#you and avery have truly built something wonderful
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namjoonchronicles · 4 years ago
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closure |nj
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↳ pairing namjoon, reader
↳ genre fluff, domestic, established relationship, melodrama
↳ words 3,775k
↳ summary some stories aren't meant to be understood, they're just written to be heard.
↳ warning depression; major death of side character, suicide
↳ song 'feel something' by clairo, 'to love someone else' by avery lynch, 'chernobyl' by alec bailey
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Truly, the nights are filled with unspoken stories. When he took your hand in his and looked deep into your eye with those soft concerned gaze, you were home. He cupped your chin, curled a strand of your hair behind your ear and studied your entire face.
“What’s that look?” his voice swam in your semi-consciousness, “I know that look. That look pains me, takes me to the edge, makes me curl my toes, that look…”
Your eyes flutter wondrously at his lashes, his Cupid’s bow and supple lips, along with a stricken smile you asked him quizzically, “I am alright, you have nothing to worry about…”
Namjoon thumbed your cheek and it traced down to your smile line, the curve at the edge of your lips, and you know he felt the trembles as you forced the smile. Namjoon’s eyes trail up to meet yours again, he starts chewing the insides of his cheek, hollowing them.
“You are faking the smile,” and he softens when he sees your eyes gleaming with tears. Upon this, he collected your head into his arms and cushioned by his chest. He passes a long lingering kiss atop of your head, cradling your head while your arms are low on his hip, trying to barely hold on. At the time, he felt like a pillar, holding you together in all your ruins. His stature, the scent of his aftershave, the makings of his shirts and the smell of his skin— it all rushed over your senses like a tsunami. The kind of comfort he was, such a calming presence for a cyclone-bearing human you were.
Rush of emotions. It builds up.
And up.
And up.
And overflows.
You are an enigma Namjoon is scrambling to find out. A tough shell of a crab, with walls built high and thick. Like a lost traveler with a single map that’s ever changing in its path, ever evolving— you were that map. The verandah's wooden panel wet from the late afternoon rain, the hammock under the small roof at the edge, lay static in its place until Namjoon put his enormous weight on it. One leg dangling out, arm spread and waiting for you to grab them. He bracketed your waist and lifted you from the floor and into his lap like a child. He has a bottle of soda by the side, its lid snapped open. Laying your back on his hard, defined pectoral chest, feeling the weight of the world on your shoulder somewhat lifted a bit. Namjoon knows, and he knows this without you saying a word— he knows that you had been fighting many battles alone, and with yourself. The battles had wrung you out, strewn you in and silenced you. Constantly, insistently the world is demanding a piece of you to give out. At this place and time, it seemed incredibly impossible to be at complete peace. You could almost give in— tempted to lay in defeat. You gave it your all, and they gave you nothing.
“It’ll hurt for awhile, but it will get better,” you suddenly broke the silence. Namjoon hummed back, either confused or surprised at the sudden remark. You turned sideways and up, to look at the view of his jaw. He tips his head back, drinking down the soda in his left hand. The thin fabrics of his sleeveless tanks, left almost nothing to the imagination. He tutted his tongue in response to what you said.
“That’s a nice saying…” his voice dropped an octave lower when he is relaxing like this with you. You were the few humans in the world he would appreciate silence with. You switched to face him, him between your legs as you sat up with a big gaping smile on your face, disbelieved.
“You’re the one who told me that…” emphasizing on him. You filled the gaps between his legs with your own, sandwiched as you sat opposed to him. Your toes next to his head and him grinning like he kept a secret from the world. After much struggle to get comfortable, you said,
“You told me that when my grandmother passed away that night in January… I remember it clearly, just like it was yesterday…
I was in the elevator with her lifeless body on the casket and not a drop of tears left my eye…
I started wondering if there was something wrong with me…”
Namjoon wrapped his palm over your ankles— the ankles you hated so much because you think they are unappealing, he thumbs the protruding bone affectionately, brought it to his stomach and started massaging it with his free hand. All the while you were reminiscing.
“And you told me that I was so hurt, I couldn’t cry. How I am used to fabricating my pain for the sake of others… that when I was expected to cry, I couldn’t. And wouldn’t. How I took being strong quite literally…” Your voice slowed down, your eyes casted to the view of his fingers, nimbling over your skin.
“And today, the same thing happened… but today, I chose not to be too strong,” you held your breath for a moment, and exhaled shakily. The emotions aren’t all gone; the remnants are still here, clinging on you like a stubborn stain on the wall left by the old frames that were no longer there. Coiling around you like a shadow at every hint of bright light. The guilt was paralyzing you to the point of tears.
“A friend of mine was taken today…” you painted a smile on your face but Namjoon didn’t etch one, one bit. His fingers stopped massaging briefly, before it continued.
“You’ve met him once, if you remembered, his name is Hoseok,” you wiped a single drop of tear, “He was a firm owner, a lawyer. We met at the convention…”
“... back in 2015.” Namjoon finished your sentences.
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At the 2015 International Pharmaceutical Convention, 7 years ago...
Flourishing, the crowd of intelligent people came in with a big proud smile, wearing lanyards of their company. Blazers, heels, jewelries, research posters, new pharmaceutical breakthroughs, projects and investors circles. The big pharma are divided in sections.
Walking toward the condiments vendor for a quick refreshment, you were approached by a man. Tall, his face turned away from your view as he was speaking to another colleague. He hijacked your turn to access the vendors, unknowingly, and you weren’t exactly the kind to speak up when a stranger does this to you, so you backed away a little and forced out a smile, gazing down at your toes.
“Hey, I think I know your name…” this mysterious figure suddenly says, “Still letting others go first before you, huh?” In such a friendly tone, your mind began racing to decipher his voice and face when you shot your gaze up to meet his. The same disarming smile, perfectly lined teeth and just the right amount of cologne, wafted around your nose— was a face familiar from the years back.
“Hoseok? Jung Hoseok?” he mentions his name after a long pause from you.
You were tongue-tied, mind-riddled from such a sudden meeting. You were unprepared and it must have shown all over your face the way he hisses away, wearing a lopsided smile and gruffly saying, “Don’t be like that… Do you really not know me? Have I mistook you for someone else?” He suddenly shifted his weight to another foot, crossed his arm and placed his forefinger under his chin, gazing at the corner of the massive hall, thinking.
“Ankles, and that old wristwatch, it’s definitely you…” his pondering face switches to a cheerful smile in a matter of seconds and you could not have been even more right that this was your old friend whom you hadn’t contacted in years. All the way back in college.
“Oh my, it’s you…!” You gasped, trying to recover from the embarrassing delay, “Wow, you look amazing… How are you! How have you been?”
Hoseok exchanged your late recalling with a burst of laughter of his own.
“I own a firm now,” you heard him say. It was the first thing he said, and it showed just how much pride he took in it. Which was fair. Back then he was struggling to find his footing, trying to find a job and getting rejected at interviews— it was you whom he shared those stories with. Over late night coffee, late night conversations and texts; he talks about his days, sharing with you his strange humors. You were glad that he finally found what he liked to do; at least that's what you assumed he liked because you clearly remembered that he had different interests.
“So what about the photography business? Your freelance job?” you hesitantly asked.
You could see how his smile and whole stature faltered briefly at the mention of it. You knew that his family was against it— was against anything that isn’t bringing back money— passion or not, it wasn’t something his family wanted him to do. Besides, his father’s firm needs managing, and what other way to continue the business if not having a son that is doing law as well.
“Folded,” his cheeks puffed and deflated, “Sold everything including the antique camera, the analogues, the films… everything.”
Your heart thudded strangely. You knew just how much he loved photography. It was the reason why you both got close back then. Your passion to everything artistic and his passion to capture everything beautiful. You remember so well, how his face lights up at the mention of photography, how he was so willing to teach you how to use the cameras you’ve never seen, and how he shares all his work with you, including the new one he was currently working on. You had access to all of his digital work and manuscript. And it was unfortunate that all these had to go away, leaving nothing to the memory. Nothing to hold close. It probably killed him as well. But what could he have done?
“How about you?” the conversation now shifts to your side. You twisted the ring around your ring finger and showed it to him.
“Awesome!” He gleams. So delighted.
“He is here somewhere, I don’t know where he went… but he should find me in a few minutes,” you looked around.
“You were getting something from the vendor?” Hoseok asked, but you shook your head. You don’t feel like drinking now.
Hoseok gradually finds out how your life is, where you’ve worked and places you’ve been.
“And you met Namjoon at work?”
“Pretty much, he is in the investors group. We met once, talking about a big pharma project and he was one of the champions supporting the good cause, so I owed him a lot,” you shrugged as to say, the rest is history.
“So he made you marry him to pay up all your emotional debts?” Hoseok jokes.
“Not exactly but… you know how I am. I can be very difficult to convince, especially when I am so comfortable with the lifestyles I already have. I dread to be a housewife so when he understood that, everything else falls into place,” you added and caught a tall figure walking along the hallway, dashing in his slick back hair, lanyards dangling.
Blazers flailing, white dress shirt and slacks make up the shapes of his defined abs and thighs. He walks with his head hanging slightly downwards as if he was trying not to catch anyone’s attention but was failing. Everyone turned their head towards him the moment he stepped inside the hall.
He stopped midway and tugged his left sleeve back. His Patek Phillipe Nautilus shimmering handsomely under the spotlight as he studied the time. He lifts his eyes up to scan the room through his brows and pursed lips, wondering where his wife was at the promised time.
You raised your arm slightly and the smoldering figure of a man twitches a big smile and a small bite on his lower lip, making his way to you. Completely aware about the man that was nearby you as he plants a chaste, enveloping kiss on your lips.
“This is Namjoon, Kim Namjoon…” You placed your hand on the small of his back and he reached out to Hoseok first for a handshake, again, his wristwatch peeking out when he covers the handshake with the left hand.
“Sweetheart, this is Hoseok, Jung Hoseok. He is a lawyer…” you introduced them both and Hoseok handed him his name card. Namjoon waits for you to further elaborate how you seemed so friendly with this man. And you can’t say that Hoseok was in-fact your old best friend whom you cut connections with because you’ve had feelings for him when he was in love with someone else. So you say, “An old friend.”
You sighed in relief when Namjoon didn’t catch the extended pause, but you can’t help thinking that he might question more later in the ride home. But for now, Namjoon’s bright smile seems to captivate the whole room’s attention. Small talks, and brief discussion about the direction of the convention and what he thinks about it, comes naturally. But he makes sure you don’t feel left out by the conversation by constantly adding your pharma company name in the picture.
“Had it not been my darling, the company would have gone downhill with their outdated scheduling methods and utter refusal to accept reformations according to modernization,” Namjoon added, and while he says so, so professionally and with full alluring prospects of a seasoned business man, his hand was trailing down the curve of your ass and gently squeezing them— out of Hoseok’s sight. Had you been a terrible pretender, you would have moaned out of context. You can thank your overflowing control for that. You were also cursing his name in the back of your mind and he will have an earful of it when you get home later.
“She single-handedly save the multi-billionaire company from their biggest downfall from the company’s incompetent leader,” Hoseok added, “Also they had a lot of legal issues at the time. I was in-charge of the corporate files before they shifted to joint-venture with Daehan Pharmaceuticals… it was a mess already. Corruption, bribes and unreliable auditing data.”
“Wait…” you intruded, “You were in the pharma that long? So we could have met?”
Hoseok gave you a lopsided smile and nodded. He further explained how he kept sending his colleagues to do site visits because he wants to avoid seeing you. This is where Namjoon begins to realise that you guys might be more than just friends because he asked,
“Why is that?”
Hoseok began his answer with a shrug of his shoulder and pursing his lips. After a brief thought, he admits, “Because at the time, we weren’t talking anymore. She would know why,” He opens his mouth to say more, but glancing down at your wedding ring, he didn’t.
If Hoseok remembered clearly, he was talking to you about a girl he had been pursuing. It was the first time he ever revealed something like that, all along you knew each other. You were studying for your final year and had been bludgeoned with assignments. There wasn’t a right time to tell you until one day on April 17th, he said he was finally going to ask this girl if she would be his girlfriend. A little info on her was that she was in a toxic relationship she was trying to get out from. She didn’t ask Hoseok to wait, but Hoseok was so in love with her, he didn’t mind how long it would take. She requested for time and space. Another man claimed her as his girlfriend when she didn’t say yes or no. Another two were also after her. Her ex boyfriend returned after months of leaving her. Just at the same time Hoseok was allowing her in his life.
When he shared you that information, you felt so betrayed somehow. He was always preaching about how being single is the best way to live and he turned around and did things like this. Pursuing a relationship. You were stubborn, you had egos you wanted to defend. Everything regarding relationships, you refuse to acknowledge. And any slight differences in your opinions were enough to break a relationship, even a strong friendship like you and Hoseok shared at the time. You once confessed to Hoseok that you liked him and he couldn’t return the same feelings. So you accused him of loving someone else and he denied that. When this happened, you felt like you were lied to. Because Hoseok, at the time that you two knew each other, was already having eyes on someone else, treating you as a placeholder, sharing emotions until the girl was eventually available for him.
Then he dropped you.
Things would have been different if he just told the truth. That he was indeed in love with someone when you confessed to him. Things would be much easier and it wouldn’t have gone deeper than it was. You would have walked away, unhurt and without knowing each other at a depth that you’d have to crawl out from. But Hoseok didn’t want to lose you. For some reason, he kept the friendship despite being unable to return your feelings, fabricating attention and giving hopes that he might one day change his feelings. Had you walked out earlier, you wouldn’t have resorted to deleting all contacts with him. His Instagram account, all his numbers, his pictures, galleries. The assignments he helped you with, the emotional support, the ice cream dates and late night phone calls. You would take it all away.
You deleted him from your life, only for him to tiptoe around the same company as yours— afraid of being known but unsure of what he did wrong. You decided that you would punish him that way. By leaving him with no answers of why you left.
“Will you be joining the closing ceremony dinner at Hyatt?” Namjoon politely asked. Noticing that the conversation had run down.
“Perhaps I will. I have to keep the firm going for the wife and kids to eat,” Hoseok perked up, and it was the first time he ever revealed about his marital status all through the conversation.
“Oh, you married her?” the delight in your voice was sincere, you are so happy for him. But his answers weren’t what you expected.
“No I didn’t. She left me for someone else, she was never honest with me, and I was only hearing the things I wanted to hear,” Hoseok rubs his knuckle and politely excused himself when he saw Namjoon was approached by an entourage of bodyguards that guide you and your husband to the next section of the convention. No numbers were exchanged to insinuate a rekindled relationship. It’s like you both understood that you could never return to what you were before. You both are leading different lives now, with different people and different phases. But you hoped he knew just how much he meant to you back then.
Hoseok walked away with a lightened shoulders. Now that he has seen you face-to-face and sure of what life you’re living, he felt a little at ease and a little envious. In the car you once rode with him, this broken-down Honda Civic, divorce papers were scattered on the front seat. The top-most letter being the child custody granted to his wife. His firm is also on the verge of bankruptcy and he was laid off from his contract with the pharma, this convention being the last one he will ever attend. After you left his life, he was burdened with one bad luck after the other. And he was at his last strand of hope when he came to the building. He saw you gracefully presenting on the stage about the medication you have been working on, like how he always wished to see. You were so cool, so engaging, so intelligent in your presence. Namjoon is the ultimate husband you wished for, and of course, you would concede for a man that was at your level. Knowing you as long as he did, you will not settle for less and that’s final. No discussion.
Life is good for you.
Inserting his car keys inside the keyhole, telling himself that, “That’s the price of breaking a pure heart.”
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Empty bottle of soda laying on the wooden panel. Your tear-stained face, sleeping on your side under the starry night sky, while Namjoon watched you intently. He covers you with a blanket and lets you sleep. He walked inside the house, and vanished to his home office. In it, he fetches his phone and turns on his table lamp, making a call that was immediately taken.
“I want you to find the burial information on a lawyer Jung Hoseok and send some condolences bouquet,” he instructed with a low voice. The short voice call felt heavy but necessary. Hoseok’s passing was detrimental to his wife’s mental and emotional health— it was important for him and her to get the closure they both needed.
Judging from her frail figure, she won’t be able to attend the funeral. Cremation was planned as requested by Hoseok. His children will not be attending, neither is his wife. The last thing Hoseok wanted was his funeral attended by the people that was the reason for his passing. For years, he had been battling depression and anxiety. It has been a long, lonely fight.
Namjoon watches the silhouette of you, standing against the setting sun, in your all-black attire and hair tied in a bun, hugging yourself. Wind blowing the strands of your hair back at every strike. Your diamond ring twinkling at the light it reflects. The sound of traffic in the distance, honks and vehicles throttling far away.
“The funeral ended gracefully…” Namjoon broke the silence.
You dropped your head and tutted your tongue, smiling weakly.
“It’s not your fault, darling…” your husband’s footsteps padded through the wooden floors to where you were.
“Then why does it hurt so bad? Why does it still hurt so Goddamn much?!” you shrieked.
Namjoon collected you in his arms, so you would rest your head on his sturdy chest, and he whispered, barely audibly heard by you,
“Because when you love, you love with everything you have. I know that much.”
It was then he realized that one is only allowed the closure they deserved;
And, no closure is also a closure.
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copyright © january 4th, 2021 namjoonchronicles do not repost, and thank you for reading <3
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↳ author’s note it's been awhile, i feel like i've been waiting for my personal life to overflow before i could write something. this is just an excuse to use 'that' picture of namjoon for the banner of a story. how are you? i've recently cut contacts with someone i hold dearly in my life. upon the break, it gave me back the emotions i used to have when i am writing. all this while, i have wasted my feeling, my elaborated word choices on someone who hardly appreciate it. with him gone, i started to think clearer and see things for what they are. i am no longer shrouded by dark grey clouds of uncertainty as i was with him. it was a difficult shift, but i feel better now that he is gone from my life. i dropped a tear or two not because of the love i used to feel for him, but because i felt incapable of being loved the way i yearned. this is the second day after i broke all connection with the said man/boy/creature. i feel liberated after the whole story was written. i needed him killed in my mind. so i wrote it just that. i've returned to where i was before, and i feel absolutely fine.
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fortisfiliae · 4 years ago
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Promised Part 15 - Tom Riddle x reader
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Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Masterpost | Masterlist
Summary: In this story, Tom didn’t grow up as an orphan, but with his grandfather and uncle. Reader’s sister got very sick and the Gaunts offer their help. But not without asking for something in return.
Disclaimer: Please be aware that I don’t condone any of this in real life. (GIF is not mine)
A/n: This chapter is written from Tom’s pov. Reader will be addressed in third person.
Warnings: Arranged marriage
Word count: 2k
Part 15 - A Dagger for a Devotee
Now that all of the ingredients for the antidote were gathered and added, the potion was as good as finished. It just had to simmer on for a while. If the instructions were correct, it would be finished on June 29th, which was the last day of school. Graduation day. One day before the wedding. 
The wedding. Tom thought about it a lot. It would happen. That, he knew. The plan was to give Elsie the antidote on their wedding day so that she would be completely healed and they could still keep a low profile towards Marvolo and Morfin. Their wish would be fulfilled then, and even if the Gaunts were going to ask for more, they wouldn’t know that Elsie wasn’t under their might anymore. Tom was sure they were going to try to pressure him by threatening to hurt Elsie someday, even when he was married. That was just in their nature. They would never be satisfied.
He wondered how long it would take them to figure out that she had been healed. Weeks, months, years? And how they would react then. Were they going to take out their anger on him? The more he thought about it, the less he cared. He had even fantasised about it if he was honest. That Marvolo would lose his temper and would attack him. Tom had waited so long for an excuse to pay his Grandfather back, his fingers were itching just thinking about it. Oh, the things he would like to do to him were unspeakable and the grin on his face only widened the longer he envisioned them. He would welcome the opportunity with open arms. 
Some nights, when he lay awake and couldn’t just fall asleep yet, Tom wondered if his life would have been different, if he would have turned out to be another person, had he not been brought up by the Gaunts. He didn’t wish for it, like his fiancée had mentioned so often, no, but he still couldn’t help but wonder. Was there a possibility for a different Tom Riddle to exist? One that would live with parents, one that wasn’t as cold and narrow-minded, one that could crack a real good joke to his friends? A funny, warm, kind version of him? His stomach squirmed at the thought. Disgusting. 
He could have turned out like Benjamin Hilt. Merlin’s sake, what a nightmare that would be. To act like him, so loud and bothersome. Head in the clouds, mouth always open and never thinking about any consequences. Hilt had it so easy. But nevertheless, Ben’s attitude was intriguing. Annoying yes, but intriguing. Tom wouldn’t have thought Hilt would be able to keep his muggleborn mouth shut and keep the pact a secret, but he hadn’t told anyone about it yet, as far as Tom was aware. And he didn’t seem to keep his word out of fear, but rather out of belief. Ben wasn’t the type to have deep thoughts, by the looks of it at least, but he had his priorities set. And for that Tom respected him. Everything Ben did seemed to come so easily from within, not wasting one too many thoughts. It was something so deeply ingrained that it must have come naturally. 
He was so different compared to Tom’s friends. Or whatever word one would use for people like Avery, Lestrange and the others. They were nothing more than followers, blind and mindless. They wouldn’t just offer their help to be a good person. They always wanted something in return, even if it was just Tom’s recognition. And he knew, if someone else were to take his place, they would drop him in an instant. Their loyalty was superficial and egoistic. Just as his own. He would drop them too if someone more useful were to show up and solicit themselves. 
That was how it always had been. How he had thought friendships were meant to be. A mutual agreement, quite similar to business. Be polite, make use of a person as much as you can, make sure they’re intimidated enough to keep their knowledge to themselves and wish them well on their way out. Simple, beneficial and most importantly efficient. 
But what his fiancée, Ben and Camille had was so different. He had waited for Camille and Ben to ask for something in return. Weeks had gone by, where he had anticipated for them to come up and ask for a favour. A note from the head boy to get out of detention, or something else. But they hadn’t. They had helped to steal the Banshee tears and were still tending to the potion in the Come and Go Room every day. For nothing? He couldn’t fathom it at first, and only when he thought about it again, it came to his mind that this could be what real friendship was like. 
He didn’t like how much it churned him, how much consideration it had taken to come to this conclusion, when apparently for other people, that was the most natural thing in the world.
Tom obtained a much greater deal of wit than Ben, without a doubt, but yet, Hilt possessed so much more emotional intelligence than Tom could ever dream of. And he was jealous of him. That Ben could just walk through life, listen to his gut and trust that whatever it would tell him would be with good intent. Tom could have made real friends too then. He could have developed that trust to his gut too, if he hadn’t been fed those vicious thoughts by the Gaunts his whole life. He could have even gotten to know a muggle for all he knew, if he hadn’t been told, day after day, how worthless and irrelevant they were. That’s what they had always said. But the Gaunts had lied so often, maybe they had lied about that too. He had believed them for so long that he couldn’t even tell which opinion was his own and which one had been planted in his head by someone else. 
And then came three people who acted against all his values, showing him a glimpse of what life could be like. Everything he knew, his view of the world, as well as his belief, had collapsed in a matter of months. He had learned so many new things, he wasn’t even sure if he knew himself anymore. 
Had he changed? He must have, somehow at least. It was ironic, how the Gaunts’ plan to marry him off to a pureblood witch, who they thought would bring their family safety and respect, turned out to result in the complete opposite. Nothing, not even Marvolo’s paranoia and obsession for being a step ahead had come of use. They all had turned against them in the end, and for what? The faint idea of power and reputation? What worth did those things even have when everyone who bowed down to you only did so out of fear? They would take the first chance they got to stab you in the back with the very dagger you had given them. If you can’t trust your devotees, why bother?
Trust was something he thought of a lot, too. Did someone truly trust him? His fiancée for instance. She had put her faith in his hands several times in the past, yes. But would she trust him with her life? Had he done enough to earn her deepest trust yet? Or would she let him fall too when the opportunity arrived? When the deal was sealed, her sister was free and the Gaunts were powerless. Would she leave him, or would she stay? It kept him up at night when he thought about being alone again. Not because he depended on someone to be there, he was fine on his own. But he couldn’t change the fact that he wanted her to stay. And only her. No one else would do.
No one else had ever awoken that part of him before. That part that wasn’t as selfish, as calculating and cautious. And he knew no one else could. There was something about her, that slight brush of a hand when she touched him, or that unintentional notion of a smile she wore so often that broke out a whirlwind of emotion inside of him again and again. And he still didn’t even know what it was that he felt. It was nerve-racking, this mixture of nervousness, excitement and joy. If he had been able to, he would have buried those feelings long ago, deep down somewhere where they could have never disturbed him again. But he hadn’t. And he was glad about that. No matter how irritating it was, he craved it now. 
He craved to see her as often as possible, the sound of her voice, the touch of her fingers on him. Her mind, her body and everything in between had him longing, thirsting for even more proximity. He ached for that bond so much, it had become a hassle and he needed to suppress it to prevent himself from shying her away. 
But it was hard to feign composure when all he wanted was right there before him and she was so willing to accept his bid. It took all his might not to do what he most wanted and lock her up in a golden cage, where she would remain for him alone. His secret, his very own jewel. But most importantly his.
He couldn’t do that to her, he knew, she wouldn’t allow it. And he wouldn’t dare. He would never dare to add imbalance to the fragile structure they had built over the last year. She had come back to him eventually, day by day. He just needed to remind himself of that. Wait and improve his patience. Trust that she desired him as much as he did her. And by all accounts, she must have. Why else would she treat him the way she did? The idealist in him feasted on the way she acted towards him. How fearless and comfortable she was. How her mood could swing from gentle to feisty in a second, never dreading his reaction. Her honesty, which was the easiest, as well as the hardest thing to give someone, was what he most cherished her for.
Never before had he experienced something so close to perfection. The purity of emotion, so vibrant and raw it nearly hurt. But its absence was even worse, like a bottomless hole that sucked him in and ate him up from the inside. He had become addicted to the feeling and he would do anything to keep it. 
He would marry her, yes, and willingly so. He would do anything she asked from him. But if she was to leave him then, if she would take that dagger and push it into his heart, he knew it would destroy him.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Masterpost | Masterlist
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futurewriter2000 · 4 years ago
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Heartless - pt.20
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A/N: Somehow... this turned out personal. God help me. 
XX
James couldn’t put his finger on the boy. He had never saw him on the school grounds. He would never remember a Slytherin like him. A Slytherin Mulciber would stand by all the time. 
“Oi..” James leaned to Sirius and then looked at Remus and Peter in front, who both looked up at him. “Who’s that Slytherin always hanging out with Mulciber? Is he new?” he asked, dragging his hand to his chin and pointing at the Slytherin table. 
Remus casually scratched the back of his head to turn around, meanwhile Peter was way too obvious at staring at the newly green-suited boy laughing with Mulciber and Avery at the far corner of the Slytherin table. 
“I have no bloody idea.” Remus turned back to James, trying to get another look. 
“I dunno.” Sirius squinted his eyes. “There’s oddly something familiar about him.” he added and James punched his shoulder in agreement.
“I know right!” he exclaimed as Sirius surprisingly looked at Remus. James haven’t done this in quite a long time. 
Something was back in James. Something small but it was there. And as might as well be the new Slytherin who was the cause. 
“I can’t put my finger on it.” James squinted his eyes as well, getting that curious uplift of his lips. 
“Wanna prank him?” asked Remus, who had asked this sort of question in his whole Hogwarts years.
“Nah.” James brushed his hand. “I need to know a bit about him.”
“I think his name is Aco. Or that’s how I heard Mulciber calling him.” said Peter, causing Sirius to laugh. 
He started chuckling to himself, unable to hold it in. “Imagine being cursed with a name like that.” he continued to chuckle. 
“You get a baby and look down on it.” James started to chuckle as well. “His name is Aco.” 
Sirius stared laughing a bit louder to the point he tapped James’ shoulder as James started laughing as well, tapping back Sirius arm. Both started wheezing for some unrealistic reason meanwhile Remus couldn’t help himself as well and chuckled as well. 
And for that short moment something came back to James. Yellow. But only for a moment before he had realised that he was happy and that you were gone. He looked at “Aco” in the distance and he was giving him a familiar look he couldn’t quite label yet. 
Guilt showered James like a storm and he had realised that he shouldn’t be happy. That if you weren’t here, he shouldn’t be happy. For what he did to you, he didn’t deserve happiness. 
“You’re rather enjoying yourself.” Mulciber leaned to the boy. “I thought you wouldn’t use your abilities for him.” 
“I only promised you I wouldn’t enter his dreams or anything.” he turned to Mulciber, lifting a corner of his dark, sharp eyebrows. “But a little guilt trip wouldn’t hurt him.” 
“You’re a snake, (y/n).” he whispered and the boys eyes changed colour from bright green to your usual eye colour, only to sent him a wink. 
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” 
To Mulciber it was easier to smile. For him to not grieve after you because really, you weren’t truly gone. Nobody of the Potters knew what had happened that night when they left. None of them knew he appeared in your room, he held you, he suffered the consequences with you but he had also gained more than your trust. He gained your loyalty just as much as you gained his. 
He had betaken it upon himself to take care of you that day. It seemed your heart has rather disappeared that night when your family had abandoned you just as he had foreseen. He truly wished you hadn’t experienced that. You had changed from this queer, lovely and innocent girl to a heartless, revenge driven woman. It was attractive and it had been everything he hoped�� for but there was something much more lighter in the cheery girl before. But he didn’t mind that because the two of you were meant to go through thick and thin. The two of you were meant to grow together and if he had known anything in your special connection is that you will always hold a special light for him. You’re not like the rest. You never will be. To him, you will always represent the hope of his future being more than what his family intended to make out of it. This new version of you... it seems heartless but he knew the depth of you. He could feel you getting excited over certain things as spring flowers or snowflakes in the winter, though you never expressed it. He could also feel the hot-ranged anger in your veins as you had seen James laugh with Sirius for the first time in two months. Relief but anger, a complexion of emotions. 
Though it was a nice disguise, the boy you appeared to be, he had always prefered you in your own body. 
“You seem brighter.” he said without even looking up from his book. 
“I love being Alexi.” you said as you dried your hair with a towel and sat down beside him. “But God knows that I love having my hair and my eyes and my height.” you laughed, putting the towel on your lap as he looked up at you, watching you in admiration and giving you that look that only lasted a few seconds before it disappeared again. “I just wish I could be myself,... you know. Show the people here that I cannot be easily killed.” 
He sat up in a criss-cross position and pulled your back to his chest. “Well, beautiful. You’ll surprise them with that news one day... just not today.”
He smelt so sweetly, felt like home when he was with you. Sometimes you wished he would make the first move; to kiss you or hold you so close, closer than anybody before. How you wished he could read the thoughts you had with him- thoughts you kept under lock and key from him to enter. He really didn’t have a clue about you and you always wondered about that. Does he feel the way you feel or is he just pretending? You admired this boy more than your heart could let you. You obsessed over him, over the idea of you. His eyes, his body, his built, his hair... you loved every feature of his, even the a little bit of crooked nose he despised but you adored. It seemed to fit his God-like aesthetic. Like a Greek god if he stood up, not the one with carved muscles and perfectly curly hair but the softness in the cheeks and the most natural, normal English man-like appereance. You would constantly kiss him, if he had permitted you to. To kiss his nose, his cheeks, his chin and to run your fingers through his curls that were usually slicked back or rub your thumbs against his thick eyebrows. It wasn’t sexual to you, though sometimes you did think of thoughts like so as well but more than sexual, it felt romantic. The pull, the intesity... all you wanted to be with him is romantic. Just for him to hold you in your arms would be enough, to kiss his lips, to be caressed by him... It felt so much more beautiful to be with him than it has ever been with anybody you had known. Not with Marcus, nor with Sirius. But you were so afraid to tell him how you felt because you had no clue if he had ever felt the same. He gave you looks, signs that he did but sometimes he would act completely differently. So many mixed signals that kept you on holding yourself on the edge; to let go or to still hold. Every thought was about him. You saw a simple object and you would think of him. You’d try and eat, then think if he ever ate the same thing as you. Obsessive- that’s how it felt but if felt trapping as well. You just wished he would tell you or showed you... instead of always being so quiet.
But I guess you will never know. 
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odessii-dragonblade · 4 years ago
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From the Past
Odessii still felt as though she was walking through a dream. Just a few paces in front of her was someone she never thought she’d see again... Her own mother, as lively and warm as Odessii remembered her. It was like no time had passed, though Ode had been barely more than a child the last time she’d seen her mother.
There was so much that had happened, so much Odessii wanted to tell her about. Every time over the years she had wanted desperately to talk to her mother, or her father, came flooding back to her. Some things she had overcome on her own in time, but so many more she still felt she hadn’t. But, it was enough just to be with her... Even silently.
They crossed over a bridge, moving further along the path, passed more people whose skin was a pale blue, and had an almost reflective sheen to it. There were spirits here, too, that Odessii recognized as races from Azeroth - and some who took no shape she could recognize, floating as featureless spirits along the same paths as the others.
Her steps were finally halted as they came around a bend, and a courtyard opened up before her. It was the first truly inhabited part of this land she’d seen up close, and she couldn’t help but stare out at it in wonder, at last breaking the silence. “What is this place?”
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As her eyes were fixed in front of her, she felt her mother’s hand again on her shoulder. Odessii’s gaze was broken to turn towards her, heart skipping a beat again as she saw her mother’s smiling face looking back at her. Light, how she’d missed that smile... She could almost feel tears come to her eyes again, as her mother began speaking. “This is Aspirant’s Crucible, a place for reflection and training before a soul begins down the Path.”
She paused, eyes staying on her daughter’s face in a quiet moment, that smile never fading from her features. In fact, it only seemed to deepen as she had the chance to take in the sight of Odessii, and she couldn’t stifle a short little laugh, still in her own state of wonder at seeing her daughter again. “But, I can tell you all about that in a bit - first, we really should get to the others. They’ll be eager to see you.”
Ode paused a moment, before nodding and following her mother further on, passed the courtyard. They climbed further up on the path, coming to another area that Ode couldn’t help but stare at - something she felt she’d be doing a lot as long as she was in this place.
Another courtyard, only this one with a clear purpose. Weapons clashed against each other in the distance, and in the center of a large ring stood a towering automaton, ready - she was sure - to accept challengers. Her mother had mentioned that this was a place for training.
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They moved further on, towards the back of the sparring area, where there were smaller rings for individuals to spar against each other. As they approached one such ring, Odessii could see three figures - one standing at the edge of the ring, with his back to them, and two who were having a bit of a spar themselves. Odessii’s heart beat faster, sure she knew the figure closest to them before even seeing his face, but unable to speak... Just listening to the match playing out in front of him.
One man swung a dull axe with both hands, his movements heavy and a bit on the slower side, though quick enough that the pair of large braids his hair was tied into swung with his every movement. Every swing was paired with a loud shout or grunt from the man, which contrasted against the silent movements of his opponent. A leaner man, wielding a pair of blades that occasionally clashed with the axe, though most of the time he seemed to simply duck or backstep to avoid the swings. He moved quietly, but his voice rang out soon enough. “You’ll have to be quicker than that, Anderson - brute strength without finesse will get you nowhere!”
A boisterous laugh was his answer, as that axe came down on the stone floor between them. “So you’ve said since I was able to hold a weapon, old man! But I’ve gotten pretty far with weapons that have a decent bit of heft to them. No sense stopping now, aye?”
Another swing, and the man watching them both shook his head with a smile, arms crossed over his chest. He was quiet, and only just registered the sound of plate armor approaching behind him - not an unusual sound, though, and not one he needed to acknowledge right away. Odessii’s mother finally got his attention, calling out in that way Ode recognized from a childhood that felt as though it was a lifetime ago. “Avery!”
Odessii felt her heart leap into her throat again as he turned around - as, for the first time in years, she looked upon her father’s face. A hand came up, like she was reaching out towards him. There was a quiet moment, like there had been with her mother; he looked at her, his brows furrowed... And his eyes widened with recognition. It was only then that Odessii let out the breath she hadn’t known she was holding, as her father moved towards them both. “Ode? Light, look at you, you’re so... Are you...?”
Her mother quickly stepped in, putting an arm around Ode’s shoulders as she shook her head, smiling at Avery.  There was a silent understanding, an answer to his question, one that made him smile as well, before he came to throw his arms around the both of them. Odessii blinked back tears as she put her own arms around her mother and father for the first time in ages... As she leaned in to rest her head on her father’s shoulder as she had so many times as a child. This was no dream, of that she was now sure... But it still felt just too good to be true.
Footsteps approached them, and Ode opened her eyes to a broadly smiling face that was from even further in her own past. The man with twin braids approached them, his face lined with a graceful age, and framed by full chops that lead into a bushy mustache. He beamed at her, as his arms went wide. “Well, look at you, my girl! Last I saw you, you barely came up to my knee. Now, here you are, wearing more armor than you could’ve hoped to even carry back then.”
Ode stared, and pulled back a bit from her parents’ embrace, brows furrowed. Now that he was close, she could recognize him as her grandfather. She wasn’t sure why she was surprised, given her parents were there in her arms, but she was. So many people who had been gone for so long... All there, speaking to her as if she’d just returned from some long journey.
The man that approached beside her grandfather, though, she was sure she didn’t know. He was leanly built, looking like one of the Quel’Dorei, though with shorter ears than they were known to have. His hair was much shorter than she was accustomed to seeing the High Elves with, as well, and parted to one side. He had sharp features, and an easy smile that was accompanied by a neatly groomed beard that ran just along his jaw. He bowed his head, pressing a hand to his chest as he bent just slightly at the waist. “Aidan - we haven’t met, but I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”
Aidan... That was a name she knew, eyes going back to her grandfather, who lifted a hand to slap enthusiastically onto the Elf’s shoulder. “My father.”
Ode stared in disbelief - her great-grandfather, there in front of her... And he was a Quel’Dorei? Or, at least, he seemed to be partially Quel’Dorei. Ever since she’d gotten here, all she’d had were questions... And they just kept piling on top of each other. But, it seemed that she would be answering questions first, as her mother spoke again, her face becoming tinged with worry. “Ode, I didn’t want to ask until we were all together, but... Was your brother with you? He should be here with us, I’m sure of it, but... But he hasn’t been. Is he alright?”
Adisor... In all that was happening, Odessii had nearly forgotten that she’d lost track of him. Of all the Ebon Blade that had gone through the rift, even. She’d woken up alone, after being taken through with so many... That couldn’t mean anything good. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and her brows furrowed together. “It’s... A long story...”
One they were ready to hear, it seemed. Still somewhat in shock over all the faces she’d seen so quickly, Odessii moved with her... with her family to somewhere quieter, where they could speak.
Light, where would she even begin?
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themarissaharrison · 4 years ago
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Stay Right Here | Discord
                                                      DISCORD THREAD #007
Who?: Marissa Harrison, Nicola Sloane @nicolaeisms When?: Tuesday August 11th 2020 - Immediately after the ‘Always You’ Self Paragraph Where?: NicCleoRissa’s Vineyard, Pennsylvania
Mentions: @cmlopezofficial | Cordelia Lopez (NPC) | Delilah Daniels (NPC) | Lauren Sloane (NPC) Triggers: death mentions, M/H mentions, suicide mentions
PLOT DEVELOPMENT?: No. Just the real feelz.
Marissa
Marissa was always an early riser, she had been her whole life but it was an even truer statement since the passing of Delilah. She liked the early hours, between around 4.30am until about 6.30am when everyone else then began to start their day. In the height of summer like now, being awake so early was even better because she got to watch the sunrise over their new home. That was the right word to describe the vineyard, even though they had only been there a few days, it just really felt like home. The first couple of days, Marissa had been very quiet, still dealing with the devastation of the weekend and processing the video footage she'd witnessed at Delilah's apartment. But, today, as she sat at the top of the start of the berry yard with a hot coffee between her hands she felt lighter... Her shoulders weren't so tense and her head wasn't spinning around as much. They had all had a long talk the night before about everything, and she was sure that that was what had grounded her. Nic and Cleo grounded her. She smiled to herself as she heard footsteps behind her and looked over her shoulder, pressing her lips into her shoulder a little. "Morning honey... The sun hasn't quite broken yet, come and sit..."
Nicola
the first few days at the vineyard were....difficult for nicola. her original plan was to make this vacation about the three of her loves while she was also in recovery. yet after that very long conversation that they've had about what they were going through before this, the bar owner just....slipped and told them what has been going through her mind. how spacing out became a frequent thing for her again after almost a decade, expressing her fear of losing them and how it felt like it did that night. how she....how she spent nights before this staying up just to cry and watch cleo and marissa to sleep. though after opening up, it felt like the weight in her chest has been lifted. she's sensed the younger brunette woke up from bed earlier and didn't bother to follow her immediately to let her do her morning ritual. her body clock seems to have been readjusting to riss's...and getting up at this hour seemed new to her, but it just felt right. she got up from bed carefully so she wouldn't wake up the sleeping blonde and got herself a cup of coffee before walking up to what has become riss's usual spot at the berry yard. she wraps her arm around her shoulder and kisses the side of her head. "looks like i woke up just in time."
Marissa
It was hard to hear everything that had been happening with Nicola, because she had known something felt wrong and not asked, not done anything... She had felt guilt when she first heard about the fact she was zoning out again, recalling a few times way back when where she'd catch Nic in the realms of the past. Back then, Marissa didn't full understand what that was like... Now she did. So, now it hurt even more. But, they talked, like they had all made a promise to... They tackled it as a team, a family... They were getting stronger and stronger as a unit and Marissa was just-- she was happy. She let out a gentle hum as Nic's arm wraps around her, leaning in softly to the touch and closing her eyes for a moment when the bar owner kissed the side of her face. Riss let go of her own mug with one hand and placed it softly just on the inside of her thigh. "You're up earlier today, baby... You okay?" She asked, looking up into Nic's eyes with a gentle smile.
Nicola
from then on, nicola realized that in order for this to truly work, she could never suppress things ike this ever again. she recalls her conversations with cordelia about this a few months back, the little girl knew about communication more than her. she also knows it wouldn't be fair on her part if she kept things to herself. she wasn't alone anymore, she's got cleo and marissa now, they are a family. "i'm doing okay, my love. i promise." she looks back at the younger brunette, sipping on her coffee for a moment before continuing. "i think my body clock adjusted itself when we got here.... it's actually nice to be up at this hour, you're right." she leans closer, planting a soft kiss on her lips. "you look wonderful, as always. but this....no one can compare to this, my love. i can just...." she kisses her again. "you and cleo....you two make my heart hurt, but in the best way possible."
Marissa
Communication was one thing Marissa had always struggled with, which was ironic given the fact that he entire (now ex) empire was built off of negotiation and trade and business talks. But, those were different. This was personal and Marissa had been raised by a Mother who was as cold as ice, a Father who left, and mentors that taught her how to shut it all off and stay in the 'zone'. It was hard. But, Nic and Cleo-- Dela... They softened her, made it so much easier. "Good... Good, me too... This morning I just feel-- relaxed," she breathed out gently, her thumb stroking over Nic's thigh slowly as she listened to her talk. She chuckled when she said Riss was right. "I'm always right, babe," she teased with a smirk as the kissed. This was magical... It was perfect. Her eyes slowly left Nic's and returned onto the views as she nodded. "I've never felt at home before... In my real home in Vegas, in Manhattan, London, Paris, Kingsboro..." She shook her head a little. "I've never had this feeling before..."
Nicola
"i'm glad you're getting the rest you need, baby. you and cleo....you two have done so much work these past few months. with the gallery, the cove and the sanctuary, plus taking care of me....i just want to make sure i'm doing the same for you two." nicola chuckles along with marissa. "always....you and cleo are two of the smartest people in the world. i cannot argue with that." she kept her eyes on the gallery owner while she continued on watching their scenery. "i'm home wherever the three of you are. you, cleo, cordelia....you three are my life now." she takes her hand that was on her thigh to hold, intertwining their fingers. "i don't--i can't see myself with anyone else....i can't....i can't ever lose this, you...."
Marissa
"I keep getting these like... I don't want to say panic attacks because that's not what they are but... Just this overwhelming feeling of standing still, of not doing any work. I've not had a break since I was 17... I can't remember the last time I took a real vacation like this," she sighed softly as she fell deeper into the others embrace. "You take care of me more than I think you'll ever know, Nic... And Cleo too, I-- I don't know how to prove to you both how much you mean to me... I've never been good with this but... The three of you... I don't think I can--" Marissa didn't want to say it out loud, about how she wouldn't want to be alive without them. That was too much pressure to put on their shoulders, no matter how true it was. "I love you..." She whispers into Nic's chest, feeling the best possible pain in her heart. She felt a tear roll out from the corner of her eye and quickly wiped it away.
Nicola
“i understand, my love….this has been my first legitimate break in more than a decade….” nicola runs her hand along marissa’s arm, letting out a relaxed sigh as she moved closer to her. besides montauk not so long ago, this is something the older brunette would call the break she’s been needing for years, in a property she shares with her family. “i just want you, cleo and cordelia to have the best care you three deserve. i just….i’m sorry for not telling you two what was happening…” she plants a soft kiss on top of her head. “we’re never going to go anywhere….we’ll be always together, and i promise you that.” she runs her fingers through the gallery owner’s hair as she nuzzled her face against her chest. “i love you too….so much that words won’t ever be enough.”
Marissa
Marissa was glad everything was out in the open now, more or less. It had taken away the strange tension that had been running between everyone since the attack, and now it just... It all felt right again, at least it did for Riss. "You don't need to be sorry... I get what it's like when you're like that, when you keep-- losing touch," she swallowed a little, thinking back to the video, to the psych ward and sighing. There was a question that had been running riot in her mind for weeks now, since the wedding reception of Avery and Monroe one that she hadn't felt right to ask until now. Riss sniffed as she sat up a little and looked to Nicola, reading her eyes for a moment and seeing the love in them. "Would you still look at me like that if I got sick again?" She asked, tone barely above a whisper. "Would you still love me if I had to go back...?"
Nicola
"hey....hey...." nicola takes the coffee mug away from marissa's hand, and puts it down beside hers, before drawing her into her arms. she cups the younger woman's face with her hands and stared at those hazel eyes. "i will always love you even if you get sick again, even if you had to go back....cleo and i will always support you through all of this. we will hold you through the toughest of times....and as cleo would say.....the roughest of seas....." she plants soft kisses on her forehead, the tip of her nose, then her lips. "i will always love you both even if things get hard. i would never give up on the loves of my life, you two never gave up on me. you were the one i was holding on to after i was....i was clinging on for my life. cleo held me away from losing my sanity. you two....with dela....you brought back life in me. i would never....i can't ever lose this....lose you...i can't..." she shakes her head. "i will always love you, marissa harrison. always."
Marissa
Letting Nicola draw her in, she loosely grabbed hold of the fabric of Nic's top as she listened. The roughest of seas... Riss wanted to believe that she had sailed through the harshest weather her journey would make her face but, what if she hadn't? What if they became more dangerous later down the line? Could she handle them? Would they be able to handle her? "I will always love you two too, and Dela of couse... But I--" she swallows thickly as she rests her forehead against Nic's and closes her eyes for a moment to stop herself from crying. "I don't ever want to lose this... But what if my own mind doesn't give me a choice?" Riss furrowed her brows deeply as she took in a heavy breath. "I don't remember-- how I got to that apartment... I don't remember the things I did and if I did that again... If I get bad and-- and Dela sees... She doesn't need to see that... I'm just so scared-- o-of myself... But I can't lose this... I don't want to ever stop loving you..."
Nicola
"neither me nor cleo would allow that to happen, my love. and you.....you will always have us." she gently drags the younger woman to her lap, just kissing the side of her head while she listened to her speak out her mind. "we've lost each other once and i'm not going to let that happen again, i'm going to--we're always going to fight for you, for this, for our family." nicola could remember that day, still.....and how it hurts seeing marissa like that. "what can i do? what can we do to help, baby? whatever you need....we'll support you, be with you every step of the way. you're not alone anymore, my love....you're never going to lose us, i promise."
Marissa
She had heard all this before, this wasn't the first time they had had a conversation like this... But, here in the vineyard, in their home... Those words felt more real, they held more a place in her heart. For our family. She had never had one of those before... Not really... No-one had fought for Marissa, not even Delilah. "Everything that you are already doing... Just-- being with me, in my life... Talking, properly... I know, I don't feel alone anymore. I just-- maybe I'll always be scared of-- my own head..." She sighed gently and shrugged her shoulders a little. "There's nothing anyone can do about that... I just have to learn to live with that," she smiled sadly before kissing Nic softly.
Nicola
"you always have me and cleo....and dela, whenever you're scared. you can...you can tell us absolutely anything. alright?" from that night on, nicola also promised this to herself, not to keep things from cleo and marissa anymore. that she wasn't a burden to them. that they would always have each other. she kisses her back, holding her as close as she could. "we'll fight it, together. we will always be here with you....this place....this vineyard....i thought of this as the place for us when things get too much, a place for us to rest and hide from the rest of the world. i do hope it helps....even just a bit. i....i love you, riss....remember that i'll always be here."
Marissa
Marissa nodded softly as Nicola explained everything again. As she spoke about how they were going to fight this together, the three of them, a team... A family. It was so surreal for Riss, to be using that word so often. Sometimes it made her want to run a hundred miles in the other direction, it was terrifying but... She couldn't leave, not Nicola, not Cleo... Now, not Dela either... "It does help," she said quietly as she played with Nic's fingers absentmindedly. "You help... And Cleo... And I love you both so much," she swallowed with a sniffle. I don't deserve this. That's what went through her mind as Nic said she'd always be here for her. She sighed. "I don't care about my coffee, can I just... Stay like this with you-- for a while?"
Nicola
"i love you and cleo...and cordelia....so much. i wouldn't know where i am today without you three. i--it may not seem like it, but you....thinking about you....that made me dive back up to the surface from the brink of giving up all those years ago. and without cleo and cordelia, i would've lost the little amount of sanity i've had left." the nightmares didn't come that much anymore ever since nicola started having two women around and sharing her bed with them every single night for the past month....and that....that helped a lot. "you can stay with me in any way you want for as long as you like, my love. i got you....i love you." she kisses the top of her head as she held her in her arms.
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homenum-revelio-hq · 5 years ago
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Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix, Taylor!
You have been accepted for the role of non-biography character LYDIA AVERY with the faceclaim of Margot Robbie! We were excited to see your discussion of nice doesn’t always equal right and how Lydia’s motivations throughout her life stem from this constant need to be liked. We love a good underestimated character and we think Lydia will be able to help the Order immensely with her knowledge! So happy to have you apart of this roleplay!  
Please take a look at the new member checklist and send in your account within 24 hours! Thank you for joining the fight against Voldemort!
OUT OF CHARACTER:
NAME: Taylor
AGE: 28
TIMEZONE: EST, Toronto time
ACTIVITY LEVEL: I try to check the dash and discord every day, but I’m probably low to mid activity. I usually post one or two times during the week and then catch up on the weekends.
ANYTHING ELSE: I’m pretty good about all triggers, though I would appreciate a heads up with any suicide mentions. As long as it’s tagged or I’m prepared I’m good though!
CHARACTER DETAILS:
NAME: Lydia Augustine Avery
AGE: 25
GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: Cis Female, She/Her & Lesbian
That doesn’t mean she won’t flirt with a man to boost their ego. Men treat you so much nicer when they think you might sleep with them! Sometimes she wonders why that is, but then she remembers it’s probably one of the reasons she loves women so damn much.
Her sexuality was never exactly a secret, though it’s not something she flaunts in this day and age. Though as a teenager she had been a bit confused about her lack of interest in the men who thought she was so lovely. The hands she’d let grope her as a teenager, the cocks she’d found mediocre. She figured that her preference was as fluid as her personality; she wanted to be liked by everyone, and therefore she must like everyone, right? It took her a minute (she’s a bit slow in most things), but eventually she realized that she really only liked women. They’re truly lovely, aren’t they?
BLOOD STATUS: Pureblood Half-blood.
Lydia’s mixed wix and muggle heritage means that she is not biologically related to the mother that raised her, Colette Avery, and is a half sister to Margaret. But while Lydia knew she was a bastard child, she didn’t realize she was a half-blood! Even Colette was unaware until recently that her husband was unfaithful with a dirty muggle of all things! Alphonse’s affair lasted more than a few weeks while travelling with a woman in France named Delphine Marchand. She worked in a bakery and loved to figure skate. Her pureblood father knows nothing of her muggle mother’s heritage, or much of her history in general - and when she finds out he gives Lydia next to nothing in terms of knowledge of her mother, in fear that Lydia would have the urge to venture into the muggle world he saved her from to find her.    
HOUSE ALUMNI: Slytherin
“What? A nice girl like you, you’re not from Slytherin!”
“Slytherins can be nice! I take offense to that, sir.” Lydia grins back, her face not showing an ounce of what she claimed - though she had a skill for always appearing unflustered and approachable. A thick skin was needed when you were kind to everyone, a strength that people often forgot. The man takes her charm as flirting, a common occurrence and leans against her desk.
“Really, I can’t name a single Slytherin I’ve known for being so sweet.”
“Well then you haven’t been hanging around the right people. Besides, now you know me!”
ANY CHANGES: Nope
CHARACTER BACKGROUND:
PERSONALITY:
Without knowing Lydia you may assume she’s unapproachable. The perfect poise, plush pout, sacred name, and during school her emerald green banner colours, tend to give the stereotypical impression of a mean girl. But Lydia Avery is far from it.
One of Lydia’s key goals in life is to be liked, and in her experience growing up, the best way to be liked is to be kind. She genuinely enjoys making people happy, and through this has gained a warmth and a charm that disarms many. Not a stranger to compliments or generous acts, she’s the first to make a pot of tea for a group or start doing dishes as a guest.
Many have taken advantage of Lydia through the ages, as along with her kindness she has a dislike for confrontation and will rarely call someone out as being rude or manipulative. In her teenage years she was the seat warmer or the errand runner, and as a secretary for a powerful Ministry man she hasn’t really grown out of this just yet. There’s a meekness to her willingness to do someone else’s dirty work, and she’s easily talked into situations that she might not be if she had a stronger backbone.
Despite her lack of confrontational skills, she’s grown a thick skin. A bit of I’m rubber and you’re glue inner philosophy, she tends to take words as just words. With snarky comments given to her over the years from her “mother” Colette she has an inner belief that insulting people don’t actually dislike you and almost anyone can be won over. It’s naive, but it’s helped her stay relatively optimistic! While insults like Lydiot are demeaning and she definitely doesn’t like them, she’s a fantastic actress and it rarely shows on her face when she’s upset or thinking negative thoughts. Her self-consciousness is internal and there’s power in appearing unphased by cruelty (though some may think she’s just too dim to understand it was insulting in the first place - and to be frank, sometimes that is the case).
This ability to hold a facade is one of her greatest strengths. Lydia has been acting her entire life! A family secret since she was born, allowing Colette to bounce snarky underhanded comments at her with the appearance that she was unphased has set her up as unexpectedly valuable. She’s able to charm the right people, and quietly observe unnoticed. She’s able to keep a straight face with a creep’s hand on her knee, and recite lines without stumbling. Her charm, mixed with her attractiveness, work as a glamour and despite being someone in the room that almost everyone notices - most of the time she’s hidden in plain sight.
BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY:
Alphonse Avery, Father - Shopkeep, A Very Spellbinding Book Shop
Alphonse Avery is a proud man. Not because of his riches, but because he’s built what he has from the ground up, no thanks to his drunken, gambling father. Raised in a wealthy home, he remembers what it was like to be waited on by house elves and invited to banquets, but also recalls losing it all during his days in Hogwarts. Sometimes he is even still bitter about it all, he often butts heads with his father whom he rarely speaks with anymore, and sometimes with his brother Albrecht who still puts Lydia’s grandfather in high regards. Though he isn’t a muggle sympathizer, Alphonse thinks there’s more than just pure blood that makes someone worth looking up too.
Colette Avery, Step-mother - Shopkeep , A Very Spellbinding Book Shop
Colette is not an unreasonable woman. Honorable even, raising the outcome of her husband’s affair. She loves her husband, but it wasn’t to say they always saw eye to eye. Their marriage was an arranged one, and therefore they don’t particularly show the chemistry expected of a loving partnership, but when it comes to supporting her family she’ll do what’s best for them. Even when Lydia is looking up at her with blue eyes that don’t match their own, a sharp reminder that at one point in her life she hadn’t been good enough. She’s curt with Lydia, and never shies away from constructive criticism or feels the need to sugarcoat. The fawning she does over Minnie is something Lydia has always longed for growing up and when she can please Colette it’s a good day.
Margaret “Minnie” Avery, Half Sister
Minnie has alway been the pet of the family. Colette’s true born daughter, the favourite, the rightful Avery. While this might make any other person resent their sister, Lydia adores her little sister. While others may call her mousey in her looks, she’s wickedly smart and can always make Lydia laugh with her slightly dark humour. She has the same eye for politics, but while Lydia had always been one for schmoozing, Minnie never bothered and instead has always had a sense of self worth that Lydia has been proud of her sister for.
Albrecht Avery, Uncle - Death Eater
Alphonse’s younger brother. A true believer in his father’s beliefs that everything bad that has ever happened to them is because of muggles or muggle borns, and doesn’t understand Alphonse’s lack of sympathy towards his father. It wasn’t a crime to gamble, after all! The mudblood that won their family fortune was a no good, rotten thief. He had to have cheated, after all. How else could he have won that game? No way he’d been more talented or intelligent then an Avery! While Albrecht and Alphonse don’t always see eye to eye, Lydia has known her Uncle Al her entire life. Loud, outgoing, demeaning, and cunningly cruel with underhanded compliments. Lydia and her sister have rarely felt comfortable around their uncle - who found the fact that his brother had daughters just another point to why he’d done better than him.
Arcturus Avery, Cousin - Presumed Death Eater
Arcturus and Lydia were always the closest in age. She’s always seen him as the closest thing to a brother she’s ever had, and when she finally reached the age to attend Hogwarts she’d been delighted that she’d made it into his house too! Her older cousin always had the confidence of his father, and as he aged, his bossiness grew more and more. He knew all of the tricks to get Lydia to do his bidding - though it didn’t take much really - and his treatment of her resembles gaslighting. Cute nicknames one moment, insults the next. Building her up just to knock her down. Leaving her out of the fun just to make her want to be included. As she’s aged she’s grown less comfortable with his values, but she doesn’t realize that Arcturus or his father are Death Eaters.
Delphine Marchant, Biological mother - Muggle
There’s not much to be said about Lydia’s birth mother. She doesn’t know anything really at all. The woman is a faceless entity, but Alphonse has been smitten in his short time trying to woo the french woman in the bakery, who always smelled of cinnamon. She doesn’t remember Alphonse, or even Lydia - for he’d done her a kindness and wiped her memory clean before stealing her child.
OCCUPATION:
Formerly a washed out actress, she now works in the Ministry as part of the Wizengamot Administrative Services as secretary for the honourable Wizengamot Judge Perryweather, a member of the High Court of Magic
ROLE WITHIN THE ORDER/THOUGHTS ABOUT THE ORDER:
It’s all so new and fresh, she’s barely a member - still in the affiliate stage. This is the closest Lydia has ever been to having a mind of her own and standing up for her beliefs. Honestly, this is the closest Lydia has had to realizing she truly has beliefs! It hasn’t fully clicked what exactly she’s doing and what sort of risk she’s taking. That being said, I think she’s going to be intoxicated by the sudden realization that she can make choices and have thoughts that don’t simply parrot what she thinks other people want to hear, and when that starts to unravel who knows what’s going to happen??  
That being said, it’s going to take something big for people to take Lydiot Avery seriously in The Order!
SURVIVAL:
Lydia is lucky enough to have a good family name and a Ministry job. Her heritage is a secret, and as Judge Pennyweather’s beloved secretary she’s practically invisible. She resides in a small studio flat in London, not far from the Ministry where she lives alone and sometimes
RELATIONSHIPS: I’m not exactly sure what people have in mind but here are a few possible ideas!
Maurice Creevey
A person who is practically the opposite of people-pleasing Lydia, it was Maurice’s pirated broadcasts that brought the fact that there was truly a rebellion fighting against everything that is happening without waiting for the slow-moving and corrupt bureaucracy. Lydia rarely says anything that might upset anyone, but when she meets the muggleborn who fights it all with words broadcasted out to the world she can’t help but like a moth to a flame. She could learn a lot, but it also might get her burned.
Branwen Yaxley
Branwen scares the shit out of Lydia. In your face, opinionated and bigotted, she’s not exactly Lydia’s cup of tea. Her worst fear is that Branwen (or anyone really) truly finds out about her muggle mother, but it doesn’t stop her from treating the woman with the same kindness and showers her with the same amount of compliments that everyone receives. Though Lydia’s sure that one of these days a comment on how lovely her hair looks today might end her up with a black eye.
OOC EXPLORATION:
SHIPS/ANTI-SHIPS:
I don’t have any particular ships in mind, but I’m personally open to anything. Lydia is a sucker for attention, and takes any form of it as good. She wants to be liked by as many people as possible, which means she’s a bit of a pushover and can be easily taken advantage of. I’d love to see this either taken advantage of, or for once someone to stick up for her and show her that she’s worth more. Or both? Both is good! I’m down for it all. Unrequited love, heartbreak, fluff (though not too much fluff that’s boring!)
WHAT PRIVILEGES AND BIASES DOES YOUR CHARACTER HAVE?
Despite the new found information that Lydia is not actually a pureblood, she has lived her entire life with the privilege of being one. A strong family name means something in wizarding Britain and up until recently she could stay safely on the sidelines without worrying about who won the war. She’d still be safe and sound no matter what. But now her sense of self is dwindling even further, fragile as it already was with the title of bastard in her mother’s eyes, Lydia is now seeing the world as what it truly is - and realizing why her father had kept it such a secret for so long. Not even his family would really understand, would they?
And while Lydia is kind to everyone she meets, it doesn’t necessarily mean she’s always understood her privilege and can be rather dim in the area of realizing how truly well-off she’s been all of these years. Her Slytherin school mates, mixed with her pureblood family, and her lack of heroic or confrontational nature means that up until now she’s never stood up for her beliefs - and she’s been in a place where she’s never had to really have them. It’s selfish, that she’s suddenly turning to the “good guys” as a mix of self-preservation and a realization that there are no innocent bystanders. This war affects everyone, and she had to be a sudden target to realize it.
Also, unrelated to blood, but Lydia has always had the privilege of being pretty. It’s vain, she knows, but as far as she is concerned listening to a pretty girl try and be humble about their looks makes you want to punch them in the nose - so she isn’t going to point at hidden pores or say she needs to lose weight when she knows she doesn’t. Lydia learned very early into puberty that there is a sort of power in being attractive. People like you more, it’s just a simple fact, and Lydia wants to be liked! And so she’s always used this key attribute to her advantage. Batting her eyelashes, sending a splendid smile, and maybe wearing a low cut top if she really wanted to distract you. It’s unfortunate, and she doesn’t believe she’s really more valuable than anyone else for it, but hey! If it works, it works.
And history told her, it usually did. Sometimes too well. Lydia’s keen ability to read a room and be able to charm people sometimes works a little too well, and men often can’t keep their eyes off of her assets. While she sometimes uses this to her advantage, it’s also fairly revolting that many men treat a woman more kindly if they’re attractive. They’re pigs. And while she doesn’t think all men are that way, she’s met enough to be wary of them until they prove their respectability!
WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO?
The most job interview of job interview questions! I’m just looking forward to being in a group that I’ve been told is so creative, fun and accepting. I’ve heard nothing but good things for months but wanted to make sure I had an idea for a character that would give me the muse to do this place justice!
PLOT DROP IDEAS:
Lydia isn’t the type of person to see her value in a fight or organization like the Order’s, so I don’t see her as being a fully fledged member right away. Her just trying to reach out to someone being like “Hey, I know a thing! Maybe it will help!” is a big step for her, so I think it might be a gradual initiation that makes her a full member after a few intel drop offs.
That being said, I think once she’s done a few intel drop offs, Lydia gets hooked on being valuable and important and having morals and beliefs, and I would love for her to prove her worth or someone to challenge her place. Lydia is not someone you automatically see as valuable or a team member worth having so making her step out of her comfort zone and show her worth in a situation like that would be super fun! Risky initiation anyone??
ANYTHING ELSE? Nope!
EXTRA FOR NON-BIO CHARACTERS:
PAST:
Lydia Avery has almost always had a secret. From the day she was born, her secret had been kept; or as her father would put it, their family secret. You see, while her father Alphonse loved his wife Colette dearly, it did not mean that he had always been faithful. So when he brought home a beautiful baby girl one stormy evening from his ventures in France - freshly plucked from her mother’s arms (a well casted obliviate to spare her from the heartache) - Colette was less than enthused.
“She’s an Avery!” Her father had argued. His duty to take care of his own. Colette allowed it, she was a reasonable woman after all, and wouldn’t flaunt the embarrassment of infidelity. Therefore Lydia was raised as Colette’s child, and the rest of the world knew nothing different - but as much as she wasn’t a cruel woman, Colette also didn’t want Lydia to believe that she was hers. And so Lydia, and eventually her half-sister, had always been aware of where she’d come from and that no one else should know.
Lydia’s childhood wasn’t an unhappy one - she adored her sister, and until school longed for nothing because she didn’t know anything was missing from their home on the side streets of Diagon Alley. At least nothing material. It was her “mother” who Lydia longed to impress, overly eager to please Colette in an attempt to gain maternal love. It came easy to Margaret, the polite, quiet & smart girl who never had to lie about whose womb she came from. Colette’s affection for her real daughter was like any mother’s, and Lydia would do anything to gain the same. Set the table, clean the dishes, lay her slippers at her feet. It wasn’t expected, but when she could gain a smile from Colette it was worth it! She loved making people happy, and when she made people happy, they liked her back.
People pleasing became a trait that eventually embodied Lydia, and by the time she was at school, she was eager as ever to make friends. Her passion for people to like her was her greatest ambition, and it landed her into Slytherin. Despite her lack of new robes or fancy jewellery, even for the most inconsiderate people it was hard not to like Lydia’s happy-go-lucky energy - but it also allowed her to be taken advantage of quite a bit. The pushover of the group, she was often the friend who went to save seats in class or for dinner, or fetch forgotten items that weren’t even hers in the common room.
While some of her housemates were cunning enough to use Lydia to their full advantage, her friendliness didn’t center around just them, and many of her other classmates didn’t mind her company or a friendly hello! She had a knack for making them feel special, noticing things like their artistic abilities or the lovely colour of their hair or jumper. She was also smart enough to distance herself from her friend’s bad behaviour. While Lydia didn’t excel at school (something her mother would later blame on her heritage), she’d inherited a keen eye for personal politics - and could do simple math. Most of the school (and world) liked Gryffindors, and so despite Slytherins disliking Gryffindors, she didn’t need them to dislike her back. Especially if it would mean other people would dislike her too!
And so as the years passed, she became good at slipping away or keeping her distance when her cousin Arcturus would snark insults to young muggleborns, or the other kids would pick on the Hufflepuffs. Not noticeably of course, and she wasn’t any hero who’d come to their aid - she didn’t need that target after all. No she was simply neutral, because if she was neutral then no one could dislike her, could they?
PRESENT:
One of Lydia’s great loves in magical London was the infamous Moonlight Theatre. With moving pin-ups of glamourous actors and actresses, theatre elves ushering fabulously dressed couples to their seats, and wonderfully acted performances of “Walburga & Hortense, A Tragedy In Three Parts” and “Death of a Broomsmaker”, Lydia was intoxicated.
And some of the casting agents were intoxicated by her as well. A Marylin Monroe-esque soft and breathy voice, doe-eyes and an hourglass figure, some thought Lydia was made for an audience. Even her charm translated to the stage! What better career for a woman wanting to be adored then that of one in the spotlight?
But while Lydia had been willing to kiss a few frogs, and let men do what they want with her in her younger years - the pushover side of Lydia Avery grew a bit more and more of a spine as she aged. Lydia didn’t want to let every man’s hands wander, or go on dates with the director so that he could show her off on his arm and push her into bed later that night. She wanted to steal kisses from her co-star Tabitha Bradford and slip her own hands under her skirt with permission. She wanted lipstick stains on her skin, and the smell of fresh perfume instead of cologne.
And when she finally stood up for herself, she was left re-casted and jobless - her reciprocated crush suddenly silent in fear for her own unemployment.
“It’s for the best.” Her father says, never liking the sight of his eldest daughter’s moving pictures on theatre posters or the odd tabloid. It’s the first time Lydia truly gets angry with him in a long time, another parent who isn’t proud of her, but the spat causes a slip-up that stops the girl in her tracks. “It’s better that you keep yourself out of their heads! No reason to pry, no need for them to find out what you are.”
A half-blood. Dirty. The affair he’d claimed was with at least a witch wasn’t that at all! Even Colette was unaware that while he was dilly-dallying about in his younger years, it hadn’t just been with another woman. It had been with a muggle woman. A pretty girl who worked in a bakery and knew nothing of his life back home with magic.
“A harmless romp.”, Alphonse claimed, but the look in his eyes was one with shame and a bit of confusion. Even he doesn’t fully believe it but when Lydia begs to know more he pushes her away. Force he’s never used on her before. “Get it out of your head! It’s nothing. You’re a witch and if anyone asks your blood is pure. You’re my daughter and that should be good enough.”
It’s the last they speak of it. It’s for her protection, after all. Before she thought this half-secret she’d lived all her life was for pride. At least part of it is. For Colette to not have to explain to her circle what she’d lacked. But truly he’d done it to protect her, hadn’t he? Stolen her away from the family her grandfather would loathe. He’dhidden her with a shiny pureblood status to stop those like her uncle from erasing her completely.    
Eventually she finds a position she’s good at. Simple work, taking notes and fetching lunch and running errands for Judge Perryweather. A very important man, so she was told! A person who knows all the ins and outs at the ministry, and therefore Lydia has learnt quite a few things sitting at the desk in front of his office. A smile always on her face and a kind word to the right person, and they tended to tell her things she really wasn’t supposed to know. Who was having an affair, policies they were trying to push, charged witches and wizards they had on trial. From the delivery wix to the other judges, they all know her now and she knows them! And while she’s not exactly cunning, she isn’t as dim as everyone makes her out to be! She knows when to smile and charm, when to be quiet and listen, when to pretend to be invisible. It’s an interesting job, in an interesting place - and maybe if someone saw her potential she could be useful with everything that’s happening lately.
But then again, she’s not going to overstep if she’s unwanted in that area. It’s not as if someone would ask Lydia about anything. Why would they expect her to be an expert on Perryweather’s close friendship with Lucius Malfoy, or the fact that, despite him being a proud, public supporter of the Ministry of Magic, every 2 weeks an envelope filled with gallons and a list of Muggle Sympathizers names landed on her desk for her boss.
And if she offered the unwanted information, well who would take someone like her seriously?
FC CHOICES: Margot Robbie please! If she doesn’t work Blake Lively or Meghann Fahy
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walkerismychoice · 6 years ago
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It’s Complicated (Raleigh X MC, Avery X MC)
Book: Platinum
Pairing: Raleigh X MC, Avery X MC
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2211
Note: This was supposed to be mainly a Raleigh X MC fic and not a love triangle type thing, but Raleigh made MC mad enough that it turned into a Avery X MC fic also. It was inspired by me choosing to do Avery’s scene after Raleigh’s in the last chapter, and this idea is what followed. Much of the dialogue come from chapter 9, but I changed some up and added some for the purposes of fitting this fic.
Summary:  Raleigh gets really drunk at Aria’s album release party and she is not happy. Avery is in the right place at the right time, providing comfort and a needed distraction. Then things get complicated.
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Aria licks the salt from Raleigh’s abs, downs her tequila shot, and gently pulls the lime out of his mouth between her teeth. 
“Woohoo! We did it!” She tosses the lime on the bar and coaxes Raleigh upright on the bartop to kiss him softly on the mouth. She can feel him smile against her lips, taste the tart lime that still lingers on his.
Raleigh pulls back with a smirk. “I’d gladly do this over body shots.”
“I never said you could skip your turn.”
“Is that so?”
As hot as it would be to watch him drag his tongue seductively across her skin, in her mouth is a much preferred place for it to be. Aria wraps her legs around his waist, twining her fingers through his hair. The feel of his bare chest against her lights up every bit of her exposed skin.
“Aria...” Raleigh breathes against her mouth.
Their lips just barely meet again before they are jolted a part by a laugh somewhere in the crowd.
Aria blushes as she puts herself back together. “I guess we are in a... very public place. And I’m the host no less.”
“Well, at least Fiona can’t fault us for not being in character.”
“Oh, right...” Dammit, she feels like such a fool. Putting on a PR show was the furthest thing from her mind, but apparently not his. “Yeah, we’re great actors.” She hopes the disappointment isn’t evident in her voice.
“Right...” Raleigh draws out the word, like he’s not quite believing her, or himself. Aria doesn’t really know. She never knows with him. Raleigh hops down from the bar and puts his clothes back on, promptly pouring himself another drink. It’s not like she hasn’t overindulged a tad in celebration this evening, but she’s still got her wits about her. Raleigh on the other hand is stumbling around and slurring his words like a drunken mess.
The more she thinks about it, the more her blood starts to boil. Although he never fails to remind her they are in a fake relationship, his actions, and little things he lets slip start to make her get hopes up and believe otherwise. But then he does shit like this. This is her big day, her first album release party. If he was supportive of her, if he really cared, he wouldn’t be getting so wasted with his “friends” or whoever they are. He'd be at her side. She’s got to keep reminding herself though that they aren’t a real couple, and she has no right to be mad. She’s not legitimate claim on him.
Aria takes a deep breath and plasters a fake smile on her face for appearances sake. “Raleigh Carrera, I think this is the drunkest I’ve ever seen you. Maybe I can get you to spill all your dark secrets."
“Just one problem...” Raleigh speaks slowly, stumbling over his words. “I don’t have any secrets. I’m an open book.”
“Is that right?” Aria shoot back.
“Go ahead, ask me anything.” He challenges.
Do you have any real feelings for me at all? If she were braver that’s what she’d ask but this is not the time nor the place. However, maybe she can get there in a roundabout way. “Have you ever been in love?”
“Wow, right to the hard-hitting questions, Aria?”  Raleigh shakes his head and chuckles. “Truly? I don’t know. But I will say... You’re the best fake girlfriend I’ve ever had.”
"Well...” What did she expect? For him to say he was falling in love with her? But coming from him this might be the closest admission she'll get that there's something there. "...I'm flattered."
"It's like every song I've ever written was about you, and I just didn't know it yet." Raleigh blinks and stares off, his eyes almost glazed over.
Aria's jaw drops. "Raleigh, are you okay?" Does he even know what he's saying right now?
Raleigh shakes himself out of it and it's like he just woke up from a trance. "You should see the look on your face right now, I totally got you."
Got her how? Was he bullshitting her with the line about the songs? Does he even remember he said it? "But you said--"
Raleigh looks like a deer in headlights. "I ah... I need some air. Later."
Aria stands, dumbfounded, at the bar watching Raleigh walk away. Part of her knows with as drunk as he is, it's pointless to make anything of it, but another part of her thinks his ramblings are an indication of his true feelings, and he doesn't know how to handle them. Whatever the case, his actions have proven cowardly and immature, and she's so over it. Maybe it's time to talk to Fiona about orchestrating a PR relationship breakup.
Aria storms off, she's not even sure where, when she nearly runs right into Avery.
"Oh! Hi, Avery."
Avery's gaze travels up and down Aria's body. "Aria, you look breathtakingly beautiful, it should be illegal."
She's so not in the mood, and if it were anyone else it would come off as some cheesy pickup line, but Avery can't seem to be anything but sweet. "Thank you, Avery." Aria smiles weekly.
Avery picks up on the mood Aria's not hiding as well as she thought. "You seem like you could use a breather. I'd love a chance to get to show you my favorite balcony in the city. Seems like a beautiful night tonight"
Aria doesn't want to give him the wrong idea, but Avery has been a great friend and mentor through it all, and stepping outside with him would be go a long way in calming her down.
"That sounds lovely."
A light breeze hits Aria's face as she steps out on the balcony, the temperature quite a bit cooler and more comfortable than the hot, stuffy air inside the venue. The bustling sounds of the city below are present but muted from this high up, and the lights provide a perfect glow. She immediately feels much more grounded.
Avery leans against the balcony rail. "So what do you think of your first album release party?"
"It's been fun, but insane." Aria admits. "I've been pulled in so many directions, I haven't been able to catch my breath all night."
"I know. I've missed you, but you're doing a great job at playing host."
"Yeah..." Aria's thoughts circle back to Raleigh, so she changes the focus to put him out of her mind. They discuss the nwq song Avery's been working on in the studio and what's next for both of them.
During a comfortable lull in the conversation, Avery takes a step back and puts his thumbs and forefingers together in the shape of a frame pointed right at her.
"What are you doing?" Aria chuckles.
"Taking a mental picture of you right now." Avery snap his fingers like he's mimicking a flash, and Aria doesn't even know how this is her real life. Just months ago she encountered Avery at the smoothie shop, starstruck and unable to articulate any intelligible thoughts, and now here he is admiring her, wanting to commit this moment to memory. "I know they say a picture's worth a thousand words, but this one is leaving me speechless."
There he goes again with a line that if delivered by anyone else would make her roll her eyes, but she starts to feel flushed. "Avery Wilshire, that was some blatant flirting!"
Avery smiles coyly. "You haven't seemed to be taking my subtle hints, so I thought I'd try a more direct approach."
"Avery..." The truth is, since the moment she met Raleigh, she's been so hung up on him, nobody else mattered. Avery is sweet and wonderful, but once she had gotten to know him, she never pictured him moving out of the friendzone. Raleigh is sparks and fireworks, volatile and electrifying, igniting a passion in Aria. Avery's a warm blanket, comfortable, familiar and reliable, but nothing to get excited about. That is until one realizes that maybe they value the comfort and stability over the excitement and uncertainty. Maybe it's the alcohol mixed with the atmosphere, or maybe she's just that pissed at Raleigh, but she's beginning to see Avery in a new light.
Avery leans in and takes Aria’s hand in his. “Here we are, just a few months away from where we were. You’ve dropped an album and are climbing the charts...”
Reminded of how fast things are happening, some doubts start to creep in. As much as she wants to get him out of her mind, she thinks about young teenage Raleigh who was plucked from obscurity and became a star overnight. Everything he’s been through, everything he’s done, he’s probably so far removed from the boy that he was. 
“Avery, do you think I’ve changed?”
“Of course. But who says that’s a bad thing? I’m different now from who I woke up as this very morning. All you’ve been through in New York these past few months... It’s only made you stronger.”
“You really think so?”
Avery gives Aria’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “I know so. This is what you were built for. Looking at you now, thinking of the girl I saw mopping the floor of Smoothie Star to music, stars in her eyes... I’ve never been more proud. And I’m so excited to see where you’re going to go next.
Something passes between them. The way Avery is looking at her, the way he actually sees her, makes her feel like she deserves to feel. There’s no games, no mixed messages. It’s clear that if she wants him, he’s hers for the taking, so in this moment she does. Aria cradles his face in her hands and moves in for a kiss. Avery reciprocates immediately, slow but determined, like he’s savoring every moment. Aria’s hands slide under his jacket, feeling the contours of his muscles through the fabric of his dress shirt.
Avery pulls back with a smirk. “We’d best be careful. Wouldn’t want anyone to catch you cheating on your monogamous tabloid relationship.”
“That’s okay. No one can see us out here, anyway. We’re pretty secluded, and everyone’s inside.” And Raleigh’s being an asshole, so right now Aria wouldn’t care if anyone did see.
“Mmm. And thank god for that.” Avery loops his arms around Aria’s waist and pulls her in for another kiss, deeper and more passionate this time. 
In his embrace she feels safe and secure, yet so free at the same time. If she could stop time, she would, right here and now. When they finally pull apart, neither can stop smiling.
“I’m so glad you came came out here to join me. Sometimes, it's good to be still. And enjoy the view.” Avery grins and kisses her on the cheek one last time. “Now we should probably get you back inside.”
~~~
Aria wakes up at a reasonable hour, well, before noon at least, and thankfully she’s not the least bit hungover.
“What the-” She checks her phone and sees several text messages and missed calls. A message from Raleigh is the last to pop up, so she opens it first.
Raleigh: Care to explain this?
Oh shit. There’s a screenshot of a headline from Page Six: Is Aria Campbell cheating on Raleigh Carrera with Avery Wilshire? Underneath the headline is a picture of her and Avery facing one another with his arms around her. It’s not easy to make out who it is, but it’s definitely them. They aren’t kissing, but close to it, and she can only hope it was snapped after they had pulled apart so there’s nothing more incriminating out there.
She’s panicking a bit, but she’s still mad as hell at Raleigh, so she composes a text back.
Aria: Why do I owe you any explanation? You are just my fake boyfriend, remember? Why should it bother you? It’s just more publicity for the both of us.
Raleigh: It does bother me
Aria: And why is that? 
Is he jealous because he’s actually into her, or does he just think it looks bad that God’s gift to women, Raleigh Carrera, got cheated on? She stares at her phone for a few minutes before finally getting a reply.
Raleigh: It’s complicated.
“Aagghhhhh!” She screams loud enough her neighbor’s might worry. He’s right, this whole fucking thing is complicated and she doesn’t want to deal with it anymore.
Then her phone rings, and its Raleigh, and she’s just not ready to talk to him right now. She’s in no mood to deal with interpreting the hidden meaning behind his words. She lets it go to voicemail, when another text pops up. Thinking it’s Raleigh again, she’s about to chuck her phone across the room, but it turns out to be Avery this time.
Avery: I had a really nice time with you last night. Would you like to grab dinner sometime soon? I’m free tonight if you are.
Oh, god. Avery definitely has somehow escaped finding out about their “cheating” scandal. She’s not ready for that conversation either. Aria shuts her phone off and gets back into bed. She’s not talking to anyone until she feels like it.
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schmergo · 5 years ago
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Henry IV part 1 at the Folger Shakespeare Library: Informal Review
Shakespeare’s history plays often get an unfair reputation for being dry and dull. Something about the Roman numerals in the titles scares audiences off, I guess. But the Folger Shakespeare Theatre’s new production of Henry IV Part 1 is sleek, energetic, and action-packed. The 2 hours and 45 minutes (with intermission) flew by and I often found myself on the edge of my seat.
Director Rosa Joshi’s production creates a distinctive world for the rebels, royals, and ruffians who populate this play: half-futuristic, half-medieval inspired. King Henry and his court bear some resemblance to Captain Picard and his crew with simple monochromatic suits decorated with a stylized “IV” insignia, matching the giant neon symbol that looms over the set. The commoners of Eastcheap look one part ‘Burning Man’ festival, one part Renaissance festival, and knights wear camouflage pants while carrying real swords. It sounds like it shouldn’t work, but it does, and it all comes together to show how timeless this play is.
The wonderfully effective set, designed by Sara Ryung Clement, is an industrial looking network of scaffolding, ppes, ladders, and a catwalk. At the center of it all sits a looming throne that easily converts to a table for the tavern scenes (complete with a hiding space)! Actors use every inch of this jungle gym set to its full potential, most effectively in the battle scenes of the final act. Even set transitions serve as character moments (for example, Worcester aggressively shoves the throne offstage with almost clawlike hands).
The play’s aesthetic was strongest in its simplicity, though the sound design, filled with loud club music and air horn sounds, could get a little excessive. Joshi’s character-driven approach to the play, along with the Folger’s intimate space, served the text better than other bombastic productions of history plays that I’ve seen recently.
As the careworn king, Peter Crook had me hanging on his every word. Crook’s commanding performance was the most masterful portrayal of Henry I’ve seen yet. It’s rare to see such a confident, sophisticated delivery of Shakespeare’s verse, especially since the title role of this play is often overshadowed by other characters. A much younger and less-experienced actor, Tyler Fauntleroy nonetheless held his own as hot-tempered soldier Hotspur. Despite being easily angered and impulsive, Fauntleroy’s Hotspur comes across as quite likeable, with passionate energy and strong stage presence. He and his wife (Maribel Martinez) share a playful, intense union of two equally stubborn and strong-willed people—not veering into violent misogyny as I sometimes see.
I was less impressed by Avery Whitted’s portrayal of Prince Hal. On paper, he does everything right. He’s clearly a talented and well-trained actor with strong physical acting skills, an expressive face, and a good sense of timing. But when he opens his mouth to speak Shakespeare’s text, it just falls flat. He seems to be holding back a little, perhaps intimidated by the responsibility. (Looking at his bio in the program, I saw that this was his first professional Shakespeare play.) I kept waiting for him to ‘imitate the sun’ and show a true virtuosity of performance late in the show, but it never happened.
In a scene in which Hal faces his father for the first time, usually an electrifying scene, I found myself watching Crook instead of listening to a single thing Hal said, and the scene never built to an emotional climax. Whitted did build a great rapport with Edward Gero’s Falstaff, and his best work occurred in the very awesome and prolonged final sword fight between Hotspur and Hal. My heart was in my throat, and I KNOW what happens there.
Gero’s Falstaff has been front and center in all of the ads and promotional materials for the show. After all, he’s a world-class Shakespearean actor and a DC area treasure, and Falstaff is one of Shakespeare’s greatest roles. I found his Falstaff a wonderfully nuanced performance by a master Shakespearean… but is it a sin if I say I wished he let Falstaff be just a little sillier?
He is totally believable as the corpulent old con artist, clearly embodying every shade of his character, and the entire theatre went dead quiet in the outstanding scene in which Falstaff, in the middle of play-acting with Hal, begs his young friend not to banish him from his company. His reactions are well-timed, his expressions are arch, his earthy delivery is enjoyable, but I just didn’t laugh as much as I often do with this character. I wonder if this will still be true further into the run, since at this early performance, I noticed him slightly misspeaking a few lines. (I doubt most people in the audience would notice, but after directing this show last year, I know most of Falstaff’s lines pretty well.)
Another local favorite, Naomi Jacobson, is a standout as the scheming Worcester, here represented as a female character. With sharp red shoes and severe silver hair, she reminds me of the ‘strutting Teresa May’ meme come to life. Although she’s obviously manipulative and self-serving, I’ve never felt so sympathetically inclined toward Worcester before. She often seemed to vibrate with the injustice of the King’s treatment of her.
In general, I thought the play was most powerful in its dramatic moments and could have leaned just a little more into the comedy. It seemed slightly afraid to get too silly (except for one or two uproarious moments—my personal favorite bit being when one of Falstaff’s minions stuck his arm inside his shirt and pretended it had been cut off after the ‘robbery scene’). But for all that, it gave a warmth and urgency to the play that I’ve seen missing from bigger productions. It also incorporated choreographed stomping, clapping, and hip-hop/step movement into battle scenes in a way that actually worked to convey the noise of battle without becoming distracting, unlike some plays I’ve seen. And the ending? Well, let's just say Bri and I both went 'Oooooooh' just before the final blackout.
Henry IV is truly a play with something for everyone, and this production was directed with a clear love for the material. I recommend catching this show before it closes on October 13! Discounted tickets are available on TodayTix.com, and you can call the Folger box office for discounted tickets for young theatregoers!
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hanalwayssolo · 5 years ago
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What We Owe To Each Other: Ch 6 - Dawn (End)
Morning | Noon | Night | Midnight | Nightmare | Dawn
Link on AO3
It was only four a.m. when Nate woke up dazed and disoriented from a terrible dream. He did not remember it properly, but he vaguely remembered getting shot. He was unsure if the last thing he saw was a glimpse of Sam’s face, but as he sat on the edge of the bed, in the warm darkness that embraced the rest of his and Elena’s room, the fragments of that dream were slowly vanishing in a haze. The feeling of dread, however, lingered somewhere in the pit of his stomach.
This is nothing. It’s just one bad dream, that’s all.
Nate took a deep breath. Quietly, in an effort not to stir Elena awake, he grabbed his coat, slipped out of the room, headed downstairs to the hall that led to the porch.
Outside, it was still and quiet, the sky pitch black and powdered with stars, the lake a luminous mirror mimicking its glimmer. The soft hum of the cicadas sang. It was awfully chilly.
“Trouble sleeping?” a hoarse voice said behind him.
Startled, Nate turned and saw Sam on the other side of the porch, lounging on one of the wicker chairs. In the pale light of the stars and the trail of smoke that soared from the cigarette between his fingers, Sam seemed watchful and ghostly, as if a specter lurking in an old haunted house.
“I could ask you the same thing,” said Nate, walking over to Sam and taking the vacant seat across from him. An unopened bottle of whiskey and an empty glass sat on the table between them. Nate decided not to comment on it.
“Oh, well—“ Sam leaned back in his seat, blew out a ponderous cloud of smoke— “truth be told, I’ve never had a good night’s sleep in a really, really long time.”
They said nothing for a while. A cold, autumn breeze whistled. Nate shuddered.
Sam reached for the bottle of whiskey. “Care for a drink?” he offered.
“No, thanks,” Nate said blankly.
“If you say so.” Sam poured himself a drink, drained it in one gulp. He stared at his empty glass.
Another silence followed.
Sam exhaled a dry laugh. “You really ought to spit it out.”
“What?”
“I can tell you’re itching to say something. Might as well get over it.”
“I… well, it’s just…” Nate faltered. Hesitation turned his tongue into a stiff board. It was true; he really was itching to say something. In fact, there were a lot of things that he wanted to bring up, every single one of it running in his head all at once, and he could not decide on how to say it, or if he should say anything at all.
“Hey, don’t worry,” said Sam as he drew deeply again on the cigarette, exhaled, looking thoughtfully at the ribbon of smoke that curled from the burnt end. “We have all day—”
“I still don’t get it.”
“Don’t get what?”
“Many things, actually. Like… what’s up with you during dinner? You were being weird—“
“Hey, I wasn’t… being weird,” Sam said defensively. He downed another glass of whiskey. “It’s just… I was having a weird night. That’s all.”
“Would you care to elaborate on that?”
“I…” Sam paused. He set the glass on the table. “Say, have you ever had a bad dream? Like a really vivid one?”
Nate somehow remembered the one he woke up from, the one where he got shot. “Yeah, of course." He narrowed his eyes at Sam. "What's this about?”
Sam nodded, let out a small laugh. “Nothing really,” he said, “it's just... imagine having those for two years every time you close your eyes to sleep.”
Nate stared at Sam blankly. Confusion creased his face, and then bloomed an unnerving realization. For the first time, everything started to make sense.
Nate had always wondered about Sam’s unusual restlessness in Italy and his fear of getting caught, his clipped responses whenever Sully asked him about Panama, his refusal to stay at Nate’s place whenever he was in town. It also made a lot of sense now how Sam had been sleepless back in Scotland. How many times did Nate catch Sam wide awake at ungodly hours back in their hotel in King’s Bay? Nate was not keeping count, but he easily dismissed those occasions as something so trivial that he did not even bother checking in on Sam.
And maybe he should have.
And maybe Nate really did not know any better.
Nate dragged a hand over his face. “Sam,” he began feebly, “You've been dealing with this and you haven't even—”
“I’m fine, Nathan—”
“Jesus, cut that crap!” Nate had a hard time keeping his voice down. He sounded annoyed, angry, guilty. Not at his brother but at himself. “Look, I know a therapist who could—“
Sam scoffed crossly. “Are you kidding me?” He snatched the ashtray sitting on his armrest and violently mashed his cigarette. Nate could tell he was pissed now. “Don’t even get started with that—“
“Why the hell not? Sam, there’s nothing wrong if you ask for help—“
“I know—“
“—and you know, you could’ve reached out to me two years ago when Rafe got you out—”
“I know that—“
“Then why didn’t you?”
“Because on top of being a rotten asshole, Nathan, I’m a fucking coward!” Sam stood, seething. He looked at Nate with a pained expression that rarely ever crossed his face.
Nate got up. “Hey, look—“
“No, no, no—please,” interrupted Sam and held up a trembling hand, “now that we’ve started this conversation, might as well lay it all on the table.” There was a slight tremor in his voice that almost threatened to crack. “You wanna know why I didn’t reach out? Why I stayed and worked with Rafe these last two years? Because I’m a spiteful son of a bitch. Because I’ve heard stories about you, and I was so desperate to catch up. But who was I fooling? I couldn’t stand Rafe for another month and when I had everything I needed from him, I left. And if you must know, I came to New Orleans two years ago to find you. I needed to know that you’re alive. And boy was I glad to find out that you are alive.
“But then, when I saw the kind of life you built for yourself? I’d be lying if I said I didn’t chicken out. And that I was jealous. Madly. I mean, I had to ask myself: what could my little brother possibly want from me when he already has everything and I have absolutely nothing—”
“Oh c’mon Sam, that’s just—”
“No, just hear me out, okay? I just...” Sam heaved a heavy sigh. “I… I really did mean it when I said that I was buying my life back," he said evenly. "And the last thing I needed was for my life to be a burden to you. So when I saw how I almost ruined every good thing in your life when I dragged you in my mess? For fuck’s sake, I… you didn’t deserve any of that. And I’m really, truly sorry.”
Nate said nothing. For some reason, he could feel his heart limping in his chest, a revolting and pitiful muscle that ached with guilt. He was at a loss for words that they looked at each other for a long moment, falling into a leaden silence. Birds were chirping in the eaves. Elsewhere, the cicadas remained singing their soft hum.
It was ridiculous to think how years ago, Nate had grieved for Sam, how he had sailed through the tumultuous tides of his life carrying the gaping hole of his brother’s absence. Now here he was, listening to his not-quite-dead brother apologizing for… for what exactly? For asking him to embark on an expedition that made him tell a bunch of lies that almost ruined his marriage? For the conscious and deliberate choices he made that time when they pursued Avery’s treasure? Sure, it was a jackass move for Sam to craft a bullshit story to get Nate back to the wayward life he worked so hard to get out of. But for what it's worth, at least Nate had a good taste of what it's like to live that wayward life.
Sam sure as hell didn’t get to have any of that.
And how could Nate possibly live with himself knowing he had not been there for his brother when he needed him the most?
“You don’t need to apologize,” Nate told Sam after a long, brutal pause. “I feel like I should be the one saying sorry. I feel like somehow, I’m responsible for those thirteen years you—“
“Hey, don’t you even dare get started with that,” Sam said sternly, placed a firm and steady hand over his shoulder. “Nathan, whatever happened to me in Panama is not your fault, you hear me? It never was. I don’t blame you for that. Because that’s on me.”
Another silence. Sam stepped back. He leaned against the railing, fished his lighter from his back pocket and lit another cigarette.
“But you know,” Nate said, “you should have just told me the truth from the onset. You didn’t have to make that story up about Alcázar—“
“Oh, I doubt that you would have left your exciting desk job if I didn’t give you a good enough reason,” Sam said casually, “not when you’ve been busy turning down Jameson’s offers of going out of the country for a big haul.”
“Wait, you knew about that?”
“Like I said. My contacts are very well informed.”
Nate shook his head. “Right. I guess I can concur that part of you being a rotten asshole is true.”
“Then I’m glad we have come to an agreement.”
They both laughed. “But you’re no coward, Sam,” said Nate. “You’re many things but you’re not a coward.”
Neither one of them said anything for a moment. The sky was slowly unraveling into violent shades of pink and purple and red. When the sun came up, boasting the colours of autumn around them like a proud witness, the silence that settled between somehow became strangely comforting. There was no more need for words. It was as if they had been granted the light air of forgiveness, the weight of penance already lifted.
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justjessame · 4 years ago
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Avery Emerson Clay: Like A Brick Shithouse...
When I say I tackled Jake, let me advise other people to NOT tackle Jake Jensen or anyone built like Jake Jensen, my brother or any of his team. They’re built like literal brick shithouses and you will get bruises. Unless, as I was hoping and I wasn’t proven wrong, the shithouse you launch yourself at catches you.
Thank God Jake had the reflexes of one of my younger cats. Praise, Jesus, Amen.
“Avery,” he managed to get out, right before my fingers slid around his head and pulled us so our faces were aligned.
“Enough talking, Jake,” I muttered, nudging his nose with mine. “Sorry for your glasses,” I felt like it had to be said, and then I finally got my lips where I wanted them, as his arms cradled my body, my legs wrapped around his waist and he stopped trying to argue with me. A lost cause he’d soon learn to give up on. Hops, since he hadn’t said no to a few beers with the boys, and some of the decadent icing from Rose’s cake lingered on his mouth and I took my time tasting both, before I found what I was after - Jake’s flavor. A moan met me when his mouth finally opened under mine, our tongues touched and I counted myself lucky that he was holding me, because I would have fell over if I was in control of keeping us upright.
My back touched the softness of my bed and I smiled into the kiss that he’d finally become an active participant in, and I was more than happy to feel his arms still locked around me. The only thing that was ruining the feeling of warmth and the rush of lust that was running through me was the metal smacking into the bridge of my nose.
Nipping at his lip, I pulled back. “Jake,” I gasped, even as he dipped back in, causing the rim of his glasses to slip further off and the frame to smack into my eye. “Ouch.”
“Damn,” he pulled back a little more and I tightened my legs around his waist so he couldn’t go far. “Sorry bout that,” he pulled his glasses off and put them on my bedside table as I squinted up at him through one eye. “Let me kiss it better,” and then he lowered his head and did, gently kissing my nose, the bridge of my nose, my eyelid, and then once again my lips. Damn, who knew Jake had game once you got him locked and loaded?
My hands were sliding down his broad back, searching for the hem of his t-shirt when we heard it. A quiet knock followed by a soft throat clearing. FUCK. A sigh from him and a groan from me, and I looked to the side and considered picking up something heavy and tossing it at the doorway.
“Junior,” I growled, glaring at my enormous, cockblocking brother. “Aren’t you on the WRONG side of the house?”
“Thought I’d make sure you got to bed alright,” he was staring at my face, ignoring Jake, or trying to though I had to think it was difficult with him basically covering me and with my legs wrapped around him and holding him down to me. “After all, you were walking around half naked and pissed.”
“I’m MUCH better now,” I raised an eyebrow and waited. “Night, Clay.” Go away, get out, go screw your long legged distraction. Begone.
“Yeah, Jensen, don’t forget you have shit to deal with tomorrow.” Emphasis on SHIT, I thought. Fuck. His eyes landed on Jake’s and I hoped that without his glasses Jake might be so miopic that he couldn’t feel the awkwardness returning to his body in full force, but I could feel it rush through him even as he hovered over me. Well damn it. “Good night, Ave,” his dimples were peeking out and it took everything in my entire body to not push Jake off just so I could pick up something heavy to toss at my brother’s huge obnoxious fucking head as he turned to leave. I truly hoped that his gal pal got the worst case of period cramps ever and didn’t want so much as a fingertip near her for the foreseeable future. Dick.
“Guess that’s my cue,” Jake sighed, staring down at me, but shocking me, he didn’t seem nearly as in a hurry to rush off as I’d expected. His arms were framing my head and he was brushing my cheeks with his thumbs. “I wasn’t lying when I said I didn’t want to leave you alone in here, Avery.”
“Don’t,” I bit my lip and he grinned down at me. “We don’t HAVE to keep going, even if I REALLY want to.” His chuckle vibrated the bed. “We could just sleep. You could hold me.” Suddenly I really wanted that, for Jake to cuddle me while we slept. “If you want to, I mean.” Shit, that sounded so needy.
His eyes were studying me, like he was trying to read some complicated code and get the secret out of it. With a small nod, he kissed my nose and pulled away. “Alright, sleep it is.” I unwrapped my legs and giggled while he shimmied out of his pants and kicked off his shoes in a heap of socks, shoes, pants next to my bed. “What?”
“Nothing,” I shook my head, pulling down the blankets to get my bed ready for company. He took the side next to the lamp and table, where his glasses were already waiting, and held open his arm so I could settle in, ear down on his solid chest, his warmth against my cheek. “Thanks for staying, Jake.”
“Thanks for asking me to, Avery,” he whispered, kissing my head. Then he switched off the lamp and we settled in for the night.
I wish I could say that with the amount of lust and sexual tension that we’d started with, sleep was hard to come by, but honestly we both went out faster than I think either of us expected. When we woke up, within seconds of one another, I think we were more shocked by how easily we fell asleep than we were by anything else. I mean, start with a tackling kiss and end with a snore? That’s a weird case for anyone, especially a Clay.
Speaking of Clays, Jake was trying to convince me that what Junior did wasn’t that big of a deal as I was contemplating just how to get my wonderful brother back for his constant interference.
“He’s my commanding officer, Avery,” Jake was reminding me, once he’d gotten ready for the day and I was getting us breakfast. “He just wants to make sure that my eye is on the prize, that my mind is where it should be.”
“Uh huh,” I agreed, wondering if there was a site that would do the math for me on the voltage problem I’d contemplated. I mean I didn’t want to NEVER be an auntie, I just wanted Clay to NOT have sex for the foreseeable future without wanting to piss his pants. “How much do you know about tasers?”
His eyes went wide and he got quiet and suddenly found his cereal very interesting. Strange, he had a sister. Didn’t they ever prank one another?
Rose woke up a few minutes after I finished up my breakfast and was washing out the bowls. Kissing my temple she told me she planned on cleaning up the party mess and then she’d head home. Today was her normal day off, but since she’d insisted on a party, she felt obligated to clean up. I brushed that off. “I took care of it.” I showed her the dishes that were already run through the dishwasher and ready to be put away, which I’d do after Jake finished his breakfast. “I have the linens in the washer, I know how to iron and fold, you taught me.” She sighed and shook her head, but knew that I’d argue and she wouldn’t win. “Go home, Rose. It’s your day off, for fuck’s sake.”
“You spoil me,” she admonished. “I’m supposed to take care of you, but here you are -”
“Hush,” I brushed her off. “You’ve been taking care of all of us forever, dishes and tablecloths are hardly a big deal after you spent years wiping Clay’s ass.”
She was shaking her head and laughing with a travel mug of coffee as she left, and Jake was grinning at me. “What?” I asked, shrugging. “I was serious. She takes care of this entire house. And cooks meals that I’ll never be able to master,” I shook my head. “Loading a dishwasher and a washing machine or dryer isn’t rocket science.”
“You’re not what people would expect,” he offered, bringing his dish over to put in the washer, then wrapping his arms around my waist to stare down at me. “The more I learn, the more I like.”
“Good,” I grinned up at him, “it’s all part of my master plan to keep you.” I winked and smiled as he kissed me.
The throat clearing made me want to scream, but instead I deepened the kiss, making Jake chuckle. Damn it, he was learning my tricks already. Nipping my bottom lip he pulled back with a wink. “Hey, Clay,” his eyes were on mine and I swear he winked. “I’m heading to my ‘office’ right now.”
I bit my lip to keep from cracking up, I’d hate to ruin Jake’s joke. He booped my nose and headed out of the kitchen while I wiped down the counters and worked to get my urge to smack Junior under control. I wonder if there was some non-lethal add-in that I could slip whatsername to make her have month’s long menstrual cramps? I wasn’t above fucking with his sex life, not with him cockblocking me, even when I wasn’t in the zone to get cocked.
“Ave,” exasperated again? Why? He keeps coming between me and MINE.
“Junior,” I replied, moving to the breakfast nook and carefully cleaning the surface of invisible crumbs. Then back to the stack of party dishes to put everything away, which I found Clay ready and irritatingly willing to help me do. Shit. “Those go in the hutch,” divide and conquer was my plan, that way he could go fuck off on his own, and I could not break half of Mom’s shit over his enormous head.
Clay nodded and took the plates to the dining room while I started putting the glassware away in the kitchen cabinet. Of course with his freakishly long legs and arms, he was finished in record time. “The platters are up on their holders,” he told me, grabbing the basket I’d taken down to unload the dryer. “I'm guessing you washed the linen?” I nodded and he moved to the laundry room. He was back with the basket full of the napkins and tablecloths. “We ironing these before they go packed away in the hutch?”
“Do you want your fingers ironed when Mom pulls one out and they’re wrinkled?” I returned, his smirk greeted my question and he went back to the laundry room for the ironing board and iron. Great, guess we’re bonding over domestic chores.
“I can do it and you can go do what it is you and your team needs to have all hands on deck for,” subtle, Avery, subtle.
“My team has their job assignments,” he grunted, plugging in the iron and fighting with the board. “I’m here to help you, sis.”
“Do you really want to be here, with me, and a HOT iron, Junior?” I moved to the board and pulled a tablecloth free from the basket, flicking it until it was free of any catches and started to smooth out the wrinkles with the heated iron. Clay snorted at my threat.
“I have a shit ton of scars, Ave, and not a single one from you.” An oversight, I was going to say, but shook my head. As much as I was pissed and irritated by his annoying ass, he was right, I wouldn’t scar his stupid ass. “Jensen?!” He sounded surprised and I looked up and realized he was. “I mean, he’s -” he was staring off into space like he was trying to puzzle out just what and who Jake was. “He’s Jensen.” He shook his head.
I giggled and bit my lip. “He’s Jake, Clay.” I worked the iron over the linen, thinking about how to explain the unexplainable to an overprotective brother. “He's this big awkward dork, but he’s sweet and playful.” I could still see the goat on his chest and him laughing and wet. “He talks to Lolly, who can’t see or HEAR him, but he still talks to her.” And sits on the floor and pets her while he does it. “And I don’t know, Clay, he just makes me feel as awkward as he does.” And needy, I thought of asking him to stay, just to sleep with me the night before.
Clay exhaled long and heavy. “And you like him.” It wasn’t a question, it was more like he was convincing himself. “Fine.” I looked up from my ironing. “Fine, you like him and he likes you.” I shook my head at how much he sounded like a recording for an elementary school Valentine. “I won’t stand in your way.”
“Wow,” I offered, not stopping my task at hand. “How grown up of you, Franklin Junior.” I rolled my eyes. “You do know that I could give a huge gory rancid shit about what you would and wouldn’t allow, right?” He snorted again and I shook my head. “Thank you, oh wondrous big brother. Thank you for this bounty. However will I show my gratitude. Shall I name our firstborn after you?” I grimaced. “Yeah don’t hold your breath on that one, Junior, two Franklin Clays is more than enough in this fucking lifetime.”
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letithappeneverafter · 7 years ago
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Came across Nicks essay about living in a far-away country and what it means to be a creative human at the arse-end of the world. This comes from a past edition of Griffith Review which is a pretty impressive literary essay magazine. Full of cultural and thought-provoking stuff. Go Nick. I probably shouldn’t just copy’n’paste but I did borrow it from Brisbane library to read in the flesh. Just wanted to share with all you Tame Impala and POND fans.
Creative Darwinism by Nick Allbrook
- This is my city and I’m never gonna leave it. Channel 7 News 
WRITING ABOUT MY experience of making music in Perth is a strange thing, because as soon as a ‘scene’ is bound and gagged by the written word it is finished, petrified, swept up into the Rolling Stone archives and forever considered ‘history’. It might be revered and glorified, but it’s still long gone. This could be a very restricting view to take on a community like Perth, which is still just as inspiring and productive as it ever was. I can’t pretend to understand where ‘music scenes’ begin or end. It seems a futile and narrow-minded pursuit. So before I begin, I want to say that this is merely a reflective exercise. There was never a ‘golden age’, and if one does exist I can’t see it, because it’s floating all around, invisible and omnipresent.
For years I suffered serious cultural guilt as a Western Australian. The orthodoxy and banality made me feel isolated, relegated to the company of eccentric long-haired ghosts singing to me from inside my Discman. Every birthday and Christmas, Dad would give me a care package of CDs. This blessed nourishment of Jethro Tull, Lou Reed, Led Zeppelin and David Bowie shone a light into the murky tunnels of my future. Playing music and generally being a flaming Christmas fruitcake became my sole purpose, and me and a few other school friends – Steve Summerlin and Richard Ingham of Mink Mussel Creek, and many other brilliant but criminally under-recognised projects – revelled in our little corner of filthy otherness. This outlook was key to our musical and creative development. We railed against the boredom of Perth not with pickets or protest, but with a head-in-the-sand hubris that made us feel invincible and unique. We found more comrades along the way – Joe Ryan, Kevin Parker, Jay Watson – and together we erected great walls of noise and hair and mouldy dishes around our Daglish share house commune citadel on Troy Terrace where we incubated, practised, recorded, talked and grew. A friend stick’n’poke tattooed a spiral shape into my arm to represent that way of life (which I’d lifted from Hermes Trismegistus and other alchemical mumbo jumbo I learned at university). Look inside and the world can be whatever you want. Look out and it’s ugly and shitty. In Perth, use of public space is regulated to the point of comedy, and Orwellian restrictions on tobacco, noise, bicycles, alcohol and public gatherings breed a festering discontent and boredom because no one likes being pre-emptively labelled a deviant. Being trusted enriches the soul – you can see it on the face of the child who leads the family trek. You can see the flipside on the faces of disenchanted detainees. On weekends, this restlessness is unleashed across clubs and pubs in Northbridge and Subiaco in an avalanche of Jägerbombs (17mL of Jägermeister dropped into a larger glass of Red Bull and then consumed with haste) and Midori and violence and cheap sex. When the Monday sun staggers over the horizon, people rub their eyes and heave a great sigh and the city reverts to its utilitarian state – the ‘bourgeois dream of unproblematic production’, as The 60s Without Apology (University of Minnesota Press, 1984) puts it, ‘of everyday life as the bureaucratic society of controlled consumption’. That this description of pre-revolutionary 1950s and ’60s America is so apt for Perth is damn scary. Or hilarious. I can’t decide. I guess it depends on the depth and colour of your nihilistic streak, or if you actually live here. Whichever way you look at it, it does not paint a picture of a city conducive to creativity. Art is the antithesis of logic and functionality – it is romance and wonder and stupid, pointless lovelies. As good old Mr Vonnegut so often said, it’s an exercise to make your soul grow. So how, in a super-functional and conservative environment whose every will is bent towards digging really, really big holes in the ground, have I seen and heard and felt some of the most brilliant, pure and original creativity in the world? I USED TO dream about living in a cultural powerhouse like Paris or Berlin or New York, but after spending time in these places I’ve realised that the emptiness and isolation of Perth – boredom to some – was a far better environment for creativity. The ‘cultural capitals’ are so rich in art and wonder that it can feel pointless to add to it. Maybe just being in those ‘cultural capitals’ fills us up with wonder? Strolling through Berlin at night, ducking into a bar with fish nailed to the roof, skipping across the cobblestones for some cheap beers in a record shop in a Russian caravan in an abandoned peanut factory…that kind of stuff fills the romantic void. Having a Ricard and a few Gitanes on the terrasse of Aux Folies; stumbling through Camden after a lock-in at the Witch’s Tit or the Cock’n’Balls or the Cancerous Bowel or whatever you call it; recollecting a possible conversation with Jah Wobble over a pint…Perth? It has no secret tunnels to romantic fulfilment. For me, music and art have always been a way to manufacture that romance lacking in upper-middle-class Western Australia. To be honest, if I had lived in New York I probably would’ve been so damn hung-over – or busy ensuring that I would be later – that a whole lot less creation would’ve gone on. Mundane and discouraging places like Perth create a vicious Darwinism for creatively inclined people, where survival of the fittest is played out with swift and unrepentant force and the flippant or unpassionate are left behind, drowning in putrid mind-clag. You have to really need it, and without the mysterious and poetic benefits of a vibrant city culture this has to come from deep inside. Amber Fresh, otherwise known as Rabbit Island, is one person who produces constant streams of music, drawings, essays, poems, calendars, videos and photos from her home. She fills her world with little pieces of homemade, lo-fi, photocopied beauty and magic. They don’t have funding or precedent or material ambition – and the result is something fresh and original. Mei Saraswati does the same thing, although completely different styles of music. She has produced, mixed, mastered and illustrated scores of albums in her bedroom and then released this other-worldly electronic R’n’B brilliance onto the internet with no fanfare, simply to turn around and start making more. These are just two examples. There are many more. SOMEHOW, BY BEING a cultural long-drop, Perth lit a fire under my arse. In more scholarly terminology this could be called a ‘spirit of negation’ – a margarine version of the same zeitgeist that has catalysed most worthwhile movements throughout history, from dadaism to punk to all the intellectual and artistic wonders of The Netherlands freshly unchained from their dastardly Spanish overlords. Being isolated spatially and culturally – us from the city, Perth from Australia and Australia from the world – arms one with an Atlas-strong sense of identity. Both actively and passively, originality seems to flourish in Perth’s artistic community. Without the wider community’s acceptance, creative pursuits lack the potential for commodification. There’s no point in preening yourself for success because it’s just not real. It’s a fairytale, so you may as well just do it in whatever way you like, good or bad, in your room or on the top of the Telstra building, which – as anyone with any common sense will attest – was built for that one potential badass to drop in on a skateboard and parachute off. Growing up in the Kimberley and then Fremantle, the true machinery of the music business evaded me. It was about as real as the Power Rangers and twice as awesome. Led Zeppelin and U2, all the way down to whatever was on Rage that morning, was just a pretty dream. But if I grew up in a city where success in music was common and highly visible, I reckon it would have been far more alluring. I would’ve understood how to go about it, probably before I actually realised how deep my love of music was. With the template for success laid out so precisely – gigs to be got, managers to be found, reviews to be had and the ultimate dream of ‘making it’ tangibly within reach – Perth would find itself producing far less original art. Because as it stands, it doesn’t really matter if you’re crap or silly or unbearably offensive, you wouldn’t get much further doing something different anyway. This helps to preserve a magical purity because it’s executed with love – with necessity. And what’s more, when these artists keep going and practising and advancing – which they must – somehow their crassness coagulates into something brilliantly individual and accomplished, and you can see it performed in an arena that makes the audience feel truly blessed. I saw Rabbit Island and Peter Bibby and Cam Avery play in backyards. I saw cease play in a tattoo parlour in Maylands. Me and Joe Ryan were plastered against the wall by their sound, gawking up at Andrew, the guitarist, precariously standing on his enormous amp wearing high heels and full fishnet bodystocking, slowly trying to drive his guitar through the top of his cabinet like some pagan-burlesque reimagining of King Arthur. After hours they slowed to a halt, and the crowd cheered from the stairs and bathroom door and kitchen and I remembered where we were: in a tiny share-house in Maylands, in the flaming cauldron of hell or the halls of Valhalla. Mink Mussel Creek played there a few times and once, in a flash of drunken inspiration, someone turned the only light in the room off mid-performance. I saw the fourteen guitarists of Electric Toad destroy a warehouse art gallery wearing ’90s WA football jerseys. Tame Impala and Pond played in Tanya’s garage and every time I cried and danced and felt like the breath of God was being embarrassingly saucy all over my skin. We played our very first show in that garage and I can still see Jay demolishing the tiny drum kit – kick, snare, ride, tom – as sparks floated from the forty-gallon drum and lit the faces of the people looking in from the dark. None of us had ever seen anyone play like it in real life, let alone in a garage, sitting on milk crates. As far as genres go, our music ‘scene’ in Perth was an anomaly. A mad mosaic of groups and artists only held together by gallant separation from conventional Perth society. Nick Odell, the drummer of CEASE and Sonny Roofs, still has a poster for a gig at Amplifier Bar that I remember as a kind of microcosmic Woodstock – a tactile realisation of all the beauty and communion we cherished. The line-up included us (Mink Mussel Creek), CEASE (aforementioned stoner/doom/drone lords), Sex Panther (punk-party queens), Oki Oki (Nintendo synth pop) and Chris Cobilis (experimental laptop noise music). I think most members of the bands ended up on stage at more than one time, wrapped in Cobilis’ wires or yelling into a madly effected microphone in front of CEASE. I certainly did. Nowhere else would such a ridiculously mismatched line-up consider themselves a tight community. We all partied together, played together and are still friends. I think this spirit is lacking in a lot of the more culturally enlightened parts of the world. Maybe in these vibrant communities the countercultural idea is so entrenched it becomes capitalist orthodoxy and loses its edge. It is subjected to the rationality it once challenged. In the cultural capitals – Paris, Berlin, New York – creativity and original thinking are accepted and valued parts of mainstream life. In Perth they are not. Paris has over four hundred streets named after artists and writers, and this honour is not restricted to the most unobtrusive or patriotic. Rue Albert Camus, Rue Marcel Duchamp and the recently proposed Place Jean-Michel Basquiat, for example, show the state glorifying revolutionaries, absurdists, libertines and a gay, heroin-using, Haitian–American graffiti artist. Today we can stroll along the verdant Boulevard Auguste-Blanqui, named after the man who led the uprising of the Paris Commune. A revolutionary, a prisoner, an anarchist. In modern terms: a terrorist. There, art is a basic fact of everyday life, while in Perth it is an anomaly hidden in garages and living rooms – deep beneath a conservative fishbowl of productivity. So, all things considered, ‘cultural capitals’ should be havens for art and music, and Perth should not. The romance just seeps into the pores, ja? I always thought this before I left Western Australia, but have since found it to be otherwise. I asked a young photographer and artist in Amsterdam about the music scene there and her reply was wholly negative. A lot of Parisians seem to feel the same way. I look back on my time in Perth and think about the huge number of brilliant musicians and artists who I saw and knew, often not in official venues but in backyards or sheds or the abandoned entertainment centre (yes, CEASE). Perhaps with the freedom – almost expectation – to create, revel and throw it all around the streets, it all just gets a bit boring. Like much good art, it doesn’t really ‘mean’ anything, so writing an essay about it is an odd activity. The experience of a city or community varies so much that it can never be defined while it is still occurring. When it’s actually happening, a ‘scene’ is not really a ‘scene’ – it’s completely intangible and only coagulates into a definitive and convenient ball when history puts it in a cage, when someone from the outside looks in and decides there’s something shared between a bunch of vaguely artistic fools. I guess that’s what I’m doing now, which is pretty ridiculous seeing as nothing is finished and the Perth artistic community is so ethereal that it couldn’t and shouldn’t be labelled at all.
From Griffith Review Edition 47: Looking West © Copyright Griffith University & the author.
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theeroticbookreview · 5 years ago
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Kiss Me, Kill Me Anthology by Bestselling Authors
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  Title: Kiss Me, Kill Me. Anthology for American Forests Authors: Ashleigh Giannoccaro & Jason Hes ▪️ Yolanda Olson ▪️ J.M Walker ▪️Elizabeth Cash ▪️ Emery LeeAnn ▪️ Ellie Midwood ▪️ Peyton Banks ▪️ K. Larsen ▪️ C.M Radcliff ▪️ Donna Owens ▪️ Virginia Johnson ▪️ Petra J. Knox ▪️ A.A. Davies ▪️ Murphy Wallace ▪️ Ally Vance ▪️ Renee Dyer ▪️ Ed Bar ▪️ William Joseph ▪️ CF Rabbiosi ▪️ Avery Reigns ▪️ Muriel Garcia ▪️ HB Jasick Genre: Dark & Gothic Romance Release Date: August 13, 2019  
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  USA Today and International Bestselling authors come together to deliver stories of dark decadence for a cause. Watch A Serenade of Fireflies follow Sweet Caroline as she attempts to hide her Silent Deception from the Alpha. Only in Stolen Dreams will you learn the secrets of Our Tormented Love, that are kept under Locke & Key. Can you survive The Syndicate or will you run from the White Widow and fall prey to her Beautiful Mercy? Be careful not to swallow the sweet poison of Bloodlust and become one of the vanished. With Stained Hearts, follow along with the Master Marionette as he captures his Twisted Little Bird whether she’s Ready or Not. Will the Writhe finally bid a long Goodbye to The Dark Knight as endures the sorrow of the night’s bitter song. Try not to do a Double Take when the Message Received is MINE: Press Start to Continue, because the monsters that lurk in these woods Watch Me Losing Faith in The Kiss. And when all is said and done, watch as Getting Her Back in her bloodstained Stiletto heels becomes a much easier task than originally assumed.    
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  Elizabeth Cash is an avid lover of all things dark and sexy. She spends most of her time inside textbooks earning her degree, all while playing the mother role to her awesome kiddos and writing words when she can for all her horror loving fans! ●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●   Author Avery Reigns is a multi-genre author who bleeds words onto paper from the heart. She loves writing from the darkest places inside her mind, creating stories woven for those with an open mind, stories based on truths or familiar stories stretched beyond belief. Avery is a kind and determined coffee addict who hides her demons well. ●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●   A. A. Davies is the darker half of Abigail Davies' brain. A. A. Davies writes dark romance and wants her readers to automatically know when they're getting this. Abigail Davies grew up with a passion for words, storytelling, maths, and anything pink. Dreaming up characters—quite literally—and talking to them out loud is a daily occurrence for her. She finds it fascinating how a whole world can be built with words alone, and how everyone reads and interprets a story differently. Now following her dreams of writing, Abigail has found the passion that she always knew was there. When she’s not writing: she’s a mother to two daughters who she encourages to use their imagination as she believes that it’s a magical thing, or getting lost in a good book. If she’s doing neither of those things, you can be sure she’s surfing the web buying new makeup, clothes, or binge watching another show as she becomes one with her sofa. ●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●   Virginia Johnson is a multi-genre author that will dabble in anything. She hates walking on the beach and a hangover is her most regrettable moment. Writing gives her great pleasure and the ability to kill without consequence. ●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●● A lover of cats and books, equally, Petra J. Knox is an author of Dark Romance, including the bestselling Reverse Harem series, Saving Setora. Editor, wife, and mom, she lives in the desert of Eastern Washington, dreaming of thunderstorms and rolling, green pastures. ●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●   H.B. Jasick: I live in Springfield, Missouri with my husband, and our two daughters. I have a Bachelors Degree in Mathematics and History Education that I don't actually use. My Favorite things include: movies, music, books, dachshunds, the color brown, LISTS, The Denver Broncos, sushi, coffee, Moscato d'Asti, and terrorizing all of my friends. My Favorite Books: Tess of the d'Urbervilles by Thomas Hardy & Public Enemies by Brian Burrough. ●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●   Murphy Wallace is an International Bestselling Author with works in several different genres, but most of her work has been in Dark Romantic Suspense. She currently resides in a small Eastern Florida town with her husband, who doubles as her best friend and their two boys. When she’s not getting in touch with her inner child at Disney World, or enjoying everything that Florida has to offer with her family, she enjoys writing and watching true crime documentaries. She has a cat named Maisy who is her constant writing partner. ●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●   K. Larsen gives good words, born in Maine, she fled the state for a short period to experience, well, anything else, but now resides there again. She writes romantic suspense and psychological romance primarily but has dabbled in most romance sub-genres. She sometimes writes with Mara White, when something viral sparks a fire between them. They've been known to wrench hearts from chests and tears directly from readers eyes. And sometimes she writes with Yolanda Olson, they've been known to push the boundaries of readers moral compasses. ●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●   Emery LeeAnn is an International Best Selling Author who lives in Ohio with her family. Besides being addicted to coffee, she is a true believer that variety adds spice to your life. Writing in every genre gives her the variety she craves. Her characters like to invade her mind every hour of the day usually waking her up in the middle of the night. Loving the dark and gray side of things, she is exploring her passion with the written word. There are many wonders to come from her in her twisted Wonderland..... Stick around you may find you enjoy her special brand of torture. ●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●   Donna Owens: Who am I that's a good question? I'm a Dark poet and a lover of all things scary and gory A wife to Bill Owens whose the love of my life A mother to Joseph Scholl my only son A grandmother to three amazing grandsons I also have two adorable furbabies I've lived many places in my life and currently live in Savoy TX but Cleveland Ohio will forever be home to me My writing has been published in The Raven's series By R.L.Weeks Southern Fried Anthology and I was lucky enough to a guest author in Shivers with the amazing author Emery LeeAnn Writing dark poetry is something I truly love And I hope you as reader will enjoy. ●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●   Muriel Garcia is an indie author from Belgium. She started writing in 2005 but never published anything until 2015 when she decided to bite the bullet and just do it. She's grateful for all the amazing people she got to meet through her passion for writing. The 'Last Hangman MC Series' is the one that made people find out about her but since then she released a contemporary series - Love At Firsts - and a dark gory thriller trilogy - The Reaper Trilogy - which people have compared to Stephen King on crack — thing she's rather proud of. Some of her favourite things include snowy days, live music, horror movies, ghost stories, travelling and of course, a cosy day spent with a good book. Feel free to keep in touch with Muriel, she loves to hear from her readers. ●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●   Jason Hes: A visionary, a man, a reification of the most contradictory and illusive darkness in our collective unconscious … keeping the thug life alive. Jason Hes is a Johannesburg-based author who lives with his cat and loves to write horror stories. Our Immaculate (an occult horror story set in an all-girls school) is his debut novel. Sleight of Hand, a YA LGBT dark fantasy novel is his second, co-written with Ilse v Rensburg. Locke & Key, written with Ashleigh Giannoccaro, is his first dark romance. ●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●● Bestselling Author Ashleigh Giannoccaro writes edgy dark romance and erotic horror, self published by choice she writes the stories others don’t dare. Currently rising in Johannesburg South Africa with her husband and two daughters Ashleigh enjoys writing stories that make you fall in love with the unlovable and leave you asking questions. When not writing she can be found with her kindle in a sunny spot reading or traveling with her family.   ●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●     Ellie Midwood is a USA Today bestselling and award-winning historical fiction author. She owes her interest in the history of the Second World War to her grandfather, Junior Sergeant in the 2nd Guards Tank Army of the First Belorussian Front, who began telling her about his experiences on the frontline when she was a young girl. Growing up, her interest in history only deepened and transformed from reading about the war to writing about it. After obtaining her BA in Linguistics, Ellie decided to make writing her full-time career and began working on her first full-length historical novel, "The Girl from Berlin." Ellie is continuously enriching her library with new research material and feeds her passion for WWII and Holocaust history by collecting rare memorabilia and documents. In her free time, Ellie is a health-obsessed yoga enthusiast, neat freak, adventurer, Nazi Germany history expert, polyglot, philosopher, a proud Jew, and a doggie mama. Ellie lives in New York with her fiancé and their Chihuahua named Shark Bait. ●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●   William Joseph was born in Lakewood New Jersey. He grew up in nearby Pine Beach New Jersey and has lived there his entire life. An only child and highly imaginative, William Joseph spent a lot of time writing growing up, but it wasn’t until he finally felt that he had a story to tell with THIS IS WAR that he stuck with it from beginning to end. During this time, William Joseph attended Ocean County College and graduated with honors and two degrees. While in college, he also attended a creative writing class, where, for the first time, he shared his work with other people. Sharing a short story with them and seeing how he could emotionally connect with his readers got him hooked. His short story was published in his college’s literary magazine, and since then, the pursuit for publishing his work began, as well as the dedication and dream of writing more books and stories. ●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●   Ed Bar is the international best-selling author of In the Dark, The Slutty Bride and The Man in the Woods. He's a native-born Missourian but has spent years traveling the country. When he's not writing, he spends his time hiking, fishing and playing with his pit bull. ●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●   Renee Dyer is a New Hampshire girl through and through. She began writing because staring at trees got boring and her mom gave her a journal to make her stop talking all the time. She’s a tea-drinking, Supernatural-watching, Patriots-loving, fuzzy sock obsessed, craft hoarder, who fights with her characters, but typically gives in because their ideas are better. Most days (because it feels like a frozen tundra three quarters of the year) you can find her huddled on her couch, under a blanket with a hot drink in her hand and typing or reading. Stories are her passion. ●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●     Yolanda Olson is an award winning and international bestselling author. Born and raised in Bridgeport, CT where she currently resides, she usually spends her time watching her favorite channel, Investigation Discovery. Occasionally, she takes a break to write books and test the limits of her mind. Also an avid horror movie fan, she likes to incorporate dark elements into the majority of her books. You can keep in touch with her on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.   ●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●   J.M. Walker is an Amazon bestselling author who recently hit USA Today with Wanted: An Outlaw Anthology. She loves all things books, pigs and lip gloss. She is happily married to the man who inspires all of her Heroes and continues to make her weak in the knees every single day.   ●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●     Peyton Banks is the alter ego of a city girl who is a romantic at heart. Her mornings consist of coffee and daydreaming up the next steamy romance book ideas. She loves spinning romantic tales of hot alpha males and the women they love. She currently resides with her husband and children in Cleveland, Ohio.   ●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●     C.M. Radcliff lives in Pennsylvania with her husband and two demon children. Known as the Psycho Queen, she speaks fluent sarcasm, dark humor, and has the mouth of a sailor. If she isn't reading or writing, she's probably on an adventure with her little family. ●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●   Ally Vance has been writing since she was a teenager, and studied Professional Writing at college. It has been a long time dream of hers to finally become a published author. She finally achieved this in 2018 with her Bestselling debut book, Flower in the Dark. Ally writes Dark Romance genre, and also poetry, she is willing to expand into other genres if the inspiration takes her. Ally also co-writes with her close friend Michelle Brown under the pen name Ally Michelle. Ally lives in Kent, in the United Kingdom with her husband and stepson. ●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●   C.F. Rabbiosi: Charity used to be a Registered Nurse in California, and though she doesn't use her two degrees in the field anymore, they have helped her with her real passion- writing. She happily writes the day away using her in depth Anatomy, Physiology and Psych background to make her death scenes more real and her killers more... colorful. But it's not all about the blood, because more than anything she loves hot romance. Her heroines are kick-ass and her men are all the dangerous and gorgeous beasts you love to hate. Her style is beautifully gruesome and inspired by the amazing dark romance/dark erotica writers: Trisha Wolfe, Natalie Bennett, and Jennifer Bene. She lives in the beautiful university city of Columbia, MO with her incredible husband and three girls, and loves yoga- almost as much as living and writing in her own fantasy world. ●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●  
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captaincanarygotmelike · 8 years ago
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Fic: Voices Carry ch. 12
Read on AO3
Read on Fanfiction.net
Avery cried over her forgotten bunny for not even ten minutes, but it felt like much longer than that to Leonard and Sara. Neither of them were mad or frustrated with her, but her wails didn’t exactly help the situation they were in at all.
Sara spent several minutes twisted in her seat trying to console Avery, rubbing a hand comfortingly up and down her leg and holding her hand, but when nothing seemed to be calming her, she turned back in her chair and let Avery’s tears peter out on their own.
She eventually tired herself out, her cries fading to a quiet whimper until, finally, she fell asleep, even without her bunny blanket.
The peace and quiet didn’t last long.
They were a few minutes out of the city when the clock struck seven. At once, they felt the effects of the earthquake rolling across the ground in heavy waves. Sara turned in her seat to look at the city shrinking behind them. She could already see a plume of smoke rising into the air. Their car was far enough out of range that they didn’t feel the quaking sensations as much as they heard them, loud and deep sounds punctuated by distant crashes and explosions.
It didn’t take Avery too long to be roused by the sound of the earthquake and to start crying once again. Instead off the cries of despair Leonard and Sara had been subject to at the loss of her bunny blanket, these were wails of fear and confusion.
Neither Sara nor Leonard blamed her; they were just as afraid and confused as she was.
Sara couldn’t even think of how to comfort her daughter. This was unlike any injury or nightmare she’d ever had. Kissing her boo-boos or telling her it was just a dream wouldn’t work for this.
She couldn’t even tell her it was all going to be okay, because Sara didn’t know if that was true. All she could do was sit very still in her seat and wait for it all to be over.
Sara flinched with every shaking rumble, convinced with every sound that the ground would open up and suck them into it.
Leonard reached over and took her hand in his. Sara felt herself relax, the way his was his hand completely engulfed hers somehow easing her nerves.
He didn’t really know why he’d done it, held her hand. He’d just seen how nervous she was, and her hand had been right there, her fingers drumming on the leather top to the glove box. He didn’t want her to be sitting alone in fear, so he did it, he held her hand.
He considered it a good sign that she didn’t try to pull away, so he didn’t either.Sara was trying her best to put on a brave face, especially for Avery’s sake, but Leonard could tell she was shaken by what was happening.
He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t shaken up himself.
He had been so sure he wouldn’t end up here. Sure, when he’d first been planning this mission, he’d imagined hitches and hiccups, but he’d also envisioned success. Back in his career as a criminal — God, that seemed so long ago now — his heists had always been successful. Now, the one time it mattered, he had failed, and now countless people were going to be hurt by what he hadn’t been able to do.
He hadn’t anticipated failure. He hadn’t anticipated driving away from a city facing total destruction. Where did this all go wrong? It wasn’t as if he’d had an exact plan when he started, but he’d never even imagined the path it had ended up taking.
A rumbling crash that shook the car had Sara’s hand tightening around his own. He looked over to see her eyes squeezed shut. He turned back to the road, running his thumb back and forth across the back of her hand.
He’d never thought Sara would end up working with him. When they first met, she was working against him, running the police case against him. When they first met, Leonard had been ready to leave, to get as far away from the pretty homicide detective across the hall as he could.
Now, somehow, she and her daughter were two of the most important people in his life.
He wondered how the mission would have gone if Sara hadn’t been with him along the way. A part of him thought that maybe it could have gone better. He had, after all, spent an awful lot of time with her and Avery, especially while Sara was recovering from her bullet wound to the stomach, courtesy of Malcolm Merlyn. Maybe that time would have been better spent working directly on the mission. He thought about helping Avery with projects at school and Friday movie nights. He thought about stitching up wounds with Sara and sitting with her for hours just talking about anything.
Past missions (although heists were probably a better word for them) had been time consuming. It would be all he could think about, and he wouldn’t rest until he had a plan, plus a backup plan for when things fell apart and, sometimes even a backup plan for the backup plan. He couldn’t say he was proud of what those missions had entailed; he had changed so much in the past few months, but he had to admit that his success rate during that time had been near perfect. It was obvious that the same work ethic from those heists hadn’t translated over to this mission.
Maybe Sara and Avery were a distraction. Maybe that was why the mission had failed.
No, he insisted. He wouldn’t think like that. Her connections with the cops had helped them gain intel on people involving Merlyn’s plan. Leonard wouldn’t have been able to disarm the Markov device without Sara holding off the guards. That part of the mission wouldn’t have happened without her.
He was constantly amazed by her strength. She’d proved her fighting abilities time and time against when they fought side by side. Hell, she’d fought with a bullet in her arm and another in her stomach. She had remained calm when Merlyn had kidnapped Avery. Sara had contributed to the mission in enough ways to prove her worth a hundred times over.
He was then reminded of something Mick Rory had told him several weeks ago. It was at the bar Saints and Sinners, when Sara had been at S.T.A.R. Labs, fighting for her life after Merlyn shot her in the stomach. Leonard had been so mad in that moment, mad at the universe for hurting Sara when she’d never done anything to deserve it, mad at Merlyn for shooting Sara and scaring Avery, mad at himself for putting them both in harms way. He had been unsure of how to channel that anger but knew that it needed to go somewhere. Mick had said something along the lines of what’s done is done; focusing on the past couldn’t help anything move forward.
It didn’t matter how the mission had or hadn’t happened or what could or couldn’t have been changed. He now had to live with the effects of the decisions he made, the good and the bad.
The further away Sara, Leonard, and Avery got from the city, the less they felt the impact of the earthquake. The shaking slowly ceased, with the exception of a few stronger tremors. The sounds, the crashes and the explosions, although not truly gone, faded into the distance like thunder after a storm.
Avery’s wails dissipated with it and soon she had fallen asleep yet again.
There was no reason for Leonard to still be holding Sara’s hand, but he didn’t let go, their fingers laced behind the gear shift.
They arrived at the safe house in a little under an hour. It was nearly invisible as they drove up the gravel road, blocked by tall pine trees.
It was not what Sara had expected. She had imagined a small, rundown little house that was really only suited for its namesake: a place to stay in an emergency, when you wanted to fall completely off the grid.
It did appear to be small, so Sara got that right, but instead of a ramshackle building, she saw a charming cabin-style house built on the edge of a cliff halfway up Mount Buccelato, the mountain range just outside of Central City. The house had seemingly been built into the trees, as if the builders had taken a huge ice cream scoop and made the perfect spot for that house and that house alone. The lower hanging branches of short maple trees fell over the safe house like a picture frame. The back of the cabin faced Central City Bay, and in the distance, the skyline of the city was visible. The front opened up to a wide grassy field that rivaled the one in the movie The Sound of Music. All around them they could see the white tops of the surrounding mountains in the distance.
They were the first ones there, so Leonard drove the car all the way up to the front of the house and pulled the key out of the ignition.
Leonard opened the door and stepped out of the car. He walked around to the passenger side where Sara was just standing up.
She sighed heavily and looked up at him with sad blue eyes. The last time Sara had looked this sad was around Father’s Day, when she’d had to explain to Avery why she didn’t have a dad like all of her friends. He’d hated seeing Sara looking so sad, but he didn’t feel that they were close enough yet for him to do anything to comfort her.
Now, however, was a different story.
Acting on impulse, he stepped forwards and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. To his surprise she instantly gave in to the hug, her arms going around his waist, her fingers gripping the back of his leather jacket. Her forehead was pressed against his chest and Leonard could feel her slow, heavy exhales. He rested his chin on the top of her head, her hair brushing his neck.
He waited for Sara to pull away. He met her eyes once again. She managed a small smile.
“Thanks,” she said, her voice slightly raspy after disuse.
“I can get the bags,” he said. Sara nodded and closed her car door. As Sara walked around to the backseat where Avery was sleeping, Leonard moved to the trunk. He opened the door and pulled the few bags and backpacks they had brought with them out of the car. He then went to the backseat where Sara was gingerly unbuckling Avery from her carseat. She carefully lifted her out of the car, being careful to not wake her. They both knew that without her bunny, it was unlikely that they would get her back to sleep if she woke up.
He carried her to the front door of the safe house where he reached into his back pocket and extracted the key. He unlocked the door and walked inside, flipping the lights on to reveal the cabin’s interior.
The outside of the cabin did not convey its true size, however, that was sort of the point. Passersby would see a quaint wooden cabin with a little porch and think nothing of it. Inside, however, it proved to be much bigger than it appeared.
The front door opened to the top floor, nothing but a wide balcony-style hallway leading to the back deck. It seemed the cabin wasn’t just built on the cliff, but over it, supported by several concrete beams that stretched into the water below. Looking over the railing revealed the bottom floor, where the rest of the house lay.
“Damn, Snart,” Sara said appreciatively, “This whole time you’ve had this place and I’m just seeing it now?”
“I don’t come out here often,” Leonard admitted, “It’s a little…inaccessible, and anyway, I prefer the city.”
“I don’t hear you complaining now,” she replied.
“It does have its uses.”
“How’d you come by it, or is expensive real estate, what, a hobby?”
“It was actually payment for a job I pulled with an old partner a few years back.”
“Mick?”
“Do you see any scorch marks?” Leonard said, looking around the house, “No, another one. I’m not sure what happened to him, actually. I’ve only come up here a few times since then.”
“Well it’s a good thing you held onto it. I don’t know what we would have done without you graciously offering it up.”
“Don’t underestimate your intelligence, I’m sure you would have thought of something,” Leonard responded, “Do you want to put Ave in one of the bedrooms?”
Sara nodded and followed him down the stairs and into the lower level of the cabin. It really was a gorgeous house, with wooded walls and floors and tall vaulted ceilings supported by wooden beams. The downstairs had an open floor plan, with the kitchen, the living room, and the dining room all in the same space, but in no way did it feel cramped.
Leonard led her down a hallway with at least six doors.
“Are all of these bedrooms?” Sara asked.
“And bathrooms,” he nodded. He opened one of the doors and led Sara into one of the bedrooms. It was filled with wooden furniture: a bed of dark pine, a matching bedside table and a heavy looking dresser. Sara set Avery down on the plaid blanket.
“You can stay in here with her tonight if you want but there’s also the bedrooms next door too.”
Sara nodded. They heard the sounds of tires rolling against loose rocks.
“Sounds like someone else finally got here,” he said. They both left the bedroom, Sara quietly shutting the door behind them.
The new car brought with it Caitlin and Harry. Leonard and Sara went to greet them and led them down to the living room.
“It’s pretty bad out there,” Caitlin said when they were all seated around the black leather couch.
“Really?” Sara asked.
“Yeah, they’ve closed off all ways in and out of the city except for one bridge. We almost didn’t get out,” she replied.
“How long do you think these explosions are gonna last?”
“By our calculations of the Markov device’s strength, it could go all night,” Wells answered.
Sara nodded solemnly. She noticed a funny look on Leonard’s face.
“You okay?” she asked quietly, the hand that had been on the back of the couch falling to rest on his shoulder.
“I’m fine,” he nodded. Sara didn’t believe him, but she didn't press him on the matter either.
Not too long after, Lisa and Cisco arrived.
“Nice place you got here, Cold,” Cisco said, looking around the cabin appreciatively.
“Don’t get any ideas about showing up here unannounced, Ramon,” Leonard warned him, “This place is invite only.”
“Ignore him,” Lisa rolled her eyes, dropping onto the couch.
They spent the next few minutes talking about anything besides what was happening in Central City.
During this, Lisa noticed that something was different between her brother and Sara. It wasn’t a bad sort of different, but different nonetheless. She also definitely didn’t miss how close they were sitting on the couch. Leonard had his long legs stretched in front of him, and Sara was sitting with her legs curled by her side. Her elbow rested on the couch cushions right behind Leonard’s shoulder and her knees were touching his thigh. She noticed the way Leonard kept glancing at Sara — not nervously, exactly, but uneasily, as if he was checking to make sure she was okay.
Lisa didn’t know exactly what had happened during the car ride from their apartment complex to here, but whatever it was had dramatically altered the dynamic between the two.
The last people to arrive at the safe house were Barry and Iris. They all stood up when they entered the cabin and walked down the stairs.
“Is everyone here?” Barry asked urgently, scanning the room, “Where’s Joe?”
“Bar,” Iris said, “We talked about this. He stayed behind with the rest of the CCPD to help people in Central City.”
He nodded, but almost immediately, panic flooded his face again.
“Oh my God, where’s Avery?”
“She’s asleep in one of the bedrooms,” Sara quickly reassured him, gesturing towards the hallway of rooms.
“Okay,” he sighed, but the relief didn’t last long, “I have to go back. So many innocent people are gonna get hurt. I have to go help them.”
Iris nodded solemnly. She knew there was no way to stop her fiancé when he got in this mindset. After a moment, Leonard stood up.
“I want to go too,” he said.
“Wait, what?” Sara asked.
“I’ve had just as much a part in this as Barry has — more, even,” he explained to her. “I’d feel wrong sitting here while innocent people are dying because of what I wasn’t able to do.”
Barry nodded and Leonard followed him with long strides back out of the cabin.
Sara stood rooted to the spot, her eyebrows furrowed. She did not agree with what was happening right now, but she couldn’t explain why.
She was almost content with letting it go. Leonard was, after all, his own person. He was free to do whatever he pleased and Sara had very little right to try to stop him.
Then they heard a low rumbling noise and the floor started to shake. It seemed that that Markov device was only gaining in strength, and if it could reach them all the way out here, she could only imagine what it was doing to Central City.
Sara was jolted into action. Leonard was already up the stairs and out the front door, so Sara jogged to catch up with him.
“Len!” she called, “Wait!”
She grabbed his shoulder and turned him around to face her.
“Sara, what is it—”
Sara launched herself forward and pressed her lips against his. She stood on her toes to snake her arms around his neck. She thought he might try to pull away from her, but on the contrary, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer to him, deepening the kiss. Sara felt her breath hitch in her throat at his touch.
Finally, after what felt like eons, she stepped away.
“If you die out there I’m gonna kill you,” she said, her lips upturning into a smirk. It took a moment for Leonard’s look of absolute shock to fade, but finally, he smirked back.
“I wouldn’t dare,” he replied, “You’d enjoy it too much.”
And then he was gone.
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dawnjeman · 6 years ago
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Beautiful Homes of Instagram: Reno Inspiration
  Hello, my wonderful friends!!! I hope we all have a Blessed new week!
I am so happy to have Shannon from @styledbysorrells on our “Beautiful Homes of Instagram” today! Shannon is someone that is full of energy, has plenty of talent and that’s why she is being featured by some big names, including House Beautiful and Pottery Barn! I couldn’t help but invite her to share more details about her home reno because I know you guys will feel inspired by it and love her new kitchen as much as I do!
Here she explains more about her journey…
  Hey friends! I’m Shannon and I am beyond humbled that Luciane from Home Bunch reached out asking for our home renovations be featured among some of the gorgeous homes they’ve shared on her site. What an extreme honor! I recently created an Instagram account primarily to seek and share home inspiration. I have received so many great ideas from scrolling the ‘gram over the years and created a page specific for this purpose. Not sure about you, but I treat Instagram like a magazine. I scroll the beautiful images, dog ear the pages (‘like’ the photo) and get inspired! The community of folks that use Instagram like I do, have been such sweet and supportive peeps that share some of the same fix-up quirks I have. The “itch to switch” or need to fulfill a creative outlet through home updates- it’s how I roll. And some think I’m nutty- but these peeps are just like me and oh, how refreshing it is!
See more details below!
    Beautiful Homes of Instagram: Reno Inspiration
We are restoring our Indiana brick colonial, a little bit at a time. We have made progress but still have a long way to go! We purchased our diamond in the rough in 2013. It was a sad, neglected space that had been on the market quite a while. Many turned away at the work it would take to fix up and couldn’t get past the strange room configurations and unique choices in design (ie: lots of green, burgundy, gold and pink- and none of it was the pretty kind) The moment we got home from touring it, I drew out the floor plan from memory and reconfigured the rooms and there it was – Confirmation that we could make this house a home. So we took the plunge and never looked back!
Before & After
Isn’t it a great transformation? The home now features new roof, new landscaping and a really good coat of paint!
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Meet the Homeowner
This is the beautiful and talented homeowner, Shannon from @styledbysorrells! I truly can’t tell you guys how grateful I am to have her on our “Beautiful Homes of Instagram” series today. It’s because of people like Shannon that I continue with this series on the blog.
Home Inspiration
Slowly but surely we’re shining up this rock to make it sparkle again. We had to complete necessities first (ie: remove previous 4 legged tenants from attic who had burrowed holes in the roof, replace the roof over our heads, reconfigure the rooms, install new carpet and paint the walls that couldn’t wait). We expanded the 3rd bedroom, relocated the plumbing for the laundry room added a bedroom to the 3rd floor. It was quite a bit of work. I was 25 weeks pregnant and my husband had just started a new job- so we hired some great contractors for the assist. These changes were just the beginning of our journey!
Kitchen
Most recently, we completed our dream kitchen and first floor renovation. It is a gorgeous space created by numerous sleepless nights, pins on Pinterest, dreaming and patience. Waiting 5 years for this beauty was worth it. The old space was poorly configured and frankly, ugly. We had two strange living rooms right next to each other- one featuring a lovely restaurant booth with mosaic tiles which worked as a kids craft table for a few years. The kitchen had two awkward eating areas, tile counters, stubby cabinets, broken appliances and hunter green tiles. We made one of the two living rooms our dining room and made the second/larger room, our living room by reorienting the room and adding a fireplace. Some walls came down, some walls went up, a fireplace was added and the heart of this home had been restored! We are beyond thrilled with our new space and are so thankful that Indiana Kitchen Company brought our dream to life.
Kitchen “Before & After”
The before and after photos can show you why we love it so much! The kitchen was recently shared by House Beautiful, Pottery Barn, Interior Designers and several other businesses on Instagram – definitely something that was unexpected and an honor of a lifetime!
Barstools – Wayfair Adjustable Height Swivel Bar Stool
Kitchen Lighting
Glass Pendants – Pottery Barn Flynn Oversized Recycled Pendants. We used the large size.
Over sink light- Wayfair.
Cabinet Paint Color
Cabinets – Amish made with custom colors from their manufacturing. The color we have is Alabaster which is a warmer tone of white than the Sherwin Williams alternative.
Sink & Faucet
Kitchen Sink: Kohler.
Kitchen Faucet: Delta.
Quartz Countertop
The kitchen features a combination of marble-looking quartz and wood countertop.
Kitchen Hardware
Similar Kitchen Hardware: Pulls & Knobs – Also here & here.
Wood Countertop
The wood countertop is Maple with Country Pine Stain.
Range: Ge.
Brick Flooring
Brick Floors: Our brick floors are our favorite feature and they are quiet the showstopper! These are real thin brick from McNear. The color we chose is Cotswold and we love it’s irregularity and unique look. So many people are concerned about the cleaning of the floors- they are very low maintenance! A vacuum is all that is needed most of the time. We spot clean as needed but the floors rarely require mopping! When we do, we use a brush mop and regular ol’ Mr Clean.
Similar Flooring (in Porcelain): here.
Kitchen Inspiration
Similar Backsplash: 3×6 White Subway Tile.
Similar Floating Shelves: Here, Here & Here.
Similar Vintage Runner: Here (vintage) – Others: – Other Beautiful Runners: here, here, here, here, here, here & here.
Similar Cutting Boards: Here.
“Before” Breakfast Room
The breakfast felt neglected and quite outdated.
“After” Breakfast Room
What a huge difference!!!
Dining Nook Chandelier – Wayfair – Tremier 5-Light Empire Chandelier.
Paint Color
Paint color is Worldly Gray SW 7043 Sherwin Williams.
Breakfast Room Furniture
Dining Nook Table – Wayfair – Avery Dining Table – This is the correct table, but some images don’t look accurate- mine is not distressed and has the wider pedestal. Other Beautiful Dining Tables: here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here & here.
Dining Nook Chairs – Topher Wicker Side Chairs – Others: here, here, here, here & here.
Kitchen Desk
The kitchen now features a custom desk.
Dining Room
The kitchen opens to a large and newly-renovated dining room.
Chandeliers
Dining Room Chandeliers – Wayfair – Shayla 6-Light Wagon Wheel Chandelier. We installed two.
Dining Room Table
Dining Room Table – Ashley Furniture Circa early 2000s – Similar here (or here for the complete dining set), here.
Steps
View of kitchen from living room.
DIY Planter
DIY Planter Box – We had our contractors add a simple Planter box for snake plants (Lowes $11) in a strange space we had between the two landing areas. Idea credit to my boss- he’s a genius.
Inspirational sign – HomeGoods – Others: here.
Sunken Family Room
Paint color is Sherwin Williams SW 7043 Worldly Gray.
Brick Fireplace
Mantle is stained to match countertop which is the Country Pine.
Bookshelves- these were previously in this space but we had shiplap added and my father-in-law built the cabinet fronts on the bottom for hiding miscellaneous toys, movies, etc.
Fireplace – HeatnGlo 6000 series
Sofa & Ottoman: Pottery Barn – Others Beautiful Sofa Sectionals: Here, Here, Here, Here, Here, Here & Here.
Similar Floor Mirror: Here.
Laundry Room “Before”
This 3rd bedroom recently became the most beautiful and spacious farmhouse laundry room!
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Floor Tile
A few years ago, I saw several pins on Pinterest showcasing plywood floors! I didn’t realize I would soon have a plywood obsession that has now covered about 2,000 sf of our home in plywood either on the floors or as shiplap on the walls. Just call me the Plywood Princess. 
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When we purchased our home, our laundry room was a strange bedroom on the back of the house that you had to access through the master bathroom or through the bonus room. Definitely not an ideal location for a bedroom- but we think it’s a great spot for a laundry room! So when our contractors were working on the original shifting of rooms, this one was included. Plumbing was run to this room and we just plopped our washer and dryer and old tv entertainment center in the room for a few years and it acted as a semi-functioning space. But definitely not a cute one. Thanks to Pinterest and DIY, we installed our herringbone plywood flooring! It was definitely a labor of love but oh was it worth it! Each board needed hand sanded, glued, nailed, stained and polyurethaned. The end result looks great!
Island
We repurposed the old black entertainment center we had into storage shelving to the sides of the washer (see photo below) and dryer and the rolling folding table.
Desk Area
We took an old bathroom vanity from an earlier vanity swap out and added some old 2x10s for the desk area finish off the space. This is my favorite use of repurposed materials and thrifty purchases – and I think it looks beautiful!
Laundry Folding Island
Isn’t this laundry folding island fantastic?! I love the fact you can roll it to any place in this laundry room.
Laundry Room Paint Color
Paint color is Sherwin Williams Worldly Gray SW 7043.
Chandeliers – Habitat for Humanity Restore
Flooring Details
Floors – Plywood – 5/16 pre-sanded
Adhesive- Liquid Nails
Nails – pneumatic nailer/nails
Mudroom
After completing the laundry room, our plywood obsession expanded into more rooms of our house. Next up was the man room floors, then the basement walls, and finally our mudroom. These spaces were inexpensive, imperfect but ultimately- they are better than they were before!
Plank Wall
Similar Wall Hooks: Here.
“Before” Patio
We have updated several other areas of our home. Although the kitchen is, in my opinion, the most dramatic and the most beautiful, my next favorite transformation was our patio area. 
“During”
Our old back/side yard was a complete mess. It was originally two waterfalls/ponds that connected to each other with a dry rock bed. There was a tiny flagstone patio big enough for two chairs and a very narrow flagstone walkway down to the basement and pond area. We tried to make this outdoor space work for us for a few years. The water features’ mechanicals were completely shot and the functionality of the space was lacking. Not to mention it ended up being a mosquito breeding ground with the two pools of stagnant water. One day I just couldn’t take it anymore and just started pulling up the flagstones and boulders and setting them aside. My husband was not happy about this… but I had a vision in my mind and was going to do whatever it took to make it a functional and enjoyable space for our family.
“After” Patio
 He finally saw my vision and helped with a lot of heavy lifting. When it came time to lay the patio, we had the professionals come in and finish the job. We had to order a few tons of flagstone to expand the patio but over half of it is original. We did not have to purchase one boulder- which actually lines the entire patio and fire pit. Every boulder was in the previous space hidden under years of neglect- who knew!? Through the years, we added Adirondack chairs, built our farm table, built a pergola swing, added fence panels and lots of landscaping. It’s finally starting to feel like a semi-finished space and we love it enjoying this space as a family.
Patio Furniture
Lanterns – Menards Chairs, Table, Swings, etc- DIY and local artisan.
Stone Patio
Flagstone – Iron Mountain Flagstone – 3 tons #53 stone – 3 tons
Sand – 1.5 tons
Joint binder- Gator Dust Polymeric Stone Dust
Home-Sweet-Home
What a beautiful family lives in this home. May all of them always be Blessed!
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It’s the Most Beautiful Time of the Year
Shannon’s home looks so beautiful during Christmastime!
  Many thanks to Shannon for sharing all of the details above.
Make sure to follow @styledbysorrells on Instagram for more inspiration!
  Best Sales of the Month:
Thank you for shopping through Home Bunch. I would be happy to assist you if you have any questions or are looking for something in particular. Feel free to contact me and always make sure to check dimensions before ordering. Happy shopping!
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“Dear God,
If I am wrong, right me. If I am lost, guide me. If I start to give-up, keep me going.
Lead me in Light and Love”.
Have a wonderful day, my friends and we’ll talk again tomorrow.”
with Love,
Luciane from HomeBunch.com
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melodeemarsh · 5 years ago
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aaaaaaand she’s finally lost it.
i. am. ready. to. go. outside.
whooooooooooooooo.
3 days til my REBIRTH INTO THE WORLD.
Li Zi Qi just put out new videos on blue-dyed calico ❤
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youtube
If you don’t know who she is yet, please watch all her videos!!! They are straight out of a fairytale and at the same time just such a wonderful, slow, beautiful understanding of life. She makes almost everything from scratch—salted duck eggs, lipstick from roses, silk dresses, wool cloaks.
Her channel is honestly what I aspire towards. I want to make videos and blogs that slow down, offer a space to breathe, create wonder and beauty.
Life moves on and it never falls into a complete standstill. The world is having a meltdown right now, but here, Li Zi Qi is quietly making blue-dye calico clothes.
The media tends to intensify the anxiety and fear, and it always urgent and demands attention. So it feels as if everything and everyone is in a sort of a mental frenzy, a sort of panic. But that isn’t true. In some places, life is going on at a slow, sweet, unhurried pace. In fact, perhaps, people who are under lock-down or quarantine or stay-at-home notices are living a slower, sweeter life, too.
I hope so.
I’m sure there are many also struggling with living at home, and trying to homeschool the kids. And people who cannot afford to stay at home and must go out for work, risking their health.
Of course, we all risk our health every day. More people die from car crashes than airplane crashes—and now both are cut at a drastic rate, so perhaps we are also saving people from vehicle crash deaths. Just like how pollution has decreased because of the lockdown in China, which has also saved lives (more lives than from the disease) from pollution long term.
But yet again, it is the people who cannot afford it who are hit the hardest. Malaysia shut its borders a few days ago, and many Malaysians cross over to Singapore to work every day. So a lot of them crossed over with sparse belongings and nowhere to sleep for the next two weeks (could be shorter or longer, but as of now, two weeks). I’m just glad to see how the community here is mobilising. The Jurong East sports hall was opened up for stranded workers to stay. Druggists and Mikkellar Bar are pulling together a donation drive of essentials to ensure they have all the necessities they need.
On the other end of things, Jimmy Fallon now has an At Home edition of his show and I love it—and I never even watched a single full episode of his stuff before. He features a guest and a different charity every episode. So far, he has featured feedingamerica.org, savethechildren.org/savewithstories, which are pulling together resources to support the kids in the States who rely on school for food. Then, there is a donation drive for artists and performers who are affected.
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  There is a keen balance of hope and sober reality that needs to be held in these times. We cannot underplay the suffering that people are going through—mentally, physically, emotionally, financially, socially—and yet we cannot be solemn and despairing. Try and understand and see clearly what the situation is, but yet hold on ruthlessly to hope and to humour, to joy and laughter and bright days.
Keep loving and living. Look out for one another, see how we can help our friends and neighbours. This lady posted a wonderful post about supporting the more vulnerable small businesses/gig workers who are directly impacted by the situation right now. Taken directly from her post:
Profiles of those who are also getting hit terribly:
– Those who work in SMEs facing the trickle down effect (those who earn under 100m or employ <200 workers but contribute to 48% of SG’s GDP, employ 65% of SG’s workforce and constitute 99% of all SG’s enterprises.)
– Those who freelance and do gigs (freelance creatives, musicians, actors, food delivery, etc)
– Those whose work depends on having medium to large sized groups of people show up (events managers and organisers, conference organisers and support, trainers, teachers, F&B, film crews, small renovation/contractor firms, party planners, arts-based companies etc)
– Those who run events that are too easily and unfortunately deemed “non-essential” (social enterprise CSR events, creative work like theatre, film music, celebrations etc)
– Those who work in hospitality, F&B, tourism, aviation, trade
There are some ways you can help:
1. Ask them how their work has been hit by the Covid crisis. If they’re doing badly, ask them if you can financially support them somehow. Find ways to commission work from them or ask around on their behalf. Pay them fairly and generously for their work. Bonus: You never know if the thing you’re commissioning from them can also be the financial and psychological invitation they need to explore a pivot in their business.
2. If you’re one of the luckier ones who are actually not worried now and are sniffing for cheap, plummeting stocks to invest in so you can get even richer, consider investing in people around you who exhibit great potential. I’m not talking about pity investments. I mean thoughtful intentional investments that support Singapore’s economic and societal well-being. Consider using some of your significant loose change to be a mini venture capitalist or mini impact investor.
3. Tip the gig economy people you come across – like your food delivery person, your taxi driver, your part-time waiters and food servers. Be more generous than normal. Tipping has never been our culture but the option has been built into the apps’ system if we choose to use it. There are many around us who are forced to choose between taking medical rest and keeping up their hourly paid work. Tip them so they know if they are sick especially with flu like symptoms, they have some kind of financial relief and psychological permission from someone to stay home and rest.
4. If you bought tickets to a local theatre performance/concert/workshop that got cancelled, if it is possible for you and you have more than enough, don’t harass them for refunds especially if you know they are a smaller player without deep pockets.
5. If you are a big corporate/govt agency that has to cancel your events and workshops (especially those CSR events run by smaller social enterprises), pay them something – anything. In exceptional times, explore how to make an exception to the usual contractual rules. Write in a new goodwill clause if you want. Pay them a goodwill amount – your generosity could mean some employees get paid. This is especially for social enterprises which hire the elderly or people with special needs. If possible don’t cancel but postpone the event and still pay upfront as a gesture of solidarity.
6. If your friends are running F&Bs, go dine-in (at an appropriate distance). Or order takeaway/catering from them.
7. If you run some kind of community group or religious group especially, find a way to gently and kindly ask if there is anyone going through hard times in their business who needs some help. You’ll be surprised how many real needs are there in front of you even amongst those who look comfortably middle class. People may stay quiet and stoic because the global situation seems so dire out there and they feel their own hyper-local needs seem smaller in comparison.
On a more light hearted note… Someone made lo-fi beats with PM Lee speaking in the background…
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this has become a very, very long post.
I would like to end with a quote from Avery’s own quarantine diaries (she is on day 6) because I think she puts what I am trying to say in this blogpost perfectly:
“Finally, I came across a really beautiful metaphor in Jeremiah 17 today. It’s worth typing out here.
Thus says the LORD:
“Cursed is the one who trusts in man and makes flesh his strength, whose heart turns away from the LORD.
He is like a shrub in the desert, and shall not see any good come.
He shall dwell in the parched places of the wilderness, in an uninhabited salt land.
Blessed is the one who trusts in the LORD, whose trust is the LORD.
He is like a tree planted by water, that sends out its roots by the stream,
and does not fear when the heat comes, for its leaves remain green,
and is not anxious in the year of drought, for it does not cease to bear fruit…
Oh LORD, [you are] the fountain of living water.” – Jeremiah 17:5-8, 13
I love the imagery of a tree planted by water that never fears in drought or heat. I’m doing all right for now, but for many people, right now is a time of personal and financial drought. And yet God says our leaves can remain green. We will still bear fruit. Because the very source of our life is God, the fountain of living water. Last year I began to learn about joy in all circumstances, joy despite drought. I know I’ll keep learning more.”
Joy in all circumstances. Peace beyond understanding. Love beyond all reason.
That is where I turn to, in times of trouble.
There is a part of me that feels a little nervous or fearful, writing and speaking about my faith, but I truly believe that Jesus died for me and saved me, and that God’s love sustains me, and that God turns all evil into good.
Truly.
Keep on burning bright, you little light.
xx
Melody
the quarantine diary – day 12 aaaaaaand she's finally lost it. i. am. ready. to. go. outside. whooooooooooooooo. 3 days til my REBIRTH INTO THE WORLD.
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justbarrymawonga · 6 years ago
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Diary of a Namibian Black Dude...
Chapter Three
Dude, wasn’t that embarrassing?! By now, if you have read the first two chapters you might come to the conclusion that I am afflicted by very frequent and very sever bouts of embarrassing situations. Meaning, yes these situations are real memories. And now among many other things you may start to wonder, if these situations are real, dude was that not embarrassing? I can feel you rolling your eyes at my words. I suppose it is a good thing for I have managed to tap into your mental psychic and as you read on, you will discover that that very connection will grow more. I don’t want to bore you with myself diagnosis and with my contradictory descriptions of self, so on with my tale.
Well in manner of speaking yes and no. I feel embarrassment in the moment and anything past that moment is forgotten. It’s a very helpful mutation in the ever evolving human condition. This allows this dude to forget seriously embarrassing moments. That way their traumatic after effects only last in that embarrassing moment. You see, a very useful mutation. I can be the main protagonist in a very embarrassing scenario in the morning and by lunch time, the whole event will have been purged from my short term memory banks. Leaving me mentally trauma free, I go home, sleep and wake up ready for an exciting day.
The problem however, by purging your embarrassing memories you stand the high chance of repeating the actions that caused your embarrassment in the first place. I have done every embarrassing thing that will or has appeared in this Blog at least twice! See by not remembering the thing that caused your embarrassment you run the risk of causing that very embarrassing situation to befall upon you. Creating an infinite loop of embarrassment.I hope you taking notes because I wish that someone had given me this very advice, because besides you running the risk of finding yourself in a Double Jeopardy situation. The purged memory will surface in the most embarrassing ways. I was out once with individuals that I truly believed were my friends. We had decided to go to one of Windhoek’s entertainment establishment’s, code for Shebeen, and you know quench our adolescence fueled thirst. We just wanted to fuck shit up basically. The grouped comprised of five different people, excluding me of cause (I never count myself in a group). It was Paul, Victor, Avery, Susan and Betty. From their names you might say those don’t sound like real people and you would be half right because those are not their real names but the people are real. Paul was a friend from primary school. He was a buff guy, recently becoming buff thanks to supplements and various shakes. Back in primary the dude was so skinny he looked like a stick figure of a praying mantis wished to life.  We used to make jokes that Paul’s clothes kept him from floating away and I kid you not I saw evidence of that on a windy day. We were going home after collecting our slightly embarrassing report cards all the while comforting ourselves by making fun of the ones who did not make it this term. When all of a sudden a freak gust of wind blew between us, dust and small pebbles pelted my body and face. I could see through obscured vision Paul holding on to his shoe lace as the mildly rough gust had Paul almost flying away. Paul screamed as he held on to the shoe lace. If it was not for the dust I would be rolling in laughter at the sight of Paul clutching on to his shoe lace.
I will give you a moment to breath.
Everyone else in the group I knew only through Paul. Betty was a girl from the coast who came to visit. She was nice and round so Paul said that I should pursue her this evening. Victor was Paul’s roommate at varsity. Avery was the hot chick in the group and she was Paul’s girlfriend and Betty’s cousin. If I could describe Avery in one sentence it would be something like this; The girl with a body so divine prophets have been birthed proclaiming her beauty. Don’t misunderstand me I really don’t care about looks but I can recognise and fully appreciate the form of a woman, that just means that Avery is one hell of a woman.  
Susan however was also very divinely built with the kind of smile that can melt the sun. Susan was one of Avery’s BFF’s and I heard Paul telling Victor to go for Susan. While all of these going on’s were going on I was really content with hanging out, drinking beers and perhaps make out with the 'leka' thick chick who was Betty. But Susan had other plans she wanted to make out with me, because I am funny, and Victor was having none of it he was trying so desperately to pull Susan’s attentions away from yours truly. She was smitten by my very nerdy way of speaking for some unknown reason she thought that I was an intellectual. I assure you I am far from being anything close to an intellectual the secret of my broad vocabulary is a direct result of watching too much television. I watched everything all the time and this was the first time that the opposite sex would take an interest because I sounded so smart. The flabbergasted Victor decided to switch tactics and started making fun of me, I just responded with smiles and grins. That tactic would have worked. Keeping your head down and not responding always keeps the peace, the peace was not kept though thanks to Paul’s involvement.
Paul probably did not want his roomie to feel too bad so he started making fun too. First mentioning the time I got my ass kicked by a girl back in primary. Being the guy that delete’s his short term memories I totally denied such a thing ever happening. But Paul was determined to make me trip so he mentioned the time I got my ass handed to be by a kid in a grade lower than me, I denied that too. He upped the ante bringing forth so many different embarrassing moments enough to fill the pages of a book with, maybe this book. Needless to say the evening turned sour. Paul and Victor were laughing their asses off as the three ladies and I sat in really awkward silence. I paid for my round and decided to leave. On my way out Susan accompanied me, she walked really close to me. I would have felt flattered if I did not feel like I got my balls kicked in, not literally because that would actually hurt, more. She turned to me and told me that she wanted to see me again and that I should take her I number. We split a cab together and on our way home we talked the entire ride. Being encourage by the liquid courage I asked Susan for her number and to my surprise she asked for mine at the same time. I was to be dropped first and to my horror I discovered that I had no money left. Being the gentleman I am I got out without saying a word. Only to discover in the morning that I had left my phone in the cab. It would be another six months before I would get a replacement phone. I never saw Susan again. That wasn’t so embarrassing was it?
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