#it's trippy in the best kind of sense

[apfelhalm]

A Trip to Infinity (2022)

[seilon]

just had a simultaneously horrifying and relieving thought. thank god jonghyun was not a western artist. because you just know that if he was, there would be a shitty distasteful melodramatic hollywood biopic about him in about five years, give or take

[peachybeom]

Valentine Blues

Taehyun x reader

ex-best friends to lovers

Please reblog if you like this!

You were currently experiencing the worst day ever and were about one more tragedy away from having a breakdown.

Huffing violently you stood in the middle of an alleyway, watching your home route bus disappear with the main traffic.

Your phone beeped at the same time and you reached for it while taking rest on a wall nearby.

[10:51pm] Roomate.

Hey Y/n,

I just wanna thank you again for staying out tonight!! Because of you me and Josh can FINALLY enter the home base tonite and get extra juicy iykwim ;)))

Happy Valentines day babes!

Okay yeah now you can feel the breakdown coming.

You were so engrossed in storming all the libraries in town, looking for a specific book for your asshole Professor, to get him to reward you some extra credit, that you had conveniently forgot the stupid promise you had made to your roommate.

As much as you wanted to crash on the soft mattress of your bed and mute the world for rest of the weekend, you weren't desperate enough to walk into your roommate having sex with her co worker while roleplaying as a nurse.

In your peripheral vision, you could see couples huddled together, walking hand in hand. Some sharing an ice cream, others practically devouring each other with their intense stares.

Love was definitely in the air, and it made you nauseous. It wasn't that you were anti love or something, in the past you actually looked forward to this cliche holiday.

But recently you had managed to convince yourself that after several bitter breakups and unrequited crushes, being in a loving, healthy relationship seemed just impossible for you at this point.

Shaking your head, you pushed aside all the pointless worries and tried to focus on your current problem which was being homeless for the night.

You racked your brain to think which one of your crackhead friend would be available to offer you a lodging.

Kai? No. You knew he had plans with his girlfriend in her dorm to watch some random Disney movie and cry like a baby while she consoled him.

Soobin? Doubtful. His still had problems prioritising his girlfriend over odi, so that was a territory you didn't want to enter.

Beomgyu and Jeongin? Never. Those two would definitely be somewhere wasted in a club while they humped their way through another round of beer pong. They had actually tried to convince you for an entire week to join them at the club tonight and form a 'Singles Union', An association which helped each other to get laid. No way you were walking into that trap again.

That left you with Yeonjun- ehhhh. You actually had no idea what he was upto. Last time you heard from him, he was 'Single like a Pringle and definitely ready to Mingle'- his words not yours.

Sighing, you crossed your fingers as you dialled his number on your phone. Hopefully he could be your saving grace.

After a few rings he picked up the phone.

"Hey Junnie, I know it's kind of late and well.....Valentine's day but I really really need a favor from you," You said rushing your words. The cold weather was definitely peeking under your raging emotions.

"Oh hi Y/n, yeah sure what's up," Yeonjun replied, in a whisper.

"Yeah so I actually- I hear a woman's voice. Are you on a date?," You asked, cutting off your own words.

"Yes I am, but I can help you. What's the problem?" He answered.

To this you stifled a laugh. Choi Yeonjun on a date? The no strings attached Choi Yeonjun taking some lady out to have a nice dinner? This day was getting more trippy minute by minute.

"It's a speed dating thing. Now tell me what do you want, I don't have much time." Yeonjun said in an annoyed tone, taking the silence as a way of you teasing him.

Ah that makes so much more sense.

You almost felt bad for interrupting Yeonjun on his 'date' but you knew he was the only one who could save you right now.

So you told him about your problem.

"Hmmm you are aware that you can just crash at my place right? You already know where the key is kept, I won't be home for the night anyways" Yeonjun stated matter of factly.

Your ears perked up at his suggestion and you almost cursed yourself for not thinking about it earlier until a face flashed up in your mind.

"And what about Kang Taehyun?" You questioned grimly.

"Beggars can't be choosers Y/n. Besides it's not like he's the spawn of Satan." Your friends responded.

"But Yeonjun-,"

"Listen I have to go but consider this. It's not like you have any other option. Byee happy love day!" And then Yeonjun abruptly ended the call.

You groaned loudly and stomped your feet like a baby, earning glances from a few pedestrians. But you couldn't care less about them.

You started to weigh your options.

Spending a night at a run in shady motel full with horny couples or with your friend's roommate, the annoying, son of a gun- who also happened to be your ex bestfriend, Kang Taehyun.

After giving both of them intense thought. You decided to swallow your pride and take up Yeonjun's offer. Atleast his bed would be free of mysterious bodily fluids unlike the motel's.

After almost walking for half an hour- a consequence of missing the bus earlier, you finally reached Yeonjun's apartment.

Your feet were giving up on you and your teeth began to clatter lightly due to the cold February weather.

You could hear faint music from the other side of the door.

Great. Taehyun was home.

You weren't surprised though.

Even though you despised Taehyun, you decided to knock on the door instead of unlocking it out of common courtesy.

Nothing happened for a few moments and you knocked again. Still nothing.

Growing impatient you reached for the key and was about to use it when Taehyun opened it.

Correction: A very shirtless dripping wet Taehyun, with a towel around his waist opened the door.

"Lover boy isn't home tonight," Taehyun started with a stern tone. Oblivious to the fact that he was basically half nude standing in front of you.

"I-uh," You gulped, trying to compose yourself.

Taehyun is annoying and irritating and an asshole. His chiseled abs could not facade his shitty personality.

"Yeonjun said I could stay here tonight, Now move." You continued before making your way inside the apartment.

You did feel a bit intrusive and rude but your day had already been a mess and dealing with Kang Taehyun was icing on the cake.

Ignoring and engaging in minimum conversation with him was your goal.

Reminiscing the comfy feeling of a bed, you made a beeline for Yeonjun's room and turned the knob to open the door.

"What the fuck," A string of curse words left your mouth as you saw the room before you.

It was completely trashed and the stench of freshly applied paint almost made you dizzy.

"Yeonjun's room is being renovated, didn't he tell you that?" A voice mocked you from behind.

Taehyun was now leaning against the door frame -now fully dressed- and drying his hair with a hand towel.

You wanted to cry. You knew that this proposition was too good to be true. Breaking down over a trashed room was childish but anyone in your place would feel the same way. Everything was getting on your nerves.

There was no way you could sleep in the living room too, your fingers were already numb and your throat felt scratchy.

"I'm gonna kill him," You muttered under your breath before taking your bag and making your way to the exit only to be stopped by Taehyun midway.

"Hey I can't let you leave. Yeonjun would kill me, also not to forget you are sort of homeless aren't you?" He said raising a hand.

Your eyes widened. So he knew, great.

The last thing you wanted to be infront of him was vulnerable and embarrassed, but here you were.

As much as you hated to admit it, he was right you didn't have any other choice.

"So where will I sleep?" You asked raising an eyebrow, refusing to admit defeat.

"In there," Taehyun replied pointing to his bedroom.

"No way I'm sharing a bed with you. You pervert, " You answered him in disbelief.

But the thing was even though you hated Taehyun, you knew that he won't make a move on you without consent.

Deep down you still trusted him.

You, Yeonjun and Taehyun went way back. They were the first two people you ran into on your first day of college, when you were a naive, insecure friendless student. They were the ones who took you in and made you feel welcomed.

"Oh no, You'll take the floor," Taehyun answered bringing you back to reality.

What?

You stared at him blankly as he broke out in a fit of laughter.

"God it feels so good to have the upper hand," He continued.

Suddenly the thought of walking home alone and witnessing your roommate doing the dirty didn't phase you anymore.

So once more you picked your stuff and started walking towards the door when you felt Taehyun grab you wrist.

You'd had enough. Fuck avoiding him.

"What the hell do you want Taehyun. I've already had a crappy day as it is, spent my entire day searching a useless manuscript for that Professor dimwit, ran two fucking stations only to miss my bus home and walked here in this freezing weather with people sucking off each other's face all around me. So No, I don't have the energy to deal with your petty humiliations. Let go." You turned around lashing at him.

Your fists were bawled and your lips quivered. Taehyun always worked you up, he made you feel weak and vulnerable and you hated him for that.

Something changed in Taehyun's expression and his eyes softened. He loosened his hold on your wrist as you pulled it away from him.

"You can take the room. I didn't plan on sleeping there anyways, got some assignments to finish," Taehyun finally spoke up, his voice soft and laced with guilt.

You stared at him for a minute too long and then without saying another word you made your way to the room and shut it behind you.

You sunk down on the floor, once inside.

Grabbing a fistful of your hair you let out a shaky breath.

This wasn't fair. While the rest of the world was busy celebrating love and happiness with their significant others, you were left here moping in the bedroom of the boy, one you managed to successfully detach and despise in your mind for almost a year now.

The reason you were so hostile towards Taehyun wasn't because he was sort of pretentious or his face was too annoyingly perfect, it wasn't because he was so calm in situations where one shouldn't be.

The true reason was that Taehyun made you feel things that you would never allow yourself to feel.

Everything thing he used to do drove you wild. Made your heartbeat like crazy whenever he was around you, the touch of his hands, the small comforting smiles which adorned his face when your eyes met.

You were always rational with your love life, never reaching for places you couldn't but Taehyun was an exception.

He led you on, starred in all your hopeful fantasies and dreams but then left one day only to leave them shattered on the ground.

"Y/n I think you've got it wrong. It's best for us to remain friends don't you think? Best friends can't hurt each other,"

Except Taehyun was wrong. Best friends can hurt each other, they can leave scars which can take ages to heal. Those words still haunted you to this day.

He had rejected you that day.

But it wasn't the response that upset you the most, it was the shitty excuse he gave you, because the promise to remain friends was just as difficult. You could never look at him the same way again, the pain eventually grew into hatred and here you were now.

Holding back tears, you finally looked around the room. Nothing had changed since the last time you've been here, Taehyun had always been a pretty minimalistic person. Everything felt the same except for two photo frames which were placed on his bedside table.

You went up and examined the two pictures closely. One was of the day when Yeonjun, Taehyun and you decided to take a spontaneous road trip to your home town. A smile spread across your lips as you recalled the happy memories.

However it was the second picture which earned a gasp from you. In it, you were shoving a handful of Chocolates into Taehyun's mouth laughing while he looked at the camera with mischievous eyes, hands wrapped around your arms.

You couldn't understand why Taehyun would still keep this picture with him, nevertheless framed and on his bed side table.

Before you could think about anything else, you felt a knock on the door. Startled you dropped the frame on the bed and went ahead to open it.

Taehyun stood there in front of you, holding a jumper in his hands.

"I have to grab some books and here, I figured you would be cold," His expression still apologetic.

His hair was messy and a hint of sleepiness evident in his eyes.

You took the sweater from him and moved to the side to let him in.

Your heart skipped a beat when you brought the jumper closer to your face. It smelled like him.

"I'm sorry Y/n. I acted like an asshole earlier," Taehyun said minutes after, eyes still settled on his giant bookshelf.

For a moment you didn't know how to respond but then you spoke,

"I'm sorry too for lashing out on you, it's just today's been a pain in the ass for me,"

As you were speaking you realised, how much time it had been since the two of you spoke without bickering, let alone apologize to each other.

"I thought you'd probably be out tonight celebrating," He continued now looking at you.

You scoffed at this.

"My love life has been in shambles since forever," you replied letting out a pathetic laugh.

Since you.

"Same for me, if that makes anything better,"

Even though the three of you did not hang out together anymore. Yeonjun always used to give you updates on Taehyun's life even though you pretended not to care.

You had no idea where this conservation was leading. At any moment you could ask him to leave, but there was piece of you that wanted him to stay just like it did a year ago.

"Actually I- uh got something to give you, just a second," Taehyun said abruptly before leaving the room.

He exited the room in such a hurry that you didn't even have time to process what he said.

Something for you? What could it be? The thumping of your heart making it hard to concentrate on anything.

The door opened again and this time Taehyun returned with a mug in his hand.

He stood beside you next to the bed and placed the mug in your hands.

"What's this?" You asked him, puzzled.

"I know the circumstances aren't the best but I couldn't break the promise," Taehyun replied, his expression soft and a little embarrassed.

You still couldn't get it.

"I can't cook or bake to save my life so here's some hot chocolate instead....Happy Valentines Day Y/n."

That's when it hit you. A few years ago you and Taehyun had made a made a pact with each other, for every valentine's if either of you were single or sulky the other person's job would be to look out for them and cook them a 'comfort' food of their choice.

Taehyun remembered. Of course he did, that explains that picture he kept on his nightstand.

You were overwhelmed to say the least.

"Hopefully this makes everything just a bit better," Taehyun finished off.

That's when you heard your own sniffs and felt a tear running down your cheek.

Taehyun looked at you with a panicked expression as he sat beside you and opened his mouth to say something but you cut him off.

"I can't do this anymore Taehyun, it's too unbearable. I did everything to get over this Despised you, avoided you but I'm just so weak. I'm pathetic," Even though your vision was blurry, you could still clearly see Taehyun's sculpted face in front of you.

It was pathetic really. The facade you managed to pull off for so long came undone the moment he confronted you.

Beomgyu and Jeongin would probably laugh their heads off and label you a loser if they ever got to know about this.

But Taehyun pulled you into a hug, his warm embrace enveloping the whole of you.

"Don't say that, I hurt you and it's my fault. I was a coward Y/n, I didn't want to ruin or complicate things but it only caused pain for both of us,"

He pulled back to face you.

"I know I can't ever make up for the things I said that day, but- fuck it I miss you. There are so many things I want to say that I couldn't back then but most importantly Y/n I- I love you."

Although your mind was an emotional mess. Hearing those three words from Taehyun made the butterflies in your stomach wild. The school girl crush, the giddy feeling you felt everytime Taehyun was near you returned.

"Same," you blurted out meekly not trusting yourself to form coherent sentences.

This earned a wide grin from Taehyun, giving a perfect view of his pearly white teeth and adorable eye whiskers.

He placed a hand on your cheek, wiping the tears and then leaned in dangerously close.

"May I?" He whispered against you lips and without thinking twice you smashed your them against his. This exact moment, you dreamt of it countless time. Being in Taehyun's arms was something you thought you could only see in your dreams. Actually you still weren't sure if this all was real or you were just lost in another dreamland. .

"I've missed you so much y/n oh my god" Taehyun breathed against your lips.

What eventually started soft and slow turned hot and steamy in a matter of seconds. Hands roaming all over and your entire body melting into his.

When Taehyun slipped his hands under your jumper to take it off you suddenly pulled away from him, breaking the kiss.

"What happened, did I do something wrong?" Taehyun asked with a worried look.

You shook your head quickly and pointed to the mug now placed on the nightstand.

"The hot chocolate will get cold," You replied.

Hearing this, Taehyun visibly relaxed and entwined his fingers with yours.

"I can make you a thousand cups of hot chocolate later but right now let's focus on us," He said in a deep voice, laying you down further on the bed.

"Am I really going to get laid with Kang Taehyun on fucking Valentine's day? Past us would be cringing so hard," You teased him further.

Taehyun replied by burying his face in your neck.

"Happy Valentines Day baby. Lets believe in love again."

The next day when you woke up to a naked Taehyun sleeping peacefully beside you. You had to pinch yourself to convince yourself that this wasn't a dream.

Never in a million years you thought such a disastrous day could have such a perfect ending.

Taking a sip of the cold chocolate milk from the night before, you started down at his beautiful face.

He gently stirred beside you, eyes opening slowly.

"Good morning, you're real" He speaks in a hoarse voice, eyelids still heavy with sleep.

"Yes Tyun, I am" You smiled at his cute state.

Taehyun pulled you closer to his side and whispered in your hair, "Did I tell you, you make all my problems go away"

"Speaking of problems-" You started but were cut off by the loud bang of a door opening.

"Hey Taehyun, Did Y/n come here- WHAT THE FUCK MY POOR EYES. DO YOU TWO NOT KNOW THERE ARE OTHER PEOPLE LIVING IN THIS HOUSE" Yeonjun screamed covering his eyes.

You giggled at Yeonjun's mortifying reaction and slipped yourself deeper into the sheets.

"You're the one walking in without knocking, get the fuck out yeonjun" Taehyun screamed back, throwing a pillow at his direction.

[tokiwarcube]

Pickles fluff alphabet? 💐😸pwease!

Strap in babe, this one's a doozy!

A ctivities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

It’s honestly pretty varied! Whether you’re taking over the biggest nightclub in the country together; gaming; watching some trippy TV show while blasted out of your minds; or going for a late night drive… it’s something new every day! Especially if you have the free time to match. Although I will admit… he’s rather partial to just lazing around Mordhaus with you.

B eauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

Your patience, kindness, and resolve. I talk about this a lot in later letters, but your steady presence in his life is unlike anything he’s ever seen, much less had. On a more physical level though… thighs, calves, and hips. Lord God, he is insatiable.

C omfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

I talked a bit about this in his relationship headcanon post, but he is actually surprisingly good at comforting his partner despite never having received it much himself.

If you’re okay with being held in moments like these, he’ll sit you down and pull you towards him to place his lips to your temple. He murmurs the kindest words against the skin there, letting his hands soothe the stress of the moment. Although most often one ends up threaded through your hair, shielding you from the world as his thumb traces gentle patterns. You’re going to be okay. Everything always works out, I promise.

Alternatively, if you want to talk about it, he’s a great listener. You are more than welcome to pace around his room and rant for as long as you want. He might not offer solutions, but man, he makes you feel heard.

“Yeah babe, that’s fucking bullshit! Fuck that guy!”

He’s got a damn-good sense of humor that he rarely hesitates to invoke.

D reams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

Honestly? After decades of drug-induced fogginess, dating you has finally taught him how to appreciate the moments as they come. The whole concept of “future” is one that he struggles to really attach himself to, since he just really loves what he has now. He just knows that no matter where life takes the two of you, you’ll be there together.

E qual - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

I feel very wishy-washy giving this answer, but genuinely, it depends. On most things, he’s pretty passive! He’s content to let you take the lead on quite a bit, especially if it’s not something he feels super strongly about. But he can stand firm, make decisions, and lead when need be — especially if it concerns your health or well-being.

F ight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?

Fights, while rare, tend to revolve around one of two things. Either A.) His lifestyle choices, or B.) Family. Listen — he’s made progress with his family, but there’s still a piece of him that feels like he has to show up when they call (however rare that might be.) And when he does, he tends to be… touchier, afterwards. More likely to snap, and say shit that he doesn’t mean. He’s got a temper, and his family really brings out the worst in him. Especially if you press on it, even with the best of intentions.

Give him a bit of time — he always apologizes sincerely, and fights like these genuinely don’t happen often.

As for lifestyle… he’ll try to cut back on the drugs and alcohol if you ask, but it’s unfortunately become a keystone of his life. So any attacks on that feel like an attack on him.

But beyond that, Pickles is very easy to forgive after arguments — he really does value communication, and a sincere apology and a conversation is enough to bring him around again.

G ratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

He is immeasurably grateful for your presence in his life, both as a friend and as a lover. I don’t want to harp on it too much since I elaborate on it in some of the other letters, but for right now, just know that you are a key part of his life.

H onesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

Nah, not really. There’s nothing really worth keeping secret, you know? He’s not doing anything that would really warrant that, and even the embarrassing shit is fun to share if it can get a laugh out of you. The most he really keeps “secret” is the extent of his insecurity, and even then, it’s a bit... obvious.

I nspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

Both! You’ve definitely helped him grow as a person, in the sense that he’s not as horrifically anxious. He has his moments of course, but the love and security you bring to the relationship has helped him so, so much. Not to mention your help with regards to his family life — he cannot thank you enough for standing by his side when things get rough in that department, and just by sticking with him, you’ve shown him that he doesn’t need to tear himself apart to be loved. You’ve also shown him how to appreciate life as it comes — not just to enjoy the reprieve of thoughtlessness when the high of his drug of choice kicks in.

J ealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

Yes and no. Maybe not so much with “regular dildos,” — under most conditions, he’s content to just tell them to fuck off. Even does it with a little smirk, the smug prick. But once they start actually hitting on you? All bets are off, and he’s liable to start swinging if they aren’t taking no for an answer.

He trusts you, he just doesn’t trust other people. It takes a little bit of conversation to get him to understand that if he really trusts you, then he’ll believe you when you say you’re not gonna get swept off your feet by some regular jackoff.

Seth is a separate deal entirely, though — it doesn’t take much to set him off when Seth is in the room, nevermind near you. Again, this man has taken everything from him, in his eyes. You can’t blame him too much for having a shorter fuse.

K iss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

Oh, absolutely he’s a good kisser. Kissing Pickles is like a moment of peace in a world that never seems to shut up. Lazy, but sweet. Your first kiss was much of the same, his own lips upturning as you met in the middle.

L ove Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

It takes quite a while for him to work up the courage, honestly. He’s a complete dumbass in the crush phase, but once he remembers that you’re you and he knows you… it’s easy to fall into a relationship with him, but he needs the confirmation eventually.

Hell, you might have been under the impression that you were dating for months! But a night will come where you’re hanging out, just the two of you, and he’ll just… ask if you want to go out this weekend. It’s clear that this holds a whole hell of a lot more weight than your usual outings though, if his reddening ears and rapidly darting eyes are any clue.

M arriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

The whole thought of marriage stresses Pickles the fuck out, honestly. It’s been built up as this really big thing that he just doesn’t know how to handle. Churches, family, classy photos… he has this very stiff view of marriage that makes him queasy. In his mind, it’s everything he’s been trying to run from since he was 16.

It’s only once you two talk about it and he realizes he doesn’t have to conform to those rigid ideas that he really starts to think about it. You mean you can actually have fun with these things? And that getting married doesn’t automatically place him in some dead-end job in the suburbs? And that you can just do it because you love each other? Well, now you’ve got him thinking.

There does come a time when he realizes that he really, really wants to marry you. And sure, you’ve talked about it ad nauseam — you’ve said a million times that you’d marry him if he wanted to. Logically, there’s no reason for you to reject him… and yet the little box feels like a lead ball in his pocket, staying there for months before he finally works up the courage on a quiet night in.

As for the ceremony… it depends on how far he is with separating himself from his family, honestly. There’s a good chance that he might invite them (probably at the last second, weighed down with the guilt of “what-if”), which does nothing but give him the world’s longest anxiety attack for the bulk of the ceremony.

But you know, it’s fun anyways. He was adamant about wearing his nicest suit (the one you had absolutely fallen in love with a few years prior while out on one of your rarer, fancier date nights — he never forgot how you flustered, how your eyes dilated, how you were so quick to get out of prying eyes to get your hands on him… He knows it’s your favorite, and damn if that doesn’t give him a bit of a confidence boost,) but that’s just about where the formality ends.

The initial procession it’s its own form of magic, with harp versions of all your most meaningful songs ringing through the open air (their brutality masked by the serenity of the instrument, much to your shared amusement as his family exchange shocked glances with one another). His vows are sweet, and so undeniably him. He had considered rewriting them to be more “acceptable,” after inviting his parents, but after planning the wedding a bit more with you, he remembered — this is about the two of you. And sure, they scowled when he spoke, but your grin made everything feel right. This is where he’s meant to be. Fuck them.

And the kiss, oh the kiss. He can’t help but smile in the moment, hands cupping your face — he never thought he’d be here, nevermind with someone as incredible as you.

And once all is said and done? Controlled chaos as the festivities begin — like I said, it’s a fun wedding! It’s metal as fuck! And through it all, he never once leaves your side.

N icknames - What do they call their s/o?

He’s a “babe” kind of guy, plain and simple. When he’s tired, or just feeling a little whiny, he tends to drag out the “a” — the accent makes it more endearing than it should be. “Dude” is also completely fair game, sorry.

O n Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

It’s painfully obvious, to everyone around him. Before you’re dating he gets all clammy and awkward, and does really stupid shit to try and impress you. Everyone knows, because the moment you walk in the room he becomes a bumbling idiot who can’t seem to keep his mouth shut… but hey, he pulls it together. Eventually. Once you’re dating and stable, it’s still pretty damn obvious that he’s completely whipped.

P DA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

He has no shame about PDA. He’s not obscene in public with you (unlike some people), but in front of the guys? He has absolutely no qualms about it. Might even be a bit insufferable with it, if the boys have been getting on his nerves. He loves bragging about you too — you’ve gotta muzzle him if you want to keep your name out of the tabloids.

Q uirk - Some random ability they have that's beneficial in a relationship.

He always knows when you’re gonna have a nightmare — some weird, preternatural sense that he chalks up to one too many bad trips and nightmares of his own.

R omance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

He’s not romantic in the traditional sense — candlelit dinner dates are way too stuffy for him, and he’s never really seen the point of big bouquets. But he has his own little romantic quirks — dragging you out of too-noisy bars to gaze at the stars when he notices you getting antsy… innocent little touches that make your brain go fuzzy… murmured words of adoration when the lights are low… He’s not a romantic in the traditional sense, but damn if he doesn’t make your heart flutter anyways.

And he’d do damn-near anything to make you happy, you know. He’s pretty creative with actual date ideas! Even if his “favorites” are more casual, he’s damn creative when he actually wants to go out. I’ll say it a million times and then a million more, but it’s one of the many benefits of being 1/5th of the 7th most powerful economic force.

S upport - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

Fuck yes, absolutely. If you’ve got a dream, he’s doing as much as he can to make it a reality.

T hrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

He’s a definite thrill seeker — again, it comes with the fame (and money.) He’s got the world at his disposal, and he wants to do everything he can with you. But he has his little subsections of routine that he clings to — you’ll be in partying in Berlin one night and in Dubai the next, but the mornings still belong to your well-crafted songs and dances.

It’s less about spicing up the relationship though, and more about wanting to live life to the fullest with you. The two of you could be getting blasted on the couch, or even just watching some god-awful old movie, and he would be just as happy. And oftentimes, that’s exactly what you’re doing.

U nderstanding - How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

He thinks he knows you pretty well, and honestly? He does! It surprises you sometimes, just how observant he is. Hell, sometimes he knows what you’re feeling before you even realize it yourself!

(Do you want me to tell him to shut up? You’re doing that thing, the thing with your eyebro— No, yeah, you do. Babe. You know what I can just—)

V alue - How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?

You’re just as much a part of his family as the rest of Dethklok — you’re such a cornerstone of his life, and honestly, he’s not sure what he would do without you. Your love and stability is unlike anything he’s ever experienced before — and sure, he loves the guys (don’t tell anyone he said that), but they don’t know how to get over themselves enough to just fucking talk sometimes. Things are natural with you. Safe.

W ild Card - A random Fluff Headcanon.

I mentioned this in the tags of his relationship headcanons, but I decided I need this to be known.

This man is pretty shit at taking care of himself. Always forgets his inhaler at home, never remembers to eat, etc. And you’ve noticed this over the time you’ve shared together, and have started preparing for those little things. Especially because he gets so damn cranky when his blood sugar is low.

You’ve been caught passing him so many Werther’s Originals in public that he now has an unwilling sponsorship with them. He hates it so fucking much, and because you think its hilarious, it’s the only candy you bring.

X OXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

I’m just saying, his animal form is very fitting. That man would happily spend the rest of his days blasted out of his mind and cuddling with you.

Y earning - How will they cope when they're missing their partner?

He’s so unbelievably whiny, it’s unreal. If the two of you are in a situation where you can’t call, he’s the type to send little voice notes about his day, just so he can hear your response when you’re free. He gets a bit clingier with the rest of the band in the meantime… and drinks. Sorry.

Z eal - Are they willing to go to great lengths for the relationship? If so, what kind of?

To the Doomstar and back again.

[katyawriteswhump]

the power of love, part 12 (steddie, steve whump, stobin fic)

Alternate ending S4: Steve has a habit of surviving near death experiences then getting sick for no reason. And Eddie and those fatal bat bites? After an impossible feat of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation from Steve, he’s mysteriously fixed. So, Eddie’s back to being banished, this time with Steve and Robin in tow. Eddie’s healing, but Steve isn’t… and life gets even more confusing, when Eddie develops feelings for Steve, which aren’t entirely unrequited.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 13

(also on AO3 here and as part of my steve whump fic series)

Eddie POV

To Eddie, there’s something way too police-like about the way Hopper escorts Steve to the Humvee. He even raises a hand to check Steve doesn’t knock his head, while climbing in the rear seat. Eleven gets in the far side of Steve, and Robin piles in on the near side. 

Robin shoots Eddie such a mean look and slams the armoured door. Left standing in the mud, Eddie gets it—subtle as a monster punch in his gut. Stay away from Steve.

“Let’s move.” Hopper motions urgently, and Eddie trudges over and gets in.

“You sure you want me riding shotgun? What with me being… Oh, I dunno, verified spawn of Satan?” 

Hopper drops his voice to a barely audible rumble: “Whatever game you two were playing last night, I don’t wanna know.” He doesn’t sound chummy. Not actively hostile either. “I promised your uncle I’d look out for you, if I could.”

Eddie inhales sharply: “You’ve seen him? He’s okay?”

“He salvaged your six-string after the quake. He wanted me to tell you.”

Eddie snorted; cannot deny it’d played on his mind. God, Wayne knows him too damn well.

Hopper fiddles with the switches on the spartan dashboard. “Not gonna say he’s okay, because nobody in Hawkins is. Our best hope is that the military pull out when they can’t find Eleven. We still have allies, acquaintances of Owens, though their numbers are thinning fast.”

“That who we’re running to?”

Hopper has some kind of plan, which he explains as he grinds into gear. They’re heading for a remote road, where these remaining ‘allies’ have arranged further transport. “Luckily,” says Hopper, “you guys were pretty much on route.”

“We can’t stay away long,” says Eleven. “I have to go back. I can beat One, with help from friends, and…”

Eddie peeps over his shoulder, sees her staring hopefully at Steve. Who is staring glassily ahead.

“Steve?” prompts Robin. “Anything you feel like sharing.”

“Will you gimme a break? Look, I got an idea about what’s behind all this. I don’t know how much sense it’s gonna make, so…”

Nothing could’ve prepared Eddie for what Steve discloses next. “I know how nuts this must sound,” Steve says. Eddie, like the others, is temporarily stunned speechless. “That I should be… That I should’ve drowned in that lake, when I was a kid.”

“The only thing nuts,” says Robin, who’s literally cuddling him from the side, “is that you didn’t tell us this sooner.”

Steve squirms. “Honestly? It only came together in my head in the past day or so. It was like a really annoying jigsaw puzzle, and jigsaws are basically my least favorite thing ever.”

“We need to figure this out,” says Hopper. “There was no gate open to the Upside Down in 1978. Doesn’t mean Steve’s powers, if that’s what you got, aren’t linked to the Upside Down, or the experiments at Hawkins Lab. If they are, doesn’t mean they’re all bad news. Look at El.”

“I guess.” The Humvee rocks and rolls over a particularly cavernous pothole, and Steve flinches hard. “In my dreams and shit, I see this trippy… I don’t know how to describe them. They’re like a ghost or something; also, not quite a ghost. Whatever, I got this hunch they’re behind it.”

“Could be some kind of water spirit,” says Robin. “Or even a goddess. Oooh, so the Romans worshipped this water goddess, Minerva, and the ancient Celts had Sulis—"

“Be serious,” says Steve.

“I am serious. In Native American religions, water can represent a link between life and death. I wish I knew more.”

“Not sure I wanna know any of this.” Steve peeps down at El, who’s not quit staring at him. “If this is your crazy-pants frenemy after all, now would be a really good time to tell me.”

She shakes her head. “No. If I sense anything, it’s good… soft… like Mama should’ve been.”

“Oh,” says Steve. “Can you, like, see them too?”

“No.”

“Son-of-a-bitch!” bellows Hopper. The Humvee’s wheels churn uselessly in the sludgy ground. “Everyone out, apart from you.” He points at Steve. “You okay to take the wheel?”

Steve revs for about ten seconds. Eleven uses her powers to unstick the armoured vehicle, and nobody needs to shove. Trouble is, they get stuck again about ten minutes later. And again, five minutes after that. Soon after they next get going, there’s a loud metallic clunk. The Humvee chokes, splutters, and dies completely.

They all tumble out yet again, apart from Steve, who stays put, and nobody argues. Hopper props up the hood. “Munson, you any good with cars?” 

“Uh, hello?” says Robin. “My moms jumpstarts her Chevette every single day.”

That distracts Steve’s guard-dog. Eddie suffers a moment of agonising indecision then pops his head in the rear seat.

“How you doing?” Eddie knows it’s a stupid question. 

Steve shoots him a withering look, fluffs his messy hair. Eddie slides in beside then totally freezes up. He feels horrible about Steve’s arm in the sling, and as for the rest of it… 

HE DIED! On the other hand, I died too.

Yeah, how exactly does Eddie Munson fit into this beyond-freaky legend? He hardly gives a shit— he’s not the one seeing ‘ghosts’ and, worse, starting to resemble a ghost.

“Eddie,” whispers Steve. “I might need to get away.”

“Get away?” mouths Eddie. “What do you mean? From Hopper?”

Steve’s silence is answer enough.

“Granted, the dude’s packing heat,” says Eddie. And driving a freakin’ tank. "He’s not holding you hostage.”

“I know that. God, I’m so confused.” Steve’s stopped being grouchy or fighty. Which is pretty un-Steve, and scary in itself. He curls a hand over his eyes. “I feel like I’m being… I dunno, pulled in the wrong direction.”

A power chord of fear twangs across Eddie’s every fibre. “You want us to go back to Hawkins?” 

“Us?” Steve emerges from behind his fingers. “No. Hop’s right. You’d be arrested and I’d be… Ugh, I’m so goddamn sick of this. I want this all to be over, so we can… you know, fool around together.”

He reaches out, hooks a strand of Eddie’s now-totally-mad hair behind his ear, and sorta smiles. For a single damn fine moment, that smile sparks in his eyes; Eddie loses himself there, and their world is perfect.

Then Steve’s fingers drift away. Eddie wants to catch them, kiss them, promise he’ll do anything Steve needs. He’ll take down the whole damn US army, slay Vecna in a blaze of glory, even if he dies AGAIN trying, and yet… 

… Holy shit, he’s terrified of Steve! Scared that, if he touches him, he’s gonna crumble into dust, or…

“Earth to Eddie?” Steve waves in front of Eddie’s nose. “Have I added invisibility to my list of useless powers?”

“No. It’s just… I want this over too, so we can do, uh, yeeeaah, stuff.” Wow. Call yourself a lyricist, Munson? He’s rescued by a roar from the Hummer’s engine. That sleepwalker’s glaze returns to Steve’s eyes, and it feels way too much like another door swinging closed in Eddie’s face.

Although the dinged motor is fixed, the mud continues to be literally a pain in the butt. Nobody enjoys the bruisingly rough ride on the rock-hard, upholstery-free seats. 

“At this rate, we’re gonna have to ditch this piece of garbage and walk,” says Hopper.

“Jesus Christ, just ditch me already,” mutters Steve, who’s turned a disturbing shade of gray-green. Hopper doesn’t argue, which makes Eddie think he isn’t taking all that Steve says seriously. Which makes Eddie feel kinda sick, too.

What should they do? He wishes he could talk to Steve alone again, this time be less of a tongue-tied dipshit. That said, how can Steve go back to Hawkins? Right now, he can’t hardly walk.

They’re halfway across a patch of open land when they get stuck yet again. Eleven’s nearly as washed out as Steve, her nose bleeding. Hopper suggests they get the Humvee moving the traditional way.

“Shame about all that rain,” says Robin, as she, Hopper and Eddie pile out to push.

“Is that a dig?” snaps Steve, from the driver’s seat.

“Wasn’t supposed to be. Sorry. Sorry.”

They’ve barely put their backs into it, when Hopper squints into the air and curses louder than ever. A distant juddering noise reaches Eddie’s hearing.

“Oh my God,” cries Robin. “Is that—”

“Sikorsky search-and-rescue Hawks,” shouts Hopper. Yup, Eddie counts a battle-wave of ten or more. “Into the trees. Go, go, go!”

“What about our tank?” Eddie jumps on instinct to help Steve, who’s clambering out, seeming kinda dazed. Robin blocks Eddie’s path. It’s all a moot point, because Hopper’s already got to Steve.

“If they see it,” says Hopper, hustling Steve ahead of him, “chances are they’ll take a potshot.”

“I can crash them,” gasps Eleven. “Done it before.”

“Not a great idea, kiddo,” says Hopper. “They’ll know for sure it’s us, and throw everything they got into this part of the country. We’ll never make our meet.”

Eddie is scratched from head to foot by outdoor crap, before Hopper says, wheezing hard, “This’ll do.” They all get down in a bunker-like dip. Steve kneels beside Eddie, Hopper behind them. Robin shuffles around to crouch beside Steve.

“Do you hear that?” murmurs Steve to Eddie.

“Uh, yeah,” replies Eddie. “Evil empire TIE fighters, straight outta the Death Star.”

“Not them. A river or something. Loud. Like a waterfall.”

“Could be a giant bear taking a slash?” says Eddie, because life is currently so unfunny, he really might as well. And no, he can’t hear any water. Only the crescendoing approach of that airborne death squad.

“Bears have gotten so far down my ‘worry about’ list,” says Robin, “that that’s scary itself.” She picks a cobweb out of Steve’s hair. Steve, meanwhile, closes his eyes. He starts to tremble. “Uh, Steve,” says Robin, “what are you—”

“What d’you think I’m doing?” Bitchy Steve has returned, which Eddie chooses to find reassuring. “They’ll see the Hummer for sure. If I can actually do what you say I did—”

“It makes you sick,” hisses Eddie.

Robin bristles. “Since when did you care?”

“Will you both zip it?” says Steve.

Robin rubs his back. Eddie considers squeezing his knee, then decides against it. Hopper stops scrutinising the skies, brow furrowing: “What’s he doing?”

“Nothing!” Robin’s overwrought smile is stupidly guilty.

“Stevie?” prompts Eddie. “Is there anything we—”

“No, no. I remember this insane crackling. If I can get that going… Gnnng!”

“Anger helps,” whispers Eleven, from the far side of Robin. “What makes you angry?”

“A ton of shit! I can’t… Jesus, it feels like my head’s gonna explode.”

There’s a blinding flash, and a deafening thunderclap. Steve crumples forward, and Hopper grabs him by the scruff of his sweater before he hits the dirt. Eddie shrinks back, his own heart beating like it’s gonna bust outta his chest.

Steve’s now basically hyperventilating. “Ssssh, you did great.” Hopper gently braces an arm around him. “You gotta calm down. Breathe slower, nice and steady, huh?”

Eddie glances up at a bank of wispy grey clouds that hadn’t been there before. A few tense moments pass, the air palpably crackling with an electric tension. Then the noise from the choppers begins to fade.

“They’re turning around,” says Hopper. “Hawks can’t fly with lightning around.”

Robin’s shoulders sink with a relief Eddie shares. Steve, however, groans miserably. Hopper is still keeping Steve upright and asks, “You gonna puke?”

Steve scrunches his face and nods. 

“Stop goggling and get lost,” says Hopper to the others. Nobody disobeys. They’ve not gone a dozen yards, before Robin trips and falls on her face. As Eddie stoops to help her, she springs back up without aid. Far more shockingly, she throws her arms around Eddie’s neck:

“Oh my God, oh my God, I know the powers are awesome but he’s sick and I’m so scared he’s dying. What do we do? How can we help him? WHAT DO WE DO?”

All Eddie can do is press his cheek to her hair, and answer with an honesty that jack-knifes through his guts. “I don’t know, Robin. I haven’t a goddamn clue.”

Part 13

...

PS--In case anybody's worried... while there is plenty of trauma ahead, I only do happy endings ;)

tags: @estrellami-1 @kal-ology @finntheehumaneater (thank you, thank you, thank you!) If anybody else would like to be tagged on this fic or any of my writing, please let me know :) Reblogs, comments and likes also very much appreciated :) Thank you for reading so far :)

(also part of my steve whump fic series on AO3)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 13

[lurkingshan]

Gay OK Bangkok

Well, holy shit. I had been planning to watch this ahead of Only Friends because @shortpplfedup named it as one of the Jojo shows that would serve as a good primer for the types of themes we could expect. I didn’t know much about it except it was an Aof/Jojo collab and had openly queer cast members. I expected something like a short Thai Queer as Folk. 

And it kind of is like QaF, in the sense that it’s very much a show about a group of queer friends and their romantic (mis)adventures that features frank discussion of gay sex and sexual health practices, but it’s not really like it at all in terms of its tone. Where QaF is known for its explicit sex, trippy drug sequences, and heavy doses of camp, GOBK is much less smutty and has a thread of deep melancholy running through it (oh hi Aof), and it is primarily interested in doing some serious character work alongside delivering its messages about safe sex. And these characters got their hooks in me much more than I expected.  

I think what I appreciate most about this show is how real the characters feel. They’re wonderfully flawed, fully realized human beings—beautiful and ugly in equal measure, wrong as often as they’re right, and just doing their best to balance their needs and desires with how they want to show up for the people they love. Even the characters I didn’t like much, I still understood and felt some empathy for, and I think that’s a credit to the compassion and care with which this series is written (not a surprise given Aof and Jojo are the ones who wrote it). Everyone gets the benefit of nuance and grace, including the side characters. And to be clear, I wouldn’t consider this a bl. I’d call it a queer slice of life drama that includes romance, but is not about romance—there is no primary romantic relationship that acts as the plot driver and it’s not at all interested in happily ever afters or even firm endings for its relationships.

My only real complaint about this show is I wanted (a lot) more of it. But still, for a show that only had eight hours total runtime over two seasons, it managed to do a lot with it. I am going to avoid getting into spoilers because as usual, I want y’all to watch this! But I really loved seeing a few years in the life of Arm, Pom, Aof, Big, Sathang, and their various friends, family, and lovers. And, crucially, it’s all so very queer. There is so much to unpack here about the nature of loneliness and desire and the guilt and shame that often comes along with them. The show is interested in exploring lots of ways to be in love and in relationship with each other, and it lets the characters fight, fuck up, break up, make up, and express their own confusion and discomfort and dissonance along the way. The only thing it’s interested in being preachy about are safe sex practices; everything else is presented in shades of gray. And it doesn’t limit itself to romance; we see the characters at work and with their families and out living their daily lives in a society that is often actively hostile to them. This show sits squarely at the center of @wen-kexing-apologist’s by/for/about Venn diagram (can’t wait for you to watch this, friend).

I highly recommend this show to anyone who plans to watch Only Friends (which, by my count, is just about everyone I know on here)—homework is of course not required before enjoying a new drama, but I do think familiarity with this work will enhance your experience, and it’s such a quick watch! If you’re interested, the show is available on YouTube here and here. It also has a great and surprising soundtrack which has also been compiled into two playlists. 

Tagging friends @neuroticbookworm, @waitmyturtles, @chickenstrangers, and @lurkingteapot who are all in the midst of their own watches or planning to start soon, and @bengiyo, @so-much-yet-to-learn, and @imminentinertia who saw this awhile back and shared some interesting reflections about it during my watch. 

[pinkpogiclub]

if you're up for it i would LOVE to hear a full account of your day yesterday, your videos were so great !!

Hi!! <3

I’m always really happy to yap about cycling so this isn’t a hardship at all! I hope you don’t mind me using your ask as a way to do just that! Thank you @tourmalet ❤️‍🩹🫶🏻

First of all! Let me preface this by saying that im really really lucky because my family has always been very into cycling (my grandpa used to cycle back in the forties and the fifties when Coppi and Bartali were racing and he passed his passion onto my dad, his son): they’re the literal best and the reason why im the way I am right now.

That being said, we never managed to be spectators for the Tour because it wasn’t as easy to reach as the Giro, always too far away: which is why we decided to go as soon as we learnt that the first stage of the tour would be starting here, it really was a no-brainer.

So we made a plan and yesterday morning we packed our backpacks and took my uncle’s car to one the final climbs of the stage, operating on stress levels that could have powered a jet engine. Anyways. Now, I’ve been to numerous Giros, but BOY was the atmosphere different yesterday: SO SO many people from different countries (a couple near us came all the way from the Czech Republic just to cheer on Jan Hirt, which he probably needed after what happened yesterday) and generally you could just tell something big was happening. We also spoke a bit with Alfio Vandi (now 69 years old) who was, back in 1976, the first rider to ever wear the white jersey during the Giro d’Italia: definitely trippy to think about him riding alongside Merckx, I’ll admit I was kind of starstruck lmao!

We then hiked a bit (like a couple of km’s, nothing major luckily) to get to the spot my father had in mind, the same one he always passes by whenever he rides that climb like every Sunday (love u dad). We waited there from 11am to 4:30pm-ish and, while the company was great (group of 70 year olds watching motogp and formula one on their phones, very loudly bitching and moaning about ferrari) the weather was just shit from start to finish. SO humid it felt like breathing in mist and also very very warm: just this fact alone made me genuinely wonder how the HELL the riders could bear it for more than 100 kms while I was almost dying just staying still and laying around 😭

And THEN. When riders started coming it was as if everyone there suddenly reverted back to their kids selves: people cheering and clapping and laughing, literal seventy year olds jumping up and down at the sight of jonas and tadej passing by them!!!!!! SO CUTE!!!!!!! I had promised myself not to be TOO biased but I started screaming WOUT!!!! as soon as I saw him (he kind of made a face at me? I think? Idk im choosing to believe he did) which also means I didn’t even see G, Remco, Egan and basically every other GC contender until I watched my videos back. Lmao, talk about tunnel vision. This also goes for Mathieu, who probably saw me cheering like a little kid, waving and all. Sorry pal💀

Jasper arrived later, almost alone, and I was the only one cheering for him for some reason? Beloved war criminal in criminal team ❤️ And how was I repaid for my love and affection? This bitch spat on my backpack!!!! DISMANTLE ALPECIN RN!!!!!!!!

While we were waiting for Mark (Cavendish) to get there the silence was SURREAL; there weren’t that many people there and so the only noises you could really hear were the bikes and some of the scattered riders talking amongst themselves. It was kind of insane, in the sense that I’ve always associated the tour with loud cheering and large crowds, but right then it was a very tangible and human experience, I don’t even know how to explain it. Very real, very raw.

Eventually Mark (and Fabio!) arrived and you could tell they were both exhausted beyond reason but were still, somehow, pushing on through. Mark used to be my absolute fave when I was a child so BET I cheered him on like there was no tomorrow. FORZA MARK FOREVER!!!!!!! (he also has a really cool bike and I was kind of giggling at him sporting a big ass 300k sponsor watch while clawing his way up that climb. Suffering in style I guess, slay)

Overall, the day was extremely tiring but SO worth it: I would do it again another hundred times and I genuinely think everyone should experience the tour at least once in their lifetime. I feel like it’s one of the very few instances where you can actually realise how INSANELY talented the pros are compared to “regular” people (just to put it into perspective: my father is by no means a pro cyclist, but they rode the same climb as him in a THIRD of the time. CRAZY). They withstand scorching heat, gruelling climbs and every sort of injury for three weeks straight, experiencing a level of fatigue i don’t think I could even imagine lmao (the way jonas and pogi were climbing was actually scary: literally riding like they were on a Sunday outing with their friends. Managed to shock my dad. 10/10).

So yeah, all of this to say: I had a lot of fun and I absolutely love this sport to bits. I really wish all of y’all moots could have been there with me, truly😮‍💨❤️‍🩹

NOW. I’m wrapping all of this up with a few bonuses:

- a guy from total energies, whose name I can’t figure out for the life of me, giving me his bottle for no apparent reason other than the fact that I was yelling at him to push cause the hardest part was done (love you king)

- gifted polka dot jersey tee thrown by sponsor bus

- a sunburn from hell I will probably feel for a week

- American woman sporting a GC Kuss shirt: QUEEN

- a beer and food truck near the summit: you wouldn’t believe the amount of people day-drinking themselves silly in 30+ degrees heat

- VAI PACEJ (which I guess is a combination of Pogačar and Tadej?)

- BINI!!!!!!!

- the view from where I was <3

Thank you all for listening, if you managed to stay up until here im giving you a big kiss on the forehead🫶🏻

[vivantesopales]

for mari 🌼

a soft-sad rainy night remix of 10 gorgeously written fics (including tomarry, harry & tom°), recced in parallel with lines from the poem ‘Into the Breach’ by ocean vuong

To the Hilt | M, 36k | @duplicitywrites

It’s simple: I just don’t know / how to love a man / gently.

Featuring an epic, human-AI romance between gamer Tom and garden bot Harry, To the Hilt is mind-blowing, deliciously sci-fi, and has a distinct, grim palette that feels almost dystopian. The story offers a fresh take on the android trope that diverts its plot-line from the traditional cautionary narrative, and the bittersweet ending gives me the worst, the best, you know what I mean, hangover. So please, do proceed with caution.

Lost in London° | T, 7k | @take-the-unknow-road-now

Tenderness / a thing to be beaten / into. Fireflies strung / through sapphired air.

It's impossible not to adore a tiny feral Tom who runs around in the streets of London and sets litter bins on fire. His friendship with Harry in this fic is so pure, so so pure. I still get ridiculously emotional thinking about them, and their chaotic little day trip feels a bit like a childhood memory I hold very close to my heart, now, after my third reread.

Dead Leaves on a Wet October Day | T, 29k | @trelloreads

You’re so quiet you’re almost / tomorrow.

In the beginning, Trello's writing vividly portrays Tom as an evil ghost that kills and wreaks havoc for funsies. He’s grumpy, he's dramatic, he’s hilarious. But you know the kind of fics that'd have you giggling out loud, just generally embarrassing yourself in public until they rip your heart out without a warning so that you'd have to go lie down for a while to recover?

Friendly advice: tissues at the ready....

Kings of Flowers and Skulls | T, 20k | @merrinpippy

The body was made soft / to keep us / from loneliness.

A soft, soft fic in which our two boys – two kings, in this instance, Harry of the eternally sleeping and Tom of the dead – find themselves gravitating towards one another after their first, curious encounter. Intimately written in a melancholic, fairytale-esque tone, there's just the right amount of fluff and comfort to counterbalance the pervasive loneliness in their daily lives.

In Dreams We Speak | T, 6.9k | @a-sentimental-man

You said that / as if the car were filling / with river water. / Don’t worry. / There’s no water. / Only your eyes / closing.

Philosophical at times and wonderfully trippy, this fic is an entire experience. It's a Sandman crossover – the first and only one I've read, actually. There's just something so eye-opening about the prose, and the casting certainly promises tension: Tom as Lord Dream and Harry the Master of Death. Whilst the cherry-of-top – Death herself as a supporting character – is what gives the story an unique, elegant aftertaste.

Alive Really Isn’t Your Color | T, 5.5k | merrivale

I never wanted / the flesh. / How it never fails / to fail / so accurately.

A deep dive into Harry’s post-war state of mind. Merrivale's writing captures depression in its raw, simplest manifestations, where living as the Master of Death (not really alive but unable to just die either) seems more and more like a curse Harry can't shake off. An understated, heartbreaking character study, this fic also closes with a scene that never fails to fuck me up (in a powerfully emo way).

The Care and Keeping of Tom Riddle’s Diary | T, 7.9k | @wynnefic

But what if I broke through / the skin’s thin page / anyway / & found the heart

With several unexpected turns along the way, this fic hits me right in my soft spot. It's so heartbreaking to see Diary Tom bonding with Harry over a sense of loneliness. Both shaped by chronic isolation, their protectiveness towards one another feels integral to their dynamic.

Jump right in – if you don't mind being turned into a puddle of goo by Harry, an adorable little bean who should be protected at all costs, and his adorable interactions with Tom.

Made of Clay° | E, 100k | @phantomato

To love another / man—is to leave / no one behind / to forgive me. / I want to leave / no one behind.

When Thoros Nott inserts himself and his son Theo into the lovely domestic equation of the Riddle household, the past is bound to catch up with Tom – retired Dark Lord, father of one – and impact his life with his 'adopted' son, Harry Riddle (oh yes the subtlety, I love that silly silly man) (Thoros: *coughs* abducted *cough*).

Phantomato’s handling of complex dynamics between complex characters is nuanced, graceful, as always. If you ever find yourself craving a good comfort fic or stories with the found family trope ... or if you think you might enjoy Tom being a suburban dilf for 100k – and no, this is absolutely not a logic trap😉 – here it is!

The Eyes in the Bramblebush | T, 12k | @relic--crown

To keep / & be kept. / The way a field turns / its secrets / into peonies.

Brought before readers by rich imagery and well-crafted moods, the high school setting in Bramblebush imparts a nostalgic note to the story. The dark vulnerability in Tom's character makes him an intriguing study in contrast, especially when Harry gets to be the one to dislocate him from his perfect, preppy, First Violin persona (which, don't get me wrong, is a 10/10 in its own right).

But You Promised?° | Not Rated, 1.2k | @whotooklortan

The way light / keeps its shadow / by swallowing it.

Cast against the backdrop of WW2 and the Blitz, the bond between Tom and his guardian seems especially precious as he grows from a bitter, disenchanted child to someone secure enough to trust, to rely on Harry. The slow disintegration of his mental barriers, however, only foregrounds the angst when it all to leads to one crushingly realistic twist at the end.

-

dear @onbeinganangel, happy birthday. i hope this little weave could, maybe, at some point in the future, give you the hug and/or the good cry you need – the same way these fics have comforted me in the past few difficult months; and of course, the same way your company and your writing have always sustained me emotionally. 😌💛

[bisluthq]

https://www.tumblr.com/bisluthq/757147935962251264/joes-nextcurrent-gf-may-not-be-a-swiftie-but?source=share

I think it depends if they end on bad terms and why. His previous exes didn't seem to hate his guts and never really tried to ride the wave to shit on him. I haven't seen any shade even when he and Taylor broke up. In reality wasn't there an ex io his, that actually started to follow him again even? Idk y'all 😂

SLL isn’t really a song that necessitates hating his guts though. It’s a commentary on the most challenging aspects of his personality (or at least his personality with Taylor) and it actually wishes him all the best. She doesn’t say “fuck you I hope you’re miserable forever you fucking cunt” - she says “you’ll find someone, I’m not the one” and I actually relistened to it just before I answered this to make sure I’m not getting anything wrong but it’s the one song since Back To December where she takes a modicum of responsibility/accountability because she says “and you say I abandoned the ship” so she kind of acknowledges that he thinks it’s more her fault than his - which makes sense because of the Matty thing lol and proves he isn’t a total idiot lmao - but then she insists she did her best as I’m sure she feels she did.

FOTS would necessitate at least kinda disliking him tho lol.

and yea as far as I can recall an ex (I think it was Serena) refollowed him after the breakup. Obviously no bad blood there and maybe she figured she’d slide into his DMs again lol. Maybe she even has 😂 It’d be funny if that worked lmao with Taylor trying it again with Matty and all like it’d be funny if he tried or is trying with an ex too.

also not breakup related but how weird would All of The Girls be for his CURRENT/FUTURE girlfriends lmaoooo? I just thought about that. I really, really like that song and have that on my very embarrassing playlist about my bf because I do feel that way about his exes (except maybe his ex wife because I think she probably made him worse not better like overall) and I just think it’s such a positive and cute concept for a song like it’s invisible string (Slut Version) for me. But it’d break my brain if that song was literally written about my bf lol especially given like given how serious he was with Taylor and how deep it was like definitely she is one of the girls who’ll have made him the one the new she’s/she’ll have fallen for lol. So you’ll have a song about your exact situation written by a woman who very much made him the way you found him lmao. Must be trippy af.

[brakish-tea]

Fears as dreams I have had:

End: I dreamed my best friend faded away and died before my eyes

Desolation: I was in a burning restaurant trying to frantically find my way out

Slaughter: I was running through an oddly wide and empty version of museum adjacent London when I saw a child who looked like my secondary school bully. I went up to him and he asked in a child's voice "Are you here to kill me?"

Hunt: I spent the last two years going between Canada and London on the run from a scrawny man with a rifle. I was with my mom. We would close the blinds and live in hiding and we weren't scared because it felt normal to us. One day, my mom gave me a hunting rifle to defend myself. On that same day, my mom was having too long a conversation with one of the neighbors and had left the door open and I was silently gesturing for her to come inside and when we did go to the door it was closed and unlocked. We both knew he was inside and so we both scattered before I heard the gunshots of my rifle echo out across the street and the scrawny man's face was angry. I ran all the way down the near by highway and the air was cool. It all felt normal. He was behind me.

Flesh: My skin texture was melty and strange. Very bad.

Corruption: A recurring dream where I had a very contagious orange coloured terminal infection. I laughed and joked for people not to come near me to make it seem like I wasn't scared to die while making it so that others wouldn't get infected.

Stranger: I was not!them and I was running through a Russian community center (I have never been to Russia in my life). The walls were white plaster and bare save for a pink ballet advert flyer I couldn't read. Jonathan Sims was chasing my with a metal pipe as I was about half way into climbing into the skin of some blonde guy before he hit me. I remember being indignant that the hit meant I made the my torso the wrong height. A similar feeling to when someone jogs your hand while you're drawing.

Buried: I was a young child at the pool with my mom when I fell into a small thin rectangular pool that seemed to go down forever. I was drowning and I couldn't swim back up. I couldn't breathe. When I woke up, it turned out I had choked on my tongue while I slept and that was why I had that dream.

Web: In this dream, I was quite literally The Web. There was a plan over many years where 10 people were sent anonymous paypal money over imessage which would, 5 years later, lead to the death and coverup of a 19 girl hiking in the woods. This would eventually lead to strings based rapture into the skies. When I woke up and felt like a person with an identity again and not an overarching force/concept I was confused and felt like some kind of cosmic horror protagonist which was cool.

Eye: Honestly don't think I have ever had an Eye dream which is odd given my track record.

Spiral: I was in a really fucked up trippy hotel maze thing with blacklights and ladders and messages that didn't make sense and Ryker 8:11 was there and then I climbed out of a trap door and I was on the ground at night in the rain in Brighton.

Lonely: I snuck onto an Antarctic research team base under a fake name after faking my own death. I stood at the outskirts of our little town looking at the warmth and the lights contrasting the tundra and it struck me that this was the only place anyone even knew I existed.

Vast: A childhood memory of a storm came back to me in a dream when I talked to a friend from that world. I still remember it clearly. I must have been 7 or so and I was going with my friends to the park. We stood on the side of the hill and saw a storm. It was so low and small as if it were my storm. As if it were there to strike me. But it was so tall and impossibly vast and dark and roiling and crashing I could not understand it. When the flashback finished, the girl in my dream asked if I had been struck by lightning but I explained I would have a lichtenburg scar if I had.

Dark: I was a priest like figure in a cult that worshiped dark and stars. I remember I was lying in my bed. It was accommodation provided by the cult themselves. The bed was cool and the room was dark, but cast into a deep blue black by the faint light of the stars outside. I felt fulfilled and in tune with the world in a way I have never done so to any meaningful extent.

Extinction: I was standing in the rain and my friend said that the rain drops were too small. I looked at them. They were cloudy and feeble and polluted and tasted unnervingly sweet.

[lucero-is-here]

Dances into the room

Headcanon time…No i do not care it’s 11:33 am where I am at now. FIONA FLANAGAN-

Requested by:

Okay let’s go.

- nice hands. She has nice hands don’t ask why I think that she just seems like she has nice hands.

- warm hands. She’s always warm, and her hands are nice to hold when it’s cold. When it’s hot that may as well be a different story.

- her teeth are yellowish. I mean she smokes, her teeth are gonna be yellowish it is inevitable -_-

- a lot of earrings. Besides studs, she also has hoops, or those earrings with more intricate designs.

- soft spot for kids. She won’t admit it, but she really likes and cares for kids. (Finley is the same, he also likes kids but this ain’t about him)

- when she and Finley were younger, she was hanging out with friends and showing them her new earrings and they told her Finley was getting chased by a dog in the background (which he was), Fiona just said: “This ain’t about him”

- pretty good relationship with Finley until he killed her. They were really close and everything- and they were kind of the only people they had to rely on, so they were close.

- Fiona’s hair gets tangled a lot- she has a hard time brushing it out in the morning or basically any time.

- SHE LIKES SWEETS CHANGE MY MIND- SHE ESPECIALLY LIKES COTTON CANDY

- Pushed Finley off a swing when they were younger and laughed at him while he cried. Finley took his revenge by hitting her in the face with a pillow

- she can shoot a sparrow with a bow and arrow. She’s just that skilled.

- she likes the story Alice in Wonderland- she finds it so trippy and loves it.

- she reads Finley horror stories when they go to sleep. Or she reads them the original tales of those classical fairytales.

- boots over heels. She hates heels so much- someone gave her heels once and she proceeded to throw them into a fire.

- she has good spice tolerance

- she wants to look good…Even while being the Scarlet Slayer. She spends a while on her outfit and hair, makes sure she looks wonderful, then goes about her day.

- she’s gay or half gay (bisexual)

- she can dance. She can dance really well too- she looks really pretty while dancing too. Finley has a tape recording of her dancing when she was younger, and it’s a fond memory for the siblings. Cause Finley always says it’s nice remembering how sweet his sister used to be before she became who she was and before he killed her

- Fiona was this really sweet person (she’s still really nice and all- despite being a serial killer), and she cares a lot for people. However her views on justice and morals are extremely different, and she views death as the ultimate escape and freedom for everything.

- Fiona’s extremely messed up sense of morals and justice was because when she was younger, she and Finley were taught about it that way. For Finley, he kind of only “liberated” someone if he thought they’re suffering had gone on too long. Whereas for Fiona, if she sees anyone she remotely thinks is suffering and “liberates” them.

- (angst) she really does love and care for Finley even if it isn’r obvious. I like to think in her final moment, when Finley killed Fiona, both of them were crying. Fiona was asking her brother not to kill her, but he still did. Fiona realised he was going to kill her eitherways, so she told him she loved him and he was the best brother ever only to get cut off cause she died- and Finley said it too, but he said it too late and Fiona never heard it. (Ah I love angst)

That’s all I can think of for her now- if I think of more part 2 is possible.

[yurisorcerer]

A friend said yesterday that I seem like I have a complicated relationship with Ishura. This is untrue, I think Ishura sucks but has a few bright spots; that's not complicated. If there's a show I have a complicated relationship with this season it's Metallic Fucking Rouge. What, like, IS this show? Actually? When you strip away all the minutiae and all attempts at allegory, political or otherwise, what is this story *about*? Like, at its core?

With three episodes left on the clock (assuming this isn't a secret two-cour show, but I'd be very surprised if that we the case) I'm still not sure I could tell you.

Metallic Rouge has all these big-brain classic sci-fi influences that it very clearly wants to integrate into its sense of storytelling. That's why there are two competing factions of aliens who we don't really see much of until this episode, that's why there's this whole human oppressor / humanoid robot oppressed class dynamic that the show doesn't quite know what to do with, that's probably a good chunk of why it hops between planets at all. At the same time, this is also a 12-episode anime that needs to deliver solid fundamentals to actually keep people invested. Most people are not me, and will not watch an entire 12-episode series just to figure out what the fuck it's trying to do. I think a lot of people, given how willfully opaque Metallic Rouge is, would / will / have just found it frustrating. The action sequences have been good at staving that off, and I think this episode's was maybe the best yet, but I'm not sure it's enough.

That aside, yeah, this is a series that's worn a lot of hats. It's been a toku-inspired action series, a story about the aftermath of war and the mechanics of oppression, a trippy dream sequence, a whodunnit, etc. Now, in its last leg, it's become like....I don't even know, one of those 90s sci fi movies with CGI aliens? It's been better at some of those than others and I actually think this new turn fits it surprisingly well, but I am left with a frustration and I kind of wish the show would just stick to something.

That said; I can see the counterargument, right? You know, compared to most bad anime that have aired or will air this year, Rouge's problem is not that it has NO ideas, it's that it has TOO MANY, and doesn't execute them well enough. In my head, I've kind of been comparing the series to Lycoris Recoil, but they actually have opposite problems; LycoReco couldn't find enough solid ground to stretch for a full 12 episode cour, and ended up showing its ass when its underlying politics turned out to be embarrassingly basic. Metallic Rouge by comparison is hyperactive and unable to follow through on any of its ideas. I wouldn't be surprised if, rather than turning out to have *basic* politics as I've previously wondered, it just turns out to have none. Who needs themes when you have giant spaceships and can reveal your main character is an alien?

Or is it, right? That's the obvious thing, there are still three more episodes. Maybe, somehow, someway, it will find a way to tie all of these disparate elements together in its final quarter and I'll look like a fucking idiot for having ever doubted it. I would honestly love that, I can count on my hands the number of times a show I was frustrated with turned out BETTER than I thought it would, but it's always a really lovely and cathartic thing. But I'm pretty skeptical, I don't know, the fact that the series used so much charged imagery early on and has largely just chosen to discard it makes the entire thing feel poorly thought-out. I am still, in spite of myself, mostly enjoying the show for what it is; I love the action sequences, the incredibly strange bits of hyper-expressive and overfluid animation (seriously, look at this)

and I even kind of love how up its own ass it is, but I think there's a distinction to be drawn there between something being *entertaining* and being *good.* Metallic Rouge is very entertaining, but it's also hugely frustrating and at this point I would be VERY surprised if my main takeaway from it once it's over isn't just that it had a lot of potential it didn't live up to.

I guess we'll see! Who knows.

EDIT: Oh yeah, I saw someone else mention this in the tag but credit to this show for being fairly normal about a plural system. I hope they survive the rest of the show, Alice/Aes are honestly some of my favorite characters.

[monpalace]

Hey

Imma fangirl over you real quick, cause ye

IM SO SURPRISED THAT YOU FOLLOW ME!?!? You’re literally so cool, not only because of your blog but also because of eho you are as a person???

Art? PHENOMENAL!! Writing? FANTASTIC!! Shit posts/random blurts? MAKES ME LAUGH EVERY TIME!!!

I literally giggle like a little kid whenever you answer my asks cause ‘OMG MAJ JUST ANSWERED MY ASK ajdgjsvdhdbx’ and i get all excited to see what you say cause i genuinely love hearing your thoughts and opinions on things!?!?!

Your so cool and sometimes i forget you’re only a year older than me, cause you just seem like…so adult?? But in a good way??

LIKE your so much cooler than a normal 17 that it makes more sense for you to be an adult??? Idk, i dont mean this in a bad way!!

Anyways!

Thats it 😌, have a good day my fanfic devil (affectionate)

STOP?? FANFIC (solar) SYSTEM YOU ARE LITERALLY SUCH A SWEETHEART???? I'M GONNA CRY,?????

writing in a new fandom is def super intimidating-- especially when there are already (who you assume to be) really popular people with large followings, and i thought (and still do) with my whole heart that you were one of them-- and then when you followed me i got so scared 😭😭 i thought it was a misclick to be totally honest

i know i say it all the time, but i literally love whenever i see your thoughts (whether it be about linked universe, your aus, your dnd oc/s, your other passions, etc) whenever you post or come in my askbox! whenever i see something from you i literally have to take a moment and collect myself because i get so excited 🫶🏽

i'm literally holding your thoughts captive in my drafts because i absolutely adore your writing style! idk how to word it, but i am so so so glad that you put out everything that you do and i just know that you're going to go places (whether in your actual life or online) with your writing and i'm so excited to see what you do if you choose to share it

i'm definitely able to tell you've come to hone whatever crafts you pick up and i am so glad you put it out for the world to see! it's for sure something that you deserve to show off with pride

i'm gonna skip past the part where you basically called me a senior citizen (/j) and say that i still can't get over the fact that you're younger than me even if it's only by a year. you're literally so much cooler than me when i was sixteen and you're definitely gonna be cooler than me when you're seventeen, i can just tell lmao

tysm for the kind words trippy 🫶🏽 i hope the best for you a thousand times over

[mostlygibberish]

I liked the part with the evil hippie orgy.

A handful of good moments, but most of the time The Dunwich Horror was more like the dull-wich horror. Strangely light in tone for a Lovecraft adaptation, at least until the last act. There was never really any sense of dread or danger, and even what should have been the climactic final showdown was almost a non-event. 

Dean Stockwell hammed it up just right, giving an excellent lunatic cultist performance. Everyone else was just sort of cruising somewhere between half-hearted and half asleep. I think Sandra Dee's thighs had more character development than she did. I did enjoy that the ultimate heroes of the story were a couple of tired old men, one of which put a stop to the unimaginable evil by waging a vaguely disinterested wizard battle.

The animated intro was neat, and I thoroughly enjoyed the spooky synth and bells combo of the theme song. There were a few sequences with trippy visuals to depict the indescribable horror, and to disguise that it was just a bundle of rubber snakes being flailed at people, which worked better than it had any right to. 

Some scenes had a dreamlike filter that looked as though sackcloth had been put over the lens, and it was surprisingly good. I thought the effect of wind blowing over the surface of a creek and the long grass surrounding looked fantastic. The very last shot of the movie was an absolutely incredible way to end things; Ridiculous in the best kind of way.

A bit messy, but fun. Good stuff.

[friendofhayley]

Friendofhayley's Top Books of 2022 Pt. 2 LGBTQIA+ Magic

This Book Rec is on LGBTQIA+ with a magical element in them. This list contains 7 different books. Let's go!!

Kushiel's Avatar (Kushiel's Dart #3) by Jacqueline Carey | queer society

This concluded the Kushiel's Dart series through the eyes of Phèdre, a now powerful Duchess. In this installment (that has jumped years into the future) she tries any aims and leads she can to free her best friend from the island he was cursed to. It was very bittersweet to finish this book, Phèdre is such a brilliant and unique character. I loved getting to see fantasy Africa and Central Asia in this installment and see the twists made on Egyptian and Jewish culture in this world.

"We speak of stories ending, when in truth it is we who end. The stories go on and on."

An Accident of Stars by Fox Meadows | queer/feminist world (kinda)

This story follows an Australian girl who falls into a portal into another world and lands in a political mess -- and she'll never be the same again. I loved how this new world was literally COMPLETELY unlike our own. Plants and animals weren't a mix of ours, they were completely their own. I loved every character and how nonchalantly free and queer/trans all the women were.

“Life is hard. Some days we get our asses kicked, but apathy breeds more evils than defeat. So, you know. Keep fighting."

The Fifth Season by N.K. Jemisin | poly & queer characters

The Stillness is a land of constant shakes and phenomena since Father Earth started hating his children. This story follows characters who can (basically) Earth bend and it's super poly and queer. This book made me realize what epic fantasy should be, which is nonchalantly queer and POC-filled with no heteronormativity anywhere. A semi-depressing read though.

“After all, a person is herself, and others. Relationships chisel the final shape of one's being. I am me, and you.”

Carmilla by J. Sheridan Le Fanu | lesbian vampires

This book was extremely gay. I was cautious because I felt like maybe the show really emphasized it, but no. Carmilla is head over heels in love with Laura, and Laura is confused but into it. I loved that it involved an unreliable narrator as well. Dracula who?

“Yes, very—a cruel love—strange love, that would have taken my life. Love will have its sacrifices. No sacrifice without blood.

Summer of Salt by Katrina Leno | queer romcom

There is an island known for a rare (magical) bird. Georgina hates the time of the year when the bird researchers flock to her hometown, and it's even worse while she's waiting for her family magic to kick in. But another magic (love) also arrives. This book was amazing. It has a small-town feel to it, it made me laugh out loud, and the characters all feel real. I stayed up until 4 AM to finish it, and it was so worth it. I wish I could read it again.

"And she was funny, and interesting, and her smile was like a small revelation. Like she had invented smiling."

Widdershins by Jordan L Hawk | gay men

Two men get shoved into an occult mystery that might turn into a horror story. Also enemies to lovers and badass/nerd. This book was outstanding. It was so refreshing for a story to have a non-romantic plot with a well-written subplot in which there is no drama about the being gay part. It felt like any other brilliant story set in the Victorian(?) age but with gay main characters.

“Why did he have to be kind? If only he’d mocked me, or sneered at me, or merely tolerated me, then I would have known how to deal with him. But he insisted on being kind, on pretending I had some worth. How was I to defend myself against that?”

Peter Darling by Austin Chant | trans man MC + gay relationship

This story follows Peter Darling who has come back to Neverland after being away for so long. For some reason, he's drawn to Captain Hook and keeps forgetting something very big. There was so much hype about this book and it was worth it. At times the story was trippy in the best way and the romance was sweet and made sense.

“You know, I find that enemies are often the most satisfying people to share your secrets with. If you must tell someone, tell someone who's sensitive to all your vulnerabilities, on account of trying to exploit them.”

[hausofmamadas]

| This is why the earth eats the dead |

⁂

Pairing: Rafa Caro Quintero x María Elvira

For @narcolini - Narcos fanfic exchange 2022

Word count: 6K

TWs: Canon-typical violence, major character death, descriptions of violence

No, those days were the best because when my swollen eyelids slid back, I saw the sun and the sky and a girl I knew from way-back-when. That girl stood over me with tears in her eyes and a look on her face I’d been chasing my whole life. Betrayed by his bestest good primo, Miguel Ángel Félix Gallardo, and captured in Costa Rica by a one DILF, Guillermo Calderoni, instead of being taken to prison, Rafa Caro Quintero is taken back Mexico to be tortured, dragged by a pickup truck down a back alley road in Sinaloa, and left for dead … on the front porch of the house owned by Miguel’s ex-wife, María. Still fuming after Miguel kicked her to the curb and told her he was staying in Guadalajara to bang barely legal chicks he met at a museum, María’s further devastated by her ex-husband’s descent into assholery when she finds Rafa’s nearly lifeless body. So, the question remains: she can nurse him back to health, but can she fix him?

⁂

✴︎ Cómo me has engañado, mi hermano! Si me ha dicho lo que ibas a hacer, nunca habríamos venido. ✴︎

A conveyor belt of sky rushed above me. Chaotic streaks of what should have been full, puffy white clouds cut across waves of light blue. Or maybe those were just the stars I was seeing after hitting too many potholes headfirst.

But with the sky up there, rushing like that, the earth against my back like steel wool at seventy kilometers an hour, and the rope embedded in the skin of my ankles with the full force of the pickup truck they were tied to, I kept thinking about la Bribri historia de la creación del mundo.** I had heard it from one of the old ladies in the cathedral once. We liked to tell stories while we waited for the fire bombing in the fields to stop y esos shingadamadre chotas to get in their tanks and fuck off again, until next time.

The story went something like this.

The great creator god Sibú was having a hard time. He needed a place to put his creations but could find nothing suitable to make it with. You’d think since he created life, he could make a place for it too, but it seems even gods have their limits. So, when a bat, flying by, happened to shit soil from which all kinds of marvelous plants grew, naturally Sibú had to know his secret. (Creation myths, right? Fucking trippy.) The bat, who Sibú called tío even though they weren’t related (which never made any sense to me), told him he’d been feeding on the blood of Iriria, the newborn Earth. And wasn’t this great news for Sibú because Iriria happened to be the child of his sister, Tapir. Except, Sibú no era su tío and she wasn’t his niece (which never made sense to me either but maybe it was different for gods that way.) Anyway, Sibú hatched an elaborate plan. To lure Tapir and Iriria from where they’d been staying in the underworld, he invited them to a grand festival and asked them to put on a show, dancing the Sorbón dance for the attending lower gods, demons, and spirits. So, they did. They went and they danced. But something happened when Tapir and Iriria danced and it changed everything. The young girl tripped and fell, and all according to Sibú’s plan, in the furor and excitement of the Sorbón, the demons and spirits couldn’t see her. So they kept on dancing. Stomping on poor, helpless Iriria. Over. And over. And over. Until all that was left of her was trampled earth, from which Sibú made, well, the Earth. Seeing her daughter’s demolished remains, Tapir seethed with rage: How, my brother, you have betrayed me! If you had told me what you were going to do, we would never have come. So it’s said today, for the sacrifice of her daughter, tapirs are sacred animals not to be hunted for food or sport. And as atonement for Sibú’s betrayal and the wounds inflicted on her by his creations, all life, this is why we bury the dead. Return them to Earth for her to consume.**

𐮛

I thought about Sibú a lot when I worked in the greenhouse. When I finally had it, mi sinsemilla, primo declared me a genius. María joked that I was a regular mad scientist. But all I could think about was Sibú. About how his curiosity yielded the universe’s great masterpieces at the expense of those around him.

But thinking about it just now, sky rushing up above and the steel-wool-earth against my back, seventy kilometers an hour, I couldn’t stop laughing. It was fucking hilarious.

Because I realized it wasn’t really me who was Sibú, after all.

𐮛

Those early days were the best. Well, maybe not the first few. Definitely not the first one, when I woke up in a cold sweat, hands and ankles tied together, blood-soaked shirt, now dried, fusing me to wood slats of her front porch. Maybe I’d been her front porch all along. Why else would they leave me here? I couldn’t remember them, the “they” that left me. I couldn’t remember me. The pain in my shoulder was too much. I couldn’t remember why.

No, those days were the best because when my swollen eyelids slid back, I saw the sun and the sky and a girl I knew from way-back-when. We raced dirt bikes in the town square. She let me sleep on her couch when I’d been out too long in the field, then the greenhouse. I used to call her the brains of the operation - ‘No se la llevaron toda, compa.' - because she saved mi sinsemilla, then me. That girl stood over me with tears in her eyes and a look on her face I’d been chasing my whole life. Looking at me like I always wished she would. Only this time, I didn’t have to feel guilty.

She shouted for help, wild, brown hair whipping in the wind while she demanded answers from the nothing and nobody that left me there. In all my dreams before, she wasn’t so sorry for me. But who was I anyway? No matter. I didn’t need to remember to know who she was.

𐮛

I thought one of my fractured ribs might’ve punctured a lung because it took days for me to stop coughing up blood. Weeks to stop screaming out in the night. For Sofia. Sometimes Miguel. Mostly María. Because I knew who she was and she looked at me like that and I didn’t have to feel guilty. Except, it took a few more weeks to remember why.

It came together in the kitchen one morning, when she was making breakfast. Easy as always, the smell of cafe con leche, bacon, tortilla chips, soon-to-be migas sizzling in the pan. She sang softly con Los Zafiros. ‘El gringo, Rafa. Adónde se lo llevaron?’

The eggs she cracked against the edge of the bowl buckled my shoulder. Sofia screamed in the steam of the kettle going off. Then that face from the edges of the darkness behind my eyelids - eso hijo de la shingada chota con su bigote negro and those beady little eyes.

'Sabes que me gusta mucha acerca del hombro, Rafa? Cuánto duele cuando lo sacas de su articulación. Duele igual. Cada vez. El dolor te rompe el alma mucho antes de que se rompan los huesos.'

El dolor te rompe el alma, no mames. Mi alma ya se rompió when the first gunshot exploded the glass and I knew what mi primo did to me. If that fat bastard hadn’t been so sweaty when I spat in his face, it might’ve made a difference. Maybe not, since he never missed a beat and the cracking never stopped. The bones of my shoulder in and out of its socket, cartilage stripping like threads of a screw.

My head swam, my mouth tasted like iron, my throat was numb, I felt cold. Was this finally my time? Qué lástima sería. I just got her, just got here. Were there tiny needles swimming in my bloodstream? Cortisol. Adrenaline. Like high, but none of the flavor, none of the fun. She caught me just before my face smacked the table.

I came to with my head in her lap, mumbling, “Lo huevo– vas a quemar los huevos.”

“Qué?”

“Huevos. Pa’ las migas.”

She shook her head, “Ay, Rafa. Qué voy a hacer contigo?” and smiled my favorite smile.

My lips felt like rubber but I beamed back up at her anyway. “Ocuperás de mí?”

It took a few weeks for her to stop sobbing when she sat by my bed and watched me sleep. I didn’t know who I was, so she knew it was bad. Without a clue how, I still wanted to comfort her. I guess I did in a way, since she only ever stopped when she got up to place her finger under my nose.

If I’d been awake and remembered who I was, I would’ve told her I deserved it por todo lo que hice. Even if he deserved worse but wouldn’t get it. That old house, piles of leaves in the empty swimming pool. 881 Lope de Vega. I heard from someone later on that they’d drilled into his hands at the end, demanding to know the nothing and nobody he knew.

So, it seemed only fair they’d dragged me down some backwoods dirt road. Seventy kilometers an hour never felt so fast and took so long. I hadn’t met the man, but they said he’d had a family. My whole foolish life, I wondered what it was like to be missed by so many that much. Of course, that wasn’t why I did it. I did it to remind him I was flesh-and-blood real, standing right there. And yet when it was all over, cold, calculating, with eyes as old as time, mi primo still didn’t see me.

I probably would’ve told her too that I was far from the boy she raced dirt bikes with. But that other boy we knew from way back when? The thoughtful one with eyes as old as time, that boy was lost altogether.

And if I’d been awake and remembered who I was, I would’ve wept right along with her because that’s how much I missed him.

𐮛

When I could finally walk without getting dizzy, she took my hand and led me out into the backyard, my favorite smile blooming with the flowers on her red dress.

“Where are we going?”

“Tranquilita, mi Rafa. Vas a ver.”

Mi Rafa. I couldn’t remember when she started calling me that. But to belong in such a way? It hurt how much I never knew.

We continued past the yard, onto a dirt trail that led downhill until we came to the edge of a great, big, empty field. She glowed when she told me it was all mine.

“What’s this?”

“Es tuyo para hacerlo como que tu quieras.”

“No me chingues pues. Toda esta madre?”

She nodded, soft lips in a soft smile. And I couldn’t help but pick her up and swing her around, even as my shoulder screamed. She screamed too, like we were kids.

I set her back on the ground with a wince. “Ya tengo un plan.” When I put my arms down, the right one bent awkwardly to ease the throbbing in my shoulder. She took it, splinting my elbow against hers between us, and put her other arm around my waist. I grumbled but she shot me a familiar look that assassinated any and all will to resist.

“Leave it to you to overdo it after being out here no more than five minutes.”

I laughed. “You know me better than almost anyone. When have I ever made things easy for myself.”

“Sí, sí, Rafael Caro Quintero. A man of great passion, no sense, and odd enthusiasms. Like swinging grown women around with a shoulder no sturdier than ground beef.”

“Aahh, no me digas. You love it.”

“Entonces, cuál es tu plan?”

“Pues por supuesto, I’ll build a greenhouse. And when that’s done, I’ll start with sinsemilla.”

She smiled wryly, “Claaaro qué si. Because it hasn’t caused you enough trouble.”

“And then, I was thinking we could sell it.” She cocked an eyebrow up and pursed her lips, a look that said she thought I’d lost it. Again. “But instead of competing with the other plazas, we unite them, create una grande federación, controlando todo el mercado de mota.”

Her face relaxed and she chuckled darkly, elbowing me in the ribs.

“Ay, ya basta. I’m still fragile.”

“If that really is your plan, pues voy a romper tu otro hombro, hombre.”

I looked out at the black hills on the horizon, seeing María’s face in place of eso pendejo Calderoni. Savage brown eyes, enraged, beads of sweat dotting her perfect forehead.

“Si ese chota hubiera sido tan hermosa como tu?” I looked down at her and winked. “El dolor? No me valía madre. I wouldn’t felt a thing.”

She elbowed me again. “Ay, pinshe bruja, no mames.” No loyalty left to dam the tide, it was hard not to get carried away ‘cause I adored her more than the world.

“No mames tu, cabrón. So, c’mon. Let’s hear it. The real plan.”

“Sí, sí, bien.” With my arm still propped against hers, we started walking slowly along the edge of the field. “Esos manos,” I wagged my hands, “fueron hechas para cultivar sinsemilla, pues sí? Pero quien sabe pues? I can grow other things, coffee beans, cacao. Algo así.”

Maria looked down at the ground and shook her head. “Appropriately indulgent.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Chocolate, coffee, little addictions. Una sombra de las drogas, sí but always indulgent.”

“Pues sí, pues. Qué dijiste de mi? A man of odd enthusiasms.”

She leaned her head into the crook of my neck and squeezed me tight. I didn’t have to feel guilty. Sometimes I did anyway. Instincts of self-preservation were hard-earned-hard-lost in my line of work.

𐮛

She stopped crying at my bedside while I slept but sometimes, she still cried in the middle of the night. A vision in a white caftan, sleeveless shirt, linen pants. Chain-smoking La Llorona, haunting the steps of her own front porch. She usually sat in the spot where they left me that first day. We tried so hard to get the bloodstains off the wood but they’d have to be sanded and revarnished, which I promised I’d do. Except I hadn’t yet because I was scared when I did, I’d lose me for good.

My room was at the front of the house, so sometimes I’d turn over in bed, close my eyes, and listen while she swallowed the sadness back so hard, she could barely breathe. That conveyor belt of blue sky would pop in my head with her sobs like a soundtrack. The more nights we played out this routine, the more I knew we— she couldn’t go on like this. Too great a toll, pretending she wasn’t living with a dead man, hiding me from him and the whole world. None of it was any of mine, anyway.

So, it was the weirdest thing. When I’d finally decided to leave, that’s when it happened.

I went out and sat with her, which I never did. But it this time it was raining and she couldn’t catch her breath and I got scared. You could call it inconsolable but that’s too small. She didn’t stir when the screen door slammed or rush to hide the evidence. No doubt she knew the angry red splotches on her cheeks gave everything away.

I didn’t know what to do. But then I remembered what someone told me once: how comfort is like a kiss. No rulebook, but instinct. So, I did what I felt. I sat on the steps next to her, hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder, knee to knee like we were two sides of the same seam because it seemed the thing to do. Splinting her to me to ease the pain like she did with mine.

We sat there like that. For a time.

I took a joint from my pocket and held out my hand. “Encendador, amor.”

Her hands were so cold, I nearly jumped when she passed it to me. She didn’t seem to notice as we sewed back together again, this time with her head on my shoulder. I lit up and tried to blink away the dark spot in my vision left by the hot embers at the end of the joint. Because it made me think of the metal rods they’d used. Hands tied up and hanging. Glowing red tips pressed to my sides.

I inhaled, then breathed her name out with smoke, “María.”

She sniffled, “Sí.”

Looking down next to me, I studied the bloodstains that dotted the wood, tracing them with my finger. “I’ll take care of these in the morning,” I said, dusting them. “Then I think I’ll go.”

In the crook of my neck, I felt her stiffen. “So that's how you’d repay me, then. Just leave.”

“I thought you’d be relieved.”

We sat there like that. Some more.

Until she jerked her head off my shoulder and looked at me, not bothering to wipe the new tears rimming her eyes. Her caftan slid off her shoulder. I pulled it back up and watched goosebumps spread across her collarbone, up her neck. On my hand, up my wrist, I got them too like they were contagious.

“Querida.” Confused, I swiped a tear from her cheek and held my thumb up, “No se trata de eso, o qué?”

She cocked her jaw to to one side, then looked away and scoffed. I loved the way she looked when she did that and hated when she did it to me.

“A día de hoy, estás una de las chingas personas más listos que he conocido en toda vida, mi Rafa. But sometimes.” She turned to look at me through half-lidded eyes, exhausted all of a sudden, “Sometimes you still see the world through the eyes of a boy I knew from way back when.”

Before I could ask what she meant or if she’d been reading my mind, her lips were on mine. And every nerve from my scalp to the heels of my feet detonated. My whole life flashed before my eyes. What I wanted most in the world, that I never had, because none of it was any of mine, anyway. That’s what she was supposed to be until I ended up in an early grave, right? Oh, right. Funny, since I actually had died. In a way.

Her cold hand wrapped around the back of my neck, lips and tongues ebbing, flowing against each other. My brain like it was knocking against my skull, mind screaming at me to stop and still I found my hand sliding around her waist. Perilous, rigid edge of her teeth on my lower lip made me hitch my breath, to prepare me for— She bit down hard. Hard enough to snap gravity and I dug the pads of my fingers into the small of her back to ground myself without it. Then I caught her lip in my teeth and nipped back. Two sides of the same seam. So, it must’ve been insanity itself that brought my hand to that satisfying spot where her neck met her jawline. And ripped it. Like an idiot.

And all I could choke out was, “Not … this … way.”

She was alert suddenly, startled by what I’d said. Or maybe the way I said it. Maybe trying to piece out the truth from the lie. Since I didn’t mean it really. Except I really did. With all of me. I wondered if she could see my mind vibrating, violently searching for an explanation, and that’s why she waited. Waiting while I malfunctioned.

“I can’t— the— why, how— please don’t— don’t make me what you use to get back at him.”

Her lips pursed and she furrowed her brow. Looking at the little lines that creased her forehead and between her eyebrows, I wanted to take it all back, grab her, crush her into me. Probably before I was insane, I would’ve. But sanity got burnt up at seventy kilometers an hour and all that was left was the echo not like this, not like this, not like this over and over.

There was a look of awe on her face. And it gave me the strangest, most painful feeling. Like I wished a hole would rip open in the Earth, so we could jump in and entomb ourselves there for forever. Scar-tissue-thoughts I called those ‘cause they reminded me how my mind would probably never be like it was before. I tried not to get lost in that one like I did sometimes.

She cupped my face with one hand, and pulled my arm around her waist with the other, placing it in the same spot as before. Except for her hands, she felt warm against my chest in a way that made my stomach drop. The clouds parted a little, so I saw her eyes in the light of the moon. They looked lit with it, from the inside.

“What makes you think this is about him at all?” Then she kissed me again, and again.

We both knew it was a lie. But on nights like those and many others, nights when we got tangled like that, nights when we were both sides of the same seam, we pretended it wasn’t.

I had to stop pretending when she started taking his calls again.

𐮛

I don’t know how long it was. It must’ve been months, a year, maybe more. Long enough for me to forget I was dead. Time didn’t pass for me how it did before. No, that’s right. It must’ve been years because it was sometime around the election. I only knew he got into trouble with that old bat in Matamoros and in trouble with the politics. Again. Only this time he had no one else to feed the machine when it was done and they got what they needed. Yeah. That was it. Because he came back to Badiraguato, back home to lay low.

That was when he started showing up everywhere. He even came by the house one time.

There was something satisfying about the squeaking sound the hinges made when the backyard gate door swung open and closed. I liked to pull extra hard just to hear it and that day was no different. Nothing different about the way I skipped up the steps to the patio either. Or how I wiped my boots on the rug outside before I stepped in the house.

Before I could smell the food, I heard them in the kitchen, María chiding Abril.

“No, no, no, no. Nada de dulces antes de cenar.”

“Pero tengo haaaambre.”

“Después de tu tarea. Ándale. Dile a tu hermano también.”

I walked through the dining room to the kitchen and set a pile of herbs on the counter.

She smiled slyly at me, “Nunca paran de tragar.” Her face lit up when she saw the herbs. “Ah, fresh from the greenhouse. Didn’t think you’d have them this time.”

I caught her arm as she reached for them, and pulled her in for a kiss. She deepened it, sliding her hands from my forearms to my shoulders. She always held on longer than I expected. I’d never gotten used to it.

She pulled back and smiled. “After I add these, dinner’ll be ready.”

“Ah, for you, amor. I’ll wait forever.”

Her hands still around my neck, she threw her head back and rocked me forward a little. “If it weren’t for that diabolical smile of yours, that would be the cheesiest line I’ve ever heard.”

“No te preocupes, mija.” I winked. “It’s the cheesiest I’ve ever used.”

She fiddled with the buttons at the top of my shirt, “Given what I know of your history, chulo,” then let go and turned to the stove, “that’s saying something.”

I grinned as I walked away, “What history?”

I headed to my bedroom to find her father looking out the window. He tried not to look embarrassed when I knocked on the open door.

“Lo siento, Rafa. I was just—” When he couldn’t find a proper excuse, he just sighed and raked his hand over is face, motioning out the window.

That’s when I saw his blue Buick idle up the driveway and park at the big metal gate. He didn’t get out right away. Just sort of sat there. So, her father and I just watched him, watching.

“Papá, ya quieres tu café? Papá!”

Neither of us answered her.

“Qué pasa?” Her determined footsteps got louder and louder, until she breezed into the room.

I didn’t bother trying to lie but he attempted a too-rushed, “Nada. No pasa nada.”

The joy of intrigue wiped from María’s face and now she just looked wary. “Qué estás mirando, entonces?”

Incredible how little I felt, holding back that curtain, staring at the outline of the man responsible for my death, while he sat in the driver’s seat of mi primo’s blue car. For a split second and all at once, I hated him because I missed him. It hurt how much I missed him. Then I hated me for missing him. And then it emptied to nothing. The oddest thing. Pretty fucking dumb too. I should’ve been afraid at least, considering what would happen if he or anyone knew I was alive. Back in that room with the metal prods, pain, shoulder popping, in-and-out, in-and-out, pain, dry mouth, wet concrete tongue dragging across the roof of it, pain and too much more.

I didn’t know how I felt, so I didn’t know how I wanted her to respond because it never mattered so much what I wanted. But there was no denying my heart seized up in my chest, the arteries all throttled, when I saw how hard her jaw clenched and watched her rage nearly warp the air around her. I supposed she’d have to have been hit in the head as many times as me, to feel the nothing I did.

The three of us stood motionless for a moment, until she sighed, turned around to look at the bedroom doorway, then back again to the window, before making a break for the front door. As she dashed down the still-stained front steps and marched across the courtyard to meet him at the gate, it hit me. He’d just got there. Hundreds of feet from us and not even out of the car yet, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away. And even though I stood right there, next to her, she never once looked at me. Before walking out the door.

That was the end of pretending.

𐮛

I was putting up the fence around the greenhouse, hammering posts on the north side of the field, when she brought out iced tea and empañadas. It hadn’t happened in a long time but I kept seeing them today. Flashes of dirt road in the wood grain of the posts, rushing, dragging beneath me. I had to stop now-and-again to wipe them from my eyes. She told me I looked tired. When she could tell I was tired, she liked to give me things to dream about. Maybe that’s why she asked.

“Quieres venganza?”

I stopped hammering and stood up straight.

“Qué?”

“Supongo— lo que quieres decir es si piensas en la venganza?”

I swung the mallet over to rest on my good shoulder and looked out onto the horizon. Something about these sunsets at home made me want to hold her. And the wanting but not, made me want too much at once.

“Claro que no, querida. I'm just happy I’m not dead.”

She looked at me quizzically as she walked over. She set the cup and plate on the empty wood barrel next to me and picked a piece of hay from my hair.

What was she asking? And why? And why now? Too many tangled up questions and the words came tumbling out. No amount of grabbing empty air would shut them back up into the leaky box, my mind, where they belonged.

“Why? Do you?” Because I had stopped pretending but I didn’t know if I was I ready for her to. “Is that what this is?”

She leaned her head against one of the posts. Looking out into the red-orange sky, no hesitation, crisp like glass, “A veces.”

I suppose I knew. It never made sense for her to love me all of a sudden and for no good reason except I just showed up one day and needed her.

“But not usually.”

Windswept hair and brown eyes lit red by the horizon, downright dangerous was how she looked. The sky looked like hell and she looked at it like it was hers. María at her most dangerous gave El Jefe de Jefes a run for his money. I always figured that’s why he sent her away. And yet, just like me, she felt so much more for him than he deserved. How could she not, padre de sus hijos. And how could I expect her to let go when I couldn’t. Still, being reduced to a weapon was a familiar disappointment. It meant, like him, she couldn’t see me just then.

I grabbed an empañada and shoved it in my mouth, too fast, so she couldn’t see how hard my jaw was clenched. It burned my tongue and nearly cooked the back of my throat as I swallowed. Maybe this was my sign to run, take advantage of being dead, leave the boy and the girl I knew from way-back-when for good.

My throat, still with that numb, burnt feeling made my voice thick, so I didn’t sound so wounded. “Given the look on your face, I see you have.”

When she closed her eyes, I realized she was crying. I always thought it was weird how that happened sometimes when she was angry.

“He’s their father. But with how they left you, Rafa–” She pulled in a deep, shaky breath like preparing for confession, “I— I don’t know where to put it. All this rage.” Her hands balled into fists and she turned to look at me. “Did you know, when I can’t sleep, sometimes I count the ways he’s hurt us like counting sheep.”

Those few solitary tears sliding down her cheeks, catching at her chin, dripping off the edge of her jaw onto the collar of her shirt, I felt the urge to bottle them up and take them with me everywhere. Scar-tissue-thoughts. I didn’t know what to say, so I just stood there, waiting to follow her lead. Just as I had in all things.

“And that’s when I think, yes. He was their father. But now? Ya no más que una puta infección, un enfermedad de la verga, polluting everything he touches.”

“Do you feel polluted?”

“Qué?” She gave me that look again, eyebrow cocked, like I was nuts.

I dropped the mallet, and walked over. Arms crossed, I rested them on the finished part of the fence and propped my chin up to look at her.

“It’s just what I said. ‘Cause well,” I tapped my temple with my finger, “I have some screws loose and– how did you put it? Ground beef for a shoulder?”

She cracked a small smile. Success.

“So, we both know I’m polluted. Owe that to myself more than anyone, most likely. But not all of it, true. So, do you feel he’s polluted you?” Then I jutted my chin up toward the house, “Them?”

She was quiet for a long time, long enough for the sun to slide behind the hilltops, casting her in new shades of purple. I was trying hard not to disappear like I did sometimes. She fixed her eyes on me just in time, swiping her cheeks quickly. “Ah, mi Rafa. It’s just what I said. Everything he touches.”

I asked it with no anger, no jealousy. That wasn’t what this was about. “So why go, then?”

We’d never talked about it but she knew what I meant. She never lied to me, so wasn’t some big secret. She didn’t even try to hide the invitation. To some political three-ringed circus to celebrate the election. He was sending a private jet for her and everything. It was a big deal.

She considered the question for a long time, before whispering, “I have to know for sure.”

“Know what?”

“That I’m right to believe he can’t change.” She stepped away from the post and walked down the length of the fence, grazing her hand along it until it came to rest on my arm. Then she leaned in and kissed me. It didn’t feel like goodbye just yet. But we were getting there.

Then we stayed like that for a little while, forehead to forehead, eyes closed. In my head, I got the sensation like I was falling.

“And what more is there to lose when the damage is done, when we’re polluted already.”

I watched her disappear up the hill heading back to the house. I should’ve said it even if I knew it wouldn’t have made a difference. Unless you were dead, he’d find something to take. Because he only saw the world in terms of “more.” He polluted you with the prospect of “more.” It’s what made him so brilliant. And why he was all alone.

I grabbed the mallet to get to work again. But I was seeing the road in the grain of the wood still. It was coming at me, faster this time. Not flashes. I was there again. It had been a while but actually, I’d been back a few times since it happened.

In the beginning, I couldn’t stop living there. That’s why she started climbing into bed with me. To remind me I wasn’t there because I couldn’t be because no one could be in two places at once. She’d put her arm around me and I’d lean against her, unable to move except to jolt every time a rock kicked up and seared the back of my neck, gouged another welt in my shoulder blade, cracked against one of my elbows. My hands were always the worst, no circulation, bound numb and twisted in the ropes, mangled by the friction of the gravel they slid over. Before I blacked out, I was curious every time. How’d I get here? The answer in his voice, always so calm, and filled with love lost and sadness. Which made sense since he knew I was a lost cause.

Ya tienes más de que lo necesitas. Ya dejar de soñar, Rafael.

And maybe that was the whole problem.

𐮛

After that, I didn’t wait too much longer, a few weeks maybe. Then one morning, I got up at dawn and crept around the house, collecting my things. If I waited to say goodbye, I'd never leave. Because she wouldn’t want me to and it still wouldn’t be enough. She gave me plenty to dream about and I loved her for it and I loved her.

But I was awake now.

I was holding too much stuff, so I swung the door open too hard. Caught just before it slammed, and I sighed, chest full with disappointment and relief. I guided it gently to a close, then strode across the porch to the steps where I stopped short to look down at the clean, newly varnished planks where my blood used to be. It happened just like I thought. I lost me. I was gone. For some reason I thought of the story again, about how the world was made.**

On that back alley dirt road, laughing into the sky like I wasn’t dying, I’d finally worked out that I wasn’t Sibú, but I never decided who I was instead.

Was I the chorus of trampling demons and spirits? Was I Tapir? Or the trodden Earth Iriria? Or maybe, since I’d sort of died, I was thousands now buried, recompense, fodder in the machine of their vengeance. Or maybe I was nothing at all.

My heel hit the first step. I guess I had time now and the whole world to figure it out.

𐮛

And that's a wrrrrap! Sorry for all the Spanish. I was going to make a glossary but I already wrote the thing and it's 6,000 words give or take, so just gonna have to give it a good ole Goog. Thanks for reading.

**See here if you're interested in learning more about mesoamerican myths and legends or about the bribri tribe specifically, this is where I found the story.