#i FINALLY got after laughter on vinyl after wanting it for like almost 5 years 😭😭😭 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

blackacre13 · 3 years

Note

Hello dear! Would you mind writing a prompt based on the 5 seconds shot of them talking over Lou's vinyls? I loved that it seemed they share an interest in music. My prompt is that after the heist Constance is snooping around and finds a box of all the mixtapes Lou gifted Debbie over the years and they start listening to them even though Lou tells them to stop and they find one that was basically Lou proposing to Deb

Love this prompt! Thank you! (I am so mad because I’ve had a note in my phone forever to look up what vinyl Lou shows Debbie and write a one-shot based on it and when I finally did it, I discovered it was just a prop and not a real album…talk about disappointed ugh)

“Dad, are any of these up for grabs?” Constance asked, thumbing through the blonde’s vinyl collection.

Lou shrugged absentmindedly. “Depends what you want,” she spoke nonchalantly. “Show me something good and it’s yours.”

“Sweet,” the younger girl laughed, nodding excitedly as she went through the stacks.

Lou turned back to her conversation with Debbie on the couch as Nine wandered over to join Constance in her search, the loft filling with conversation and laughter making it thrum with life the way Lou liked it, even if it was a bitch to heat.

“Dude,” Nine whistled followed by a low chuckle. “How gay are you two? The fuck is this?”

Lou looked over to see what she was talking about and turned a shade of beet red while Debbie grinned, tickling at Lou teasingly.

“Leave that box alone,” Lou groaned, clearly embarrassed.

“Oh, come on,” Debbie laughed. “They all know we’re dating now and I’m sure they know it’s not the first round.”

“That’s not the mortifying part,” Lou hissed as other curious faces turned towards the sound system where Nine and Constance were peering into a smaller box, flipping through what sounded like cassette tapes.

“What is this?” Constance grinned.

Tammy rolled her eyes. “They’re called cassette tapes, Con,” she sighed. “You know, before Spotify and shit, we had CDs and before that…well…”

“I know what cassettes are, fam,” Constance laughed, playfully elbowing Nine. “I mean this started with me looking at vinyl. I’m a hipster millennial not a moron.”

“Aren’t the two synonymous?” Daphne sighed.

“You also a millennial, princess,” Nine hinted with a sly grin.

“What are the tapes?” Amita asked, peering up from the couch. Even Rose was dragging her glasses further down her nose to peer over.

“Well, this one’s labeled pretty clearly,” Nine snorted.

“Is it ‘Make out with me in my car’?” Debbie asked, running a teasing finger along Lou’s shoulder. “That was one of my favorites.”

“Don’t be gross, Deb,” Tammy huffed.

“Legit, Tam. It’s labeled that,” Constance chuckled, tossing the tape across the room as it fell on the couch, cracking open. Tammy held up the sharpie-labeled index card with Lou’s messy scrawl in mock disgust.

“The two of you are ridiculous,” Tammy sighed.

“Oh these are alllll Lou’s creations,” Debbie snickered. “There’s a good sex one in there too if anyone has a cassette player. Best of the 80’s.”

“Put one on!” Amita cheered. “Please!”

“Oh, this I’ve got to hear,” Daphne smirked, crossing her legs waiting.

“Knock it off, you two,” Lou sighed, rubbing at the stress lines on her forehead as Debbie kissed her cheek softly.

“I don’t mind, baby,” Debbie whispered. “Just reminds me how cute and adorable you are.”

“Debbie,” the blonde hissed.

“And hot and scary and tough,” Debbie added. “We all know.”

“No, it’s not that,” the Australian sighed. “It’s—“

“Okay, okay,” Constance called out to the group. “Do we want ‘Debbie’s period mix’, ‘Heist pump up’, or ‘Date night’?”

“Wait,” Nine held her hand up as she moved one cassette towards Constance to read and Lou’s heart froze.

“Nine, don’t—“ Lou warned.

“Lou, is this…”

“Leslie, I swear to god—“ Lou started, standing up suddenly, almost knocking Debbie off the couch with messy but powered speed and force as she jumped up.

“Marry me, Honey Bee?” Constance read quietly, looking up at Lou with confused eyes as Lou’s wide, but sad ones looked back at her, locked on Constance’s face, trying and unable to move elsewhere.

Lou could feel Debbie go statue-still next to her.

“You and Deb have been engaged since people used cassettes?” Daphne asked before taking a long sip of her drink, the straw meeting the bottom of the empty glass as it rang through the room meeting awkward silence.

“You call Debbie, Honey Bee?” Amita asked, her eyes soft.

“Baby?” Debbie whispered, her hand finding Lou’s shoulder as Lou looked down at her partner, her face a mixture of sadness, shock and regret.

“Holy Fuck,” Rose cursed, realization dawning on her. “Debbie’s never seen it.”

“Lou, were you going to—“ Debbie whispered, unable to actually ask the question out loud.

“Oh, Louise Miller, you are an even more stubborn idiot than Debbie is,” Tammy sighed, smacking her face. “You know when Deb came to me and asked if you’d ever say yes if she proposed literally decades ago and I said—“

“She what?” Lou asked, flipping to face Tammy. “This isn’t the time, actually. Deb, honey, let me just—“

“I don’t care,” Debbie breathed, standing and turning to face the blonde. “All these years of me being so scared that I wasn’t what you wanted…who you wanted to spend forever with and all this time—“

“We were young and stupid,” Lou smiled awkwardly, playing with Debbie’s hand. “But it’s always what I did for birthdays and date nights and…well, you know…and I would’ve done a real proposal later, of course. Had the ring and everything—“

“You had a ring?” Debbie whispered, her eyes on Lou and Lou alone as the others and the loft faded away.

Lou looked down at the floor nervously. “I actually still do.”

Debbie’s lip was quivering, half falling in surprise as Lou chuckled to herself, tears appearing in her eyes.

“Definitely wasn’t planning to do this today or do it like this at all, but I mean if it was happening this year anyway,” Lou shrugged with a grin as she started to kneel in front of Debbie. “Nine, toss me that case.”

“Don’t you dare,” Debbie hissed.

“Don’t worry,” Lou winked. “I have a bigger diamond hidden elsewhere.”

“Miller, I swear—“

The blonde caught the plastic case in her hand and held it up to Debbie who was shaking her head, tears rolling down her cheeks as she kept babbling and asking Lou if she was “Fucking serious” right now.

“Deb,” Lou smiled, popping open the case and sliding out the index card label to reveal a plastic bag with a ring inside it and no tape at all. “Would you do mid-twenties baby Lou and Deb a favor and say yes to marrying me so I can do this right again when we’re not in our loft surrounded by a bunch of criminals and it’s just you and me and a plan I’ve actually made in advance as a practiced adult?”

“Like a promise ring?” Debbie smirked.

“Like anything you want it to be, honey,” Lou whispered, holding the simple ring up to Debbie’s face as she nodded.

“Debbie, can you please say yes so we can convince Lou to go get the other ring right now?” Tammy complained, throwing popcorn at them.

“I hate this,” Debbie hissed.

“I know,” Lou grinned.

“It’s absofuckinglutely a yes,” Debbie whispered.

“I know,” Lou repeated, grinning from ear to ear. “Feels really fucking good to hear that almost three decades later.”

“Guess you get to hear it twice,” Debbie breathed, helping Lou up to pull her into a slow kiss as the girls cheered and clapped around them letting out whoops and hollers.

Lou slid the ring on Debbie’s finger as she grinned down at it. “There’s something else I’d like to do twice right now,” Lou grinned, scooping Debbie up into her arms as she started to carry her out of the living room. “Alright, ladies!” Lou yelled. “You ruined my proposal so please get the fuck out of our loft so I can fuck my fiancée.”

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sylvanfreckles · 4 years

Text

Just Dudes Being Bros

I’m not even sorry for this. Not even a little.

I started this around the same time I wrote “Taking It Slow”, but left it half-finished and abandoned in my hard drive until now. After the crazy day I had, though, I just had to do something.

Summary: All in all, Sam was really glad that Dean had a best friend like Castiel. They were happy, he was happy...as long as everyone was happy, what was there to worry about? (Five times Sam appreciate Dean and Cas’s friendship...and one time he finally got the hint.)

* * *

(1)

They didn't often go shopping together, partly because Dean usually had meticulous list of what he needed while Sam made more of a vague plan and they drove each other crazy. But Cas wanted to go shopping and Sam needed to pick up some things for himself...so Dean decided it was time for a family outing.

That was strange. Normally Dean would have just handed Cas his list and told him to stick to it, then disappeared deeper into the bunker to beat his frustrations out on a boxing dummy. Though Sam didn't know why Dean would be frustrated that Sam and Cas were going shopping together. He could have come along any time.

He was glad that the former angel had talked Dean around to this trip, though. It turned out to be fun to go together, even if Dean and Cas spent most of the time whispering to each other and holding hands while Sam pushed the cart.

Man, he hadn't held hands with a best friend in a long time. First grade maybe? It must be nice to be that close to someone, to have a best friend who would hold your hand out in public no matter how old you were. Dean was over forty, and Cas was literally thousands of years old (if not millions—but by best guess Jimmy Novak would have been forty-three, so they went with that usually), but their friendship was just so deep they didn't care who saw them holding hands.

Sam made eye contact with an older woman who was watching his brother and his brother's best friend walking down the aisle. She was smiling fondly, so he gave her a friendly nod. “Aren't best friends the best?” he asked.

He never really understood why she gave him such a funny look.

(2)

They'd obviously gone way, way off the list at the store, but for once Dean didn't seem to mind. Cas had talked him in to buying some exotic ingredients, listing out recipes he'd been wanting to try ever since he became human.

It was adorable. Sam remembered having a best friend he could share hobbies with. Granted, it had only been for a few weeks before Dad dragged them to another city, but it was a good few weeks. Dean always loved cooking so much, at least he had someone he could share that with now.

Sam settled down in a chair in the kitchen, not wanting to lose the warm, familial atmosphere from their shopping excursion. Dean was carefully tying an apron on Cas, smoothing it down over his chest and adjusting the neck strap behind his collar. It was probably Cas's first time wearing an apron like this, so it was so sweet of Dean to make sure his best friend was wearing it properly.

Then two of them bent their heads together over a battered cookbook they'd found at a second-hand bookstore. From what Sam could hear they were going to attempt to make breaded chicken cutlets, and as he watched Dean carefully talk Cas through each ingredient he started to appreciate the effort his brother put into cooking a little more.

They had to pound the chicken breasts flat, and apparently Cas was wielding the meat tenderizer wrong as Dean stepped up behind him and wrapped his arms around the former angel to guide his hands. From his perch at the table Sam could see how Dean had his hands around Cas's wrists and murmured instructions into his ears as they pounded the chicken together.

That was nice. Dean was stepping out of his comfort zone, leaving his personal space behind to teach his best friend how to prepare a chicken cutlet for breading. Sam was pretty sure Dean could have taught Cas without standing so close to him, but maybe there was a secret technique that required that much physical contact.

He rested his chin in his hand and sighed. If only he had a best friend like that.

(3)

Another thing Sam could appreciate about Dean and Cas's friendship was the way the former angel was opening his brother's mind to different kinds of music. Not that Sam had much of a grudge about the copious amounts of mullet rock Dean kept in his car, but it was nice to listen to some classic jazz or new age or something like that.

Cas had found a huge stash of vinyl records in one of the storage rooms and was slowly working through them while the three of them researched or worked around the bunker or just hung out together. Sam had heard Cas humming along and swaying with the music, and when he glanced at his brother he usually saw Dean watching Cas with a fond smile on his face.

Man. It must be great to watch your best friend discover the world like that. Hearing music with human ears for the first time, discovering the sounds he liked best...Sam started to wonder if he should find new music to introduce Cas to, so the former angel didn't feel like Sam cared about him less than Dean did.

They had been researching some Native legends about the mounds near Medicine Creek when Cas abruptly pushed himself to his feet, holding one hand out to Dean. Sam watched in amusement as his brother took the offered hand and was pulled into a dance. Arms twined around each other, swaying to the music, Cas softly singing in Dean's ear (though a little out of tune, but that was okay).

As Sam watched Cas lifted his hand and spun Dean around, then pulled him into a ballroom-style dip that had Dean crinkling up his eyes with laughter.

Man. Sam had danced with his best friend once before, when Dad had actually stayed around long enough for them to go to one of the school's dances. He'd been tutoring Chelsea in geometry and they went to the dance as part of their friend group, and she'd tugged him out on the floor to dance. He still remembered stepping on her feet.

Dean and Cas weren't stepping on each other's feet as they continued the dance. Maybe that was just because they were such good friends.

(4)

Sam couldn't believe it. Dean and Cas were having a movie night to watch Akeelah and the Bee. He was so used to the Dean Cave being filled with the sounds of gunshots and horses and explosions he almost didn't recognize it.

Cas invited him to join, though Dean looked a little disgruntled. Sam didn't understand why, it wasn't like he was going to take up too much space—not with Dean and Cas sharing the love seat like that. That left the big, comfy arm chair all for Sam, and he felt so bad he offered to swap with Cas so the oldest member of their family could have the most comfortable spot...but the look Dean shot him made him change his mind.

After all, the former angel was still relatively new to experiences like watching a movie together. He probably just wanted to sit with his best friend for something like this—maybe Dean was going to comfort him through any intense scenes.

Sam was so entranced by the story of a young girl from South Los Angeles trying to make it to the National Spelling Bee he didn’t really notice that Dean and Cas weren’t really paying attention. They seemed to be discussing something, judging by how close their faces are.

Dean's probably explaining spelling bees to Cas. Man. Sam had this best friend once, when he was in sixth grade, who tried to get him to participate in the school's spelling bee. Sam had refused, knowing his father would be pulling them out of the school all too quickly to head off to the next hunt.

He wished he had a best friend who encouraged his interests in academic competition, the way Akeelah had Dylan and Javier. Or the way Dean had Cas, as Sam had once seen the former angel reciting poetry to Dean, obviously trying to awaken the older Winchester's literary interests.

Funny. Sam hadn't recognized the poem. Maybe Cas had written it himself, and was trying to encourage Dean to try new outlets for creativity.

He didn't know why Cas would be reciting a love poem for Dean, anyway. That was a weird thing to do with your best friend.

(5)

The cooking lessons, so far, had been a success—so Sam was a little disappointed when he learned Dean and Cas wanted to go out and have dinner by themselves.

It made sense, he supposed. Sometimes you wanted to do something with your best friend without your brother. He remembered plenty of times he hadn't wanted Dean hanging around...okay, maybe a couple of times. Dean was ditching Sam more often than not, though that was usually to hang out with a girl. Not a best friend. But times changed, and they all got older, and the two of them had always had that whole “profound bond” thing going.

Man. He supposed the two of them had earned it. Sam remembered all the times Dean and Cas had let something get in the way of their friendship and how miserable his brother was during those times. It was almost weird, almost more like the time Sam had to leave his first girlfriend rather than all the times he'd gotten pulled away from his best friend.

But as Dean and Cas prepared to leave—Dean wearing a new, light-blue button-up that matched Cas's eyes and Cas wearing those dark jeans that always made Dean swallow and look away (Sam didn't understand why his brother was so bothered by the former angel wearing tight jeans)—Sam tried to wave them off with a smile.

It was just one night a week, he rationalized. A man had to have private time with his best friend once a week, right? And as long as Dean didn't drag Cas around to dive bars or teach him to hustle pool or try to dine-and-dash or anything like that, Sam couldn't see the harm in it.

He didn't understand why Dean glared at him when he tried to give Cas advice on hooking up at the bar.

(+1)

Sam wandered into the library, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He'd been up researching way too late and hadn't heard Dean and Cas get back from their weekly guys' night out. He hadn't heard them leave either, but they always went out on Wednesdays. He supposed it was some kind of best friends' trivia night somewhere.

To his surprise, they were actually in the library. He was about to open his mouth to greet them when he finally registered something strange about their behavior.

They were wearing pajamas, which wasn't strange in and of itself, but the pajamas were mismatched. Cas's shirt obviously went with Dean's pants, and Dean was just wearing an athletic undershirt that showed off his biceps and collarbone. But even that...that wasn't they weirdest thing.

Cas was sitting in Dean's lap. He was straddling it, actually, with his arms around Dean's neck.

They were kissing. And not the way best friends sometimes did, when you swore to your younger brother that it was just practice and didn't really count. Not the kind he gave you ten bucks to forget about before Dad came home. This was the real kind, the kind you saw from two people who maybe loved each other more than just as best friends.

Sam's jaw fell open as finally...finally...the pieces fell into place.

“Oh my god! You guys are gay!”

(There would later be a discussion that actually as a former interdimensional being Cas was Pan, and Dean was Bi, but at least Sam was finally on the right track. Man. He wished he had a best friend to fall in love with and live happily ever after.)

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chonkychornes · 5 years

Text

Open Arms Part 7 (The End)

Synopsis: You come back broken from a mission, and the one person who could barely put himself back together is the one who is trying to help you.

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: No more warnings, other than this is The End. 7 of 7 parts. Thank you all for your love and support! This was my first reader insert fic and I really enjoyed myself! Please like and reblog!

Also, this is really for @quant-um-fizzx I couldn’t have/wouldn’t have done any of this without her help and guidance.

@broco8

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Bucky POV

Things are pretty great lately and I know it’s all due to my girl who is currently stringing popcorn to decorate the giant fir tree that I set up in the common room.

The holiday season has arrived and everyone at the compound is buzzing about with excitement. It seems like decorations are everywhere, but when it came to the common room, you wanted it to be a group affair.

Wanda, Vision, and Bruce have been busy baking and decorating sugar cookies. Wanda has a steady hand, so she’s holding her own alongside Bruce using frosting and sprinkles to create miniature works of art.

Vis, on the other hand, is too obsessed with perfection so his cookies look like they came off an automated assembly line; which I guess they have. Although, I’d never say that to him.

Pepper is looking through Tony’s collection of vinyl records as he programs Dummy to roam around the room and dangle mistletoe over everyone heads at random intervals. Frank Sinatra starts to sing about roasting chestnuts and Tony sweeps Pepper up into a dance around the room as they smile and murmur softly to each other.

Steve and Natasha are wrapped up next to the fireplace, getting some last-minute wrapping in along with a few not so secretive touches. Natasha laughs so easily now and my friend doesn’t seem like he has the weight of the entire world on his shoulders. They were like the two puzzle pieces that you lost under the couch and once you finally put them together, the whole picture came together and made sense.

Sam, every the chipper and annoying guy that he is, struts over with Morgan on his shoulders and grins at me.

“Merry Christmas, Barnes,” he elbows me and when I look up Morgan scrambles down off of the bird brain and into my arms.

“Hiya Bucky.” She smacks a kiss onto my cheek and giggles when I tickle her side.

“Have you been good this year?” I continue tickling her as she giggles and squirms. “I’m sorry, I can’t understand what you’re saying.” She gives another squeal and works her way to my left arm and starts to swing off of it.

“She’s the worst out of all of you,” Tony says as he and Pepper make their way around again.

I pass off their offspring and smile to Pepper, “How does it feel to be a mother of two?”

“Well, if I have to claim these two, then I have to claim all of you,” she steps away from her tiny family and links her arm with mine. “Everyone is with someone, except for you and your girl. Why is that?”

I smile softly and look over to where you are, sitting cross-legged under the tree; you’re wearing the ugliest sweater known to man in bright fuschia with neon orange reindeer, tinsel, and little 3D gifts glued to it. Those long lean legs of yours are encased in some royal blue snowflake leggings and fluffy white socks on your feet.

“Sometimes I like looking at her,” I laugh when Pepper gives just the slightest side-eye. “Not in a creepy way, but in an ‘I can’t believe I got so lucky’ way.”

“Does she know?”

“Know what?” I turn to look at Pepp full on and she gives me a knowing smile.

We both turn to look at you and it’s like you know we’re talking about you because your tongue is out of your mouth and you’re crossing your eyes at us.

“I haven’t said it in so many words, but she knows.”

Pepper pulls away from me and brushes some nonexistent hair out of my face, “Bucky, I’m sure I don’t need to tell you this, but women actually like to hear those words. If you’re not sure what to give her for Christmas, it could be that.” She pats my cheek and runs off after her daughter who has a cookie in each hand.

I finally make my way over to you and crouch down, picking up a few pieces of popcorn and tossing them into my mouth.

“Hey, sweets.” I lean down to press a kiss to your forehead as you give me the fakest stink eye.

“Don’t you ‘hey’ me,” you mutter as you lean back to look up at me. “Those are not for eating, mister.”

“Well, I’m hungry and the Sam said the turkey won’t be ready for like another two hours!” You laugh as I whine and pull you up to standing in front of me. “You know, this would be a perfect time for Dummy to roll by with that mistletoe.”

You rise up on your toes and press your lips to mine and I wrap my arms around your waist. I could linger in your kiss forever, but there are too many eyes here, and they’ve already seen too much from us in the last few months.

“C’mon, let’s go get a snack,” I suggest and drag you across the room and into the kitchen.

You compliment the three cookie decorators and tell Vision that maybe he should just stop thinking while he’s shaking the sprinkles, but you notice that he continues to place them on one at a time.

“You want some coffee, Buck?” You’re already moving to the cabinet to grab two mugs and I take the opportunity to set up the Keurig.

I know you heard me open the holder, but when you set a mug under the drip I see you squint to get a good look at the display.

“I thought you put a pod in for me,” you look over your shoulder as I lean back against the counter.

“Oh, sorry sweets.” You roll your eyes and turn back to the machine, reach to the side to pick out your favorite flavor, and absentmindedly open the lid. When you go to drop the pod in, something catches your attention.

“B … Bucky?” Your voice is shaking as you pull the ring out and hold it up in front of you.

I have to grab you gently by the shoulders and turn you around so you’re looking at me. Your eyes, wide as saucers and already swimming with unshed tears lock onto mine.

“Maybe it hasn’t bee long enough or maybe it’s taken too long,” the tears begin to fall and I brush them away with the pads of my thumbs. “Maybe you’re too modern and I’m too old fashioned; you can keep your last name by the way.”

You start laughing and in your mirth, you almost drop the ring. I grab your hands within my own and I find that we’re both shaking.

“I love you. I think I started to love you the first moment you sat with me underneath that old oak tree. When you declared your independence and moved out on your own, I fell deeper. When you cried on my shoulder, and finally left the grounds. Every single day that we’ve spent together … these have been the happiest days of my life.”

I can tell that the room has gone quiet and everyone is either watching or has scrammed. My heart is hammering in my chest and I know at least my right hand is sweating.

Apart from your light crying and laughter, you’ve been incredibly silent this entire time.

“All those times you thought you knew, all the time we’ve been together and you’re telling me you love me while you propose?” You wave the ring in my face and for one hot second, I worry that I have completely screwed this up.

I’m just “James, Please, sweets, I love you, Barnes” and when I shrug sheepishly you shake your head and throw your arms around my neck.

“I love you too.” your voice is muffled against my cheek and I exhale contentedly as you draw back to look at me. “Put it on my finger, you goon.”

I take the ring from you and drop down to one knee.

“Marry me?”

You nod vigorously and when I slide the ring onto your finger the room bursts into applause. I jump up and we see everyone standing around the island in the open kitchen smiling and cheering for us.

Later that night, after everyone else has gone back to their own home or quarters, we remain in the common room curled up in front of the bay window watching the snow fall outside.

“Bucky?”

“Yeah, sweets?” I look down at you, and you’re splayed across my lap.

“I have a few conditions for this marriage,” you pull yourself up and straddle my thighs and link your hands behind my neck.

“Conditions?” I grab your ass to readjust you and smirk, “What kind of conditions?”

You lean down and nip my lips and I can smell the sweet spices from the apple pie we ate after dinner.

“You have to make breakfast more often,” you say and give a little wiggle when I laugh.

“Well, then you better be making me cupcakes all the time.” I’m laughing as I nuzzle into your neck and sweep my tongue across that spot under your ear that I know you love. You sigh and shift across me again and I can feel how hot your center is through your leggings.

“Fine, you dork.” You slide off of my lap and grab my hands to pull me up and lead me out of the room. “Here’s the deal though … I’m ready to go back out.”

We come to a halt in front of the elevators and I tug on your hand so you’ll look at me. I was not expecting this. I love you so much, but I worry about you constantly; thinking about you back in the field is the scariest thing to me, but I’m so happy to hear you declare your intentions.

“Sweets, all you had to do was say something,” I grin and press you up against the wall. “I can’t wait to see you in your catsuit.”

“Take me upstairs and you can.”

#bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes series

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msruchita · 5 years

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Who Knew? - Part 1

Summary: It’s been 5 years since the snap, Bucky doesn’t seem to be coming back. Enters a stranger who is a balm to her soul. Will she dare to love again?

Pairing: Erik ‘Killmonger’ Stevens x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: 18+ (There’s just a lot of smut, so please, swearing too)

So, I have finally created a proper Marvel fic for the Sinful Secret’s Challenge. My prompt was ‘Do you want something better? Here’s my number.’ from

@howardpotts and also tagging @tranquil--heart and @cametobuyplums

Let me know your feedback and seriously, every like, reblog, comment is appreciated. I always aim to make myself a better writer. So, to stop rattling on, I hope you guys enjoy! Plus, my Taglist is open, but I will stop tagging you if after a few fics; I see no activity from your end

@thesaltyduchess @brazen88brat @lancetuckersmustache

Masterlist

“Enlighten me again, why are we playing Truth or Dare in the middle of a club when we can barely hear each other?!’ Peering intently over your glass at the three people opposite her, you downed the last of your vodka, before choking and gagging on it as everyone around you laughed uproariously. Trying your best to control your own laughter, you set the bottle down as Vesper winked at you before shaking a large silver cocktail mixer.

‘Feeling a little reptilian, in the nastiest way possible? We have you covered with Alligator Sperm! This bright green gator crazy goodness contains melon liqueur, pineapple juice, and yes, a literal splash of cream. Try ordering it at the bar with a straight face like me if you actually have the balls.’ She finished her sales pitch with a poker face as she poured out the lime green liquid into fresh glasses while Shayan held a small pitcher of cream.

It was busy tonight, the crowd seemed to be thrice more than normal, the reek of booze, sweat and desperation spraying everywhere as you shifted on the slightly sticky leather. None of you ever spoke the truth outside of the group therapy sessions Steve forced you to go to. It was like scraping fresh wounds with salt, hence, every time Truth or Dare was played, it was more Shot or Dare. The latest dare being Vesper had to get a hickey from someone she hadn’t slept with yet; the video now safely in your phone courtesy from the bartender who had been necking her barely minutes ago, the fresh purple of the bruise standing out against her olive skin.

‘Crocodile cum, actually.’ Lucien was so matter of fact, everyone collapsed into a fit of giggles again as she waggled her eyebrows at him. The bass of the music thrummed through your veins as all of you relaxed, occasionally bursting into fits of laughter as all of you did shot after shot; most of the dares having already been done before and the novelty had faded.

‘Y/N, you. Flash your tits to the first guy that puts his hands on you or 5 shots.’ Shayan pointed at you, flashing you a grin that was anything but innocent, as you shrugged. Slamming all 5 in a row, you winked at them, waiting for the moment the liqueur went straight to your head; the throng of people gathered beneath the DJ, all looking to escape reality like you, parted like the sea as you slid off the leather vinyl.

The heat was near unbearable, but you didn’t care; the pulse of the music called to you, it was the only time you’ve ever felt so alive, so free. You could feel your blood singing as the humidity clung to you like second skin. The bass vibrated beneath your red heels; anything was better than thinking about what lay outside the walls of the club. At least protected by the four walls, throbbing beats and strobe lights, you didn’t have to face the rubble that Thanos left behind. The pain and suffering of the people lost still pierced deep in hearts; why Steve left you alone after you both lost him. The love of your life and his best friend. Bucky.

Swallowing the sudden lump in your throat, you swirled your hips, rucking up the black camisole top you borrowed from Wanda paired with the skin tight jeans she and Natasha would whistle at every time you stepped out in them, running your hands through your skin, as you let yourself be seduced by the music. The memories of their laughter echoed in your mind as you noted several appreciative glances at your dancing and your body, knowing the glitter oil you used was illuminating your curves just right as you flipped your hair back. You caught a flash of gold, Lucien’s watch glinting for a second, as he gave you a thumbs up, hoisting Shayan up. Nodding once, you blew a kiss to Vesper; knowing your friends were just checking on you before heading out.

Vesper and Lucien understood better than most; your need to stay awake the entire night. Giving you a once-over from the table, they would check that you’re okay before calling it a night. They never stayed long; but they never said no to you either whenever you asked to go out. You continued swaying side to side, giving your hips an extra boost, pushing the memories away; the flash of teeth, crinkle of eyes before steel-blue eyes…

No! You dug nails into your side sharply, the pain chasing away the scent of gun metal, whiskey and mint. It was either dancing till the bouncer called a cab for you, telling you it was time to close up or spending hours waiting silently, staring up at your ceiling fan waiting for the alarm to ring. You always stayed till closing time, helping out to clean the place down, making sure the employees got home safe.

The body that suddenly slotted against you from behind was both familiar yet a stranger. A distant memory of raised scars and a warm, calloused hand, the same hand that now splayed wide against your belly, unyielding yet soft. Leaning against the hard chest, you continued swaying hypnotically and he followed without a second thought. ‘Did you know, there’s a rumour going on,’ you began after a long pause, as his grip tightened on your belly at your facade of casualness, that hint of pain rushing to your head faster than alcohol. ‘That you’re Erik Stevens, T’Challa’s cousin?’

The flex of the muscles under his skin relaxed fractionally, as you wondered what he was so afraid of. Nobody cared about that anymore; too much had happened. He slipped a hand beneath the camisole, up to rest underneath your ribcage, so warm and steady. It pressed just beneath your breast; thumbing slowly at the curve, a whisper, let go for me.

You could kick yourself for the comparison you can’t help but make that he never matches up to. That memory lane was dangerous as you pulled yourself out once again, chasing away the ghost of cold metal against your skin, another rough palm splayed out against your tummy, keeping you grounded against him as you very slowly sunk yourself into the crook of his body.

‘What’s my name?’ Erik asked quietly, his words brushing against the shell of your ear as his hand came up to your breast, squeezing the soft flesh. ‘What do you know about me?’ He dipped his head further, his tongue snaking out to taste the jasmine on your skin, the other hand slowly tracing out symbols onto your bare flesh, the symbols etched on your skin like he knew, as you struggled not to shudder under his touch.

‘Charismatic genius, MIT graduate with top honors, slight homicidal tendencies and-,’ You cut yourself off, not wanting to do this dance anymore. You sighed indifferently, tired. ‘Why does it matter? One night and I’ll never see you again.’

His hips suddenly pressed flush against you, his cock coming to nestle between your ass, his hand playing with a nipple. A guttural growl of warning reverberates through his chest into you, like you’re treading on thin ice. True dread spiked through you as his posture shifted, shoulder rolled unconsciously back, feet parallel so that the weight is evenly distributed. The stance of a warrior.

His voice was a low timber as you slowly turned to face him, looking up at those piercing brown eyes filled with cold intelligence. ‘No,’ he assured, pulling the nipple away before releasing it, watching it bounce lightly. ‘Not with me. Never with me.’

You looked down to see the markings peeking from the top of his white shirt and the cuffs of his jean jacket. You knew they adorned his entire upper body; earned with every life taken. You should have trembled with fear when you traced one scar, but there was a deeper need to trace your tongue along each one, the way he longed to trace his fingers across every ink you had.

You sighed heavily again, breaking away from his touch as your body screamed for his warmth, hands that promised to show that you would be taken care off, over and over again. You managed to get away enough to reach the bar when Erik grabs your hand and like a movie spins you into his arms, flush against his chest, one hand slapping your ass so fiercely you gasp as he simply sets his lips on yours.

It could have been maybe a minute, but it felt like time suspended itself; everything slowed down before he gazed down at you, the hurt and concern in his eyes surprising. ‘Come with me, please.’ He held his hand out, and you slipped yours in it without thinking.

Your talks lasted the entire night, even after the soft pink and lavender of dawn peeked through, you both kept going. He starts with his beginning. About his father, about Wakanda, how he just wanted what was his by right; but even that had been deceitful. The fight for the throne, how he almost died, meeting the White Wolf. An enigma unlike himself.

Your heart clenched but he held you in his arms, your legs between his body, stroking your back against the silk. He tells you what his cousins were like, unable to hold a grin back at the elegant respect he begrudgingly built between him, T’Challa and M’Baku though the latter would love the chance to break his back. Shuri, for being a prodigy yet so humble, it annoyed him and made him prouder than he could have imagined.

You tell him how you met Bucky when Okoye and Steve forced him to join a yoga class as he wasn’t sleeping, and they had tried everything. Even Shuri was fed up. How it was a riot watching him struggle even though he had the natural agility and flexibility of an Olympian gymnast. Within a week he asked you out, a month later you were his girl, staying with him in STARK Towers, recounting all the incidences when F.R.I.D.A.Y and Tony would team up with Sam to play tricks on you.

He tells you about how Okoye beat him to within an inch of his life for attempting to murder her king and manipulate her lover, W’Kabi. He reluctantly admitted he deserved that as you laughed out loud, missing the way his face lit up at your laugh. His voice breaks slightly as he mentions going for therapy, going deep into the jungles to stop poachers, how he had just finished his probation when he heard the news, watching his men disappear.

A diplomat and the acting king for Wakanda, he came here hoping for some change, just anything to take him away from the ashes that haunted him. You would never admit how the bleakness in his eyes matched the ache in your heart…

You stand offering him a place to crash and a mug of peppermint hot chocolate as the sun filters through. He slowly pulls you into his embrace, arms tightening around you, the need to protect you, covet you so strong he doesn’t realise he’s near tears till his voice comes through ragged and raw.

‘Ya know, I expected something better than hugging the hottest woman I’ve ever laid eyes on and getting hot chocolate for baring my soul.’

He stares down at you, a cocky smirk on his face, his eyes shining with unshed tears you wanted to smear with your thumb.

‘You want something better? Here’s my number.’ Scribbling your number on his hand with a ball point pen you found in his jacket, it was like a purse in there. ‘No calls for the next 2-3 days. I don’t put out on the first date.’

Winking at him, you power walked away, heels clacking, telling yourself you wouldn’t look back. Within 2 minutes, you started chuckling, looking at the message from the unknown number flashing on your screen.

‘I’m not waiting 2 days for that ass.’

8 Weeks Later

Your back hit the mattress with a thump, bouncing lightly, giggling as you shifted yourself half upright to see Erik more clearly, the bangles on your wrists clinking softly against each other. His dark eyes glittered in the darkness, the lust stamped on his face hungry as he reached for your ankle, tracing the delicate bone before kneeling on the bed, straddling your knees, holding you down with his weight.

Leaning forward, he kisses his way up the red fabric, the gold accents shining in the moonlight, pausing at your exposed waist. Shifting the material of your sari aside, he took a good look at you, chest heaving against the barely there blouse, your tattoos swirling in intricate patterns around your skin.

Grabbing your wrists, he gently kisses your clenched fists, the metal scarping softly against his lips, smiling at the soft exhale of breath as he pulls you up, deftly untying the strings that held the scraps of lace together, exposing your breasts to him. Pushing you back enough to arch your back, he trails a trail with his tongue over one breast, before pulling the fabric back over your skin, your nipples hard and aching, peeking through the sheer material.

‘Did you enjoy making your King squirm for you? Wrapping me around your little finger, turning me into a jealous clout with just a yard of fabric? Hmm, answer me!’ He slapped you once, the slight sting making you gasp as with another grim smile, he slants his mouth over yours, swallowing the squeak of surprise, his hand tweaking a nipple, the soft scratch of brocade teasing your sensitive skin.

Mewling slightly, you grab his shoulders when he pulls away, trying to pull him down to your lips again, but he shrugs you off, instead kissing a burning trail down your neck, deftly undoing your necklace and draping it on the table beside; over your exposed shoulder before biting down on the firm muscle, his teeth leaving their imprint behind.

Frustrated at Erik’s refusal to kiss you, your hands reach for the lapels of his suit, fumbling to get the buttons undone on his shirt, as he reached to nip at your collarbone, sucking a row of purple bruises along the column, grabbing your hands and pulling them away from his shirt, shaking his head.

‘No baby, not this time. Not after that little stunt you pulled with this outfit…’ His words trail away as he runs a warm possessive hand over your waist, tugging lightly at the thin chain that adorned it, licking his lips slowly as your own heartbeat sped up.

Another useless gala dinner with the world leaders; just another unproductive meeting for them to try and reason with the Avengers. They never showed, leaving everything to you and Erik. The situation had worsened as nobody knew what to do with all the empty infrastructure. You had been sent to mediate lest the situation worsened; you wondered since when did a yoga teacher become a certified consultant.

Slowly climbing up the stairs, making sure your golden high heels didn’t catch along the embroidered fabric, you strode towards the foyer, just as Eric stepped in with Okoye nearly barrelling into the Prime Minister of Canada over, as his eyes never left you. The mere sight of you, a vision of gold and red with slight accents of blue; a true goddess. Okoye merely smiled at you, mouthing how beautiful you looked before her sharp eyes swept around, making sure there was no threat as the Prime Minster ogled at you.

His reaction did not go unnoticed by the Warrior King, his mouth tight at the sight of the sari wrapped around your lithe body, your curves accentuated by the small dips and creases in the fabric, your waist enticing any man for a closer look with a simple gold chain adorning it. His chain, the one he asked you to wear for good luck, now made into an object of desire.

Heads turned, jaws went slack as women hissed softly in envy, the sari blouse so daringly cut, it couldn’t even be called a blouse, it was a bikini top, mere scraps of gold lace held together by strings, cupping your breasts softly.

You strolled towards him, unaware of the seductive spell you wove; an extra swing in your hips, your movements almost cat-like, as you came to stand beside him, claiming your place, his hand sliding down your back possessively…

The rest of the night was a blur of sexual tension, stolen touches and awkward adjustments as he discreetly kept adjusting his dress slacks every time you bent down exposing the tattoo on your chest or when you turned around to showcase another one of your inked designs on your back dipping into your waist. Gritting his teeth, he promised retribution for your teasing, his teeth bright against the warm tones of his skin, a dark glint in his eyes.

Pinning your wrists down over your head, he used the strings of your blouse to tie the bangles together, the metal clinking each time you moved, a warning to not bring them down as he bent down to kiss you, slow and passionate, but still ghosting around deep. He begins his assault on your neck again, this time leaving a trail of stinging, red bites down your chest, around your breasts to bite down on your nipple, bringing your body up to an arch.

Keeping one hand below the bangles holding them down, the other hand strips off the fabric off your body, leaving you topless in the petticoat, your stomach quivering as he runs a finger lazily to trace the angelic runes that adorn the soft skin. Your belly goes taut under his touch, breath heaving as you moan for more. The soft cotton clings to your legs as he reaches down and takes his time pulling up the skirt, kissing every inch of freshly exposed skin. His other hand moves to clasp your hand in his, finger entwining as his lips trail your calf, up your knees, to your inner thighs, your arousal soaked through the cotton. You didn’t wear any underwear.

The dark glint returns as his mouth descends up to focus on your breasts again, kissing the aroused flesh, blowing warm air on each pert nipple, a small frown on your face as he refuses to give it the attention its begging for, instead stroking his hands across your exposed belly, the tattoos shining black under the moonlight from the open window.

Slowly, he tugs the petticoat off you, leaving you completely naked save for the belly chain and the bangles on your wrists. ‘Baby, you went without underwear, that’ll require some punishment…’

He smiles into your skin, finally taking a nipple into his mouth, sucking slowly as a single thick digit slides into your wet, swollen folds, his groan reverberating through you. He chuckles wickedly, as you tighten and moan around him, the other hand wrapping around your throat, squeezing.

You buck your hips against his hand. ‘Erik, please…’

‘Hmm?’ He asks innocently, deliberately adding another finger , raising his head to press a kiss to your lips, his mouth watering to taste your tattoos, taste your sweet pussy, the obscene sounds calling for his tongue. He rubs his lips against yours, nipping the bottom lip and biting it down with a soft pull.

His muscular body pulls you up to him, pressed against you, the scars creating their own friction against his clothes, his cock hard against your mound. The sensation sends warmth and lust in dizzying waves through you, pooling to your lower belly. His fingers curl inside you, rubbing against your sweet spot, before pulling them out completely to suck and lick them.

‘So beautiful, so wicked, so sweet, all for me…’

‘Fucking tease…’

He chuckles again darkly, bending down to kiss you again as you gasp against his mouth as he suddenly thrusts both fingers back inside, the other hand leaves your throat to hold the back of your waist, the chain digging into your skin, keeping you still as he slowly finger fucks you.

‘I’m the tease?’ He continues the slow, torturous pace, enjoying the myriad of emotions running through your face, your mouth slightly open in mid-moan, and you look so pretty he can’t help pull you in to kiss you.

‘Perhaps you should have thought of the consequences about wearing bits of cloth as a blouse and this damn sari, mmm, this sari, will be the bane of my existence, and my solace when I’m away from you. Shouldn’t have worn it to the gala. This should have been just for me.’

‘It was a necessary risk. It’s my job to entertain and mediate the delegates.’ You manage to breathe out, his growl making you jump.

‘Perhaps you were being unwise. You will entertain no man but me.’ The smile that now graces his face has a hint of madness, it’s almost evil. He’s no longer Erik, but Killmonger and you understand immediately what makes him so fearsome to his enemies. Crooking his fingers, he twists them, screw driving you, making you cry out as you nearly collide into him, jerking at the pleasure shooting throughout your entire body.

He lets go, watching you fall back on the sheets, your hands clenching at the duvet, almost ripping it to shreds as your orgasm builds up. You sit up, grasping at his suit, pushing it off his shoulders desperately, hands shaking to unbutton his shirt, exposing his body to you.

Killmonger refuses to give in to you, a wicked smirk on his face, instead moving his fingers with more speed, his knuckles hitting to the hilt every time, biting down on the other nipple harshly as your orgasm rocks you, and he removes his fingers, your walls clenching emptily at nothing, as you whine at the loss of contact, disbelief stamped on your face. He slides backwards of the bed, leaving you feeling cold and frustrated.

Quickly shedding off his clothes, standing completely nude at the foot of the bed, devouring you like a carnivore with his eyes. He grasps your ankle and pulls you to him, hard. You nearly fall off the bed straight into his arms, as he bounces you up, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist, the scars rubbing against your heated skin, making you bite your lip.

His hands come down to grab and squeeze your ass, slapping them a few times, knowing how much you love the sting, as he crawls back on to the bed, never leaving you and settling down on his knees. His hands trail all over your body, avoiding where you want them the most, pressing sweet open-mouthed kisses against the purple marks. He bites down on the skin on the other side, leaving angry red marks in its place, claiming you as his.

He pushes his finger back into you, adding another two, the three thick digits creating a soft stretch as he scissors them, swallowing your moans with a heated kiss. Your eyes almost roll back when he his hand wraps around your throat again, squeezing tightly, the air suddenly thin. He removes his fingers from you, spanking your ass hard before circling your clit, feather light. You buck your hips against him, but he merely smiles.

‘You look so pretty when you’re so flustered. Such a doll.’ He grins, kissing the corner of your mouth as you suddenly stiffen, feeling the ghost of cold metal in the place of his warm, calloused hand.

‘You’re such a doll to me. I don’t deserve you…’ Brooklyn accent washing over you as you tip toe up to tangle your hands in chocolate brown locks…

‘Y/N! Look. At. Me. Who am I? Who do you belong to?’ Grasping a handful of your hair, he yanks tightly as you snap back, unable to sink into the attack, his eyes seeking yours desperately.

‘I belong to you. Erik, please.’

‘Say my name!’

‘Please N’Jadaka, fuck me.’

Softly strokes your cheek, nuzzling your ear, pleased. ‘No.’

He changes the angle of his fingers so that they’re thrusting up, causing your orgasm to build again as you forcefully suck in a breath against his hand around your throat. He stills all movement again, you moan pitifully, the pressure bringing tears to your eyes.

Grinning wickedly, a glint in his eyes, he returns his hands back between your legs, the flesh so swollen and wet, it gleams softly against his skin. Removing them to roll a nipple between his fingers instead, as you arch your back against his hand and he takes your other nipple in his mouth.

He sucks lightly, flicking the tongue over the already sensitive, tender bud. You hum and he bites down slightly harder than before, turning your moan into a cry.

You can feel his cock pulsing against you and the anticipation is both killing and making you dizzy with pleasure. You clench your thighs around his waist, urging him but he doesn’t move. He releases your breasts, his mouth coming up to kiss you, the pillowy softness red and bruised as his hand comes down to play with your clit. He rubs it lightly, alternating between quick flicks and pressing against the very sensitive nub.

#sinfulsecretschallenge #erik killmonger #erik killmonger x reader #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #a lot of smut #so much angst #okoye

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howsit-going-toend · 5 years

Text

Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down) Pt. 7

A Kwon Jiyong x Reader AU series featuring Kim Jiwon and Choi Seunghyun

Genre: Crime/Mafia/ANGST

Word count: 4,700+

Summary: You joined the police force years ago to help clean up the streets of Seoul and rid the city of organized crime. You’ve seen some shit. You’re surely prepared for anything…but how are you supposed to feel when the big bad crime boss you’ve been after turns out to be a familiar (to say the least) face?

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

(A/N: WOW it’s been a while. Buckle up because this one’s a doozie. Doosie?...Duzey? Anyway, this part finally breaks down the past and lays it all out there. I’m truly happy with this and I hope you all understand why it took so long to finally post/write. As always, enjoy!)

Eleven Years Ago

“And his laugh! Oh my god, don’t get me started about that damn laugh.” You groaned, taking a sip of wine before imitating a laugh that sounded a little too much like Tommy Wiseau.

Jiyong covered his mouth with the back of his hand, chuckling uncontrollably at the impression of your now-ex boyfriend.

“See, THAT’s genuine laughter! You know why? Because I’m hilarious god damnit.” You took another frustrated sip.

“Y/N, I know you’re kind of worked up, but maybe slow it down there.” Jiyong suggested between his giggles.

It was your nineteenth birthday; the day you were finally of legal drinking age and the same day that you decided to break up with your most recent boyfriend. The two of you dated for just a little over three months. To you, it was three months that you hardly paid attention to, focusing more on yourself and finishing your first year of university and feeling as though texting him back was more of an obligation than a joy. You decided to break things off before getting too serious. But evidently, to him, the last three months were nothing short of incredible.

You assumed your words would be met with immediate acceptance; the end that was inevitable from the beginning. But no. He was devastated. And after he drove away, and you immediately felt like garbage, you took a quick trip to pick up a bottle of wine and call your best friend over.

It was the first time Jiyong had seen your apartment, since the two of you got accepted to different universities. Here he was after gladly tossing aside his own deadlines and driving the two and a half hours it took to reach you. His parents always said “Jiyong would cross oceans for Y/N at any hour of the day or night,” and they knew you would do the same in a heartbeat.

You’d known each other since you were children, so it didn’t surprise you when Jiyong made a comment on you drinking that reverted back to more of an older brother mentality.

“Hey, uh, how about maybe you don’t tell me what to do?” You replied with your sassiest expression.

“My bad, I forgot who I was talking to.” He smiled, taking a sip from his own glass. “So why’d you do it today anyway?”

You groaned. “Because he was planning to take me to some wine and food festival tomorrow that was probably going to be super expensive. And knowing how long I’ve been debating on breaking up with him, I knew it had to be today. But I didn’t expect him to bring me gifts too! I tried to emphasize to him so many times that I don’t like presents and yet he brought some up tonight.”

Jiyong smirked. “Wow he wanted to buy you gifts. He sounds awful. Good riddance!”

“Ji, I swear t-.”

“I’m kidding! You shouldn’t be expected to reciprocate feelings just because the guy buys you things. What did he try to give you?”

You winced thinking back to just a few hours prior to this. “A pair of slippers, some fancy candles, and this foot scrub because ‘you always said your feet hurt.’ But he gave it all to me after I broke up with him so of course, he said that to me with his head down like I just kicked a puppy. Also just putting it out there that I’ve literally never said that to him about my feet.”

You paused to let out a frustrated exhale and drink a little more. “But the worst was honestly the cupcake. I was pacing in my room before he got here, trying not to lose my nerve because I felt so bad already. Then he emerges from his car and walks towards my door with a stupid cupcake. One with a single lit candle that he was holding his hand up around to keep the air from blowing it out. When he got to me, I said ‘oh no, you didn’t have to do that.’ And he laughed and said ‘yes!’ Then I basically leaned over, blew the candle out and said ‘No really, you shouldn’t have done that. Listen, I’ve been thinking about this for a while.”

“Y/N!” Jiyong laughed out loud, failing to cover it up with his hand once again in attempts not to ridicule this poor boy. “That’s borderline cruel. You said it before he could even get inside?”

“I had to! It’s my birthday and I needed to.” You stated and took a long last sip of your glass.

“No, I know. I know. But you know what I’m going to say.” He smirked.

You stuck your index finger out at him. “Don’t. Don’t say it.” You got up to get a refill and shouted once you reached the kitchen. “I mean it!”

“Ok… how about I call you heartbreaker instead?” He squeezed his eyes shut, silencing a chuckle, knowing the look you were about to give him once you returned to the couch.

You didn’t disappoint. You blew around the corner, almost spilling your new glass just to stare him down. “Oh you want to throw that word around? If anyone deserves that nickname it’s you and you know it!”

“Wow, didn’t even bother to ask if I needed a refill.” He pouted.

“Yeah, well too bad. Don’t avoid that title!”

He chuckled, knowing he hadn’t lost his touch with successfully pushing all the right buttons. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He sprang up from the couch to reach the wine.

“Of course you don’t… What about that girl you were telling me about a while back? You haven’t said a word about her since you’ve been here. You already broke up with her, didn’t you! Let’s point the right fingers here.”

“All right, yeah, I did.” He uttered from the kitchen over the sound of his glass filling.

“Ha!”

“On her birthday.”

You nearly choked on your own drink. “Ji, what the hell!”

“Kidding! Stop taking everything I say so seriously. Who are you?” He returned to the couch with a plop, gracefully avoiding spilling anything. “It was Valentine’s Day.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I hate you sometimes.”

You bantered back and forth for a couple more hours, polishing off the bottle of wine before making a quick on-foot journey to get another. It finally being your nineteenth birthday created a nice change to you and Jiyong’s usual strategy involving you entering a store separately; you purchasing snacks while he dilly dallies around the alcohol aisle, waiting for you to leave. Tonight, the two of you could blissfully waltz up and down the place without a worry.

You were all too eager to show your ID to the cashier when it was time to pay. “Bam!” You stated before the man could even finish asking you for it, making Jiyong smack his forehead with the palm of his hand.

“Do you think he knows?” You whispered as he held the door open for you, referencing your slight drunkenness in the least stealthy way possible.

“Well, I’m sure he does now.” He laughed.

The two of you walked back to your apartment, giddy from the wine you’d already consumed meanwhile anticipating the next bottle and arsenal of snacks that you were about to. You were blissfully drunk, with a full stomach, before you knew it. All along, you both babbled on with random life updates littered among childhood memories. There was no birthday celebration that could compare to this.

“Oh hey, you brought up the record player!” Jiyong exclaimed, having made his way to the corner of your living room; where you stored all the hand-me-down vinyls you’d both grown up listening to.

“Nope that’s a new one actually. My aunt bought it for me before I moved out. She actually said ‘you can’t have mine but this one looks like it, ok?’”

You both laughed. “I actually saw her last weekend when I visited my parents.” Jiyong said as he ran his index finger along the edges of every vinyl.

“Awh, you did? God she was probably so happy to see you. When I visit, I just get scolded for not calling enough.” You rolled your eyes in fake annoyance.

“Listen, it’s the same thing when I see my parents. If you visit them, they’re both so cheery, especially my mom.” Jiyong laughed.

You beamed. “I love your mom! Does she ask about me?”

“Literally every time I’m home. She and Dami always ask when we’re getting married.”

“My aunt does the same thing!” You started laughing in hysteric unison. Your families always wanted you to end up together and they’d brought it up for years; always giving the two of you something to laugh about.

Jiyong shook his head and smiled as he pulled out a record, having finally decided to put some music on. “All right. We’ve got to play this throwback.”

“You know: Technically they’re all throwbacks. Neither of us were alive when any of thes-.” You stopped and laughed drunkenly at the look he turned to give you for the stupid remark.

“Oh wait wait!” You announced when a certain record got your attention. “I think we should put this one on and reliv-.”

“Nooo no!” He brushed your hand away from reaching for The Temptations’ “My Girl.”

“Oh come on, Ji. I’m the only one here. Please! Just do the dance, you don’t have to sing!” You begged.

He rolled his eyes and stepped aside. “Fine. You better not record this though.” He held out his pinky to you with narrowed eyes; what might as well be a binding contract with how you both treasured it in the past. You hooked your pinky around his and used your other hand to place your phone down. “Promise.”

He took to a position that offered the most open space while you dropped the needle on the outside of the record. As the song began, you crossed your arms and stared at him with a huge smile as he reluctantly began to step back and forth.

I’ve got sunshine, on a cloudy day

When it’s cold outside, I’ve got the month of May…

It was a performance perfectly reenacted from when you were kids; you were five and he was hardly seven. It was one of his mom’s most cherished home movies; little Jiyong performing his heart out at a family party, winning the hearts of all those around as he danced this adorable doo wop routine while gesturing to you with a bright smile.

Tonight was only a little different; that bright smile being replaced with one of red cheeked embarrassment as he extended an arm to you on each “My girl!” line. You snapped your fingers along, amused at how he remembered just about every step. When the song came to an end, you cheered and clapped proudly.

“All right, all right. We’re done with that!” He exclaimed, diving back into the rows of vinyl.

You both agreed to assemble a playlist; taking turns stacking your favorite singles out beside the turntable, one on top of the other, ready to be played in that order. Each one had a different memory attached to it that would light both of your faces with nostalgia within their first few seconds.

“Ah, ‘Ain’t No Mountain High Enough!’” You exclaimed as Jiyong’s next choice began to play. “Your mom used to play this when she took us to school in the morning, right?”

His smile expanded as he started to lipsync along.

Listen baby,

Ain’t no mountain high, ain’t no valley low

Ain’t no river wide enough, baby

You started to snap your fingers back and forth before you joined in on your part.

If you need me, call me

No matter where you are, no matter how far

Jiyong extended an arm out to you dramatically: Don’t worry baby

You grabbed his hand and spun into his arms just in time for the chorus. Giggles escaped your chest, preventing either of you from continuing to sing along. This closeness was nothing out of the ordinary for you two. You’d danced together like that for as long as you can remember. Your fingers intertwined with smiles so wide they’d hurt if you weren’t a little intoxicated; it was harmless.

When the song came to an end and your next choice was readied, you naturally returned to each other’s arms. This time was a slow song, but neither of you missed a beat.

Put your head on my shoulder

You smiled at each other once more before obeying the opening lyric. You lowered your head to rest comfortably above his collarbone while the two of you swayed back and forth. “God, what a song.” You grinned.

“I know. This song’s helped me put the moves on someone at least three different times.”

You lightly smacked his chest, making him laugh. “Shut up.” You sighed back into him and closed your eyes. “I swear though, wine and slow dancing go together too well. And this is the best song for it.”

“Really? Better than Elvis? I don’t think you really believe that.” He argued. You lifted your head to see him holding his index finger up towards you, silently telling you to wait a second. He scurried back to the collection. He found what he was looking for in seconds, grinning widely at you over his shoulder before interrupting Paul Anka.

You smiled sadly at him as the gentle acoustic guitar came in and he pulled you closer once again. “Aw, Ji you’re gonna make me cry.”

Love me tender, love me sweet

Never let me go

It was your favorite record. And he knew this better than anyone. You’d fallen in love with it ever since your aunt showed you your parents’ wedding reception video. Their first dance as one being to none other than Elvis Presley.

Love me tender, love me true

All my dreams fulfilled

You removed your hands from Jiyong’s and instead wrapped your arms around his neck. He moved his own arms to hold you just barely above the waist, bringing you even closer together. You nestled your head into his shoulder once again, allowing the song to run away with your emotions. He hummed along to each line, creating a soothing vibration against your cheek

“Are you crying yet?” He whispered.

“No.” You whispered back. “I’m smiling.”

He chuckled softly. “Me too.”

Love me tender, love me dear

Tell me you are mine

As your favorite lyric soon began to close out the song, you lifted your head to look at him. Maybe it was the wine, or the late hour, or just the sheer romance of Elvis’ voice, but you really looked at him.

It felt like the first time you had ever seen just how dark his hair was. Or how many different shades of brown made up his eyes, and how well his brows complimented them. Stubble lightly dusted across his cupid’s bow and cupped around his chin, making you wonder if you’d ever actually seen him with facial hair before. His full lips made you smile wider, remembering the awkward dinner moment when you’d met his first girlfriend, and she’d said Jiyong and you have the same lips. His were pulled perfectly from either end, making the smile you’ve known the best all these years.

You realized he was analyzing your features as well, making you giggle in embarrassment.

“What are we doing?” You whispered.

Without missing a beat, keeping perfectly in line with the last few guitar chords, Jiyong and you both made a move that neither of you had ever expected to make. Somehow in that millisecond of silence, your minds came to the same conclusion. Quickly, but softly, your lips met.

The only remaining sound in the room was the low muffle of the turntable, serving to amplify just how exhilarating of a moment this was. You’d never pictured yourself kissing Jiyong before, and your present self couldn’t possibly imagine why.

His lips moved with yours in perfect synchronicity, gentle and warm but also eager to take lead and set a perfect pace, like the dance you’d just finished. Beads of sweat began to form at your hairline as you felt one of his hands cup your cheek, before tracing just below your ear and firmly hold the back of your neck.

You were swooning, entirely enthralled in him. Whatever this feeling was, it was completely alien to you. You didn’t even care that it was Jiyong. You were honestly impressed. As your best friend, and the person who knows you the best in this world, just how the fuck did he know you’ve always wanted to be kissed this way? All this made you smile into the kiss. You felt him smile back before reforming his lips to yours, taking shapes that felt all too natural.

To both of your dismay, it didn’t last forever. You returned to Earth after one or two last pecks, ending it with your foreheads pressed together. You lifted your gazes to meet one another, giving an identical look of wonder.

As you stared at him, he lowered his lips to yours once more. This time was just a simple, soft peck. You both kept your eyes open; joined in awe that this moment was real.

And that’s how it happened. There wasn’t anything remotely awkward about it. The following morning, when the booze had completely worn off and all of your senses restored, the two of you simply laughed, before holding each other tight. There was never any talk of “so, now what?” or “what does this make us?” You both just knew.

And it was the easiest thing that your hearts had ever accepted.

It was your little secret for a few months; keeping the official beginning just between the two of you to ensure it really was what you both wanted. After everything was settled, you had your fun slowly sharing the news with your family and friends. Jiyong would playfully argue that you might have had a little too much fun with it. But their looks of surprise and heart bursting excitement would stick with you forever.

You’d take turns joking about how stupid you were to never realize it sooner: being together just made sense. Your friends and family always knew. (Your exes most definitely always knew.) As cliché as it seemed, you both had just been looking for love everywhere but right in front of you.

You both soon finished out your undergraduate degrees. You were this close to finishing the same semester as him, but in true Jiyong fashion: he beat you to it and finished early. Following your graduations you bought a puppy (a gift from you to him; he immediately named him Gaho) and moved in to an apartment together; something that surprisingly took very little convincing from Jiyong’s parents. (He’d claim there wouldn’t have been a damn chance if it was anyone but you) You were allowed to live in sin so long as you both moved back to Seoul and entered solid internships.

All along you treated each other better than any partner either of you had ever had; demonstrating incredible patience as you learned and grew together in ways you’d never imagined. Family members would boast about the two of you proudly, while close friends would fight the urge to scowl jealously. It was borderline sickening just how natural and blissful everything truly was. They made up some of the best four years of your life.

And never, in your wildest nightmares, did you ever think they would end.

“I’m home!” You announced.

You hummed to yourself as you slipped off your shoes and hung up your coat. The law firm had finally granted you an easy Friday workload, and you had all intentions of using the next couple of days to celebrate.

“Ji, are you here?” You spoke up as you made your way to the kitchen so that, if there, he could hear you from the bedroom. You hadn’t heard from him all day, but that was nothing out of the ordinary; lately his own internship had been especially demanding of his time. He was probably still at the office. You sighed sympathetically and decided some soup would be a nice surprise for him.

“Gaho!” You called, assuming the wrinkly monster was sound asleep in the other room. You reached for the notepad and pen attached to the fridge and began thinking of just how much you would need to pick up before Jiyong got home.

You tapped the pen on the notepad as you looked around the kitchen. You opened cupboard after cupboard, noticing just how much needed to be replenished. “Aish, did he make stew for the whole building today?” You rolled your eyes before writing down each missing ingredient.

“Gaho! Come here!” You repeated, knowing he usually slept as heavily as Jiyong. Shaking his food usually does the trick. You thought to yourself with a smile.

But as you walked over to its usual location you stopped. “Oh come on, we can’t be out of his food too. I swear we just bought some.” You put your hands on your hips out of frustration. “Awh, Gaho, I’m sorry. I hope you have at least something left in your bowl.” You muttered to yourself as you turned the corner out of the kitchen to check.

“Ok, this is weird.” Your brows furrowed. His bowls were gone. You checked the sink and saw no sign of them. Your pulse quickened as you speed walked to the bedroom.

“Gaho?” You called, hoping to see a pile of wrinkles on his bed or hear the sound of his little nails tapping on the hardwood floor. But as you stood in the doorway, his bed was nowhere in sight.

Your chest began to hurt as tears budded beneath your eyes. Gaho had spent weekends at Jiyong’s parents’ house before and even with your aunt. But you knew this weekend was never discussed to be one of them. And even if it was, they had bowls and a bed for him there. Something must have happened. You frantically reached for your phone and dialed Jiyong.

No answer.

“Ji. Ji, please call me. I don’t know where Gaho is. Please tell me you know.” Your voice shook as you left the message. There wasn’t a single sign of a break-in either. Or at least none that you were aware of.

You started pacing in the living room, thinking of all the possible scenarios. Whoever took him must have taken all that food too. You wouldn’t expect burglars to steal vegetables and bean paste, and leave behind the flatscreen, but it was the only explanation. You sped to the bedroom closet, fearing for your and Jiyong’s safes.

As you illuminated the walk-in space, the sight before you brought you to your knees. Everything on your side remained unruffled and unbothered. Nothing was even close to being out of place. Even your safe and few pieces of jewelry. But on Jiyong’s side, every last item was gone.

Every suit, every pair of pants and shoes, and even every fucking hanger was missing. As you gazed at the storage space above his side, and saw no sign of his luggage either, you collapsed.

“What the fuck.” You cried out, shaking and sobbing from uncertainty. You reached a trembling hand for your phone and tried calling him once again.

No answer.

You threw it to the side and somehow managed to pull yourself to your feet. You walked slowly to the bathroom, silently repeating “No, no, no…” to yourself. You closed your eyes as you turned the light on, nowhere near ready for what was there.

Every product, every personal hygiene tool, even his toothbrush, everything that was his: gone. And once again, whatever was yours, remained untouched. You gasped out loud and covered your mouth as sobs pulled themselves out of you. This had to be some kind of sick joke. It just had to be.

As you turned back to face the bedroom you saw through cloudy eyes the very last thing that you didn’t want to see. The item that debunked the miniscule shred of hope you were clinging to; that someone just had to have broken in so cleanly and so precisely, cleaning out everything that belonged to Jiyong, including Gaho and all of his belongings as well. You could have hung onto that ridiculous scenario for just a little while longer if you didn’t see it. There on the bed laying perfectly, and all too intentionally, was a folded piece of paper.

This time, when your body crumbled to the floor, it stayed there for nearly half an hour. You couldn’t stop crying. And for the life of you, you couldn’t move a muscle. When you finally found the strength to, you crawled to your phone. Before illuminating the screen, you begged the universe to grant you at least one text message from him.

Nothing.

You spent the next couple of hours there on the floor, endlessly sobbing and making phone call after phone call; each one feeling more useless than the last.

When you finally got a hold of yourself, you instead called a friend that lived nearby and begged her to come over. You spent that night, and the following week, at her place. It took that long for you to even walk back into that apartment. And it took even longer for you to finally read that letter.

“I love you too much to allow you to be put through what I’m going to put you through. I’m so fucking sorry. Take care of yourself and please: be the person you want to be. -Jiyong”

You ripped it into shreds on the spot. That was it. That was the only glimpse of an explanation that he ever granted you. Just like that, he left.

And you were never the same.

His disappearance came just as much of a shock to everyone else. No one could make sense of it. Not his parents, or even his best friends. They were all furious with him and could hardly speak about it. No one could give you answers.

And that’s all you tried to obtain for the next year: just some fucking answers. You were desperate and angry, lonely and above all you were ungodly depressed. When you couldn’t find him yourself you waited. You waited for so long. You lived each day as if it would be the one that he’d come back through the front door and back into your life.

But it never came.

You became self-destructive, going through every stage of grief at least three separate times. All along you begged the universe to show you even just one reason. Anything that could have shown what the fuck you did that was so wrong. Just come back and tell me why. You mumbled this phrase to yourself a million times, and when family and friends grew worried you mumbled it to psychiatrists a million times more.

It was some of the worst and most confusing pain you’d ever experienced. You endured it for nearly two years, until one cathartic appointment allowed you to finally accept it. You were done waiting. You couldn’t bring yourself to forgive him. But you had to get your life back.

You met Jiwon the following week. It was the very same week that you decided to change your focus back to your childhood dreams. You didn’t want to be a lawyer. (Though you ended up marrying one) You wanted to be a badass detective.

You now thought deeply about everything that had changed in just seven years.

You stared at Jiyong through the one way mirror completely stone faced, trying your hardest not to laugh at the fucked up irony. Even though you didn’t know it until that night in the warehouse, when he’d reignited that deep emotional pain with a matching physical pain at the hand of his crony you realized: you’d never truly stopped looking for him.

And now, seeing him sitting there before you, wanting your superior’s attention and wishing to make a deal with your boss…your rage was unfathomable.

#g dragon scenarios #g dragon fanfiction #g dragon imagine #g dragon au #kwon jiyong scenarios #kwon jiyong fanfiction #kwon jiyong imagine #kwon jiyong au #bigbang au #g dragon angst #kwon jiyong angst #kpop scenarios

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cherryyharryy · 5 years

Text

Chapter 5: Clavicular Notch

This dream isn't feeling sweet

A shattered gasp shot through her lips as her head flew off the pillow. Harry’s shirt was glued to her drenched body and her pillow held more than her imprint. Adeline clenched the comforter through the exhausted and weakening paralysis coursing in her bones, focusing on what little energy and strength she could conjure up to throw the heavy weight off her body.

She counted back from ten before finally opening her eyes, willing her lungs to find a calmer rhythm. It took her brain a few moments to register that she was awake, her legs now dangling off the edge of the bed, allowing her feet to get used to the shock of cold from the hardwood.

After a few minutes of stirring in silence she shuffled out of her room in need of a glass of water, eyes nearly closed and her tongue struggling to swallow in dryness.

The apartment was dark, and she didn’t have the stamina to fiddle around for the light switch when she stumbled into the kitchen. The sink seemed miles away as she drug her feet across the tile, yanking a mug off the rack on the counter and filling it to the top with cold water.

She adjusted her shirt so it covered her thighs before sliding onto the barstool at the island, sparing her already tormented body from the bite of the cold leather. She only had three big gulps past her lips when her body flinched at a sudden burst of light.

“What are you doing up?”

An ankle-length-nightgown-clad Nicole strolled towards the stove where she started a pot of tea. She flipped the box of small packets open and picked out a few before deciding on one, which only sent memories of Harry tumbling through Adeline’s head.

Harry and his middle of the night tea that served to further his consciousness rather than its intended purpose of soothing his wired body and rambunctious mind, which led to flirty texts buzzing through her phone and a whispered phone call until one of them fell asleep.

But Nicole was no Harry and now they had a bit of a different routine.

Despite having been asleep for hours, every hair on Nicole’s head was in place and her nightgown was wrinkle-free. There were no makeup smudges under her eyes nor any evidence of a panic attack wreaking havoc on her as she slept. Her kettle steamed right away, drawing her questioning eyes from where they’d been resting on her younger cousin.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“These walls are thin you know,” Nicole eyed her knowingly, “I can hear you gasping and mumbling to yourself.”

“I’m just a little stressed.”

“Are you having nightmares? Are you—why are you using a mug for water?”

Adeline looked down at her drink and sighed. “No nightmares, just stress. I think I let it build up and then at night it all hits, and then I just...lose it. I don’t know.”

Nicole took a seat beside her cousin, her tea in perfectly manicured hands. “What are you so stressed about?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? How could you not know?”

Adeline shrugged. “Life I guess. That’s what I worry about.”

“What could you possibly be stressed about?” Nicole asked accusingly, waving her spoon in the air. “You’re 18, living in a rent-free apartment, away from your parents. You’re at a great school, no job, no major responsibilities. Your skin is blemish free...what’s the problem?”

Nicole’s criticism only furthered Adeline’s need to shut down. The clinking of her spoon stirring her tea grew louder, mixing in with the whirlpool of reasons she should be happy flinging around her mind.

“I know, I know. I’m very blessed. I don’t know what it is, just got a case of the blues.”

Nicole’s eyes narrowed in on her. “Alright then, whatever you say.” She brought her cup to the sink, mumbling about all the chores she had to do the next day before cleaning up her mess and bidding Adeline a weak goodnight.

Adeline downed the rest of her water and slid off the stool, holding back a round of tears as she she rounded the island, leaving her mug on the counter for Nicole to fuss about in the morning.

***

Half an hour later and Adeline was still tossing in bed, so she resorted to the only thing that could quiet her mind.

“Hello, darling.”

“Harry…”

“Bad night, love? You alright?”

“Just tell me about your day.”

And so their routine began; her calling in the middle of the night to rely on Harry’s voice for comfort. The time they spent together took a major hit when fall semester began. His college acceptance letter to Chadron had been bittersweet, knowing what it meant for their relationship.

“I had quite a productive day. Woke around noon to go stand in line at this new record store that was opening. I was eighth in line, Addy.”

“So? What does that mean?”

“That, my dear, means that you are talking to the proud owner of two free vinyls.”

Adeline settled back into her pillows, her body finally able to relax at the thought of the smug grin that was surely adorning his face, lying in his small bed, shirtless with the covers kicked down to his feet because he always got too hot, fan on high with that morning’s coffee still sat on the nightstand.

“Congratulations, glad to hear you skipped class yet again for a worthy cause.”

“You’ll eat those words when you’re listenin’ to this delicacy the next time we see each other.”

“Neither of us even owns a record player.”

“M’working on it, babe, don’t worry about it.”

“Anyway,” Adeline hummed, “what are your plans for tomorrow?”

“Guess I’ll go to class considering I haven’t gone all week.”

“All week! Harry you can’t do that! This isn’t high school. They aren’t going to cater to you. If you miss assignments, that’s it, no more turning things in whenever you want.”

“Thank you, mum.”

“M’serious, Harry. We can’t slide by anymore. Last week this girl showed up ten minutes late to class and my professor told her to leave. He said if she was going to be late, then she shouldn’t even bother showing up. We have to be more responsible now.”

“I know, but s’just not any fun. Guess that's what happens as yeh get older, the fun dies a little each day."

"I think that's a little dramatic. We can still have fun, we just have to put school first."

"For someone so smart that was a load of shit, Addy. If I were to die next week, my life flashing before m'eyes, what do you think I'd wanna see?"

"I know," she let out a sigh, "I get that, I do, I just don't wanna mess this up. This is the rest of our lives we're talking about."

"True, but you can't have all work and no play either," he reasoned. "See, this is why we should've gone to the same school. We balance each other out. You could yell at me to do my homework, and I could drag your bloodshot eyes away from your laptop to some stupid party."

Spending her college years with Harry would be a dream. She missed him more and more as the days went by. The picture he painted made her skin tingle and her brain dance, wanting nothing more than to live out the innocent fantasy.

"And then what?"

"We'd be there for an hour before leavin' out of boredom, tired of watching people drink themselves into a coma and mixing drugs in the bathroom. Then we'd go get ice cream, or go skinny dipping."

"How are those my only choices?" She laughed.

"Sorry, I meant, go get ice cream, and go skinny dipping. Forgive me love, m'quite knackered."

"You're ridiculous. What about in the winter when it's cold?"

“In the winter we would...go back to my apartment, cause you're roommate is really weird. Like, really weird. And pile up every blanket we own onto the bed and just hug 'till we fall asleep."

"You mean cuddle."

"You know I don't like that word, Adeline."

Laughter erupted from her mouth at his sudden serious tone. It had been late at night, not long after they first got together, that he informed her of just how much he hated the word. It was on a list that included overdone brownies, people who let newspapers pile up at the end of their driveway, and seeing babies in frigid grocery stores without socks on their feet.

"I couldn't help myself. I—ugh, Nicole is shouting at me to be quiet. I should probably go." her eyes flickered to her clock. "It's getting late anyway, almost three."

"Yeah, I have an early class tomorrow, he sighed.

"Thought your Thursday class didn't start 'till eleven?"

"It does, that's early."

"Whatever, Harry."

"Hey,” he cooed, “I know you've been really stressed out lately, yeh need to step back sometimes to relax."

"I know, I've just been overthinking about my life at the moment."

"You're living the dream, babe."

"I know, s'just not what I was expecting.

"And what was that?" He asked.

"I—I don't know. Just doesn’t feel the way I think I should feel. I don't even know if that makes any sense."

"It does, I understand."

"You do?"

"Yeah. I miss you too, angel. More than you know."

***

And then her professor, a dignified man with three degrees and a never ending collection of sweater vests, who erased everything he wrote on the board about two seconds after he wrote it, who's advice for her when she came to him for tutoring was to 'look at her notes', was anything but helpful.

The classroom was on the exact opposite side of campus from her class right before, and you'd think fifteen minutes would be more than enough time to get there, but a few weeks in and she can only manage to arrive after the door had been locked and she’s left to interrupting the lecture with her knocking.

On top of that, the room was freezing. The guy that usually sat next to her asked for a pencil every. single. day. And last week she sat in gum.

So needless to say, she dreaded Tuesdays and Thursdays.

Despite the weekly impending doom, today she had high hopes. They were getting their first test back, and she was in need of some good fortune. Nicole had been a grouch that morning, complaining about how she interrupts her morning routine, which led to an argument which led to her storming out without even having the chance to brush her teeth.

So an 'A' on a test, which she knew she was getting—she had studied for hours—was just what she needed to turn her day around.

***

Dr. Wallace loved to torture apparently, making them wait the entire hour and fifteen minutes of which she couldn't harness any concentration, until he passed back their exams. Adeline’s heart was a pounding frenzy and her bones were tingling.

When the seventy-five question test was finally laid down before her, her brain froze in mindless thought and the anxiety filling her up moments ago switched gears. She looked up to her professor, who was already five rows past her’s, and back down at what must be a mistake.

Had to be a mistake.

Please, God, let it be a mistake.

***

"Well maybe next time you'll try a little harder. Set some time aside and study, you can't have your boyfriend the focus of your life anymore, school needs to be your priority, Adeline."

She just sat there, dumbfounded with her mouth gaping around silent protests. Her dad flipped through the pages of her test, shaking his head every so often. At one point he pointed out one of her wrong answers, with the audacity to ask her why she got it incorrect. And he did not care for her response of 'I didn't know the answer'. Before she even had a chance to put a sentence together, he continued on with his rant.

"College is different, honey. Your professors aren't goin' to babysit you anymore."

"I know dad, I know." her head dropped into her hands. She huffed out a shaky breath and met his gaze once again. "I guess next time I'll start preparing three weeks ahead of a test."

"Now that's what I'm talking about." He slid from his seat at the table, nodding with each word as he picked up both of their plates. "More cake?"

She shook her head. "M'just gonna head back."

"What? I thought you were spending the weekend? That's a long drive."

"Yep. So the sooner I leave, the faster I get back." She slung her bag over her shoulder and rounded the island to kiss her dad's cheek. "I'll see you guys at Thanksgiving."

***

Strike two. The understanding of trying your hardest was not a part of the genetic makeup on her dad's side of the family.

"Adeline, I don't know what you want me to say? This is a terrible grade. You got what you deserve. You get out what you put into things. Try harder next time."

With that boost of encouragement Nicole tossed her now crumpled test on the counter and went back to scrubbing the bare fridge, mumbling about how Adeline arranged all of its contents wrong and how she has to do everything.

"You're not listening. I did try. Really hard—"

"If you tried hard you would have the grade to show for it."

She snatched her test and spun on her heel. "Whatever, Nicole. M'goin' to bed."

***

Surely this was a joke. Bombing this test was bad enough, but everyone’s negative input was just another muddy stomp across her heart.

“You can’t be mad, Addy, not at me or anyone else.” Gina, Adeline’s friend from high school whom she sat with in her Sociology class, attempted to smooth out her test on the edge of her desk. “You’ll do better on the next one.”

“But Gina, you can understand why I’m frustrated. I mean, look at the second question—it’s ridiculous! How can he expect anyone to get that right? And—”

“Blaming the professor will get you nowhere.”

She sighed and took her somewhat smoother test from her hands and stuffed it into her book bag, trying not to let any more tears slip all because of one stupid exam.

“You’re my friend, aren’t you supposed to complain alongside me, y’know, and tell me as long as I try my best it’s good enough?”

Gina brought her coffee down from her mouth and narrowed her eyes. “M’not your mom at your dance recital. You’re in college now. The bar for doing your best has raised, so you’d better catch up.”

***

"It's one test, love. You'll do better on the next one."

"You don't understand, Harry." She kicked her door shut and flopped down on her bed, keeping her phone pressed to her ear. "I spent hours over the course of days studying. Took pages of notes, did the practice questions, I even went to a study group with some people from my class! All for nothing but a lousy fuckin' 42."

"M'sorry Addy, know how you feel," he sighed. "But I also know how smart you are, how yeh never give up. You'll come out of this class with an A, I know it. Remember that biology teacher you had? She was a piece of work and you made it outta her class alive. I'm rooting for you, darling."

She relaxed into the pillow, letting herself believe his encouragements. It wouldn't last, she’ll worry and panic the rest of the semester, but for now she’ll pretend he's right.

"Thank you, Harry."

"F'course. S'what I'm here for. So other than everyone you know not taking your side—”

“Don’t mock me!”

“S’your own words,love.”

“I was really upset!”

“I know, I know. But you’re not now?”

“Until my next test.”

He sighed on the other end, and now more than ever did she wish she could see him, feel him. His voice alone was losing its convincibility that Harry was actually physically on the other side of the call.

“Take a deep breath, baby. Your whole college career isn’t dependent on this one class. Everyone has a test or two that they’re going to bomb. All you can do is learn from it. Maybe find someone who’s already taken this professor, see how they survived.”

“Yeah, there’s this guy in my history class who took it last semester. Guess I could pick his brain.”

“There you go. You’re going to be fine. And if all else fails, I’ll support you for the rest of your life.”

She rolled her eyes, fighting back a smile. “Shut up.”

“So...any luck with picking a major?”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t ask,” she sighed.

“How many times do I have to tell you—”

“I know, I know. Literature. But—”

“It’s your calling. Your mom said you’re an incredible writer.”

Adeline rolled her eyes. “She’s my mom, she has to say that.”

“I’d say it too if I was allowed to see any of your work.”

Adeline bit the inside of her cheek, thankful that Harry couldn’t see her at the moment. She’d done an excellent job of keeping her writing to herself, only choosing to share a poem or short story here or there with her family, but the thought of Harry reading anything she’s put down on paper filled her with more fear than she’d like to handle.

“I’ll think about it,” she mumbled softly. “My major I mean. I’ll think about literature.”

“Good. And—ah my neighbor’s here. I blew him off last week, can’t do it again.”

“Have fun. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I won’t if you’ll stop stressin’ over this class for now.”

“I’ll try.”

“Good,” Harry sighed. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Sweet dreams, love.”

#ribsfic #ribsc5 #harry styles #writing #harry styles writing #harrystyles #harry styles fic #cherryyharryy

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blacklodgemusictx · 5 years

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Taking off to Mars...

Bear with me. I haven’t written a music review since covering a Midnight Oil show for my college paper in 2001. Personally, I thought I had a unique perspective as no one else seemed to go to shows while busy being studious, but one response was an anonymous letter to the editor: “No one cares about a date Liz Green had to see a band no one has heard of.” Fair enough, callow youth, fair enough.

Two things you need to know about me:

1.) I live for music - it’s how I relate to other people.

2.) I reside in a town where everything I want to see or do it a minimum of 3 hours in any direction. Every now and then something cool will happen, but there’s usually a 3-5 year gap between these cool occurrences. You want something amazing to happen you either go find it or you make it happen yourself. I made it happen once. And it was stressful … and expensive. So we prefer the seeking.

I had the good fortune to meet an older boy with similar sensibilities. I always bemoaned the fact that there were no songs with my name in them: Elizabeth has too many syllables, Liz not enough. Up until this moment, I’d had to adopt “Beth” by Kiss. He gave me a Hex song with my first AND last name in it, “Elizabeth Green, deep and serene.” So I gave the boy my heart and he gave me his name. Together we go out in to the world looking for the things that set us on fire.

The giving of songs is how I express myself. Though I have a literary side, my degree is in business and my logical side tells me that someone has probably already described the things I’m thinking or feeling and has probably done it a lot more eloquently than I ever could. The right song is out there for every situation... you just have to know where to look.

A fight, the silent treatment from my husband, an uncomfortable car ride: Rush’s “Open Secrets” on my iPod: “I never meant what you’re thinking. That’s not what I meant at all.” A friend dealing with heartache and a lying lover? “The Wreckers” also by Rush. Another friend’s husband passed away. I gave her “Take my Heart” by Caroline’s Spine. “Just in case I lose this race, I’ll always be there watching over you…” Even if the song didn’t quite hit them the way it hit me, to accept the giving of a song is to accept the giver.

Seven months ago, two friends in tow and tickets to see Marty Willson-Piper in hand, we sped toward Fort Worth. We were late. A thing that often happens when work and driving and days of the week get in the way. “It’s ok,” I assured my husband, “There are two openers. We have plenty of time. We won’t miss anything.” Ha. Prepare to eat your words in 3…2…1…

The order was Salim Nourallah, “Laish” (a British band fronted by Danny Green. The band was absent due to the financial constraints of intercontinental travel so I started thinking of Danny as Laish sort of like Bono or Cher), and Marty Willson-Piper - Mr Willson-Piper being the former lead guitarist of the Church - my husband’s favorite band and consequently a band we’d been seeing together since 2002. We only had tickets to that show, but after we were blown away by each performance in Fort Worth, we noticed the tour was EIGHT Texas shows long. NO ONE gives that much love to Texas. No one.

We proceeded to attend three more: Cactus Cafe in Austin and the two shows at the Palo Santo Galactic Headquarters - words that held zero meaning to me until I actually went there: it’s a space Salim set up next to his recording studio in Dallas. The space accommodates about 30 and is the perfect location for comfortable, intimate shows. Palo Santo is the independent record label founded by Salim and the similarly incomparable Sarah Henry.

During this run of shows, I got to talk to Salim both in person and on Facebook. I learned that he was not an “opener” for Marty Willson-Piper, he was the mastermind that made the whole tour happen. I signed up for his mailing list and even if the name is tongue in cheek - The Cult of Nourallah - it’s spot on. Salim is the most charismatic person you will ever meet. If he thinks you should listen to a certain artist or album, it will appear on your chosen music player. If he really did want to start a cult, you’d go buy whatever color shoes he instructed. And he does it all with a calm, quiet, reassuring presence that lets the music speak for itself.

After these shows, I started listening to Salim’s albums. All of them. A lot.

No really… a LOT.

His style is simple, clean and straight forward. The songs are heartfelt and often autobiographical. Though coming from a musical background of performance and recording with his brother Faris, Salim’s solo career began in 2004 with the album “Polaroid” and has spanned the next prolific fifteen years to 2018’s “Somewhere South of Sane.”

I quickly assimilated the music from his albums in to my personal first aid kit of songs. I recently helped a friend through a painful divorce and played Salim’s “It’s Ok to Be Sad” for her. The idea is often something overlooked in adulthood and though it seems simplistic, the act of permission can be profound. It’s ok to be sad. It’s ok to mourn. Things don’t work out.

I ended up giving that friend Salim’s entire “Somewhere South of Sane” vinyl set. SSOS is an album that I digested in pieces myself . The songs feel so personal - the songwriter’s own heartbreak on public display - the act of musical consumption feels like voyeurism. Spying through a window at people hurting each other. It reminded me so much of my own first marriage - at a much too early age - and divorce that it was difficult to hear. I felt well armed in that moment and profoundly grateful that Salim gave me something that I was able to pass on in the name of healing through the acceptance of grief.

While I put my arms around my friend at the local courthouse and held her through the end of her marriage, I struggled in my own personal life with a health scare that could possibly change everything. I held on to Salim’s “Don’t Be Afraid” at this time and probably listened to it twenty times. I’ll try not to be afraid. I’ll try. I’ll try to be brave… still, Salim, keep telling me. It’s nice to hear. Ultimately, after an agonizing length of time (agony and length only felt by the person in it), I learned I was ok. Here I appreciate Salim’s “Goddamn Life” (Hit Parade, 2012.) I’m so in love with my goddamn life. It may be scary and it may hurt at times, but look at the alternative… right?

There’s a certain degree of uncertainty in being a member of the human race. We all secretly think we are doing it differently and most probably wrong. We toil next to each other in silence and the great tragedy is: we’re all doing it pretty much the same, but we don’t know that. To be unsure of this, but to put it in song anyway and then present for the world to hear takes bravery I cannot even comprehend. Trying to describe love is like trying to describe the color blue. You put your song out there with the secret fear: what if that’s not love? What if that’s not blue? What if I’m doing it wrong? What if everyone else sees things differently? What if there’s something wrong with me?

* * *

Fast forward to last weekend - Saturday May the 4th. I had the honor of gathering with Salim and his friends to celebrate with a retrospective show at Palo Santo.

“If I really had to break it down,” Salim told us when announcing the event, “the one that thing that has meant the most to me is writing songs. So it seemed fitting to spend my upcoming birthday not only with my real family but also with my ‘other’ family: my family of songs. I'm sure you've probably heard songwriters refer to their songs being almost like children. It's a hard thing to describe…”

But he does describe it in “Stranger in My Own Skin” (Constellation, 2009), “I’m gonna take some pain and stick it to a tune so you can sing along, get the words all wrong.” And he did. He stuck pain to a lot of tunes. Pain, laughter, love, heart break, friendship, desire, despair, betrayal... He stuck feelings to 15 years worth of tunes and more and on Saturday he indulged us in tastes from each album to commemorate another year of his existence on this planet.

The vibe was laid back and friendly - Palo Santo is like no other place you will ever experience. It’s more like going over to Salim’s house, his face lights up and he says “Here, let me play something for you…”

The configuration was different this time than others I had been in attendance there. Chairs were arranged on three sides, a seat and a guitar against the wall in the middle. When Salim took his place in front of us, the small crowd immediately fell silent - not like fearing the wrath of a teacher chiding students for talking, but more like the anticipation of watching a magician about to perform a magic trick.

And there was a magic trick of a sort: projected on the wall above Salim’s head was suddenly the album cover of “Polaroid.” Salim chatted about this cover and each subsequent one as he told stories about each and sang the songs he chose to represent that album and period in his life. We were instructed to sing along and we did so - almost reverently - with Salim’s guidance.

Set one covered: Polaroid, Beautiful Noise, Snowing in My Heart, Constellation and Hit Parade (2004-2012). We then took a break to share a fabulous cake, chat and sing Salim “Happy Birthday.”

Set two then covered: Friends for Life, Skeleton Closet, The Travoltas, NHD (Salim’s project with Billy Harvey and Alex Dezen) album And the Devil Went up to Portland, and finally Somewhere South of Sane (2012-2018).

Though Salim got to what was supposed to be the final song from SSOS, “Rainbow Dolphins” was then brought up by an audience member. Salim just grinned and assured us he could play that too. And he did.

I didn’t want the evening to end. We all filed out of Palo Santo in to an absolutely beautiful, cool Dallas night. We chatted with each other and eventually goodbyes were said and people began to wander away. I yawned one too many times and may or may not have enjoyed just a touch too much wine. My husband, Doug, eventually took my hand, we thanked Salim and drifted away ourselves.

The magic doesn’t have to end quite yet as Salim has put up part two of the birthday retrospective for sale next weekend (a few tickets remain and can be acquired here: https://www.prekindle.com/event/26257-birthday-retrospective-salim-nourallah-2nd-show-dallas). This was a singularly unique event and though lightning isn't supposed to strike twice, if anyone could make that happen, it is Salim. Next weekend will be just as magical.

Links of interest:

https://www.instagram.com/palosantorecords/

https://www.instagram.com/salimnourallah/

http://salimnourallah.com/

https://palosantotx.com/

https://www.facebook.com/salimnourallah/

https://www.facebook.com/palosantotx/

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annarosenblumpalmer · 6 years

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It is 4:32 and I am lying awake, tender like a bruise.

At the meditation/writing retreat I sat on my computer and broke its casing. It lost the small screws that held its sleek aluminum back on and there is a small crack that is open to its insides. It is hard to see but I know it is there.

Leo brought my laptop with him on our vacation and after a bit of using it it’s fan wouldn’t shut off and it became hot, almost scorching to the touch. We unplugged it and it cooled off. But the battery was broken so without its connection it was useless.

I relate to the computer.

I have felt the depression coming and have tried to ward it off. Steve is gone for the week and I am going to have to be very careful if I want to get through this without having it effect the boys. I look at my calendar and try to find a time to see a friend each day. Taking a walk or eating lunch out, anything that keeps me from my bedroom helps. If I go through the motions of my life sometimes I surprise myself and show up in it.

I ask a friend to have lunch and her text back is brief. “I can’t. Too many errands.” What is this? I asked myself with fondness. She is such a grownup. I would never let errands get in the way of lunch. I can’t even imagine what these errands might be. They sound sort of good though. Maybe I need some errands.

Once upon a time there were errands. When I was a little girl, little enough to sit in the back seat of whichever incarnation of Volvo we drove, I went with my mother on her errands. Lying awake in the middle of the night trying to get back to sleep I reconstruct our route.

In my memory it is chilly outside and my breath is fogging up the window of the car window. She tells me to stop as I trace a heart in the mist, giving it two dots for eyes and a smile. She is worried that it will leave smudges and she is right. When it dries off I can see other hearts, older, marking the glass.

We start at the dry cleaner. Well, we start by circling he block several times looking for a place to park. We are in newton center, newton is a suburb 7 miles west of Boston large enough to have 13 of these little clusters of shops and restaurants (quaintly called villages) but this, true to its name, is the biggest. It is shaped like a large triangle made up of several blocks. There is a T stop here and I watch people trudging up the old steps from the train. The old railway station is large and beautiful but it is locked. This is before the time of reclamation and at least a decade before Starbucks will have lines out the doors. Instead the lines are at the payphones.

My mother has not found a place to park. She is swearing softly. “Can you just wait with the car?” She asks. I nod solemnly as if I could possible move the car if needed and sit tall in my seat. She double parks to run into the dry cleaner and I wait. Alert. Each car that passes us has to slow and some shake their heads at me. We are stopped in the exact spot that my father will park in years later and have his car stolen. He left it running, driver door open, to grab a coffee from the shop that doesn’t exist yet. The thief just got in and drove away. The police caught him before we could even file the report. He got pulled from the car so quickly that he left his butter soft leather gloves behind. When my father held them up triumphantly I understood his pleasure, the thief’s error would trump his own in the retelling.

Today I am safe. No one wanted the Volvo.

My mother has the rear driver door open trying to loop the many metal handles onto the impossibly small plastic hook. She is rushing. When she finally gets them in the clothes are bulky enough to be the size of another person riding next to me. My brother, I decide, someone who would not have been nervous about the other drivers making their way around us while we are double parked.

Now we have gone down the steep section of the road to the bank. This was he age before direct deposit but after the drive through window was installed. The sweet days of banking. Our bank is the first to install a second and third lane that are serviced by a giant vacuum/tube system. I wanted to be the one to take the Jetson’s like canister out of the tube. I crawled into the front seat and leaned over my mother. She tolerates this. When I roll open the lid there is a white envelope filled with crisp bills. Even better there is a lollipop.

Red.

Next I wait for her to get electrolysis. I sit in the small room, legs sticking to the padded vinyl chairs, picking chocolates out of a small bowl. I hear murmurs in a Russian accent and a Zap. My mother has been at war with a small handful of hairs on her chin. I am mystified by these hairs. Sometimes she has me look for them because they are too difficult to see. In my middle age I will understand the zap of the machine, know the taste of metallic saliva, and smell the burn. The electrolysis will not work for me either.

From here we go to the Chinese Laundry. This is the precursor to strip malls with beautiful brick and decorative parapets. My favorite Jewish bakery is here but my mother will get to smell its yeasty warmth as she picks up bagels and thin sliced rye. I am holding tight the paper ticket for the shirts. I walk down the stairs to an indoor alley. There is a loud bell as I use my full weight to push open the glass door. It is a good thing there is a bell because I am too small to see over the counter. My hand, clutching the tickets so fiercely that the paper has begun to sag with sogginess reaches up, but my face is pointed at raw wood wainscoting. I can see the staples where it is held together. The man, whose name my mother knows, exchanges the ticket for the shirts, plucking it carefully from my fingers. He offers me a mint which I take to be polite. The lollipop is waiting for me in the car. I carry the shirts carefully in both arms. They are wrapped in paper and crinkle pleasantly like a present.

My mother is not yet back to the car so I try to imagine her. I picture a cake box in her arms, one that might contain rugelach, or black and white cookies. Decades after this my Methodist husband will bake rugelach for me to take to a Christmas cookie exchange. Today there will be no cookies. Instead my mother comes out of the back door of the cobbler with two plastic bags in one hand with the bread and bagels. Shoe box in the other. I can smell the polish as soon as the door opens. I hold it all on my lap, shirts and shoes and bread and bagels.

I’ll drive slowly, she reassures me, as I try to keep our riches from sliding onto the floor. She is in a rush no more.

This bit of memory has centered me. Pun absolutely intended. You know why? Because when I am deeply depressed I don’t make jokes. It is 5:26am now and I am feeling better than I did just 12 hours ago. At dinner things were very quiet. Not a poop joke between us. Oliver, usually one to pose a question to debate, is picking at his chicken. I am sitting, missing Steve, gently poking at myself to see how sore I really am. I am worried that I am not doing well at all. “What’s wrong?” Leo asks, in a mixture of sympathy and accusation. “I’m not sure.” I tell him. “Everything and Nothing” is the answer I don’t want to burden him with. I want it to be a birthday, or 11:11 so I can squinch my eyes tight and wish him safe from these feelings or these lack of feelings or however this episode will play out. It is my most realistic fear, that I will damage my boys with these feelings. Or these lack of feelings. Or however this episode will play out. I find myself right on the edge of being able to help calm his concern, help myself, but I can’t. I imagine opening my arms to him, him sliding across the bench to me and everything feeling a bit better. I can see it because it has happened so many times before. I imagine over explaining something, like SSRIs and neurotransmitters, the way I do baby making and other things they ask about. I imagine his face opening in understanding and eventually in laughter as we take whichever science topic we are dissecting from the rational to the absurd. Instead I look at him in silence. I can’t quite do anything for us now.

I stand and clear my plate and the boys follow me, somber, into the kitchen to clean. Leaving the downer dinner table things are immediately better for them. They decide on a game to play together and I can hear their voices still in the high pitches of boys even though they are not so little any more. I have done this for them at least. Even on days when Steve is away, and I am slipping, they have each other, a fraternity of two.

I make myself stay downstairs until 7 and I turn on music and do a crossword puzzle. I try to take in the velvet of the loveseat, running my fingers across it. I am proud of this find, dug out of the storage room of a vintage shop. Well cleaned it is a precious place in our living room. It has hosted family meetings, and many cuddles. The boys have napped and wrestled here. I try to hear the echoes of joy from our everyday life. My brain is working slowly, songs are playing but I only hear static.

It is 7:02 so I release myself. I am allowed to go to the bedroom. Walking through the barn door I reveal the bed which is both a source of solace and of temptation to take a break from real life. I take a shower, I put on lotion. That is something that I do when I am not depressed. I have on new pajamas. They have stars on them that are so small that I keep trying to brush them off thinking they are lint.

Very deliberately I pick up the tv remote and set it out of reach. I lift the covers and climb into bed. It is 7:30. I reach for my book and stretch my legs and tell myself that I have things under control. Oliver walks in a little early for reading and catches me with my eyes drooping at 7:45. “Maybe you are too tired to read?” He offers me the remote. “We finished our last book anyways.” I realize he isn’t trying to tempt me, but is arguing his own case. “Sure.” I tell him. “We can watch tv.” “Wha did you and Leo end up playing downstairs.” He looks at me with confusion. “When you two decided to play together after dinner, what did you do?” “Oh, nothing, Leo wanted to play with his online friends.” He is not even the tiniest bit upset by this. This is standard. I watch him as he navigates the list of shows we have already recorded. He is tan from vacation despite sunscreen, he is here in my bed which for him is only comforting not a portal to a world apart. I try to breathe him in. “Do you mind if I scream?” He asks me and he is yelling YELLING. “LEO LE-OOOOOO.”

Leo tumbles onto the bed, fresh freckles highlighted by his grin. They are both laughing. They are fine. I haven’t broken them.

Now it is 6:04 am. I am giving up going back to sleep. It might be useful to blame my sluggishness on being tired rather than being depressed. I can hear Oliver in his bedroom, up before his alarm. He is ready to get going on his day. A hallway away

I am looking ahead at the next 12 hours even if I am not looking forward to it. I can tell they are going to be better than the last 12. I will go through today slowly. I will brush my teeth and put on a bra. I will write and walk and meditative. I will follow up on some things for the school and run an evening meeting. After all of that I will come in the side door and the dog will pee himself with joy to see me. The boys will be happy too. They will have eaten pizza, the box still out but the counter beneath it will be clean. I’ll ask them about their days and Oliver will tunelessly sing a song from the musical he is stage managing and Leo will tell me about the 100% on the math test that I already know about. I will sit on the loveseat and one of them will make ice waters and another will sit with his legs on my lap. I will stroke his shins noticing that the hair has grown just the littlest bit thicker even though it is still golden blond. I will think that it feels even more beautiful than the velvet I am sitting one.

I will have a headache, I will be tired, I will miss Steve.

But I will be there in my life.

Which is certainly more everything than nothing.

Everything and Nothing 12 hours of depressive awareness It is 4:32 and I am lying awake, tender like a bruise. At the meditation/writing retreat…

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maybeilltellyousometime · 7 years

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happy birthday is a sad song

I’ve been meaning to write about my mom for a while but the ideas about what I want to say come and go so quickly, I barely have time to save a quick note on my phone to look at later. But it’s raining and foggy here and 5 years ago to the day she had her first heart attack. Today would have been her 53rd birthday. Someone who she wasn’t really friends with wrote on her Facebook that they hope all is well. While I suppose all is well for my mother now, I still feel enraged and want to lash out at this woman. I won’t because it’s not her fault my mother is dead and anyhow I’m sure my brother will be drunk and terrorizing people later tonight because that’s how he deals with his hurt these days. I wonder what my mom would say.

I find myself thinking about what my mom would say or do almost every day. On the good days, I can hear her voice and advice as clear as a bell in my head. It makes decisions easier and I feel confidant that I knew her well enough and she knew me well enough that I am right in what I hear her saying. Those days are comforting. Those days are easy.

There are other days when I wish with my whole existence that I could just call her and ask her a question, or have her tell me the entire plot of a movie I’m never going to watch. When I remember those phone calls it gets hard. It stings because I know how much she enjoyed talking to me. How much a mother can love a daughter. Something I am only beginning to scratch the surface of now that I have a daughter of my own. This past week we had to take Vivi to the emergency room because she caught a bad stomach bug. Her skin was grey and she was vomiting and we had to drive through hurricane winds in the middle of the night to get there. I prayed the entire time for my mom to watch out for us, and as I was holding my daughter on my chest on one of those vinyl ER cots, I cried for my own mother. As I was washing every stitch of linen in our house, I closed the door to the bathroom, turned the washer on and cried again because I imagined her here with me. I knew that she wouldn’t make me feel like it was an inconvenience to help. She’d throw her hair into a ponytail, put on some music and start the soup while doing the laundry faster than I’ve ever seen someone do laundry. It’s not that I wanted her here to do all the work. I’d tell her to sit down and stop. But she would do it anyway and she would know how to handle a stomach virus and I would feel less afraid and overwhelmed.

There are some days where I think maybe I’m glossing things over. Looking back with rose-colored glasses. But I’m not sure that’s it. I guess it’s easy to analyze and make decisions about a relationship when you’re the only one in it. I feel like I finally understand now. I can look at my mother’s faults with grace in hindsight. It’s something I wish I had more of when she was alive. I wish I got off my soapbox sooner. I wish I had known then what I do now. I was immature and ignorant and she didn’t deserve my judgment. Don’t get me wrong. My mother could drive me absolutely insane, and the relationship was rocky at times. She didn’t always make the best decisions. But, they weren’t my decisions to make and now I see that she tried to do the best she could with what she had. When I sit back and look at my mother as a woman, and replay her struggles and pain in my mind mostly I wish I could have mustered up more compassion for her. I would not have handled things and had the ability to keep going the way that she did. But I was selfish, and she allowed me to be and that realization is what made me realize what a mother really is. I wish I could apologize, but sometimes on these days I hear her voice telling me I don’t need to.

It’s a lonely thing to lose you mother. I guess it’s hard to lose either parent, but my father has been long gone for a long time. Losing your mom is something else entirely. It’s the most sobering and alone I’ve ever felt in my life. Not to discount the family I do have but life as it’s always been for me exploded, burned to the ground and settled into ash. It’s over. My childhood, memories, consistency…a good part of my life went with her. I felt shocked. I still do. The only way I can describe it is that I often feel like I am looking into the quarry in Garden State in relation to my life now. It feels empty and hollow and gigantic and scary. I want to scream at it. I know there are many years ahead that will be filled with the richness of my own family. Where I see a vast, lonely space there will be a life with my own daughter filled with love. It’s just a weird fucking space to live in right now. I never knew how entwined mothers and daughters are. It feels like you lose a limb.

Mostly I miss her laughter. For all the pain in her life, there was so much more laughter than I gave credit to. I miss her sense of humor. I miss the quirky things that made her Ivy. I miss her company and friendship. I miss her stories. I miss her singing. I miss her smell. I miss how her hands looked and felt when they held mine. I miss giving her haircuts at home and how she would always be excited and feel better and prettier after, even if I felt like I didn’t do much. I miss making stuffed cabbage with her on a winter Sunday and listening to the radio. I had to start listening to podcasts because I literally can not cook and listen to music right now. I miss how much she used to talk. And she talked. A lot. About everything. When she came to live with me I thought I would lose my mind because she would just chatter on and on. But today, I’d give anything to hear her read recipes she found on her Facebook to me or to talk about Donny Osmond. I know she talked so much because maybe she finally had someone to listen to her, and she genuinely liked me. She liked talking to me. She liked spending time with me. Fuck this is so hard.

I wish she was here for Vivienne. I can’t even write about how much she loved her and how I feel about the life they are missing together. She was close with her grandmother, I was close with my grandmother and this is just ridiculous. It’s absurd. I am angry. I feel cheated and robbed. This is the most bitter pill to swallow.

I wish she could call my brother and mend our relationship. At this point the gulf is growing wider and more distant every day and I don’t know how to build the bridge. He is all I have left of her and I’m afraid at some point our relationship isn’t going to be repairable.

I keep telling myself I need to see a therapist to figure this out, but my gut tells me there will be no figuring it out. I’m not going to get over missing my mother. No one does. And I don’t want to move on from it. For all the fixing I planned on doing and all the caretaking I’ve done in my life this is one thing I don’t want to remedy. This cut is deep and the best I can do is stop the bleeding. I’m grateful she is not sick and suffering anymore physically or emotionally. I am grateful that she was able to come live with us and have her time with Viv. I believe she was happy. I just wish we had more time. I wish she was here on her birthday so I could make her a special dinner and Viv could sing to her. I wish David could make stupid, inappropriate jokes at the table to make her laugh. I hope she is with her mom today, enjoying herself, wherever she is. I know we will see her again when we die and I hope everything that has been written about the afterlife being eternal and peaceful is true. I want an eternity of laughter and time with the people I love.

I’m coming back to NJ at the end of the summer. I plan on having a memorial service for her then so her ashes can be blessed and people she loved can have a chance to say goodbye. Things got so utterly out of control immediately after she passed with the wildfires. I guess things work out a certain way. Her memorial should be in NJ.

A friend asked me what we are doing today to honor her. I woke up and picked the last 2 of 3 daffodils I planted in my front yard for her, and placed them next to her picture and ashes. They were her favorite flower. (I planted 12 daffodils. 3 sprouted. I wish I could complain to her about it.) Beyond that I don’t know what else to do. If I think about it too much I think I’ll just spend the day crying. I like to think she’s here with me, watching Viv use the potty she bought for her and laughing at all the crazy shit she does all day. I have to believe that she’s here all the time. I guess maybe that belief is the best I’ll be able to love and honor her for the rest of my life.

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