#like my eyelashes are so long and so full but they shed like a bitch in fall

[ohumokay]

born to be a pretty boy with long eyelashes and painted nails, who wears skirts and eyeliner

forced to be a girl with a congenital eyelash condition and always chipped nails, who literally wants to cry when wearing anything other than pants and can't figure out eyeliner for shit

[hizashis-lil-bunbun]

No Rest for the Wicked- HardDom!Dabi X Fem! Brat Reader

Prompt: Dabi just wants to take a nap but everything goes wrong

I asked a friend in one of my discord groups for a random writing prompt when I was up late. Something about this one activated my inner ✨brat✨

Enjoy!

Word Count: 3.3k

Kinks/Warnings: brat taming, degradation, pain play, spanking, belting, mild dacryphilia, bondage, edging and denial, hints of dubcon

Banner made by the always lovely @ladyshinigami!

••••••••••••••

Exhausted.

That was the best way to sum up Dabi’s mood as he trudged through the bar fronting the League’s headquarters. Shigaraki had sent him out on a mission with orders to “stake out and take out” a small band of up-and-coming heroes. It had been easy enough to find them (newbies can never resist being flashy), but making sure they were all disposed of was another matter. A matter only made more complicated by a few rogue civilians that happened to spot him. It had taken him two full days to track everyone down, leaving him covered in blood, soot, and burns. In short, Dabi needed a break.

“Well, well, well.” Came the nasally voice of their fearless leader, “The prodigal son returns! Took you long enough, Dabi. Hope that means you didn’t fuck up the mission.”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist.” Dabi snaps back, too tired and sore to care about his tone. Not that he’d be any kinder to Shigaraki if he wasn’t. “I did what you asked and left no witnesses. Now piss off before I turn you into a smoldering pile.”

Shigaraki didn’t rise to Dabi’s bait, opting to simply flip him the bird before going back to whatever game console he was currently obsessed with. Dabi returns the gesture in kind, glowering as he disappears behind the bar and into the League’s living quarters. Their warehouse provides more than enough space for everyone to have their own room, and the boss even allowed them to decorate and furnish them as they pleased. Wasn’t that generous? Dabi plods down the hallway to his assigned room and kicks open the door only to find it was occupied. By you.

“Dabi?” You question for a moment before your eyes light up with excitement. “Dabi! You’re back!”

As a fellow Stain devotee, you’d sought out the LOV and been initiated as a member a mere six months ago. And two months later, you’d been initiated into Dabi’s bed. You wouldn’t exactly call yourselves “lovers.” Love was few and far between in a hornet’s nest of villains. But you’d certainly become something more than the occasional lay.

He grunts as he stalks into the room, shedding his coat and boots as he went. Dabi was never big on grand displays of affection. And in his current state, that small show of acknowledgment may as well have been equivalent to a bear hug.

“I missed you.” You chirp back, undeterred by his gruff response. “How was the mission?”

“Long and shitty.” Came his terse reply as he strips off the rest of his clothes and grabs a towel from a nearby wall hook. “I need a fucking shower.”

He wraps the towel around his waist before he sets about searching for body wash and a first aid kit. Greedy eyes roam the plane of his toned torso, eager to touch the scarred and stapled flesh you’d spent many a night mapping out. Before joining the League, you’d never had an opinion one way or the other on touch or physical intimacy. You didn’t dislike it by any means; it was just something people did, fuck buddies or otherwise. But now that you’d shared a bed with Dabi, your perspective had changed. His rough touch was your drug of choice, intoxicating in all the best ways. And with him being gone for almost 72 hours? It was safe to say you were jonesing for a hit.

“Oooh, sounds like fun.” You purr, sprawling out on the mattress in a catlike stretch. “Want me to join you? I think we could use a little… quality time together.”

He snorts derisively at that, straightening up once he’d found his supplies and fixing you with a deep scowl. So pretty even when he’s pissed. You bat your eyelashes in return.

“Don’t get cute, dollface. Once I get cleaned up I’m passing out for the next century.”

Before you can shoot off another coquettish remark, he turns on his heel and marches out the door in the direction of the communal showers. You huff and clamber out of bed to follow him, determined that he wouldn’t get away so easily.

“C’mon Dabi!” You whine, trotting along behind him as he stalks down the hallway. “I haven’t seen you in days! Are you really just gonna give me the cold shoulder?”

“Yup.” He snaps back, shooting you a harsh glare over said shoulder before barging through the bathroom door. From the other side you can hear his bark of “Move it, psycho!” followed by an indignant squeak from whom you can only assume to be Toga. You huff and stamp your foot like a petulant child, turning on your heel to flounce off in the direction of the League’s bar front.

“Bastard.” You seethe under your breath, “Who does he think he is, ignoring me like that? It’s his fault I’m so pent up. If I tried ignoring him when he was all hot and bothered–!”

You pause for a moment as a lightbulb goes off in your head. A single impish thought flashes through your mind and it causes your lips to curl into a Cheshire grin. He wants to play games? You’ll give him games.

You continue your trek into the dimly-lit, woodpandeled speakeasy, a renewed vigor in your stride as you make a beeline for the bar top. Kurogiri is standing behind it as per usual, wiping out a pint glass like the faithful bartender he pretends to be. You sidle up to the bar and place both hands on the oaken surface, adopting a sweet, too-innocent lilt to your voice.

“Kuro-baby.” You purr, the cutesy pet name causing the misty specter to look up from his task. “Can I have a glass of water, please? With lots of ice, if you don’t mind.”

Wordlessly, Kurogiri sets down the glass and picks up a shorter one, using it to scoop up a generous portion of ice from the freezer below before filling it nearly to the brim from the tap. If he has any suspicion of you, he’s very good at hiding it. The same can’t be said for Shigaraki, sitting a few stools down from you and still tapping away at the buttons of his console.

“Fucking with Staples again?” He questions disinterestedly, followed by a hiss of annoyance when the game lets out a series of gunshots. He must have gotten himself killed again.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You shoot back airily, swiping the glass from Kurogiri’s outstretched hand and hopping off your own barstool.

“It’s your funeral!” He calls after you, waving you off with one hand. You snicker as you march back into the living quarters, one hand wrapped around the chilled glass and the other flattened over the top to ensure you won’t spill a drop along the way. Soon you find yourself back in front of the bathroom door and, suppressing the urge to giggle, you slowly push through it and into the steamy room beyond. In spite of the hideout’s outward appearance, the place is surprisingly clean and well-kempt (all thanks to den mother Kurogiri). Two sinks stand against the left-hand side of the wall, with two doors opposite them leading to the toilets. Next to the sinks are the showers: three open-faced, tile cubes barely covered by flimsy plastic curtains. Toga is standing in front of the nearest sink, wearing a skimpy pair of Hello Kitty pajamas and washing the blood and goop from her latest transformation out of her navy, pleated skirt. She looks up at you when you enter and you quickly put one finger to your lips, smirking as you point between the glass and the running shower beyond. Toga lets loose a sadistic giggle of her own before hastily shushing herself when you hear Dabi’s bark of “Pipe down out there!”

As you move past her, you can see her mouth the words, “You’re so dead, big sis.”

You can feel a jolt of adrenaline course through your veins as you sneak up to the edge of the tiled wall separating the shower from the rest of the bathroom, the glass in your hand shaking briefly. A small amount of water sloshes over the rim and spatters onto the floor, the sound barely overshadowed by the shower.

“Doll?”

His low, rumbling voice coming from the other side of the curtain sends another shiver down your spine.

“What are you up to out there?” He growls dangerously, as if he has a sixth sense when it comes to you and your shenanigans. For just a moment, the rational part of your brain takes over and makes you question your actions. Dabi’s already in a foul mood, and getting worse by the second by the sound of it. Maybe if you hold off and behave like a good girl–

Your body seems to move of its own accord. The next thing you know, the contents of the glass are sailing through the air, arching high over the plastic curtain rod and landing with a messy splat onto your unwitting victim on the other side.

“What the fu–!” Dabi’s curse is cut off by yours and Toga’s mad giggling as you sprint out of the bathroom and down the hallway. Passing by a very confused-looking Spinner, you dart inside Dabi’s room and slam the door, locking it for good measure. Seconds later, he’s pounding on it, using enough force that you’re convinced it might splinter and break off its hinges.

“Open this door right now and make this easier on yourself!” He roars, furiously jiggling the handle.

You let him pound away for a few more seconds, in part to allow yourself time to catch your breath but mostly to delay the unenviable punishment. With a deep, steadying breath, you plaster on a mildly amused expression, undo the lock, and pull open the door. Dabi is visibly seething, water dripping from his hair and cascading in rivulets down his toned chest onto the towel slung low on his hips. His brows are knitted together in rage, turquoise eyes flashing dangerously while one hand is still raised in a fist.

“Oh hey, babe. Done with the shower al–?”

His hands are around your throat before you can blink, your sassy remark devolving into a high-pitched squeak.

“You little bitch.” He spits at you, forcibly backing you further into the room as he advances. “Was that your idea of a joke?”

“N-no.” You gasp in response, voice slightly raspy from the pressure on your jugular. “I just thought–“

“Thought what exactly?” Dabi growls, kicking the door shut behind him with one foot before giving your shoulders a hard shove and pushing you onto the bed. You land with a slight bounce, the momentum giving you just enough time to prop yourself up on your elbows.

“Well?” He hisses, venom dripping from the word as he glares down at you.

“I was worried.” You start slowly, tone almost loving as you gaze up at him with big, doe eyes. “You seemed so tense when you got back. And don’t think I didn’t notice those new burns on your arms. So I thought, since the mission was so hard on you…”

Your face suddenly splits into a shit-eating grin.

“I thought you might need to cool down for a minute.”

Dabi blinks for a second, seemingly struck dumb by your remark. And then his hands are back on you in an instant, roughly flipping you over to lie chest-down with your legs hanging off the edge of the bed.

“Of all the stupid–“

Your shirt is ripped over your head from behind.

“Immature–“

There goes the bra, clasps and straps lost to a wildfire of blue flames as it falls away from your body in a charred heap.

“Bratty little schemes.”

Your leggings and panties are harshly yanked down, slipped off, and discarded into some unknown corner of the room. You feel cool air hit your legs and backside, moments before a harsh slap lands on your right cheek. With a yelp, you cast a wide-eyed glance over your shoulder at the menacing presence behind you; a pillar of rage and sadistic urges looming over your naked form.

“You wanted my attention that badly, dollface? Well I’m sorry to say you’ve got it now.”

Before you can react beyond a pained, needy whimper, Dabi hooks his right arm under your thighs to haul you up and onto the bed. He lays his full weight across your back and reaches around and underneath the farthest edge of the bed to produce a simple, black cuff, attached to the nylon spreader running along the underside of the mattress. Giving it a few cursory tugs, he grabs ahold of your right wrist and yanks it towards the corresponding corner, attaching the device with practiced speed and precision. You continue to writhe and pant below him, muttering a litany of curses and “no’s” as he does the same to the opposite side. You’re now bound by both wrists, unable to do more than thrash wildly on the mattress in a humiliating, spread eagle position.

“Seems like you need a reminder of who’s in charge around here.” He snarls in your ear, pushing himself off of you and marching over to his discarded pile of clothing. You can hear the soft rustle of fabric, followed by the telltale clink of metal on metal that makes your eyes go wide.

“Y-you wouldn’t dare…” You start breathlessly, just before the first blinding sting of leather greets your exposed skin, right at the juncture where the soft swell of your ass meets the tender flesh of your thighs.

“That’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart.” Dabi says mockingly, his tone dripping with false pity and saccharine sweetness as he takes his place at the edge of the bed once more. “I don’t have any problems dealing with a mouthy… little… brat like you.”

His words are punctuated by three more vicious blows, this time striking the meatiest part of your ass and sending the pliant flesh jiggling. The metal rivets in his belt only add to the pain, biting into your rapidly heating flesh and causing tears to prick at the corners of your eyes. Shifting your hips in a futile attempt to get away from Dabi and his newfound torture device, you roll partly onto your side and look over at him with watery, pleading eyes.

“S-sir… Dabi, please!” You sputter out, voice already wavering as your resolve crumbles beneath the stinging sensation. But Dabi’s not in the mood for bargaining. Instead, he growls as he wraps an arm around your waist and shoves his left knee underneath your belly, hiking your ass further into the air.

“Hold still!” He barks at you, another crack of his belt sending a fresh wave of searing pain along your already raw skin. You scream in agony, unable to do more than wriggle and squirm against his hold.

“Start counting, brat.” He demands huskily, your only warning before the next punishing spank meets your burning flesh.

“One!” You gasp out, “I’m sorry! Please–!”

Another blow lands, somehow harder than all the others, revisiting the spot where ass and thigh meet and causing you to wail in pain.

“Too late for apologies, dollface. The only thing I wanna hear from that slutty little mouth is counting. Understand me?”

The arm looped around your waist tightens in warning, and you hiccup before sputtering out a shaky, “T-two.”

“That’s more like it.”

He continues spanking you at a steady pace, the only respite coming when he pauses to hear you choke out the next number. By ten strokes, you’re bawling. By fifteen, you’re practically brain dead, unable to quell the sobs that wrack through your body or think beyond the next count. He mercifully stops at twenty, dropping the belt and loosening his own grip on you. All you can focus on is the burning pain radiating out from your tanned backside, sobbing as you bury your face into the pillow below you for comfort. Dabi’s own breathing is heavy and ragged, and he takes a few deep, measured breaths to steady himself. After a few moments, that hand that once held his belt is carefully laid on the curve of your ass, and you gasp both at the gentle touch and the shock of prickly pain it brings. Judging by the way he strokes the heated flesh, you’re sure the silver eyelets have left a series of bruises behind.

“S-s-sir.” You blubber, “I’m... I…”

“Shhhh, quiet down.” He says softly, voice uncharacteristically tender as he runs his hand along the width of your heated cheeks. “It’s over now. You did so well.”

The unexpected praise makes you whimper beneath his affections, devolving into a quiet moan as his hand travels even lower, fingers coming to rest at the entrance to your heated core. He begins to gently massage at your folds, middle finger slipping inside to find you impossibly wet and clenching around the digit.

“You filthy little thing…” He breathes out on a chuckle, “Are you really that turned on by me beating the hell out of your cute little ass?”

His finger delves deeper, pussy eagerly sucking him in as you keen below him. His free hand begins to lightly scratch up and down your back, goosebumps rising in the wake of each careful caress. Without thinking, you shift further onto your knees, fighting through the pain to push against his hand.

“Please, Sir.” You moan wantonly, “More. Please.”

With another dark chuckle, Dabi slips a second finger inside of you and begins to languidly pump them in and out. Pain and pleasure meld together in a sinful symphony, pants and whimpers coming from you as you rock your abused body against his own scarred flesh. He adjusts the angle and crooks his fingers downwards, curling them just shy of that sensitive bundle of nerves you know would have you seeing stars. Your back arches as you hungrily push against him, dignity forgotten in the face of pure, carnal desire.

“Getting impatient, are we?” He growls teasingly, fingers suddenly slipping out from your sopping core and wrenching a high-pitched whine from the back of your throat. He moves off the bed entirely, ordering you to stay put as he walks over to the nearby dresser and opens up the top drawer. Like the cuffs would allow you to do anything otherwise.

“Ah, here we go.” He says after a few seconds of rummaging, striding back over to the bed and taking up residence behind you. You feel the mattress dip under his weight seconds before his hands find your hips, roughly hauling them upwards and forcing your face further into the pillows. You shriek as he grabs ahold of your left cheek and squeezes harshly, pain shooting up your spine like a bolt of summer lightning. Something hard and cool prods at your quivering entrance, briefly brushing against your clit before being plunged inside of you. The sudden stretch feels at once too much and deeply satiating, sending burning, pleasurable heat licking across your oversensitized nerves. Once the toy is sunk to the hilt, Dabi gives a short grunt of satisfaction before sliding off the bed and circling around to lean over your quivering form. You turn your head to face him and he smirks at the sight of your fucked out expression: eyes red and puffy, cheeks streaked with half-dried tears, lips swollen from the bluntness of your own teeth.

“Aren’t you a sight?” He hums lowly, brushing away an errant strand of hair to plant a condescending kiss to your temple. “Such a needy little slut for me.”

With another dark chuckle, Dabi pats your cheek, straightens up, and turns towards the door.

“Wait!” You squeak out, squirming against your restraints as you watch his retreating back. “You’re just gonna leave me like this?”

“That’s the plan, dollface.” He shoots back, casting you a wicked grin over his left shoulder as he pulls the door open. “At least until I finish my shower.”

[ickle-ronniekins]

the one i was meant to find

request: from nonnie! “soulmate au with George??? maybe tattoos or something with the red thread of fate?”

pairing: george x fem!reader

word count: 4.8k

warning(s): angst, mentions of impending war, torture, sadness, anxiety

desc: your seventh year takes a wild turn when umbridge announces the arranged establishing of relationships to keep things in order. keep things in order? sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? people shouldn’t be paired off, you should find one another through fate! so when umbitchbridge ultimately decides to pair students off by blood status, it seems as though fate (or the ministry) is pulling you and your boyfriend miles and miles apart.

tag list: @mintlibri @georgeweasleyx @seppys-return-to-madness @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @darling-details @laneygthememequeen @lupinsx @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove @dreamer821 @feffffffy @the-hufflepuff-of-221b @62442-am @wtfweasleyy @obsessedwithrandomthings @thoseofgreatambition @harrysweasleys @sleep-i-ness @shadowsinger11 @shadychaoticcollection @haphazardhufflepuff @afriendlyneighborhoodhufflepuff @hood-and-horan @letsfightsomeorcs @theweasleysredhair @purpleskiesstorm @hxfflxpxffs @wand3ringr0s3 @finecole @angelinathebook @highly-acidic @purplefragile @90shermione @zreads @susceptible-but-siriusexual @hollands-weasley @andromedaa-tonks @bbstrawberry0421 @princessof-theuniverse @cappsikle @mytreec @imseeinggred @idont-knowrn @flyingserpxnt @auroraboringalis57 @godricsswords @jejegu @annasofiaearlobe @starlightweasley @alwaysasadaesthetic @thisismysketchbook @izzytheninja @imboredandneedalife @hemmoporro @valwritesx @heavenlymidnight | message me to be added!

Umbridge’s slimy voice rang violently throughout the Great Hall. Suddenly everything sounded very muffled in your ears, and you swallowed thickly in the hopes of unpopping them. Your breathing became heavy, just as it had that winter day at the Weasley home.

You’d been sitting outside the Burrow in the snow near the garden shed with the lot of them, before Fred, Ginny, Ron, Harry, and Hermione had all excused themselves, leaving you and George alone. You’d sworn that you’d seen Fred wink at you before vanishing inside the bustling home. You’d bit down on your lip, knowing exactly what he’d been trying to do. Damnit, Fred.

You’d stolen a glance at George, who’d looked as calm as could be. That hadn’t helped your nerves at all. Neither had the slight mistletoe that had materialized above you both, the unmistakable sound of Frederick Weasley cackling emanating from the second floor of the house.

“You know,” George began, his voice steady as a rock as he inched closer toward you. He lifted his eyes to glance above you both. “Legend has it that if you don’t song whoever you’re with whenever mistletoe appears, you’re both cursed for life.”

You’d actually snorted and immediately caved in on yourself. How embarrassing was that? Your cheeks flooded red, both from the embarrassment and from the way his laughter had warmed your entire body. You’d hadn’t even known what to say. “You’re full of it, Weasley,”

He’d placed a hand dramatically across his chest. The tips of his ears and nose were pink from the cold, and you’d sworn you were going to spontaneously combust at the sheer sight of it. “Swear to Merlin, Y/N, I read about it.”

“You? Read about it? Sure. In what -- Ten Ways To Charm Your Crush?” you’d internally scolded yourself for saying something so bloody stupid, but George had clearly thought it was cute because his grin deepened alongside the dramatic drumbeat of your heart. You’d decided to dive in head first. “I reckon you just want to kiss me.”

His features had twisted into a childish smirk and the wind ruffled his bit of bright red hair sticking out from his hat. A few snowflakes had fallen onto his eyelashes and melted when he’d blinked. “Absolutely, I do.”

He’d caught your lips with his in a moment of clarity. It was new and invigorating and familiar all at once. You may had been informed of your magical abilities at the age of eleven, much to the surprise of your Muggle parents, but in all the years you’d been attending Hogwarts, you’d never felt magic quite like this. The feeling of his eyelashes brushing against your cheekbones and his tongue gliding gently over your bottom lip had sent you gasping for air --

A hand on the small of your back pulled you from your memory. You turned to your side and looked at George for some reassurance, except all he was able to give you were worried eyes and a clenched jaw. You noticed the way his eyes glistened, but not the way they had underneath the snow and the stars and the mistletoe. They were glistening with tears.

“You can’t pair people off like this!” Yells were ringing throughout the Great Hall, along with complaints and quite a few expletives. You squeezed George’s hand. All you wanted him to do was tell you everything would be okay. “George, she can’t --”

Umbridge kept on talking, annoyingly enough, and you were surprised at how loudly her words echoed in your ears. “The Ministry has concluded, boys and girls, that students will be paired off by blood status. Pure-bloods are to marry pure-bloods, half-bloods with half-bloods, Muggle-borns with Muggle-borns. No intermingling will be tolerated. There will be daily checks to make sure you are abiding by the rules. Be warned, children, there will be disciplinary actions for those refusing to obey. No exceptions.”

You felt as though your throat was closing up. George’s face was blurry through your vision, but you could still see the worried look glazing over his eyes. How the hell did she expect to pull this off -- daily checks? This woman was absolutely mad. Somehow though, you knew she’d stop at nothing to make sure her rules were being followed. The thought terrified you to your core. To George, you said shakily, “But -- I love you.”

You’d known it since the day you met him, and even before that. You knew that he was the one you’d been waiting for. The overwhelming feeling of warmth you’d felt when he’d introduced himself with a lopsided grin all those long years ago in the middle of a Herbology lesson was like nothing you’d felt before. You had first met his gaze across the classroom, and he’d held it a little longer than he normally would have. You’d been in love ever since. And so had he.

It isn’t fair, you wanted to yell out. What authority did Umbridge have to decide who you’re meant to be with? Weren’t soulmates to be determined by fate, and not by the corrupt Wizarding government? You had a thought of hexing her right now, but her pompous laugh made you feel as though you turned to stone. By the look on McGonagall’s face from the other end of the hall, you were quite certain she felt like hexing Umbridge, too.

Who the bloody hell was she to think that she had a say, any say, over who you were allowed to marry?

George’s lip wobbled a bit as he breathed in deeply. “I love you, too.” His voice was hoarse and different and worrisome. “It’ll all be okay, darling, I promise.”

Somehow you knew that George didn’t fully believe his own words.

What were you supposed to do, coming from a Muggle family, when the whole lot of Weasleys were pure-bloods? What were you supposed to say to this vile woman to make her reconsider her choices? When your eyes met hers in a fit of fury, you squeezed George’s hand tighter, all while Umbridge threaded her brows together and stood up a little straighter.

What were you supposed to do if your soulmate wasn’t allowed to be your soulmate at all?

-- -

As you stealthily flicked your wrist, a dull light emanated from your wand, causing Professor Snape’s hair to stand up on command and turn a rather ugly shade of yellow.

You squealed; how you’d managed to pull it off was beyond you. Behind you, your boyfriend squeezed your shoulders and grabbed your hand before pulling you out of the Great Hall and around the bend. He was finding it very difficult to suppress his laughter, as evident by the red colour rising in his cheeks and the slight tears in his eyes. “You’re brilliant, you know that?”

You flipped your hair and grinned at him. “I know,” you said cheekily, earning yourself a playful jab to the ribs. You locked your arms around his neck. “I learned from the best.”

You adored the dimple that appeared on his cheek each and every time he smiled. You pushed his long hair out of his eyes. “The best, eh?”

“The best of the best,”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead and lifted you into the air, your feet dangling just above the corridor floor. He spun you a bit until you claimed you were getting dizzy. “My girl is going to out prank me one day.. how’d I get so lucky? I reckon I’m the luckiest bloke there is.”

You giggled and played absentmindedly with the hairs at the nape of his neck. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” George breathed, placing you back down and bringing a hand to the back of your neck. The cheekiness in his features almost immediately twisted into that of compassion, of admiration, of --

“I love you.”

If you hadn’t been so absolutely floored (even though you’d kind of been expecting it), you would’ve noticed how very quickly those three words had brought tears to your eyes. Except, you were too excited to notice such things. Nothing at all could’ve prepared you for those three words. You reckoned your smile was stretching from ear to ear now.

The three words you’d been waiting to hear for so long were playing in your head on repeat. You couldn’t wait another second before saying them very quickly back through a very excited squeal. “Iloveyoutoo!” He laughed and kissed you softly, his mouth moving very carefully against yours. You whispered against his lips in a calmer, more serious tone, “I love you, too.”

-- -

Your seventh and final year at Hogwarts was not going according to plan. Not only had Umbridge mechanically established relationships via blood status, but she also split all of the students up by blood status as well. So there were no longer Hogwarts houses. Each student were given new, generic Hogwarts robes and new common rooms. You shifted uncomfortably in a particularly painful armchair in what used to be the Slytherin common room. How convenient, you thought, that Umbridge had deemed the dungeons an appropriate spot for the new “Muggle-born Residencies”.

And George.

He was struggling to get used to the strange entrance of the previous Ravenclaw common room, now deemed the “Pure-blood Dormitories”. Umbridge had completely banned the selling of any and all Weasley products, even confiscating their trunks and blasting their items to smithereens. Everything George and Fred worked on for so long was just...gone, and you couldn’t even be there to comfort them.

The most interaction you were able to have with George were stolen glances across the Great Hall and in lessons. McGonagall didn’t have much say over the pairing off, but she did have a say in how lessons ran. She shut down Umbridge’s ludicrous “lesson by blood status” idea almost immediately.

George had sworn to you that it would be easy to sneak around, that he could jinx Umbridge or remove her memory or outsmart her any day. But bloody hell, it was proving to be difficult. This woman had certainly done her research. The Ministry had you all on a strict lockdown control.

Fleeting moments with George came less often than both of you would have liked. One recurring time Umbridge couldn’t stop you (because she wouldn’t dare step out onto the Quidditch pitch) were matches. The schedule had already been established, McGonagall had fought. It was the only time the “four houses” were able to reconvene during the school year. You waited patiently, nervously, restlessly outside of the Gryffindor changing rooms and yanked George rather violently behind the tent before pulling him onto a bone crushing embrace.

An exasperated breath left your lips. “I don’t know how much more of this I can handle.” you told him. It had only been a month -- surely it had been longer? Like five bloody years maybe?

“Me neither, love.” The feeling of his arms wrapped around your waist was exhilarating in a way that nothing else was. When he pulled away to look at you, he kept his hands gripped tightly on your hips, as if he were afraid you were going to slip through his fingers. Which, you thought, was pretty accurate. These fleeting moments were exactly that. Fleeting.

You expected to see the usual cheekiness glistening in his eyes, but he looked -- empty. Like the life had been sucked right out of him. Like he didn’t care about anything anymore. Like he hadn’t caught sleep in days.

You tugged hesitantly on his robes. “I -- I got paired off last week.”

You didn’t say this to hurt him; you said this to be truthful. You saw his jaw clench as he prepared himself for answers. “Who is it? I know him?”

You waved George off. “He’s just some guy.”

And then, amazingly, incredibly, George actually snorted. For a brief moment, you saw traces of happiness nearly lift him off of his feet. “Some guy?”

“Well I don’t bloody know!” you laughed too. It felt like discovering a completely new emotion, since despair seemed to be the only thing you were feeling these days. “We -- haven’t really spoken much. Just the bare minimum. He’s got a girl in Ravenclaw. Half-blood. So he’s dreading this just as much as us.”

George breathed a sigh of relief. “Same with mine.”

So he’d gotten paired off too. You felt a huge bout of nervousness tense your muscles, and you nodded. The question you were wanting to ask must’ve appeared blatantly in your eyes, because George took your hands in his and squeezed them. “You know that Hufflepuff? Lead singer in the frog choir?”

Your heart dropped about a thousand stories. Of course you knew her. She was stunning. And dating that Slytherin bloke, the one who was exceptionally good at Charms. It didn’t stop the nerves from bubbling up inside of you though. You bit your lip and stammered, “She -- she’s beautiful.”

George brought your hands to his lips and kissed them gently. He hated seeing you like this, you could tell, because there was a type of yearning in his eyes you’d never seen before. He shook his head and pushed a piece of hair behind your ear. “No, you’re beautiful.”

Just then, the very obnoxious foghorn-like sound emitted from the castle, signaling the end of Quidditch and that all students must return to their respective dormitories immediately. Gravity was pulling you both apart, but you both defied it, testing fate, holding onto one another just a moment longer.

George kissed you with an intensity you’d never known -- you didn’t exactly know when the next time you’d be able to be this close to him. It proved to be the most difficult thing you’d ever had to do to pull away. “Be careful, be safe -- I love you.”

“I love you too, George.”

You watched as he ran forward to meet Fred, who shot you a sympathetic gaze. You mechanically entered the group of Muggle-borns who were heading back to the dorms. Before vanishing toward the opposite end of the castle, George threw you one last inconspicuous glance and brought a hand gently to his heart.

-- -

“George, it’s not up to me, it’s not up to you,”

Grimmauld Place looked disturbingly non-Christmas like, despite Molly’s best efforts at decorating in her spare time between visits to the hospital to see Arthur. You’d managed, in a strange, winding way, to end up here. It proved to be very difficult though. Umbridge was now monitoring all floo-networks and the skies for flying, and it was becoming increasingly hard to apparate when your heart just wasn’t in it. But you’d made it -- somehow. You worshiped these few days here, unbeknownst to her.

You shifted uncomfortably underneath the blanket, unable to find a position on the couch that made you feel okay. Comfortable. Safe.

You glanced down at your scarred hand and ran your fingers along the words that were reflected on George’s as well.

I must not disobey the law.

The law. That’s what Umbridge thought this was. So when she caught George attempting to sneak down to the dungeons one night to see you, if only for a moment, she threw the both of you in separate four-hour long detentions, these six words now permanently engraved into your skin.

“I don’t care,” George breathed. “I don’t care about Umbridge, or these stupid rules, or the shop, or the fact that I’ve got this ridiculous phrase on my skin. I don’t care about any of it, I care about you.”

You bit your lip as the tears began to flow. You knew he didn’t mean that. Of course he cared. “I care about you too, but what are we supposed to do?”

“Let’s fight this!”

“We’ve tried! We’ve tried, George! Umbridge is so set in her ways, not even Dumbledore can shut this down! D’you think this is easy for me?” you cried. “D’you think it’s easy knowing that there’s a beautiful woman you’ve been paired with, or that there’s a man who I’m expected to spend my life with when all I’ve been doing for the better half of the last two and a half years is planning my life with you? It’s not bloody easy, George, it’s not, tell me how this is fair, tell me!” You weren’t sure when you’d started pounding on his chest, but your rattled cries echoed throughout the empty living room space. George pulled you into his chest, gripping the back of your neck tightly in his hands as he continually pressed kisses into your hair. Your sobs turned hoarse and raspy; you were crying fully now, desperate moans evaporating into the tense air above you.

You hated hearing him cry, so when he opened his mouth to speak and his words were jumbled and emotional, you squeezed your eyes shut tight, hoping that you’d open them to something other than this nightmare. “I don’t -- I don’t want to give up on us, love.”

“And you think I do?”

“No, no, of course not!” he cried, letting his emotions get the better of him. He sucked in a breath as you dabbed gently at your tears, even though fresh ones fell just as quickly as the old ones vanished. How could this be the plan for you two? How could this be your fate, when you were so in love with one another? He shook his head. “No, I’m not done. I’m not done fighting for this. Bloody hell, I don’t even care if I’ve got to use the cruciatus curse on her. I’ll give up the shop, I’ll do anything. I don’t care about anyone else --”

“George, please, you can’t give up the shop, I won’t let you --”

“Come hell or high water, I’m fighting for you,” in a moment of fury, he grabbed and cradled your head in his hands before pressing a forceful kiss to your lips. It didn’t stop you from crying. When you both parted, you peered up at him and noticed tears near the edges of his eyes. “I’m not giving up on us. I love you.”

You gently brought a hand to his cheek and caressed his skin. You choked out, “I love you, too.”

Sometime later on, after you’d both drifted off, you woke to the sound of slight shuffling around the room. Wrapped around you in a tight embrace, George was fast asleep, his breathing now steady and slow. You noticed Molly walk over to you both and cover you with an extra blanket, her wedding ring dazzling brightly in the moonlight flooding the room.

She must’ve noticed your puffy eyes and blotchy cheeks, because she reached out and ran a gentle hand through your hair. Tears had risen in your eyes immediately at her touch, as well as surprise. You’d expected a scolding for falling asleep together, but instead she just whispered, “Fate will win in the end.”

You squeezed your eyes shut and let the tears fall, but managed to nod at her and squeeze her hand. She gently caressed your cheek and placed a kiss to your head and to George’s before crossing the room and quietly closing the door.

George stirred a bit when you interlaced your fingers with his. You pressed your lips softly to the top of his hand before letting more tears fall and adjusting within his embrace, the one you came to know so well, and found yourself craving more than oxygen itself.

-- -

“They love you. I promise. They always have, haven’t they?” The fire reflecting in his eyes resembled how the fire in your bones felt. Wild. With reckless abandon.

“But this is different!” you squealed, pushing gently away from him so he couldn’t tickle you. “Before I was just good mates with all of you. Now I’m -- your girlfriend.”

George threaded his brows together in confusion. “Wait, you are? Since when?”

He earned himself a playful jab to the ribs for that one. Outside the Burrow, the snow was falling soundlessly. It had been three days since George had kissed you under the mistletoe, two days since you made it official, one day since he re-introduced you to his family as his girlfriend. It was the perfect Christmas.

“I’m just.. worried, is all. They’re getting to know me in a different way, you know?”

“Don’t worry, love,” he reassured you, placing a gentle kiss to your hairline. “Fred’s mad for you, always has been -- waiting ages for us to get together, hasn’t he? Ginny and Ron adore you.. I can’t wait for you to meet Bill and Charlie finally. Er -- can’t make any promises about Percy, though. No matter -- he’s a foul little git, anyway.”

You sniggered a bit and felt your breath catch in your throat when George began to trace small circles on your knee. You swallowed. “And your mum and dad?”

His smile only deepened. “Well they love you, don’t they? Mum’s always called you part of the family already. And my dad, well -- you know about my dad.”

You’d never felt the Muggle part of you was that exciting, but somehow Arthur Weasley’s enthusiasm for it made you feel like it was such a precious part of you, that you were all the better for it.

George continued, “Now that you’ll be spending more time here, I reckon he’ll keep you occupied in conversation for hours. Making you tell him everything about Muggles. Apologies in advance.” George laughed softly for a moment and waved his wand to bring you both cups of tea to settle in for the evening. “Besides, he’ll go absolutely mad when he meets your parents. He’s always hoped one of us would have Muggle in-laws.”

You raised an eyebrow in surprise and teased him. “In-laws? Already have us married, do you?”

When you giggled playfully, George didn’t, but instead squeezed your hand a few times and let his sincerity speak for itself through his facial features. His soft eyes, yearning and hungry and wildly in love. His mouth in a lazy grin. His chest rising and falling slowly, as if being able to look at you had finally regulated his breathing. Like you were the oxygen that was finally refilling his lungs.

You stammered, breathless. “Y-you do think about that, don’t you?”

He shrugged, as if to play off the whole thing. “Haven’t scared you off, have I?”

You brought a hand to the back of his neck and laced your fingers through his bright red hair. You smiled. “Of course not.”

“Good,” he replied cheerily, as if the idea of you two getting married was obvious. “Because I’ve known it for years, you and I. Fred reckons I may have willed this into existence,” He chuckled to himself more so than to you. You didn’t think your heart could pound any faster than it had the other day when he’d kissed you for the first time. You were wildly wrong. He pressed his lips to the back of your hand. “You were the one I was meant to find.”

-- -

December 1997

The cobblestone on Diagon Alley was slick with fresh rain. The lights on either side of the street flickered ominously. But there it was, as bright and brilliant as ever, colours in the dismal gray, light in the impending darkness.

“I’m not leaving! I’m giving up the shop and I’m staying here at school, alright? I’m staying with you.”

“No, George, you can’t! You can’t give that up for me. I won’t let you. You’ve worked far too hard for this.”

“I’m not leaving you here! Not with her! She’s torturing students left and right --”

“And I will be okay,” you replied with tears in your eyes. You squeezed his hands tight and his chest was heavy with sobs. “Your plans are bigger than this, and they’re bigger than me.”

It had been almost two years since he’d left on a broomstick, firework dragons swimming through the castle and the sky as he and his brother left their final mark on the Hogwarts grounds.

Almost two years since Umbridge had been replaced by Dumbledore, and the Hogwarts you knew and loved went back to some type of normal, the entire idea of blood status pairs driven into the ground with a stake.

But it had also been almost two years since Muggle-borns were forced into hiding for fear of the impending war.

Two years since you’d seen him. Heard his voice. Felt his touch.

He was crying fully now. “This -- this can’t be it for us.”

Your lip wobbled hearing those heart wrenching words. He’d always been the stronger of you two, comforting you when you cried -- this felt strangely unfamiliar. You didn’t quite fancy being the strong one, but he needed you. “It’s not. It’s not, okay? This is not the end. I promise. But you deserve this, George. You deserve the world. And one day, when this is all over, if I’m still lucky enough -- I’ll find you again. Come hell or high water. You need to follow your dream, okay?”

It wasn’t a breakup, but it sure felt like one.

He pressed his forehead to yours and an involuntary, hoarse cry escaped his lips. “But you’re my dream.”

“George, please --” you stopped yourself. You didn’t finish the words that were rising to your lips. Please don’t make this harder than it needs to be. You cupped his chin in your hands and peered up at him, your vision blurry. But you could still see his lips were set in a thin, firm line, his jaw was clenched tightly. He was going to leave.

You looked down at the red thread tied loosely around your pinky finger. You followed it with your eyes as it wrapped around street lamps, signs and other shops, before ending up exactly where you’d always known it would when it had first appeared on your finger after you’d graduated school.

93 Diagon Alley.

“My heart will always belong to you, love.”

As you hurried down the street, following your little thread, and the shop came into better view, you could feel the sheer intensity of the anticipation bubbling up inside you.

You pointed your wand ahead, illuminating the dark street and readying yourself for any dementors or Death Eaters that were lurking close by.

But before you reached the doors, someone ran into the middle of the street and stopped short. You lifted your wand higher, ready to hex, until you realized who it was.

George was standing in the middle of the cobblestone, hair in disarray, in his sweater his mum had knitted him every single year. He’d always told you how comforting it felt to wear. You couldn’t help the slight laugh that escaped you, for the first time you’d seen him in two years he so very similarly resembled that young, cheeky boy you’d teased your first Christmas at Hogwarts for the socks he’d knitted on his own to match the gift from his mother.

He said your name in a whisper, but in your ears it sounded like a booming shout -- like all the world could hear it, if they were listening.

And you noticed your little thread, stretching along the street, ending in a tiny knot on his own hand.

You wanted to tell him that you were here to find him, and that you’d been able to escape the hiding you were under, due to being a Muggle-born. You wanted to tell him that you hadn’t once stopped thinking about him since you’d last seen him all those years ago and that when you’d finally seen that thread, you were convinced it led here -- you’d just never been able to act on it. You wanted to tell him that you prayed for him every single night.

But all that escaped your mouth was another nervous laugh before you were running and slipping along the street before winding up in a bone crushing embrace you were bound to feel the effects of tomorrow.

He wanted to tell you that he’d never met anyone as selfless as you, how equally excited and heartbroken he was when you’d told him to leave and charge forward. He wanted to tell you that he’d been spending every single day waiting for news, any news at all that Muggle-borns were no longer in hiding. He wanted to tell you that he’d had enough, and he was coming to find you just as he stumbled before you on this little street. He wanted to tell you that he’d never once stopped loving you.

But instead all he could do was kiss you fiercely and brush the tears away that were escaping your eyes, because that kiss was telling you both everything you needed to know -- all of those unspoken words, all of those bottled up feelings, all of the unwavering love you’d carried in your hearts for one another throughout all of the moments that kept you apart.

And then he was kneeling before you, raindrops dripping down from his hair and onto his face and neck, and he was saying the things you’d always dreamt of him saying, and he was opening a box with a ring inside that took your breath away, just as his first kiss had.

A familiar ring.

Molly’s ring.

Your breath hitched at the sight of it, and her words from that Christmas echoed in your mind.

Fate will win in the end.

When George placed it on your finger, you both noticed through blurry vision that the thread that had been attached to you both had disappeared into thin air.

You’d found one another again, despite it all, despite the tyrants and the war and the rules that were holding both of you hostage.

Because this was the fate you were both destined for. This was the moment. Husband and wife, together or apart.

Fate had won in the end.

Just like Molly had told you.

The fire crackled pleasantly alongside the faint sound of Christmas music. You reached out and traced a finger over his jawline. His words made you feel simultaneously cozy and incredibly nervous. “The one you were meant to find, huh?”

George laughed, probably because of how corny that had sounded. But he didn’t care -- he knew it was true. He’d known it since the day he met you, that fate had brought you together. He breathed in deeply and squeezed your knee. “Yeah, darling, I’ve already planned my whole life with you.”

reblogs, feedback, comments, and shares are all appreciated! thanks for reading :)

[goldenpinof]

so basically here’s a script of “Basically I’m gay” by Daniel Howell, if someone needs it

link to a google doc

Hello Internet.

«Sex! Secrecy! And a whole lot of internal screaming. Starring Daniel Howell. One of the greatest mysteries of our generation. What is Dan’s sexuality?»

Spoiler alert. I’m not straight. Sex, the foundation of life and the only thing we’re really supposed to do. Everyone’s obsessed with it. You bunch of degenerates. In the list of things that identify a person, one of the most important for other people to know is their sexuality. For, if sex is the primal force propelling all of these humans forward by their hips, they have to know. Are we gonna fuck? Or like could we? Or are you, ‘cause I’m just wondering. Now, we live in a heteronormative world, which is a long scary word that makes people feel attacked for some reason. Shh it’s okay.

What it means is people are presumed to be straight. If you’re not, then at some point, you have to “come out”, which is a whole thing. Or people might just try and guess based on something you do or the way you act, because yay stereotypes. So this is something you have to be clear on, because if you’re not, how are all these other people that aren’t you going to cope? But I’m pretty sure no one that knows me thinks I’m straight. So I don’t really need to come out as much as just clarify what the hell is going on. As here I am at age 27 and my sexual preference is seemingly still a vague, debatable, confusing, impenetrable mystery. But why? And what is it? Well, those are some big questions. Are you sure you wanna know my answers?

[YES]

Okay, well, if you say so 'cause this is a complicated and sensitive issue and when it comes to me, boy, there is a lot to unpack here and it is a total clusterfuck. So strap yourselves in and let me tell you a queer little story about a boy named Dan.

Chapter 1 – The Word

♪ When I was a young boy ♪

♪ My father ♪

Didn’t have much time for me because my conception was clearly an accident and he was a narcissistic proud man suddenly inconvenienced in the prime of his life and this emotional neglect gave me lasting problems.

Sorry that’s not all relevant right now.

I was an only child for seven years and with working parents. This meant I had to make my own fun so I was imaginative  and loud which is something that my teachers used to say quite a lot followed by, “However.” Here I am age five. Look at me. Cute, poised, sassy, turning out this photo shoot like sorry, Grandma, I stunted on this set. Are you seeing this? In almost every way, I literally peaked age five. I loved being the center of attention. People said I had an infectious happiness, that my beaming smile brought them hope and joy. People that know me are laughing right now. But a boy, in the '90s being happy and generally polite acting? Sounds kinda GAY if you ask me. Literally, masculinity was so fragile, people were so proud and scared and society so aggressive that a boy smiling!?.. appearing to be empathetic or in any way emoting was seen as a threat. How dare they laugh and feel comfortable? They must be soft and weak and girly and GAY. So basically thanks, Grandma, for raising me to be a nice child, you dick. Just kidding. That’s a joke and I told you not to watch this video because it would be rude so if you send me a disappointed text telling me you’re offended, I don’t know what to tell you. Although, now I think about it, you did make me go to church for 10 years, which in hindsight probably also didn’t help ♪ Hallelujah ♪ the issue here so. But then it was time for little Dan to go to school and this is when it  

♪ All went wrong ♪

'Cause it turns out most children, evil pieces of shit. Doesn’t matter if you try to raise a happy innocent child, throw that kid into school, aka, a literal Mad Max Battle Royale with the feral offspring of your local community. Yeah, that crap’ll be undone in about two weeks. I was six years old running around the playground pretending to be Sonic the Hedgehog or something when two brothers come up to me aged seven and eight with an unexplained aggressive look in their eye. And the younger one pushes me to the ground, kicks me in the stomach, and just says, “GAY.”

This was the first time I ever heard that word. Well, I don’t know what the heck gay means but apparently it means people kick you on the floor so that ain’t good. I didn’t know this child or give them any cause to have an opinion on me. And, actually, I never directly interacted with them again. What epic clustershit of failed parenting and general culture brought this tiny child to get angry and attack someone, then call them gay for looking like they were having fun outside. Are you okay, 1990s? And so my relationship with sexuality began.

I wasn’t looking to define myself as a child indiscriminately playing doctors and nurses with various friends until once somebody’s mum walked into a room to find three fully naked children sat on a bed sticking sellotape to each other’s butts. Yep, which I don’t recommend. Also, Jesus Christ, the poor woman that saw that. Then you get to the magic age around 10 or 11 where everybody suddenly wants to pretend they’re totally a “cool teenager” who’s doing all the drugs and the sex and the fights, totally. Boy, gay was a really popular word back then.

[[Boy] Uh, homework is gay. [Girl] Uh, my mum’s so gay. [Boy] Uh, you touched a girl, gay.]

This one little shit who I won’t name was one of the school bullies and he loved the word gay. He had it in for me and I have no idea why. You know me, Mr. Winnie the Pooh Meets Slender Man. Well, when I was 10 just Winnie the Pooh. I didn’t do nothin’ to no one ever and yet this guy used my pacifism as a punching bag where any group situation was an excuse to single me out call me gay for some reason and then make everyone else exclude me because they were scared of him. I had a girlfriend. We dated for six whole weeks. We kissed in a game of spin the bottle once by literally sucking on each other’s faces. Then she ended dumping me over speakerphone at a birthday party that everyone in my class but me was invited to but, hey. I don’t know what I was doing wrong, but at this age, I understood one thing. Being gay, whatever that meant, was clearly the worst thing you could be. On a Darwinian level, I was being told, okay bitch, “Survival Code”. Don’t be this apparently. Evolution. Plot twist, this bully I think he was a bit gay because once he asked me to have a sleepover at his house and I thought was me finally getting socially accepted only for him in the middle of the night to come up and ask me, “So who’s going to be the boy and the girl?” I was an innocent smol bean who didn’t really understand what he meant because, to be honest, I didn’t actually understand get how babies were made yet. But needless to say I think he was disappointed. Wow, closeted child turns into homophobic bully. Thanks again society. But this whole primary school journey was really just an amuse-bouche for the full six-course tasting menu of suffering that would be secondary school.

I went to an all-boys school. It was a literal hellscape.  I thought it was hard making it through a school of 200 kids with two or three bullies. Try over a thousand where a clean 800 are fully psychopathic gorillas fueled by testosterone, Red Bull, and Eminem albums. Making sure that the word f- no longer means an innocent bundle of sticks or a cigarette anymore in the British lexicon. Nope, now it was a cool homophobic slur along with gay, gaylord, gayboy, puff, pufter, ponce, batty, batty boy, bum-boy, bender. Shit, this is so long. People have a lot of words for something they don’t wanna think about. Look at me in this stupid blazer. Oh, “you’ll grow into it at some point in the next four years”. Thanks, Mum. Day one, kid in form class, some stupid hedgehog-looking motherfucker side eyes me and says, “What you lookin at, puff?” First interaction at a new school. Great! My entire existence on a daily basis then becomes navigating this school like I’m in the bloody “Maze Runner” trying to avoid aggressive pricks with chode ties. And you know being verbally abused for being a nerd or a Greebo at least felt relevant to me at the time. Greebo, definitely one of my faves there and I’m sure that Korn and Slipknot would have been proud to have 12-year-old me as a fan. I kinda knew who I was in the hierarchy at that point. I was essentially a theater kid who spent all of his free time playing Runescape on the AOL browser on his mum’s PC instead of football. I accepted it. But at least I wasn’t actually this “gay thing” people kept throwing around because by now I understood a gay is a boy who fancies other boys. And to be honest I don’t really feel like I’ve ever fancied anyone before.

Then puberty happened.

Oh yeah, this is fun, tingly feelings, I smell bad. It was quite fun dribbling on this girl’s face playing Truth or Dare, maybe later we’ll go behind that bike sheds and, there I was sat in English class, my friend next to me. I watched as he delicately removes a pencil from its case. We briefly make eye contact as he flutters his long black eyelashes with a blink before staring forward. His eyes are so bright and beautiful yet they seem so sad and deep with emotion. I wish I could just understand. Oh fuck, I think I’m a bit gay. You’re telling me this whole time I actually have been the bad thing that people keep calling me? Shit!

Chapter 2 – Feelings

Oh do you hear it that faint hum, something coming from a deep, dark place too powerful to control? It’s the self-hatred. She is here and she’s only getting started. Short version, I fall hopelessly in love with a friend of mine who doesn’t feel the same way which crushes me into a million tiny pieces and years later actually it turns out he was gay the whole time. He just really specifically didn’t like me. [Double kill.] Here I am, 13, crying to evanescence alone in my bedroom feeling like there’s no point in really being alive as I’m clearly a faulty outcast person that has no place in the world. I stopped going to church with my grandma because I felt like I wasn’t really supposed to be there. Also, by this age, the whole Christianity thing didn’t really make much sense to me. And the adult services were dry AF compared to coloring in a picture of Jesus’s face at Sunday school. So other than the free tea and biscuits they gave away after the sermon, religion didn’t really have much to offer me. Damn, there was some good biscuits though. I miss that. But wait! All is not lost yet. Do you see that? A triumphant, rallying cry of guitars, stripey hoodies, and black hair dye. Emo had arrived! I swear to God, emo is one of the best things that happened to pop culture in the last 20 years. As well as inventing eyeliner and skinny jeans, a new word hit the theater, nerd, goth, band, kid corner that would change my world forever.

Bisexual. You can be normal and gay at the same time and some people think it’s cool? Well, slap a long fingerless glove on my arm and sign me up to Myspace 'cause Mum, I’m bi. It was a good term 'cause it was a catchall for anyone who felt sexually confused or curious that didn’t want to commit to something stronger which is very me. Big commitment issues. Thanks, fam. To be clear, regardless of whatever the 2006 teenagers thoughts and feelings were, being bi is valid and should not be excused away or erased by anyone. Thank you.

From this moment, I was a loud and proud raving bi to my close friends and the strangers on the internet who saw my clearly-labeled sexual preference on my Myspace page. And the emo friends I made at this time were awesome. We just used to hang and make out with each other and listen to music and drink bottles of Smirnoff Ice until we were sick on each other with no judgment. The judgment came several years later looking back at the photos that you can’t delete. So I didn’t need to tell my family or people at school anything. But the thing is with a Myspace page, anyone with an internet connection can read it. And so the rumors started spreading through my neighborhood that Dan Howell was in fact a bisexual. I had a friend in French class who one day, totally unprompted, just turned to me and said, “Hmm, yeah, I thought so. You give off a bi-vibe.” A bi-vi-, what the fuck is a bi-vibe? Great, yeah, nothing to make a 15-year-old feel self-conscious about his behavior like being told he emanates a bisexual aura. What am I supposed to do with that? Sorry that I give off mixed signals. I’m versatile. Turns out it was actually a social upgrade from being called gay all the time 'cause bisexual was a new word that only referred to sexuality so people actually had to decide how they felt about the fact I was attracted to boys. As opposed to gay which as we all understand is synonymous with bad and also implies a general threat, plague, curse/evil force that simply must be destroyed. People at school were actually almost nice to me with curiosity about it and a few of the boys that previously loved to just generically call me gay while throwing a compasses at me or something, now started to low-key flirt with me and some stuff happened. Go figure.

But then I entered the dark ages and no I’m not talking about my hair because I was never actually cool enough to commit to dying it black. As quickly as they arrived into my life, my emo friend group vanished into the night. Like the tip of an eyeliner pencil snapping or the HTML on your intricately-crafted MySpace page falling apart when the host websites of your embedded gifs die, so, too, did my social life. One had to suddenly focus on school, another moved town, two of them just fell out with each other and started hanging out with their old friends again. Well, we don’t all have back up friend groups, Lindsey! I went all in on the emos! You’re telling me I have to go back to sitting in my kitchen playing Runescape now! Thanks a lot. So for a year I literally had no friends. And this is when the bullying at school really stepped its pussy up. The things people used to say offhand to me in a corridor were now said loudly in classrooms where everybody would laugh. People used to sing songs about me being gay on the bus while my fellow nerds sat around me just stared awkwardly out of the window not wanting to get involved. People shouted things out during GCSE exams in front of the whole school and the low key pushing became punches. People used to wait for me after school just to throw things at me. Once a guy put his hand around my throat and pushed my head against a coat peg in the locker room while everyone was watching and just slapped me for five minutes. But I never reacted. I never cried or got angry or fought back 'cause then I’d be giving them what they wanted and I refused to play along. But this way of dealing with things definitely had an impact on my relationship with emotion going into life. I became a total outcast. No one wanted to come near me out of fear that they’d get targeted, too. So no one ever stood up for me. And, you know, I don’t blame them. I just resent them even to this day. No, I’m kidding, I don’t really. I do. No, I don’t. I, hmm. Teachers at the time obviously did nothing. In fact, one of them saw this happening to me and laughed 'cause you know, boys will be boys especially the gay ones that get killed by the other ones, am I right? Ah, classic lad banter. And home. See, keeping this on the topic of sexuality and not economic class, violence, addiction, and health issues, let’s just say some shit was goin’ down. I didn’t think I could ask my family for help or share my feelings about this, mainly due to my dad. Funny guy, kind of a woke hippie who did and said a lot of things I did respect but at the same time used to walk around the house saying how he hoped someone he had a problem with at work would *clears throat* “die of bum cancer.” Yep, so picked the one area to be a bigot that would further traumatize your child. Nice! This experience coming from a childhood hearing the word gay meaninglessly thrown around as an insult at home and school, in music, on TV, to then realizing I am actually kinda gay, to then very specifically being attacked for it was traumatic. The world was clearly telling me if I ever wanted to be accepted by anyone or, in my particular environment, survive, I couldn’t be gay. I was afraid of it, literally homophobic of myself. I am talking Pavlov, sunken place, North Korea-level mind alteration that made me terrified of and repulsed by this part of me. This is called internalized oppression. It’s a real thing and it’s some real shit.

Chapter 3 – Internalized Oppression

From this moment I was no longer advertising myself as bi. No, BRB deleting that Myspace real quick, xD lemme get on that Bebo. “My Chemical Romance”? No, I’m listen to what’s this, N-Dubz? Jesus Christ. I go away for the summer break and come back to school quiet and serious and fully straight. *coughs* I needed me some new friends that were a bit higher up the social ladder, you know what I’m sayin’ for security so I go ahead and join “The Inbetweeners”. Literally this group of friends, the exact middle ground between nerds and desperately wanting to be cool. And oh how desperate we were. The great thing about these friends was they knew loads of girls. So firstly, instant cool points. Secondly, if I date a girl *scoffs* super not gay. The problem with that was it’s not like everyone just forgot everything that’s been said about me and this group of friends, casually homophobic pretty much all the time and also they hung out in places near some even more aggressive and super homophobic peeps. Just full-time Runescape would have been a better in hindsight. I find myself going through the same shit at school but now voluntarily going through it at the weekends from the people that are supposed to be my friends thinking I’m doing the right thing whilst constantly telling myself I’m now totally heterosexual. So I did what many people choose to do at that point and I got a girlfriend. But this is pretty messed up because I really liked this girl. In fact, I loved her as a friend and I was genuinely attracted to her but I was so afraid of sexuality I didn’t even wanna do anything straight in case I had some weird gay panic that I was totally frigid and I led her on. And when she got pissed at me, understandably, for being a terrible boyfriend, I just felt even worse. This was someone who I liked that I was hurting and lying to but I couldn’t leave as then I’d have no armor. Beautiful irony here is having a girlfriend didn’t in any way stop the abuse 'cause remember, gay is a great all-purpose general insult. (Call someone gay today and we’ll throw in a free set of steak knives.) And when these neighborhood teens started heavy drinking and getting into drugs, things suddenly got quite scary as people joked about setting fire to a tent as I slept in it at Reading Festival. Or saying, “You know that notoriously unstable guy? Yeah, he said he’s gonna kill you next Saturday.” Awkward.

This was definitely the lowest point in my life. I just felt totally alone, confused and I deeply hated myself. I used to ask God, in case he was there, to please, just make me straight and everyone stop. But I saw no end, no escape, no way to change the world or who I was. So one evening I thought fuck it and I attempted suicide.

I say attempted, because just before it was too late I thought

“oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit what have i done what have i done fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck?”

“what will your grandma think don’t do this to her she tried her best and she loves you”

“your family aren’t total dicks and this will fuck them up can’t you just get over it surely”

“you’re gonna get to the last year of school and give up now really what was the point”

“I heard this is one of the most painful ways to die so not a great choice if I’m being blunt”

Felt kinda bad for a few days otherwise I pretended it never happened and I didn’t tell anyone, until now, literally. Hmm, I know pretty dark right, but hey spoiler things kinda worked out. I mean still gotta lot of issues but here I am. I’m so glad I failed for so many reasons, for the people in my life, for the future I would’ve wasted. The most important being that I thought I was trapped in a situation forever when in reality, the entire world I lived in and my life changed completely. I thought it was hopeless when in reality there was so much to hope for and that’s it. Time changes everything. With the lives that we have, we can try anything we’ve dreamed of. I want anyone that’s ever felt like this to realize you are never trapped. There is always hope. You just need to believe in yourself and get to the other side. So yeah school age 6 to 18, I’m gonna give that a bad Google review. The thing is I did stand out. I’ve always been a loudmouth, class clown, annoying shit. Since graduating, it turns out half the people I knew were fuckin’ gay. That group of friends I had, all lovely people now. Five of them were gay, five gays! That is statistically irregular. Oh but they flew under the radar. All I’m saying is I wish people just hated me for being annoying and immature. Leave the gays alone!

My light at the end of the tunnel was university. I was gonna get my A levels move to a new town and ghost these bitches. But I took a gap year first to earn some money which was very boring sitting at home and working at ASDA where I was not happy to help. My shift started at 5 a.m. on a Saturday. Signed up for a Twitter account to run my mouth off and then bam. “So my name is [Dan].” My YouTube story begins, a new chapter of my life to redefine. So you know what I do? Get a Formspring because nothing gives you that attention feeling like one of those anonymous question and answer websites that are inherently toxic and no one should use. And straight out of the bat bisexual Dan returns. 'Cause hey, just like Myspace, I’m only telling a few people on the internet right now. It’s not like one day I’m gonna get so many followers that random strangers and my family might see it. Wow, I had a lot fun with many different kinds of people in 2009. Let’s just say I got a lot out of my system. Got a couple of things in my system, too. Sorry.

And this is when, through the magic of the internet, I met Phil. And obviously we were more than friends but it was more than just romantic. This is someone that genuinely liked me. I trusted them. And for the first time since I was a tiny child, I actually felt safe. And the relationship we formed at that point was something that I needed in my life. We are real best friends, companions through life, like actual soulmates, not that souls are a real thing that exist. It’s so lucky to just find someone you can be that compatible with and especially to anyone that has experienced the kind of self-hatred that I have dealt with, one person accepting you can make all the difference. And I bet so many people wanna know so much more about that which, honestly, I take as a compliment. But here’s the thing. I’m somebody that wants to keep the details of my personal life private. So is Phil. I know lots of people these days, thanks to social media, want to share and monetize every aspect of their life and then as soon as something changes suddenly it’s this huge drama because everybody got invested in the story of your life like it’s a soap opera. I don’t want that. I wanna do certain things without an audience. I wanna be spontaneous. I don’t wanna feel afraid to take risks. I want to enjoy totally fucking something up and not have to post a statement about it. And if anyone thinks people really have to share these things about their life, you need to rethink your position. And look, I understand that sex is a fun and interesting thing to talk about. I get it. I am also a disgusting pervert. But the specific minutiae of who I be fuckin’, when, why, where, how long, how, uhh, I mean? Sexuality is a general fact that it can be very useful to know about a person for several reasons, but we can’t force people to disclose that either. We don’t know this person’s life story, what they’ve been through, if they haven’t told people, if they’ll lose their job, if they’re in danger. There are so many reasons someone might not be open about it. We can preach the message that being out is good, but aggressively speculating or trying to out someone is really bad. They might not be gay, in which case we’re just harassing someone and probably stereotyping. And if they are there’s gonna be a reason why they haven’t talked about it. So I don’t wanna see any responses to me finally talking about this like no one is surprised. “Dan we been knew.” Wow, you huge galaxy brain genius. What’s it like walking around with all those brain cells in there working overtime? What, you got like three in there? Don’t lose your balance, mastermind. I haven’t exactly been subtle have I? I’m an awkward, sexually ambiguous nerd. “What the fuck even is your sexuality?” That’s not the point. I’m already dead inside so it doesn’t matter here, but to me if someone’s reaction to a person coming out is just, “yeah, I knew”, they’re showing no empathy towards the issue or that person. They’re just making it about themselves like it was a fun piece of gossip they already knew. All we have to do is listen and be accepting.

So anyway back to the tale. Whilst things were looking up for Dan aged 18, things quickly got messy again. Wow, that beats the emo streak of temporary self-acceptance by like six months, nice. There was a point around 2011 where the relationship with my audience shifted from what felt like direct communication between me and individuals that just saw me as a comedy creator to communities of people that formed to talk about me when I wasn’t there. Which is fine, but for some people it was about getting generally invested in me and my real life which I thought was a bit strange 'cause inevitably like anyone who puts themself out there, some people started to really dig into my private life to find out information about me that I wasn’t ready to share. And this was around the same time that YouTubers finally started to get mainstream recognition in the British press. We had the BBC knocking at our door trying to offer Dan and Phil a radio show. From that, Dan and Phil became this entertainment duo that we could have a creative career with. And we love working together, so when all these opportunities came for Dan and Phil, we were really excited but I was also scared as people clearly knew I wasn’t straight and I hadn’t told my family that. None of my old friends knew about this, and what me and Phil had was ours and personal and yet some people were trying to get access to it for their own satisfaction. It was no longer a few people on the internet, no big deal. So I just shut down. It felt like I was back at school again, surrounded by threatening people trying to expose me for their entertainment. Most I’m sure just wanted what was best for me and I feel such genuine sadness and am sorry that I couldn’t be closer to and more truthful with the people in my life that were just trying to be nice but I wasn’t ready to deal with it at this time so I had to do something to contain it. I definitely sent some mixed messages. Some were just joking around, others were super defensive that in my panic came across like “I’m now telling everyone I’m totally straight” when all I really meant was “please fuck off and don’t invade my privacy, you creepy stalkers, thank you”. But this experience seriously triggered some PTSD in me and I was back in the dark place. I didn’t want to just disappear from the internet to escape it and throw away this creative hobby that actually started paying rent. Thanks. So I just decided to put anything to do with my sexuality in a box to come back to later as I was still processing my past and I wanted to understand my identity on my own terms and timeline and not just have it hijacked as fuel for people’s sexual fantasies or some headline in an article. And whilst we’re not exactly living in a utopia yet here on YouTube, the general internet culture only five or six years ago was a much less wholesome, progressive place as this little bubble is now. Sure, a lot of people probably would have been supportive, but there was just as much open bigotry and general toxicity 'cause people felt less accountable and it was okay to say certain things 'cause it’s just on the internet and I couldn’t handle that at the time. And, generally, I can handle a lot. I have big hands with a very wide reach for playing piano, you fucking.. get your mind out of the gutter. We can’t ask people to just put their lives on hold to address their sexuality first. If a kid dreams of being a footballer and age 18 gets signed to a club and all their dreams come true but they’re scared to come out because of the insane homophobia in that community, they shouldn’t turn it down. Yes, it’s so important to be truthful about who you are and open and proud in front of the world but it’s our society’s fault that these people are scared to say who they are. So let’s all focus on making it a welcoming place and people will come out when they are ready. So when was I ready? Well, it’s always been on my mind that I need to talk about this at some point. I couldn’t just keep going forward in my life ignoring it, not only just so I can be authentic, which is very important for general existing, but also just letting people know what kind of sexual attention I want from the world. All of it from everyone. God I’m so thirsty. And if anything motivated me, it’s the idea that I can help someone else 'cause that’s basically my whole career, isn’t it, admitting to shit that I’ve been through so you will feel better about yourselves. There we go, you’re welcome. I have a platform and a following of millions of people, many of whom I know have been through exactly what I have. And if I tell my story as painful and flip floppy and flawed as it is, I know it will mean something to someone as every time someone speaks openly about sexuality, it saves lives. I’d never met a single out gay person until I was 18. And if I had, or even just seen better representation in the media, I wouldn’t have felt so totally alone. I wouldn’t even be saying this to you now if it wasn’t for TV shows, musicians, and public figures in the last couple years reinforcing this to me. It doesn’t matter if I was living the life privately as there was still so much confusion about my feelings and fear. But things are better now, on the internet, on TV, in my real life. It’s not perfect but it feels safe enough in this space right now for me to feel confident. So thank you, sincerely, to all the brave people that came before me and to any of you that made this world seem welcoming for me. And instead of procrastinating from this by focusing on work, which was a way for me to insure my own independence and survival in case I was rejected, or just doing things for other people to take my mind off it instead of asserting my own needs, which my therapist keeps telling me is one of my biggest problems. Here I am with a fresh void of time in front of me to fuck up however I want. Now look, we all have different experiences in life. Some of us are lucky, some of us not. It just so happened that the first 18 years of my life were horrendously shit. It failed me. But we get dealt cards from the start, too. If you look at my life, I was born into this world as an able-bodied, white, cis-man in Britain which immediately gives me so much privilege in this current world and I am fully aware of how much harder making it to today could have been for me, which is why we all need to stand up for equality and social justice even if it doesn’t apply to us. No one stood up for me when it mattered the most and that almost cost me everything. So if you see a woman being harassed, a gay being threatened, someone muttering something racist, say something, do something because if you’re still or silent, the victim will just think that you are against them, too. We all have a responsibility.

This tale was just some of the stuff relating to sexuality. We all have a whole sob story if we wanna tell it but I just wanted to explain the journey of how I got to this point and overcame the obstacles that tried to block this path. And now I’ve arrived.

Chapter 4 – Labels

Okay cool story, bro, it’s answer time. What’s your answer. Whaddayalikedafuk? Here’s the thing, you want me to talk candidly about sexuality as if it’s something that I understand? I don’t know what it is, why it is. Turns out no one knows. I’ve been sitting here for years waiting for scientists to just work it out like bleep bloop. [Oh this is why and exactly how it’s different for people. There we go.] Thinking I shouldn’t run off my mouth on the internet in case my theories and opinions on varying gayness get debunked next week. Well, I waited long enough and it didn’t happen. Science, ya fucked up, you let me down. And I fully expect to have to delete this video in two weeks when you find out all the answers suddenly. Thanks a bunch. What makes someone gay or straight or all the things in between? What the ever loving fuck is gender about? This is a mess. Yet people want you to give them a word because that’s how humans communicate with words that have meanings. Which is why our disgusting species is impatient, stupid, and obsessed with labels. And this applies to everything, sexuality, gender, political identity, what obscure genre of synthwave you listen to. People just want a label that represents something they understand so they already know how to feel about you and don’t have to bother thinking. [Oh you’re a feminist well I don’t need to know anything more. Oh you’re a leftist. Oh you’re a K-pop fan but but but but.] If people just want to find a way to disagree with you or dislike you, they can refer to the label and turn off their brains. Hey, what does my label say? Huh. The issue is, especially when we start talking about the writhing mass of confusion and suffering that is sexual and gender identity, the limits of language and specific terminology become a big problem. What does being gay mean? You never thought about a boob once? What does being a man mean? You wanna be an emotionless rock rubbing raw steaks against your biceps? It’s not like humanity is all in agreement right now. I don’t like the stereotypes and drama that come with all this terminology so I’m just not gonna use it. Thing is gender identity isn’t my issue. I feel comfortable with the identity that I’ve had my whole life. Dan, a tol boy from England. But being a man means nothing to me. I wouldn’t feel uncomfortable wearing makeup or a sickening pair of heels, though I can’t even draw in a straight line so that would be a disaster. Also is anyone really comfortable wearing heels? Hmm. Icons of masculinity aren’t really a big part of my life. Might as well call me a fucking formless blob that sounds more relatable. Shout out to all my formless blobs out there, rise up. I don’t have to do anything or be anything and I personally wouldn’t feel offended if I wasn’t referred to as a he. Well, she’s feeling hungry today. Stop fucking judging me, Susan. I’m sad and I’m gonna eat this whole damn cake whether you like it or not. But anyone that has this don’t really care attitude about their gender identity is in a way privileged 'cause some people, especially trans, care a lot about their gender identity and using the correct pronouns which other people should respect. Likewise with sexuality, whilst to me the endlessly increasing list of tribes and flags being flown is a bit daunting and confusing and personally stresses me out 'cause I almost find it constrictive, some people like it. Because if you’re feelings are confusing and then you look at a word that represents something and go, “wow, that me”, it can help you realize you’re valid and find a community and that’s great. There is so much controversy around this issue and others but if we all just calm down, respect each other’s experiences and try to just be nice, reasonable people, which is a lot to ask, let’s be real, it’s quite simple. If you wanna use language to express your honest feelings and identity, that’s great and other people should respect what you say. Likewise, if you hate labels and you just wanna be a formless blob, that’s fine, too. No one should force you. The only thing that isn’t cool is telling other people what they should or should not identify as 'cause that ain’t your problem or your business, bye. This was one of the things that held me back from talking about this for years. Shit’s confusing, man. Let’s just go back to cellular reproduction by mitosis so I don’t really have to be specific. Two people that I really look up to and respect, Harry Styles and Janelle Monae, both famously say that they don’t feel the need to label it which, to be honest, is how I feel and is perfectly okay. But I get it, for me, you want a word. Oh, that’s hard, though. I’m an annoying guy. I feel uncertain specifying my sexuality in the same way I wouldn’t say I am an atheist. Who the fuck am I to say whether God does or doesn’t exist? I don’t know shit 'bout shit and neither does anyone else. I mean I think it’s unlikely in the same way I know I like DICK. But I’m not gonna pretend to have a definite answer here. Looking at my public statements is inconsistent and confusing. Looking at my personal track record through life is super confusing. And looking at the void inside my soul threatening to crush the entire universe with the force of its event horizon of misery and melodrama, well, fuck let’s close that shit up. One thing’s for sure whatever heterosexual is, I ain’t it. Really if you ask me, I don’t think anyone’s totally straight. I think there’s a lot of social and emotional issues getting in the way of yet to be understood feelings of attraction that can be very flexible. And trust me, I’ve known a lot of straight guys until a couple of drinks, some deep conversation, and lingering eye contact, and suddenly they just start leaning in. What does that make them? And am I totally gay? No. Am I slightly more gay or is it just easier for gays to hook up with each other because of societal norms. It’s not like the signs for male and female bathrooms are what I’m attracted to. I don’t care what flesh organ you have between your legs, what your hair’s like, if you’re covered in it or a fuckin’ beluga whale. I’m gonna be honest, I’m not picky. I’m easy. So am I bi or pan or poly? Well, now we’re just in a clusterfuck of defining language and I’m confused and sad and horny. This is why I personally love the word queer. I understand that some people don’t as it is a slur but as someone that’s been the target of it several times throughout my life I’m up for some reclamation. It’s like recycling. The definition makes sense because until society is equal with all sexual and gender identifies, it is literally strange from a conventional viewpoint plus it’s better than a super long acronym, it’s inclusive of everyone and therefore great for formless blobs. There we go, an identity I feel comfortable with. A highly-strung, depressed queer praying for a giant meteor to hurry up and finally eradicate humanity. LMAO, yeet!

But to come full circle, I know that even today, deep in my heart the word gay scares me because that’s how I’ve been conditioned my whole life. So, you know what? Fuck the literal definition and the scientific definition and what everyone thinks. I finally have to just confront and accept this.

I’m gay.

Oh look, didn’t spontaneously fucking combust. Well, there we go, that was a lot of stress about nothing, wasn’t it? Bloody hell. So yup, I’m here, I’m queer, and don’t worry I’m still filled with existential fear.

WE’RE HERE, WE’RE QUEER WE’RE FILLED WITH EXISTENTIAL FEAR.

Chapter 5 – Fear

Even though I’m at this current place, there is still so much I’m afraid of and this has taken months to make because of that. Telling my family was a big fear. I have problems connecting with them emotionally because reasons. So I only came out to them this month and if it didn’t go well, as I’m now the independent adult that I fought so hard to be, I was ready to cut them off like the bottom of a sweater turning into a seasonal crop. But I didn’t have to, love you. I didn’t think they’d reject me these days but coming out is still a surprise. It changes things. And I’m a pretty awkward person generally but the idea of just dropping this in conversation in front of them all terrified me. And I tried several times this year to do it but I just couldn’t. So you know how I finally came out to my family? E-mail. Yep, I literally just sent them an e-mail saying and I quote,

“Hello gang. I’ve been meaning to talk to you all for a while, something quite important that should be disclosed at some point. I thought I would around Christmas, then Mum’s birthday, then last Easter Sunday, etc., but every time I meant to, I either felt like I would ruin the mood of the day or I just felt awkward and didn’t want to. So I decided just to email you all instead which is really inappropriate and just weird but that somehow seems appropriate for me and at least I’ll just finally say it.

Basically I’m gay.”

Yup. It was just getting ridiculous so I thought screw it and hey, it worked. Turns out my remaining family, pretty chill bunch of people. Even my Christian grandma said this,

“We love you for being you. It must be a great relief to finally acknowledge who you are. Popsie and I just want you to be happy. People are born as they are and have no say in it. I hope that now you will feel free to live your life as you want with no pretense.”

Aw.

“Don’t forget the iPad.”

Yes, I said I’d give her my old iPad. She mainly cares about that I thing. Wasn’t so sure when I was 17 but it went well now and I know that makes me lucky but, hey, it shows that times change. As for the other people in my life, obviously all the friends I have now are cool. If anyone in my life I’ve ever known isn’t cool with it then I don’t care. And sure here online there might be a few incredibly lost bigots following me or just some classic trolls who I think should get fucked. No, like literally, I think you should try it. You’ll probably enjoy it and you might learn something about yourself. Inevitably some of you watching this might have a weird reaction if you just feel like it was a shock or you feel hurt that I kept it from you. But I feel like I explained myself reasonably here and going forward I can’t have any space for that, sorry. I’ve come to terms with who I am and now you have to, too, ha. Funnily enough straight up homophobia is probably the one thing I’m not that afraid of, because I just don’t agree so it doesn’t hold much emotional power over me but you bet I’m opening myself up to all new kinds of in real life and international discrimination now which is fun. But one of the other big fears holding me back was, honestly, that I wouldn’t be accepted by the community. I know that it’s a big pride flag covering a lot of ground and even the idea of it and certainly most of it is amazing. But there is a lot of drama within it right now especially on the internet. You’ve got Grindr gays arguing about how manly gays should be, bi’s getting ignored, trans people, especially of color, not being historically appreciated, acephobia, fucking SWERFs and TERFs. No thank you. So even though they are my people, I know some of them will have problems with something. And even then, just seeing such a loud and proud, strong and opinionated group of people celebrating something just intimidates a smol introvert such as myself. And in my mind if these people don’t accept me because I’m not being definitive enough or I took too long then I almost feel like I’ll be alone all over again, and this is a fear that a lot of people have honestly. But I’m a nice guy and I’m trying my best so you better be welcoming, you bunch of fuckin’ queers. And obviously with the topic of sexuality, it doesn’t matter where we are or how far you think we’ve come, by merely mentioning it, I will be opening up a primordial box of bullshit which will include every single stupid argument and question since the dawn of time. [It’s not natural.] There’s gay animals. [Adam and Steve.] That’s based on a story and the protagonist that arrives later probably doesn’t agree with you. [Why can’t we have straight pride?] I could spend 10 hours on all the classic crap and people would still be asking the same things. This being posted on the internet, my hopes are so incredibly low, lower than my self-esteem.  Wow, that is unhealthy. I need to stop doing that. This video is about internalized oppression and the problems of language. I’m not here to pontificate on every topic tangentially related to the entire concept of gayness. *ASMR voice*: Pontificate on every topic tangentially related to the concept of gayness.  

There’s other humans and all the time in the world left for that. The time in the world coincidentally being not much longer. Climate change LMAO. But I had to tell my story so people would understand me and these things. Why coming out is still a big deal because queer people are often invisible and suffering until they have to do it. Some people grow up in supportive environments and it’s a positive experience. But more likely, especially around the world outside of the big cities, it isn’t. This is not a fight that is anywhere near over. Even in Britain today people are debating whether children should be taught to be accepting of sexual and gender identity in school.

Queer people exist. Choosing not to accept them is not an option.

To anyone watching this that isn’t out, it’s okay. You’re okay. You were born this way, it’s right, and anyone that has a problem with it is wrong. Based on your circumstance, you might not feel ready to tell people yet or that it’s safe and that’s fine, too. Just know that living your truth, with pride, is the way to be happy. You are valid. It gets so much better. And the future is clear. It’s pretty queer.

So there we go. Now I can proceed authentically in my life with full disclosure. Cute mutuals know to slide into the DMs. And you can all fuck off and leave me alone.

Bye.

[bananarama-fantana]

Trouble in Paradise

Steve Harrington story  (updated re-post) 

chapter one - chapter two - chapter three - chapter four - chapter five - chapter six - chapter seven

Chapter One - ‘Homecoming’

Word count: 3465

Warnings: smoking, drinking, pretty much just a bunch of teen angst (I didn’t sleep for three days writing this so the only real warning is to always stay hydrated and sleep)

Masterlist    

I wasn’t bitter.

I kept telling myself that. I wasn’t bitter and I certainly wasn’t a bitch, even if Carol wanted to say otherwise. I just had that icky feeling I got.

It all seemed far too reminiscent of the Homecoming dance my junior year, when he’d asked out Holly Peterson and the pair had stood up on stage shamelessly sucking face with cheap plastic crowns on their heads for everyone to see, all the other cheerleaders swooning, the American high-school dream. I remembered the first half of the night, with Carol and the vodka she’d stolen from her mom’s (not so secret) hiding place. We were sitting on the ledge next to the sinks in the girls bathrooms while she did her mascara and her hair, listening to her bitch about Tommy and the cheer-team and practically every other person in our school. I’d had my dress pulled up to my knees, ruining all the creases, drinking as much as I could stomach to try and cover up that same icky feeling.

Carol was a friend out of convenience more than anything, a bitchy older sister who I let drag me around to parties to get drunk with. I had only really seen her have actual emotions a couple times that I could remember, once when Tommy cheated on her the first time and she’d cried all the way through 5th period, and the next after her brother told her he was joining the army. Other than that she was just Carol all the time. She was never really someone I wanted to spend time with but despite being one of the most popular girls in school she really didn’t have that many other friends. Ever since Kathy Gates caught her giving a blowjob to Kathy’s long-time boyfriend Pete, the whole crowd turned on her like an angry mob. On some level I kind of felt sorry for her, she was still a person after all and the whole thing had been him, not her, but at the end of the day Pete and Kathy exchanged their promise rings and Carol spent her time with me instead. Before I knew it, I was dragged into the whole charade right next to her, like the Wicked Witch of the East and the Wicked Witch of the West: the twisted sisters of Hawkins high.

“And like she’s got this smile like she thinks she’s fucking better than me all because she’s vegetarian!” she was saying, adding about the millionth coat of mascara to her eyelid.

“That’s total horseshit, I saw her eating a cheeseburger like last week,” I replied, jumping down from the ledge next to her and straightening out my dress.

The dizzying air full of hairspray and perfume was nauseating in itself. Music was already playing in the sports hall, the drums from Venus by Bananarama echoing along the corridors, reminding me painfully of the whole bullshit scene that awaited me back at the dance. It took a couple seconds to realise just how drunk I was after standing up, almost going over on my ankle, trying to walk in my borrowed pair of sequined high-heels. Carol was cackling as she watched me.

“Way to be a light-weight, Y/n!”

“I’m fine,” I protested, pushing fingers over my scalp to try and give my hair a little more volume. I had looked better in the car but this would have to do.

“You look like shit,” She said, continuing to laugh. I gave her a dark look as she took the vodka from me with a face like the Cheshire Cat. “I don’t know what the fuck your being a bitch about though, Clark obviously wants to screw you,” She said before taking a drink.

Clark was my date that night, a senior and a douche. He wasn’t the type of douche Carol would hang around with though, he was a kind of pretentious douche, he went to college parties, smoked Marlboros, he’d read Bukowski’s ‘love is a dog from hell’ and now he thought he was the shit, I had talked to him once at a pool party in the suburbs and figured just as much. Carol liked him because he had friends who were in college, I only really liked him because he had good weed. To be honest there was really only one reason why he was my date though.

Steve fucking hated him.

Even the memory of that way of thinking still made me feel ill. It had always felt pathetic. Every girl in the whole school was looking at Steve the same way I was and that made me sick to my stomach. There was a big part of me that wanted to scream that he wasn’t even that great. Sure, he had the hair and the looks and the charm, but the guy was a dufus, a total airhead, he was barely making it through high school and he wasn’t even smart enough to care.

I had known him longer than I could remember, guessing that we must have first met in kindergarten some time, growing up in that same small town world right beside each other our whole lives. Somehow always reflecting the other, like parallel lines that only really crossed during games of tag or dress up, or when he used to pretend to be a wizard or a knight, wielding a twig as if it were a sword to fight off all kinds of mythical beasts: a childish fantasy, foreshadowing a nightmare that would come to life just a decade later. In elementary school I would let him use my pencil sharpener and borrow my sacred coloured pens even though we weren’t that close. In middle school I had helped him with his English assignment when he never even bothered to finish reading the book, he called me a genius that day and it made me blush. He tried out for the basketball team and kissed Macy Johnson behind the bleachers the same day I got my first period and choked on my first cigarette, one that I had been given by one of the older girls as right of passage. In Freshman year I stood in the halls and listened to the story of how the newly appointed ‘king Steve’ had lost his virginity to a sophomore, while he ate rice pudding out of a little plastic cup in the cafeteria and read a poem I had written anonymously in the school paper, arguing with Tommy that he thought it was actually ‘pretty good’.

It wasn’t until I had been raked into the whole Carol business that we really started hanging out though, with her and Tommy playing tonsil tennis every minute they were within reach of one another, leaving me and Steve to sit and talk about ‘whatever’ to fill the time.

It was those nights at his house, sitting at the edge of his pool or in his car talking about just life or getting high or drunk or just sitting that made me realise how much I really liked him. Not just some school girl crush like in the 8th grade but actually knowing him and seeing him and thinking he was magic.

I liked to think he was different with me, as sad as that sounded, that I'd gotten to meet the ‘real’ Steve not just the douchebag facade, but that kind of thinking only breaks hearts faster. Carol didn’t know about any of it at that point, at least I hadn’t told her about it, but that night at homecoming was sort of the end of our sisterhood, at least as it was back then.

“Clark would screw a fucking lamppost if it laughed at his jokes,” I replied, giving her a look.

“Yeah but he’s cute though so why not?” Carol said easily.

“I’m not in the mood”.

“You’re never in the goddamn mood! I mean Jesus, I’ve got Tommy, Steve’s got Holly, if you’re planning to ditch Clark you’re just gonna’ look dumb!” That was the thing with Carol, she always had a picture in her head. What she wanted people to see. What she wanted all the other cheerleaders looking over at her to see and be jealous. I was her ‘best friend’ but I was more like an accessory.

The mention of Holly brought bile up in my throat again, making me wince, the icky feeling coming back, “I need another drink”.

Carol had pulled me back to the sports hall not long after that, happy with how she looked now. The sight that awaited was not a happy one, however, someone having clearly succeeded in spiking the punch. The whole room descending into a chaotic mess of filth; sweat, saliva, and showering glitter, with every other couple seemingly attached at the mouth.

It took no time before Carol and Tommy were all over each other already and something about that made me feel even more sick than before. Clark had been waiting around at the door talking to some girl, he was saying something about how he’d not been to a school dance in years, he thought he was too good for them. It took me a while to spot Steve in the crowd, whispering something in Holly’s ear while he handed her a drink and she played with his hair. He looked great. The whole thing was a disaster.

“You guys wanna go outside for a smoke or something?”

“Sure, baby,” Carol had replied to Tommy sweetly, at whatever point during the dance, leading the group outside into the night.

We were a motley crew, hiding behind the bike sheds round the corner of school to smoke. Avoiding the teachers, making us feel like adults for once, high on teen rebellion. Tommy and Carol just continued to feel each other up, holding cigarettes between their fingers now as well. Clark looked pretty put out, I almost wanted to just tell him to go talk to that girl again but Carol had told him to come and now all he was doing was standing around awkwardly trying to look cool while I gritted my teeth and bit down harshly, ignoring him and smoked my cigarette.

Holly was still giggling at all of Steve’s stupid fucking jokes, fluttering her eyelashes in her nauseating powder-pink cardigan. I had heard them all before too many times to count, each time somehow worse than the last.

“Hey, are you okay?” Clark’s voice broke me out of my enraged trance.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

He pointed at his lip, indicating mine. I'd been biting it again, so hard it had started bleeding. I swore to myself, trying to wipe it away.

“I’m fine, it’s just a habit.” He looked sceptical.

“Again?” Steve laughed, coming closer to hand me a tissue with a goofy grin and a cigarette between his teeth. A few nights prior I had bust my lip on the side of Steve’s pool after falling flat on my face. I had been pissed off with him that night but he was used to it, he probably just thought Carol was driving me nuts again. He hadn’t even laughed when I had fallen, just scrambled quickly over to me in a string of swears and curses, asking if I was alright and helping me to my feet.

The rest of the school week had been spent with him nagging me every two seconds that I needed to “quit biting at it, Y/n. It’s never gonna heal if you keep biting it like that” all while Holly stood next to him, fawning over him, hand on the back of his head running fingers through his hair.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, it’s nothing,” I reassured, dabbing at the blood. I couldn't even feel the pain through the buzz, the blood was the only problem.

Holly gasped, hands coming up to her face, “oh no! She’s got blood on her dress!”

“Shit!” The dress wasn’t mine, it was a rental, and they were never going to accept it back looking like that.

“Hey, it’s fine you can get that shit out with like baking soda, right?” Clark said.

Steve scoffed. “What are you, man, a serial killer?”

Steve had never liked Clark so when he had rocked up to the dance with me hanging on his arm Steve hadn’t been impressed, whispering to me under his breath that I “could do better than that douchebag” not because he liked me or anything but just because I was his friend. He had said before that I was the only friend he had who he could have a real conversation with. We were just kind of like that. I didn’t like Holly either and I had told him just as much, he had just put it down to me having a thing against cheerleaders, I always said I thought they were all too uptight.

“What the fuck is your problem, asshole?” Clark bit back, Steve loving finally getting a raise out of him, he’d finally hit the gold he’d been digging for all night.

“Look, just drop it, Clark,” I cut in before Steve could say anything more and cause a scene.

“No, I’m not gonna just drop it, Y/n. I came out here with you for a good time and all I get is this moron riding my ass the whole night!” He said, gesturing to Steve.

“Leave then, man, go talk to Sadie fucking Lawson, that’s what you really wanna do,” steve sang back.

It was then that Carol broke her silence.

“Holy fucking shit!” her eyes were wide as she wiped her mouth, stepping forwards and looking right back at me, “I just figured it out!”

She looked at Steve and then back again. I let in a sharp breath.

“What the fuck are you talking about Carol?” Steve said exasperatedly. She was just laughing now. I closed my eyes, I knew what was coming.

“You don’t wanna fuck Clark, because you wanna fuck Steve!”

“What?” Tommy cut in, holding her arm and turning to look between us, he started to laugh too, “Oh my god. You’re right!”

I sighed, they were drunk, they were just drunk.

“Look, shut up, man. That’s obviously not true!” Steve was saying awkwardly, looking over at me cautiously, “Right, Y/n?”

When I didn’t immediately reply Carol and Tommy burst into more laughter, making my guts churn. It was like someone was suffocating me from the inside and stabbing me all at once, and all I could do was stand there and look into Steve’s painfully oblivious eyes.

“‘Course not, they’re just drunk,” I finally breathed out, running a hand through my hair and avoiding his eyes again.

“Bull-shit!” Carol yelled.

“Shut the fuck up, Carol,” I had snapped, feeling tears stinging at my eyes, the vodka pushing my emotions right to the surface, with a vengeance. She stopped laughing after that.

“What did you say to me?”

“I said, shut up.” It was a simple answer, that was silently begging her to just ‘stop’. But she didn't, taking a step towards me.

“Hey woah- woah, calm down, okay?” Steve brought his hands up between the two of us. Carol and I had fought before and it was never pretty. People at the dance had started to wonder over now too, after hearing all the ruckus. A crowd of spectators forming around the spot, drawing more attention.

It felt like the whole of Hawkins high was watching my life fall apart.

Over a year later I had still never quite managed to live it down, the whole school somehow burying my friendship with Carol in a night. We hadn't spoken again after the fight, which had somehow escalated so far that she had tried to rip out a chunk of my hair. I had stopped hanging out with her altogether the next day.

At one point she had called me late at night saying she missed me, but I knew that if I brought it up in person she would pretend it had never happened. But over the course of our high school lives we still went to the same parties and now, in senior year, the whole thing felt just like dé jà vu.

“You still like him, don’t you?” She was yelling over the music, drunk out of her mind.

Steve was dancing with Nancy Wheeler this time, dressed as Joel and Lana from Risky Business. The perfect couple to all appearances. The perfect couple, perfectly happy.

“You’re such a bitch, Y/n,” she slurred when I ignored her, repeating herself for about the fifth time that night. “Has anyone seen Tommy?”

“God! Carol, he’s an ass!” One of her new friends, Nicole, was groaning beside me. I guessed they had broken up again but I didn’t really care.

“Yeah, but I miss him,” she pouted, steadying herself on the sink and sliding herself across the tiled floor of Tina’s kitchen.

"I miss Steve,” I thought aloud, taking another sip of that weird drink and wincing. I really was that drunk, huh?

“Steve’s an ass!” The friend stated confidently.

I thought back to the Byers house last year, the demogorgon ripping through the wall and Steve hurling himself at it with no hesitation.

“He’s not so bad.” I shrugged.

Carol laughed. “He’s totally an ass!”

I liked to think I had changed a lot in a year, but Carol hadn’t. It was almost comforting. At least some things hadn’t changed. Despite Hawkins lab and inter-dimensional beings trying to eat everyone's face off, Carol was still the same-old Carol.

“Don’t you have a boyfriend anyway? Weren’t you dating some college guy, uhh... Pete something?” Nicole asked, leaning closer. She certainly seemed to know a lot more about me than I knew about her.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I answered with a grimace. In truth Pete was barely even a friend, sure I had slept with him but that had mostly just been because I had been drunk and he had been there, even if he was total dogshit in the sack. He sort of reminded me of Jonathan Byers when I first met him, he had a similar demeanour, granted a bit more put together, but mostly just watched a lot of Japanese horror movies. He didn’t keep to himself as much as Byers did though.

I had been surprised when Jonathan showed up at the Halloween party, when he told me Nance had invited him I was even more surprised. I hadn’t spoken to either of them at all since last year, I had seen him at the record store on Main Street a couple times, or in the halls at school and smiled, but that was it. The year before had left us all pretty broken, all starting when Jonathan’s brother had gone missing. A couple weeks later I cut my hand, heard a noise and thought nothing of it only to be woken up by something coming through the wall above my bed. I hit it with my bedside lamp at first, screaming at the top of my lungs, but it had done nothing, not even a scratch, so I ran out, still screaming like hell. The neighbours hadn’t heard me, they were in florida.

There was a quilted blanket my nana had given us lying out in the living room that night and when I hit the bottom of the stairs I had somehow kicked it into the fireplace on accident, the whole room going up in seconds. Whatever that thing had been, it had crawled back to where it came from, cowering away from the flames.

When the police and the firefighters showed up they thought I was insane, told me I must have been hallucinating from all of the smoke. Nobody believed me, not one, not until I spoke to Jonathan.

A year later here we all were, all four of us who had been there, signed the NDA's and everything, bound to secrecy. All in the same room but never further apart. Jonathan met my eyes across the room, he had been watching Steve and Nancy with just as much jealousy and disdain as I had, cradling a red solo-cup and a growing ball of hatred in my gut.

I hated to admit any of it, hated myself for still liking Steve, hated him for becoming less of an asshole, but most of all I hated that this time it was different.

This time he was in love.

[stories-you-wont-hear]

– due process. pt 10

this was a long time coming! i got really stuck while writing and then i was traveling and then moving apartments TT my apologies for the delay but we are certainly nearing the end! i decided to split my ideas for the end of this story into a few parts as not to overload you guys and also to make sure the components of the story, the case and y/n’s relationship with matt didn’t get lost in the shuffle. this part focuses mostly on the case, which is coming to a thrilling conclusion soon! pls enjoy and as always, leave me some love, i live for your feedback!

tag: @abcreid  @mattiemurdocksvoicemakesmesplosh @krazy-katt-lady @digicharr

“I feel like a sheep in a bar full of wolves,” you said, taking in the rest of the room. Sure, no one was about to jump you in this bar filled with prosecutors, but you certainly noticed the handful of dirty looks you got. “On the contrary,” the woman sitting beside you said, “You’re like a wolf among peaceful sheep.” “Oh,” you said, eyebrow raised, “So prosecutors are all sheep?” Your companion laughed, shaking her head, “Leave it to a slimy defense attorney to twist my words.” You returned her jab with a smile, looking down at the drink you were nursing. The prosecutor on your case, on Ben’s case, had been surprised when you had simply stated a time and this bar, but sure enough, she had taken the seat beside you at the bar when she came in. Her name was Natalie Ross and she had been a thorn in your side since your case taking on the defense of a filthy rich client that had been sued for something they probably had done, but Ms. Ross had lost her criminal case against the client and was helping the opposite side in their civil case. It was a case you had lost, one that cemented the ADA as someone who was not just a good lawyer, but the kind of person Matt would probably bow to. She seemed to have such a clear sense of right and wrong, you were almost jealous.

“Second degree,” she said after a minute. You shook your head, laughing as you sipped at your cocktail. “You can’t prove intent is not the compromise you need to be making here,” you started, turning to face her, finding her offer quite laughable, “You can’t even prove he did it.” She rolled her eyes back at you, moving to face you as you did her, “I can’t prove whether he went there intending to kill her, but the jury sure as hell isn’t completely sure your boy is innocent.” You scoffed, the liquid courage you had consumed pushing you to laugh at one of the most respected ADA’s in the district, “All I need is one juror to believe that he’s innocent and that’s a hung jury. That’s a mistrial.” She smiled at you in return, sipping at her martini as the feeling of dread began simmering in your stomach.

“Y/N,” she said, her white teeth shining as she smiled, “You don’t think that I’d retry it if it ended up a mistrial?” You sighed, turned back to take a gulp of your drink. “You would,” you agreed under your breath. “Damn right,” Natalie said, “I’m that bitch.” “That bitch indeed,” you said, giving her a little smile. “How do you do it?” you asked, looking at her perfectly sleek ponytail to her well styled but still oh so professional looking outfit, “You’re like Wonder Woman.” “I am,” she agreed, batting her eyelashes in mock bashfulness, which had you laughing. As you settled, she turned to you, sighing. You sat up, wondering what it could possibly be that had the put together woman beside you looking nervous. “I can’t believe I’m telling you this,” she started, her voice low despite there being no one apparently listening into your conversation, “Like seriously, you, of all peo-” “I get it,” you cut in with a roll of your eyes, “Defense attorneys suck.” “Yes,” she agreed, to which you groaned. She sighed, giving you a Look before rolling her shoulders back as if letting tension roll off of her. “I’m leaving,” she said, looking at you with anticipation. “Leaving what?” you asked, bringing your glass up to your mouth to finish off your drink before gesturing to the bartender for another one. He gave you a look like you had kicked a puppy as if you had defense attorney written across your forehead, but gave you another round regardless. “The DA’s office,” Natalie continued, her voice even more hushed than before. “Where are you going to go?” you asked, surprised at what her news had been. You weren’t kidding when you equated Natalie Ross to Wonder Woman, she was the closest thing to the superhero. “I am joining the dark side,” she said and all you could do for a minute was stare at her face, dumbfounded.

“You’re going to a firm?” you asked, and apparently it was a bit too loud for Ms. Ross because if looks could kill, you’d already be in a body bag. “Keep it down,” she shushed, glancing around the two of you to make sure no one had heard before turning back to you. “Malcolm Randall is starting his own firm,” she said, much to your surprise. “What?” you cried, your brow creasing in confusion. Natalie’s expression went from serious to a look of realization as she looked at you, “That’s right, you used to work for him.” You nodded furiously, your hand moving to turn off the vibration of your phone in your pocket, eager to know more. She nodded gravely, fingers circling around the rim of her almost empty glass, “He’s… not happy with the way that partner of his, Weston?” “Wesley,” you supplied. “Right, Wesley, Randall isn’t happy with him and he came to me, real hush about it, and I decided that I’ll do it, I’ll take the leap,” she said, her eyes looking across your face for a hint of how you felt. You nodded, realizing she must have felt how you did when you left your firm.

To take a leap like that, to stare into the chasm before you, not knowing what you’d face at the other side, it was a thrill but it was also a dread like no other. Staring at the woman before you, knowing that you did it and you still managed to land on your feet, you had no doubt that she’d be able to do the same. “You’ll be happy working with him,” you assured, to which Natalie nodded in affirmation. “However, you won’t be happy with the outcome of this case,” you added, finishing off your drink. Natalie chuckled, shaking her head at your cheeky comment.

“Don’t count your chickens before they’ve hatched, kid,” she replied, raising her brow at you. She gave you a vague sort of smile and waved the bartender over, paying for both your drinks. “You can buy once you lose the case,” she said when you protested. You laughed as both of you walked out of the bar and into the cool air of the night. “Guess you’ll have to wait a while for that drink,” you said as you turned to part ways, Natalie flagging down a cab. “We’ll see,” she called out to you with another cryptic smile as the cab drove off.

It was a day that seemed like any other in the morning as you went through your ritual, but by mid-morning, you were standing in court, facing Andrew Bennett, the young man you had been defending not too long ago. You hadn’t missed that smug smile, that expensive suit, and those designer glasses that you knew he put on just to make himself more likable to a jury of people he would ordinarily treat like trash but now he had to pander his image to them. Yet, he sat in the witness box, looking like he was just one of you. You knew better, you knew that he thought he was better. But you also knew that he wasn’t actually so, he just happened to come from a family whose pockets ran deep. But not deep enough, you decided.

“Mr. Bennett,” you began, hoping that the jury wouldn’t see past the farce that Andrew had set up for the sake of your case, and for Ben’s sake, “you’re a good friend of the defendant, Ben Harris, aren’t you?” Andrew nodded without cracking a smile, which unnerved you a bit. “We go to school together, yes,” he replied coolly, to which you narrowed your eyes a bit. “Just a few months ago, the two of you were fighting against allegations of sexual assault, but you just go to school together?” you pressed. Andrew shifted in his seat a little, looking visibly uncomfortable with your tone, to which you internally began feeling anxious. He never had a problem lying to save his own skin, but here he couldn’t even admit to being pals with the guy when it was the truth?

“Like I said, we go to school together, and we happened to be at the same party, and we happened to get caught up in the same mess,” he said, somehow genuinely looking the slightest bit distraught and you came to a realization. A Bennett will shed their skin like a snake when it comes to saving themselves. The aftermath of the Amanda Taylor case was an era of supposed reformation for party boy Andrew Bennett, and this was the first act, separating himself from any trace of the only part of the triangle left of the thing he was calling a “mess,” and that was Ben. You couldn’t believe him. “And you happened to be at the same bodega, in line, in front of my client the night Amanda Taylor was murdered?” you said, folding your arms across your chest as you shot back a response to Andrew’s denial. He narrowed his eyes back at you, just for a second before catching himself. “So?” Andrew said flatly. You shook your head, knowing the jury couldn’t possibly believe the bullshit he was pulling. “Mr. Bennett, we have an eyewitness, the man at the bodega counter, who says he saw you...” you started, but suddenly you felt yourself struggling to force the line of thought you had laid out for questioning Andrew. You felt like you had him there when you heard the prosecutor’s voice behind you, “Objection Your Honor, the defense is floundering whilst questioning her own witness.” You turned to glare at Ross, sure she fought hard, but she wasn’t the type to cut into your line of questioning just because you needed a second to get your footing right. “Not cause for an objection, Ms. Ross,” the judge replied before turning to you to cast a look of warning, “But she has a point, get to the point, any point, Ms. Y/L/N.” You nodded, turning back to Andrew as the wheels in your head spun at lightning speed.

“Your Honor, could we have the testimony of the bodega owner read back, back from his identification of Mr. Bennett,” you asked, pleading with your eyes for a bit of space to push your argument. He nodded, gesturing towards the typist, who cleared her throat before reading aloud.

Mr. Khan: He paid with a $50 bill. I was so surprised because no one in that neighborhood comes in with money like that, especially not a bill as clean as that.

Ms. Y/L/N: How did you know it was Andrew Bennett specifically?

Mr. Khan: I wanted to make sure the guy wasn’t handing me a fake bill, you know? And he was real agitated about it, like he wanted to get out of there quick. I mean, his face was all over the news. I knew it was that rich kid so I figured the bill was real. All he bought was a bottle of the fancy water no one else buys, and he was really particular about his change, he passed back a bill that was kind of bent in one corner and said he wanted a clean one. Rich people, right?

Ms. Y/L/N: What about the young man behind him, Ben Harris as you’ve identified? Mr. Khan: He was a lot nicer, apologized for his friend being mean. Well, I’m not sure how friendly they were since the rich kid kind of shoulder checked the other one when walking back, but kids these days ar-

Ms. Y/L/N: Mr. Khan, are you sure the two seemed to know each other?

Mr. Khan: Yes, the rich kid spoke to him, and trust me, in that neighborhood, if words are exchanged, it usually isn’t friendly, but they didn’t fight or anything. He just kind of mumbled something when he passed him. The only reason I remember is because I was excited about that crisp 50 and kept it on the bottom of the cash drawer.

You turned back to Andrew with a pointed look, mentally taking a step back before approaching your line of questioning, “Now Andrew, what did you say to Ben when you left the bodega?” Andrew shrugged before mumbling something. “Speak up, Mr. Bennett,” the judge said. “I said to get home safe,” Andrew said, and you figured he had to have been holding himself back from rolling his eyes. “And is that where you went after leaving the bodega?” “Yes,” Andrew answered, a little too quickly, “And I have a house full of staff  and cameras that all saw me.” You took a breath in, taking a second to step back to look back at the galley. Your old boss, Richard Wesley, was there, probably as counsel for Bennett if needed, as was Ben’s mom, and then there was Matt. He sat with his back straight up against the bench, a sober expression on his face until you laid eyes on him. You knew he couldn’t see you, but seeing him there made you feel a little less hopeless. Before you turned back to face Andrew, your eye caught the prosecutor. She looked different now, more serious than she had looked when you two were sharing drinks and words, but that piercing gaze was trying to send you a message. She nodded the slightest bit, and even then you weren’t sure she was doing anything but something was telling you that this witness wasn’t going anywhere. You should have known that the lack of resistance in getting Andrew to the stand would just mean resistance from Andrew himself on the stand, but Natalie didn’t seem worried. Then again, she wasn’t defending a young man for alleged murder.

Yet, the words slipped out of your mouth. “No further questions, Your Honor,” you said as you went back to sit down. “He’s gonna hang me out to dry,” Ben whispered, and when you turned your head to say something reassuring, the look of terror in his eyes almost made you cry. “You’ll be okay,” you replied, turned back knowing that if you looked at Ben longer, you would make a fool out of yourself in the courtroom. “Mr. Bennett,” Natalie said, suddenly full of energy as she stood to question your witness, “As part of the investigation on Ms. Taylor’s murder, we confirmed with your… staff that you indeed came home that night, but I have to ask you, just to make sure, you know?” Andrew nodded, but all eyes were on the prosecutor at this point. She was good, she knew it, and they knew it. “Did you kill Amanda Taylor?” she asked, and the shock value of her direct question got what she wanted from the jury, eyes on Andrew in anticipation of his reply. “No,” he replied. You knew Richard Wesley was a good lawyer, and he probably told Andrew that one-word replies were best with a prosecutor like Ross. You can’t get caught in a web of your lies if you only say one word per sentence. “Right, of course. But what were you doing in that neighborhood at that time, it’s a little far from home for you, isn’t it?” she continued, her tone innocent enough. Andrew thought for a minute, glancing over at someone behind you, presumably Richard Wesley, before replying, “I went to see Ben, he called me about something before.” “And that would be…?” Ross pushed further, little by little. “Something about school,” Andrew replied, his voice lowering to a mumble.

“Of course,” Ross agreed, “you two boys had a lot to catch up with school wise, considering being caught up in the sexual assault case and everything, I’m sure.” “Objection, is there a question there?” you spoke up, to which Natalie chuckled a bit, knowing your objection was valid. The judge agreed, pushing her to get on track. “I’m sorry, Mr. Bennett, I know how valuable the court’s and your time is,” she said, her eyes scanning over Andrew, who seemed to feel more at ease with her than you would’ve recommended him to feel, knowing her. Then again, it wasn’t like Andrew was your client.

“So, let me get this straight, you met up with Benjamin Harris, Amanda Taylor’s alleged killer, in her own neighborhood, after the both of you allegedly sexually assaulted her?” she said, and while the connotation of her words hurt the image of your client as well, the magical “alleged” in front of those words cut any chance of you being able to object. “I didn’t do anything to her,” Andrew replied. “You mean you didn’t kill her?” Ross replied, having inched closer to him as she had been speaking. “No,” Andrew said, sighing out of exasperation. You felt his exhaustion from here, he was used to being able to act however he wanted and then being able to throw money at the consequences that followed, but here he had to maintain the facade. “God,” he mumbled visible beads of sweat on his forehead. “Your Honor, please advise the witness to speak up,” the prosecutor requested, to which the judge responded with a sigh, “When you are in my court, you will speak up, Mr. Bennett.” Andrew looked back up and you could sense the mask cracking, and you were sure from where Natalie was standing it looked pretty ugly.

“Again, Mr. Bennett, by “I didn’t do anything to her” you mean that you didn’t kill Amanda Taylor?” Ross spoke, her eyes scanning the jury, and even you could sense that Andrew had lost the bit of gain he had with them. A moment passed and then another and Andrew hadn’t replied, and the judge turned again to Andrew. “Answer the question, son,” he said, and while he had addressed Andrew with a term of endearment, there was nothing endearing about his tone and Andrew meanwhile looked like he was about to explode right there.

“Should I repeat the question?” Ross asked. With no response from Andrew, Ross took it upon herself to step a bit away from him, speaking as she walked backward, her voice slowly increasing in speed and volume as she spoke,  “While you were in Amanda Taylor’s neighborhood, whom you were accused to assaulting at one time, at a bodega close to her home, seen on tape with the man sitting there, who was also accused of assaulting her and is now on trial for her murder, did you kill her?” The jury looked between Ross and Andrew, not sure where to keep their attention and at the time, you knew you should have objected her as this was far past badgering the witness but before you could, Andrew had practically shouted back at her, “I didn’t fucking kill her.” You stood up, telling yourself that while Andrew wasn’t a client and not someone you particularly cared for, the kid was not alright.

Yet, again, before you could, Ross pounced, her words direct and as sharp as a knife, “Did you rape her?” “Yes,” Andrew cried out, his hands grasping the wood in front of him so hard that his knuckles almost turned white, “But I didn’t fucking kill her.” The jury looked at each other and there was a moment of deafening silence before the galley burst into exclamations of shock, the judge banging his gavel and ordering to have the jury sent out.

Ben was beside himself, saying things to you, but all you could do was look at the prosecutor who stood amidst the commotion in the courtroom, and at that moment the conversation you had with her last night came to mind and the realization hit you; Natalie Ross was neither a wolf nor a sheep, she was a far mightier beast.

woo there it is! hope you liked it, hope you’re enjoying these twists and turns because they are for sure not done yet! xoxo mira

[fae-fucker]

Zenith: Chapter 24-26

Chapter 24

Andi wakes up in a cell, and can you guess what the inside of the cell looks like?

If you guessed it’s VERY DARK, and filled with DARKNESS that settles into Andi’s BONES (Shinsay is very fond of this metaphor, huh?), you need to leave this blog and never come back because you’ve obviously been here long enough to be permanently damaged by all this bullshit.

But you’re also right. It’s very very dark here, you guys.

So basically this whole chapter is Andi and Dex waking up in a dark cell and ... getting up and out of the cell. That’s it. 

I’ll include some juicy dumb bits for you though, because what’s a snark blog without snark?

This could have been her life—should have been her life. Locked away behind bars, awaiting the death penalty, the ghost of her best friend the only thing to keep her company.

This might be a nitpick, but “this could’ve been her life” implies that she’d be locked up for the rest of her life. Which I guess would technically be true since waiting for her death penalty would be the rest of her very short life, but it still sounds really weird. It’s like she’s expecting to wait for ... well, years and years and years, when the previous chapters mentioned her sentencing happening quickly.

That familiar wave of fear spiked through her, and Andi wanted to reach for her swords, to slash and slice and tear apart that piece of herself as she tore apart the bodies of others. Death after death, to cover up Kalee’s. To give herself the kind of fate she deserved.

So Andi harms herself? Does she want to seppuku this bitch up? Why else would she want to physically reach for her real, actual swords? Does she want to actually slice at a metaphorical part of herself? 

Also, can I just say that this still doesn’t make a lick of sense? “I technically didn’t murder my friend and technically hate the fact that I do think that I murdered my friend, and I will put a soothing balm on the wound of my soul by murdering even more innocent people, but this time intentionally, thinking I need to kill people for some reason even though I constantly mope about how badly I don’t want to kill people!” 

Makes ... no sense. This is why her characterization is so bad, Shinsay can’t commit to the “soft, compassionate, uwu bean” side of Andi because that would make her NOT COOL AND BADASS AND WEAK, but they also barely touch the “RUTHLESS MERCENARY” side of her because that would make her morally ambiguous and we can’t trust the reader to make up their own mind about her, can we now? Nor can we write anything that complex but that’s another debate.

Anywhoo, Dex wakes up and fingers Andi in the dark. 

She didn’t even flinch away as his fingertips scraped hers and he froze.

Gotcha.

Then we get a ... joke? I think it’s supposed to be a joke, at least. Someone teach Shinsay how to be funny and how to translate comedy into text, please!

“Please tell me this is Andi, and not some love-hungry Xen Pterran carriage slug named Stubby.”

Despite herself, Andi laughed. The massive slugs were gruesome, oily beasts that tried to bed anything with a heartbeat.

If there was anything this story was missing, it’s oily fuck-slugs. 

Thank you for that, Shinsay. 

Also ... “bed?” Are you telling me these slugs, that seem to be used to pull carriages, take their (dubiously willing) partners ... to bed? 

Shinsay, I get that you physically cannot get off SJM’s massive throbbing cock, but you’re not actually writing a faux-medieval fantasy book, ok? You’re writing a SUPER EDGY AND MATURE space opera, with all sorts of edgy violence and references to sex in it.

I don’t understand how bad your cognitive dissonance must be if you can invent rapey fuck-slugs, but don’t have the guts to say “fuck” or even “sex.”

Are you afraid your moms will read this? Is that why this is all so coy and immature as hell?

That’s what gets to me tbh. This book is too inappropriate to really be for younger YA audiences, but it’s also far too childish to be anything but laughable for older teens and young adults.

Dex and Andi have completely pointless banter as they try to get out of their cell. I find it very convenient that they ended up in the same cell, but ok.

Andi sticks out her tongue at Dex after he mildly insults her like a super cool ruthless murderess and not at all like a five-year-old.

We also get several mentions of the fact that Andi’s wrist cuffs can give off light, because I guess Shinsay are very proud of that particular high tech sci-fi invention. 

It’s very very very very dark, like SUPER dark, and Dex asks Andi if she’s scared.

She feared a lot of things.

Loneliness. Losing the lives of her crew or damaging her ship beyond repair.

But not darkness. That was a part of her; the very thing that had allowed her to survive for this long.

I had to read that, and now so do you. 

The thrill of the moment had arrived.

Without a word, Andi took a step forward, shedding the weakest parts of herself as she allowed the Bloody Baroness to take over.

Let’s wait until Andi becomes all sad and mopey over this again. 

Does this woman have ONE consistent personality trait?

Dex followed, and together, they left their empty cell behind.

Are you sure it was empty? And not full of DANK DARKNESS?!

Anyway yeah, it took Andi and Dex one entire chapter to wake up and leave a room. 

So this is how you pad your word count ... 

Chapter 25

We’re in Dex’s POV. They take care of a couple of guards, and by that I mean Andi does a couple SICK FLIPS and Dex is very impressed. 

“Godstars, Andi,” Dex said now as he leaned over to inspect the corpse.

The key looked strangely at home in his eye socket, perfectly positioned in the center, as if Andi had placed it there with an artist’s flair.

Ok, I’ll give Shinsay credit and say that this is reasonably evocative and Dex does admit that the key strangely looks at home in the guy’s EYE, but the “artist’s flair” thing ruins it completely. When you think “artist’s flair,” you don’t think of someone forcefully shoving a blunt object into someone’s eye, you think of a fancy shmancy person doing a little elegant flourish with their hand, like painting the delicate eyelashes of some noblewoman. 

Even when Shinsay manages to write something that’s actually rather imaginative, they ruin it by adding more guff that simply doesn’t fit and is only there to slap on more “pretty prose” and make Andi sound awesome and pad the damn word count.

Furthermore, specifying that it’s “perfectly in the center” doesn’t mean anything. If you manage to pierce a person’s eye with a key in the first place, there’s little margin of error, assuming this was a human and not an alien with abnormally large eyes with lots of options for key placement.

If you want to take the absurd imagery of the key “belonging” in the eye further, here’s what I’d suggest: 

“Godstars, Andi,” Dex said now as he leaned over to inspect the corpse.

The key looked strangely at home in his eye socket, and Dex felt as if he could just lean down and twist it and open the man’s face like a door.

Dex seems deeply horrified by Andi’s actions for reasons I cannot fathom, seeing as he’s the one constantly bragging about how he taught her everything she knows. 

When Andi explains to him that she had to kill the guard to make sure he didn’t sound the alarm and summon more guards, Dex has a really dumbass realization:

As Dex stared at her, he suddenly understood the bare truth.

There was no remorse in her eyes for the kills. Not even a flicker. There was nothing but the promise of the mission pulling her forward.

... Well, doy? How exactly did you expect this to go down, Dexy-Boy? Did you want to talk the guards into silence with your witty banter? 

This chapter serves literally no other purpose than to wank on about how cool and remorseless Andi is. We get Dex angsting about how Andi used to feel things very very hard, you guys, but now, the rumors were TRUE, and she was indeed a cold, non-feeling murderer. 

Dex asks Andi all deep about how the Bloody Baroness isn’t “just a reputation” and thinks about how badass Andi looks when she’s all stoic and shit. 

Andi then tells Dex about her apparently-not-so-secret ritual of carving tallies into her swords, which then makes Dex realize that MAYBE the Bloody Baroness IS a facade and Andi actually DOES have feelings, just like he thought 500 words before this! Rendering this entire internal monologue -- and by extension, this fiking chapter -- COMPLETELY USELESS!

Shinsay, literally what is the whole-ass fiking point of this? Was there progress made? New character traits revealed? No. We ended literally where we started. Nothing new was discovered. 

1. Dex thinks Andi still has some humanity left and the Bloody Baroness is just a reputation fabricated by her to protect her and her friends

2. Andi murders a dude, making Dex think that BB is indeed REAL and that Andi has no remorse for killing dudes

3. Andi tells Dex about her tallies, saying she remembers each and every kill, making Dex think that perhaps there is some humanity left and the Bloody Baroness is just a reputation fabricated by her to protect her and her friends

Shinsay, I’m coming to your houses to leave rotten eggs between your couch cushions.

We get this from Andi:

“Two deaths. Two tallies on my swords.” She looked down at the dead guards, then back up at him. A flicker of pain flashed through her eyes. “I have a code, you know. Lines that I don’t cross.”

Won’t surprise me the least if we never find out what that code is. 

Dex thinks about how cool and great it is to be working with Andi and the “chapter,” as I’ll generously call it, ends. 

Chapter 26

Hey, remember Klaren? 

Me neither.

Anyway, it’s year nineteen now and she’s holding baby Nor. Klaren thinks about how her baby -- oh sorry, “babe,” because this book still wants to be fantasy I guess -- is a mistake and how little effort she had to put in to make the king love her.

She’d hardly had to try to entice him. Perhaps, in some way, that meant he was her gift. A man who loved her despite what she was. Despite the past she’d kept hidden from him all these years.

Did this reasoning actually make sense to Shinsay? How can he love you “despite” the past you’ve hidden from him if you’ve HIDDEN IT FROM HIM AND HE DIDN’T EVEN KNOW ABOUT IT?! 

Who let Shinsay write? I need to find them and have a few words.

Anywhoo, the king is off to war and Xen Ptera is dying and it’s the apocalypse and whatever.

The baby wailed, drawing the queen’s attention. “Sleep now, my perfect little mistake,” she whispered. “Sleep, and remember to dream of the light.”

I guess this is supposed to be deep? Who even knows tbh.

Alone in her palace quarters, the queen of Xen Ptera rocked her daughter gently, a tear slipping down her cheek as she remembered her mission and thought of how little time they had left.

We’ve had a bunch of chapters with Klaren already and I still have no idea what purpose they serve or what their plot is. 

[imagine-it-like-this]

Title: French Kissing Characters: Rowena, reader Relationships: Rowena/reader Genres: Comedy (if you squint), Drama Warnings: /

This was the first time the two of you have successfully done this and you had to admit that it was fairly easy.

All Rowena had to do was flutter her eyelashes and say a few loving words in that charming accent of hers and the guy was all but begging on his knees for her to spend eternity with him.

Your job was to be the sweet daughter who was so happy that her mom finally found someone worthy of her time; after your dad left when you were a child, she'd had a string of relationships, all of which ended badly, and thus you were glad that he was the guy she happened to meet and fall in love with.

Both of you were full of shit, but that dude was eating it all up, head over heels in love with her since the moment he first laid his eyes on her.

You couldn't find it in you to blame him.

You weren't dating Rowena for no reason, after all.

As much as you enjoyed the luxurious house and loved the money the dude was generous enough to share with you, you weren't fond of him and Rowena sharing a bed. They didn't go all the way yet, but they made out quite often. The guy also happened to be rather touchy; he preferred to have his arm on or around her as much as possible – especially when his rich friends happened to be around for he wanted to show off his gorgeous fiancé as much as possible.

It bothered you to no end, but Rowena's constant assurance that this wouldn't last forever put you at ease at least a bit. Every time the guy would be out of the house, she would reward you for your patience. She would kiss you, hold you, and tell you how proud she was of you for being so brave.

She would tell you she loved you more than anything in the world and promise to take you wherever your heart desired after she secured the money.

It was the same today. You told her you wanted to go to Europe. You wanted to visit every single country and stay in each at least a week. Rowena couldn't say no to that; traveling was one passions and the thought of going somewhere, anywhere, with you delighted her to no end.

You were having fun, enjoying a rare lone moment when all of a sudden the door burst open and Rowena's middle-aged doctor of a fiancé stormed in looking furious enough to strangle a bear.

It didn't take him long to connect the dots and almost immediately a fight ensued. You sat at the bar and poured yourself a drink while the two of them paced around the kitchen, screaming at each other at the top of their lungs. You thought it best not to get involved; Rowena was a big girl. She could handle herself.

You were more than eager to step in when she was in trouble with supernatural creatures and experienced hunters, but a mere human was no match for a powerful witch like her. Even if he wished to cause her physical harm, he stood no chance against her.

"Oh, don't bullshit me! I saw you making out with your 'daughter'!" the guy said, forming quotation marks with his fingers, flashing his nails that were better manicured than yours.

"I was teachin' her French kissin'," Rowena replied dramatically. "The girl's young. She doesn't know what the bloody hell she's doin'!"

You would be offended if not for the fact she was making up bullshit to protect your dirty little secret.

"I may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, sweetheart, but not even I am gonna buy that. Now, I don't know if this whole mother-daughter thing is some kind of kink for you or whatever – honestly, I don't give a fuck. I just want the two of you out of my house."

"Ye can't do that!" Rowena argued. Her voice softened as she added: "What about our feelings for each other?"

He shot her the most incredulous look you've ever seen on another human being. "You can't be serious!"

"I love ye," Rowena said, and holy shit, you couldn't help noticing how bad she was at this. She was good at many things, but lying wasn't one of them. You remembered her atrocious acting with Crowley two years ago and cringed at the memory.

Her lying skills could use some work.

And so could her drama ones.

"Love me?" The guy burst into laughter. "Now that's hilarious! They teach you that at drama school?"

"Don't talk to my mom like that!" you said.

"I'll talk to your 'mom' however I damn please! Don't think you're off the hook, either!" he snapped. "Fucking gold diggers! I should've known there was something up with the two of you. She looks way too old to be your mother."

Now that was low.

He deserved to die for that comment alone.

"How dare ye?" Rowena hissed venomously.

"I'm just telling it like it is, honey," he told her.

"You take that back," you said, narrowing your eyes at him. He could insult you all he wanted, but she was off limits.

"Or what? You'll bitch me to death?" He snorted. "Get your things - both of you - and get the fuck out of my house!"

You rolled your eyes. "That's it. This one's done for," you commented, more to yourself than Rowena. "Should I kill him, or do you want to do the honors, mommy?"

The guy frowned. "What?"

"Why don't we do it together, my darlin' daughter?" Rowena said, flashing you a grin.

You smirked. "I like that idea."

The man could only scream as the two of you unleashed your magic upon him.

Dedicated to @oswinthestrange. She liked the prompt and asked me to write it.

[kj-nixon]

happy v day

On any other day, it would be nearly impossible to wake KJ up before 10am. You would have to fire a gun next to her. It was actually a major concern of her family’s, but she had always been more of a night owl than an early bird.

But today was Valentine’s Day. And this year she was going to do something fantastic for Hunter.

Last night, she had stolen his Apple Watch after he had fallen asleep and set the alarm to vibrate on her wrist at 7. She hated the thing because she felt the radiation from it would lead to arthritis. Bailey had tried to explain that that wasn’t how arthritis worked, but KJ was still skeptical. Regardless, it was the only way she could think of setting an alarm without also waking up Hunter.

God damn, 7am. Any later and Hunter would probably wake up on his own and ruin the surprise. Why did he have to be such an adult?

KJ grinned at that. That’s why she loved him.

As gracefully as she could manage, which wasn’t all that graceful if you knew KJ, she slipped out of their queen sized bed and tip toed to the kitchen. Their apartment was more of an open loft. A giant, brick square with only the bedroom and tiny bath distorting the shape by jutting out to the side. Looking at the floor plan, she had never quite been able to figure out how it interlinked with the other apartments, but really, did it matter? It suited them perfectly. The kitchen was as much a part of the living room as it was the dining room.

Open concept, open vibes.

They had it decorated as some combination of industrial modern and cozy, and the kitchen was pretty much the same. The tricky part was that KJ so rarely actually opened their cabinets that it took her a few attempts to find the pans she needed. Eventually, though, she got the bacon onto the gas stove and started on making breakfast in bed.

Hunter was, hands down, the best thing to happen to her. She knew she said it a lot, but it was just facts. Without him, she would probably be chasing yet another degree that she wouldn’t complete. He rescued her. Of course, he’d never admit it, but KJ and her siblings knew that she was kind of worthless without him.

And she was worthless, no doubt about it. Worthless against conventional standards. She couldn’t keep a job, her temper kept her from really being too great a people person, and without help her living space would be a dump. But she thrived in a space where you could let her be expressive, and Hunter provided her that. He encouraged her to be as creative and goofy and obnoxious as she wanted. And, somehow, they had figured out how to monetize it online. The cookie crumbled perfectly in that way.

She wanted to get lost in all the different ways she loved him, but it was almost impossible to actually start a list. Because as soon as she thought of one detail, it was almost immediately replaced and forgotten with another. He was just.... her world. She was obsessed with him. And she was pretty sure he was equally obsessed with her.

She assumed. She hoped.

KJ wasn’t actually a secure person. Some would even dare to call her insecure. And she felt justified in her anxiousness. Comparing herself to others was one of her most developed skills, and she never could measure up. So, if by some chance a girl who was just as pretty as she was, but twice as responsible came along, was there really any doubting that Hunter would take an interest? He was actually the perfect, functioning adult. One day he’d realize he was tired of babysitting a grown child. She just hoped it was on his death bed. Because KJ quite actually couldn’t live without him.

They’d be together forever if she had any say. And if you know any Faline, they have a lot to say.

And so what if they weren’t legally linked? KJ loved being with him no matter what. Did she sometimes dream about having the big wedding? Sure. Did she ever wonder if he even thought about asking her to get married? Yeah. Was she kind of concerned that he hadn’t asked yet because he didn’t want to permanently link himself to her in such a way that it would be difficult to leave her when he was ready? Who the fuck asked you?!

KJ’s brain snapped back to the kitchen when she smelled the smoke. While zoning out, she had splashed bacon grease onto the range and started a fire. Fucking ADHD.

What were you supposed to use on a grease fire again? All she could remember was not water, but she needed to put it out before the alarms went off and woke Hunter up.

Um.

Ummmm.

Flour!

Kj had no idea where they kept flour, or if they even had it, but the pancake mix sitting on the counter was the next best thing. Without giving herself a moment to second guess it, she dumped the box of powder onto the stove.

Well... on the stove, in the pan, and on the floor, technically.

She stared at it, willing it to not be all over the place. But, alas, there it was.

Kayla Jane, you’re an idiot.

But at least the apartment wasn’t up in flames.

Sighing, she dropped the empty box on the counter and skated to the corner deigned the living room in her socks. Her sleep tank and shorts were covered in mix now, but when was she ever put together? KJ picked up her phone and quickly ordered Postmates from their favorite diner, like the proper millennial she was. Should’ve done it in the first place, but she wanted to be romantic.

The second phase of the morning was cute enough anyway. It didn’t take her long to get her computer hooked up to their TV and get started on touching up the final bits of editing for her next video. KJ had become pretty savvy with anything techy since her career on YouTube took off. Not that she understood a single thing about engineering or how any of the machines actually functioned, but she could put it all together and operate it pretty easily if you gave her twenty minutes and a 5 Hour Energy to figure it out.

The doorbell rang and she ran to grab their food, knowing full well that he’d definitely get up for that. If he hadn’t smelled the smoke already.

Sure enough, Hunter stepped out of their room just as she finished unpacking their breakfast. KJ would never get over how insanely tall and good looking he was. Like, it wasn’t even fair.

But she sure did appreciate having the injustice in her bed.

He smiled at her and chuckled, probably laughing at how messy she was.

“Don’t go to the kitchen,” she warned, pointing a finger at him threateningly.

“It kind of smells like I should,” he replied.

“You absolutely should not. You should come kiss me and get your present instead.”

“That does sound much more pleasant.”

He graciously leaned down so she could stand on her toes and give him a peck on the mouth. She guided him to sit in front of the television and placed his food in front of him. “Happy Valentine’s Day, baby.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, sunshine.”

Patience wasn’t really a Faline trait either, so she only gave him enough time to take two bites of food before she climbed into his lap and face the TV. “Okay, I made something.”

“You did? For me?”

“For you.”

“I’m touched.”

“You will be.”

“So will you.” He winked.

She licked his cheek. Then she pressed the enter key on her keyboard.

The video went live on her channel. A shaky close up of Hunter’s forehead came on screen. You could hear KJ’s laughter over the speakers as the camera zoomed out and you were able to see the picnic set up from one of their earliest dates. Minute by minute, the video played through a compilation of vlogs from the last four years of their relationship. Some were of their travel adventures, others were at home where Hunter was obviously unaware that she wasn’t filming. Two consisted of KJ being home alone, lamenting her state of abandonment while Hunter was on a business trip. Every clip, every piece, was carefully chosen to show how perfect they were.

KJ had been on social media for the last three years, but she had never made her relationship public to her audience. Anything regarding Hunter was posted to her private accounts that only friends and family could see. Even her family was often used as clickbait. But Hunter had been reserved as a secret, or marketed as just a friend. And she had never quite been able to explain why.

Part of it had been that she was afraid of karma. If she put them out their publicly, then maybe they’d break up and she’d have to announce to the world that she was alone and her person had left her. Or maybe it was because she was selfish and didn’t want him to get any attention outside of her (and Simon.)

But, around Christmas, she had decided that she wanted the entire planet to know how mad she was for her. She wanted her audience, people she loved and was inspired by, to see how lucky she was.

And she would cut any bitch who tried to bat a single eyelash at him.

The video was only about five minutes long, nowhere near the length of her usual challenges and vlog segments, but there was four years of love pieced throughout it. And she prayed to the universe that he got the bigger picture.

That she loved him more than anything on the entire planet.

It ended and she stretched her head back to see his expression, a proud smile on her face. For a moment, he just continued staring at the screen.

She knew it would take a moment to buffer in his brain. They had discussed forever ago that they’d never go public and he was okay with that. Hunter had never cared one way or the other, but KJ had insisted.

Now...

He looked down at her and she saw his blue eyes glisten. It made her smile wider. He was such an emotional tall man.

Climbing around to wrap her arms and legs around him, she sat up to look him directly in the face. “You’re my person. I’ve staked my claim across the globe now. So if any skanks try to make a move on you while you’re wherever your stupid job sends you, you now have live proof to show them that I will hunt them down and burn their eyebrows off.”

“Oh, it’ll have them and their eyebrows shaking in their kitten heels.” He grinned.

She kissed him. Hard.

“I love you, Green Giant.”

“I love you too, Thumbilina.”

KJ tucked her head into the crook of his neck and gave a happy sigh.

“So... What did you burn?”

“Oh my god, SHUT UP!”

[pattysfics]

Today Isn’t My Day

Warnings: Cuss words. Negan. SMUT. 

Request: I was wondering if you can do one where the reader is having a shitty day around the Sanctuary. Kinda like things she’s working on breaks on her or when she’s restocking things just keep falling down, kinda like that. Then Negan walks in seeing her throwing things around and yelling fuck my life lol. Then he can say will I’ll do you one better lol. Then you know some hot smut on a nearby table that’s in the stock room she’s in lol. - @zoesmama2024  (I really hope you enjoy)

A/N: Request are still open! I may not get to it right away, but I will get it out ASAP. 

Today had been an a fucking terrible day. Almost everything that you had stacked on the shelves had fallen. This was your job. You were charged with restocking the shelves day after day. 

This wasn’t your dream job, far from it, but it kept you alive. At the sanctuary, the rules were: You worked for point and those points kept you among the living. Also, you had to follow the rules because ‘the rules keep us alive’. 

You were stacking cans of beans on a shelf when it collapsed. “Son of a bitch,” you cursed. This had happened twice already and you still hadn’t learned your lesson. You picked up the can and hurled it across the room. A smile of satisfaction graced your face when it splattered against the wall. That will teach that can of beans. 

You walked about over to shelf and put in back in place. You started re-restocking the shelf. You were about half way done when it collapsed once again. “Fuck my life,” you yelled into the empty room, except it wasn’t empty. 

“How about I do you one better?” said the voice. 

“Holy shit,” you squealed whipping around to face the voice. It was Negan. Of course, it was always Negan. You dropped to you knees instantly. You just cussed in front of the king savior. Not just once, twice. You dropped your head, not wanting to look at him.

 He gracefully made his way over to you. His black boots coming into view of your lowered eyes. Your slightly began to shake. “You afraid of me baby doll” he waited for your answer. None came. “That is so fuckin’ adorable.”

“So what do you say? You going to let Negan take care of you?” His signature smirk plastered on his face. 

Nervously you nodded your head. “Good girl!” he praised. “Why don’t we start this by you taking care of me for a bit?”

You raised your head to look at him. Your eyebrows scrunched trying to figure out what he was talking about. “Ohhh,” you let out when it hit you like a ton of bricks. 

“No need to be sayin’ ‘ohh’ fuckin’ yet doll. Wait till you feel my hard dick down your throat. You do a good job, and you’ll get a mighty nice fuckin’ reward.”

You looked down. Negan and you. When the fuck did this happen? Oh right, when you shouted ‘fuck my life’ to be quietness of the room and Negan just happened to slip in the room just in time. 

You heard the jingle of him undoing his belt brought you back to reality. He had already kicked off his boots. Looking up at him, he pushed his jeans down along with his boxers to his ankles before quickly shaking them off his legs. His cock already semi-hard as it slipped from its confinement. 

“Open up darlin’,” he said softly. You opened your mouth and he guided himself slowly inside your mouth. He slipped just the head inside allowing you to do your own thing. 

You took a deep breath through your nose before you started to slightly bob up and down his thick shaft. You flattened your tongue to give him some added pleasure as he slides in and out of your mouth. He moaned at the new sensation. “Shit.. Keep doing that,” he breathed. 

You started to take him deeper. His moans echoed around the room. Sucking harshly, he gasped. His hand flying to your hair and it tangled into your hair. 

You started to hum around him. He responded by pushing your head closer to the base. His cock fully hard now stretched your lips into a thin circle around him. You almost gagged when he hit the back of your throat. You continued to bob up and down on him, each time taking him all the way in. 

“Fuck, you’re doing such a good job sucking my cock like a good girl.” He thrusted into your mouth. He held your head in place as he started to thrust quickly into your mouth. You looked up at him through your eyelashes. He eyes were closed and his mouth was hung open in pleasure. With one last thrust, he stilled himself in your mouth as his cum splashed down your throat. 

He groaned and pulled you off of him. “Hot damn, baby doll that was wonderful.”

He lightly pulled your hair making you raise to your feet. He stripped off his leather jacket and shirt, leaving him completely in the nude. He brought his lips harshly against yours. You moaned against him. You felt your arousal start pool in your jeans. 

“Take your goddamn clothes off,” he demanded breaking the kiss for a moment before he attacked you again. You rapidly followed his command and unbuttoned your jeans and pushed them down along with your panties. Negan growled getting impatient that it was taking you so long. 

“Hush,” you whispered against him as you kicked off your shoes and stepped out of your jeans. You were wearing a button down shirt and Negan wasn’t in the mood to wait for you to undo it. His large hands gripped your shirt and the collar and he gave it one hard long tug for all the buttons to go scattering on the floor. 

“What are you doing?!?” you squealed. That was basically your only shirt. 

“Hush up. I’ll get you more.”

He turned you around and hastily undone your bra. He stepped forwards and cleared out a spot on the table in front of you. The supplies tumbled down to the floor. “Why must you make a mess with everything?” you asked him. 

“Because, I’m the boss,” he said as he pushed you down face first on the table. “You’ll thank me for it later.”

You groaned as he put a hand on your back, no doubt holding you down. You felt two of his fingers at your entrance. You bucked when he plunged both into you quickly. “Holy fuckin shit,” he exclaimed. “Your so damn tight around my fingers. God my cock is going to feel so good in here. Goddamn you’re so fuckin wet.”

He started to make his fingers go faster as he leaned over you. You let out a shaky moan as his fingers drove you closer to the edge and you felt his arousal pressed against you.  

“Negan, please please keep going,” you cried feeling the climax approaching. Negan complied with your request and he worked his fingers harder and faster in and out. “Negan, I’m- I’m about to… shit,” you cried as he was about to push you over the edge. 

“Not yet, baby doll," he said removing his fingers from you. "You don’t get off that easy,” he growled against your ear. You felt him reach down, his hand grazed your ass and down to his cock. You felt his tip as he started to enter you. Without warning, a slammed all the way into your heat till you were full of him. You tried to get away from him by shimming up the table, but he easily held you in place by his body weight laying on your back.

“I knew you’d be tight around wrapped around me. Shit you feel better than any of my wives,” he huskily whispered against your ear. His stubble brushing against your shoulder as he started to move inside you. 

The table started to creak under you as he started to thrust hard into you. His hands were on your shoulders pushing you back, impaling you on his cock as he thrust up into you time and time again. 

You moaned feeling that sensation start to over take you again. “You want to come on my cock? Huh?,” Negan asked punctuating each question with a hard thrust causing your ass to bounce as his hips hit you. “Beg me,” he commanded slowing his thrust. 

“Please please Negan! Let me come on your cock as you fuck me! Please!,” you pleaded

“Good girl,” he whispered in your ear once more before he started to fuck you hard again. You whimpered under him your climax coming fast. 

You cried out as you came around him. He continued to thrust hard into you causing the table to creak. You thought it was about to collapse with him fucking you all the way down. He groaned as he twitched and spilled inside you. He slowly thrusted a few more times before stilling himself laying on your back. 

You let him lay for a few minutes as both of you collected yourselves. “You going to get up now?,” you asked him. 

“Nah, I think I’ll just lay here for a while. Take a nap. I have a comfy pillow to lay on,” he said as he nuzzled into your neck. 

“Negan get up. Your scruff is ticklish,” you giggled as he continued to nuzzle his face into your neck. 

“Fine,” he grumbled as he slowly slid out of you. “You going to be okay to wear that shirt back to your room? I’ll get you some new ones. My bad,” he said as he pushed off you over to his pile of clothes and started to redress. 

“Yeah. Make sure you get good ones.”

“I will, I will.” He watched you as you redressed and wrapped the shirt around your torso. 

“I’ll see you later?” you asked him walking up to him kissing him lightly on the cheek. 

“You sure will doll. With fresh shirts in tow!” he said as you started to walk away. “Doll!” he called after you. You turned to look at him. “You sure you don’t want to be a wife?” he asked a smile on his face. 

“No, Negan I am not joining your harem. I told you once, I don’t like to share.” You walked out of the shed towards the main building where your room was. A smile on your face as walked trying to keep your shirt from flying open. 

———————————————————————————————

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[365daysofj2]

Striptease For Me, Baby (Library!Boys, NC-17, 20/?)

“Hey,” Jensen says quietly when Jared steps through the door. “How was your first solo class?” Jared kicks his shoes off and heaves a huge sigh. “I was not prepared for patron-level computer illiteracy in one of my trainees. I have no idea why she was hired. She’s hopeless. She barely understands the different between left and right clicks.” He steps into his sheepskin slippers—a housewarming gift from Jensen—and locks the door. Jensen’s eyes widen. “Are you gonna be able to train her?” “I honestly don’t know.” Jared flops down on the couch next to Jensen, who immediately stretches an arm across Jared’s shoulders and pulls him close. “I might ask Samantha tomorrow what I should do if she doesn’t improve. I don’t know if they would rescind her job offer, but I’m thinking they probably should.” “Wow.” Jensen rests his chin on top of Jared’s head. Jared buries his face even further into Jensen’s neck and takes a deep breath, relishing the spicy scent of Jensen’s cologne and the clean tang of laundry detergent and fabric softener. Jensen still smells amazing after seven and a half hours of work, which just isn’t fair. “I’m sorry it’s not going well.” Jared shrugs. “It is what it is. How was your day?” Jensen’s eyes widen. “You didn’t check your email before you left?” “I forgot. Why?” Jensen grins. “Because I banned Chang for a month, that’s why.” “Just a month?” Jensen’s grin slides into a smirk. “He has to meet with Jeff and me before I allow him to come back. And if he doesn’t show any signs of getting the message, we’ll ban him for another 6 months right on the spot.” “Good for y’all. I can’t wait to read the letter.” “Five times, total, we kicked him out before they let me ban him. Five. Fucking. Times.” “Jesus.” Jared slumps against Jensen, totally drained. “Your day sounded so much better than mine.” “Well, there’s still time to turn it around.” Jensen kisses the crown of Jared’s head. “I’ve got lasagna and garlic bread in the oven. I wanted to reward you for making it through your first day as solo trainer.” Jared has to smile at that. “Thank you. You take such good care of me.” “And I always will.” Jensen extricates himself from Jared’s grip and stands up. “I’ve been chilling a 2011 Barolo all day. You want a glass?” “Please.” Jared joins Jensen in the kitchen and accepts the generously filled wineglass that Jensen hands him. Jared knows he doesn’t appreciate wine the way Jensen does—Jensen can actually pick out “notes” of fruit and chocolate and shit like that—but it’s a nice, full-bodied red wine, and it’ll certainly ease Jared’s residual tension. “Why don’t you go change and I’ll check on the food.” Jensen takes a sip of his own wine, a much smaller serving than Jared’s, and sets the glass aside. Jared nods. “Sounds good.” He goes upstairs to the bedroom he’s just starting to think of as partially his and changes out of his button-down shirt and khakis in favor of flannel pants and a Penn State t-shirt. When Jared returns to the kitchen, Jensen’s taking the pan of lasagna out of the oven. It smells amazing, all that cheese and garlic and oregano, and his mouth literally starts watering. Jensen holds out a basket of garlic bread and Jared carries it to the table. Jensen brings over two big plates of gooey, cheesy lasagna and Jared smiles from ear to ear. “Man, I needed this.” Jensen takes his seat. “Yeah, I had a feeling.” He nudges Jared’s foot with his own and grins. “Enjoy it.” Jared cuts a piece and takes a bite. He closes his eyes and moans with pleasure. He reaches over and covers Jensen’s hand with his own. “Amazing as ever,” he assures him. Jensen beams and takes a bite from his own plate. “Needs more salt.” “You are such a perfectionist.” Jared shoves another huge bite into his mouth. “I have high standards.” Jared swallows and takes a sip of wine before replying. “So I meet your ridiculously high standards?” Jensen shakes his head. “No,” he answers, but he can’t hide a smile for long. “But I love you anyway.” “Ha ha.” Jared lightly kicks Jensen under the table. “You’re lucky you’re cute.” Jensen bats his eyelashes. “You think I’m cute, huh?” “Well, not now,” replies Jared, but he’s grinning. “Not all of us can be as ruggedly handsome as you, Paul Bunyan.” Jensen takes a piece of garlic bread and tears it in half. “Does that make you Babe the Blue Ox?” Jensen snorts. “That’s where the analogy falls apart.” “Well, you are quite a babe, Babe.” Jared grins and nudges Jensen’s knuckles with his own. Jensen smirks. “And I’m hung like an ox, obviously.” Jared nearly chokes on his lasagna. “Yeah, keep dreamin’.” “Just for that, you don’t get dessert.” Jared quirks an eyebrow. “There’s dessert?” “Well, there was,” replies Jensen. “You gotta earn it back.” Jared picks up his empty plate. “Oh, I can do that,” he murmurs, sliding a hand down inside Jensen’s shirt and tweaking a nipple. He presses his lips to the side of Jensen’s neck and lightly grazes the freckled alabaster skin with his teeth. Jensen shivers and tilts his head back to give Jared better access. Jared lightly bites down, not hard enough to leave a bruise, and then laves the sting away with the tip of his tongue. “Bedroom,” gasps Jensen. He starts to stand up, but Jared lightly holds him down and stacks Jensen’s empty plate on top of his with his free hand. He collects Jensen’s empty wineglass and takes both to the kitchen. He leaves the plates in the sink, but refills the wineglass. Jensen grabs Jared’s half-full glass from the table and heads for the stairs. Jared quickly follows suit. Once they’re upstairs, Jensen moves to loosen his tie, but Jared stills his hand. “Alexa, play ‘Striptease’ by Hawksley Workman, and dim the lights to 60 percent.” Alexa does as she’s told, and Jared sits down on the foot of their bed. “Striptease for me, baby.” Jensen smirks and unknots his tie, swaying his hips to the beat. He whips it off in one smooth motion, snapping it like a whip, and Jared goes from “mildly interested” to “half-hard and aching for more” in less than a second. Jensen slyly shimmies out of his sweater vest and pulls it over his head, making his hair stand up in unruly spikes. Jared sheds his own shirt and pants then, and he’s fully, painfully hard now. Jensen reaches for his wineglass and downs half of it before turning his attention to the buttons on his crisp white dress shirt. He flicks each one open with practiced ease, and Jared’s just about to tell him to slow it down when Jensen starts to ease the shirt off his freckled shoulders one drawn-out inch at a time. It seems like hours before the thick swells of Jensen’s biceps are uncovered, and Jared finds his mouth watering again as Jensen exposes his nipples, grazing them lightly with his fingernails to perk them up. “Jesus,” Jared hisses. It seems like another hour before Jensen exposes his perfectly cut six-pack and tosses the shirt aside. He reaches for his belt buckle, and Jared finds himself licking his lips in anticipation. He thumbs a bead of precome off the head of his cock. “Fuckin’ tease.” Jensen cocks an eyebrow. “You asked for it.” He whips his belt off with an audible snap and drops it on the floor. He reaches for his zipper and Jared can’t fucking take it anymore. He surges forward and shoves Jensen’s pants and boxer-briefs off his hips, then lifts him clean off the floor and out of them. Jensen lets out a surprised squawk and wraps his arms around Jared’s shoulders as Jared heaves him over to the bed and throws him down hard enough to bounce. “Jesus fuck!” sputters Jensen as Jared straddles his hips and leans over him to retrieve the lube from the nightstand drawer. Jared shoves Jensen’s knees up onto his shoulders and squirts lube onto his already sweat-slick fingers. He presses one into Jensen’s hole with no warning and Jensen yelps. Jared covers Jensen’s mouth with his own and thrusts his tongue between Jensen’s lips to collect his objections. Jared adds a second finger in a matter of seconds. He can’t wait any fucking longer. Jensen’s still and quiet beneath him, enough that Jared starts to get concerned. “This okay?” he murmurs, looking right into Jensen’s eyes. Jensen nods. “Yeah, yeah. Just—yeah.” He bites his lip. Jared adds a third finger and starts to scissor. Jensen’s letting out these little breathy moans of pleasure, so Jared stops feeling guilty and just concentrates on getting both of them off as fast as possible. Jared presses his cockhead to Jensen’s hole and eases in. Once Jensen is nice and relaxed for him, he starts to thrust, setting a rhythm that’s just barely on the right side of the pleasantly/punishingly hard divide. Jensen’s ivory skin glistens with sweat in the low light, and his cheeks are as red as the wine. He throws his head back, struggling for breath, and Jared backs off a little. “I’m gonna—I’m gonna—” Jensen can’t seem to finish the thought, so Jared finishes it for him by hitting home enough times to make Jensen come. Jared’s not far behind, and his own orgasm crashes over him hard enough to make his knees go weak. He barely manages to pull out before he collapses next to Jensen, chest heaving so hard it’s almost painful. For a long moment they both just lie there and attempt to catch their breath. It doesn’t come easy for either of them. “So, did I earn my dessert?” asks Jared with a smirk. “We certainly burned enough calories.” “Doesn’t seem wise to deny you anything,” replies Jensen, kissing the curve of Jared’s jaw. “So yeah, I guess you did.” “I’m not sure my legs will support me long enough to get to the dining room,” complains Jared. “It’s been a long fucking day.” Jensen cards his fingers through Jared’s damp hair. “Bitch, bitch, bitch.” But he kisses Jared’s cheek and pushes himself up on one elbow. “I’ll bring it up, you big baby.” Jared throws one arm over Jensen’s shoulder and pulls himself up to give Jensen a proper kiss. “I love you so much right now.” Jensen grins and ruffles Jared’s hair. “I love you too, Paul Bunyan.” “So be a good ox and cart me up some dessert,” teases Jared. Jensen flips Jared’s hair into his face. “I’m pretty sure this hair makes you the ox.” He shoves Jared onto his back. “That and the way you smell right now.” “You love my musk. Admit it.” Jared reaches out and slaps Jensen’s ass. “I love you.” Jensen pats Jared’s ankle and walks to the door. Jared smiles. “Good enough.”

[theartificialdane]

Galactica, part 226

This is halloween, everybody make a scene, trick or treat till the neighbors gonna die of fright! Happy Halloween everyone from the Galactica characters who has finally made it to the biggest costume party of the year <3

Thank you @veronicasanders @toriibelledarling and @samrull for all their help with this wonderfull story <3

“Ta da!” Courtney burst into the bedroom, hair in French-braided pigtails, curled at the ends, tied with blue ribbons. She was still wearing pajamas and carrying her costume on a hanger. “What do you think?”

“If it say you look cute, is this gonna become another weird age thing?” Bianca asked, closing her computer.

Courtney laughed and crawled onto the bed, shaking her head.

“Okay, then you look fucking cute. Come here…”

Courtney bit her lip. “Don’t we need to start getting ready?”

“Seriously? We have like 3 hours.”

“I know! But you have all that green makeup to deal with, and Ben is making me wear false eyelashes. That’s gonna take me like a half hour.”

Bianca burst out laughing. “I’ll do your eyelashes, bunny.” She pulled Courtney into her lap, kissing her neck. “There. I just saved us a half hour.”

“Mmmhmm, okay…” Courtney closed her eyes.

Bianca slid a hand up her thigh, wondering if she should be trying to talk to her girlfriend instead of doing her usual thing. An image flashed into her mind of Courtney the night before, clinging to her mother when it was time to say goodbye, sobbing her eyes out like the world was ending. Even Adore seemed a little taken aback, but ultimately shrugged, reminding Bianca that Courtney had gone almost 2 years without seeing her parents in person, so obviously it made sense that she’d feel emotional seeing them leave.

She seemed alright today, though, sighing happily as Bianca caressed her soft skin, murmuring into Bianca’s ear, “I’m sorry, B.”

“Sorry for what, baby?”

“I know that’s I’ve been a little, um, you know, distracted by the album and the concert and everything. But tonight is all about us. We’re gonna have a great time. Okay?”

“Deal.”

“So I have to ask...what are you planning to wear under your costume?” Courtney smirked, fingering the black fabric beside them.

“What...do you want me to wear?”

Courtney’s eyes lit up. “/I/ get to choose?”

“I think it’s your turn, right?”

She bounced excitedly in Bianca’s lap. “Oh my god, this is amazing! I feel drunk with power…” She grabbed Bianca by the back of the neck, kissing her deeply.

Bianca laughed. “I think I’m gonna let you pick my underwear more often.”

***

“So what are we watching again Bonbon?”

Pearl smiled as she dumped down on the couch, two beers in her hand before she gave one of them to Laila. Laila and Pearl was dressed up, their hair perfected, Laila crafting Pearl’s makeup to perfection, but then as they were about to get out of the cab, Laila had gotten a panic attack, Pearl holding Laila as she couldn’t breath, the thought of all of the people, of having to hang out with Pearl’s friends, coworkers and the social climber strangers that tried to use her girlfriend all too much, so Pearl had done the only thing she could think of. She had booked them into a hotel and ordered an extra large pepperoni pizza.

“Nightmare before Christmas.”

“Nice.”

Pearl turned her head, Laila kissing her, their lipsticks mixing slightly.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Laila looked small, her eyes a dim, and Pearl felt worry settle in her stomach.

“Of course I am, I’m here with you.”

“But what abou-”

“I don’t care about some shitty party, or the foam cannons or the fact that I have three different kinds of body glitter in my bag.”

“But-”

“No.” Pearl grabbed the box of pizza and opened it. “Now start me the movie so we can watch Jack the Fruit king.”

“Pumpkin.”

“Duh, pumpkin is a fruit dumbdumb.”

***

“Coming!” Courtney skipped to the door, swinging Kylie in his little basket, throwing it open to reveal Adore, Jinkx and Alaska. She gasped in delight. “You guys look AMAZING!”

“I know, right?” Adore replied smugly, twirling her axe, silver makeup glittering.

Jinkx laughed and stepped inside. “My friend Roy works at this fantastic costume house. He helped out. And of course we’ve got the best makeup artist in the city at our disposal.”

Alaska tongue popped.

“Seriously, you look SO good! I feel so underdressed…” Courtney shook her head.

Adore put her arm around Courtney. “Awww, bae, you’re a perfect little Dorothy. Someone’s gotta be the bitch from Kansas, right?”

Courtney laughed. “Yeah, and Ben would only agree to the theme if he was Glinda. But I mean, I thought I went so over the top, with sequins and false eyelashes.”

“You’re wearing lashes?” Alaska asked, squinting.

“Yeah, you can’t tell?!”

Alaska laughed. “Not really, but that’s okay. You look pretty.”

“Fuck. Bianca helped and I told her to use a light hand with the mascara. ‘Cause, you know, between her and Vanity, I’m not sure who wears more makeup.”

“Ha! Speaking of the witches...where are they?”

“B’s almost ready, and Vanity wants to make an entrance. Can I get you guys a drink?”

Jinkx shook her head, the shiny curls of her lion’s mane shining in the lamp light. “We’ve been instructed not to eat, drink, touch our skin, or move until after photos are taken, lest we destroy Alaska’s artistry.”

“Hey, assholes!” Bianca said, walking down the hall in full Wicked Witch regalia, trailed by Sammy and Dede as little flying monkeys.

“B! You’ve shed your human skin and come as your true self!” Adore cried. “You look radiant!”

Bianca held up one green hand to give Adore the middle finger. “And who decided that you’d be the Tin Man? You have the mushiest heart of anyone in the universe.”

“Well, right, isn’t that the whole point? Like...irony, or whatever, cause he had the heart all along?”

“Yeah, exactly, and Alaska is the smart one; that’s why she’s the Scarecrow,” Jinkx added.

“I thought it’s ‘cause she’s the tall one…” Adore mused.

Alaska laughed and tossed Adore a kiss, posing sexily in her burlap booty shorts, long legs covered with intricately drawn patches and stiching.

“And we’re supposed to be celebrating your remarkable bravery?” Bianca asked Jinkx.

“Rowr!” Jinkx growled.

“Nice.”

“Citizens of Oz! Behold!”

“Oh, dear Christ,” said Bianca, and Courtney giggled, taking her arm.

Vanity swept into the room, in a gigantic pink ball gown, strawberry-blonde wig, and 2 foot crown. Courtney clapped and jumped up and down in her ruby slippers, squealing.

“Holy shit, you are STUNNING!” cried Alaska.

“Thank you, love,” said Vanity. “I know. To the party?”

“Ummm…” Courtney shook her head. “Hello, no, we need to Snapchat first.”

“Yes!” Adore squealed.

Vanity looked at Bianca, shaking her head. “Kids, amiright?”

***

Sutan laughed as he and Violet stumbled into Sutan’s car, the Violet’s dress so big he had to lift it to sit down, the fabric falling over him and covering him as he finally got into the car too.

“Your costume is gigantic mata indah.”

“My dress is the perfect size.”

Sutan settled in and closed the door, Violet giggly and happy, happier than Sutan had seen her in a while for some reason, the girl carefully leaning her head against his shoulder. Violet was beautiful, a fantasy of flowers and silk, her hair put up, jewerly covering her slender wrists, and Sutan had never felt prouder to be Violet’s boyfriend, his own costume nicer than any other he had ever worn, though he wasn’t proud of the fact that his Hades costume put the Batman one to shame.

“Ow ow ow ow, Sutan, you’re arm is on my hair.”

“Oops.” Sutan smiled, quickly moving so he wasn’t caught up in Violet’s extensions anymore. “I’m sorry.” Violet rolled her eyes, and Sutan grabbed a strand, tugging on Violet’s hair, her head bending at the pull.

“Sutan!” Violet gasped, surprised painted on every feature as the car started moving.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You did, you totally did!”.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Sutan smiled as Violet sat up straight, the woman rolling her eyes as she took out her phone, turning on the front camera as she was checking her hair and fixing her makeup, the car stopped and Sutan opened the door and got out. He turned around, ready to tell the driver to take Violet around the corner and drop her off so she could walk into the party through the backdoor, when he felt a slender hand on top of his own, Violet smiling as she got out of the car too, and before Sutan knew it, he and Violet were walking the red carpet together.

***

“Should we wait any longer Miss?”

Fame looked at Roxy and sighed. “No… Let’s go.” Fame picked up her gloves, and Roxy and Fame left Fame’s townhouse, Patrick’s costume left behind on the untouched bed upstairs since he hadn’t been home in weeks.

“Miss, are you okay?”

Fame turned her head, quickly wiping her tears away. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

Fame snorted, but smiled. “Were you also this annoying and nosy when I hired you?”

“Afraid so Miss.” Roxy grabbed a handkerchief from her bag, and wiped Fame’s cheeks gently without removing her makeup.

“I’m glad you are.”

***

"I swear this dress looks even better on me now than before," Raven slurred as she kissed on Raja's neck, the rum pumping through her system. "Would you toot me Rara?" Raja shivered as she felt Raven's teeth tug at her earlobe, "only if you refrain from leaving hickies on my neck," Raja purred. "Wanna play a game baby?" Raven peeked up at the sound of playing a game, "I love games! Games give me life," Raven sang happily as she drained her glass of wine. "Games games games!" Raja laughed at Raven's song and dance, "Let's play toot or boot with the guests." Raja began as she scanned the crowd for their first contestant, "I spy with my smokey eye, a glittery devil in cowboy boots." Raven narrowed her eyes as she zeroed in on the person Raja was talking about, "I would hate to be him," she said as she twirled Raja's hair around her finger. "I mean look at those boots and that patchy glitter job… Fucking boot those boots." "I toot for originality, and for commitment since he'll never get rid of all that glitter," Raja added with a nod. "Oh look," Raven started as she used Raja's hand to point to what she could only assume was a woman. "I spy with my shady eyes, a DIY Victoria's Secret angel." Raja snorted into her martini at Raven's description, "She doesn't look that bad lovey," Raja crooned as she felt Raven try to crawl into her lap. "I think she looks quite lovely." "She's wearing a cheap white mesh bodysuit from Leg Avenue, $15 lingerie, fishnets from the bodega and a child's sequined fairy wings." Raven replied with a flat tone as she tipped some of Raja's blood orange martini into her empty glass. "She should have gone to Party City; if you're going to look cheap, make it a cohesive cheap look all from the same plastic bag." "So do you toot it or boot it?" Raja asked as she drank the rest of her martini making Raven pout and huff. "I toot it," Raven said with a cheeky grin, "I'm all for looking like Julia Roberts better looking slutty sister." "So is that tonight's esthetic theme, I thought you were Aphrodite?" Raja asked innocently as she turned her head to look at Raven, "It's very Slut-a-rella couture?" Raven cackled, kicking her legs in drunken glee, "Yaaaaaasss!! This is from the spring/summer collection for the new season!" Raven squealed happily as she clung to Raja's neck before flinching as she felt her implant shift. "So do you toot it Athena?" "The siren before me or the angel wannabe below?" Raja drawled as she watched Raven get up to grab a half drunk bottle of champagne and bring it up to her lips. "The wannabe," Raven replied with a hiccup as she poured some champagne in Raja's glass. "I'll give it a toot for effort," Raja said after draining her glass of champagne, offering it back to Raven to refill. "But a boot for poor execution and absolutely no attention to detail; Victoria’s Secret would never dare put one of their angels in that white mesh tragedy." "But what about the siren?" Raven asked, "does she get a toot for effort or boot for slut appeal?" "I'll give her a toot for her daring," Raja replied as she fingered the hem of Raven's dress, "but she'll get a boot and a spank if she wears that dress again without anything besides fashion tape underneath." Raven wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or Raja's words that made her face tinge pink, "what about a toot and spank?" Raven asked as she straddled Raja's lap, mindful of Sutan and her knees as she settled down on her fiancées lap. Raja looked up at her drunk fiancée who looked like she was having the time of her life giving her a pseudo lap dance while lip syncing the song playing, "a toot now and a spank later." Raja replied, letting her hand creep up the back of Raven's skirt, her fingertips grazing right below her bare ass. Raven giggled at the ticklish sensation that ran up her spine, "I'll be holding you to that since I have this dress in 3 different colors and one will definitely be worn at our wedding." Raja gripped Raven's ass tightly, pulling her closer to her smiling slightly, "you're so scandalous," Raja purred near Raven's ear, "but that will be a honeymoon outfit only." "If you say so," Raven crooned as she wrapped her arms around Raja's neck, almost flashing the crowd below. "I toot you too babe." Raja smiled as she felt Raven settle against her and her breathing slow down, "thank you Rave, you're my top toot of the week." "I'm your top toot of life bitch," Raven mumbled into Raja's neck. "That you are princess, that you are."

***

Alaska turned to Adore and murmured under her breath, “Is she ever gonna get bored?”

Adore laughed and shook her head, pulling the taller girl closer. “No, she fucking loves a step and repeat,” she responded, watching Courtney ham it up with Bianca and Vanity, pulling faces as reporters snapped photos of all of them.

At the moment, she was pretending to be terrified of Bianca as the Wicked Witch, cowering against Vanity as Glinda, with Kylie clutched in her arms. Jinkx stood off to the side directing them.

“Lasky! Adore!” Courtney waved them over excitedly. “Come on! Yellow Brick Road Realness!”

Adore glanced back at Alaska, grinning at her, before they went to indulge their friend and the paparazzi some more. “Sure, Dorothy. You bossy cunt.”

***

“Raja! Take our picture!” Raven smiled brightly. Her friends in the “Elite 6” had finally all shown up, and Raven wanted to get pictures with them - with herself center stage as usual, showing off her new tits and her offseason ass in her tight, sinful costume. Celia got close right away, her blonde hair and fair face making her look like a snow queen next to Raven’s deep brown colouring. Fo was already slightly drunk, the girl happily vlogging everything with her phone, while Jaslene had to be pried off her husband’s face. Allison got in the picture too and Sutan smiled when he saw that she looked genuinely happy. He, Raja and Violet sat nearby in a booth. Raja got up to oblige her slightly tipsy fiancee.

“Tati! Come here! You have to be in the photo too!” Allison called.

Tati protested, but Allison dragged her in as Raja began to snap photos of all of them, the girls laughing together for the camera.

***

Tati was nervous afterwards when they sat down, Sutan buying a round of shots for the table. She watched Raven scrolling through the photos on Raja’s phone, deciding which one to post. “Do you think I can see the picture? I don’t want to look weird,” she requested softly, perhaps too softly as Raven didn’t seem to hear her.

“I wouldn’t worry,” came Violet’s voice beside her. “You look great.”

“Are you sure? We had pizza the other day and I know gluten was a choice, but I feel all-”

“Your ass is nicer than my entire face Tatianna, you’re gorgeous.”

Tati looks over at Violet, slightly surprised by such a passionate compliment from her agent’s girlfriend.

“I mean...uh...you know…” Violet was flushing furiously. “You’re a model, you must know how pretty you are!” she finished.

Tatianna smiled, touching Violet’s hand. “I’m a little out of my element here. So sometimes...thank you. I needed to hear that.”

Violet pulled her hand away quickly, not meeting Tatianna eyes, almost looking like she was blushing, but Tati couldn’t really see her in the dim light. Violet reached out, picking up her glass and pushing one towards Tatianna. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

***

“Sutan! Hi” Chad smiled brightly as she leaned against the bar, her Cher costume making her a striking image of the celebrity.

“Hi Chad. Lovely outfit.” Sutan wiggled his eyebrows, making Chad laugh as she knew he was making fun of her.

“So have you heard?” Chad accepted the drink the bartender gave her, taking a long sip while she looked at Sutan, mischief in her eyes.

“Heard what?” Chad always had the best gossip, the woman somehow knowing everything about everyone since she was working at Saks, every brand with respect for themselves had their stuff there, so she knew practically everyone.

“Marie Claire is fighting.”

“.. The Ford models?”

“No silly! Bianca and Nina.”

“Really?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Sutan took a swing of his beer, not really sure if he should believe Chad, but she had never shared anything that wasn’t true before, he could see that she was looking at him in that certain way though, clearly expecting him to share some gossip himself since he knew Bianca so well. “I’ve always told Bianca she was better than MC anyway. She deserves to be the editor in chief of Vogue.”

Chad laughed at how Sutan deflected the question, letting him off the hook since they had known each other for years.

“You’ve always shot for the moon Amrull, both for yourself and for everyone else.”

“Everyone should, even if you miss you still end up among the stars.”

***

“Okay goblins! If everyone walks /slowly/ to the kitchen, we can divide your candy in threes.”

“But we don’t want to share with Grace! She’s too small!”

“Too bad munchkin, sharing is important, now walk.” Detox picked up his kids shoes, the terror twins having toed them off the moment they got inside, Julia dressed as an egg while Owen was a TV. Detox had no idea why Juju had allowed them to pick their own costumes, but since he hadn’t been home, he wasn’t going to complain about the fact that his wife had taken care of Halloween for him.

“You’re being so harsh on them.” Detox looked up, and saw Juju who was dressed as a cowboy, fitting in with her children’s theme of weird shit, while Grace who was sitting on her hip, the little girl dressed like a sheep.

“Aren’t you the fruit boxes and organic grapes queen?”

“But it’s Halloween. You have to get a stomachache” Juju looked down at Grace who was sleeping in her little costume. “And if we let them eat and watch TV, we could have time for a little Halloween celebration ourself.” Juju smiled and reached out to grab onto the belt of Detox’s chicken pants. “My sexy chicken man.”

“... This costume turns you on?”

“More than you know.”

“... I’ll take Grace.”

***

Allison walked over to Tatianna, carrying drinks for both of them. “Here you go… You drink vodka Red Bull, right?” Allison smiled sweetly. She looked so cute in her little angel costume, Tati thought.

“Wait...you paid for these?” Tati asked, adjusting her devil horns.

“Sure.” Allison smiled and stood next to Tatianna, surveying the crowd. “Wow, everyone looks great, don’t th--”

“Oooh, look at you and your fancy supermodel girlfriend!” came a playfully teasing voice from the side.

Tati turned to find Adore in a sexy glittering Tin Man costume, hand on her hip, eyebrows cocked. “Fuck off Adore, you know I don’t swing like that.” Tatianna said. She felt weird when she saw Allison’s big, expressive eyes widen at Adore’s comments.

“Seriously? You’re going to pretend to be straight,” Adore laughed.

Tati put a hand on her hip and began, “I’m very straig-”

Adore grabbed Tati around the waist and kissed her. Tati sputtered out a protest at first, but soon got into the kiss, grabbing Adore’s hair, not new to this little interaction between them, although it normally occurred when she had far more alcohol in her. Allison watched, wondering if this was why her roommate never talked about boys.

Tati was breathless by the time they broke apart, and tried to cover it up by saying, “Ugh, you ruined my lipstick, didn’t you?”

Laughing, Adore brushed a finger against her cheek, where silver glitter lingered. “That’s the least of your problems, princess.”

Tati glanced over Adore’s shoulder and saw a very jealous-looking woman dressed like the Scarecrow looking like she wanted to stab her eyes out. “Yeah, tell me about it. Your girlfriend looks pissed.”

“Which one?” Adore grinned impishly, then held out a hand to Allison. “Sorry, I’m being very rude. I’m Adore Delano. I went to college with Tati.”

“Allison. I’m her roommate.”

“Pleasure. You girls have fun. Happy Halloween!” Adore winked and turned to head back to Jinkx and Alaska.

*** “Sutan! Sutan! Are you out here?” Violet peeked out of the door, and stepped out onto the patio. Heidi Klum truly thought of everything, the area for smokers kept warm by several space heaters, everyone drinking and laughing as there was a bar at the far end of the room, the floor covered by superheros, musical characters and a slutty version of everything under the sun. Violet wrapped her arms around herself, her delicate gown, the deep neck and her bare arms making her shiver slightly anyway. Violet walked around, the cigarette smell crass in her nose as she walked around, looking for her boyfriend who she finally spotted at the edge of the patio. “Sutan!”

Violet smiled as she quickly walked over to her boyfriend who opened his arms and pulled her into a half hug.

“Hello lovely eyes.” Sutan kissed her hair. “How come you got such lovely eyes?”

“Stooop.” Violet giggled, the girl sneaking her hands underneath Sutan’s costume to warm them. Sutan flicked his cigarette and threw it in one of the ashtrays before he wrapped both arms around. “What are you doing out here?” Sutan took a step away, making a little distance between him and the big group of men he had been talking to just moments before.

“Looking for you.” Violet smiled, her cheeks a dusty pink as she snuggled into Sutan’s chest. “You have my wallet.”

“That’s correct.”

“Can I have it?”

“Why?” Sutan was gently swaying with Violet, the two of them almost dancing to the music from inside they could faintly hear.

“To buy drinks?“ Violet giggled, the woman gently turning her head up, effectively shutting Sutan up as they kissed lacy, neither of them noticing the bald man that took pictures of them from across the room.

[thegrottosyndicate]

The Witch, by Anton Chekhov

It was approaching nightfall. The sexton, Savely Gykin, was lying in his huge bed in the hut adjoining the church. He was not asleep, though it was his habit to go to sleep at the same time as the hens. His coarse red hair peeped from under one end of the greasy patchwork quilt, made up of coloured rags, while his big unwashed feet stuck out from the other. He was listening. His hut adjoined the wall that encircled the church and the solitary window in it looked out upon the open country. And out there a regular battle was going on. It was hard to say who was being wiped off the face of the earth, and for the sake of whose destruction nature was being churned up into such a ferment; but, judging from the unceasing malignant roar, someone was getting it very hot. A victorious force was in full chase over the fields, storming in the forest and on the church roof, battering spitefully with its fists upon the windows, raging and tearing, while something vanquished was howling and wailing.... A plaintive lament sobbed at the window, on the roof, or in the stove. It sounded not like a call for help, but like a cry of misery, a consciousness that it was too late, that there was no salvation. The snowdrifts were covered with a thin coating of ice; tears quivered on them and on the trees; a dark slush of mud and melting snow flowed along the roads and paths. In short, it was thawing, but through the dark night the heavens failed to see it, and flung flakes of fresh snow upon the melting earth at a terrific rate. And the wind staggered like a drunkard. It would not let the snow settle on the ground, and whirled it round in the darkness at random. Savely listened to all this din and frowned. The fact was that he knew, or at any rate suspected, what all this racket outside the window was tending to and whose handiwork it was. "I know!" he muttered, shaking his finger menacingly under the bedclothes; "I know all about it." On a stool by the window sat the sexton's wife, Raissa Nilovna. A tin lamp standing on another stool, as though timid and distrustful of its powers, shed a dim and flickering light on her broad shoulders, on the handsome, tempting-looking contours of her person, and on her thick plait, which reached to the floor. She was making sacks out of coarse hempen stuff. Her hands moved nimbly, while her whole body, her eyes, her eyebrows, her full lips, her white neck were as still as though they were asleep, absorbed in the monotonous, mechanical toil. Only from time to time she raised her head to rest her weary neck, glanced for a moment towards the window, beyond which the snowstorm was raging, and bent again over her sacking. No desire, no joy, no grief, nothing was expressed by her handsome face with its turned-up nose and its dimples. So a beautiful fountain expresses nothing when it is not playing. But at last she had finished a sack. She flung it aside, and, stretching luxuriously, rested her motionless, lack-lustre eyes on the window. The panes were swimming with drops like tears, and white with short-lived snowflakes which fell on the window, glanced at Raissa, and melted.... "Come to bed!" growled the sexton. Raissa remained mute. But suddenly her eyelashes flickered and there was a gleam of attention in her eye. Savely, all the time watching her expression from under the quilt, put out his head and asked: "What is it?" "Nothing.... I fancy someone's coming," she answered quietly. The sexton flung the quilt off with his arms and legs, knelt up in bed, and looked blankly at his wife. The timid light of the lamp illuminated his hirsute, pock-marked countenance and glided over his rough matted hair. "Do you hear?" asked his wife. Through the monotonous roar of the storm he caught a scarcely audible thin and jingling monotone like the shrill note of a gnat when it wants to settle on one's cheek and is angry at being prevented. "It's the post," muttered Savely, squatting on his heels. Two miles from the church ran the posting road. In windy weather, when the wind was blowing from the road to the church, the inmates of the hut caught the sound of bells. "Lord! fancy people wanting to drive about in such weather," sighed Raissa. "It's government work. You've to go whether you like or not." The murmur hung in the air and died away. "It has driven by," said Savely, getting into bed. But before he had time to cover himself up with the bedclothes he heard a distinct sound of the bell. The sexton looked anxiously at his wife, leapt out of bed and walked, waddling, to and fro by the stove. The bell went on ringing for a little, then died away again as though it had ceased. "I don't hear it," said the sexton, stopping and looking at his wife with his eyes screwed up. But at that moment the wind rapped on the window and with it floated a shrill jingling note. Savely turned pale, cleared his throat, and flopped about the floor with his bare feet again. "The postman is lost in the storm," he wheezed out glancing malignantly at his wife. "Do you hear? The postman has lost his way!... I... I know! Do you suppose I... don't understand?" he muttered. "I know all about it, curse you!" "What do you know?" Raissa asked quietly, keeping her eyes fixed on the window. "I know that it's all your doing, you she-devil! Your doing, damn you! This snowstorm and the post going wrong, you've done it all—you!" "You're mad, you silly," his wife answered calmly. "I've been watching you for a long time past and I've seen it. From the first day I married you I noticed that you'd bitch's blood in you!" "Tfoo!" said Raissa, surprised, shrugging her shoulders and crossing herself. "Cross yourself, you fool!" "A witch is a witch," Savely pronounced in a hollow, tearful voice, hurriedly blowing his nose on the hem of his shirt; "though you are my wife, though you are of a clerical family, I'd say what you are even at confession.... Why, God have mercy upon us! Last year on the Eve of the Prophet Daniel and the Three Young Men there was a snowstorm, and what happened then? The mechanic came in to warm himself. Then on St. Alexey's Day the ice broke on the river and the district policeman turned up, and he was chatting with you all night... the damned brute! And when he came out in the morning and I looked at him, he had rings under his eyes and his cheeks were hollow! Eh? During the August fast there were two storms and each time the huntsman turned up. I saw it all, damn him! Oh, she is redder than a crab now, aha!" "You didn't see anything." "Didn't I! And this winter before Christmas on the Day of the Ten Martyrs of Crete, when the storm lasted for a whole day and night—do you remember?—the marshal's clerk was lost, and turned up here, the hound.... Tfoo! To be tempted by the clerk! It was worth upsetting God's weather for him! A drivelling scribbler, not a foot from the ground, pimples all over his mug and his neck awry! If he were good-looking, anyway—but he, tfoo! he is as ugly as Satan!" The sexton took breath, wiped his lips and listened. The bell was not to be heard, but the wind banged on the roof, and again there came a tinkle in the darkness. "And it's the same thing now!" Savely went on. "It's not for nothing the postman is lost! Blast my eyes if the postman isn't looking for you! Oh, the devil is a good hand at his work; he is a fine one to help! He will turn him round and round and bring him here. I know, I see! You can't conceal it, you devil's bauble, you heathen wanton! As soon as the storm began I knew what you were up to." "Here's a fool!" smiled his wife. "Why, do you suppose, you thick-head, that I make the storm?" "H'm!... Grin away! Whether it's your doing or not, I only know that when your blood's on fire there's sure to be bad weather, and when there's bad weather there's bound to be some crazy fellow turning up here. It happens so every time! So it must be you!" To be more impressive the sexton put his finger to his forehead, closed his left eye, and said in a singsong voice: "Oh, the madness! oh, the unclean Judas! If you really are a human being and not a witch, you ought to think what if he is not the mechanic, or the clerk, or the huntsman, but the devil in their form! Ah! You'd better think of that!" "Why, you are stupid, Savely," said his wife, looking at him compassionately. "When father was alive and living here, all sorts of people used to come to him to be cured of the ague: from the village, and the hamlets, and the Armenian settlement. They came almost every day, and no one called them devils. But if anyone once a year comes in bad weather to warm himself, you wonder at it, you silly, and take all sorts of notions into your head at once." His wife's logic touched Savely. He stood with his bare feet wide apart, bent his head, and pondered. He was not firmly convinced yet of the truth of his suspicions, and his wife's genuine and unconcerned tone quite disconcerted him. Yet after a moment's thought he wagged his head and said: "It's not as though they were old men or bandy-legged cripples; it's always young men who want to come for the night.... Why is that? And if they only wanted to warm themselves——But they are up to mischief. No, woman; there's no creature in this world as cunning as your female sort! Of real brains you've not an ounce, less than a starling, but for devilish slyness—oo-oo-oo! The Queen of Heaven protect us! There is the postman's bell! When the storm was only beginning I knew all that was in your mind. That's your witchery, you spider!" "Why do you keep on at me, you heathen?" His wife lost her patience at last. "Why do you keep sticking to it like pitch?" "I stick to it because if anything—God forbid—happens to-night... do you hear?... if anything happens to-night, I'll go straight off to-morrow morning to Father Nikodim and tell him all about it. 'Father Nikodim,' I shall say, 'graciously excuse me, but she is a witch.' 'Why so?' 'H'm! do you want to know why?' 'Certainly....' And I shall tell him. And woe to you, woman! Not only at the dread Seat of Judgment, but in your earthly life you'll be punished, too! It's not for nothing there are prayers in the breviary against your kind!" Suddenly there was a knock at the window, so loud and unusual that Savely turned pale and almost dropped backwards with fright. His wife jumped up, and she, too, turned pale. "For God's sake, let us come in and get warm!" they heard in a trembling deep bass. "Who lives here? For mercy's sake! We've lost our way." "Who are you?" asked Raissa, afraid to look at the window. "The post," answered a second voice. "You've succeeded with your devil's tricks," said Savely with a wave of his hand. "No mistake; I am right! Well, you'd better look out!" The sexton jumped on to the bed in two skips, stretched himself on the feather mattress, and sniffing angrily, turned with his face to the wall. Soon he felt a draught of cold air on his back. The door creaked and the tall figure of a man, plastered over with snow from head to foot, appeared in the doorway. Behind him could be seen a second figure as white. "Am I to bring in the bags?" asked the second in a hoarse bass voice. "You can't leave them there." Saying this, the first figure began untying his hood, but gave it up, and pulling it off impatiently with his cap, angrily flung it near the stove. Then taking off his greatcoat, he threw that down beside it, and, without saying good-evening, began pacing up and down the hut. He was a fair-haired, young postman wearing a shabby uniform and black rusty-looking high boots. After warming himself by walking to and fro, he sat down at the table, stretched out his muddy feet towards the sacks and leaned his chin on his fist. His pale face, reddened in places by the cold, still bore vivid traces of the pain and terror he had just been through. Though distorted by anger and bearing traces of recent suffering, physical and moral, it was handsome in spite of the melting snow on the eyebrows, moustaches, and short beard. "It's a dog's life!" muttered the postman, looking round the walls and seeming hardly able to believe that he was in the warmth. "We were nearly lost! If it had not been for your light, I don't know what would have happened. Goodness only knows when it will all be over! There's no end to this dog's life! Where have we come?" he asked, dropping his voice and raising his eyes to the sexton's wife. "To the Gulyaevsky Hill on General Kalinovsky's estate," she answered, startled and blushing. "Do you hear, Stepan?" The postman turned to the driver, who was wedged in the doorway with a huge mail-bag on his shoulders. "We've got to Gulyaevsky Hill." "Yes... we're a long way out." Jerking out these words like a hoarse sigh, the driver went out and soon after returned with another bag, then went out once more and this time brought the postman's sword on a big belt, of the pattern of that long flat blade with which Judith is portrayed by the bedside of Holofernes in cheap woodcuts. Laying the bags along the wall, he went out into the outer room, sat down there and lighted his pipe. "Perhaps you'd like some tea after your journey?" Raissa inquired. "How can we sit drinking tea?" said the postman, frowning. "We must make haste and get warm, and then set off, or we shall be late for the mail train. We'll stay ten minutes and then get on our way. Only be so good as to show us the way." "What an infliction it is, this weather!" sighed Raissa. "H'm, yes.... Who may you be?" "We? We live here, by the church.... We belong to the clergy.... There lies my husband. Savely, get up and say good-evening! This used to be a separate parish till eighteen months ago. Of course, when the gentry lived here there were more people, and it was worth while to have the services. But now the gentry have gone, and I need not tell you there's nothing for the clergy to live on. The nearest village is Markovka, and that's over three miles away. Savely is on the retired list now, and has got the watchman's job; he has to look after the church...." And the postman was immediately informed that if Savely were to go to the General's lady and ask her for a letter to the bishop, he would be given a good berth. "But he doesn't go to the General's lady because he is lazy and afraid of people. We belong to the clergy all the same..." added Raissa. "What do you live on?" asked the postman. "There's a kitchen garden and a meadow belonging to the church. Only we don't get much from that," sighed Raissa. "The old skinflint, Father Nikodim, from the next village celebrates here on St. Nicolas' Day in the winter and on St. Nicolas' Day in the summer, and for that he takes almost all the crops for himself. There's no one to stick up for us!" "You are lying," Savely growled hoarsely. "Father Nikodim is a saintly soul, a luminary of the Church; and if he does take it, it's the regulation!" "You've a cross one!" said the postman, with a grin. "Have you been married long?" "It was three years ago the last Sunday before Lent. My father was sexton here in the old days, and when the time came for him to die, he went to the Consistory and asked them to send some unmarried man to marry me that I might keep the place. So I married him." "Aha, so you killed two birds with one stone!" said the postman, looking at Savely's back. "Got wife and job together." Savely wriggled his leg impatiently and moved closer to the wall. The postman moved away from the table, stretched, and sat down on the mail-bag. After a moment's thought he squeezed the bags with his hands, shifted his sword to the other side, and lay down with one foot touching the floor. "It's a dog's life," he muttered, putting his hands behind his head and closing his eyes. "I wouldn't wish a wild Tatar such a life." Soon everything was still. Nothing was audible except the sniffing of Savely and the slow, even breathing of the sleeping postman, who uttered a deep prolonged "h-h-h" at every breath. From time to time there was a sound like a creaking wheel in his throat, and his twitching foot rustled against the bag. Savely fidgeted under the quilt and looked round slowly. His wife was sitting on the stool, and with her hands pressed against her cheeks was gazing at the postman's face. Her face was immovable, like the face of some one frightened and astonished. "Well, what are you gaping at?" Savely whispered angrily. "What is it to you? Lie down!" answered his wife without taking her eyes off the flaxen head. Savely angrily puffed all the air out of his chest and turned abruptly to the wall. Three minutes later he turned over restlessly again, knelt up on the bed, and with his hands on the pillow looked askance at his wife. She was still sitting motionless, staring at the visitor. Her cheeks were pale and her eyes were glowing with a strange fire. The sexton cleared his throat, crawled on his stomach off the bed, and going up to the postman, put a handkerchief over his face. "What's that for?" asked his wife. "To keep the light out of his eyes." "Then put out the light!" Savely looked distrustfully at his wife, put out his lips towards the lamp, but at once thought better of it and clasped his hands. "Isn't that devilish cunning?" he exclaimed. "Ah! Is there any creature slyer than womenkind?" "Ah, you long-skirted devil!" hissed his wife, frowning with vexation. "You wait a bit!" And settling herself more comfortably, she stared at the postman again. It did not matter to her that his face was covered. She was not so much interested in his face as in his whole appearance, in the novelty of this man. His chest was broad and powerful, his hands were slender and well formed, and his graceful, muscular legs were much comelier than Savely's stumps. There could be no comparison, in fact. "Though I am a long-skirted devil," Savely said after a brief interval, "they've no business to sleep here.... It's government work; we shall have to answer for keeping them. If you carry the letters, carry them, you can't go to sleep.... Hey! you!" Savely shouted into the outer room. "You, driver. What's your name? Shall I show you the way? Get up; postmen mustn't sleep!" And Savely, thoroughly roused, ran up to the postman and tugged him by the sleeve. "Hey, your honour, if you must go, go; and if you don't, it's not the thing.... Sleeping won't do." The postman jumped up, sat down, looked with blank eyes round the hut, and lay down again. "But when are you going?" Savely pattered away. "That's what the post is for—to get there in good time, do you hear? I'll take you." The postman opened his eyes. Warmed and relaxed by his first sweet sleep, and not yet quite awake, he saw as through a mist the white neck and the immovable, alluring eyes of the sexton's wife. He closed his eyes and smiled as though he had been dreaming it all. "Come, how can you go in such weather!" he heard a soft feminine voice; "you ought to have a sound sleep and it would do you good!" "And what about the post?" said Savely anxiously. "Who's going to take the post? Are you going to take it, pray, you?" The postman opened his eyes again, looked at the play of the dimples on Raissa's face, remembered where he was, and understood Savely. The thought that he had to go out into the cold darkness sent a chill shudder all down him, and he winced. "I might sleep another five minutes," he said, yawning. "I shall be late, anyway...." "We might be just in time," came a voice from the outer room. "All days are not alike; the train may be late for a bit of luck." The postman got up, and stretching lazily began putting on his coat. Savely positively neighed with delight when he saw his visitors were getting ready to go. "Give us a hand," the driver shouted to him as he lifted up a mail-bag. The sexton ran out and helped him drag the post-bags into the yard. The postman began undoing the knot in his hood. The sexton's wife gazed into his eyes, and seemed trying to look right into his soul. "You ought to have a cup of tea..." she said. "I wouldn't say no... but, you see, they're getting ready," he assented. "We are late, anyway." "Do stay," she whispered, dropping her eyes and touching him by the sleeve. The postman got the knot undone at last and flung the hood over his elbow, hesitating. He felt it comfortable standing by Raissa. "What a... neck you've got!..." And he touched her neck with two fingers. Seeing that she did not resist, he stroked her neck and shoulders. "I say, you are..." "You'd better stay... have some tea." "Where are you putting it?" The driver's voice could be heard outside. "Lay it crossways." "You'd better stay.... Hark how the wind howls." And the postman, not yet quite awake, not yet quite able to shake off the intoxicating sleep of youth and fatigue, was suddenly overwhelmed by a desire for the sake of which mail-bags, postal trains... and all things in the world, are forgotten. He glanced at the door in a frightened way, as though he wanted to escape or hide himself, seized Raissa round the waist, and was just bending over the lamp to put out the light, when he heard the tramp of boots in the outer room, and the driver appeared in the doorway. Savely peeped in over his shoulder. The postman dropped his hands quickly and stood still as though irresolute. "It's all ready," said the driver. The postman stood still for a moment, resolutely threw up his head as though waking up completely, and followed the driver out. Raissa was left alone. "Come, get in and show us the way!" she heard. One bell sounded languidly, then another, and the jingling notes in a long delicate chain floated away from the hut. When little by little they had died away, Raissa got up and nervously paced to and fro. At first she was pale, then she flushed all over. Her face was contorted with hate, her breathing was tremulous, her eyes gleamed with wild, savage anger, and, pacing up and down as in a cage, she looked like a tigress menaced with red-hot iron. For a moment she stood still and looked at her abode. Almost half of the room was filled up by the bed, which stretched the length of the whole wall and consisted of a dirty feather-bed, coarse grey pillows, a quilt, and nameless rags of various sorts. The bed was a shapeless ugly mass which suggested the shock of hair that always stood up on Savely's head whenever it occurred to him to oil it. From the bed to the door that led into the cold outer room stretched the dark stove surrounded by pots and hanging clouts. Everything, including the absent Savely himself, was dirty, greasy, and smutty to the last degree, so that it was strange to see a woman's white neck and delicate skin in such surroundings. Raissa ran up to the bed, stretched out her hands as though she wanted to fling it all about, stamp it underfoot, and tear it to shreds. But then, as though frightened by contact with the dirt, she leapt back and began pacing up and down again. When Savely returned two hours later, worn out and covered with snow, she was undressed and in bed. Her eyes were closed, but from the slight tremor that ran over her face he guessed that she was not asleep. On his way home he had vowed inwardly to wait till next day and not to touch her, but he could not resist a biting taunt at her. "Your witchery was all in vain: he's gone off," he said, grinning with malignant joy. His wife remained mute, but her chin quivered. Savely undressed slowly, clambered over his wife, and lay down next to the wall. "To-morrow I'll let Father Nikodim know what sort of wife you are!" he muttered, curling himself up. Raissa turned her face to him and her eyes gleamed. "The job's enough for you, and you can look for a wife in the forest, blast you!" she said. "I am no wife for you, a clumsy lout, a slug-a-bed, God forgive me!" "Come, come... go to sleep!" "How miserable I am!" sobbed his wife. "If it weren't for you, I might have married a merchant or some gentleman! If it weren't for you, I should love my husband now! And you haven't been buried in the snow, you haven't been frozen on the highroad, you Herod!" Raissa cried for a long time. At last she drew a deep sigh and was still. The storm still raged without. Something wailed in the stove, in the chimney, outside the walls, and it seemed to Savely that the wailing was within him, in his ears. This evening had completely confirmed him in his suspicions about his wife. He no longer doubted that his wife, with the aid of the Evil One, controlled the winds and the post sledges. But to add to his grief, this mysteriousness, this supernatural, weird power gave the woman beside him a peculiar, incomprehensible charm of which he had not been conscious before. The fact that in his stupidity he unconsciously threw a poetic glamour over her made her seem, as it were, whiter, sleeker, more unapproachable. "Witch!" he muttered indignantly. "Tfoo, horrid creature!" Yet, waiting till she was quiet and began breathing evenly, he touched her head with his finger... held her thick plait in his hand for a minute. She did not feel it. Then he grew bolder and stroked her neck. "Leave off!" she shouted, and prodded him on the nose with her elbow with such violence that he saw stars before his eyes. The pain in his nose was soon over, but the torture in his heart remained.

[trs80sbby-blog]

Fireworks!

“Fireworks” is appropriate since the story I’m about to tell took place on New Years Eve. We all know that I have been struggling with the dating scene and that I pretty much gave up on that bullshit, but I want to remember this story. I want to remember it because I want to come back to this one day and say that I lived with a stranger for a couple of hours and I loved him before he left my sight. ( Let’s be clear that when I say I loved him, I loved him. His energy his personality and everything that makes him, him.) And honestly, I didn’t believe that any part of this story was actually possible.

Tinder

I have been on Tinder for way too fuckin long. It’s a gateway to life’s destruction to be completely honest but i took my part in it. Swipe left, Swipe Right, SUPER LIKE!!! Bullshit! But I would spend my time at work swiping left and right on people and reading minimal bios in the 500 characters that were allowed. I swiped right another time on a bio that read, “ be prepared to meet if we match.” Or something in that context, I’m sure there was more but I’ve since deleted tinder, again, so I cant go back and say for sure. Anyways.. I dont remembered who messaged who first, but we started chatting a little bit and then eventually we got off tinder and started texting each other. Again, I know I’m leaving out some details but I don’t remember the conversation we had on tinder or who gave their number first. I wasnt invested really. And seriously thats not important. You’ll see. We met on Tinder. The universe introduced us on Tinder.

Dodging Bullshit

Sometimes I think that I am so broken or so insecure that I’m genuinely not worth people’s time. And then there are other times where I am this powerful insatiable Queen and I believe that people aren’t worth my time. At this time I was conflicted with both. It was refreshing that he didnt like to text so much, so the brief couple of conversations we had after exchanging numbers was nice, but mentally, I wasnt sure if I wanted to be vulnerable or a total bitch. Look, I have a back story that I can tell one day, but just know that i have a reason for the way i am. People have thrown so much shit my way while dating and I have had enough free dinners and free drinks and free movies, that I have concluded that my time isn’t worth all that. I like to eat but I dont like to repeat myself.

“Hi, my name is Shawnta.”

“What do you do?”

“What are you looking for?”

“What’s your story?”

Who wants to answer those question 50 thousand times over and over again for different ignorant people? I need a fuckin drink please..

So when he asked to take me out before New Years, I was hesitant. Sick and hesitant. Details..

Planning

Initially we were suppose to go see a movie since apparently we both like movies. Now, that might sound common, but I love movies. Junkie... And with the admittance of him being able to shed a tear during a sad scene, I was able to accept that he might be just the junkie i needed when it came to a movie partner. We never went to the movies. Lol. Discussed it a little more, but nothing solid. I didn’t care.

Pause; If I’m coming off as if I’m lost, I was..

Do you meet people while you’re sick? It’s not like I didnt tell him. He said I had sars and still wanted to meet me. I procrastinated on plans so much and time was running out to the point that I really had to make a decision. By this time, in my head, I wanted to meet him, I just didnt want to be disappointed or be the disappointment. We finally planned to get together on New Years Eve around 7 because I did not want to stay out all night. 7 changed to 8, 8 changed to 9, and 9 changed to 9:30pm SHARP!! Some where between 7 and 8 is when the Universe decided to start making decisions for me, and make it very clear that I’m going out.

Have you ever felt a shift in your energy that was so noticeable and positive that you had no choice but to embrace it? That’s what I felt when that decision was made for me. I did my make up. I got dressed in this beautiful, shoulderless, shear, burgundy, full length dress. And wore heels, my favorite ones at that, and I walked out the house with more confidence than I’ve had all year.

Shady Lady / R15

Shady Lady requires collared shirts. He didnt wear one. We didnt go to Shady Lady as planned. We went to R15 which was at the other end of the block. Downtown, Sacramento has all these places that can bring you in and swallow you whole. I think R15 did that to us and the fact that the bartender made a really decent Manhattan for him and a heavy handed margarita for me. We sat at the bar and I was finally able to really look at this beautiful, 6 foot something, brown skinned man. He has the perfect eyebrows, seriously the perfect face and bone structure. But the most irresistible part of him is his eyes. His eyelashes are thick and full, and did I say perfect? He’s gorgeous. And then he spoke. I need you to understand that yes, we had previous conversations over the phone and his voice is captivating, but it’s a spell in person. He spoke and I listened to his tone. What the fuck! This man spoke to me and I felt the universe’s desired to take hold of this situation all over again. The power of attaction, as he says, was definitely present. The way he looked at me was indescribable. And I could be in my own head at this time, but he looked at me and called me beautiful. I’ve been called beautiful by a lot of men this past year and not once did I believe them. But when the words flowed off his lips, I tasted his truth. We were in this bar full of people, but a chill environment and music surrounded us, but it was just us. You can read that a million times in a million books and never understand it until it actually happens to you. It was loud, so I had to lean into him so that he could talk to me, and as I’m moving away to look at him again, we kissed. Did I go in to kiss him or was it the other way around? I’m not sure.. But it happen and the world tilted a little. His kiss was soft, he held my cheek and lead that kiss into another realm of pleasure. Heroin.. The most addictive drug known to man. His kiss instantly became my heroin, and it didnt go unnoticed by anyone.

Midnight

The countdown was coming. And we already kissed, so you’d think, what’s one more new years kiss right? You couldn’t be more wrong. I kissed him at 12am January 1, 2018, and I loved him in that moment. I loved the energy that he forced into my body through that kiss. Sleeping beauty would’ve woke up with that kiss, fuck Prince Charming, I had him.

Public

Throughout the night we talked and people watched a little. He had to go to the restroom and thats when it became obvious that we were being watched. This incredibly bubbly woman came up to me, and told me that she’s been wanting to come say something to me for a while. She told me that i was gorgeous and my idiot self asked her who she was talking to. One day ill learn to accept compliments without making a total ass of myself. Then she started to talk about me and him. This is when I knew i wasnt imagining what was happening.

“How long have you guys been together?”

“You guys look at each other so intensely.”

“I just had to come over and tell you how beautiful you guys are.”

She was as surprised as I was when I told her that this was our first date.

“DAMMNNN.”

By this time, he returned with a kiss. But so did his friends. This allowed us some time to become a little social. I introduced him to my bubbly new friend, and he introduced me to his friends that arrived. I excused myself to smoke a cigarette with miss bubbles and met her boyfriend. He was handsome too. Omg they are the cutest couple. Lumberjack meets tinkerbell. Lumberjack was trying to be kind and tried to introduce me to one of his friends.

“I don’t know if youre here with anyone, but if you are, my guy here is better than your guy,”

When I tell you that MY GUY had perfect timing. We were standing right outside the bar door when this was happening. I could see him through the closed door, and as lumberjack is talking I could see him making his way to me. He came out and i introduced lumberjack to my guy. He didn’t come out because he say us three talking, he came out to see if I was ok and give me a kiss. After the introduction he went right back in to his friends. When I went back into the bar, we socialized a little more and then the bar started to prepare to close. Time flew.

Goodbyes

He asked if i was ready to leave. Unfortunately I had no choice but to say yes. So he walked me to my car. As we were walking I asked him if he wanted to sit in my car while he waited for his Lyft or Uber, and then the words just slipped off of my lips.

“Do you want to come home with me?”

Ok Pause again...

The words slipped my lips but I meant them. I didn't want him to leave. I didnt want to drive home and not have him around me or next to me.

He got in the car and the goodbyes didnt happen.

Goodnight, Good morning

When we got into the house, I changed into what I regularly sleep in. Nothing sexy or remotely attractive. And he stripped down to his boxers or briefs. I wasnt paying attention. The alcohol kicked in for him and i was a little tipsy. Two too many Manhattans lol. I remember asking if he wanted a glass of water and getting it for him... So this is probably where you want to hear all the details on what happened. Sexually... I can’t. God, I want to say everything and be like, we had amazing sex and it lasted all night and blah blah blah.. No... That’s not what happened. Things happened that deserve gold metals, but whatever... I woke up at about 4 or 5 and I thought it was all some sick dream that I had. I went to the bathroom, not even looking at where he was laying. Coming out the bathroom, I saw him sleeping and my heart stopped for a second. It all hit me like lightning hitting a tree and leaving its beautiful artwork. This man chose to spend New Years with me. He is genuine, kind, honest and in my bed sleeping like that has been his side of the bed for years.

I wanted to climb in bed and hold him just so that when i fell back asleep, he wouldn’t disappear. I did, just for a moment though because I dint know if he liked to cuddle. I found out later that i totally could’ve lol.

8 o’clock... We were laying there, and we may not have been able to witness the fireworks the previous night, but we made our own that morning. What the fuck, I’m so cheesy.. This man is... Who is this man??

Have you heard of Malanda Jean-Claude? He’s my favorite writer, and his poetry will leave you completely lost in a forest of confusing, frustrating, necessary love.

I felt like he was writing our story.

This morning has an ending

So, he had to leave at some time. I mean come on now...

But that night was life awaking inside me. I have slept for so long and I didnt know I was ever going to wake up. And to top it off, I regret nothing. I know that I used some strong descriptions with this man, and I’m completely aware that i could be disappointed later, but maybe not. Who knows. Shit, it wasnt us that was making all that happen that night.

We talk everyday. Seriously, i told him that I’m obsessed with his voice. Fuck a text.

Point of the story is this. You can have plans for your life all you want.. You can fall apart and build yourself up again, and repeat this 100times before you die. But dont sleep through life. Embrace the good, accept the bad, learn, grow. And on top of all of that BE LOVED, BE BLESSED, cause your forehead is being kissed every night that you close your eyes to go to sleep. And you lips are being kissed every morning you open your eyes and take that breath.