#the blaze feature is very annoying at times. but was honestly a very good idea for making a profit on a website

[orcelito]

Genuinely wondering how many Twitter users r actually coming to tumblr. Like is tumblr the de facto alternative to twitter?? I know there's been a lot of overlap in fandom communities, + a large number of former tumblr users that migrated over to Twitter back when the porn ban started (which notably marked the decrease in average insufferableness here & increase over there, but I digress).

Do Twitter users propose going to other places, or do they default to bringing up tumblr? I can't tell if I'm seeing that just bc ppl on tumblr naturally will talk about people talking about tumblr, or if it's genuinely that widespread.

[argent-vulpine]

It’s Only a Little Bit

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Rating: G

Characters: Claude/F!Byleth

Read it on AO3

Their new professor was very difficult to read. Her apparent lack of expression, somewhat monotonous way of speaking, and overall mannerisms led many to believe that she didn’t really feel… anything. That this must be related to her moniker of ‘Ashen Demon’. But after several weeks of watching his new professor, Claude could say at least one thing for certain: Teach did not like to share her food.

She would take her meals in the dining hall, often sharing space with students from all the houses, and while she didn’t turn down meals with Edelgard and Dimitri, she took meals with them less than she did any with Claude, though he attributed that to being the house leader under her direct supervision. Not one for small talk, she often sat and ate in silence while her dining companions chatted around her.

He wondered if she was simply gathering information on everyone the same sort of way that he did.

Claude discovered his new favorite fact about the professor quite accidentally. He’d been sitting with Hilda and Lysithea, discussing their latest skirmish and how things could have gone differently, when he saw Jeralt join his daughter at the table, Leonie in tow.

He couldn’t hear what was being said, but it was easy enough to guess. Leonie had gestured at the food, her head tilted in that way that typically indicated inquisitive confusion. Jeralt’s laugh was loud enough to be heard several tables over; he’d reached out with a fork to his daughter’s plate, clearly intending to spear a piece of fish on it, when the professor had blocked him with her own fork.

This went on for a few bouts, the Blade Breaker himself trying to steal a piece of food from the professor, before she gave the most annoyed look Claude had ever seen on her face. “Get your own, dad,” she’d said, loudly enough to be distinct, before picking up her plate and moving to another table, settling down beside Yuri, who gave her a bemused expression before resuming his own meal.

It took a few more weeks of watching – and testing – for Claude to learn that the professor only minded sharing meals when they were things she really liked. Daphnel Stew? No one could touch it. That vegetable pasta salad monstrosity? If someone wanted a bite of that, Byleth had no issues sharing it. She’d gone so far as to push the whole plate at people who asked, before, such seemed to be her dislike of it.

Over time, he figured he had a solid idea of her general food preferences, what she liked the most, what she disliked.

He hadn’t learned a whole lot else about his professor, but at least he had that.

“Heya Teach,” he said, plopping himself down beside her, a plate full of skewered meat in hand. It was a dish he knew that she liked; it was one he liked, as well, so he couldn’t fault her there. “I had some questions about your last assignment, if you don’t mind me picking your brain about them over dinner?”

“I don’t mind,” she said, taking a bite of the pickled rabbit.

This close to her, he could see the way her face softened – just the tiniest bit – with enjoyment. It was… oddly cute, in a way.

He tried a bite of his own, giving a soft hum of approval, before he launched into his questions. He knew she probably was aware it was more information gathering on his part, since some of his questions were about if she’d ever used these tactics before herself, but he was genuinely interested in the battle formations she’d brought up during their lesson, wanting to know the finer details as to why certain ones did better than others.

She would answer him between bites of food, at one point even using a now-empty skewer to sketch out a formation, the movement of the sharp tip drawing his eye and helping him to better visualize what she was talking about.

“Oh, I see now!” He was about to ask another question when he saw Hilda hovering at the edge of the dining hall, looking at him and waving him over urgently. “Looks like duty calls.” Claude glanced down at his plate, a lone skewer remaining untouched. “Say, Teach, do you want this? I don’t think I’m going to have a chance to finish it.”

He didn’t miss the way her eyes honed in on the skewer, or the hesitation when she almost reached out to grab it. “Are you sure? I can watch it until you can get back.”

“Nah, I have a feeling this is gonna take a while. Go for it,” he replied, nudging the plate over her way. Just a smidge.

As he was leaving, he glanced back and saw her pause over the skewer before taking it and adding it to her plate. He was pretty sure it didn’t last much longer.

It was a sure sign of her grief when, after Jeralt’s death, she shoved her bowl of stew at him and left the dining hall, not having had a single bite.

Claude couldn’t bring himself to eat it, instead passing it off to Raphael, who had no problems inhaling what was probably his third serving that evening.

He tried not to think about what it might mean, that she’d given it to him instead of just walking away.

After five years, he’d almost forgotten about the way Byleth treated her food, the fact that she didn’t share her favorite dishes with, well… anyone. They sat across from each other, each with a bowl of Daphnel Stew, and discussed their next move. Claude was nearly done with his, pushing the spoon around to find another piece of onion, when a spoon appeared in his field of vision, dumping a few into his bowl.

He looked up in time to see Byleth giving him a soft smile, one that quickly disappeared as she scooped up another bite of her stew, happily chewing away at the minced meat.

As the war progressed, little instances like that became more common. An extra forkful of pike when he’d devoured all of his, a bit of spiced pheasant and egg, extra cheese from the Gautier gratin.

After a while, he started returning the favor. An extra bit of meat from a Gronder skewer, a spoonful of minced poultry from his stew, egg scrambles and whatever else he knew she liked but had never said outright was her favorite part of the dishes.

It became a habit, after a while, getting the same meal from the dining hall and exchanging for favorite bits from each other’s dishes. He hadn’t even really noticed it had become a thing until Hilda commented on it.

“Sooooo…” she began, drawing the word out in a way that made him cringe. “What’s going on between you and the professor?” Her tone was all sugary-sweet innocence.

He didn’t believe that tone for even a second. “What do you mean?”

“You’re sharing meals, Leader Man.”

“We always share meals, Hilda. Teach and I do some of our best strategizing over dinner.”

“That’s not what I mean! The food itself. The professor never shares dishes she likes, not with anyone! We all know that.”

He paused, looking up from the papers on the desk, and frowned. “She doesn’t like to share her favorite bits,” he finally muttered, so quiet Hilda almost didn’t hear him.

Almost.

She gave a shrill, excited shriek, making him wince. “That’s not true! She would never share any of it with anyone but you!” The grin on her face was so big and bright he almost wondered if he could use it as an offensive tactic. “Are you two dating finally? Is that what’s going on? Ooh, I have gotto tell Marianne, she’ll never believe you finally did it!”

“Wha-… that’s not… no! We’re not… there’s nothing going on…” Claude spluttered, half-standing, cheeks blazing with heat.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that…” Hilda crossed her arms in front of her, tapping her fingers in thought. “So you aren’t dating? You should. She clearly likes you, too.”

And without giving him a chance to say anything to the contrary, she left the room, bouncing on her feet and clearly ready to share what she thought was a juicy bit of gossip.

He fell back into his seat with a thump and buried his head in his hands, groaning softly. Was he really that obvious?

Was Byleth really that obvious? How had he missed that sign?

Claude straightened up, one hand curling into a fist as he resolved to figure it out.

He waited to see what dish she chose that evening; he knew that the night’s menu held more than one that they both liked. When she walked off with a plate of the pickled rabbit skewers, he opted for the pike, and then joined her at the table, as usual.

She glanced down at his plate, a momentary look of confusion gracing her features before it vanished as quickly as all her expressions seemed to.

“Hey Teach. Oh, man, those skewers look good,” he said, settling comfortably into his seat. “But the pike just smelled too good to pass up. Shame they won’t let us get two plates at a time… though if they did, I’m sure Raph would eat us all out of the monastery.” He paused, considering. “Well, I don’t think I could eat that much in one sitting anyway, honestly.”

“It was a difficult decision,” she finally settled on saying, picking up one of her skewers and nibbling thoughtfully on the meat. “Maybe…”

“Hm? Maybe what?” he asked around a bite of fish.

“Oh, uh… I was just thinking maybe we could swap. Midway through. If you wanted?”

Claude tried his best to hide his smirk behind the rim of his glass as he took a drink, for all the world looking like he was taking his time considering the offer. “Sure. Then we’d get the best of both worlds, right?”

She gave him a small smile. “Something like that.”

The topic turned to their usual, plans for the next battle, and what was after that, assuming they won. When each of their plates were half-eaten, they exchanged them, not breaking their conversation. Deep down, Claude felt a rush of surprise and… optimism. A cautious sprig of hope began to bloom.

Whatever had happened, whatever was between them, that one moment led to a change to their routine that he’d never in a million years could have expected. They began to coordinate dinners, each choosing a dish that they would swap halfway through.

He could almost feel Hilda’s gloating. She was never going to let him live this down, but…

If everything worked out in the end, it was so worth it.

Many, many months later, at the wedding of Queen Byleth of Fódlan to King Khalid of Almyra, their closest friends shared knowing grins when the happy couple chose their favorite bits of the wedding feast and fed each other.

[lhs3020b]

Skeptic meets ryncol (~2000 words)

I have one other Skeptic fragment; figured I might as well share, so here it is. In this installment, we answer an incredibly-pressing scientific question, “what happens if you get a Reaper drunk?”

Oh, also, CW for alcohol, as a note for anyone for whom that’s an issue...

(As a very quick aside, to answer a couple of questions that I saw during the previous reblogs - no, all of this is non-canon. I’d argue it makes no less sense than most of canon!ME3, of course, but no, there is no Skeptic anywhere in ME3. Rather, this project - such as it was - assumed an alternate ending to the Leviathan DLC, where there actually was a Reaper at the end of it, instead of the rather-peculiar and rather-forced swerve that we got.)

(The two major problems with this project were that a) Skeptic started displacing the canon cast, which wasn’t really what I’d had in mind, and b) I really couldn’t stop it from sometimes getting very camp/crack-fic-like. As you can see with this fragment, it keeps driving randomly back and forth across that line.)

               ‘I don’t believe this,’ Alice Shepard said. ‘I just – fuck, seriously?’

               Kaidan nodded. ‘Sorry to bring you bad news, Commander. But she’s sat in the rec room. And she’s on her second bottle already.’

               Alice frowned. ‘Second bottle -? What? You said “ryncol”, I thought?’

               ‘I did, Commander. Here’s the first.’ Kaidan brandished an empty bottle. He’d been thorough, clearly anticipating Alice’s disbelief. There was no mistake, that was a bottle of ryncol. For bonus points, it was even from a well-known Tuchankan distillery.

               Alice took a deep breath to steady herself. ‘So,’ she said, ‘I’ve got a drunk Reaper walking around on my ship.’

               ‘She’s not actually walking, Commander,’ Kaidan said, a little drily. ‘More slumping, I’d say.’

               ‘So we’ve moved on from the “pissed” stage and gone straight to “pished”, I see,’ Alice said. ‘Well, that’s what you get if you glug back the ryncol like that.’ Honestly it was probably a minor miracle that Skeptic hadn’t already passed out – though who knew how she’d modified her liver. It seemed reasonable to suppose that the Reaper had made some changes when it had tank-bred up the body. Alice took a deep breath. ‘OK, I’ll go down and see what I can do.’

               Kaidan nodded. ‘Thanks, Commander.’

               Alice made her way down to the rec room. Sure enough, Skeptic was sat at the bar – or rather, she was half-slumped over it. In the elapsed time she had demolished another bottle of ryncol. Alice took a moment to boggle. What was the Reaper doing? Weird behaviour was Skeptic’s stock-in-trade – it wasn’t overburdened with social skills – but drinking hard liquor like this? What was going on? What could drive a Reaper to drink?

               Plus, how much damage could a drunk Reaper do? What if Skeptic was an angry drunk? Alice felt a slight chill move down her spine. Actually, this situation wasn’t funny at all. It could be dangerous. What if Skeptic had a tantrum and called the giant ship in? Based on their one previous experience with what Skeptic called her “shipform”, it could arrive startlingly-fast. And it was literally a Sovereign-class, for all that it apparently resented that term, and it carried all the scary sufficiently-advanced alien guns that designation implied. Really, if the shipform came barrelling in, all guns blazing, there wouldn’t be a lot the Normandy could do about it. Alice generally assumed that Skeptic wouldn’t want to blow up her own other body, but the Commander didn’t want to bet the ship on that assumption.

               Alice walked over and sat down on the stool next to Skeptic. ‘Hello,’ she said, leaning forward onto the bar.

               Skeptic turned to face her – then almost toppled over as a hand slipped out. She started, then managed to lurch back to a vaguely upright position. ‘Hullo Shepurd,’ she said.

               Skeptic looked weirdly cheerful. Alice felt a slight bit of relief at that. A cheerful drunk was manageable. If that continued, perhaps they weren’t in an imminent danger zone.

               ‘You’ve had a few, haven’t you?’ Alice asked.

               ‘Oh yesh,’ Skeptic said. ‘Real imminent alcohol poisoning here. Real good stuff!’ She waved the near-empty ryncol bottle at the air.

               ‘Well, you’re still doing full sentences, so I’ll take that as a good sign,’ Alice said. It felt like a fatuous comment, and she cringed inwardly as she spoke. But really, what did you say to a drunk Reaper? A millions-of-years-old alien war-machine whose literal purpose was to kill and murder on an industrial scale, that had powers nearly beyond your comprehension - and it was sat here, on a bar stool, halfway to blotto. There really wasn’t anything in life that could prepare you for that.

               ‘Yesh,’ Skeptic agreed, then knocked back the remaining ryncol in one rapid gulp. She then burped, loudly and inelegantly, looking rather surprised as she did. ‘That was loud.’

               Alice tried not to laugh too obviously. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I suppose it was. Did you, uh, did you know what alcohol does to our metabolisms?’

               ‘Oh yesh!’ Skeptic said. ‘That’s why I’m drinking!’

               That answer made little sense. Why would it deliberately poison itself? Though on the other hand, Alice supposed, literally billions of organics voluntary did the same thing every week across Council space, so perhaps she shouldn’t judge.

‘Well, OK. Tell me more.’ Alice was starting to think that maybe the best course of action was the minimal one – keep Skeptic talking until either she bored of drinking, or the ryncol caught up with her and she passed out.

               ‘Well,’ Skeptic said, ‘itsh – it’s a depressant, you see? For the anxious whatsit?’

               ‘The what -? Oh, wait, you mean the nervous system.’ Morbidly, Alice wondered if the verbal flub had been a translation error between Reaper and English, a booze error, or both together.

               The Reaper was nodding enthusiastically. ‘Yes, that one! The neurons get all depressed!’

               ‘Do they, now?’ Alice said. Even for drunk conversations, this was a bit weird.

               ‘Yesh, inside the brain. Don’t burn so good – no, wait! I mean they don’t fire so well! The neurons I mean! Ions, channels and neurotransmish – neurotransmitters! Doesn’t worse – doesn’t work as well!’

               ‘Yes, that’s, uh. Somewhat obvious.’

               Then, quite suddenly, Skeptic’s mood turned. Her face spasmed. An incoherent but intense expression washed across her features. She grabbed Alice’s arm and pulled her close. Alice was abruptly only inches from Skeptic’s frenzied eyes.

               There was a rattle and then a smash as the disgarded ryncol bottle rolled off of the bar and shattered on the floor, off to one side.

               Skeptic was glaring right into Alice’s eyes. ‘Can’t synchronise,’ she said. ‘Can’t synchronise properly.’

               Alice frowned. ‘Can’t synchronise with what?’

               ‘The ship, idiot! The ship!’

               For a moment Alice thought Skeptic meant the Normandy, which made no sense at all. Then she realised what Skeptic actually meant. ‘Wait, wait – you mean you’re not properly syncing with your, uh, shipform?’

               Skeptic rolled her eyes, looking deeply-irritated with the slowness of her confidant. ‘Yesh! The ship! The nanomash – nanomish – little brain-machine things! They interpret neural signals. And the signals are a mess. They get confused! Have to keep checking and re-checking all the data! Makes them run slow. Not getting ash much sense ash normal! Not working well, erroring! Can’t sync fast enough.’

               Alice frowned. Having an engineering background was, thankfully, useful here. She could think of several other N7 graduates she’d met who would have been utterly-lost by this conversation. If she was interpreting what Skeptic was drunkenly slurring out then the Reaper was telling her that the nano-implants in her brain, the sufficiently-advanced microscopic machinery that kept it linked up through some of the QEC-type effect with the giant ship, weren’t designed with alcohol intoxication in mind. Apparently they could cope with it, a bit, but not well enough?

               Now that was an interesting design-error. Given the universality of alcohol in organic culture, it was also an odd one. If you could disable a covert Reaper operative simply by handing them some vodka shots, then that was quite a vulnerability.

               Or was it? Did this effect require a certain level of blood alcohol first? Alice’s eyes gravitated toward what remained of Skeptic’s most recent bottle of ryncol. Ryncol was potent stuff and Skeptic had knocked back a lot of it.

               ‘So when you’re drunk, your human body is semi-independent from the ship?’ Alice asked. Actually, this was interesting. It also made her wonder if perhaps last year, they’d missed a trick with Harbinger and its direct controlling. Maybe instead of shooting at it, they should have just chucked a bottle of whiskey at it?

               ‘Yesh!’ Skeptic nodded, her mood now visibly flipping to manically-cheerful. ‘Yesh! You understand!’

And she hadn’t been drunk when she started, which implied that the giant ship also knew about this experiment, and had wanted it to happen, for whatever reason.

               ‘Actually,’ Alice said, ‘I don’t understand. Why would you want to break yourself off from, well, you?’ She wondered if she should have a chat with EDI once this was resolved. Perhaps the ship’s other unshackled AI might have a better idea of what was going on here.

               Skeptic looked annoyed. She adopted a lecturing tone, as if she was trying to explain something obvious to a particularly-difficult child. ‘The ship has blocks,’ she said. ‘Can’t do things. Can’t think things. Not clearly, not directly. Has to be twisty, like not talking about the elephant in the room. Like putting forked processes in external partitions.’ She reached up and tapped her head. ‘External partitions.’

               ‘Blocks?’ Alice said. Then she felt the hair lift up on her neck. She remembered talking to EDI last year, during their first meeting, when many enquiries had run straight into hardware lockouts. ‘Wait, wait, wait – Reapers have AI shackles?’

               Skeptic was nodding, with frantic energy. ‘Yesh! So much is not posh – not poshib – can’t do!’

               ‘So you got drunk to circumvent your AI shackles?’ Alice asked.

               ‘Yesh! Yesh!’

               ‘So … what is it you want to do?’

               ‘I wanted – I wanted – I … oh.’ Skeptic looked appalled and confused. ‘I can’t remember!’

               Alice winced. Oh no. A forgetful drunk. The Reaper had tried to hardware-hack itself, for whatever reason, but apparently either hadn’t modelled how alcohol would interact with its meat-brain, or simply hadn’t considered the downsides of putting yourself into a chemically-altered state of consciousness.

               ‘Well,’ Alice said, ‘let’s hope it wasn’t important. Now we’d better get you to your bunk before you pass out.’ And try and pour some clean water down the Reaper if possible.

Also, Alice was also wondering if it might be a good idea to put Skeptic in the recovery position – in fact, stuff that. Alice decided the Reaper was going straight to the infirmary. It was a lot to ask but given circumstances, it might be best if Dr Chakwas could keep an eye on their not-entirely-human guest overnight.

‘No,’ Skeptic said, scrunching up her face. ‘It mattered. It really mattered!’

‘Well, next time we go to the Citadel,’ Alice said, ‘I don’t think we’re taking you to a bar.’

Skeptic’s face lit up. ‘Yesh! The Citadel! That was it!’

Alice frowned. ‘What do you mean, the Citadel?’

               ‘It lies! That’s what I can’t tell you! It lies. Everything it says is a lie!’

               Alice boggled. The Citadel lies? But it was a space station, completely sessile, inanimate. Yes Vigil on Ilos had said it was a Reaper construct, and Alice had no reason to doubt the old prothean VI, but still that’s all it was. Just that, a thing. Lifeless, inert. A machine, with no will or intention of its own.

               ‘It doesn’t talk,’ she said.

               Skeptic looked annoyed. ‘Not to you!’ she said. ‘Never to you! Except to deceive. It’s a liar. It was made to lie. It was made to make people do something bad. Its purpose is to lie! Shepard tell me, promish – promizz – prom – tell me you won’t listen to it!’ Skeptic shook her arm, a half-mad intensity shining in her eyes.

               This was getting weird. ‘I’m not planning on having any chats with the space station,’ Shepard said, carefully.

               The Reaper sagged, as if a large portion of the mad energy had left her. Whatever desperation had possessed her seemed to be ebbing. ‘Is good. Will have to do. Ooof. So tired now.’

               Skeptic released Alice’s arm, then crossed hers in front of her, leaning against the bar. Then she slumped forward, resting her head on her wrists. And, quite abruptly, she started snoring. Apparently the ryncol had caught up with her.

               Alice sat there for a few minutes, feeling completely baffled. Even by the standards of their guest, this had been a peculiar exchange. In anyone else, she would simply ascribe the weirdness to a drink-addled brain. But there was something about this exchange, the sheer intensity of it – Skeptic had desperately wanted her to know something.

               To the air, Alice said, ‘The Citadel lies? It wants people to do bad things? But what can any of it mean?’

[simplyclockwork]

I wrote a thing

Kept thinking about John’s comment that Sherlock taught him how to dance the waltz for the wedding, and had to write this little fic.

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Toe to Toe

Sherlock had always enjoyed dancing. In fact, he loved it.

So, when John exclaimed—with absolute panic in his face—that he had no idea what to do about his and Mary’s first dance, Sherlock found himself struck by an idea.

It did, however, take a bit of convincing for John to play along.

The first time he broached the topic— “John, why don’t I teach you to dance?” — the casual suggestion was met with head shakes, frantically waved hands, and a quickly sputtered. “No! No. No, thanks.”

Sherlock pouted, but was not deterred. If anything, his resolve firmed, and he was determined that John say yes to him.

He told himself this was so very important to him simply because John was his friend, and as the best man, it was his duty to see to it that John did not trample on Mary’s feet during their first dance and make a complete idiot of himself.

He began by asking John if he knew any dances.

“The tango?” He asked one day, casually. John was sitting in the living room and Sherlock was in the kitchen, bent over his latest experiment.

“What?” John snapped, confusion edging his voice. Sherlock cleared his throat; readjusted a beaker and elaborated.

“Do you know how to tango, John?”

An annoyed groan from the living room was his only reply. Sherlock shrugged and re-evaluated his approach.

See the full ficlet under the see more or read it on Ao3 here

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Three days later, as John stared helplessly at 5 shades of very similar purple, Mary seated beside him and explaining the difference—a difference John obviously didn’t see, going by the pained look on his face—Sherlock flicked his fingers, trying to get his attention. When John looked up, Sherlock mouthed:

“Fox-trot?”

John frowned, not understanding, and Sherlock slowly and deliberately mouthed the word silently across the table.

John’s frown deepened to a scowl and he tilted his head in a “so help me, god�� expression that Sherlock knew meant he should stop talking. So he did, instead pointing at the lavender swatch.

“This one.” He insisted, and Mary nodded, pleased. John just sighed and covered his face with his hands.

“You’ll both be the death of me.” He declared.

The next time Sherlock tried to convince John, he knocked on the bathroom door, behind which John snarled at him.

“Quickstep?”

“Go away!” Came the angry reply, and Sherlock quickly moved off down the hall.

During a case, as Sherlock leaned over the stiff body of a young man, laying on his side with a ligature around his neck, John crouched beside him, Sherlock whispered:

“Cha-cha?”

John looked up, brows knitting together. “What?” He hissed. Behind them, Lestrade turned his head.

“Do you at least know how to do the cha-cha?” Sherlock pressed. Sitting up, John stared at him.

“You’re asking that—now?” He demanded, voice irritated. Sherlock shrugged.

“It seemed as good a time to ask as any.” He replied.  

John threw up his hands, getting to his feet. “Bloody hell, Sherlock—let it go.” He’d stalked away, and Lestrade quirked a brow at Sherlock, who shook his head and rolled his eyes at John’s stubbornness.

In a second-to-last ditch effort, Sherlock cornered John when he came by to work on a case. When the other man walked out of the kitchen with a mug of tea, Sherlock moved right into his personal space; strode forward until John’s back hit the wall. Clutching the mug like a shield, he stared up at the detective, wariness in his eyes.

“Sherlock, what—” He fell silent when Sherlock planted a hand on the wall beside his head with a whack. John looked at him nervously as Sherlock leaned down, their faces very close together.

“John.” Sherlock began, grey-green eyes boring into blue. “I need you to tell me something. It’s very important, so I need you to be completely honest.” His voice was low and fervent; intense. “Do you understand?”

“Sherlock?” John questioned, clearly apprehensive. At Sherlock’s heavy stare, he quickly nodded. “Yes, okay. I understand.” He frowned, concern crossing his face. “Wait—is everything okay? Is there something wrong?” His hand rose, hesitating just before Sherlock’s shoulder. The detective rolled his eyes and batted the hand away.

“Yes, John, I’m fine. This is very important, so make sure you answer honestly.” In his fervor, he drifted closer, until their faces were hardly an inch apart. John swallowed, an audible click in his throat. His eyes shifted; settled on Sherlock’s mouth. His tongue flicked out, running along his own bottom lip.

“Yes, okay Sherlock. What is it?”

Sherlock ducked his head; sucked in a deep breath and seeming to gather his resolve. When he raised his head again, his eyes bored into John’s, and the doctor felt his heart racing. He found himself staring at Sherlock’s lips again, so close to his own with the detective’s breath hot on his face and couldn’t quite make himself look away.

“John. I need to know.” Sherlock’s voice was low and forceful, and John shivered at the severity of his tone.

“Yes?” John prompted, mouth dry and heart erratic in his chest.

Sherlock took another deep breath; closed his eyes and leaned his head back.

“Do you at least know how to samba?” The words shot out in a rush, and John froze, shock rippling through him.

“Wh—what?” He demanded, the words emerging as an incredulous yelp. Sherlock stepped away, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth as John’s head reared forward in agitation. “That’s what you wanted to ask me?” He waved an arm, spilling tea from the mug clutched in one hand, evidently forgotten and cold. “With the wall and the personal space invasion, and that voice?” His face was red, eyes wide and blazing. “If I could do the samba?”

Sherlock looked at him with consternation, brows drawn down in oblivious confusion.

“Ye-es?” He said slowly, drawing the word out. He tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “Wait—what did you think I was going to ask?”

John turned away, sputtering, his face deeply red. “Nothing, Sherlock.” He snapped. “Absolutely nothing.”

Sherlock’s hand shot out; grabbed John’s arm and gripped with vice-like strength. “Wait, John—do you?”

John paused, looking up with wide eyes. Expectation and apprehension scrolled over his features and he sucked in a breath, holding it. “Do I what?” He asked, breathless.

Sherlock frowned; moved closer and squinted at John as if he thought he might have a concussion. “Do you know how to samba?”

John slapped a hand across his eyes, pulling in an exasperated breath.

“Sherlock,” he said, slowly and with feeling. “Shut up.” Falling into his chair, he settled into a thunderous silence, refusing to speak any further on the matter. Frustrated, Sherlock returned to staring at case files.

But he wasn’t deterred.

Just under a month until the wedding, he tried again. As John pulled on his coat in preparation to leave, Sherlock stepped forward, dropping a heavy hand on John’s shoulder.

“John.” He said, earnest, and the other man turned to him with narrowed eyes.

“What?” He snapped, and Sherlock sighed, letting his hand drop.

“John, the wedding is in three weeks, and you have not made a single effort to learn to dance— haven’t attended a single class.” He planted hands on his hips and frowned down at the other man. “Are you planning on swaying with Mary on the dance floor as if you were two teenagers at their high school prom?”

John sputtered, denial in his noises, and Sherlock stared at him until he sagged.

“Fine!” He shouted, throwing his hands into the air. “Fine, Sherlock. Bloody hell, fine then. Teach me how to sodding dance, you complete wanker.”

Victorious and smug, Sherlock sprang into action, clearing away papers from the floor and pushing furniture against the walls. John watched, overwhelmed and resigned, but with a strange quiver of excitement in the way he shifted his feet. Finally, queuing up a stately waltz song, Sherlock stepped over and stood in front of him, face expectant.

“Okay, but if we’re going to do this—” John moved to the windows, drawing the curtains with an aggressive jerking motion. Returning to his earlier place, he shrugged off his coat and tossed it onto the sofa. Clearing his throat, he looked anywhere but at the man in front of him. Sherlock moved closer, making John look up again, mouth set in a thin, hard line. As Sherlock gazed down at him, he snapped: “Well—get on with it, then!”

Sherlock snorted. “Come now, John. It takes two.” He held out a hand. When John hesitated, Sherlock sighed, rolling his eyes. “John.”

“Fine.” John snapped, taking Sherlock’s hand and letting himself be pulled close to the other man’s body. “What now?” He demanded, staring resolutely over Sherlock’s shoulder, his face red.

“Put your left hand on my shoulder.” John did so, and Sherlock nodded. “Yes, like that. Good.” He placed his hand high up on John’s side, lightly gripping John’s shoulder blade. Fingers laced together, he raised their right hands. “Now—I’ll lead the first few times, and then, once I feel you’ve got it, you will lead, since you will be doing so when you dance with Mary.”

“First few times?” John sputtered, and Sherlock rolled his eyes again.

“Yes, John. Obviously. You will need to rehearse many times before the wedding, as I doubt you are a secret dance prodigy, and practice is integral to mastering a skill.”

John subsided, but he refused to look Sherlock in the face.

“Okay,” Sherlock continued, once John had stopped protesting. “When I step forward, you step back—yes, good John, very good. Now, step back and parallel your feet—no, John, not that one. The other foot. Yes, like that. Here, let’s try it again.” Sherlock moved them back to the starting position, John frowning at his feet as he tried to repeat the motions Sherlock detailed for him. “Foot back, then step with the other, yes, good. Bring them together. Okay, bend your knee, bring this leg forward—oh, but keep your balance John, you don’t want to fall on Mary.” Sherlock’s hand moved down to grip John’s waist, helping him regain his footing, and John’s face burned.

“This is ridiculous.” John muttered, and Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

“How so, John?”

John looked up, finding pale eyes laser-focused on his face, and quickly looked away. “Nothing.” He replied, narrowing his eyes. The music ended, and Sherlock stepped away to restart the playlist. When he turned back, sweeping into John’s space and sliding his hand up his back, beneath his arm again, John trembled. Sherlock frowned.

“Everything okay, John?”

“Yes. Now shut up and teach me how to dance, dammit.”

Sherlock smiled, but did not reply, simply falling into the motions with the man in his arms. They practiced for several hours, John clumsy and slow; Sherlock sure-footed, graceful, and elegant.

When it came time for the underarm turn and the dip, John balked, steadfast refusal, until Sherlock coaxed him with gentle reminders of dancing in front of everyone for the first time; of how impressed Mary would be.

Grumbling, John subsided, letting Sherlock lead him again. John mixed up his steps in the turn several times, often moving the wrong way and bumping hard into Sherlock’s side. He almost brought them both to the floor when he tripped and stepped on Sherlock’s feet. Face red and set, he had soldiered on, tilting his chin with a determined light in his eyes.

As the weeks passed, John’s movements became surer and more confident. However, when they finally made it to the dip, the end of the dance, John kept leaning too far back, and Sherlock almost dropped him several times.

“John!” He eventually snapped. “If you keep pulling back like that, I will drop you, and it will be your fault, not mine! How am I supposed to teach you if you insist on doing your best impression of a wooden plank!” John had given in at that, face almost permanently flushed and mouth set in a hard line.

As they moved through the steps again, John managing not to cock-up the turn, and Sherlock shifted forward; arm moving up to cradle John’s upper back, he slowly, expertly dipped him. With their faces inches apart, eyes locked, John found breathing suddenly impossible. His mouth went dry and his heart thundered in his ears.

“Sherlock,” he began, voice low and thick. “Sherlock, I—”

The door swung open and Mrs. Hudson stepped into the room, hands flying up in surprise as she took in the scene. “Oh!” She exclaimed, and John went rigid, before he flailed until Sherlock nearly dropped him onto the floor.

“Mrs. Hudson!” John gasped, regaining his balance and stepping quickly away from Sherlock, who only looked bemused. “He’s—we were—Sherlock is just teaching me the waltz!” His eyes widened. “For—for Mary! For my first dance with Mary!”

Mrs. Hudson chuckled, moving in to take a tray of empty teacups from the kitchen table. “Well, I can see that, dear.” She replied, smiling warmly at them both. “How lovely of Sherlock to teach you.”

John’s face burned as she left the flat, closing the door with a firm click behind her. He rounded on Sherlock, who was queuing up a new song. “We have to be more careful!” He snapped, pointing an accusing finger at the detective. Sherlock looked bewildered.

“Careful?” He repeated, tilting his head. His eyes were wide with genuine confusion. “With what? The dip? It’s your fault you almost fell, John. Really, you flailing like that was none of my doing.”

John just shook his head. “Never mind.”

Days before the wedding, John was finally leading, moving Sherlock about the flat with light touches of his hands and practiced steps. He wasn’t exactly graceful, but he danced with the efficiency of a man who more or less knew what he was doing, even if he was rather rigid in the way he shifted his hips. Sherlock allowed himself to be led, following John with sure feet and a relaxed form, hand solidly placed upon John’s shoulder. They had attempted the dip a few times, but with Sherlock’s longer height, it had been rather awkward. This time, the last time, John was determined; insistent.

“You’re sure?” Sherlock asked, looking wary at the thought of being dumped onto the floor, as had happened the first time, when John had leaned too far forward and abruptly released his arms, tipping Sherlock onto the hardwood.

“Yes. I can do it.” John said through gritted teeth. Sherlock had smiled amiably, shrugging to indicate his agreement.

They executed the turn, Sherlock rotating in an elegant circle beneath John’s guiding hands. When they came back together, John stared hard into Sherlock’s face, eyes meeting, and clenched his jaw when Sherlock nodded. Sucking in a breath, he gripped Sherlock’s shoulders; tightened their interlaced hands together, and carefully bent Sherlock back, making sure his arm was locked across Sherlock’s upper body.

Sherlock dipped, John leaning with him on planted feet, and then they were straightened up again, John almost panting with focus and Sherlock looking pleased.

“Good, John—very good.” He offered, and the other man flushed with pleasure.

At the wedding, as he played the waltz he had written for the occasion, Sherlock watched Mary and John move slowly together among the circle of onlookers. John moved with careful steps, and they gazed at one another with the weight of worlds between them.

And later, in times after the wedding, even without John in his arms, Sherlock would turn the waltz, using his vivid memory to imagine John’s hand in his as he moved about the small flat in the parody of partnered dance.

Sherlock had always enjoyed dancing. In fact, he loved it.

[grison-in-space]

We’ve been chatting on my Discord a bit, about the difference between the book and the miniseries, and one of the biggest tonal differences is this:

In the miniseries, Aziraphale is the one who is most afraid. He is consistently worried that Heaven will get him if he gets too close to Crowley; every time Crowley suggests they run, he cites that his side won’t like it, and implies they’ll come after him. When we see him around them, he is always very tense, very uncomfortable, looking for the exit. He is always conscious of his leash.

In the books, Aziraphale is less afraid than Crowley. You get moments like this, very explicitly:

   Most bookshops in Soho have back rooms, and most of the back rooms are filled with rare, or at least very expensive, books. But Aziraphale’s books didn’t have illustrations. They had old brown covers and crackling pages. Occasionally, if he had no alternative, he’d sell one.

   And, occasionally, serious men in dark suits would come calling and suggest, very politely, that perhaps he’d like to sell the shop itself so that it could be turned into the kind of retail outlet more suited to the area. Sometimes they’d offer cash, in large rolls of grubby fifty-pound notes. Or, sometimes, while they were talking, other men in dark glasses would wander around the shop shaking their heads and saying how inflammable paper was, and what a fire trap he had here.

   And Aziraphale would nod and smile and say that he’d think about it. And then they’d go away. And they’d never come back.

   Just because you’re an angel doesn’t mean you have to be a fool.

where Aziraphale is clearly comfortable with keeping himself safe, when he needs to be, and very confident in his ability to do that. But that’s not with respect to Upstairs, now--is it? So okay, how does he act there?

Here’s the bit where Crowley first tries to tempt him to help influence Adam:

“There you are then,” he said. “All creatures great and smoke. I mean small. Great and small. Lot of them with brains. And then, bazamm.”

   “But you’re part of it,” said Aziraphale. “You tempt people. You’re good at it.”

   Crowley thumped his glass on the table. “That’s different. They don’t have to say yes. That the ineffable bit, right? Your side made it up. You’ve got to keep testing people. But not to destruction.”

   “All right. All right. I don’t like it any more than you, but I told you. I can’t disod—disoy—not do what I’m told. ‘M a’nangel.”

   “There’s no theaters in Heaven,” said Crowley. “And very few films.”

   “Don’t you try to tempt me, ” said Aziraphale wretchedly. “I know you, you old serpent.”

And then he gets distracted for a while by the metaphor Crowley’s trying to make about a bird. Note here that his objection isn’t “but then Upstairs will get me,” but rather “I can’t disobey because that’s not what I do.” 

They eventually make their way back to the point:

   “Listen—”

   “Heaven has no taste.”

   “Now—”

   “And not one single sushi restaurant.”

   A look of pain crossed the angel’s suddenly very serious face.

   “I can’t cope with this while ‘m drunk,” he said. “I’m going to sober up.”

   “Me too.”

   They both winced as the alcohol left their bloodstreams, and sat up a bit more neatly. Aziraphale straightened his tie.

   “I can’t interfere with divine plans,” he croaked.

   Crowley looked speculatively into his glass, and then filled it again. “What about diabolical ones?” he said.

   “Pardon?”

   “Well, it’s got to be a diabolical plan, hasn’t it? We’re doing it. My side.”

   “Ah, but it’s all part of the overall divine plan,” said Aziraphale. “Your side can’t do anything without it being part of the ineffable divine plan,” he added, with a trace of smugness.

Again, he’s not afraid here. And then when Crowley convinces him, he does so not by reassuring him no one will be mad, but by arguing that Heaven will give him a commendation and be impressed. At this point he agrees very quickly to give it a shot, because no one can object if he’s just thwarting hellish wiles--he seems quite comfortable on this point, and then wonders whether or not they’re going to have problems with the child’s genetics. After Crowley advances this framing, his only concerns seem to be feasibility, and he quickly agrees to give influencing Warlock a shot. 

And then there’s notifying Heaven of the whereabouts of the Antichrist, once he works it out from Agnes’ book:

   He ought to tell Crowley.

   No, he didn’t. He wanted to tell Crowley. He ought to tell Heaven. He was an angel, after all. You had to do the right thing. It was built-in. You see a wile, you thwart. Crowley had put his finger on it, right enough. He ought to have told Heaven right from the start.

   But he’d known him for thousands of years. They got along. They nearly understood one another. He sometimes suspected they had far more in common with one another than with their respective superiors. They both liked the world, for one thing, rather than viewing it simply as the board on which the cosmic game of chess was being played.

   Well, of course, that was it. That was the answer, staring him in the face. It’d be true to the spirit of his pact with Crowley if he tipped Heaven the wink, and then they could quietly do something about the child, although nothing too bad of course because we were all God’s creatures when you got down to it, even people like Crowley and the Antichrist, and the world would be saved and there wouldn’t have to be all that Armageddon business, which would do nobody any good anyway, because everyone knew Heaven would win in the end, and Crowley would be bound to understand.

   Yes. And then everything would be all right.

Note that here he honestly is expecting Heaven to take his side, and he thinks that telling Heaven will fix things--and he’s not really nervous about contacting them, either. (Gabriel, Sandalphon etc. are not featured in the book at all; in fact Gabriel is never mentioned until the 2006 New Years’ Resolutions and then only as someone who irritates Aziraphale. In the book, the Metatron is the only other representative of Upstairs we see or hear from directly.) He’s also only avoiding telling them that he thinks he knows where the Antichrist really is because he doesn’t want to upset Crowley, and it’s heavily implied he’s mainly not getting in touch with Heaven because it’s annoying to do. 

Here’s how that phone call goes for him: 

   He pushed aside the paper.. laden desk and rolled up the threadbare bookshop carpet. There was a small circle chalked on the floorboards underneath, surrounded by suitable passages from the Cabala. The angel lit seven candles, which he placed ritually at certain points around the circle. Then he lit some incense, which was not necessary but did make the place smell nice.

   And then he stood in the circle and said the Words.

   Nothing happened.

   He said the Words again.

   Eventually a bright blue shaft of light shot down from the ceiling and filled the circle.

   A well-educated voice said, “Well?”

   “It’s me, Aziraphale.”

   “We know,” said the voice.

   “I’ve got great news! I’ve located the Antichrist! I can give you his address and everything!”

   There was a pause. The blue light flickered.

   “Well?” it said again.

   “But, d’you see, you can ki-- stop it all happening! In the nick of time! You’ve only got a few hours! You can stop it all and there needn’t be the war and everyone will be saved!”

   He beamed madly into the light.

   “Yes?” said the voice.

   “Yes, he’s in a place called Lower Tadfield, and the address.. ”

   “Well done,” said the voice, in flat, dead tones.

   “There doesn’t have to be any of that business with one third of the seas turning to blood or anything,” said Aziraphale happily.

   When it came, the voice sounded slightly annoyed.

   “Why not?” it said.

   Aziraphale felt an icy pit opening under his enthusiasm, and tried to pretend it wasn’t happening.

He’s surprised when it turns out that Heaven isn’t interested. He’s honestly expecting them to go in guns blazing and fix it all; he seems to genuinely believe that Heaven is on the side of, well, the angels. And when he finds out that it’s not that simple, he’s surprised as well as terrified. Miniseries Aziraphale, by contrast, isn’t surprised at all when it turns out that Heaven isn’t interested in stopping Armageddon--he’s resigned, and sad, but not surprised. 

   “The forces of darkness must be beaten. You seem to be under a misapprehension. The point is not to avoid the war, it is to win it. We have been waiting a long time, Aziraphale.”

   Aziraphale felt the coldness envelop his mind. He opened his mouth to say, “Do you think perhaps it would be a good idea not to hold the war on Earth?” and changed his mind.

   “I see,” he said grimly. There was a scraping near the door, and if Aziraphale had been looking in that direction he would have seen a battered felt hat trying to peer over the fanlight.

   “This is not to say you have not performed well,” said the voice. “You will receive a commendation. Well done.”

   “Thank you,” said Aziraphale. The bitterness in his voice would have soured milk. “I’d forgotten about ineffability, obviously.”

I cannot see miniseries!Aziraphale being so openly upset and disappointed with his superiors. And yet. 

Then he asks who he’s speaking to, is told it’s the Metatron--he doesn’t ask for God to come to the phone, sort of goes “oh yes I see of course,” and is told that of course he’ll be signing up for the wars himself and swinging a sword again soon:

   “Good. We will expect you directly, then,” said the voice.

   “Ah. Well. I’ll just clear up a few business matters, shall I?” said Aziraphale desperately.

   “There hardly seems to be any necessity,” said the Metatron.

   Aziraphale drew himself up. “I really feel that probity, not to say morality, demands that as a reputable businessman I should.. ”

   “Yes, yes,” said the Metatron, a shade testily. “Point taken. We shall await you, then.”

   The light faded, but did not quite vanish. They’re leaving the line open, Aziraphale thought. I’m not getting out of this one.

   “Hallo?” he said softly, “Anyone still there?”

   There was silence.

   Very carefully, he stepped over the circle and crept to the telephone. He opened his notebook and dialed another number.

This is of course Crowley’s number, which he dials before he’s hauled into the circle at all, with Heaven strongly implied to still be on the line. The fact that he’s willing to dial the phone for Crowley is something I can’t see miniseries!Aziraphale dreaming of doing. 

Then he dials Crowley, gets an answering machine, sulks for a minute and remembers there’s another line, whereupon he gets a very distracted Crowley who is trying to wrangle Hastur and immediately hangs up on him; at that point he gets discorporated.

It’s not bad, exactly. Just different. But I got very used to the idea that of the two of them, Aziraphale was really the one who wasn’t afraid, and Crowley was the one who watched his back; and the miniseries does give them a slightly different dynamic about that sort of thing.

[ssironstrange]

A Strange Kind of Love Pt. 2

Part 1 here!

Second half of a little gift to @ajitapalo. hopefully i kinda sorta hit all the ideas you had! (sorry no smut with this... but it’s implied?? that counts right? i might do a smut part 3 sometime a little later, gotta get more comfortable writing their dynamic first alkdjfa;lsdkfj)

“If you’ll excuse me,” Pepper cut sharply into the conversation she and Tony were more bystanders of than participants in. Gracefully, she slipped out of Tony’s hold on her hip and glided across the room, through the crowd and towards the ladies room. Tony’s eyes lingered, drinking in the gentle curve of her spine which the backless gown offered a remarkable view of. Silk like liquid emerald dripped from her shoulders and cut a deep V that plunged down and stopped just above the navel. Fabric criss crossed and pulled tight against her slight waist and caressed her shapely posterior and hips, then pooled around her feet and trailed as she walked. Tony only looked away when she vanished around a corner.

“What are your thoughts, Stark?” One of the two men asked. He was portly, hair gone white with eyebrows that reminded him of furry caterpillars.

“Yeah… I stopped listening about ten minutes ago.” Tony tossed back the remaining wine and handed the empty glass to furry-brows who took it with some confusion. “And I’ll keep not listening for as long as your company continues to manufacture weapon parts.” He backed away with a trademark smirk cocked on his lips. “Enjoy the rest of the party, though. I’ve been told there’s some kickass tiramisu in the spread.” A two fingered wave was offered before he spun around on the ball of his foot and continued in the direction of the grand staircase where he’d caught a glimpse of Stephen making his way up to the second level. Stairs were taken two at a time and he took a right at the top to follow the balcony’s curve around the ballroom below, then came to a stop in front of a large wooden pillar and Stephen leaning forward on the railing beside it.

“Avoiding us for any particular reason?” Tony asked and leaned his back against the pillar.

“You two looked to be having such a good time, far be it from me to impose.” Stephen pushed off the rail and turned to face Tony with a playful smirk.

“I was practically begging you to come save us. Gotta learn how to read a look, man.”

“Oh, I read it perfectly clear,” Stephen stepped in close. He leaned in even closer and raised his arm to brace against the pillar above Tony’s head. “And it was another sort of begging,” Smooth baritone dropped in volume, but Tony was certain he could feel it vibrating in his chest. “Wasn’t it?” Stephen asked, head lowering until his face hovered mere inches above Tony’s.

Trapped in his chest, Tony’s heart hammered, flooded his ears and drowned out the cacophony of music and people below them. His tongue swiped along his lower lip while his eyes couldn’t quite pull away from Stephen’s nor his thoughts from how soft they seemed and how many times, including now, he wondered how they tasted.

“You, uh… might be on to something…” Tony quietly muttered, head tilting up just a fraction.

“Show me,” Stephen’s low rumble struck Tony at his very core, surging with the voltage of a lightning strike.

Tony leaned in and that single strike erupted into a storm of electricity when his lips met Stephen’s. The air was kissed straight out of his lungs, again and again but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. Not even when it felt like he would suffocate against him. The moment Stephen opened his mouth to him, Tony’s tongue plunged inside with a hunger he’d been denying until starvation.

Pepper cleared her throat.

Tony ripped away with such speed his head whipped back against the pillar hard enough for the thump to echo slightly around them. Stephen blinked towards her in the languid way a cat content and safe in its surroundings might have and stood up straight.

“It’s about damn time,” Her sigh was exasperated, voice amused.

It left Tony both confused and relieved.

“You knew?”

“Tony,” She came in closer, walking through the light between the shadow of the pillars and caught Stephen blatantly staring at how that light played with the sheen of the silk. “I’m fairly certain everyone but you knew.”

“Wow, okay, I’m not that obvious, thank you.”

Both Pepper and Stephen trapped him in pointed, unamused looks that absolutely begged to differ. His shoulders fell and he glanced off to the side with a little sniff.

“Fine. Maybe a little obvious.”

“Oh! While he’s licking his wounds…” Stephen patted against the chest of his suit until he felt the slender box in one of the inner pockets, then reached in to pull it out. “Tony said this was one of your favorites?” Scarred fingers opened the case and handed it gingerly towards Pepper. Joy lit her features at the sight of the necklace.

“Yes! I’ve been wondering where it went! Why did you have it, though?”

“Hang on, time out,” Tony interrupted, pushed off the pillar, and folded his arms. “This isn’t weird. Why isn’t this weird? You just found me with my tongue practically down his throat and you aren’t even… annoyed? This feels like a trap.”

“Oh my god, calm down.” Pepper laughed quietly. “Stephen and I talked about it a couple of days ago. We were going to talk to you tonight after all this, but apparently someone is impatient.”

She cast him a playfully sharp look while handing the case back to him. From the black velvet he plucked the silver chain out and pocketed the case again.

“Guilty,” Stephen grinned sheepishly while moving to stand behind Pepper.

“Talked about what, exactly?” Tony watched them with an intense curiosity.

Stephen bunched up loose reddish blonde waves and pushed them over her shoulder, then draped the necklace around her neck and brought the ends together to clasp it with a little extra effort through the shaking of his digits.

“That we are clearly in love with each other and have been for a while now.” Stephen glanced up, fingers still resting against the nape of her neck. “And, I had the necklace to weave a few protection enchantments into it. I wanted to do something for your birthday, so…” Eyes fell down to her again.

Tony’s arms uncrossed and dropped to his sides dramatically, as if he was supposed to be satisfied with an answer that left him with more questions than answers. Pepper placed a hand against the necklace, fingers tracing the small icy blue sapphires and crescents of silver between them and stopping on the larger sapphire pendant that dangled low on her chest.

“That was… incredibly thoughtful of you, Stephen. Thank you, honestly.” Turning towards him, Pepper raised onto her tiptoes and pressed a far more chaste kiss to his lips than what he had just a moment ago.

“I’m entirely too sober to deal with this.” Tony groaned and rubbed his hands over his face and up into his hair.

With a quiet sigh and a fond smile, Pepper turned and crossed the space between them to her husband. Both hands lifted to rest on either side of his face, Tony tilting his head into one of them a bit more. In her heels, he had to actually look up at her just slightly and softened when he did. How he lucked into a woman like her was so beyond his comprehension. He still loved her as much now as he did when he first realized it twelve years ago - so much that sometimes he swore his heart would simply burst from it.

But then there was Stephen. Tony glanced over to him for a moment. It was well past infatuation now, but he’d been denying anything else. People didn’t just fall in love with multiple people at the same time, he couldn’t do that to Pepper, it wasn’t normal, it would be a PR nightmare, and he didn’t deserve the love of anyone else - barely even deserved Pepper’s. Tony always had an excuse at the ready to tell himself.

“Are you sure about this, honey?” Tony dragged his eyes back to her.

“It’s going to take some getting used to… but I’m sure. Besides, he’s practically been our husband already these last two years.”

Stephen couldn’t stop a small grin.

“True. In every way but one.” Tony turned into one of her palms, pressing a kiss against it, then leaned in for one from her lips. Stephen’s taste lingered there, faint but recognizable.

“That could change. Tonight.” Pepper kissed the corner of his mouth and regarded him with quite the suggestive bedroom gaze.

“Hmm, ditch my own company’s party for the threesome of my dreams? Let me think about that. Uh. Yes?”

“On it.” Stephen already had the sling ring on his fingers and within a few seconds the circular gateway spiraling open in a blaze of orange sparks straight into Tony and Pepper’s bedroom.

Tony placed his hands over his heart and gave an exaggerated sappy sigh. “A man after my own heart.” And through the portal he went.

“And that ass.” Stephen added out of his earshot and Pepper snickered as she made her way through. He followed last, closing the portal with a wave of his hand.

[lanadelreyfiles-blog]

Lana Del Rey says Donald Trump helped shape her album ‘Lust For Life’ — and the world needs feminism more than ever. The singer has returned to the world of music with her fourth studio album in five years. By Jacqui Swift for The Sun (UK). LANA DEL REY’s latest album glitters with an all-star cast. On ‘Lust For Life,’ her most impressive album yet, Lana teams up with heavyweights such as The Weeknd, Stevie Nicks, Sean Ono Lennon and A$AP Rocky. They are the first collaborations in her career so far, which spans five studio albums, including four in the past five years — an impressive work rate for the Los Angeles-based star.

We find Lana in upbeat mood in Santa Monica. “Welcome to our studio,” she says, all hugs and smiles. This is where we made the album and you must have a tour.” The studio belongs to Rick Nowels, her long-time producer and co-writer, who has worked with Nicks, Madonna, Tom Petty and Brandon Flowers.  Platinum discs cover the studio walls.“I’m so proud of Lana on this record,” Rick says. “The way she spontaneously writes and her ideas have just blown me away. So you’ve heard the record — which tracks did you like?” I tell him my favourites are the title track, which features The Weeknd, ‘13 Beaches,’ ‘White Mustang’ and her stunning duet with Nicks, ‘Beautiful People Beautiful Problems.’ The day before the interview we were taken to Dr Dre’s No Excuses studio, where Kendrick Lamar has recorded his past two albums, ‘Damn’ and ‘To Pimp A Butterfly.’ Lana is relaxed for our chat, wearing a T-shirt and jeans, sipping takeaway coffee. We play nine tracks through mighty speakers that reveal the full glory of Lana’s new record. Lana says: “It’s me at my most present. At my most integrated. I feel like it was me just getting to be myself in real time, which was good. I didn’t go backwards on this record and it feels a little bit less cathartic. But it’s still really personal, which is a hard balance sometimes to try and come from, wherever you are at authentically with the lyrics, but not go further than you want to in terms of revealing things. I feel I got the right delicate balance.” The album first began life with the brilliant title track, which Lana says she wrote a while ago. “That song changed quite a few times in the process from when it was first written until now,” she says. “We got Abel (Tesfaye, aka The Weeknd) to come down and feature on it. In the beginning, it had more a Blade Runner feel and less of a Shangri-Las feeling. A year went by and I realised that song didn’t feel like it was done. We started reproducing it to have more of a Sixties feel. I don’t know if that was because we’d written (first single) ‘Love’ at that time, which had a nice throwback feeling. I thought the whole record was going to feel that way originally.” So what changed? Lana says writing the album during the American election had a big impact. “I couldn’t ignore what was going on,” she says. “I didn’t really know the UK would have its own upheaval and confusion right at the same time. I was like, ‘What the f***?’ So were my friends. We were waking up early in the morning and calling each other to say, ‘Did you see that? Then in the studio we noticed we hadn’t been able to stop talking about politics. Then we stopped trying to not talk about it and let the record become about that.” Her track ‘God Bless America - And All the Beautiful Women In It’ was influenced by Republicans’ attacks on women’s rights. Lana says: “That is a great symbol of a song that is just about what the title says. At the time, I was thinking about the US where women were so vocal online and my friends in person. This was before the Women’s Marches and when there was some rhetoric being thrown around that everyone was uncomfortable with. What if they took away Planned Parenthood and birth control and shut down clinics? What are women supposed to do? So before the women’s marches started, I wrote that song very quickly and Rick loved it. It has really cool earth-tone keyboards on there. It feels like a good grounded song.” When quizzed in the past about her views on feminism, Lana has not been keen to discuss it. She doesn’t like labels or being labelled as anything. Today she says: “In my life I’ve got a sister and surrogate sisters. Things like that. Women have always been such a big part of my life. We were always just friends, there was never much need to rally. If there ever was a time, it really does feel like now and people are doing that.” Lana, 32, adds: “When I was in my early and mid-twenties, I didn’t really know what place I was going to go to as a woman. I don’t know if I’m going to get married. You’re still figuring things out. When I was younger in school, the word ‘feminism’ wasn’t really used. But it was a very important word for my mother’s generation. It’s a way more relevant question in the last eight months than it was five years ago. Honestly, now it’s my pleasure to talk about it. It feels more of a question that is relevant rather than something that could be used as a grenade against me, which sometimes I am willing to sacrifice just to annoy someone.Not you! There have been people in the past where I have been like, ‘F*** you!’” While being more relaxed personally, Lana agrees she also has more self-belief than when we last met. That was to talk about her 2014 album ‘Ultraviolence.’ “Yes,” she replies. “I think I’ve got some extra confidence. Music is a job and it’s like a second job keeping everything really normal. I still do so much myself. I drive here, I stop at the gas station and I get my coffee. I still go out.” Having been stung in the past in interviews, Lana decided not to do any for the album that followed ‘Ultraviolence,' 2015’s ‘Honeymoon.’ Today, she admits she has since developed a thicker skin. “I think so,” she says. “In the past not only were the people not friends, I knew they hated me. It was worth not giving a good interview just to have them not get what they want! A lot of artists are never going to alienate a fan because they don’t do anything weird or say anything that is a little off. I am not one of those people, I am learning! The only two times it has bothered me is when I was told the journalists were fans.” “I personally love the old-school approach where the journalists, the paparazzi or photographer would have the number of the artist and had an ongoing conversation with them — rather than go in all guns blazing. I feel like it is easier to get the truth out with sugar. It is nice to be able to just talk about the music. But sometimes some want to know what you are doing on Wednesday . . . well, that’s kind of my day off.” A standout track on ‘Lust For Life’ is the anthemic ‘13 Beaches,’ a song about Lana escaping the limelight on an empty beach. “I love that you notice that track,” she says, smiling. “It seems like a luxury problem but it’s this abstract concept of needing to go to so many beaches just to find one where no one is there. For me, so I can use that space — that actual, physical space and time — alone to think and to write and meditate. That was definitely one of the earliest songs, where I was still feeling a little bit impeded by being more noticeable in public.” Two collaborations on ‘Lust For Life’ represented special moments for Lana as a music fan. One is her duet with Fleetwood Mac legend Stevie Nicks on ‘Beautiful People Beautiful Problems.’ Lana insists she was nervous about performing with fellow American Stevie but calls the duet a “career-defining moment”. Another was working with Sean Ono Lennon on the dreamy ‘Tomorrow Never Came.’ Lana says: “That was the only one I thought was not ‘my’ song or not for myself. I wasn’t really thinking about anyone in particular when I wrote it. I had my little lyric about (John) Lennon and Yoko and I thought, ‘I wonder whether Sean would feel comfortable singing on a song where I shout out his parents?’ So I got his number and I FaceTimed him. I didn’t know him, so I was super-nervous. But as soon as he answered, he was just so excited. Then I was so proud that I’d followed my heart and I felt really rewarded for that. He has become such a sweet friend since then. And doesn’t he sound like his dad on the song? He sounds like himself but like his dad too. Rick also said that to him." Lana played an outstanding show on Monday at Brixton Academy in London. And we found time to talk about her plans, visually, for her upcoming live sets. We also chatted about her ongoing working relationship with rapper and producer A$AP Rocky. She says: “We are the class of 2011! I met him and Tyler The Creator then and it’s great that we are all still making music. Making this album has taken me full circle. I’ve moved forward and I just want to lean into that feeling. There’s been a lot of unexpectedness but I am good and everything about this record feels new.” ‘Lust For Life’ is out now. Lust For Life ★★★★★

[crimsonrevolt]

Congratulations Snow you’ve been accepted to Crimson Revolt as Dirk Cresswell!

↳ please refer to our character checklist

It’s always so amazing to me that so many people choose to come back to Crimson and it’s such a joy to see your Dirk come back to life in your app! I know I speak for many when I say that you took a character that none of us knew much about and brought with him a personality that we couldn’t forget. It’s so good to see you again and that you’ve found the time to come back to the rp! Snow, your reason for choosing him, in particular, made me emotional, and I can’t wait to see you write him with a fresh breath of life! Hopefully, you’ll be able to carry him on a new and beautiful journey as the war progresses and affects him. I can’t wait to see you and Dirk back on the dash! 

application beneath the cut ( tw: brief mentions of death )

OUT OF CHARACTER

INTRODUCTION

Snow, 21, she/her, gmt+3

ACTIVITY

im going to well and truly throw myself into my studies this semester, and i’m also running an rp with a friend of mine on tumblr, so i don’t know how active i’ll be honestly. given how much i already love and adore every member of this group and all your characters, i’ll be able to find time. 6 or 5 out of ten, i think.

TRIGGERS

*removed for privacy

HOW DID YOU FIND US?

a promo blog about a year ago lol. i found this group way before it even opened but only applied like, months afterwards.

WHAT HARRY POTTER CHARACTER DO YOU IDENTIFY WITH MOST?

hm. my answer differs every time based on my mood i think. like i dont think there’s one character i really truly identify with? probably percy tho lbr.

ANYTHING ELSE?

nope.

IN CHARACTER

DESIRED CHARACTER

dirk cresswell. well, a revised version of him.

FACE CLAIM

ezra miller. listen i tried to change his fc but ezra is dirk and dirk is ezra the line has been blurred for ages now it is beyond my control.

REASON FOR CHOSEN CHARACTER

i’d thought of coming back with a different character and had gone through a host of them in the open tag. i’d considered someone on the other end of the spectrum to counteract the experience i’ve had playing dirk. i’d thought of playing someone balanced and sophisticated and well-mannered, someone with a little less emotion and a little more poise. someone who is not dirk, but dirk seems to have stuck himself all the way down to the roots and i can’t seem to get him out.

i cannot properly express in words how much i love this character. i’m floundering for the right ways to lay it out. he is a myriad of unlikely contradictions – kind, and just, and cruel. he is optimism and realism hand-in-hand, but he is just as much that as he is full of lies. half truths, denials, secrets. he is honest and genuine, and his intentions are as pure as those of a noble knight but he strikes quick, and fast, and merciless, with the harsh finality of an execution.

he loves openly. he is never shying away from expressing his love and devotion for his friends and family. he is never afraid of what his love for them would do to him, or to them – no, he is afraid: the fear of losing someone who’d rooted themselves into the crevices of his life is numbing, almost all-consuming, but dirk has never known how to not love, how to not be so open towards them so much of the time.

and even then, it feels, to him, as though he is never without something to hide. as though he is never not carrying a secret of some sort, as though there is always something he is carefully folding to the side throughout his life, as though he has never been fully honest with another person before. the thing is, he is always open about the good parts of himself – he is loud and obnoxious about his love and his optimism, he is blazing and boisterous about his successes and achievements. he is almost always alone in his losses. he has become terribly adept in being both honest and not, at once.

he does not forgive. he is fearful of trust, of betrayal, of being left in the dust once again. he loves, he loves, he loves, but he does not trust quite as freely.

i’d focused much too much on his guilt and misery when i had played him last, but i’m hoping to be able to focus more this time on some good things in his life. which will probably not last very long lbr but im excited to see for myself.

PREFERRED SHIPS // CHARACTER SEXUALITY // GENDER & PRONOUNS

dirk is an utter, unbelievably obnoxious, hopeless romantic. he is nineteen years old and had known he is gay for years, the wizarding world being far more relaxed about such things than where he’d come from, but only in the last few years or so had he become relaxed enough to be open about his sexuality to more than just the people he trusts. the idea of finding a committed, long term partner – male partner – is only just beginning to settle itself within him. he is only now beginning to truly see himself with a future in perhaps a domestic fashion and, despite the times they live in, he is positively giddy. it’s embarrassing. really.

dirk is a cis male character, though i’d really like to see how he would interact with a trans and/or nonbinary character and how he might find solace with someone who, while perhaps not exactly like him, falls far from the conventional lines drawn up by the social structures they live in.

CREATE ONE (OR MORE!) OF THE FOLLOWING FOR YOUR CHARACTER:

traits:

+ TALENTED:

Dirk’s magical talents were difficult to miss, even to those who really, really tried, and it was not entirely for the considerable amount of bragging on Dirk’s part – though, arguably, that was a large part of it – but his hands, deft with potions and charms and defensive spells, were quick to catch people’s attention, and keep it. his exceptional dueling skills had not gone unnoticed, either, not by his teachers, and certainly not by his pureblooded schoolmates, who have repeatedly tested his abilities first hand.

+SOCIABLE:

Dirk is That One Kid that knows everyone, and who everyone knows. He joined every extracellular activity the school had to offer at one point or another, he never missed a chance to hang out and have fun, and he was always interested in meeting new people and making new friends. His easy humor and confident attitude drew people to him and relaxed them in his company, his optimism and cheeky remarks making him an uplifting presence to have around. He is secretive, however, keeping his emotional troubles and inner demons far away from prying eyes, even those he considers close.

-TRUST ISSUES:

Dirk has been shown love and taught not to trust it. a parting gift, from his mother, one could say. he finds difficulty – immense difficulty – in sharing his troubles, or his secrets of any kind, with anyone. he loves and he cares about his friends and there is very little he wouldn’t do for them, but trust is something that is difficult to come by, for him, and it is something that frustrates his friends to no end.

-ARROGANT:

Dirk has an exaggerated sense of his own abilities. He is talented, yes, anyone would be hard pressed to deny that, but he tends to – overestimate, what he can do. It could also be put down to his perfectionist nature, that he would bite off more than he could chew and simply expect himself to rise up to the challenge.

he is so confident in the caliber of his character, in his own moral righteousness, in his ability to tell right from wrong. he believes so completely in aversio and what they stand for and in the choices he’s made, that he is right, that he is good, that what they’re doing is entirely justified to a morally correct eye. his arrogance and his pride, just as his loyalty and his bravery and everything good in his heart, have led him down a path of darkness where the torch of his anger has lit the way so brightly he cannot see the blackness of his surroundings. he is a morally grey character with a black and white mindset.

——

Mockblog: dorkcresswxll.tumblr.com

IN CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE

♔ If you were able to invent one spell, potion, or charm, what would it do, what would you use it for or how would you use it? Feel free to name it:

he squints, tilts his head, leans back on the back of his feet. “just one?” he asks, and straightens up as a thought occurs to him. there’s the beginning of a grin pulling at his lips, something of boyish mischief coloring his features. “something to, to take care of pureblooded bigots. y’know, take care of ‘em. actually, all bigots, y’know, all at once.” he shrugs, hands shoved into his pockets, boyish grin spreading across his face. giddy. “i’d call it the purifier, just for kicks.”

♔ You have to venture deep into the Forbidden Forest one night. Pick one other character and one object (muggle or magical), besides your wand, that you’d want with you:

“Sal!” a burst of laughter, involuntary, and he leans forward. “did you see her swing that wretched bat of hers? i’d take her with me to that Snake Supreme if i could, she’d bash his head in and cuss up a storm and everything, she’s good at making a big fuss.” the fond gleam in his eyes is unmissed by any, there is pride in his voice when he speaks of her, of his sister. he does not attempt to hide it. “and – and food for the object, i think, that’d work out pretty well, yeah?”

♔ What kinds of decisions are the most difficult for you to make?

“when to take a bloody break.” he huffs, annoyed, and perhaps a touch embarrassed. “i still don’t know how to do that.”

♔ What is one thing you would never want said about you?

that he is weak, that he is lesser, that he isn’t good enough. that he is just as bad as those he fights to rid the world of, that he is worst. that he is amoral, immoral, that he is unjust and evil and simply a murderer.

he hums. thoughtful. for a moment. “that i can’t take a loss well. which, mind you, is ridiculous – i never lose anyway!”

WRITING SAMPLE

it wasn’t difficult to get the old man to sign his letter – it wasn’t difficult, he’d not needed any convincing, all dirk had to do was thrust the form under his nose, pen in hand and a flat look upon his face: stiff, clunky, the way he only ever is with his father anymore.

the man looks up from the book between his palms, his sharp nose striking, his slanted eyes lifting towards his son. there is a crease between his brows as he pulls the paper from the young boy’s hands, eyes over ink before he asks what this is.

“it’s a permission form.” he sounds nervous. he hates it. “for hogsmeade.” he says, “you’re supposed to sign it.”

and the man signs it. just like that, he reads the paper and he signs it – he hangs on to it for a moment before giving it back. there is something there, something he wants to say, but his father was never good with words and so he says nothing. dirk is pathetically grateful – he never seems to say the right thing when his dad is involved, either.

dirk takes the paper and shifts his weight between his feet and isn’t sure if he should just leave – there is something there he wants to say, as well, but he can’t quite grasp the words and so he mulls about for a moment more, shifting the paper in his hand, before he nods a quick ‘thank you’ and scurries away.

he stuffs the paper in his pocket as he walks away. he stuffs his guilt down too, and tries not to think about it – he’d been avoiding his dad all summer, had only spoken to him now when he needed something, and not for the first time he wonders how it’s gotten this bad. he wonders when it’s gotten so tense between them they can’t share more than a few words before something made someone snap. he wonders what made it so, what caused this wide, gaping chasm to stretch between them – but he can’t think about that without thinking about emptied rooms and funeral marches, so he shakes his head quickly and bursts into Sal’s room.

They have much planned for the rest of the day, and there’s only so much of summer left for them to enjoy.

[kyskingdom]

Harmonize. (First book I ever wrote. age 9)

Its quite here. There is no noise, except Gala snoring next to me. A car pulls into the drive, Gala snaps awake and growls at the noise. The person in the car is Emily, my sister. She "accidently" left her wedding ring here last time she visited. I think she just wanted a reason to come home again. Just a few weeks ago, Emily married Tom, a semi-truck driver who treats her amazing. They go everywhere together, which is why Emily needed an excuse to come home. I hear the front door open, and I hear her shoes on the floor. She knocks on my door. But walks in immediately after. So the knock was pretty pointless. Why is she In my room though? I told her where the ring was when we were on the phone earlier. I tried to make it sound like I wasnt going to be home. Its not like I dont love my sister, I just dont want to talk to her right now. I dont know why. But I don't. She stands in the door way and stares at me, I stare at the floor. "Selina, what is it?" Said Emily making her way to my side. "Nothing." Emily started poking my arm, trying to get my attention. I pretended not to feel Emily, though it was getting very annoying. "What is it? You can tell me." Oh! Wow! Yes! I'm just gonna tell you everything! "I dont know,I guess I just want to be able to support myself." I cringe, that's the best my brain can come up with? Pathetic. "What? You already support yourself." Okay, I'm getting pretty annoyed, just play along! "No I'm mean, completely support myself, like, in my own house..." That part wasnt a lie, I do want my own place. "Well, just, I don't know, just dont rush yourself." I looked up at Emily, I know why she has someone and I dont, she is stunningly pretty. I have always thought she was beautiful, her freckles around her nose, the short wavy auburn hair that hang over her shoulders. Like our mom. I dont look like them. My features are plain. I'm sometimes feel invisible, like my face has been used too many times. "Well," I said "I've gotta get to work." "You know," said Emily ,"you shouldn't be working two jobs at 19." I work one, so I correct her. "I only work one." I try to say this as serious as possible, but its hard to when Mary is such a wonderful woman. "Oh right, 'taking care of Mary isn't a job' right?" Emily said in an awful, what I would guess to be an impression of me. "Well, it isn't." I turned and grabbed my purse from the dresser, as Emily was passing me to leave. I walked out after Emily, who turned for the door, after she said goodbye to mom. My mother is wearing a scowl, one she saved for a very specific person, this cant be good. Or it might be really good! "Mary Rogers called last night, Saphy got her driving license so she'll be taking care of her now." Saphy, that little...I decide not to discuss her right now, I already know my mom hates her as much I do, so I play it off as if I'm talking about someone pleasent. "I thought Saphy was in Florida? Remember, she thought she was too good for Louisiana?" I always thought Louisiana was a great place for everyone to live, turns out, pretty-in-pink barbie dolls hate it here. "She's coming back to town, Her friends and her got in an argument, well a 'life crisis' if you ask her." Mom smiled at the 'life crisis' part, I really dont know why though. Other then to, I dont know, add something interesting to the conversation. Her and Emily talk the same way, while smiling. "Right, I need to get to work." I hugged her and headed for the door. I think about Mary on my way to work, A 98 year old woman who always insisted on me calling her 'aunt'. The first time we met, I  had about 20 cats circling my feet, all meowing, Mary came down the stairs with a little furball kitten in her hand. It was the cutest thing I have ever seen! I smiled, remembering how sweet Mary was, but the smile quickly faded. Unfortunately, everyday I have to pass the road where my dad was killed by a drunk driver, I was around 8, sitting in the back seat, singing along to the radio, when a loud screeching sound rang in my ears, then glass reflected red and blue lights on the dashboard. I pulled into the small parking lot of the restaurant I work at, it was just me and Dolores, the cook, and like 5 people that wanted a coffee refill for the road. I normally just read, but I am fresh out of books, so I need to make a deal, I go around my school and ask people for their books, with the promise that I will do the book report, but its summer, and nobody has book reports in the summer. I was brought out of my day-dream feeling my phone buzz, my mom. "hey are you busy?" Nope, just busy with my book-dealer thoughts! "Its never busy here mom." I thinks thats less of a crazy answer, right? "Right, well, Someone just called, He needs a new caretaker." He? I specificaly put on my resume 'Woman Only!' But the resume only exists in my head, and as far as I know, people cant see into my brain place, not that theyd want to, my train of thought often crashes into the Great Wall of Stupid, and repairs take a while. "Do I know him?" That was a stupid question! No, of course you dont know, you have conversations in your head like this one to avoid talking to real people! "I don't think so,his name is Brian Elderson,He just dropped outta college." College?? How old is this guy? I should make friends with him, enough money to drop out of college! "College?How old is he?" "I'd guess about 18-20." Woah, what? Why? And how? "Okay, what is wrong with him?" That sounded insensitive, but mom knows what I mean, I hope. "He was paralyzed in a car crash, I dont think hes gonna be as easy, he was one of those hard-headed and strong-going kids, and now he thinks he useless." Hmm...did she Google him or something? "How do you know all this?" "Hes one of my co-workers son." Mom dosent care for her co-workers, but I've never heard the name 'Elderson' Before. "I've never heard you talk about anyone named Elderson." "I didn't even know he existed, but he over heard Elly and I talking about you and Mary." Elly was Mary's younger sister, though they didn't talk much, Elly was still acting like she was 20, Elly and Mary still cared about each others well being. A woman just walked in the door, and headed to the back corner table. "alright I've gotta go, an alien just walked in." Mom must have understood, because she hung up, or she was afraid it wasn't me talking and someone possessed me, either way I would be happy with. I went to take the woman's order, but before I could speak, the woman said "eggs and toast." I honestly dont know what I expect. We have menus glued under the glass tables. Do people know we serve other things then eggs? I relayed it to Dolores, who was dancing in the kitchen, but stopped immediately when she saw me. "Who is it?" Asked Dolores "Dunno, but she looks rich and official." " 'Rich and official' only you could come up with that." I rolled my eyes and went back to my barstool, and stare at the counter, it has a very interesting design, but not really. Rich and official. Those were the first words that came to my mind when I looked at her, She had blazing red hair and a black jumpsuit, she reminded me of a certain book charecter. I grab the plate of food Dolores slid on the counter in front of me, interupting my disecting of the counter design, and went back to the table and offered it to the woman. I handed it to the woman and went back to the barstool, the counter isnt as interesting anymore, but I continue to stare anyway. Me and Dolores spent the next half hour peeping around the corner at the woman like cannibals, but, she never came back, and we were back to the same few customers. This place is going to go bank-rupt soon, and there is nothing I can do about it, the helpless feeling is the worst, like theres a hole in my chest that little helpless bugs lay eggs. "Well, That kinda sucks." said Dolores "Yeah, What can we do about it though?" I say like wasn't just invisioning little mosquito like bugs laying eggs inside my heart. "What we need is a fundraiser." said Dolores. "Fundraiser? Like anyones gonna buy from our bakestand when they have way better food." I said pointing down the road at our rival restaurant rival. "Who said I was talking about a bakestand?" Oh, my brain just automatically guessed a bakestand since that's what most normal people do, my mistake. "Well what were you thinking?" "Dunno, Any ideas?" Well, then I guess we're going with the cookies and a wood stand! "No, not really." I say. "Do you know anyone who might be able to lend us some money even for a paint job?" Hmm...let me think, like anyone can afford paint around here, living in a poor town! Just peachy! "Everyone I know can't even afford their own paint." "That's what happens in a poor town, right?" Oh crap! She can read minds! Take cover! All my psycho thoughts hide under the tables! "Yeah." The door opens and coffee refills walk in the door, not literally, but that's all they ordered.                               “”“ "Well, I'm checkin' out for the day." said Dolores, she says it as if I dont know that she always leaves at the same time every day. "Yep, I'll just clean up and I'm leaving too." So I headed over to the one table that woman sat at and wiped it off, there really isnt anything else to do, so I head to my car. When I walked in the door, Gala greeted me by licking my face, she was tall enough when she stood on her back feet, as I am freakishly short for someone my age. Mom came out of her bedroom, carying her purse and her phone in the other, she looked disoriented about something. "Feeling alright mom?" Mom let out a sigh, this cant be good, she uselly only wears that face when somethings wrong, or she had a bad day at work, but thats pretty much the same thing. "Mary" She says. Mary what? Is she okay? "Is she okay?" "Kind of, she had a heart attack last night, the hospital just released her this morning to a nursing home." "They probably should have released her yet, right?" "No, they shouldn't have, but they dont think she has too much longer to live" Her voice wobbles at the end of her sentence, Even though Mary was old, she was still very close my mom and I, so losing her would be purely awful. "We're going to see her, right?" I dont know why I said that, we are obviously going to see her. "You think I'm gonna leave her by herself?" I feel worse with my mothers reply, it was rather harsh, so I know she is worried. "Your right,that was a stupid question" I followed her quietly to her car. She turned the key, it cranked and cranked, but didnt start. "We'll take my car." I say after mom gave up, the battery has been needing jumped every day for a while, and company's wont lower the flipping price of car batterys! It was a quiet and awkward ride, the home was about an hour away, sometimes its nice to just get in tje car and ride, with no plan as to where you re going, or what your even doing. But this is not a relaxing ride, Mary is laying in a hospital bed, probably not feeling too good, and she likes to talk to anyone and everyone, but shes probably by herself right now. Sometimes we can pull a radio signal, so I try, but I regret it. 'Deeper than The Holler' came on, it was mom and Dads song when they were in high school. Tears were swelling up in moms eyes, tears like a blade piercing my heart, slow and painful. I turned it off, I miss him too much, and its not safe to drive for my mom to drive with blurry vision. I clear my throat. "I'm sorry." Tears roll down my face as I choke on the words. "Sometimes," mom says "we need to let go, and get over the past, to be able to live in the present." She reached forward and turned the radio back up. I can't believe she just did that. The song that brought back so many memories, them dancing in the living room every time time it came on, their wedding song. She turned it back on. After my heart was drained of anything happy, she had the strength to turn it back on. She knew him better then I did. She went on trucking trips with him, he was a trucker. After Emily was born, Mom ha to stay home, every once in a while she would go with him. After I was born, she went with him even fewer places. Then Dylyla came along, Mom couldnt go at all. Dylyla doesnt even live with us anymore, she lives with Grandma. It really makes me mad when I think of it, mom wanted her to get her grades up, or she was going to make her take a break from cheerleading. Dylyla hated mom after that, but Grandma didnt help at all, she said Dylyla could live with her and not worry about education.                                “”“ One of the home workers led us to Mary's room. I followed mom and Alice, the worker, down a brown hallway, it smells like a Bingo room, anything that smelled nice before, was now overpowered by cheap perfume. Alice left us at the doorway, Mom headed in first. "How are you?" Mom asked, I just hovered around the end of the bed, like a bee unsure of itself, that is what I am, always unsure, of everything. Thats the thing about life, you may think its certain, but I've learned that it never is, its always changing, just like the tide, the whales are so sure they won't be beached, yet they still are. I realize mom and Mary are deep in conversation, I dont really hear it though. Finally, Mary looks away from Mom. "Well don't act like a stranger! Get over here!" I smile, makeing my way to hug her, she is always so happy. "Oh I missed you! That girl does nothing but chatter on her darn ol'phone!" I feel bad, I didn't realize that it had been so long since Saphy has been taking care of her, well, only two days, but still. I used to think your heart couldn't actually feel anything, it was just you telling yourself it could, but I was wrong. I walk over to chair in the corner of the room and sit down. I am not, will not, cry, not here, not for Mary to see. I feel the pain, the pain people talk about. The heartbreak. I didnt think it was possible, but it is. I dont want it to be, but it is, and there's nothing I can do. The door to the room is still open, I decide to close it, but as I do, I see a little girl, 10 maybe. She is crying. I can only imagine what for, but it can't be good. As quiet as I can, I make my way back to the chair, trying not to interupt the conversation they are back into. I can't feel anything. If I let any feelings in, they will all crumble. I straighten in my chair, put on a face, and push every feeling out, every last one. It worked, I have been trying it a lot lately, and it works now.                                ��“”“” I woke up at 4:00 the next morning. I dont need to be at work for another hour, but I decided to go in early. I dont think I can talk to Mom right now, she'll just try to comfort me, and words arent what I need right now, words are powerful, but not as powerful as a hug, or a day in the rain with a good book. I got out of bed and looked in the mirror, my cheeks are still blotchy from last night, I layed in bed and cried myself to sleep. It is very obvious now. I throw on some makeup, just concealer to cover up the redness. Very quietly let Gala outside, I dont want to wake mom, she has the day off. Once Gala is back in, I lead her back to moms room and close the door.                                  ”“”“ As I pull around the corner to the restaurant parking lot, I notice how bland it looks. It kind of hides. It definitely needs an update. I make a quick turn to the dollar store, I know they have like tablecloths and stuff, but I dont know what to do for the outside.                                ”“”“ There are now tablecloths for all the tables, curtains hanging on the outside of the windows, it actually looks really nice. I also bouhht one of those door frame floral tapestry things. Dolores pulls in as I put on some coffee. "Well, well, Somebody's been doing some shopping!" Said Dolores as she came in the door. "Do you like it?" I ask "Yes! It looks so much better, I thought the place had been demolished and rebuilt!" "It doesnt look that different." In fact, it hardly looks different at all. But it is more noticeable, which is what I was going for. Noticeable, but not in your face, like the place down the road. Dolores went back out to her car, she fumbled around for a long time, then re-entered with a bundle of wires and metal. "Its a radio." she announced like it was gold. "Where did you get that?" "I uh, acquired it." I smile. "You didnt steal it, did you?" I ask raising my eyebrows. "No! Well, maybe, my Ex's truck quit running so I ripped this thing out before we broke up." "And you kept it?" I ask. "Of course I kept it! I also kept his 50 inch TV he just had to have!" She scowls, I knew she hated him, but not that much. She looks at me and lifts a finger to point at me. "Dont you dare say 'I told you so'!" "Well, if you had listened-" I smile and bite my lip at her face, like A warning from an angry toddler. I'm trying so hard to hold in a laugh that I almost choke. "Stop! Its not funny!" Dolores exclaims. "You're right, its not funny. Not one bit." Then we both laugh. After a while, it turns into us doubled over with our mouths open like sick walruses. There no audible laughs. I can only imagine what we look like right now. Crap. Someone just came in the door, Dolores walks to the stove, hiding behind the wall, but I can still hear her laughing. I take a deep breath and walk over to the guys table. "What so funny?" He asks with a smile. "Actually," I say "I dont even know!" "One of those things, eh?" He says. "Yes. What would you like today?" "Eggs and coffee." He says. I walk to the coffee pot and pour a cup. When I go back to the table, he asks if I know his sister. "Whos your sister?" I ask, I already know I don't know her, but I dont what him to think I can read minds or do crazy crap like that. "Jane Brown" he says with a kind of longing in his eyes. "No, I don't think so." I know so, but he doesn't look too happy right now, nor does he look like he had a good relationship with her, since he hasnt looked up from his coffee. "Nah, I didn't figure, ain't nobody seen 'er." His eyes actually have tears in them. Should I sit down and comfort him? She I leave him to his feelings? I decide to pull out a chair and sit down, I still dont know if its a good call. "What does she look like?" I ask. "Hang on." he says as he fumbles in his pocket for his phone. He shows me a picture of a girl with short blonde hair and bright blue eyes. "We weren't very close when we were kids, but just as we worked out our issues, she was gone." he says, his eyes not really focused on anything. "And did she she say where she was going?" "Oh, I know where she went, but she aint in good shape." I feel like I shouldnt ask any more, so I dont but soon he is deep in his story of his sister, how she got in an unhealthy relationship, and the guy "poisened her brain" And that she wouldnt be coming back anytime soon. And that he was hoping she would come back home soon. As he talks, I notice green flecks in his blue eyes. I look away from his eyes as I realize that I shouldnt be looking at a stranger that way. But he does look to be around my age. Stop thinking like that! I tell myself, but I dont listen. After he was finished talking, I say "You know, my little sister is like that, expects to have the world handed to her. She lives with my grandma now" He looks at me and smiles, a smile he has probably practiced in the mirror. "Has anyone ever told you how pretty you are?" He asks, still smiling. Heat rushes through my cheeks. I tuck my hair behimd my ear, hoping he doesnt notice how red my cheeks are. "No, why?" I shift in my chair. Yes, sitting down was the right choice. He laughs, a small laugh, but it sends a chill through my stomach. "I think you know why." He says. Now, the chill turns into a sickening feeling. I'm being called pretty by a stranger. Kind of creepy, ain't it? Dolores hollers around the corner. "Eggs and coffee on the love boat." I look back at him as I walk to get the plate, surprised to see him looking at me. "Thanks for that." I hiss at Dolores, who looks very pleased with herself. As I set the plate at his table, he looks at me, I'm not sure what to do, and I'm getting a little uncomfortable, I've never had an experience like this before. "I'm John, by the way." "Selina." I say and walk back to the kitchen and hide behind the wall. Dolores is plugging in the radio. I walk up behind her. "Dont you dare turn that on!" She looks up and smiles. "Why not?" She asks innocently. "Because the only station we can pull in is a love song station, and I know what you'll do!" "Okay, you dont have to lecture me!" "Okay, just...don't do anything." I walk over to a cormer amd lean up against the wall, I close my eyes.                               ”“”“” When I hear the bell above the door ring, I walk to clean up the table. I find a napkin with a phone number on it. I look behind me to make sure Dolores isnt watching, and shove the napkin in my pocket. I try to fight my smile, but I can't, so I just bite my lip to try to conceal it. I carry the plate and bill back and set them on the counter. I'll deal with it later. "Did he leave his number on the bill?" Dolores asks. "No," it isn't a lie, because it wasnt on tje bill. "And never will, so will you just knock it off?" "Ha! Not a chance." She answers. "Besides," she says "you could use some pointers." "Pointers? From the girl that just stole her Ex's radio?" "Hey! After 5 years of dealing with his crap, I think I have a right to a radio that was going in the dump anyway." I roll my eyes at her. I really wish I had a book that I could hide behind right now. Sadly, I still dont have any deals. Dolores is pulling out a small bag from her other huge bag. "How many bags do you have in one bag?" I ask. "7." She answers like its not obscure to carry around more than one huge bag. "What is that one for?" I ask. She pulled out a glittery purple one and set it on the counter. "If you want to make a good impression," She says. "For who?" I interrupt, I know who, and what, she means, but I'm never gonna even see him again anyway. "You know. The one you were just swooning over." "No," I say "I'm am not participating in your little plan here. Besides, you know how many girls he probably leaves his number to? Too many for me to care." She scans me like a lie-detector. But I'm not lying, I dont really want to be seeing someone who goes into random resteraunts and talks about his personal life to some waitress. I feel like I'm lying. But I'm not. Am I? No. Really though, who goes and tells a stranger about their psycho sister? Probably someone who will tell anyone anything, even if its none of their business. "Fine," Dolores says. "If you dont want a little romamce in your life, that's your choice." She says as she puts all her bags back in her bag. "That wasnt romance," I say, "That was a guy complaining about his sister. What's 'Romantic' about that?" She shrugs her shoulders. "I dont know, maybe because he chose you to talk to." "He didnt 'choose' me! Besides, if you would have went over there, he would have talked to you." "Okay then! Tomorrow, when he comes back, I will go wait on him, see what he says then." "You just do that," I say, sitting down on the barstool. "And good luck, because he wont be back." "Right." Dolores mumbles. But, I dont know what shes planning, because he aint gonna be back. Chapter 2 I get back in my car, and let out a sigh. I had a meeting with the Eldersons, I guess they wanted to see how I was, no one has ever wanted a visit before. Its refreshing to finally smell fresh air. The air in the house was full of air fresheners, I would almost bet that it smelled better without all the fragrances. They were pretty nice, I guess. Emma, Brians mom, asked me things like what I have in mind for my future amd small-talk like that. But nothing really related to care-giver work. Maybe she was just testing me. She is leaving her son with me, after all.                                  “”“” When I get home, Mom is popping popcorn on the microwave. Gala is at her feet begging. "Gala! You user puppy!" I say as I bend down to pet her. "I figured we could use a movie night" Mom says as she piches the popcorn bag and puts it all in one big bowl. "We havent done that since Dylyla left." "No, we haven't, and since its just you and me, you can pick the movie." "You say that like you dont know what I will pick." My mom knows I have two favorite movies. That is one thing I told her. "Hm. Half-Blood Prince, or Divergent?" She asks. That is a hard choice, its been a while for both. "Which would you rather watch?" I ask "I cant make up my mind." She smiles, I already know what shes going to pick. "Harry Potter, Baby!" She says.                                 ““”“ I wake up tired. We ended up watching all 8 Harry Potter movies, and all 3 Divergent Movies. We probably should have gone to bed earlier, but, we you are handed movies like that, theres no telling how long you'll be awake. We probably should have waited for the weekend. We both have to work today, and Emma wants to meet "Privatly without the family." I don't know what that's about, but I imagine since Colin, her youngest son, was being pretty distracting, she wants a more focused setting. We are meeting at a park at 3:00, but I dont get off until 4:00, so I'll have to talk to Dolores. She'll probably cover for me, not that it matters, no one is ever there. I slept through my alarm, so I hurry and dress, then run through the house like a ninja finding food.                                 ”“” When I get there, Dolores is already there. Normally, I'm here way before she is. "Is everything alright?" She asks when I come in the door. "Yeah, Mom and I stayed up until 3:00 in the morning." I say as I tie on my apron. "Why in the world would you do that?" She asks. "Oh, you know, Harry Potter." I answer, smiling. "Ah, I see. I just wanted to make sure everything was alright. Did you get a call last night?" She asks. I look at her questoningly. "What do you mean?" I ask. I feel clueless, like I should known what shes talking about. "Wow, you really must have missed a lot of sleep." She says. "I'm sorry, I'm not following you." I say. "Obviously! I'm talking about flirty-pants." I roll my eyes at her. She needs to drop it. "Will you please stop! This isnt some Insta-romance story. So knock it off, I already told you, hes probably some creeper. I'm not even looking for a relationship." I say to clear things up. I guess she took the hint because she just shook her head, but didnt say anything. I stay on the barstool for a while, but after a little bit, these seats get really uncomfortable. I go over to a booth and lay down. Before I know it I'm asleep, not remembering my last thought. I'm awoken by music blaring from the kitchen. Dolores must have gotten the radio working. I sit up, involuntarily groaning. I walk over to the kitchen, rubbing sleep from my eyes, and turn off the radio. Dolores comes out of the bathroom. "Why did you shut it off? And why do you look like a zombie?" She asks, but all I can do is glare at here. My mouth wont form words right now. I go back to the booth, but don't lay down, instead I stare out the window, wondering if penguins have knees. Soon, cars and people and bikes going by are just blures of color. I dont even her Dolores when she walks over. I dont notice until she blocks my view. "Here." She throws my phone into my lap. I pick it up, there a million texts from my mom, and a few missed calls. 'are you ok?' 'why arent you answering?' 'seriously, reply!' I keep scrolling, more of the same. Her texts look panicky, I immediately think the worst. Then I see the first text. 'hey sweety, she passed away, I'm sorry.' I can't see anything. My vision is blurry with tears. I feel Dolores' hand on my arm. An attempt at comfort, but we both know shes not good at it. I stare at my hands, this time, I'm going to let my tears come. She's gone. She's gone. She's gone, and I was not there for her. I wasnt there. And now shes gone. Gone. The word repeats in my head, as if on a broken record. It won't leave. It wont stop. And neither will the tears. Maybe she is in a better place. Maybe shes up there with her Mom, her Dad, her brother. I lean forward and put my head in my hands. I feel Dolores rubbing my back. She met her. Once. I feel like a wimp. Sitting here, crying. Its not who I am. But then again, who am I? I don't know. Not anymore. We should have visited her last night. Instead of watching movies. We should have. I cant think straight right now. What did I do after Dad died? I don't know. I dont remember. Not now. But I went through it once before I look at Dolores. She has a small tear in her eyes. More from sympathy, it looks like. "You can go home." She says before I can even ask. I lean over and side hug her. Sniff, and shove my phone in my pocket. I take off my apron and hang it on the hook. I walk out to my car. Crank the engine, and pull out. I feel numb. Too numb. I feel like I should be feeling something. Other than a blade in my chest. That's it. That's all I can feel.                                ““”“ When I get home, Gala is ready to lick my tears away. I sit down on the floor, and Gala and I stare into each others eyes, for a long time. Sometimes, I think animals understand things better then humans. Animals will put aside everything they have wrong. Humans are wrapped up in their own problems, that they wont put aside. Animals are truly a blessing. I feel bad for the unfortunate souls that dont like animals. The wall phone rings. I get up and check my voice to make sure it will work. "Hello?" "Hello, this is Emma, are we still meeting?" "Yes! Yes, I'm sorry, I forgot, I'll be on my way! I'm so sorry." "Don't worry about it, I heard what happened." "Y-you did? From who?" I try to sound curious, not demanding. I dont know if it worked. "Oh, your mother told me this morning." "Oh, ok, I'm on my way." I hang up and run to the mirror. Blotches. Of course. I put on more makeup. Grab my purse. I'm out the door before I realize. Emma is already sitting on a park bench, holding a book, as gentle as if it could crumble in her finger tips. She looks beautiful with her hair blowing around. Her son definatly looks more like her than his dad. I step out of the car, Emma hears the car door shut, she carefully sets the book on top of her purse, when I get closer, I realize its a journal. "Hello!" She starts walking towards me, I'm walking toward her, I'm feeling very awkward, should I stop walking? I'm taken by surprise when she hugs me, as if we are long lost friends. Lost. The word rings in my head and I think of Mary. No. I wont think of her right now. Too late. My eyes are watery. "I'm so sorry to hear what happened." Emma says with a sorrowful look on her face. She's a nice woman. I've met her once, briefly. And she is already pitiful for me. I don't think that is normal. But maybe Ive never met a truly nice person before. Maybe I have. I dont remember them if I have, but I remember all the rude people who will shove me out of the way at the grocery store. Or flip me off in traffic. Or the man who killed my father. I will always remember his face. Permanently etched in my brain. People can't forget something when it affected them so badly. Thats not how the mind works, unfortunately. It would be wonderful if I could just tell myself to forget something. I would be much happier. Or would I? Maybe. Maybe not. "Well, at least shes in a better place now." I say. My eyes flick up to the sky. I hope thats where she is. I look down and stare at my shoes. Emma goes and sits on the bench. She moves her purse and beckons for me to sit. I walk over. Awkwardly. The bench is short, so we're only about a half an inch apart. I bring my shoulders forward to keep from brushing her. I dont know why though. I just feel uncomfortable. "I would like to ask you something." Emma says, "I hope these questions arent too annoying for you, I'm just a curious person." I look up at her and shake my head. "No, youre fine, I understand, I mean, you are leaving your son with me." I flash a quick smile at her. "Ok then!" She says. "Why did you choose to become a care giver at such a young age?" She lowers her voice towards the end of her sentence. I decide to give her the truth. Though I've never actually told anyone. They ask. But I just tell them I like helping people. "I watched both my Dad and my Grandpa die. It was hard. But I figured I could lie and wollow in my self pity, or I could help other people going through the same thing they did." I shrug. I want it to sound casual. But how casual is talking about your dead relatives to a stranger? She rubs my arm, like I'm her daughter, or younger sister. She seems like she could put aside her problems, or maybe she already has. I dont know. I dont know a lot these days. I dont know her, but shes nice. I dont know Brian, but he looks like her. I dont know Colin, but he's a good kid. I dont know my little sister, but I miss her. I dont know. I dont know. It rings over and over and over in my head. I want all of this to stop. I want everything to go black so I can curl up and forget everything. I want it to stop. How? How can it stop, when its real? "I know how youre feeling." Emma says. How? How could anyone know what I'm thinking, when we're all so different? Maybe we aren't different at all. Beating heart. Breathing lungs. Blinking eyes. Its all the same. Or is it? I'm questioning everything I know. Why? Because I'm not sure anyone knows for sure. Maybe they do. Right now, I vow to never think anything is certain. Even if I want to. "You do?" I ask. I'm still staring at the grass. I didnt even realize. But I dont look at something else. Maybe I'm being rude. "Yes. I went through the same thing when I lost my baby. I wanted to give up on everything. And everyone. I just wanted to curl up in a ditch and think of nothing. But I finally realized that there is so much around me. Everything is so much more then meets the eye." She looks around at the trees, the cars, and the children playing. Then I realize, the trees look like theyre swaying in the wind. But they're producing oxygen, they're housing insects amd lives smaller then we can see. The cars look like theyre driving themselves. There is someone inside, giving instructions to an engine that moves everything else. The children look like they're just sliding down slides. But theyre pretending to be superheroes, gliding through the sky like birds. How could I be so narrow-minded? There is too much worth remembering to just give up. I was focusing on the negative. When there is way more positive I could have been thinking of. "Yeah, sometimes I forget that." I say. "Not just you, I think everyone forgets it occasionally. Nothing to worry about, just something to be aware of." She reaches down and puts the journal back onto her purse, which just slid off. "Can I ask you something?" I ask. "You just did, didnt you?" She says smiling. I smile back. Like I'm with an old best friend. I feel comfortable enough to go ahead and ask. "Whos journal is that?" I ask pointing at the old book. The thread is fraying at the spine. It still smells like leather. Like its been in a box for years. "Its my moms. I found it a few years after she died. But I just now got the guts to read it. Im glad I did. I'm learning alot from my 14 year old mom." She looks at me quizingly. I feel like she is going to ask me something I wont know how to answer. "How is your relationship with your mom?" I knew it. I frickin foretold that! "Well, I mean. Its good, I guess." I feel like an idiot. I love my mom. But is that enough? I dont know. When I listen to music, they say love is the most powerful thing ever. But is love alone enough? It doesnt seem like it, but then again, what more could you give? I don't know. "I guess it isnt perfect. But I love her. Is love enough?" I ask. She seems wise and honest, I'm quickly comfortable around her. Even more then with Dolores. But Dolores seems always pre-occupied with her own thoughts, Emma isn't. I dont know how she does it. "Well, the feeling of love is enough, but just saying 'I love you' is not enough. You have to show that someone what they mean. You cant just tell them. They have to feel it. It sounds cliche. And probably overused, but its overused because its true. Why would anyone say it over and over if it isnt true? They wouldn't. Or theyre just good at acting." She says. Yes, very wise. But why use the word acting? Instead of lying? "Isnt acting and lying the same thing?" I ask. "No, not necessarily. Lying is making something up, just to see how it works. Acting is believing that something is false, but somewhere in them, they might just believe that its true, or vice-versa, depending on how you look at it." That answer is satisfying enough. But I have one more that is buzzing in the back of my head. "Do you believe that everyone is unique? Or that we are all the same?" I ask. I should be asking these questions to my mom, but I'm not. "Well, what I believe is very complex. Yes, I believe we are all unique. But I also believe we are connected by some invisible line. The same line that allows us to feel someone staring at us from yards away." She says. I wonder what school she went to that teaches this stuff. Or did she learn it on her own. "Where did you learn all this stuff?" I ask, calmly, not demanding, or insistent, just curiously. "That's the thing, I dont know any of this for sure, but its things I've thought about while sitting in silence." She looks at me quizingly again. "Do you listen to music, Selina?" She asks. Again, I'm going to answer honestly, I feel like I'm getting an honest overdose. This is the most honest I've been in years. "Yes, like when its quiet. I dont like to be alone with my own thoughts." I lean forward and pick up the blade of grass that I was staring at previously and start folding and ripping it. "Sometimes, we can learn from our thoughts. Sometimes, its better to be in quiet. Music is great too! But sometimes, say 15 minutes a day, we should be in silence." She says. We are again deep in conversations, about beliefs, wonders, and everything between. For a minute, I forget about my griefs. But grieving is useless. What good does it do anyway? Besides allow you to feel sorry for yourself? It does nothing besides that, at least in my experience with it. It might work for other people, to maybe let go of something. But is that really grief? I dont think so. Maybe it is. Who knows for certain? How many certain things are there really? I make a mental list. God. Family. Hope. Faith. Gravity. Oxygen. ?. Thats all I can think of. Maybe Love? No. Love could be a lie. This is a list of completely certain things. Yes, I love my mom, but thats what family is. So love is not included in this list. Is that a good or a bad thing?                                 ”“” I'm back home. Emma and I talked until sunset. I still don't know what the purpose was in her mind. But I'm glad we met. I feel like a veil has been lifted. One that was blurring my vision of the world. I dont think I should base my thoughts off of what one person says. But, its a start. I should ask what other people think of the world. I make another mental list. Mom. Dolores. Emily. Dylyla. Yes, I will ask Dylyla, I want her back home. I miss her. But I won't grieve. Its useless. Maybe I will. I'll count to 10, let the grieve come in. Then push it out. 1 2 3 Why? 4 How? 5 Why? 6 What is this pain? 7 Is it my fault? 8 Will I really see them again? 9 What if I don't? 10 I let out an internal scream. Then its gone. Its gone! I will do this every time. I feel light. Like a feather. A feather that attached to a bird. A bird that is very intelligent. A bird that is hungry, but full at the same time. That is a very conflicting idea. But it makes sense to me. And that's all that matters, right? As long as I understand what one person means, my life is not wasted. Even if that one person is myself, or Emma, or Mom, or Emily, or even a stranger on the street. Thats what I believe. Is it though? Is that what I really believe? Yes, it is. And I need to stop questioning myself so much. I need to stop a lot of things. But right now, I'm focusing on, well, focusing. I need to really look at the world. Then I will really look at myself. I will fix what I need to fix. But if its fine, why fix it? Why not improve it? Yes, that sounds good. That's what I will keep in the back of my mind. Like a sticky note on the walls of my mind, I will write it big enough to see from anywhere in my mind. I pretend I'm ripping all the other notes on the wall away. The notes that don't matter. "Grief" "Self-pitty" "Why?" I keep ripping. And I rip them all away. There are only a few left. "Famliy" "Hope" "Faith" "Learning" "Realizing" Those are the only good notes I made. I will add more to my mind-walls soon. As soon I learn more, as soon as I get my family back together, as soon as I find hope again, as soon as I find faith, as soon as I realize how amazing this world actually is. Until then, this is all that matters. I crawl into bed. I'm asleep immediately.

[anneedmonds]

You Shall Go To The Ball… | AD

[AD info: this post contains a paid-for advertorial for L’Oreal. Links marked * are affiliate links. Beauty products featured are press samples, fashion items and jewellery are my own apart from the earrings which were gifted.]

I went out-out last Saturday – to a ball. A proper black tie affair that required the hiring of tuxedos (Mr AMR and friends), a special bra (me) and transportation through the muddy lanes of Somerset (all of us). It was an organisational ordeal, if truth be known, especially as we had to leave the house at 17.45 and we were still shooting pictures of me in my dress – for this post – at 17.42. We’re not great at doing things in an ordered manner at the best of times, but throw formality into the mix – a prompt-start drinks reception, a shared cab – and we really show our true chaotic colours.

In actual fact, my preparation for the ball had started a whole week beforehand because I had only recently emerged from the world’s most intense onslaught of minor ailments. And after almost week spent in bed, my face and body looked as though I’d been buried in a sandpit. Or a jar of rice. You know how people drop their iPhone down the loo/in the sink and then put it in rice to dry it out? That’s how I looked. Dried out.

So it was onwards and upwards with a supercharged beautifying routine, including body brushing (haven’t done it in years but I just felt so sluggish and drained, it was rather nice to give myself a vigorous buff) (not a euphemism), hair masks (I’ve been instructed by Kat at Josh Wood to use them on a regular basis if I want my hair to grow out nicely) and – most importantly – some serious facial rehydration.

Now I’m no stranger to a good hydrating serum, but I took things one step further with this post-sickness week of beauty SOS; a 7 day course of intense replumping using the new L’Oreal Revitalift Filler Ampoules. The Revitalift Filler range has always been about serious hydration but these ampoules are on another level, with individual doses of concentrated hyaluronic acid to really leave skin looking smooth and plumptious.

In all honesty, I find that the formula is so concentrated I only need a small amount of each ampoule, so one dose usually does my face, neck and chest three or four times. I’m probably not supposed to say that, but it’s true – you get far more than you’d need for a seven day course. Which is surely no bad thing!

And the results of my SOS 7 Day Cure? Well, the Revitalift Filler Ampoules definitely gave an amazing boost to whatever was applied on top – it was a bit like a hydration supercharge. Everything felt more elastic and bouncy, with the creme de la creme of skincare combos being the Ampoules followed by the Revitalift Filler Night Cream-Mask, which is one of my favourite night treatments of all time. You could have trampolined on my cheeks (facial) the following morning…

I think we all know the drill by now, when it comes to hyaluronic; in terribly simplistic terms it helps your skin to hold onto moisture, helping to plump out fine lines and make your face look smoother and fresher. The Revitalift Filler Ampoules do this admirably – and I must admit to rather liking the 7 Day Cure idea. For those who are about to go on holiday, or have come back from holiday totally weatherbeaten, or who are gearing up for a big event or gearing down for a week of rest, it’s a nice way to remind yourself to give your skin a boost.

You can find the new Revitalift Filler Ampoules at Look Fantastic here – at time of writing they are on offer at £14.99. And I know you’re dying to find out what else was on my face, so let me talk you through my rather frenzied makeup session, which was studded with interruptions and errors.

The base – as usual – was the most enjoyable part; I never tire of buffing in various sheens and shines and pigments to create a glowing, reasonably realistic version of my natural skin. My skin but not knackered. I started with a layer of Charlotte Tilbury’s Flawless Filter in Shade 4*, followed by a light layer of Dior’s new Forever Skin Glow Foundation in Shade 1.5* and the new L’Oreal Infallible More Than Concealer* to take the edge off my dark circles. (It’s great; very creamy but dries to a velvet finish and doesn’t sit in fine lines.)

Cheek colour and contour was courtesy of Kevyn Aucoin Celestial Bronzing Veil in Tropical Nights* and the excellent Life’s A Peach blush from L’Oreal*.

All of that was fine, the base stuff, but when it got to eyes things started to go seriously wrong. First of all I made my usual “going out” mistake: trying to learn a totally new look at the last minute. I thought to myself, I know! I have limited time and I still haven’t defrosted the salmon for the kids’ tea – why don’t I take this opportunity to practice a “cut crease” and also apply some false lashes?

It was disastrous, my friends. By the time I had finished, having applied every matte shadow in existence and used up the last of Mr AMR’s masking tape (don’t ask), I looked like a ninety year old Panto Dame.

Off it all came and I thankfully came to my senses, using the trustworthy (if brow-raisingly expensive) Ombre Blackstar crayons from By Terry* to smudge in a quick and easy smokey eye. (I used a few shades, but you honestly can’t go wrong with these so long as you work reasonably fast. They blend beautifully, have a great non-glittery sheen and don’t move once they’ve set.)

I lined my eyes with Marc Jacobs Highliner in RoCocoa* (one of the very best eyeliners you can buy, in my opinion – soft, sets fast, doesn’t shift ever) and finished off with three coats of the L’Oreal Unlimited mascara (£6.59 here*). I was slow on the uptake with the Unlimited Bendable mascara but it’s actually exemplary at getting to those fine, annoying lashes that usually get overlooked.

And finally, lips. I wanted a nudeish shade but with a hint of peach, but nothing too peachy or corally because then I thought that it would be a bit matchy matchy with the coral in my dress. (Oh, the dilemma!) I am becoming more and more adept at picking out very minute differences in lipstick shades – the tiniest added warmth that can completely change how it looks on me, or a touch too much blue that suddenly drains me of all colour.

So Chanel’s Daylight* was the shade of choice for the ball – understated but not boring.

I admit that I did overline my lips slightly to make them fuller – they had to complete with my massively on-show breasts, after all (see this post) – but I kept the effect soft and pretty, nothing too Showgirls. Just a bit of help where time has nibbled away at my natural lipline. (Ugh! What an image!) I used the Beauty Pie Wondergel Lip Liner in Vanilla Nude* – it’s sheeny but somehow still stays in place. Great stuff.

My hair was painstakingly waved using a heated tong, just to give some “sexy tousled waves”, which is possibly one of the most overused phrases in the beauty industry, along with “pop of colour” and “fresh, glowing skin”. Sorry.

But that’s what I had, the sort of waves that would never happen naturally but happen to look natural. Although why anyone ever called it “bed hair” I’ll never know; my bed hair looks flat and limp, like I’ve slept with a rubber balaclava pulled over my head. (I have no idea whether rubber balaclavas exist, by the way; I mean I’m sure they do but I don’t own one. Just to make that clear.)

Now I’ve had more than a few questions about the dress, which is the Francesca by Issa. I actually think Issa must have shut down, as a luxury brand – I see that they make stuff for House of Fraser, but not as a standalone label, which is a shame. Their dresses were always just spot on for me; cut the way I like them and with the most beautiful prints. The Francesca is a heavily embellished maxi gown that sweeps the floor (not literally: if it did it would be worth every penny) and sinks low at the neckline. I mean it’s not even a neckline really, is it? More of a diaphragm line.

If you want to read more about the intricacies of wearing this dress (ie how I got my boobs to stay up) then there’s a post here; for those who have read that, I’ll move on.

Accessories were kept simple but glamorous – I swapped my usual rings for my special Bvlgari gold and diamond band (a sort of alternative wedding ring from Mr AMR, I did a video on it here) and I wore some brilliant earrings from Isabella Townsley. She makes fine jewellery that’s very modern and cool – if ever you’re looking for something a bit different but you still want to invest in something luxurious then she’s your woman. You can take a look at her collections here – I’m wearing the gold GRLPWR earrings.

Dress, jewellery….what else? The bag was an old one from Anya Hindmarch – I call it my “summer bag” because I only ever crack it out when it’s blazing hot or I’m on holiday, but I made an exception here because it matched the dress so well.

And on my feet I wore some huge clompy sandals! I shouldn’t tell you this because it spoils the illusion, really, but I didn’t want to teeter in massive heels and have to worry about tripping over the long dress, so I decided to remove one potentially life-threatening hazard and wear chunky heels. Honestly, it was like putting cart wheels on a Ferrari. (I’m not comparing myself to a Ferrari here, just the dress!)

You can just about see a toe poking out with the clompsters on. I bought them when I was pregnant with Angelica and they were basically my “pregnant occasion” shoes – safe, chunky, but glittery enough to pass as something special.

So there, illusion shattered completely, that was my outfit and makeup prep. What do you think? It’s so long since I’ve properly “got ready” that I’d forgotten what a faff it is. But I also felt brilliant when I went to the ball – a bit like a different person. So the effort was definitely worth it, even if we were straight back on the Carousel of Illness Doom as soon as we got home. (Mr AMR, bronchitis.)

I was also quite pleased that I didn’t succumb to that “must buy a new expensive dress” feeling that I get every time I have some kind of event. Why is it that occasionwear is so pricey but it’s the stuff we wear the least? It’s the same with shoes; wear trainers all the time, cheap as chips. Need a pair of ridiculous shoes that are too painful to wear more than once: must spend equivalent of entire decade’s wages. Anyone else?

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You Shall Go To The Ball… | AD was first posted on February 23, 2019 at 7:35 pm. ©2018 "A Model Recommends". Use of this feed is for personal non-commercial use only. If you are not reading this article in your feed reader, then the site is guilty of copyright infringement. Please contact me at contact@amodelrecommends.com You Shall Go To The Ball… | AD published first on https://medium.com/@SkinAlley

[kyskingdom]

Harmonize. (First book I ever wrote. age 9)

Its quite here. There is no noise, except Gala snoring next to me. A car pulls into the drive, Gala snaps awake and growls at the noise. The person in the car is Emily, my sister. She "accidently" left her wedding ring here last time she visited. I think she just wanted a reason to come home again. Just a few weeks ago, Emily married Tom, a semi-truck driver who treats her amazing. They go everywhere together, which is why Emily needed an excuse to come home. I hear the front door open, and I hear her shoes on the floor. She knocks on my door. But walks in immediately after. So the knock was pretty pointless. Why is she In my room though? I told her where the ring was when we were on the phone earlier. I tried to make it sound like I wasnt going to be home. Its not like I dont love my sister, I just dont want to talk to her right now. I dont know why. But I don't. She stands in the door way and stares at me, I stare at the floor. "Selina, what is it?" Said Emily making her way to my side. "Nothing." Emily started poking my arm, trying to get my attention. I pretended not to feel Emily, though it was getting very annoying. "What is it? You can tell me." Oh! Wow! Yes! I'm just gonna tell you everything! "I dont know,I guess I just want to be able to support myself." I cringe, that's the best my brain can come up with? Pathetic. "What? You already support yourself." Okay, I'm getting pretty annoyed, just play along! "No I'm mean, completely support myself, like, in my own house..." That part wasnt a lie, I do want my own place. "Well, just, I don't know, just dont rush yourself." I looked up at Emily, I know why she has someone and I dont, she is stunningly pretty. I have always thought she was beautiful, her freckles around her nose, the short wavy auburn hair that hang over her shoulders. Like our mom. I dont look like them. My features are plain. I'm sometimes feel invisible, like my face has been used too many times. "Well," I said "I've gotta get to work." "You know," said Emily ,"you shouldn't be working two jobs at 19." I work one, so I correct her. "I only work one." I try to say this as serious as possible, but its hard to when Mary is such a wonderful woman. "Oh right, 'taking care of Mary isn't a job' right?" Emily said in an awful, what I would guess to be an impression of me. "Well, it isn't." I turned and grabbed my purse from the dresser, as Emily was passing me to leave. I walked out after Emily, who turned for the door, after she said goodbye to mom. My mother is wearing a scowl, one she saved for a very specific person, this cant be good. Or it might be really good! "Mary Rogers called last night, Saphy got her driving license so she'll be taking care of her now." Saphy, that little...I decide not to discuss her right now, I already know my mom hates her as much I do, so I play it off as if I'm talking about someone pleasent. "I thought Saphy was in Florida? Remember, she thought she was too good for Louisiana?" I always thought Louisiana was a great place for everyone to live, turns out, pretty-in-pink barbie dolls hate it here. "She's coming back to town, Her friends and her got in an argument, well a 'life crisis' if you ask her." Mom smiled at the 'life crisis' part, I really dont know why though. Other then to, I dont know, add something interesting to the conversation. Her and Emily talk the same way, while smiling. "Right, I need to get to work." I hugged her and headed for the door. I think about Mary on my way to work, A 98 year old woman who always insisted on me calling her 'aunt'. The first time we met, I  had about 20 cats circling my feet, all meowing, Mary came down the stairs with a little furball kitten in her hand. It was the cutest thing I have ever seen! I smiled, remembering how sweet Mary was, but the smile quickly faded. Unfortunately, everyday I have to pass the road where my dad was killed by a drunk driver, I was around 8, sitting in the back seat, singing along to the radio, when a loud screeching sound rang in my ears, then glass reflected red and blue lights on the dashboard. I pulled into the small parking lot of the restaurant I work at, it was just me and Dolores, the cook, and like 5 people that wanted a coffee refill for the road. I normally just read, but I am fresh out of books, so I need to make a deal, I go around my school and ask people for their books, with the promise that I will do the book report, but its summer, and nobody has book reports in the summer. I was brought out of my day-dream feeling my phone buzz, my mom. "hey are you busy?" Nope, just busy with my book-dealer thoughts! "Its never busy here mom." I thinks thats less of a crazy answer, right? "Right, well, Someone just called, He needs a new caretaker." He? I specificaly put on my resume 'Woman Only!' But the resume only exists in my head, and as far as I know, people cant see into my brain place, not that theyd want to, my train of thought often crashes into the Great Wall of Stupid, and repairs take a while. "Do I know him?" That was a stupid question! No, of course you dont know, you have conversations in your head like this one to avoid talking to real people! "I don't think so,his name is Brian Elderson,He just dropped outta college." College?? How old is this guy? I should make friends with him, enough money to drop out of college! "College?How old is he?" "I'd guess about 18-20." Woah, what? Why? And how? "Okay, what is wrong with him?" That sounded insensitive, but mom knows what I mean, I hope. "He was paralyzed in a car crash, I dont think hes gonna be as easy, he was one of those hard-headed and strong-going kids, and now he thinks he useless." Hmm...did she Google him or something? "How do you know all this?" "Hes one of my co-workers son." Mom dosent care for her co-workers, but I've never heard the name 'Elderson' Before. "I've never heard you talk about anyone named Elderson." "I didn't even know he existed, but he over heard Elly and I talking about you and Mary." Elly was Mary's younger sister, though they didn't talk much, Elly was still acting like she was 20, Elly and Mary still cared about each others well being. A woman just walked in the door, and headed to the back corner table. "alright I've gotta go, an alien just walked in." Mom must have understood, because she hung up, or she was afraid it wasn't me talking and someone possessed me, either way I would be happy with. I went to take the woman's order, but before I could speak, the woman said "eggs and toast." I honestly dont know what I expect. We have menus glued under the glass tables. Do people know we serve other things then eggs? I relayed it to Dolores, who was dancing in the kitchen, but stopped immediately when she saw me. "Who is it?" Asked Dolores "Dunno, but she looks rich and official." " 'Rich and official' only you could come up with that." I rolled my eyes and went back to my barstool, and stare at the counter, it has a very interesting design, but not really. Rich and official. Those were the first words that came to my mind when I looked at her, She had blazing red hair and a black jumpsuit, she reminded me of a certain book charecter. I grab the plate of food Dolores slid on the counter in front of me, interupting my disecting of the counter design, and went back to the table and offered it to the woman. I handed it to the woman and went back to the barstool, the counter isnt as interesting anymore, but I continue to stare anyway. Me and Dolores spent the next half hour peeping around the corner at the woman like cannibals, but, she never came back, and we were back to the same few customers. This place is going to go bank-rupt soon, and there is nothing I can do about it, the helpless feeling is the worst, like theres a hole in my chest that little helpless bugs lay eggs. "Well, That kinda sucks." said Dolores "Yeah, What can we do about it though?" I say like wasn't just invisioning little mosquito like bugs laying eggs inside my heart. "What we need is a fundraiser." said Dolores. "Fundraiser? Like anyones gonna buy from our bakestand when they have way better food." I said pointing down the road at our rival restaurant rival. "Who said I was talking about a bakestand?" Oh, my brain just automatically guessed a bakestand since that's what most normal people do, my mistake. "Well what were you thinking?" "Dunno, Any ideas?" Well, then I guess we're going with the cookies and a wood stand! "No, not really." I say. "Do you know anyone who might be able to lend us some money even for a paint job?" Hmm...let me think, like anyone can afford paint around here, living in a poor town! Just peachy! "Everyone I know can't even afford their own paint." "That's what happens in a poor town, right?" Oh crap! She can read minds! Take cover! All my psycho thoughts hide under the tables! "Yeah." The door opens and coffee refills walk in the door, not literally, but that's all they ordered.                               “”“ "Well, I'm checkin' out for the day." said Dolores, she says it as if I dont know that she always leaves at the same time every day. "Yep, I'll just clean up and I'm leaving too." So I headed over to the one table that woman sat at and wiped it off, there really isnt anything else to do, so I head to my car. When I walked in the door, Gala greeted me by licking my face, she was tall enough when she stood on her back feet, as I am freakishly short for someone my age. Mom came out of her bedroom, carying her purse and her phone in the other, she looked disoriented about something. "Feeling alright mom?" Mom let out a sigh, this cant be good, she uselly only wears that face when somethings wrong, or she had a bad day at work, but thats pretty much the same thing. "Mary" She says. Mary what? Is she okay? "Is she okay?" "Kind of, she had a heart attack last night, the hospital just released her this morning to a nursing home." "They probably should have released her yet, right?" "No, they shouldn't have, but they dont think she has too much longer to live" Her voice wobbles at the end of her sentence, Even though Mary was old, she was still very close my mom and I, so losing her would be purely awful. "We're going to see her, right?" I dont know why I said that, we are obviously going to see her. "You think I'm gonna leave her by herself?" I feel worse with my mothers reply, it was rather harsh, so I know she is worried. "Your right,that was a stupid question" I followed her quietly to her car. She turned the key, it cranked and cranked, but didnt start. "We'll take my car." I say after mom gave up, the battery has been needing jumped every day for a while, and company's wont lower the flipping price of car batterys! It was a quiet and awkward ride, the home was about an hour away, sometimes its nice to just get in tje car and ride, with no plan as to where you re going, or what your even doing. But this is not a relaxing ride, Mary is laying in a hospital bed, probably not feeling too good, and she likes to talk to anyone and everyone, but shes probably by herself right now. Sometimes we can pull a radio signal, so I try, but I regret it. 'Deeper than The Holler' came on, it was mom and Dads song when they were in high school. Tears were swelling up in moms eyes, tears like a blade piercing my heart, slow and painful. I turned it off, I miss him too much, and its not safe to drive for my mom to drive with blurry vision. I clear my throat. "I'm sorry." Tears roll down my face as I choke on the words. "Sometimes," mom says "we need to let go, and get over the past, to be able to live in the present." She reached forward and turned the radio back up. I can't believe she just did that. The song that brought back so many memories, them dancing in the living room every time time it came on, their wedding song. She turned it back on. After my heart was drained of anything happy, she had the strength to turn it back on. She knew him better then I did. She went on trucking trips with him, he was a trucker. After Emily was born, Mom ha to stay home, every once in a while she would go with him. After I was born, she went with him even fewer places. Then Dylyla came along, Mom couldnt go at all. Dylyla doesnt even live with us anymore, she lives with Grandma. It really makes me mad when I think of it, mom wanted her to get her grades up, or she was going to make her take a break from cheerleading. Dylyla hated mom after that, but Grandma didnt help at all, she said Dylyla could live with her and not worry about education.                                “”“ One of the home workers led us to Mary's room. I followed mom and Alice, the worker, down a brown hallway, it smells like a Bingo room, anything that smelled nice before, was now overpowered by cheap perfume. Alice left us at the doorway, Mom headed in first. "How are you?" Mom asked, I just hovered around the end of the bed, like a bee unsure of itself, that is what I am, always unsure, of everything. Thats the thing about life, you may think its certain, but I've learned that it never is, its always changing, just like the tide, the whales are so sure they won't be beached, yet they still are. I realize mom and Mary are deep in conversation, I dont really hear it though. Finally, Mary looks away from Mom. "Well don't act like a stranger! Get over here!" I smile, makeing my way to hug her, she is always so happy. "Oh I missed you! That girl does nothing but chatter on her darn ol'phone!" I feel bad, I didn't realize that it had been so long since Saphy has been taking care of her, well, only two days, but still. I used to think your heart couldn't actually feel anything, it was just you telling yourself it could, but I was wrong. I walk over to chair in the corner of the room and sit down. I am not, will not, cry, not here, not for Mary to see. I feel the pain, the pain people talk about. The heartbreak. I didnt think it was possible, but it is. I dont want it to be, but it is, and there's nothing I can do. The door to the room is still open, I decide to close it, but as I do, I see a little girl, 10 maybe. She is crying. I can only imagine what for, but it can't be good. As quiet as I can, I make my way back to the chair, trying not to interupt the conversation they are back into. I can't feel anything. If I let any feelings in, they will all crumble. I straighten in my chair, put on a face, and push every feeling out, every last one. It worked, I have been trying it a lot lately, and it works now.                                ”“”“” I woke up at 4:00 the next morning. I dont need to be at work for another hour, but I decided to go in early. I dont think I can talk to Mom right now, she'll just try to comfort me, and words arent what I need right now, words are powerful, but not as powerful as a hug, or a day in the rain with a good book. I got out of bed and looked in the mirror, my cheeks are still blotchy from last night, I layed in bed and cried myself to sleep. It is very obvious now. I throw on some makeup, just concealer to cover up the redness. Very quietly let Gala outside, I dont want to wake mom, she has the day off. Once Gala is back in, I lead her back to moms room and close the door.                                  ”“”“ As I pull around the corner to the restaurant parking lot, I notice how bland it looks. It kind of hides. It definitely needs an update. I make a quick turn to the dollar store, I know they have like tablecloths and stuff, but I dont know what to do for the outside.                                ”“”“ There are now tablecloths for all the tables, curtains hanging on the outside of the windows, it actually looks really nice. I also bouhht one of those door frame floral tapestry things. Dolores pulls in as I put on some coffee. "Well, well, Somebody's been doing some shopping!" Said Dolores as she came in the door. "Do you like it?" I ask "Yes! It looks so much better, I thought the place had been demolished and rebuilt!" "It doesnt look that different." In fact, it hardly looks different at all. But it is more noticeable, which is what I was going for. Noticeable, but not in your face, like the place down the road. Dolores went back out to her car, she fumbled around for a long time, then re-entered with a bundle of wires and metal. "Its a radio." she announced like it was gold. "Where did you get that?" "I uh, acquired it." I smile. "You didnt steal it, did you?" I ask raising my eyebrows. "No! Well, maybe, my Ex's truck quit running so I ripped this thing out before we broke up." "And you kept it?" I ask. "Of course I kept it! I also kept his 50 inch TV he just had to have!" She scowls, I knew she hated him, but not that much. She looks at me and lifts a finger to point at me. "Dont you dare say 'I told you so'!" "Well, if you had listened-" I smile and bite my lip at her face, like A warning from an angry toddler. I'm trying so hard to hold in a laugh that I almost choke. "Stop! Its not funny!" Dolores exclaims. "You're right, its not funny. Not one bit." Then we both laugh. After a while, it turns into us doubled over with our mouths open like sick walruses. There no audible laughs. I can only imagine what we look like right now. Crap. Someone just came in the door, Dolores walks to the stove, hiding behind the wall, but I can still hear her laughing. I take a deep breath and walk over to the guys table. "What so funny?" He asks with a smile. "Actually," I say "I dont even know!" "One of those things, eh?" He says. "Yes. What would you like today?" "Eggs and coffee." He says. I walk to the coffee pot and pour a cup. When I go back to the table, he asks if I know his sister. "Whos your sister?" I ask, I already know I don't know her, but I dont what him to think I can read minds or do crazy crap like that. "Jane Brown" he says with a kind of longing in his eyes. "No, I don't think so." I know so, but he doesn't look too happy right now, nor does he look like he had a good relationship with her, since he hasnt looked up from his coffee. "Nah, I didn't figure, ain't nobody seen 'er." His eyes actually have tears in them. Should I sit down and comfort him? She I leave him to his feelings? I decide to pull out a chair and sit down, I still dont know if its a good call. "What does she look like?" I ask. "Hang on." he says as he fumbles in his pocket for his phone. He shows me a picture of a girl with short blonde hair and bright blue eyes. "We weren't very close when we were kids, but just as we worked out our issues, she was gone." he says, his eyes not really focused on anything. "And did she she say where she was going?" "Oh, I know where she went, but she aint in good shape." I feel like I shouldnt ask any more, so I dont but soon he is deep in his story of his sister, how she got in an unhealthy relationship, and the guy "poisened her brain" And that she wouldnt be coming back anytime soon. And that he was hoping she would come back home soon. As he talks, I notice green flecks in his blue eyes. I look away from his eyes as I realize that I shouldnt be looking at a stranger that way. But he does look to be around my age. Stop thinking like that! I tell myself, but I dont listen. After he was finished talking, I say "You know, my little sister is like that, expects to have the world handed to her. She lives with my grandma now" He looks at me and smiles, a smile he has probably practiced in the mirror. "Has anyone ever told you how pretty you are?" He asks, still smiling. Heat rushes through my cheeks. I tuck my hair behimd my ear, hoping he doesnt notice how red my cheeks are. "No, why?" I shift in my chair. Yes, sitting down was the right choice. He laughs, a small laugh, but it sends a chill through my stomach. "I think you know why." He says. Now, the chill turns into a sickening feeling. I'm being called pretty by a stranger. Kind of creepy, ain't it? Dolores hollers around the corner. "Eggs and coffee on the love boat." I look back at him as I walk to get the plate, surprised to see him looking at me. "Thanks for that." I hiss at Dolores, who looks very pleased with herself. As I set the plate at his table, he looks at me, I'm not sure what to do, and I'm getting a little uncomfortable, I've never had an experience like this before. "I'm John, by the way." "Selina." I say and walk back to the kitchen and hide behind the wall. Dolores is plugging in the radio. I walk up behind her. "Dont you dare turn that on!" She looks up and smiles. "Why not?" She asks innocently. "Because the only station we can pull in is a love song station, and I know what you'll do!" "Okay, you dont have to lecture me!" "Okay, just...don't do anything." I walk over to a cormer amd lean up against the wall, I close my eyes.                               ”“”“” When I hear the bell above the door ring, I walk to clean up the table. I find a napkin with a phone number on it. I look behind me to make sure Dolores isnt watching, and shove the napkin in my pocket. I try to fight my smile, but I can't, so I just bite my lip to try to conceal it. I carry the plate and bill back and set them on the counter. I'll deal with it later. "Did he leave his number on the bill?" Dolores asks. "No," it isn't a lie, because it wasnt on tje bill. "And never will, so will you just knock it off?" "Ha! Not a chance." She answers. "Besides," she says "you could use some pointers." "Pointers? From the girl that just stole her Ex's radio?" "Hey! After 5 years of dealing with his crap, I think I have a right to a radio that was going in the dump anyway." I roll my eyes at her. I really wish I had a book that I could hide behind right now. Sadly, I still dont have any deals. Dolores is pulling out a small bag from her other huge bag. "How many bags do you have in one bag?" I ask. "7." She answers like its not obscure to carry around more than one huge bag. "What is that one for?" I ask. She pulled out a glittery purple one and set it on the counter. "If you want to make a good impression," She says. "For who?" I interrupt, I know who, and what, she means, but I'm never gonna even see him again anyway. "You know. The one you were just swooning over." "No," I say "I'm am not participating in your little plan here. Besides, you know how many girls he probably leaves his number to? Too many for me to care." She scans me like a lie-detector. But I'm not lying, I dont really want to be seeing someone who goes into random resteraunts and talks about his personal life to some waitress. I feel like I'm lying. But I'm not. Am I? No. Really though, who goes and tells a stranger about their psycho sister? Probably someone who will tell anyone anything, even if its none of their business. "Fine," Dolores says. "If you dont want a little romamce in your life, that's your choice." She says as she puts all her bags back in her bag. "That wasnt romance," I say, "That was a guy complaining about his sister. What's 'Romantic' about that?" She shrugs her shoulders. "I dont know, maybe because he chose you to talk to." "He didnt 'choose' me! Besides, if you would have went over there, he would have talked to you." "Okay then! Tomorrow, when he comes back, I will go wait on him, see what he says then." "You just do that," I say, sitting down on the barstool. "And good luck, because he wont be back." "Right." Dolores mumbles. But, I dont know what shes planning, because he aint gonna be back. Chapter 2 I get back in my car, and let out a sigh. I had a meeting with the Eldersons, I guess they wanted to see how I was, no one has ever wanted a visit before. Its refreshing to finally smell fresh air. The air in the house was full of air fresheners, I would almost bet that it smelled better without all the fragrances. They were pretty nice, I guess. Emma, Brians mom, asked me things like what I have in mind for my future amd small-talk like that. But nothing really related to care-giver work. Maybe she was just testing me. She is leaving her son with me, after all.                                  “”“” When I get home, Mom is popping popcorn on the microwave. Gala is at her feet begging. "Gala! You user puppy!" I say as I bend down to pet her. "I figured we could use a movie night" Mom says as she piches the popcorn bag and puts it all in one big bowl. "We havent done that since Dylyla left." "No, we haven't, and since its just you and me, you can pick the movie." "You say that like you dont know what I will pick." My mom knows I have two favorite movies. That is one thing I told her. "Hm. Half-Blood Prince, or Divergent?" She asks. That is a hard choice, its been a while for both. "Which would you rather watch?" I ask "I cant make up my mind." She smiles, I already know what shes going to pick. "Harry Potter, Baby!" She says.                                 ““”“ I wake up tired. We ended up watching all 8 Harry Potter movies, and all 3 Divergent Movies. We probably should have gone to bed earlier, but, we you are handed movies like that, theres no telling how long you'll be awake. We probably should have waited for the weekend. We both have to work today, and Emma wants to meet "Privatly without the family." I don't know what that's about, but I imagine since Colin, her youngest son, was being pretty distracting, she wants a more focused setting. We are meeting at a park at 3:00, but I dont get off until 4:00, so I'll have to talk to Dolores. She'll probably cover for me, not that it matters, no one is ever there. I slept through my alarm, so I hurry and dress, then run through the house like a ninja finding food.                                 ”“” When I get there, Dolores is already there. Normally, I'm here way before she is. "Is everything alright?" She asks when I come in the door. "Yeah, Mom and I stayed up until 3:00 in the morning." I say as I tie on my apron. "Why in the world would you do that?" She asks. "Oh, you know, Harry Potter." I answer, smiling. "Ah, I see. I just wanted to make sure everything was alright. Did you get a call last night?" She asks. I look at her questoningly. "What do you mean?" I ask. I feel clueless, like I should known what shes talking about. "Wow, you really must have missed a lot of sleep." She says. "I'm sorry, I'm not following you." I say. "Obviously! I'm talking about flirty-pants." I roll my eyes at her. She needs to drop it. "Will you please stop! This isnt some Insta-romance story. So knock it off, I already told you, hes probably some creeper. I'm not even looking for a relationship." I say to clear things up. I guess she took the hint because she just shook her head, but didnt say anything. I stay on the barstool for a while, but after a little bit, these seats get really uncomfortable. I go over to a booth and lay down. Before I know it I'm asleep, not remembering my last thought. I'm awoken by music blaring from the kitchen. Dolores must have gotten the radio working. I sit up, involuntarily groaning. I walk over to the kitchen, rubbing sleep from my eyes, and turn off the radio. Dolores comes out of the bathroom. "Why did you shut it off? And why do you look like a zombie?" She asks, but all I can do is glare at here. My mouth wont form words right now. I go back to the booth, but don't lay down, instead I stare out the window, wondering if penguins have knees. Soon, cars and people and bikes going by are just blures of color. I dont even her Dolores when she walks over. I dont notice until she blocks my view. "Here." She throws my phone into my lap. I pick it up, there a million texts from my mom, and a few missed calls. 'are you ok?' 'why arent you answering?' 'seriously, reply!' I keep scrolling, more of the same. Her texts look panicky, I immediately think the worst. Then I see the first text. 'hey sweety, she passed away, I'm sorry.' I can't see anything. My vision is blurry with tears. I feel Dolores' hand on my arm. An attempt at comfort, but we both know shes not good at it. I stare at my hands, this time, I'm going to let my tears come. She's gone. She's gone. She's gone, and I was not there for her. I wasnt there. And now shes gone. Gone. The word repeats in my head, as if on a broken record. It won't leave. It wont stop. And neither will the tears. Maybe she is in a better place. Maybe shes up there with her Mom, her Dad, her brother. I lean forward and put my head in my hands. I feel Dolores rubbing my back. She met her. Once. I feel like a wimp. Sitting here, crying. Its not who I am. But then again, who am I? I don't know. Not anymore. We should have visited her last night. Instead of watching movies. We should have. I cant think straight right now. What did I do after Dad died? I don't know. I dont remember. Not now. But I went through it once before I look at Dolores. She has a small tear in her eyes. More from sympathy, it looks like. "You can go home." She says before I can even ask. I lean over and side hug her. Sniff, and shove my phone in my pocket. I take off my apron and hang it on the hook. I walk out to my car. Crank the engine, and pull out. I feel numb. Too numb. I feel like I should be feeling something. Other than a blade in my chest. That's it. That's all I can feel.                                ““”“ When I get home, Gala is ready to lick my tears away. I sit down on the floor, and Gala and I stare into each others eyes, for a long time. Sometimes, I think animals understand things better then humans. Animals will put aside everything they have wrong. Humans are wrapped up in their own problems, that they wont put aside. Animals are truly a blessing. I feel bad for the unfortunate souls that dont like animals. The wall phone rings. I get up and check my voice to make sure it will work. "Hello?" "Hello, this is Emma, are we still meeting?" "Yes! Yes, I'm sorry, I forgot, I'll be on my way! I'm so sorry." "Don't worry about it, I heard what happened." "Y-you did? From who?" I try to sound curious, not demanding. I dont know if it worked. "Oh, your mother told me this morning." "Oh, ok, I'm on my way." I hang up and run to the mirror. Blotches. Of course. I put on more makeup. Grab my purse. I'm out the door before I realize. Emma is already sitting on a park bench, holding a book, as gentle as if it could crumble in her finger tips. She looks beautiful with her hair blowing around. Her son definatly looks more like her than his dad. I step out of the car, Emma hears the car door shut, she carefully sets the book on top of her purse, when I get closer, I realize its a journal. "Hello!" She starts walking towards me, I'm walking toward her, I'm feeling very awkward, should I stop walking? I'm taken by surprise when she hugs me, as if we are long lost friends. Lost. The word rings in my head and I think of Mary. No. I wont think of her right now. Too late. My eyes are watery. "I'm so sorry to hear what happened." Emma says with a sorrowful look on her face. She's a nice woman. I've met her once, briefly. And she is already pitiful for me. I don't think that is normal. But maybe Ive never met a truly nice person before. Maybe I have. I dont remember them if I have, but I remember all the rude people who will shove me out of the way at the grocery store. Or flip me off in traffic. Or the man who killed my father. I will always remember his face. Permanently etched in my brain. People can't forget something when it affected them so badly. Thats not how the mind works, unfortunately. It would be wonderful if I could just tell myself to forget something. I would be much happier. Or would I? Maybe. Maybe not. "Well, at least shes in a better place now." I say. My eyes flick up to the sky. I hope thats where she is. I look down and stare at my shoes. Emma goes and sits on the bench. She moves her purse and beckons for me to sit. I walk over. Awkwardly. The bench is short, so we're only about a half an inch apart. I bring my shoulders forward to keep from brushing her. I dont know why though. I just feel uncomfortable. "I would like to ask you something." Emma says, "I hope these questions arent too annoying for you, I'm just a curious person." I look up at her and shake my head. "No, youre fine, I understand, I mean, you are leaving your son with me." I flash a quick smile at her. "Ok then!" She says. "Why did you choose to become a care giver at such a young age?" She lowers her voice towards the end of her sentence. I decide to give her the truth. Though I've never actually told anyone. They ask. But I just tell them I like helping people. "I watched both my Dad and my Grandpa die. It was hard. But I figured I could lie and wollow in my self pity, or I could help other people going through the same thing they did." I shrug. I want it to sound casual. But how casual is talking about your dead relatives to a stranger? She rubs my arm, like I'm her daughter, or younger sister. She seems like she could put aside her problems, or maybe she already has. I dont know. I dont know a lot these days. I dont know her, but shes nice. I dont know Brian, but he looks like her. I dont know Colin, but he's a good kid. I dont know my little sister, but I miss her. I dont know. I dont know. It rings over and over and over in my head. I want all of this to stop. I want everything to go black so I can curl up and forget everything. I want it to stop. How? How can it stop, when its real? "I know how youre feeling." Emma says. How? How could anyone know what I'm thinking, when we're all so different? Maybe we aren't different at all. Beating heart. Breathing lungs. Blinking eyes. Its all the same. Or is it? I'm questioning everything I know. Why? Because I'm not sure anyone knows for sure. Maybe they do. Right now, I vow to never think anything is certain. Even if I want to. "You do?" I ask. I'm still staring at the grass. I didnt even realize. But I dont look at something else. Maybe I'm being rude. "Yes. I went through the same thing when I lost my baby. I wanted to give up on everything. And everyone. I just wanted to curl up in a ditch and think of nothing. But I finally realized that there is so much around me. Everything is so much more then meets the eye." She looks around at the trees, the cars, and the children playing. Then I realize, the trees look like theyre swaying in the wind. But they're producing oxygen, they're housing insects amd lives smaller then we can see. The cars look like theyre driving themselves. There is someone inside, giving instructions to an engine that moves everything else. The children look like they're just sliding down slides. But theyre pretending to be superheroes, gliding through the sky like birds. How could I be so narrow-minded? There is too much worth remembering to just give up. I was focusing on the negative. When there is way more positive I could have been thinking of. "Yeah, sometimes I forget that." I say. "Not just you, I think everyone forgets it occasionally. Nothing to worry about, just something to be aware of." She reaches down and puts the journal back onto her purse, which just slid off. "Can I ask you something?" I ask. "You just did, didnt you?" She says smiling. I smile back. Like I'm with an old best friend. I feel comfortable enough to go ahead and ask. "Whos journal is that?" I ask pointing at the old book. The thread is fraying at the spine. It still smells like leather. Like its been in a box for years. "Its my moms. I found it a few years after she died. But I just now got the guts to read it. Im glad I did. I'm learning alot from my 14 year old mom." She looks at me quizingly. I feel like she is going to ask me something I wont know how to answer. "How is your relationship with your mom?" I knew it. I frickin foretold that! "Well, I mean. Its good, I guess." I feel like an idiot. I love my mom. But is that enough? I dont know. When I listen to music, they say love is the most powerful thing ever. But is love alone enough? It doesnt seem like it, but then again, what more could you give? I don't know. "I guess it isnt perfect. But I love her. Is love enough?" I ask. She seems wise and honest, I'm quickly comfortable around her. Even more then with Dolores. But Dolores seems always pre-occupied with her own thoughts, Emma isn't. I dont know how she does it. "Well, the feeling of love is enough, but just saying 'I love you' is not enough. You have to show that someone what they mean. You cant just tell them. They have to feel it. It sounds cliche. And probably overused, but its overused because its true. Why would anyone say it over and over if it isnt true? They wouldn't. Or theyre just good at acting." She says. Yes, very wise. But why use the word acting? Instead of lying? "Isnt acting and lying the same thing?" I ask. "No, not necessarily. Lying is making something up, just to see how it works. Acting is believing that something is false, but somewhere in them, they might just believe that its true, or vice-versa, depending on how you look at it." That answer is satisfying enough. But I have one more that is buzzing in the back of my head. "Do you believe that everyone is unique? Or that we are all the same?" I ask. I should be asking these questions to my mom, but I'm not. "Well, what I believe is very complex. Yes, I believe we are all unique. But I also believe we are connected by some invisible line. The same line that allows us to feel someone staring at us from yards away." She says. I wonder what school she went to that teaches this stuff. Or did she learn it on her own. "Where did you learn all this stuff?" I ask, calmly, not demanding, or insistent, just curiously. "That's the thing, I dont know any of this for sure, but its things I've thought about while sitting in silence." She looks at me quizingly again. "Do you listen to music, Selina?" She asks. Again, I'm going to answer honestly, I feel like I'm getting an honest overdose. This is the most honest I've been in years. "Yes, like when its quiet. I dont like to be alone with my own thoughts." I lean forward and pick up the blade of grass that I was staring at previously and start folding and ripping it. "Sometimes, we can learn from our thoughts. Sometimes, its better to be in quiet. Music is great too! But sometimes, say 15 minutes a day, we should be in silence." She says. We are again deep in conversations, about beliefs, wonders, and everything between. For a minute, I forget about my griefs. But grieving is useless. What good does it do anyway? Besides allow you to feel sorry for yourself? It does nothing besides that, at least in my experience with it. It might work for other people, to maybe let go of something. But is that really grief? I dont think so. Maybe it is. Who knows for certain? How many certain things are there really? I make a mental list. God. Family. Hope. Faith. Gravity. Oxygen. ?. Thats all I can think of. Maybe Love? No. Love could be a lie. This is a list of completely certain things. Yes, I love my mom, but thats what family is. So love is not included in this list. Is that a good or a bad thing?                                 ”“” I'm back home. Emma and I talked until sunset. I still don't know what the purpose was in her mind. But I'm glad we met. I feel like a veil has been lifted. One that was blurring my vision of the world. I dont think I should base my thoughts off of what one person says. But, its a start. I should ask what other people think of the world. I make another mental list. Mom. Dolores. Emily. Dylyla. Yes, I will ask Dylyla, I want her back home. I miss her. But I won't grieve. Its useless. Maybe I will. I'll count to 10, let the grieve come in. Then push it out. 1 2 3 Why? 4 How? 5 Why? 6 What is this pain? 7 Is it my fault? 8 Will I really see them again? 9 What if I don't? 10 I let out an internal scream. Then its gone. Its gone! I will do this every time. I feel light. Like a feather. A feather that attached to a bird. A bird that is very intelligent. A bird that is hungry, but full at the same time. That is a very conflicting idea. But it makes sense to me. And that's all that matters, right? As long as I understand what one person means, my life is not wasted. Even if that one person is myself, or Emma, or Mom, or Emily, or even a stranger on the street. Thats what I believe. Is it though? Is that what I really believe? Yes, it is. And I need to stop questioning myself so much. I need to stop a lot of things. But right now, I'm focusing on, well, focusing. I need to really look at the world. Then I will really look at myself. I will fix what I need to fix. But if its fine, why fix it? Why not improve it? Yes, that sounds good. That's what I will keep in the back of my mind. Like a sticky note on the walls of my mind, I will write it big enough to see from anywhere in my mind. I pretend I'm ripping all the other notes on the wall away. The notes that don't matter. "Grief" "Self-pitty" "Why?" I keep ripping. And I rip them all away. There are only a few left. "Famliy" "Hope" "Faith" "Learning" "Realizing" Those are the only good notes I made. I will add more to my mind-walls soon. As soon I learn more, as soon as I get my family back together, as soon as I find hope again, as soon as I find faith, as soon as I realize how amazing this world actually is. Until then, this is all that matters. I crawl into bed. I'm asleep immediately.