#palm reading in montreal

[psychicarjunganesh]

best psychic reader in montreal

Êtes-vous à la recherche d’un astrologue compétent et de confiance à Montréal? Ne cherchez pas plus loin que Psychic Arjun Ganesh, un expert renommé et très respecté dans le domaine de l’astrologie. Avec ses compétences exceptionnelles, ses perspicacités profondes et son approche compatissante, Arjun Ganesh s’est forgé une réputation stellaire comme l’un des meilleurs astrologues de la ville.

[masterarjundasji]

What Insights You Can Get from Palm Reading in Edmonton?

Are you fascinated by the art of palm reading? Wondering what insights this ancient practice can provide? Look no further than palm reading in Edmonton! With its deep roots in tradition and mysticism, palm reading offers a unique way to gain insights into your life, personality, and potential future. By studying the lines, shapes, and contours of your palms, an experienced palm reader can unlock hidden truths about your destiny, relationships, and career prospects.

Brief History of Palm Reading

Palm reading, also known as palmistry or chiromancy, has been practiced for thousands of years across various cultures and civilizations. Its origins can be traced back to ancient India where it was believed that the lines on one's palms held the secrets of their life and fortune. Over time, palm reading spread to different parts of the world, each region developing its unique interpretations and techniques.

What is Palm Reading in Edmonton?

Palm reading in Edmonton is a popular form of divination where a skilled palm reader analyzes the lines, shapes, and other features of an individual's hand to provide insights into their personality traits, strengths, weaknesses, and future prospects. Edmonton, with its vibrant spiritual community, boasts several knowledgeable and experienced palm readers who offer their services to those seeking guidance and self-discovery.

Benefits of Palm Reading

The practice of Palm Reading in Edmonton offers numerous benefits. Especially for individuals looking to gain self-awareness and insight into their lives. Firstly, palm reading can provide a deeper understanding of one's personality and character traits. By examining the size and shape of the hand, the palm reader can determine whether the individual is an introvert or an extrovert, analytical or intuitive, practical or creative. This self-awareness can be invaluable in personal and professional relationships, helping individuals play to their strengths and overcome their weaknesses.

Secondly, palm reading can offer guidance and clarity in decision-making. The lines on the palm can reveal important aspects of one's life, such as career paths, relationships, and health. By understanding these potential outcomes, individuals can make more informed choices and take steps towards a more fulfilling life. Palm reading can also provide reassurance during uncertain times, allowing individuals to trust in the path they are on and have faith in their own abilities.

Lastly, palm reading can serve as a form of therapy and self-reflection. The act of having one's palm read can be a cathartic experience, allowing individuals to open up and explore their deepest desires, fears, and aspirations. Through this process, individuals can gain a better understanding of their own emotions and motivations, leading to personal growth and a greater sense of fulfillment.

Palm Reading Techniques and Tools

Palm reading involves a combination of observation, intuition, and knowledge of palmistry techniques. A skilled palm reader carefully examines both the dominant and non-dominant hand, as they can reveal different aspects of an individual's life. The dominant hand represents the present and future, while the non-dominant hand represents the past and inherited traits.

During a palm reading session, the palm reader will analyze the various lines on the palm, such as the heart line, head line, life line, and fate line. Each line holds its own significance and can provide insights into different areas of one's life. Additionally, the palm reader will also consider the shape of the hand, the texture of the skin, and the presence of mounts or bumps, all of which contribute to the overall reading.

To enhance their readings, palm readers in Edmonton may also incorporate other tools such as tarot cards, crystals, or astrology. These additional tools can provide further depth and detail to the palm reading, offering a more comprehensive understanding of the individual's life and circumstances. If you need the assistance of a face reading expert in Montreal then connect with Arjun Das Ji.

Different Types of Palm Lines and Their Meanings

Palm lines are one of the key elements analyzed in palm reading. Each line represents a different aspect of an individual's life and can provide valuable insights into their personality, relationships, and future prospects. Here are some of the most common palm lines and their meanings:

Heart Line: The heart line represents emotions, love, and relationships. A long, curved heart line indicates a passionate and affectionate nature, while a short or straight heart line suggests a more reserved and practical approach to relationships.

Head Line: The headline represents intellect, communication, and mental abilities. A deep and straight headline indicates clear thinking and strong analytical skills, while a wavy or fragmented headline may suggest a more creative and intuitive mind.

Life Line: Contrary to popular belief, the lifeline does not predict the length of one's life but rather represents vitality, energy, and overall well-being. A long and well-defined lifeline indicates good health and stamina, while a faint or fragmented lifeline may suggest periods of low energy or health challenges.

Fate Line: The fate line, also known as the career line, reveals one's career path and success. A strong and unbroken fate line suggests a clear career trajectory and success in one's chosen field, while a weak or fragmented fate line may indicate a less defined career path or obstacles along the way.

These are just a few examples of the many lines that can be found on the palm. Each line is unique to the individual and requires a skilled palm reader to interpret accurately.

Insights You Can Gain from Palm Reading

Palm Reading in Edmonton can provide a wealth of insights about an individual's life, personality, and future. Here are some of the key insights you can gain from a palm reading session:

Personality Traits: By analyzing the shape of the hand and the lines on the palm, a palm reader can uncover personality traits such as leadership abilities, creativity, intuition, and emotional tendencies. This self-awareness can help individuals make better choices and understand their own strengths and weaknesses.

Relationships: Palm Reading in Edmonton can offer insights into one's romantic relationships, family dynamics, and friendships. By examining the lines and mounts on the palm, a palm reader can determine compatibility, communication styles, and potential challenges in relationships. This knowledge can help individuals foster healthier and more fulfilling connections with others.

Career and Success: The lines on the palm can reveal important information about one's career path, success, and potential obstacles. A palm reader can provide guidance on the most suitable career choices and offer advice on how to navigate challenges and maximize opportunities. This insight can be invaluable for individuals looking to make informed decisions about their professional lives.

Health and Well-being: Palm reading can also shed light on one's physical and mental well-being. By examining the health line and other indicators on the palm, a palm reader can provide insights into potential health issues, energy levels, and overall vitality. This knowledge can prompt individuals to take proactive steps towards maintaining their health and seeking appropriate medical advice when necessary.

Finding a Palm Reader in Edmonton

If you're ready to explore the ancient wisdom of palm reading in Edmonton, there are several reputable palm readers to choose from. Start by asking for recommendations from friends, family, or members of the local spiritual community. Online directories, forums, and reviews can also provide valuable insights into the reputation and expertise of different palm readers.

When selecting a palm reader, it's important to consider their experience, qualifications, and approach. Look for a palm reader who has a deep understanding of palmistry, as well as a compassionate and non-judgmental demeanor. A good palm reader will create a comfortable and safe environment for the session, allowing you to open up and receive the insights you seek.

The Power of Palm Reading in Gaining Self-Awareness and Guidance

Palm reading in Edmonton offers a fascinating and insightful journey into self-discovery. By exploring the lines, shapes, and contours of your palms, a skilled palm reader can unlock hidden truths about your destiny, relationships, and career prospects. The benefits of palm reading extend beyond mere entertainment, offering a deeper understanding of your personality, guidance in decision-making, and a sense of empowerment in navigating life's challenges.

So, if you're ready to tap into the ancient wisdom of palm reading and gain valuable insights that can shape your future, consider seeking the services of a reputable palm reader in Edmonton. Embark on a journey of self-discovery, unlock the secrets of your palm, and open yourself to a world of possibilities. Your palm holds the key to a deeper understanding of yourself and the path that lies ahead. Book your consultation with Arjun Das Ji now.

[formulawolff]

Just imagining the cutest moment of gg doing a virtual podcast/interview and discussing something and mid yapping she’s not able to recall something specific and calling toto into the room to answer her question

me reading this:

here’s a little snippet for you! <3

“toto!”

he’s in the midst of scouring through emails. dozens upon dozens of them. glasses rest on the bridge of his nose, right hand resting under his chin.

yet, when he hears his name floating through the space, so sweet and melodic as it drifts into his ears, he perks up.

“i need you to come in here for just a second! please!”

the way the notes crumble ever so slightly alert him that there’s a sense of urgency. a need for his assistance.

hmph. the emails can wait.

he had more important matters to tend to.

he strolls down the hall, entering through the first doorway on his left.

and there you are, perched in your chair. swiveling around the second you sense his presence in the space.

“hi love—“

you’re greeted with a kiss, his palms enveloping your cheeks as he brings you in close. instinctively, your chin tilts upward, mouth parting slightly so his tongue can have access.

“good afternoon, mr. wolff.”

a voice brings him out of his spell.

it’s alex, his hand waving in a flurry as he greets the team principal, “how are emails going?”

“just what you would expect,” toto shrugs, heat flourishing in his cheeks as the realization washes over him.

alex just witnessed the entirety of the kiss. from the moment he walked in the room till the moment he cleared his throat.

it was a good thirty seconds, more than likely.

“we were just recording our episode of the podcast for break,” your voice chimes in, “and alex asked me a question but i couldn’t really remember it so i figured i would phone a friend.”

“and what is it that you can’t remember?”

if he was called into the room, it surely had something to do with you.

“we’re doing a fan q&a and someone had a question regarding montreal,” alex sucks in a breath, “our golden girl here doesn’t really recall anything about it, so i was wondering if you had anything to add?”

there’s a shakiness in alex’s tone, only reminding toto that he didn’t really enjoy discussing montreal.

toto didn’t either.

in fact, he had tried to block out the memory of that day entirely.

yet, it lingered. from time to time.

“what was the question again?” letting out a breath, toto grabs a chair, bringing it close to you, “i don’t really want to delve too deep, but i can try my best to answer it.”

“on a scale of one to ten,” there’s a clicking of a mouse as alex switches windows, bringing up the twitter thread, “how scared were you when the car went airborne?”

“and they want an honest answer?” the team principal arches a brow, taking note of the hand creeping towards his.

you intertwine your fingers together, toto giving you a gentle squeeze.

it was almost like an it’s okay my love, i got this sort of squeeze.

“well,” toto’s head turns toward the camera, his mouth level with the mic, “to be quite frank, the moment her car left the track and started flying in the air, i thought my team was going to have to restrain me.”

alex puckers his lips, his gaze glossy, “and why was that?”

“i thought i was going to start running onto the track.”

[f444keitflowers]

Yellowjackets characters as Boygenius songs !!

Taissa Turner - Souviner

Always managed to move in / right next to the cemeteries / and never far from hospitals / I don't know what that tells you about me / pulling thorns out of my palm / working midnight surgery / when I cut a hole into my skull / do you hate what you see? / like I do.

Vanessa Plamer - Emily i’m sorry

Headed straight for the concrete / in a nightmare / screaming / now i’m wide awake /spiralling / and you dont wanna talk / just take me back to montreal / i’ll get a real job / you’ll go back to school / we can burn out / in the freezing cold / and just get lost / Emily i’m sorry baby / you know how I get / when i’m wrong / and I can feel myself becoming somebody i’m not / I’m not sorry

Jackie taylor - Cool about it

I came prepared for absolution / if you’d only ask / so I take some offense when you say “no regrets” / […] / once I took your medication / to know what it’s like / and now I have to act like/ I cant read your mind / I ask you how you’re doing / and I let you lie / but we dont have to talk about it / I can walk you home / and practice method acting / i’ll pretend being with you doesn’t feel like drowning / telling you it’s nice to see / how good you’re doing / even though we know / it isn’t true.

Shauna Shipman - Letter to an old poet

I said "I think that you're special" / you told me once that I'm selfish / and I kissed you hard / in the dark / in the closet / […] / you don't know me / I wanna be happy / I'm ready / to walk into my room / without looking for you / I'll go up to the top of our building / and remember my dog / when I see the full moon / I can't feel it yet / but I am waiting

Lottie Matthews - Not strong enough

Always an angel / never a god / always an angel / never a god / I don't know why I am / the way I am / There's something in the static / I think I've been having / revelations / Coming to / in the front seat / nearly empty / Skip the exit / to our old street and go home / Go home alone

Laura Lee - Without you without them

give me everything you’ve got / i’ll take what I can get / I want to hear your story / and be a part of it / thank your father before you / his mother before him / who would I be without you without them? / speak to me / until your histories / no mystery to me.

Natalie Scatorccio - Revolution 0

If it isn't love / then what the fuck is it? / I guess just let me pretend / I don't want to die / That's a lie / But I'm afraid to get sick / I don't know what that is / You wanted a song / So it's gonna be a short one / Wish I wasn't so tired / But I'm tired / If you're not enough / Then I give up/ and then nothing is / I used to think if I just closed my eyes / I would disappear.

Misty Quigley - Stay Down

I wasn’t a fighter til somebody told me i’d better learn / to lean into the punch / so it don’t hurt as bad / when they leave / there you were / turning my cheek / i look at you / and you look at a screen / i’m in the backseat of my body / i’m just steering my life / in a video game / similar accent / a different name / it’s a slow down / so would you teach me im the villain / aren’t I / aren’t I the one / constantly repenting for a difficult mind

[imzsuzsis-blog]

We broke up with Loki. I didn't want to put it anywhere, not even how we went, especially how it ended, and I wouldn't want to tell anyone about it because I would be a victim of teenagers again and I don't want that. I sat in the chair of my hotel room and didn't dare to open the envelope that Amanda gave me because it said whether I would have a son or a daughter in a few weeks. I stood up slowly, put the envelope back on the table with tears in my eyes, walked over to the beautiful big window here in Montreal, the windows are always so beautiful and big, I looked out and my heart started racing, what if I meet another good boy here, but I quickly took it off, now it's over my engaged relationship couldn't happen so soon, and I'm also pregnant, so I neglected it and headed for the door where...

,,What the hell??? Pato? You?"

"Am I the devil?" Hello to your ex? Lando..."

"Ok, sorry... But you know you surprised me... Wow, I didn't expect you... Until now only Osc came to me in the team..."

I looked at him as he looked at me with full eyes.

"You're either pregnant, or you've gained a few kilos..."

"The previous one slipped in, but I decided to keep it and raise it, I'm able to do it."

He came in and clapped with pure force.

"Damn you, I don't know you well, you always go to parties!!!! Fucking TikTok, X and Insta are full of this!!!!! You can't do it with a whore kid, stupid English, adopt him, raising children is not your fucking business."

"I'm not an adult, understand. I don't want to go to parties anymore, but fuck me. Max and Charles keep calling me to go, if I say no, they tell me that I'm slipping away from good guys, so I have to go!!!"

Burying my face in my palms, I started sobbing because I was telling the truth, they confronted me, I told them I was coming out and on top of that I told them that I was pregnant, and I thought especially about Charles that he would be ready to help, but he is not a party face and he keeps teasing me to party with him, but I don't I want to be with him, I want to be at home, and I want to be ready with his little room as soon as possible.

I watched Lando sitting on the bed and crying, there could be several reasons for this, they broke up with the guy he was dating according to the gossip papers, I yelled at him against my will again (this meant the end of our relationship back then) or that envelope on the table can make pregnant men cry because of the tension .

"Shall I look at what's in the envelope as a neutral party?"

"Pato, please don't... Amanda gave it to me, but I don't want to know the baby's gender until the birth."

I hugged him, he was crying a lot and his eyes filled more and more with tears, it was one of the most emotional moments in my life, I've seen Lando cry and even comforted him, but he's hard to comfort. Once, right after Miami, I was there at the first Miami Grand Prix, he was eliminated and cried all the way through the race.

"What happened to make you cry like that?"

"It turned out that Loki really cheated on me with a contemporary named Queer, they met online and secretly started dating about a week ago, he said, and he also dumped me."

"No..."

"I don't know his nickname and I don't care about the honest name of the fuck."

Until now, I knew that autistic people could be so easily deceived, but how so. He is tricked by a teacher and left with a wooden picture so that he knows how much he is waiting for the little bastard, there is no better adjective for this.

"Pato, before you say anything... I also read on the Internet that Lily is still upset about this."

"Hello, Oscar..."

"Sorry... Hello"

He sat down next to us and started stroking his back in circles, but the situation didn't get any worse than we thought.

"Pato one, he fell asleep... Two, is that envelope?"

I looked at Pato with a sleepy face and sad.

"Yes, but she said that she didn't want to know the gender until the birth, I think that's understandable."

He whispered to me because I already wanted him so damn much. I got up and went there very slowly, I opened my mouth and turned back girlishly.

,,Girl?"

"Come here..."

"Good, now I can't, he's sleeping on my shoulder, come here, half-witted."

I went there and he stopped, there was a pink ribbon in it and it said.

"Congratulations Mr. Norris, you will have a beautiful daughter."

Together with Pato, we broke into a soft girlish skirmish.

"We are organizing what will be the gender party."

"What the hell... Stupid idea, I didn't sleep, I just rested my eyes... Bullshit."

Pato quickly put the paper back in the envelope behind my back and giggled together with Oscar in a girlish way.

,,You know??? You're not complete, I swear, fuck you."

I turned around and washed both of them as best I could, picked up the envelope with an angry face and ran out of the room.

"Like, let's leave it."

I looked back, Lando was leaning against the wall and sobbing. I ran to him and wiped his tears from his face, but his eyeballs were red, his face was white like a freshly painted wall and his canines were sharp.

"Oh, who the hell are you a vampire?"

,,Yes and?"

He looked her angrily in the eyes and caressed the neck warmer.

"What's more, dude, you won't bite me!!!"

But when I said it, he turned away and started to calm down from behind...

"Not Peacher!"

He starts to pull away from me with his hands in his pockets and look in front of him.

"Good Andrey, do it if you think he's so bloody."

"I'm 90 years old, let me decide who I bite and who I don't!!!!"

He became even angrier and sneaked behind me again, but now I could feel his breath on my neck.

,,Stupid vampire…”

That was all I could manage to moan before he stuck his fingers in deep and I couldn't catch my breath.

"I'm a teenager, fifteen to be exact."

I continued until...

"Fuck Alex, I didn't mean to say sorry, I was just thirsty."

"Peacher, you're such a hothead."

"Shut up my sister or I'll be spit on by the Volturi again."

"I already planned after you got together with a northern demigod, you bastard."

I saw Lando standing in the corridor with a woman ten years older than him and they were arguing over Alex's body about something, I think in Latin because I didn't understand a word of it.

"Lando, what dog did you and this woman fight about?"

I started towards Carlos with a big smile.

"Peacher if that..."

"Shut up Andrey, he's one of my best friends."

"Blah, Blah, my brother, there is no such thing in the vampire world to make friends with a vampire human."

,,No problem. How am I here?”

I stood behind them and they were still arguing about something, but the whole thing was overshadowed somewhere, they were saying that vampires or what the hell can't be friends with humans or I'm a bitch.

———————————

I got up, could barely breathe, sat up in bed, propped the sheet firmly with my palm and drank. That fucking dream (memory) again, but I'm a vampire and it keeps coming up now and all the time. I thought I would look for a better Psychiatrist because the current one is not good, in fact it has worsened my condition, I told him about this, he said I am looking for a specialist who is also skilled in dreams, he had them, he said that I was looking for my past elsewhere and that it would be a long one. Nowadays, that's why I go to the library or antique shop a lot to solve it all, I still have to chew through a lot of books before I even know who I am or where I came from and what these dreams are that have been bothering me for a while.

,,Hallo? Danny? Again... You're right here at my door, I'm just going to grab a top, wait."

"Is that it again?"

I started freaking out, I was completely exhausted, last time I dreamed that I was kidnapped, now this, I don't know, they keep coming back and I hate these, everyone I talked to said that it's natural during pregnancy, just relax and they will go away in the third trimester.

"It was worse, my ex was involved and Pato is not here."

,,I know."

"What's more, Loki isn't here because of watching the house fire, and he started to think that our breakup wasn't true. I loved him and I hope one day he will be my husband."

I was sitting on the chair and the sentence was still in my head.

"She just covered herself up, we'll find out her gender later."

I'll be 19 weeks in a few days, you could try, I know maybe I'm too excited, but I'd still like to know as soon as I've made it this far.

,,What do you want?"

"Girl, but I wouldn't mind if it was a boy."

[whatsnewalycat]

Psychomanteum / Chapter 4

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

Chapter 4: The Past Is A Grotesque Animal

Chapter Summary: You and Dieter use the psychomanteum.

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 7.6k+

Content / Warnings: alternating POV, death, drug addiction, grief, dead parent, psychomanteum, PTSD, flashbacks, cocaine use & dependence & comedown, cannabis use, homophobic hate crime mention, suicide mention, angst, YEAAAARRRRNING, fluffy things, dirty talk, nipple play, fingering, cuddling

Notes: Chapter title from "The Past Is A Grotesque Animal" by of Montreal. Which is honestly one of my favorite songs ever. The lyrics are fucking beautiful and weird UGH. 10/10 recommend listening lol. Hey so, about this chapter... the top half is pretty heavy but there's some cute stuff in there. I read through research papers on psychomanteums to get reports of people's experiences, and these are things that were actually reported to fucking happen. Which I think is neat.

[ Tag List ] [ AO3 ] [ Spotify Playlist ] [ Series Masterlist ]

Psychomanteum Recipe

Ingredients: 

Mirror

Comfortable Chair

Lamp with 25-watt bulb

Room draped in black 

Directions:

Mount mirror on one side of the room

Place chair about 3’ in front of and facing mirror

Place lamp directly behind chair

Surround area floor-to-ceiling in black

Eliminate all light except the lamp

“What now?” Dieter asks, wiping beads of sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand, “Do we do some kind of a ritual or something?” 

He’s standing in your bedroom, hands on his hips, panting from the exertion of dragging an armchair from the living room into the closet. 

“Let’s see…” you hum to yourself, clicking your tongue against the roof of your mouth as you scroll down the webpage and nod along, “Ok. Yeah, ok, now you go in there and I murder you as my human sacrifice,” you keep your face neutral as you peak over the top of your laptop screen and watch his body relax into amusement. 

“Counter productive,” he states in an accusatory fashion, pointing at you, then adds with a scoff, “and rude.” 

He walks around the bed and sprawls out atop the terracotta comforter. The mattress shifts, jostling your body from side-to-side as he rolls onto his side, propped up on an elbow, cheek pressed to his palm. 

You smirk and return your attention to the computer screen, scrolling down the page as you skim the article, “I don’t think we have to do anything else. Just go in there and, I don’t know, try to talk to them? See what we see? I think it’s kind of up to you what you do. Pretty subjective.” 

He doesn’t say anything, but you feel his eyes on you. You turn your head and meet his gaze. Heat creeps up your neck, tinging your cheeks,  “What?”

His mouth gapes open like he’s holding words hostage on the tip of his tongue, then he shakes his head, “Nothing. Who’s going first?” 

“Do you want to?” your eyebrows press together, hope creasing your forehead. 

“I, um…” he glances at the closet, then back to you, Adam’s apple bobbing before he says, “Ok, yeah. I’ll go first.” 

“You sure?” you search his face, watching the way his jaw gnashes back and forth, the way he's staring at the closet door with dimly lit eyes. 

Dieter nods, then pushes himself off the bed with a grunt. He shakes out his wrists and rolls his shoulders as he approaches the closet, then turns back to you, “So I just go and think about him and ask him questions?” 

You close the laptop and slide it towards the foot of the bed, then sit up and cross your legs into a pretzel. Your guts are tangled in a similar knot. But you ignore it and confirm, “You got it, chief.” 

“Alright,” he strides towards the closet door, looking back to salute you before crossing the threshold, “See you on the other side."

Dieter sinks into the armchair. Black sheets hang on all four sides of the setup, which was a real pain in the fucking ass to hang up. It’s dimly lit and insulated by your clothing. His leg bounces on its own accord, and he stares down at his hands for a minute before gaining the courage to look up into the mirror you propped up on a tall chest of drawers. 

It reflects a black void. 

His hands find the tops of his thighs, thumb rubbing against the mound of coke contained inside his shorts pocket. Temptation hooks his insides. The barbs tug his skin tight and uncomfortable. It would be so easy to snort just a little before doing this. Just enough to make this bearable. Something, anything, to sheath the knife ripping his stomach into pieces. 

It would just take a second. Barely a second. He could have been done with it already if he didn’t start fucking arguing with himself. 

He shakes the devil from his head and slides his hands onto each armrest, feeling the grooves of the tangerine colored cotton upholstery on his palms. His voice is quiet and shaky when he asks the mirror, “James, are you there?” 

The blackness of the mirror stares back at him. 

Unease settles into his skin when he realizes that he may have to dig deeper than surface level into his memories. The painful things he’s been hiding from for decades. 

The thoughts of James have been locked away, buried beneath a growing pile of coping mechanisms and bad decisions. Every time James comes crawling out from his designated lockbox inside the depths of Dieter’s mind, he comes out swinging, seeking to collect the compounded interest for grief unfelt. 

Whenever he sees a man with straw blonde hair and an Appalachian accent, James peaks out and asks, "Would I look like that if I were still alive?" 

Each attempt to empty a screenplay from Dieter’s brain onto paper, James is there, reminding him, "You'll never be able to write without me." 

Once, Dieter met a flight attendant who asked him politely what he'd like to drink. When he looked up to meet her eyes, they were too fucking familiar. Brown irises bleeding into ocean blue like another BP oil rig spilling petroleum into the Pacific. As if they had been plucked from his dead body and squeezed into her eye sockets. 

He ordered a double shot of whiskey. 

And another. 

And another. 

Dieter’s brain is haunted by the ghost of him. Each brawl with James leaves Dieter broken and bruised, brittle and hollow. Alone. Guilty. He numbs himself, doing anything to get rid of the agony burning him alive from the inside out. Anything to get that beautiful voice out of his fucking head. Each and every time, right before the point of oblivion, he hears James whisper, "I feel like I don't even know you anymore," before disappearing into his lockbox again. 

When Dieter saw the way you were reeling from your drunken confession, wearing that tortured expression of self-loathing people only get when they're deeply ashamed of themselves, he knew he had to tell you about James. He needed you to know that you're not the only one who has wanted to go beyond the grave to get answers to the questions that keep you up at night. 

You’re not alone. 

He needs you to know that. 

Dieter stares into the black nothing of the mirror and opens the vault, willingly this time. 

As a kid, Dieter had seen best friends on TV shows and in movies, and his parents always talked about best friends, but he never saw them. These “best friends” seemed like a myth, only existing as pictures on screens and voices in telephones. But on the first day of school after the Bravos were stationed at Camp Lejeune, Dieter sat next to a kid that drew comics in the margins of his notebook. His name was James, and Dieter found out that best friends were real. 

They clicked immediately. Both boys were innately creative and rebellious, but not in a “cool” way, like the teenage heartthrob stereotype of a misunderstood bad boy. No, they were more like the stereotypical theater kids. Minus the theater, since, of course, Lejeune High School only offered sports as an extracurricular activity. 

Regardless, Dieter and James created new worlds, people to fill them, stories for them to live out. Dedicating whole school days dressing up and living as the characters they invented, bringing them to life. They made scripts and screenplays, then acted out scenes for the one person audience of Dieter’s mom. 

Then there were Saturdays at The VIP Lounge. 

Every Saturday morning, Dieter trailed behind James, eyes glued to the freckled, sunburned square of skin between his shimmering golden hair and sweat-drenched t-shirt collar. Tree branch shadow puppets danced on his shoulders as he breezed past the ferns and milkweed that littered the soft forest floor. 

And every Saturday morning, they stepped out from the treeline onto a secluded patch of sand that they had lovingly dubbed The VIP Lounge. A sanctuary for the boys to be themselves, carved from the New River’s bank with their awkward teenage hands. They packed blankets, snacks, sketchbooks, notepads, ditch weed, and stolen cigarettes. 

It’s all they needed to conjure half-baked schemes for fame and fortune, really. 

Over time, their close friendship had begun to take on a new dynamic. Touches and glances would linger longer, sending Dieter's heart racing. Soft, fluttering feelings crept around the edges and closed in on their relationship. Dieter, aware of the attraction he started to feel towards his friend, would test out these new waters occasionally. When sitting next to James, he'd inch closer, carefully studying his reaction for signs of disapproval as the proximity between them decreased. 

James didn't flinch away. In fact, he often would smile and blush, or sometimes even scoot even closer, until their legs were touching and their palms were sweaty. 

During one sleepover, James’s voice cut through the pitch black of his bedroom, asking Dieter, “You ever think ‘bout what it’d be like to kiss a boy?” 

Dieter remembers his heart thudding so loud it’s all he could hear in the silence. The wet squelch of his throat when he swallowed hard and whispered back, “Yeah.” The sigh of relief James exhaled through lips Dieter always felt drawn to. Dieter blinked his eyes open and rolled on his side to face James, trying to see his face through the darkness, "Do you?"

"Yeah," James confessed. 

“Do… Do you want to try?” Dieter heard himself asking, lowering his voice even quieter to make sure nobody else could hear, “With me?” 

James slowly rolled on his side to face Dieter. Adrenaline flooded their nervous systems and poured into their bloodstream. Teen hearts beating as fast as a hummingbird's. 

Dieter reached out with a shaky hand, finding James just inches away, fingers landing on his freckled cheek. His thumb brushed against the flushed skin. Their faces grew closer, until they could both feel the other's trembling breath, and they were certain they couldn't miss. 

It was awkward the way first kisses always are. A hesitant peck in the dark with stiff lips. They got better at it, though, over the next year. 

Until General Thompson found out about them. 

Dieter realizes the reflection shown by the mirror is no longer a featureless black void. He squints and sits up straight, leaning towards it. The image being displayed… isn’t really an image at all, because it’s in motion. A current of midnight blue with occasional sprays of white. 

A river running from the left side of the mirror to the right. 

Once he realizes what it is, he leans away, back pressing against the chair. His brain fires off smoke signals to the rest of his body, tapping into the ancient part of his brain that responds best to danger. He scrambles backwards out of the psychomanteum, trying to get the fuck away from the mirror as fast as possible. 

“Already?” 

Your voice faintly reaches Dieter's ears as he stumbles out of the closet. By the time the word has finished crossing your lips, he's no longer in your bedroom. All he can think is GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT. 

He hears you calling his name, but it’s just background noise that’s silenced when the apartment door closes behind him. 

You’re perched on the edge of your bed, staring after the sound of your apartment door slamming shut, face twisting in bewilderment. The quiet lingers with an edge that slices your ego. You get to your feet and pad into the kitchen, grabbing your phone from the counter to see if he sent you an explanation. 

Nothing. 

What the fuck happened to make him storm out like that? 

When you call him, the loud hum of vibration sounds from your living room. You follow the noise like a beacon and sigh as you push aside a few stagnant takeout containers, then pick his phone up off the side table. 

You set the phones down side-by-side on your kitchen counter and return to your bedroom, then poke your head into the walk-in closet, narrowing your eyes at the black bed sheet hanging across as a divider. Your teeth clamp down onto your tongue as you take a step forward, carefully pulling a corner back to inspect the psychomanteum’s contents. 

There’s nothing odd about the setup that isn’t overtly obvious. The small space encloses a dim standing lamp, your plush, orange armchair, and a mirror that holds your reflection. Your hand rests on the back of the chair and you take a deep breath, thrumming your fingers against the upholstery. 

A compulsion wills you forward. You settle your body into the chair's embrace and swallow hard as you look up into the mirror. This new angle shows you a black abyss. You stare into it and fill your brain with fond memories of Ethan. 

You think about the passenger seat of his car, how you carved out a home for yourself there, tagging along when he went to do drug deals. The two of you would get stoned and drive around the city streets, listening to music, telling stories, doing whatever the fuck you felt like. 

One night you confessed that you missed seeing stars in the night sky. He drove out to Jones Beach and the two of you laid on the hood of his car, staring up at the expansive galaxy for hours. Neither of you could identify a single constellation except for The Big Dipper, but it was fucking beautiful. The next day he bought two packs of those glow-in-the-dark plastic stars and stuck them to the ceiling above his bed. 

“So you can see the stars every night.” 

Tiny pinpricks of white light surface in the black reflection of the psychomanteum’s mirror. The shimmering lights vary in size and brightness. Stars in the nighttime sky. 

Your lips part, and you’re struck by the sensation that you’re no longer alone. The already small space feels even more crowded. Your hair stands on end. Icy cold air surrounds the chair and you shiver. Your left hand begins to feel like it's been dipped in frigid water. 

“Heya, sweet pea,” a familiar voice echoes through your head. 

You haven’t heard it in ages. His presence wraps around you, squeezing you tight like one of his bear hugs. Memories flood out in an unstoppable tide. Being taught to ride a bike. Road trips to papa’s cabin. Playing scrabble. Watching baseball. Stargazing. Making breakfast for mom on Sundays.

On your next breath in, you smell pancake batter and maple syrup. Despite the temperature drop that raises mountain ranges of goosebumps across your skin, a warmth radiates from your chest. You feel completely at ease. It’s just like that feeling you had when you died. An omnipresent sense of oneness and belonging. 

You blink. 

When your eyes open, you’re in an infinite white space. Your father, as you remembered him when you were a child, is in front of you. He's absolutely beaming at you, radiating light that heats your skin like sunshine. An otherworldly sense of love spreads across your consciousness. 

Your vision blurs with tears and when you respond, your mouth doesn’t open. Rather, the message is sent telepathically to him, “Hi Daddy.” 

The "place" you're in, although to call it that might suggest it abides by Earth's rules of time and space, feels like a room. There’s an indefinable quality of insulation to the area, but there are no walls or floors or ceilings. Just this endless, bright warmth that hosts the two of you in its clutches. 

A sea of love. 

Your dad steps forward, holding his arms open, and envelops you in a hug. His arms squeeze around you tight, tighter, as tight as he can. As always, you try with all your might to match his strength when you return the hug. 

Safety and comfort radiates from him to you, and you hear his voice in your head again, “I love you, Lou. I’m proud of you. You're right where you need to be.” 

“I love you too,” you tell him, still squeezing him, inhaling the familiar scent of citrus and musk. Then you open your eyes to look up at him… and you’re back in the cold psychomanteum, holding nothing. 

It’s long past sunset by the time Dieter returns. 

In that time, you cleaned your apartment from top to bottom, dismantled the psychomanteum, made a batch of cannabutter, prepped for the next day’s orders, and started to worry-bake. You're pulling a pan of chocolate chip cookies from the oven when the intercom buzzes. The aluminum pan clatters on the stovetop as you toss it down and nudge the oven door closed with a thunk. You yank your oven mitts off and walk over to the white box, then press TALK. 

"Yeah?"

"Hey, I left my phone, can I come up and grab it?" 

You hold down the DOOR button for a few seconds. A current of nervous energy starts flowing from your scalp to your toes. You wring your hands together and start pacing the floor in an attempt to calm yourself. When he knocks, you swing the door open, "Jesus Christ, Dee, I was so-" 

Thoughts flee your brain when you lay your eyes on his face. It's pallid and gleaming with sweat, eyes hidden behind a pair of rectangular tortoiseshell sunglasses. His jaw gnashes from one side to the other as he raises his eyebrows, "What?" 

"Are- are you ok?" you reach out and grab ahold of his clammy hand, pulling him through the doorway. 

"Of course I'm ok, why wouldn't I be ok? Totally fine, doll," he follows your guidance inside, then promptly shakes off your grasp as he peers around the apartment, "Do- do you have my phone? Did I leave it here?” 

His speech matches the erratic, jerky pace of his body movements. Dieter spots the device on the kitchen counter, picks it up, and starts texting someone, unbothered by your watchful eye. He rips off his sunglasses and tosses them on your counter, then resumes texting. A familiar kind of unease sets your hair on edge. 

You bite the inside of your cheek and cross your arms in front of you, "Where'd you go?"

His blown-out black eyes peek over the top of his phone and he shrugs, "Met some friends."

You nod and drop your gaze to your feet, "You left without saying anything. I- I was worried about you.”

"What is this, a guilt trip?" he scoffs, tossing his phone onto the counter with a thud that makes you jump, then tilts his head to the side and sneers, "Sorry I didn't want to do your little uhh... mirror trick thing. I had to get out of this creepy fucking apartment, Lua. I mean, you get that, right? How fucking creepy it is in here?"

Earlier today, before he left, it was impossible not to notice the way Dieter’s eyes would linger on the hallway or the spare bedroom door. You’d interrupt his teeth grinding, foot tapping, absent stare and ask what’s wrong, and he’d dismiss your question with a wane smile. 

But you feel it, too. The ever-present tingle at the back of your neck that tells you that you’re being watched. 

Your cheeks burn with embarrassment, and you nod again, trying to ignore the tears burning behind your eyes, "Yep."

"You know he's still here, right? Ethan, I mean. I see him in that fuckin' room. Saw him in there last night," he presses a knuckle to one of his nostrils and sniffs a postnasal drip back into his skull, "Just standing in the dark like a fuckin'- like a fuckin’ uhh…” 

He snaps his fingers a few times in rapidfire, trying to jog his own tenuous memory. Agitation spikes your blood pressure. 

“Fucking hell, Dee, go sit down,” you pinch the bridge of your nose and point to your couch, then breeze into your bedroom before Dieter can start running his mouth again. 

You pull open your bedside drawer, grabbing an ashtray and a joint out of its designated altoids tin. When you return to the living room, Dieter is pacing back and forth, running his fingers through his hair, muttering to himself. 

“Sit,” you command while raising a lighter flame to the joint, puffing away until its tip is glowing orange and spilling thick plumes of smoke. He ignores your request, but stops pacing and watches you. The THC blooms in your lungs and a haze begins to settle in your brain. You take another puff and hold the joint out to him, “Hit this. You’re crashing hard.” 

He accepts the offering and takes a hit while you go fill up the biggest cup you own with ice water. You drop cookies onto a plate, then return to the living room, “You wanna stay out here or go lay in my bed?” 

His brow furrows and he frowns, “I- I- I- no, I have to meet-”

“No,” you shake your head, “You’re gonna be out of commission for a while, love, so… living room or bedroom?”

He takes a hit off the joint and exhales, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, swinging his hands around in grand gestures as he talks, “I’m gonna be fine, Lua, look, I know what I’m doing, ok? I just need to call my guy-”

“The fuck you are, Bravo,” you interrupt, setting down the glass of water and plate of cookies on the side table, “When’s the last time you slept?”

“Doesn’t matter, I’m fine, I know what I’m about, babe,” he scoffs, puffs the joint, starts pacing again, “You- you- you can’t tell me what to do, you know. I’m my own person. Everyone always trying to tell me what I can and can’t do and I’m fucking sick of it,” he stops, sniffs away his coke drip, and narrows his eyes at you, “This is your fault, anyway. You know that, right, Lua? If I didn’t have to think of fucking James, and that- that- that fucking river,” his voice cracks and his shoulders sag, face falling into sadness as his eyes well up with tears. 

His accusations pierce sharp and precise into your heart. You remind yourself that this isn’t Dieter. It’s the obvious cocaine binge that has set his brain on fire, steering him towards self-destruction. Your lips remain sealed and your eyes drop to the black stain on your carpet. You remind yourself that this isn’t Ethan, either. Dieter can still be brought back to sanity. 

He takes a puff off the joint and exhales, staring up at the ceiling with watery, far-away eyes, “I loved him, you know. First love. But his dad-”

Abruptly, he plops down on the floor, crossing his legs as he buries his head in his hands. All is still for a moment before his body starts to heave with sobs. You crouch down next to him, plucking the loosely held joint from his fingers. As you stand up, you take another hit, then crush the glowing cherry in an ashtray. 

You return to the heap of a man crumbled on your floor and sit facing him, knees pressed against his shins, and remind him, “I’m here, Dee. Talk to me.”

“His d-dad saw us k-k-k-kissing, and he- he- beat the shit out of him, Lua. Almost fucking killed him. And I just stood there. I didn’t do anything. I- I let it happen,” he takes a deep, shattered breath, then continues, “He wasn’t the same after. It’s like he fucking died right there in front of me and I let it happen. Word got out, and we moved to a new base. And-” a high-pitched squeal of agony fades into more choked sobs, and he looks up at you, face sopping wet with tears and utterly fucking tortured, “He drowned himself.” 

“Oh, Dee-” tears blur your vision as secondhand sorrow aches your chest. Your hands find either side of his face, thumbs wiping away his tears in vain, “Can I hug you? Is that ok?”

He nods and you climb onto his lap, wrapping your arms and legs around his torso. You squeeze him tight. Your best attempt at a bear hug. He buries his face in your neck and continues to cry. You slide one arm around his head and cradle him against your chest, petting his sweaty, messy, hair, and you whisper to him the phrase you tell yourself every day, “It’s not your fault, ok? Not your fault, Dee, I promise. It’s not your fault.” 

His sobbing starts anew, and he pulls you close. Hot, wet tears drench your neck and shirt. Anguish rolls off of him in waves, and you wish you could absorb every ounce of pain from him like a sponge. He nuzzles in closer, and you allow yourself to sink into the comfort of his body wrapped up with yours. You trail your fingers through his messy locks with one hand while the other gently scratches his back. 

Something stirs inside you, soft and sweet. 

You think about the numerous phone calls with him throughout the past few months. FaceTime, text messages, Snapchat. How his name popping up in your notifications always makes your heart skip a beat. How seeing his handsome face, or hearing his voice, always seems to make your day better. How he flew across the country for the sole purpose of spending time with you for a few days between projects. 

Granted, this visit has been a complete and utter shitshow so far, but there have been moments that you find yourself staring at his lips, longing for his hands on your bare skin, imagining the heat of his body pressed against yours. 

In his absence today, you couldn’t stop from wondering whether or not he would return, thoughts always drifting to the worst. You typed his name into Google, searching for the latest headlines to make sure he wasn’t found dead somewhere. Nothing surfaced, of course, except for the latest exposition on his divorce, which you avoided reading even though it piqued your curiosity. 

The idea of losing him ate away at you more and more with every second. You’re grateful to be curled around his shattered breaths, knowing that even though he’s crashing and burning, he’s alive. 

It occurs to you… that you care about him deeply. 

He takes a deep, shaky breath, and it seems that the active flow of tears has slowed to a stop. You close your eyes and squeeze him hard. He pulls back to look at you, eyes all swollen, red, and glassy. His hands slide to your waist, and his thumbs smooth circles against your sides. The contact pools liquid hot in your belly. 

You search his puffy, tear-stained face, running a hand through his hair, “Wanna go lay down for a bit?” 

He nods and peers behind you, sniffling, “It smells good in here.”

The corners of your mouth upturn, and you bring your hands to meet at the nape of his neck, “I made chocolate chip cookies, do you want some? You must be hungry.” 

“Fucking starving,” he admits, but his grip on your waist tightens and he nuzzles back into your chest, “I don’t wanna move, though.” 

Warmth radiates across your chest and you hope he can’t hear the way your heart just started pounding. 

“We can cuddle in my bed. I’ll bring cookies and make a frozen pizza. Does that sound ok?” you rest your cheek on the crown of his head and stroke his hair.

He hums in the affirmative, pulling you closer, and mumbles against your drenched t-shirt, “Dibs on little spoon.” 

This pulls a chuckle from your belly, “Fine, but you have to drink at least two glasses of water and take a shower. Then you’re gonna stay here while your comedown passes. Deal?” 

“Deal.” 

After eating half a dozen cookies and two frozen pizzas that have to be at least 50% cardboard, guzzling down 2 quarts of water, and taking a hot shower, Dieter lays his head down on your bosom and promptly passes the fuck out for 12 hours. 

Withdrawal keeps him pinned down at its mercy for another two days, allowing him to only exist as a hollowed out zombie who shuffles from your bedroom, to the bathroom to use your toilet, then to the kitchen for food and water, then back into your bed to sleep. 

It’s a miserable kind of half-existence. Blanketed in a thick, web-like fatigue that anchors him to the bed. 

He catches glimpses of your day-to-day routine while cycling through this pattern. Sometimes you would be in bed next to him, watching tv or writing in a journal. Sometimes you were in the kitchen, dancing and singing along to music while baking. Sometimes you were in the living room, reading or fucking around on your phone. Once, you were talking to a client who spotted him and asked, “Is that Dieter Bravo?” 

You gaslit the shit out of her and shooed her from the apartment. 

Now when he wakes, blinking his eyes open to find the sky is still a dimly lit dark blue, casting a cool light onto the room, he is relieved to find that the fog in his brain has lifted. There’s a tranquil silence in the apartment that he inhales like his first breath. He rolls onto his side, relaxing into this unfamiliar feeling of peace, sinking even further into your mattress. 

This is when he notices that you’re in the bed, too. 

Your back is facing him, body completely still except for the gentle expansion and compression of your ribcage, quiet puffs of air escaping your nose. 

His stomach churns when he remembers how he treated you when he was strung out. The hurt he saw in your eyes when he mocked the psychomanteum. How he tried to pick a fight with you. He was angry, lashing out at you for making him confront James. 

You didn’t really make him, though. It was his choice. His anger was misdirected. 

It was like all his emotions were collapsing in on him at once. This crudely pasted together façade of a man crumbled into pieces on your living room floor. And what did you do? 

You looked at him, a sobbing trainwreck on the ground, and embraced him. Told him it wasn’t his fault. Let him empty his tears onto your shirt. Fed him, sheltered him, nursed him back to some semblance of a human. 

Without hesitation, you graced him with a kindness he’s never encountered. How could he ever repay you? 

Nothing he can think of is adequate enough to express his gratitude. 

You take a sharp inhale and start to stir. Dieter scoots closer, drawn to the notes of vanilla and macadamia nuts that waft from your hair. To the warmth of your body that he longs to feel against his skin. 

He reaches out and hesitantly presses the pads of his fingers to your shoulder. Testing the waters. You hum and lean into the touch, scooting back towards him. 

In one swift movement, he pulls you into an embrace, snaking an arm under your head, draping the other over the dip of your waist. Your back against his bare chest. The sections of skin peaking out from beneath your tank top stick to him like glue, both of you tacky with a gleaming coat of sleep sweat. He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, taking a deep breath of you, letting your presence consume him. 

Tears burn behind his eyes as it dawns on him: you mean more to him than he ever anticipated.  

When he met you and recalled his visions of your future together, he expected something, of course. Although a skeptical part of him always had reservations.  

But he never expected to feel safe with you. Never thought another person could see his ugly, broken pieces and beckon him closer instead of shoo him away. His heart thuds with humility and adoration. 

You hum again, wriggling further into his embrace with a sleepy sigh, “G’morning.” 

“Good morning,” he whispers back. A fat, salty tear breaks loose and rolls down his cheek, onto your shoulder. 

“Feelin’ better?”

 He nods, mumbles against your neck, “Much better,” then his voice cracks as he says, “Thank you, Lua.” 

You reach back, finding his cheek with your hand, and rub your thumb against his patchy beard. The motion sends tingles all the way down to the base of his spine. His hand at your side slides up to your belly and grips the fabric of your baggy tank top. 

“I’m sorry for being a fucking asshole to you,” he adds in a whisper, “I feel terrible.”

The gentle circles against his jawline continue to trickle down the center of him as you mumble, “I’m just glad you’re feeling better, love.” 

He hums and closes his eyes, concentrating on the tiny movements of your body against his. How you’re arching towards him ever-so-slightly. The soft little huff you let out when his grasp on your shirt tightens. He feels the muscles in your legs tense and shift, like you’re trying to create friction between your thighs. 

When he thinks about sliding his hand between them, his heart starts to thud in his chest. Blood laced with desire, spreading this aching, heavy-handed lust throughout his body like a virus. His fingers twitch at your belly, where they release your shirt and slip underneath, splaying across the heat of your skin. 

You hum in approval. He swears you try to move even closer. 

“Let me make it up to you,” he wets his lips, then presses them against your pulse. You gasp and grab ahold of the hair at the nape of his neck, and he starts to back away in a panic before realizing that you’re pulling him closer. 

He lays another kiss down on your neck, then mumbles against your skin, relishing the salty bite of sweat that transfers to his tongue, “No strings, right? That’s what you want?”

Beneath the covers, his fingertips slide across the soft skin of your belly, and you let out a soft gasp as you nod, “Can- can we still be friends, though?” 

His fingertips graze the elastic band of your underwear and he leans into your ear, “Nothing has to change if you don’t want it to.”

Dieter props himself up on his elbow and stares down at you, watching your eyes flutter and face flush in reaction to his wandering touch. The tip of your tongue darts out and licks your lips. He imagines what the soft muscle would feel like in his mouth. Against his neck. Along the length of him. 

The thought pools hot lava that urges him to touch you more, grip your skin harder, move this along faster. He wants to feel your arousal douse his fingers. He wants to taste you on his tongue. He wants to hear your moans when you're falling apart in his hands. 

His muscles burn as he tries to keep himself tethered, reigning in this mounting animalistic need to devour you. 

“I want to show you how grateful I am, Lua,” he lays a slow, gentle kiss on your shoulder, pressing his lips to a torn up, blackwork tattoo of a pomegranate. His fingertips trail along your abdomen, entranced by the way your whole body trembles under his touch, “Do you want that?”

You nod, peering up at him through your lashes, meeting his lust-blown black eyes. Desire rolls off of him in waves, washing over you, condensation collecting hot and damp at your center. 

He tugs at your underwear under the sheets, sliding them down your legs inch by inch, his whisper burning in your ear, " Say it , baby. Tell me what you want." 

A whimper escapes your lips and you arch your back up towards him, "Touch me, Dee, please."

Your underwear at your feet, he pulls the covers back and reveals you to the morning light. 

He hovers above you, licking his lips, drinking in the sight of your pussy as his hands ghost along the tender skin of your thighs. When his gaze falls on your tank top, he shakes his head and yanks on the thin fabric, "We gotta do something about this."

Without hesitation, you pull it off over your head and toss it on the ground, "Better?"

"Fucking perfect. You are-" he cuts himself off with a groan, biting down on his plush bottom lip. Dieter sits up and stuffs a few pillows behind your back. The heat of his palm presses against the base of your skull and his warmth drips down to your cunt. His other hand splays across your sternum, pushing you back until you're resting atop the pile of pillows, head cradled in his impossibly large hand. 

You follow his wordless guidance, watching him in awe, completely mesmerized, aching at the thought of what he'll do to you. 

The bridge of his nose presses against your cheek, his breath a furnace on your skin, and his fingertip traces the outline of your mouth, "Open."

You obey, parting your lips for his thumb. It scrapes against your teeth and draws circles into a pool of saliva on your tongue. He withdraws and brings his hand to grip the soft flesh of your breast, brushing his wet thumb across the bud. The contact is electric, sending a current of pleasure rippling across your skin, dripping down your spine. 

A whimper escapes your lips and he hums in approval when you puff out your chest against his hand, "That's it, doll, I wanna hear how good you fucking feel."

Your gaze drifts to his face, and you lift a hand to his chin, turning his head to meet your eyes. When they lock on, all the air whooshes from his lungs. You drag your thumb along his bottom lip, and he opens his mouth for you to enter. 

Mimicking him, you collect spit from the soft velvet of his tongue. When you pull away, a web of his saliva gaps the growing divide and falls across your chest as you grab your unoccupied breast, using his lubrication to tease your nipple. He groans, eyes drifting back to watch you squeeze and pinch yourself. 

"Do you like to be handled rough?" he asks, gaze returning to study your face when he rolls your nipple in his fingers, applying firm pressure.

You shudder, "S-sometimes."

"Is that how you want it now? Hmm?" he brings his lips to your shoulder and catches your skin in his teeth, making you gasp. His fingers clamp down on your nipple hard and he growls, "You want me to fucking wreck you?"

And- fucking hell - the way he talks to you like this, so direct, so eager to learn exactly what sets you on fire, it fills you with a heavy, aching need. With a breathy moan, you answer him, "Yes- yes , fucking destroy me, Dee."

His grip on your head tightens, balling your hair tight in his fist, tugging at your scalp. Your body shudders and you bite your bottom lip, closing your eyes to revel in the ecstasy. His lips press against your neck in a gentle kiss that makes way for his tongue to roll circles onto your thudding pulse. 

A trail of trembling nerves follow the pads of his fingers down your torso to your vulva. He stops here and tugs at your thicket of pubic hair, "You like having your hair pulled?"

You gasp in surprise and your eyes snap open to meet his hot gaze on your face. He has a mischievous grin plastered on his face as he pulls at your hair from both sides, watching the way your face contorts with bliss. In a half-chuckle, half-moan, you admit, "That's really fucking good, actually, holy shit -"

"Yeah?" his smile widens and he pulls harder, sending a jolt of electricity to your cunt that makes you moan. 

"That's what I want, sweetheart, want you to feel fucking amazing. You deserve that, you know?" He drags a finger along the seam of you and purrs, "You're a caretaker, aren't you? Always taking care of people?"

Your eyelids flutter and you nod with a moan as he spreads your lips and runs his fingers through your arousal. 

"Mmm, yeah you are," he finds your clit and traces the swollen bud with precision, "Well right now, I'm taking care of you, ok?" 

"Ok," you pant, swallowing hard as you look up at him and whimper, "Fuck , Dee, that's so good ."

His dark eyes meet yours with intensity, searching your face as he draws tight circles that echo pleasure throughout your body. Ecstasy rolls steady in your center. You buck your hips against his touch, hungry for more friction as your body starts to feel weightless. 

He takes your cue and applies pressure through his fingertips, rubbing you harder, faster.

You nod and gasp, "Yes, just like that, baby, yes."

His grip on your hair tightens and a moan rips from your throat. He growls, "Pussy is just fucking dripping wet for me. So fucking-"

His hand slides down your front as he sinks two digits deep into your cunt. A wrecked sob bubbles out your throat as the sensation electrifies you. His palm bears down on your clit, and he starts to rock his hand back and forth, fingers squelching in your arousal as they slide in and out. 

You are enveloped in a haze of lust, completely fucking lost in the feel of his hand stretching your walls. 

"So- fucking- wet, sweetheart, do you hear that?" he starts at a brutal pace, broadcasting the unmistakable sound throughout the quiet apartment. His jaw is slack and his eyes wild as he meets your gaze. 

You nod and whimper frantically, glancing down at his parted lips as his tongue darts along them.

The thought only crosses your mind for a moment before you're grabbing his face and pulling him towards you, pressing your lips against his. He responds with a moan against your mouth and returns the kiss with enthusiasm. 

It's just like you hoped it would be. 

Messy and passionate, painting his saliva on your tongue and lips, bodies bumping together as his fingers slide in and out of your cunt mercilessly. Your body finds a new plane of existence, twisting and turning into a thick static of pleasure that starts to overtake you.

"Dee , I'm-" you whimper against his lips, "I'm gonna fucking cum, don't stop-"

"Good , baby, that's good, cum for me, Lua," he pants, stealing pecks from your lips between breaths, "Cum all over my fucking hand, baby- wanna feel you squeeze my fingers-"

Bliss crashes down on your body in waves, hot and all-consuming, making every part of your body tremble with ecstacy. You cry out as Dieter works you through the orgasm, pressing kisses to your sweaty forehead, to your cheek, breath hot against your face as he groans, "Fuck, yes, oh that's so good, sweetheart, fucking amazing."

"Holy fuck, Dieter," you pant as your body starts to soften and relax. 

He grins down at you, chest heaving, and pulls his pussy-drenched hand to his mouth. His lips wrap around each digit, licking them all clean before he leans in to kiss you. 

The kiss is soft and slow, generous with an intimacy that tugs at something warm and cozy inside you. He pulls back and meets your eyes again, a new kind of hesitancy lingering in his gaze. 

"Will you cuddle me again?" you ask in a shy whisper, face heating with embarrassment. 

"C'mere, doll," Dieter grins wide and nods, beckoning you closer. 

You roll to face him and his arms wrap around your naked body, pulling you flush against his skin. His hard-on, still trapped within the confines of his boxers, presses against you. Your body flushes when you start trying to picture it in your head, imagining what he would feel like inside you, wondering if that will ever happen or if this is a one-time occurrence. 

"So, are you going to run away from me now?" he rumbles, cupping your cheek, running his thumb along your cheekbone affectionately. He reeks of you. And you like it. 

The question rolls around your head as you consider it. What does this mean for the two of you? Your friendship? He said it doesn't have to change anything. Unlike the variety of bar and tinder hookups you've had in the past, you don't immediately want to banish him from your life. 

This is actually… really fucking great. The warmth of his body against yours, his touch on your skin, the closeness that feels natural when you’re with him. You don’t want him to leave. 

Which is a good sign, right?

"We're still friends?" you ask in return, searching his face. Your palm rests against his chest, soaking up the heat from his pounding heart. 

He nods and cards his fingers through your hair gently, "Absolutely."

"Then, no, I think... I think I'll keep you around," you meet his warm eyes and shrug jokingly, "I guess. If you want. Or whatever.” 

"Wow! So nonchalant, Lua," he grins, then pulls you into a bear hug against his bare chest as you giggle. He mumbles into your hair, "I do, I do want that." 

With a content hum, you ask, “What now?”

[ Next Chapter ]

[historia-vitae-magistras]

I think i asked this once but i don't know if you saw it, i would really LOVE to read this whole fic, but the link doesn't work, was it deleted? 🥺

Oh lord, so that one has the distinction of being the only fic I have ever written to get dogpiled hate on ao3 and it startled me so much I deleted it. God help me if the england stans find this one. It's also back on ao3. It's got a sequel here too, when Matt is older.

In late autumn—and sometimes in early spring—a rainy morning would press its wet nose against the glass storefront of papa's bakery. Outside, where the leaves were starting to turn, it was cool. And inside, where papa and his part-timers made pastry and bread, it was wonderfully warm.

Sometimes the ovens made the glass foggy. When they did, Mathieu drew squiggles and left his palm prints to make turkeys and even sometimes a little BONJOUR in crude toddler letters for the passersby, then hastily wiped away the evidence with his sleeve, so Papa couldn't scold him for using his fingers. He sometimes opened the door for customers just to look at the trees on the avenue. He wanted to climb them, but if ever he got the chance to wander near, Papa tugged him back onto the sidewalk and tugged his coat back into place.

He heard his name, insistent, and he paused for a second to let a rain-bedraggled man in a stinky wool coat through the door.

"Bonjour-hi!" He waved at the stranger, of which there were always many passing through his father's shop, and scrambled back to the table nearest the counter in an awkward little corner next to the display windows. There, and in the cushioned basket behind the counter where he'd nap after the lunch rush dwindled, he'd spent many a day with his stuffed bear, his blocks and his trains, and his books, nose to the paper as he coloured in big leafy forests of gold, amber, maple and green. The man had a sharp face under his damp, straw-colored fringe and gave a weak wave. Matthieu thought he looked very tired.

Arthur needed a fucking cup of tea. Soaked through and freezing, he stumbled into a cafe off the avenue thumbing his money clip. A small lad in a cheerful red jumper chirped the bilingual greetings so common to this part of Canada, and Arthur waved at him, staring at the menu written in beautiful calligraphy above the counter. There were a few loaves of bread, no doubt leftover from the morning rush.

The lad hopped up onto the counter, kicking his legs off the edge, as comfortable as a round little robin red breast who'd perched on the same branch thousands of times.

He said something to him in French, broad baby Quebecois that ended in a giggle. He thought he'd spoken French quite well before coming to this city, but Montreal was a city of a thousand languages, and about 900 of them were supposed to be French. He mouthed words and the child gave a shy smile and switched to clumsy but adequate English.

"You're not one of Papa's regulars,"

"No," Arthur said. "I suppose I'm new to the city."

The lad's eyes popped open wide.

"PAPA! C'est un Anglais!" The boy cupped his hands over his mouth to shout at a figure moving behind the doorway and hopped off the counter to stand on a stool. He peered over it shyly.

"Are you really… one of the… a les goddams!?"

Arthur gave a hearty snort, unoffended. He'd only read that term in books. He thought it came from how much English sailors cursed. And, well, he was an English sailor.

"Suppose I am, lad. But you can call me Arthur." He leaned over the counter, extending one gloved hand. The small boy took it and shook it, looking very serious and grown up.

"Like the king?"

"Indeed."

"And you are?"

"Mathieu!" Came a much deeper, lilting voice, full of the music of European French rather than the flat stubborn sounds of Canadien. "Get down from there; you'll snap your neck!"

The boy sighed, "Ouais, Papa," and leaped off the chair he'd been standing on.

"Apologies," The man said. "What can I get you?"

Later, he wouldn't remember ordering tea and a sandwich. He'd gone quite deaf. The bakery owner couldn't have been much older than 30—well-built, compact, and lean. His great arms showed off as he rolled short, flour-dusted short sleeves over his shoulders. Perky ass Arthur tried desperately not to look as the man bent double for a bagel from one of the display baskets behind the counter. Bloody fucking hell. He had beautiful hair, pulled neatly back except for spirals to frame his face. It would have been a womanly look on anyone else, but it only drew Arthur's eye to a beautiful pair of clavicles. No wedding ring, Arthur noticed, and not even the pale outline of where one might have been. He cleared his throat and raked his damp hair back, a bit embarrassed at his rumpled, rain-splattered state.

The tea was godawful. Probably bagged and a little burnt and left to seep too long. But the sandwich was fantastic. There'd never been that good of bagels in any port in the world. He was about to become, if luck gave him nothing else, a regular.

[lgcrp]

◔ ┈ LOADING … TRAINEE PROFILE INITIATED !

HAN BROOKE ( READ MORE HERE )

AGE 19 ( 8 DECEMBER 2003 )

TRAINED FOR 3 YEARS 1 MONTH ( SIGNED JULY 2020 )

              INTRODUCTION VIDEO FOUND … PRESS PLAY ?

the video blurred before focusing on the male before the camera, han brooke. he was wearing a light fit for the occasion, cozy cotton shorts and a teeshirt. he waved with a cute smile, making show of stretching his arms and legs, focusing a bit on his shoulders and then thighs before immediately laying down on his stomach, arching his back forward against the ground, arms reaching out behind him to grab his ankles, contorting his body effortless into a forward bow or rather a reverse bridge. he stayed in that position for a few seconds before slowly rocking forward, using his muscles to get onto his feet, turning his body around elegantly, moving into a bridge position, back facing the ground now, hands reaching to touch the floor as he raised his right leg, bending it ever so slightly, a perfect copy of a bridge stagged with a bent leg. he let his right foot fall down to rest beside his other one that was planted firmly onto the ground, easily transitioning into a bridge formation, gliding his hands that were against the cool wood so his fingertips could meet his heel. to finish it all off, he lets his chin rest against the cool flooring, palms pressed right next to where his breastbone meets the ground, tensing his core before exhaling softly to raise his hips and then thighs and legs up to the air, body steady in the air, a classic chinstand done effortlessly. once done, he carefully settled himself into a sitting position, cheeks pink from exertion, but smile never once leaving his lips, "hi, my name is brooke han, but you can call me brooke. i'm nineteen years old and i'm from canada! i used to study at the national circus school in montreal which is why i could do all those contortion poses so easily! i love to dance and rap, and i hope one day to become an idol who can make his own choreography and write his own verses. thank you!"

            INTERESTED ? REACH OUT TO THE TRAINEE !

[starpsychicastrologer]

Pandith Mari Muthu ji is a best astrologer in Montreal, who helps people to rid of their life issues and provides them the best Vedic solution, because Vedic astrology helped thousands of people's living. Vedic astrology is one of the best ways to make life problem-free. He is provides service for such as black magic removal, bad luck removal palm reading, face reading, and so more. For a better understanding, you can visit the website.

[coghive]

The Kingdom Choir Return With New Single & US Tour Dates

Offering love, hope and inspiration, The Kingdom Choir today make a timely return with their brand-new single “Not Giving Up”. Founded in 1994 by Karen Gibson MBE (the Godmother of Gospel), The Kingdom Choir have continued to win hearts since their unforgettable performance at the 2018 Royal Wedding in front of a global televised audience of 2 billion people. Listen to “Not Giving Up” HERE. Offering a ray of hope amongst the darkness, “Not Giving Up” is instantly affecting as Wayne Ellington’s rich, baritone exalts the power that comes with believing that better times are waiting ahead of us. While his voice alone would make for a captivating, emotional experience, the harmonies from the rest of The Kingdom Choir take it to a whole new level with their grace, majesty and sheer expressiveness able to move anyone.  “Not Giving Up” was written by Alex Hart, Greg Dwight, Karen Gibson, Wilson Atie, Jonathan Owusu-Yianomah and produced by Alex Hart and Jonathan Owusu-Yianomah. The Kingdom Choir commented, “In our changing world, this is the song that rises from our hearts. It speaks of freedom and a determination to press on, a reminder that hope takes us through the broken moments of life onto a brighter day.” “Not Giving Up” is also a reflection of The Kingdom Choir’s own journey. Karen Gibson had led the choir for over two decades before their breakthrough moment in the spotlight, during which time the group – spread across London and from various Christian traditions – became renowned for their shared talents, collective spirit, and instantly uplifting performances. The Kingdom Choir’s performances have remained in global demand ever since their performance at the Royal Wedding, with highlights including the Invictus Games, ITV’s Concert for Ukraine, Prince Albert II of Monaco’s 2021 gala, Expo 2020 and a headline show at the Hollywood Bowl. They have been sought out as collaborators by artists such as Gladys Knight, Gregory Porter, Emelie Sandé, and Madness, as well as for brand collaborations which have included Cartier, Ralph Lauren, Coca-Cola, Burberry, British Airways, and Marks & Spencer. The Kingdom Choir ended 2022 by performing as special guests at Trevor Nelson’s Soul Christmas extravaganza at the Royal Albert Hall alongside the likes of Corinne Bailey-Rae and Andrew Roachford. THE KINGDOM CHOIR NORTH AMERICAN TOUR: - February 19 Montreal, Canada. Place des Arts – Salle Wilfrid-Pelletier - February 21 Erie, PA Mary D’Angelo Performing Arts Center - February 22 Athens, OH Templeton-Blackburn Alumni Memorial Auditorium - February 24 Galveston, TX The Grand 1984 - February 25 Spring, TX The Centrum - February 26 Irving, TX Irving Arts Center - February 28 Cedar Falls, IA Gallagher Bluedorn Performing Arts Center - March 2 Eau Claire, WI RCU Theatre - March 3 Chicago, IL Harris Theater - March 4 Chicago, IL Harris Theater - March 5 Goshen, IN Sauder Concert Hall - March 7 Madisonville, KY Glema Mahr Center for the Arts - March 9 Kutztown, PA Schaeffer Auditorium - March 10 Fairfield, CT Kelley Theatre - March 11 Union, NJ Enlow Recital Hall - March 12 Red Bank, NJ Hackensack Meridian Health Theatre at the Count Basie Center for the Arts - March 14 Thomasville, GA Thomasville Center for the Arts - March 16 Birmingham, AL The Library Theatre - March 17 Birmingham, AL The Library Theatre - March 18 Meridian, MS The Riley Center - March 20 Gainesville, FL Phillips Center - March 21 Belle Glade, FL Dolly Hand Cultural Arts Center - March 24 Palm Desert, CA McCallum Theatre - March 25 San Diego, CA Balboa Theatre Read the full article

[designdekko]

Ways to create the ultimate home studio for your reels and selfies

Being a creative artist on social media or finding the perfect spot for pictures and selfies can be a daunting task. Surely you need one that doesn’t take up too much space but how does one make the most of a limited area? Your very own home studio is a sacred sanctuary where your creativity and ideas come to life. This territory can either be your balcony, a corner of your living room, bedroom or any space with ample sunlight. Don’t fret over a big room or small room. The inspiring decor elements by Krsnaa Mehta will add the design oomph anywhere to help you ace your pictures and videos!

Also Read | Arabic Resin art decor launches by Artist Madhavi Adalja

Adding definition to your walls

A concrete wall with a table, a couple of cushions and throws in a minimalistic way will look good but aren’t everyone’s backgrounds then looking the same? A striking wallpaper is sure to up the game and adds a touch of opulence to your space. The City Fever Vibrancy Wallpaper is the perfect match to add the quirk required. A retro-inspired cityscape with the bustling life of Mumbai is perfectly captured in a contemporary manner with vibrant and attractive designs. The signature motif of Krsnaa Mehta – the rickshaw and the dome-shaped Mughal arches are seen playing a pivotal role in this wallcovering. 

Also Read | Kareena Kapoor Khan’s new home in Bandra with European styled decor & wooden detailing

Not only wallpapers but assembling wall art in a uniform sequence or diagonally will add a pop of colour to your backgrounds. The Merriments in Palms Canvas, the Countryside Tusker Framed Wall Art, the Midnight Aesthetic Yield Canvas, etc are some signature art pieces that blend across any design theme.  

Shelves and cabinets can be used smartly to display artful figurines, wooden masks and wall plates. These elements will add a style of their own and stand out in your selfies and reels. The Neon Pink Owl Figurine Set will liven up the mood of your art station. These cute decor accents for your home make any backdrop pop and add the much-needed artsy touch.

Also Read: Easy Guide To Choose A Color Palette For Your Space

A mirror can parlay functionality and style easily. Opt for the Floral Delight Wall Mirror to add an element of surprise yet elegance The beauty of mirrors is that they can make spaces look more prominent. This Floret Delight Wall Mirror comprises a varied combination of different shapes and sizes of florals making for an interesting watch. Ensure that this piece from your favourite home decor brand makes it to your walls.

Keep it organised

Whether using a big space or a small one, your shoot set needs to be organized and well-kept. The shelves and bags can contain your tripods and ring lights with other essentials but what causes the main hassle is the things which crop up last minute. Having fancy organizers will add up to the style quotient of your space and will double up as storage. The Arches of Enigma Storage Boxes are to the rescue. The visual elements on the boxes like birds and flowers make for an aesthetic design and a great option to store your jewellery and other essentials.

Also Read | Montreal, Canada : New outdoor furniture section on degaspe.ca

The Magenta Biome Mystique Storage Box will turn your studio into a tidy haven while making it look appealing. Add your stationery or quick makeup fixes in these whimsical storage containers to declutter and organise. 

Make it comfortable

This place is going to be  “Your” place. It needs to reflect your style and personality. You will not only be shooting but spending time here editing and brainstorming for your next big idea. Adding an assortment of tables and seating options can help you recreate different looks. A big warm bean bag just like the Pine Twist Bean Bag along with the Robin Bird Park Pouffe will truly add to the multifunctionality of your existing decor. A couple of Bloom Chamber Square Side tables to each side will add a sense of uniqueness and elevate your studio a notch higher.  With its rustic wooden finish and a deep red design, the flower motifs and geometric patterns exhibit elegance and grace. 

Add your signature touch

Every artist embraces a unique style for which they are renowned. Similarly, you can add a touch of your magic to the existing spaces to make them look avant-garde.  Florals to contemporary or traditional to modern, the design will tell a tale on your behalf. Personalize your DIY studio space with a fun rug, planter, curtains, a cosy chair or play with lighting. The bottom line is that however tiny or humble your studio space is, you can customize it in a way that both expresses your creativity and doubles up as a creative arena.

Also Read | Shiro Kuramata’s Samba-M shines again with Ambientec at the supersalone in Milan

In the end, your home is your safe space and haven. A sanctuary where you can be yourself. All you need to do is create that exceptional place that reflects you. 

Source Link

[brothercarlosoliveira]

CHIRO PRAYER Supernatural Body Adjustment by Brother Carlos Oliveira Prayers from Carlos Oliveira on Vimeo.

Donate @ brothercarlos.com DELIVERANCE MINISTRY, MINISTRIES, CHURCHES, PARANORMAL INVESTIGATORS IN abilene, tx - akron, oh - alaska - albany, ny - albuquerque, nm - allentown, pa - amarillo, tx - ann arbor, mi - appleton, wi - asheville, nc - athens, ga - atlanta, ga - auburn, al - augusta, ga - austin, tx - bakersfield, ca - baltimore, md - baton rouge, la -beaumont, tx - bellingham, wa - bend, or - birmingham, al - bloomington, il - bloomington, in - boise, id - boone, nc - boston, ma - boulder, co - brownsville, tx - buffalo, ny - burlington, vt - calgary, ab - cape cod, ma - carbondale, il (new) - cedar rapids, ia - central jersey, nj - chambana, il - charleston, sc - charlotte, nc - charlottesville, va - chattanooga, tn - chesapeake, va - chicago, il - chico, ca - cincinnati, oh - cleveland, oh - college station, tx - colorado springs, co - columbia, sc - columbia/jeff city, mo - columbus, ga - columbus, oh - corpus christi, tx - corvallis, or - dallas/ft. worth, tx - danville, va - dayton, oh - daytona, fl - delaware - denver, co - des moines, ia - detroit, mi - dothan, al (new) - dubuque, ia - duluth, mn - east idaho - east oregon, or - eastern north carolina, nc - eastern shore, va - eau claire, wi - edmonton, ab - el paso, tx - eugene, or - evansville, in - everett, wa - fargo, nd - fayetteville, ar - fayetteville, nc - flagstaff, az - flint, mi - florence, sc - fort collins, co - fort myers, fl - fort smith, ar - fredericksburg, va - fresno, ca - ft mcmurray, ab - ft wayne, in - ft. lauderdale, fl - gadsden, al (new) - gainesville, fl - galveston, tx - grand rapids, mi - green bay, wi - greensboro, nc - greenville, sc - guelph, on - halifax - hamilton, on - hampton, va - harrisburg, pa - harrisonburg, va - hartford, ct - hawaii - hickory, nc -hilton head, sc - houston, tx - hudson valley, ny - huntsville, al - indianapolis, in - inland empire, ca - iowa city, ia - jackson, ms - jacksonville, fl - janesville, wi - jersey shore, nj - jonesboro, ar - joplin, mo - kalamazoo, mi - kansas city, mo - keys, fl - killeen, tx - kitchener, on - knoxville, tn - la crosse, wi - lafayette, in - lafayette, la - lake charles, la - lakeland, fl - lancaster, pa - lansing, mi - laredo, tx - las vegas, nv - lawrence, ks - lawton, ok - lethbridge, ab - lexington, ky - lincoln, ne - little rock, ar - logan, ut - london, on - long beach, ca - los angeles, ca - louisville, ky - lubbock, tx (new) - lynchburg, va - macon, ga - madison, wi - maine - manhattan, ks - mankato, mn - mcallen, tx - medford, or - memphis, tn - merced, ca - miami, fl - milwaukee, wi - minneapolis/st paul, mn - mobile, al - modesto, ca - monroe, la - montana - monterey, ca - montgomery, al - montreal, qc - muncie, in - muscle shoals, al - myrtle beach, sc - nashville, tn - new brunswick - new hampshire - new haven, ct - new jersey - new orleans, la - new york city, ny - newport news, va - niagara, on - norfolk, va - north dakota - north - jersey, nj - oakland/east bay, ca - ocala, fl - odessa, tx - ogden, ut - oklahoma city, ok - olympia, wa - omaha, ne - orange county, ca - oregon coast, or - orlando, fl - ottawa, on - outer banks, nc - palm springs, ca - panama city, fl - pensacola, fl - peoria, il - philadelphia, pa - phoenix, az - pittsburgh, pa - portland, or - portsmouth, va - prescott, az - providence, ri - provo, ut - pueblo, co - puerto rico - pullman, id - quad cities, ia - quebec city, qc - racine, wi - raleigh-durham, nc - reading, pa - red deer, ab - regina, sk - reno/tahoe, nv - richmond, va - rochester, mn - Redding, Humboldt County, Mendocino, Siskiyou, Susanville, Annapolis, Cumberland Valley, Frederick, Western Maryland, rochester, ny - rockford, il - rockies, co - roseburg, or - sacramento, ca - saginaw, mi - salem, or - salt lake city, ut - san antonio, tx - san diego, ca - san fernando valley, ca - san francisco, ca - san jose, ca - san marcos, tx - santa barbara, ca - santa fe, nm - sarasota, fl - saskatoon, sk -savannah, ga - scranton, pa - seattle, wa - sheboygan, wi - shreveport, la - sierra vista, az - sioux city, ia - south bend, in - south coast, ma - south dakota, sd - south jersey, nj - southeast missouri, mo - space coast, fl - spokane, wa -springfield, il -springfield, ma - springfield, mo - st. augustine, fl - st. cloud, mn - st. george, ut - st. louis, mo - stillwater, ok - suffolk, va - syracuse, ny - tacoma, wa - tallahassee, fl - tampa, fl - terre haute, in - texarkana, tx - tijuana - toledo, oh - topeka, ks - toronto, on - treasure coast, fl - tri-cities, tn - tri-cities, wa - tucson, az - tulsa, ok - tuscaloosa, al - twin falls, id - tyler, tx - vancouver, bc - ventura, ca - victoria, bc - victoria, tx - virginia beach, va - visalia, ca - waco, tx - washington dc - wausau, wi -west palm beach, fl - western slope, co - West Virginia, Charleston, Huntington, Martinsburg, Morgantown , Parkersburg, Southern West Virginia, Wheeling, wichita falls, tx - wichita, ks - wilmington, nc - windsor, on.

[warsinmyhead]

The vampire had been busy trying to find information in the books that she didn't notice Bucky had taken a seat at the same table she was at.

The noise he made brought her back to reality and she looked over to see him there reading as well. She blinked and flattened her palms on the table. She knew she was probably coming off as a bit odd to this guy with her actions and maybe this recent moment recalling the painful memory of waking up a vampire for the first time was another flag.

Most of the time she's on her guard and never lets up anything about herself, often trying to fade into the background or disappear so the other party never remembers her. Yet she can't put her finger on it – something about the guy at her table that puzzled her. She wouldn't describe it as fear or anxiety, which is what her maker made her feel.

She kept the top book open and pushed it to the side, before reaching for another to check for more information. Then the third one – all three eventually concluded the same thing she suspected: she needed silver to kill him. Problem is, she wasn't able to handle it on her own.

Her phone made a ding-ding sound and she quickly removed it from her back pocket to see what the alert was about.

Arte

Not sure where you are these days, but there's been another disappearance of a young woman – a cam model this time. Sent 16:29 PM

She was in Montreal. It happened 4 days ago. Police were hesitant to release information as another woman at a modeling agency went missing from her fitting for a show in Toronto. Sent 16:32 PM

Montreal was not super close, but close enough for Marina to be concerned. She grit her teeth behind a tense look and she pocketed her phone in her jeans.

She took one last look through the books to see if she could find any notes about handling silver without hurting herself, but the books gave no further information. Maybe she should find somewhere more private to call her contact from her post WWII days to see what she knew. While it was tempting to run again, Marina felt a bit of anger, maybe a hint of pity for these two girls that were grabbed. The bastard wasn't going to stop and she was sick of him picking pretty faces off while searching for her.

She closed all three books and restacked them on top of one another, before pushing back her chair to replace them on a return cart. Sure she could ask Bucky to put them back for her, but she dismissed that thought, telling herself that he was busy.

Bucky watched her curiously from where they had been talking. She was mesmerizing and he really couldn't figure out why. He was having a hard time walking away from the girl. He took a deep breath and shrugged before walking toward the table.

Pulling out the chair, he buried his nose in one of the books he got told he needed to read after being pulled into modern times. He had a list a mile long thanks to the team.

He didn't say anything, just said and quietly read. He kept picking this particular book up, working his way through it slowly.

“I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.”

The passage resonated, of course, he made a quiet thoughtful noise at it.

He kept her in the corner of his eye, watching her speed read through her stack. She must be looking for something specific.

[nolanscheeks]

"Flu-Like Symptoms"

I wrote this right after Josh left the game due to illness in January 2021 and then completely forgot about it. Oh well, thought I'd post it now. This takes place in January 2021. Enjoy!

Warning: vomiting, talk of illness, talk of COVID

“Have a good nap, babe?” you ask your boyfriend, Josh, as he enters the living room fresh from his pregame nap. His cheeks still rosy from the warmth of the bed and his hair a mess. Josh walks over to where you’re busy catching up on the most recent season of This Is Us. He hums what sounds like a ‘yes’ as he lays down beside you, ready for his post-nap cuddle. Post-nap cuddles had become the new routine since Josh got traded to Montreal and you have been working from home. On game days he typically naps for an hour or so in the afternoon and then comes to find you for a snuggle before he gets in his suit and heads off to the rink. Without hesitation, you nestle yourself into his side, his arm around you.

“My stomach feels weird,” Josh mentions, after a few quiet minutes. 

“Like nauseous or does it hurt?” you prod him, a little concerned at his statement. Josh wasn’t one to complain about anything. Sure, he has the odd day where he’s banged up and a little whiny about it but he mostly keeps any discomfort to himself.

“I don’t know,” Josh sat up and placed a hand on his midsection, “both.” You sat up beside him and gave him a good once over. He looked fine, a little tired maybe, not pale or anything. 

“I’m sure you’re fine, nerves maybe?” you propose, “hunger?”. You said a silent mental prayer that he’s just nervous or hungry. You aren’t a germaphobe or anything, but there’s something about vomit that freaks you out. 

Josh shrugs, pecks your lips, and stands up to go get his game suit on. You follow him to the bedroom and watch him fondly, wishing you were getting dressed up as well to go watch him play with the other wives and girlfriends. You watch as he ties his tie and runs a hand through his hair before turning and facing you.

“Good?” he asks, knowing how much you love a man in a suit. You wrap your arms around his middle.

“Always” you kiss his cheek and then his lips. 

“I’ll see you after the game, don’t wait up” he gives you one last kiss and then he’s out the door on his way to the rink. 

You keep busy by making dinner for yourself, and for Josh when he gets home after the game, while you wait for 7pm to roll around. By game time you’ve eaten, folded some laundry, cleaned the kitchen, and changed into your new and improved gameday outfit which has been simplified from some overpriced blouse, jeans, and heels to legging, or sweats, and one of Josh’s Canadians sweatshirts. You pour a glass of rose and settle down on the couch just as the referees drop the puck at center ice. Josh looks good out there, you think to yourself as the TV camera pans over him. He looks dialed in, focussed, his long hair damp with sweat as he watches the ice. The Canadians play a solid period and when the buzzer goes to signal the end of the first, you get up to go to the bathroom and get distracted by your phone, missing the intermission commentary and commercials completely.

A few minutes into the second period your phone buzzes, revealing a text message from Josh, who should be on the ice.

I’m ok, be home in 10 the text reads.

Your stomach drops, why on Earth would he be leaving in the middle of a game? That’s when you remember the stomachache he had been complaining about earlier then concern enters your mind. You half watch the game and half watch the front door, until you hear Josh’s key turn the lock. The door opens, revealing a pale and disheveled looking Josh wearing his suit, now rumpled and unbuttoned.

“Babe, what the hell happened?” you ask, approaching him. You wrap him in a hug, which he just kind of melts into. 

“I puked,” he mumbles into your hair. You grimace a little bit and pull away, placing the palm of your hand across his forehead. He’s a little warm, nothing concerning, but the glassy look in his eyes tells you that something is wrong. A little bit of anxiety wells up inside you at the thought of vomit, but you push it away, this isn’t the time. 

“Awe” you coo, “I’m sorry.”

“I felt ok until after warm-up and then I started to feel nauseous” he swallows and takes a breath, “I thought I was going to be able to tough it out but then, then after the first, Coach was giving his speech and I felt so sick. I threw up in the garbage in front of everyone. Trainers pulled me.” 

You click your tongue in sympathy. Throwing up is awful, throwing up in front of people sucks on another level. 

“That must’ve been awful.”

“Yeah. And then in the training room I puked again” he adds. 

“Do you feel better now?” you ask. Josh shakes his head.

 “Come on, let’s go to bed.” You lead him into your bedroom. He takes his suit off and changes into a pair of PJ  pants and a worn t-shirt. When he goes into the bathroom to brush his teeth, you seek out an empty garbage can to put next to him, just in case, and fill up a glass of water. You re-enter the bedroom, expecting Josh to be settling into bed, but instead you are greeted with the sound of gagging coming from the bathroom. You sort of freeze, absolutely torn between how badly you want to run away and how badly you want to be there for him. You put down the water and garbage can, take a deep breath and venture into the ensuite. 

Josh is kneeling over the toilet, dragging in painful, ragged breaths, like he’s just been sick. 

“Oh Josh” you exhale, reaching down to place a reassuring hand on his back. He is shaking under your touch.

“Go away” he groans, “you hate puke and I’m not done.” 

“I’ll be fine, you’re more important right now” you tell him. In response, he heaves into the already soiled toilet water. When he finishes, he swats at the handle, flushing the toilet. He doesn’t move, arms still resting on the toilet seat as he holds himself upright. You sigh and sit down behind him on the tiled floor. After a minute or so of you rubbing circles on his back, he moves away from the toilet and looks at you. He’s ghostly pale now. Sweaty and teary-eyed. 

“Baby” you say in the most sympathetic way possible. He doesn’t reply to you and repositions himself so that he’s lying on the floor with his head in your lap. You pick up a section of his hair and twist it around your finger. Bed would definitely be better for Josh right now but after his eyes flutter shut you abandon any thoughts of moving him. He obviously feels awful and if being next to the toilet is what settles him right now, that’s the way it’s going to be. 

The night drags on for what seems like forever. Josh alternated between vomiting and trying to sleep, while you did your best to comfort him. At some point, when Josh wasn’t getting sick, you had grabbed a few pillows and a blanket off the couch to make a make-shift bed on the floor. 

It was now nearing 4am and Josh had gone an hour without throwing up, a personal best since this whole ordeal had started. You sit up from where you had been lying with your head on the throw pillow and nudge Josh a little bit. You weren’t sure if he was asleep or not, but with the speed that he opened his eyes you assumed not. 

“You want to try moving to the bed?” you asked him gently. 

“Can I bring the garbage can?” 

“It’s already by your side” you reassure him “but it’s not coming in bed with us.” Your last remark earns you a small smile. You help him into a sitting position and then place your hand on the small of his back to guide him until he is laying in the bed. 

“I don’t think I have ever puked that much in my life” he tells you once you had climbed in next to him.

“That was pretty brutal” you validate. “Any better now?”

“A lot. I’m so fucking tired though.”

“You’ll probably feel like that for a bit. Your body has to recover from that intense ab workout you just put it through.”

He breathes out a soft laugh and turns onto his side facing you. He prods you into flipping over so he can assume a big-spoon position. Your eyes fall shut as you focus on the sound and sensation of Josh’s breathing in your ear. It’s probably not smart to have someone who had just been extremely ill and is definitely contagious breathing on you. But, whatever he had you have definitely contracted by now, so you decided it didn’t matter. With the warmth of Josh behind you and exhaustion, you easily slipped off to sleep, praying that Josh was through the worst of it and that it wouldn’t hit you as hard.