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kichimiangra · 4 years ago

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I only needed 5 minutes...

A story of my day.

I Dunno who actually wants to read this? I wouldn't even want to. But I feel like I need to vent. The last couple of weeks have been fucked... but yesterday I ruined the day... again. I've been doing that alot lately. Almost every other Saturday since August. I hope venting makes me feel better if nothing else. I'll probably delete this later because I don't like leaving a notable paper trail of this stuff that anyone can find. Nothing but trouble comes of that. When I'm on my pc I'll put this under a read more because I dunno how to do that on mobile.

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The Holidays are almost over and I am running out of time to get done. One thing in particular, a gift, is unfortunately gone. My mom has orchestrated all of Christmas, even down to the gifts other people are getting for her... and she's not happy about it. She feels like nobody is willing to lift a finger to help her make Christmas happen. I wanted to surprise her.

She loves making soap. I'm not good at sculpture but I wanted to make a custom soap mold for her. I began with the original that would be used to make the mold. It took days upon days of trying and retrying to get it satisfactory, including one failure where my momnpoked her head in and I slammed my chin down on it so she wouldn't see, though my dad swears my mom never pokes her head into my room... but like she does???

Anyway... I finally had my original, though I think I could do better there's not much time left. I ordered a silicone mold kit and went to work... and it failed immensely. BUT there's still a little time left! I'll order another. Now THIS time was frustrating.

My mom wasn't being nosy... but literally EVERYTIME I got the stuff out to work on she would be there by sheer coincidence! Wait until she's asleep? Dad will have a coughing fit and wake her up and she'll wander out into the kitchen. Wait until she's out of the house? She never leaves. Wait until she does? She forgot something and comes home unexpectedly and I have to quickly hide my shit. She's not doing it on purpose but it gets more and more frustrating that I just can't just fucking get this done! Like... Jeebus Christmas! My dad says this doesnt happen but... it does????? And then I fuck up my second attempt. Fuck... I have less time...

But that's okay! I have enough time to order another kit! I've only spent 80$ so far with nothing to show but third times a charm!!!

Once again I just can't get the time to get this done. She's always there, or up, or poking her head in. It's almost cartoonish! But I have not time left. It has to be today.

My folks go down for an afternoon nap and I immediately get to work. I get toward the end of working, all's going well. I only need 5 minutes...

Then my dad gets up and my moms not far behind. Fuck... I can't move the mold yet... fuck. I just need 5 fucking minutes! I'm wrestling with curious cats. Fuck... My dad is useless at maybe luring my mom away. Fuck... my mom insists she needs to be in that same corner I'm working at. Fuck...! I just need five minutes!!!

Then of course disaster strikes... there's a crack or a hole in my original and silicone is leaking out! I had barely enough silicone to even make this happen! I can't afford to lose anymore! Fuck! I need to fix this! I just need 5 minutes to fix this!

I'm getting frustrated to the point I am starting to do that angry sob thing. I take it to another room now that I can move it. I just need 5 minutes to fix this! My parents follow my to the other room to find out what's wrong. Honestly my dad knows what I'm trying to do so given the context what do you thing is wrong dad? Clearly something has gone wrong with my mold. I tell him to go away cuz really I'm trying to fix this and I need to be left alone. I need five minutes to fix this... but he won't leave until I tell him what's wrong. I try to whisper it to him, the mold is leaking, I don't have enough silicone, nowhere local sells it, I can't get more in time. But his hearing has gone so he can't hear what I'm saying! He wants me to speak up but mom is just around the corner in the other room! I need him to fucking go. I'm frustrated and I tell him rudely "Just fuck off! I have to fix this!" Rude and inappropriate I know... but I just need 5 fucking minutes to fucking fix this I am sobbing at this point.

My dad leaves but of course my mom comes in next and wants to know what's wrong. I'm being very curt with her using my body to block the sight of my mess, telling her as calmly as I can, which isnt very calm, that nothings wrong, no she cant help me fix it, I'll tell her later, go back to the kitchen. I don't swear at my mother. That is important. I just need 5 minutes to fix this!

Finally the leak stops but so much silicone is on my baking tray that the mold is no longer submerged. I use a plastic spoon to get as much as I can back in the mold but it's not enough. I'm covered in silicone up to my wrist, and it's also in my hair. I put it up on a high shelf because the cats helped ruin mold #2 and sit down to mourn the loss of the only gift I had for my mom. I had no backup plans and this ones a bust.

I just need 5 minutes to calm down. I was rude to my parents and need to apologize to them, but first I need 5 minutes to just calm down and breath. Maybe I can find another gift in time? Maybe I can just wrap the original and promise in the nearish future when I can procure more silicone that she will have a mold? First I need to calm down. Then I need to apologize.

My dad comes into the room and chews me out about how rude as I was and how I need to go apologize to my mother. I hate when they do this, now when I apologize it's because I was told to, not because I took the initiative to. My folks can't comprehend I would otherwise apologize if not being told. All I wanted was 5 minutes to calm down.

I go and apologize. I am not the good guy in all of this, I am an adult. An autistic adult but an adult nonetheless, and being rude to my parents was inappropriate regardless. I didn't get my 5 minutes but off to apologize I go. "I'm sorry I lashed out guys. I was doing something, it didn't go my way, I got super frustrated and you guys were just there by coincidence. I didn't mean to lash out." I did mean what I said.

Mom didn't see it that way. My mom is very passive aggressive and honestly I get to be one of the reasons today she hates living here in this house and around us because all we do is "abuse" her physically and verbally. She hates living here and she hates being around us. I apologized again because great. Once again Kacey ruins everything. I need to stop being upset about this shit it's like every other saturday! She continues about how much she hates it here. I leave the room trying and failing not to sob.

My mom also gets up and goes to another room. Whatever she's doing is loud and she's quite verbal about it. I go back to my room, I just need 5 minutes to cry and calm down again. I still have other shit to do for Christmas too.

My mom comes by with a box and puts it on the table, with a sharpie she writes "Christmas soap fail 2020" and tells dad to take it to the basement. For context we had been making soap kits for xmas gifts. I had coworkers who got me gifts. I was dissuaded from buying them much in return because we were makin by the soap gift bags. Those where the soaps... I have nothing in return to give my coworkers. I don't have enough time... all the while my mom is still going off. Later my dad says it wasn't all my fault, he had done something to upset her earlier in the day, then my older sister, I was just the straw that broke the camels back. But honestly in this family it's whatever baby wants; baby gets." And what baby wants is to be mad at me.

I go upstairs and hide in my brother's room. Surprisingly despite the fact that my mom acts like he is one of the only people who care about her and defend her, he was the first one to tell me "Fuck her. If she wasn't going to be mad at you it was going to be something else. Now watch me play Aladdin on Sega genesis!"

After a while my younger sister came over to do her laundry. I began to quietly tell her what the flippity floop she walked in on. In the middle my mom came out and started chewy us out. Y'know, don't let her interrupt us from talking privately amongst ourselves about how much of a bitch she is. Her words not mine. And to be fair I was telling my sister about how I lashed out and caused this. But my mom doesn't like when we sibs talk privately, though she also doesn't like if we overhear what her and my dad talk about privately. Double standards I know.

I thought maybe if I explained what was up maybe she'd understand? So I out myself. I was trying to make her a surprise gift. She orchestrated ALL of Christmas and I just wanted to surprise her. Everything started going wrong and I was getting frustrated because she woke up and entered the room at an AWFUL time and I couldn't get me and my wip gift away from her seeing which made everything worse. Now one thing to know about my mom, explaining oneself is equated to excusing your behavior... and she does not tolerate that. She chews me out more. I'm sobbing again.she insists I told her to fuck of and get away from me... even though I did NOT curse at my mom... at all. I was rude but I did NOT say that! I repeat that I had just wanted to surprise her. She tells me about how unsurprised she is that this is how her day ends. She tells me that she doesn't want whatever trinket I was making for her because now it's tied up in the baggage of having apparently told her to fuck off and get away from me, that she doesn't want another in a long line of ass-kissy gifts because that makes being rude to her okay. It wasn't an ass kissy gift in response to being rude to her... it was a custom made Christmas gift for her... because I thought she'd be surprised? Because I thought it'd make her happy? Though I guess it doesn't matter... she doesn't want it anymore. She doesn't care what it was. Now it is a bad reminder of me treating her like everyone in her whole life has except specifically people who are dead. I have ruined quite a few things.

Honestly... I love my mom. I love her so much and I wish she could be happy. I want to do things to make her happy. But when she tells me that I am just one of the things that make her wanna run away to another state and tell no ody where she went and love alone... I'm not gonna sugar coat it, I wish I was dead.

I am a 29 year old autistic woman. I feel like a failure at growing up. I have stressed part of my colon into not working anymore. I still live at home with my parents and work in a minimum wage fast food job. I have few friends and I speak to them infrequently, but if you are at a place where I call you friend... we could not talk for 10 years and your still my friend until officially broken up. I surround myself with animals and I play with a digimon tamagotchi. My sisters have grown up jobs and drive and live in an apartment away from home and I feel like a failure because I missed all these adulting milestones. I feel CONSTANTLY guilty about everything. I feel like I can't say "hey let's do a shark mermaid themed charity zine and all the proceeds can go to buying preservatives for Rosie the dead great white shark!!!" Without the guilt at the mere idea that someone will tell me "Wow... you care more about a dead shark than say... real living people? You know there's no water in Flint right???" Without feeling guilty that... yes? I like a dead shark more than living people? I don't like people? Also shark is cool? I feel guilty that if I call a day off work SOMEONE ELSE has to be inconvenienced to work my shift. I feel guilty playing World of Warcraft because I'm accused of "Chasing a time I view as better" instead of growing up and moving on. I feel guilty about wanting to ask for someone else's time because they too have shit to do. I feel guilty about so many things...

And I feel guilty when my mom says I'm just another abuser in her life. Her fuse is so short it takes almost nothing to set her off. You have to be calm and happy all the time or she has to "walk on eggshells because anything she does can set US off!"

When my mom is mad at me like that... I hate myself. I have some dark thoughts on a normal day but when she's mad at me in this specific way... I wish I could just unexist. Or go to sleep and just not wake up. I can always logic my way away from the dark thoughts... but they're there nonetheless. And when I'm one of the things that makes my mom want to run away? Then I just wish I was dead really. Or just unalive. Not since I was 14 at least. I don't want to die. Just cease to be. I don't know if that counts as being suicidal but I'll tag for it anyway.

I don't normally talk about this shit with people. I don't wanna look like I'm crying out for attention or help or pity. I don't talk to my folks about it because there's never a good time. When I try to hint it's not taken seriously, and when things aren't bad I don't feel as bad. Keeping quite hasn't made me feel better so maybe just typing this out and being heard will make me feel even slightly better? Like a diary entry.

There's more to the morbs in my life but for now I leave it as this. It's 7am, I am in bed and have dried silicone in my hair and under my nailes, and I have work today. Who knows, maybe it'll all blow over like it never happenned like the bipolar way things go in my family sometimes. Maybe I'll get out of work and my folks will be happily dancing in the livingroom to sugar pie honeybunch like teenagers in love and I will be the only one stressed about it.

Don't take this post at face value. This is only my side. The human brain is flawed and the human ego will remake memories to protect itself. I normally turn to siblings who where there at the time to tell me if what I think happenned really happenned that way.... but I've also been informed that my siblings don't want to deal with me, and don't have the balls to call me out on my bullshit so will tell me whatever I want to hear, so really... I don't even trust that my recount of events even happenned that way.

Maybe I'll continue the story in another post?

And now

I go to bed. Goodnight. I am a tired bitch. I probably only just need 5 minutes to fall asleep.

P.s. I'm sorry if you read all that. It's a bummer. I know. I'll hide it under a read more when I'm on pc.

#trigger warning: mentions of suicidal thoughts #Kc's morb diary

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 4 years ago

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This Here is the Heavy Truth

The truth is not always easy to carry. Michael knows not everyone will be able to understand his version on the truth. FallenAngel! AU. Black!OC.

CW: Mentions of violence. Religious themes.

Enjoy my masterlist

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Her heels make her ass look great. The tequila’s gone straight to her head and the heels are more than just an accessory, they’re a pain. She shuffles side to side, trying to alleviate the pain in her arch. “Oh fuck these things,” she huffs, reaching to pull them off.

Her friend reaches out for her hand, halting the movement. “I’m so f-fucking drunk, Violet,” Jean laughs. Violet, her nickname after her favorite flower. Everyone called her that. Even her coworkers used the nickname.

“I know,�� she exhales. Her phone buzzes in her hand, once, then twice. It’s Michael finally calling her back. “Michael, I swear on God, if you made us wait in the cold--,”

“If you weren’t so blitzed, you’d see my lights on.”

She blinks, watching the car slowly creeping down towards the curb. There’s a lot of foot traffic right about now. Most bars are close to closing. People are finding their 1 am drunk food craving spots. “I see you. Shit. I’m gone.”

Michael laughs gently into the receiver and finally stops in front of them. She helps Jean into the backseat. It’s a task for sure, since both woman have on heels that are two inches too high their the amount of swaying the alcohol has them doing. Her main goal is just to get Jean inside without flashing anyone else but her.

“Sorry, Mikey,” Jean giggles when she bumps into the back of the driver seat.

“It’s alright. Seat can take a hit or two.”

She finally settles into the back next to Jean, shimmy down the already barely long enough skirt of her dress. “Jean drove my car,” she relays, head falling back into the cushions. “So can we just drop her off and can I crash with you?”

“Of course,” Michael nods, before holding back a bottle of water to the both of them. He’s driven Jean and her home a few times. Though it’s never that much of a hassle. They’re good drunk passengers as far as drunk passengers can go. It’s the getting in and getting out that’s a problem.

He was up anyway, much too late, headset covering his ears even though it’s was only him in the house. But the phone buzzes late at night, right when Michael tells himself only one more match. He cuts off the PC or console and finds the ladies sometimes leaning into each other. Sometimes one is supporting the other as both their weights lean into a pole or brick building. He’s always nervous that one of these times. He’s going to pull up and they’re not going to be standing there.

“You know you can wait inside. I’ll come find you guys,” Michael says, pulling away from the curb.

The rebuttal will be the same. It always is. “You worry too much. Chances are still the same inside or outside.” She settles herself deeper into the seat. He turned the warmers up, she can tell. It feels good against the bite of the night.

The only saving grace is that he knows one of the bartenders. Michael and her have a pact. If it’s only her and Jean, she texts Michael that they arrived to the bar-always the same one- and sends him any drunk texts or selfies. It’s a way he knows she’s still okay and if anything goes wrong, he can call someone he trusts to intervene.

Giggles erupt from the backseat. “God damn it, Jean. You’re gonna be pissed in the morning. That material stains like a bitch even with just water.”

“The dresss was cheap anyway.” Her speech isn’t too slurred, but enough to Michael to suggest a pit stop. “McDonalds, please!”

He nods from the front seat. “The Golden arches it is then.” Jean eagerly exclaim about a Big Mac. Violet gets the same thing all the time, 10 piece nuggets, large fries, and a sweet tea. And no one objects to it. Though he knows he’ll have to make sure to grab extra napkins.

They sit in the McDonalds parking lot, windows rolled down, munching on their meals. Michael stands outside the passenger door, stretching his legs. He’s been sat way too long in front of his laptop. The night is clear, for once. Michael stares up into the sky, watching the moon hold steady. He remembers watching it come into being. The way He had Earth pull it back into rotation, rounded it out, even with all the craters.

Violet pokes her head out the window, poking him every so gently in the thigh. “You got a thinkin’ face on, Michael.”

“Do I? Hadn’t noticed.”

“S-sure do. What you thinkin’ ‘bout?”

Michael shakes his head. He can’t tell her. It’s not that there’s a rule against it and even if it were, it’s not like Michael would be one to follow it anyway. But it’s that how does he tell someone? How does he let the words expand his lungs and slip past his tongue? He looks down to her, the way she rests her head on the door. He taps gently on one of the knots on her head. He can’t pull the name of them to the top of his head. He’s more than sure she’s mentioned it to him before though. “What are these called again?” he asks.

“Bantu knots.”

“They’re cute. But I have no clue how you sleep with those in.”

Jean cuts in. “The back knots are super far apart. Then you sleep on your back and it’s a bitch if you turn over. But a bantu knot out, oh, it’s fire the morning after.”

With a thumb raised over her bare shoulders, she grins up at Michael. “What she said. But you never answered my question.”

“It’s nothing,” he says. “Hey, Jean, you got anything important in the morning?” Her hand shake no spurs him to continue. “Crash at my place then. Then I’ll take you guys home later.”

“You ever gonna answer that question?”

He wants to. They’ve been friends for years. He knows so much about her. Like he knows she probably won’t be falling asleep anytime soon once they get home because the room will be spinning. And he knows she wishes she called her mother more. But they’re just not that close. And she’s found out who her father was, but he’s an ass, so they don’t talk. Michael knows she likes to sleep under two blankets with a fan on and will settle for nothing less. But she only knows very little about him. “I will,” he promises in a whisper. “I’ll answer that question.” Eventually is the word he leaves out.

Michael’s shocked at how quick it takes to get both girls into the house. Because she crashes over at his place often, make up remover, a spare couple of toothbrushes and spare clothes are stashed away in their own drawer. Jean slides the sweatpants and tank top on before curling up on Michael’s mattress and drifting to sleep. But Violet is laying on his living room floor, one arm thrown over her face, dressed in leggings and his sweatshirt. Though it sits near her knees on her, she still wears them.

“I hate the fact that the room’s spinning. And I’m fucking hot, but I can’t not wear clothes right now,” she whines.

With two twist of the knob, the fan whirs to life, oscillating. He lies down next to her, pulling his glasses off and finding the edge of the coffee table to rest them on. “You did it to yourself,” he teases.

“Shut up, Clifford.”

“Yeah, that’s my name. Just don’t wear it out.”

“Ignoring the fact that sounds sexual.”

Laughter bubbles out of his chest. “If I wanted it to be sexual, I would tell you to wear it out.” They nearly hooked up once. But Michael stopped it. He felt like he was lying to her. She didn’t know. She has no clue who is he. What he’s done and to some extent what he hasn’t done. It’s no secret to anyone who watches them that feelings are there. But they’re never really acted upon. Michael’s scared. Being intimate with her means he’s bound to be vulnerable with her. The dynamics will ultimately change and he will have to speak the truth. Out loud. For the first time in ages. In years. In decades. It’s probably too many decades to even use decades as the measurement of time.

“You know what I think?” She starts, pulling the arm down, but her eyes are still closed. “I think the sky’s like a home for you. Or something. You’re always looking at it. What do you long for up there? What’s there?”

Michael can feel his heart beating against his ribs. “Home.” It’s quiet. He repeats it, voice shaking. “Home was there.”

“Yeah, I guessed that,” she laughs, threading her fingers together and resting them on her stomach.

“No, I mean, behind the stars was home. I had a home there. Just as real as this apartment.” It’s probably a bad time to confess this to her right now. She’s not sober by any means. She won’t understand what he’s saying. The gravity and the truth won’t actually hit in her mind.

“If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine.” Her words are taking longer to get out. Her body feels like it’s sinking through the floor now. The spinning as stopped and she can focus on the sound of the fan whirring and the warmth that Michael gives off so close to her. She can finally sleep.

Michael notices the longer inhales, the prolonged exhales. He’s losing her. And fast. Damn alcohol he thinks. “I fell,” he confesses, turning to face her. “From heaven. It hurt. But not in the same way, not physically.”

She blinks up at him, brows furrowing together. Her already wide nose now taking up seemingly more space on her face from the action. “You what?”

“I fell from heaven.”

“Like, I know I’m drunk. But did you have anything tonight?”

“I could ace a field sobriety test. I’m not lying, or high, or drunk.” The disbelief doesn’t fall from her face. She won’t catch onto to what he’s trying to say. Michael smiles, pushing a tuft of laughter over his lips. His gut is heavy, but he plays it off. “Just kidding,” he whispers.

She swats at his chest. “Asshole.” Her eyes close again, body heavy and sluggish. Michael nudges her, holding all her weight for the most part as he helps her to the bedroom. With both woman finally in bed, Michael settles onto the couch. He shouldn’t have tried to tell her. She’ll never understand. And even if she does believe him, there’s no way she’s going to stick around. He’s marked. For damnation. For forever. He choose to turn his back and no one will ever get that.

Of course, they’ve discussed religion. She’s usually the one to bring it up. Michael shies away from it most of the time. But he listens to her rant, about her family’s inability to understand her conceptualization of spirituality. She’s not one to shun others for different beliefs. But to her, someone who once followed the rules religiously, wondered what rules what she was following. Was she just another mindless cog in the machine? Who established the rules? Did the rules have to be followed to a t? What happened to questioning things that didn’t make sense? Like who said no sin was bigger than the other? And who the hell made being gay worse than divorce? Was it even bad? She certainly didn’t feel bad for her queerness.

And Michael stupidly got too close. He loved watching her rant. Loved listening to all the questions she had because he had them too. But he had watched creation take place. He had witnessed the marvel and power of God. But he still had questions, he still yearned for those things that he was not to yearn for. Michael even questioned why he was made this way. If his whole purpose was to spread the message of God, why did he question it so damn much? Why did he feel incomplete?

This couldn’t be done by accident. No one who creates the Sun and Moon makes a curious believer. The idea of such contrast identities meeting in one body is never done just happenstance. So Michael went to confront Him. All of his robes billowing about his body he marched down the hallway, a fiere rap on the door. He was met with an uncomfortable sensation seconds before the door creaked up. He was hit with the thought that maybe this was a part of the plan along. Would Michael be playing into the game along? So he turned tail and hauled it back down the hallway. What if Michael’s curiosity was nothing more than a character trait instilled in him from the beginning?

Who turns away from the one that makes it all? But as more time passed, as more vengeance struck the Earth, Michael just couldn’t. He couldn’t be silent. He couldn’t not keep the questions from burning his tongue. He was geared up, ready to strike those that dared questioned the Lord. And yet he was one of them. So he stopped fighting. He stopped his carriage. He dropped his sword, pulled the helmet from his face. “Why do I fight, Father?” he asked to the bright light pouring from the sky. “Why do I wrestle with myself? Who’s word am I spreading? Tell me, My Father, do I burn with curiosity and questions because you have made me as such? Did you take your own perfect creatures and taint them? Am I tainted?”

“Nothing is tainted because of my own hands.”

The words shook his core. Michael blinked. Had he been given free will without even realizing? No, that’s not how it works. He had to be broken. But Michael didn’t break himself. He was made broken. “Father, but where do I come from if not from your hands?”

“Do you question me? Do you call my creations flawed?”

Yes. No. “Why do you strike down a flawed people? Are they not attempting to find themselves closer to You? I call into your question the entire system. You make them. You give them free will. You tell them there is Heaven and there is Hell. You tell them that they are inherently imperfect. You tell them there is a way closer to righteous. Why lash out on people who are trying?”

“Not all try.”

“Not all are given fair chances in life. And I’m not excusing murders who kill for the sport, or those the prey on others. But I raise this, You made them all. You even made Lucifer, gave him his own dominion and power. So are You really angry with them? Or are You angry with Yourself and take it out on those that are not powerful enough? If humans are flawed, and Lucifer flawed, and his followers followers flawed too, am I not in position to question my own fault? Am I not in position to question why the hands that made us make us this way?”

“I made balance. I made good and therefore, I made evil. What is pain without joy? What is sunshine without rain? Do you wish for perfect world? Then you wish for imbalance.”

Balance. As if people’s lives being laid down was for balance. “They are trying.”

“I made knowledge and the thirst for it. Tell me how much do you thirst for it? Has it consumed you so greatly that you questioned me?”

The truth is burning his tongue. His guts are light with a fire. Yes. He is questioning God. Michael is standing here, in the midst of everyone, his red robes billowing in the wrong direction. He’s turning his back on things he’s always thought he know, or tried to pretend to know, tried to pretend he didn’t question. “I am.” The words ring way too loud in his ear after they leaving his lips. His chest squeezes, air is harder to take in.

Michael wakes with a start, pressing a hand to his chest. That moment will always haunt him. The air is a little thick. The smell, it hits his nostrils and his gut churns. Michael doesn’t even bother with shutting the bathroom door before the heave takes over his chest. His guts hit the bottom of the toilet once. His stomach settles until he breathes in again. His wretches a second time but there’s barely anything left. Just the disgusting sting of bile in his throat.

He’s never cooked bacon a second in his life. He only keeps it in his fridge for appearances. He hates going to brunch. The whole place smells too much like his own flesh. They’re not exact scents. But it’s close enough. It’s more than enough for his body to think for a second he’s buried in a crater in the middle of the desert, his robes torn and his chest plate and helmet stripped from his body. It’s close enough that Michael for a second can feel the hot sting on his skin as it hits him that he’s fallen and he’s smelling his own flesh. Gone at his heavenly status and skin.

“Michael?” Her voice is soft as she approaches.

He flushes the toilet, praying she doesn’t see the mess he’s made. Bracing on the kitchen sink with one hand, and the other, stretched to the wall, he keeps his back to the door. “I’m okay,” he sighs. God, the taste is thick in his mouth. He hates this.

Something clinks against the countertop. She rubs her hand over his back and he catches another whiff. His body jolts, screams at him to vomit again. But he shakes his head, swallowing the urge back down. “Sorry,” he breathes.

“No, I’m sorry. Jean was up before me. I was going to tell her to wait to cook the bacon. But she got to it before me. I did my best to cut down on the smell.”

“It’s fine,” he exhales, wishing he didn’t have to breath in. He can keep the nausea at bay if he’s prepared, aware of what’s happening.

“I brought you some water. The windows are opened. I have the fan blowing it out.” She’s gone after that. The absence of warm hand let’s a chill seep in through his t-shirt. Michael could kick himself for keeping the food in his house. He grows tired of the excuses for not having it. So he buys a pack here and there, but never actually consumes it. Not even at restaurants. The taste, he discovered once when he found himself cornered, is fine all things considered. But the smell makes it hard for him to even consider eating it on a regular basis. Most people that Michael does keep close know about the aversion to bacon. And Michael really hadn’t meant to get bacon on this grocery trip. But as he was unpacking his grocery, he shrugged when he saw it. Figured he’d toss it eventually like he did like all those other times.

Now it was coming back to bite him in the ass. Hard too. Michael takes in another steady breathe. His stomach churns but he doesn’t feel the convulsion shaking his body. He rinses out his mouth with the glass of water and brushes his teeth. He hates the residual burn in the back of his throat. When he finally collects all of himself, he flicks off the bathroom light and walks into the kitchen. The plate laughs at him. If plates could laugh of course. But there’s a moment where all he sees is the offensive culprit.

“I’m sorry!” Jean rushes out. “I just saw it in the fridge and thought I’d repay you for taking care of our drunk asses. I’m really sorry. If I had’ve known, God, I’m such an idiot. I was--I’m sorry,” she concludes.

“It’s alright. I appreciate the gesture. The thought matters more,” Michael replies. His voice is still thick, recovering from the surprise assault. He clears it before settle down at the table and piling the eggs and pancakes onto his plate. He even drizzles a handful of blueberries over the sopping pile of syrup and whipped cream.

“The breakfast of champions,” he grins as the two woman stare at him. Jean looks shocked, some terror in her eyes. Violet watches him with concern, the same look a parent has when their child is doing something potentially dangerous. The look of someone dangling on the edge, the look of someone ready to pounce if needed.

Breakfast goes smoothly, all considered. Both woman keep Michael out of the kitchen and before it’s noon, he takes them back to the bar so Violet can claim her car yet again. She drops off Jean and then goes back to Michael’s apartment. It’s a wild shot. There’s nothing left to give her the impression that he went back there. But she remembers, albeit hazily, Michael’s confession about falling. From heaven. As if such things were real. She read about Fallen Angels in Sunday school, when her feet were so far from the ground as she sat in her seat, the white socks with lace trimming filling her vision. She didn’t pay much attention.

Angels had wings and halos. Angels looked heavenly, they glowed. Or at least that’s what she assumed. And anyone angel that fell went with Satan. They were demons and not that she didn’t consider her fate sealed to fire filled pits, but there was way no way Michael was a demon neither. He is sweet. He cares an awful lot. He is fundamentally, to his core, the essence of him is good. As she pulls into his complex, his car is there, in his assigned spot. She’s still dressed in his sweatshirt and her leggings. Her hair is still up in knots. Her face is bare after taking off all the makeup the night before.

She barely gets finished with the first knock before the door opens. Michael smiles, his place still smells a little like bacon, but it’s waning. “Were you actually being serious last night?” she asks.

His grip tightens on the door. Fuck, he was hoping she would be too drunk to remember. What does he do? Tell her no, that he was just fucking around. Like he said he was last night. But he knows. He can see by the way her eyes are wide and her voice is barely above a whisper that tells him she might actually believe. She might actually understand him. He nods, signalling for her to come inside.

Fuck, he really opened the door for this conversation, didn’t he? As awkward as it’ll be, he’s more confused about how to put it into words. Maybe they’re aren’t any words. Maybe words are meaningless. They stare at each other for a moment. Michael, used to having use words so often, is empty of them. He holds up a hand and turns. His robes. They’re the only thing he has left, along with this sandals. Everything else was striped from him. The helmet, sword and chest piece. There’s nothing, but ancient paintings and he has no access to them. His role was unique. Maybe it was that uniqueness that made him predestined to fall.

The robes are still in the same condition when he awoke. Burnt and tattered. He carries them gently to the living room. She’s still standing right in front of the door. Almost as if she were just looking for a reason to run out the door. But she sees the torn cloth in hands. It’s unlike anything she’s ever seen in person, all her twenty three years on Earth. “What is this?”

Michael places them onto the coffee table. Over the console controllers, and coasters, and magazines. It’s a gentle descension from his arms to the table. He still treats them with great respect for all the pain they’ve caused him. Michael stares at the outline of the lightning in the middle of material and lifts his shirt over his torso. He wasn’t supposed to fall in love. Though, he’s not even sure this, between him and Violet,is actually love. But he’s supposed to be alone. He’s supposed to be with anyone, not supposed to have anyone close to him. It’s not dangerous, just complicated. How do you tell someone that you saw them created? You saw the universe spoke into existence and you stood next to the person that did it all. You followed Their word, Their rule.

He is supposed to have a lonely existence after turning his back on God. And yet, here he is standing in front of the only woman he’s gotten close to in all his years of damnation. Half naked, the truth threatening to spill over his lips. “What the actual fuck, Michael?” Her words are stern, but her brow is pulled together. Her steps forward are shaky.

He remains on the opposite end of the table. Afraid that if he makes any more closer he’ll scare her. “Do you know that scripture, Nahum 1:2?” Her head shake no is small but noticeable. “God is jealous, and the LORD revengeth; the LORD revengeth, and is furious; the LORD will take vengeance on his adversaries, and he reserveth wrath for his enemies.”

“What-What are you saying? That God did this? That He struck you with-- Michael seriously what the fuck.” Is she crying? She notices for a second or two that he blurs in her vision. One tear slips down, hot against her skin. She is crying and she hates how dry her throat is getting. Who would dare hurt Michael? Who would lift a finger with such intentions?

“I’m saying that when they said He’s a vengeful God, they were right.”

“I-I don’t understand.”

“I fell, Violet,” his voice cracks. He hates seeing her cry, hates seeing the red watery eyes. “I turned away from Him. I questioned Him. I asked God to explain himself to me. To give me one good reason why I should keep following blindly after all those rules. I questioned why I was so unhappy with things. I questioned His system.”

Her feet take her closer. Is this true? Are the words Michael is uttering actually real? Her fingers trace over the scars. “Why were you unhappy?”

“Similar reasons why you aren’t happy. I felt like a puppet. I felt like nothing made sense. Who was I following? What did He want with me? Why was He so unhappy with this own creation? He did this. He made this. So if He was so displeased erase them? Why create the evil if you were just going to shun it.”

“You went so far as to ask if God himself was as perfect as He is made out to be?”

He had never thought about it like that. Had he really gone and questioned how perfect God was claimed to be? If so, he hadn’t meant to. He was just curious. He just needed answers. “Maybe I had, indirectly.”

“What did you do? I don’t mean to get kicked out. Before that, what did you do?”

“That’s-that’s complicated. But it all leads to me here; I’m here now.”

“You’ve listened to all my rants on God. This is why you never spoke on them. You would’ve given yourself away.” Does this change the way she feels about him? It’s not clear. But it changes something. It breaks something that was there that isn’t anymore. There’s not a wall there.

“I couldn’t. I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“So you wait. You wait until I’m drunk. But I wasn’t quite drunk enough.”

“It’s easier to tell you the truth when you ask. It’s easier to spill my guts if you ask me to. How do I tell someone that I care deeply about that I’m somewhere between human and celestial.”

“So you plant the seed? You make a joke?”

“It was not intentional. I wanted to tell you last night. But it wouldn’t have been fair to you. You wouldn’t have understood then.”

“Well, I’m asking, again--what did you do?”

“It was my responsibility to spread His message. Like any other angel. I was not special in that regard. But I spread the message amongst the armies.”

“Does it really need to be spread about His status to his own people?”

Michael shakes his head. It’s a thought. He can’t blame her. It sounds strange. He waves to the couch, picking his shirt off the floor. It’s chilly now and he feels oddly exposed. Things he’s never shown to anyone just blatantly on display. She perches herself right on the edge of the cushion. This is not the moment to get too comfortable. She’s got questions, if she could write them down, and record him, she would. But that’s too invasive, too formal. She’s just at a lost of what’s reality. Is anything real or known to her anymore?

“It’s not quite that. It’s not like spreading the word to the angels. It’s more like I carry specific messages for them and for followers. It was my duty to carry messages during war. It’s just eats away at you after a while. Why is this the specific word I must carry? Why is it this specific course of action people must take? Why are they’re not more second chances? He gave humans free will. Why is He punishing them for the very thing he gave them? Then why not make some people good and some people bad. Why punish people for exercising the very choice given to them.”

“Wouldn’t you say that some people choose wrong?”

“Maybe they do, but it feels wrong to punish them for that. Teach them.”

“Doesn’t the bible say Spare the rod spoil the child? Wouldn’t the punishment, be the exact thing He said was coming? I don’t agree with all of the rules and the whole no sin being bigger than others. And that’s probably due to the fact that the people do make some sins bigger than others. I’m classified as a sin. Like, it’s fucked up. But maybe some people deserve their punishment.”

Michael sits next to her, turned to face her. “Some people do. But to wipe the earth? To constantly beat people into submission? I couldn’t understand it. I wanted answers. I was greedy for knowledge that I didn’t have a right to know I guess.”

“Did it hurt?” She gestures to the scar.

He looks down to his chest; he knows all too well the way the scar looks there. How it hurt for a long time emotionally more than physically. He carried a physical scar of all his own wrong doings. A physical cross to bare for begging to know things, for thirsting after the knowledge that was created. But that was home. That was all Michael knew for the longest time. All that was stripped away from him. Without a blink, without a moment’s hesitation everything Michael know gone. Yes,” is his simple response.

“This is why you can’t handle the smell of bacon. Smells too much of your own skin?”

Michael gives another simple, “Yes.”

“Is this why you didn’t sleep with me?”

“Yes, and no.”

“No?”

“It wasn’t the only reason why I didn’t. If you saw this, you would’ve had questions. I didn’t have the guts to answer them then. Did I lie to you or did I tell you the truth? I didn’t like either option.”

She looks up to Michael. His hair now fading back to it’s natural brown. He’s sans glasses right now, which isn’t a shock. Though she figures he hadn’t gotten a chance to crack on his laptop. She looks back to the robes. The urge, it consumes her. So she slips off the edge of the couch to her knees and runs her fingers over the robes. It zaps her and she retracts the hand quickly. “It’s still full of lightning, or maybe it’s still connected to me.”

She watches the material, as if it will disappear. As if it’s going to somehow float off the table and dance for her. Michael continues, “I was struck down right before a battle. Everyone was ready, but I-I was not. So He and I went back and forth and he asked me if I was questioning him? But now that I think about it, He was asking more along the lines of was I betraying him. I feel like a fool for not seeing that before.”

“You’re not a fool. He didn’t ask that. So why would you assume anything else?”

“Because while He speaks with a plain truth, there is always something hidden about it.”

Then it is silent. Michael watches. Maybe she’ll say something. Maybe she’ll ask more questions. But instead she just stares at the material. Is she insane to just believe him? What’s crazier here, just believing the man she’s been pining after for the last year once was actual angel or not really caring that he was? She reaches out again. If it zaps her twice it’s not coincidence. If it zaps her twice then it’s real, then she has to decide if she’s going to do something insane.

When her fingers brush over the torn material, more gently this time, a small current runs up her arm. She’s slow to pull it back. Something in her likes the electric feeling, the buzz under her skin. But she knows she has to take it back eventually. She has to face Michael eventually. She remembers the way her body buzzed when they kissed that night. She shakes her head to clear her brain of the thought. That’s not what she should be focused on. Michael holds onto her shoulder. She’s going to leave him. It’s too much for her.

“I’m still me. I’m still the person who’ve always known,” he rushes out. He can’t lose her.

She holds hand, brushing her lips over the skin, the tattoos inked there. “I know. It’s just--it’s a lot. I don’t know what to believe.”

“It sounds crazy. I know. I can’t make you believe me.”

That’s the thing. She does believe him. She believes every word out of his mouth. But she wishes she didn’t. She wishes it was just a joke. She wishes she hadn’t come hear to ask him. “I do believe you. That’s the crazy thing. I do. What does this mean for us? What if I wanted to grow old with you? What if I wanted something with you?”

His heart nearly leaps out of his throat. He can’t believe it. Did she actually like him back? Did she want more than this will they won’t they game they had been playing? The game was really on Michael. He pushed her away, kept her as a friend and nothing more because he was afraid. He was trying to be martyr. And maybe all he was doing was being selfish. “I-I’m a giant idiot. Violet,” his fingers run along the parts in her scalp. “If you wanted something from me, I would give it with no hesitation.”

Are there more secrets? Should she throw all caution to the wind? Pushing to her knees she rotates, facing Michael, eyes level with his chest as he’s sat still on the couch. “Do you have any other secrets? Be honest with me,” she breathes. Her gaze finally lands on his face, into the green of his eyes.

He shakes his head. “No, no more secrets.”

“Will you age? What happens if we-I’m so confused.”

God, he hates watching the tears collect on the lower lids of her eyes. She should never cry. Her soul should never ache. Michael can’t pretend like he knows what happens. “I don’t know, sweetheart.”

That’s what she was afraid to hear. Her eyes flutter close and Michael brings a hand to cup her face, stroking at her cheek gingerly. “I don’t know what to do,” she whispers.

He doesn’t fault her. He can’t. At least he gave up that wall to her. It’s a lot more than he can say for other people. “It’s okay. It’s a lot to take in.”

Those are still the same green eyes staring back at her. The same soft but calloused hand gently cupping her face. He still feels the same. But it’s not him. It’s different. He’s lived lifetime outside of what she knows. “How long? How long have you been down here?”

He’s lost track. Time doesn’t matter to him. It never has. But it matters so much to her. To everyone else he’s been around. It’s who gets up the earliest, it’s who stays out the latest, it’s how they dictate when to get to places. It’s how they measure success. “Maybe a millennia? I’ve been here almost too long.”

“So after death?”

“Yes, that sounds about right.” He can’t remember back that far. The past, since he fell, really never sticks with him. Mostly because it repeats itself. Things almost always seem to come right back around to him.

She exhales. Both hands fall to Michael’s knees as she stretches upwards. The kiss is a moment, a second of time of brushed contact. Her heart hammers in her chest as he rests his forehead against hers. She doesn’t speak. But the questions are still brewing. She’s twenty four. Her life is just finally starting to come together. She’s in no position to make decisions on marriage. But even if she wanted it and a family, could he give that to her? Would she be willing to compromise on those things? Are they as important to her as she once held them to be? But right now, she just wants to understand. To be put herself first in her life. To piece back together the truth to reality. But she knows nothing about the man in front of her. She knows nothing about his desires, his truth. “Michael, what do you want out of this stretch of your life?”

Michael’s chest constricts. His throat leaps as his heart races. Panic. But he can’t speak. No words find their way over his tongue. Is he able to withstand the lost of her? The question is loaded. He knows. But there’s a reason. In all honesty, he’s never sat down to consider it. His fingers wrap around the back of her neck. He can feel the sting of tears in his eyes. He’s never worried about what he wanted. He’s never needed to. “I don’t even know anymore.”

“You’re a person, for all intents and purposes right now. You’ve got to want something.”

It’s cheesy. Michael knows it. But even as he smiles, he can’t stop the word from falling over his lips. There is one thing he wants. “You.”

She pulls away from him. “Besides me, you dork. What do you want to do with your life?”

His life. What a refreshing way to think about this. Rather than a punishment it’s a re-do. He’s fortunate to be musically inclined. To be able to mess about with a guitar, teach some lessons. Play a few local shows. But he can get more from this life. He’s never had to be human before. Though it’s a complex existence. To have to get people. To have to handle emotions. He’s know them. He’s just never grappled with them like this. He’s never felt like this about someone else before, a craving that’s never really satisfied.

She’s no object to him, nothing to have and then toss aside. Michael prefers her company over silence. He likes having her around even if they’re both doing separate things. “I’m being serious. I-Most of my life has just been hiding. Trying to blend in. I’ve never stopped and thought about what I could gain from this life.”

“Well maybe you ought to give it some thought.”

“Maybe,” he agrees.

“Looks like we both have things to think about?” He’s praying it’s not a ploy. That it’s not some sick twisted way to get away from him without completely shattering his feelings. But he can’t make her promise that.

She reaches forward again, kissing him again. Something brave settling into her gut. Or maybe she just feels the same fear Michael does. “I’m not going to leave you. I just--I had feelings for you,” she breathes. “Or have, because I still do. But I had no clue this was in the way.”

Maybe the time is wrong. Maybe he should let her collect her thoughts. “If it’s not obvious, I have feelings for you too.”

“It was very obvious,” she laughs. “I just. Need to process this. That’s all. It’s not everyday your friend tells you he pissed of God enough to be kicked out of heaven.”

“It’s not everyday you tell your friend you got kicked out of Heaven either.”

Still the same Michael, she thinks with an eye roll. “Alright, smart ass.”

It doesn’t feel real to Michael, the confession, the hesitation until the door clicks close. Then he all alone. She rests against the door, exhaling. What is a girl to do? She can’t leave Michael alone. But should she? Should she just close the door on this as going any further or risk it all? Michael might have some kind of infinite shot at life but she’s only got one.

____ Michael goes to work on Monday, two days after she told him he needed time to think. Two days after he was confronted with a truth he had always known would catch up with him. He can’t be human fully. He’ll never be human fully. But he does have a new chance to embrace the aspects of humanity that he can. So Michael goes to work, like normal. He works the sells floor like normal. His first tutor session starts like normal. Until one of the kids he’s tutor absolutely kills a riff. Michael cheers so loudly, half the store turns to them in confusion. But it doesn’t matter. Not one bit. As they leave, Michael reaches for his phone, tapping on her name immediately. His fingers hover over send, the excitement is clear in the text. The boy has been trying hard to learn this riff for weeks now. But his determination paid off tremendously and Michael wants just one more person to revel in this accomplishment.

See this is what he wants. He wants her. He wants to keep that feeling when his chest flutters a little at her smile. At the same time, it’s the only thing that calms him sometimes. He wants happiness. He just wants to want something and not be punished for it once. There is nothing wrong with desire. But he feel so guilty for wanting companionship. Michael takes his lunch a little early, it doesn’t affect things much seeing as another associate comes in when he goes to the back. Maybe it’s the guilt for wanting intimacy. Maybe it’s guilt because he knows she is limited and he is not. It’s guilt for for thinking sacrificing himself was for the greater good, not considering the how the truth affects her.

Michael’s not thinking when he clocks out. Correction, he’s thinking but only about one thing. Violet responded to his text, but there was something in the way she responded that made his gut drop with worry. He didn’t confirm with social media, didn’t try to ask where she was, he just went to the beach. She goes there often. Said once it was the one place she went when she wanted to think. A phone call, a text won’t do this declaration justice. When he pulls into the parking lot, he spots her car.

Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe he should’ve called. The buzzing starts, a hollow sound as his phone shakes in the cupholder. When he looks down he sees her number. Fuck. She’s spotted him. But he tries to be calm when he answers. “Hello?”

“I know you probably just got home from work. But I was wondering if you could talk? In person maybe?”

Michael looks out to the beach. He can’t see very far, but he can make out some of the bodies. He can’t quite find her. “Yeah, sure. I can meet you if you’d like.”

“I’m at the beach.” She describes her location, right next to the pier.

“I’ll be there soon.” He’s careful not to give a time estimate. Just soon. They hang up and Michael looks to the wooden structure. He can’t show up immediately. He can’t wait too long. Michael exhales, noting some of the small vendors and shops on the boardwalk. He ice cream shop is definitely slow at the time of year. But he figures it would nice to show up with something. Help break tension if there is any.

So he walks, over the sidewalk, and into the shop the bell twinkling above his head. She loves the lemon sorbet, so he gets a small. Nothing for himself. And then starts the walk down the beach. His legs want him to move swiftly. But he slows the steps, lets his limbs be heavy as they fight the trudge of the sand. Her back faces him, sat on a small towel, hugging her knees close to her body.

“I got you something,” Michael says.

She blinks up at him before the smile crosses her lip. “Thanks.” Without thought she hold the first scoop out to him. She always does. Especially when he’s not hold a cold sugary treat for himself.

Michael refuses it this time. It’s strictly for her. “I’m okay.”

She ought to just come out and say it. Say that her feelings haven’t really changed. But she can’t make promises. She can’t predict the future, no matter how desparate she is to do so. But she doesn’t want to force her wishes on Michael, doesn’t want him to feel like he has to want the same things as her. So instead she shovels a scope of the sorbet into her mouth, ribs nearly aching from the quick pace of her heart.

“When you asked what I wanted from this life I was shocked that I had a choice. I spent so much of my life not having one that when I did, I didn’t know it was there,” he starts. “I had spent so much time of my humanity hiding. I felt like I had to. I felt like I had to be as bland as possible. In doing so, I erased nearly the too humanly part of myself that made me fall in the first place. You can’t just casually bring up the fact you saw Adam and Eve created. “I guess that is a bit of a mood killer,” she laughs.

“Just a little.” He pauses as the last of the tinkle of laughter falls over his throat. “But I want happiness. I want to burn with passion. I want to be love and be loved, and ache. And as ridiculously as it may sound, I want that with you. While I’ve always feared telling you the truth, you’re the first person I’ve felt the most human around.”

“That’s fine. But beyond me? I can’t be your whole world.”

Michael bumps her arm, and their gazes finally fall onto each other. He has seen a world, several worlds outside of her. She is just the next one. “You’re not. If you think I’ve been alive this long and have not lived, you’re wrong. I’ve learned. I’ve survived. I’ve conquered humans. I’ve lead angels. I’ve walked amongst the construction and destruction of entire empires. And I’m choosing you next. If you think this is helpless puppy love, you’re wrong.”

Her cheeks warm, ducking her head into the paper bowl. “I never thought it about like that. I feel meaningless against things like that.”

“You’re actually quite meaningful. I want roadtrips to old school music. I want the small things, bonfires, watching the sunset at the beach. And I’d prefer to have that with you.”

She sighs. “I want to be grand, ya know? I want to do big things and mean something. I just feel small.”

“Then do it.”

“It’s not that simple. I also want a family, maybe.”

“And you’re wondering if I can give you that.”

“Not even in a strictly physical sense. What are people going to say if there’s a man that looks 23 next to dying 90 year old?”

“That he’s got some good genes.”

With a huff, she shoves his leg. “Not what I meant.”

They watch each other for another moment. She slides another scope of sorbet into her mouth. She really doesn’t want the rest of it, but she needs something to do, something to focus on other than depth of his eyes. Fuck, she hates herself for becoming this attached. “I should’ve run,” she whispers. The confession is soft as it falls, but it hits Michael hard. Because it’s true. She should’ve run. She should’ve given herself the opportunity to at least chase everything she wanted without debating compromise.

“You don’t have to give that all up for me.”

“But I want to,” she admits tugging at her hair. She wants to give this a shot. She wants Michael in the total sense of the word. “I want to give this a shot.”

“You know I’d never hold you back. I’d never drag you down.”

Those words are so easy to hear. But somehow to hard to feel. “You don’t know that.”

“I don’t. You’re right. I don’t know the future just like you, I sit here and I want this to work. I want a shot with you. But I cannot force you. I cannot let you potentially cheat yourself. If the uncertainty of being with me is too much, go. Leave me.”

“And leave you for what? More uncertainty?” With a final exhale of determination, she turns to look at Michael. He’s been watching the muscle of the jaw, the way her nostrils flare. She’s not beautiful angry, she is terrifying. But Michael is okay with that. “You’re almost too understanding.”

“Call it a curse.”

“But you’re a blessing, so that’s not fair.”

“In all honesty, in all senses of truth, I’m shit at math. Okay? It’s a good thing I’m not a rocket scientist. But even if I miscalculated this risk, even if it burns me, I’d be okay with that.”

Michael almost can’t believe his ears. He pushes up from his palms, not even bothered by the small bit of sand that’s been biting into his skin. “You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack. You know I’ve never known with any amount of certainty what will happen in my life. College, post graduate life. Nothing has been planned to a t so why should I start planning now?”

Michael grins. “You really shouldn’t start planning right now.” He can feel himself leaning into her, inching ever so closer to her. She brings her hand to his chest, body twisted to face him better. Her fingers presses into his flesh, feeling the truth behind the thin cotton. That is Michael’s truth, burning with too much curiosity. Banished from the only place he’s ever known. Forced to make himself normal, but never knowing what normal is. Alienated from one home, and alien to the other.

“You’re dancing with the devil, you know?” she breathes, her lips ghosting over his.

“I’ve met them. Terrible dancer.” Michael’s done waiting. He captures her lips, moving slow against her mouth. He wants to savor this moment, sink into the truth of right now. That she is choosing him. She takes like lemons and Michael feels the sinful press of moan. He breaks the kiss, praying he doesn’t shatter the moment. She drags the tip of her tongue up his lips. The noise finally pushes through his lips.

She laughs, low in her throat. “I like that sound.”

Michael tries to keep the blush from overtaking and turns his head towards the ocean. She can still see it and kisses his cheek. As her head settles onto his shoulder, Michael thinks he’s not too tainted after all. That desire is good, it means he’s still alive past the physical sense, still striving for something, still anticipating something.

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nyrator · 4 years ago

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been feeling like venting, so just some random vents- then afterwards, JSRF ramblings because I just beat that game

turning 29 at the end of the week, not looking forward to it- turning 30 next year terrifies me

mother’s funeral was friday, got that out of the way relatively painlessly (other than having to spend an extra 800 dollars just to bury my sister with her, about $4500 by the end of it

gofundme raised about $2000, other donations about $1300 last I counted (probably higher), so most of it was covered

yesterday my mother’s 70 year old best friend held a party at a bar for my mother’s friends and I was obligated to go, bunch of crazy old women talking like sailors, drinking and smoking pot and laughing about all the drugs they did and all the times they got raped (yeahhhh), the only person I was comfortable around was the best friend. And then the party ends two hours late, we’re getting kicked out of the bar, and this friend falls bending down to grab a picture of my mother that she dropped, smashes her face into the floor, and collapses with a pool of blood under her face, unmoving, right in front of me. I couldn’t get the words out that I’d go and pick the photo up for her before she went to get it, and I regret it

Thankfully, she only had a concussion and a broken nose, she started responding after about a minute of just lying there, but it messed me up, I think.

I’ve been debating if I want to start drinking. I never tried before, mainly because my father was an abusive and violent alcoholic. The other reason is because I’m afraid what I’d do to myself if I had no inhibitions in place, I feel like I’d be very dangerous to myself.

neck has been stiff for two days. Probably slept on it wrong. Also keep feeling like I get different symptoms of covid every so often after exposing myself to the public (that bar was packed with old people who wouldn’t wear masks and had no concept of personal space). Today my throat’s been sore and I can barely breathe.

my boss told me I can go back to work as soon as the funeral’s finished- not sure if I should call her to remind her or wait for her to call me, she texted me last week and I told her the funeral was on friday. But my coworker was also wondering and asked me today, and I didn’t know what to tell her, since my boss doesn’t want me to let her know just yet because of how limited they’re open (three days a week, four hours a day)

relationships are very hard

I’m a terrible person who does the bare minimum to help someone who’s terribly lonely and depressed, and it’s like I’m backed into a corner in desperation from being unable to do anything about it. I’ve caused so much harm to this relationship that I wonder if there’s any way it can survive sometimes

It’s always the case, though- I can’t get myself to do more than the minimum effort it takes, and my social anxiety prevents me from ever initiating anything, which has cost me so many people that I shouldn’t be surprised at this point. And I can feel that awful, selfish bitterness inside of me, that part of my father and my sister that’s in me that I try to suppress, and I hate it.

my diet is going well enough, lost over five pounds since starting it late August. But it’s mostly because I just dislike eating, so eating in portions is easier for me. And then there are days like today, where I just don’t eat at all. Just ate one slice of bread, 30g of peanut butter, and a small cup of ice cream today, and I don’t even feel hungry. Normally I try to get some food in me, but today I’m just too disgusted to even try to make dinner.

My sleep’s also been weird, still. Been going to bed later and later again, but can’t stay asleep. Usually only sleep in bouts of 3-4 hours, then just lay awake until I’m half asleep long enough that I feel the urge to give up and get up. It’s been like that for weeks now, I can’t remember the last full night of sleep I’ve gotten.

In lighter news, finally got back to playing JSRF. Beat it the other night after 24.5 hours of game time, just have a few more challenges left (did everything from Dogenzaka Hill to the Bottom of the Sewage Facility so far), got all graffiti and souls possible before beating the final boss. Played it via emulator (which worked great except for crashing when entering the graffiti selection occasionally) with a Switch Pro Controller, felt really good. I own it and the original Xbox for it, but just am spoiled by a PC experience, I suppose.

The gameplay is great, but the level design leaves a funny taste in my mouth. Aesthetics are worse than JSR for me, while music... it’s tough to say, it’s different than JSR, but really grew on me. Sometimes it felt more like noise (I remember the Sewage tracklist not speaking to me too much at first with the more ambient-ish tracks), but it did grow on me a lot. Baby-T was my Garage theme the entire game, such a great track.

Naganuma’s music in the first game was definitely the weakest of the original’s OST (still good of course), but in Future I feel he really stepped up his game. Teknopathetic is one of my favorite songs in the new OST.

speaking of favorite music, here’s mine from each game:

Bout the City

Dragula

Magical Girl

Miller Ball Breakers

Mischievous Boy

On the Bowl (A.Fargus Mix)

Rock It On

Super Brothers

Yellow Bream

Aisle 10

Baby-T

Birthday Cake

Count Latchula

I'm Not a Model

Like It Like This Like That

Rockin' the Mic

Statement of Intent

Teknopathetic

The Scrappy

(shout outs to Girls from the one JSR CD, haven’t listened to much of the other exclusive songs to it, but Girls was good)

but yeah, my minor gripes with Future

Linear level design was a bit painful (missing a jump and not being able to backtrack a lot was bleh), and the later levels were very painful (the sewage area and the rooftops are come to mind, skyscraper to a lesser extent but I liked the skyscraper one a bit more), but at the same time, they force you to get good, which I can appreciate, so hm. Still, a checkpoint system (especially since there are save points) or unlocking shortcuts would be a bit more convenient, if not entirely necessary.

Not having a way to stop auto-grinding, even if just holding down a trigger or something- the way I latched onto rails especially in the sewage area was painful

Points challenges mainly being “find the special points rail and just spamming Y” on it was a bit odd (mainly for the Jet Techs so far, just five minutes of spamming Y...), but I like how the combos feel in this game, especially X combos to speed up. Has a rhythm that’s hard to explain but just feels natural.

Also street challenges should’ve been explained better in general, had to look up most of the special ones (and glitched out the Shibuya Terminal one many times until realizing the fix was just “hop all over each platform multiple times and hope it counts”, the second one next to the tilted platform specifically for me

Mew/Bis/Rhyth’s redesign still hurts, but you better believe she’s the character I used throughout the entire game after unlocking her

Storywise, I think I like JSR’s take better- Professor K being a neutral party and more amusing/less insulting, Onishima > Hayashi, and the character designs and artstyle I overall prefer from the first game

Felt like it tried to add things that just didn’t really work sometimes (Death Ball comes to mind, though I haven’t messed with Versus yet, the story mission was very easy compared to how they hyped it up), and the boss battles were all... strange. Tagging enemies on that roller coaster level, having to grind up to that one Hayashi boss fight over and over and over, then even moreso for the final boss... never got much use out of targeting enemies, spinning circles around them, or things like the railgrab for high jumps or skidding to slow down for graffiti, either, but maybe they have their uses.

But man, the game did feel fun to play, just frustrating to explore, I think. I still like the idea of making Skatered, even more after playing this game. Maybe I could learn modding, or something...

Oh yeah, also got all the pieces of my costume together (minus some eva foam), we’ll see how that goes. Not looking forward to assembling it, honestly, but I can’t back out now. Main regret I think is the tights, being unable to find striped ones (and the solid ones I bought being a bit too see-through, I should’ve bought a size up maybe). Still not confident enough in my makeup abilities, either.

and one last bit of light news- I finally got my Kuja figure, he’s so beautiful and detailed and I need a good place to put him

#text stuffs #nyrants #lots of venting I apologize feel free to skip to the JSRF portion if you even feel like reading

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hyper-juice · 5 years ago

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Futaba tries and fails (for once) to hack a shady totally occult "meteorological" agency.

Fumi Kanno sees a hacker who could conceivably match her skill one day.

Both of them get a friend.

Once upon a time, when Futaba was but a fledgeling genius hacker chasing leads on her mother‘s coworkers, she tried to hack into an organization called JP‘s. The name apparently stood for “Japan Meteorological Agency, Geomagnetism Research Departemnt” (which made no sense! What sort of acronym is JP’s?) but if they were actually studying geomagnetism and nothing else, Futaba would eat her black hat.

Why would a meteorological agency end up as a sponsor for cognitive psience? What was JP’s hiding?

Back then, when she hadn’t hit the bottom of the barrel just yet, being Medjed, Hacker of Justice, might’ve gone to her head. Because of this, she failed to realize that hacking a shady totally occult organization was a bad idea, and even worse, she failed. Full stop. Her first (and so far last) failure. Even worse-er, JP’s was packing big guns and actually hacked her in return. She hit that High Counter and it punched back hard.

As she looked in despair upon her rig, pulling back as far as she could to cut her losses, she received a message.

‘Aww, cute. Little Medjed thinks they can get through me?’

Futaba, in an epic gamer moment, replied swiftly.

‘Nothing litte kids need to concern themselves with.’

She wanted to punch that patronizing text so bad.

<How’d you get my number?>

‘You might have skill, but I have experience.’

‘Now hurry along before my boss catches me slacking. Try again in a couple of years.’

‘Who knows? Maybe you can actually beat my firewalls by then?’

Three dots, still typing. A pause specially designed to aggravate Futaba further. Taunting her was just slacking for this JP’s hacker?

‘Provided I happen to drop dead.’

‘Bye now.’

And with that, all her curses were met with a cheerful rejection, a trick that would infuriate and inspire Futaba in equal measure, until she would eventually apply it to the Phantom Thieves.

However, this would scarcely be the last encounter Futaba had with the JP’s IT department.

‘I almost had to use my actual PC! Someone’s getting better.’

‘Just kidding, that was nothing.’

Far from it.

‘How’d you like that experimental code? Just for you.’

Futaba tried again,

‘Thanks for helping me patch out all my backdoors, you’re a great tester.’

and again,

‘Sure thing.’

and again.

‘Did you seriously think a new moniker would help, Medjed?’

<It’s Alibaba now.>

‘Scared of the fame?’

<Copycats, more like.>

‘As if they’re as good as you. Just doxx them or something’

Wait a second!

ERROR: Recipient not found

“Dang it. I can’t believe they’re a tsundere.”

At some point, it devolved from actually trying to hack JP’s to just.. talking to someone with the same interests. Even if their method of contact was a tad eccentric. After the first time, the other hacker could’ve had her in jail, but they simply didn’t want to. Even if it’s all some sort of game to the other, even if it’s just a bit of entertainment on the job.. chatting with an equal was fun.

‘Check again’

<haveanicewhee.wav?’

Audio wasn’t exactly what she’s shooting for, but she pulled her headphones over her ears nontheless and pressed play, only to promptly drop them as a high pitched voice yelled “Have a nice wheee!!!”

‘Guilty as charged.’

Eventually though, as Futaba passed from relative to relative, she shut herself in further and further, even from these brief encounters.

Sitting still in her chair, Futaba didn’t even bother. A half-hearted attempt for a half-hearted person. What did it matter? She would never get through, she didn’t even know their name. Her mother killed herself and it was all Futaba’s fault. What truth was there to find?

‘Alibaba?’

‘Medjed?’

‘Kid?’

‘You haven’t tried anything in months.’

‘Are you still alive?’

Now that’s a first. The other hacker initated contact instead of waiting on Futaba to steal secrets, Too bad they probably just mourned an opportunity to mess around on company time.

‘People have been telling me to use this thing called “empathy”’

‘I’m suspicious but it might exist?’

‘I’ve grown to expect you, is all,’

‘I didn’t.’

‘At first.’

‘I thought you were an idiot.’

‘Do not interrupt me.’

‘You see, a lot of people are idiots. A lot of my coworkers are idiots, and explaining the concept of concepts to idiot teens is incredibly annoying.’

‘What sort of idiot tries to hack JP’s? If they know of us, they should know not to mess with us. So, what sort of idiot indeed?’

‘The answer is you. You did.’

‘And people call me rude.’

‘No interruptions, I’m being genuine for once in my entire life.’

‘You were an idiot, except you kept coming back.’

‘And you kept getting better.’

‘I can see you’re smart. Your efforts remind me of myself a bit. I started out like you.’

‘Punching upwards.’

‘So this tiny little hacker girl made insignificant chemical reactions fire off in my synapses, and then she disappears from sight for months, Alibaba’s activities grind to a halt, and I find a large quantity of searches implying a rather.. questionable mental state in your browser history.’

‘Honestly, you might as well just ping me. That last attempt was pathetic.’

‘So, in layman’s terms, because all of my coworkers always complain my vocabulary is simply to broad for their uneducated minds, I’m worried about you.’

Something swelled up in Futaba as she read these words. This, this stranger, this weird person missed Futaba? Wanted her to take another crack at their roadblocks? How could they? She didn’t understand. How could anyone care about Futaba?

<Why?>

‘My test subject almost died.’

What? First the other hacker actually expressed sincerity for the first time, and now they’re offering personal information?

‘I was so absorbed in my work, the electric shock from an equipment malfunction would have fried his brain if someone else hadn’t been present.’

‘He wasn’t even mad at me.’

‘I’m not letting people die when I can prevent it anymore, not for my own hubris.’

‘My name is Fumi. Are you alright, Futaba?’

Her tear ducts burst and she leapt off her chair. She couldn’t deal with this, somebody, Fumi , showed concern for disgusting horrible monstrous murderous-

Before she knew it, she ripped her computer’s plug out of its socket and her room went dark.

#Persona 5 #p5 #devil survivor 2 #desu2 #fanfic #crossover #Feli writes #have some crossovers yall!#im obsessed w/ desu2 again expect more of this #but not today my wrist hurts

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ibelieveinahappilyeverafter · 5 years ago

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Tales From The Deli

What’s up! If you guys have been following me for a while then you know I’ve been working at delis for the past couple years because they hire quick and easy when no on else is. Today I bring you tales from my latest deli who, for legal reasons, I’m pretty sure I can’t name!

So, here we go!

When I was first doing paperwork (after getting hired over a phone call because they were so desperate) the Personal Coordinator was telling me about the deli and the manager. The manager’s name was Jeanne and I almost had a panic attack because that was the name of my last manager who I feared/hated. It was not the same Jeanne, thankfully, but yikes.

When the PC (personal coordinator) called out to my new manager as she walked by, she said, “Jeanne! You have a new deli employee!” Jeanne’s response was a very lackluster, “Oh.” Cue my PC going, “They have deli experience!” Cue the new response of a very bright and pleased, “Oh?”

During my video training for like safety stuff I almost fell asleep. I half-fell asleep on one of them. It was so boring. I thought I was in school again dying.

Had a customer with a “Keep America Great” hat that had “Trump 2020″ on the back. He was an Old White Man, had a southern twang, and was rude. I almost threw meat in his face on reflex.

During Lent a customer called me Satan in the nicest way possible. I had offered him a sample of meat that he couldn’t have because Lent. I had done it to three other customers that day because I’m Southern and believe in offering food. The guy just laughed and said, “Good job tempting people today.” I just shot back with, “Hey, devil’s advocate, right?” He grinned and responded with, “Or maybe you’re the devil himself.” I was delighted.

Once helped a customer who was stoned as fuck and basically I talked him into buying some stuff instead of just walking away. I love stoned customers. They’re like sleepy, hungry toddlers.

I have a coworker I hate??? And I think she hates me too??? She has the personality of my birth mother and tbh I just try to avoid her without cursing her out.

There was this new guy and he looked so shocked when I gently corrected something he was doing wrong and then later told him he was doing a good job??? Like bruh, this is why people leave the deli so much. No one gives a shit about new employees.

Last week I worked 10 days in a row - but I made good money! I guess! The 10 days thing fucked me up bad, though, because I saw my sister and stared at her like, “Why are you still here? Shouldn’t you have left for work??” It was Saturday. Bruh, the look she gave me...

Spotted another Trump 2020 hat wearer. Again, almost killed him.

My coworker keeps asking why I came back to the deli. Honestly? I don’t have a good excuse for him anymore.

The 10 days in a row work? I think I died at some point during that week tbh.

Got a coworker who’s a slob. I’m gonna kill him if he keeps expecting me to clean up after his messes. Don’t give me that whole, “Guys are just messy.” bullshit bitch I’m a guy too and I still clean up on shift because THAT’S MY JOB.

#work #deli #retail #i hate delis #everafterrambles #everafterwork #original

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cards-onthetable · 6 years ago

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Seems I'm wearing grumpy pants again... sorry

(LOL OOPS I get notifications for asks and messages but not submissions for some reason, so I’m just seeing this. Sorry if it’s been sitting since last week...)

Thanks for the review. I needed that laugh!! But I had questions, oh so many questions. So I watched the Jamko bits on instagram. I tried to send an ask but not enough characters (do you wanna punch me yet)?

1. Why does arsehole Janko have Jamie's mobile number? Do they have a relationship independent of Eddie? Maybe it's just me being stupid for assuming, but wouldn't Jamie's number be unlisted to avoid dealing with BS from those he arrests?

I’m sure Jamie’s actual cell number is not public knowledge - Maybe Armin knew which precinct Jamie’s at, and went through Police Channels to contact him? Like maybe that’s his duty phone as a sergeant or something? Or maybe Lena had passed on an NYPD courtesy card to him in jail lol. Hooray for plot holes. Who knows.

2. Did Lena know more about her husbands shady dealings than she lets on/Eddie is aware of? To me that would explain why never divorced. Or she may just be the marriage is forever no matter what type. Given the strained relationship between Eddie and her mother and also the way Lena seems to have treated her, I'm not so sure Lena was totally clueless. She may have moved a bit because people give her grief but she sure is not struggling financially so maybe her husband in jail is worth the high life.

It wouldn’t surprise me. When I wrote (and named, yo) Lena Janko I characterized her as a petty, materialistic person who was a knowing bystander at least, if not actually complicit in Armin’s crimes. But lol I also wrote Armin as a reformed, sympathetic, Good Guy out of prison so what do I know? But we saw that Eddie does not have contact with her father so I do assume Lena still has contact with him at this point - how else did he know Eddie’s engaged, which precinct to find her fiancé, etc?

3. Does Eddie still drive her Porsche? Given that it came from a dubious money source, it seems odd to me that she would still be driving it. The fanfare of the wedding will invite media attention so why make it so easy to make nasty comments? You know Garrett is all about OPTICS and she is about to be a REAGAN aka NYPD ROYALTY. What if Frank is asked about their relationship at a press conference? OPTICS PEOPLE! OPTICS!

No idea dude. When’s the last time we actually saw that car? I don’t know but previously I accepted the headcanon that she kept it at her parents’ suburban McMansion most of the time, with rare times she’ll bring it to the city for a few days. Parking in NYC is expensive af, yo. Like an actual assigned space costs as much as a second rent in some places. But now we know Lena’s been moving around the city for the last 5 years, not up in Westchester babysitting Eddie’s car, so your guess is as good as mine. As far as the optics, I’m not sure how they’ll play it. Lena has brought up the Irony of Eddie, daughter of a criminal, marrying the PC’s son but nobody else has said very much. Maybe the show will address it in a typical Who Cares way and it’ll just be a non-issue.

4. REDACTED because I have some Thoughts about this topic that I hope to address in this fic I’m hoping to finish soon. 👍

5. Why do you hate Anthony? I personally enjoy his sarcasm. But then I also enjoy Gormley's putting the mouth in gear before the brain so frequently.

WHY DO I HATE ANTHONY? OH HERE’S A CAN OF WORMS, AUSSIE. But I’ll be succinct. Anthony’s entire existence bothers me. He’s only here to make Erin’s lawyer-y storylines into detective-y storylines. How often do we see Erin actually act as a lawyer? We usually see her and Anthony Investigating or maybe arguing/discussing a case. We rarely see her actually going her job (except when her ADA position conflicts with Frank’s NYPD agenda). It’s like the show runners have no faith in their audience, and think the viewers only want to see detective/police storylines - as if lawyer storylines, and that whole branch of the justice system, would be too Boring for tv. So I hate Anthony because he takes away any opportunities for Erin - a supposedly powerful and successful woman - to do her actual job, and her entire position as ADA is minimized in the show. It’s insulting to the audience and insulting to Erin too. Anthony’s entire existence is unnecessary for the show to go on. Let us see Erin actually be a lawyer in a context other than being the Reagan Family Bad Guy (and maybe that would humanize her a little bit! We all know she gets some pretty shit writing/characterization lately) and drop this whole charade that investigative, action-packed storylines are the only interesting or relevant storylines.

The whole Jamko and the precinct secret is still BULLSHIT. There is no way there is no push back if their coworkers do in fact know. Does anybody know if this is actually allowed in the NYPD? A superior can date a direct subordinate? Seems ridiculous if that is actually true. Corruption allegations would be made daily. (Agreed yo. We all know it’s ridiculous. And like, does the precinct know? Are they still in the dark? Jamie and Eddie can discuss wedding plans in front of everyone, but it’s still a secret? Coooolcoolcool.)

Jamie not understanding Eddie's messy family situation is BULLSHIT for someone about to be married. If Eddie can't talk to Jamie about this because she fears being judged/not supported then really they should not be getting married. I'm not saying spouses have to share absolutely everything, but what you go through in life often does shape how you see the world generally, so the fact both Eddie and Jamie have chosen to not discuss important aspects of their lives with each other should be a massive red flag. (AGREED AGREED AGREED. I have so many issues all the time. If they’d dated like normal people before jumping into rings and vows, they’d have worked out the majority of this Big Stuff before deciding to commit to one another for life. Like, you typically want to know these things as relevant info when making that decision to get engaged - not after. This “get engaged and figure everything else out later” shit was/is terrible. If the show insisted on doing it this way, they AT LEAST should have moved the Armin situation and the Baby Discussion to the first few episodes of the season. Don’t talk to me about the weird time lapses and inconsistencies in this show, I don’t care if a month of ~actual time~ passes in one week between back to back episodes... they should not be introducing these topics for the first time in the two episodes leading up to the wedding. GOD I HATE EVERYTHING.) There's a reason divorce is so prevalent. I wonder if Eddie feels she should reconcile with her parents because of the closeness of the Reagan family. Or is it something Eddie herself actually wants? Family or not, sometimes people are just toxic and you need to cut them off for your own sanity. (I hope the Reagans don’t put pressure on Eddie to fix things with her parents, ugh. That would be overstepping in a major way and yeah, your relationship to someone shouldn’t trump their toxicity - like Eddie doesn’t have to forgive her parents just because they’re her parents.)

We've already discussed my thoughts on the Reagan siblings getting arsehole sprung from jail before the show aired (spoiler: they were not nice thoughts folks), but as for the BB continuity, consider this: the only consistency is the inconsistency!

@kwannemacher and I have kinda discussed the whole prison fiasco and I think arsehole lost his temper one night after watching a TV show that drove him insane so he started a prison riot and got extra time. He didn't just throw things at TV, he tore TV off wall, set fire to his mattress and started an all in brawl. So 5 years extra for totally losing his shit. BB has the capacity to ignite tempers here so it's feasible arsehole Janko totally lost it. Probably watched one of those dating shows where they pick the so called love of their lives and he couldn't believe who the guy picked. We all have bad days!! (😂😂😂😂😂 omg I can be on board with this)

In closing I hope @ontherockswithsalt has insurance because I am wondering if her TV can withstand the wedding viewing party if you will be enjoying with her (lol I think I will be, and I plan to wrap myself in whole body bubble wrap for the protection of myself and everyone/everything around me). I'm already emotional 🤮🤮🤮 if they go with their own vows. I may be wrong, but I think Will shows Jamie's soft side next week. He won't be dead face or whatever it is you call him. (Dude I am ALL IN on those ridiculous vows. If they’d only said them once, I’d be rolling my eyes @ the grossness, but it would be whatever. BUT THEY MADE A POINT OF SAYING THEM TWICE so they’re committed at this point. Make Jamie recite those ridiculous words for the third time. I want to see the pain on his terrible face as he suffers through that again. If we don’t get those vows I’ll riot.)

Enjoy your week

Aussie

P.S. Yes I realise his name is Armin, but that guy is a narcissistic ARSEHOLE

#submission #aussie

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okimargarvez · 7 years ago

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IF YOU GO AWAY

Original title: Se tu te ne vai.

Prompt: misunderstandings, funeral, telephone conversations.

Warnings: character death. Set in the end of season 12. Very sad.

Genre: angst, drama, comedy, family, romantic, friendship.

Characters: Penelope Garcia, Luke Alvez, Spencer Reid, (Emily Prentiss), Derek Morgan, BAU team.

Pairing: Garvez.

Note: trilogy of oneshots.

Legend: 💏😘👓🔦⚰.

Song mentioned: none.

If You Go Away- Masterlist

MY OTHER GARVEZ STORIES Note: I’m sorry.

IF YOU GO AWAY or three stories of a farewell, a return and a stay

1- FAREWELL: Why did you leave?

-What is this?

-It's my letter of resignation.

-Penelope.

-No. If Reid dies, I quit.

-We won't let that happen.

-Emily, I'm exhausted, and it is breaking me, and this whole year has been an emotional roller coaster. It's like every time something happens, there's a piece of myself that is being chipped away, and if one more thing goes down, I don't think there's going to be anything left.

Luke has noticed right away, she's not here. But he had look the other way. This was no time to think of such a thing. They had to find the mother of Spencer. But he couldn't help but care about her. He had proved protective of each team member, but she was something more. Maybe because he could so easily to grasp the fragility behind all that apparatus of eccentric clothes and odd phrases. Or will it be that Penelope is the sweetest creature (when and with whom she wants) that exists on this planet. When Emily returns from them, her brown eyes is strange. She went to her? Has something happened? Why she not talks, dammit?

No, she continues to think about the case, and rightly so. But he has had enough.

-I'll take a quick drag.- at night, in an area with no green spots... First of all he heads toward Garcia's office. He knocks. No reply. He tries twisting the handle and... surprise. The door opens. The light is on, but she's not here. He shouldn't set foot, isn't his right, is invading the privacy of the blonde, but... it's a special case, he is justified. He notices with pleasure, indulging in a little smile, that on her desk, in the midst of all those puppets and strange objects, there is also the one that he has given her. He approaches, taking it in his hand, thinking, wondering if she would ever do this, if every now and then she happens to use it, whether she has already tested its usefulness in reducing stress. And while she touches it, if she thinks about him. Ouch, this isn't really a thought by worried coworker.

Then his eyes are attracted to a yellow folder. It doesn't seem like the ones they use to keep the documents of a case. Nothing is written on it, which can help him understand what it is. He must not open it. He can't. But he does it however.

His visual apparatus recognizes before the mind the type of file that is inside.

I, Penelope Garcia, being of sound mind, I ask to be able to resign right now. I don't think I'm more suitable for this job and as a result I'll be a burden and not a valid help for the team. I would suggest for my replacement Sophie Cardoza, she is young but...

-What are you doing in my office?- Luke jumps, feeling behind her. Her tone wanted to be stern, but it came out weak and broken. She doesn't hide the fact that she has just cried. He turns towards Penelope.

He doesn't apologize, he doesn't look for justifications. -Why do you want to leave?- he asks her instead, directly, going to the point, without many turns of phrase. She sighs, shrugs, tries to seem distant and austere as usual, but she doesn't succeed very well. And that look is almost the same as when she had returned from her visit to Reid in prison.

-Why do you think it's your business, Alvez?- she answers with another question. But the man expected it.

-Because I'm part of the Awesome 8- he quotes her, with no parody intent -and I'm sorry to see you like that.- she needs Derek. If he were there, she probably would never have dared to bring that document to Prentiss. However, she can't deny that this isn't the first time she has decided to leave the Bureau. Derek would hold her in his arms and tell her it's all right. Or that if it's not right now, it will be better in the future. He would get Reid out of jail. He would have taken Scratch. Luke instead...

Before she can realize it, she finds the lips of the Newbie pressed on hers. She remains wide-eyed for the duration of the kiss, feeling overwhelmed by a train of emotions, unable to distinguish them with precision. -And this was for...- she pronounces this phrase like a question, her mouth still wet with his taste, as she catches her breath. It's his turn to shrug, indifferent.

-I don't know, I just thought it could work as when people have hiccups. If I could surprise you enough, maybe this would have passed.- he is serious, he did really think such a thing? Yet the man's gaze is so innocent, sweetly joking. Penelope allows herself a laugh.

-You really messed up, Alvez.- but then the mood returns grumpy. It was just a glow in the darkness. -But it didn't work.- she can't do without it, just look at his sad expression to become from the one would need to be consoled, to the one who instead consoles. -Hey, it doesn't depend on you. This time I think that even Morgan couldn't raise me up.-. she lies. Or maybe not?

-You didn't have answered my question. Why do you want to leave?- now Luke's tone is extremely calm and almost cold. She moves a few centimeters away.

-Because I can't take it anymore.- it's something, but it's not enough. He urges her to continue with his gaze. -You are in this team for how much, a little over six months?- it sounds like if he should feel responsible -How can we try to save the others, if we can't protect ourselves and the people we love?- she changes the register and the eyes they come back to be completely shiny. But the tone is firm. -Spencer was kidnapped, the girl who fell in love with him killed by a psychopath, one of the many that we chase every day... and now his mother is in danger.- gradually that she speaks, she notices he is gradually approaching at her body, but she tries not to mind too much.

JJ. Her husband was injured and kidnapped by completely crazy thieves, who were excited to kill as well as steal, and the woman even went to their home and threatened Henry, their child. Let's add the fact that she was disappeared for months, while she was in a war zone with the head of the section, Cruz and that this forced her to abort. - her voice is getting more serious, and less and less hard. -Rossi, as you have seen, spent countless birthdays receiving as a gift a name of a poor murdered girl... but it's not just that. One of her best friends was murdered "because of him", or better than his job. The head of section that was there before, Erin Strauss, with whom he had a relationship, was killed by another unsub, and if that wasn't enough, a girl who aspired to become like him was murdered for this reason.- now she no longer has the strength to look him in the eyes. -Emily, oh, she's more privileged, she's just been killed by a Russian guy and we just thought she was dead for a few months...- her laugh is bitter -... besides this, her childhood friends were killed by a priest convinced to practice exorcisms to save their souls and her ex-colleagues from that Russian I mentioned earlier... Ian Doyle.- she pronounces as if spitting -Tara's brother has been kidnapped by Mr. Scratch, but you know that, you were there too... in fact, when they found him he was saying your name, right?- but he doesn't reply nothing - Walker... that story of his friend seems to me that it doesn't need to be repeated.- she sighs and raises for a moment again the look on him. -And we pass to the absent. Hotch's wife was killed by one who managed to convince us for years of being one of the victims. He was drugged by Peter Lewis, who forced him to relive those experiences. And he risked dying from complications arising from the wounds he had reported years ago! And now he's in the witness protection program.- the words come out freely, as if they had life of its own and she was just a loudspeaker to make them sound louder.

-Derek. He was accused of murder, kidnapped and tortured for days, some criminal shot his pregnant wife... it seems to me sufficient- just three centimeters distance separated Luke from her. - And many others, which will be just names for you. Kate Callahan, her stepdaughter has been kidnapped by a group of people who sell young people to people... I don't think they deserve to be called like that... by some lousy people who sell kids to those who want to have fun, experimenting with a new method of murder.- her eyes, too swollen to hold back her tears, let her flow as she feels the warm breath of man brush her face like a caress -Alex Blake, maybe you've assist some of her lessons or read one of her books, she had to leave the unit to save her sanity and her marriage. In addition to this, her brother was almost killed by am unsub.- now it's certain that Luke has laid his hands on her shoulders, but she doesn't dare to open her eyes to check. -And then Ashley Seaver, daughter of a serial killer and future of the Bureau. Jordan Todd, skilled in dealing with terrorists but practically consumed in less than a month to talk with relatives of the victims and in conferences. Jason Gideon, one of the founders of the BAU... crushed like a fly, by one who had known more than thirty years before, when he had given up on this job! And finally Elle Greenaway, who was forced to leave because of me; after they shot her, she wasn't the same person anymore.- she seems to have talked for centuries. The sense of guilt is there, latent, but never abandons her.

-Why your fault?- finally Luke manages to open his mouth. Garcia's voice had hypnotized him.

-Because I was playing online with my PC, but with the wi-fi of Bureau and so the killer managed to get the personal data of the team, and chose to hit her, maybe because she was alone.- she exclaims aloud something she had just found out was always inside her. -He should have hurt me! I was an easy target too, but surely. she was prettier...- she's not crying, she just has to blow her nose every five minutes.

-Penelope, don't say that...- he increases the hold on her shoulders.

-Why not? It's the truth. In both cases. And it was my fault, I should have paid for it.- it's too easy to go back to those days that she thought she had by now overcome. Luke lifts her head and grabs her chin. If she were in herself, she would probably be shocked.

-No, it's not, in either of them...- but she doesn't listen, so he decides to change the subject and the approach. -And me?- he asks. Penelope frowns, confused.

-What?- he smiles.

-You did practically the list of everyone who was part of the BAU... you even mentioned Walker. The only ones you have not named, it's you and me.- another smile, a little more mischievous than the previous one. She sighs, annoyed.

-I can't include you, because I don't know anything about you.- And would you like to know? those dark eyes ask her.

-Well, you know I joined the team because of Daniel Cullen, the Crimson King...- she nods. -Here, when I caught him he was busy cutting open my partner, Phil, who miraculously survived. But the psychological scars are more difficult to heal and I, too, stayed awake for a few nights, terrified by the prospect of closing my eyes.- she had never thought about the fact that he could have such problems, but basically it's normal, each of them fights against their own demons. She has nothing to comment on. -And you?- we can consider what he is doing the principle of a hug.

-I... nothing. A guy, who I went out with shot me instead of kissing me. He hit me a few millimeters under my heart, a bit of rehab and here I'm, like new.- she shows off in a turn that doesn't come out very well. Even the joking tone is forced. Luke doesn't really want to laugh.

-Why you liquidate this like it was normal? - he puts both hands on her shoulders. -Garcia, don't treat me like I don't care at all.- behind them some device emits a sound.

-I've got some information on the case, would you let me go and see?- reluctant he lets her go and he follows her in every movement. -And anyway, if you really want to know, I'll not leave the BAU until the story of Reid is over.- the man realizes he can't do what he really wants and goes out, leaving her alone.

While each of them is busy looking for useful information on the murderer of Nadie Ramos, they ignore each other. Or rather Luke can't help but keep an eye on her, but with a more discreet than usual. He positions himself on the blackboard and he mark all the places that come to his mind. When she came back inside and sat down in front of her computer, he immediately realized that she was still crying. But Penelope didn't want his help and he doesn't know what else to do. It was better to focus on the case. They spend all night there, he makes a lot of calls, they drink lots of coffee, and then... then Prentiss manages to convince the judge to free Spencer because his mother was kidnapped.

And so, they go to jail: Luke, JJ and Penelope. He heads off to talk to Calvin Shaw once more while one blonde runs from Reid, the other stays alone outside. Yet as they accompany him on exiting the prison, she remains his only fixed thought, which doesn't want to go away. Here she is, beautiful with straight hair and that almost normal dress. His eyes widen at her sight, he can't help it. Although for her he is only one of many who have been part of the BAU, it's not the same for Luke. He looks away because he is aware that her joyous expression isn't for him, but for Spencer. How he envies him while he looks at them hugging, something she had never allowed him to do... yet that time, the first who had found her crying in his bunker, he had gone so close... if she hadn't received that damned message: We have a case. The two take each other's hands and a part of him dies. Needless to make fun of himself.

But the worst is yet to come. And bears a name and surname: Derek Morgan.

Right now, Luke doesn't want to rethink the synopsis of those days, but he still can't do without it. They had discovered that Lindsey had an accomplice, another girl who had met Spencer, a certain Cat. It was Penelope herself who told him who she was and what she had done. Then Reid and JJ went to jail where she was detained. And they had followed the whole interview, practically powerless. In the meantime, they had tried to figure out where Lindsey could keep Diana. So, Cat had mentioned Morgan and his family, because she knew that Derek's son carried Spencer's second name and therefore she wanted to make him suffer. Then she made him believe she was with child from him, but Garcia found out that the real father was a guard. And then they had managed to find Diana and bring her to safety. The moment of the maternal embrace had been beautiful. Lindsey was in their hands, Cat always in prison. All solved? No.

It was too good to be true. In fact, the ex-special agent Morgan had appeared out of nowhere because he had received a message from Penelope... in short, the blonde's phone had been hacked. Big mistake. How to try to steal from Arsène Lupine. Luke couldn't help but ask a simple question: if she could figure out where the hacking was from. And she took it very badly. She had turned to Derek and with a knowing look had pointed out what she had to endure. And the latter, holding back a laugh, he had addressed the word to him for the first time.

-Alvez, you'll always get a location with this one.- he had caressed her, squeezed a shoulder. With such naturalness, spontaneity, tranquility... all the opposite of what he could do. Only once he had the opportunity to touch her shoulders, when the judge had rejected the possibility of allowing a bail and throwed Reid in jail. That time she was so in crisis that she had probably not even noticed who was trying to console her. All that Luke had been able to do was a half-smile, behind which a thousand thoughts and emotions were hidden. Then Derek had called him "new friend".

He didn't know what to think of him. He couldn't understand what he felt for him. After all, he was married, with a son. He was no longer part of the unit. He was no longer a danger (or a rival), right?

The answer had arrived very quickly. When they had left the meeting room and they were both alone, he already didn't like the situation. But then he had to go back, because he had forgotten something. And so, he had seen them together. Much worse than the tasting he had had before. The way Penelope looked at him, as if he were really a god... with what love, affection, respect, devotion... all things she would never have shown to him. And even Derek, though his gestures were not just like a normal friend, the sweetness with which he had caressed her cheek or when he had told her he was proud of her and... that he loved her. He really loved her. Yet he had returned from his wife. He could never understand their relationship.

And when he thought that nothing else could happen now, the man had managed to surprise him, to open his mouth wide again. "But do you think you can try to be a little friendlier to Alvez?- why he did care? He did also notice that she treated him differently? -He seems like a pretty all right kid...- and Penelope rolled her eyes. But what she had replied... -It's complicated... I'll try. I make no promises.- Why she say it’s complicated? Apart from that, there were other reasons why it should be complicated?

For all these reasons Luke wasn't very focused on driving, nor on the case. Yet the accident didn't happen because of him. All the SUVs had been pierced by a special system that had appeared on the road just as they passed. They had turned upside down, but without suffering consequences. But while they were catching their breath, he had seen the light of the headlights out of the corner of his eye. And he had had only time to start a prayer, the most basic, the one that his grandmother had taught him when he was very small...

Then the awakening in the hospital. They were all fine. Some sprain, scratch, but nothing serious. In fact, he had been the one who had made everyone worry more, because he didn't regain consciousness immediately. But they hadn't even had time to relax, to rejoice, to breathe a sigh of relief.

Derek had suddenly entered the room where he was hospitalized, where the entire BAU was gathered. And each of them understood, even before the former profiler opened his mouth. Even Luke had understood that something serious had happened, but he hadn't wanted to believe it. Until he had thought about it, it would not have come true. If only it had been so...

How had it happened? Nobody could still say it. They only knew that someone had shot Penelope. While she was still at the BAU. Later they would have discovered that it was the work of the two villains, the evil couple, who had managed to organize everything from the prison. Somehow, they understood the connection between computer technician and Spencer and then, in any case, she was the simplest target. More vulnerable. Because they were out.

It had been all a trap. The real goal had been her, from the beginning.

It was their fault, of each of them. They had left her alone. They had assumed that inside their offices she would be safer, in fact, no one had thought it might be dangerous. Not even he.

She hadn't died right away. She had survived the surgery. It seemed like there was hope. In fact, the doctors had immediately said that she was still in danger, that they could only wait. But she was conscious. So, each of them went to her bedside, to do with her what would be the last chat. First JJ, Emily and Tara. Together, because they always had been. Then Rossi and Spencer. And Derek who had never moved. He had only come out after Stephen had done his part. Even he couldn't pretend not to cry. And then it had been his turn. Luke was finished last, he had risked not being able to even have this chance.

But when he had crossed the threshold of her room, Penelope was still alive. Weak. She was the shadow of Garcia to which he was accustomed. He had to show himself strong for her. But by now it was clear to everyone that their technician was slowly shutting down. She had stopped fighting. The game had been won by the lady in black. That game that began more than ten years ago, with a bullet hit. They would have discovered later that she had been the previous damage that made her survival impossible. But he didn't know it yet. He wanted to be strong, but he hadn't succeeded.

He had burst into inconsolable crying, falling to her knees before her bed, holding her hand. He had been out of breath, because

it was being so desperate. He didn't remember if he had said anything to her, if they were sensible phrases. But Penelope had tried to console him as far as she could. Her voice was so low that he finally had to placate tears in order to hear her. -I'm sorry I was so stupid.- it was the juice of the first tiring sentence she had uttered. -I'm sorry to have treated you like that.- the second one. Even at a time like this she couldn't stop thinking about someone else, everyone, except herself. The last one had been -I'm glad you managed to kiss me.- but Luke hadn't even had time to think he could repeat that gesture. The fingers tightened to his had become motionless. They were already cold. He had looked at her face. She had such a serene expression...

Luke sighs one last time, before he gains strength and loads part of the weight of the coffin on his shoulder. On the other sides there are obviously Spencer, Derek and Rossi. Behind them, many people, many ex-FBI agents. Three of her ex-boyfriends, for whom he can't even feel jealous anymore. Emily and JJ shake hands throughout the ceremony. Then the coffin had lower in the grave. And covered with ground. Together with the flowers above the coffin. Not roses, not just at least. A person like Garcia, she would have liked the last day to be full of colors and variegated. So, sunflowers, orchids, carnations, daisies and many others. In fact, while he waited for Dave's car to pick him up, he lost himself reading the meanings of the various flowers, because he wanted to tell her what he felt, though she no longer cared, at least that way, at least one last time. But he would have to bring a lot of them: holly (defense, eternity) for what he should have done and wanted, but at least he had tried; aquilegia (which before he didn't even know existed) because it meant hidden love ; freesia (another who didn't know) because it signaled mystery and charm; carnation, jasmine because simply the red was mark of love; Hibiscus, on the other hand, was the most suitable of all because it doesn't live more than a day, so its fleeting beauty lasts only for a moment and at the end what was there between them wasn't very different; the lilacs for the beats of love; the forget-me-nots would have been a mockery of himself. And there would have been many others, too many And, in the end, he had opted for a strange flower, whose name wasn't romantic, orange; and Spencer had recognized it immediately and surely, he had been the only one to understand. Buttercup. And yet another had reached his companions and had been buried by the ground. Zinnia.

-Luke... - the young genius approaches him. Only the two of them were remained. He stayed in front of Penelope's tomb, the stone hasn't yet been laid, all this time. To think, to remember. To cry. But it doesn't embarrass him the fact that Spencer had sees his pain so obvious. They stare into each other's eyes for a moment and then he, the famous doctor to hate the handshakes, hugs him. When they separate, the Latin already knows what he is going to ask him. -Two flowers...- for once seems to be speechless, unable to compose one of his long sentences full of big words. -Buttercup: sad and melancholy love. Zinnia: nostalgia , lack.- he declares, how if reads the definitions of a dictionary. -You loved her?- Luke nods without having to think about it.

-You, who always know everything -he provokes him, sniffling -you can tell me why she had to die?- he doesn't blame him, but anger and despair follow each other very quickly in his soul. The young doctor doesn't have the answer he is looking for. But he is in possession of another that can still interest him.

-Do you know what she was doing when she was hit?- Why twist the knife? Why force him to return to that day? Make he feel again useless, helpless and stupid? But he doesn't say anything to stop him -I was with her. She told me that she had decided to leave the team... he showed me her resignation... then she tore the paper into pieces. And she came out to breathe, a breath of air, as if were a kind of ritual... then I heard the hiss of the bullet and I saw her fall to the ground. I called 911, Derek and then you, but you didn't answer, because the accident had already happened...- Luke isn't listening anymore.

Garcia had changed her mind. She wouldn't have abandoned them anymore.

Yet fate has chosen in her place. It decided she had to leave the Bureau. Conclusively.

Penelope, I miss you. Why did you leave me alone? Why you? Why I'm not dead? Not you, with your innocence, your trust in the world... not you.

While Reid holds him in another improbable embrace, the man becomes aware of a truth. He may love other women, but there will always be a thought, a hypothesis no longer verifiable, that will torment him. Because what isn't defined, has no boundaries, doesn't even have an end.

TAGS: @theshamelessmanatee @itsdawnashlie @talesoffairies @janiedreams88 @kiki-krakatoa @yessenia993 @teyamarra @c00lhandsluke @gcchic @arses21434 @orangesickle @entireoranges @jarmin @kathy5654 @martinab26 @thisonekid @thenibblets @perfectly-penelope @ambrosiaswhispers @maziikeen92 @lovelukealvez @reidskitty13 @jenf42 @gracieeelizabeth27 @silviajajaja @smalliemichelle99 @charchampagne14 @ichooseno @ megs2219 @rkt3357 @franklintrixie @thinitta @chewwy123 @skisun @maba84 @saisnarry @myhollyhanna23 @thenorthernlytes

Note: I’m still sorry. The other two will be happier. I swear.

#garvez #penelope garcia #luke alvez #criminal minds #cm #luke x penelope #penelope x luke #garcia x alvez #alvez x garcia #spencer reid

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muldertxf · 7 years ago

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Descension, Part 1

Summary: Takes place towards the beginning of season 2. Confusion and memory blanks plague Scully one Monday morning. Things don’t seem to line up. Why’s everything seem so annoyingly bright?

Genre: Angst/Drama/Mystery(maybe you could call it a casefile?) idk

Rating: PG

Note: This fic will be finished!! The other one was not because I lost my notes to it when I moved PCs, and real life stuff got in the way. But that will not happen again. I know exactly where to go with this one. ;)

The slide projector whirred on, testing her patience. Mulder slipped another slide into the contraption.

He attempted to tamp down his excitement, but every so often his voice would pitch an awkward few octaves when he’d spew another fact about his latest find. She pretended not to notice his voice cracks, feigning a yawn every so often to half-cover them. For his sake. And her’s. The second hand embarrassment was contagious at 9 am. However, she could sympathize with his jubilation somewhat; he had known her long enough at this point to hear her little shrieks when she was examining a body and made an interesting discovery. To each their own, she supposed.

Her lanky coworker glanced up momentarily from the written notes he had been using to guide himself. Usually he didn’t need notes, but this case captivated him in a way no other had.

Sh-lick! Another slide fell into the projector.

Five Minnesota children, ages ranging only in even numbers from two to ten, had gone missing within the meager span of five days. Local authorities were at a loss of what to do, except to put out a slew of missing childrens’ signs and simply file reports. That and issue a controversial curfew. But beyond that, their hands were tied. They had no real lead to go off of. It was unfortunate.

Scully found herself staring down a piece of floppy hair that refused to stay put on Mulder’s quiffed head. It looked Elvis-esque, almost. It bobbed with his jaw. She curbed a smile, and brushed back a loose strand of red that had strayed from behind her ear.

“Scully, are you listening?” Mulder inquired, tossing his pad to a nearby desk. He sounded like one of her old Catholic school teachers. “I really need your help on this case.”

“No bodies have been found,” Scully said, standing up to dust off her baggy business suit. She glanced in the direction of his notes. “Can I see what you’ve written down?”

Mulder blew out a sigh, only slightly peeved at her. “If you’d been listening, you wouldn’t have to look...” He announced. He placed the loose leaf notebook on her shoulder, balancing it.

She slid it off, rolling her eyes. “I was listening. And I didn’t say I wasn’t going to help you. I’m assigned to this unit, anyway. It’s my job to, Mulder. Plus, even if it wasn’t...I’d still help you.” She noted the faint smile quirking his lips. “I’d find a way.”

“Alright.” He hid the smile from his face. “You know, first, I think we should talk to Mary Blaine. She’s the mother of the first missing child.”

Scully examined the pages, finally coming to the correct one. What could only be described as a pure liquidation of the english language assaulted her eye sockets. She squinted, attempting to make out his Bs from his Ds. Jesus, his handwriting is illegible, she thought.

Mulder unplugged the machine, removed the slides, and pushed the cart which held said contents to the corner of the office. He turned to her. “What time would be best for boarding a plane to Saint Paul, Scully?”

His words didn’t reach her ears.

“Scully?”

Scully blanched, her vision blurring. The book dropped the floor with a weak thunk. A clammy hand flew to her head for support, and she braced herself against a desk, suddenly exhausted.

Mulder flew to her side without a moment’s hesitation.

“Dana? Are you okay?” Mulder bit his bottom lip in worry, bringing a digit to her chin. She slowly lifted her head to meet him.

Something inside her had shifted. It was like coming home from vacation, to find your dresser a miraculous inch to the left for no explicable reason. Like waking up and having your hair seem slightly shorter. A shoe out of place. A hand where it shouldn’t be. Scully stared at him with dark eyes, and he withdrew his hand. She couldn’t read the book.

Scully cleared her throat. “Uhm,” she feigned a laugh, and looked down to her heels. Dizzy morning light glinted off the dark edges. “I...I’m fine. Thank you.”

She felt his eyes on her scalp, and blood began to rush back into her face.

Mulder took a step back to turn on the light. The office brightened immediately, and overwhelmingly, surroundings bathed in pastel. “Are you sure? Do you...want some water?” His voice creaked out the word “water” a little too enthusiastically for her.

She shook her head, wildly. “No, no. I’m fine, really. I just didn’t sleep very much last night. Sorry.”

The disorder of the room slowly settled to the carpeted floor like a shaken snow globe. She smiled. His worry lines decreased a bit.

“But you came into work late, this morning,” Mulder countered. “I thought you’d overslept.”

“I wasn’t sleeping…” Scully replied, her face made of stone. She fetched her coat off from the hook.

“I don’t sleep anymore,” Mulder said.

She didn’t miss the look of confusion that ran across her partner’s face as she made her way past him.

He followed her two steps into the hallway. A fluorescent in the hallway flickered above him in silent laughter. “W-where are you going?” He faltered, ignorant to what he’d apparently done wrong.

“Taking the day off,” His red-headed partner answered flatly with her back to him, turning the corner.

Gone.

Mulder hesitated running...then denied himself the luxury of going after her. This wasn’t a movie--a man can’t just run after a woman and demand they talk out their love. He felt his cheeks flush as he reentered his basement office alone. Their love? There was no love. It was completely platonic. Any hints that indicated otherwise had to have been fabricated in his head. That’s just the way it was. She probably hated him. Mulder looked back to the fallen notebook which sadly laid on the floor, curled spine up.

He hated him.

#txf fanfic #x files fanfic #the x files fanfic #descension #writing

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checkmate-cherik · 8 years ago

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Because this prompt by @cherik-inspiration is too good not to attempt:

Erik set his laptop down on the counter and began pulling out ingredients.

He’d gone shopping specially for today. His coworkers were coming over for the holidays; it wasn’t for Christmas, though Azazel was a new Christian, and it wasn’t for Hannukah, though Erik was still Jewish. It was just that they were all tired of the “holiday cheer”, hated their families (if they had any), and needed a place to gather and complain without anyone calling the cops.

Erik finished setting out his ingredients and clicked ‘play’ on the Youtube video.

“Hello, everyone!” Erik adjusted the volume on his laptop, making it a little louder, and gazed at the cheerful blue eyes and ruddy-mouthed smile of the man in the video. “It’s Charles again, and I have a new recipe to try. Here to help me is my sister Raven.” Erik shook his head a little, as he always did when Raven, the pretty blond woman, slid into view and smiled shyly at the camera. “We’re going to make a cake our great-grandmother wrote down. It turned out pretty delicious when we first tried it. Don’t forget that you can adjust the flavor however you like. Alright, let’s get to it!”

Erik followed the instructions faithfully, using his powers to move and mix things while he kept his intense gaze on the video. He’d already made this cake several times, but he wanted to get it exactly right. It had always turned out well, so he was fairly sure he could make it correctly… But he liked having the instructions in front of him. He liked hearing instructions, rather than having to read them.

No. He’ll admit it. He liked watching and hearing Charles.

Charles--or ProfessorXavier, if you went by his channel name--didn’t just cook and bake. He did educational videos, too, that were actually quite popular. But while it was soothing to listen to him lecture about English classics and biology and genetics and how mutants weren’t any different than non-mutants, it was his cooking show that really drew Erik in. The way he smiled, the way he spoke… he was comfortable in the kitchen as he never was in front of his smartboard. Not that he wasn’t comfortable lecturing as well, but he always seemed slightly stiffer than he was in his kitchen.

Erik absently dropped a handful of semi-sweet chocolate chips into the batter, watching Charles’ graceful hands do the same while Raven held the bowl. Erik’s bowl--like all his kitchen utensils and paraphernalia--was metal, and therefore did not slip as the metal whisk briskly worked the batter.

When the batter was poured, Erik paused the video to pick up the cake pan and slide it into the oven. The oven was electric, so he was wary of using his powers on it. Then he turned back to the video, turning it on and feeling a small smile tilt the corners of his mouth as Charles laughed at something Raven said. His laugh was rich and deeper than expected, and it made Erik less annoyed.

He watched the video to the end, watching them make icing, Raven making pretty patterns and Charles botching a simple squiggle. Then came the tasting. Raven scrunched her nose, and Charles rolled his eyes heavenward.

“Too sweet,” Raven said.

“Just right,” Charles replied smugly. Then he smiled at the camera. “And that’s all folks! See you next week!”

Erik clicked the searchbar and typed in ProfessorXavier stuffing recipe. Many videos popped up, but he selected the top one and gathered ingredients while Charles went through his usual cheerful greeting.

Raven did not help with this one. It was just Charles, his voice soothing as he explained his process. Erik set his knives to chopping and slowly shredded day-old homemade bread with his fingers, as Charles had done. The bread was Erik’s mother’s recipe. He would never do any other, not even Charles’.

Charles smiled at the camera and Erik smiled too.

Azazel was the first to arrive, just appearing to lounge on Erik’s sofa, tucking his linked hands behind his head. Erik didn’t even notice him at first, too busy leaning on the kitchen island and watching the newest cooking video (a “fake lasagna” made with ravioli instead of noodles). When he did, he jabbed pause and slapped the laptop shut. Azazel smirked.

“More of that charming professor?” Azazel asked, his accent barely changed despite his many years stateside.

“No,” Erik replied stiffly, going to check on the stuffing. It was done; time to let it cool. “When are the others coming?”

“They’ll be here in a few minutes,” Azazel drawled, making himself more comfortable.

“Good.”

Emma and Angel, the newest addition to the group, arrived together. Emma had a key to Erik’s apartment and waltzed right in, Angel following a little more slowly. The former set a covered dish of assorted cooked chicken (grilled, fried, and baked) down on the dining table, since Erik didn’t eat ham, and the latter two bottles of Michigan cherry wine.

“Budge up,” Emma ordered Azazel, and he glared but sat up, swinging his feet to the floor. “Thanks, ‘Zel.” Emma sat primly on the middle cushion as Azazel scooted over to the side, and patted the empty cushion beside her. Angel sat, gazing around with interest.

Erik’s flat didn’t seem very personal unless you knew him. Everything was stark black and white, and shades of grey and silver. The furniture was comfortable and clean, the floors honey-colored wood or white tile. He had some medieval weapons on the walls, all of which he knew how to use, and all polished and sharpened to mirror-brightness. In his bedroom he had four bookshelves stuffed with books; out in the living room, only two bookshelves, holding a paltry assortment, but proudly displaying various metal sculptures he’d made himself. They didn’t look like anything; they weren’t supposed to. He’d just liked the shapes. In his office he had more books, and a glass and brushed steel desk upon which sat his Mac and precious iPad Pro. He was a Mac person in his personal life, though he liked PCs for work. And the kitchen was a wonderland of metal.

The less said about the state of his bathroom the better.

Janos arrived with the salad, since he was a vegetarian. It was excellent salad, none of the disgusting bitter leaves or the empty white bits of iceberg lettuce. There were walnuts and cherries on it, too.

Azazel said grace over his meal while everyone else tucked in. No one minded about what the others did; religion was too trivial to the atheists, too important to the spiritual, to be mocked, belittled, or scorned. Everyone pretended not to hear as Erik muttered in Yiddish around his first mouthful of bread, knowing it was his own version of grace and he did not like it when people said anything about it.

After everyone had a few bites in them, the Great Complaining began.

Emma kicked it off. “Shaw is disgusting,” she snorted, picking at her chicken.

“What’d he do this time?” Erik grunted.

“Grabbed my butt. Again. Then told me to get him some ice. Honestly, I’m the secretary, not the maid.”

Angel nibbled a walnut and looked uncomfortable. Erik met her eyes. “What’d he do?” he repeated, this time to her.

“Threatened my friends,” she murmured, lowering her gaze, “Because I wouldn’t let him grope my boobs.”

Emma wrapped her arm around Angel’s shoulders. “He won’t hurt them,” she assured her younger friend confidently. “He hasn’t done anything himself in years.”

“And there are ways of lying to him,” Azazel added, sticking his forked tongue out at Angel, which always made her feel better. She had said it reminded her of her older brother, who’d been distinctly snake-looking when he came into his powers.

They complained about Shaw, then they moved on to their coworkers. Emma was The Secretary of whom all the administrative staff were terrified, Janos was the bodyguard and in charge of transport, and Azazel was the one who did all the arm-breaking and throat-slitting. Erik made sure everything balanced; the company, the personal life, and the mob connections. Angel was Emma’s new assistant, and swiftly proving herself among the underlings as one to be wary of. Her temper was quiet, but damn, it was fierce. And if you weren’t nice to her or didn’t do something she told you to… well, enjoy life with half a left foot when she delicately spit acid on it.

Shaw was growing very fond of Angel, despite Emma’s best efforts to shield her.

After dinner, Erik brought out the cake. Azazel jeered at him about where he learned to bake, but shut up when Erik said coldly, “I guess you don’t get any.” Everyone who’d ever tried anything he’d baked said it was The Best and did everything in their power to convince him to make more for them. Azazel included.

Janos got vegan cupcakes because Erik respected his dietary restrictions. The others were happy with cake.

They sat around and drank wine until it was gone. Angel got giggly and tipsy, so Azazel took her home, returning in three minutes with the announcement, “She’s asleep now.”

“Poor kid,” Emma murmured, running her finger along the rim of the glass. “You know, she told me she stopped talking to her friends when she joined the company? Except her friend Raven. They talk on the phone every night.”

Raven? Erik frowned and undid his shirt’s top button. He was too warm. But it surely couldn’t be Raven from the videos. No, that was just too much of a coincidence. He dismissed the notion. Surely there were plenty of other people named Raven. And Emma hadn’t even said if Angel’s Raven was female or otherwise.

Erik kicked them all out at midnight and collapsed into bed. He dreamed of cherry-red lips and laughing blue eyes.

#Erik Lehnsherr #Shaw's Squad #AU #potential Cherik

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ajournalisajournal · 8 years ago

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One of the reasons I created this blog is because I can’t hide a secret any longer: my mother is cheating on my dad with one of her ex-coworkers. I found out in October they had in affair, but I knew she had a crush on him for years.

My first reaction was of utter disgust and betrayal, so I stopped talking to her and asked my grandma (her mother) for help since she’s the only one who could help me in this situation. She said (and still says) it’s not true, but then I showed her proves (I can hack through my mother’s email and PC locks, so showing proves was easy) she started to believe me and said my concerns to my mother. My mother denied and still denies everything.

After a month, I wondered why I couldn’t find no more emails between the two secret lovers, but lately I discovered she created a new gmail account and they have been exchanging more emails. So, I know they’re still seeing each other, not only that but they’re cooperating with little jobs (here I’d say so many sexist jokes, but I wn’t lower myself to that). Hell, I know they’re meeting today (as in right now).

At first I was worried my dad would find out, but I’m pretty sure (like 90% sure) he knows and he kinda acknowledge it. That’s one of the things that makes me mad, why doesn’t he try and do something about it?

Also, I asked my mother for asking for divorce several times, but she’s like “Why would I?” and I told her that there’s no point in being married to someone you don’t care anymore and/or you’re not happy with said person (seriously, I’ve known this since I was a child). Still she won’t ask for one and asking my dad would be too embarassing and awkward since he doesn’t know I know about this situation.

So we’re forever doomed to suffer.

#journal #cheating #cheating parents

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familytasty06 · 4 years ago

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10 Amazing Life Experiences That Will Completely Change Your Perspective

In the last 31 years, i have been lucky enough to possess tons of life experiences, including:

1. Traveling to 75 cities

2. Writing articles for Forbes, Fortune, Time, Inc., Business Insider, and therefore the Huffington Post that are now sent out weekly on my motivational website, CEO Lifestyle

3. Starting two companies that created four top 100 iPhone apps in several categories

4. performing at amazing companies like Cisco, VMware, Box and Optimizely

5. Delivering over 631 presentations

6. Writing a book that got over 40,000 Kindle downloads called "The Resume Is Dead"

7. Being lucky enough to fall crazy

Here's the thing: most of those experiences are only valuable when shared. it is time on behalf of me to pay it forward. i would like to assist you reside the foremost fulfilling, epic life possible. So today, i will be sharing with you my top 100 life experiences that you simply should try:

1. Celebrate an enormous win - "I like it when nobody recognizes my accomplishments," said nobody ever. Whether it is a personal or work victory, take a flash to celebrate with one hundred pc of your enthusiasm. once I worked at Box, i might ring an enormous gong with my coworkers and provides one another high fives. it had been awesome. Every. Single. Time. People like to feel appreciated.

2. Chase your passion wholeheartedly - Maybe it'll compute . Maybe it won't. But if it does, it'll be a heck of a story. Jennifer is that the founder and president of Jeneration PR, a PR and social media marketing firm. Before she started her PR firm in 2005, she was a civil litigation attorney. After four years though, she never really felt love it was the proper path. It always felt more sort of a job than a career.

One day, Jen decided to contact the owner of a fragrance brand and told her what proportion she loved her products. She asked her to send her a box of products that she could use as samples to pitch to the media and send to celebrities. She did this for free of charge .

She ended up giving a sample of a perfume called "I Am Beautiful" to Christina Aguilera, who had a song at the time thereupon same title. Then, she told an editor at InTouch magazine about this fragrance which Christina Aguilera was a lover . They ran the story, and therefore the owner of the brand said it had the most important impact on sales that she had ever experienced. She's now been featured on Forbes, Business Insider, Huffington Post, Yahoo Finance and Entrepreneur Magazine. #ChaseYourDreams

3. Smile at someone and compliment them - I wont to be a busboy and waiter at Souplantation. Most of the time, people treated me like i used to be invisible. Well, unless they wanted more pink lemonade, that is. But every once during a while, someone would smile at me and say something nice. It made me desire i used to be on top of the planet . you almost certainly burn one-tenth of a calorie by smiling and complimenting someone. It takes little or no effort from you and yet it can make someone's day. Try it. Be a smiling hero for somebody today.

4. Be fearless - one among my friends Hansen Shieh left his high paying job in finance to start out a corporation called One Culture Foods within the food industry. He had zero prior experience during this space. It didn't matter. He dove right in. He sampled plenty of different sauce ingredients, built out a business plan and worked endlessly to place together a tremendous product that he might be extremely pleased with .

Being fearless doesn't suggest not feeling fear. We all feel fear. It means having control over that fear versus letting that fear control you. Fear are often constructive. It forces you to be thoughtful around many aspects of your process and to be ready for obstacles that lie ahead. If your dreams don't scare you, it's possible that you are not dreaming large enough . Don't let fears be the gatekeeper to your dreams. Be fearless like Hansen.

5. Be vulnerable - "Life is so perfect!" said all the famous people on Instagram. that is what they need you to think. That's not real world . No one's life is ideal . and that is okay! actually , people will relate to you more when you're vulnerable. We wish to see that people are flawed a bit like us. If you would like to really build meaningful relationships, you will have to be vulnerable at some point. it is the only thanks to get on the brink of someone. It shows that you simply trust them.

6. Never eat alone - "I love eating at a restaurant while reading a book alone ." It's hard to believe that statement. I've probably seen fewer than five people in my entire life do this at a restaurant. Even people that are available and sit at the bar alone find yourself making friends with people . Look, you are going to eat that meal anyway. May also roll in the hay while going to know someone or with someone you care about! this provides you an opportunity to bond with someone. I did this at Box all the time and it helped me make plenty of friends over a period of two years. Want to understand why? It's because during lunchtime, we usually stopped talking about work and eventually started talking about our personal lives. Some people call this chitchat . I call this friendship.

7. Share an Uber ride with someone - Sure, you'll read a piece of writing on your phone during that Uber ride, but don't. Stop being a social hermit. Shared Uber rides are awesome because it gives you a change to genuinely connect with someone. I just did this on one among my last rides. Guess what happened? After some obligatory chitchat , we laughed over a couple of good jokes and bonded over the town . At the top of the cab ride, I acknowledged she was the sister of 1 of my friends. Now I even have a replacement friend. All because i made a decision to mention hello during an Uber ride.

8. Conquer a fear - I'm deathly scared of heights. and that is why I signed up for a helicopter ride in San Francisco . you ought to have seen my face because the helicopter dove under the bridge. I even have it on video. i do not think I'll ever show it publicly. It's just too embarrassing. My stomach hurt for subsequent two hours after the flight. But I felt good. I conquered a fear. On to subsequent one.

9. plan to a true workout routine - Maybe it is a 15-minute daily walk. Maybe it's P90X. Maybe it's circuit training. Maybe it is the Insanity workout. We all begin at different levels of workouts because we're all unique. The key's committing. Once you commit and do the workouts, you'll notice something: progress. You'll feel physically stronger, your stamina will increase, and your mind are going to be sharper. most significantly , you'll realize that you simply simply can accomplish goals that you began for yourself. That's an enormous mental victory which will change your life. Need motivation? Here are my top 10 things that successful people do to motivate themselves.