#somebody get this man on holiday fast

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Quotes about John Lennon’s sexuality

This is just a reference post for convenience, not an analysis (but I’ve added some comments here and there). This is extremely long with a lot of quotes! And where there's smoke there's fire, imo.

John's (internalized) homophobia: Starting with this topic to provide context & contrast to the rest of this post

At the party the boys’ old friend Bob Wooler, the Cavern emcee, made a crack to John about his holiday. John, who’d had plenty to drink, exploded. He leapt on Bob, and by the time he was dragged off Bob had a black eye and badly bruised ribs. I took John home as fast as I could, and Brian drove Bob to the hospital.

I was appalled that John had lashed out again. I’d thought those days were over. But John was still livid, muttering that Bob had called him a queer.

Cynthia Lennon, John

[Bob Wooler had] insinuated that me and Brian had had an affair in Spain. I was out of me mind with drink. You know, when you get down to the point where you want to drink out of all the empty glasses, that drunk. And he was saying, ‘Come on, John, tell me’ – something like that – ‘Tell me about you and Brian, we all know.’ And obviously I must have been frightened of the fag in me to get so angry. You know, when you’re twenty-one, you want to be a man, and all that. If somebody said it now, I wouldn’t give a shit.

John Lennon, John Lennon: For The Record, Peter McCabe and Robert D Schonfeld

“The Beatles’ first national coverage was me beating up Bob Wooler at Paul’s 21st party because he intimated I was homosexual. I must have had a fear that maybe I was homosexual to attack him like that and it’s very complicated reasoning. But I was very drunk and I hit him and I could have really killed somebody then. And that scared me… That was in the Daily Mirror, it was the back page…”

John Lennon, talking about a (one sided) fight he had with Cavern DJ Bob Wooler at Paul’s 21st birthday party in 1963.

Everyone in Liverpool knew that Epstein was gay, and some kid in the audience screamed, ‘John Lennon’s a fucking queer!’ And John – who never wore his glasses on stage – put his guitar down and went into the crowd, shouting, ‘Who said that?’ So this kid says, ‘I fucking did.’ John went after him and BAM, gave him the Liverpool kiss, sticking the nut on him – twice! And the kid went down in a mass of blood, snot and teeth. Then John got back on the stage. ‘Anybody else?’ he asked. Silence. ‘All right then. “Some Other Guy”.’”

Lemmy Kilmister, White Line Fever: The Biography. (2004)

“Victim in 1961 was one of the first British films to deal properly and thoughtfully with the subject. Dirk Bogarde welcomed the opportunity to play the homosexual barrister, and there were some very tense scenes between him and his wife, Sylvia Syms. In one scene, Dirk Bogarde lifts his garage door at the back of the mews to discover that someone has painted graffiti about him on the wall. The Beatles were sitting together at a Cavern lunchtime session and John Lennon, who was talking to Paul and George, was making biting remarks about Victim, which was on at the Odeon. I knew by then that Brian was what he was, and I thought, ‘Well, I am surprised at John, who is 21 and a young man of the world.’ He was making such nasty, puritanical observations, but I never said anything as they didn’t know that I was listening.”

Bob Wooler, c/o Spencer Leigh, The Best of Fellas: The Story of Bob Wooler. (2002)

If somebody is going to manage me, I want to know them inside out. He told me he was a fag.

 I like “Honky Tonk Woman” but I think Mick’s a joke, with all that fag dancing, I always did

I think its concept is revolutionary, and I hope it’s for workers and not for tarts and fags.

I don’t know about the “history”; the people who are in control and in power, and the class system and the whole bullshit bourgeoisie is exactly the same, except there is a lot of fag middle class kids with long, long hair walking around London in trendy clothes

I don’t dig that junkie fag scene he lives in; I don’t know whether he lives like that or what.

Casual homophobia in Lennon Remembers (Notable for the increase in homophobic language post-primary scream therapy, here is some interesting speculation about how these two things are related)

The violence that had been building inside John Lennon all night came bursting out the moment he left the studio. It struck so fast and unexpectedly that it stunned May Pang. She recalled that John was walking unsteadily toward the parking lot when suddenly he cast a drunken look over his shoulder at Jesse Ed Davis. Running over to him, Lennon gave Jesse Ed a passionate kiss on the mouth. Not to be outdone, Jesse Ed grabbed John and kissed him back. Lennon screamed, “F****t!” — and knocked Jesse flat on his ass.

The Lives of John Lennon by Albert Goldman (May Pang, describing an incident during the recording of Rock 'n' Roll in 1973: p.564)

It turned into a full-on fight. John was incredibly strong! He got me in some kind of a hold behind my back that I could not get out of, like a full nelson. And he started to kiss me on the mouth! He was laughin’ and kissin’ me on the mouth. I was strugglin’ to git away and I couldn’t git away. Then he stuck his tongue in my mouth. God! So I bit him. Bit him on the tongue. That pissed him off. So he grabbed the marble ashtray that we couldn’t break and banged me on the head. Knocked me cold.

The Lives of John Lennon by Albert Goldman (a direct quote from Jesse Ed Davis about a different night: p. 576-577)

Alternatively, he could be openly supportive:

Why make it sad to be gay? Doing your thing is O.K. Our bodies our own So leave us alone Go play with yourself – today.

A poem submitted for Len Richmond and Gary Noguera's Gay Liberation Handbook, on 30 May 1972

John spreading rumours: John (and Yoko) had a propensity for intentionally spreading rumours about his sexuality, with many people claiming that he found it funny. Multiple people refused to believe his own words about his experiences or willingness with men.

John told me he had had a one-night stand with Brian, on a holiday with him in Spain, when Brian had invited him out, a few days after the birth of Julian in 1963, leaving Cyn alone. I mentioned this brief holiday in the book, but not what John had alleged had taken place. Partly, I didn't really believe it, though John was daft enough to try almost anything once. John was certainly not homosexual, and this boast, or lie, would have given the wrong impression. It was also not fair on Cynthia, his then wife.

Hunter Davies, The Beatles: The Authorised Biography (updated edition, 2010)

John himself said he finally allowed Brian to make love to him “to get it out of the way.” Those who knew John well, who had known him for years, don’t believe it for a moment. John was aggressively heterosexual and had never given a hint that he was anything but.

Tony Bramwell, Magical Mystery Tours: My Life With The Beatles, 2014

John roared with laughter at the rumours that began afterwards. Typically, he encouraged the stories that he and Brian were gay lovers because he thought it was funny and John was one of the world’s great wind-up merchants. He told me afterwards in one of our frankest heart-to-hearts that Brian never seriously did proposition him. He had teased Brian about the young men he kept gazing at and the odd ones who had found their way to his room. Brian had joked to John about the women who hurled themselves at him. ‘If he’d asked me, I probably would have done anything he wanted. I was so much in awe of Brian then I’d have tried a night of vice-versa. But he never wanted me like that. Sure, I took the mickey a bit and pretended to lead him on. But we both knew we were joking.

Alistair Taylor, With The Beatles, 2003

Years later, John finally came clean about what had happened: not to anyone who’d been around at the time, but to the unshockable woman with whom he shared the last decade of his life. He said that one night during the trip, Brian had cast aside shyness and scruples and finally come on to him, but that he’d replied, “If you feel like that, go out and find a hustler.” Afterward, he had deliberately fed Pete Shotton the myth of his brief surrender, so that everyone would believe his power over Brian to be absolute.

Philip Norman, John Lennon: The Life, 2008

The next night Elliot [Mintz] took us out with a friend of his, Sal Mineo, and we all went to a gay cabaret/discotheque. John was oblivious to the gay ambience. He was curious about everyone’s sexuality and liked to gossip about who was sleeping with whom, whether they were gay or straight. John made no judgements about homosexuality but was really curious about who was and who wasn’t gay.

He knew that his appearance at a gay club might start rumors about his own sexuality, and it made him laugh. He told me that there had been rumors about him and his first manager, Brian Epstein, and that he usually didn’t deny them. He liked the fact that people could be titillated by having suspicions about his masculinity. Then I was the one who was laughing. “How could anyone believe a man who likes women as much as you do is gay?” I told him.

May Pang’s Loving John (1983).

Q. Have you ever fucked a guy?

A. Not yet, I thought I’d save it til I was 40, life begins at 40 you know, tho I never noticed it.

Q. It is trendy to be bisexual and you’re usually ‘keeping up with the Jones’, haven’t you ever… there was talk about you and PAUL…

A. Oh, I thought it was about me and Brian Epstein… anyway, I’m saving all the juice for my own version of THE REAL FAB FOUR BEATLES STORY etc.. etc..

John Lennon self interview for Andy Warhol’s Interview Magazine (November 1974).

John: Yes, all your best friends let you know what's going on. I was trying to put it 'round that I was gay, you know-- I thought that would throw them off... dancing at all the gay clubs in Los Angeles, flirting with the boys... but it never got off the ground.

Q: I think I've only heard that lately about Paul.

John: Oh, I've had him, he's no good. [Laughter]

John Lennon, interviewed by Lisa Robinson for Hit Parader: A conversation with John Lennon (December 1975).

“It’s great,” Ono laughs. “I mean, both John and I thought it was good that people think we were bisexual, or homosexual.” She laughs again.

“Uh, well, the story I was told was a very explicit story, and from that I think they didn’t have it [sex],” Ono tells me. “But they went to Spain, and when they came back, tons of reporters were asking, ‘Did you do it, did you do it?’ So he said, ‘I did it.’ Isn’t that amazing? But of course he would say that. I’m sure Brian Epstein made a move, yeah.”

And Lennon said no to Epstein?

“He just didn’t want to do it, I think.”

Yoko Ono: I Still Fear John’s Killer by Tim Teeman for the Daily Beast (13 October 2015).

Over dinner the Wenners learned the secrets of the Beatles kingdom from Ono, who would often suggest to Wenner that John Lennon was gay. “She’s always hinted that there was some gay component to John,” said Wenner, “but in a vague or generalized way, like, ‘Isn’t everybody gay?’ Or, ‘I always told John he was gay.’ ” (She also told McCartney this theory after Lennon died, which he didn’t believe.)”

Joe Hagan, Sticky Fingers: The Life and Times of Jann Wenner & Rolling Stone Magazine. (2017)

On the other hand, he supposedly hated the rumours:

Claims have been made since that Brian and John had a gay relationship. Nothing could be further from the truth. John was a hundred per cent heterosexual and, like most lads at that time, horrified by the idea of homosexuality.

It was a holiday John came to regret because it sparked off a string of rumours about his relationship with Brian. He had to put up with sly digs, winks and innuendo that he was secretly gay. It infuriated him: all he'd wanted was a break with a friend, but it was turned into so much more.

Cynthia Lennon, John, 2005

And I just went on holiday. I watched Brian picking up the boys. I like playing a bit faggy, all that. It was enjoyable, but there were big rumours in Liverpool, it was terrible. Very embarrassing. Rumors about you and Brian? Oh, fuck knows—yes, yes. I was pretty close to Brian because if somebody's going to manage me, I want to know them inside out.

John Lennon, Jann S. Wenner, Lennon Remembers, 1970

Unfortunately, certain Liverpool acquaintances (who had no way of knowing that there was a kernel of truth to their allegations) wouldn't let John hear the end of it. All in good fun, no doubt, but John was still too enamored of his macho self-image to take lightly any inference that he was anything less than 100 percent heterosexual.

The Beatles, Lennon, and me - Pete Shotton

John's comments about his sexuality:

It’s just handy to fuck your best friend. That’s what it is. And once I resolved the fact that it was a woman as well, it’s all right. We go through the trauma of life and death every day so it’s not so much of a worry about what sex we are anymore.

John Lennon, interview w/ Jonathan Cott for Rolling Stone: Yoko Ono and her sixteen-track voice. (March 18th, 1971)

I just realized that [Yoko] knew everything I knew, and more, probably, and it was coming out of a woman’s head. It just sort of bowled me over, you know? And it was like finding gold or something. To find somebody that you can go and get pissed with, and have exactly the same relationship as any mate in Liverpool you’d ever had, but also you could go to bed with him, and it could stroke your head when you felt tired, or sick, or depressed. It could also be Mother. And obviously, that’s what the male-female – you know, you could take those roles with each other.

John Lennon, interview w/ Peter McCabe and Robert D. Schonfeld c/o Peter McCabe and Robert D. Schonfeld, John Lennon: For The Record. (September 5th, 1971)

It’s a plus, it’s not a minus. The plus is that your best friend, also, can hold you without… I mean, I’m not a homosexual, or we could have had a homosexual relationship and maybe that would have satisfied it, with working with other male artists. [faltering] An artist – it’s more – it’s much better to be working with another artist of the same energy, and that’s why there’s always been Beatles or Marx Brothers or men, together. Because it’s alright for them to work together or whatever it is. It’s the same except that we sleep together, you know? I mean, not counting love and all the things on the side, just as a working relationship with her, it has all the benefits of working with another male artist and all the joint inspiration, and then we can hold hands too, right?

John Lennon, interview w/ Sandra Shevey. (Mid-June?, 1972)

I was on holiday with Brian Epstein in Spain, where the rumours went around that he and I were having a love affair. Well, it was almost a love affair, but not quite. It was never consummated. But it was a pretty intense relationship. It was my first experience with a homosexual that I was conscious was homosexual. He had admitted it to me. We had this holiday together because Cyn was pregnant, and I went to Spain and there were lots of funny stories. We used to sit in a cafe in Torremolinos looking at all the boys and I’d say, ‘Do you like that one, do you like this one?’ I was rather enjoying the experience, thinking like a writer all the time: I am experiencing this, you know.

John Lennon, Rolling Stone, 1980

I was thinking, if only I could get out of Liverpool, be famous and rich, that would be great. I’ve always wanted to be a famous artist, you know? Possibly I’d have to marry a very rich old lady… or man, you know… to… to look after me while I did my art. But then Rock & Roll came and I thought ‘Ah, this is the one’, so I didn’t have to marry anybody or live with them, you know?

John Lennon interview

There was even some discussion, albeit not very serious, of whether he should stick to his own gender. “John said ‘It would hurt you like crazy if I made it with a girl. With a guy, maybe you wouldn’t be hurt, because that’s not competition. But I can’t make it with a guy because I love women too much, and I’d have to fall in love with the guy and I don’t think I can.’”

John Lennon: The Life

I look at early pictures of meself, and I was torn between being Marlon Brando and being the sensitive poet – the Oscar Wilde part of me with the velvet, feminine side. I was always torn between the two, mainly opting for the macho side, because if you showed the other side, you were dead.

John Lennon, December 5th, 1980

“John believed in my work as an artist wasn’t accepted in part because I am a woman. He got angry when people said about me, “She’s not a woman, she’s a female impersonator.” John said to me, “If I had been gay and gotten together with a guy who was talented like you, after ten years that guy would have become famous as an artist in his own right. Maybe we should come out and say, ‘Actually, Yoko is a guy.’ Maybe that will do it!”

Yoko Ono, interview w/ Jon Wiener, c/o Jon Wiener, Come Together: John Lennon In His Time. (1984)

In this intense, intimate and revealing original cassette recording of a private conversation in 1969 between John Lennon and Yoko Ono, the couple speaks primarily about Yoko’s past relationships, her music and art, and their random views on sex, love, promiscuity, and homosexuality. […] [Lennon] adds that he had never met an attractive woman that had sexually aroused him to any great degree.

Description of the 45-minute audiotape auctioned in 2009 by Alexander Autographs.

Yoko's comments about his sexuality:

“Well, that’s another thing. John and I had a big talk about it, saying, basically, all of us must be bisexual. And we were sort of in a situation of thinking that we’re not [bisexual] because of society. So we are hiding the other side of ourselves, which is less acceptable. But I don’t have a strong sexual desire towards another woman.”

Did Lennon have sex with other men?

“I think he had a desire to, but I think he was too inhibited,” says Ono.

“No, not inhibited. He said, ‘I don’t mind if there’s an incredibly attractive guy.’ It’s very difficult: They would have to be not just physically attractive, but mentally very advanced too. And you can’t find people like that.”

So did Lennon ever have sex with men?

“No, I don’t think so,” says Ono. “The beginning of the year he was killed, he said to me, ‘I could have done it, but I can’t because I just never found somebody that was that attractive.’ Both John and I were into attractiveness—you know—beauty.”

Yoko Ono: I Still Fear John’s Killer by Tim Teeman for the Daily Beast (13 October 2015).

"As mild and oblique as the comment was [Paul's "You took your lucky break and broke it in two" line from "Too Many People"], it seemed to cut John to the heart. On top of the questionnaire inside theMcCartney album and the lawsuit, it was like the tipping point between a divorcing couple that turns love into savage, no-holds-barred hostility. Indeed, John's wounded anger was more that of an ex-spouse than ex-colleague, reinforcing a suspicion already in Yoko's mind that his feelings for Paul had been far more intense than the world at large ever guessed. From chance remarks he had made, she gathered there had even been a moment where - on the principle that bohemians should try everything - he had contemplated an affair with Paul, but had been deterred by Paul's immovable heterosexuality. Nor, apparently, was Yoko the only one to have picked up on this. Around Apple, in her hearing, Paul would sometimes be called John's princess. She had also once heard a rehearsal tape with John's voice calling out "Paul ... Paul ... " in a strangely subservient, pleading way. "I knew there was something going on there," she remembers. "From his point of view, not from Paul's. And he was so angry at Paul, I couldn't help wondering what it was really about.""

Philip Norman, John Lennon: The Life, 2008

I’m sure that if he had been a woman or something, he would have been a great threat, because there’s something definitely very strong with me, John, and Paul.

Yoko Ono, Revolution Tape, June 4th 1968

Friends & acquaintances comments on his sexuality:

I realised I was probably bisexual; there was nothing to be ashamed of in this – John Lennon had reputedly spoken to mutual friends of his own experiments.

Who I Am: A Memoir, Pete Townshend 2012

PAUL: There were lots of people asking cheeky questions, and they were always saying, “Well, why–have you ever tried homosexuality, John?” You know, they always used to ask all that kind of stuff. I remember John saying to them, “No, I’ve never met a fella I fancy enough.” And that was his kind of opinion. You know, “I may go–I may be gay one day, if some fella really turns me on.” He was–he was that open about it. But as far as I was concerned, I slept in a million hotel rooms–as we all did–slept in a million places with John, and there was never any hint of it.

December 24th, 1983: interview with DJ Roger Scott

“And you, Icke?” asked Paul. “Who’s your favourite author?” “Henry Miller. I think he’s very good,” I said. In that moment John suddenly looked over at me. Until then he had been watching Bettina, the bar lady, rinsing glasses and tidying up the bar, with his typical somewhat blasé expression. Our discussion hadn’t seemed to interest him much. Now he was looking directly into my eyes. Quietly and without taking his eyes off me, he walked around the whole counter over to me, planted a kiss on my mouth and went back to his spot. At first, I was quite surprised and didn’t know what to do about it, then I found it rather funny and thought little of it. A few days later, it happened again. I happened upon* him in the hallway behind the stage and again he took my hand and kissed me. At some point the thought occurred to me, “man, he thinks I’m gay, but I can’t help him with that.” What was really going on, I don’t know. Maybe he meant the kisses as overtures; he was even treated as a closet case by homosexuals.

Hans-Walther (Icke) Braun (a friend of the Beatles in Hamburg)

"What happened," John explained, "is that Eppy just kept on and on at me. Until one night I finally just pulled me trousers down and said to him: 'Oh, for Christ's sake, Brian, just stick it up me fucking arse then.' "And he said to me, 'Actually, John, I don't do that kind of thing. That's not what I like to do.' "'Well,' I said, 'what is it you want to do, then?' "And he said, 'I'd really just like to touch you, John.' "And so I let him toss me off." And that was that. End of story. "That's all, John?" I said. "Well, so what? What's the big fucking deal, then?" "Yeah, so fucking what! The poor bastard. He's having a fucking hard enough time anyway." This was in reference to the "butch" dockers who, on several recent occasions, had rewarded Brian's advances by beating him to a bloody pulp. "So what harm did it do, then, Pete, for fuck's sake?" John asked rhetorically. "No harm at all. The poor fucking bastard, he can't help the way he is." "No need to get so worked up," I said. "You know I don't give a shit. What's a fucking wank between friends anyway?"

Pete Shotton, Nicholas Schaffner, John Lennon: In My Life, 1983

I think he was trying to find himself a… what he’d call a soulmate. Someone who had as mad ideas as he had. I think he felt that she had the talent… but that’s debatable. But he needed that— he didn’t need a ‘mumsie’ partner at that point. He needed a mate. And I think he actually said, at some stage, in an interview that, you know— She’s the nearest thing to a man — a mate; man — that he’s ever had in a woman.

Cynthia Lennon, interviewed by Alex Belfield for BBC Radio (2006).

Paul wrote to me from the Star Club in Hamburg once, a great letter, it even had doodles on the front of it, but it was stolen. He said that in one of the clubs one night John Lennon ended up with a stunning, exotic-looking woman—only to discover on closer inspection that she was a he, which all the other Beatles found hilarious.

Sue Johnston (actress), The Mirror. (August 23rd, 2011)

Though raised amid the same homophobia as his companions, John seemed totally unshocked by St Pauli’s abundant drag scene; indeed, he often seemed actively to seek it out. ‘There was one particular club he used to like,’ Tony Sheridan remembers, ‘full of these big guys with hairy hands, deep voices—and breasts. But they used to make an effort to talk English. There was something about the place that seemed to make John feel at home.’

In John Lennon: The Life by Philip Norman (2008).

“We’d read all these things about leather and we didn’t have any leather but I had my oilskins and we had some polythene bags from somewhere. We all dressed up in them and wore them in bed. John stayed the night with us in the same bed. I don’t think anything very exciting happened and we all wondered what the fun was in being ‘kinky’. It was probably more my idea than John’s.”

Royston Ellis

In the same book Pauline speculates, sensationally, that John and her brother had a homosexual relationship. ‘I have known in my heart for many years that Stuart and John had a sexual relationship,’ she writes, though she fails to provide any firm evidence. Pauline wonders whether this ‘relationship’ was the real cause of the antagonism between Paul and Stu.

Fab, An Intimate Life of Paul McCartney

Journalist & author comments on his sexuality:

“No, he wasn’t sexually attracted to Paul. Paul was very very pretty, but he actually wasn’t someone who made gay men fancy him. John was much more likely to make a gay man like Brian Epstein because John seemed so straight, there was nothing sort of girly about John at all. But John wanted to be, in his mind, a real artist, that is someone who painted and did sculpture. And he thought that a real artist or he called it a bohemian, should be open to all experiences. He should perhaps have a homosexual experience. Who was around? Paul was around. They used to share beds you know, in these cheap hotels when they would go around with the Beatles. There was never any question of Paul ever reciprocating such a thing, it was merely a thought that according to Yoko had flitted across John’s mind. Now John could use sexuality, I mean he did somewhat play on the fact that Brian Epstein, the Beatles manager, was in love with him you know, but it was just a game really with John.”

Philip Norman interview

"Yet even [John's resentment over Paul announcing the breakup first] does not explain his later remark to Yoko that no one had ever hurt him the way Paul hurt him. It almost suggests that, deep beneath the schoolboy friendship and the complementary musical brilliance, lay some streak of homosexual adoration that John himself never realised. He might have longed to get away from Paul, but he could never quite get over him."

Philip Norman, Shout!, 1981

And any mention of Paul brought a wintry bleakness to her face. 'John always used to say,' [Yoko] told me at one point, 'that no one ever hurt him the way Paul hurt him.' The words suggested a far deeper emotional attachment between the two than the world had ever suspected---they were like those of a spurned lover---and I naturally included them in my account of my visit for the Sunday Times. After it appeared, I returned to my London flat one evening to be told by my then girlfriend, ‘Paul, phoned you.’ She said he wanted to know what Yoko had meant and that he’d seemed upset rather than angry.

Paul McCartney: The Life - Philip Norman.

“If you had a choice, Eppy,” John said, “if you could press a button and be hetero, would you do it?” Brian thought for a moment. “Strangely, no,” he said. A little later a peculiar game developed. John would point out some passing man to Brian, and Brian would explain to him what it was about the fellow that he found attractive or unattractive. “I was rather enjoying the experience,” John said, “thinking like a writer all the time: I am experiencing this.” And still later, back in their hotel suite, drunk and sleepy from the sweet Spanish wine, Brian and John undressed in silence. “It’s okay, Eppy,” John said, and lay down on his bed. Brian would have liked to have hugged him, but he was afraid. Instead, John lay there, tentative and still, and Brian fulfilled the fantasies he was so sure would bring him contentment, only to awake the next morning as hollow as before.

Peter Brown, The Love You Make, 1983

“[John and Janov] talked…about Brian Epstein…‘He knew Brian had adored him, and there was a lot of guilt there about the way he'd depended on Brian yet mistreated him,’ Janov recalls. They talked about John's notorious Spanish holiday with Brian in 1963 and the (to John) insignificant physical encounter that had resulted. The more Janov heard about Brian, the more he longed to have had him as a patient. ‘God, that was a tragic story. There was someone who needed therapy even more than John did.’”

Phillip Normans book, John Lennon: The Life.

Whilst the Beatles had always been marketed as a heterosexual group - in contrast with the Stones, whose image was androgynous - they were sympathetic to the homosexual population. Lennon himself was alleged to have had affairs with both men and women, and although he never openly admitted it to me, his condemnation of Britain as a land which feeds on a homosexual subsculture persuades me at this late stage that he was speaking from experience. I am sure that the break-up of the Beatles, or, more specifically, of John and Paul, must have been more traumatic than any of us suspect.

Sandra Shevey, The Other Side of Lennon

‘OK: John Reid said that when we were in Boston with Elton and John in 1974, he couldn’t resist asking John whether the rumours about him and Epstein were true. This was in response to John having said to John Reid, “You’re the most intimidating man I’ve met since Brian Epstein.” And so John Reid, never knowingly one to miss an opportunity, said, “Did you ever have sex with Brian?” And John said, “Twice. Once to see what it was like, and once to make sure I didn’t like it.” ‘All these years, by the way, I have not wanted to be the guy who declared, “John Lennon and Brian Epstein had sex.” You can appreciate how I feel about this. Do we want the historical record to be accurate, or does John have a right to privacy? And would it upset Cynthia [by now deceased], or Julian? I don’t mind about Yoko, she’d probably think it was a great idea. Bisexuality, wooh.’ ‘Simon Napier-Bell said that both Epstein and John told him they did it in Spain,’ I said. ‘Ah, I’m not the only one. Good,’ replied Paul.

...

But then there were John’s liaisons with David Bowie, which David himself told me about. According to him, it happened on several occasions. He didn’t go into detail, nor did I press him, but he was perfectly open about it. About Mick Jagger, too, I told Paul. ‘Huh. I feel sort of left out,’ said Paul.

Paul Gambaccini, Lesley-Ann Jones - The Search for John Lennon

"That Bowie worshipped Lennon was no secret…They'd met in Los Angeles, [Bowie] told me, during John's Lost Weekend…The crazy pair went out to play, according to David, when John was on yet another break from May [Pang] and far away from Yoko. They gender bendered about, John indulging again that 'inner fag' of his… They later 'hooked up': 'There was a whore in the middle, and it wasn't either of us,' David smirked. 'At some point in the proceedings, she left. I think it was a she. Not that we minded.' By the time they made it back to New York, the ambisextrous pair were 'lifelong friends!"

Lesley-Ann Jones - The Search for John Lennon

Marriage, Divorce & replacing Paul with Yoko:

"I used my resentment and withdrawing from Paul and the Beatles and the relationship with Paul to write 'How Do You Sleep?'

John (Source: Bill Harry, The John Lennon Encyclopedia, 2001)

JOHN: In a marriage, or a love affair – when the seven-year-itch or the twelve-year (note: there is no such thing as the twelve year itch but guess how long J&P were together) or whatever these things that you have to go through – there comes a point where the marriage collapses because they can’t face that reality, and they go seeking what they thought they should be having, still, somewhere else. I get a new girl, it’ll all be like that again; I get a new boy… But for all marriages, all couples, it’ll all be the same again. But what you lose is what you put into that… relationship.

September, 1980

There seem to be certain cycles that relationships go through. And the critical points are at different parts of the different cycles, different points on the – if there’s a straight line, there are different points, you know? And the bit, the new way of talking is like, “Well, why have a relationship? We can just stop and get another one.” But the karmic joke about that is, that any new relationship, presuming you’re lucky enough to find a new relationship anywhere near the relationship that you’re giving up – or exchanging, or walking away from, or have destroyed by inattention or inadvertent or selfishness or whatever it is – that you have to go through the same thing again anyway. You reach the same point.

John Lennon, interview w/ David Sheff for Playboy. (September, 1980)

"I'd like to thank Elton and the boys for having me on tonight. We tried to think of a number to finish off with so I can get out of here and be sick, and we thought we'd do a number of an old estranged fiancé of mine called Paul."

John, introducing "I Saw Her Standing There" at the Thanksgiving show at Madison Square Garden in 1974

You know, John loved Paul. No doubt about it. I remember once he said to me, “I’m the only person who’s allowed to say things like that about Paul. I don’t like it when other people do.” He didn’t like if other people said nasty things about Paul. And he always referred to Paul as his estranged fiancé and things like that, like he did on that [live] record ‘I Saw Her Standing There’ with Elton in Madison Square Garden.

1990: Former Beatles publicist Tony King

TRYNKA: When The Beatles split, did you feel relief? YOKO: No. I always thought, “John won’t be doing this thing with The Beatles and eventually I can do my work too.” That was my plan. But suddenly he’s saying, “I burned my bridge with them, so now it’s you, okay?” I thought, “My God, he was getting the thrill of working with three very strong individuals, and now I have to take all that brunt.” He did put it that way; he was “riding on the boat called Paul, and now I’m going to ride on a boat called Yoko.”

Yoko Ono, interview w/ Paul Trynka for MOJO. (May, 2003)

“. . . I mean, I think really what it was, really all that happened was that John fell in love. With Yoko. And so, with such a powerful alliance like that, it was difficult for him to still be seeing me. It was as if I was another girlfriend, almost. Our relationship was a strong relationship. And if he was to start a new relationship, he had to put this other one away. And I understood that. I mean, I couldn’t stand in the way of someone who’d fallen in love. You can’t say, “Who’s this?” You can’t really do that. If I was a girl, maybe I could go out and… But you know I mean in this case I just sort of said, right – I mean, I didn’t say anything, but I could see that was the way it was going to go, and that Yoko would be very sort of powerful for him. So um, we all had to get out the way.”

Paul McCartney, interview with German tv program Exclusiv, April 1985.

BARROW: She was a very strong influence on John, and may well have been telling him that he could do best on his own, but I still think that on the back of John’s mind would be this sort of fascination with wanting to get back with the first girlfriend, if you’d like [laughs], and it was to get back with Paul that he had so much history with.

Tony Barrow, The Beatles’ press officer

"[Paul] said it was written about Julian. He knew I was splitting with Cyn and leaving Julian then. He was driving to see Julian to say hello. He had been like an uncle. And he came up with 'Hey Jude.' But I always heard it as a song to me. Now I'm sounding like one of those fans reading things into it...Think about it: Yoko had just come into the picture. He is saying 'Hey, Jude' - 'Hey, John.' Subconsciously, he was saying, 'Go ahead, leave me.' On a conscious level, he didn't want me to go ahead. The angel in him was saying 'Bless you.' The Devil in him didn't like it at all, because he didn't want to lose his partner."

John (Source: Playboy, 1980)

SALEWICZ: Well, I always found it interesting the fact that he got – I mean, it seemed too much like coincidence to me, the fact that he got married a week or month after you. You know what I mean? PAUL: Yeah. I think we spurred each other into marriage. I mean, you know. They were very strong together, which left me out of the picture. So I got together with Linda and then we got strong with our own kind of thing. And I used to listen to a lot of what they said. I remember him saying to me, “You’ve got to work at marriage,” which is something I still remember as a bit of advice. I still remember that. Um… And then yeah, I think they were a little bit peeved that we got married first. Probably. In a little way, you know, just minor jealousies. And so they got married. I don’t know if that’s – I mean, who knows… [inaudible] making it up, anyway.

September, 1986 (MPL Communications, London): journalist Chris Salewicz

“If you look at interviews and stuff with John, from around about that time he was in Imagine [documentary] he kind of admits that he’s having problems with himself. So, well, the first thing you do when you’re having problems with yourself is you bitch about someone else. And the closest person was me…He had a real go at me. I personally think it was ‘cause he was trying to clear the decks for Yoko. He’s got a new love, he’s trying to say to her, “Look, baby, I love you. I hate those guys.”

Paul McCartney

"The line [the walrus was Paul] was put in partly because I was feeling guilty because I was with Yoko and I was leaving Paul. It's a very perverse way of saying to Paul: 'here, have this crumb, this illusion, this stroke - because I'm leaving.'" -John

Playboy, 1980

JOHN: And throwing in the line “the Walrus was Paul” just to confuse everybody a bit more. And because I felt slightly guilty because I’d got Yoko, and he’d got nothing, and I was gonna quit. [laughs; bleak] And so I thought ‘Walrus’ has now become [in] meaning, “I am the one.” It didn’t mean that in the song, originally. It just meant I’m the – it could have been I’m the – “I’m The Fox Terrier,” you know. I mean, it’s just a bit of poetry.

August, 1980: John talks to Playboy writer David Sheff about ‘Glass Onion’.

"I started thinking, 'Well, if that's the case [not getting back together], I had better get myself together. I just can't let John control the situation and dump us as if we're the jilted girlfriends.'"

The Beatles, Anthology, 1995

“After we’d done the One To One concert film,” recalled Steve Gebhardt, “I remember John saying to me that the days of everything being Johnandyoko – one word – were over. I was shocked.” Ono completed her record, Approximately Infinite Universe, which was greeted more positively than her previous releases. Lennon did his best to publicise it, writing a personal note to the Capitol Records boss asking him to throw the company’s weight behind it. But in mid-January 1973 Lennon and Ono quarrelled publicly at another party. “I wish I was back with Paul,” Lennon reportedly said.

Peter Doggett, You Never Give Me Your Money: The Battle for the Soul of The Beatles. (2009)

YOKO: I think that it’s like [John] was married to Paul, and now he was married to me… So it was a situation that he didn’t feel like he wanted to go back, really. John had a lot of respect for Paul, and of course, love. But I would think that if the truth may be told, the love was lost on both ways. There were times that Paul did say a lot of strange things about John, so that I know that it wasn’t like Paul loved John but John didn’t love Paul, or John actually loved Paul but Paul didn’t. I mean, it was like a very healthy situation where they outgrew each other’s company. And only until John became what he is now – which is after John’s death that people started to revere John – it became an issue for Paul. Because you have to understand that table was turned many times. One, when John made the Jesus Christ remark, and Paul became virtually a leader. And John turned the table on Paul by becoming a partner with me, probably. But then the thing is, the table was turned again by Paul becoming extremely successful with Wings. So he was doing alright, while John did Some Time in New York City with me, and then followed that with Mind Games or something, you know. 1990: Yoko

“They loved each other more than most couples do, and when they split it was more wrenching than most divorces”

Beatles publicist Tony Barrow on Lennon and McCartney

““I’m sure that in the case of Paul there’s that feeling that I’m the woman who took away his partner – it’s like a divorce.””

Yoko Ono (You Never Give Me Your Money, Peter Doggett)

“On March 12, Paul married Linda Eastman at Marylebone Register Office in London, amid scenes of hysterical grief from his female fans. None of the other Beatles was present. The news reached John as he and Yoko were driving down to visit Aunt Mimi in Poole. Yoko’s divorce decree had become final a few weeks earlier, and, in a resurgence of Beatle copycat, John told her they, too, must get married as soon as possible”

Philip Norman, John Lennon: The life

“Then also we were like married, so you got the bitterness. It’s not a woman scorned this time, it’s two men scorned — probably even worse. And I had to make way for Yoko. My relationship with John could not have remained as it was and Yoko feel secure.”

Paul McCartney, Interview by Duncan Fallowell in the Chicago Tribune, October 14th, 1984

Knowing John so well, I believe that the only reason he picked Yoko was [he wanted] a negative reaction. I mean, it was purely a negative reaction because he couldn’t take any more girls in the world, actually. I mean, he knew that he could have any girl. And the girls, that were nice-looking—he couldn’t stand them. I mean, from morning to night, there were girls not boys—actually, running after them. We used to go to his house and think that we are in peace. Suddenly a girl with a broken leg is jumping over John’s fence to, to get an autograph. It was a pain in the neck. John wanted to be with a woman. But he needed as well very, very much a friend. He needed a male friend. And my opinion is that Yoko, he managed somehow to combine both. He had a fear for pretty women running after him. Yoko was not very pretty, uh, at all, and he replaced a male in his life plus a female.

Magic Alex, All You Need Is Love – Peter Brown & Steven Gaines

Jealousy regarding Paul Mccartney: I wouldn't consider any of this especially convincing on it's own, however John's consistent dislike for and rudeness towards Paul's partners is notable

I was a very possessive and jealous guy, and the lyrics explain that pretty clearly. Not just jealous towards Yoko, but towards everything, male and female – incredibly possessive.

1970 (audio snippet approx 2:06)

In an entry noting McCartney’s marriage to Linda Eastman, Lennon crossed out “wedding” and wrote “funeral”, the Observer said.

Associated Press: Lennon’s resentment of McCartney reflected in book notes. (July 20th, 1986)

Q: I saw that thing in The Observer the other week, about the manuscript of the Apple Beatles biography and the vitriolic comments John made in the margins. I think that shows the sort of pain he was going through. Look, he was a great guy, great sense of humour and I’d do it all again. I’d go through it all again, and have him slagging me off again just because he was so great; those are all the down moments, there was much more pleasure than has really come out. I had a wonderful time, with one of the world’s most talented people. We had all that craziness, but if someone took one of your wedding photos and put ‘funeral’ on it, as he did on that manuscript, you’d tend to feel a bit sorry for the guy. I’ll tell you what, if I’d ever done that to him, he would’ve just hit the roof. But I just sat through it all like mild-mannered Clark Kent Q: When did you actually get a perspective on it? I still haven’t. It’s still inside me. John was lucky. He got all his hurt out. I’m a different sort of a personality. There’s still a lot inside me that’s trying to work it out. And that’s why it’s good to see that wedding-funeral bit, because I started to think, ‘Wait a minute, this is someone who’s going over the top. This is paranoia manifesting itself.’ And so my feeling is just like it was at the time, which is like, He’s my buddy, I don’t really want to do anything to hurt him, or his memory, or anything. I don’t want to hurt Yoko. But, at the same time, it doesn’t mean that I understand what went down.

Paul McCartney: An Innocent Man? (October, 1986)

Q: "But for a while you didn't get along with Linda." JOHN: "We all got along well with Linda." Q: "When did you first meet her?" JOHN: "The first time was after that Apple press conference in America. We were going back to the airport and she was in the car with us. I didn't think she was particularly attractive. A bit too tweedy, you know. But she sat in the car and took photographs and that was it. And the next minute she's married him."

John Lennon Interview: St. Regis Hotel, New York City 9/5/1971

One night John came in and some chick was in bed with Paul and he cut all her clothes up with a pair of scissors, and was stabbing the wardrobe. Everybody was lying in bed thinking, ‘Oh fuck, I hope he doesn’t kill me.’ [He was] a frothing mad person—he knew how to have ‘fun.’

George Harrison, c/o Derek Taylor, Fifty Years Adrift. (1984)

"One time Paul had a chick in bed and John came in and got a pair of scissors and cut all her clothes into pieces and then wrecked the wardrobe. He got like that occasionally, it was because of the pills and being up too long."

George Harrison (Source: The Beatles, Anthology, 1995)

"I remember I had a girlfriend called Celia. I must have been 16 or 17, about the same age as her...we went out one evening and for some reason John tagged along, I can't remember why it was. I think he'd thought I was going to see him, I thought I'd cancelled it and he showed up at my house. But he was a mate, and he came on a date with this Celia girl, and at the end of the date she said, 'Why did you bring that dreadful guy?' And of course I said, 'Well, he's all right really.' And I think, in many ways, I always found myself doing that. It was always, 'Well, I know he was rude; it was funny, though, wasn't it?'"

Paul, Barry Miles, Many Years From Now, 1997

I came for dinner, and I was the only girl there. John definitely didn't like that. He didn't like me being there at ALL. He was mean and sarcastic. As far as he was concerned, I had no business being invited to dinner with the four of them. For him this was an exclusive boys' club. He was purposely making me feel uneasy. At one point, the boys were handing around a scrapbook -- looking at pictures of that first tour. John made some snide comment like, "What is SHE doing here?" I got the idea that he thought Paul was an idiot to take a girl so seriously he'd actually invite her to dinner, when all he really needed to do was fuck her AFTER dinner.

Peggy Lipton, Breathing Out, 2005

Whether it was her cool confidence or her posh accent, something about Jane goaded John to direct his caustic eyes in her direction. “Well. Let’s all play a question-and-answer-game!” He announced a bit too cheerily. Then he turned to Jane. “So tell us, luv, how do girls play with themselves?” Silence. Jane’s eyes widened. Paul, sitting close to her on the floor, put his hand in the air, as if he could wave John’s words back into his mouth. “John! John!” he yelped. “Stop it. You can’t do that.” John just smiled, peering intently through his glasses. “No, you can tell us. Come on. We all want to know, come on.” Paul, looking aghast, shook his head vehemently. “John. For christsakes, John.”

Peter Ames Carlin, Paul McCartney: A Life

JOHN: So it was always the family thing, you see. If Jane [Asher] was to have a career, then that’s not going to be a cozy family, is it? All the other girls were just groupies mainly. And with Linda not only did he have a ready-made family, but she knows what he wants, obviously, and has given it to him. The complete family life. He’s in Scotland. He told me he doesn’t like English cities anymore. So that’s how it is. MCCABE: So you think with Linda he’s found what he wanted? JOHN: I guess so. I guess so. I just don’t understand… I never knew what he wanted in a woman because I never knew what I wanted. I knew I wanted something intelligent or something arty, whatever it was. But you don’t really know what you want until you find it. So anyway, I was very surprised with Linda. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d married Jane Asher, because it had been going on for a long time and they went through a whole ordinary love scene. But with Linda it was just like, boom! She was in and that was the end of it.

John Lennon, interview w/ Peter McCabe and Robert Schonfeld. (September, 1971)

Random cute things: flirting etc

I remember we were going down to the studio [...] and there was a great crowd pressing against the car. John was sitting in the back and he said, “Push Paul out first. He’s the prettiest.”

Victor Spinetti, in the documentary You Can’t Do That! The Making of ‘A Hard Day’s Night’ (1995).

We were away. The boys had relaxed. As we walked off to do the next scene, I heard them joshing each other, like schoolboys on the way to class. 'Are those jeans tight, Paul?' That was John. 'What do you mean tight?' 'I can see your suspender belt through 'em and your stockings. You've got ladders in them.'

Up Front: His Strictly Confidential Autobiography by Victor Spinetti

“I could even hear what they were saying off-mike; ‘Oh Paul, you’re so cute tonight.’ was met with the reply ‘Sod off, Lennon.’”

Joan Baez on accompanying the Beatles to their concert in Red Rocks Amphitheatre, Denver. 26 August 1964

To Lennon, [Paul] was "cute, and didn’t he know it," a born performer who was also a "thruster" and an "operator" behind the scenes.

Christopher Sandford, Paul McCartney, 2005

In a late wee-hour-of-the-morning talk, he once told me, ‘I’m just like everybody else Harry, I fell for Paul’s looks.”

Harry Nilsson speaking about John Lennon

HARRY: Someone told me a few minutes ago they saw John walking on the street [once] wearing a sign saying – a button, rather, saying ‘I Love Paul’. And this girl who told me that said she asked him, “Why are you wearing the button that says ‘I Love Paul’?” He said, “Because I love Paul.” [laughs]

February 17th, 1984: Harry Nilsson

PAUL: It’s like, uh, “We have to get back.” “We’re on our way home.” JOHN: Yeah. PAUL: There’s a story. There’s another one – ‘Don’t Let Me Down’. “Oh darling, I’ll never let you down.” Like we’re doing— JOHN: Yeah. It’s like you and me are lovers. PAUL: [reserved] Yeah. [pause] JOHN: We’ll just have to camp it up for those two. PAUL: Yeah. Well, I’ll be wearing my skirt for the show, anyway.

Get Back sessions

PAUL: Okay, “two of us riding nowhere” that’s as if…we’re like…two, but then “we’re on our way home”  JOHN: It’s like we’re like a couple of queens. PAUL: Yeah. Well, you know. Well, I mean, that’s…  JOHN: We’re a couple of queens… PAUL: That’s just too bad. Unless you want to get Paul and Paula in. Poetic license, John. JOHN: You’re telling me, Paul.

Get Back sessions

[disgustingtwitches]

MDNI

I just want somebody to treat me like somebody

Neighbor!König x reader where you struggle with seasonal depression during the winter, that is only being worsened by moving to a new city without friends or family. Then you meet König, a kind neighbor who offers you support and much needed companionship. König helps you because he's a good man. He helped people. That's what he did. Made him feel like God's gift to Earth.

[DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, self harm, depression]

The winter drew out the worst in you. Seasonal depression. It was always there; just got worse around the holidays. So cliché. Moving to a new city and having zero friends or family certainly didn't help. Isolated and too depressed to go out and meet anyone. You were going crazy. Locked yourself in your bedroom with blackout curtains, crying for hours on end. Never good enough. Pathetic. Useless, useless, useless.

Your chest ached so bad you felt like you were having a heart attack sometimes. Despair swallowed you whole. You did the only thing that made you feel better. Even if you didn't do it for years, today was especially unbearable. Finding a sharpener and taking the razor out, you drag it along your skin. Snot and tears running down your face. Pain helped. You needed more. So you do it more. It was clean lines at first. Horizontal. Up your thighs. On the outside of your forearms. Up the side of your hands. It was a comforting suffering. Then vertical cuts over the horizontal ones. Mortification of the flesh. Cuts on the wrists. Not enough to do any actual damage. You learned from last time. Didn't wanna die, just wanted to not wake up the next day. A just punishment for being so unbearable to everyone, even yourself. You cringe at the way you liked watching yourself bleed, made you feel like some edgy teenager. Something was satisfying in it though.

You barely leave the apartment, only going out to work or get groceries. Always wore long sleeves. Couldn't hide the cuts on your hands though. It made your coworkers uncomfortable. It was tense whenever you came around, but nobody said anything. Why would they care about you? You don't even care about yourself.

You walk home one particularly hard day after a customer yelled at you and someone else pointed out the cuts that peeked out from under your sleeve. It starts pouring as you head home. You run as fast as you can to your apartment complex, getting cold and wet. What a fucking miserable place. Always raining. Walking up the stairs and fumbling with your keys. You drop them. It's too much. Your whole world crumbles. Tears well up in your eyes as you scramble to pick up your keys to open the door, hands trembling.

"Are you okay?"

You snap your head in the direction of the Teutonic voice. Impossibly tall, burly guy. Keys in his hands, ready to open the door to his place. A neighbor. You never saw him no matter how many times you passed each other, you were too miserable to notice honestly. Head always down, people mostly gave you uncomfortable looks anyways if they even noticed you.

He noticed you though. You radiate sadness and despair. He can almost see the perpetual rain cloud that looms over you. Your presence is heavy. Watching you almost break down was finally enough to make him say something.

"I'm fine."

You respond, choking back tears. This close to full-blown sobbing. You were not fine. Something about his words makes you ache. Maybe it reminds you that he's the only person to check in on you since you got here. You wanted pain, enjoyed it even. But it was distressing this time, made you kind of scared of how far it would take you this time. Even if it was three simple words, they comfort you. You need that from somebody. Anybody.

There was an uncomfortable silence as you stood in front of your doors. You look up into his eyes. They looked tired, like he worked long and demanding hours. He can't help but feel empathy for you. It was clear you were suffering. Defeated eyes begged, 'save me, save me, save me'. Can't help himself anymore. He helped people. That's what he did. Made him feel like God's gift to Earth. At least he was doing something good. He clears his throat.

"Kaffee?"

He offers. You bite your lip, never wanting to be a bother. Not wanting to take up space or feel vulnerable in front of another person. But you need this. More than anything. You've been screaming and screaming for someone to help you. It's enough to drive anyone mad.

"Alright."

You turn to him, as he unlocks his door, and lets you step in first.

"Shoes, bitte."

You comply, looking around. Spotless. Looks like something out of a magazine. Not a single thing looks out of place. Has to have OCD or something. He ushers you to the kitchen and shuffles around, making your drinks.

"How do you take yours?"

He grabs milk from the fridge, bending his imposing frame oddly.

"Sweet and light."

There are no more words said. He sets down the cup in front of you. Leans back in a chair on the other side of the table, sipping coffee. He examines you. You avoid his gaze. Both of you shift in your seats, awkward. Both of you are afraid to say something. It's like this until you finish your drink, setting the cup down.

"Thanks."

You instinctively pull on your sleeves to cover your hands.

"Natrülich. Anytime."

There was more that he wanted to say. Couldn't find the words though. What was he supposed to say to a stranger? It was enough for you though. At least in that moment. Someone noticed you. Made sure you were ok. Kind of. You stand and slip your shoes back on before walking to your apartment. His door was still open. You play with your keys, hoping there is more to be said.

"You can take my number if you'd like."

He pulls out his phone as you turn around, trading contact info before fucking off to your dismal abode. He watches you disappear into your dark apartment. Shame, such a pretty young thing in shambles.

You curl up in bed in the dark, the usual. Holding your phone, staring at the screen. König. Never heard that name before. Look it up out of curiosity. The fuck? Did he seriously put his name down as king? You're just kind of confused staring at your phone for a while before crying yourself to sleep like always.

Ever since he made himself known, you'd notice him. Going up the stairs, heavy steps in his steel-toe boots. Sometimes you'd be getting home at the same time. Sometimes getting your mail as he was checking his. Hm.

Always quick 'hi's' and 'bye's'. You've yet to text him. You're sure he just gave you his number because he felt bad. Maybe obligated? Whatever. You were in the middle of a breakdown, cutting up yourself. You get a ding from your phone. An unfamiliar sound. You never get texts. Or calls. You look at the screen. König. Still can't believe he typed that.

Hope you are doing well.

He knows you're not. He can see it in your face whenever you walk by; eyes sunken from the constant tears, fresh and old wounds peeking out from under your sleeves. Looked like you were withering away even more so than before.

Thanks

Intrusive thoughts flood your brain. Never good enough. He just pities you. Maybe can't stand the way you make him uncomfortable whenever you pass by with your insufferable self.

Kaffee?

He doesn't know what else to say. Doesn't want to intrude. Can't help himself. Every time he sees you he aches a little.

Sure

You wash your bleeding arms before slapping some gauze on them and throwing on a hoodie. You're in his place again, this time in the pristine living room. Him on a recliner, you on the couch. He clears his throat.

"So, what do you do?"

His voice trying to be as soft as he can be. He's intimidating standing, but he tries to be more mollified sitting down across from you. You stare at the floor.

"Barista."

You're not one for conversation. Neither is he.

"You?"

Your voice a morose whisper.

"Freelancer."

His answer is purposely ambiguous. You're curious, but don't push. You set your coffee on the accent table next to you. He stands before you even put it down, placing a coaster under your cup. How anal.

"Do you want to..."

He racks his brain. He's not one to host. Doesn't know what to do.

"...watch TV?"

It's the only thing he can think of.

"Sure."

Better than being alone, you reckon. He asks what you want to watch. You think for a moment. You haven't had any interest in anything lately, nevermind sitting down and watching something. Suddenly, something springs in your head. It's ridiculous. He wouldn't want to watch that. Fuck it.

"50 First Dates."

It was what you watched when you were younger. Put it on whenever you felt down. 'Gossamer thin,' one critic said 'but lots of fun nevertheless.' His face is neutral.

"Never heard of that movie."

He types it out in the search bar. Of course he hasn't, must've been at least 20 when it came out, definitely too grown and not the type to watch shit like this. You were kind of regretting it now. What a cringey fucking movie. He puts it on. It's kind of embarrassing watching it. There are no words exchanged. Eventually, you stop caring about what he thinks; you just appreciate the movie. There's a familiar emotion as it finishes. Always adored the ending, made you feel good. Or at least better than before.

"Interesting."

He says, impassive. Eyes glued to the screen. You feel the need to defend yourself but don't.

"Well..."

You stand; wanting to crawl under your covers and dissipate from humiliation. He follows suit, walking you out of his apartment.

"Thank you for coming."

He says in a way you're not sure you believe.

"Anytime."

As you close your door, you kick yourself. Dumbass, he's never gonna let your weird ass back in his place ever again. He closes his door. Shame, such a pretty young thing in shambles.

~

You go about your monotonous days, mopey as ever. It's like you were stuck in your very own cruel and dreary Groundhog Day. A week goes by. Ding

Hope you are doing well.

Wow, he really must feel bad for you.

Thanks

You could try to be more amiable for someone who gives you the time of day.

Would you like to come over for dinner?

Dinner, how intimate. Your thumbs fidget over the screen, keyboard awaiting your response.

Sure

You don't even attempt to dress nice, just don the same hoodie and baggy pants combo you always do.

It's a quiet dinner. Steak and potatoes. Probably the most complex thing this man can whip up. Still, it's better than the junk you've been shoveling down your gob.

"Thanks."

You say between bites.

"Natrülich."

He responds. As if this was a common occurrence between the both of you.

"Any hobbies?"

He's cutting his steak. It bleeds, practically still mooing. Thankfully, yours is cooked more thoroughly.

"Not really. You?"

You chew your steak. God, you're such a loser.

"Reading. Cycling. Bird watching."

He states, cutting his potatoes in quarters. Quite the character, this one. Whatever, it was nice to not eat alone for once. Better than eating delivered fast food in the dark like some gremlin. Dinner is finished and you didn't even have a full conversation, probably something you both preferred. He waits for you to close your door before he closes his.

Something made you feel better temporarily as you sat in his apartment. Some company was good for you, as much as you despised feeling burdensome.

It became a weekly routine for the two of you; no contact until you get an invite, eat dinner in silence, maybe a nonintrusive question, then you scurry back to your apartment. You looked forward to it, as predictable it was. One day he says something off-script while cutting his roasted potatoes in quarters,

"Two peanuts were walking down the road. One was assaulted."

You stop chewing, staring at your plate. You sympathetically force out a chuckle. He knows it's disingenuous. Kind of appreciates you entertaining him, though. You think the same. Leave. He cleans up, thinking about that splotch of blood on the sleeve of your hoodie. Shame, such a pretty young thing in shambles.

~

The coldest months of the year touch down, they're harsher then the winters your used to. You're freezing, even when your heat is turned up as high as it can go. One morning you wake up, can see your own breath. Heater fucking shit itself. You call the landlord, says he'll get it fixed asap. You trudge to work, same shit different day. Get home. Still fucking freezing, somehow even colder. Layer every blanket you have on the bed and slip under them with the warmest clothes you own. Try to get warm, doesn't work. Makes you wanna cry; it's the only thing you can think of doing at this point. God must love to see you suffer, it's the only answer to why you have such a shitty life. You just wanna jump off a bridge. Ding

You're in front of his door faster than usual, still wearing layers of clothing. Still numbingly cold. He opens the door, confused look on his face. You can feel the warmth radiating from his place.

"Heaters broken."

Your tone is even more than defeated than usual. You shuffle into his place and strip down to your hoodie and pants. He folds and places each article of clothing on the couch. Kind of feel bad for making him clean up after you. Kind of too downtrodden to care. He serves up something different. Soup?

"Something more hearty for the cold."

He states as he places a bowl infront of you. Red meat with potatoes and some other vegetables. Same thing he usually cooks but in a soup form. You appreciate it, very comforting. Avoiding eye contact as usual, you eat. Only sound is your spoons hitting the ceramic bowls.

"You could sleep here. Until the heating is fixed."

He offers, still looking at his bowl. You look up at him.

"I wouldn't want to be a bother."

You really didn't. Plus, he works so hard to make his place perfect. Wouldn't want to mess that up.

"No bother. Really.'

He keeps eating. He knows you are alone. Knows you have no one to turn to. He helped people. That's what he did. Made him feel like God's gift to Earth.

You contemplate. Would you rather freeze to death? Hell no.

"Thank you."

That's as close to a yes you can say. He nods, grabs the plates and cleans his kitchen. You walk back to your place; grabbing a toothbrush and clothes to sleep in, stuffing it all in a tote. It's weird being in his place after dinner; can't describe it really, just feels different. He places some blankets and a pillow on the couch. You change into some plaid sweats and a long sleeve shirt.

"Goodnight, Fräulein."

A hint of awkwardness in his voice.

"Goodnight."

You reply, lying on the couch and trying to make yourself comfortable. Little early to be going to bed but whatever. Guess that's what people his age do? Sleep comes easier than usual.

~

You wake up, stand, and stretch. He's sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee, and reading the news from his Kindle. Watches you reach your arms above your head, the dimples on your back peeking out from under your shirt.

"Morgen, Fräulein."

He greets you. You wonder how long he's been up. Didn't wake you up walking around.

"Good morning."

Your voice raspy, sitting across from him. You're not wearing a bra: never do when you sleep. He can tell, tries not to make it obvious.

"Kaffee?"

He stands, not waiting for an answer.

"Mhm."

You reach your hands out as he places a warm cup in your hand. He always made it just how you liked it. Hm.

You have to get ready for work. He hands you a towel and starts the shower. You lock yourself in the bathroom, the steam warm and inviting. You forgot to bring your own shampoo or body wash, great. Just use whatever he has. It seems expensive, hope he doesn't mind. First time seeing a man use real shampoo and conditioner, not 3-in-1. Scrub down with his body wash. Smells like fucking heaven. Floral with a hint of...saltwater? Look at the bottle, "Un Jardin sur la Lagune," sounds about right. "By Hermès", what the fuck? This shit is practically liquid gold. Guess it's befitting for a guy that calls himself king. Finish getting ready. Before you walk out the door, he calls out from the kitchen.

"Text me when you're headed back, ja?"

You nod and assure him you will. Walking to the coffee shop, you think about him. You don't really know what to make of him. Feeling his presence in the other room made it a little easier to sleep though. And now you smell like him. It's such a subtle, pleasant scent, kind of soothing. The day goes by a little faster, customers are less agitating, aroma of coffee is replaced with his. Hm.

~

The walk back is pleasant, as cold as it is. Being in his place instead of the dark abyss you call home was...you can't put a word to it. All you know is that it felt warm. Enter his place, he left the door unlocked for you. Dinner is already on the table. He'd make such a wonderful housewife, you joke to yourself.

"Abend, Fräulein."

He greets nonchalantly.

"Evening, König."

You cringe at saying his 'name'. Swear you see the corner of his mouth twitch. Dinner is less awkward than usual.

"Anything from the landlord?"

He grabs your bowl once you're done.

"Oh, no. I should check, right?"

It slipped your mind. Maybe he's politely saying, 'get the fuck out'. You call the landlord. It rings for a while.

"Calling my guy tomorrow."

Was his response. Didn't really sound like he cared. Didn't even really sound like he was gonna do that. You sigh.

"You can withhold rent if he keeps this up, report him to the proper authorities."

He says serious, almost frustrated. You take note of that.

"I promise I'll be out of your hair soon enough."

Your tone dismal as always. This situation really made you feel so burdensome. He stopped for a moment, staring at the wall infront of the sink.

"It's no issue, really."

He wanted to say, stay. Stay until you feel less broken. Stay until you feel like you can stand on your own two feet. Stay until your wounds heal over and fade away. He helped people. That's what he did. Made him feel like God's gift to Earth.

He looked over to you as you fiddled with the cuff of your hoodie. Shame, such a pretty young thing in shambles.

~

You were lounging on the couch, him on the recliner. You were scrolling mindlessly through one of the many social media apps you have. He was lost in some book that looked heavy and boring. This was pleasant. Better than the pit of despair your apartment is. You look over your phone. Never really did get a good look at him. Sleeves rolled up to his elbows from when he was doing the dishes earlier; nails pristine but with hands of a working man, large and definitely strong. Knuckles dark as if he fought a lot in a past life. Veins prominent on the back of his hand, they run up his forearm. You know they climb up his biceps. You picture it. Hm.

~

The next week passes by fast. Stopped cutting for the sole reason of being under someone else's roof. Only cried every other day instead of every other hour. Did it in the shower either before or after work. He noticed, of course, just bit his tongue.

"The landlord hasn't been picking up. Gonna try to reach out to the Tenants' Association."

You spoon hot goulash into your mouth.

"Gut."

He nods, sleeves rolled up again to not get sauce on his cuffs.

Still feeling weird about this whole thing, wondering when he'll get sick of this whole charity case situation. You always walk back to the apartment thinking this will be the time your stuff is outside of his locked door. Not like you'll be homeless or anything. Just sucked back into the ninth circle of hell that is your apartment.

"Would you like to watch a movie, Fräulein?"

He grabs the dishes and washes them.

"Sure."

You wonder if you'll have to pick again. Maybe you'll choose something less juvenile. You settle into your usual spots in the living room.

"I think you will like this one."

He stares at the TV, avoiding eye contact. He types into the search bar. '13 going on 30'. You're kind of embarrassed that he clocked you as the sappy romcom loser you are. You wonder if he watched this before. Definitely not. Did he try to find something you'd like? The thought makes you feel odd. You watch the film in silence, a small smile crosses your face at the end. Hm.

"Did you enjoy yourself?"

He always spoke so proper, guess that's just how Germans talk.

"Very much, thank you."

You try not to sound like your usual sad self. A flicker of some emotion dances across his eyes. He stands and walks to his room.

"Goodnight, Fräulein."

You settle into the couch.

"Good night, König."

~

Today was your day off, you wanted to be productive; wash your clothes, go grocery shopping, maybe help clean the apartment up.

"You are a guest. I'll take care of everything, it's my apartment."

His tone is firm, leaving no room for argument. Let's you put your dirty clothes in the washer, but that's about it. He dusts, sweeps, mops. Cleans every surface possible, down to the last detail. You're just kind of sat there, feeling useless. He waves you over once your clothes are done drying, dumping your clothes on his bed. This is your first time seeing his bedroom. Just as pristine as the rest of his place.

"I made some space for you."

He slides open a drawer. You were about to say something, but he kind of stares at you in a way that silences you. He leaves to the kitchen. You fold your clothes, putting them away as neat as you can. Once your done you turn to leave. You notice that there are no pillows on his bed.

"We can go to the store together, if you'd like."

He offers, sliding into his jacket. You nod, throwing some warmer clothes on. You're out the house, headed to the grocery store. Walking next to him made you realize how huge this man was. You wondered how you looked from his perspective. You follow him around the store like a lost puppy.

"You can grab something if you'd like."

He says as he grabs a bag of potatoes. You walk off, trying to give him some space. It must be annoying to have some sad, strange woman in your house; using your expensive soap, breathing down your neck, eating your food.

You don't know what you want. Whatever he makes is good enough. More than that. You grab some brownie mix. Maybe you'll bake him something. As soon as you know it, you're back at his place.

"Brownies, ja?"

He pointed out as he put away the food.

"Was gonna make some tonight. For you."

You tell him, watching him from the kitchen table. He pauses for a moment.

"Danke schön, Fräulein."

He finishes putting the groceries away, returning his reusable bags back into the pantry. You face each other. Both of you getting a better look at each others faces. Those sleepy eyes of his accentuated by long lashes, subtle and light scars scattered across his face, stubble that looked like it would feel like fine grit sandpaper. Hm.

He clears his throat as he walks to the living room, sitting down to read. You don't really know what to do with yourself, scrolling through your phone all the time is a little depressing. Guess you'll just start baking. Might be a little early, but fuck it. Standing in his kitchen you look around, you don't even know where he put the brownie mix. You open cabinets and drawers, shuffling around.

"Fräulein?"

He startles you, standing at the entrance of the kitchen. He can be surprisingly quiet when he wants to be.

"Oh, I just wanted to start baking..."

You weren't sure if he wanted to let you do that. Might make too much of a mess. He shrugs and maneuvers around the kitchen, reaching over you to grab a bowl. You weren't even necessarily small, but you still dwarfed him.

"Here, Fräulein."

He sets everything up on the counter.

"Thank you."

You put everything together, try not to make a mess. Baking tray in the oven. Wait. Back on the couch, scrolling through your phone. He reads his book, peeking up inconspicuously. He sees your arms for the first time. You rolled them up while baking. He tries not to react. It's more than he expected, you're littered with gashes. Catches him off guard. You blink, feeling more exposed than usual. Quickly cover up your arms. He goes back to his book. Shame, such a pretty young thing in shambles.

Dinner is quiet, you know he saw your cuts. Made you feel weird. Ashamed. You go to sleep, thinking about how you lay on the only pillow he has in this place. Hm.

~

Lying in his bed, door locked. He stares at the ceiling while he fucks his hand. Always did it when you showed any appreciation; a simple 'thank you' or a fake smile when he tells a shitty joke. Then you made him fucking brownies? Gott im himmel, that made him so hard he got dizzy. Imagines your sweet lips curling up into a smile while looking up at him before you show him how grateful you really are. He helped people. That's what he did. Made him feel like God's gift to Earth.

~

You wake up the next morning, same routine as usual. Coffee, shower, work. Tenants' Association gets back to you. It took them long enough. They reached out to your landlord, chewed his ass out. Heat should be back on by tomorrow the latest. Realize what this means. You kind of don't want to go back to your place. Feel like you'll just slide back into your old ways. But you can't stay at his place forever. No matter how much he says it's ok. Walking back home, you decide not to tell him about the fixed heater for another couple of days. While making dinner, König heard the maintenance guys walk into your place. Disappointment washes over him. A few minutes after they leave your place, you walk into his.

"Schnitzel."

He says, waiting for you to take a seat. Something new? Looks delicious, take a bite. It is.

"It's really good."

You devour it, really is comforting. Tastes like home somehow. He watches you tear into the meal as if it would run away from you. He clenches his jaw, swallowing.

"You like it, Fräulein?"

His hands lay on his thighs under the table.

"Love it, thank you."

You quickly look up at him and smile.

"Natrülich, Fräulein."

He digs his fingers into his thighs; wanting to milk this as much for as long as he can while he still has the chance. He's going to miss this. He starts washing the dishes.

"Hear anything from the landlord?"

Wonders when you'll break the news to him.

"Oh...no."

You reply casually while freaking out inside, hoping he doesn't notice you're lying. He avoids looking at you, embarrassingly leaky tip tucked up into his waistband under a conveniently long sweater. He subtly grinds against the counter.

"Would you like to watch a movie?"

He always sounded so polite, so disarming. You nod and change into your pajamas, sitting on the couch. He brings over a hot chocolate. You take it, looking at his long, thick fingers and veiny hands. Fucking delicious. Hm.

"You shouldn't have, really."

You flashed a small smile at him. His eyes were soft, stared right into yours. This was the longest you two ever made eye contact for. Didn't even feel awkward doing it. You sit through another romcom, a warm feeling washes over you.

"I really appreciate everything you do for me, König. I can't thank you enough, really."

You can't imagine why he's been so kind to you, but you're grateful for it. Makes you wanna stay forever.

"You can..."

He starts, shifting in his recliner.

"...you can stay for as long as you like, you know?"

His voice a little shaky. You might actually take him up on his offer. So what if you depended on him? He seems to like it. (He fucking loves it.) He wants to help you. (He wants to fuck your brains out.) He's just a man with a heart of gold. (He's an egotistical freak who gets off on playing hero.)

"I'd like that."

You finally respond, leaning back into the couch and relaxing. A weight lifting off your shoulders. He shows off a soft smile, the corners of his eyes crease. Hm.

~

"Breaking the lease would be cheaper than continuing to pay rent, I'll help you cover that."

He says nonchalantly while handing you your coffee the next morning. You blinked. This is a lot all at once...

"Oh, I couldn't possibly-"

"Let me help you, bitte? It's really no issue at all."

His eyes were so kind, it made you feel so warm and safe. How could you turn down his help now? There was an overwhelming feeling. It's been building up since the first time he talked to you. A tightness in your chest. You felt indebted to him. More than indebted. You owed him so much. In all honesty? You owed him your life.

"I really can't thank you enough...'

His jaw clenched as cleared his throat and leaned back into the chair.

"Letting me help you is all the thanks I need, Fräulein."

Something in his eyes flicker though, it was unsettling. You shrug it off. He helped people. That's what he did. Made him feel like God's gift to Earth.

~

By the next week, you sold most of your furniture and moved the rest of your things into his flat. He picked where everything went though, and why not? It was his apartment and he had a place for everything. If he didn't, he'd make space. You brought up the idea of splitting rent or paying utilities. He waved it off,

"Absolutely not, save your money."

Another week of sleeping on the couch has started messing with your back, so naturally he makes you sleep in his bed while he's on the couch. But a man of his stature and age? After the fourth day on the couch, his whole body was shot. Constantly stretching, groaning when bending over, taking paracetamol as often as he can.

"You can sleep in the bed, I'll take the couch."

You offer while he handed you your tea one night.

"Nonsense. That is unthinkable."

He rolls his head side to side, stretching his neck. You bite your lip. He sips his tea.

"We can...we can share the bed."

You look up at him through your lashes, coy. He nearly chokes,

"Out of the question."

His ears burn.

"Fine, let me... Can I give you a massage?"

~

He's face down on the bed while you're on your knees next to him, hands kneading broad toned shoulders. Hm. You tug at his shirt.

"Take this off, can't give you a proper massage like this."

You feel kinda perverted, wanting an excuse to see what's been under those sweaters and button ups. He puts up a half-hearted fight before taking off his sweater and undershirt. Scars litter his body, some silver and flat, others dark and raised.

"Freelancer, huh?"

You run your fingers across the biggest one, it runs diagonally from his right shoulder down to the left side of his waist.

"Jein..."

He replies uncomfortably, voice barely above a whisper.

"Turn off the lights, Fräulein?"

Less of a request than it was him begging. You nod, complying. The moonlight illuminates the room in a blueish hue. You massage him, his skin covered with bumps and divots that feel like braille under your fingers. Hands run from up his back, down his arms, and back up to his neck. He turns over, eyes shining up at you. Soft touches on his chest and face, day old stubble across his jaw. You feel your heart beating out of your chest. Hm.

One soft, hesitant kiss that turns into two, then three. Then, it deepens, getting more desperate. Big, rough hands placed on the back of your neck and waist. Soft breaths and moans fill the room. Sit right on him, hips grinding against his. Your cheap denim rubbing his expensive linen silk. Half lidded stares and panting while you tear your shirt off. That makes him buck his hips up just so he can watch your chest jump. Your bottoms come off first, then his. You take a sharp breath in while you watch his dick spring up, slapping his stomach.

He just smiles down at you, admiring how your body looks. You freeze, not sure how to move forward with...that. He takes charge, sitting up and manhandling you, pinning you down and licking your inner thighs. He wraps his arms around your legs, hands locked in front of your hips. It starts with soft, almost ticklish licks. Then he buries himself into you. It's wet, a little colder than your radiating heat, dizzying, and delicious. Hm.

He pulls away, chest rising and falling fast. Lines himself up with you, looks into your eyes, searching for consent before moving forward. You nod eagerly. The tip alone makes you gasp, he shoots his eyes back up to your face.

"Keep going, I'm fine."

You assured him. He pushes himself in as far as you can take it, eyebrows furrowed. He made a face that you would laugh at if you weren't trying so hard to adjust to him. You gripped the sheets. He started moving slowly, groans escaping him.

"You are wonderful...so tight and soft...all of this, just for me, ja?"

"Uh-huh..."

Your mouth ajar, eyes rolled back. You'd agree to anything this man said right now if he kept fucking you like this. His hips moved faster. And faster. And harder. And harder. Your toes curl and back arches, close to the edge. His eyes are wide.

"Say thank you for every time I make you come, ja?"

It was less a request and more of a demand, the softness in his voice gone. You just agreed breathlessly, you'd say thank you happily and mean it. You haven't came in so long, the feeling of pleasure was almost foreign to you. He dug right up into your sweet spot, long forearms on either side of your head. He fucked that orgasm right out of you.

"Thankyouthankyouthankyou-"

"Mhm."

Foolish smile across his face, reveling in the moment. He helped people. That's what he did. Made him feel like God's gift to Earth.

You spasmed around him. He kept going. And going. And going. He makes you thank him until your voice is hoarse, until sweat is dripping off the both of you, until you're sure the both of you are sore. Before you know it he pulls out of you and kneels right next to your head,

"Open, mein Engel."

He pants while pulling your head to his lap. You wrap your pretty mouth just barely around his tip and gag when he pushes down. His hands shake and grip the back of your neck hard while he spills a heavy, hot load down your throat. He moans when you look up at him, pull his dick out your mouth with a satisfying pop, and smile. He admires the way you flop on your back, drool down your chin, hair a mess, legs splayed and shaking. Shame, such a pretty young thing in shambles.

[sleepy-vix]

journal/braindump 26/3/24

i hope life gets better soon. school is so miserable and weird and i just constantly feel like my physical shape is blurred and i'm but a a faceless entity drifting through the crowded and sweaty halls. when i speak to people it feels like i have to physically force myself to and i'm always so conscious of the fact that i would really love it if i were alone and not speaking to anybody at all.

i don't feel confident in myself and i feel like this year has passed by way too fast and i feel like just attempting to live feels like a bunch of cold sand is piled in my hands, and like sand does, it slips easily through my fingers and all i can do is watch. i feel so stupid and so naive all the damn time

for a while i had believed that everything would be okay, and then for a while after that i believed that i should kill myself. i'm okay now, i still feel very unsettled and it's like i'm not really me but i feel fine enough to function and i feel fine enough to live and wish to keep on living

i wish to keep on living

tomorrow i will wake up early and i will make myself coffee and i will sit down and read (i've had reading block for 2 days- which seems short but its annoying for me bc i really really want to read but i feel too restless and distracted to). i'll try to be nice to myself and protect my peace really hard and go on walks or something

i find that watching youtube videos where people just sit and talk, or rearrange their house and books, is really calming to me. i can't wait to just sit in front of the tv with a cup of matcha and a box of chocolates and just watching people talk, or watch all the movies ive been meaning to watch for sooo long

autumn is rolling around, and i'm infinitely greatful that it is because i always feel so inspired during this season. autumn makes me want to read, it makes me want to watch more films and eat more food and drink warm drinks that make me feel okay inside.

i also hope to pick up journalling again, but i'm not sure if i will because i don't have my own printer for images and idk what to journal but i have recently tried to just draw pictures- ive recently written journal pages on what i want to read, and also an "about me" page, and hand drew pictures. it's nice, but it doesn't give the same effect as full out journalling (with stickers, images, tape, etc... sigh.). i hope i journal more this holiday nonetheless.

i also hope to read without feeling so much pressure. i usually have no problem with reading whatever i want to read, as i like to think of myself as somebody who isnt easily influenced by other people's views (eg. if someone told me i have to read a certain book, i will consider it but i wont read it unless i want to) , but lately i've been thinking of all the books i want to read this holiday (for me i have autumn break in one week- and autumn break lasts for 2 weeks) and as u can imagine, it is very stressful bc ive somehow fallen into the mindset that i must read ALL of those books before next term or else.

fyi the books comprise of

- the complete collection of jane austen

- the complete collection of sherlock holmes

- the poppy war

- the iliad

- hamlet

- the metamorphosis

soo yeah... especially the first two points are stressing me out haha... im starting the poppy war now but im a little nervous bc ppl keep saying that its VERY gory??? and i usually dont care abt such things but lately my nerves and emotions have been such a wreck that i dont trust myself to read it in a calm manner

i'll try to break free of this toxic reader mindset tho! it would be nice if i could talk to people abt books, so it feels like im engaging with my hobby while not actually having to do the hobby, but nobody ik irl will want to talk abt books as i do

MAN i so badly want to rant abt booktok (ok actually i wont expand on this bc its a very sore point for me in the sense that i might get worked up over it and then feel shit afterwards for displaying sm emotion)

anywaysss next topic

ummm i get my maths result back on thursday and im so fucking scared bc i know i messed up bad for a few questions but im not sure if it was enough to drop me down to a b... idk i REALLY REALLY WANT AN A. like istg my whole self esteem for until the next exams roll around is goijg to be based off my maths result.. fuck im so emotionally immature its laughable

ummm also i have literature class tmr and i love lit class but we have to watch fucking "shes the man" and im sorry but i hate that movie so so much (ive never watched it before but we watched half of it last lesson and it was soo annoying). ughh why is my eng teacher making us watch this 😭😭

also my eng teacher is very blunt and therefore very interesting to talk to so ive been wanting to ask him abt books hes read lately but i CANT bc we have to watch thats tupid fucking movie and also he has to mark papers :( but also like hes the only intellectually stimulating person ik irl so what am i meant to do with all of my buzzing book thoughts ughh (rhetorical question. pls dont answer) :(

hmm what else is there to say

oh yeah last night i had a dream tjat i got a B+ for english and that was... it was like a nightmare im not even kidding. it was such a vivid dream too- everybody else got an A meanwhile i got a B+ (very close to an A) and i was just absolutely shocked and i desperately begged my teacher to give me some extra credit work so i can bump it up to an A-... yeah...

oh but also back to me wanting to have a better life- i think i'll take myself to the thrift more and go out with my friend (yes, singular. theres only one friend that i like hanging out with outside of school 💀) atleast once this holiday... thats what teen girls my age do, right??? haha...

also i want to watch ladybird and the perks of being a wallflower and rewatch little women and dead poets society !

i also might reread solitaire but aghh that makes me stressed out abt reading again... fuck. maybe i should just take a break from reading omfg

i cant wait to wake up early tomorrow and drink coffee though! :)

also i will make more spotify playlists (it makes me rlly happy to) and MAYBE even try cooking????????????? man idfk im desperate okay? feeling suicidal is not fun and i dont want to feel like that again this year. i cant afford thay bc im meant to be an academic weapon :( (lol who am i kidding? im more like an academic victim)

also maybe i will just text my friends more in general. it stresses me out and makes me feel icky but the other day, i had a nice and fun and lighthearted texting convo with one of my class friends and it made me realise that i should probably text people more ...

lol

anyways i think thats all? i think ive gotten everything off my chest for now. i liked doing this actually. maybe i'll do it more often idk 💀💀

hope u guys have a good day 🙏 i dont actually expect anyone to read this but if you did, i hope you have a good day TIMES TWO!

no refunds :}

[gasolinerainbowpuddles]

Happy Holidaze║ ⒸⓄⓁⓁⒺⒸⓉⒾⓄⓃⓈ

| HAPPY HOLIDAZE | part of the A Weight Off Your Shoulders collection ║ series masterlist ║ main masterlist ║ | PAIRING(s): Joel Miller x plus sized!fem!neighbor (Roxy)

| RATING: explicit material | 18+ | WORD COUNT: 9.7k | CONTENT: age gap (Joel mid 40s, neighbor late 20s), struggles of body image and self-worth, diet culture, awkward conversations and situations with your parents, fluff with dash of smut at the end, two idiots in love who are disgusting sluts for each other

| SYNOPSIS: You and Joel finally meet each other's families.

✧this is the fifth installment of a oneshot collection✧ ✧◦◦║ Part 1 ║ Part 2 ║ Part 3 ║ Part 4 ║ Part 6 ║◦◦✧

nail color? You text the question along with a picture of the wall of options in front of you. getting a pedi too so pick two The text bubble pops up then disappears for a moment before reappearing again.

You want it to match holiday stuff or whatever? I’m not an expert at this stuff. Don’t know if there’s unspoken rules or something.

You roll your eyes and smile down at your phone. Joel was older, old enough to not always get the social implications of certain situations, especially in the dating world - not that the two of you were officially dating or anything - situations, like asking a man to pick out what color you should get your nails done.

don’t need an expert

A playful grin warms your features as you type out a few extra snippets and hit send.

just need to know what color you wanna see on my nails 

you know, for when you’re watching me grab your dick and stroke it later

You bite back a smile, teeth tucked into your bottom lip, as you wait for a reply. As expected, the text bubble flashes and disappears on the screen repeatedly. You can vividly picture Joel texting you back in a frenzy over your flirty message. You relished in getting him worked up sometimes, knowing you could get him absolutely feral to the point that he’d just rip his clothes off the second he got through the door and fuck the living daylights out of you.

You stifle a laugh when his contact picture takes up the entire screen. Of course he’s given up on trying to text you back and is just calling you instead.

“Yyyeesssssss?” you draw out in an innocent voice.

“Goddamn you can’t just send me shit like that when I’m at work, baby.” His husky voice is clear even as it passes through the somewhat scratchy receiver.

“What’s the matter, Joel? Those big ass Wreck It Ralph hands of yours couldn’t type the words fast enough?” you tease. Joel’s deep laugh on the other end of the line makes your belly feel like a swarm of butterflies are about to burst through your throat.

“How the fuck did I end up with a brat like you, huh?” he chuckles.

You hum a laugh in reply and wait patiently for him to answer your original question.

“Alright, brat. Lemme think.” He makes small, thoughtful noises as you tilt your head and scan the wall. When he makes a low, throaty noise, you sniff a laugh through your nose.

“Okay, if you are actually picturing what the color will look like while I’m … doing that–” you pause, glancing around the nail salon as if an eavesdropper would somehow immediately know what sort of filth you were exchanging “–you’re gonna get sent to HR when somebody sees you all bricked up at work.”

Joel laughs again. He’d laughed every time you said “bricked up” since you taught him the expression several months ago.

“Alright, alright. Red. I want ‘em to be red,” he decides.

“Okay. And my toes?”

He makes a weird noise on the other end, and you roll your eyes. You know exactly what he’s thinking about.

“No, you will NOT have to picture what color my toes would look like wrapped around your–” you cut yourself off when you catch a curious, disapproving look from an older woman in a chair nearby getting a manicure. Joel busts out in a belly laugh, understanding that you were probably talking too loud and got a look from somebody.

“Hm, I dunno, baby. Never been into that, but who knows. Might be my new thing if you’re the one doin’ it. I like everythin’ you do,” he murmurs. It sounds like he’s cupped his hands against his mouth and the microphone so he could talk without getting noticed like you had. 

“Joel,” you warn with no real weight behind it.

“And besides, even if it ain’t a footjob situation, you know I like gettin’ those things up on my shoulders when I’m fuckin’ you senseless.” His voice is quieter now, but it’s less to do with volume and more to do with the raspy, lewd bend to his words.

“I just know I’m going to regret teaching you this, but there’s actually a name for that,” you say low, cupping your own hand into the receiver now so you could speak without catching another disapproving glance.

“Oh?” He sounds excited, as he always does whenever you introduce him to these kinds of things. Slang. How to hide photos from his main camera roll. How to work the remote on the TV. Turns out dating someone younger had its benefits - not that the two of you were dating or anything.

“Mmmhmmm. It’s kinda like the one I told you before. The ‘your hands would make a nice necklace’ thing. So yeah, you’d say ‘I wanna wear your ankles for earrings’ or, like, ‘I’m gonna make your ankles my earrings.’”

“Damn, maybe your generation ain’t so bad after all,” he chuckles. “Certainly come up with some handy terms, I’ll give ya that much.”

“Oh my god, you’re so annoying,” you giggle. “Like you’re that much older than me. Give me a break.”

He chuckles. You hear some yelling in the background on his end and then his muffled response to whoever it was that he’d “be right there.”

“Alright, honey. I gotta go. Lemme see. Alright. Toes. Hhhmm. How ‘bout blue? Like those one pair of panties I like’a yours,” he decides.

You smile. You know exactly the pair he’s talking about.

“Mmm’kay. Only ‘cuz I like you so much,” you hum.

“Yeah, you sure do like me ‘n these Wreck It Ralph hands. Don’t mind ‘em when they’re fingerin’ your–”

“Hanging up now,” you snip playfully.

“Don’t wanna hear you complainin’ when I yell ‘I’M GONNA WRECK IT’ when I’m balls deep in you tonight,” he hurries out before you can end the call.

“GOODBYE, JOEL. And you better not!” you snicker. “Talk about a turn off. I’d cut you off for a month.”

“Bullshit. You couldn’t go a month without me. Without my–” he laughs, not getting to finish before you cut him off.

“GOOD. BYE.” you huff in a giggle.

“Bye, baby. See you tonight,” he laughs easy before making some exaggerated kissy noises and hanging up.

You shake your head, trying to keep from erupting in laughter. This man was an absolute mess and full on dork, and you loved every second of it. You nab a seasonal red and a panty blue and wait to be called. You dutifully ignore the eavesdropper from before as she glances your way a few times. It wasn’t very hard to divert your attention with all the giddy, bubbly feelings surging through you. Joel made an outstanding distraction in plenty of ways, and you find yourself smiling like a love-struck puppy most of the time because of him. He really felt like the best thing that had ever happened to you.

He was wrong when he’d said “you couldn’t go a month without me” during your call. The truth was, you couldn’t go without him, period. He had become so naturally ingrained into your life that it felt strange to think of what it had been like without him. It just felt right that you existed in tandem. It was hard to separate how you felt and what you “knew.”

You knew you were in a casual “situationship” that neither one of you sought to define in any certain terms. You felt as though spending practically every night together, going on a weekend getaway together, and neither one of you pursuing anything outside of each other was decidedly more in the “serious, committed relationship” category.

You knew that it was a “textbook mistake” to jump from an almost decade-long failed relationship into a new, serious one. It wasn’t in line with what you were “supposed to do” after such a big change, which conventionally involved something along the lines of “playing the field for a while” and “just having some fun” while getting back out there. But your heart had decided that you were going to abandon all sense and become involved with the first guy you had a meaningful interaction with post-breakup.

So, here you are, just several months out of a heartbreaking split from somebody you were supposed to marry, and completely head over heels with someone new who felt too good to be true. You can’t think of a time in your life that you’ve been happier, so why did it feel so petrifying to just lean into the obvious? Why couldn’t you just yield to the undeniable, consuming magnetic connection between you and Joel?

He so often seemed to hold back for your sake, never wanting to push you past your comfort zone or ask too much of you too fast. Biting his tongue at times that you could’ve sworn he’d nearly slipped and said the “big L” to you and caught himself at the last moment. Just a miracle of a man who was patiently waiting you out, waiting for you to give in to it all and accept what was clearly happening. Admitting that, as crazy as it seemed and felt, the two of you were in love, and one of you needed to make the first move towards the next step. The definitive kind of step that makes this “casual fling” into a real relationship.

Something or someone was bound to give, and you don’t know if you’ll ever be ready for what that brings.

Your parents had booked the cruise long before your engagement was broken off. It was a dream of theirs to go on the two week long journey, spanning several continents and all of the major winter holidays you celebrated. Naturally you’d insisted that they don’t cancel on account of your bad bit of luck. At least somebody’s year was going like they thought it would, and it felt wrong to ask them to cancel the vacation they’d been talking about since forever.

That, and the fact that you were relieved to have a valid reason for attending Thanksgiving with your parents instead of going with Joel for a quick trip to see Sarah during her college break. Even though he’d asked in an offhand way if you’d want to go with him and meet her, you could tell he’d very much wanted you to say yes. Of course you wanted to meet her and share in Joel’s life that way, but it was a major shift into the “real, defined relationship” category – the kind where you had a title attached to your name when you were introduced to their family. 

It’s how you found yourself currently sat in your parents’ kitchen, poking around on the appetizer tray, while your mom busied herself with the normal fare in addition to “lower calorie alternatives” you were no doubt expected to choose if the quantities of each offering was anything to go by. You watch your mom slice impossibly thin pieces of cheese for the crackers and wonder if you should’ve just sucked it up and gone with Joel. Then again, you’d have to offer some sort of reason for missing out on a major holiday with your family. It was a catch 22.

“Roxy, don’t eat so many appetizers. I know it’s a holiday and all, but don’t go overboard,” your mom offers with genuine kindness that stings just as bad as if she’d meant to hurt you. You set the cheese slice and cracker combo back onto your plate. You knew you were stress eating from all the nerves about the possibility of the “how’s your love life”  conversation, but you surprised yourself by only realizing you were taking so many bites after your mom pointed it out.

You’d stopped being so vigilant with every morsel of food that passed through your mouth. You ate most of your meals with Joel, and you weren’t self-conscious about eating around him or in front of him like you always were with most people. It was a hard habit to break, to not be so focused on pacing yourself, matching your rate of intake with others so you didn’t look like a pig chowing down and wiping your plate clean before everyone else had finished.

Joel was a good cook, and he often brought you bites to test or little plates of this and that to tide you over before the whole meal was done. You weren’t even embarrassed when he’d feed you pieces of popcorn while you watched movies together, snuggled up together on the couch. He’d chomp a few pieces down himself and then pop a few kernels into your mouth, always attentive. Just like he was with everything when it came to you.

But here in your childhood home, listening to your mom’s offhand comments about your intake, it brought you right back into all those years of shame and guilt. You knew she meant well. She always had. Never wanting you to struggle the same way she did, years and years of diets and exercise regimens and restriction. She’d dropped a lot of weight since taking up Weight Watchers, and you were happy for her. She was always nicer and more relaxed when she’d hit those lower ends of the yo-yoing. All the more uptight and anxious the moment her weight crept back up again.

Your dad didn’t seem to care either way what she looked like, but it was a bit of accidental negative reinforcement that he liked interacting with her a whole lot more when she was nicer to him and everybody else. It just so happened that was only when her jeans didn’t fit so tight and the numbers weren’t too frightening on the scale. She’d no doubt come to internalize the dynamic and equate her lower weight with better interactions and a more fulfilling relationship with your dad, never even realizing it was the way she interacted with him and others that brought about those pleasant times and not what size she had to pull from the rack.

“Awfully quiet, Rox,” your dad notes.

You look over to find him studying you with those astute eyes. He was never much of a talker, but god could he communicate so much with a look or a gesture. Your mother on the other hand–

“Yeah, hon. Please don’t spend the day thinking about that awful, awful man.” You suppose your unusual quiet could most readily be explained by all the feelings that might come about spending your first major holiday out of a relationship for the first time in almost ten years. You aren’t sure which is worse: that hypothetical explaining your silence, or the truth, which was an over the moon sort of romance that you couldn’t talk about yet.

“I’m not thinking about Michael,” you mumble petulantly. You didn’t want to give him any sort of win, even if he wasn’t around to know about it.

“Y’seem distracted,” your dad says plainly.

He’s watching you with those eyes that say he already knows something is up, but he doesn’t know enough to speak on it yet. Your gut pinches. It won’t take him long to figure it out. It never does if he’s got his mind set to something. It was a trait you’d always admired and envied. You shrug off his observation, but your mom isn’t so quick to let it go.

“You’ll get to a place where you can put yourself back out there, hon. I just know it. You’re a resilient girl, and you’re not going to let that loser change that,” she sniffs with an air of indignation. It’s hard to imagine this was the same woman who this time last year had been so effusive with compliments and general praise to the same man she was now deeming a loser. Still, the sentiment that he had kneecapped your entire romantic life annoyed you more than it should’ve.

“Who says I’m not ‘back out there’ already?” you grumble to the half empty tray of appetizers.

Your mom jolts like she’d been doused in ice water. Your eyes flit to your dad who gives you a knowing grin. Even though you hadn’t even actually said anything, it felt good to talk about Joel, to acknowledge his existence at least. You feel a sudden urge to just tell your parents everything about Joel. You chug the rest of your red wine to reign yourself in and wait for the onslaught from your mother.

“You’re seeing someone?” she breathes, excitement boiling over.

“Well, I mean… I guess I’ve been, you know, like, talking with somebody,” you say as casually as you can manage.

“Oh? REALLY? Oh! That’s-That’s wonderful, Roxanne!” your mom exclaims, rising to the balls of her feet and clapping her hands together quietly. “How long have you been seeing each other? Why haven’t we met him yet?”

“Take it easy, will ya, Melissa? She didn’t say it was anything serious,” your dad mutters. 

For all his faults, your dad at least grasped the concept that the dating world had changed significantly since he and your mom got together, and it was no longer the kind of landscape where you were “going steady” with the same person after two successful dates. Your mom, on the other hand, struggled with the concept of casual anything when it came to relationships.  A romantic at heart, she was always the type to believe in the sorts of things like twin flames, finding your soulmate in every universe, and so on.

You snort to yourself, considering how you were a perfect blend of the two. The logical, practical side of you knowing that you and Joel hadn’t defined your relationship with any specific terms, but you were mutually exclusive. A noncommittal sort of committal. The bleeding heart side of you knowing good and well that you were in love with him. It was the stuff of romcoms, the type that you’d make Joel watch with you on the weekends when it was your turn to pick the movie. The kind that he pretended to be annoyed by but never truly complained about and never made you feel like a mawkish idiot when you’d cry at the sappy payoff in the overwrought finale.

“Oh, shut up, Robert,” your mom snips. “I just meant I wanted to know more about him. Don’t act like you don’t, either.” She did her best to be annoyed with your dad, but she broke almost immediately when he smirked at her and poked her sides teasingly.

“Didn’t say I wasn’t. Just wasn’t gonna push her, dearest,” he mocks half-heartedly. He swigs a sip of beer and turns back to you.

“Of course we’d love to hear about him, Rox. Wanna know who’s got my little girl’s attention, ya know?” He smiles, mood and tongue steadily loosened by the beer in his hand. Your mom makes a low sneering sound. When you and your dad both look at her curiously, she sighs and shrugs.

“Sorry. It’s just- Yes, of course we want to hear all about him, serious or not. I want to know who’s got your attention, too, but I-I just…” she trails off, suddenly seeming uncomfortable as she and your dad exchange a loaded look.

“What? What is it?” you demand.

“I think what your mom is tryna say, Rox, is that we want to know more about him for the sake of knowing about him, but also because we’re both… we both hope whoever it is treats you better than.. what you dealt with before,” he finishes clumsily.

Your dad wasn’t the talkative type, but he was always better at expressing himself when he did decide to speak. Choosing his words more carefully than your mother ever did and communicating clearly despite not offering up much conversation very often. It felt odd to hear him stumble over his words, but it went hand in hand with their shared look moments ago.

They’d obviously talked amongst themselves about your complete failure of a relationship with Michael. It had been humiliating to tell them the truth of the situation, why you couldn’t “work it out” and why you had to move back home, but they were ultimately supportive.

It felt all the more humiliating on your end because your parents had been madly in love and happily married for decades. It was the kind of relationship you didn’t hear about much anymore, the childhood sweethearts who were destined to fall in love and be together forever. You’d thought that you were going to have the same thing, just a little rougher around the edges. Instead you’d ended up with a mockery of a relationship that you’d wasted years of your life on and would never get back.

“Maybe somebody closer to your age would be better, too,” your mom’s third glass of wine said. 

Your dad didn’t say anything, but his face spoke all the agreement in the world with the sentiment. Your stomach flipped. Great. Of course they were going to write off anyone with more than 5 years of seniority on you after Michael had so dutifully upheld the classic trope of “older man divorces his wife for his younger girlfriend and then repeats the cycle when she ages out of his desired demographic.” Yet another aspect of your life that he ruined despite not having spoken to him since before you left Colorado and came home.

“Maybe you should meet him before deciding you don’t like him,” you gripe defensively. The urge to defend Joel was strong, but you regretted your words the moment they left your lips.

“What a lovely idea!” your mom practically sings. Your dad’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline in surprise at your quick to defend attitude for this “casual relationship.” Right off the bat and you’d shown your hand. You wonder if your dad will clue your mom in that you obviously had strong feelings for this mystery man. You pour another glass of wine and resign yourself to divulging the bare minimum of information about Joel to your parents.

You don’t give a specific on age – “he’s older than me” – or when you met – “he lives next door.” Your mom was biting back annoyed sighs at how you danced around questions. You’d finally had enough to drink that you promised to talk with Joel about the four of you meeting up for dinner sometime in December before your parents left on their cruise. You hope that Joel will help you concoct some sort of excuse for not scheduling such a dinner, but your instinct tells you that he would probably be even more excited about it than your mother, if that was even possible.

“Joel, I don’t think this is structurally sound,” you half-joke.

The gingerbread structure, which was really just a bunch of graham crackers stuck together with store bought icing, was definitely leaning towards the left, but there wasn’t any discernible freefall motion to it. Just a slow, sinking slant towards the dining room table surface.

“Just leave it to the professionals, huh?” he snips back playfully.

“I knew I should’ve gotten a second opinion,” you theatrically mutter under your breath.

Joel pops a marshmallow into his mouth and chews loudly just because he knows how much it annoys you. “You got the best right here, baby.” He smacks his mouth in big gnawing motions. “Can’t get any better than this.”

His goofy grin is endearing, and you focus on that instead of the voice in your head readily agreeing that, yeah, you couldn’t do better than Joel and you might not even be good enough for him in the first place. 

“You up for a lil friendly competition?” he suggests. 

You shake off your negative thoughts with a loose shrug and smirk back at him. “Let’s hear it, then.”

“Whoever makes the best gingerbread house person wins,” Joel proposes in a borderline smug tone . You’re about to agree when he holds a single finger up. “But wait just a minute, let’s make it interesting. You make me, and I’ll make you.”

Your mind is already going into overdrive producing hilarious confectionary Joels, and you don’t even waste any time offering up a verbal agreement to the challenge before diving right in. It’s only a minute or two later that cereal boxes have been erected between the two of you as “anti-cheating shields.” Sprinkles and icing cover the surface of the table everywhere you look. You’d both worked in near silence as you diligently crafted holiday candied versions of each other. 

You give your creation a once over and beam at your work: rice krispy treats mashed together with extra marshmallows for a broad, strong body, brown and black sprinkles mashed into the “face” to make a patchy beard, little red licorice pieces for the mouth, a chocolate candy smeared with marshmallows for his “salt and pepper locks,” and two mismatched sprinkles for eyes.

You start to peek around the boxes, but Joel is quick to block your line of sight. “Hey, no looking until it’s done!” You put your hands up in mock surrender and giggle uncontrollably at how serious he’s taking the task. He grins big and wide before nipping at your bottom lip, cheek, and earlobe in quick succession. “Absolute brat,” he breathes out a laugh. His eyes slide to your making of him, and his smile goes even wider.

You pick it up gently and present it to him. “Ta-da!”

He wheezes in laughter as he produces his version of you, and you’re quick to join him when you see it. Two jumbo marshmallows shoved together, some sort of pink taffy crammed into it near the bottom to represent what you can only assume is your vagina, two smaller but still sizable marshmallows attached by toothpicks for breasts – pointed ends of the toothpick still visible, of course, for your nipples – and random bits of icing and sprinkles mishmashed into a face.

“Oh wait wait wait,” you giggle like a maniac. You shove three mini marshmallows onto a toothpick to give your candy Joel a penis. He arranges the two of you against the lopsided graham cracker house, marshmallow penis situated crudely into your pink taffy vagina, and you both take in the completed scene.

“Never seen a better lookin’ gingerbread family,” he chuckles.

You nod, enthusiastic with agreement at the deformed but lovable pairing. You want to shove down the urge to mention the impending dinner with your parents, but you can’t quite manage.

“Speaking of family,” you awkwardly lay out, “you sure you’re still up for meeting the folks?”

Joel only looks a touch more serious when he answers. “Wanna meet the people responsible for creating such a beautiful thing like you.”

“Can’t promise they won’t make you pay for all of Michael’s sins,” you mutter.

He just smirks back in response. “If they didn’t give the next guy shit after that colossal failure of a man you were with, I’d wonder if they actually gave a shit at all.”

As usual, Joel brings everything into focus and props the situation up on a patient, flexible perspective for everyone involved. If he was in charge of the narrative, maybe the dinner wouldn’t be that bad afterall.

The pretty green satin dress you’d finally worked up the courage to buy and wear suddenly felt three sizes too small and ten times too revealing to wear for dinner with your parents. You smooth over the already smoothed fabric, hands gliding freely over the swell of your hips and belly where the light catches, and let out a heavy sigh.

“Jesus fuckin’ christ,” Joel groans from the doorway.

You twist around awkwardly to find him staring at you. His eyes roam back up to your face, and he shakes his head with a small, incredulous laugh. His grin etches out little grooves of joy around his eyes. “You look incredible.”

And it’s as simple as that. Joel looking at you how he does and saying the things he does, dispelling those nagging, intrusive thoughts in a moment’s passing. You turn to face him directly and do a bit of admiring yourself. Crisp, neat gray slacks paired with a nice button up shirt, hair lightly gelled back, scruff a little less scruffy. Joel looks devastatingly handsome, and you tell him so.

It’s an easy atmosphere for most of the car ride to the restaurant. It’s the kind of familiarity and comfort that comes so easy that it ends up being difficult to explain to people. A sort of if you know, you know energy, and the closer you got to the restaurant, the more you were scared your parents weren’t going to “get it” at all. The nerves crept up and tightened like a vice squeezing around your chest. Your dress feels too snug and inappropriate again all the sudden.

“Hey.” Joel’s voice plucks you from your mini spiral. He’s glancing at you while he waits for the light to change, but you hadn’t even noticed the car had stopped at all. “It’ll be good. It’s gonna be a nice dinner, okay?”

You shake your head. “No, I know. I know it’ll be alright. I’m just–I don’t know why, but I guess I’m just nervous.” You give an apologetic shrug as if you might offend Joel for feeling anything less than ecstatic for him to meet your parents.

“Ain’t nothin’ to be worried about. If you get too nervous at dinner, I can handle it. I know how to steer a conversation, baby,” he assures you.

“But it’s not fair to ask you to take charge of the conversation just because I’m being overly anxious,” you grumble. “Especially since they’re my parents. I should be the one fielding questions and directing the conversation to pleasant chitchat.”

“Well, I guess that’s just one of the many things that makes me such a catch,” he teases with a wink.

You can’t help but smile a little at his attempts to keep you level headed. “Can’t argue with that.”

You focus on the lazy circles his wide hands draw on your thigh for the rest of the drive. You keep a flow of steady breaths as you pull into the lot and tell Joel not to worry about paying for valet. He grins knowingly at you. It was always a good sign if you were focused on economics and prudent money practices. His arm wraps across your back like a stabilizing bracket. The hostess informs you that the rest of your party has already arrived and is awaiting your company. Your heart jumps into your throat when you spot your parents seated in the middle of the restaurant.

It’s a bit of a blur as Joel introduces himself, offering a firm handshake to your dad and a friendly kiss on the cheek for your mother. He’s not even batting an eye as he prompts you to take a seat in the chair he’s pulled out for you. You plop awkwardly into your seat and feel like a deer in headlights. You realize now you probably should’ve prepped more for potential conversations and what sort of cohesive statements you and Joel would make in return. Your mouth feels like sandpaper, and your mother has to ask her question again when you realize you’ve missed it.

“I said, are you feeling okay? You’re just staring off,” she repeats with an edge of worry.

You snap into “fake it until you make it” mode and laugh it off. “Yeah, sorry, mom. Just realized it’s been a while since I ate something. Guess I’m a little hungry.”

It was the first thing that came to mind for a flimsy but passable excuse, and you want to launch yourself into the sun for immediately inviting the topic of food and appetite to the table. Even your dad pauses for a split second to squint at you as if he’d misheard. Your mom doesn’t take note of it, too delighted by your choice of topic. 

“OOooohhhh, is it intermittent fasting? I’ve heard a lot about that. How long have you been doing that? I’m so proud of you!”

The unspoken “I’m so happy that you’re finally trying to lose weight again” hangs in the air and makes your cheeks start to burn. You’d rather shrivel into a ball of mush and seep through the cracks in the floor than have Joel bear witness to one of you and your mother’s back-and-forths over eating and body weight.

Joel barely finishes his sip of water before wading into the disaster of a conversation you’ve started. “Intermittent fasting? Ain’t that what you do before a doctor’s appointment?” You appreciate his willingness to throw himself into whatever awkward bullshit you’ve managed to whip up in such a short amount of time, but he’s truly not well-versed enough in your mother’s history of food and diet culture to really understand just what he’s getting into.

“Oh, I guess, but this is a real winner from what I’ve heard. One of my girlfriends just switched to it from keto, but she’s still quite plump, you know? It’s supposed to do wonders for cutting back on calories and weight loss, ” she reports with glittery, tired eyes that shift to you for a split second at the word plump.

“What? Like a diet or somethin’? You tellin’ me people just cut out whole chunks of time and won’t let themselves eat?” Joel’s misgivings with the entire concept is obvious. Your mother of course further ensnares her victim into the conversation, knowledgeable or not of the verbal intricacies and diatribe lures that await them. “It restarts your metabolism,” she explains excitedly to a further perplexed Joel.

At least she was trying to salvage the discussion and didn’t seem put off by Joel’s less than stellar reception to her passionate opinions.

“Sounds a little strange to me, but I guess to each their own,” he offers, noncommittal and not entirely convincing.

Your mom deflates a bit but takes it in stride. It was more than what she normally got in those types of conversations. You thank the high heavens when the waiter comes to start your orders. You fumble with the menu and mentally thank Joel when he casually suggests something for you, exactly what you would pick for yourself had your brain not been in panic mode. Everyone is focused on their menus for a short time, muttering here and there about which special looks good and what the house favorites are. You spend the entire time dreading the thought of your mother talking about your weight, dieting, and body in front of Joel and haven’t picked a dish by the time the waiter returns. All your brain can do is hammer thoughts of the night ending badly one way or another.

Before Joel can step in and just order for you, your mother supplies you with her ever helpful suggestions. “You know, there’s a lot of really delicious looking salads. And it’s easy to get the dressing on the side to save yourself some Points.”

“Salad? Points?” Joel asks.

“Oh, I guess intermittent fasting wouldn’t be Points,” she laughs at herself like she’d just made a funny joke. “Weight Watchers does Points. You know, tracking your calories through Points. Makes it so easy, especially during these cooler months when everybody just starts letting themselves go and eat anything they see!” She’s nodding with an enthusiasm that no one else at the table shares.

Joel glances at you with a look of why the fuck would anybody waste a nice meal out being worried about calories? but he doesn’t say that – thank god. You order a pathetic sounding salad just to move things along, and you ignore Joel’s bewildered expression over your dinner choice. Your mother makes a face – over what you can only assume is the fact that you didn’t order your dressing on the side – before she orders a smaller, even more pathetic sounding salad and a bowl of glorified bone broth. It’s steaks and seafood for the men at the table, and then you’re left with the expanse of time between ordering and the food arriving.

“So, Joel,” your mother starts up again. “You’re quite the mystery man! It was a pleasant surprise when we found out our little Roxy had made a nice friend.”

Joel’s face radiates warmth and pride at the mere allusion of being yours, being your mystery man - a “nice friend.” He gives a breezy explanation of how it’s been nice for him to have such an intelligent, funny companion that’s just a stone’s throw away from his own house. Things get a little rocky when he mentions his house being more quiet since his daughter went away to college. Your dad all but freezes on the spot and pins you with a look that you can’t place.

By some divine nature, your mom doesn’t say anything and opts to just blink repeatedly at Joel with a blank stare. Sensing he might’ve opened a can of worms with the innocent comment, Joel looks to you with uncertainty for the first time this evening. Something in his search for the right thing to do at this moment gives you the drive to speak up.

“Yeah, it’s been nice for me, too, honestly. It’s the first time I’ve lived alone in a really long time, you know? And I think I would’ve been doing a hell of a lot worse if I hadn’t met Joel,” you attest.

He gives you one of his shy, goofy grins, and part of you wonders why you would ever feel nervous when you’ve got someone like him by your side.

“Well, it certainly sounds… convenient,” your mother notes with a questionably loaded emphasis on the word convenient.

Ah, yes, there’s the other part of you screaming and hopping up and down that says THIS is precisely why you would feel nervous, even with Joel by your side.

“Maybe it was destiny. Aren’t you always going on and on about that sort of thing, mom?” you shoot back with a glare. Heat prickles on your neck at the insinuation that you and Joel enjoy each other’s company simply because it’s easy and right in front of you. Your mom huffs a little at your pointed tone, but you don’t back down. 

“I never said it was a bad thing. I just think it’s certainly an element that’s made things more… speedy. But that’s neither here nor there, I guess.”

“Oh so now it’s not just because it’s easy but it’s rushed, too?” you scoff.

“That’s not what she’s sayin–”

You cut your dad off before he can jump in to defend your mom’s rude comments. “Sounds pretty clear what she’s saying, dad.” When you catch a “just so fast” and a “the whole Mike situation” muttered under her breath towards your dad, you feel on the verge of screaming. A large, firm grip on your thigh snaps your attention to Joel who levels you with a look – no, a silent request to let him take this on for you, to make good on what he’d promised in the car: ain’t nothin’ to be worried about,  I can handle it, I know how to steer a conversation.

“Hey,” he bids to you, tender but firm. “Let them say their piece. This is all new to them, alright? They’re just wantin’ to protect you is all.”

“I’m not going to let them disrespect us– you,” you grit out.

“I can handle myself, sweet girl,” he reassures you with a lopsided grin. He motions for a waiter and orders a bottle of white for the table. The brief pause has deescalated some of the tension, but you’ve yet to look at your mom for fear that you’ll want to snap all over again. Joel turns his full attention to your parents.

“Joel, I didn’t mean anything bad from what I was saying, it’s just—” Your mom is rushing to appeal to his understanding, easygoing nature, and you think to yourself she doesn’t much deserve it right now.

Joel waves a dismissive hand - water under the bridge. “Pardon me for the interruption, but you don’t need to explain yourself to me. If somebody did to my daughter what that prick did to yours, I’d probably be behind bars,” he says plainly. You swear your dad smiles for the briefest moment at that. “So I don’t take any issue with y’all wantin’ to keep her from gettin’ hurt again.”

Your mom frowns and drops her gaze. A spark of guilt nips at your gut. Maybe you weren’t being fair. Maybe you were just so keyed up from the start that any little thing was bound to set you off. When the waiter appears with the wine, you happily gulp down the entire pour. Your mom sips at hers and avoids your eye.

“Here’s to new beginnings, yeah?” Joel offers with a lift of his glass. You clink your empty cup with the rest of the table in a muted cheers. “And to the love and happiness that we all deserve,” your dad adds with a soft look in your direction. The conversation shifts to meaningless chit chat, anything safe and tame to avoid another labile interaction.

You’re happy when dinner arrives just to have something else to focus on. Without a word, Joel takes your salad and scrapes half of it onto his plate before doling out a large portion of the steak he’d ordered. He nestles the bowl back in front of you and bites back a devilish smile.

Your dad is definitely sporting a tiny grin now, no mistaking that. Your mom of course looks puzzled but thinks better of commenting. When the table is quiet long enough for it to start being awkward, your dad steps up to the plate. “Pretty dress, hon. Don’t think I’ve seen you in it before. Don’t tell me you went and bought some new digs on account of this little dinner,” he teases.

You smile softly at the compliment and taunting. “Glad you’re sitting down already because I actually did buy this not too long ago. Realized I didn’t really have any going out clothes I actually liked.” You relax into the ambiance a little and cut through Joel’s – your – steak. 

“You got my daughter out here acting strange, Joel,” your dad jokes. “Can hardly convince this one to spend a dime on anything, let alone herself. Good man.”

Joel chuckles goodnaturedly. “She’s been a good influence on me. Taught me a thing or two about finances I’m ashamed to say I prolly shoulda known at this point in my life, but better late than never I guess.” He gives you a playful nudge, and you feel like melting into a happy puddle. This is really happening. You and Joel, out and about as a legitimate, bonafide pairing, having dinner with the parents. It might be the entire glass of wine you downed on an empty stomach, but you’re pretty sure Joel is what’s got you feeling so intoxicated and fuzzy brained.

“Can’t work a lawn mower worth a damn, though,” he taunts. You groan and hide your face under your palm. Your mother zeroes in immediately on the inside joke and manages to convince Joel to tell the story. He sugarcoats none of the language or tantrum involved, and your parents both crack up at the telling. “Wish I could’ve snapped a picture of her face when she came back out to see me pushin’ that thing around without a problem.”

You’re a good sport, knowing Joel somehow finds all those less than flattering aspects of your personality more endearing than damning. He seems happy just to be talking about you so freely with others who know you and know how you can get. Joel can’t help ribbing your dad about the time you called a screwdriver a “screw gun,” and you can only laugh and shrug innocently when he claims they’re gonna “take his man card” for having his daughter out here misnaming basic tools.

You’re struck by how comfortable and confident Joel seems, how effortlessly he commands the attention of the table with his amusing storytelling and magnetic charm. Your parents are both genuinely smiling and engaged with him, and your eyes start to prick with the realization that this might actually end up okay. You and Joel stepping into this serious, committed territory might be nothing more than a no brainer, a path set in motion and followed with ease because it was just waiting for you to take the step forward and begin traveling.

You feel floaty by the time Joel excuses himself to the restroom. He plants a small peck on your temple before walking towards the back of the restaurant. You know you should gauge your parents’ impression of him before letting yourself just sit there in an unmistakable, lovestruck haze, but you can’t quite find the will or the concern to do anything else but bask in it. Joel just makes it around the corner and out of sight when your dad turns to you with a shrewd stare.

“He makes you happy. Doesn’t he?” he posits.

You blink back tears and nod with a watery smile. Your dad clucks his tongue on the roof of his mouth and nods back. “You know, your mom earlier… I think she was trying to broach a subject that we– to keep from making the same mistake twice. Her and me both—” you gently shake your head, not following the train of thought “—We had our reservations about Mike, and we didn’t say anything at the time. We didn’t want to rain on your parade, you know? But, we should’ve– we both should’ve shared our concerns we had about him from the start. Hindsight is 20/20 and all that, but we regret it, hon. We really, really do. Feel like we let you down. Like we failed at being your parents.”

The blissful tears inching towards the front of your eyes were blurring into those of rueful retrospection. Of course it made sense that they hadn’t been crazy about the freshly separated, not entirely divorced, and notably older coworker you’d found your heart embedded in. He’d lived an entire life before you’d come around, and then he’d thrown all of your pivotal young adult years down the drain like you were nothing.

“Joel’s nothing like him,” you blurt out.

“And we can see that, hon, we really can,” your mom adds quickly. Her eyes are glossy and entreating, and you sniff back the impending outpour hot along your lashline. “But that doesn’t mean he can’t hurt you, too. And we just have to be honest with you this time around, okay? If we see something, we’re just gonna have to speak on it, and I’m sorry if that’s upsetting to you.”

“We aren’t looking to make Joel pay for anybody’s sins. We just– We owe it to you to do it right this time around, Rox. Can’t stand to look at myself in the mirror if you got hurt again because we didn’t say something when we should’ve.” Your mother’s hand stays cupped in his when he reaches across the table to hold onto yours.

“It’s not your fault,” you sniff. “The only person who should be feeling bad right now is that scumbag back in Colorado. I deserve better than him, and I’m not going to let him hold me back from finding that person.”

“Of course not, of course not,” your dad agrees. “We just felt it was only fair that we be upfront with you about where we’re coming from this time around. Thankfully Joel seems like a great guy, so there’s no need to get the pitchforks out just yet.”

You snort and roll your eyes at the much welcomed turn to levity in the conversation. “Yeah, well, he’s a really good guy, and I know the more you get to know him the more you’re gonna love him.”

“Like you do?” your mom presses.

“Like I do what?”

“We’ll love him, like you love him?” she probes.

“I-I… um… I need to use the bathroom,” you announce as you stand and skitter the direction Joel headed what seems like 400 years ago. Without a second glance, you round the same corner he’d taken and make a beeline for the women’s restrooms. You’re not even cognizant enough to be startled when Joel pulls you into him.

“Where you runnin’ off to?” His smile falters when he sees the barely contained tears, and then his hands are cupping your face until you tell him what happened. You give him the quickest recap possible - dutifully excluding the part where you’d run off before having to answer your mom’s question about whether or not you were in love with Joel - and promise it’s nothing major. After the fourth time of asking if you were sure you were okay, you turn the questioning onto his whereabouts during the whole thing. You’re prepared to be annoyed with his answer, but the wind goes right out of your sails when he reveals he had given his card to the waiter to handle the bill and placed a to-go order for some dessert “in case you weren’t full from the half steak half salad.”

You don’t even allow yourself to sit with the genuine kindness and thoughtfulness oozing from Joel right now. You’re about two seconds from an emotional whiplash cry session, and you want to finish the night on a good note. Joel kisses you lightly across the forehead while he brings you into his embrace, and you take the opportunity to talk low and private.

“When we get home, I want you to turn my cervix into a dick punching bag,” you rasp. You meant for it to come out more joking than it did, but your abrupt detour into sexual frustration turned that intention right on its head.

Joel groans and sneaks a handful of your ass into the hand closest to the wall and out of sight of passerby. “Fuckin’ nasty. Baby needs some stress relief and it gets her talkin’ real filthy, huh?”

You look up to him with wide doe eyes and nod urgently. He sucks in a breath and looks to the ceiling like he’s collecting himself. He adjusts the crotch of his pants and crowds you against the wall. His breath is hot against your cheek when he murmurs, “Don’t wanna hear it later when I’ve got you pinned down with nowhere to go but to just take it, you understand?”

You gulp back a moan and bob your head yes. “S’good. S’real good because I ain’t gonna let up until that pussy is all beat to hell and raw from my cock, you hear me?”

“Oh my god,” you whimper. You rub your thighs together at the mental images he’s conjuring.

“See you back at the table, baby,” he toys. He waggles his eyebrows and is gone with the turn of a heel. You practically sprint into the bathroom and slap a towel drenched in cold water around the back of your neck. When you finally calm down enough to return to the table, Joel helps you into your chair and informs you that your parents will be joining the two of you at his house for a home cooked meal after they get back from their cruise. He manages to keep the mood friendly and light for the rest of the dinner, and your dad doesn’t even get weird about the bill when he’s informed Joel has already taken care of it.

By dad code, that has to count for something, right? Not turning it into a pissing contest over who’s going to cover the tab was as good a sign as any that he definitely liked Joel. Your mom’s full on squeeze hug and cheek pat settled any lingering doubts. Your parents like Joel. You think Joel likes your parents, too. Despite a minor hiccup at the beginning, everyone had come out unscathed. Hell, you already had plans for them to spend more time with you and Joel as a couple.

You say your goodbyes to your parents and wave them off as their valet arrives. You’re awash in the swell of your successful night as Joel walks you to his truck. You’ve got that silly, happy smile plastered across your face. You can feel it pushing your cheeks against your temples with the intensity of it. You’re brought back to earth when you see that Joel has not only opened the passenger door for you but has the rear passenger door opened as far as it will go without hitting the empty car next to his truck. You’re boxed in by the doors and the cars. Joel tosses the container of dessert onto his dash and flings your purse onto the floor of the passenger seat.

“Hey! I don’t even think it’s zipp–”

The sheer heft and heat of Joel slams into you from the back and pins you against the seat. Your arms fly up and onto the seat as you try to catch your balance. Your next round of indignant complaint is halted when Joel curves himself flush against you, arms resting atop your own. He grinds slow and steady against your backside. Your breath hitches at the feel of him fully thick and hard for you.

“You see what you fuckin’ do to me?” he grunts against the side of your head. “Wearin’ this pretty thing. Bein’ so goddamn beautiful all dinner. Then seein’ me in the back and beggin’ me to fuck you so hard your pussy goes all bruised from me slamming my cock into you. Gonna fuck you so hard I gotta kiss it all better after, huh? S’that what you want?”

“Oh sh-shit,” you gasp.

Without waiting for your stunned response, Joel shoves your dress up to your hips and kneels between your legs. His mouth is on you in seconds, and you bite into your arm to stifle the surprised sound trying to claw its way out of you. He licks into you with blinding need and only stops working you with his fingers just long enough to free his dick from his pants and start jerking himself off.

“Fuck yeah, all mine,” he growls into your sloppy wet heat. He smears some of the mess from his mouth and chin onto his hand and tugs himself harder with the added lubrication. He slips two fingers into you and works them in tandem with his stroking. You bend your head as far as it will go and drink in the sight of Joel crouched on his knees in the middle of a parking lot with your slick glistening all over his face in the dull glow of the streetlight. He locks eyes with you and grins like he knows a secret.

“You’re mine now, yeah?” He hooks his fingers and plunges them faster. Your legs start to tremble.

“Y-Yes! Mine. Yours!” you choke out.

“Gonna let me have this pussy all out in the open if I want it, huh? Got me so wound up I can’t even wait ‘til I get you home. Bet you’d like it if somebody came walkin’ by right now and saw me claimin’ this pussy all to myself.”

You sob out a moan at the thought. Joel buries himself between your legs again and sends vibrations through you with every grunt and growl. You tense against the seat when your orgasm comes barreling out of nowhere, and you cling onto the truck for dear life when your legs start to give. Joel shoves his head up into you harder, licking and slurping up your cum at the same time he presses you against the car for support. He pulls back with a heaving inhale and grips at the fat of your ass as he erupts between your spread legs and onto the concrete in thick splats.

He stands and meets the heavy rise and fall of your chest with his own. “Goddamn perfect,” he pants. You reach a hand behind you and scratch against his scalp. He leans into your mouth and kisses into it like he’s putting the final mark of his claim onto you. He tucks himself back into his trousers and rights your dress before helping you into the truck. You can feel your arousal wetting into the fabric of your dress beneath your ass in the seat, another indication of who you belong to - officially.

That little mark of pleasure had ruined your dress. You cast a pitiful frown to where the still visible line of demarcation had resisted all intervention the dry cleaners could muster. You were supposed to be meeting Sarah in a few days when she got into town, and now you had no cute evening dress in the event you went out together. You make it through a few household chores and a handful of work calls before calling it a day an hour and a half earlier than usual. It wasn’t like you to dip out before you were scheduled, but you didn’t have anything as pressing as your ruined dress.

You drag your feet the entire 2 minute walk into Joel’s house. “Joellllll,” you call out. His truck was in the driveway, wasn’t it? So he should be here. You call out for him again with the added news that he “officially owed you a new dress after ruining the green one.” Just as you’re starting to get concerned with the silence, the stairs creek. You round the corner with a heavy pout. “You ruined my dress!”

The bright set of eyes and impish smile that greeted you were an echo of Joel’s but not quite his own. You recognize her from the hundreds of photos Joel had shared with you. Sarah. Days early and looking increasingly amused and curious at your presence.

“Ruined your dress, huh?” She crosses her arms and leans against the wall. Her grin spreads the longer you blink silently back at her. “Should be an interesting story.”

Your cheeks burn, and you don’t think she’d be as amused if she knew just how right she is.

part 2 coming tomorrow :)

[anamelessfool]

The Mission

Gen: Secondo & Family (600-ish words)

Tags: Domestic Fluff, Holidays, Children are extremely serious especially Secondo's, Secondo retired and moved away from the Ministry a decade ago, Secondo is disabled in my AU, Dad Secondo

Secondo's children enact the most important ritual of their entire year.

Blaming and tagging @riptide-kid for this

Ficlet below the cut!

“We all have to get up.” Eden stood by her parent's bed. Her eyes were enormous, blazing with determined intensity. Her round, pale face and lank hair gave her the appearance of some ghostly entity standing in the dark of the room. The littlest brother Sam was behind her, kneading his hands.

Secondo and Sandra were no strangers to their daughter’s habit of standing by their bedside with something cryptic to say. Maybe it was Secondo’s bloodline, or maybe the eight-year-old was just extra theatrical, it was hard to tell. Secondo didn't mind it all that much. Sometimes her mysterious statements became accurate portents.

Not this morning, though. They expected her here. In fact they were surprised it was this late. She was a very punctual child, with a strong sense of what was necessary.

No surprises there.

“Mommy, it's time. Everybody has got to get up.”

“Nope, this is your father's job,” Sandra muttered. She sleepily tapped his back. “Magician and man of the house and all that. I've got fifteen minutes until I'm getting up.”

“We need to hurry then,” Eden said solemnly. Sam nodded, still frowning.

“I'm getting up at the pace I'm getting up,” Secondo announced, pulling himself upright. He reached for his forearm crutch.”Go get Paul if you want somebody fast.”

“Paul! We forgot Paul!” Sam hissed. “We left him alone!”

“Well, go get him!” Eden ordered back. Sam slipped out the door to wake their older brother. Eden paced on the carpet.

Secondo snorted, shaking his head. “Serious business.”

“They take after you, dear,” Sandra replied from under the quilt.

The door opened and Sam dragged Paul in by the wrist. The teenager blinked slowly in the soft darkness, his hair looking like it was caught in a windstorm. “Whuh—”

“You and Daddy have to go check!” Eden insisted.

Paul tossed his head and he locked eyes with his father, his face now full of determination. Secondo watched his son struggle not to break character. “You're right. We need to make sure,” Paul announced in a hushed tone. Eden and little Sam hugged each other excitedly.

Secondo finally got the momentum to pull himself upright and onto his crutch. “You're the fastest of all of us,” Secondo told his oldest son. “You have to lead the mission this year. Good luck.”

“You can't let him see you,” Eden reminded him while Sam bobbed his head vigorously in agreement. “Not for even one second.”

“Godspeed,” muttered Sandra.

The four adventurers organized themselves at the end of the hallway. Down the hall was the living room, now slowly becoming awash with reddish light from the large curtained windows. “Go on, Paul,” whispered Secondo.

Paul nodded and crept down the hallway, dramatically stopping every few feet to look back at his younger siblings. Eden, the mission commander, glared as she observed his task.

At a pace that seemed like forever to the children under eight years old, Paul finally reached the end of the hall, peeking around the corner. He turned and tossed his hand at Secondo. “Now you,” ordered Eden in a whisper.

The old magician nodded solemnly and walked with as much authority and dark majesty as he could in pajamas. He met up with Paul at the end of the hall, craning his neck to observe the living room as cautiously as he could. He gave the younger children a satisfied nod. His mouth was a thin, firm line, his whitened eye gleaming in the dim light.

“All clear. Santa’s gone. And he left presents for you.”

----

My Fic List | My AO3

Fun fact, my dad would do this to us every Christmas Morning. And when he moved out, as the oldest sibling it was up to me to check. I don't know if you know this but apparently if Santa is down there by your tree and sees you EVEN FOR ONE SECOND, he vanishes and takes all your presents. (This fact had no bearing whatsoever on me, obviously.)

[beardedmrbean]

A Maine food truck owner said he shot and injured a man in self-defense after the man wielded a knife at motorists and threatened to kill people ahead of a holiday parade in the New England town. 

"You always anticipate dealing with danger in a certain way, but you never know how you will react or how it would play out until you actually live it. It all happened so fast but in slow motion at the same time," Addy's food truck owner David Poto told Fox News Digital of the incident that unfolded on Dec. 1. 

Poto and his family were setting up their food truck business in Sanford in the late afternoon on Dec. 1, ahead of the town’s Christmas tree lighting event and "Holly Daze" parade, when Poto spotted the man. 

Poto said he witnessed the unidentified man wielding a knife at motorists and threatening to kill them. He initially confronted the man without showing him he was holding a concealed firearm behind his leg, Poto told the Portsmouth Herald. 

FEMALE GUN OWNERSHIP EXPLODES AS WOMEN VOW TO BE 'THEIR OWN FIRST RESPONDERS'

Poto told local media that he got the man's attention while he stood near traffic, leading the man to allegedly respond: "I’m going to kill you" and "I’m going to stab you."

Poto explained his wife was standing near their food truck, as the couple’s four young daughters watched a Christmas movie inside the vehicle. 

"I didn’t want to escalate anything," Poto said. "But I knew the danger was coming toward us. Worst-case scenario, I was prepared."

PHILADELPHIA CONCEALED GUN HOLDER ACTED IN SELF-DEFENSE, FATALLY SHOOTING ATTACKER AT CEMETERY: DA

The food truck owner said he tried to calm the man and get him to sit down, but that the suspect continued walking toward Poto, even when the business owner pulled out his firearm. 

"He didn’t care," Poto said of the man’s reaction when he pulled out his Glock, according to the Portsmouth Herald.  

Poto said that out of fear for his family’s safety and his own, he fired his gun and struck the man in the leg. 

"I was trying to avoid his arteries," Poto said. "I didn’t want to kill him."

The man reportedly fell to the ground in pain and started shouting the word "rape" and accusing Poto of "shooting a woman." 

Police said in a press release that they received a report of a man who was shot around 3:52 p.m. Friday. Witnesses told investigators they saw a man standing in traffic and yelling at cars while holding a knife before he was shot by Poto. 

"This male approached a food truck that was parked in the parking lot of T-Mobile," police stated in the press release. "There was a confrontation with the owner of the truck and the male with the knife. The male with the knife was shot."

The parade kicked off shortly after, at 5:30 p.m., with the tree lighting following the festive parade. 

Poto said he now has trouble sleeping, and that his daughters are "completely shook up."

"I hate the fact that somebody had to get hurt," he told the Portsmouth Herald. "I hate the fact that he put me in that position in the first place. I didn’t want any part of it."

FOILED: FIVE TIMES ARMED CITIZENS FOUGHT BACK AGAINST ATTACKERS IN 2022

"Those first few days were like a constant adrenaline rush, between the incident itself, talking to the police, wondering what happens next for our business, coping with the trauma, and the social media chatter," Poto told Fox News Digital. 

"[Poto and his wife] looked at each other on Thursday, one of our most profitable weekdays, and we just couldn't bring ourselves to open. I think the weight of it all just sort of hit us," he added.  

Locals organized a rally in support of the Poto family and their food truck – their main source of income – this past Friday. 

"We know that they suffered a traumatic event and also lost a very busy night right at the holiday season," fellow local business owner Jason Cole, who organized the event, said, according to the Portsmouth Herald. "We are honored to help them out... to show them that the community supports them and will help them recover."

The suspect was taken to a local hospital and listed in critical condition. 

Police are still investigating the matter.

"The community support just takes our breath away. I think everyone around us knew what we needed before we did, which we will be eternally grateful for," Poto said of the support he and his family received from the community. 

[specialagentlokitty]

Lokittys winter 2023 prompt list

“Will you take me to the Christmas market?” “If you want to go then sure.”

“Why are you here?” “Because it’s Christmas Eve.” “So you came to the hospital?” “Well, you’re here, so of course I did.”

“When do you think it’ll snow?”

“Can you teach me how to make a snow man?”

“Throw one more snowball and you’re going to be in huge trouble.”

“Remember to put a coat on, it’s cold.”

“What you got there?” “Gingerbread house?”

“What’s wrong?” “Nothing, you look perfect.”

“Why are you here?” “I forgot to put my winter tires on…” “want a lift?” “Yes…”

“I’m not a big fan of Christmas.” “Why’s that?” “It’s never been a good holiday.”

“Do you want to spend Christmas with me?”

“I got you something.” “Really?!”

“I want the biggest tree there is.” “It won’t fit in the house.” “The biggest tree!”

“So how did you get hurt?” “I went down the hill on a sled…” “and?” “And we left it out overnight so water on the bottom would freeze…”

“Why are you staring at me?”

“Christmas is a time of happiness.” “Not for everybody.”

“Happy holidays.” “Huh?” “I know you don’t celebrate Christmas, so, happy holidays. Want to find somewhere that’s open and get something to eat?” “I’d like that.”

“I’ve never had a present before.” “Really?” “Yeah.” “Well, I’ve got one just for you.”

“Shouldn’t you be with your family?” “They see me every year, I think it’s your turn to have somebody be with you on Christmas.”

“Happy new year, marry me?”

“You know, this time if the year isn’t the same without you. I miss you.”

“It’s November, stop.” “Let the Christmas music commence!”

“I miss Halloween.” “It’s just been.” “I miss it.”

“A snowball fight?” “We’ll we’re stuck here, so why not?”

“Did you walk here in just a hoodie?” “Yeah why?” “Because it’s cold enough to turn you to ice!”

“I’m cold.” “Congratulations, I’m hot.”

“Secret Santa?” “It’ll be funny.”

“What do you want for Christmas?” “Sleep.” “Come on then, let’s go home.”

“You really went all out huh?” “It’s not for me.” “It isn’t?” “You love this stupid holiday, it’s for you.”

“Aren’t you cold?” “Not really.”

“Who are you?” “Well, I’m the god of winter!”

“You look nice in all these lights.” “I do?”

“So, I know you said no presents, but I know how much this meant to you, so here.”

“I didn’t think you’d made it.” “It’s the holiday season, of course I would.”

“We’re stuck in the middle of a blizzard.” “Exactly, so we may as well get into the Christmas spirit!”

“Want to go watch the fireworks?” “I don’t like fireworks. They’re loud.” “Want to watch them from here?”

“I hope this year is better than last year.” “I’m here, of course it’ll be better.”

“I want to play a song.” “No.” “Why?” “Because I know exactly what song it is and they’ve banned that song.”

“I didn’t know you could ice skate.”

“I’m sorry, I know I said we could spend the day together but I have to work.” “I know, it’s why I’m here.”

“You know tradition is you have to kiss someone under the mistletoe.”

“Ugly Christmas jumpers!”

“What’re you making?” “Paper snowflakes.”

“I make a great hot chocolate.” “I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Surprise it’s me! I bearing a Christmas get out of my way.”

“Will you stay with me?” “Of course I will.” “Can I go out into the snow?” “I don’t see why not.”

“Some say the first snow is good luck.”

“This year went so fast.” “I know.” “I’m excited to see what next year brings.”

“It’s the season of hope and joy.” “I have none of that.” “It’s okay, I have enough hope and joy for us both.”

“Stop being the grinch and come help.”

[artsygremlin291]

i demand more HCs for Olly please and thank you

(also I have an origami OC that would totally adopt your Olly, her name is Queen Harmonia)

OH DO I HAVE SOME MORE OLLY HEADCANONS FOR YOU, MY GOOD FRIEND.

King Olly Headcanons Part 2!! {feat. Olivia, Mario, and Peach} (part 1 here)

Olly goes ALL OUT for events. Parties, Festivals, Birthdays, Holidays, EVERYTHING. Olivia always has a blast when her brother takes the helm of party-planning.

Though Origami will always be his favorite magical artform, he's looked into painting and sticker-making too. Olivia happily introduced him to Huey and Kersti when she discovered his curiosity!

Too many damn opinions and has a tendancy to voice them at the wrong times, Peach has helped him contain himself and his anger-fueled words.

If Olly considers someone a friend or close companion, he'll hand them an Origami Heart. Olivia usually says something like "Oh! My brother gave you that? He only does that if he REALLY likes somebody.. you're really lucky! I'm really glad my brother is making friends."

If Olly is there, his beloved pet Stapler is too. He carries treats for Stapler all the time!

If he gets an idea, he needs to carry it out or else his brain won't let him sleep, even if he was dead tired moments before! This has led to MANY late night art projects.

Flat out REFUSES to ask for help, it makes him feel incompetent and vulnerable. He only caves in once whatever's at hand proves he can't do it by himself.

Super fast learner, Olly can pick up a task, be given instructions, and quickly do whatever it is.

He really enjoys the nighttime, it's quiet and peaceful, which is exactly what he needs to clear his mind.

Olly enjoys eating small foods, or meals that come in small portions. He often snacks on cookies or tiny pastries.

He considers the moon and stars friends of his, and talks to them when he's alone.. He was EXTREMELY freaked out when Mario told him about Lumas. "wdym there's stars that are actually alive- this is a joke right??" "wait until I tell you about the space goddess that comes down here to play tennis and go-kart with us"

Really enjoys shiny things, like crystals. People often assume he knows a lot of crystaly spiritual stuff, nope, he just has crow brain.

This man has an incredibly dark sense of humor. He just CACKLES like the villainous dork he is.

betcha didnt expect another wall of text!

[silent-raven13]

Mistletoe

Tis the holiday seasons, and the Spider Band just finished their last mission. They all decided to get a drink from the lounge, they were all together chatting about the upcoming holidays.

Miles got himself a hot cup of coco, "Mmm." Taking a careful sip, he could feel the heat from the coco.

"Oh hey, Miles!" Kaine came from the line with his cup of coffee. "Are we on for tonight?"

"Yeah! I'm totally gonna kick your ass." Miles chuckles.

"Hahaha, we'll see." Kaine laughs along. The two walk together to have their little chat. They haven't seen each other for a while from all their busy lives and missions.

Now, they were able to catch for a bit. "How are you and Kitty?" Miles asked.

"Oh, we're good! This Christmas she wants me to meet her family and-" He gulps, "I'm so fucking nervous! My anxiety isn't doing too well."

"Oh no, do you need some medicine? Maybe Spider Therapist can help?"

"Oh no, I'm good. I'm trying to be more confident, but... you know." He suggested his face, he still cover his face with his Spider-man mask. Kaine only lefts it up to reveal his mouth, anyone can see the deep marks on his left side.

"I get you. I got like that with my best friend's family. Don't worry, man. You got this!" Miles gave him a side hug.

Hobie spotted his Miles hugging Kaine from a far, the punker never move so fast for his Sunflower. When he reached the two, Kitty popped out of nowhere blocking his contact with Miles. "Hey, Miles! Hi, bae!" She turns over to grin at Hobie, "Hey, Hobie! What's up?"

"Umm.. hey Kit-Kat." Hobie said to her.

Kaine said, "Oh hey, man! What's up! I haven't seen you since last week."

"You two went on a mission together." Miles said happily, finally his boyfriend is making friends with Kaine.

"Yeah, it was so much fun." Kaine said, "it was this Tron world! Hobie kicked ass!"

"Eh, I won a bit here and there." Hobie grins widely seeing Miles' eyes gleaming at him, and only him.

"Awe, I wish I could see you in an all black suit with blue lights like in Tron. Ugh, you probably look so cool, baby!" Miles said to his man, "I bet you look awesome, too, Kaine!"

"It was so much fun." Kaine sips his hot chocolate. "Ohh, hot!"

"Careful, man. Here I got some napkins here." Miles pulls a napkin under his cup to hand to Kaine.

"Thanks!" The tall fit Spider-man gladly took it.

Kitty smiles widely hearing other Spider-heroes whispering or commenting, "OMG, the work hubbies are together again! So cute!"

Hobie glares at the other Spider-heroes and pouts, "Hahaha, jelly, Hobie?" Kitty asked.

"No! I have matured!" The twenty four year old huffed.

Miles giggles, "Really? I'm proud of you, bae!"

"Oh it's the work hubbies! Hey, Hubby 1 and Hubby 2!" One Spider-woman giggles with her friend as they pass Miles and Kaine. Those words felt like knives stabbing through Hobie's chest, it's making him very jealous.

"Hey, hubbies!" A Spider-man passed them which made Kitty giggles at the way Hobie glares at the man.

"Hey!" Miles responded without a problem.

"How's work life going?" The Spider-man asked.

Kaine nodded, "Fine, me and hubby been super busy!"

"Awe, so cute!" Another Spider-woman overhears them.

Kitty said, "They missed each other so much!"

"Oh yeah, right, Hubby?" Miles teased Kaine.

"Hahaha." The tall red suit Spider-man laughs.

Miles laughs along side with them taking the joke. To him it's always been a funny silly joke, but for Hobie, it made him so jealous. The punker hated the idea of another man being with Miles. He couldn't help, but hug his Sunflower while burying his face into his neck.

"Opp, looks like somebody is jealous." A Spider-woman giggles.

A Spider-man added, "Hahaha, who knew Spider Punk is the jealous type!"

"I think it's cute." Kaine chuckles.

Miles giggles, "Oh yeah, the super jealous type!" He rubs his boyfriend's arm, "Bae, it's fine. We're just joking."

"Hmph," he frowns being annoyed.

Kitty giggles, "You mad, now?"

"Sorry, he just hates when I point that out." Miles pouted at his boyfriend.

"Oh Spidey Hubbies! Are you two gonna do photos with Santa?" A Spider-woman came by being excited, "I heard you guys were supposed to sent out this year's Christmas Social Media post!"

"Oh that's right!" Kitty giggles, "You and Kaine have to do the photo!"

"Hahaha, so Lyla can have a lot of likes on her posts?" Kaine snickers at the Spider Society Social media account made by Lyla, where she makes most posts of her selfies, and anything involved with the community.

Lyla's avatar pops up in a Christmas outfit, "Yup! Come on, go to the Holiday Post! I need pics. The Spidey Hubbies need to give me 2k likes." She giggles.

"Right, we did agree." Kaine rub his neck about it, "Is it supposed to be a spicy photo?" He looks at a jealous Hobie.

Kitty said, "I don't mind. it's all for the gram!" She had ideas for her boyfriend and Miles to get Lyla so many likes, "I got a few ideas."

"Like what, honey?" Kaine asked with a very worry tone, almost afraid to ask.

"Hehehe, you'll see when we get to the Holiday posts." Kitty pulls on the two Spider-men, while Lyla giggles having her avatar popping up everywhere with selfies. Hobie grumbles having to follow them.

"Oi, I didn't agree to this." Hobie finally said.

Miles said, "Awe, but this is for Lyla, bae! Look, me and Kaine are just friends. It's not like everyone expect us to be-" A Spider-woman shouted from the fence outside of the Holiday photo shoot, "Whoo, Spider Hubbies! How about a pin up pose?" She giggles while her friends giggles along.

Kaine and Miles look at each other and snickers, "Who's gonna be be the girl in this?" Miles snorted.

Kaine chuckles, "You!"

Hobie stood being jealous as Miles let Kaine pick him up like a bride and did a pose as they wore Santa Clause hats and candy canes. Kitty giggles, "Awe, so cute." She grins at the punker, "You jelly?"

"Hmph." He crosses his arms.

Lyla taking photos with Miles and Kaine, the two were having fun. "My socials are gonna get so many likes, hehehe." The Ai happily took photos.

The other Spider-heroes walking by noticing the two, "Ohh, look at them. The Hubbies taking pictures. Awe."

A Spider-man chews a burrito walking by, "Oh, I always knew they would get together." Hobie heard this getting more upset.

"Yoo-hoo! What about some Spice!" Lupe came by holding a mistletoe above the two Spider-men dressed as Mrs. Clause.

Gabi gasps as she dressed up as an elf, "Ohhh you two have to kiss now?"

"Oh no, we're in relationships." Kaine said with worry.

Miles nodded as his big eyes stare at the mistletoe, "Why you have this?"

"For cute couple pictures!" Lupe hums, "MJ and Peter had one while May went to get a photo with Santa."

"Wait, who's Santa?"

"Guess!" Gabi giggles.

"Morales? Parker? Why are you two under the mistletoe?" Miguel appeared in his Santa Clause outfit, wearing a white beard and pillow stuffed inside him.

Lupe chuckles as she patted Santa's belly, "Hey, Santa. Aren't you supposed to take photos with the kiddos?" She looks at the long line, spotting Miles 2020 looking exhausted and tired eyes. His family dressed up all nice even his husband looks presentable while the triplets being antsy and struggling to move around. "The triplets aren't handling the wait."

"I'm on my ten minute break!" Miguel sighs, "Shouldn't you be handing out cookies?"

"We're waiting for the androids to bring the boxes to hand out." Lupe hums. "Now stop dat frown."

Gabi's eyes lit up, "Papá, you have to be Santa and jolly!" She stomps her foot down. "Right, Lupe."

"Right!" Lupe nodded.

Kitty went over to her boyfriend, "I don't mind if you kiss Miles. I know it's all for fun."

Kaine and Miles look at her shock. "Well, I do mind! No in bloody hell, my Sunflower is kissing another bloke!" Hobie finally hugs his boyfriend.

"What about a kiss on the cheek? Papá always gives Lupe a kiss on the cheek whenever she comes over!" Gabi said out loud to them.

"Huh?" They all look at the two.

Miguel hushes his daughter, "Gabriella!"

"It's only when I babysit her! Besides I give kisses on the cheek to all my fellow Latinos." Lupe points out.

Gabriella looks confused, "But I saw you and papá hugging and talking about next date nigh!"

Miguel clears his throat. Miles crosses his arms at Miguel, "And you said you don't date your co-workers?"

"This isn't about me or Lupe. Look at that my break is over." Miguel quickly avoided the question.

The Spider-woman shook her head, "Honestly, we were just joking around. Besides, I love babysitting Gabi, right girlie."

"Right." Gabriella giggles.

"Anyway, who's gonna kiss who! Lyla needs a Spicy picture!" Lupe said at Miles and Kaine.

Hobie scowls, "No! That's being disrespectful to me and our relationship! I was fine with hugs but this?"

"What about a small kiss on the cheek?" Kitty asked.

"No!"

"No? You were fine in the last mission where Kaine and Miles went undercover as a couple and Kaine kiss Miles' on the cheek." Kitty explained.

"That was for a mission. This is just bloody flirtin'!" He points out.

Miles said, "How about hugs?"

"Yeah, hug is better. I don't want to piss anyone off." Kaine explained.

"Awe, but a kiss would be so cute." Lupe teased getting a glare from Hobie.

"Luv, one more picture and we are going home."

Miles giggles, "Bae, you're so jealous. Mwah. I love you." He kisses his boyfriend on the lips before going to his friend for the last photo. Of course, they respected Hobie's wishes. Instead Kaine nuzzle Miles' neck like a cat for the photo.

Miles giggles, before seeing his boyfriend holding his guitar, "Bae, look we're done. It's all good."

"Fine." He pouts, then his boyfriend went close to him.

"Bae, look up."

"Hmph?" His dark eyes saw the mistletoe dangling above them.

"Kiss!" Miles cup his boyfriend's jaw to kiss him many time.

"Now this will be great for the Spider So-city app!" Lyla took a picture of Miles and Hobie kissing. The rest of the gang believed that too.

Hobie playfully pick his partner up and give him many kisses. He never wants to let go of his Sunflower.

[tangelo-jay]

Okay, maybe I'm just a ludite and all "ooooo technology scary," but why does everything have to be "smart" now?

I'm diabetic. Have been for 21 years. My diabetes is old enough to drink legally in this country. With the exception of the first year when they had me do injections with either regular syringes or pens, I've been on an insulin pump. That's 20 years of having, basically, an external robotic pancreas. I put in my blood sugar and how many grams of carbs I'm eating, the pump does all the math for me based on settings put in by my doctor, and I get the amount of insulin I need. Do things always go 100% perfect every time? Well, no. I could be over or underestimating the amount of carbs or maybe my blood sugar was already trending down and what I ate isn't digesting fast enough. Maybe I forgot to tell the pump I was eating something (ADHD, it happens). The point is that the pump does it's job.

I'm due for an upgrade and I'm a little worried because I do NOT want a smart pump. I don't want something that needs software updates. I read somebody's post on here (don't remember who) about how their insulin pump did an update and it screwed up the machine to the point where it couldn't do anything on THANKSGIVING. A holiday where you are surrounded by carbs and there's probably not a lot of people if any working the phonelines? Yeah, no thanks. That sounds like a nightmare.

I don't want whether or not my robot pancreas functions to hinge on whether Jim the metaphorical software guy typed a 1 like he was supposed to or accidentally typed a 0 instead.

Give me the DUMBEST insulin pump you've got, please and thank you. It's worked just fine this way for the last literal 20 YEARS and I think it'll handle the next 20 just as well.

TL;DR some things should just be dumb stop trying to "improve" things by putting smart technology in them because it could make them less reliable. Also, old man yells at cloud.

[amplifyme]

An excerpt from another BaTB fanfic I wrote back in 2012 that tells the story of twenty-three year old Vincent, and the first time he kills.

@randomfoggytiger This should be safe to read, if you'd like. No S3 spoilers, though the first section includes a conversation between Vincent and Diana.

The Sticking Place

“Did’ya ever get soda down here, when you were a kid? You know, Coca-Cola, root beer, anything like that?”

Pulled from his somber memories of a lithe, beautiful creature dancing across the vast expanse of the Great Hall and into his arms, all softness and warmth and wrapped in spicy, enticing aromas, and the moment suddenly turning nightmarish as she twisted away in alarm and pain, Vincent found himself staring dumbly at Cullen and his nonsensical question.

“You ever shake it up before you opened it? Don’t tell me you didn’t, ‘cause I won’t believe you. All kids do it. And more than a few adults, especially around holidays or weddings and the like, when you got a built-in excuse to spray beer or champagne all over somebody. Get drenched with it, eyes burning, laughing to beat all.” Cullen’s face softened and he smiled at what were clearly fond memories before turning his attention back to Vincent. “You’re that bottle of soda. The one that’s been shook up real good. All that pressure that’s building? It’s gonna pop eventually. It’s got to: it’s pure physics.”

Vincent had no response. Instead, he found himself waiting expectantly for whatever Cullen might say next.

“I’ve seen it. Selling door-to-door you start to get real good at reading people. And you learn to do it fast. Got to where I could see it in under thirty seconds, just as plain as I could read indifference or interest in their faces… the way they held themselves. All that shit building up inside, filling up all the nooks and crannies, nowhere left to go. Just about boiling over with it. It took me longer with you. And not just,” Cullen gave a sharp head-to-toe sweep of his hand down Vincent’s length, acknowledging the obvious without any sort of politeness as he continued, “because of the way you look. Most folks, they get loud with it. Yelling, threatening to call the cops, raising a fist in my face. All because I had the nerve to come knock on their door. But there’s some, and I’ve only seen a few myself, who get quiet instead. You’re one of the quiet ones, my friend. You’re real quiet. And that scares me.”

He had, while listening to Cullen, slowly retreated from his spot at the worktable, unaware he was even doing so. His back was at the edge of the doorway when Cullen’s eyes shifted and pinned him against the wall just as surely as an iron spike would have. “So tell me,” he asked, circling back to his earlier question. “Am I wrong, or am I right?”

Vincent hung his head, unwilling to challenge the look in Cullen’s eyes. He lifted his hands and saw that they were fisted. And now he could feel the sharp bite of his claws against his palms.

“It has,” he finally began haltingly, despairingly, “become… more difficult… of late.” He forced himself to raise his eyes and look steadily at the older man. “I am of no danger to you, Cullen, nor to anyone Below. You are my family, this is my home, and no harm will come to anyone here so long as I can prevent it. But I fear –”

He couldn’t finish the thought. He was ashamed and deeply perturbed at himself for almost admitting something aloud he’d hardly even found the courage to express in his journals. And he could still remember so vividly those dark nights, and the dreams, after Lisa had been sent Above. After he’d hurt her. The harness, with its hated straps and chains; the struggles to break free; the unearthly howls that’d scoured his throat and rung in merciless echoes in his head. And that mustn’t ever happen again.

[bl6ckr0s3]

Spiritual Awakening 2024

I never thought I'd be writing again here, but the therapy of writing never fails. Counseling doesn't work for me because they cost money and humans are disappointments if they aren't spiritual. God and Lord Jesus have been my best counselors. The most difficult thing I have had to endure was the death of my sister, Annica. The last time I spoke to her was when she was back at the hospital in West Covina in the end of November. I think I last texted her Jan, but the last time I spoke to her was the last time I ever got to hear her voice. My brother or dad never told me nothing, until I had a bad feeling and had to give my niece a text to ask her dad how my sister is doing. That's when I got the bad news that she didn't make it in the hospital. She was there to get a blood transfusion. I truly believed that since she gotten sick with Covid, it fucked up her body and her health was going downhill. I never expected to lose her now, I really thought she was gonna live another 10-15 years and that my 90 year old dad would pass b4 her. She was a great person just like my mom. Now at least she's reunited with her and the rest of the families and the spirit guides that have been with her for many years. She no longer needs to suffer taking medications and dealing with my dad's negative bullshit. Her funeral is this Tuesday, but sadly I can't afford to fly out there to say goodbye. I know my sister would understand and not hold it against me for not making it to her funeral. We were really close & she is spiritually powerful so I know I feel like I am somewhat closer to her now in spirit. Getting through the first couple of days of grieving was difficult, but the remainder of the week got easier.

I had 3 3-Question readings done with Cait because I have met somebody I never expected to meet. There was a drawing of a man that she did for me almost 3 years ago from my soulmate reading with Cait. She drew a photo of a man with a baseball cap, flannel over a t-shirt, and a small beard. I looked at this photo and told myself I generally never become attracted to men like this. I held on to the drawing though. This was right before I met Joshua and way after I had already broken up with Ricky.

During the beginning of the holidays, it started to get real busy at work. One evening I was gonna leave work and I almost forgot to put away my fan. I found a fan that still works that somebody left at the garbage disposal of my apartment complex and thought it was perfect for work. When they blast the heaters, it was so fucking hot that i couldn't work without it throughout the night, so I had to make sure I had my fan put away so that nobody would steal it. Right when I turned around, here comes a tall gentleman staring directly at me with a smile on his face. I couldn't help, but grin in return. I never saw this guy b4, and it hit me so fast. I didn't know wtf happened, but it hit me like a semi-truck. I looked at the guy and asked myself who is this guy? Where did he come from? Damn, he looks kinda cute. After the first time seeing him, I couldn't stop thinking about him after that. The next evening I worked, I would look out for him. I would notice he usually starts walking by around 10 or 11pm. During the holidays, the maintenance guys would come in 2 hours early. When I saw the same guy walking by, I held my position and kept watch to see if he would turn to look at me. As he walked by my operation, he turned to look at me and smiled at me when he saw I was looking at him, so I decided to wave to him. There was a couple of other times I have seen him while I been working when he was working on a machine, he would turn to look at me and smile at me then look away. I already felt his eyes and his smile call my name. I waved to him when he walked by and smiled at me again, then I started greeting him when he did the next time. I asked the Mike on my tour about him and he said that guy is Mike Myers. He told me about him before, and I thought it was cool that he had a celebrity's name as well as a horror character's name as well. So, the next time he walked by I asked him if he is Mike, and he said yeah. I introduced myself to him and held out my hand to shake his, afterwards he said it was nice to meet me and I said the same.

Referring to Cait's readings, I asked about Mike Myers and how he felt about me. I was shocked to figure that after the powerful connection I felt with this man, I thought back to the drawing that Cait did for me and realized that OMG, he looked just like the guy in the drawing. Mike had a small beard, he wears a baseball cap all the time, and he always wears a plaid flannel to work outside his t-shirt. After the first time seeing him, I couldn't believe how fucking cute he was. I knew he is married with 3 kids, but obviously this powerful connection isn't stopping either one of us from this passion and excitement we have for each other. Cait verified with me in the readings that I have captured this man's attention. Mike has seen me when I was on tour 1, but I never remembered seeing him, maybe once if I was lucky to catch him. I never realized he liked me from the very beginning and then showing up in my work operation during the holidays the way he did, it turns out he would come through there when he never really needed to just to try to get a glance from me.

I began to write letters to him & folded them into the old origami shapes that we use to do it back in high school. He definitely remembered that when I saw the letters and he read through them all that night. He found it interesting. Claimed to have 'red thoughts' from the first letter and the remainder was informative in which I poured out my history to him so that he knows where my family came from and where I grew up. I told him about the places I lived in, the schools I attended, what I went through growing up during my teenage years, and about my ex boyfriends. He said he enjoyed my letters and didn't mind reading more, so I make time to write to him again when I can. After I gave him my Google voice #, he texted me right away and told me I can text him whenever I wanted. That first night, we texted until 6am before I realized I had to go to bed. I am getting use to the patterns of when he normally goes to sleep and when he is able to msg me, but it's been pretty hot between us. I shared a ton of photos to him. Cait has relate to me about the similar situation that me and Mike are in with our current relationships regarding co-dependency & possessive behaviors.

Joshua has noticed that something about me is off for the past 2 weeks and he knows things haven't really been the same between us. Even when we moved here, I already felt like my love and affections have drifted away from him. I was honest with him a couple of times about how I felt about our relationship. I told him that he's not affectionate with me, he hardly holds me in bed or in public, he kisses me rarely, we don't hold hands in public, we don't really have sex much in the first place. I know it and Cait knows it that there are things about him that won't ever change. His possessiveness and the way he controls me and the way he's becomes annoyed quickly and the way he deals with people is just sort of negative for me to deal with for the rest of my life. I don't want to live with Joshua for the rest of my life knowing that that's what I'm gonna deal with. Now that I know that I have met the man in the drawing who happens to my real TWIN FLAME. All the men I have been with and thinking of the possible people who could've been 'the one' who ended up NOT, it took me 3 years for my manifestation list to come true. The list that I made of all the things I wanted my future man to be, I wouldn't have met him if I wasn't convinced to move here to Tennessee. Mike was born in West Tennessee and lived here all of his life.

I have been really happy since I met him and I was open with him about everything, my feelings for him, knowing the fact that he's my twin flame, and that we are here to help each other out and be there for each other if need be. We are here to help each other grow spiritually, whether we don't end up getting together or we do. I think I have found my MATCH. This is amazing.

[booksbydlwhite]

#SampleSunday: Home for the Holidays- “I’m not being clever about a thing.”

Welcome to another Sample Sunday!

If you’re not in the know, my new seasonal romance, HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS dropped yesterday. It’s a WEBSITE EXCLUSIVE.

Snatch it up HERE.

Today’s Sample is a double punch. I recorded a live-ish reading of the first two chapters of Home For The Holidays. It will be available here and on my Youtube Channel.

I’ve also included a sample for today to whet your appetite for a sweet and steamy southern fiction holiday novella.

Enjoy, and don’t forget to grab your copy of Home for the Holidays!

The screen door swung open with a squeak. My mother’s plump, diminutive form stepped out of the house and onto the painted stone porch.

“Well, look who made it!” she called, fists planted on her hips and her lips spread into a wide smile. “You could have called somebody to tell us you were on the way.”

“Hey, Mama.” We spoke weekly, but her voice in my ears was nothing compared to hearing and seeing her in person. “I almost missed my flight. Then the rental place only had this boat available.”

“Don’t hey, Mama me. Bring your behind up here. I’ve got dinner on.”

I laughed as I climbed the porch steps to my mother’s open arms. “You know I’m all about some dinner from your stove.”

She hugged me tight, wrapping both arms around me, then pulled back. “Don’t seem like you’re all about some dinner, son,” she said, squeezing my arms. “Are you doing alright? Don’t you have somebody to cook up something for you now and again?”

I groaned aloud, reaching behind her for the latch to the screen door. “I’m fit for an almost fifty-year-old man. And that’s a clever way to ask if I’m dating. I’m not, by the way.”

“I’m not being clever about a thing.” She stepped over the threshold to lead the way into a well-furnished home that smelled of everything good in life. “I was happy when you divorced that gal, what’s-her-name...”

“Elodie,” I supplied. She knew my ex-wife’s name enough to talk mess about her during my divorce.

“I know that woman’s name,” she snapped, heading through the living room to the kitchen, turning on lamps as she went. “And I don’t miss her. Had her nose in the air whenever we came to town, like she was doing us a favor by breathing the same air as us.”

Mama let out a loud, offended huff while standing at the stove, sliding oven mitts on her hands. “Anyway, if I wanted to know if you had replaced her saddity behind, I would have asked. I don’t have to be clever about a thing.”

“Okay, Mama,” I replied, staving off a long lecture. “Renita and Rachel sent me photos from Thanksgiving. Looks like it was a nice spread.”

“You just missed them.” She opened the oven door and reared back for a few moments to let the steam escape, then reached in to pull out several covered dishes. “They brought the husbands and kids and everything. How was the holiday with your son and...her?”

“It was an okay time. You know Elodie likes a party. She had a house full of people and a big catered dinner.”

“Hmph. It would have been nice if she let you bring Joshua to Thanksgiving instead of making you go all the way to Atlanta for a big dinner full of people that aren’t his family. She don’t like him being out of her sight and I don’t like that. And who ever heard of a catered Thanksgiving?”

“Her family is his family. And I know Pinkney’s has been selling fully cooked dinners for years.”

“That’s different than having some restaurant cook up your holiday meal. Ain’t no love in those mashed potatoes.”

My mama was not wrong about that, and I wouldn’t dare argue if she was. Instead, I reached for a roll from the pan she brought out of the oven. She smacked my hand, but not fast enough. I pulled the roll apart to watch the steam rise and the butter bubble, then popped half of it into my mouth.

“Mmmmm! Nothing but love in this roll.”

“Already picking at the food. Get on out of here! Go find your father. He’s out in the garden. I’m sure he wants to say hello.”

I pulled off my jacket and slipped my tie from around my neck. A few days of being up under my mother and not wearing a suit and silk tie for ten hours a day was just what I needed.

[waywardcollective]

do you want to get out of here ? (from Asmodeus!)

Questioning Minds II Accepting

Everything in the room was softer, less pronounced, and the faces surrounding him were warm. With each slow blink, the row of lamps mounted to the walls emitted a strong, pulsating glow. It reminded him of summer when the sun was at its highest. He could feel their warmth kissing every area of his exposed skin - overcoat and blazer long-since discarded - but the heat was mainly caused by the Serenity coursing through his veins. It was exactly what he needed tonight; loss of feeling and control. Time ticked by slowly as his body completely melted into the velveteen cushions behind him, almost forcing him into a lying position. But he remained conscious enough to stay upright. It was such a waste to stare up at the dull ceiling all night when he was surrounded by beauty generated from a tiny vial of violet liquid. Through a haze of pink cigarette smoke, he watched as the wallpaper pattern came alive with a brilliant display of flowers blooming, pops of vivid colour everywhere. A sight to behold, reminding him of holidaying in the countryside with his parents when he was younger. He could almost hear the gentle rush of wind over the fields, carrying with it a scent of fresh grass. But underneath, there was still a subtle musty fragrance of the E-Bar; the experience was never perfect.

Somebody was speaking to him. There was a delay between the words and it reaching his ears, but he eventually lolled his head towards the source. How could he forget? It was the gentleman who kindly offered to pay for his dose after they chatted for a good while. Eli was a regular patron here, but it was his first time seeing the man with emerald eyes. They seemed to catch the artificial sunlight, appearing significantly brighter than they did an hour ago. But Serenity often enhanced colours, increasing their hue tenfold to give the illusion of a better world. A place where one would like to stay forever and never return to the drab life they had before. Oh, now that would be wonderful, wouldn't it? Somewhere without pain or loss -- or loneliness. He had to laugh. The only way he achieved such luxury was through a needle. But for those couple of hours away in dreamland, he was happiest. There was no hiding who he truly was, safe in the company of the ones he lost along the way.

Except they were never his to begin with. They belonged in the memories of another, and the half-Synth was merely mourning those he never truly met. But they were real to him. And time and time again, he re-visited the events that flooded him with joy and love. It made him feel fully human.

Right now, he was tranquil. His fingertips tingled and his face felt comfortably numb, as though he had drank one too many beers. Serenity was certainly a powerful relaxant -- of body and mind. It inhibited his better judgement, easily drawn into the company of a silver-tongued devil. But he had no idea how close to the truth that was. He accepted the potential for a friend, sharing more than he would sober and knowing he was being listened to. It made a nice change from being holed up in his attic. Sometimes he craved that social interaction. But despite his regular visits to this E-Bar, he avoided contact with the other patrons. They were all here for a specific reason and making connections was not one of them. So he finished a hit and returned home each night, trying to forget that tomorrow was fast approaching.

"...somewhere nice," the words sounded far away, and Eli hoped he was heard. He was beginning to think he was somewhere else entirely, but the velveteen material remained soft underneath his forearms. He was here. Breathing out a laugh, he tried again. "Will you take me somewhere nice?"

[almaaskalma]

Oh, no, is that him?

Dear Alma,

Ten years ago, I relocated to a new city. I wanted to meet new friends, so I joined an online dating service. One man in particular I met and I really liked and slept with the same week. It didn’t turn out the way I wanted. He didn’t call me back, and that was the end of it. Now, fast forward to the present. For the past six months, I’ve been dating the man of my dreams. I met his family over the holidays. As soon as I saw his brother, I immediately recognized him as my online one-night stand from all those years ago. He didn’t seem to remember me. Now, I don’t know what to do. Should I tell his brother or keep it to myself?

—Name withheld

Dear Name Withheld,

I’m a firm believer that the truth will set you free. Or, in your case, it will let you go and forget all about you. I can just imagine, in my mind’s eye, you mingling at the family soirée. You spot your old fling from across the room, almost choking on your drink, thinking, “Lawd, is that him?” ROFL. Girl, that took me back for a minute – 1982, Columbia, S.C. A similar situation happened to me. Life can be so funny. It just depends on how you look at it.

Ok, now, let’s get back to the nitty of your gritty: You say you spent a minute with this guy and he didn’t recognize you. Hmm, I guess that can be good and bad. Are you sure he didn’t remember your voice, your smile, your laugh? Ten years is a long time, and as much as we’d like to think we all will remember every mini-hookup, sometimes, as the years go by, they fade into the darkness of our memory. Shallow but true.

Soooo…unless somebody took pictures, I wouldn’t worry about it.

Your relationship is still new. Take time to see where it leads. Hypothetically speaking, if you contacted his brother and had a Jezuz, Mary and JoJo moment, what’s the outcome you would expect? You need to ruminate on this.

Ask yourself, is it worth the risk? Men, I think, have a stronger bond when it comes to sexual partners. You will never marry this man if he knows you’ve slept with his brother. That you can take to the bank.

Sometimes it’s a good idea to keep secrets. For example, your favorite midnight snack. Do we really need to know you mix peanut butter in your Thanksgiving stuffing when nobody’s looking? Those types of secrets should remain in your brain. Before blurting it all out, weigh the potential damage and benefits. Remember, truths hurt, and family pains can stroll the long way to forgiveness.

Obviously you’re considering the effect this might have on your boyfriend and your relationship, and I do understand and commend that. But on the other hand, I’d suggest you take this deep down, underground secret and lay it to rest. If it ever surfaces, like after you’re engaged or married, you say firmly and with conviction – “I don’t remember that.”

That’s your story – now stick with it.

— Alma