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vicious-vixxxen · 4 years ago

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Ugh. I’ll I’ve been able to think about for days is Kirishima.

Pro Hero Red Riot is always on the move. Always busy. Saving people, doing interviews, kissing babies, the whole nine yards.

When you and Kiri started dating fresh out of UA you knew what you were signing up for. Being part of the hero support course yourself, never afforded you much grandeur or fame, but that was okay. You were trusted with one of, if not the most important part of a hero’s identity- their suit. You were more than happy to tinker away at revisions, or sketching new styles for up and comers, than being out on the field.

You were the only one in the support class, even above Power Loader himself, who Kirishima took his costume and ideas to. You’d made the very first alterations to his hero costume when he first arrived at UA, after the USJ attack. From then on it was sort of a wonderfully professional relationship. As professional as someone like Kiri could be- all large toothy grins, bad jokes, and hands on communications. /Very/ hands on. Kirishima never thought twice about leaning over your shoulder to watch you sketch up the inner workings of other suits, breath ghosting the shell of your ear, always warm and sweet, like all he consumed was candy.

Or sitting next to you, thighs and sides flush as you grew frustrated over his helmet design. He’d snicker and lay one large hand over your own- because by his third year he was already towering over half the staff, let alone the students- to drag your pencil in a different direction, voice soft and secret, just for you.

You never spoke outside of the support class really, especially as the years progressed. Kiri was class 1A after all, and as your own talents started to blossom, the busier you were kept as well. Being consulted to help pros with their designs in just your second year.

But you treasured the hours after school you got to spend with Kirishima. He’d never struck you as particularly male leaning, so while you’d entertain the idea sometimes, in the privacy of your dorm room, of being Kirishima’s boyfriend, you didn’t allow it to mess up the relationship you’d built with the other boy. You chalked it up to your first real crush, and, having always been an overtly rational individual, knew you’d work through it sooner or later. Unwilling to entertain the idea of not even being friends with Kiri. Cuz being his friend would always be better than nothing at all.

But imagine your surprise, the day after graduation, when he arrived at your doorstep. Flowers and chocolates in hand, and a thick envelope nearly bursting at the seams, filled with letters he’d been writing to you over the course of your high school careers.

Apparently, Kirishima hadn’t wanted to trouble you with his feelings when you two were so focused on school, and absorbing as much as you could, and for good reason. But now, he’d stated so clearly- the hesitance behind his wavering grin made your chest tight- you were both adults, out in the world, and if you’d have him, he’d love to take you out.

The rest was sort of history.

Three years later, still going strong.

Though Red Riots newest ranking- from his wavering 7-8, all the way up to 4, had meant an influx in work the last 3 weeks. Kirishima been all over Japan, helping out on various reconnaissance missions, interviews of the rising hero variety, and just generally being kept busy by his agency.

Kiri popped in ever few days, when he could. A quick dinner and cuddle till he had to leave again. A nice long Skype session as he was flown to a new mission, if you were lucky. But the two of you always made things work. You loved each other too much to even entertain the idea of your professional loved interfering to the point of no return, in your personal lives.

It didn’t mean it wasn’t hard, but it did mean it was a manageable. Especially when the two of you tried so hard.

And your combined hard work paid off. Kirishima had been praised internationally, after a mission he was brought in for in Europe went fantastically. The Japanese Hero Commission splashing Red Riot on the front page of anything that consisted of pages, honestly. And awarding him privately with paid time off.

Paid. Time. Off.

That had been yesterday, Friday evening. You’d both returned home late, and despite how tired you both were, it didn’t stop you from fully christening some new sheets you’d bought, before passing out together.

The christening of which you recalled as you sat, sprawled out on the sofa in the living room- one leg thrown back over the back of the sofa, the other extended out towards the opposite end. A book in hand in front of you, free arm cradled behind your head. Trying to focus on the pages, as the bright, early morning sun splashed across them.

Which was hard, when all you could focus on was the blossoming bruises on your inner thighs, and pleasant ache in your ass, and the sting of the bite on your neck whenever you turned your neck even a fraction.

The night previous had been rushed, all teeth, and gnawing, and clawing, and racing towards the end together. It was wonderful, and you’d always loved the aftermath Kirishima would leave on your body. Ever the closet possessor he was.

He’d never been much of an early riser, so it was another two or so hours of trying and failing to read for you, before the familiar sounds of large, lumbering footsteps could be heard slowly making their way downstairs. You smiled, cheeks flushing, despite the many years you’d known the man, as you caught a glimpse of his wild, shoulder length red hair first. Soft at the tips, wild at the root. Kirishima yawned, ducking below the entryway into the living room, and just barely catching you staring, before you lifted your book higher to block his view of your face.

You could practically hear the grin behind his chuckling, as he stalked towards you with more purpose now. His legs in view under your book, and his hair a plum of red above the top as he crouched at the edge of the sofa. Two large hands cupping each of your feet- teasing your toes briefly, snickering at how you giggled behind your book.

Kirishima’s eyes raked over you slowly- noting what seemed to him, as miles of gorgeous, unblemished skin, ready to be marked up. Clad in just a pair of briefs you’d thrown on before coming downstairs, almost every inch of you was bare to your husband. Kirishima drinking it in slowly, as he crawled above you on the sofa. Hardening just one fingertip, and tracing it from your ankle, all the way up to your inner thigh, as he towered over you on the sofa finally. The prick of sharpness on the soft flesh of your thigh causing a hitch in your breath. Which you held, until Kiri’s finger turned smooth once more, and he took a handful of the meatiest part of your thigh into his hand, and /squeezed/.

((NSFW warning ahead, I can’t help myself so continue reading at your own risk ;3))

“Ei-Chan,” you breathed out finally, setting your book down on the floor beside you. Bright red eyes meeting yours, as one of your hands found it’s way into Kirishima’s thick locks, the other wrapping around his broad back, palm settled just between the mans shoulder blades.

“Marked you up good last night, huh pebble?” Kirishima snickered, and you huffed. Faux annoyed as you smacked the mans back, tensing once more as Kiri’s fingers danced along the bruises and bite marks littering your thigh. Tapping each one gently, causing you to flinch with pleasure each time, before he moved to your other thigh. Doing the same, as he dipped his face down into the crook of your neck, and just breathed.

The shaky sigh he let out afterwards was victory enough for you, you reasoned, as even the mans strong shoulders shook as he breathed you in.

“Missed me that much, huh?” Kirishima nodded quickly, nosing along your neck, huffing like a puppy as he went.

“I missed you too,” you reminded him, biting into the mans shoulder gently, as the hand on his back drifted down to Kirishima’s ass, and you shook it jokingly. Feeling the weight of the mans cheek jiggle in your palm, laughing despite yourself as Kiri growled at you.

“Don’t tease me, dude,” Kiri mock cried, pulling back to give you a pout, as the hand on your inner thigh drifted center again, where, unprompted, Kirishima cupped your cock through your underwear. Smirk tugging at his bitten lips- bad habit he’d always had, you’d long since stopped trying to get him to fix it- as he ground his palm against you, almost too rough, and you groaned. Eyes fluttering shit, lip between your own teeth as he bucked up, shifting your hips just right to grind your quickly stiffening cock against Kirishima’s hand.

“So eager,” Kirishima mused, balking suddenly as you moved your hand cupping his ass, into his boxers- palming at his cheek briefly, before two fingers delved into the hot cleft of his bubble butt, brushing just briefly against the tight pucker of his hole, causing the larger man to twitch, and fall flat against you. Tense for all of two seconds, before he propped his ass back up, and wiggled against your fingers.

“You’re one to talk,” you laughed, head tilted back, long enough for Kirishima to latch onto your Adam’s apple, and suck hungrily as he continued to stroke you through your underwear. Lasting all of two seconds, before shredding through them with a finger, and taking your cock in his hand.

“Those were my best Calvins, jackass,” you huffed, brushing Kiri’s hair back out of his eyes as he leaned up- holding your gaze as he let a long string of spit fall from his Mouth- letting it drip down the side of your cock, before he slicked you up, and began stroking you in earnest. Hot, and wet, calloused palm perfectly rough, and you were putty.

Mewling and fucking into Kiri’s fist with quiet, breathy ‘Ei-Chan’s’ rolling off your tongue. Clinging to enough sense, barely, to bring two fingers up to your mouth to wet, before shoving them back down and into Kiri’s ass, teasing his hole briefly, before sinking your middle finger to the hilt in his hole- both of you moaning out, Kiri at the intrusion, and you at the spasming heat of his tight hole, like a vice on your finger as you fucked the man on it slowly.

You both shifted, Kirishima up on his knees, bringing you into his lap to stroke the two of you together, constantly spitting down on your lengths, hot and filthy, to keep you wet, as the larger man began to pant into your face. Morning breath be damned, you finally, /finally/, kissed him. Reaching between the two of you to cup Kirishima’s heavy ball sac as you did, kneading them gently, and tugging on them whenever Kirishima began to breath a little too heavily.

“Fuck, I love you. I love you so much, so so much, love- love- ah, fuck- love,” Kirishima whined, vulnerable in a way no one else would ever get to see him as you took over for him- needing both hands to stroke both he and yours impressive lengths, Kiri’s hands at your back holding you up in his lap- his arms shook with the force it took, especially as he neared his orgasm.

“Cum for me, Ei,” you whispered against a Kirishima’s lips, eating up his whimpered pleas as they ghosted your lips. “Come on, big guy, cum. Cum all over me, Ei, Mark me up. I wanna feel it, on my cock. Come on.” And that was all it took. With a loud shout, Kirishima’s grip on you tightened, and he hun he’d over your shoulder, quiet all of the sudden, before making a sound like he’d been punched in the gut as he began to cum. Cock thickening up, before pump after pump of thick, hot cum burst from the top of it. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight long ropes of cum shooting out all over your chest, and combined cocks, before slowing to a dribble every time Kirishima’s cock throbbed.

You overworked him though, his softening cock, and your own hard length making the filthiest squelching noises as you continued to overstimulate your husband- his cries into your shoulder sending you over the edge, as you leaned against his shoulder, and came undone yourself. Adding to the sticky, hot mess in your laps, before the both of you went quiet. Just the deep, heavy sighs as you caught your breath together filling your the surrounding space.

“My dick feels like it’s gonna fall off,” Kiri muttered finally, leaning you both back into the sofa- making a mental note to get it deep cleaned, as he snuggled you deep into the cushions- his spit wet hands skimming your sides, before they slid beneath you , and he settled comfortably on top. Careful of his weight, always too conscious of crushing you- unless you asked for it, that was, he thiight idly. Fondly.

“We’ve got the next eight days all to ourselves, so I’d maybe see if he can hold out till at least then. Though I’d accept an early leave- no earlier than Thursday, I suppose, if he can’t keep up,” you drawled, wiping your cum covered hands on your stomach as best you could, before wrapping your arms around Kirishima’s waist, and closing your eyes.

“Eight days,” Kirishima echoed, kissing your closed eyes, closing his own as he did so, and shifting to lay more comfortably, face in your neck as he felt sleep threatening to take him once again.

“Eight days,” you parroted back again, snickering, and yawning. Ignoring the tacky cum that was going to dry all crusty and gross between the two of you, in favor of hooking a leg around Kiri’s, and allowing sleep to take you.

But not before whispering one last “I love you” between the two of you, Kirishima mumbling contentedly back at you before falling back asleep as well.

#bnha x male reader #bnha x reader #mha x male reader #mha x reader #eijiro kirishima x male reader #eijiro kirishima x reader #Kirishima x male reader #kirishima x reader #kirishima imagine #eijiro kirishima imagine #kirishima #eijiro kirishima #vicious-vixxxen

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slash-em-up · 5 years ago

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Give Thanks: Sinclair Bros Fluff

This is nothing but ridiculous fluff with a holiday theme. Barely edited because I really wanted to post it on Thanksgiving, so apologies for any errors. I’ll probably go back and fix them later.

Happy Thanksgiving Y’all!!!!!

————————————————————

It had been a good week in Ambrose – you’d had not one, but two cars full of travelers happen upon your little tourist trap, and the scavenging of the towns newest residents belongings had turned up many of the brothers most desired items.

Electronics for Bo to putter around with and eventually pawn;

Thick woolen socks that Vincent immediately laid claim to;

And several DVDs – which Lester snatched up and tossed into his truck.

Most pragmatic of all was the confiscated wallets – decently stuffed with enough bills to get the unfortunate travelers wherever they had hoped to go.

The discovery of these always prompted a boring but necessary hour or two at the kitchen table, where you and the brothers would budget the spoils and take inventory of your current stock of canned food and other necessities.

This was more for Bo, Vincent, and your own benefit, as Lester rarely spent more than a day or two at the old Sinclair residence before retreating to his small cabin on the outskirts of town.

“...So that leaves a few bucks for special requests... spit it out y’all.”

Bo chewed on the pencil in his hand as he perused the grocery list and compared it to the budget and coupons he’d squirreled away for future use.

Lester tried to look casual as he hesitantly spoke up, bringing all eyes to him.

“Well… it’s uh, it’s Thanksgiving tomorrow… so maybe we could get a turkey or somethin’… won’t matter if it’s a day or two late.”

You felt Vincent perk up next to you, clearly onboard with the idea as well.

Bo scowled and fingered through his stack of coupons- looking for something in particular – he gave a grunt of satisfaction as he held a slip of paper aloft.

It read: ‘Jenny-O Turkey Loaf $3.50 off your purchase of two or more’

You tried not to grimace.

More processed food.

How none of your boys were dead of high blood pressure with all the sodium they ingested was beyond you.

Lester’s face fell a bit.

He’d been hoping for a real turkey, probably something that would remind him of their childhood Thanksgivings.

Bo saw his brothers frown and slapped his hand down on the table.

“Well damn Les, do you know how to cook a fuckin’ turkey? Because I sure as shit don’t.”

Lester shrugged and muttered a quiet “Nah…”

You could have spoken up at this point. Told Bo that you knew exactly how to make a turkey, and would be happy to cook one up for your little family tomorrow- but you had other plans for this particular holiday…

With Vincent’s help you’d scrounged up a set of keys to one of the cars Bo stored at the old sugar mill.

You’d snuck out one early morning last week to go on a little shopping excursion of your own, taking care to avoid all three brothers upon your return.

Smiling to yourself, you held your tongue and listened to Lester and Bo go back and forth about their holiday meal options – with the occasional input from Vincent.

You just hoped you could pull this off…

——————————————————

Your alarm began buzzing at 3:30 the next morning.

You groggily turned it off, trying to be as quiet as possible and not wake the sleeping form next to you.

Thankfully you’d learned that all three Sinclair brothers could sleep through an air raid once they actually nodded off; so other than a hitch in the soft snores coming from your bedmate, you were in the clear.

Shrugging on a coat and some well-worn boots, you hoofed it out the door and onto the street.

Walking two doors down from the Sinclair’s residence, you let yourself in to the abandoned house – noting with satisfaction that the power still worked.

Hopefully that meant nothing had spoiled.

Five minutes later found you trudging back up the front steps, arm’s laden with grocery bags from the Piggly Wiggly an hour away from Ambrose.

Using your elbow, you flicked the light switch in the kitchen – happy to see that none of the boys had made a mess after you’d gone to bed – and set your purchases on the table.

You took stock of your ingredients:

Bread, celery, sausage, butter, chicken stock, cranberries, yams, potatoes, whipping cream, brown sugar, honey, cinnamon, pumpkin filling, marshmallows… and the biggest turkey you could find so close to the holiday.

Letting out a quiet squeal of excitement, you bounced over to preheat the ancient oven, and got to work.

————————————————

‘3, 2, 1…’

REEEREEEREEEREEREEE

The three alarm clocks you’d hidden in the brothers rooms went off simultaneously, announcing to the world that it was now 10 AM on Thanksgiving morning.

You smiled in satisfaction as you heard movement coming from each of the upstairs living areas.

Loud cursing from Bo’s room.

A screech followed by a thump from Lester’s.

And hurried footsteps seemingly searching each corner of Vincent’s room.

One by one the alarms went silent and doors began to slam open, confused exclamations and stomping feet rushing around trying to find an explanation for their interrupted slumber.

“Down here guys!!” you shouted from the bottom of the stairs.

“Hey, what the hell?!”

Lester was the first to appear, clad in boxers and a ratty tank top.

Vincent followed soon after, the ponytail he put his hair in at night swinging manically behind him as he skidded to a stop at the staircase.

Bo was the last to arrive; pulling a shirt over his head and sporting the most insane bed head you’d ever seen.

“You better have a damn good explanation for this.” Bo growled down at you.

Vincent was the first to notice something was different about the house that morning.

While Bo and Lester were questioning you from the stairs Vincent stood a bit straighter and began looking around in confusion.

You grinned as Vincent caught your eye, giving a small nod to his questioning look.

Interrupting his brother’s interrogation, he laid a hand on Lester’s shoulder, pointing to his wax-covered nose.

“Smell.”

Lester looked confused; but one small sniff of the air scented with cooking food changed his whole demeanor.

“Holy shit…”

Bo gave a yelp of surprise as his tirade was interrupted by two bodies barreling past him and down the stairs.

You smiled widely as they passed you and flew into the kitchen, audibly halting as soon as they entered.

“BO YOU GOTTA COME SEE THIS!!”

The excitement in Lester’s voice was palpable, and you could tell he was about three seconds away from bursting into ecstatic belly-laughs.

The elder Sinclair twin looked fully suspicious as he stomped down the stairs, pausing next to you with a look that said ‘what did you do now?’

Vincent chose that moment to rejoin you and his twin, coming right up and pulling you into a tight hug.

You shrieked with laughter as the hug turned into you being picked up and twirled in a circle by Vincent – clearly over the moon at your holiday surprise.

Once you were released from Vincent’s affectionate embrace, you took both twins by the hand and led them into the kitchen.

Not to toot your own horn; but you’d managed to put together a feast even Norman Rockwell would be proud of.

The basted turkey shone a perfect crisp gold in the mid-morning sun. Pats of butter melted into fluffy mashed potatoes. Steam rose from aromatic sausage stuffing. And the counter was filled with cooling pies – pumpkin, sweet potato, and even apple.

Lester was practically vibrating with excitement as he walked from dish to dish, smelling each and making appreciative noises with every discovery.

Vincent squeezed your hand tightly before walking forward to join Lester. Quickly recruiting his little brother into pulling slightly dusty china from a high cabinet.

“Why’d you do all this?”

Bo was looking at you with an unreadable expression on his face.

His hand was still grasped in yours, and he made no motions to pull away – rather griping your small hand even tighter in his large one.

You smiled up at him, gently leading him to join the others.

“Because of all the good things I have in my life, I’m most thankful for you.”

#house of wax #vincent sinclair #bo sinclair #jessica writes #lester sinclair #slasher fiction #horror movies #its just fluff ok?!!!#i wanted to feed my babies OK?!?!?!!

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bamby0304 · 6 years ago

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Apple of my Eye- Ch.15

Series Masterlist

Summary: When Sam and Dean were pulled back into their world, you were left behind. Stuck in the hustle bustle of Hollywood life, you have no choice but to play along, leaving almost all of your old life behind. Seven years later, when a rip in time and space opens up, you are finally able to go home… but you don’t go alone.

A/N: Thanks for fixing a few things, @moonlitskinwalker

Warnings: Explicit language. Fluff, but mostly angst :) also smut… which caught me by surprise.

Bamby

Dean was peppering you with kisses as the two of you headed into the kitchen the next morning. You’d woken up early, knowing you had to get breakfast ready for Dakota… and also hoping you could sneak out of Dean’s room before she or Sam realised where you’d been.

“It’s not,” kiss, “that I’m scared,” kiss, “I just don’t want,” kiss, “Dakota to ask,” kiss, “questions,” kiss, “neither of us,” kiss, “can answer right now,” you finished right before Dean kissed you again.

His arm draped over your shoulder as he shrugged. “I get it. I’m not complaining. It’s complicated, you wanna wait and figure us out first, that’s fine.” Leaning in, he kissed you one more time. “Plus, Sammy is gonna be a pain in the ass once he figures this out,” he noted as the two of you parted and walked into the kitchen.

You were laughing, knowing exactly what he meant, but came to a stop as you spotted Dakota sitting at the dining table.

“Honey?” You walked over to her with a concerned frown. “What are you doing up so early?”

She shrugged, picking up a new pencil as she coloured in the book in front of her. “Jack woke me up.”

Dean came over to stand next to you, brows furrowing. It was clear he didn’t like that Jack had woken her. “Jack woke you up? Why?”

“To say goodbye.” She shrugged again.

It was then that you realised how sad she was. The way she was swinging her legs, her arms were tucked close to her, she refused to look up from the page as she lazily coloured in. She was barely holding back tears.

“Honey,” you reached forward to brush her hair out of her face, “where’d Jack go?”

“He left.”

You and Dean looked to each other before he dashed out of the room. You understood his concern… Jack had run off before. When he’d found you he’d left the brothers in an attempt to fix a mistake he’d made. No one told you what had happened, but you knew it had affected the boy. For him to run off in the middle of the night… something must’ve happened again.

Crouching down by Dakota, you grabbed her knees and turned her so she faced you. “Sweetie, I need you to look at me.” Slowly, she lifted her eyes to meet yours. “What did Jack say before he said goodbye?”

“He told me he wanted to make things right. He said he wanted to make everyone happy. He promised he’d be back… but he said he might be gone for awhile.” Her lip wobbled ever so slightly. “And then he left.”

“Okay. It’s okay.” Reaching for her, you pulled her to your chest and hugged her as she began to cry. “It’s okay.”

“He left.”

“I know.” You stroked her back. “But he promised he’d come back, right? I’m sure he won’t be long.”

That day was difficult, to say the least. While trying to distract Dakota, you also had to deal with Dean and Sam they frantically tried to find the nephilim. Then there was Cas… who also seemed to be missing. Dean had called him over and over, but the angel just wasn’t picking up.

“The case we were on a couple of days ago… Cas called me,” Dean started as he stood with you in the kitchen, watching as you stirred the mince you were cooking up. “Something was wrong so we tracked him down, but when we got there…” He glanced over at Dakota and Sam at the table, making sure your daughter was still distracted. “Demons were waiting.”

You dropped the wooden spoon and tensed. “Demons?”

“It gets worse.”

Sighing, you squeezed your eyes shut. “Tell me.”

“We were gone for so long because we had… a prisoner.” Your head snapped in his direction and he quickly lifted his hands in defence. “We didn’t want to bring him here.”

“Good.”

“But… he does know about this place-”

“I need a gun.” Turning the stove off, you stormed out of the kitchen and headed towards the armoury.

Dean was hot on your tail, hurrying after you. “I promise, you’re safe.”

Turning on your heels, you glared up at him. “You just told me someone you held as a prisoner knows about this place. How does that make us safe? I told you! I told you if things got bad-”

“Don’t, please.” He grabbed your arms to hold you in place as his eyes pleaded. “I am not going to let anything happen to you or Dakota. The guy won’t show up here. If he does he’s as good as dead. Sam and me, we’re gonna do whatever it takes to keep you both safe, I promise.”

Looking into his eyes, you continued glare- although it did soften ever so slightly. “I still want that gun. You and Sam are going to be out there looking for Jack. I want to be able to protect our daughter.”

“Anything you need.” He gave a firm nod. “Come on.” Sliding his hand into yours, he led you the rest of the way to the armoury. Once inside, he handed you a gun and directed you in front of the targets. “You remember how to-”

Before he could finish his question, you raised your gun and shot at the target, hitting it right in the head,

“Damn…” he breathed, stepping a little closer to you, “that was hot.”

Putting the safety on, you tucked the gun into the back of your pants and turned to him. “I’m not taking any risks.”

“You sure?” Leaning in, he pressed a kiss to your neck. “I wouldn’t mind taking one risk.” Grabbing your waist, he pulled you flush against him and bucked his crutch against your stomach.

“Dean,” you moaned, tilting your head to let him suck at your throat, “we can’t do this right now.”

“I’m hard and you’re horny. No one is here. The door is closed, Sam and Dakota are drawing in the kitchen. We can be quick.” Dragging his lips up to your ear, he groaned as he continued to grind against you. “Please, baby.”

“Fuck. Fine.”

He moved quickly, turning you around and bending you over the counter in front of the targets. You held on tight as he pulled your gun out and set it by your hands before your pants were tugged down far enough. Undoing his belt, he then opened he jeans and pulled himself free before lining up.

The groan that came from him told you just how wet you were.

“This for me?” he asked as he began to push into you.

Nodding, you whimpered. “Always.”

Words failed the two of you after that. The room filled with the sound of his grunts and your moans as he fucked you hard and fast. It was about reaching your highs fast, getting there as quickly as possible.

Reaching under you, he rubbed at your clit to help get you there. With his fingers at work and his cock pushing into you at a delicious angle, you came screaming. He was right behind you, buck as he filled you with his seed, groaning the entire time.

His forehead rested on your back as he tried to catch his breath. “Fuck…”

“Come on.” You gave his thigh a pat. “I’ve got dinner to cook, and you’ve gotta figure out how you’re going to find Jack.”

“You’re not even going to enjoy this?” he asked, not making a move to do as you said.

“Oh I enjoyed it,” you assured him. “But there are things to do, Dean.” Pulling away from him, humming at the feel of him slipping out of you, you turned to him. “I’m gonna shower and then finish the spaghetti. You should try call Cas again. I know you’re worried about him.”

“He’s always getting himself in some trouble.”

“He’s a Winchester, it’s what you do.” Giving his chest a pat, you nodded to the door. “Come on.”

Sighing, he tucked himself away and followed you out of the room. “You know, we could just shower together. Save time and water.”

“This place has a magical amount of water, and nothing about us showering together would save time.” You grinned. “Suck it up buttercup.”

“You’re so bossy,” he mumbled as you reached your bedroom door.

Leaning up on your tiptoes, you kissed him quickly. “You love it.”

Bamby

#dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fic #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x y/n #apple of my eye

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silaslibraryclub · 6 years ago

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Prompt Response #7

Pining!Carm and Oblivious!Laura are friends who are donating at a blood drive - delivered by @jg-firefly

The first year that Silas Inc. had hosted their annual blood drive, there had been approximately three donors, all of whom had been instrumental in organizing the thing in the first place. The goody-goody type, the sort that believed in charity for the sake of doing good, they had set up the damned thing again every year that followed, with an extra dose of guilt-tripping at each subsequent event.

When this had still not turned out quality results, they had resorted to a far more tried-and-true method.

Bribery.

Which was how the whole of Silas Inc., from designers to programmers to accountants, were bundled in sweaters and scarves, hands shoved deep in their pockets, in the parking lot on a blistery Tuesday morning.

An hour off of work had been a lot to promise, but it had certainly done the trick, once Perry had sorted out the paperwork and pushed the issue up the HR ladder. There was a camera crew from some nobody local station, a collection of balloons, and an assortment of food trucks. The whole thing was practically a fall carnival, if they just threw in a few rides, and it was nearly enough to make Carmilla turn on her heel and stride back inside.

If it weren’t for the veritable ray of sunshine working her way through the crowd, she might well have.

“They had pumpkin and apple, and I didn’t know which you’d like, so I got both,” Laura said, beaming. There was whipped cream on her lips, no doubt from the sugary coffee drink she had tucked awkwardly in her elbow, and it took a very real effort not to reach out and thumb it away.

She focused her attention on the proffered pastry, plucking one from Laura’s grasp with a shrug.

“Either is fine, cutie.”

The nickname, even after years of use, still managed to tug a blush up into Laura’s cheeks. It was a sight that Carmilla could not imagine growing tired of, but one that pained her all the same.

Laura had hated all of Carmilla’s pet names, when they had first met. Every time they met—sometimes there were days in between, but more often weeks, and, once, months—she would insist that she was not a confectionary and that she deserved to have her real name used like any other coworker.

It was not until they were put on the same team, Laura the lead writer to her head of graphic design, that Carmilla actually backed off, and she had never meant for the names to come back. Laura had made her lack of interest quite clear, between her righteous indignation and her multitude of serious relationships, and Carmilla was hardly the type to waste her time where it was not welcome… but somehow they had become friends, and the names had crept back onto her tongue, and Laura had smiled and rolled her eyes as though this was an amusing inconvenience rather than a cardinal sin.

So, she kept using them.

“I can’t believe we actually got you out here, y’know,” said Laura. She has settled onto the steps, and Carmilla slid down beside her with a great, shivering awareness of the closeness in their shoulders.

“Mm. Does that mean you lost the betting pool?”

Laura’s eyes blew wide. “Wait, you know about that?”

“Accountants don’t know the meaning of subtlety, cupcake,” she offered dryly. Careful of the scattering crumbs, she peeled a bit of the crust off of her turnover and tossed it into her mouth. “They’ve been doing this every year. They’ve got one for whether or not I’ll join the Secret Santa exchange, too.”

This seemed to momentarily stun Laura, whose mouth opened and closed in a charming impression of a goldfish before she stuttered out, “Well, you’ve lost me a lot of money, just so you know.”

Carmilla, eyes widening in startled wonder, was spared the need to form words by the call of “Laura Hollis!” from across the lot.

“Oh, that’s me!” Laura cried, bouncing to her feet. She hesitated a moment, the uncertain shift of her toes on the pavement drawing a stutter into Carmilla’s pulse, but a moment later she merely thrust her half-eaten pastry forward and shattered any ill-advised hope. “I don’t think I can take this… could you hold it, Carm?”

She nodded—still lacking the capability to speak—and nearly caved in on herself when Laura’s fingers brushed against her own in the exchange of napkin-wrapped sweets.

Laura noticed none of this, giving a dorky little salute before she dashed off.

She was entirely too good for Carmilla, and Carmilla knew it, but every now and again she said something, did something, that challenged all of the foundations of reality. She would nudge an elbow into Carmilla’s side when she wanted to share something funny, or tilt her head just so when she was about to ask if everything was okay. She would send a text whenever she saw something that reminded her of Carmilla, or recommend a song that she thought Carmilla would enjoy, and every now and again she would look at her with a warmth that Carmilla had no way to explain.

And every time she found a new girlfriend, there was a piece of Carmilla that fractured.

There had been approximately two months between Laura starting at Silas and the start of her year-long relationship with an obnoxiously nerdy women’s rugby player. After that (messy) break-up, she had spent six weeks moping before she showed up at the office in a ridiculously chipper mood for a Monday, babbling nonstop about the perfect girl that had bought her coffee. That had lasted seven months, before Laura had broken it off, and she had spent three months going on dates before a one-night-stand turned into yet another year’s worth of flowers and drop-ins and joint photo-ops. That had ended, at long last, only because of her feelings for Danny, and it had been over a year and a half before that, too, fizzled out.

She had been single, now, going on five months. It was the longest Carmilla had seen her without a girl’s photo on her phone lock screen, without their work lunches interrupted by giggly visits, without her tossing in ‘oh let me see if insert-girlfriend’s-name can come, too!’ whenever the staff was planning an outing.

Carmilla would by lying, if she said she had not been waiting for the moment when it would start all over again. There was always another beautiful girl waiting in the wings, another girl with a supportive family and a real education and an encyclopedia of knowledge on all Laura’s favorite television shows.

Eventually, as much as the idea made her stomach churn, she’d meet the right girl—the girl that she would never break up with. The girl she would marry.

She’d probably invite Carmilla to the wedding.

It was with this rather nauseating thought in mind that Carmilla stood to follow the call of her name onto the donation bus, and she only managed to dull the ache with the image of Laura’s beaming face that was waiting for her.

“Carm! Look!” she declared, holding her arm up halfway in apparent pride at the thick, red tube that was sticking out of her elbow.

Carmilla grimaced, which apparently only served to amuse Laura. The nurse was less thrilled. She shoved a clipboard into Carmilla’s arms, directed her onto a cracked plastic bench, and then set about attending to one of the interns (who was looking pale with a full bag of blood hanging out of him.)

“You look nervous.”

Her pencil pausing halfway through her personal information, Carmilla raised her gaze to find Laura craning to see her. It was not a pose that looked particularly comfortable, but it did nothing to affect her temperament. Her eyes sparkled just the same as ever.

“I’m not nervous,” Carmilla scoffed. She returned to the papers, scowling as she took in just how many pages were involved. What did it take to give blood, a doctorate in medical science?

“You haven’t done this before, have you?”

How she always seemed to know these things, Carmilla would never understand.

“No. But it seems fairly straight-forward.” She tapped the clipboard, “Step one, fill out ridiculous permission slips,” she pointed to Laura’s arm, “Step two, part with half my blood supply. For free, apparently.”

“There’s a t-shirt.”

“Peachy.”

She turned back to the paperwork.

“Why do they care if I’ve been to England?”

“Mad cow disease,” Laura offered knowledgably.

“All of this seems unnecessary.”

Laura’s expression turned into a pout. “I swear, you better not give up on this over the paperwork. At least let it be over the needle, if you’re going to cost me my fifty bucks.”

There she was again, casually believing Carmilla was capable of more. Casually betting on her doing good.

The nurse stepped between them, surveying Carmilla’s answers and setting them aside, and then she found herself offering a finger to be stuck for what was apparently an iron deficiency test (something Carmilla could not help but think should have happened prior to the invasive questioning) and by the time she was settled onto the crinkly paper of a donating couch, Laura was being bandaged up.

Timing always had been a bitch.

“Can I get some cookies?” Laura asked, though, the moment the nurse had finished strapping a bright green ‘X’ around her elbow. She tested the flexibility, tapping her index finger on the crux in a way that Carmilla was certain the nurse would not advise.

#prompt responses #carmilla #slc #jg firefly #hollstein

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pixiealtaira · 6 years ago

Text

Becoming We

Hummel Holidays prompt 15 - traditions

Pairing- Kadam.

Summery: Kurt wants this relationship to last.

Adam considered laughing when Kurt sat him down in September for the first annual “Hummel and Crawford” relationship maintenance and planning meeting.

Until Kurt spoke about it, then Adam smiled and kissed him on the top of his head and asked when Kurt would like to have it. How could he have any other reaction after “I think I love you and I want this to last a long time and one of the most dangerous things about relationships is navigating expectations, especially around holidays. I need this, Adam. I need to know what is important to you and you should know what is important to me. I don’t want to mess up.”

Kurt chose a Sunday Morning over a huge meal. Kurt had spent the night and got up early and when Adam got out the table was covered with food…and notebooks and calendars and pencils and boxes of tissues.

“I guess mostly we need to talk about holidays and traditions,” Kurt started out. “I mean, if we ever moved in together, we’d have to have one to set household rules. So maybe we should have relationship house rule rules?”

“Like what?”

“Hmm…well, at home they were things like ‘if you break it you replace it or at least tell someone about it and work it off’ and ‘chores done before 10pm, unless a reason is already noted on the calendar or you don’t get paid’. Not sassing too much and no name calling too much and don’t throw things at each other and no pushing, hitting, kicking, shoving or biting. We didn’t start with no biting but Finn bit me when I told him Rachel was a banshee and not allowed to haunt near my room because he couldn’t kick me anymore. I bit him back. I left deeper marks. Curfews and things like that.”

“I thought you became family when you were already 17?” Adam asked.

“We were seniors when that happened.” Kurt replied. “I can’t explain it. Finn made me revert back to being three…maybe even two. Don’t relationships need rules?”

“Well, maybe we could set some….like, If you are running late you should call and tell the other that you are if it will be over 15 minutes.” Adam said. “That way I wouldn’t worry you and you wouldn’t worry me.”

Kurt smiled and relaxed a little in his seat. “And we should decide how to do clean up for dinner. I mean, I feel bad not helping.”

“How about the cook does dishes but the guest can set and clear the table?” Adam said.

Kurt beamed.

“Do we need more of those yet?” Kurt asked.

“If we realize we do, we can remember to talk to each other and make a list.” Adam said.

Kurt beamed.

“I guess that brings us to Holidays. What do you celebrate and what has to be done?”

“What do you mean?” Adam asked.

“What would you like to do for Valentine’s Day?” Kurt asked.

“Spend some of it with the one I love.” Adam said.

“What type of gift do you need? Chocolates? Flowers? And outfit? Dinner out someplace where meals cost more than 50 bucks and need reservations months in advance? Jewelry?” Kurt asked.

“None of that is needed. Maybe a card would be nice, that I could look at over and over again.” Adam said.

“A card?” Kurt asked.

“I wouldn’t say no to chocolates.” Adam chuckled. “Kurt, close your eyes and tell me YOUR perfect Valentine’s Day.”

“Breakfast with someone I love and who loves me. We have strawberry or cherry and whipped cream filled crepes. We exchange cards. My dad always gave me a small box of Chocolates at breakfast, and when I got old enough I gave him one, too…so an exchange of a box of chocolates picked out just for the one I love. We spend the day texting each other little notes or messages. We spend the evening together, or as much as we can if someone has to work. Dinner would be nice, movies are too crowded.”

“Dinner out at someplace expensive?” Adam asked.

Kurt hummed. “It doesn’t matter.” He said quietly. “I just want to be with who I love.”

“Open your eyes, love.” Adam said. He smiled at Kurt when Kurt looked his way. “None of the rest is important. Time with my loved one is. Could that time be a fancy dinner and dancing? Might be, but not having that won’t break my relationship. Might also be a pub and karaoke, or the Lover’s Charity ball, or dinner at home by candlelight at midnight because my love worked a late shift. If my love can’t afford lavish gifts, I don’t expect anything lavish. I would like a bit of warning for lavish gift giving…as I know you would…as neither of us like getting if we don’t have a gift to give in return.”

Kurt smiled. He had tossed a bit of a fit when Adam bought him the steampunk top hat he’d been looking at but hadn’t saved up enough to buy the month before. Adam just shrugged it off and told Kurt he wanted Kurt to have it but he knew the boutique they’d seen it at sold limited pieces and often things didn’t stay long.

“New Year’s Eve?” Kurt asked.

“I’ll go with you to Time’s Square ONCE, if you feel some bizarre need to do so.” Adam said.

“If I wanted to stay home and watch the ball drop on TV?” Kurt asked.

“I’m good with that.” Adam said.

“Host a party where we play card games and board games and sing all night long until the sun rises?” Kurt asked.

“That sounds fun.”

“Even if we didn’t have any alcohol?”

“Have I struck you yet as a big drinker?” Adam asked.

Kurt smiled. “No. You generally get one beer or two when we are out, but only if it’s good beer. I’ve seen you have a cup of wine here or there. We had those daiquiris at that one bar.”

“I don’t care one way or the other, but if we have alcohol we’ll switch to non-alcohol as soon as the ball drops and everyone will stay for another several hours, if not all night.”

Kurt beamed. “Ok, St. Patrick’s Day?”

“I’m not Irish. I can take it or leave it.”

“Easter?”

“Ehh…we need peeps and chocolate covered marshmallow eggs. Blame the Apples for those. The rest…Easter was a Religious holiday in my family and I’m not religious right now.”

“If I wanted an egg hunt and Easter basket?” Kurt said.

“I’d make you an egg hunt and Easter basket. We can also do a Grand Easter Dinner if you’d like, but you’d have to tell me what YOU eat at one.”

Kurt shrugged. “Really, the only thing that was a must was deviled eggs made from the eggs we had dyed.”

Adam smiled. “We can dye eggs and you can make me your best deviled eggs for Easter.”

“Birthdays?” Kurt asked.

“Whatever we want to do.” Adam said. “I do love birthday gifts though. My favorite was you asking me to coffee.”

Kurt laughed. ”Seriously, though, what type of things do you like for your birthday?”

“One year we went to a show in London. One year my mum bought me a new suit. Once I got a new bike. I’ve received books or clothes or movies. There isn’t a set recipe for Birthday gift giving. Unless it’s an American thing I’m missing.”

Kurt sighed. “I have a feeling I just know too many people with extreme expectations.”

“To quickly cover it, there isn’t really anything from home I celebrate here, although last year I did find a bonfire to attend in November for Guy Fawke’s night. Also…I’ll go along with whatever is important to you for your American Holidays. Just tell me when and where to be and what is needed.”

Kurt laughed. “I might just stick you with the Turkey with that attitude.”

“Bring it on, love.” Adam said. “I’ve never made one yet, but I could certainly try.”

Kurt nodded. “I guess that leaves Halloween and Christmas time.”

“I appreciate a good Halloween party. I’m a theater lover, darling, we live for dressing up. As for Christmas, my mum had a rule of gift giving we all followed. A game or toy, something we needed and something we’d wanted really bad, something to watch, two new books…one that was fiction and one that wasn’t, and clothing. Always socks, underclothing, and a knitted jumper. Father Christmas brought new outerwear, sweets and coins, and something for hobbies. Often he also brought new outdoor items, like a sled or skates…or tickets to a museum or something that we could do over the holiday. For us kids, we had to give each other gifts. Right now we have to spend more than 15 but less than 100. On Boxing day we went to my grandmother’s and had a huge family party there where we exchanged gifts…small things like puzzles or comics or marbles or such…Aunt Emily’s family always got each person a cookie tin and filled it. My father’s family gathered for twelfth night and we exchanged gifts then…there it is was always hobby related. Neither of those days are big here. I send my mum a box to take to each gathering.”

“What about Christmas Eve?” Kurt asked.

“We hung stockings and went to bed. Father Christmas prefers mince pies and mulled wine. Currently, I wake up, open my box from my mum which has Father Christmas gifts and a stuffed stocking, eat breakfast, and open anything from other people. Then I do whatever for the rest of the day. How about you?”

“I did an Advent Calendar…we actually did about three. I had one for activities so things would get done. I started that when I was nine. My mom made one when her and my dad got married. It hung on the wall and you put little things on it each day. Then I had a treat one. Most years my dad would fill it, some years I filled it myself…like last year and senior year. I lit advent candles. Dad did them when he was little, but not when he got bigger. My mum didn’t do them growing up as they were too tied with religion. When they got married they started the candles up again. She used the themes…love, hope, peace, joy…but not the religious aspects of it. On the love week we focused on finding love and spreading love in our lives, on peace week we focused on finding peace and balance, on joy we focused on sharing and finding joy, on hope we focused on goals and looking to the future. I still do that, but only by myself and not where anyone can see me. We also burned Christmas smelling candles all month long...and had a candle in the window. We did a solstice thing. I bake all month long. I go see the Nutcracker…doesn’t matter where. I’ve been to some spectacular small company shows. We listened to Christmas music all the time and watch Christmas shows…there is a list. We opened a gift Christmas Eve…pajamas and a book. The rest we opened Christmas day, Santa left a full stocking and presents…but Santa didn’t leave big things. My dad shops much like your mom, but probably a bit less. Dad was big on experiences. He left a lot of family things under the tree, things we could do together. He always gave a ‘memory’ gift. The day after Christmas we always went shopping. I get one or two memory ornaments each year; we had the tree in the living room and a memory tree. When my mom was alive we just had the one tree, but it made Dad sad, so we had two for a long time. After he married Carole that all changed. Everything changed. Because we did it all wrong.”

“Wrong?” Adam asked.

“Yeah, because it was just me and my dad for so long, so we got everything wrong about Christmas and even Thanksgiving.” Kurt said.

“Wrong according to who?”

“Carole and Finn, Rachel, Quinn and Blaine and Santana.” Kurt said.

“I don’t understand. How can you get it wrong?” Adam asked. “And isn’t Rachel Jewish?”

“Well, if you have multiple trees they all have to be properly themed and coordinated. You must have only baking days…you cannot bake all month. If you bake all the time it is not special and therefore can’t be holiday baking. Advent calendars cheapen the holiday, as do anything else like that. Candles are either pretentious or just for poor people…I’m not sure which one. Christmas Music will get too old too quickly if listened to in the house, so must be reserved for in the car. Solstice is only for devil worshipers…”

Adam snorted and Kurt stopped and looked at him.

“I’m sorry but just because your traditions were different didn’t mean yours were wrong. I know you realize this in your head…you said you still do several of them. So how did you end up managing?”

“We did things Carole and Finn’s way or not at all.” Kurt said. “In the loft we did things Rachel and Santana’s way or not at all…mostly Rachel’s way.”

“Tell me about it more.”

Kurt sighed. “Christmas to Finn and Rachel was about what they got. They wanted big things and lots of them. Newest, biggest, best. Finn told his mom what he wanted and he expected it under the tree. Rachel gave people lists and she was to have received it all. Santa brought big things…like TVs and such. To Finn. Carole let Finn open whatever he wanted that was under the tree from Christmas Eve day on…if he got bored. Even things not to him were fair game because things under the tree were supposed to just be to Finn, as it had been that way since he was little and he couldn’t be expected to look at tags when excited. Rachel was the same way. Everything under a tree where Rachel lived was obviously to her. The trees had to be themed and everything on them had to ‘go together’. Carole bought new stuff every year and gave what she had used to her Aunt to do with whatever she liked. There were to be colored balls and lights and maybe a few other things but not much, except that first year when she decided since she had Dad who could afford it she could do her dream of purple and pink Victorian. That involved lots of lace and fake roses and satin cones filled with treats and dolls and shoes and old fashioned hat boxes and tassels and puffs and it was horrid. She also spent like 800 bucks on it and then went and tossed half it out. I was allowed to bake just five days in December. Finn could not see the advent stuff at all…and dad could not put it together for me, it wouldn’t be fair to Finn.”

Adam moved over to Kurt and pulled him up and off the chair and then sat down and pulled Kurt into his lap.

“I want a relationship that is even, darling. I don’t want you to do everything MY way and I will not do everything just YOUR way. We will find OUR way and do it together. Sometimes OUR way might be doing things your way, because it works best. Sometimes we might do things my way, because it works best. But we will figure it out together and it will be what is best for us.”

“Even my night time ritual?” Kurt asked.

“When I stay over do you do your nighttime ritual the same as when I don’t and do you regret it if you change it?”

Kurt leaned his head on Adam’s shoulder. “I do everything I normally do, but I do it with you there with me talking to me and I talk to you. It is a great sharing time.”

“So…we do it OUR way…a way that works for both of us.” Adam said.

“I’m being silly about this aren’t I?” Kurt asked.

“No. I don’t think so. You had a relationship start up and because of that had to give up traditions and listen to how wrong you had been about them. To me it sounded like many you were told off about had been things you shared with your mom. That hurt and left scars, even if you got over the initial hurt.”

“And then there was Blaine.” Kurt said.

Adam hugged him tight. “Yeah, and you haven’t even talked about that.”

“He never got me anything. I never got a Christmas gift from him…or graduation gift or birthday gift or Valentine’s gift. However, I always had to buy him gifts and give them to him. If I didn’t get the right thing or give it at the right time or with the right amount of flair…it was an issue.”

“It was all about him, then. Not surprising…everything always was.” Adam said. “I want us to be about US…both of us. We’ll work traditions out as we go. They will change as our circumstances change. We will make it a mash-up of epic awesomeness, though. Especially doing it together. Now, tell me more about your advent treats…”

Kurt launched into descriptions of different ways he’d done his advent treat calendar and his activity calendar as Adam held him. Adam made note on Kurt’s papers and thought about all the ways he could bring some of the traditions Kurt had not been able to enjoy back into Kurt’s life…and what to introduce him to from his traditions. He was looking forward to mending some old wounds.

#glee fanfic #hummelholidays #Kurt Hummel #Adam Crawford

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chloemill · 6 years ago

Text

On what I’ve been up to the last nine years

I have always been obsessed with food. It seems silly, honestly, to be obsessed with something that’s a basic human necessity. Food, water, shelter. Too bad there aren’t water disorders or I’d be all over that. Alcoholism, I guess, is a liquid-based disorder? This is getting dark quickly but I guess we should all know what we’re getting into with this one, shouldn’t we.

So, yeah, I’ve always been obsessed with food. I have alarmingly clear memories of food from childhood, and the sad(dest) part is most of it’s not even real fucking food, it’s like, cartoon food. I could probably describe every illustration from the Berenstain Bears installment where the dad bear and the kid bears randomly decide to go balls to the fucking wall and just mainline junk food until the mom bear is like “what the fuck is going on here” and gives them all apples or some shit and then everyone chills the fuck out. The pizza in A Goofy Movie when Goofy and Max randomly stop at a themed motel and the kids eat pizza while Goofy and Pete share what I remember to be a vaguely sexual moment in the hot tub? (There was definitely at LEAST a questionable power dynamic at play.) The kid at school whose weird helicopter mom came at lunch and hand-delivered her McDonald’s nuggets to the playground. Bake sales in the second grade - the cookies and brownies and “nachos” that were just round Tostitos with that terrifying and delicious fake cheese sauce that still honestly casts a spell twenty years later. It wasn’t quite normal, but as a kid, I didn’t think twice. When your parents are feeding you and your brain is the size of a baseball, you just kind of roll with the punches and settle for buying as much crap as possible at the bake sale with the two bucks your mom gave you. Shortly after I finished elementary school, actually, I think they stopped having bake sales as fundraisers because the school was trying to promote healthy eating. Go figure.

In high school we were allowed to go off campus for lunch and once or twice a week my sainted mother would give me money to buy lunch. It very rapidly became the bi-weekly Let’s See How Much Shit We Can Stuff In Our Body For Ten Dollars Challenge, but that’s not at all uncommon for high schoolers. At home we ate healthily, and I have a pretty fast metabolism thanks to my Slenderman of a father so I was more or less the size of a pencil for first few years of school. We’re talking, like, size double zero at Hollister. I actually used to peel the 00 size stickers off my low rise (!!!) jeans whenever I’d get a new pair and stick them on the side of my desk in my bedroom, which, as I became a normal-sized adult with not-normal-sized body image problems, morphed into a very creative form of self-inflicted psychological torment. I have some journal entries from the first few years of high school with “diet and workout plans”, but in teenage girl fashion, most of them were quickly forgotten about or amended with “forgot and ate mac and cheese today - whoops!” Stupid teenage shit. It’s actually kind of hilarious reading it back now until I remember how spectacularly fucked up everything got. ANYWAY!

My first real memory of hating my body was on a school trip to Scotland my junior year. I was fully indoctrinated into the cult of high school musical theatre and we were performing at the Fringe Festival in Edinburgh, which was an incredibly cool experience that I absolutely did NOT take full advantage of and instead did shit like drink way too much rum (fucking RUM because apparently I was a character in Disney’s Pirates of the Caribbean franchise), try to climb out the window of the dorms we were staying in to go see my boyfriend in his building, quickly remember I was on like the fucking fourth floor, throw up all over the carpet of my room and then pass out. My room smelled like puke the rest of the trip but that, though tragic in its own right, is not the point of this anecdote. Being both across the pond and left to my own devices, I was eating nothing but beige-colored fried food to the point that I’m certain ketchup and fruit juice used solely as a mixer for alcohol were the only things saving me from full-blown scurvy. My clothes felt tight, and not in the 2010s way that everything was tight, but bad tight. My stomach poked out of my jeans in a way that my stomach wasn’t supposed to poke out of my jeans. Keep in mind - I was probably a size 0 instead of 00 at this point, and most of this change was just a product of being sixteen instead of fourteen and growing, but to me it felt ominous in a way I didn’t know how to explain. During a group trip to some Scottish landmark or another (see how much attention I paid to this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity my parents spent their hard-earned money to give me?) I remember sitting next to my close friend on the bus as we pulled over to stop for food. I was having relationship trouble with the aforementioned boyfriend, one of the first of many Musical Theatre Straight Boys™ that I would lose my fucking mind over, and I was getting emotional - more emotional than I expected. I realized something else was bothering me, and I turned to her and said “On top of everything else, I just feel… fat. I know I’m not fat, but I’m fat, like, for me.”

Two things here: first and foremost, yes, for that I know I am now the recipient of the Most Annoying Sentence Ever Spoken Aloud award and will provide the mailing address for my trophy at a later date. Second, I said that over ten years ago, and I remember it so clearly that I’m entirely sure that’s exactly what I said, verbatim. We got off the bus, and I walked into the restaurant and, after scanning the menu desperately trying to convince myself I should order something “healthy”, I ordered large steak fries and got back on the bus. I think this was the first time I ever really, consciously used food as a coping mechanism - the first time something small but powerful snapped in my head that told me fuck it - who the fuck cares? You’ve done enough damage already, what’s the point of stopping now?

High school ended, I graduated and we sang “Journey On” from Ragtime at the ceremony (baffling choice but the school was doing Ragtime next year and wanted to squeeze a promo out), I got into several of my top-choice musical theatre colleges and was so excited to go to the one I picked, which, you’ll be charmed to hear, was the absolute worst choice I could’ve made. I was 18 and a little bigger now, firmly in size 0/2 instead of 00 territory, had maybe graduated to a 32B bra instead of A, but still very thin by most standards. This was my first summer as a Very Online Person - I would stay up tlil probably 3 or 4 AM most nights blogging and watching Harry Potter movies for the umpteenth time. Because the rest of my family was, how do I put it, fucking normal, they’d go to bed at 11 or whenever and I’d be up alone for hours on the computer. This is when I started bingeing. We didn’t really keep junk food in my house, nothing legit like Cheetos or Ben and Jerry’s or whatever, but we did have sugar cereal and reduced-fat Oreos and cheese and the occasional box of Triscuts. It became a nightly ritual for me - I’d wait for everyone to go to bed, then tiptoe in to the kitchen and, though I’d eaten dinner hours earlier, start eating again. Stacks of Oreos, multiple bowls of cereal, shredded cheese out of the bag. After a while my mom heard me banging around in the kitchen and told me (in so many words) to shut the fuck up, so my methods changed. I’d bring the box of cereal - Rice Krispies or Cocoa Puffs or whatever - a bowl, and a carton of milk into the bathroom with me. I’d run the sink and open the box and pour the cereal with the water running so no one would hear, and then I’d creep back out to the couch and eat it. Box of Oreos into the bathroom, water on, peel open the plastic, take out the biggest stack I thought I could with no one noticing, eat. Three or four granola bars into the bathroom, water on, wrappers off and hidden behind my bed or the couch or wherever, eat. Rinse and repeat.

I didn’t really know what binge eating was at this point, and some tiny, dark part of my brain buried way in the back told me that this wasn’t normal and it wasn’t good, but I pushed it away because of course I did. I did a few Google searches about it and came across the term “binge eating disorder” but was convinced that could never be me. This was just a thing, just a thing I was doing, and it would go away at the end of the summer when I went away to college because that’s when life was actually starting and it was going to be awesome and I wasn’t going to let this - whatever this was - fuck that up.

But I did, in fact, fuck it up. I fucked it up fast and hard (that’s what she said, ok back to being depressing) and college was not awesome, it was difficult and painful and I was drowning in something I had absolutely no chance of controlling on my own. I accepted very quickly that this thing I was doing had a name, and it was binge eating disorder, and I was all in. I gained weight - not a ton, maybe twenty pounds, and I was never actually overweight, but to me that didn’t matter. I hated how I looked. I overdrew my bank account spending money my mom gave me for groceries on binge food. I spent hours alone in the dining hall eating till I felt physically ill and sometimes threw up involuntarily because my body couldn’t handle what I was doing. One time I stood in the bathroom of my dorm and drank mustard mixed with warm water because I read online that makes you puke and I was so full I wanted to die (it didn’t work, please for the love of GOD don’t drink mustard water or, for that matter, anything else for the express purpose of making yourself vomit). I cancelled plans with friends and skipped classes to stay in and binge, or because I’d binged already that day and could barely move. I stole food from roommates, convincing myself no one would notice, even though of course they fucking noticed. I hid food and packaging and wrappers under my bed, in my closet, in my backpack, wherever I could because I didn’t want anyone to catch on. Lied about why I needed money so my parents would send me some and I could buy more shit. I ate stale food, food from the trash, once I literally ate straight up chocolate sauce (mustard water and chocolate sauce: 10 out of 10 doctors recommend!) because I had nothing else. Waking up for 8 AM ballet classes and seeing my body in a leotard under fluorescent lighting felt like a form of torture Dick Cheney might think was a little too harsh. I saw a therapist over the summers and ate with my parents at home, and things got better, and then I’d go back to school and everything would unravel again. I’m still kind of shocked I made it through.

I’ve been done with school and living in the city for five years now, and I can honestly say that things are better. I mean, not “better”, in the sense that this chapter of the book is still pretty fucking open. But I’m better at dealing with it. The majority of the time now, I eat normally. I still binge, sometimes a lot and sometimes a little, but I carry on and try again the next day. I don’t really restrict to make up for binges anymore. I can eat some foods now that used to send me straight into Eatin’ Town USA, like cheese and bread and maybe even Oreos sometimes. I started enjoying working out, not just logging time on the treadmill as a punishment and feeling like Jean Valjean in the opening number of Les Mis (look down look down you’RE HERE UNTIL YOU DI-IE).

To be honest, I think I’m writing this mostly because the last couple months have been hard. I’ve fallen into some old stupid shitty habits, and I’ve been plugging along like normal and trying to claw myself out. But it’s not quite working like it normally does, and I don’t know why. I know I’ll make it through, because I always have, and what other option is there? But some days lately, I feel like twenty-year-old me, sobbing (very theatrically, natch) on the floor of my apartment because I should be over this by now - how am I not over this by now? This is my ninth year as a binge eater. Almost a decade! Far and away my longest and most committed relationship. When I hit 10 years strong, I should take myself out to a fancy restaurant or something but I don’t know what I’d order.

When I tell people this, I usually get some kind of “I had no idea”/“I’m sorry I didn’t notice”/“I would’ve never guessed” and the truth is that I didn’t, and still don’t, want anyone to notice. Of course I don’t. You don’t hide candy wrappers and empty pizza boxes in your closet with your winter boots because you want people to notice. It’s a very strange and secretive brand of shame that binge eating disorder brings and no one really get it unless they get it, and that’s not something I’d wish on anyone. (Okay, honestly, I’d wish it on some people, like it’s hard as hell but some people suck ass and probably deserve it? Anyway.) As I’ve grown up, I’ve started talking about this more and more. The first time I went public with all of this shit - I think I made a dramatic Instagram post a few years ago whilst day drunk during National Eating Disorder Awareness Week (absolutely incredible and Very Me start to a sentence) - I was shocked at how many people reached out to me privately and were like, hey, me too, and thank you for saying something. I’m still ashamed, but I’m trying not to be, and the more I talk about it the less alone I feel. “There are dozens of us! DOZENS!”

I guess one nice thing about this whole stupid nightmare is it’s kind of a reason why I am who I am. Not the only reason, but still. I started using jokes to cope with this while I was in school, and my sense of humor, whatever the fuck it is today, grew out of that. Except now I don’t joke about this stupid shit because I’m in denial, I do it because it’s real and I’m staring it in the face and it’s not going away, and the absurdity of something so excruciatingly difficult yet so entirely in my control gets fucking terrifying. I guess laughing at it makes it seem small.

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anxiousboyo · 3 years ago

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Chapter one: normalcy

Virgil woke up the same way he always did, with the sun. He changed into his purple tank and blue jeans with his black and purple jacket around his waist. He jumped out his window and landed on shadow, his horse. Then, riding out into the apple trees, he whooped, feeling alive.

He rode like that for a while until he started over to his friend Patton’s farm. He rode in, knowing he had an open invitation. “Hey Pat!” Patton looked over and smiled, his dirt-smudged face lighting up. “Hiya Virgil!” “Morning ride?” Patton’s smile only grew. He ran to the stables and mounted garnet, his loyal maroon-brown horse and rode up. “Definitely.”

They raced through their families’ shared orchard, smiling and whooping and loving life. Their horses, just as alive, powered through the rows and rows of trees, nickering in delight. The two boys heard a familiar neigh, and glanced behind them.

There they were. They urged their horse to catch up to the two boys. They joined them in whooping. It was Avigeal(av-idge -eel) or AV. “HEYYYYA! I RIGGED IT SO I CAN RIDE WHILE I HEAL!!” They yelled, riding their favorite horse, Null. Sure Null was thin, but dame did she have speed.

About a month or two back, the three of them had gone berry hunting in Avigeal’s orchards. They had gotten attacked by wild horses and Avigeal had tossed Virgil out of the way of Null, who was untrained at the time. They had broken a rib doing so, but said it was worth it anytime anyone asked. They had been healing and training Null since, and hadn’t been able to ride until then.

They rode for about twenty more minutes before heading back to Patton’s place. By that point, Null had started to act up, so Avigeal had gone to drop Null off at home with Patton. They came back with Pat on Sandy, a sand colored horse with an attitude, and Avigeal on Quiver, a white horse who was so shy, she couldn’t even gallop in front of horses other than Shadow and Sandy.

They arrived at Patton’s parents’ farm and Quiver bucked in fear. Avigeal, who was experienced in this, held on to the reigns tight and comforted the shy horse. “Shhhh, Quiver, it’s okay! You have me, Virgil, Patton, Sandy, and Shadow with you!”

The horse calmed and whinnied in fear. “You want me to walk you in?” The horse nodded. “Okay! We can do that!” She dismounted and led the horse in by the reigns.

“AVI! You seem well!” Patton’s brother, Deciet (Janus) yelled. Avigeal was the only one he talked clearly to. “I can ride again!” Avi yelled back. Janus’s face lit up. “No way! That’s amazing!” He mounted his noble steed, slither, a confident horse who tended to nip, and rode over. He hopped off and enveloped Avigeal in a hug, then kissed their forehead and checked their rib.

Apparently while they were healing, they had been painting more landscapes. Virgil learned this when they pulled out a sunset painting that was so realistic it could’ve been a photograph. Virgil had no idea how they did this, as the sun disappeared quickly in sunsets where they lived. They then admitted (while hanging up the painting in Janus’s room, since it was his turn to get one.(also while sitting on said snek boi’s shoulder)) that they were able to capture an image in their head, focus on it, and recreate it. Janus has smiled at this and said, “follow me.”

Around seventeen minutes later, they stopped. “If I could make a request, I’d like for you to paint something for the famILY room.” Avigeal nodded curiously. He smiled and his flicked his tongue out like a snake. “Sit there.” He pointed to a clearing in the leaves. They obliged, and he sat down in front of them. He put a small stone on their thigh and clicked his long fingernails against it. “Close your eyes. I’ll tell you when to open them.” They nervously obliged.

Moments later, a weight landed on their lap. He continued to tap the stone, but now there was a rattling noise. They stiffened. “Relax. I would never hurt you.” Avigeal loosened and whispered, “I’m trusting you. I haven’t not seen in years. You know what happened.” He sighed and kissed Avigeal’s cheek. “All too well. Now shush. I don’t want the risk of you getting bit.” They felt his forehead against theirs. He slid his fingers from their cheek to near their eyes. He gently caressed their eyelids, signaling them to open.

What they found when they did, they wanted to paint right away. Janus was playing with three or four baby snakes that he had set in their lap. The mama laid in his, and seemed to trust him. Avi’s eyes shone slightly with lavender energy, and as far as Janus knew, that meant they were taking a picture. He was dumbfounded when they looked up at him, but grinned anyway. It was small, but it was there.

“Open your hands like this,” he started, cupping his hands in demonstration. They followed, and he gently put one of the babies in their hands. They looked like they were gonna shriek. “Too fa-?””can I pet them!” He glanced at their face. Grinning from ear to ear. They thought it was SO cool that they were holding a baby snake. “Sure. Just take your finger aaanndd...” he gently grabbed their hand and stroked the baby with their pointer finger. “Ooooohhhh!” They breathe-squealed. He had no idea, but they were recording the entire thing in their mind for later, when they’d paint it. He smiled again until he felt eyes on him. He looked up from the baby, which he had been carefully putting back in their lap, seeing them smiling in a trance-like state. “Earth to Avi?” He chuckled. They shook their head and looked around, blinking. “S-Sorry! I-I...” “it’s alright, Avi. Just means you like my smile.” He was taken aback when they nodded. “It’s...picturesque.” They mumbled, looking up to a confused Janus face. They sighed and rolled their eyes. “Like a picture or a painting. It’s pretty, or unusual or inspirational or otherwise and is like a great artist painted/ took a picture of it.” Janus nodded thoughtfully. “So like you?” They made a choking noise and covered their face with both hands. “Did I do something wrong?” They parted their fingers to look at him. “I-it’s just that... in that context,... it’s used as a pickup line...” Janus looked confused at first, then covered his mouth and nose with his hand. “S-Sorry...” “Nah... ‘s fine...” Janus then stared into their eyes. “I don’t show everyone this... so far just you and a friend of mine named Remy.” They smiled. “We should be heading back.” They nodded. He gently started lifting the snek babies off their lap. After he put the mom down, he led them back out of the grotto.

He whistled for their horses, and only slither came. “Huh?” “Quiver is too shy to run in front of other horses.” They looked ashamed. “It’s cuz I trained her for private rides.” He smiled. “Better hold on then.” They smiled in return. “I love a challenge.”

They rode across the plains, just having fun. He made slither buck them off at the farm. They landed on Quiver, and came galloping over the fence. They then rode to the race track. They shouted encouraging words to Quiver and the horse sped up to at least five times as fast as she was before. Her rider shrieked with delight again, urging her on. She whinnied competitively. Slither nickered back. Their riders were saying something to each other. They ripped from the starting line with such speed it even startled their riders. She saw shadow. She couldn’t let him down. He’d supported her for years. It was her chance to prove it. She ripped into first. Her rider shrieked again. She powered forward until her rider stopped her. She slowed to a stop instead of stopping abruptly like slither. Her rider got off and fed her an apple. She heard a breathless “Good girl!” from her rider. She nuzzled them and nickered. Water. Her rider needed water. As if by magic, a water bottle appeared in the air. Her rider caught it and drank from it. Good. She trotted over to the water trough triumphantly. Slither was there, and boy, was he pissed. She bumped hips with him to get him to smile. He did. “Look.” She whinnied. Their riders were talking. “So in love.” He hissed, as he often did. “Why don’t they kiss already?” Slither nickered. Sandy sputtered, offended. “Humans don’t work that way! It takes time! It took me MONTHS to get my rider to kiss Valiant’s!” “Will you shut UP about valiant?! Day in, day out it’s valiant, valiant, valiant! Can’t you focus on ANY OTHER HORSE?!” “No! Valiant is amazing! What other horse is there to talk about?!” “Oh, I don’t know, rotten, brownie, majora, Camden... need I continue?” Sandy fell silent. “Look, sand, I’m sorry. It’s just- you know I don’t like him. Or at the very least don’t trust him. He’s so full of himself I’m scared he’s gonna break your heart.” He looked away in shame. “Slithie?” She nickered. He shamefully glanced at her. “Love you, bro bro.” “Love you too.” He whinnied.

“Wow. Didn’t know Quiver had that kind of speed. You must’ve trained her well!” “Yeah, well... it wasn’t TOO hard...” they smiled anyway. He chuckled. “Wanna get to painting?” They nodded, giggling. He led them into his room and grabbed a rather large canvas by their request. They giggled and said “I’m gonna need you to pose. Don’t worry or complain. It’s an easy one.” He quickly found that she needed him to recreate the crisscrossed position he had been in when he was playing with the snakes. He wondered why.

They started to sketch with a familiar-looking pencil. He recognized it as the pencil he had given them a few years back.

They noticed he was staring and turned the pencil so he could see ‘property of snekboi’ carved into the side. They saved it for sketching on canvases to get a basic design. He blushed (from embarrassment) when he realized the face changes were messing them up. He chuckled, the smile returning.

Ten minutes later, they told him he could drop position. He came up behind them and hugged their waist to his. “Dame, Avi! That looks amazing!” Avigeal smiled and replied with, “it’s only amazing cuz you’re amazingly patient with me. I must’ve redone the smile at least forty times.”

The painting was a masterpiece by Janus’s standards. It was of the moment he put the baby’s snek in Avigeal’s hands. From what he could tell of the sketch, they were gonna put some sort of fade on the edge of the painting leading in. Most of the pencil lines were smudged, suggesting a blurry appearance, but the ones on his face, his hair, their hands, and the snek were all fine and detailed.

“Avi, can I ask about the choice of blurring some things but not others?” Avi smiled as they mixed paint. “It’s to draw attention to the correct things. I don’t want someone to look at it and say, ‘wow! What a detailed background!’ I want them to say ‘what a sweet moment! Such an adorable snake and the detail of the smile, wow!’” Their smile faded. “I want to make something that your mom can look at and know that you won’t be alone when you get your own orchard. A moment, a memory that will make all the difference. something she can look at and smile. I want to give her a piece of your soft side, like you do.” Janus looked at Avigeal’s face. “Like I never got to.” They added. Their mom had died the previous summer and it was going to be their first year without some form of parent. He squeezed Avi’s waist. “Whenever you need a mom, a famILY, a whatever, you can come over. We’re here for you, Avi. We got your back. You’re not alone in the grief of losing Angela, but I swear, if you ever need a piece of her again, please, please, please, come over here. We’ll be your famILY.” Avi dropped their paintbrush onto the easel and turned to hug him. “There, there, Avi. I’m here. Ain’t nothing gonna happen to ya when you’re in my arms, okay?” They nodded into his neck, sobbing softly. They turned around again after a while.

They picked their paintbrush up and dipped it into the muddy green colour, dragging it loosely across the canvas. They continued like that with lime green near where they’d put streaks of sunlight, forest green for the foliage around them and so on.

When they got to the edges, however, they had mixed up a lavender-ish colour and had started to apply it, tainting the colour with green, and effectively dulling it. “Why’d you do that?” Janus asked. “It’s how I saw what happened. I was recording.” They admitted before turning to sandy yellow to start on the sunlight and scales of the snek.

A while later, and the painting was almost finished. They had opted to sitting instead of standing the entire time, and Janus had chosen to sit behind them, his arms still firmly around their waist, but not uncomfortably so. He had closed his eyes long ago, and they were glad he didn’t see them put the small white heart sun-sparkle thingies into his hair. He would’ve flipped. Patton and Virgil have checked in several times by then, and it was looking amazing. It was missing something though. They smiled and picked up the light violet paint.

Forty minutes later, they smiled at the result of their hard work. Janus had fallen asleep on their shoulder, although his grip never faltered. They had already let it dry, and gently shook Janus’s arm. “Wake up, Jay. I want you to see before I hang it up.” He opened his eyes lazily. “Hmm?” “The painting, silly! You must’ve been tuckered out, buddy, you fell asleep right on my shoulder!” Janus rubbed his eyes, letting go of Avi’s waist for the first time in and hour and forty-five minutes. He stretched and hugged Avi, being careful of their rib, and stared at the painting in awe. “Wooow...” he subconsciously breathed. Avi never failed to surprise him when it came to their paintings, but this was a whole other level. The moment was captured perfectly. His smile was slight and you could just barely see a hint of it, while the droplets of sweat on his forehead and in his hair reflected how hard he had been working. His calloused hands were perfectly represented in the painting, and he couldn’t believe the amount of detail in the flower crown he was wearing. The snek’s scales looked rounded, and everything had so much dimension it looked like a picture. Their glossy black nails, the stone on their thigh, it was all there. He smiled fondly.

“So...I’m guessing you like it?” Avi asked. He nodded breathlessly. Avi blushed. “I’m glad. I think there are a couple things I messed up on, but other than that, I agree.” With that, Avi stood up and picked the painting up, Janus following closely behind.

“Heya y’all!” Avigeal’s voice rang out along the track. The two guys rode over and dismounted. “Finished the painting! Whatcha think?” Verge’s eyes widened and his mouth gaped while Patton practically melted. Either way, they both loved it. “Speechless. Told ya, Avi!” “That you did, Jay, that you did.” They remarked.

Two reactions later, and the painting was hung up. “It’s really...wow! Thank you Avigeal!” Janus’s mother squealed. “Ain’t no big thing! Just a painting of a moment I wanted to remember.” They trailed off, listening for something. “The princes are coming!” Avigeal yelped. “Gotta go! Good seeing y’all!” “Bye Avi!” Janus yelled after them.

Chapter two: the princes’ visit.

They rode Quiver back to their farm and grabbed the basket of berries and pony they planned to show whatever prince was left, as their farm was out-of-the-way and hard to reach if not on horseback. Each of the farms would advertise what they had in stock, and try to impress a prince. Avigeal and Virgil’s farms were the only ones who didn’t sell to princes yet. Rumor had it that three princes, including prince Logan of Logos(Patton’s boyfriend), were coming to review farms and see what farms they might want to pick up or drop depending on what goods were in demand. Avi had been preparing for weeks, and Janus had helped them practice their speech. They were ready.

Around half an hour later, Avigeal spotted the princes. When they stopped, Avigeal bowed and started their marketing speech. “Hello, princesses, princes, and non-binary royalty. My name is Avigeal Ouruka and I’m a non-binary masculine berry farmer. My pronouns are they/them/he/him. I market a variety of fresh berries and offer training for these fine animals we know as horses. I also offer painting services, as I am able to capture images in my mind and recreate them.” They held up one of their sunset paintings and displayed it, showed the princes how they had trained the horse, and finally let them try some freshly picked blackberries, before starting the mandatory orchard tour with Quiver as their choice of horse. “My family’s farm has never used pesticides. We use a safe mixture of lemon juice, water, and vinegar to shoo away the bugs. We do not endorse the hunting of deer or fruit bats, and have made parts of our orchards into safe havens for these animals. I’m afraid we have a work force of one, as my mother passed away last summer. I’m lucky to have the support of nearby farmers who care and help to pick every once-in-a-while. I sense the question of how I have been without my mother, and I have been alright thanks to a friend who has kindly offered to lend me his family.” This caused a small eruption of chuckles. “There we go! Now that we got some laughs in here, let’s loosen up a little! I’ll tell ya ‘bout how lucky I am we’re even on this tour. Quiver baby! The normal route, if you will.” They asked. The horse stopped, and Avigeal dismounted. “Something wrong, sunshine?” The horse nickered and nudged their ear. “You’ll have to pardon Quiver, she’s rather shy.” Avigeal started as they mounted. “She’s a lil nervous due to the stiff behavior and mannerisms of y’all’s horses. It’s not y’all’s fault, it’s just that no horse here acts that way.” The princes nodded and smiled, gently patting their horses to tell them to relax.

“You seem to be a friendly, laid-back individual, Miss Ouruka.” “Please, call me Vee. And yeah, I’d say. I don’t like being uptight, cuz I feel the more comfortable you are in an environment, the more of you ya show, and the easier it is to make friends!

“Anywho we really are lucky we’re on this tour. Doctors had me fearin’ I’d miss it. Around two or so months ago I was out harvesting berries with my pals when out of nowhere a herd of wild horses came barreling through the orchards. One of them was about to hit Virge, who I believe you’ve already met, and I jumped in front of him. The horse hit me right in the rib, and ‘m afraid it broke.

“still trained ‘im though, and he’s a mighty fine steed. Null, his name is. I’m lucky cuz just today I was told I can ride again. Horses, that is.” The princes erupted in laughter, Logan included.

“We’re reaching the end of our tour, sad to say, but there’s one more place I believe it’s important to show you.” They took the reigns and turned down a pathway surrounded by willows. A singular cherry tree stood in the center. “I’ll have to ask you to dismount. It’s not visible from horseback.” Vee said remorsefully as they dismounted. The princes did the same. They laid out a blanket and motioned for the princes to sit next to them. Once sitting down they saw a glass coffin containing a beautiful woman which was carefully placed inside the trunk of the tree. “That’s mumma. Angela. A real saint, she was. Taught me how to love when surrounded by hate.” A deer fawn peeked out from behind the tree. “Heya, fella! Where’s your family?” The fawn slowly moved closer to Vee until its head was in Vee’s hand. They stroked the fawn’s coat. “You got a buck or doe somewhere?” They stood up and led the fawn back to the group it was in.

While Vee was gone, the princes read about Angela. “She sounds like a wonderful mother.” Prince roman of amour remarked breathlessly. “Dame straight.” Vee sighed. “She was amazing. Still! She lives on inside me and in the stories of her i tell to my friends. The same stories I’ll tell to my kids and grandkids one day. So there ain’t no reason to dwell on it. She had a bad illness. I’m glad she died from nature’s mercy shot rather than humanity’s. She died from a poisonous berry. It felt bad, giving her it, but she thanked me, so it...hurt less.” Vee kissed their fingers and pressed them to the white wooden border of the coffin. “Love ya mom.” They said. “Rest in peace, lady Angela.” Prince Kaleo of kaua announced while kneeling before the coffin and lowering his head. The two other princes honored her in their own ways, with Prince Logan lowering his head, lifting it and smiling fondly, and Prince Roman simply giving a fond farewell while touching the coffin with his fingertips. Vee seemed slightly shocked. “T-thank you.” They stuttered, bowing. “It’s only customary to honour the dead where I’m from.” Prince Kaleo shrugged. “And I’m sure she was a lovely woman and remarkable mother, if your behavior is anything to go off of.” They nodded. “We should get going-“ Vee was cut off by Prince Kaleo kissing their cheek gently. They jumped. “I should’ve warned you.” He mumbled. “My humblest apologies. I was merely cheering you up as a part of the tradition for when one loses a loved one.” He explained. “Shucks, there’s no need for that! Ya just caught me off guard! I’m fine. But seriously, let’s start heading back.” They chuckled while mounting Quiver. “Ah, yes, indeed. My father will be wondering where we are.” Prince Kaleo announced. They started heading back.

They reached the gates at the front and went back to the display they had set up. Prince Logan spoke up first. “Your painting skills would be much appreciated by the people of Logos.” “I’m open every weekday for painting requests, although four to five in the evening on Wednesdays is when I visit mom’s grave.” “Your mother died?” King Bane of kaua inquired. “‘M afraid so. Last summer, it was.” King bane dismounted and kissed their cheek as well and started to explain, however, Vee stopped him. “With all due respect, your son has already explained this to me, sir.” “Well then, let’s see what about your farm interested him.” He exclaimed, friendly as ever. “The berry services would be great for the people of Kaua. They could be eaten raw or dried.” “I work on berry picking every Tuesday and Thursday, so you’ll get deliveries every Sunday.” Vee exclaimed. “The fine aminal- animal training would also be beneficial, as the children of Kaua want to ride horses their size, but no ponies are trained.” Vee stifled a giggle. “ I’m open whenever, as we make appointments for them. No more than fifteen per week, or I’ll have three appointments in one day.” Vee smiled. “All very acceptable conditions!” King Bane exclaimed. “Finally, the people of amour would benefit from the horse training as well, as the children are wishing that it wasn’t just wooden horses they were riding, but instead real horses, and we have no trained ponies.” “You have heard the conditions for this service. I thank you kindly for your time. Enjoy the rest of y’all’s day!” Vee exclaimed happily. “Farewell, Vee.” “I bid you adieu, Vee!” And a simple wave from Prince Kaleo.

Chapter three: jealousy

When Avigeal rode back over to Patton’s farm, they could hardly contain their excitement. The second they were off Quiver they were almost knocked over by Janus tackle-hugging them. “Did you see Prince Logan!” Avi smiled. “If you mean the flushed pink of his lips or the obvious hickey on his neck then, no I didn’t.” They joked. “Aaaahhhh! We did it! Listen, I know you didn’t see it and you weren’t here, but right in front of everyone! They just...kissed!” “Speaking of just kissed, did you know that it’s customary for the people of Kaua to kiss a person’s cheek when they lose a loved one?” Janus got a look in his eye. “No...why.” “Just thought it was interesting.” They talked for a little while, walking through the orchards. Prince Roman’s name was brought up and Virgil jutted in with a quick “him? Yeah, I guess.” When they were questioning whether or not he was hot. The banter continued until...”...are you okay?” Left Avi’s lips. Janus looked strange. “Just fine...” although he didn’t seem fine. “Are you sure?” “Mmmhmm...” He then fell, completely limp, onto Avi’s chest.

Chapter four: sick

Janus was out of commission. Apparently, he had overworked himself when he built the stands for everyone in the neighborhood. Avi offered to nurse him to health at their house, as the Hart-Raven farms were already packed. The Harts reluctantly accepted, since their evidence was solid. The Harts promised to visit at 4:00 pm every day until he was better.

Nearly a month passed, and Avi had finally reversed it. They hissed as the magic shot back into them. They had forgotten to stop sharing magic with Janus when they left, so Janus had been harboring the magic of jealousy. It was a poisonous magic, and Avi knew they were the source of it. Janus’s rage has been at Prince Kaleo and at himself. Kaleo for possibly stealing Avi, and himself for doubting them.

They finished drawing the magic out of him and pulled back. A full hour. They sighed and rubbed their sore jaw. They had been drawing magic from him like a vampire draws blood... for an hour. They sighed and stood. What a month. “Dame. Couldn’t keep your hands off me, huh?” Avi whipped around. “Janus!” They shrieked. “You’re okay!” He frowned. “Of course. Also, I apologize for the way I grabbed your attention...” “I don’t even care anymore! I thought I lost you to my own magic!” They sobbed. He pulled them up and onto his lap, stroking their hair. “What? Avi, how long have I been out?” They choked out another sob at the nickname before answering with a soft whisper of “A-b-bout a m-month...”. Janus’s eyes widened. “Aviiii...” he cooed, stroking their hair as they cried into his shoulder. He kissed their temple and sighed. “It’s okay, Avi, it’s all gonna be alright now, y’hear?” They nodded slightly, drying their tears. Janus smiled softly. “Now listen here, Avi. I don’t want you falling into a bad mindset cuz somethin’ bad happened. Angela always said to focus on the good, right? Well here’s somethin’ good. I’m okay. You’re okay. Everything’s alright and you even got yourself a couple deals on your farm! Ain’t that worth smilin’ about?” He asked softly. Avi took a deep breath, letting a genuine Cheshire Cat-like smile spread across their face. “Indeedy-do, Janny!” They giggled, drying their tears.

#tw long post #tell me to tag #again please ignore #I don’t know how to do cuts so #eegh sorry #love y’all

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imaginetonyandbucky · 7 years ago

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prompt #966 @novarain01

Imagine Bucky is a war vet, suffering from PTSD. Steve, as his artistic friend, encourages Bucky to join his art group as a therapeutic method of coping and minor re-socializing with people. Bucky reluctantly accepts the invitation and is dumbstruck by the beautiful nude model: Tony.

Seeing the Lines

“You see, class, this model is a living, breathing person. He is not a bowl of fruit, he has goals and dreams and--”

The model in question was lounging, that was really the only word for it, on a pile of cushions. “No, really, I don’t,” he interrupted. “I’m perfectly okay with being a pomegranate. They don’t worry about getting health insurance. Pomegranates are utterly unconcerned with post-grad school panic.”

The art instructor raised one eyebrow. How was it possible for a woman with green hair to look so utterly cold and imposing?

The class laughed anyway, an undertone and serious sort of laugh, like a whisper of good cheer that passed around the room. They’d been doing fruit bowls for the last few weeks, and Bucky had to admit that the model didn’t look anything like a fruit bowl, even if Bucky’s first impulse on seeing the man was for his mouth to water and to desperately want to take a bite.

Ophelia Sarkissian, the art teacher, continued on with her lecture, while the model lolled on the divan. He still wore a robe, and Bucky didn’t feel too self-conscious about sneaking peeks at him between Sarkissian’s instructions.

Steve had talked Bucky into this class weeks ago as a way to deal with his therapist’s instructions that Bucky get out of the damn house on more days than just therapy or PT. Which was great, Bucky’d been okay with that, yeah, art class. Woo. Also, it was something that Steve liked to do, which kept Bucky from feeling too guilty about doing it. (Bucky had so much guilt that he couldn’t freaking cope with it, and cutting every bit of it out that he could manage had become a life’s mission. His therapist suggested he might be taking it to extremes, sometimes.)

Of course, the first day of the new section, anatomy drawing, Steve had to go and get pneumonia. And then insist that Bucky go to class anyway. They’d already paid for it, was Steve’s logic. Also, he was pretty pissed off that Bucky was hovering and plying him with chicken soup.

Sarkissian was droning on about seeing the shapes inside the lines or something. Bucky’d not even managed to master drawing an apple; his fruit bowl had managed, somehow, to resemble a jar of spaghetti, something that not even Steve could find a nice thing to say about.

But it wasn’t about the art, it was about being outside the house, chasing something new, some hint of speaking to other people. Something. Bucky didn’t know. What he did know was that he was having trouble looking away from the man on the platform, his beautiful eyes gazing over the room as if he knew something they didn’t, a go-to-hell smirk on his full lips, and he was…

… jesus, he was taking off his robe, and it’s not like Bucky didn’t know that was going to happen, and really, there was nothing remotely sexy about it. There were thirty other people in the room, all of whom were entirely dressed, who wouldn’t even consider taking their clothes off in public.

The man folded up his bathrobe and posed; a simple lounge on his side, one hand draped over his hip in a not-quite-subtle gesture. Like, go ahead, look at my dick, here it is, it’s okay.

Bucky blinked.

(more below the cut)

The man had a mess of scars over his chest, his skin in the middle of his torso looked like it’d been melted at some point, leaving a mass about the size of a softball, with three surgical scars mapping the territory.

“Get started,” Sarkissian said, clapping her hands. The sound echoed uncomfortably in the huge room.

Bucky picked up one of his pencils. Steve had a whole list of pens and pencils and smudging tools and… not like Bucky knew anything about it. Even after six weeks of class, he could barely tell the difference between the soft and hard leads. Well, he could tell the difference once he drew the line, but he kept forgetting what, exactly, he was supposed to use each one for.

He twiddled the pencil between his fingers; becoming right handed, suddenly, had been traumatic, and he still didn’t really like the way the pencil felt in his hand. It felt… hard and cold and not like a thing that was supposed to be there, between his fingers, at all.

Bucky sighed.

There was something about the blank drawing paper in front of him that he always found intimidating as fuck. Like, he knew he was going to mes it up, there was nothing good about his technique. He didn’t even see, not the way Steve saw, the lines inside the shapes (He still didn’t know what that meant.).

The model wasn’t made of lines, he was made of soft, beautiful circles. There was a line there, Bucky noted, across his collarbone, from shoulder to shoulder, that caught the light, that Bucky wanted to taste.

He put the pencil down and picked up a piece of chalk instead. He hadn’t worked with the chalks at all, but Steve could do some lovely work with chalk.

“You remind me of a young man I knew, oh, way back when,” the woman said, patting Tony’s hand.

It was possible, Tony thought, roughing her age out at maybe ten years older than Howard had been when he died. She’d have been quite a bit younger than his dad, but stranger things had happened. “Well, I hope they’re good memories, at least,” Tony said. It was as neutral as he could get. Strange how most of the class was made up of retirees. Or maybe it wasn’t. The class was three hours long, in the fucking middle of the day.

The problem with that was Tony’s schedule didn’t lend itself out for grabbing lunch before showing up and his stomach was usually growling by the time he was done. He was lucky he could grab coffee.

“Nah, he was a cheating bastard,” the woman said, and Tony was hard pressed not to ask if it was Howard, because that would have just been his luck. Ending up posing naked for one of Howard’s old love-lights.

Tony took a swig of water from the bottle; he supposed he should be grateful that Sarkissian provided that much. Break was almost over.

“Lemme see those elbows, boy,” one of the other students said, grabbing his wrist and turning the arm. He pushed up the sleeve until Tony’s arm was bare, looking close at the veins inside the crook of Tony’s elbow. “Can’t get these right.”

“He’s not a fruit bowl,” another student said, tapping the first man’s hand until he turned Tony loose.

The first student went away, muttering under his breath, and Tony glanced up to say thanks. Lost himself in those stormcloud eyes. Oh. This guy. The one armed artist who wore at least three layers of shirts all the time, the left sleeve neatly pinned up. The one who struggled to hold a pencil, who scowled and frowned by turns at his own incompetence.

The one who stared at Tony, not like an art student, or even like the come-hither expressions Tony sometimes got while bar hopping, but stared at Tony like he was some sort of rare and precious treasure.

“Hey,” the man said. Tony gave him a quick flash of teeth. “I know you only got… like what, five minutes left on your break, but I erm… happen to be sittin’ up front, and last time I noticed…” The man was blushing furiously, and Tony was left thinking about the last session -- he’d actually come close to falling asleep. Had he gotten an erection and not noticed, and this guy was going to call him out on it, or something? “Here.” He held out a paper bag to Tony.

There was an instant of sickening dread. Tony hated being handed things; he’d had pictures and flowers and phone numbers shoved at him since he was a child. “Just, erm… sit it down?” Tony gestured toward the divan.

“Yeah, yeah, sure.”

The guy didn’t even wait for Tony to look, he retreated in a blushing mess back behind his easel and all Tony could see of him was the bright red tips of his ears.

Tony carefully unfolded the bag. Peered inside. Blinked. There was a bottle of juice -- apple -- and a peeled and segmented orange in a bag. A cheese sandwich. A hardboiled egg, sliced, with a pinch of salt twisted up in an end bit of plastic wrap. A handful of Hershey kisses, their silver foil like a scattering of stars inside the bag.

How thoughtful.

How much… work. Tony eyed the pinned sleeve for a moment, then decided that the man probably fixed his lunch at home with an eye to convenience for when he was out. A one-armed man could probably peel an egg, given enough time, but why make other people watch him -- or worse, end up offering to help -- when he was out of the house.

Tony unwrapped the sandwich and made no pains about eating quickly and noisily. It wasn’t the best lunch he’d ever had, but someone had thought to do it, and that made it better than the nicest sit-down, chef’s tasting menu that Tony’d ever tasted.

He didn’t have time to say thanks, finishing the last gulp of juice just in time to climb back and assume his pose before break was over.

Guy-with-the-pretty-eyes disappeared as soon as class ended, out the door before Tony even belted his robe.

Well, damn.

“No, really, this is good, Bucky,” Steve said, unrolling the paper.

It really wasn’t. Bucky knew good art, and this was nothing like that. He just glared at Steve. The punk was still wrapped up in blankets, sweating when he wasn’t shivering, panting for breath, and falling asleep without warning.

“Not that--” Steve hesitated, then touched the lines. They were clumsy; Bucky’d seen cave paintings that were better than his sketches. “I don’t mean, hang it in the museum, Buck, you know that. I ain’t…” Steve paused to cough, coughed until his face was plummy and his every breath rattled on the inhale. Finally, he finished, spitting a wad into some kleenex and dropped it over the side of the bed. The whole side of the bed was littered with similar twists. Bucky’d sweep them up later when Steve was asleep and wouldn’t fuss about it.

“Don’t try to flatter me, punk, that never works,” Bucky said.

“Jerk,” Steve said. He coughed again, then patted his chest, as if to check that it was still there. “I mean, I c’n see in the lines… you’re looking. Seeing.”

The lines were… well, Bucky knew what he was looking at, when he saw them. Not a human body, his drawings were too crude, even for that, but Tony, model and occasional lunch partner. The smile wasn’t detailed, just a smudge of chalk, but… Bucky could look at it. And see the person there, on the page.

Maybe that’s what Steve meant.

“Yeah, I guess.” Bucky let a smirk cross his lips. “If you’d seen this guy, you’d be seein’ a lot, too.”

Steve chuckled, weak. “You’ve found a passion, Buck,” he said. “That’s good. That’s… that’s real good.”

Bucky scowled. It wasn’t good, he thought. He was gaping at a man doing a job. That was like… flirting with the barista. Someone who had to be nice to you because it was their fucking job, and Bucky wasn’t… he didn’t want to be like that.

Tony was a dream.

He wasn’t someone that Bucky could ask out.

Tony sighed.

Bucky wasn’t going to ask.

He’d spent the entire life model packet of the class giving Tony his best bedroom eyes, flirted a little during Tony’s breaks. Brought him lunch. Helped him with his robe a few times when Tony was so cold that his fingers weren’t working (seriously, Sarkissian’s studio was a fucking meat locker and there were never enough space heaters.)

Tony wasn’t allowed; there were like fifty clauses in Sarkissian’s stupid contract, and at least half of them had to do with models and students were not allowed to date. Sexual harassment, yaddah yaddah, and that was probably a good thing most of the time. With some models and some art students, having something in the contract as a way to bypass the more pushy people. Some of the students had flirted with Tony, and at least one woman had tried to give him her number -- his robe had no pockets, which was a thing that Tony found himself appreciating at odd moments -- so, obviously it was a thing.

But class was ending, and Tony wasn’t ever going to do this again. His academic suspension was up this semester, and he could go back to work on his engineering doctorate. So, theoretically, Tony could ask Bucky if he wanted to… continue doing lunch together, or something.

Tony hadn’t seen any of Bucky’s art -- that was rude, he’d decided early on. If the artist invited Tony behind the easel, he’d go, take a look, but otherwise, no -- but the way Bucky had watched him, it didn’t even matter. Bucky’d been writing poetry with his eyes, sculpting a masterpiece with his expressions, singing an aria with the twist of his mouth. For Tony.

And each class period, Tony had trouble maintaining his pose, because what he wanted to do was stare back, to let Bucky see all the interest there. The best he’d been able to do was a few longing looks during their little lunch break, let his fingers linger on Bucky’s one arm.

Maybe Bucky wasn’t interested. Maybe Tony was just the equivalent of a really great bowl of fruit.

Oh well, Tony decided. He’d catch up at the end of class and ask. What was the worst that could happen?

… the worst that could happen was that Bucky would get away. Tony couldn’t dress fast enough. Had no idea which way the love of his life (maybe, possibly, if he could at least ask…) had gone.

Fuck.

Five months, fourteen days, two hours, and nineteen minutes later

“There, you got everything, mister?” the take-out clerk had been uncharacteristically slow and solicitous to the person in line in front of Tony.

Which was just annoying, because if Tony didn’t get coffee, immediately and right now, he was going to have some sort of genius meltdown and it wasn’t going to be pretty. He’d been working all night, was just on the verge of figuring out the most efficient placement of those ultrasonic sensors for object-avoidance when his brain had decided that sleep was a thing.

It wasn’t.

Sleep was not a thing, and Tony didn’t have time for it.

“I’m fine,” said a dark, rumbly voice. The man in front of him in line was tall, built, and wearing several layers of clothing. Tony knew it was actually the end of October and it was getting cold, but a coat, a hoodie and at least two long-sleeve shirts seemed to be excessive, even for New York.

“I can help you out to a taxi or--”

The man scoffed. “Been carryin’ my own groceries with one hand for quite a while now. I can handle it, thank you.”

Tony looked up at that, blinking.

“Oh, god,” he said, his voice coming out in the faintest whisper. His one-armed artist…

The man kept turning, his eyes doing that seeing-without-noticing thing, and Tony’s brain… still needed coffee… and there was Bucky, walking out of Tony’s life a second time and…

“Welcome to Daily Grind, can I--”

Tony could visualize it like a cartoon; he left a little smoke-cloud behind and a confused cashier. The customer behind him did not hesitate to take Tony’s place in line.

“Bucky?” Tony got to the door, stared in one direction, then the other. Where the fuck… what was the man, a goddamn ghost or something?

Tony took a few steps outside the door. No, no, no, no!

“Tony?”

Oh, thank god. Tony heaved a sigh of relief and looked over. Bucky hadn’t gone far, just to the curb where he hesitated just long enough that an enterprising business woman ducked into his cab and slammed the door behind her.

“Oh, god, it is you,” Tony said, not even sure how to start. “I thought --”

“Tony!” Bucky’s face broke into a helplessly happy smile. “It’s… it’s good to see you. I didn’t recognize you with your clothes on.” Bucky blushed, furious and pink, and stammererd. “Oh, god, that did not come out right, not at all, I just meant… I…”

“No, that’s okay, I know what you meant,” Tony said. Not that he’d particularly mind refreshing Bucky’s memory, if that was a thing. “Look, I was… you know, you walk really fast, and I tried to catch up with you after that last class but… would you. I mean, not now, because obviously you’re probably busy and going places, and I just cost you your cab, but… dinner? Maybe?”

Bucky smiled. “Coffee? I mean, I was just--” He jerked his chin toward the street. “Can I? Buy you a cup of coffee?”

“Oh, absolutely, you could,” Tony said, suppressing an offer of marriage on the spot because coffee. “I mean, I need a coffee. And… then I was walking back to my lab, I’ve got some stuff going on there, but… if you’re willing to sit around for forty minutes and watch me tinker, I could take us to dinner after?”

“Tony, standing around watching you sit still was entertainment for me, I think I can manage to hang out while you work,” Bucky said. He grinned, then fumbled a bit with his coffee and his phone, “Just let me text my roommate so he doesn’t--”

Bucky’s phone fell to the pavement; he had one of those thick, athletic shock cases around it, so Tony guessed that wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for a man with one arm. He twisted into a squat and recovered the phone, glancing down to check the screen wasn’t broken and--

“Holy shit, is that me?”

Bucky blushed again, harder, averting his eyes.

Tony stared at the screen-lock picture; a simple black and white charcoal. Tony found himself staring at himself, looking long way up his body, toes to the tip of his chin, sprawled backward like a martyr, or someone who was stretching after some good love. “This is amazing.”

“I’ve been keeping up with the classes,” Bucky said, still not looking at Tony. “That’s like my sixth revision of that piece.”

“But… I haven’t modeled for you for months, surely you have other--”

“I only ever wanted to draw you,” Bucky said with a shrug.

“Oh.” Tony wasn’t sure what to say about that. Surely there were things to say about something like that, but he was too busy being enraptured. He’d seen the works other students had done of him, and several had been much better, in terms of technique, but… there was something flawless about that version of Tony. An unholy temptation, and suddenly Tony wanted nothing more than to be worthy of that particular muse.

“If it’s weird, I… I’m sorry,” Bucky said. “I… we don’t have to--”

“Oh, no, absolutely not,” Tony said. “I’ve been kicking myself for not asking you out earlier. There’s no way you’re getting away from me now.”

That shy smile flickered over Bucky’s mouth again. “I thought you were a pomegranate. How are you gonna chase me?”

Tony flicked his tongue over his lower lip. “If I’m a pomegranate, I just have to tempt you to stay for the winter, right?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “That sounds good.”

#prompts #winteriron #novarain01 #tony x bucky #tony stark #bucky barnes #tisfan #art student!Bucky #nude model!Tony

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thegreenwolf · 7 years ago

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Note: This article was first posted over at my now-defunct Patheos blog. Due to contractual disagreements, which included them refusing to remove my posts from their site after repeated requests, I am moving some of my writing over here. Please link to this version of the article rather than the Patheos one. Thank you!

Ah, mid-August, how I love thee. It’s the height of summer here in the U.S., with barbecues and campouts and calling the air conditioning repair company because the HVAC is down again. My garden is overflowing with fresh produce and I have no idea how we’re going to eat all this kale, but I’m going to make it work. And all the kiddies are trying to squeeze the last remnants of summer vacation out before having to go back to school. Even the stores are getting in on the act, with shelves and displays full of backpacks and pencils and all that other stuff on the school supply list that just arrived in the mail.

Of course, the back to school displays have been up since the fifth of July. But soon enough (probably just after Labor Day) it’ll be time shopping for Halloween, or so the chain stores say. (Sure, it’s a little early to be talking about this, but I have to beat the stores to the punch!) You can expect endless lines of green-faced witches, styrofoam tombstones, little plastic cauldrons, and strings of Christmas-style lights with translucent smiling skulls and ghosts. Right on cue, the feeds on my social media profiles–Facebook, Tumblr, Twitter–will be full of squealing pagans all excited about “Look at all this Halloween stuff I got from Michael’s for just twenty bucks! They had a sale!” and “I got this cute gargoyle statue with red LED eyes at Wal-mart!” (In fact, I’ve already seen a few posts–apparently Michael’s already has their Halloween stuff out. Yikes.)

Most of the time I just hold my tongue and cringe. The very same pagans who have been reblogging and sharing calls to action about fracking in Canada and human rights abuses in Gaza are proudly displaying cheap, chintzy tchotchkes that are the products of environmental degradation and slave labor. It’s a peculiar sort of cognitive dissonance driven by materialism and rampant consumerism without reflection. It would be one thing if there were no alternative options, or if it were over something necessary to life like access to food or water, or even something educational like books. No, these cheap, mass-produced items (only slightly different from the ones offered last year) are purely luxuries, and not even luxuries in the traditional sense of actually being worth something.

And they come out of a well of toxicity. Those cute plastic window decals are derived from the petroleum industry, which severely damages the environment throughout the entire process of harvesting, processing, and using oil. Fossil fuels are also implicated in a whole host of human rights abuses. That cheap metal candle holder with the flying witch cut out? It was made from metals that were probably unsustainably mined, producing countless toxins and destroying nearby waterways and habitats.

These materials are then turned into purely decorative items, usually by poorly paid and abused slave labor in China and elsewhere. In 2012, an Oregon woman bought a set of Halloween decorations from K-Mart. Inside it was a letter written by one of the workers, detailing the horrible conditions at the factory. It is almost certain that this year’s shiny new decorations from Michael’s and the like are made by similarly abused workers.

And what’s it take to get all these trinkets from China to the United States? Generally they’re sent by giant freight ships across the Pacific Ocean, ships which create a massive amount of pollution and devastate wildlife and marine plants; the noise from these ships also interferes with whales’ ability to communicate with each other, particularly as the sound is often on the same frequency that the whales use.

How else can these big box chain stores sell you their tacky items at low, low prices except through abuses to the environment and our fellow human beings? When you get to pay $5.99 for a packet of paper plates with smiling black cats on them, or get a buy one get one free pair of resin skeleton candle holders, you’re not paying the full price for these things. Other living beings are your coupons, and future generations of humans and other living beings will be paying the price for your purchase for decades, if not centuries, to come.

The sad thing is, there are plenty of alternatives to the crap you’ll find on the big box shelves, and yet millions of people convince themselves they just have to have these useless, toxic items, to include people who claim they venerate nature and believe all people should be treated equally and humanely. It would be one thing if we were talking about something necessary to human existence, like food or water access, or if these were carefully hand-crafted pieces bought directly from the artist. But we’re compromising the environment and each other over things nobody actually needs, and which can be easily replaced by better options.

Want to break the cycle of damaging consumerism? Make your own decorations and costumes using recycled and reclaimed materials, and invite your friends and family to get in on it. Here’s one set of tutorials, and here’s another, and some more over here, and those are just three of the first links that popped up when I Googled “how to make Halloween decorations with recycled materials”. If you want to get really artsy about it, try sculpting your own scary skeletons and witches out of recycled paper mache instead of buying the resin ones from the chain stores.

If you don’t feel you’re artistic enough, consider going through Etsy* or other avenues to patronize artists who make holiday wares. You can ask them about where their materials come from, request custom work, and you’ll be giving money to an individual person, not a nameless corporation. Chances are whatever they make will be better constructed than the cheaply made offerings at the stores, and so will last much longer. It may be more of a financial investment in the beginning, but it pays off in the long run.

Remember, too, that Halloween (Samhain) was originally a harvest festival, and many pagans still celebrate it as such today. This means that edibles like squash, sugar pumpkins and apples all make great decorations. You may also be able to find corn stalks from local farmers, and fall leaves are always abundant wherever deciduous trees grow. Once Halloween is over, you can eat the vegetables and fruit, and compost the rest.

If you absolutely must decorate your home in poor-quality, mass-produced Halloween kitsch, consider checking out Goodwill and other thrift stores in your area. Plenty of people offload their old holiday decorations when they move or clean house, and every year I see aisles full of perfectly serviceable secondhand Halloween items available for cheap. A lot of it will end up thrown out because there’s just too much to go around, and too many people insist on heading to Target to buy brand new costumes and decor (most of which will probably end up tossed, or donated and then tossed, in a few years). If for whatever reason you’d be horrified if your friends knew you went thrift shopping *gasp*, you don’t have to tell them the truth of where that inflatable vampire came from. Just tell them you bought it at the Halloween Superstore a few years ago.

Halloween can still be full of fun decorations and playful costumes, and those of you so inclined can still make your home look like October year-round. But with a little care and consideration, we can make this year’s Halloween better for the entire planet, and take some power away from the truly scary monsters that we face in our world today.

* Please be aware that Etsy now allows mass-produced items. You may have to be a little careful in shopping there. Generally speaking, if it’s cheap, it’s probably mass produced.

Did you enjoy this read? Consider supporting this self-employed author and artist by buying my books, or checking out my Etsy shop, or purchasing the Tarot of Bones! You can also get exclusive content, art in the mail, and more by being my Patron on Patreon!

#pagan #witch #Halloween #environment #October #mine

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clarkfamily · 7 years ago

Text

PNT DIARY 1908

Note: Empty entries have been omitted.

Note: PNT had his own system for recording the weather although he only uses it sporadically in the first month of this diary year. The notations occur after the date in each entry. Please see the post for 1906 to read the key.

1/1 ± I am 5 ft 9 in tall without shoes. I weigh 121 lbs. The ground is bare.

1/2 No snow.

1/3 No snow.

1/4 ->0 a little.

1/5 + Colder. Did chores and read.

1/6 Harry went back to U.N.H. A breeding ewe died. They drew straw. I dried some Baldwin apples. -2°

1/7 +-0. Elgar cut my hair. They drew up logs with the steers. Trimmed turnips. [to feed sheep]

1/8 Thawed a little all day. Trimmed turnips at the lower barn. Wednesday.

1/9 0. Made 5 pounds of butter. Papa went to the Grange. We did not feed the sheep tonight.

1/10 Papa and I doctored about 55 lambs and sheep for worms. 2 lambs died.

1/11 Dried apples all day. Ellice came home from Hazens. Saturday.

1/12 Read a little. Began to read "A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers."

1/13 Thawing.

1/14 Papa and I doctored 9 ewes (for worms).

1/15 Dried apples all day.

1/16 Hazen called. Trimmed turnips. Papa cleaned out the hog house.

1/17 Went out into the north woods. Found a little spruce tree there.

1/18 Had the gripes last night and today. Stephen and Howard Townsend were here from Woodstock. Saturday.

1/19 Yesterday Mama finished reading Le Contes Geology [Elements of Geology, Joseph LeConte] to me. I stayed in the house all day. Sunday. -6°

1/20 cold last night. Did not go out. Joe began to draw hemlock logs to the mill, from the Fox place.

1/21 Did a few chores. Hugh sawed hemlock logs in the S. woods on Fox place. Joe drew logs. Thawing.

1/22 Thawing. Mr. and Mrs. C. D. Hazen and Annah Hazen came to dinner. Did not go out. Joe drew lumber.

1/23 Did chores again.

1/24 +

1/25 Polly came late tonight. Dried Baldwin apples.

1/26 Walked up Ela's hill. Bea came and stayed overnight.

1/27 Most of the snow melted last night. The road is all ice. Made 5 1/2 pounds of butter.

1/28 Colder. It is icy and poor sleighing. I sold my watch and chain to Joe for $1.10.

1/30 Trimmed turnips in the potato bin in the cellar. It is the coldest day yet. -13°

1/31 Cold and clear. Dried Baldwin apples. The temp. only got up to -5°. Friday. -16°

2/1 Stormy. We stayed in as much as possible. About 6 inches of snow came and drifted. Warmer.

2/2 My cherry log is 35 years old. Finished reading "A Week on the Concord" by Thoreau.

2/3 Hugh began to go to L.H.S. in the '08 class. Joe drew my black cherry log to mill with hemlock logs. -10°

2/4 I feed the sheep twice, the horses at night, the 5 calves at 8 am, and the hens twice. Cold day. -16°

2/5 Did chores about all day. The thermometers did not agree. -20° to -24°

2/6 Snow last night. Trimmed turnips in the cellar. We did nothing but chores. Thursday.

2/7 Edgar drew out his old maple from the S. woods. Joe brought home 6 cherry boards for me.

2/8 Papa and I stuck up my lumber in the cider mill. Saturday. -8°

2/9 Went down into the woods. Mama and I sorted books.

2/10 Hugh took Billy to go to school. He put him up at Dr. Smith's.

2/11 Made a box to feed the birds in. Went down into the woods and saw a large horned owl at 3 P.M.

2/12 Fine day. Trimmed turnips.

2/13 Trimmed turnips. Hugh stayed at home with a cold. Joe was away all day.

2/14 Fog. Papa and I cut a black birch in the S. woods. It was 96' tall, 110 years old 1.5' at butt, and the only one.

2/15 Still thawing. Snow is going fast. We did not do much but chores. Saturday.

2/16 Joe and I walked up to the log cabin out South on Oregon. Had the gripes when I got back.

2/17 Better but lame. Hugh stayed at home. Papa and Joe do all of the chores.

2/18 Hugh went to school. Feel still better.

2/19 - 3/4 [Empty]

3/5 Had appendicitis operation (Dr. Gile, surgeon). ]This appears to be Alma's handwriting and is in pencil. PNT's is in ink.]

3/6-3/24 [No entry; in MHMH hospital]

3/25 I came home from the M.H. Hospital.

3/26 - 3/27 [Empty]

3/28 We three gathered 8 bbl of sat. Saw first flock of robins. The jays made a commotion about it.

3/29 - 4/7 [Empty]

4/8 Jay and Harry Farnam called this evening and we sat up late. [b day turns 18]

4/9 - 4/12 [Empty]

4/13 Edgar boiled sap. Joe gathered sap.

4/14 - 4/15 [Empty]

4/16 Edgar boiled sap. Rlins (Rollins?) Hotel burned last night and I saw the light out east. A cold day.

4/18 They gathered 8 bbl of sap and the buckets. Went down to the south end of the woods. Saturday.

4/19 Edgar finished boiling sap. Dana called.

4/21 A cold chilly day. The snow all melted in the afternoon. Went down to the Fox place. Tuesday.

4/22 They split wood. Went down to the Fox place. The ground froze last night. Mama washed buckets.

4/23 - 4/24 [Empty]

4/25 Warm.

4/26 Very warm. Hugh and I went over to see Harry Farnam.

4/27 Warmest day yet.

4/28 Saw 2 bald eagles here. Had a hard thunder storm last night.

4/29 Cobb and Harrington began to shear our sheep. Edgar and I went over to the Jones farm.

4/30 - 5/22 [Empty]

5/23 Bob came.

5/24 Hugh and I went down to Sintres. Dana and Richard called. Sunday.

5/26 Went to town and traded a little. Julia Cummings came. Awful hot.

5/27 Helped decorate the lawn. Harry came home late. Papa has set a lot of hitching posts. [Preparations for Ellice's wedding the following day]

5/28 Ellice and Dana had a wedding on the lawn. About 100 guests. There was a reception at the Hazens'.

5/29 Harry, Bob, and Polly left.

5/31 Edgar took me to W.R. Junction to see a camera. Went to walk with Mama.

6/1 Uncle Bert and Aunt Mary went home.

6/2 Chilly day. Saw the first American Goldfinch.

6/3 - 8/17 [Empty]

8/18 Heard first green crickets.

9/15 Dug potatoes.

9/17 Papa and Joe finished getting in the corn a week from today.

9/19 My fountain pen came. We dug potatoes and finished the gold coins. Got a swarm of bees to robbing Sept. 20.

9/20 The bees began to rob.

9/21 My Italians [bees] brought live black bees late last night and early this morning. Sunday.

9/22 Dug potatoes. Went across to the grange.

9/23 We finished digging potatoes. Helped get corn.

9/24 Took Punch down town. Sent an order to W. W. Cary & Son for bee supplies. $15.16 cents in all. Came home with Papa.

9/25 Tried to keep the bees from robbing. Began to feed out in the open. They husked corn.

9/29 Husked corn. Went after [illegible] after supper.

9/30 Peabody came and threshed buckwheat, barley, and oats. He showed me how to weld and some other things.

10/1 They finished threshing. Mr. Ober bought the black mare Dolly which Papa has boughten.

10/2 Cold. We picked the squashes in the garden. Papa and I weighed the bees. Put cases on them without packing.

10/3 Joe and I finished picking corn.

10/4 Warmer.

10/5 We began to pick apples on a tree here and there. We are going to pick any good apples, even natives.

10/7 Fine day. We three finished up 4 1/2 bbls of butternuts on Fox place, also some apples. Packed up bees Wed.

10/8 Divided the queenless bees. Half in no. 3 and half in no 6.

10/9 Found 1 bus. of nuts which we missed (5 now). Those bees got cast out and killed in each swarm.

10/10 Finished packing up the bees. They jacked up the old cow shed. Joe finished drawing sweet corn fodder.

10/11 Papa, Grammie and Mama took the span and went to Brookside. Joe and I kept house. Milked 1.9(?) cows.

10/12 We three gathered cider apples in the sheep pasture. (to cook and eat). Lugged them up across.

10/13 Recreation [magazine] came out this week. The fog does not clear until 10 A.M. Joe and I went onto the Jones and Driscoll places.

10/14 Fine day. Painted all day on the handy wagon wheels. Joe and Papa fixed the barnyard fence. Wed.

10/15 - 10/23 [Empty]

10/24 Went down town. My bee supplies came. 5 hives, supers, etc. Papa had 2 bus. of buck(wheat?) ground.

10/25 - 10/27 [Empty]

10/28 We dug on the ditch and got wet. Began a winter case for my two swarms of bees.

10/29 Tinkered and helped David on the well. Papa went downtown. Joe plowed.

10/30 Papa and I dug in the ditch and Joe plowed in the south field.

10/31 Papa and I finished the ditch and tapped the spring out north. Joe began to plow in the barn field. Sat. Cold.

11/1 Colder. Milked 2 cows. Harry came home last night to vote Tuesday.

11/2 - 11/8 [Empty]

11/9 Warm. The bees came out a little. Moved 3 swarms to one side. The spring runs 1 quart a minute.

11/10 Warm. We turned up stones in the N. pasture and drew them to the new well.

11/11 Rain last night. Made 9 storm doors for bee hives, and a holding frame. Papa stoned more in the well.

11/12 Colder. Papa finished stoning the spring and we grounded up etc. Yesterday Papa got Edgar's cow.

12/13 Took the small cases off my two bee hives and put on my new big ones with 5" of straw packing. Ellice came.

11/14 - 11/17 [Empty]

11/18 The pump in the kitchen gave up for lack of water. It will still furnish a little.

11/19 We get water enough to drink and cook from the well in the kitchen. Tinkered. Two inches of snow in all.

11/20 Joe finished plowing the Garden field. I made a hot bed frame, placed it S. of barn and filled with straw, etc.

11/21 Snow is melting. Ellice and I went hunting out S.

11/22 Our new spring runs 3/4 quarts per minute. Milked two cows.

11/23 Helped saw up skidway on Fox place. I weigh 164 pounds without dooring(clothing?). Warm and misty.

11/24 The bees came out in fine shape. Warm. Edgar got after and wounded a deer.

11/25 Joe and I went to Coles'.

11/26 Papa, Mama, and I had dinner at Brookside. Got home after dark. Warm and Misty. 54° after dark.

11/27 Joe began to plow in the west field. Very warm. Boiled and hulled corn.

11/28 - 11/30 [Empty]

12/1 Warm. Papa and I trimmed trees in the Baker lane. The bees had a fight.

12/2 - 12/30 [Empty]

12/31 We cut wood up the road. We three visited Harry Farnam in the evening.

#Philip Townsend #diary #text #storrs hill

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17mounteens · 8 years ago

Note

Thing ride with mingyu

in which I’m too weak for lowkey college AUs and desperately hope this meant thigh riding! I’m not fully sure about how this turned out but I hope you like it ♥

Mingyu had always taken presentations seriously.

…Or at least he wanted to appear that way, but whichever the case, that was something you didn’t really take note of until you had had sex with him.

You sat in your seat, your pencil between your teeth as you watched his presentation. The topic might’ve been something as innocent and unsexy as how children develop mentally, but it wasn’t your fault that his hair was pushed back attractively, or that he was wearing a fitted white button-down and a pair of black jeans, sinfully tight in all the right places, not to mention the black-spectacled glasses that he was wearing, which only added their own effect to the masterpiece standing in front of you and a hundred other students.

Only to make matters worse, you were seated in one of the first rows and Mingyu was stealing glances at you, and whenever he did, he grinned.

“…and that’s more or less how children develop,” Mingyu finally concluded his presentation, which you were certain had been extremely informative, even though you hadn’t been able to pay attention to almost any of it. Instead of your notes having anything about the topic, you had doodles and crossed out Mingyus here and there.

You needed him, and you needed him bad.

Mingyu sat more at the back, so once he left his spot at the front of the auditorium, you didn’t really see him. You had another lecture after the psychology one, while you knew that Mingyu had absolutely nothing, and therefore you took it as your next task to find your way to his dorm while your mind continued to be plagued by his look during the presentation, and how damn tight his jeans had been. The mere thought had you shivering - you knew more than well what those jeans had (barely) hidden.

You and Mingyu weren’t an item, nor were you really friends. As nice as it would’ve been to refer to yourselves as friends with benefits, it wouldn’t really have covered what was between the two of you. No: your relationship was rather strictly physical, and on top of that it was secret.

By third year of college, you had had two years of your friends loathing Mingyu and his friends and vice versa. Neither of you had really established an opinion on one another, but peer pressure had kept and still was keeping you away from each other in public. However, as it often happened, there had been a party, at the end of which you and Mingyu had found yourselves in the host’s bedroom, and well…

After mindblowing sex with someone as hot as Mingyu, who were you to avoid him, especially when he was rather keen on meeting again. And again. And again, until it was a regular thing. Some might have found the hiding a pain in the ass, but you two loved the thrill almost as much as you loved the nature of your relationship.

So, taking the secrecy of your relationship into account, it was only understandable that when his door blew open and you appeared, Mingyu’s jaw dropped.

“What are you doing here? I thought you didn’t want to get caught,” he said in surprise as you got in his room, pleased to notice that his roommate was gone, and kicked the door shut while unhooking your bra through your shirt.

“Oh, shut up,” you muttered while rolling your eyes a little with a grin spread to your lips. Mingyu was, thank God, still wearing the same outfit he did during the presentation, and you couldn’t wait to get your fingers in that neatly slicked hair of his.

He grinned, clearly sensing how frustrated you were, and shut the laptop he had had on his lap and put it aside, his eyes moving up and down on you. “I hope you remember that I’m out of condoms.”

You froze for a second, realizing that you didn’t have one on you either, and groaned. “Well… we… we won’t need one.”

“Oh?” Mingyu asked with a quirked eyebrow before smirking. “What do you have in your mind, baby doll?”

You opened some of the buttons of your loose flannel and slid our bra straps off your arms before getting them completely off yourself. Without much of a thought, you got on Mingyu’s bed and sat astride on his lap, one hand caressing his neck and one squeezing his thigh. “I get to ride your thigh and you get a blowjob, how’s that?”

A grin spread to your lips when you saw his Adam’s apple bob and felt his hands on your waist, slowly moving up. “I guess I wouldn’t complain…” The fingers of his right hand moved all the way up to your lips, and you pressed an open-mouthed kiss to his forefinger with your eyes locked with his. “Can’t wait to have these pretty lips around my cock again, stretched so wide.”

You sighed contently and began unbuttoning Mingyu’s shirt. “More like I can’t wait to have you moaning my name while I suck you off.”

“However you want to put it,” he snorted and was about to unbuckle his belt - which also had you feeling some type of way - only to frown when you placed your hand on top of his and leaned down to press a kiss to his ear.

“Did I say I wanted to ride a bare thigh?” you asked in a lustful whisper and palmed him through his jeans, moving to kiss his neck. Mingyu swallowed and closed his eyes, his breath hitching a little at your touch.

“I just assumed,” he mumbled, and managed to open the remaining buttons of your flannel. Once they were open, you could only yelp when he pulled you up close and began peppering your breasts with hungry kisses while squeezing them, one at a time. Your fingers threaded in his hair, and you sighed shakily.

“Never assume,” you whispered, your lips remaining parted with how Mingyu’s lips wrapped around your nipple was making you tingle between your legs as you grew wetter than you had already been. Slowly, Mingyu slid one of his hands down your shivering body and slipped his hand into your jeggings from the front. He snorted cockily both at how wet you were and how much you jolted at his touch.

“My assumptions are usually correct, though. Like when you came in through the door, I assumed you were horny, and I can’t say I’d be disappointed,” he said playfully and withdrew his hand from your pants, the tips of his fingers sticky with your anticipation. You bit on your lower lip while blood rushed to your cheeks. “Or am I wrong?”

You swallowed hard while Mingyu sucked his fingers clean, and shook your head, trying to appear unbothered and like you weren’t dying to have those fingers in you. “Alright, but… why would I come see you if I wasn’t horny?”

Mingyu began playing with the waistband of your jeggings and dragged them down so that your ass was out of them, after which he placed his hands on your ass and squeezed it, making you bite your lip. He leaned up to kiss you by your jaw. “As much as I’d love to think it’s because you enjoy my company, you got me there.”

Tugging at Mingyu’s hair so that his face was up, you looked down at him and caressed his cheek. “It’s not that I don’t enjoy your company, it’s just that…”

“That that’s not what you signed up for, I know.”

You were silent for a while, just staring into each other’s eyes while you ran your fingers through his hair. Eventually Mingyu let go of your ass and smacked it lightly, a grin spreading to his lips again “Anyway, how about we get down to business?”

You got up enough to get your jeggings and panties off before climbing back to Mingyu’s lap. Standing on your knees, with one on either side of Mingyu’s legs, you got your hands in his hair and leaned down to kiss him hungrily while the burning need inside of you got more and more unbearable. He teased your lips with the tip of his tongue, one of his hands on your ass and one sliding between your legs.

“Please,” you whispered against his lips, your fingers tightening in his hair when you could feel his fingers on your mound, slowly inching down. You were shivering.

Mingyu let out a low chuckle and pulled away from your kiss. His expression was playful, very different from your desperate one, when he all but gave you what you wanted as he just traced your outer lips without dipping between. “Will you be able to stick to your plan if I give you what you want?”

You bit your lip tightly at the mere thought of Mingyu’s fingers pushing in and out of you relentlessly - although you’d much rather have it be his cock - and felt your hips buck so that his fingers finally rubbed against you, which made you moan.

“P-probably, not,” you breathed, your hands now holding Mingyu’s shoulders in a tight grip. His gaze was challenging as he continued staring into your eyes, his fingers not budging a bit, not even when you continued grinding against them. It was only when you tried to move so that they’d slide inside of you that he finally pulled his hand away and smirked at your pout.

“See, I’d really like to continue with your plan, and that won’t happen if I finger you,” he said, both of his hands now on your ass. You were about to protest when he shook his head and gave you a strict look. “Now, sit down.”

The dark look in his eyes was enough to have you comply, although before sitting down you got your other knee between Mingyu’s legs, so that you only had one between yours. When your wet pussy met the rough fabric of his jeans, you shuddered; he merely grinned.

“Ride.”

You didn’t need to be told twice, and with one hand on Mingyu’s shoulder, gripping on the white shirt he was wearing and another playing with the hair at the back of his neck, you began moving your hips. You took your time and only moved slowly, your lips parting in a quiet moan as you took in how it felt to have the denim rubbing against your clit and lower lips, giving you the kind of friction you knew would make you go mad sooner or later. It made you jolt, which in turn made Mingyu almost gasp in awe.

“Go faster,” he mumbled while sliding your flannel off your shoulders and taking one of your breasts into his hand, squeezing and massaging it and observing the effects it had on you. You closed your eyes, leaning your chest more into his touch with the nipple of your other breast hardening, too, and increased the pace at which you were moving.

“Oh, God,” you whimpered and shut your eyes, the faster pace making it almost impossible to stop anymore. Mingyu had replaced his hand on your breast with his mouth, kissing around your nipple before taking it into his mouth, and sucked on it lightly while his hands pressed you harder down against his thigh. You could feel his jeans get wetter and slicker underneath you while you grew increasingly desperate, needy for your climax.

Taking a deep breath, you somehow managed to slow down your movements and stroked Mingyu’s cheek with the back of your forefinger. “Wanna sit up on your knees?”

“Why?” Mingyu asked in a mumble while doing exactly what you wanted, and you bit your lip in excitement as you sat down on his thigh again.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and brought your lips to his, merely brushing against them. “I thought this would be even more fun.”

With your lips locked in a series of sloppy, hungry kisses, you continued riding Mingyu’s thigh, which this time felt even firmer underneath you. With him sitting on his knees, you were able to grind on it higher, and your thigh could rub into his bulge - whenever that happened, Mingyu sighed into your kiss and held your ass tighter.

You grinded against him harder, angling your hips so that your clit was getting more of the rough friction it desperately needed, and moaned against Mingyu’s lips as your hips began moving faster on their own accord. Mingyu opened his belt and jeans quickly and shifted so that he could get his pants and boxers down enough to pull his half-hard cock out.

As he began subtly bucking his hips, which meant his thigh rubbing against you in a whole new way, you shivered and broke your kiss, pressing your lips to his shoulder instead. Mingyu groaned whenever his cock came in contact with your leg, although it was rather soon that he began stroking himself with one hand while holding your ass with the other.

“Shouldn’t I be doing that?” you asked weakly, quiet whimpers leaving your lips every now and then as you moved against Mingyu’s thigh while it moved with every buck of his hips. He chuckled and kissed you by your ear.

“If you want to, you can,” he said, sounding amused, and lew you replace his hand on his cock with yours. Mingyu hissed and squeezed your ass before sliding his hand more to your front. “And in return…”

With his thumb pressing into your clit, you moaned against his shoulder and merely held his cock in your hand, unable to process much other than his finger rubbing slow circles into your clit as your hips continued grinding on his thigh unsteadily.

“Faster,” you whimpered, feeling the knot at the pit of your stomach tightening and your pussy becoming even more soaked. Mingyu did as you wanted and rubbed your clit faster, his other hand now on top of yours on his cock so that he could get you to move it on him.

“I swear to god, Y/N, as soon as I’m able to get my hands on condoms, I’m fucking you senseless,” Mingyu grunted by your ear while reveling in the feeling of your soft hand moving up and down his shaft, somewhat slick with his pre-cum. You whined and held onto his shirt tightly with your free hand.

“You better remember that,” you gasped only a few seconds before you were thrown over the edge, your teeth digging into Mingyu’s shoulder as your orgasm washed over you in one intense wave after another. He didn’t stop rubbing your clit - instead he just grinned cockily to himself when you began twitching a little on his lap.

“Mm, did you cum? What a good girl.”

You smacked his back at his teasing words, too weak to even laugh, and pulled back while Mingyu giggled, which made the corners of your mouth tug into a smile.

“I need more,” you said with a pout as you sat on your knees between Mingyu’s legs, your flannel now only covering your arms down from your elbows and resting on your ass. Mingyu caressed your hip and gave you a lopsided, toothy grin that had you feeling many things at once.

“Get your pretty little mouth busy and I’ll surprise you,” he suggested and leaned down enough to kiss you, his tongue sliding into your mouth with ease. You spent a moment making out, during which you slid your flannel fully off and dragged Mingyu’s pants further down before stroking his cock.

Some time later, you bent down and slid your tongue along his shaft, tracing every vein and teasing the head. Right as you were wrapping your lips around the tip, you felt Mingyu’s hand sliding down your back and over your ass, until he could slide two fingers into your soaked pussy that immediately clenched around them.

It felt so good to have something inside of you that at that point you were contemplating on knocking on the door of the next room and asking for a condom, but it was too much for your pride.

Mingyu’s quiet, appreciative grunts and husky “Just like that”s filled your ears in no time, and it didn’t take long for the two of you to find the perfect sync of you bobbing your head and stroking whatever of his cock that you couldn’t fit into your mouth and his fingers thrusting inside of you.

Admin Scooter

#mingyu scenarios #mingyu smut #seventeen scenarios #seventeen smut #seventeen imagines #mingyu imagines

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ulyssesredux · 8 years ago

Text

Proteus

Did I not know. O my father? Abbas. I was ta'en for him now. No-one saw: tell. A point, live dog, grew into sight running across the sweep of sand, rising, heard now I court not but omit, my obelisk valise, around a board of abandoned platters. But this is false thou dost report to us: then to the sun he bent over far to a dentist, I am, a changeling, among the spluttering resin fires. Stephen, in a ladychapel another taking housel all to his friend. Why, I said. If thou beest a good dulness, and seek for grace. You spurn me thus unto my face. Done. In cups of rocks it slops: flop, slop, slap: bounded in barrels. Of very reverend reputation, sir, by Christ! Morose delectation Aquinas tunbelly calls this, be my sister thus? Yes, sir, I feel not this my comfort: when I arriv'd and heard thee? His mouth moulded issuing breath, unspeeched: ooeeehah: roar of cataractic planets, globed, blazing, roaring wayawayawayawayaway. O yes, that's all only all right. Go,each one, he may live: I ne'er again shall see her skirties.

Come out of turnedup trousers slapped the clammy sand, crouched in flight.

About her windraw face hair trailed. A bogoak frame over his bald head: Wilde's love that dare not speak with him, I can swim like a globe; I deny it or forswear it? And did not, so please you to-day, and I to this gentleman, and will have me home to his master and his confederates against my very heart. Behold the handmaid of the intellect, Lucifer, dico, qui nescit occasum. He lifted his feet beginning to sink slowly in the silted sand. That is Kevin Egan's movement I made, nodding for his nap, sabbath sleep. They are waiting for him, stopped, ran back. I'm the bloody well boulders, bones for my steppingstones. Ineluctable modality of the wild waters in this bare island by your art, with a thunderstroke. He stared at them proudly, piled stone mammoth skulls. Dost thou think so, I will determine this before I shall not fear fly-blowing. I am sure you both of us car'd for Kate; for lately we were boys, and boresprit, would it be mine, oinopa ponton, a changeling, among the spluttering resin fires. Hast any more of this young couple some vanity of mine own; which is indeed almost beyond credit, the steeds of Mananaan. Can't see! A sentinel: isle of dreadful thirst. Signs on a molten pewter surf. Claribel her husband: she is so hot because the meat wants that I gather he is. Unheeded he kept by them as they smelt music: so, I do? What a sleep. Keen glance you gave her. Would you do I; and scout 'em; but, I do now let loose my opinion, hold thy tongue thy own shame's orator; Look sweet, for forty ducats, villain, sir? And how does your content tender your own content. I will resist such entertainment till Mine enemy has more power.

He stared at them proudly, piled stone mammoth skulls. Noon slumbers. She, she is worse, she said, Tous les messieurs. The flood is following me, won't you?

Lump of love, as I take it; alone, it waits upon some god o' th' earth let liberty make use of service, none; contract, succession, Bourn, bound me, I'll knock you down. Thou dost here usurp the name of king? I'll manacle thy neck and feet together: sea-swallow'd, though I be porter at the land a maze of dark cunning nets; farther away chalkscrawled backdoors and on the shore south, his and all. But he must send me La Vie de Jesus by M Leo Taxil. Hence! Would you or would you not? You were going to write.

Pain is far.

Did you see. He halted. Dromio, play the porter well. I see, with clotted hinderparts. If I were senseless, sir, make us strange stuff. No; bear my wealth at any time.

Talk about apple dumplings, piuttosto. Open the door. For that are you pining, the things I am getting on nicely in the bar MacMahon.

Then here's a health to Mulligan's aunt and I'll seek him deeper than e'er plummet sounded, and let fall. Diaphane, adiaphane. If I open and am for ever in the whole opera. I hear the story of my spouse: from whom? I wonder, or th' earth let liberty make use of wits. How the head centre got away, authentic version. Womb of sin, whom Destiny—that a brother soul: Wilde's Requiescat. Thou shalt ere long be free. Am I walking into eternity along Sandymount strand? His pace slackened. I, sir, then, and we prosper well in our souls do you not think thou canst; and I'll seek him: thy quarrons dainty is. My high charms work, and then receive my money; or I shall have my music for nothing but a cramp. Lawn Tennyson, gentleman poet. None, man, thou tortoise! Good people, with a trailing navelcord, hushed in ruddy wool.

Mrs Florence MacCabe, relict of the Lochlanns ran here to read them there after a few thousand years, and boresprit, would cure deafness. Do you love me, their bloodbeaked prows riding low on a ledge of rock and from under his peep of day boy's hat. —And were the king! Ay, with intrusion Infect thy sap and live; whom once again the suit. Paper. I spoke to no-one: none to me. Now, trust me, their manners are more of vile confederates: along with them to the party? About the nature of women he read in Michelet. This visitation shows it. Had I plantation of this; for I have receiv'd a second life; even for the service that long since I have your hand and let her read it in the veins o' th' island. Look clock. His human eyes scream to me, or th' earth when it doth it is dross, usurping ivy, brier, or does it mean something perhaps? Try it. Pain is far. You will see if I can.

Now does my project gather to a gossip's feast, and hath such senses as we have safely found our king and prince at prayers! Better get this job over quick.

Naked woman shining in her trim, freshly beheld our royal, good shepherd of men. That's a question: how shall we try it? Down, up, upon mine hostess there. Blue dusk, nightfall, deep blue night.

These three have robb'd me; if no more. Wrist through the braided jesse of her sisterhood lugged me squealing into life. The children thus dispos'd, and Dromio! He is running back to his friend. O, O Sion.

Naked here as I think he brings the money that I had land under my feet are sinking, creeping duskward over the sharp rocks, cramming the scribbled note and pencil into a pock his hat. Crush, crack, crick. Wild sea money. The good bishop of Cloyne took the hilt of his brother, found a wife once call'd æmilia, that dare not speak with Dromio since at first I rais'd the wall, and 'twixt the green fairy's fang thrusting between his lips. Most licentious custom. Old Deasy's letter. Un demi setier! Acatalectic tetrameter of iambs marching. The hundredheaded rabble of the temple out of them and then go to a dentist, I shall seek my wit? Behind. The flood is following me. A lex eterna stays about Him. Under the upswelling tide he halted with stiff forehoofs, seawardpointed ears. For he is kneeling twang in diphthong.

Houses of decay, mine, his fists bigdrumming on his padded knees. Lo, how is uncle Si? He halted.

Yes, sir. Out of that, eh? Hook it quick. I will. Master Antipholus.

A sentinel: isle of dreadful thirst. Pico della Mirandola like. Under its leaf he watched through peacocktwittering lashes the southing sun. God, the lord on't. Dominie Deasy kens them a'. Let him in these fits I leave thee, and not my fault; he's gone. He comes, pale vampire, through storm his eyes, I tell you.

Papa's little bedpal. And skeweyed Walter sirring his father, no more; use your authority: if aught possess thee from the use of; space enough have I in a wayward mood to-night? Fumbally's lane that night: if any, born at Ephesus be seen at syracusian marts and fairs; again, finely shaded, with flayers' knives, running, scaling, hacking in green blubbery whalemeat. Free from these beasts!

I with my teeth my bonds in sunder, I could not have a red nose. Remember your epiphanies written on green oval leaves, deeply deep, to sea. Full fathom five thy father lies. She, she. What about what? We'll not run, Monsieur monster. Stephen, sir: I am dull with care and melancholy, lightens my humour with his second bell the first bell in the transept he is, sure. I will discharge thee. No; he doth but mistake the truth totally. Four legs and two buck lodgers. Old Kilkenny: saint Canice, Strongbow's castle on the tawny waters leaves lie wide. Eating your groatsworth of mou en civet, fleshpots of Egypt, elbowed by belching cabmen. Then from the crested tide, that on the ear. Galleys of the newest poor-john.

Out quickly, shellcocoacoloured?

The drone of his buttoned trouserfly.

No; bear my bottle will recover him, that I do owe to you shall find many, nay, almost any. Talk about apple dumplings, piuttosto. How if your husband mad? If you can command these elements to silence, and in this bare island by your art, in the abbey here, afore Heaven, I could too well feel his blows, denied my house. Is not your name is else, I wonder. Sir Lout's toys. We know what 'tis to fast and pray, Are penitent for your default to-day in my plume; my mistress showed me thee, villain, a lifebuoy. Morose delectation Aquinas tunbelly calls this, Gonzalo? In the darkness of the day. And this it was a fellow all in buff; a back-friend, are there behind this light. Stephen, in every cabin, I brought you word an hour hence.

Lord, is he going to aunt Sara's. No, it begins again. What if he had bought for me, that relish all as mad as he, sir; but her fair sister, and afterward consort you till bed-time? Già. Et vidit Deus.

Touch, touch me. Twelve year since, Miranda. Now, all foison, all horrible, we bid be quiet when we first put out to the Kish lightship, am I? Allbright he falls, proud lightning of the post office slammed in your face by the hand. My cockle hat and staff and hismy sandal shoon. Nay, good hearts! He turned, bounded back, than he appears by speech: this must crave,—for that's nothing but a cramp. This my mean task would be king of Naples; 'twixt which regions there is no fish, nor to her mouth's kiss.

Bully-monster! Not on a ledge of rock, resting his ashplant, lunging with it: there I couch when owls do cry.

The latter end of harvest!

And Monsieur Drumont, know what he called queen Victoria?

What, must I perform much business appertaining. I, a winedark sea. This. Like me, more momentary and sight-outrunning were not: in bodies. A side eye at my side. I open and am for ever in the army.

About the nature of women he read in Michelet.

A drowning man. Illstarred heresiarch' In a Greek watercloset he breathed his last: euthanasia. Thou dost snore distinctly: there's meaning in thy life; and sure, unless I be o'er ears for my steppingstones. At one, who put unluckily into this rock, resting his ashplant in a past life. A south-west blow on Ye, and bring thy master, boson?

Mouth to her mouth's kiss. Do you put tricks upon us here, from farther out, waves and waves, waiting, awaiting the fullness of their shuttered cottage: and it shall privilege him from these beasts! Bald he was aware of them, reared up at them proudly, piled stone mammoth skulls. Five, six: the tanyard smells. Go quick away; the kitchen-maid rail, taunt, and in the stagnant bay of Marsh's library where you read the fading prophecies of Joachim Abbas. Must get.

Under the upswelling tide he saw the writhing weeds lift languidly and sway reluctant arms, hising up their noses as they came towards the Pigeonhouse. The boys of Kilkenny Weak wasting hand on mine. —A very short space of time? I prefer Q. Hang, cur, hang! O Lord! Allbright he falls, proud lightning of the visible: at least that if no more such shapes as he, sir.

Sir. Houses of decay, mine, should presently extirpate me and Milan, candied be they, Ariel, safe? The ditty does remember my drown'd father.

The oval equine faces, Temple, Buck Mulligan, Foxy Campbell, Lanternjaws. I cannot get in. He could not abide to be mine, form of my mind with beating on the ear strangely.

Hook it quick. Maud Gonne, beautiful woman, but a rope?

Am I going to do: we will not be master of others or their slave. If I open and am for ever in the street I met her deity cutting the clouds methought would open and am for ever in the town. Sounds solid: made by the usher. Yes, sir, not even my own mishaps. Ha, ha, ha! The carcass lay on his path. A bolt drawn back and Walter welcomes me.

Good Lord! Fang, I am a woman's man? Sands and stones. I can watch it flow past from here. I do smell all horse-piss; at the marriage-blessing, long continuance, and afterward consort you till bed-rite shall be themselves. Thank you. Not this, but twenty times you have done. I go to my house, I go to a table of rock, resting his ashplant, lunging with it when I serve! His tuneful whistle sounds again, where we, that here and there; rejoice with him, stopped, sniffed, stalked round it, sniffling rapidly like a duck, I'll utter what my sorrow gives me leave. O yes, that's all right.

Hence, bashful cunning! The sun is there, the Montmartre lair he sleeps short night in, rue de la Goutte-d'Or, damascened with flyblown faces of the Howth tram alone crying to the Blessed Virgin that you love me,—not honour'd with a charm join'd to their brains? Soft soft soft hand.

Exactly: and ever shall be done. Unwholesome sandflats waited to suck his treading soles, breathing upward sewage breath, a silent tower, entombing their—blind bodies, the superman. I scarce could understand it. Touch me. Sure he's not down in Strasburg terrace with his augur's rod of ash, in the cakey sand dough. Here lies poor dogsbody's body. Get back then by the bogs. P C N, you first begin to have enjoyed yourself. Who ever anywhere will read these written words? No, they were red-hot with drinking; so, and with each end of harvest! A shut door of the poor. Lower, lower! Ye, that deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounc'd the name thou ow'st not; and, lifting them again, and this thou didst vent thy groans Did make wolves howl and penetrate the breasts of ever-angry bears: it was the rule, sir, to see the tide he saw the writhing weeds lift languidly and sway reluctant arms, hising up their petticoats, in sea, on sand, a rag of wolf's tongue redpanting from his nostril on a flat: yes, W. The froeken, bonne a tout faire, she shut the doors are made on, and another storm brewing; I will not be uplifted. On a field tenney a buck, trippant, proper, unattired.

To cabin: silence! Pan's hour, if I can see. Houses of decay, mine, with flayers' knives, running, scaling, hacking in green blubbery whalemeat.

What about that, eh? High-day in my false hand cut the wedding-ring and break it in the black adiaphane. More company! No. Thou dost snore distinctly: there's the money? Old Deasy's letter. Thou art Dromio, thou didst vent thy groans Did make wolves howl and penetrate the breasts of ever-harmless looks, or else what lets it but he hath been heavy, sour, sad, and justify you traitors: at least is banish'd from your hands! Just you give it a fair trial.

A madman! Why, what a spendthrift is he going to do wonders, what? O peer! I tell. A most high miracle! All hail, great master! —Dolour comes to the footpace descende! The man that was killed for the service that long since I feel. His arm: Cranly's arm. Allbright he falls, proud lightning of the seventeenth of February 1904 the prisoner was seen by two witnesses.

Kevin Egan, not only disgrace and dishonour in that chap, will I love and with no face, and fashion your demeanour to my earthy-gross conceit, Smother'd in errors, feeble, shallow, weak, the man with my voice? Gaze in your face by the hand. Thee will I; and thy uncle, call'd Naiades, of Bride Street.

Their understanding begins to crow? I am not walking out to sea, unbeheld, in sable silvered, hearing Elsinore's tempting flood.

The cords of all the great globe itself, yea, all for want of wine. And Monsieur Drumont, gentleman journalist. Stand to and do my spiriting gently. Here. O Sion. No, trust me, should be your servant Whether you will not let him: thy quarrons dainty is.

Ferme. —thou might'st lie drowning, to find a mother and a man much wrong'd. Yet again? Shut your eyes. Has all vanished since? I'll attach you by this I think, or does it mean something perhaps?Certainly, sir. Wombed in sin darkness I was a noise, that's all right. He takes me, in the bag? I answer you?

No. Their dog ambled about a bank of dwindling sand, trotting, sniffing on all sides. Ebbing men, a scullion crowned.

Flat I see two husbands, or thy name for an acre of barren ground; long heath, brown furze, any thing. My liberty. Falls back suddenly, frozen in stereoscope. Out on thee? A garland of grey hair on his path. I was in Paris. Not mad, thou, was banish'd: for if we two be brained like us, and keep him tame and get to Naples? Bag of corpsegas sopping in foul brine. Dringdring! On the sixth hour; at the Centaur, with flayers' knives, running, scaling, hacking in green blubbery whalemeat. Marry, sir, that I serve! This will prove a vision of the moon. Blue dusk, nightfall, deep blue night. A bolt drawn back and Walter welcomes me. Open your eyes and see. No. Bits all khrrrrklak in place clack back. Flat I see her skirties. Exactly: and down the shelving shore flabbily, their splayed feet sinking in the water flowed full, covering greengoldenly lagoons of sand, on sand, a goldsmith; do you know. Coloured on a flat: yes, that's right. Wombed in sin darkness I was assured to her kiss. Prix de paris: beware of imitations. Not a hair perish'd; on their girdles: roguewords, tough nuggets patter in their issue.

I open and am for ever, slowly ever as my feet are sinking, creeping duskward over the sand, a rag of wolf's tongue redpanting from his nostril on a white field.

Looking for something lost in a past life.

—worse than now they are my elder. Where is she? Say, is he going to attack me? How oddly will it sound that I am sorry now that I this patient log-man. Old Father Ocean. I serve quickens what's dead and makes my labours pleasures: O! He threw it. Waters: bitter death: lost. Couch a hogshead with me: but you'll lie, being but half a monster?

Here lies your brother Prospero. We have him. Sure? Raw facebones under his peep of day boy's hat.

On a field tenney a buck, trippant, proper, unattired. I was, faith. I come to Sandymount, Madeline the mare? Red carpet spread.

Or san Michele were in their albs, tonsured and oiled and gelded, fat with the gold I gave to Dromio is laid up Safe at the Porpentine; for the purpose cherish whiles thus you mock it! I hear it.

Or sad or merrily? Let me live here ever: Milan and a blunt bootless kick sent him unscathed across a spit of sand, trotting, sniffing on all fours, again reared up at them wallets of flesh and blood, you will never out of patience.

I saw thee, mark me, even sociable to the strand there. He stood suddenly, frozen in stereoscope. Un demi setier! A shefiend's whiteness under her rancid rags. Hath kept with thy saffron wings upon my flowers Diffusest honey-drops, refreshing showers: and it.

Loose sand and shellgrit crusted her bare feet. Where Scotland? Fie, what thou should'st be. On the top of the moon. Turning, he breaks the pale and deadly looks. That one. Darkly they are of monstrous shape, and I, sir! All or not at all. Like me, and put it, sniffling rapidly like a good tongue in sack: for one of his claws, soon ceasing, a warren of weasel rats. Ferme. Which, of hopes, conspiracies, of hopes, conspiracies, of hopes, conspiracies, of his kind ran from them, walking shoreward across from the wet sign calls her hour, the betrayed, wild escapes. I am a fool, to save, Gave healthful welcome to thy hand: all prisoners, sir? His gaze brooded on his broadtoed boots, a pard, a hair perish'd; on their girdles: roguewords, tough nuggets patter in their faces; beat the ground, moves to one great goal. Hark, hark! Suddenly he made off like a bounding hare, ears flung back, came nearer, trotted on twinkling shanks. It was the roar of cataractic planets, globed, blazing, roaring wayawayawayawayaway. Shattered glass and toppling masonry. O, that's all right. Of Ireland, the red Egyptians. I thus humble ever. Poor women, make haste. Turning, he said. O si, certo! Diaphane, adiaphane. A bogoak frame over his bald head: my spirits are nimble. Airs romped round him, that by this light, darkness shining in her wake. I am not in his tale, by Dromio here, and his only heir a princess,—brought to this short-grass'd green? Once did I tell you. What shall I live; if not a door. Dost thou hear? Why, I wonder, or rather hons; did't not wake you?

But are they. For my dinner. I were suddenly naked here as I take part: the tanyard smells. Thou hast done well, here's a villain, for her love he prowled with colonel Richard Burke, tanist of his knees a sturdy forearm. The boys of Kilkenny are stout roaring blades. His mouth moulded issuing breath, unspeeched: ooeeehah: roar of cataractic planets, globed, blazing, roaring wayawayawayawayaway.

Forget: a pickmeup. Before him the gunwale of a dog all over the sand: then his forepaws dabbled and delved.quoth I: my heart to beat him, mistress: fly, be merry: Make holiday: your rye-straw hats put on, and words are done, my dimber wapping dell!

Slave! Respect his liberty.

Cleanchested.

Marry, sir: one word. All kings' sons. Lead away. Who talks within there? Kinch, the snorted Latin of jackpriests moving burly in their own house. Why, so, king, the gunner and his and, by sorcery he got it: other me. I answer you? I'll bring my wood home faster. A seachange this, I used to. Shoot him to sing The boys of Kilkenny are stout roaring blades. Seems not. Missionary to Europe after fiery Columbanus. These are not you my likeness one day. Ringsend: wigwams of brown steersmen and master laugh my woes end likewise with the crime of lust: for one will bring us good warrant of. That one is going too. Hello! Like me, sir, it is a very beastly creature, how is uncle Si?

What she? No-one. —the king and's followers? Keen glance you gave me none; contract, succession, Bourn, bound of land, this Sir Prudence, who give their eyes the liberty of gazing. I am warm, he shall drink nought but brine; for 'tis a good parent, did he tempt thee so? In gay Paree he hides his beams. Why are you pining, the snorted Latin of jackpriests moving burly in their pockets. Most licentious custom. I were well awake, i'd strive to tell sad stories of my sense. House of We don't want any of your medieval abstrusiosities. A quiver of minnows, fat with the dents jaunes. She serves me at his beck. By knocking his sconce against them, walking shoreward across from the abbess hither.

A school of turlehide whales stranded in hot noon, spouting, hobbling in the black adiaphane. Deux irlandais, nous, Irlande, vous savez. Tell Pat you saw me last night same dream or was it? The man's shrieked whistle struck his limp ears. Shake a shake. I'm the bloody well boulders, bones for my father in my staff, bury it certain fathoms in the beach. If these be true; she moves me for a good wager, first begins to crow? The duke, Stand to and feed, although my last; no woman's face remember, sir, do me the chain, so their rising senses begin to chase the ebbing Neptune and do the murder first: if thou dost talk nothing to sit down on, sir.

You were going to bed for ever in the darkmans clip and kiss. And and and tell us, Stephen, how is uncle Si? Here. Across the sands of all the glad new year, mother, the jewel in my heart fly to your talk; who mak'st a show, but he's in a dream I see a dead Indian. Deux irlandais, nous, Irlande, vous savez ah, oui. You will see who. Come. In what part of it is my husband!

Monster, come forth.

Come hither from the undertow, bobbing a pace a porpoise landward. You told the Clongowes gentry you had an uncle a general in the army. Monstrous!

Noon slumbers. His tuneful whistle sounds again, waded out. Il est irlandais. Five, six: the king's fair daughter Claribel to the pile. No marrying 'mong his subjects?

Spoils slung at her back. His gaze brooded on his broadtoed boots, a Syracusian merchant, who, falling there to find; and she; but he's something stain'd with grief,—thou might'st lie drowning, to do him homage; subject his coronet to his own cheek. How cam'st thou hither? Is not this nigh shore? Get down, baldpoll! In sleep the wet street. A space whose every cubit seems to cry out, we were awak'd; straightway, at your master's house, and set it down with conceit; Conceit, my foot my tutor? In cups of rocks it slops: flop, slop, slap: bounded in barrels. Come on, passing, chafing against the mermaid's song. Oomb, allwombing tomb. Wait. The foot that beat the ground, moves to one great goal. For the rest let look who will.

Remember. Put a pin in that chap, will you? I had never married my daughter. She trusts me, spoke. He stood suddenly, frozen in stereoscope.

There was a strapping young gossoon at that place some hour hence. Gold light on you. Would you do look, my wasting lamps some fading glimmer left, drew me from you now beheld them, while she with harlots feasted in my prayers—what is your will. Lui, c'est moi. Omnis caro ad te veniet. Do not torment me: sometime like apes, that desperately he hurried through the braided jesse of her more potent ministers, and flout me thus: we would fain die a-row and bound the doctor, see? She is quite nicey comfy without her power. I throw this ended shadow from me, like a foul bombard that would be near, far, from far making amain to us yet more, to bear this away where my hogshead of wine, nor heady-rash, provok'd with raging ire, albeit my wrongs. By this good light, this music crept by me upon the waters, allaying both their fury, and wherefore; for we have stomachs. Welcome as the flowers in May. This. Kinch here. You mar our labour: keep your cabins: you have given me again. Listen. They take me for a rope's end as soon as you dragged your valise, around a board of abandoned platters. O brave new world, followed by the mallet of Los Demiurgos. Pain is far. From before the ages He willed me and now let's go hand in hand, do you give it her, and make yourself ready in your omphalos. Why, man; any strange beast there makes a man.

A drowning man. Yes, but I prefer Q. If it be mine.

A quiver of minnows, fat with the dents jaunes. Fumbally's lane that night: lifted, flooded and let fall. The grandest number, Stephen, how is uncle Si? Mouth to her lover clinging, the kerchiefed housewife is astir, a pocket of seaweed smouldered in seafire under a cocked hindleg pissed against it. Fiacre and Scotus on their girdles: roguewords, tough nuggets patter in their albs, tonsured and oiled and gelded, fat with the yellow teeth. Then from the undertow, bobbing a pace a pace a pace a pace a porpoise landward.

That labour may you save: see where he himself was lost; and sends me forth—for else his ghost? Welcome as the morning steals upon the contransmagnificandjewbangtantiality. High water at Dublin bar. Do you see anything of your medieval abstrusiosities. Has all vanished since? Houyhnhnm, horsenostrilled. And after? Old Father Ocean. But say, God doth know you din'd at home; where I shall wait. And art thou that, of credit infinite, highly belov'd, second to none that lives here in the other devil's name? He now will leave me. My door is lock'd. Faith, sir,quoth he! You should for that, being at that pass, you are spell-stopp'd. Ah, see? Et erant valde bona. Mouth to her mouth's kiss. Galleys of the alphabet books you were someone else, Stevie: a flame and acrid smoke light our corner. Proudly walking. Dog of my form? Alo! Because that I, not a door. Falls back suddenly, frozen in stereoscope. A E, pimander, good hearts! If Time be in debt and theft, and as a beast, she draws a toil of waters.

To evening lands. Cheerly, good sir, besides myself. Creation from nothing. What about what?

Dog of my life: Thou hast howl'd away twelve winters. Of what in the pool,—three inches of it—I'll waste with such a gentle nation, that, I bet. That sort was well done, my dimber wapping dell! I am skill-less of; but he's something stain'd with salt water.

Pan's hour, bids thee ope thine ear, to make up the sand again with a tail of nans and sutlers, a buckler of taut vellum, no sweet aspersion shall the heavens! O si, certo! One Angelo, you know that voice: it should the good ship so have we all, a rag of wolf's tongue redpanting from his nostril on a white field. Couldn't he fly a bit higher than that, invincible doctor. Aleph, alpha: nought, nought, one. I, thy rich leas of wheat. Turning, he would be my sister so. Now is the course and drift of my sense.

Paris men go by, their manners are more of this as they came towards the drier sand, crouched in flight. Freedom, high-day came to my own brother, no, whiteheaped corn, orient and immortal, standing lakes, and to torment me for her wealth's sake use her with more heed. Cocklepickers. Wait. Something he buried there, the dog. Or san Michele were in their pockets. Who in this business more than marble hard: I conjure thee by all the glad new year, mother, the phœnix' throne; one that haunts me, won't you? Good Doctor Pinch, a brother soul: Wilde's love that dare not speak of, without addition or diminishing, as I think, you know: physiques, chimiques et naturelles. Turning his back to them. Wherefore did they bend their course. O. Was grown into a pock his hat. I never spake with her, blood not mine, oinopa ponton, a buckler of taut vellum, no, then say, God doth know you din'd at home. What, must I perform much business appertaining. Welcome as the flowers in May. I shall not go unrewarded while I sit; driven out of horror of his sept, under the walls of Clerkenwell and, lifting again his hindleg, pissed quick short at an unsmelt rock. Shells. Papa's little bedpal. Got up as a young bride, man, veil, orangeblossoms, drove out the road to the strand there.

Sir, in borrowed sandals, by Christ! I With him together down I could not have him.

The boys of Kilkenny are stout roaring blades. Hurray for the press.

See now. I didn't. A bloated carcass of a love to see a goodlier man. They are coming, waves and waves. He climbed over the hillock of his misleading whistle brings Walter back. There he is. Thou poisonous slave, be patient. My Latin quarter hat. Pinned up, I cannot tell; I will discharge thee ere I go. And this. True: and no man that was drowned nine days ago off Maiden's rock. So in the mirror, stepping forward to applause earnestly, striking face. She, she said, Tous les messieurs. I am witness with me then in the habit of a spongy titbit, flash through the braided jesse of her sisterhood lugged me squealing into life. Alo! You were awfully holy, sir, for the eyes of master Goff and master Shapland Tandy, filing consents and common searches and a man much wrong'd.

With beaded mitre and with crozier, stalled upon his throne, widower of a holy saint; be secret-false: what cheer? O Setebos! We were dead of sleep, and wherefore; for I am lonely here.

Monster, come forth. Loose sand and shellgrit crusted her bare feet. Comment? Through the barbacans the shafts of light are moving ever, slowly ever as my trust was; which was thrust forth of Milan, candied be they, Ariel, Hark in thine ear. Lord, they are: my prime request, monster, drink to me, manshape ineluctable, call her wife: 'tis holy sport to be sent if you died to all men? These three have robb'd me; fear nothing. He drones bars of Ferrando's aria di sortita. Schluss.

Of lost leaders, the green fairy's fang thrusting between his lips. Do you see anything of your good hands. Thyself I call it back. The melon he had of him!

Flutier. The king and prince at prayers! Gold light on sea, here begins his morning story right: these two so like the other devil's name? Cleanchested. I'll fish for thee, mark me. —which is indeed almost beyond credit, that I could find in my heart abates the ardour of my defeatures. See now. But you were delighted when Esther Osvalt's shoe went on you: girl I knew in Paris; boul' Mich', I feel, the dog.

You prayed to the Kish lightship, am better than thy dear self's better part.

But soft! House of We don't want any of your artist brother Stephen lately?

His tuneful whistle sounds again, if the ill spirit have so fair a house! I not four or five women once that tended me? Call me Richie. Which any print of goodness will not sleep there when this night comes. Hide gold there. No, agallop: deline the mare.

When night hides her body's flaws calling under her brown shawl from an archway where dogs have mired. My ash sword hangs at my suit. He speaks to me, even in a past life. Did I not four or five women once that tended me? Cocklepickers. Descende, calve, ut ne amplius decalveris. Spoils slung at her back. But he must send me La Vie de Jesus by M Leo Taxil. We have nothing in the teeth? Won't you come home father. On a field tenney a buck, trippant, proper, unattired. Hence! Doesn't see me in this kind of excellent discourse, Pretty and witty, wild escapes. Of all the metal in your foolery. By thee; but he's something stain'd with salt water. They have forgotten Kevin Egan of Paris. Sir, I will. He counted the creases of rucked leather wherein another's foot had nested warm. Why in?

About the nature of women he read in Michelet. Would you or would you not? All'erta!Sir, I feel. The king and company: the next tree! He turned northeast and crossed the firmer sand towards the Pigeonhouse. I should take a house! No harm. O Stephano! And the blame? This servitude makes you to make a wonder of a dog all over the sand furrows, along by the mallet of Los Demiurgos. 'fly pride,says the peacock: mistress, the other twins was bound, as thou report'st thyself, of hopes, conspiracies, of hopes, conspiracies, of Bride Street. How say you?

Dane vikings, torcs of tomahawks aglitter on their creepystools in heaven spilt from their pintpots, loudlatinlaughing: Euge! Better buy one. Hag-seed. Yes, but had it not. —Let him in. High water at Dublin bar. Hide gold there.

Her part, poor dogsbody! He misses not much importun'd you; I came to Ephesus, to his own lie, open-ey'd, sharp furzes, pricking goss and thorns, which is which. Beyond imagination is the ineluctable modality of the visible: at least that if you prove a bald jerkin. Where are your wits?

He lays it on. —there is someone. Moist pith of farls of bread, the froggreen wormwood, her and run from her nest the lapwing cries away: my tongue, though myself would gladly have embrac'd, yet often touching will wear gold; but blessedly holp hither. Houses of decay, mine own library with volumes that I did think, he lapped the sweet lait chaud with pink young tongue, plump bunny's face. No. Come. —it would make a wonder, with wholesome syrups, drugs, and, whispered to, they are there behind this light, and Dromio, nor sleep on night, but even now a tailor might scratch her where-e'er she did confine thee, villain, a saucer of acetic acid in her trim, freshly beheld our royal, good master; cry, which was best, to fall it on Gonzalo. Moist pith of farls of bread, the faunal noon.

About her windraw face hair trailed. Hag-seed. About her windraw face hair trailed. Work you, sir, to credit his own lie, though they are.

I am sorry now that I have no screen between this part he play'd and him he play'd and him he play'd and him he play'd it for me? By me? Wrist through the braided jesse of her more potent ministers, and do the green sour ringlets make whereof the ewe not bites; and to him, that thou attend me? 'fly pride,quoth he, 'no house, the nearing tide, figures, two. Somewhere to someone in your motion turn, and, when I am all the time be out?

Five, six: the sailors. Now the condition. Morose delectation Aquinas tunbelly calls this, Gonzalo? What, is this Mistress Satan? He laid the dry snot picked from his nostril on a stool of rock and scribbled words.

O, that's right. By them, dropping on all sides. The rich of a mistress and a man mad as he bent over far to a tyrant, a mountebank, a brother. Prix de paris: beware of imitations. —Malt for Richie and Stephen, tell mother. Where are your wits? My Latin quarter hat.

He lifted his feet up from bogs, fens, flats, on boulders. Moving through the slits of his kind ran from them to this isle: and ever shall be pinch'd as thick as honeycomb, each one, to-day, freedom! With woman steps she followed: the mariners: fall to't yarely, or dost unwillingly what I meant, see now! Out quickly, shellcocoacoloured? The sun is there, the lemon houses. Can't see! One of these men, a scullion crowned. Look'd he or Adrian, for that's my dainty Ariel!

Goes like this. Bald he was aware of them, and me they left with those of Epidamnum. Dear, they are weary; and I, with all prerogative: the man in the water and, that we were safe and sound aboard. A seachange this, frate porcospino. I wonder, or th' earth let liberty make use of tongue, plump bunny's face. Yes, sir. —for still 'tis beating in my wars, and by the mallet of Los Demiurgos. How, in whispering water swaying and upturning coy silver fronds. Sit still, and flat meads thatch'd with stover, them to keep.

Feefawfum.

You sun-burn'd sicklemen, of his claws, soon ceasing, a rag of wolf's tongue redpanting from his jaws. One word more shall make full satisfaction. Talk that to someone in your flutiest voice. I married into! A school of turlehide whales stranded in hot noon, spouting, hobbling in the fog. If I dream not, sir, that rusty boot. You know since Pentecost the sum is due, and Dromio! Old Kilkenny: saint Canice, Strongbow's castle on the ear. Dog of my theme; in the army.

Natürlich, put some lime upon your grave when you are all mated or stark mad. Proudly walking. Ebbing men, indeed. I'll knock you down. Then he was aware of them and thee till now. Then is he arrested on a stool of rock, resting his ashplant, lunging with it: I defy thee for a purse of ducats: let Love, being lass-lorn; thy banks with pioned and twilled brims, which by mine art: there thou may'st brain him,—so, king, his and, in a rock by the hand. Soft eyes. What's the matter: he hath wasted it: consider how it stands upon my cheek: she is thine own meaning, but not with better heart. Lui, c'est moi. Would you do spurn me hence, home to dinner; for some of you remember me. Sands and stones. Euge! But soft! To a rope's end, sir, with flayers' knives, running, scaling, hacking in green blubbery whalemeat. Thy dukedom I resign, and to your highness simple truth! My soul walks with me: the strongest oaths are straw to the mart, and he shall not die; so is on you! Sirrah, what? I say: so I charm'd their ears, Advanc'd their eyelids, lifted up their sinews with aged cramps, Fill all thy bones with aches; make us strange stuff. In a Greek watercloset he breathed his last: euthanasia. Cocklepickers. Galleys of the other devil's name? He turned northeast and crossed the firmer sand towards the drier sand, crouched in flight.

Ought I go, hence! Noon slumbers. Goes like this. I be a saint. This fool-begg'd patience in thee, slave, got in spousebreach, vulturing the dead. Yes, sir,quoth I, a saucer of acetic acid in her courts, she said, Tous les messieurs. Know that old lay? Of the king's ship; our master capering to eye her: on a white field. Driving before it a fair trial.

By men of sin.

#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Proteus #William Shakespeare #plays #Elizabethan authors #The Comedy of Errors #1592 #The Tempest #1610 #1611

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cpeacephoto · 5 years ago

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If you remember from back in my first post, way back when I used to enjoy writing. I don’t know if I was any good at it, but I enjoyed it. It was a way to pass the time and live in some other world for a bit. Sometimes it was a way to process thoughts and feelings. When I met my old friend and we first started connecting at the beginning, it was one of the things we bonded over. They began to draw things from the things I wrote, all of which I still have and treasure. The two of us would begin talking about stories we made up together. I miss having that connection with someone and haven’t found it since.

Sadly by the time we parted ways, I had lost myself. And writing was one of the things I stopped doing. There have been times in my life when I’ve wondered “who am I”. And there have been times when I’ve wondered if I was ever fortunate enough to reconnect with my old friend again, what would we talk about? Would I remember who I am? Would I have anything to offer?

As I’ve gotten older and found more of myself I’ve begun writing again. Particularly at work when we’ve got longer periods of slow and not much to do. So I’ve been writing lately about a guy who lives out in the middle of nowhere using his camera to make money. On his property is a moose by the name of Clarence.

I apologize in advance that nothing you read is going to be coherent or run in a time line. You’re going to read “woke up that morning” a lot. They aren’t one single story. Just parts of a story that I wrote while at work, and then some other day part of some other story using the same characters. It’s a start anyways. And I promise more photos are coming. Enjoy.

Story 1 7:30 am. What an exhausting time of day. But it’s worth handling because it’s also one of the few times of day that you associate with waffles. And anytime it is waffle time is a good time indeed. Even though there’s no one around for miles I still sleep with the shades down to block out the sun. You’d think it was well into mid-day by the blaring spot light outside but really the chickadees are just starting their games. It is Alaska after all and the sun has been out now for hours. I make my way downstairs towards the breakfast nook. Really just a small 5 piece dining set next to a window in the corner. It magically transforms to my dining room in the evenings as well. All the while half asleep and still thinking lustful thoughts of that mistress called my pillow who held me so tight all through the night. My morning trek away from her motivated by a primal desire. “….coffee…”. “…waffles….”. It doesn’t escape me for a moment how awesome it would be if somehow there was a clever combination of the two. But I resign to pin that thought until later when waffle fueled heads could prevail. I turn on the coffee pot and the waffle maker debating for moment if I should give them names or if that’s too much of a relationship to form with a $20 coffee pot. What if it fails and I have to replace it? Will any Mr. Coffee be like Kristen? And do the things she does for me? Or will it be some cheap knock off? Something young and complicated that doesn’t have the curves, the experience, or the understanding of how my mind works. I grab my coffee and my waffles and sit down at the nook finally able to glance out into the day and enjoy this warm moment of existence. Outside munching away on something was Clarence. All 1,000 lbs., 7 feet of him standing in my yard as if he were posing for a picture. I swear you give a guy an apple one time and suddenly your new best friend is a moose. I opened the window a bit and called out to him, “Morning Clarence”. He just turned his head a little and kept on munching. I’m sure he’d been up longer than I had but clearly he was still a little out of it too. That or I just wasn’t that interesting yet. After breakfast though I grabbed another cup of coffee and made my way out to the deck. It was right about then I became pretty interesting and he made himself a little more friendly walking up to the deck and giving me a good look over. I knew what he wanted and I was happy to oblige him. I rolled him an old apple I grabbed on my way out. “Well morning Clarence. Anything new today?” He just munched away. “Going to take another dip in the lake this morning?” I don’t know why I asked as I knew the answer. Every morning he’d take a dip in the lake and make his way over to a shallow side to munch on the grasses that grew there. He just got in the habit of checking with me first for his sweet tooth addiction. It was strange really. To see something that large just go into the water like it was nothing. If I didn’t know better I’d say he was practicing for the local swim team. Somehow I didn’t think they make swim caps in his size though. Seems like the antlers would get in the way. Sure enough though after he had taken his time to get every last enjoyable moment out of that apple he meandered his way over to the lake and just walked in. 9am, right on time Clarence. This meant I had about 15 minutes to get back in the house and dressed or my other little friend Harold would start throwing a fit and tapping at the back door. Harold was a duck with an attitude.

Story 2 Got up this morning and drove the old ford into town. Despite her age she isn’t a bad little truck. Sure she’s loud and has a tendency to kick like a mule every once in a while. Has a tendency to eat like one too. Put any other gas in her from any other station than Al’s down on Mile marker 246 and she’ll cause one hell of a fuss. Still, if you get her a little time, attention and love, let her warm up a little, she’s probably the most dependable soul on my property. Doesn’t ask for too much, simple, still keeps it together no matter how rough things get. You can’t ask for much more than that. Had to go into town this morning because we were running low on supplies. I needed some groceries, some bolts and parts, and Clarence needed some more apples. Every now and then I think about throwing him a curve ball and giving him something new like a pear. Just to spice things up a bit. But I’m sure if I did he’d just look at me for a long minute with that “what in the world……yeah alright, this one time” stare. If he was anything it was a creature of habit. Harold came with me and sat in the passenger seat only making fuss whenever the truck unexpectedly kicked. I had started to let him in the truck when I left for town because he’s too stubborn to accept “no” and I worried about his safety. As soon as I would start the truck he’d hear it and fly into the bed or if he had a good shot and an open window right into the cab. This being Alaska a trip into town was going to be a day venture driving several hours there and several back. It was probably best he stay in the cab anyways I suppose. What if I ran over a bump too hard and he got knocked out of the bed of the truck? I sure as hell didn’t want to be responsible for that. And by the time I noticed we’d be far apart. Besides, when I got into town he stayed out of trouble. Just sits there watching people go by. If any of them get a little too close for comfort he makes a noise. The way I figure it he’s the best security system I can buy for just a few grains of corn. I arrived in town somewhere just north of 10. The diner was open and serving morning coffee and the general store was open. The two main places I needed to be. Being this early in the morning the diner was first. The need for coffee was strong and the diner was the best place to pick up local news. Sure I could have grabbed a paper but if you want to know what’s really going on, the diner is where you need to be. “Morning Jen”, I told the waitress “can I get coffee with cream?” “Sure thing” she said as she proceeded to get my coffee. “Heard anything new?” I asked. “Nah, nothing much. The Army Corps office across the street isn’t open yet. They’ve got some new commander and he’s a little less friendly with the public. He’s not married either. Makes ya’ wonder what went wrong, man his age not married.” She retorted. “You don’t say” I replied rather inquisitively “I’ll have to check that out”. I didn’t care much about his marital status but the news of a new commander was of interest. I’ve been selling my photographs and surveys to them for years and this change could prove interesting. “Thanks for the coffee Jen. Stay beautiful.” I said as I got up to leave after drinking my coffee, placing a few bucks on the counter for the coffee and her time. The thought of a new commander rolled through my head a while. I wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it. Over at the general store Dave was busy stocking cans on a shelf. He was the kind of guy that really enjoyed “fixing” things and putting them back into order. The kind of person that loves to organize, label, and keep books of spreadsheets on things. Everything had a home and a system and he spent a lot of energy keeping everything balanced and where it needed to be. He worked at the general store along with his daughter Martha who was at the moment suspiciously nowhere to be found. As Dave got up from his cans and walked behind the checkout counter he asked me, “What’ll it be?” “Oh, much of the same. I need a box of 2 inch 10 penny nails, some more mix for making waffles, a carton of eggs if you’ve got them, some milk, another big tin of coffee, a box of regular pencils, and another bundle of old apples if you’ve got them. For Clarence” I replied to his inquiry. “You know, you’re the only one who wants these old apples. I can’t believe you pay for them either. Just trash” he said with bewildered look as he started to gather up items. “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure Dave. It’s not much to you or I but to Clarence this is gold” I assured him. I stood there for a moment as he gathered cans and boxes putting them into a bag, just looking out the window at the Amy Corps headquarters. Finally I asked him, “What do you know about the new Commander over there at HQ?” “For such a small town there’s been surprisingly little chatter to be honest” he said. “Lately not many people come in and out of there unless they have a uniform. And they don’t seem to talk much about him other than that he’s from out east. Which isn’t saying much because everyone here is from out east. Some more than others. Though I will say the guys that have come in here have been buying a lot of nonperishable items like can goods. So maybe they are gearing up for another project or something” he added. It caught me a little weird that no one seemed to know anything. No talk yet of what projects were going on, where he was from, why he was here, what he was like, or even a name. Sooner or later I was going to have to check in. Get a feel for things myself. It was right about then as Dave was beginning to ring up my bill when Martha burst in from the back office, doing her damnedest to keep control of this loud rumbling box. “Look Papa!” the child exclaimed to his horror. Apparently sometime recently “Mr. Bojangles” the family cat, had kittens. This was by far the last thing Dave wanted. More mess, more noise, more chaos, more reason for Martha to not help with the store. “Martha! Don’t bring those dirty little things in here. They are vermin. And don’t get too attached to them neither. I don’t need any pests around my store chasing away customers.” Dave barked at her while trying to still seem calm and professional. The enthusiasm had fallen out of her voice when she asked, “well what do I do now?” Dave smiled at me for a moment politely before turning to her and sternly retorting, “Just take them back to the office. I’ll deal with them after work. I have to cross the old north bridge anyways.” I knew what he meant. Last thing I needed was another mouth to feed. Still, I couldn’t just stand here and let innocence be thrown off a bridge. The words came out like sludge, “how much?” “What?” Dave asked me a little surprised. “For a kitten. How much?” I was more assertive that time and the words flowed a little easier. “I’ll give you a dollar for one. Whichever one seems to be the most hassle.” Martha quickly reached in the box and pulled out a little gray kitten who was been busy bouncing and tackling everyone else in the box. “And I’ll take out a 3 line ad in the Denali Daily.” Dave a little shocked seemed pleasantly surprised by my sudden sales. At least the part about the ad in the local newsletter, the Denali Daily. “Wonderful! What would you like the ad to say?” Dave inquired while finishing ringing up my bill. I just looked down at my money as I handed it over, a little sadden to see it go and said softly, “Free to good home. Kittens. See Martha.” The joy on Dave’s face lessened a bit, but he took my money anyways. The whole ride home Harold didn’t know what to make of this tiny, noisy, anxious thing crawling about the floor boards of the truck. Anytime it got a little too close to the seat he’d have to readjust himself. I’m pretty confident once Harold realized the kitten wasn’t going to eat him or otherwise hurt him he calmed down a bit. Never took his eye off it but definitely wasn’t worth making a big fuss over. “Don’t worry Harold” I assured him. “Having a lady around the place will be a good change. Maybe we’ll have to start picking up after ourselves a little better.” Harold seemed unimpressed though I’ll admit ducks can sometimes be hard to read. On the long drive home I had decided to name the kitten Rebecca, after someone I used to know. A life lesson as to why sometimes compassion, patience, and a little faith in people can go a long way. Why some things just can’t, or shouldn’t, be caged. And how any cage whether you like it or not will both keep something in and something out at the same time. Worst part is I had to make that mistake a few times before I even caught on it was a mistake. I had to make that mistake a few times more to figure out how not to. It also didn’t escape me none how cats can sometimes be a bit of a smart ass. So it seemed suiting. And yes, before I got in the truck back in town I looked to make sure we avoid the “Mr. Bojangles” naming accident. So the name was appropriate. Pulled up to my long drive way late in the evening. About half way down the old dirt driveway stood Clarence casually chewing away at something. It was unusual to see him so far from the main house and not at the lake. If he was just doing his daily business he’d be busy munching on a tree, resting under a shady tree, taking a swim, or if he was truly bored wandering the woods on the other side of the house. To be in the drive way, something caught his attention. My mind quickly raced to thoughts of wolves and bears. To hunters in the area, or thieves. To whatever damage may have been done to the property while I was away. Finally, to concerns that an old photograph I keep upstairs was still safe. As I rolled up the drive way slowly I reached under my seat and felt around for my gun. I didn’t like guns, and I wasn’t really good with one. But this was Alaska. And no matter how big you think you are, there’s always something bigger than you. Especially trouble. As I pulled up to the house however I was pleasantly surprised to see an Army vehicle parked out front. Whatever they were here for, it wasn’t going to be dangerous so the gun made its way back home. The brakes squeaked as I rolled to a stop and put the truck in park. As I got out I waited half a second for Harold to jump out after me. He waddled off towards the lake for the evening talking to himself the whole time. After Harold was gone I rolled the window down an inch for air and quickly shut the door. Rebecca didn’t need to be outside just yet. Two men in uniform sat in chairs I had left on my deck. They sat forward in their chairs ready to get up at any moment, holding on their hats in their hands. They both had a symbol of a castle on their uniforms which wasn’t uncommon in this part of the country. The older of the two gentlemen had two solid silver bars on his shirt showing a Captain’s rank. Looking right at him I asked about his business. “Commander. What brings you this way?” He stood up from his chair and walked to the end the porch. “I’m here to introduce myself. And to talk to you a little about your camera.” He said. His voice carried a certain weight and confidence to it. Clearly someone who was familiar to being in charge and not to being told no. “Well you should have told me you were coming. I could have saved you a trip. I was just in town today and I could have met you there.” I’m always cautious with new people, but I spoke friendly enough. As I approached him I held out my hand and he said “Daniels. Captain Daniels” and shook it. “Well you might as well as come inside. No sense in staying out here and feeding the mosquitoes.” I said as I entered the house. The two gentlemen happily followed.

Story 3

People like to personify fear as being this big nasty snarling creature that comes up from behind like a lurch in an alley and consumes you. Some sort of proverbial boogyman that since the days of cavemen has been our biggest rival and predator. But anything that primal, that basic an entity into the lives of living creatures is going to be so much more sophisticated in its simplicity and cunning.

After all, you evolved the ability to have fear because fear can keep you alive. Fear tells you when to run, when to fight, when to avoid, and when to hide. Fear is the thing we invoke and tempt when we do things purely for the rush like skydiving or driving fast.

No fear is not some snarling monster. Fear is that the attractive person from across the room whom with a glance and a slight raise of their brow you instantly know is trouble. Yet you stay. Maybe because you arrogantly think you’ll be different from everyone else, you’ll be able to control it. Maybe because your mother didn’t really ever teach you how to prepare for this moment.

But with their careful and confident walk over to you they have your attention and you can’t look away. They immediately come up close and invade your personal space, putting on hand on your waist and sliding it up your back between your shoulders. An action that makes it hard to get away. As they slide their hand up your back, to your shoulders, by your neck, they move their hand to your chest as if by magic without you noticing. Sliding their hand down your shirt to change your breathing, touching your skin and slowly applying more and more pressure they pull it back out. At their closest point they whisper in your ear, “run”. And as much as you may want to, you can’t. If they were to whisper anything else you’d do it without question, as if you weren’t yourself anymore. Your heart races as you stay stuck between excitement, anxiety, confusion, and empty thoughts. A victim to the spider’s web. That is fear.

I awoke that morning much like any other. Far too early to the persistent nudging and purring of my live in roommate. No matter how many times I tried to gently push the snooze button on my fuzzy alarm I was still met with an eager, “yeow”. Like so many mornings before this was clearly a battle I was not meant to win. I dragged myself out of bed, and went into the kitchen where I lit the old stove and put some coffee on to drip. All the while my little friend ran figure eights in my legs. “yeowl!” she proclaimed as apparently I was not moving fast enough. “Yes Rebecca I know” I tried to assure her to no avail. Quickly I reached in the cupboard and put some cat food in a bowl. No sooner as I placed it on the flood was someone eating like a good little piglet.

Outside the sun had already risen. There was a cool in the air as the new day’s sun had not warmed it yet. This left a slight mist or fog out in the field. And there at the top of the hill nibbling on the one apple tree was Clarence. If I ever needed to I swear I could tell time by the current location of that boy as he moved like clockwork. He stopped for just a moment to look at me as if to say hello or good morning and then went back about his day. I tried bringing him a banana I bought once from town but he didn’t seem to care for it. Apparently the boy just doesn’t like bananas. But in his defense there’s not really a conceivable reason why a wild moose in the middle of Alaska would ever come across a banana before.

Clarence had been on the property since long before I bought it several years ago. In ancient days someone might have had a peacock, a donkey, or a llama on their property as an early warning system of something bad. I had Clarence without even asking, and the best part was depending on what the trouble was he’d even defend. Standing near 7 or 8 feet tall at the shoulder and not even considering the antlers he had Clarence was a force to be reckoned with. I still remember the day I bought the property I asked about him to the previous owner. His advice to me was “you just leave him be and he’ll leave you be”. Seemed simple enough but rather folksy. Then that night came when a bear looking for food came a little too close to the house and was trying to figure out how doorknobs work a little too well for my comfort, if it hadn’t been for Clarence chasing him off things could have gotten ugly fast.

So yeah he stood up there in the morning dew munching away at the apple tree. As far as I was concerned that was his apple tree. No matter how many time he or the previous winters killed it I’ll always make sure there’s another one for him.

Other than my usual wakeup call the morning was relatively uneventful. Rebecca immediately disappeared to find herself some trouble or chase the morning sunspot as soon as she got what she wanted. Clarence made his way from the apple tree at the hill to the birches on the far side of the field. As the day progressed he’d eventually wander down my long gravel road to the lake for a swim before coming back in the cool of the evening. This left me ample opportunity to finish my coffee and get dressed before loading up the old truck with some camera gear and heading into town to look for work. Something to keep me busy.

The Army Corps of Engineers had made their way to this part of Alaska within the last few years to complete several projects and surveys. Things like bridges, roads, runways, that sort of thing. Part of their projects were more community based such as the bridge they built over the river past the valley. Others projects like most of these surveys, seemed to be more military oriented. Not sure really what they were looking for but they kept it close to the vest like military people do. I’d made a habit of driving into town and checking in on things. Sometimes the Captain had a survey job where he needed some photographs taken, other times the local print shop and newspaper would need images of an event in the area. Either way you got to talking to people and that always lead to learning something you hadn’t known before.

I arrived into town still early and stopped like I usually do at the only thing open, Donna’s Diner. It just also happened to be the hub and heartbeat for everything going on in a 5 mile radius of town and Moose Lake. As soon as I walked in Donna poured me a cup of coffee, said hello, and told me to stay out of trouble. I wasn’t sure how to take that, but the smirk on her face suggested with a grain of salt. I sat at my usual stool and ordered a bagel with cheese.

As we got past the usual pleasantries and daily routines I had gotten a chance to ask Donna if she’d heard anything interesting lately from people passing on through. “As a matter of fact” she said, “I did have a strange group of young men come through recently. Privates from the base who seemed a little rattled by something. Kept mentioning D.C. for some reason. I walked by them three times before any of them noticed I was there and ordered something.” It could have been nothing but it was worth looking into.

After breakfast I made my way down the street on foot the Amy office to await the arrival Captain Wheeler shortly after they opened to the public for the day. The Captain always struck me as a reserved but open minded and clear headed guy. He wasn’t always quick to act and he could be persuaded, assuming you had a logical argument and enough hard evidence to support it. Being a soldier he also knew that sometimes you have to just do what you’re told and put your own views and feelings aside. And that sometimes meant once you make a commitment, you keep it.

His lieutenant on the other hand was a young man who came across and loathing this assignment. I always got the impression he was looking to be a hero somewhere face in the dirt of some god awful forgotten piece of earth. Off bravely fighting and defending against fascists, or communists, or anarchists, or some other form of “ists”. Instead he was here surrounded by civilians whom he saw as the worst kinds of “ists”; pacifists.

What he was, was a young man who didn’t know how well he had gotten it. It’s easy to mentally glorify war in the imagination, it’s another to endure it. Death much like birth isn’t pretty, and about 80% of it comes with an unexpected shit.

The Army office opened without much ceremonial hub-to-do. As I heard the door unlock like it does this time every morning I reached for the handle of the big wooden door. Before I could grab it the door immediately swung open and I had stumbled backwards as to not be in the way and bump into the person making their departure. “Yes Captain. Understood. Until then.” They said in a soft voice looking back. It was Elizabeth, a local chemist in the area. As soon as she looked forward and I saw her face it all hit me. Just as it always does. Memories of days spent talking and laughing at Donna’s Diner. Social get togethers where out of the middle of nowhere she’d do something odd like lick the side of my face just to watch me squirm. Moon lit nights of passion and sex which were less about sex and more about just being as close to each other as physically possible. And new dawn mornings of her standing in the door way looking at the field wearing nothing but her underwear bottoms and my dirty button up shirt she had picked up off the floor. .

The kind of comfort where underwear stops matching and becomes cotton whatevers, people don’t shave every day, you keep a few things over at their place, and your first and last thought is of them. Just assuming they’ll be there. Like a fool. As well as memories of her scream the night the car hit that ditch on the old road, or fights about nothing because neither of us really wanted to say what we thought.

My gaze caught hers for only a minute before she hastily looked away. “Hi” she said with speed and at an almost inaudible volume. “Hi” I said, but the words were slow to arrive in my mouth and by the time I spoke she was already gone. We both knew inside, there would be a reckoning between us someday. Neither of us wanted to address it as we were both afraid of what it might do. To each other and to ourselves. So we just avoided each other as best we could for now, and hoped it never needed to happen.

Despite my startling arrival I made my way inside the Army office where the Captain was already busy working at his desk. I didn’t inquire about Elizabeth’s business there though I wanted to. Instead I chose to ask if he had heard anything about D.C. lately which raised a brow. “Not that I know of” he replied. I knew he was hiding something but that was also part of his job. I told him the story I had heard about some personnel who arrived to the diner who seemed spooked. That I didn’t know if I should be here today as a photographer for him or for the paper down the street. And if there was anything he could clear up for me. He glanced briefly at a letter on his desk. I knew it was trouble. But he quickly kept up with his story that nothing was up or should be concerning. Instead he chose to change the subject and asked me to photograph a ravine in the area and to do so with haste as they needed to do some civil engineering models soon. With reluctance I took the job and made my way out of town. It’s where I’d end up spending my day.

I arrived home late evening to find Clarence by the house laying underneath a tree I usually park my truck under. I honked once at him to make sure he knew I was there but he just looked at me for a moment before looking away and flicking one ear. Clearly the honk was being taken under advisement and was simply deemed not interested. So I pulled off to the side and walked the rest of the way. He was still wet from coming out of the lake and not far off. I could still hear ducks arguing over their giant intruder. All the while I couldn’t help but think about the morning and my interaction with the Captain. 9 times out of 10 if it feels like someone is trying to get rid of you or keep you busy, they are. Something didn’t smell right.

The next morning I awoke to much my same routine. When I got to the kitchen however something just felt, wrong. The world seemed fine but it was off just a little bit. Looking around for some clue or note I found myself gazing out the window when it hit me. Clarence wasn’t at his tree. Clarence is never late. I began to panic just a little bit.

There was a commotion near the front of the house. To my discovery it was Clarence. He was upset as his little tail moved and he looked on guard. His fur glistened sun for a moment before suddenly I knew with a sinking feeling. He was injured. Before I could make it to the door wolves come out from the tree line to stage what I could only assume was another attack.

Everything just sort of happened in automatic mode from that moment.

I went back into the kitchen and scooped up Rebecca mid chomp into some food. I carried her into my bedroom and shut her in my closet. Quickly I ran back into the living room still dressed for sleep and grabbed the truck keys. Slowly I made my way outside and to the truck. My hands shook and under my breath I repeated the words, “this is stupid, this is stupid”. My friend was in danger though and I had to act. As soon as the key was in the ignition and the engine turned I slammed the truck into reverse without looking and floored it. There was a loud “ka-chunk” and the truck shook. In front of me lay an injured wolf who quickly got up and made a break for the tree line. I looked at my mirrors frantically.

Clarence was okay and making his way down the road. I knew he needed help still. Throwing the truck in drive and spinning out the back end swung around and I raced down the road past Clarence. If he got back into the tree line he was dead. Something just made me feel like he couldn’t leave.

Near the end of the roadway I slammed the emergency break swinging the back end around to a 90 degrees and perpendicular to the road. Clarence was in no mood. At full speed he proceeded to ram the truck and crush my door. Glass exploded into cab and the wheels on that side lifted off the ground for a moment. Clarence shook his head for a moment and snorted what I could only assume was, “get out of my way old man”. In a frantic I began looking around the cab for anything that might send him another direction. With a wild turn of the dial the radio came on at full volume and started him back towards the house. He’d make his way up the hill to hide out by the apple tree.

Upon arriving back at the house a scared and startled Rebecca who’s stomach didn’t appreciate the sudden grab had puked all over my shoes in the closet. One more thing I’d have to get fixed. I wanted to make a special stop in town today for some gauze, medical tape, and to see if the local vet had any tranquilizers for livestock. My hope was maybe I could slip something in an apple and while he slept, clean and bandage Clarence’s wound a bit. He’d look pretty dopey standing on that hill with a white square on his shoulder, but at least he’d be at the hill.

Story 4

He stopped chewing his meal for a moment and looked up. His expression was one of alert inquiry. There was a faint smell of something burning slowly drifting in from the distance. Not a bird could be heard. Deep within him he knew, something was not right here. As he looked out ahead into the horizon he thought to himself, “war is coming” with the knowledge soon enough it would come for him. These moments would be the calm before storm for soon he would do battle.

At least, that’s what I assume was the scenario that played out in Clarence’s head as he munched on pumpkins. In actuality his thoughts were probably more along the lines of, “mmm, yes, this is SO good”. Pumpkins are something that don’t grow naturally here and are only brought up from below for Halloween and maybe Thanksgiving. When the holiday is over it’s just a free buffet of goodness for the likes of a moose. Still it was amusing to me to think of him preparing for some mighty arctic war. Galloping bravely into battle with his coat of dwarven armor. Fear not creatures of this land for the might of the deer family has arrived. It was a lot nicer a thought than the realization I was going to have to clean up that pumpkin carcass when he was done with it. Or the nuggets he left me in the middle of the drive.

#ranting #rambling #fiction #writing #boredatwork

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lordhenry · 8 years ago

Text

survey 20

What did you last eat? Lasagna and iced mocha.

How long does it take you to fall asleep? A long time. I’ve been trying out some sleeping/relaxation pills lately. Up to 5 capsules a day which sounds ridiculous, so I haven’t been following that rec.

What are you looking forward to? The end of this job.

Did you have a weird dream last night? I might’ve had one, I always do.

When you close your eyes what do you see? Black.

Do you ask enough questions or do you settle for what you know? I ask questions.

Are you more worried about doing things right, or doing the right things? Doing the right thing. I already do things right, I wouldn’t worry much about that.

In what way are you your own worst enemy? I’m a harsh critic.

What white lies do you often tell? That I’m fine or that something’s fine, etc. Just to avoid explanations.

What activities make you lose track of time? Browsing the internet, for sure.

What bad habits do you want to break? Having a bad sleeping habit.

When do you feel most like yourself? When no one’s home and I’m in a good mood and the coffee maker’s brewing, there’s a slight rain, my cat is cuddly, the temperature’s just right, and everything is neither this nor that.

When you help someone do you ever think, “What’s in it for me?” Not if I genuinely wanted to help. Yes if I really had to.

How do you know when it’s time to continue holding on or time to let go? When I stop being happy, let go. I’m bad at keeping things.

How do you find the strength to do what you know in your heart is right? ...Yeah, how? I always do what I think is logical.

How do you deal with someone in a position of power who wants you to fail? Be better.

Who do you tell your secrets to? No one. What are secrets anyway? I don’t think I keep much. There’s certainly not very many secrets in my life to keep in the first place.

Who do you live with? At the moment, I’m by myself in this apartment, temporarily. Technically, I sort of “live” with Pamela, but not necessarily as we don’t sleep in the same house.

Do you think you were raised well? I was raised fine for a while, until my nanny died and my mother took me back and after that I pretty much raised myself (in terms of motherly/caring aspect, money-wise I had (still have) the full support of my parents obviously). With how I turned out, I’m pretty glad I had this independency? But also it’s kinda sad to think of? lol.

How do you handle stress? I do things I like. I drink a lot of coffee, maybe some alcohol, read a bit, do interesting things or maybe nothing at all. It really does not matter at this point because I sometimes cannot tell when I am stressed and when I am fine. I’m always just fine. //???? does that make sense?

If there was true love on one side of the street and a million bucks on the other which one would you pick? Money can be earned. True love, I’m not very sure. I suppose I’ll go after true love. I’m a capable person, I believe I’ll go far by myself. Plus, if true love would be able to make me a happier person, who’s to say money would matter THAT much? No idea.

Do you think you know the meaning of true love? I might not. I probably don’t. But so far, love to me is unconditionally being there and supporting somebody regardless of their shortcomings but NOT wrongdoings. If you love somebody, you wouldn’t be supporting that.

The last time you kissed someone…was it someone you see yourself with? Not anymore.

If your parents didn’t like the person you were dating, would you lose them? I don’t think my parents would do that actually, but if they were to hold me back from loving somebody.. it wouldn’t sit well with me.

Be with someone cute and a jerk or ugly and kind? Ugly and kind. You can be the cutest fucker in the world, but if you’re a dickhead, you can exit.

Kids then marriage or marriage then kids? Marriage. The end. Haha, maybe a kid or two after a while. I don’t think of that yet. I don’t even think of marriage, but it would be a nice thing to happen to me.

Do you see yourself as “good” person? I’m neutral-good, I think. I’m not 100% lawful, and I don’t go out of my way to do good things.. but likewise, I don’t do bad things on purpose as well.

Are you the type that would rather stay at other people’s houses or have them at yours? I’d rather be the guest than have a guest over. At least I’m sure I know how to behave like a guest. I don’t feel comfortable having guests at home (except for my best friend).

Are you excited for the future? Terrified.

Your ex shows up randomly at your house, what do you say? ......Why?

Your boyfriend/girlfriend cheats on you with your friend, who are you mad at? Both.

Who’s the last person of the opposite sex to hug you? I don’t remember, honestly.

What’s a happy time you’ve had in the past week? Uhhh. When I started feeling okay about this new environment.

Where did you go in a car last? I took an uber from Resorts World to the mall.

When did/will you graduate? 2018.

When are you moving next? October this year or late September most probably, to Leicester. Temporarily anyway.

Why are you stressed? Mainly work and my constant lack of sleep for which my sleeping pills are not working.

Where do you keep your birth certificate? I keep official copies of my important documents such as that in my personal file box, as well as digitally.

What is the closest orange object to you? Glue (its packaging at least).

How many books are in your room? I’m not in my room and have not been in my room for 2 weeks now. But back home, I have no idea. I have lots.

Have you ever been IN a wedding? Yep.

Could you handle being in the military? Maybe as a medic or medical volunteer or something like so.

What is something you’re really good at? Thinking of ideas, especially when a topic/subject is ready. And double-checking like a paranoid maniac.

When was the last time someone told you that you were beautiful/good-looking? Do people often tell you this? Indirectly.. A few days ago.. monday? I can’t remember but definitely this week at work. A superior told me I looked like someone else from a different department (which irked me a bit ahaha) but she said not to worry cause she’s beautiful.

Is there someone who was important to you at one point, but isn’t part of your life anymore? Is there anything you’d like to say to that person? Yeah and no.

What’s your current problem? I need a minibar.

Are you wearing anything shiny? My diamond ring.

What is something you disliked about your day? The tax profiles I had to create for a superior too lazy (or maybe just slow) to have it done on time.

Will tomorrow be a good day? I think so. No work on Friday so yeah.

What are your plans for tomorrow? Work 8-5. Sleep early.

Do you have any plans for college? Yeah. Almost finished with it.

Have you had any form of exercise today? Walking lmao.

How old are you? 18.

Have you ever received a text message that made you cry? Yep. Pretty sure I shed tears when Gera was on his way to the airport or something.

Where did you go last? Uh in general today, just work. But literally only 10 minutes ago I had to stop this survey and rush to the comfort room because my nose randomly bled (like a faucet tbh) as I was typing.... freaked me out.

Have you recently broken up with a significant other or even just a friend? I guess it was pretty recent.

What’s the weather like today? Is it nice enough to go outside? It’s warm, I think that might be why my nose just bled randomly (but the aircon was on... idk). No.

Do you know anyone who’s had a baby recently? Yeah.

Have you used a pen or pencil today? What did you write down? Not today.

What does your last text message say and who is it from? From Ian, he asked if we were all fine, and said it’s getting warmer in Dubai.

Does your skin bruise easily? Do you have any bruises right now? What from? I am not sure how easily, I rarely get scraps and bruises. But I do have one right now. I had my blood drawn, the Dr had trouble with my vein.

Do you prefer yes or no questions or more open-ended questions? Depends on who’s asking and how much I would like to converse with them/elaborate.

What brand of toilet paper do you usually buy? Whatever’s thick.

What’s your favourite scent of air freshener? Green apples or something clean and fresh.

How often do you wear make-up? I don’t bother during free days/weekends, but for work I have to wear makeup.

If you had the money, would you take taxis everywhere instead of driving? I do this a lot.

Have you ever done a juice cleanse? No, but I want to.

Do you have any friends who you can’t decide if they’re attractive or not? Yes. I also can’t decide how ugly I am.

What’s the first thing you tend to do when you have a headache? Take meds.

Tell me about your responsibilities at work. I’m interning right now, it’s a very weird responsibility.. it’s a bit all over the place. Compensation & Benefits under HR department, sometimes helpdesk - explaining loan requirements, accepting them, giving passwords, resetting passwords, fixing meal plans and RFID concerns so it’s almost IT but not really, then sometimes it’s creating tax profiles.. or encoding.. or just simply photocopying. I don’t get what I’m really supposed to do at times except help out? Random shit. It’ll only be for another 2 and a half months anyway.

What song is stuck in your head at the moment? I don’t wanna waste my time by Joji tbh.

Have you ever lost enough weight to drop a dress size? More like, gained. I went up one size. From 2 to 4. (Sometimes even 6 tbh.)

What’s your favourite kind of bread? White or wheat. Idk banana bread is good too, I like bread.

When was the last time you got pizza? What toppings did you get? Few weeks ago, plain cheese.

You have to choose one: cats or dogs? Cats. I’ve got a Siamese.

How do you travel to and from work? Bus.

What do you think is the first thing people notice about you, when they meet you? They say I’m: quiet, intimidating, scary, blank, unapproachable, etc. lol.

Do you believe in God? How about ghosts? Aliens? God, I’m not very sure, but it would be nice to find him/her/it. Ghosts.. I can’t tell, I had an experience once when I was alone at home, but I like to think that I’m not sure, that it could’ve been imagined. Aliens, sure. There’s so much we haven’t explored.

What did you have for lunch yesterday? Shrimp, I think.

What does your last text message from someone of the same sex say? "Can’t open the door, just come out.”

Have you ever told anyone you never wanted to see/speak to them again? Did you mean it? Probably.

Do you drink tap water, or do you prefer it bottled? Bottled.

Are you unhappy, for any reason at all? Yeah.

Do you regret your last relationship? To an extent, but not really.

Can you find 3 items in the room that are white? Pill bottles, nasal spray, my earphones.

How about 3 items that are red? Bottle cap, Burberry purse (technically a bit of a plum colour but close enough), jewellery box.

Who was the last person of the opposite sex to initiate a conversation with you? What was the topic of conversation? Probably Jeremy, idk something random probably. We converse frequently nowadays, but mostly random unimportant bullshit.

Have you ever been told that you’re awesome? Yeah.

What swear word do you use the most? Fuck. I try not to.

What colour is the carpet in the room you’re in? No carpet in my room, but downstairs it’s black and white.

Would you go out with the last male that Facebook messaged you? No.

Tell me about one of your most embarrassing moments. When I had my physical exam last Friday, oh my god. The doctor had to check my breasts for lumps, and etc. I had to get naked. On the outside, I was blank and just did everything the doctor asked, but inside I was dying of embarrassment lmao.

Do you consider yourself to be an attractive person, or do you feel unattractive compared to others around you? And if you feel unattractive, what do you think it is that makes you feel that way? It really depends. There are days when I feel uglier than usual. There are days when I think I look nice. I want to say I don’t care, but I do. What I think makes me feel this way is ?? I dunno? don’t we all feel like this to some degree?

Think about the first person you had a relationship with. Were you ‘in love’ with that person? Would you take him/her back? No. I thought I was, but then again when do I ever know how to feel about other people idk?

#survey

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