so.          

https://www.newgrounds.com/portal/view/730095

Honestly in the world of art this should never be a discussion and if life truly imitated art in this dynamic the world would be a better place. At least confrontation and schisms would not be as prevalent as it is today. To me it is like we begin the topic of hues and what is beautiful or seen in heaven, because we don’t have anything else to talk about.

I illustrated “Fallen,” as a response to how ridiculous of an idea of not being accepted by God or anyone would feel that way, because they are black. That someone would use the Bible to teach that and we would stop illustrating wings when talking about angels, in order to unify the spectrum of colors that make up our world into the kingdom of Zion.

Hard to imagine; in some aspects we still can’t agree on a marketable environment that unites black, white, Asian, and Indian dreamers.      

[marie-dufresne]

Flies & Honey

🧬 Main Verse Page 🧬 

Flies & Honey: Professor Gast suggests Hojo find more use for his new intern than cleaning flasks. Research doesn’t fund itself, after all.

The first two weeks of Marie’s new posting were nothing short of horrendous. While marketing had worked her to the bone, the professor had her in tears no less than four times each day, though she didn’t let it show.

For the most part.

If he wasn’t ignoring her entirely and leaving her standing awkwardly before his desk, waiting for instruction, he was nitpicking the way she did the things he instructed her to.

I don���t want to see those shoes in my lab again. (It wasn’t even his lab) Do something about your hair. It gets everywhere.

Can’t you read the labels? That goes there.

By the start of the third week, she’d been shuffled into a room full of glass, instructed to clean every single flask, vial, and test tube whether they needed cleaning or not. It wasn’t that she minded the task itself. She was good at cleaning, at organizing (something this store room was in desperate need of), and she did like actually having a task to complete.

The trouble with having a task to complete on her own, was the being alone, and running thoughts that accompanied it.

About an hour before lunchtime, she was crying. She didn’t understand why she was being shoved away at every turn, swept under the rug. When she wasn’t being snapped at, of course. She was a people person. She tried to bring sunshine and cheer wherever she went, even if where she went had too many books and funky things in unknown liquids.

“Oh no no, what do I see? Crying? In my lab?”

With a sniff, Marie’s wrist shot up to her nose and she lifted her eyes to the kind gaze of the head scientist.

“P—professor Gast.”

His eyes were warm as he reached beneath his lab coat and procured a handkerchief, holding it out to her. He’d been watching her ever since she was transferred unexpectedly, over his head. Or at least he allowed it to go over his head. A nobody like Henry had no say in the personnel of the ShinRa laboratories, but it seemed to Gast that maybe someone like her could be good here, someone who still had their eyes on the outside world.

She could be good for Hojo in particular, if the man would at least look her in the eye.

“Don’t let him get to you,” he said, turning and absently sifting through a shelf, pretending to look for something, “he’s too engulfed in his own genius to notice you’re a human being.”

Marie smiled, dabbing at her eyes and catching fat drops of mascara in the cotton cloth. A sensible man. Cotton washed easily.

“I’m sorry for crying. I’ll be all done in a bit and—and then I’ll be okay to finish.”

“Oh take your time, Miss Dufresne. You’re an intern, not a maid. It’s better for your young mind to be stress free to be open to knowledge, don’t you think?”

Though she didn’t spend much time with, well, anyone, she did appreciate the head scientist and his passion for the pursuit of knowledge. Every so often he’d pass by or poke his head into what she was doing, the menial tasks thrust upon her.

‘Learn anything interesting lately?’ he’d ask. Sometimes she had, sometimes she hadn’t, and sometimes she’d seen things she didn’t understand. When she had a question, he answered it.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Hojo didn’t have to like her for this year to be a success. He didn’t even have to be kind to her. He was one person. One scientist amidst a full-ish staff. Full enough where one horrible interaction did not have to sour the good.

Three days later, there was a meeting across several departments at which Gast requested Hojo’s attendance. Did he need to be there? No. Was Gast going to hear a week’s worth of bitching and moaning from his friend for keeping him away from the lab? Yep. Still, it was about time to do a little prodding.

Twenty-six years old and the man had no life to speak of. It was time for a little outside interference. For science, of course.

So, with his arm around his younger colleague, Gast heaved a little sigh on the walk back to the lab.

“What’s wrong with you, Hojo?”

Hojo had ignored the embrace, muttering to himself as he reviewed his notes from the meeting. It hadn’t pertained to him exactly, but there were points that could prove useful. Things he could set aside for later.

“Mm. I’m fine, I haven’t been sick in a few years.”

He was thankful for this. Since securing a job in Gast’s research lab, he had so many more opportunities than he had at the university lab where he taught part-time. A prodigy, he’d completed his formal education at seventeen, having the credentials to teach biology at the college level at eighteen. Taking days off for recovery from an illness was quite a pain.

With a little huff, Gast pulled him closer, knocking their heads together.

“That’s not what I’m talking about, Edmund.”

The use of his first name had the professor looking up from his notes, giving Gast his attention and finally the side-embrace was broken and they simply walked side by side.

“You were given an intern and you’ve got her cleaning flasks in the store room? Seems like a waste of potential to me.”

Hojo let out a little half-hearted grunt. “She has no education. She’s good for simple tasks that keep her out of my hair.”

A little smirk crept up onto the lead scientist’s face then. “Why not just ask me to transfer her to a different department?”

The younger of the two slid his eyes over, unimpressed with the taunt.

“Will you transfer her to a different department?”

“No.”

Yeah. He thought not.

“Seriously though, she’s got more going for her than her ability to sterilize and mop. She’s a sweet girl, Hojo. Beautiful too. Surely that hasn’t escaped your sights.”

Ugh. Is that where this was going?

“I never took you for a matchmaker, Gast,” he mused, finally closing his notebook. He wouldn’t be getting any reviewing done now, “but sorry. I don’t have time for romance right now.”

Gast clucked his tongue a few times, shaking one finger. “Oh no no, that’s not how I meant it. You’re not a people person, Hojo, and research never gets less expensive. You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar and all.”

How irritating. He didn’t have time for these riddles.

“I don’t follow.”

“Funding isn’t unlimited, not even for ShinRa,” Gast explained, “our investors need to believe in our projects. You’re not exactly a people person but she is. That, coupled with her obvious aesthetic assets…well, I think it might be worth your while to bring her up to speed on some things.”

So that’s what he was on about. Manipulating the purse strings of the wealthy with a cute face and a pair of breasts. It was a sound strategy even if it was cliche. Also, if he had her in his pocket, cavorting and socializing as the face of the science department, he could be left alone to continue research, unburdened by the political obligations that came with the position.

She was uneducated and too energetic, but if Gast was refusing a transfer and pushing her in his direction, she couldn’t have been an idiot. Scanning his badge, he let them both back into the labs.

“You make your point clear,” he conceded, “I’ll…see if she is capable.”

She did come from the slums, after all. There was the chance she wasn’t sophisticated enough to work the delicate charms required for this level of fundraising. Then again, maybe she could learn.

The trouble was, he would have to learn how to deal with her.

At lunchtime she was at his desk, noon on the dot, as she was every day, awaiting his order. Without even looking up, he dictated it. He almost continued along, but before she could pick up the phone to call into his favourite takeout place, he lifted his head.

“Intern.”

Marie paused, turning and flipping her braid over her shoulder. Did he disapprove of her hair this way? She’d lost most of her pins and hadn’t had the time to purchase more. Keeping it up hadn’t been an option today.

“Yes, Professor?”

“…”

Gast was wrong. He wasn’t entirely made of vinegar. When his body demanded needs be filled, securing company had never been a problem. Conjuring up charisma when it didn’t matter was simple, a simple switch to flip inside of himself.

“Professor Hojo?”

In this moment, his switch was stuck.

With a little laugh and a shrug, Marie put the phone to her ear, cradling it on her shoulder. “Don’t you hate when you totally forget what you were going to say?”

“Just…put your lunch on my order. You work hard.”

The smile she displayed at such a simple gesture caused his heart to do something it had never done before. It…skipped.

What a strange creature she was. So willing to serve, so easily pleased with simple rewards, like a little puppy dog. A cute little test subject in his social experiment.

Yes. Gast’s suggestion had merit.

[starry-kfics]

coming out to them [pref]

request:

[so this is a request that was really near and dear to my heart, especially being a bisexual girl myself, and it was super fun to write. remember that my inbox and messages are always open to y'all]

myungjun:

Feeling a nudge at your side, you looked over to the person beside you, your older brother Myungjun. He had invited you over for a movie night, but he must have noticed that something was off with you. You were hardly paying attention to the screen, even though your favorite movie was playing, and didn’t engage him at all in your usual elated sibling banter. He had paused the movie, and was peering at you inquisitively. “Talk to me, Y/N.” Myungjun murmured, and those simple words from your older brother had everything inside of you breaking down. All the fear and doubts about yourself, your sexuality, your identity, your thoughts and feelings came rushing out of you as you talked to Myungjun. You never were good at keeping things from him, he always had some kind of brotherly instinct that made you feel safe enough to confess everything to him. And he was a great listener, rubbing your back soothingly as you cried, brushing your hair away from your face so it wouldn’t get stuck in the tears rushing down your cheeks. After your blubbering confession, you expected to feel relief, but your jaw only tightened in discomfort as you waited for his response. Myungjun was one of the most understanding people you’d ever met, he was always compassionate to you through childhood. But what would he do now that you told him you’re lesbian? “Y/N, look at me.” He said softly, and you forced your eyes up to meet with his soft, always kind ones. “I love you, no matter what. I’m so honored that you felt comfortable enough to share this with me. You’re my little sister, and I love you so much. All I want is for you to find someone who loves you, I don’t care about their gender.” His kind words brought the tears back, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, embracing him. He hugged you back, and you felt your own shoulder starting to get damp, and pulled back to look at your older brother. His eyes were red and puffy, stained with tears, he had started crying as well. “MJ, why are you crying?” You laughed, wiping at his cheeks with your thumbs. “I’m so proud of my little sister, that’s all.” Myungjun sniffled, causing another giggle to escape you.

jinwoo:

“Hey, Jinwoo oppa?” You poked your head into your older brother’s room. He was home for a few days, and had reclaimed his old bedroom.

“Yes, Y/N?” He looked up from where he was reading a book on his bed.

“Can I talk to you for a second?”

A small frown appeared across his lips, worry etched into his features as he scooted to pat the bed. “Of course. Is something wrong?”

“No, I just need to tell you something.” You said, sitting where he had gestured.

He looked at you expectantly, and you took a deep breath before saying, “I’m bisexual.”

Barely able to look him in the eye, you waited for his response. A strong pair of arms wrapped around you, and you felt your brother pull you into his chest. “Thank you for telling me, Y/N. I’m so proud of you. And, if anybody gives you shit, let me know. I’ll fly back from wherever I may be to kick their ass.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as you fought against the tears streaming down your face, hugging him back tightly. “Thanks, Jinwoo.”

dongmin:

“So, met any cute guys lately?” Dongmin asked as he sat across from you at a small cafe, sipping his coffee.

You nearly spit out your own drink, jolting up in your chair. “Uh, no.”

“My costar, Minjae, is single. I’m sure I could set you two up.”

“Dongmin, thank you, but I don’t want to date Minjae.”

“How about Jinwoo hyung? He’s a little short, but you two could be cute together-”

“Jesus Christ, Dongmin, I’m gay for fucks sake!” You finally spit out, wanting to stop his persistent matchmaking between you and his guy friends.

“Oh.” He paused for a moment, then a huge grin broke across his face. “My other costar, Seyoung, is single as well-”

“Dongmin.” You groaned, sinking back into your seat. “Please stop.”

“Oh fine,” he still had a shit-eating grin on his face as he took his straw back in his mouth. “But seriously, I could set you up now that I know who you’re looking for-”

“Dongmin!”

bin:

“Hey noona,” Your younger brother Bin popped his head into the kitchen.

“Hey Bin.” You smiled to him over your shoulder, focused on making dinner for the night.

“I have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“How do you stop a girl from crying?”

You dropped the spoon at his words, turning to him with wide eyes. “Bin, what did you do?”

“This girl said she liked me, and I replied that I was hungry.”

“Bin! You can’t just tell a girl you’re hungry after she confesses to you!”

“You always told me to be honest, so I was.” Your brother shrugged, and you rubbed your temples, frustrated at him.

“Well, do you like her back?”

“I don’t know. How am I supposed to know?”

“You feel different around her. You get butterflies, or a warm feeling that only she gives you. You’ll want to hold her hands, or kiss her, all the time. It’s so frustrating because you can’t tell her because you don’t know if she likes you back.” You realized partway through that you had ended up spilling out all your feelings towards your current crush, a girl in one of your classes at university, right to your brother.

“But I do know she likes me, noona.” Bin tilted his head in confusion, then seemed to process your words more. “You talk like you speak from experience…”

Figuring there was no point in hiding it from your brother, you blurted out, “I’m bisexual and have a huge, dumb crush on this cute girl in my classes at university.”

“Oh.”

There was a moment of silence before he spoke again, “So what’s for dinner?”

minhyuk:

“Noona, I need your help with some-” the voice of your younger brother suddenly stopped when he opened the door, probably because he was met with the image of you kissing someone. Specifically, your girlfriend.

“…home…work.” Minhyuk hesitantly finished his statement as you drew away from her, a blush creeping across your face.

“Ya! Didn’t mom teach you how to knock?” You chastised him, standing up to push him out of your room.

Choosing the door behind you, you gave your girlfriend an apologetic smile before turning to your brother, flicking him on the forehead.

“Ow!” He hissed, clutching his head. “What was that for?”

“Barging into my room without knocking!” You flicked him again, then one more time for good measure.

“Oh, you’re just embarassed that I caught you making out with someone.” He snorted, only causing you to roll your eyes. “More angry than embarassed.”

“Anyway, there’s this math problem I can’t understand-” You cut your brother off, raising an eyebrow. “So you’re not going to comment on the fact that I’m not straight?” “You never said you were straight, so I figured I shouldn’t just assume.” Minhyuk shrugged, a mischevious grin spreading across his face as he said, “Is your girlfriend any good at math?” “Actually, she’s getting her Bachelor’s degree in Astrophysics, so yeah, she is.” You crossed your arms, opening the door back up. “Want to meet her properly?” “Sure.”

sanha:

“Noona, why don’t you have a boyfriend already? You’re really pretty, and nice, and smart!” Your little brother Sanha suddenly blurted out one day as you walked around a mall together. He had a few days off, and wanted to spend at least one of them with you. “Because I don’t want a boyfriend.” You answered simply, peering into shop windows as you passed them. “Well why not?” Might as well, you thought as you said, “I’m gay,” as nonchalantly as you could, focused on a rack of cute shirts. Sanha had fallen silent, and you looked over your shoulder to gauge his reaction. He seemed to be lost in thought, and you nervously fiddled with the fabric of the clothes in your hand. You didn’t think it’d be a huge deal to Sanha, he was such a sweet boy. Was this a bother to him? As if he could read your mind, he gave you a huge grin, immediately calming your fears. “So when you get married, I’m going to have another noona?” He asked with wide eyes, excitement clear across his features. “Yeah, you will.” You chuckled, turning to a different section to look at the shoes. “Ooh, how about her? She’s pretty!” You couldn’t help but look up at the girl he was referencing, blushing when you realized that she really was attractive, and focusing back on the display. “Noona, you should talk to her! Oh, she’s looking over here!” Sanha exclaimed, and you glanced over at her, she was looking at the both of you. “Because you’re staring at her, Sanha stop that!” You hissed, reaching up to hit his head, but he gleefully sidestepped away from you. “I’ll go get us Starbucks, okay Y/N noona?” Sanha announced loudly, almost skipping himself out of the store. You realized he was leaving, because the girl was walking over to you, a bright smile on her face. She introduced herself, and somehow through your nervous stammering, you managed to leave the store with her number.

[centerofstupidity]

A Walk to Remember Chapter 1 Snark

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Interested in reading the previous A Walk to Remember chapter snarks? They can be found here. 

Next Nicholas Sparks Book Snark: The Rescue 

Chapter summary: We meet a Bible-thumping minister and Landon is a terrible person. Also, the designated love interest is an Angel of the House: innocent, perfect, and pure.

The story is set in Beaufort, North Carolina in 1958.

Landon says that the humidity is so hot in the summer that “walking out to get the mail made a person feel as if he needed a shower.”

People waved from their cars whenever they saw someone on the street whether they knew him or not,

In a Nicholas Sparks, everyone is friendly, good, and God-fearing Christians. (The villain is always one-dimensional.)

They know each other’s business and have lived in town for their entire lives. And news always travels fast in the small town.

Landon says for many people fishing and crabbing is a way of life.

Only three channels came in on the television, though television was never important to those of us who grew up there. Instead our lives were centered around the churches, of which there were eighteen within the town limits alone.

1. Yes, I know that Americans were more religious in the 1950’s. 2. But they still had a life outside of a church and weren’t thinking about Jesus 24/7. 3. People went camping and fishing. They also went to bowling alleys, sock hops, and drive-in movie theaters. 4. For most of the story, Landon isn’t very religious. He goes to church but that’s it. And Landon regards a girl who reads the Bible every day as a weirdo. 5. The only time Landon became religious is when he supposedly fell in love with Jamie. 6. It is important to remember that Nicholas Sparks has writing rules that he won’t break like all of his characters must go to church.  7. And he has said that people without faith are alone, thinking they are the center of the universe. 

Landon rattles off the names and types of Baptist churches in the area.

The big event of the year is a Christmas play sponsored by the Baptist church downtown and the local high school.

The play is written by Hegbert Sullivan, “a minister who’d been with the church since Moses parted the Red Sea."

Okay, maybe he wasn’t that old, but he was old enough that you could almost see through the guy’s skin. It was sort of clammy all the time, and translucent—kids would swear they actually saw the blood flowing through his veins—

Translucent skin… Translu…

“His skin was translucently white, like onionskin, and it looked just as delicate—” New Moon by Stephenie Meyer

So Hegbert is a sparklepire? Good to know.

and his hair was as white as those bunnies you see in pet stores around Easter.

Wow. Just wow. The prose is so boring and bland.

And Nicholas Sparks thinks he writes like Ernest Hemingway…

Also, what seventeen-year-old boy would say “bunnies”?

Hebert wrote the play The Christmas Angel because he hates A Christmas Carol.

In his mind, Scrooge was a heathen, who came to his redemption only because he saw ghosts, not angels—and who was to say whether they’d been sent by God, anyway?

I hate to break it to ya but both ghosts and angels are spirits.

The only difference is that a ghost is a human spirit that has not properly passed over to the other side and they remain on earth while angels are spiritual beings of light.

And who was to say he wouldn’t revert to his sinful ways if they hadn’t been sent directly from heaven?

Um… If the ghosts weren’t sent from Heaven, then where did they come from?

Baptists don’t believe in purgatory. After death, they believe that there are only two places where people can go: Heaven or Hell.

Unless the minister thinks the ghosts are demons in disguise.

It won’t make any sense because the three spirits are trying to get Scrooge to repent and be a better person.

The play didn’t exactly tell you in the end—it sort of plays into faith and all—

Maybe Charles Dickens didn’t think he had to spell it out in 72 pt Times New Roman font.

but Hegbert didn’t trust ghosts if they weren’t actually sent by God, which wasn’t explained in plain language, and this was his big problem with it.

1. And where is the proof that they are not sent by God? 2. Faith is about believing without seeing and not demanding proof. 3. And Christians who deepen their faith learn how to discern between the voice of God, the voice of Satan, and one’s ego. 4. Is Hegbert pissed off at Charles Dickens because the ghosts didn’t say ”I am the ghost of Christmas (past/present/future) and I was sent by God the Father Almighty, Maker of Heaven and Earth"? 5. Because following that logic, the Archangel Raphael was not sent by God. 6. In The Book of Tobit, the Archangel Raphael didn’t reveal his identity until Tobit cures his father’s blindness. For most of the story, Tobit knew the Archangel Raphael as Azariah the son of Hananiah the great.

A few years back he’d changed the end of the play—sort of followed it up with his own version, complete with old man Scrooge becoming a preacher and all, heading off to Jerusalem to find the place where Jesus once taught the scribes.

Unsurprisingly, nobody liked the play so Hegbert decided to write his own play.

He’d written his own sermons his whole life, and some of them, we had to admit, were actually interesting, especially when he talked about the “wrath of God coming down on the fornicators” and all that good stuff.

A fire and brimstone minister.

N. Sparks will claim later on that he has a great sense of humor and we are supposed to see him as a great guy.

Because we all know fire and brimstone ministers are not anti-semitic, homophobic, islamophobic, misogynistic, racist, sexist and xenophobic pieces of shit.

That really got his blood boiling, I’ll tell you, when he talked about the fornicators. That was his real hot spot.

“And don’t get him started on those Commies and sodomites."

So Landon and his friends hid behind trees and shouting that Hegbert is a fornicator before walking down the street.

We’d giggle like idiots, like we were the wittiest creatures ever to inhabit the planet.

Landon is following Anita Blake's logic: If you do something wrong, just say you feel bad about it, and continue being a terrible person. And nobody will dare tell you to STOP being an asshole.

Old Hegbert, he’d stop dead in his tracks and his ears would perk up—I swear to God, they actually moved—and he’d turn this bright shade of red, like he’d just drunk gasoline, and the big green veins in his neck would start sticking out all over, like those maps of the Amazon River that you see in National Geographic.

1. So Hegbert is a mog too? (Virtual cupcake to anyone who gets that reference.) 2. I know that some people can wiggle their ears. Because humans can't perk their ears up like a dog.

Hegbert is pissed off and he is looking for them.

Boy, it was something to watch, that’s for sure.

"Being an asshole is a lot of fun!"

So the assholes are hiding behind a tree. Landon sneers "what kind of parents name their kid Hegbert, anyway?" and Hegbert is standing there, waiting for them to "to give ourselves up, as if he thought we’d be that stupid."

They cover their mouths with their hands and Hegbert always knows where to find them.

Hegbert tells them that he along with the Lord knows "who you are". And a minute later, Hegbert walks away.

During the sermon that weekend he’d stare right at us and say something like “God is merciful to children, but the children must be worthy as well.”

"But subject you to pain, unpleasantness -- suffering -- and you will take notice, you will fight to overcome, to earn your redemption. That is when you're at your best." Gabriel from Constantine 2005.

I think Gabriel and Hegbert should go bowling.

The assholes lower themselves in seats "not from embarrassment, but to hide a new round of giggles."

Landon says that Hegbert didn't understand us "didn’t understand us at all, which was really sort of strange, being that he had a kid and all."

But then again, she was a girl. More on that, though, later.

"Girls are ladylike and only like cute and pretty things. And tomboys don't exist."

Landon repeats the fact that Hegbert is the one who wrote The Christmas Angel and decided to put on the play.

He says that the play isn't bad and this surprised everyone the first year it was performed.

I am putting on my jeweled turban and gaze into my crystal ball.

It's about Hegbert Tom Thorton who had lost his wife in childbirth and is raising a daughter all on his own.

It will also be sappy like a Hallmark movie. Aren't I awesome?

He hasn't been the greatest father and his daughter wants a special music box for Christmas. He can't find the box and meets an angel disguised as a woman on Christmas Eve.

The angel promises to help him to get the gift for his daughter. Along the way, they help a homeless person and Landon is quick to say that "back then they were called bums".

Tom tells the angel that he wants his wife back for Christmas. The angel tells him to look into the city fountain and he'll find what he is looking for.

Tom cries after seeing the face of his daughter. The angel is MIA and Tom heads home.

He realizes he hasn't been a good father and that his daughter is all he has left of his wife.

The story ends with the music box underneath the tree and the angel on the box looks exactly like the mysterious woman.

Landon repeats that the play "wasn't that bad".

Apparently, the play sold out every year and people "cried buckets" every time they saw it.

Hegbert wants seniors in high school to perform the play and not the theater group.

I reckon he thought it would be a good learning experience before the seniors headed off to college and came face-to-face with all the fornicators.

Unless these seniors want to become actors, how is performing a play count as "good learning experience"? 

And how does performing a Christmas give the students the information to deal with "fornicators"? 

I'm getting the impression that Nicholas Sparks thinks that men and women in the past were BOTH expected to stay celibate before marriage.

But that's not the case. Men weren't expected to remain virgins.

Men could have extramarital affairs, have longtime mistresses, and even have sex with other men. And guys would get away with it as long as they didn't flaunt them in public.

Women were expected to celibate until they were married. It took an unchaperoned visit or ONE sexual affair for a woman to be considered a whore. 

He was that kind of guy, you know, always wanting to save us from temptation.

"Remember boys and girls: premarital sex is wrong!"

He wanted us to know that God is out there watching you, even when you’re away from home, and that if you put your trust in God, you’ll be all right in the end.

Riiight.

Because the same minister who gives fire and brimstone sermons would be the sort of person that would talk about God watching over you and if you trust Him, then things will be all right.

I think the minister would most likely say "God is always watching your every move. If you are bad, He will smite you. And your soul will burn in Hell for all eternity."

It was a lesson that I would eventually learn in time, though it wasn’t Hegbert who taught me.

"It would be my designated love interest."

Landon says that Beaufort is a typical southern town but it has an interesting history.

He talks about how Blackbeard owned a house in town and recently his ship might have been found by "some archaeologists or oceanographers or whoever looks for stuff like that."

Landon, they are called marine archaeologists.

Being that it sank over 250 years ago and you can’t exactly reach into the glove compartment and check the registration.

Because a pirate ship would have a glove box.

I think that comment sounded wittier in Nicholas Spark’s head than it does on paper.

Beaufort’s come a long way since the 1950s, but it’s still not exactly a major metropolis or anything.

We get it, Landon. Beaufort is a quaint and small southern town.

Beaufort was, and always will be, on the smallish side, but when I was growing up, it barely warranted a place on the map.

For the love of all that is holy, will you please stop talking about the same thing over and over again?

Landon keeps talking about how Beaufort is a small town and how "the congressional district that included Beaufort covered the entire eastern part of the state—some twenty thousand square miles—and there wasn’t a single town with more than twenty-five thousand people."

It turns out that Landon's father is a congressman.

I suppose you’ve heard of him. He’s sort of a legend, even now.

If he was a legend, then you wouldn't be telling us who he is.

Landon's father is Worth Carter and he was a congressman for almost thirty years.

Worth's election slogan is “Worth Carter represents ———” and people are supposed to fill in the city name where they lived.

I can remember, driving on trips when me and Mom had to make our appearances to show the people he was a true family man

I call bullshit on Landon's dad being a "true family man".

Landon's father is gone nine months out of the year and is living in Washington D.C. while his mother is taking care of him.

Landon talks about how his father election slogan "was fairly sophisticated publicity."

He says that nowadays people would put foul language in the blank space but in the good ol' days  "we never saw it once."

Landon quickly backpedals and says "okay, maybe once."

A farmer from Duplin County once wrote the word shit in the blank space, and when my mom saw it, she covered my eyes and said a prayer asking for forgiveness for the poor ignorant bastard.

Nicholas Sparks is still trying to persuade me that 1950's was a wholesome utopia.

But I'm not convinced.

Every era of human history, no matter how fascinating or glamorous, has a dark side that people don't want to acknowledge. 

And I find it very hard to believe that Landon has never seen or heard foul language before. 

For instance, in middle school, I heard people say things that would make even a sailor blush. 

Since Landon's mother is ladylike, she "didn’t say exactly those words."

So my father, Mr. Congressman, was a big-wig, and everyone but everyone knew it, including old man Hegbert.

Landon claimed that daddy dearest was a "legend."

And Merriam-Webster defines a bigwig as "an important person"

So the words "everyone but everyone knew it" is redundant.

Worth Carter and Hegbert don't get along. But Worth still goes to Hegbert's church whenever he was in town.

Hegbert, in addition to his belief that fornicators were destined to clean the urinals in hell, also believed that communism was “a sickness that doomed mankind to heathenhood.”

I will bring this up if anyone claims that Hegbert is a good guy. 

One of the biggest problems with A Walk to Remember is plot mixing. 

What is plot mixing, you may ask?

Plot mixing is a term that I have coined. Plot mixing is when an artist takes at least two contradictory plots and they mix it together haphazardly, resulting in a ghastly mess. 

For instance, Hegbert is supposed to be a wonderful guy with a great sense of humor. But he is acting like a Bible-thumping minister. 

They also knew that he was directing his words specifically to my father, who would sit with his eyes closed and pretend not to listen.

I have just a quick question: why would Landon's dad go to a church where the minister despises him and makes pointed sermons?  

According to Landon, there are other churches in the area. So, why hasn't Worth Carter left Hegbert's church and joined another church?

It turns out that Landon's father belongs to the House of Un-American Activities Committee.

My father had consistently looked for facts, which were irrelevant to people like Hegbert.

IRL, I hate it when people think they are the gatekeepers of knowledge, truth, and wisdom.

They also claim that they have "facts" that support their worldviews.

If anyone who disagrees with them, then they are dumb sheep and a racist bigot.

Are we seriously supposed to see HUAC as the good guys? 

HUAC ruined people's lives and careers. And their actions violated the 1st and 5th Amendments of the Bill of Rights. 

Every time Landon's father would come home after the church service, he would complain about Reverend Sullivan.

My father tried to defuse situations whenever possible. I think that’s why he stayed in Congress for so long.

Like any politician, a congressperson gives people in high places verbal blowjobs and make promises that they have no intentions of keeping along with having goons to cover up their crimes.

The guy could kiss the ugliest babies known to mankind and still come up with something nice to say.

Are we supposed to applaud Landon's dad being nice to the "ugly" people?

“He’s such a gentle child,” he’d say when a baby had a giant head, or, “I’ll bet she’s the sweetest girl in the world,” if she had a birthmark over her entire face. One time a lady showed up with a kid in a wheelchair. My father took one look at him and said, “I’ll bet you ten to one that you’re smartest kid in your class.”

Fuck this book with a rusty screwdriver!

And he wasn’t such a bad guy, not really, especially if you consider the fact that he didn’t beat me or anything.

A parent is not supposed to abuse their children, you twat!

But he wasn’t there for me growing up.

In a better story, Landon being estranged from his father would be a source of conflict. 

And throughout the story, Landon would fix his broken relationship with his father.

But this is a shitty story, Landon will meet his designated one tru luv who is purer than Sir Galahad. 

Landon spends time with this girl and his relationship with Dad is magically mended. 

I hate to say that because nowadays people claim that sort of stuff even if their parent was around and use it to excuse their behavior. I’m not using it to excuse the person I’ve become, I’m simply saying it as a fact.

No, you did. 

You even said it "made me become something of a rebel."

My mother didn’t go with him because both of them wanted me to grow up “the same way they had.”

So they were raised by one parent?

Wait a tick... I think what Landon means is that his parents wanted him to grow up in a small town. 

And small towns tend to be politically conservative. 

As a member of HUAC, a married man living alone would raise more than a few eyebrows.

Especially since the nuclear family was considered the "ideal" family in 1950's.

Also during this time period, people wanted to uphold traditional family roles and values.   

I'm sure Worth Carter's political opponents would have a field day if they knew he wasn't a family man. 

And you can't tell me that in a Southern small-town that people won't gossip about a married woman raising a child all by herself and her husband is rarely home. 

Landon says that his grandfather spent time with his father and how that "adds up to quite a bit before adulthood."

Landon talks about how his father was "a stranger" and someone he "barely knew at all."

He also used to think that "all fathers lived somewhere else."

Landon says that one day his best friend Eric Hunter asks him "who that guy was who showed up at my house".

Landon replies that the man was his father "proudly."

“Oh,” Eric said as he rifled through my lunchbox, looking for my Milky Way, “I didn’t know you had a father.”

"People around town were saying that your mamma was a whore and has a beau."

Landon repeats the fact that he was raised by his mother.

Now she was a nice lady, sweet and gentle, the kind of mother most people dream about.

Because most people want their mother to be a cold-hearted bitch.

Does Landon seriously think that his mother deserves a medal for not being an asshole? 

And I'm getting the feeling that dear old mom is going to be a submissive housewife who never speaks her mind, makes sure the house is always immaculate and treats her husband like a king. 

But she wasn’t, nor could she ever be, a manly influence in my life, and that fact, coupled with my growing disillusionment with my father, made me become something of a rebel, even at a young age.

Where do I even begin?

According to Landon, women are incapable of doing/liking "manly" activities. 

Butch women or tomboys don't exist. ALL women love feminine things and are ladylike. 

And it takes a MAN to raise a "real" man.

The father is supposed to do "manly" activities with his son on a regular basis. And boys are supposed to do and like "manly" activities.

If the boy doesn't and becomes a delinquent, then he is a sissy and his mother is to blame.

Not a bad one, mind you.

This is a Nicholas Sparks novel.

He would never have a "protagonist" do bad things. He has a wholesome image to uphold.

They must be good as gold or be mildly delinquent.

Me and my friends might sneak out late and soap up car windows now and then or eat boiled peanuts in the graveyard behind the church, but in the fifties that was the kind of thing that made other parents shake their heads and whisper to their children, “You don’t want to be like that Carter boy. He’s on the fast track to prison.”

Contrary to what Nicholas Sparks might believe, the 1950's wasn't Leave it to Beaver.

For instance, people did phone pranks, threw cherry bombs or were stealing statues.

Me. A bad boy. For eating boiled peanuts in the graveyard. Go figure.

Landon repeats the fact that his father and Hegbert don't get along. But he says "it wasn’t only because of politics."

And then it happens.

It turns out that Worth Carter and Hegbert knew each other for a long time.

And Hegbert is twenty years older than Daddy Dearest and used to work for Landon's grandfather.

My grandfather— even though he spent lots of time with my father —was a true bastard if there ever was one.

I have a question, Landon. Does your grandfather only wears black clothing and has an evil laugh?

He was the one, by the way, who made the family fortune, but I don’t want you to imagine him as the sort of man who slaved over his business, working diligently and watching it grow, prospering slowly over time.

We get it, Nicholas Sparks. Landon's grandpa is more evil and greedy than all the robber barons.

Next, you'll be telling us that grandpa was a pedophile or kicked puppies for fun.

His grandfather was a bootlegger during the Prohibition, started buying land and then hired sharecroppers to work it.

Grandpa also took ninety percent of the money the sharecroppers made and loaned them money whenever they needed it at high-interest rates.

Grandpa is so EVIL he forecloses on any equipment or land they happen to own. Evil Grandpa...

No. From now on, I'm calling him Grandpa Beelzebub or GB.

GB started a bank called "Carter Banking and Loan."

The only other bank in a two-county radius had mysteriously burned down, and with the onset of the Depression, it never reopened.

The other bank didn't "mysteriously" burn down, you twit. GB had his goons torch the place.

Though everyone knew what had really happened, not a word was ever spoken for fear of retribution, and their fear was well placed.

So even the police were shaking in their boots?

The bank wasn't the only building that burned down.

Landon repeats the fact that Grandpa Beelzebub's interest rates "were outrageous." As time progresses, GB amasses more land and property.

He gets the original owners to continue working and pays them just enough money to "to keep them where they were, because they had nowhere else to go."

He told them that when the economy improved, he’d sell their business back to them, and people always believed him.

The townspeople know that GB used fear and intimidation to get what he wanted along with his shady business practices.

And they ALL believed that he would honor his promises. 

Never once, however, did he keep his promise. In the end he controlled a vast portion of the county’s economy, and he abused his clout in every way imaginable.

Ya know what?

There are so many times I can point out how Grandpa Beelzebub is cartoonishly evil so I'll let this gif speak for itself.

Grandpa Beelzebub died while having sex with his mistress on his yacht in the Cayman Islands. GB was also an old man.

He’d outlived both his wives and his only son.

If Daddy Dearest died before GB, he wouldn't be a prominent congressman.

And Landon would have never met his father. 

He would be visiting Daddy's grave and be raised by a widow. 

Life, I’ve learned, is never fair.

Marvel at how deep he is! No one has ever made such a wise statement.

Landon whines that it should be taught in school.

Hegbert, once he realized what a bastard my grandfather really was,

You mean arson and usury are not legal and moral? I never knew that!

Thanks for letting me know, Nicholas Sparks!

So, Hegbert quit working for GB and went into the ministry. Then he started ministering in the same church that Landon's family attended.

Hegbert spent some time "perfecting his fire-and brimstone act", giving monthly sermons on the evils of greed.

He was so busy Bible thumping that he had "scant time for anything else."

Hegbert was forty-three when he was married and his daughter Jamie was born when he was fifty-five.

Hegbert's wife was twenty-three years old and had six miscarriages before Jamie was born. She also died in childbirth.

Hence, of course, the story behind the play.

I love it when I'm right. And Hegbert is so arrogant if he thinks that everyone would want to see a play that is his thinly veiled life story.

People knew the story even before the play was first performed.

If it was any more obvious, the character Tom would be called Hegbert and be a minister.

It was one of those stories that made its rounds whenever Hegbert had to baptize a baby or attend a funeral.

Baptists don't baptize babies. They believe that only believers should be baptized and be fully immersed in the water.

Landon repeats the fact that everyone knew about Hegbert's story and says it is why people "got emotional" when they saw the play.

They knew it was based on something that happened in real life, which gave it special meaning.

So if a story isn't based on something that happened in real life, then it isn't special? Fuck you, Landon.

Jamie Sullivan was a senior in high school, just like me, and she’d already been chosen to play the angel, not that anyone else even had a chance.

I would be very surprised if Jamie WASN'T in the play.

After all, the play was written by her father and is a thinly veiled story about her dad losing her mom.

And real subtle, Nicholas Sparks.

A saintly girl is going to play an angel. 

Thank God, Jamie isn't named Sunshine Goodness. 

Jamie playing the angel is going to make the play "extra special" and how it is going to be a "big deal" especially for Miss Garber.

Miss Garber is the drama teacher and she was excited "the first time I met her in class."

Landon admits that he really didn't want to take drama class but it was "either that or chemistry II."  

No papers, no tests, no tables where I’d have to memorize protons and neutrons and combine elements in their proper formulas … what could possibly be better for a high school senior?

How about lunch? All you have to do is eat and socialize.

It seemed like a sure thing, and when I signed up for it, I thought I’d just be able to sleep through most every class, which, considering my late night peanut eating, was fairly important at the time.

Why am I getting the feeling that "late night peanut eating" is a euphemism for sex? Because eating peanuts is not a strenuous thing to do...

Landon arrives before the bell rang and sits in the back of the room.

Miss Garber had her back turned to the class, and she was busy writing her name in big cursive letters, as if we didn’t know who she was.

You just said that you met Miss Garber for the first time in class.

Now you are saying that you already knew her.

Which is it, Landon? 

All these contradictions are giving me a headache. 

Everyone knew her—it was impossible not to.

"She was bludgeoned with the ugly stick."

Am I the only one who thinks this comment is catty?

She was big, at least six feet two, with flaming red hair and pale skin that showed her freckles well into her forties.

The word "tall" seems like a better fit. 

Big is used to describe the size of something.

While "tall" refers to the height of something.

I seriously hope that Landon isn't saying that this woman is "ugly". 

She was also overweight—I’d say honestly she pushed two fifty—and she had a fondness for wearing flower patterned muumuus. She had thick, dark, horn-rimmed glasses, and she greeted everyone with, “Helloooooo,” sort of singing the last syllable.

Translation: she's a fat Julia Child who wears glasses.  

From now on, I shall call Miss Garber Julia Child.

Miss Garber was one of a kind, that’s for sure, and she was single, which made it even worse.

Stop! Do not pass go! Do not collect $200!

A guy, no matter how old, couldn’t help but feel sorry for a gal like her.

Because after all, beauty on the outside is the only thing that matters. 

Being a good human being and having a nice personality is overrated. 

Later on, Landon complains that "the pickings were getting pretty slim" and how he doesn't want to be stuck bringing an "ugly" girl to the homecoming dance (i.e.  girls who have thick glasses or have lisps.)

People praise Nicholas Sparks for writing wholesome fiction that has life lessons and good morals. 

But I would rather read a story that has swearing (Ow! My virgin ears!) or graphic sex (gasp!) than a story with shitty messages and it is written by a pretentious writer who believes that they write literary masterpieces. 

Julia Child writes the three goals that she wants to accomplish: self-confidence, self-awareness, and self-fulfillment.

Landon remarks that she was "into the 'self' stuff."

Maybe it had something to do with the way she looked; maybe she was just trying to feel better about herself. But I digress.

It wasn’t until the class started that I noticed something unusual.

"Everyone wore black cloaks and pledged their allegiance to Satan."

Landon is surprised that the class is "at least ninety percent female" because he "knew for a fact" that school is split 50/50 between boys and girls.

There was only one other male in the class, which to my thinking was a good thing, and for a moment I felt flush with a “look out world, here I come” kind of feeling.

The schools in Beaufort NC have excellent math programs...

I don't feel like spending hours trying to look up the average high school class size in North Carolina during the 1950's.

So I'll be using the current average high school class size in North Carolina.

According to this, the average class size for secondary school (high school) in North Carolina is 25.8 students.

Let's say there are twenty-six students in the drama class. 

91% of 26 would be 23.66

Approximately, there would be 23 girls and 3 boys. 

Besides Landon, there would be two other boys in the classroom.

Girls, girls, girls … I couldn’t help but think. Girls and girls and no tests in sight.

It is good to know that Landon is thinking with his head and not with his dick.

Okay, so I wasn’t the most forward-thinking guy on the block.

Anita Blake Logic # 2: If you say something wrong, act like you are feeling guilty.

You DON'T try to be a better person and APOLOGIZE to the person/people that you have hurt. No one EVER calls you out on your shit.

So Julia Child talks about the play and tells everyone that Jamie is going to play the angel.

She starts clapping and it turns out that she is a member of Landon's church.

And there were a lot of people who thought she was gunning for Hegbert in a romantic sort of way. The first time I heard it, I remember thinking that it was a good thing they were too old to have children, if they ever did get together. Imagine—translucent with freckles?

The very thought gave everyone shudders, but of course, no one ever said anything about it, at least within hearing distance of Miss Garber and Hegbert.

So everyone is an asshole and gossips like fishwives?

Gossip is one thing, hurtful gossip is completely another, and even in high school we weren’t that mean.

"Like Duloc, the South is a perfect place!"

I'm sorry but I don't believe that a high school with no cliques and everyone is nice exists. 

Landon is a douchebag and so are his friends. 

Also, how is gossiping about Thank God Hegbert and Julia Child can't reproduce count as not being "mean"?

And the townspeople talk about Hegbert's wife having multiple miscarriages and dying in childbirth...

And for a novel that is so friggin' preachy by constantly talking about God's plan/the Lord's plan and quoting Bible verses...

It doesn't realize that the Good Book doesn't view gossip as a venial sin while "hurtful" gossip is a mortal sin.

The Bible denounces it.

Julia Child keeps on clapping until everyone finally joined in. She orders Jamie to stand up.

Jamie stands up and turns around. Julia Child is clapping even faster to which Landon snidely remarks "as if she were standing in the presence of a bona fide movie star."

Now Jamie Sullivan was a nice girl. She really was.

Translation: It's a pleasant way to say that she isn't attractive.

Landon talks about the town only has one elementary school so everyone has been "in the same classes our entire lives."

He admits to having a "few conversations" with Jamie.

Who I saw in school was one thing; who I saw after school was something completely different, and Jamie had never been on my social calendar.

"She is not worthy to stand before me!"

It’s not that Jamie was unattractive— don’t get me wrong. She wasn’t hideous or anything like that.

"Inner beauty is overrated!"

Landon reluctantly admits that Jamie "wasn't half-bad." But he doesn't consider her to be attractive.

Despite the fact that she was thin, with honey blond hair and soft blue eyes, most of the time she looked sort of … plain, and that was when you noticed her at all.

Because having fair skin, blonde hair, and blue eyes were NEVER considered to be signs of beauty.

And I really hate it when a character is "TV ugly".

Especially when it is combined with this. 

Jamie didn’t care much about outward appearances, because she was always looking for things like “inner beauty,” and I suppose that’s part of the reason she looked the way she did.

I love how inner beauty is put in quotes. As if the concept is absolute horse shit.

For as long as I’d known her—and this was going way back, remember— she’d always worn her hair in a tight bun, almost like a spinster, without a stitch of makeup on her face.

This statement is obnoxious because later on in the story Jamie will be described as beautiful even when she is dying of a terminal illness.

Jamie wears frumpy clothes and everyone thought it was "just a phase".

But it wasn’t just the way Jamie looked that made her different; it was also the way she acted.

"She acted like an Angel of the House: innocent, perfect, and pure."

Jamie never went to slumber parties or had a boyfriend.

Old Hegbert would probably have had a heart attack if she had.

Hegbert would have denounced his daughter as a harlot before killing her.

Jamie carried her Bible wherever she went, and if her looks and Hegbert didn’t keep the boys away, the Bible sure as heck did.

"It couldn't possibly be that her father is a Bible-thumping asshat."

Now, I liked the Bible as much as the next teenage boy,

Translation: not at all.

but Jamie seemed to enjoy it in a way that was completely foreign to me.

"She reads it from cover to cover."

Not only did she go to vacation Bible school every August, but she would read the Bible during lunch break at school.

This is Nicholas Spark's "subtle" way of telling us that Jamie is a good person. Because she reads the Bible.

Landon thinks Jamie is abby normal. How romantic.

No matter how you sliced it, reading Paul’s letters to the Ephesians wasn’t nearly as much fun as flirting, if you know what I mean.

Because flirting is a lot of fun!

If I didn't know any better, I'd say flirting is a code word for sex... 

But one of Nicholas Sparks' writing rules is that his teenage characters never have premarital sex. 

But Jamie didn’t stop there. I knew she volunteered at the orphanage in Morehead City, but for her that simply wasn’t enough.

Let me guess. Jamie is SO good that she is going to help baby animals and solve world hunger.

She was always in charge of one fund-raiser or another, helping everyone from the Boy Scouts to the Indian Princesses, and I know that when she was fourteen, she spent part of her summer painting the outside of an elderly neighbor’s house. Jamie was the kind of girl who would pull weeds in someone’s garden without being asked or stop traffic to help little kids cross the road. She’d save her allowance to buy a new basketball for the orphans, or she’d turn around and drop the money into the church basket on Sunday.

Ho-lee fuck! Where do I even begin?

There is no such thing as a Native American princess.

Nobody is perfect. But according to Nicholas Sparks Landon, Jamie is practically perfect in every way. 

Jamie is NEVER depicted as having any flaws. She is always nice to everyone and always never does anything wrong.

She was, in other words, the kind of girl who made the rest of us look bad, and whenever she glanced my way, I couldn’t help but feel guilty, even though I hadn’t done anything wrong.

You are a douchebag who makes snide comments.

Nor did Jamie limit her good deeds to people. If she ever came across a wounded animal, for instance, she’d try to help it, too. Opossums, squirrels, dogs, cats, frogs … it didn’t matter to her.

We get it, Sparks. Jamie is a paragon of virtue. Stop talking.

With Jamie, everything was in the Lord’s plan. That was another thing. She always mentioned the Lord’s plan whenever you talked to her, no matter what the subject.

I get it, Sparks.

Jamie is a saintly person. 

And Jesus is love, Jesus is life.

Landon tells us that Jamie thinks she is "so blessed to have a father like mine."

He thinks "what planet she actually came from."

Despite all these other strikes, though, the one thing that really drove me crazy about her was the fact that she was always so damn cheerful, no matter what was happening around her.

In real life, a person who is ALWAYS cheerful is depressed.

But this is a Nicholas Sparks novel. 

So Jamie is cheerful like a Disney princess. 

Thank God, Jamie doesn't break into song.

I swear, that girl never said a bad thing about anything or anyone, even to those of us who weren’t that nice to her.

Translation: Jamie is a female version of Jesus Christ.

Landon keeps going on about how nice Jamie is.

All the adults "adored" her and ladies would "come running out of their house" if they see Jamie walking by.

I was thinking about all this while Jamie stood in front of us on the first day of drama class, and I admit that I wasn’t much interested in seeing her.

For a girl that Landon despises, he won't stop talking about her.

But strangely, when Jamie turned to face us, I kind of got a shock, like I was sitting on a loose wire or something.

It is bad enough that Nicholas Sparks is forcing a romance between two characters and will claim that they are soulmates...

Now he has them feeling an instant electric connection.  

What’s next? Will fireworks go off? Will cherubs start to sing?

She wore a plaid skirt with a white blouse under the same brown cardigan sweater I’d seen a million times, but there were two new bumps on her chest that the sweater couldn’t hide that I swore hadn’t been there just three months earlier.

I'll give three guesses and the first two don't count. 

It isn't surprising since a lot of Nicholas Sparks' novels are renowned for having contrived "tragic" endings in which someone (usually the love interest) dies.

She’d never worn makeup and she still didn’t, but she had a tan, probably from Bible school, and for the first time she looked—well, almost pretty.

If "almost pretty" isn't a backhanded compliment, I don't know what is.

Landon quickly "dismissed" the thought.

But as she looked around the room, she stopped and smiled right at me, obviously glad to see that I was in the class.

Smiling is an expression that shows happiness, affection, etc. 

She shouldn't be happy to see him. 

The guy mocks her and avoids her like the plague. 

But Sparks told us that Jamie is made up of sugar, spice, and everything nice.

It wasn’t until later that I would learn the reason why.

[nootvanlis]

Hollstein Fanfic Rec (April 27 - May 28, 2017)

*Listed chronologically by last updated

New:

I want you - Carmilla loves Laura but she’s with Danny.  Angst. idk man i used to avoid anything to with Danny dating Laura but I’ll read anything nowadays LMAO

Wolven Fate - Laura is a wolven shape-shifter and Carmilla is a panther shape-shifter.  Both kingdom leaders hope to end the feud between them by marrying off their daughters.  A little worried about that h*llence tag but nothing suggests Laura reciprocates Danny.  This one is a great read!

Blanket Burrito Fiasco - (one shot)  Just a quick one shot with Carmilla and Laura needing a push to confess to each other. 

Breaking Down Walls - (one shot) same writer as above.  Carmilla lashes out on Laura and Laura’s not having it.

Where you are (Is where I want to be) - Carmilla teleports between places and finds herself at Laura’s place.

Snowed in - (one shot)  Laura is stuck indoors during a snowstorm with her snarky roommate.

all you sinners stand up sing hallelujah - (one shot) Post series smut in Laura’s childhood bedroom.

Untethered - (one shot) Time travelling AU.

Started reading:

Stagestruck - Laura is an up and coming actress from a small town and Carmilla is a successful casting director.  The relationship is kind of complicated between them and their convo never seems to resolve anything but it has its cute moments. 

Hostel - Carmilla and Laura live at a hostel.

The new girl - Carmilla the webseries except Laura is the vampire and Carmilla is the human.

The Artist and The journalist - Laura’s first article is on Carmilla.  Ends quite abruptly but it’s fine ending.

I just want to give a shoutout to @lover-of-many-things​ for updating her fics even though it’s been over a year or two and they’re amazing!  I think her fics are one of my faves reading this month!  Please write comments or send her asks to encourages her to write more  d:  I pretty much binge read all her works so the following 6 links are hers.

Wait For Me to Come Home - Celebrity AU

Guardian Angel AU - Carmilla is a guardian angel.

Dorm Room Window - Laura brings a cat black to the dorms with her after kicking snow at it.

Spare Cats - (one shot) Laura visits the pet store and Carmilla gets jealous.

Watching the Bottle Turn - (one shot) Carmilla and Laura participate in a game of spin the bottle after pining for each other the past 4 years.

Universe Behind Your Eyelids - (one shot) Canon compliant for episode 2.5

Deviated Pursuits - Superhero AU.  Absolutely LOVED this one!  Amazing smut in the current chapter 😳

Betrothed (Hate at First Sight) - Carmilla and Laura are arranged to marry each other after Laura’s father nearly goes bankrupt from gambling.  Laura and Carmilla run away and end up meeting each other without knowing they’re betrothed to each other.

Kryptonite is Overrated - Superhero AU.  AGAIN, I loved this!  I’ve been really into these superhero AUs lately LMAO.  Mildly a The Devil Wear Prada AU as well.

Trials Of the Heart - Carmilla is a lawyer who ended up defending a rapist and Laura was upset with her.  Half a year later, Laura learns it wasn’t up to Carmilla to defend Theo and Laura tries to gain Carmilla’s trust again.

Jump Start My Heart - Carmilla is Jessica Jones and Laura is Supergirl.

Childcare - Due to experiments from the Alchemy Club, everyone turns into a child except Carmilla, who is left taking care of all of them.

Not afraid - Laura meets a stranger at a bar who tries to cheer her up.

Rising - Laura witnesses a murder and her life turns upside down upon meeting a vampire named Carmilla.

Recently updated fics I’m still reading since last rec:

Admission of Guilt - Laura puts her friendship on hold with Carmilla while dating Danny and after the break up, tries to reconcile with Carmilla.

You had me at Cupcake - Childhood friends AU.  Warning: Abuse, sexual assault, and violence. SPOILER:  Carmilla and Laura broke up so idk /:  I hope they get back together soon bc it’s getting hard to read ;__;

Adore You - Laura has a one way ticket to England but neither her or Carmilla have confessed their feelings yet.

Cats Don't Like Water - Soulmate AU

TMD: Tommy - Part of The Minister’s Daughter universe

All Or Nothing - (complete) Carmilla and Laura are ex-wives who find themselves remarried after a wild night in Vegas.  Smut.

The Guidebook - Laura accepts Danny’s proposal and her distraught best friend, Carmilla, leaves a book behind telling Danny ways on how to love and take care of Laura.  Carmilla leaves and Laura realizes she loves Carmilla all along.

Coffee Cups and Lipstick Stains - Laura comes back years later to ask Carmilla to sign the divorce papers to marry Danny but Carmilla refuses.  Will she be able to win her wife’s love back?

Common Ground - (nearly complete) Laura and Carmilla are assholes to each other upon meeting.  They become fast friends and Laura can’t help falling in love.  Drama ensues.  Smut

Minister's Daughter's Missing Chapters! - One shots from The Minister’s Daughter universe.

Marriage of Convenience - Fake Marriage AU

[daughterofthewest]

This is my own original artwork ( originally posted sideways on my old account the-widows-mite) created in 2014. The original unedited drawing is on the left, same thing with an added tonal filter on my iPhone camera  used to make it a little darker for better visibility of the details on the  right. This piece was done as therapy art while I was laid up recovering from major surgery (sans pain medication because I can't tolerate most of it due to allergies) and unable to speak or move anything but my right hand for an entire week. It came about because the nurses in the recovery room had given me a pencil and paper to communicate/write notes with and instead for the first time in a very long time I started doodling/drawing. The first thing to crawl out of my brain through the pencil was a cute little dragon, which my nurse or one of the doctors asked to keep and I assented to the request so I don't have pictures of it to share unfortunately; this crazy mess was the second.

It was rendered in regular #2 pencil on a piece of 8x11 printer paper that the hospital staff could not use because it had a small wrinkle in it. I saw this and thought to myself, this looks like fun, I think I'll just follow this line and see where it takes me. This drawing is the result of that experience and exercise ... I think I was still under the effects of the anesthesia because it too is whatever crawled out of my brain through the pencil at that time. I had no artistic training whatsoever and  although I had enjoyed drawing as a child and on a few occasions since then when the mood struck when I was younger, had not picked up a pencil to draw in a great many years (for various reasons) at that juncture in my life. 

My doctors were all astounded but I myself no less so- I really hadn't known I could do that. It was my wonderful surgeons and neuro docs who saw this and other things that came after it when someone brought me some watercolor paints and more paper as well, who first told me I had a remarkable gift that I should share- encouraging me enough to keep going and doing art...

My children tell me now that they had always thought of me as an artist because after their father died when they were little I would gather them about me to read to and laugh and talk with and they would ask me to draw something for them and we would make up a story about whatever silly thing I then drew together. Everyone had a good time doing this and didn’t take it too seriously - especially me. I did not think of myself as an artist however or a writer and never wrote any of those stories down and saved few of those particular drawings, (though now I kind of wish I had), because my college education and training and a lifetime of experience was in something else - other disciplines not entirely disparate from Art  but rigorous enough that I did not have any time for or real interest in painting or drawing during those years but which my illness kept me from being able to continue with it at the time I had to have that particular surgery and has done since. 

I have tried to take their kind advice and I now at least have real artists’ materials thanks in part to the generosity of some very supportive family and friends, my ArtSnacks subscription and the recent opening of Art supply stores in the area where I reside that did not exist for most of the 20-30 years before that that I have lived here. 

The continued praise and encouragement I have received from others, (including a few local successful exhibiting professional artists) who have seen my artwork since has been a blessing that allowed me to get past my own feelings of inadequacy and shyness about sharing what I do with others rather than keeping it to myself because I always felt (as noted) that my artwork such as it was/is is just for me- that it was/is my therapy and my happy place to go for relief in times of great stress or pain when I am physically or otherwise unable to do anything else or in some cases for the entertainment of my own children. 

I have not done as much of it since then as I would have liked due to various circumstances and limitations- but I do what I can when I can.. Yet still 3 years later I don't/can’t do this kind of intensely wrought drawings all the time on demand (as much as I wish I could) and I still don’t have any actual training in art that would give me the skills I need to fully flesh my ideas out on paper. I still just draw or paint raw whatever crawls out of my brain through the pencil or paintbrush and let it take me wherever it will. 

I wonder: Is that Ok? Does it mean I’m not a real artist or does it mean I truly am one after all? IDK. I’ve had fellow students who were Juniors in the Art Program at my old university who told me when they saw my work that they still couldn’t do anything quite like it. I’m not sure I believe them but...

I have always loved golden age illustration by the likes of Arthur Rackham and Edmund Dulac, Charles Robinson and their ilk, Jessie Wilcox Smith and Howard Pyle- though my some of my absolute favorite’s were his students, N.C. Wyeth and Joan Walsh Anglund. Of course Irene Haas and Holling C. Holling are in a class by themselves and I loved their work too. 

So I think sometimes I would really love to write and illustrate children’s books  as well but I have no idea how one goes about that or gets into that business without the proper education and training specific to the field and I would not want demands put on me for deadlines by a publisher that would interfere with my process or that I could not meet if I were too ill to work for a time again. I am very much about doing things my own way in my own time. 

Yet I do have some ideas for these that I’ve discussed with my very bookish daughter who is currently following her own path to a career in teaching and librarianship, hoping to eventually get into a Ph.D program in Comparative Lit,  and wok in the translation, editing and publishing of books and maybe become a writer herself ( she has so many cute story ideas y’all)  all the time and she tells me she thinks I’d be great at it- that I am a born illustrator and story teller. 

Others who know me and have seen more of my work have said the same. Everyone keeps telling me to keep creating and just put my work out there. Admittedly, that prospect  is very daunting and hard for me as I am naturally a very private and shy person in general but I am trying. 

Honestly, I am a bit old to be starting over but I must do so to keep living and fighting- not giving in to my illness. In that regard, I am so very grateful for the Tumblr community which gives me (and so many very talented others of all ages from all walks of life that I have been so pleased to find here) a safe place to dip my toes in the water and test it before I take a dive off the deep end into that world. Thanks for being here and taking this new journey with me. Peace.

[another-tmnt-writer]

Not the One

Raphael x Reader

Not the One

Prompt: It was hella long and hella good and basically, it’s a soulmate AU with a twist and aaaaaaaaaah I’m in love with this idea.

Note: AAAAAAAAAAAH I’M DYINGGGGG I’M SO EXCITED TO WRITE THISSSSSSS. Edit: this took so much longer than intended, but it came out a lot longer than I intended too, so...

@wumperin @brayden1616

“Yer kidding. A week. We have an entire week like this?” Raph looked at his very human fingers on his very human hands attached to his very (temporarily) human body. “An entire week?”

“Possibly longer.” Donatello scanned himself and his brothers. What had been a lab accident while handling the purple ooze had resulted in whatever this was. Raph had another concern. His soulmate timer was within hours now, and maybe being like this would help him meet the person he was meant to spend his entire life with.

“So…” Leo tried to come up with a plan. But if he was being honest, he had no idea how to handle this.

“We’ve gotta seize the opportunity, dudes. We’re only ever going to be normal once, we have to take advantage of it.”

“And?” Leo raised an eyebrow.

“We’re gonna go to school.”

***

“So these are your…” The counselor from the high school looked up to April and Casey, the boys standing in a line behind them.

“These are my nephews.” April said. “They’re kind of transfer students, but only for a week or so. It’s part of a program to let Queens students experience what school is like in the rest of New York City.”

“Sounds doable. Do you have their grades and records and such on hand, or do I need to contact their other school for the information?”

“It should all be here, but I can call Principal Mayweather if we’re missing anything.” April pushed her glasses up her nose and handed the counselor a flash drive Donnie had thrown together that morning.

“Great. Thank you so much.”

Raph glanced down at his timer. Minutes. Minutes now. The counselor gave them their schedules and sent them on their way. It was about ten minutes until class was supposed to start, and about ten until Raph was supposed to meet his soulmate. God, his heart was racing in his unusual human chest. He felt like he couldn’t breathe.

April and Casey said goodbye to the boys and told them they’d come pick them up after school. Next, they attempted to find their lockers. All the way up on the third floor above the art wing. Raph scanned the numbers for the four that belonged to himself and his brothers. It took a few minutes, but they found them. God, combination locks were confusing, but Donnie helped him figure it out with his clumsy human fingers. He wasn’t used to having so many. What were the extra two good for anyway?

He grabbed his math book and his notebook and calculator and dumped it into the red backpack that sort of made him feel like he had a shell again. It was a comforting weight, sort of. It gave an illusion that he was still who he had always been, despite looking and feeling so different now. Needing all of the same core classes meant that the boys were together for their first two hours, but they broke off in the afternoon to do the specials they had chosen.

So off they headed to Geometry, where they were sure Donnie would have to explain everything to them. When they got to the classroom, they were greeted by a group of fresh faces. Nerds, jocks, preps, goths, rockers, it seemed that everyone was represented. A few of the girls whispered to one another, subtly pointing to the group of attractive boys in front of them and giggling about the endless possibilities.

“Transfer students, huh? There are some seats over there in the back of the room. What are your names?”

“Leonardo, Raphael, Donatello, and Michelangelo.” Leo answered. Mrs. Russo’s skeptical face told them he should have given her their nicknames instead. “Our uh, parents are huge art geeks.” He offered.

“I can tell. Well, Renaissance gang, you can sit in the four seats to the left of Ms. (L/N). (Y/N), raise your hand please.”

You didn’t lower the book from your face when you raised your hand. Raph didn’t know what it was about you that was throwing him off, but there was something there. It felt like a wire had wrapped around his heart and was starting to squeeze. Great. A heart attack what- twenty seconds- before he met his soulmate. Wonderful.

He walked over and took the seat beside you, his brothers settling into the other seats. As the bell rang to signal class had started, you folded your bookmark into the center of the book and set it on the desk beside your math stuff. Finally, you glanced over at Raph just as his counter hit zero.

His green eyes widened as he took in everything about you. The cute black plastic frames that sat on your nose, the perfect bun of soft locks that sat atop your head, the music notes painted onto your fingernails and the piano key suspenders that held up your black skirt. You were so goddamned cute he could barely stand it. His heart hammered in his chest. And then he spotted the timer on your wrist.

You still had ten days left.

He looked around to see if anyone else had finished their timer, but there wasn’t anyone. Just him.

“You’re the new kids?” You asked. God, your voice was so sweet. It hurt. Maybe you weren’t meant to be with him, but he knew with all of his beating heart that he was meant to be with you.

“Y-yeah.” Raph replied. “I’m Raphael. Call me Raph.” He smiled at your unknowing gaze. You didn’t know how much you had crushed him in the instants he had known you.

“(Y/N) (L/N).” His eyes wandered to the book on your desk.

“What’cha reading?”

“Beastly.” You replied, handing him the worn book. “I’ve read it like seven thousand times. It’s honestly amazing. I’m in love with Beauty and the Beast, so this is just- ugh it’s so good.”

“Hmm.” He flipped through the pages before handing it back to you. “I’ll have ta check it out sometime. Never seen it.”

“You what?! We’ve gotta change that.” You smiled at the little interaction.

“Might just have to take ya up on that offer.” He grinned. You felt your heart melt a little.

Mrs. Russo started the lesson, and it didn’t take long for Raph to become completely and utterly confused. Donnie was busy helping Mikey and Leo seemed to understand what was happening, but Raph was so lost. And based on the notes on your page, you seemed to get it.

“Hey,” he whispered. “Can you uh, I don’t get it.”

“Sure!” you nodded. “What do you need help with?”

“How are ya supposed to use the whatever-it-is to find the side? I keep getting’ the wrong numbers.”

“Okay so this is the hypotenuse.”

“Mmhmm.”

“And so you just add the squares of the other sides to-”

“This is a triangle, what do squares have to do with it?” he asked. You giggled.

“You’ve never taken Geometry before, have you?”

“How’d ya guess?” he offered a sheepish chuckle and shook his head. “It may as well be written in Chinese.”

“Well, tell you what, I don’t have any plans after school. If you need a tutor, you could come to my apartment. We’ll watch Beauty and the Beast and do math. Two birds in one stone.”

“Sounds great.” He felt his heart start hammering again and wished it would stop. He couldn’t have you. You weren’t his to have. He wasn’t your soulmate. The universe didn’t care about his feelings. And yet, he accepted the invitation knowing full well that the more he built up momentum, the harder he’d fall when he lost you.

***

“I can’t believe you’ve never seen this movie.” You told him as you sat down with the popcorn on the couch of your apartment. The math was done, and now all that was left was to expose him to the movie you held nearest and dearest to your heart.

“Grew up with four boys, there’s not a whole lot of Disneying that goes on.”

“Well, I guess that’s what I’m around for, right?” You asked, tossing a few kernels of fluffy popcorn into your mouth. Raph grabbed a handful too.

“Guess so. That and math assistance.” He chuckled. You pressed play and draped a blanket over your legs and his. You had only met Raph that afternoon, but it felt like you had known him for years. Maybe he was just meant to be your best friend. Maybe there was a secret internal clock that had stopped ticking while the one counting down her true love was still running.

As the movie started, Raph watched every second. He loved every minute of it, but maybe only because he had you beside him, reciting every word right along with it. He was surprised the DVD even worked at all with how many times you had probably watched it. It was unhealthy, but this perfect little quirk was one of the many things he’d miss when he’d have to let you go.

***

After morning classes the next day, you found Raph and his brothers at lunch and took a seat with them instead of sitting with your other friends as you usually did. The other three smiled at you. They had talked to Raph the night before in a conversation that had basically consisted of Raph telling them about his soulmate that wasn’t his soulmate and the movie they had watched about loving people beyond their exterior. Donnie had called it beautifully tragic and pretty damn ironic. Raph agreed. But he was determined to be friends with you at least. He wanted to get to know you. He’d rather know you for a week and then never see you again than never know you for who you really were before it was too late.

“Hey guys.”

“Hey (Y/N),” Raph grinned.

“So, I figured, if this is your only week here, we’ve gotta make the best of it. Mall. Tonight. Do you have plans?”

“No.” Leo answered. “No plans.”

“Good. I have a car. Meet me by my locker after school.”

“All right, angelcakes.” Mikey winked. “We’ll be there.”

***

Here they were. The mall. It wasn’t what they had expected, but in a way, it was. There were pretzel stands and pop-up Chinese food places, a bunch of clothing stores that they could smell from the other end of the mall, and of course the movie theater. You and the boys nestled into the corner booth of the food court with giant pretzels, nachos, and giant red slushies. And they just watched.

“You guys act like you’ve never been to a mall before.” You chuckled, taking a sip of your slushy. They offered apologetic shrugs.

“Would it be bad if we told ya we haven’t?” Raph asked. You raised an eyebrow.

“Seriously?! This trip has taken on a new importance. After we finish these pretzels, we have a mission.”

“What are we gonna do?” Leo asked.

“Everything.”

You had promised everything, and you had pretty much delivered. Hollister? Check. Target? Check. The arcade? Check. Photo booth? Check. Movie? In progress. Raph as seated beside you with Mikey on his other side. Mikey kept making attempts at signaling his older brother to get him to make a move on you. Raph shook his head. The move wasn’t his to make. He couldn’t push himself on you. Not like this.

But when there was a huge jump scare, you clung to his bicep, causing both of your heart rates to soar. A slow smile crept across his lips.

“Oh, I-I’m sorry.” You apologized. Raph leaned into whisper a reply.

“No harm done. If ya need someone to protect ya from the monsters, I’m right here.”

“Oh hush, you.” You giggled as a timid blush settling across your cheeks and gave his shoulder a tiny shove, earning a deep chuckle. Another distorted creature jumped out of the shadows on the screen. Mikey spilled popcorn, and you pulled one of Raph’s large hands in front of your face. He laughed and smiled at you, a soft smile that his brothers had never seen before.

But it faded just as fast as it had formed with the realization that he only had a few more days with you before he’d have to say goodbye. Forever. He had been human for so long now that he had forgotten he’d have to go back. The clock was ticking. He had to take advantage of this while he could because before he knew it, he’d lose his soulmate just as fast as he had found her.

***

The week passed in a breeze. Your school days consisted of helping Raph with math and having lunch with him and his brothers. After school hours, all five of you would pile into your car and go back to your apartment for pizza and movies. But today…today was different. Today was goodbye. Raph wanted to make it special. If he was going to let you go, he certainly didn’t want you to forget him.

April had helped him pack a picnic basket and assisted him with his surprise present. So at noon on Saturday, he arrived at your apartment to pick you up and then you took the train to Central Park.

He had told you that the rest of the boys were busy packing up, but really they just wanted to give their brother space to say goodbye to you on his own. After all, he was the one losing the most when they became turtles again. He had hours.

You sat down on the red and white checkered blanket and helped him unpack the food and such. You popped a bright strawberry into your mouth. It was a few minutes before Raph brought up the topic of goodbye.

“So uh, we’re goin’ back to Queens tomorrow.” Raph said. You nodded. “So uh, I wanted to say goodbye.”

“It’s not like we can’t still hang out, right? We can still be friends.” You looked at him. He smiled sadly. “Can’t we?”

“I don’t know. I just…I’m not what you think I am…I’m not who you think I am. You’re meeting your soulmate in three days and-”

“How did you know about that?” you asked, heart racing at the thought of the future being so close. Too close.

“It’s on yer wrist.” Raph shrugged. A sad look formed in his green eyes and a sudden wave of realization washed over you. You grabbed Raph’s hand, pulling his wrist so you could see it. He tried to pull it back from you, but didn’t want to fight you, and he didn’t want to lie to you either. Well, more than he already was anyway.

“Your timer…” Your face scrunched up. “Who’s your soulmate?”

“That’s a…complicated question.” Raph answered. You looked at him slowly, hesitating to meet his gaze. As soon as your eyes fell on his, his hand tensed up.

“No.” your voice was quiet, eyes wide and heart trying to escape your chest. “It can’t…I can’t…Mine is still…” Your eyes locked onto the numbers as they ticked lower and lower. You denied it, and yet maybe you had known the moment you met him. Something was off. Something about the way h talked to you, the way he interacted with you.

“I know. It’s impossible. But uh, I never really expected to have a soulmate anyway, so…I guess at least I got to know ya before I gotta say goodbye.”

“But-”

“It’s all right.” Raph read the hurt on your face. The broken that came with the hand the universe had dealt the two of you. “I’ll be all right. So will you when you meet him.” He reached into the basket. “I got ya something to remember me by.”

Raph pulled out a little velvet box and opened it. Inside was a necklace: a silver turtle pendant on a leather cord. “I…I know it ain’t much, but-”

“I love it.” You told him. You wish you could tell him more. That you loved him, that you were his soulmate, but one of those statements wasn’t true. Raph did the clasp around your neck and pulled your hair over the cord. He smiled sadly. You took his hand in your own. “No matter what happens…no matter what the universe has in store for either of us…I will never forget you, Raphael. I promise. And I know it doesn’t matter much, but…I love you.” You stated quietly. He pulled you into his arms and held you as though you would disappear.

“It matters more that ya could ever know. I love you too.”

***

Raph woke up the next morning the way he grew up. A turtle. Big and bulky and covered in muscle. His scales and shell had reappeared as his extra fingers and hair had disappeared. He rolled over and stared at the wall. You were gone. He had lost you forever, and two nights from now, you would move on. You would forget about him.

He rolled onto his shell and stared at the ceiling, cursing the universe for everything. He wanted to punch something, so off to the dojo he went to punch the shit out of their punching bag. This went on for two days. Raph listened to his loud music and punched their bag until it fell off of its hook, only to pick it up and repeat the cycle. He barely ate, and every time he tried to sleep, all he could see was your face and the sadness in your eyes when you realized you were his but he couldn’t be yours. The heartbreak he had caused. The heartbreak he had received.

He should have just left you at the very beginning. Then he wouldn’t be like this.

When Leo announced a patrol on the night you were going to move on from him, he was ready to bust some heads. How else was the emotion supposed to get out of him? His anger, his sadness, his regret, he was going to get rid of all of it.

And so out they went, out of the sewers and onto the surface, hopping from building to building until finally, they found what they were looking for: crime. Some lowlife gang members were harassing some chick, and they were going to put a stop to it. Except, the chick wasn’t just any old girl. It was you. Raph stopped in his tracks, the anger bubbling up inside of him before diving in to pull the guys off of you. The guys were going to help him, but he didn’t need it. He was so powerful, zipping through the shadows like, well, a ninja. The guys left standing ran for the hills, terrified of the huge green creature that had beat up their friends.

You took a few shaky steps backwards. What if whatever had helped was coming for you next. You couldn’t see him in the dark, but Raph could see you. Even now, you were stunning. You took a few steps forward, causing him to step back.

“Hello?”

“I ain’t who ya think, (Y/N).” Raph said. Your breath hitched, eyes awash in realization.

“Raphael?” Your broken voice sliced through the silence. He didn’t answer. “Y-your voice sounds d-different.”

“Ya don’t gotta be afraid.” He tried to reassure you. His voice came from much higher than it had in the past. Had he always been this tall? Your heart hammered and your face reddened and you didn’t know why you were scared, but you were. “It’s okay.”

Tick…tick…tick…

“Raph, let me see you.”

“I uh…don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Please.” You whispered. You glanced down at your wrist. There were seconds left. “Please.”

“I want ya tah remember me that way. Not like…this.”

“What do you mean?” You knew what he meant.

“Please, just go home, (Y/N)! Forget about me!”

“I…I can’t, Raph! I can’t just pretend you don’t exist!” You stared at the numbers before holding up your wrist to show him, if he could even see. “I think you’re my soulmate! And for some reason the wires got twisted somewhere, but…Please, Raphael. I love you.” You looked up at where he stood in the dark for a few more seconds before collapsing to your knees, tears rolling down your soft cheeks. Raph carefully, slowly knelt before you so quietly you hadn’t heard him.

He pressed his hand against your cheek, wiping away the tears with his large green fingers. Your eyes opened gradually, rising to look up at his tear-filled green eyes in time with the ding of your timer. The large, rough green face in front of you was a little more than a shock. Your eyes widened. He began to pull away, but you grabbed his huge green hand, keeping him there.

“I’m sorry. About all of this.” He didn’t dare to look at you. Not now that you knew what he truly was. Your small hand ventured up to his cheek, gently travelling across the scales there. Your tentative touches sent shivers up his spine.

“Sorry for what?”

“I’m sorry yer stuck with-”

“Shhhhh…” You shushed him, wrapping your arms around him tightly. He held you against his chest, his arms moving slowly to embrace you. He had never imagined you could love him. Not like this. But here you were, hugging him as though he was human.

“But I’m a freak.” Were the only words he could manage to put together.

“You’re not a freak.” You pulled away so you could look at him. “You’re a hero. If it weren’t for you and your brothers, I would be dead three times over.” You paused, watching the slow smile that formed on his cheeks. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” His voice was muffled by the fabric of your sweatshirt as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. “I love you so freakin’ much.”

[clearvoidcollectionworld-blog]

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We we also garner extremely busy Matchmaking daters who find our services an efficient dating indulgence. She can be calm and modest at one moment, and the next one she'll be amazing you with her knowledge and intelligence. Please note that a complaint submitted through the online platform will not be considered unless you have raised it with us first. Send Gimme that Review-Weekly.com newsletter The recently added BumbleBFF feature also lets users search for non-romantic connections. The result is something as sincere and funny as it is heart-rending, a self-aware, deeply humanistic game whose witty script makes even the most groan-worthy dad puns seem to sparkle. On first look it makes you sound like you’ve just bumbled into each other carelessly, plus it reminds me of the film Bee Movie where a fully-grown adult woman had a relationship with a bee and didn't face any bestiality charges.

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From a womans perspective a man must be investing more into the relationship than she is otherwise it isnt worth it. If things move quickly because you've really clicked with someone then that is great, but not internet dating tips list would be through without one: make your interactions online dating with care. I read that an Asian guy would have to make hundreds of thousands more a year to be seen market attractive as the average white man. It also comes with the Mobile Dating App and over 60 Free dating templates, Free support and Free upgrades. I’m sure you don’t see anything nice, bc smart, pretty women want nothing to do with your immature, sexist, and laughable self. Blind dates, classified ads, dating websites, hobbies, holidays, office romance, social networking, speed dating. It can be cool for an attractive, stylish American woman to wear flip flops with a cute summer dress.

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At ConsumerAffairs we love to hear from both consumers and brands; please never hesitate to Contact Us. With minigames, sidequests, and a variety of paths and endings, Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator is this year’s most anticipated Dad-based game. That is what we’re trying to do through Sparks,” says Bhatia. “It’s like helping guys with common interests, communicate.” The company claims that 40% users who have used Sparks once tend to buy it again. Back in the days when I was still a blue piller I did that mistake in the college where I used to teach. The Intra-Hybrid Blu-ray Disc (IH-BD) will incorporate a single BD-ROM layer and a single rewritable BD-RE layer so as to enable the user to view, but not overwrite, published data. Trust me I never ever came across any European woman who is pretty as you mentioned Scarlett Johanssen. Our goal is to collect and use only that information that we believe is required for our legitimate business interests, to better understand your interests and to improve your experience using the Services.