#I can’t see myself in mirrors or pictures (I’m vain also yes I know it’s silver mirrors but modern takes ignore that)

[whimsyprinx]

Possibly my most controversial take yet but the cons of being a vampire outweigh the pros

#rambles #vamposting #vamp posting #It’s upsetting to me too I assure you #but like if we go with modern takes on vampires #I can’t see myself in mirrors or pictures (I’m vain also yes I know it’s silver mirrors but modern takes ignore that) #I can’t have garlic #I can’t lay in the sun like a snake on a rock #I’ll live forever like I can’t befriend humans and like what if the vampires in my area are jerks? I’m not gonna be alone 24/7 #blood is gross #like the pro is fangs #that’s the only pro

[kindness-bliss]

New Beginnings Ch. 10

Timothy Thatcher x OC

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: none

 Maya sighed as she sat in the and leaned her head back against the headrest “Why did you lean in to kiss me ?” she finally asked  

 “I just felt the moment was right, you held my hand on your own and I thought maybe it was a good idea. I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable, I just did what I felt was right in the moment” he explained “I apologize, I really do. I would never wanna make you feel like it was forced”

  “Don’t do it again” she said softly “Now hurry up so you can drive me home and we can both change, you got your outfit ?”

  “Yeah, just um a black long sleeve button up and black pants, that okay ?” Marcel asked

“Perfect” she grins as they got out “Also feel free to loosen up tonight, I can handle my drinking”

He raised a brow as he pulled in and followed “Do I need to remind you about what happened in Berlin ?”

  Maya widened her eyes as she blushed and shot him a look “You said you’d never bring it up, so don’t start now”

  “Sorry but you causing world war 3 at a club at 2 in the morning that led to us running through the back door isn’t exactly a small thing” he laughed as he brought his bag in “I’m not even drunk ! I’m fine, let’s go dance !” he mocked in her voice “and then suddenly a fight about who knows what and bam we’re in a taxi. How you weren’t some kind of fighter in your life still shocks me”

  “I felt like it” she shrugged “she insinuated my Cartier bracelets were fake so I let her have it, period. Oh yeah and she hit on you right in front of me, she deserved it”

He laughed, shaking his head “how about none of that tonight ? Just fun, enjoy yourself with your friends and celebrate your cover”

“I invited Fabian” she blurted out, taking out her curling iron to touch up her hair “he said he’s coming, I gave security his name”

  Marcel nodded as she took off his t shirt and ironed his shirt “That’s cool, glad he can make it”

“If you two don’t say sorry and make up tonight I swear” she groaned. Yeah they had been friends for a little over half a year but that didn’t mean him and Fabian were back together. Those two were like a married couple and seeing him without Fabian made her sad, he wasn’t the same without him and it killed her inside

  “I can’t promise anything but if he’s there obviously he knows I’m going to be as well so who knows” Marcel admitted as he fixed his hair

  “Lay off the gel, you look you belong back in Germany in some grade school with this haircut” she laughed fixing her eye shadow “Plus it’s gonna be hot in there”

    “Then I’ll take my shirt off,” he smirked. “I think some girls there would  really like to see that, don't you think ?”

  Maya rolled her eyes, going into her closet and picking out a body con sequin dress, something to make her stand out from the others. She wanted to be absolutely sure she looked better than anyone else there, especially after what Tim had told her. Tim. As if that Dickies wearing, missing tooth asshole knew anything about fashion she shook her head. “No one cares Maya, he doesn’t matter at all” she repeated in her head turning and widening her eyes as she saw Marcel changing

   “Wow...wow” she muttered quietly as she hid behind her closet door and peaked, taking a look at his perfectly tan body and abs, watching him check himself out in the mirror while buttoning up his shirt. He had to me the most vain individual she had ever met yet there she was hiding so she could admire him from afar. Her, the actual model, hiding in a damn closet to stare at him of all people. She quickly snapped out of her own thoughts and changed, putting on her heels as she walked out

  “Alright all-” Marcel stopped speaking, practically stopping his breathing when he saw her

“Hey” Maya grinned softly as she saw his face

“Maya….I….” he took a moment to think clearly about what he wished to say, not wanting to make himself seem even dumber than he already did 

“I-wow” he chuckled out finally as he put his hands in his pockets 

“You...you look beautiful, stunning”

  “Marcel, you’ve seen me in dresses but thank you” she giggled 

 “You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve seen, ever” he said sincerely “you look beautiful every single day but tonight is just wow”

She looked at him, trying her best to keep her look calm and friendly but part of her wanted to jump him right then and there. “Come on, let’s get going it’s late” she grinned as she went back out with him to the car and allowed him to take a picture of them to post ******

  “So now explain” Johnny said as he sat with Tim in the living room of his home “why exactly did you um...snap ?”

  “I did not snap” Tim responded calmly as he pet their dog Pawdme 

“I...words didn’t come out as well as I hoped okay, that’s all”

  “Um...you went to college right ? like graduated, correct ?” he asked

Tim nodded as he gave a confused look “uh yeah, I uh have a degree in Journalism, worked at a newspaper company for years. Actually” he chuckled “when we met in evolve I was stil- wait what does this have to do with anything ?”

    “So you’re telling me you’re college educated with a degree in JOURNALISM of all things, like as in good with words and writing yet you don't know how to speak to a woman !” Johnny exclaimed “You legit use big ass words and write pages yet when a girl clearly is giving the whole “take me in the back seat of your car now” eyes you insult and demean ?” “Johnny, enough” Candice spoke up “He gets the point, clearly he’s upset and mad”

“Thanks” Tim nodded, “and to answer all your questions, yes, I get it. I acted like a moron and well here I am trying to think of ways to apologize once again and convince her I want her with me”   

“Well we can all talk about this tomorrow, we got somewhere to go” Johnny stood up dressed in a button up and black jeans along with Candice in a black dress

  “A funeral ?” Tim asked confused as he looked at both of them “sorry for your loss, whomever it may be”

 Candice let out a soft sigh as he looked at Johnny and nodded towards Tim with her head “tell him…”

“Okay, first it’s “Johnny, shut up!” and now it’s “tell him” he mocked in her voice as he put his hands on his hips and looked up at Tim 

“We’re…..we’re going to Maya’s cover launch party, she invited us a month ago and well we RSVP’d and honestly I won’t lie, it looks like a lot of fun, man. She rented out the entire club. It's at EVE and I mean we don’t get to do shit like this, it’s the best club in the city and we’re on the list and I feel special alright ?”

  “Wait wait, what ?” Tim asked bewildered “You two are going ? Like actually going ? This isn’t some sick joke right because if it is I got pranked” he put his hands up “the act can stop now, I get it”

Johnny and Candice looked at each other as they both turned and gave him a sorry look as Candice’s phone buzzed “sorry Tim...we gotta go now, Oney’s waiting with Joanne”

 Tim scoffed as he nodded and opened the door, catching Oney about to knock  “I know, don’t even try to explain” he said as he shut him up before he could even speak

  “Well damn” Oney shot him a look “Guess that means, you don’t wanna be my plus one….”

“What ?” the other 3 asked in unison as they looked at him

“Joanne can’t make it, she has work so that leaves me with a plus one” he showed the message “Maya never said I couldn’t bring Tim” he gave a shrug

“Wait…. He can’t go like that” Candice emphasized “babe quick, go look for a bigger shirt and Oney, switch pants with Tim and Johnny will give you another pair…..NOW !” she raised her voice at the 3 of them as she watched them scurry and go to her bedroom

    “Wow, who knew you could clean up so nicely” Johnny smirked “let me do your hair now, you can’t go out looking nicely dressed with messy hair, oh and cologne, you gotta smell good in case ”

“You’re not serious ?” Tim asked

“You want her to see you looking good right ? So listen to me, if you look good and smell good she’ll like fall in love with you, she won’t even remember you insinuated her work was cheap, or that bikini models are whores or that-” Johnny gulped when he saw him glare at him “here just..just add a little gel and um see you downstairs, hurry up”

  Oney chuckled as he watched him get ready “If this doesn’t work, then I don’t know. Not gonna lie you look….nice. You really do, this is probably what she wanted to see”  

 “Whatever” Tim shrugged as he finished buttoning up the shirt “I just wanna talk to her that’s all, talk to her and get this settled and we’ll go from there” he nodded as he followed him back to Candice and Johnny’s Uber and sat down 

  “Wow” Candice grinned “look at you, I mean it. You clean up so nicely Tim, you really do”

“Thank you” Tim said softly as he gave her a small grin. “How the hell did I get myself into this ?” he thought to himself. None of this was him, he could feel the sweat start to build up in his arm pits as he moved around in his seat lifting his head up when Oney offered him a mini bottle of Patron

“A roadie, to loosen up before we get there. You could use it, need a chaser ?” he offered some seltzer water widening his eyes as he watched him chug it down in one gulp

  “Give me another, now” Tim nodded as he reached out his hand, taking the second bottle and downing it “there, much much better”. No not really all that better but at least it calmed his nerves slightly as he watched them pull up to the club. He looked through the crowd to see who he recognized, some were definitely other models but lots were from work. She really had invited everyone but him, not like he expected it anyways.

    “Remember, leave no later than 3” Candice said as they got out and reapplied her lipgloss “Jesus, she’s popular look at all these people”

  “You don’t say” Johnny looked around “And she invited US, that means she really does like us and thinks of us as friends. She’s SO nice”

“She is. She really is something” Tim whispered to himself as he stood with them ************

“I love seeing you two so happy and together !” Maya smiled a little tipsy already as she put her arms around Fabian and Marcel’s shoulders 

“The two besties are back together ! You can go back to taking your little sexy shirtless gym pictures now !”  

 Fabian chuckled “well thank you I think ? Thanks for inviting me again”

“Yeah yeah of course, anything to get you two back together” she sipped her martini, feeling slightly buzzed as she sat next to Marcel and put her hand on his thigh “oh my god, you look so cute tonight I can’t believe I didn’t tell you already” she pouted

  Marcel chuckled as he placed her hand back on her lap gently “Thank you, you’re telling me now and to me that’s all that matters”

“Maya maybe, maybe we can stop the martini’s for a bit” Fabian suggested as he motioned for the waitress to come over and order them waters with lemon

  “What a complete party pooper, I thought Italians were supposed to be fun. This is NOT how Jersey Shore made it seem” she rolled her eyes, pulling out her compact to look herself over as she watched Fabian just laugh at her

 “Hey... still very very pretty,” Marcel grinned as he closed it for her. “There’s no need to keep looking at yourself when you look perfect, now have some water so you can sober up a bit and enjoy your night. Everyone’s here for you”

  Maya stood up and fixed her dress when she saw Candice walk towards her “hey, oh my gosh you look beautiful !” She gave her a hug and smiled, tilting her head when she saw Johnny take a selfie with her custom cake “why...why is he ?”

  “Listen he’s telling everyone we know he’s at a celebrity party and how you’re his friend, he’s truly living it up” she admits with a chuckle

  “I just...I like how you guys came, you two are so kind and nice and to be honest I kinda like you guys here more than the others my agent made me invite” she smiled softly “Can I offer you a drink ?”

  “Oh yeah sure, I’d love one of those fruity ones you’re having” Candice grinned as she walked over to the bar with her “Listen before we enjoy the night, I have to tell you that Oney’s girlfriend couldn’t make it so...so he brought Tim”

    “What ?” she spat out her water “He’s here ? As in right now ? Candice what the hell ? After what happened earlier ?”

Candice sighed as she took her drink in one sitting and got up “Long story short he feels horrible and wants to talk to you, really talk to you. 100% serious this time, no insults nothing so when you’re ready you let me know and I”m getting you two together to talk even if it’s the last fucking thing I do” she nods

  “I just wanna enjoy my night and maybe when I’m a little more drunk so I can let his ass know everything I’ve been feeling” Maya nodded as she cheered her and took what she believed was her 15th shot of the night 

    “So are those real ?” Candice asked as she pointed to her revealing dress “because they look real but they also look way too perfect to be real”

Maya laughed as she touched her shoulder with her arm “They are, but did you drink before getting here ?”

  “May have had a couple roadies” she admits as they continued to drink together, getting rowdier once everyone else came to join

  “Let’s give it up for Maya !” Johnny yelled as he raised his champagne glass “MY friend is a model and she’s on an ACTUAL magazine and on a billboard !”

  “To me ! For being really fucking pretty and having an amazing body !” Maya exclaimed drunkenly as she leaned on Marcel

    “And with REAL boobs !” Candice added as they all cheered together and moved to the dance floor as the DJ played a playlist of mid 2000’s songs

Everything was great, perfect actually until Oney spotted Tim talking to a girl, a little too close for comfort in his eyes as he left and sat down keeping a close eye on him

  “So what brings you here, do you know Maya ?” the girl asked Tim as she grinned and sat too close to him at the bar

  “In a way yeah, you ?” he nodded trying his best to keep up straight as the alcohol from the car ride and the beers he had consumed were beginning to hit him

  “well she won this cover over me. Some thing about brunettes over blondes, Kara by the way” she reached her hand out “and you are ?”

“Tim” he responded as he turned around and faced her, looking her up and down as he raised a brow at the less than favorable red number she had on “drink ?”

    “Vodka soda” she smirked as she ordered “oh is this your friend ?”

“What ?” Tim asked confused as he turned and saw Oney with crossed arms standing behind him

  “You’re drunk, come with me”

“He’s fine with me” Kara smiled sweetly “Don’t worry, your friend is perfect with me here”

“Tim….”

“I’m fine” Tim shrugged “You go and continue being stupid, I’m fine here with her”

Oney shook his head and sighed as he left him alone and went back as he sat down on a couch and watched

 Maya pulled Marcel close to her as she turned around against him, moving to the beat of the music as she felt him move with her, putting his hands on her hips both swaying to the old Ice Cube song that played loudly in the club. They had gone to multiple clubs in the past and danced to way too many songs but this time something was different and they both felt it  

  Marcel felt the jolts in his body as he touched her hips and felt her backside press right against his groin area. Gulping to get rid of what felt like a ball stuck in his throat he made sure to keep his hands there as they moved

  “You good ?” she asked not realizing what was even going on with him as she looked up

“All good, we can keep going” he nodded

He was positive his once black shirt was now soaking and see through with sweat as he tried his best to make sure he didn’t get hard as he squeezed her sides every so slightly. As he heard the song end and change to what he recalled was an old Lil Jon song, he groaned feeling her move quicker.  Part of him felt like it was best to just leave to the car and handle what he needed to do but the other part said he needed to be composed for her. All that went out the window the second he looked down and saw her dress slowly ride up as she moved lower and lower

  “I...I gotta go to the bathroom” he blurted out as he turned her around and saw her eyes, he knew better than anyone what that look meant

  “We….we should go to the bathroom” she whispered as she laced his fingers with hers and leaned in to kiss the corner of his mouth gently

   Marcel shuddered as he looked around and noticed everyone too busy to even notice them gone, he quickly took her hand and rushed to the nearest bathroom with her as he pushed her against the wall and crashed his lips onto hers, moving his hands up and down her hips as he moved down to kiss her neck feeling one of her hands on the back of his neck and the other immediately trying to undo his belt

  “Not...not here” he whispered as he stopped her hands and held them in his as he kissed each of them “This...this is cheap, I don’t want it like this with you. You deserve more”

“My place” she kissed his lips again not wanting them away from hers any longer “You and me, my place. I want you, I need you Marcel” Marcel looked in her eyes trying to see any doubt , going with his gut as he nodded and walked with her, hitting a stall with his shoulder

“Busy” a female voice groaned “um really busy”

  “Sorry” Marcel apologized quickly, cursing as Maya tripped against him causing him to fall against the unlocked door, widening his eyes at the view in front of him

  “What’s going-” Maya stopped speaking immediately as she felt her heart drop to her stomach as she saw Tim entangled with a girl doing way more than kissing. She felt her legs turn into jelly as she watched him kiss and move her against him, at her party of all places.

   Tim heard her voice and immediately opened his eyes as he pushed Kara off and fixed his pants and shirt “Maya ! No…..No listen I-I” he stuttered struggling to form a cohesive thought as he reached his hand towards her earning a hard punch across the nose and kick in the groin “Fuck that hurt !” he grimaced in pain not sure if he needed to grab his balls or nose

  “Marcel, why is she crying ? what’s going on ?” Johnny asked concerned he watched Candice going after her “Did someone hurt her ? Tell me and I’ll knock them out !”

  “That, that’s what’s going on” Marcel said coldly as they both looked at Tim and Kara exit the bathroom both disheveled with Tim’s more than obvious broken bleeding nose

“I told him to stop” Oney spoke up “He didn’t listen, brushed me off. The second he saw me talk to Johnny is when he left”

  “It wasn’t your job to babysit” Johnny answered disappointed as he stared “Grown men can take care of themselves, or so we thought”

“You’re not getting a foot near her !” Oney exclaimed, fed up “How fucking dare you do this to her ? At her own fucking party ? Was this what you wanted all along ? To just come here and ruin her night ?”

Tim shook his head as he held his nose with his hand “I….I can’t….I can’t even talk, where is she ? I need to talk to her now” “You’re getting you and your little prost-.....friend the hell out of here NOW” Oney ordered

  Tim snarled as he felt her touch his hand “get the fuck away from me”, scaring her enough as he watched her walk away quickly and hurried out the door. He looked at the guys and pleaded with his eyes as he watched them walk away from him

Marcel clenched his fists in anger as he calmed himself down for a second before walking quickly to the parking lot of the club searching around space by space as he found Candice consoling Maya on the pavement and rushed over

  “Maya, Maya come on let’s get you home” he said softly as he kneeled in front of her and dabbed her face full of mascara tears with his sleeve. His own heart breaking as he saw how devastated she looked. Nothing mattered more to him than making sure he got her home and safe

  “Listen to Marcel, he’s gonna take you home sweetie” Candice whispered as she helped her stand up as Johnny, Fabian and Oney joined them with sorry looks on their faces “It’s brisk” Fabian said softly as he took off his suit jacket and put it over Maya’s shoulders to cover her up  “I’m gonna, I’m gonna take her home now, is that okay Maya ?” Marcel asked as he pet her head gently 

Maya simply gave a small nod as her eyes stayed glued to the floor, her whole night and heart done for.

#timothy thatcher #timothy thatcher fic #timothy thatcher x oc #timothy thatcher imagine #marcel barthel #marcel barthel fic #marcel barthel imagine #fabian aichner #candice lerae #johnny gargano #oney lorcan #NXT

[tartagilicious]

Gavin Eternal Wedding Karma Date (translated)

there was an issue with Tumblr and the original text was deleted. this is the same content, but w/o the cgs and also bolded names to make reading it easier. sorry for the inconvenience :(

spoilers for a date not on the EN server below the cut~

MC: Anna, has everyone reached their places?

Anna: rest assured, i’ve checked with them all, there will be no problems, and the photographer will come find me with the situation of the drone.

Anna: you’re the bride of the day, if you run around like this, the makeup artist’s hard work for two hours will be in vain!

MC: you’ve all worked hard…

Near valentine’s day, the company planned a collective wedding called “Fairy Tale Dream”.

We ran through the city’s wedding company and finally found 99 new couples who were willing to cooperate with us in the collective shooting in the “Fairy Tale World” themed park in Lianyu City. (tn: loveland city)

We will arrange these 99 couples to stand in different positions in the park, from the lawn at the entrance of the park to the retro street in front of the castle to the church decorated with flowers.

The said drone equipped with a camera will fly through the entire park according to a predetermined path for shooting, and the new couples will have to put out a specific act when it passes.

We want to pass this kind of ‘one mirror to the end’ technique, where we will take the fairy tale aspect of the whole paradise and have the atmosphere and happiness recorded.

Though, I didn’t expect that a few days before shooting, a few couples couldn’t come due to emergencies! In our desperation, we could only find stand-ins among ourselves.

Willow, Kiki and I have gone together only to make it up to the number 99.

I smoothed out my snow-white skirts -- although the dress is only borrowed, and the groom is fake, I'm still sure that every girl will have a heart full of longing for such a wedding.

After all, it’s really beautiful…

Should I take a picture for him?

I talked to him last 3 days ago, and I don't know if his mission was going well.

As soon as this thought arose, my phone rang. It was my “groom” Minor.

[over the phone] Minor: Hi boss….

Minor’s voice was so sleepy!

MC: Are you still at home? Filming will start in half an hour!

[over the phone] Minor: I…

[over the phone] Minor: I stayed up all night last night and went to bed at four. Can I take a day off?

MC: What?!

This is the fairy tale wedding that I prepared for nearly two months, and already at the last moment before shooting, Minor has released my doves? (tn: she’s saying that because he won’t show up, he’s ended everything before anything even happened.)

MC: you’re my partner, who am I going to film with if not you?

For a moment, I was so godless that I couldn’t help but raise my voice

Anna: What happened? Minor won’t come?

MC [to Minor]: You come here right now, and I’ll tell the photographer to wait for you! If you don’t appear in front of me in half an hour, I will--

[over the phone] Minor: Wait, wait until I finish talking, boss -- Although I can’t come, your groom will not be absent.

MC: what do you mean?

Minor was one step ahead of me and hung up the phone without waiting for me to speak. I hadn’t even responded yet, and a familiar voice suddenly came from behind me.

Gavin: Am I late?

As I turned around, I couldn’t help but feel stunned. The man in a suit and leather dress shoes stood a few steps away from me. His light chestnut hair was covered in gold from the sun, his amber eyes were enveloped in fine shimmers, and the corners of his normally unsmiling lips were slightly raised. He had a clean jawline, and this smooth, somewhat sharp line immediately followed his thin neck and wide shoulders that were covered under his shirt.

It’s the man I’m familiar with, but it’s not the same as usual…

The ten slender fingers are holding a pair of ice-like crystal shoes that shine in the sun, and the upper part of the shoes shines brightly as well, like the stars or a firefly.

MC: Gavin, you…

I was still at a loss for words. Gavin came over to me naturally, stooped down and knelt in front of me. At the next moment, warm fingertips touched my ankles and I bit my lower lip subconsciously.

The wind in February is cold, but my face becomes hot instantly. At the same time, I clearly hear the sound of my heart in the left-most side of my chest, again and again.

I looked down at Gavin, and all of my emotions were stuck in my throat. It turned out that it was quite a feeling to be found by him in a big crowd.  Every year, Spring is given meaning, and every moment of waiting for happiness is suddenly fulfilled. (tn: kind of complicated, but she’s basically saying that she feels the traditional relief and comfort of spring looking down at Gavin.)

After changing a shoe, I noticed that I was not standing steadily. Without hesitation, I put my hand in his palm. I let him take my weight and stepped into the second shoe delicately.

Gavin stood up quickly and took the balloon in my hand. Anna then stepped forward to straighten my hair for me and set the veil down again, making sure that my makeup had no flaws while smiling with ease.

Anna: I am a bit reluctant to send you off to marriage all by yourself.

I glanced at Gavin with corners of my lips turned up in a smile, and muttered softly.

MC: we’re not getting married…

Anna smiled and held her hands up in surrender, but her eyes still fell on the hands that Gavin and I hadn’t yet let go of. She looked cheerful.

Anna: I’ll clean up here, you hurry up and prepare.

I looked at Gavin and smiled at him slightly.

Gavin: Ready to go?

MC: ok!

I never thought I would have such a one-on-one walk with Gavin in these blooming flowers, leading to a fairytale kingdom.

With every step, the pleasant sound of the crystal shoes stepping on the ground rang in my ears. Maybe a fairy has put some magic on me? Maybe then I can have the surprise and happiness of Cinderella.

MC: Gavin, actually I was thinking just now, if you wouldn’t have seen me looking so beautiful today, it would’ve been a pity.

Gavin: Well, then it’s a good thing I came.

The designated shooting location for Gavin and I was the terrace on the third floor of the castle. I carefully took the skirt in my hands and walked up the castle’s circular staircase step by step. Probably only because I was insecure. Gavin held my hand sweetly, lifting it slightly. Every step was slow and careful, but he was patient.

Sunlight shines into the castle from the windows filled with stained glass, casting colourful lights and shadows on the dark cyan stone bricks and pure white steps. The huge dome itself depicts exquisite Greek mythology, and the golden bows and arrows of Eros around the edges point directly to the dark blue night full of stars.

A pure white and flawless wedding dress, magic crystal shoes, and a gorgeous castle -- although the teenage mind has imagined so-called fairy tale weddings countless times, I never imagined that one day my own dream would become reality.

Although unexpected, it made me feel that this arrangement of fate is a good thing for me.

I looked through the veil at Gavin. Somehow, since he appeared in front of me, even though it’s just a simple shooting for work, it’s made me inexplicably nervous.

MC: Gavin, when did you come back?

Gavin: Last night. Minor sent me a message two days ago saying that you were missing a partner, so I finished the task as soon as possible to come back.

My footsteps took a light pause. Sounds like I caused him trouble again….  

(tn: and she’s just gonna ignore how minor never planned to come in the first place sfksjh)

I sighed to myself, a thank you almost escaping, but I swallowed it back after a short moment of hesitation.

MC: I didn’t expect the shoot to be temporarily short of people, but this doesn’t matter so much. You didn’t need to rush back.

Gavin: It matters.

There was a light smile on Gavin’s lips.

Gavin: Whether it’s real or not, only you could be my bride.

His tone still carries the usual carelessness, but every word and every sentence he spoke falls straight into my heart. Although he always understates such solemn promises, he never says things like that.

He is my fearless knight, always falling from the sky when I need him most, giving me the most comprehensive protection -- without exception. If I have him, I have unlimited courage.

I held his hand tight and wanted to convey to him all my euphoria and gratitude at the moment through my palm temperature.

Every step of my heels on the marble floor echoed throughout the building. This road to our future is paved by out short and long life in the past --

MC: Gavin?

Gavin: Yes?

MC: Do you think that if the prince did not find Cinderella, would he marry another princess?

Gavin: No. After you’ve identified something, you won’t just stop looking for it.

As soon as his words fell, we walked through the last step, and my eyes were suddenly blinded. Sunshine and white pigeond are spread in every corner of the terrace, the vines climbing on the railing to lazily stretch out to branches and leaves. Standing here overlooking the paradise, I see everything in the scenery reflected in Gavin’s eyes.

The shimmering coins in the wishing pool, the flag flying on the pirate ship below and another flock of white pigeons flying over the castle -- I couldn’t help but gasp.

MC: The last time I was here it was a rainy day, but I didn’t expect to miss such scenery!

Gavin: Since you see it now, it’s not a miss.

Just as I was fascinated by a white dove resting on the railing of the terrace, a ray of blue smoke floated over the large lawn at the entrance.

MC: It’s the signal to start shooting!

A cheerful waltz sounded, and countless gorgeously dressed fairy tale characters rushed from all sides to the main street in front of the castle, singing blessing songs for all of the new couples to hear. The white wedding dresses of the brides rotate with their elegant dance postures, blooming like blossoming camellia.

Several pumpkin cars slowly drove past, throwing wine and gold leaves and petals around. At this moment, the colourful balloons in the hands of the grooms took off. Pages of fairy tale chapters are being staged, and the magic and magnificent love on the pages of the yellow-ish book are now unfolding right in front of my eyes.

While I was immersed in the joyous atmosphere in front of me, the drone in the distance appeared in my sight -- I didn’t expect it to come so fast!

I took repeated breaths in an attempt to calm down.

Gavin: Cold?

Sensing my increasingly stiff expression, Gavin shifts closer.

MC: No, I’m just… a little nervous.

Although I am already familiar with the next process, I did not seriously participate in the rehearsal, after all. I can’t help but feel guilty about possibly ruining the upcoming official shooting.

MC: Gavin, remember to lift my veil later and let go of the balloons.

After this sentence was finished, I realised that the scripted action of looking at each other affectionately was originally written in the planning case by me….

That’s embarrassing.

I could feel my ears turning more red and tried to pull my hand out of his, but failed.

MC: it is to lift the veil and let go of the balloon, so….

So he should have a free hand. But, he only held my hand tighter.

At this moment, the drone was flying slowly towards the terrace. I was about to remind him again when a breeze blew in front of me, gently lifting my veil -- the piece of fabric was gone and now, I could clearly see Gavin’s face.

He stepped forward about half a step closer, released the balloons according to the predesigned plan, and the free hand wrapped gently around my waist. I blinked and clearly saw the smile of his amber eyes, the most dazzling light in the world, reflected in my eyes at that moment.

I don’t know how long it took before Gavin stepped away.

The drone had long disappeared, and the entire park has been filled with colourful balloons.

I took two steps to the edge of the railing, and even when seeing that the shoot was now completed below, the couples were still hugging tightly. There are also some jokes and laughs down on the grass -- you are carrying me, and I’m pulling you -- but whatever the action, everyone is smiling.

MC: That’s nice….

I was relieved by their smiles, no matter what the results of the shooting are, this moment makes it all worth it!

I found myself having slightly red eyes subconsciously, but it was suddenly enveloped by a burst of warmth. In the blink of an eye, something dripped from my eyes and crossed my lips that were always raised.

Gavin hugged me from behind, and when I imagined this picture, he tightened his arms and held his breath. He lowered his head, his chin resting gently above my forehead.

Gavin: What are you thinking?

I watched the bride closest to us raise her phone and take several pictures with the groom.

MC: When i first started this planning, I always felt that the form was greater than the content. After all, compared to a wedding ceremony, the atmosphere of a park and the drone shooting are the key points.

MC: But later, I felt that the form was less and less important. It’s the most significant thing to witness the most important moment in the life of so many people! It turns out that happiness can be seen: there is sound, there is temperature. Yeah….

My hand was covered with the back of Gavin’s, and my fingertips touched the rough marks his guns had left over the years. Then, he intertwined his fingers with mine, leaving no gaps.

MC: ...Happiness can be touched.

Gavin didn’t speak anymore, and a light smile flicked my ears. The long silence stretched this warm moment for a long, long time, but every second, I subconsciously hope that the next will be longer.

Soon, all of the colourful balloons disappeared into the clear sky, so it seems like the shooting should all be over.

I immediately picked up Gavin’s hand and ran back the way we originally came.

MC: come with me ---

I led him out of the castle and ran along the avenue full of petals to the deserted game area. The park is not open to the public today, but due to the shooting requirements, all game equipment is in operation. And lucky for us, the entire area is covered by one after another.

Seven or eight pigeons stood in the open space in front of the carousel. I took a few hesitant steps forward, and although I deliberately slowed my pace, the pigeons still jumped and flew off in surprise.

Gavin: Seems these pigeons are very afraid of life, and they’re not very obedient.

MC: No!

I reached into the small bag I carried with me and pulled out two small packs of pigeon food, shaking it in front of Gavin.

MC: these are props I “borrowed” from shooting. During this time, I’ve been friendly with them, so they’re a bit closer to me.

I threw a handful of pigeon food all over the open space. In an instant, all the white pigeons passed by in front of us and stopped to grab food between their small beaks.

Watching them happily eat, I couldn’t help getting closer.

MC: Eat a little bit more and go home full. But in the future I ask for you to visit often!

Group of pigeons: coo coo! (tn: felt like i had to keep it lol)

I do not know if it understood what I said. Several white pigeons raised their heads to look at me with beady eyes, but when I looked back, a fat white pigeon was already perching on Gavin’s index finger.

He was shrouded in the morning sun as thin as a tulle . The tie that had been neatly worn was slightly loosened by him, and the suit waistcoat was also loosened by two buttons.

I stepped forward and lightly touched the white pigeon’s talon, but the little guy ignored me and only looked up and Gavin.

Gavin: If it depends on me to eat, it’s probably not very hungry.

MC: either that or it knows you can eat a big meal here.

I flipped my bag open again, and I found the last bag of pigeon food. I ripped the package open under the heavy gaze of the white pigeon, and it stared at the food. The fat pigeon immediately flew from Gavin’s finger and stopped at me. However, it only took two bites before suddenly flying off --

Gavin: Someone’s whistling.

MC: ah, well, we agreed with the owner of them that they could be picked up around this time.

All the pigeons seemed to notice, and suddenly spread their wings to rise into the air, leaving only small scraps of food behind. Watching them fly higher and higher, I hurriedly waved at them, and then looked at Gavin with a smile.

MC: Shall we go home too? You can rest for a while and wait for me to cook a big meal for you!

Gavin: That sounds good.

Gavin strode forward and took my hand, and his brow suddenly stretched as he smiled slightly.

Gavin: You have cold hands (tn: it’s worth mentioning he has a very sad expression in this frame)

He immediately draped his blazer over my shoulders, and pulled his collar tightly around my shoulders exposed to the cold wind.

Gavin: Sit down and rest for a while, we don’t have to rush.

I looked at the low bench, then my wedding dress. After all, it is borrowed clothing….

Gavin seemed to understand my worries and took me into his arms directly without saying a word.

MC: Gavin!

Suddenly, my feet were off the ground, and I exclaimed in shock. When my reaction came, he had already entered the carousel area and placed me firmly on a wooden horse. However, as soon as he lets go, the game starts a new round of rotation. Sitting on the shifting wooden horse, I unexpectedly lost my balance!

Subconsciously, my hands grabbed for the nearest support -- a white dress collar.

Gavin: Afraid? I won’t let you fall.

He took another half step, and I was finally able to relax after regaining my sense of security.

It’s just that I still dare not let go with my feet off the ground, so I subconsciously gently hooked my arms around his shoulder. A brilliant string of lights shone above my head, and warm and joyful music was playing. In a flash, I felt like I was pulled back into the fairy tale dream.

MC: Gavin… Thank you for coming back for me.

Gavin: What?

MC: Whether it’s true or false, I want to only be your bride.

The bell of noon is ringing -- the fairy’s magic has not disappeared. My knight, who has seen me look so embarrassed and silly for so many times, still pulls out his sword in the face of the evil dragon and witch, and firmly stands in front of me.

His tall back is the deepest notch left in my memory. The wind and frost condensed in his eyes is the starlight that I am willing to look to for my entire life. The sea breeze blows between my fingers, and I gather my fingers to hold them tightly in my palm.

At this moment, I don’t know how I can express my love for him in words. I can only stare at him in wonder, and I can’t bear to look away

Gavin: ……

With a small chuckle, he leaned over and drew closer to me. At the moment when our eyes were locked, I held my breath slightly, and then he moved closer and dropped a soft kiss on my lips.

Afterwards, I saw the colourful lights on the top of the carousel’s stacked halo, and saw the white pigeons passing through the cloudless sky -- I wondered for a moment whether I fell into the most beautiful dream in the world.

Gavin’s warm breath completely surrounded me. He held my face tenderly in one hand and rested the other gently on my waist.

Every plunder did not go in depth, nor did he leave. I was dazzled by it and did not want to wake up.

Gavin: When you are ready -- you can be my bride at any time

#mr love queen’s choice #mlqc gavin #mr love queen’s choice spoilers #mlqc #mr love queen’s choice gavin #mr love #mlqc spoilers #mr love gavin #恋与制作人 #白起 #恋与制作人 白起 #mr love dream date #mr love date #mr love translation #game translation #the pics are so BLURRY I’m sorry :(

[cyrelia-j]

So I posted this to my IG with just a silly caption but I actually wanted to say a few things deeper here since it's easier.

I think most people following this blog know that I'm trans. People who know me know that I'm ftm (which I understand can be confusing especially considering how I present post surgery). I know I posted a lot of more masculine presenting pictures in the last 2 years or so and that's sort of what I wanted to talk about. So here goes:

It was difficult not feeling "right" in my skin for most of my life without quite getting why. But there's a secondary difficulty that comes with being trans but at the same time not feeling that presenting as the "expectation" of the gender you identify with is also "right". I felt kinda like Goldilocks in that sense. I felt better that I could call myself male and finally be Andrew but I didn't feel better because there was this expectation- some from people in the trans community and some from myself- that I needed to be a "guy".

So then I went from being this "cis woman" to this masculine "trans man" and the latter felt just as uncomfortable as the former. But aside from wanting desperately to fit in I also needed to show that I was :living as a man" so I could get my surgery as well as my gender changed along with my name. I would look at all my dresses and jewelry and ribbons, heels, makeup, stockings, as I threw so much of it out or put it away in a box until "that day" whenever that was.

And Jesus FINALLY that day actually came. Someone... well, the most important person in the world to me told me they supported me. And then I felt like I could really do this. So July I finally had my surgery, finally changed my name and once I had recovered and I looked "right" in the mirror for the first time ever I said that I just had to be myself.

It's hard and it sucks a lot of times because I am proudly trans and I tell people that when they look at me looking like the above and I say without hesitation "Yes, I'm Andrew with a 'w'." It's not always comfortable because I think more people assume I'm mtf than ftm and questions if I'm sure "Andrew" is the right name. So I explain yes, I know how I look and how I present to the world and this is me. Thankfully, most people are kind. I don't say this to be narcissistic or vain or to overstate my own level of attractiveness but I imagine that being closer to a sort of conventional feminine beauty standard is part of that. I didn't get treated half as nicely when I presented as male.

But it's also uncomfortable from the trans community as well; from people who think I'm just "playing" at this or am "not really trans". People don't understand why I don't just identify as a cis woman if I want to be this feminine. Honestly the answer is just a simple because I'm not. If I had been born biologically male I would still like being feminine and "cute". I really like my body, my face, my voice, as they are. I look in the mirror and now that I have a masculine chest, the rest of my curves and softness don't feel out of place. Well meaning people have asked why don't I just identify as non-binary. I've thought about it because  in a sense, that would be "easier" or "less confusing" but I can't feel comfortable identifying as anything other than me, which is male.

The point of all this rambling is to say that there's been a lot of good conversation that's opened up on cis-normative beauty standards. I love that these things are being challenged. I want a world where people don't have to "pass" or confirm to a certain stereotype or be graded on some model of acceptable feminine presentation. I want a world where a woman's worth isn't measured by how "acceptably feminine" she is. Seeing more voices speaking out wanting me to lend my own to the conversation even if it's a tiny one, even if I'm the only trans man on Earth (at least it seems that way sometimes) who doesn't particularly want to grow a beard or "pass" or look like a conventionally attractive cis-man.

I too want to be accepted for wanting to paint my nails, wear ribbons and beautiful dresses and show that boys (even trans boys!) can still be princesses if they want to be. So I hope that if there's anyone reading in my shoes or who can relate that this might help to lend some validation to who they are because all genders and presentations are valid and awesome and I want a society and community that accepts and loves that.

#well that got long #gender #gender identity #transgender #trans issues #trans identity #trans men #ftm #ftm positivity #i really don't want to open up a can of worms #but this has been on my mind a long time #about me #you can see how stupid happy i am in this pic #because I can finally just be me

[royaltywhxre]

Hey Tianna :) This is gonna sound really dumb, but do you have any confidence tips? You're an absolutely gorgeous human being who can take and post pictures of yourself, and I can't even bear to look at myself in the mirror.... Have you ever had confidence issues? How, if you did, did you get over them?

Hi Love!!! Okay first of all, no this does not sound dumb at all! Learning how to be confident is so incredibly hard and complicated, so please never think it's dumb that you want to learn. Second, while I appreciate you coming to me for this (that's an understatement I actually started crying), I'm not sure how great my advice will be. That being said, I'll give it a shot.

1) Wear clothes you feel good in. Growing up I was always taught that having a bigger body meant I couldn't wear certain things. That's absolute BULLSHIT. As I grew up, my closet started to reflect my own style and not just clothes I felt pressured to wear. Finding your own style can be an exhausting process, and it will require you to step out of your comfort zone at times, but it will all be worth it. Seriously, people can tell the difference when you wear clothes you actually like rather than stuff you don't.

2) Have a good support system. Okay so this is just a general life thing, but having people who are there for me on the days I don't feel so great has helped me tremendously. There will always be negative comments and people who'll try to bring you down, but it helps to have love and positive comments to drown out the bad.

3) Helpful social media feed. Social media can be the absolute worst in terms of confidence, but only if you let it. Don't follow anyone or anything that is gonna make you feel insecure and bring down your confidence. I'm not sure if your struggle with confidence has anything to do with weight, but I started feeling a lot better about myself when I started following more plus-size people. Models, singers, dancers, actors, musicians, artists, etc. My social media is full of people who I see myself in. It's very easy to feel like you're alone in your struggles when you don't really see people like you.

4) GAS YOURSELF UP! Don't worry about if you come off as "vain" or "narcissistic", pick something about yourself that you LOVE (doesn't have to be physical) and then tell constantly remind yourself about it. It's so easy to focus on what you don't like about yourself, but a good step in appreciating every part of you is to point out what you already like.

5) Don't shy away from compliments. Similar to my last point, people are gonna make you think you're being vain, but they are fucking liars. It took me WAY to long for me to stop convincing myself that people weren't being sincere when they'd compliment me. I know it's easy to dismiss compliments, but try responding with "I know." and "Thanks! I also like [blank]." Even if you don't really mean it at first, your brain will be trained to act more confident until you really are.

I'm not sure if I have any more tips??? If I think of anything else I might add to this or make a separate post. Don't feel discouraged when it takes a while for your confidence to start showing. Yes, I have had confidence issues, and I still do. I've never completely gotten over them. I'm not entirely sure if confidence issues are just something you can completely overcome. It's a process; a routine that you have to practice daily. I can't thank you enough for coming to me with this. I never thought in a million years that someone would come to ME for advice on how to be confident so THANK YOU!!!!!!

I really hope I helped! If you or anyone else thinks I said something wrong, PLEASE LET ME KNOW. And if anybody has something to add, feel free to comment or reblog with your tips.

#oh my god this is so long #also i'm too lazy to proofread so sorry if theres like a million spelling mistakes #im also thinking i might post a list of social media people who've helped me?????? #idk tho it would be a LONG ASS LIST #jesus i dont think i could ever say thank you enough #obviously i know im no social media influencer #but the fact that someone thought I was a good example of confidence is really all I've ever wanted #fuck this made me cry #ask #anon

[evalinkatrineberg]

Post-Bourbon

A/N: An rp done with @clemencewestley after Evalin and Arin spoke in the hallway. Unedited because we die like men and my contacts are really dry so I can’t really see.

I hurried down the hallway, walking as fast as I could without breaking into a light jog, almost all of my energy focused on keeping my footsteps as quiet as possible. I knew what time it was. I knew it was late, but I had to talk to Clemence. If our last encounter was any indication, there was a good chance she was still awake. I silently cursed the bottles still in my backpack for clanking so loudly as I approached Clemence’s door. She might be awake, but there was a I had a feeling at least one of the other girls who lived in this corridor was probably trying to sleep. I didn’t want to wake anyone up.

I knocked as lightly as I could on Clemence’s door while still making sure she could hear it. Three light taps should do it, as long as she was still awake. I wrung my hands together as I stood in the hallway, waiting to see if she would come to the door.

A few moments later, she did. She was wearing what I could only assume were her pajamas. It was a casual set, including a pair of shorts and a worn t-shirt that read, “I love Berlin.” She blinked once as she looked at me, a strand of her dark hair falling out of the messy bun on top of her head. “Evalin? What are you doing here? Is everything alright?”

“Yes, I'm fine. Sorry.” I blinked twice, looking at Clemence as I tried to figure out what to say.  “I'm drunk and have a lot of thoughts. Can I come in?”

To her credit, she  didn’t hesitate or miss a beat, opening the door wider and gesturing for me to enter. “Sure, come in.” Frowning, she walked over to her bed, gathering some papers that had been strewn on top of her comforter and moving them on to her desk. She gestured towards the bed then, motioning for me to sit. I did as instructed, thanking her quickly as I set my backpack on the ground beside her bed, the bottles clanking faintly as I did.

“What happened?” Clemence asked, her frown deepening as she took a seat besides me.

“It's kind of a long story,” I began, sorting through my thoughts in a vain attempt to make them as coherent as possible, “but the gist of it is I was having a bad day and snuck some bourbon from the kitchen, and then on my way back to my room I ran into Arin - literally collided with him, I mean - and…” I trailed off for a moment, taking in the details of the room around me. Clemence’s room felt incredibly homey, despite being just as large as the other bedrooms I had seen at the palace, including my own. Maybe it was the wall filled with photographs of Clemence, along with people who I presumed to be her family and friends. Finish your sentence, Evalin. 

Right, I was having a conversation. Clemence’s face snapped back into focus. “You were right about Felicity. They've kissed - and recently, at that.” A sad smile formed on my face, and I found myself having to drop Clemence’s gaze, looking instead at her comforter.

She blinked, still frowning, her mouth slightly agape as she processed what I had just revealed to her. “Slow down, slow down. H-how did you go from colliding in a corridor to that?” She blinked again, turning her head to the side and looking around her own room as if she didn’t recognize it all of the sudden.

I could only nod. “Right, so after we bumped into each other, we decided to drink together instead of alone, and after two glasses of bourbon, he told me he kissed her.”

To my surprise, she didn’t appear very shocked. Had she known about this? Was that why she had warned me all those night ago in the women’s room? It was all starting to click in my brain now. “Did he tell you why that kiss happened?” She cleared her throat. “I mean, did he say if he still had feelings for her?”

I now wore a frown that mirrored Clemence’s own, wrinkling my nose as I thought back to my conversation with Arin. Had he mentioned anything like that?“I asked him as much - like, I asked him if it meant anything -” I looked at Clemence, trying to figure out how to explain myself, “- I was a little confused, and he asked me what I would think if it had meant something, so I asked him why we’re still here then.” I let out a little laugh. “We asked a lot of questions, but I don’t think either of us every actually answered them.” That was a classic Arin move, though. I didn’t know what else I had really expected.

Clemence just shook her head, rolling her eyes. “He's good at deflecting questions in general, that doesn't surprise me.” With that she looked back at me, her eyes sizing me up like I was an injured baby bird she had just found in her front yard. “So that's how you ended drunk? Because of Arin?” Her frown returned at that. She jerked her chin towards my backpack. “What's that, by the way?” There was a hint of amusement in her tone, but her next question left me wondering if I had imagined that. “Are you leaving now?”

I hope not.

I chose to ignore her last question, waving my hand through the air dismissively. “It wasn’t really because of him. he just happened to be in the right place at the right time.” I frowned. “Or the wrong place. I guess that depends on how you look at it.” Shaking my head, I gave her the answer to her other question. “There’s some bourbon and tequila I stole from the kitchen in the backpack.”

Her expression was nothing short of concerned now. She really did have a motherly air to her, but in a calm, chill manner. My mother had always been the glue that held our family together. She was a rock, always cool and collected, reminding us to mind our manners, cross our t’s, and dot our i’s. Clemence, while still caring, was more willing to listen, from what I could tell. I found that I was exceptionally grateful for that in this moment.

“You really don't go for the light drinks, do you?” She asked, raising an eyebrow. “Are you sure you're okay about what you learned? You seem ready to have an ethylic coma tonight.”

I laughed a bit at that. “I’ve never heard that one before.” Ethylic coma. I’d have to use that in the future. I sighed then, trying to figure out how to answer the real question at hand. “I don’t know how I feel about it yet. I guess I’m just confused.” It was the truth, and yet, I still found myself frowning. “I mean, he told me that, and then started flirting with me, and then I’m pretty sure we almost kissed, but then it turned into a philosophical debate instead.” The conversation really had gone in every conceivable direction.

Clemence averted her gaze to the pictures covering her wall, her jaw clenched. When she turned back to me, her expression was entirely unreadable. “And do you think he was genuine? Or just drunk and willing to forget Felicity for five minutes?”

I pursed my lips, examining the pattern of her comforter yet again. I hadn’t thought about that. Had he really meant what he said about intending to try and make amends, and trying to be more polite in the future, or had he just been trying to take advantage of me? That didn’t sit well with me at all, and I realized that some of the nausea I was feeling might not be from the alcohol.

“I think it might have been a mix of both, honestly. He wasn’t that drunk, I don’t think.” He didn’t seem like a lightweight. I shook my head. “And he actually apologized for the way he acted on the date, and was actually being pretty nice, though the bar is rather low, I guess. I don’t know. A lot of the questions he asked me afterwards were about what I thought he should do about the Selection, which was just kind of weird.”

She nodded once before rubbing her temple, mumbling, “He's hopeless.” Then, looking up at me, she continued in a louder voice. “What kind of advice did you give him? To go fuck himself?” She opened her mouth as if she was going to say something more, but then closed it, looking at me expectantly.

I almost wished I had told him to go fuck himself. That might have been easier.

“I told him he should apologize for being a dick to all of us.” Well, maybe not as bluntly and concisely as that, but that was the gist of what I had meant. I frowned. “Except I said it in a more polite manner. And I told him to stop dwelling on the past, because it’s too late to change it, and to work to be better in the future. I think I also implied that he should own up to the fact that he’s dealing with the consequences of his own actions, but I don’t think that part really came across clearly.” I shook my head, looking up at Clemence with a sad smile. “I’m not great with people, it seems.”

She inclined her head, keeping her eyes on mine. “Why do you say that? It sounds like good advice to me. I don't know if it will get through this thick head of his, but at least you tried something.”

I sighed. Even just summarizing what I had said to him made me feel like I was lying to Clemence. I couldn’t have just come out and said those things directly to him. I didn’t know why, but I just couldn’t. “Yeah, but...I’m just so confused, and frustrated by him.” It was a nonanswer, I knew, but I just shook my head. “I know you don’t like him much, so this will probably sound ridiculous, but I can’t shake the feeling that there is a kinder side to him that he’s just not letting people see, and I don’t want to stoop to his level and be rude just because he’s being a dick. And on top of that, he keeps giving me this look, and I can’t even describe it because I don’t know what it is or what it means, but he’s been looking at me like that at least five times a conversation since our car ride home on our date, and it’s infuriating!” I needed to calm down. I was getting out of hand. Centering myself by taking a deep breath, I finished, “Sorry, I’ve been holding that in since the date. I just hate not knowing things.”

“Oh,” she replied, her tone softer than I had expected it to be. “I definitely think he has a kind side he doesn't let us see. You'll have to see if you can get him to show it, I guess.” I could feel my eyes go wide as she spoke. Was she really saying this - speaking positively of Arin? I almost couldn’t believe it. Her tolerance of him was only momentary, though, and within seconds, her expression had returned to its natural state of concern. “However, don't torture yourself and let him hurt you just because you want him to open up at some point. If you have to get through so much with him just to reach that goal, then he's not worth it.”

A frown formed on my face. “I think I was close to getting through at one point tonight, but maybe I imagined that, because a bit later he asked me what I wanted from him, like he was expecting me to say a title, or money, or something.” I shook my head, wrinkling my nose again at the memory. “I wish he’d take two seconds to actually use his brain and think critically.” I was a biology student. If anything, I had more to lose by being here than I had to gain, and the fact that he hadn’t realized that yet still mystified me, sort of.

Clemence only laughed. “He has one brain cell, you can't ask too much of him.” With a sigh, she added, “When you grow up as the heir, or even as someone with any kind of influence, it can be hard to find genuine friends, who are not looking for whatever bit of power you can offer them. I've seen it a lot. Betrayals happen all the time in politics, and it hurts a lot to be the victim.” She paused, her eyes flickering to her photo wall once again. “And in this case, Arin has 35 women who came here to maybe marry him, of course he's going to be wary of our intentions.” Looking away, she smiled, finishing, “Though I must say that his plan to ask us upfront if that's what interests us is pretty stupid. Not many will dare be honest and say that power and money is their goal. Even my mother wouldn't be that stupid.”

What was that about her mother? I frowned, but decided to let it slide. “Yeah, I understand that part of it. It’s just frustrating, especially as someone not coming from a political background.”

“I've always watched politics from afar, so I am not very experienced either,” she replied, a sad smile on her face, “but yeah, these are very closed circles and it's hard to get inside them. You need to prove your worth.”

I was used to having to do that, at least. Women working in STEM fields might be more commonplace now than it had been in the past, but every time I ended up in a group with only men, whether it be in class or at work, I knew I was going to have to work twice as hard to justify every word that came out of my mouth. If not, someone would inevitably accuse me of studying a science only to find a husband who would make a lot of money. As it turned out, though, it wouldn’t be my major that gave me that opportunity.

So I nodded, offering Clemence a small smile in return. “Guess I’ll resort to killing them with kindness, then.”

“Just be careful,” she laughed, “they can take kindness for an attempt at manipulation. But I'm sure Arin will see that you're genuine in your intentions. Even if it takes a while because he is an idiot.” She rolled her eyes, a playful smile flickering in and out of existence on her face.

I shook my head, laughing along. “I have to wonder if he’s purposefully so obtuse.”

Now it was her turn to wrinkle her nose. “I think... Yeah. Yeah, it's on purpose. You can't be that stupid, right?”

“I mean, I guess anything’s possible?” I had to laugh.

“I hope so, for our sake.” She stood up then, looking back down at me as she spoke. “Do you want some water? I don't want you to feel hungover tomorrow.”

I shook my head in response, figuring this was my cue to take my leave. “Thank you, I’ll be okay, though. I should probably get going - I didn’t mean to keep you up.” I stood up as well, picking up my backpack and slinging it over my shoulder once again.

Clemence waved her hand through the air, frowning at me yet again. “I wasn't sleeping, you didn't disturb anything.” Then, eyeing my backpack, she added, “The fact that you carry alcohol around in that bag worries me more, to be honest.”

It’s a one time thing - hopefully. “Well, I didn’t want to walk back from the kitchen to my room with a bottle of bourbon in my hands for all to see.” I laughed a little as the image of me doing just that flashed through my mind. Now that would have been a conversation starter, for sure. “Thank you, though, for this.”

She nodded. “Anytime, really.” She tilted her head to the side, a smile playing at her lips. “Next time you should make him drink the tequila, maybe that will make you get the answers you want.”

I raised an eyebrow at her, realizing that that might not be a terrible idea, actually. It’d be entertaining, at the very least. “I’ll have to keep that in mind. Watching him do tequila shots might prove entertaining, as well.”

Her grin was genuinely amused this time. “Don't forget to film, I wouldn't want to miss that.”

I laughed along, beginning to walk towards the door, replying, “I’ll have to invest in one of those hidden spy cams, I suppose.”

“Ask Kevin, he must have some already.” She reached the door before I did, holding it open for me. “You promise to be careful, alright?”

I flashed her one last smile as I walked through the door, hoping she could see how grateful I was for this. “I’ll try. Goodnight!”

“Goodnight. And try not to collide into someone this time!” Her laugh followed me down the hallway until she closed the door, leaving me to finish the trek back to my room in silence, feeling a little better nonetheless.

#selectionoc

[maree-ff]

Pressure

CAMILA

“Ma…” I dragged my mother's name through vain as she spit questions at me left and right. She’s been on my ass ever since I confided in her about my pregnancy. It’s going on week twenty of my second trimester and life is kicking my ass. Our septic system needs to be replaced and I’m having major construction done to the house so I’m apartment hunting. Jessica offered to let the girls and I stay with her but I can’t. Adding two more children and a third adult into their household is a bit much. Amelia needs one on one attention and I need my personal space. 

I spoke to Andre a few days ago, for thirty seconds and then he promised to call back but never did. Some of our calls get cut short and I get so irrationally sad that I end up crying myself to sleep. I’m losing my mind over Andre’s absence. 

“Camila, stop whining and listen to me. You can be so terca at times. Just like tu papa. Have you asked Divya if you can stay with her?” 

Grunting aloud so she can hear my frustration I dropped the house phone in my lap. Just then I heard my cell phone going off. 

“No, because I found a place this morning. Mira, me tengo que ir, I’ll call you later.” Lying through my teeth I briskly hung up and answered my incoming call. “Hello?” I answered. 

“You have one call from California State Prison. Do you accept the charges?” The machine spoke. 

“I accept.” I said clearly. I listened for that signal to speak, grinning from ear to ear to hear his voice. 

“I am so sorry, love. We had a quarantine and a lockdown at the same time which is why you haven’t heard from me.” He said in a rush. 

“I’m just happy to hear your voice. Are you alright?” I questioned. 

“Yeah baby I’m fine. How are you? Talk to me about everything.” His evenly paced breaths really solidified my peace of mind. 

“Cuánto tiempo tenemos?” I couldn’t help but chuckle at the irony of not having enough time.

“That bad?” He quieted down telling me he’s not in a joking manner. 

“Si. I’m having major work down to the house and I’m looking for a place to rent out for a while. On top of that, Zoe is sick again. This time I’m not sure what she caught and I’m scared to get sick and then pass it to the baby. But she’s been on one for five days now driving Kenny insane.” I explained. 

“I’d give up everything to be taking care of you ladies. I’m sorry you all are going through so much. You’ve been taking it easy I hope.�� 

“Andre, sweetie I’m doing the best I can but it’s hard and I’m extremely worn out. These little girls give me a run for my money sometimes but I’ve learned to love that about them. Don’t get me wrong, they are so loving, caring, and kind-hearted but I’m tired.” I do the best I can to not whine to him about how difficult this situation is for me. Today, I can’t. I need to relieve some of this pressure. 

“I can only imagine how this must be affecting you.” The silence that’s brooding between us gives me anxiety. “Camila, I am so sorry for splitting up this family. I will completely understand if you need to hate me. I will understand whatever decision you make regarding this difficult situation I’ve placed our family in. This is my fault.” His apologetic and never wanting to hurt me attitude is why I can’t seem to be upset for too long. 

“You don’t need to apologize, go me. I just want you to know how I’m feeling. I don’t want you to ever question whether or not I can do this. I don’t want you to doubt my abilities as a mother either. There’s so much to adjust to. We miss you so much and I never want you to forget that.” Needing a deep breath in, I stood up and walked around the room. My sights fanned out over my belly, analyzing the growth of it. 

“How far along are you?” He asked. 

“Twenty weeks, second trimester. The baby has gotten so big. Zoe keeps addressing the baby as “he” because she’s confident that we have a boy coming into the family. I kinda feel like that too. Everyone else is thinking it’s a girl but I’m siding with Zoe all the way.” Talking about the baby gives me mixed feelings. There are times when I’m welcoming of the fact and other times I would trade the baby for Dre. 

We can create life together as long as we’d like to but I can’t replace him. I just can’t. 

“When are you coming back to see me?” I know for a fact this man has some sort of smile or smirk on his face. 

“Whenever you want us too.” Our tones of voice indicate that he and I are on the same page. 

He then says, “Tuesday, come visit on Tuesday. So...what’s the plan for today?” 

I buzzed around again getting ready for the moving truck to come. “Packing up the small stuff and bringing it to our new place. I’ll show you pictures don’t worry. You should talk to the girls before you have to go..” covering the mouthpiece I called out for Kenja and Zoe. 

Walking to the living room I found them sound asleep. Feet touching as usual. 

“Camila, what's wrong?” Andre panicked. 

Holding the phone up to my face again I smiled gently and said, “..nothing is wrong.  The girls are knocked out on the couch. They look so cute. Damn, I wish they were up right now.”

Andre and I talked for a wholesome twenty-five minutes. The downside to this call is that I didn’t get to say ‘I love you too’ before the call dropped. The act triggered me and sent me into a frenzy. Lucky for me, my mom, dad, Dani and Matt came over. Not only to help me with the girls but also to help with the move. 

Going to get the girls up and ready I attempted to get Zoe up first since she’s the lightest sleeper of us all. 

“Levántate ya sweet pea, we have to move today.” Kissing her hairline I turned her over as she began to wake up. 

“Mom, you talk to daddy? Yes?” She spit out without hesitation. 

“Yes I talked to him. He loves you and he can’t wait to see you and your sister. Did you have a good nap mi amor?” Wiping the drool off of her cheek I moved over to Kenja knowing this would be a tad more difficult. “Come on nena, levántate ya por favor.”

Kenja began to squirm and ultimately frowned at me once she had her eyes fully opened up. “Eres muy ruidoso, mom!” She exclaimed. 

“Cuidado, Evelyn. We don’t have time for this now, get up and get moving. Ahora.” Following behind and guiding them to their rooms, I got them ready together. By the time I finished with the girls the trucks had arrived. I traded places with my mom so she could get the girls into her car while I stand aside to supervise everything. 

——— ———

“Urgh my goodness, my body hurts so much. This poor baby has been going at my back relentlessly for hours.” Working through the knot in my lower back I ran my free hand across my belly. 

My mom stopped fanning herself to stare at me. 

 “Ay! Que estás mirando?” 

“You’re acknowledging my grandchild again. Some days I fear you have evil thoughts about this bundle of joy because Andre is not present. I see the way you look at yourself in the mirror and ay bendito it makes me so sad. But this is your baby and your body. I just don’t want you to forget, usted tiene ayuda Camila.” 

My mom prayed over the baby and I, and quietly exited the room. “Tienen hambre nenas?” She joyously sang. 

Rising from the bed I walked to the window, drawing the shades up. The view from this floor is breathtaking. I haven’t seen this type of view in a while. Watching the city below seems slowed down and so far away. 

“You’d love this place..” I whispered aloud. Gliding both palms over my belly I thought about our last visitation. I dreamt of the last night Andre romanced me and ultimately impregnated me. This baby is so much more special than I gave him or her credit for. My fears and anxiety have pushed me too far. Our child is a blessing through the turmoil. I need this baby as a symbol for hope and love. 

This bundle of joy and innocence deserves some attention and care. I could never imagine allowing Andre to discover the evil thoughts I’ve dreamt up like my mom mentioned. 

“I love you so much and I’m so sorry for not treating you better. This is a very difficult time for our familia pero it’s no excuse for my love..” looking down at my baby bump I smiled at the sight of my bare skin housing my unborn baby. “I’ll get myself together and take care of you the way you deserve. Con amor y respeto.” 

“Mommy, Papi is calling! Come on!” Kenja and Zoe yelled, blending their voices together. 

Hurrying out of the room I leveled out my tank top and threw my hands up. “Nenas, we can’t be as loud as we used to be at the house okay? This place is much smaller and we have neighbors close by.” I informed them. 

“Okay, we’re sorry. Talk to daddy.” Zoe shoved the phone to my ear where I could hear Andre speaking but to someone else. 

“Andre?” 

“I’m here baby. Listen I’m so sorry for the noise but these n diggas won’t leave me the fuck alone. How are you? How was the move?” He quizzed. 

“It went good. I’m more exhausted now than I was earlier but I can’t complain about much else. I love you papa but I want you to talk to the girls since you weren’t able to earlier.” I listened to his return of adoration and affection, handing my phone back to the girls. “Ma, you’re more than welcome to stay.” I said, meeting her in the kitchen. 

She smirks and giggles knowing damn well I need her to stay with us tonight. “You can count on that. What are we cooking?” 

Rubbing my belly again just to hear my mother laugh I laid out all of my plans for dinner and dessert. Our first night in this condo will be an adjustment as will the remainder of our time here. 

Mom and I watched the girls load up on two full portions of dinner, still crying for more. After our familial debate my mom volunteered to bathe the kids while I put the remainder of the food away and cleaned the kitchen. 

“Nana, can you stay and help mom? She won’t rest. And she’s super tired.” I heard Zoe say over the sound of Kenja laughing and splashing around in the tub. 

Quietly I set the pots and pans down to hone in on their little talk. Wiping my hands dry, I inched closer to the doorway of their bedroom. 

“Of course I will nena. I’m here to help mommy and you girls as long as I need to. That’s what I’m here for.” My mom said, smiling through her words I can tell. 

“I miss daddy..” Kenja settled down and finally spoke up. My heart split down the middle at her confession. Her speaking on her father’s absence sounds different then the other ‘i miss him’ confessions. 

“Yo sé mamita. I miss him también y I know mom does too. Your dad being gone is difficult on us all. And I’m sure that you girls have questions about why he’s gone and when he will be home..si?” The hope and serenity in my moms voice gives me hope that this tough time will get easier. Or at least we will all come to terms with Andre being away and make the best out of our unfortunate situation. 

“Yes.” The girls said together. “When will he come home? He has to care for mommy and baby brother before it’s too late!” Kenja exclaimed. 

“Ay, tranquila Evelyn. It’s late and that’s no way to speak to tu abuelita. I know and mom knows how much you girls miss your dad. We have to be patient and stay positive. I need you both to be supportive of your mom and tu papa. Don’t give mom a hard time ok? Take it easy on her. With your baby brother or sister still baking, your mom needs you both to take care of her. Come on, let’s get dressed for bed now.” 

Leaning back against the wall I looked around our temporary living quarters in amazement. I never thought in my wildest dreams that I would be stepping back into the shoes of being a solo parent. I have this urge to cry but I feel selfish for even wanting to. Deciding against being emotional I forced my way back to the dishes to finish up here for the night. 

Once I had my own bath taken and I got dressed for bed I stretched out. The echoes of silence in this room and the loneliness of laying in bed alone is still foreign. I hope I don’t get used to this but I’m afraid I may have to. Turning over to face away from the window I snuggled the body pillow covered by Andre’s favorite sweatshirt. 

I miss the tips of his fingers massaging my scalp. I miss his natural body heat to keep me warm throughout the night. I miss the combination of his soap and the girls knocking me into a blissful sleep. I close my eyes to reminisce on the sound of him speaking softly into my ear about his innermost thoughts. A slight grin bestowed upon my face pretending to feel his lips on my skin, melting me to the core. 

“I pray that you’re alright my love. And I pray that you miss me nearly as much as I miss you.” I muttered to myself. Clutching the pillow a bit tighter I tuned out the rainfall and the scary images in mind to dream of our reunion. 

#maree-ff #maree ff outtakes

[ecotone99]

[NF - Non-fiction] A Night with John

In a dimly-lit room in the city of Cebu, you will find a man named John. Right now, he’s smoking by the window, while a huge mirror from across the room reflects the faint light of his cigarette.

See, John’s mind has been troubled lately—disturbed even—by a question that wouldn’t stop echoing inside his skull. The question i— oh, pardon me. Where are my manners? How could I tell you a story about John without introducing who I am? My name is Adam and you could say that I am John’s roommate. Yes… Let’s… Leave it at that.

I’ve known John his entire life, from back when he got bullied in high school and he threw a rubber pot at his assailants, to when he got his first job as a corporate slave who let his ears be bukaked by hundreds of ringing telephones that never stopped ejaculating the irate voices of customers from distant lands. I’m pretty sure you get the picture of how… Close John and I really is.

John is your typical guy. Typical looking. Typical built. Typical intelligence. Everything about him, from the nails of his toes to the last strand of hair on his head, is typical. He’s also a quiet and shy guy. He mostly keeps things to himself and would deliberately avoid social interaction whenever he gets the chance. But John does have a confidant (I really wish it was girlfriend though) and that confidant is none other than yours truly.

On this chilly night, the skies offered a gentle drizzle to the lands below. It slightly moisturized their parched, asphalt skins and slightly wetted their dry throats caused by the summer. You would expect John to go out and visit the beach, but we are talking about John here. Being the ever socially awkward and bashful him, John just stayed inside and played video games all summer long. One could say “that’s so like John!” But tonight… Tonight John is different. Looking from across the room, I could see how the plateau between his eyebrows scrunched up from tension. I could see how his eyes were blankly fixated on the streets where cars sprinted towards home after a long day at work. “This is so not like John,” I whispered to myself, so I got up from the floor and called his attention.

“Hey John! You okay dude? You seem kinda lost in thought there,” I casually sparked a conversation with him.

“Hey Adam. Yeah… I mean no… I mean… I don’t know. I guess I just have something in my mind,” he answered, while letting smoke slip through the crack between his lips.

“So… What are you thinking? Is this about the new game you’ve been waiting for?”

“No, I just… I just feel…”

“You just feel what?”

“Nothing… It’s nothing.”

“C’mon man, you know you can tell me anything. Wait, I know! Let’s play a game! I’m going to try and guess what’s on your mind in the form of a question, and you’ll go ahead and answer the question. Deal?”

“But you always win—“

“Stop. I don’t want to hear excuses. Let’s begin!”

I took a moment to read John’s body language. He was sheepishly looking at me, his eyes reluctant to meet mine, indicating that he doesn’t want the truth to be seen through his pupils. His sitting position was very defensive: legs close to his chest, one arm wrapping his legs, while the other held the cigarette in between two digits. He looked like an upright fetus sitting down in his mother’s womb, signifying that he was trying to defend himself because he felt exposed. He was also silent, like he was keeping his tongue from saying too much. In a normal situation, one where he had someone else in the room, he could’ve just stayed silent and they wouldn’t know what’s wrong with him. But like I said, I’ve known John for a very, very, very long time.

“Hey John, do you think you belong in this world?” I asked. Judging from the sudden stillness in his eyes, I’m sure he felt every letter of that question seep into his bones.

“No. I honestly think I don’t belong in this world.” John answered without hesitation. His words were calm and collected, as if he was certain of the very weight each of them held.

“Why do you feel that way?”

“It’s because I think differently from others. My mind doesn’t work in the same manner that ‘normal’ people do. I’m not as invested in material things that most of my peers seem to go berserk about. A new phone comes out and they lose their shit. They jump up and down in anticipation of buying it and how powerful it could be. On the other hand, I’m fine with buying a second-hand phone that was released 2 years ago.”

“Is that all?”

“No, that’s not all. I’m not as focused on looking good as well, particularly being vain about my physical image. I don’t know… I just think that there’s so much more to a person than their physical appearance and that they shouldn’t focus too much on being pretty or being handsome. I honestly believe that what we should be focusing on is being more honest with ourselves and to each other. We should also be kinder too, but every time I say my opinion, everybody goes insane! They end up calling me a misogynist, a beauty shamer, a self-righteous cunt, and so on. Hell, if I ever get into a relationship, I’m pretty sure my partner would be calling me manipulative and controlling for trying to make her see that physical appearance isn’t everything. Also, with the rampant rape and the perverse individuals out there looking for a meat to pound, my efforts of wanting to keep my partner safe by telling her to stop wearing ‘revealing’ clothes would be considered an attack to her femininity, and it would be interpreted as a means of ‘controlling’ a female when it was just out of concern. It’s fucking messed up.”

A bead of sweat slowly trickled from his forehead. It seems that it took a lot of courage and effort for him to say those honest and unfiltered thoughts; but I could tell that wasn’t all. I could tell there was still something brewing deep within him, judging from the bubbles of cold sweat that began to slowly manifest. I knew I just needed to ask the right question.

“Hey John, do you still want to live in this world?”

His head turned and his eyes quickly locked unto me. His gaze had such intensity that it felt like his eyes were magnifying glasses positioned directly beneath the sun, burning a hole to my face. For a while, I felt a bit nervous. Maybe I struck a wrong chord and I must now make amends for such an insensitive question. But before I could open my mouth to ask for forgiveness, John started talking.

“If I’m honest with you Adam, I don’t want to live in this world anymore. You want to know why?”

There was authority in his voice now, like a businessman having lunch with his apprentice and confidently asking questions to show how “wise” he is. I knew what I had to do. All that was needed for my part was to ask “why?” and the answer to the question would immediately follow. However, am I ready for the answer? If you were there, you’d see how my laryngeal prominence moved in my throat to make way for the lump of spit that I had to swallow.

“Why?”

“Because this world is not worth living in. This world is so unfair and it rarely gives you what you want. It’s even sadistic sometimes because just when you think you’ve finally gotten what you’ve wished for, it then brings out the hidden cameras and shouts at your face ‘It’s just a PRANK bro!’ Sometimes, you even end up with something that’s completely different from what you thought it was, waking you up from a lie that you never asked for via punch to the gut. Sometimes, it even takes away the people we love the most, either from disease or by suicide, and it juat leaves you with this emptiness that no amount of drinking, having fun, and passion can fill. This world is fucking scary with all the wars and deaths that we bring to others like, who died and made us grim reapers with guns for scythes? I can’t even go outside without having to worry about white vans snatching people away, or motorcycles that spit out lead have their barrels aimed at me. There’s so much apathy nowadays that taking videos of tragedies by phone is apparently more important than using said phone to call for help. You know what Adam? I actually want to kill myself so I could escape this hellhole—this simulation—and hopefully wake up somewhere better. This world is, and always will be, better off without me.”

John’s breaths were heavy. It’s apparent that his heart was beating faster than his lungs could dance to. I guess conversations like these really feel like physical confrontations or altercations to him. He begins to rub his chest, trying to calm down and prevent a full-scale panic attack from happening. Now I know that he, and other people, sees himself as typical and boring, but I would beg to differ. What he just said were not words from a typical and boring guy. They were words from a genuine, empathic, and broken individual who is trying to live in an uncaring and vain world. I know John better than anyone, and I might be the only one who really knows how special he is, which is why I couldn’t let him keep his thoughts about dying.

“You know what John,” I said while trying to catch his gaze “Yes, the world is messed up. Yes, the world is vain. Yes, the world is apathetic, unfair, and all of the terrible things that you mentioned, but that’s exactly the reason why the world needs more people like you. People who are not perfect, yet willing to be honest with themselves and to others. People who are not perfect, yet willing to be kind to others. People who are not perfect, yet prefer to look at others beyond their physical appearances. The world needs more people like you, John. People who are not afraid to feel, to think, to be vulnerable, and to bleed.”

The wind began to pick up and the drizzle was slowly starting to become a light shower. Given enough time, the skies would soon cry their hearts out and the lands would be quenching their thirst by drinking the skies’ tears; but not before John’s eyes began to pour, as he cried in front of me, inside the four corners of solitude that this room offers. I knew what I had to do. I needed to leave John with something… A food for thought, perhaps? Something that would keep him thinking. Something that would help him process what he was going through…

“Hey John,” I gently called his name as a precursor to my final question.

“Yeah, Adam?” His voice was deep and crackling. He sounded a bit like an improperly tuned radio.

“Do you think this world belongs to you?”

Suddenly, a flash of lightning ripped through the skies followed by the loud boom of thunderclap, as if they were cued to happen after I finished asking the question. For a split-second, the flash brightened up the room to a point where even shadows ceased to exist. For a split-second, the flash brought light into this dark place and might have sparked something in John because now, he was smiling at me. His gaze met mine and he said “Thank you, Adam,” and it was at that moment, I once again saw him genuinely smile after a very long time, which in turn made me smile pleasantly.

Rain has now descended upon the city, and if you were there, you could clearly hear the roof being turned into a xylophone. John picks his lighter up and proceeds to place a cigarette between his lips. But before he ordered the flint to create a spark, he stared at the mirror, muttered something unintelligible, and smiled.

In a dimly-lit room in the city of Cebu, you will find a man named John. Right now, he’s smoking by the window, while a huge mirror from across the room reflects the faint light of his cigarette.

12-05-2019 16:56 Kregian Vareare Miral

submitted by /u/Miralian459 [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/2OUsrAc

#Blogger #Story

[mindthefool]

The New Spectatorship

Once upon a long table in a timeline unframed, there is a banquet, dimly lit and dangerously alluring to the most tormented gluttons. The table is made from the sort of indestructible wood that’s been baked by time. It has bare iron legs and no varnish coat. The walls and the ceiling and floor are vast mirrors. They wink and yawn as generous prisms that proliferate candlelight. The chairs at the table are hollow and floating, suited for both the living and dead. Those who are alive and were invited to the feast are fluent among the immaterial. Perhaps they only walk through my earth because they choose to. 

The group of glancing individuals, filled with eyes and beasts and starving, has assembled to discuss a tiny question. These figures have each demonstrated remarkable tendencies to shred tiny things and quilt them into cosmic apparel. They are cloaked in such garments like gods: shameless, dynamic, monstrous, and sweet like lumps of infant that fold into a chest. 

Most of them are writers, except a few who like to watch but never become invisible. Most of them have eyes facing art in the places it love-pokes life. My heart pecks a clusterfuck melody against the temperamental hearts of the others, as though it is extending veins to weave into somebody else’s elsewhere. I typically don’t disperse into threads until at least half way through the conversation or after at least one cup of wine. This must be a particularly special occasion! 

As steaming food is softly served from yawning platters into dark shiny bowls, a small disheveled pond of sound overrides the audible pattering of hearts. Antonin stumbles out from behind a cloud. His mind, quickly unraveling like eager water, escapes him as he takes a seat. It laps and smacks up the scaffolding of indecipherable notions. He chews on a limp cigarette, the great poetic creases in his face creep into me as mischievous muses. But he doesn’t want me to write poems anymore, so I keep this observation to myself as my eyes dream towards his bending picture that sits across the table. I’m really off my game tonight; I cannot tell how drunk he is or if I’m drunk at all. 

Antonin mumbles, his utterance crisp. No one informed him in advance about the tiny question currently being passed around among piles of food and the eaters. We gather here today to discuss the new spectatorship, someone tells him with a defeated but official sounding bark from the foggier end of the table. 

No more masterpieces! Off with their heads! I read Antonin groan in his eyebrows. It’s too bad we are social distancing otherwise I’d kiss him right in that moving madness spot. 

The group has assembled because the majority, and those adjacent, want many more eyes than they possess at present. So far there is no spectatorship established to suit such a need. Nobody is swaying yet, they have barely touched the first round of drinks. (Did I spike their drinks with magic formula? Yes. Also the soup. And the dipping sauces. All of it enchanted.)

After some time, the first little swarms of conversation bubble into smaller and smaller pockets; each guest sinks into quiet. In breath and its passage of realizations, we are seduced by curiosity about the room itself where we sit and chatter teeth. We study the walls and our eyes apprehend that the borders of the room are corridors that shrink into green. Glass mirrors face mirrors and mirrors. 

Gloria chimes in immediately, “I don’t have enough eyes.” Her voice does not disrupt the lull but redirects its weight to uplift enunciation. She speaks again to mention the “agony of inadequacy.” She is so inescapably familiar. I adore writers who get me to smell their sweat. Hers is filled with magical, intricate gore. I want to ask her, how do I get more eyes? But hers are closed so I doubt she’d know I speak to her. I am silent.

She goes on, “A glance can freeze us in place; it can ‘possess us.’” Gloria, is this true? She speaks in multiple stories like a long stone skinny-window house in Paris, one of those that “do not seem made to be lived in, but are like stones set for people to walk between.” A contribution Trinh (seated near Gloria on the far end) has stolen from Walter (barely with us). I think into a deep sip of tinted water: thank you all for this delightful discourse; I am already comfortably lost. 

I wonder if any of them are drunk. I’ve had quite a bit of bread so I’m feeling just fine. Then again, I see hundreds of my own faces in every direction. How will I be able to tell that I’m intoxicated if all my heads turn when I try to look at them? Why is it that the ones who turn away will have nothing to do with me? What makes them different from the other heads who return my searching gaze?

Mirrors are kind of a nasty problem. Especially when there are this many. My eyes reflect back little holes at me in the bottomless black bowl above my lap; they make the room a bit greener. If mirrors can happen in soup, does that mean I can eat them? 

I can hear Gloria saying that mirrors reproduce images. No shit! Each of us is reincarnated one million times by the walls of this very room. I agree that mirrors eat things up like carnivorous sponges. I wonder if anyone among us feels robbed by this stealth of self for the sake of image and reproduction. I wonder if I can ever steal it all back from behind the glass, (and from patriarchy too, while I’m at it). But I’m snatched from this curiosity as the conversation unfolds. 

The thing is, mirrors force you to look AT and trick you to believe you’re seeing INTO or THROUGH. And if you’re an idiot, you didn’t even think about it hard enough to get tricked. It is typical for some people to leave unexamined the destination of pulse, particularly when it self-identifies as a dimension rebel. Some of the dinner guests roll their eyes at this line. Gilles raises his brow, Minh-ha looks up in a puzzled diagonal glance, perhaps they contemplate whether I can play along with all the other wordsmiths. I continue, uninterested in my worth. 

Viewers of mirrors understand a split self and if you don’t see the split then you don’t get the trick or the treat. Try being queer. It’s so tricky. The queers in the room and their inner queer crowds resonate, smile, or even chuckle. In mirrors, subjects are captured by their own gazes and reduced to images of their selves as outsiders. But the image bends and expands the experience of vision to the great worth of a metaphysical meat sample on a toothpick; an existential Ikea meatball, or if you’re vegetarian, existential tofu, or if you shop at Trader Joe’s, an existential shot of coffee to get you wired on why, why, why. 

As viewers of our captured selves, we also see through subjectivity, the infrastructure of our eyes and cognitive performances. And thus, the accomplishment of the mirror is that sight is spit back out from the glass, backwards like a wave in rewind. The spectator does not move but is altered and must choose to enact more-than-picture. Now Gloria insists on the immobility of eyes. Yes ok, they trap things, but that doesn’t mean they can’t sing. 

A friend of mine named Heidi G, has chorus in her eyes. They dart as though motivated in ballet. You are what you eat, I guess. Her laughter is a tickle-rifle, it washes people. Her writing traces the activity of puppets and the lifeless and she contemplates quickly; chatter as excited as chewing. I’m swept stuck in her stubborn asking. She has asked me before about disappearance, how to enact disappearance, how do the lifeless move? 

Meanwhile Gloria babbles in a bedrock lullaby voice about mirrors as doors for spirits to pass through. Some glances are exchanged as people consider the placement of moving spirits on the lifelessness graph. A few take generous swigs from their beverages. My chest tightens with expectation. 

Why is it that those among us who are no longer alive can also be seen in the mirrors? The lifeless do not reflect or express any less than the living and me. Gloria’s eyes bleed open and she softly frowns to the side. I recall her saying, “I can tell how others feel by the way they smell” and I roll my neck low and discreet to secretly sample my armpit. Sure enough, my perspiration is the perfume of fixation: trance energy, fixation on the dead, the harshest and littlest concentration pushing deep into things. I can smell my fear and my longing. 

I look into my own eyes in the mirror all the time. From all my years of being a girl I got quite obsessed with my face. When I stopped wearing makeup and curating hairdos for esteem-protection, I began to notice my eyeballs. They are rather large. If I wait long enough, they will show me how afraid I am. Afraid of nothing in particular and of everything. If I wait longer, they will show me the desperation of being caught in my own gaze because I love myself so much and know myself so little. 

I’m fortunate to be the person becoming the “person” inside the mirror whenever I look at myself in trance. Most people are mystery pictures. I can always tell when someone switches from looking and seeing to feeling seen and being seen through. It is a small performance in the eyes. A tiny violation, recession, a turn away, a closing up, no more gift of unafraidness. But my eyes landing on another’s will not make them any less private unless they choose for that to happen. Spectatorship really does fall short of its presumed desires sometimes. 

“In vain your image comes to meet me...” Louis, one of Heidi’ guests has also perhaps caught a whiff of my body odor. 

I am that wretch comparable with mirrors

That can reflect but cannot see

Like them my eye is empty and like them inhabited

By your absence which makes them blind.

Gloria smiles, “the mirror is an ambivalent symbol” she coos with wet vowels. A puzzle again; my cheeks make fists around my eyes. Gloria, I ask gently, aren’t symbols the faces of feelings? You said it yourself on page 60. How can feelings and their faces be ambivalent? Aren’t they trying to say something?

In rising unison Gloria and Antonin melt body and voice, as though their minds have collided with mine, almost as if my voices have stolen their words. But what on earth would give anyone that impression?

I feel their shared eyes inquiring. I continue my train of thought. Choo choo: ambivalence is double possibility and duality rearranges desire. If both options are possible and present, despite any contradictions they contain, what prevents anyone from noticing the branches of possibility within the two initial ones? An ambivalent symbol is a whole alphabet, so feelings are certainly never contained in mask, voice never contained in words, space never contained in walls.  

The privilege of ambivalence is that it will not presuppose authority; yet it holds the great power of soft, steady eyes; the sort of eyes that do not claim to be superior but everyone who looks into them feels less-than. Ambivalence borrows the likeness of clouds or horizons of fog. It might also fashion itself into steel and grow legs like an ornate industrial bridge. Ambivalence is difficult to face because in order to move, you must feel. Many who walk this earth do not like this about our condition; so our condition evolves to distort its constraints, we get drunk on the mainstream bizarre. Our only hope is to find circumstance, doses of disaster; better to seek situations than confront the great condition which begs to be destroyed by science and thought; better to do magic. If we’re fortunate, someday we may stumble into a set of circumstances (they often come in sets) where we look into a mirror and do not see ourselves. Or, perhaps we look at a wall and find our own strange sets of eyes watching from the surface as though glowing through projectors onto screens. 

I’m nearly voiceless. No one at the table receives me at first so my voice gets involuntarily small. My head buzzes lightly from drinking but I can tell Antonin is further gone. He keeps looking at the space above my head when I speak, like his eyes refuse tangible.

All of a blink-sudden Gloria is soft and charged. Yes, she winks between her lips and her teeth. I am soothed, only slightly, and I turn a damp palm towards the walls that are mirrors. Condition is framed, made of pillars. All of its content exists in-between so I’m shocked when its subjects don’t attend to the liminal bits. 

Everyone here knows the liminal bits. Otherwise we wouldn’t have received invitations to this event. Quite exquisitely liminal indeed. There isn’t even a host to thank. We compose amongst ourselves a structure of witnesses, imagination, and danger; in one moment bitter, another too sweet, an overall nomadic taste in teary mouths and drooling supper. 

Gloria spends her time with snake people. Heidi watches dancing puppets and bodies that imitate the dead. Antonin likes when the theater storms. He likes danger-hypnosis. Liminal spaces with borders that bleed mean vision is never complete. Such spaces will fragment the language of edges and morph stolen time.

〰

Dinner is accompanied by a spectacle, of course. Fancy occasions always include snob chefs and opera— this is my impression having been to a few weddings in my day. Oh, but this will be no opera, Antonin booms in a silver snail voice. I still cannot tell his age. Nor can I place the blank serenity and frantic power that swap places like restless greedy tourists, all over his perky dead body. 

A snake oozes out of a crack in one of the mirrors and all of the mirrors because they saw it happen. The snake is one million snakes but most of them are behind the glass in captivity with our flat and greenish mirror-selves. I suppose each dimension gets its own snake. Fine. 

Our snake is thick and low and stiff. Its body manipulates weight and substance with a belly and spine that swell down to lick the floor. Felix from France lets go of the tight grip of his playmate Gilles. They were holding hands this whole time, seated across from each other and mostly keeping to themselves, quite focused and delighted by the drinks before them. Felix pulls out a wide wooden flute from his coat and it shines. Everyone breathes in their fear of the snake and breathes out an acceptance of serpents. Felix is a psychoanalyst, so the music he plays is real good and might get you to vomit some trauma. Mmm.  

From the flute pours a buzzing rhythm and it curves into my nervous system. All of my spaces shake. The mirrors quiver and so do the millions of glass selves, my vision reverberates almost as if mocking me. My heartbeat is interrupted by the heartless flow of sound. It washes me ambivalent, maybe as an instrument or as meat; I cannot tell if I make sound myself or if it passes through me. Thus utterance is rendered pointless, sourceless, destinationless. My organs defy themselves as movement consumes me but shaking hands are able to lift my glass to sip. 

The snake stiffens and raises a swaying body. The bodies of the guests sway too like tender wooden ghosts, all of us more tipsy than the unmovable table where the booze has been spilled. The mirrors wave like mischievous seas and my million selves mix their own sauces with monsters. Gloria will not give me her eyes anymore, the snake has trapped her attention. Antonin roars and Heidi is dancing and others surrender to storm. 

I am drunk and I feel an insufferable warmth. That’s it! I always knew I was too big to be loved, I could end it all now if I purchase this watch. It’s made of fool’s gold which I’m told is indestructible and who cares if it tells me the time. I just need it to look fancy.

Well fuck, I’m being watched. And I only wanted the watch to change how I look. It’s not fair, I can’t see straight or stand still in this room that’s so tolerant of illusion. These are such perilous walls. I do not like the hall built of my own faces for I cannot tell, am I sea-sick or regular sick?

Oh Seamstress of the Sea! If you piece together swooning flakes of disobedient water with the hope that it will make the sky more comprehensible, you will quickly unravel yourself and your sewing project! And since you equip yourself with needles, not oars, you will soon slip under indistinguishable waves or clouds, whichever you prefer! Ultimately, they are the same since neither can resist the wind! The distinction between sky and sea was a comfort I had not recognized before they joined and I expanded like threads of molasses, one of the most reluctant liquids!

So here we are my friends! Angels cannot fly, the band is out of sync. I didn’t bring a metronome. Maybe I’ll bring one next time if the spectacle doesn’t die before next week. Alas, it has already died before our very eyes. No more masterpieces! There are too many cooks in the damn kitchen. 

I don’t want to watch a play that has too many cooks. I will never be hungry again. The cooks should NOT be making theater. You cannot eat theater. 

The ensemble is clumsy. It is not honest with life. 

The human body is scandalously insufficient! 

Actor is neither savior nor giver of life. If actor is to speak the unspeakable, it is not the sanctified word of god but rather an affective glimpse of something unsayable-- something even the old man-god himself could not conjure adequate words for up in his ever holy sky. 

I can tell how others feel by the way they smell

excruciatingly alive to the world

they encourage us to kill off parts of ourselves

the unsavory aspects of ourselves

the supra-human, the god in ourselves.

it must be destroyed, it is necessary for all actors and actresses to die of plague… for it is they who render art impossible. 

This frenzy to be lifelike can only be our mythic denial of an apprehension of death

Answers to heard and unheard questions enabled by its vanishing.

The compulsion to repeat, 

The compulsion to repeat, which is now replacing the impulse to remember,

If only the saturated fragments of mainstream bizarre landed deeper than the hairs on my skin, if only these bits knew how to be tender and microscopic, if only they visited me for years and years until I began to deeply trust 

the art of living, which here appears more like an organic art of war, Emptied of drama and emotion

He was grinning. Nobody else could have sensed it. He started laughing now. Nobody else could have sensed it.

Open bodies, bleeding wounds, dissected abdomens, and missing limbs

little things with dramatic consequences. 

The body is “hot” again, but the spectacle of the altered or wounded body is much hotter. 

You can only visit it in time, a place that happens during, the vocabulary of space just won’t get you there. 

The sky can still fall on our heads. Right Anto?

Hhey Anto thiz iz kinda weird bud how ol dar you? Wowwhh. Really? Cool cool, thaz scool. I’m thiss many. Yeww don’t belief me? I think your wOrk is scool... it so cool, yur so smart howd you have thoze ideahs? I’m like... really fuck withem you like say my brain and what it says? Anto? howd you get in... hahaammfuck I cannnttake. Aww no no no, talk. I’m talk. id doesn’t madder. id doesn’t madder. 

〰

And what remains is the new spectatorship; the spectatorship that lines demand if you slip and fall inside of them. I cannot find Anto or Heidi. Gloria is gone. Felix and Gilles and the others are nowhere to be seen but definitely, probably present. The snakes have disappeared, or at least I do not recognize them. My millions of mirror selves search in their respective dimensions. 

My attention is captured by a pair of wide eyes with a red nose between them. Moimus? I call to him, he is somewhat familiar. My voice wears a little coat and a fuzzy hat. I’m careful not to frighten him if I speak too cold. He watches me as he is suspended in time, still dry despite the crashing waves of wet sound that rock us and bite at our windy limbs. He speaks with only his eyes and their silence is noisy, a bit demanding, and reaching right into my skull brain. Moimus has vision like the reckless and tender hand of a child over the stem of a wildflower about to be plucked; he offers objects the touch of an elderly lady picking up broken shards of her favorite teapot that until now had lasted a lifetime. Her husband gave it to her as a gift way back when she could still see and remember. 

There is in-between space among hands and their touches by the way, not to mention the gaps between eyeballs and sight. It hurts a little to be touched or looked at in these in-between ways; when eyes project too loudly and scream, I want to touch, touch, touch! That’s how eyes can grow hands and do touching themselves. Eyes that want touching are always afraid and hungry at the same time, looking to fill something because the alternative is ambivalence. 

No one has ever gazed at me as fearlessly and as simply as the little clown does now: not hungry, not wanting to touch, not concerned whether I am a picture or a person or a lifeless pouch of pulp because all of those would be wonderful to him. I am not an imposter though I do not belong. I am no more or less dangerous than the next mystery or the one before me. I am present as many things and also between things; this is more present than I could ever choose to be. How does he do it?

Between watching and speaking is the gaze that gazes back; it doesn’t proclaim itself more important than sound, touch, taste, or smell. Oh, my self-righteous eyes must acquaint themselves with the back burner before my other five senses are caramelized without me noticing! 

I learned sight from the people who watch me, both desired and undesired audiences. I learned this particular spectatorship because many things that I look at tell me how they want to be seen, especially if it’s internet food and I’m young and snacky; also if it’s organized according to patriarchy taste and I’m young and snacky. My former spectatorship never allowed me to decide how to be seen. Like the millions of mirror-selves in the banquet hall, the new spectatorship won’t let me have all the information! It’s quite annoying. But of course, I have five more delicious senses to research experience with. 

Moimus, the darling, tells really obvious secrets and never gives instructions on what to do once you’ve received them or what they may behold. The secrets drip from clouds post-collision and mid-disaster; or from residue on beaches that are trickled upon by chaos and its charming reappearances across quotidian dissonance. It is appealing to crash into the violent force of condition. It’s quite loud and clumsy and such crashes are like hollywood so we’re supposed to want them and find love at the end or die. Remember the pillars? Why headbang the pillars? The in-between space is just as exhilaratingly horrible. 

You may encounter a masterbatory courage that you meet for the first time, or devastating nostalgia as you mourn five different child iterations of self. Circumstance can direct you to very beautiful things, small things, that have no other way to reach through the pillars but long to visit our world and the dimensions that mirror it: elsewheres-within-here, spaces you can only listen to, the way my body odor reveals how I’m feeling. 

The new spectatorship is nomadic, sometimes it may even abandon the spectators. It is ambivalent towards apocalypse and pop culture, it does not use disaster to comfort people. It does not seek to move them. Moimus did not come here to watch, nor did he come to perform. Decide for yourself why he brought you along. I mentioned earlier, I’ve been hoping for more eyes and that’s why I’m here. 

Do you want to know what I used to spike the soup? Salt water. From the sea. Not magic formula, I lied. It was only water from the sea. The sea understands that the point is never to mirror, the point is to look. The point is to face unknowability in unending blankets, to react to the void-quilts and apprehend their stitches and mimic their seams. The point of mimesis is to deterritorialize pointing; it is enunciation of the hand that has no message, direction severed from intention. And this is how Moimus holds the universe together. Occasionally he uses tape, but it often gets stuck to his butt, so usually the new spectatorship does most of the work for him. 

〰

As I leave the banquet hall, a pair of dark glasses falls into my hand. I recall Antonin and his alluring deadness and I imagine him saying, the sky can still fall on your head. That’s right, I should wear the dark glasses. It will be bright when the sky falls and I’m pretty hungover. I depart with shade on my eyes and forget about light. I pass by a window on my way out and shrug at my reflection thinking only that I look cool and hot. But don’t worry yourself! The purpose was to forget everything all along, I am no conqueror of dreams. One day, if any of us diluted visitors manage to remember the banquet, we will experience it again for the first time, amplified exponential and possibly blind. The spectatorship we enact in that moment will be new once again. 

    Anzaldúa, Gloria. "Entering into the Serpent." In Borderlands/La Frontera: The New Mestiza, Third Edition. San Francisco: Spinsters/Aunt Lute, 1987: 47-61. 

Anzaldúa, Gloria. "The Coatlicue State." In Borderlands/La Frontera: The New Mestiza, Third Edition. San Francisco: Spinsters/Aunt Lute, 1987: 63-73.

Artaud, Antonin. “No More Masterpieces.” In The Theater and its Double, Trans. Mary C. Richard. New York: Grove Press, 1958

Deleuze, Gilles and Félix Guattari. A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia, vol. 2. Translated by Brian Massumi. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1987. 

Gilpin, Heidi. “Lifelessness in Movement, or How Do the Dead Move? Tracing Displacement and Disappearance for Movement Performance,” in Corporealities, ed. Susan Foster (New York/London: Routledge Press, 1996), 106-128.

Gómez-Peña, Guillermo. "Culturas-in-extermis: Performing against the cultural backdrop of the mainstream bizarre." In Ethno-Techno: Writings on Performance, Activism, and Pedagogy, edited by Elaine Peña. London and New York: Routledge, 2005: 45-64.

Minh-ha, Trinh T. “Other Than Myself, My Other Self.” In elsewhere, within here: immigration, refugeeism and the boundary event. New York: Routledge Press, 2011: 27-34.

[myvoicenottheoneyougiveme]

Well, since you have a problem with every way I could ever pass time--time not spent on you--it should be no surprise by now that you could find some pathos or shoehorned fit for how even the most benign or even positive uses of ("my") time actually represent what's awful, evil, or terrible about me.

The mental gymnastics are beyond ridiculous. But you have decided something in advance, and you pick and choose and frame and bend and slant and twist absolutely everything you can get your hands on in order for you to bolster your platform of total dominion over a life.

Oh, but [insert great grandiose mission here (usually framed in terms of your victimhood)].

Yes, I distract myself, engage myself, follow curiosities, do things entirely intellectual and devoid of emotional content. [”grey rock”] This leaves you with the least to work with in your campaign, but even here, LOOK AND SEE, I TOLD YOU ALL WHAT A GRANDIOSE NARCISSISTIC... uh, what is it? It's, my narcissistic supply, my image, my "character" that knowing I am being stalked I "choose" to show.

Look how smart I am everyone?

...and look how ...uh, non-reactive I am when you invalidate that "crutch" of a mirror? Oh, but it's where my grandiosity lives don't you know? And for every inflation you've ever offered to "help" me with over any supposed things I put stock into, just so you can moments later burst that bubble or rip some carpet out from under me... I mean really, endless examples of you doing this over the last year alone in the workplace... As you can see, I'm a ticking time bomb. And I have "exploded" reliably on every occasion when my "greatness" was not validated.

Yes, yes indeed. You are right in everything you do, and I am deserving of everything you put me through. You are justified. You are contrasted. You are everything right with the world, and I am everything wrong.

I am your scapegoat.

You're getting more subtle all the time and less pointed. You're getting a lot closer to actual "science" being "done to" someone. You've been trading bad science for less bad science of late. I can only guess why, but I don't really care. ...Maybe I'm just, maybe it's just that much more difficult for you to... you know. Is your envelope cooperating with you the same? Or is accountability being aimed backward on you the one supposedly above reproach? It'd be a positive shift in "this" alternate reality you've constructed. You being forced to play by certain rules of engagement takes power away from you. You having to actually honor results of your "experiments" and be less of a hack, it's a positive thing.

But after almost a decade, I can say there is nothing in the world that could ever make you stop. ...There's no such thing as a false result. You can accuse and accuse and accuse and accuse and accuse of everything under the sun, and you don't even have to present an ounce of evidence to substantiate such grand claims. It's almost as if, it's guilty until proven innocent, only without the latter caveat. There are only positive results to your "experiments" and false readings repeatedly over years count for absolutely nothing. There are no false results. Only "inconclusive" ones. I can never be... there can never be a point where you say "mission accomplished" that doesn't result in some kind of... conclusive evidence of what an awful thing I am.

What's real and what's true, has nothing to do with what you've been doing to me for years. If it were, you'd have listened to that handpicked jury of YOUR peers right off the bat when after months with no exit strategy... oh, but that's an even worse reflection for you than one where you'd done nothing at all in the first place. The more harm you do day after day after day only fuels your need to justify what you've done and continue to do. It's a hole you've been digging, a debt, and a level of accountability that becomes more and more and more impossible for you to swallow as time goes on.

You being wrong in every way, from being wrong about me to being wrong for the things you do and have done, it's an impossible bill for your ego to swallow. You can't be what's wrong with "this" picture.

So, you live and breathe a fantasy, a version of reality where you double-down on everything you've used to build "this" in the first place. The hole gets deeper. The potential reflection on you gets even more impossible to contend with.

I have to be everything you've ever said I am, or else you're actually the kind of monster you've spent all your time trying to tell me (and everyone else) I am, simply for what you've been putting me through, me--someone who never deserved any of "this".

I have to be because it is zero-sum. The longer it's ever gone on, the greater the "responsibility" for the strife and the grief has gotten. Someone has to be responsible for everything wrong in your life, and that someone could never be you in any measure.

...for nearly half my life now, you've played "this" zero-sum game with your mirror at my expense. Absolute and total with no nuance and absolutely no personal responsibility for your part in any of it. All of "this" is the herculean effort to continue holding up that house of cards. It can't stop. You can't allow it to stop, without the whole thing toppling over in the breeze. You validate yourself, you lift yourself up, you "know" who you are, at someone else's expense.

You the victim.

You only need a villain.

There are fancy names for what you're "supplied" with in conducting such a "campaign", that you'll notice I didn't even need to use to describe what the fuck you've been doing to me for ages now.

The reality of it doesn't work backwards from the diagnosis as it does with you in regard to me. There isn't some foregone conclusion and constellation of whatever the hell that needs shoehorning. Reality here speaks for itself. It doesn't need any of your mental gymnastics or any fancy words.

You assault me, and I've found a name for that assault. By contrast, you decide in advance what's true about me, and you look desperately for anything you can find to support that.

But in order for you to be the victim to end all victims, I have to be everything wrong, especially the things you can't accept about yourself. "This" exchange can never be allowed to stop.

I've long since accepted that I have no power over my circumstances so long as you're in the picture. But I've also decided, that there's another way out, me. I have only to act. And I am taking such action. I don't need to trade with you in "this" and manage the unmanageable. I'm not locked in your coliseum anymore. ...I do in fact have the final say in how I will and will not live. The power has always been mine; I only need to claim it. I have.

I am coming to the point where I can finally say, that I've done everything in my power to be free of you. Whatever comes of it, I can promise you, I will be free. "This" is over. It's beyond over. It's been over for years. But I'm not waiting on you anymore to let go, and I'm not going to do battle in your arena to manage the present in vain telling myself that it can end within "this" framework you've "created". ...I am simply going, one way or another.

Edit:

Effort is not the metric. Although what you’re doing to doctor reality as it happens as well as rewriting the past, is herculean, any proportional response to “this” will have to go to great lengths on its own.

But this isn’t golf where the one who tries the least gets to be crowned the winner. But effort is a pretty good indicator of the size and scope of what’s being overturned. It’s relatively easy for me, though, because all I have to do is tell the truth. You, on the other hand, require that your narrative go unchallenged and spread virally and, most importantly, back to me. You mobilize an army of distorted mirrors for yourself and lock me and yourself inside. You create a new reality by way of others, and you fight fiercely to protect and uphold it.

But the lengths a person has to go to, to get away from a psycho-stalker such as yourself, to get away from being swallowed alive in “this” way, can’t be compared to the action you yourself commit first and most spectacularly. (Spectacle and effect is literally important for selling/propagating it.) I’m not trying to construct a hall of mirrors made out of validators, I’m just trying to break through one. I’ve never in my life needed what you can’t seem to live without--a stage.

You bring the stage. You put to me a role and lines to read. I do the opposite, or I do nothing at all.

If “this” stage ceased to exist, I wouldn’t myself cease to exist as you would.

Where you do everything within your power to rewrite me and yourself in the process, my only desire is to just be.

[dustinthesky-blog]

1. Describe the character’s height and build. Is he heavyset, thin, short, rangy?

I’m a fucking stick.

2. How old is he?

Old enough.

3. Describe his posture. Does he carry himself well or does he/she slouch?

Those etiquette classes were a waste of money.

4. How is his health? Is he fit or out of shape? Any illnesses or conditions? Any physical disabilities?

Dead inside.

5. How does he move? Is he clumsy, graceful, tense, fluid?

I don’t fucking know, let alone care.

6. How attractive is this character physically? How does he perceive himself in the mirror?

Vampires can’t see their own reflection, who knows.

7. Describe his complexion. Dark, light, clear, scarred?

Vampire white.

8. Describe his hair: color, texture, style.

A fucking mess.

9. What color are his eyes?

Soulless.

10. Does the character have any other noteworthy features?

The signature pout.  I should trademark it.

11. What are his chief tension centers?

The world.

12. What is the character’s wardrobe like? Casual, dressy, utilitarian? Bright colors, pastels, neutrals? Is it varied, or does he have six of the same suit?

Dark as my soul.

13. Do his clothes fit well? Does he seem comfortable in them?

Jesus, I don’t give a shit about clothes.

14. Does he dress the same on the job as he does in his free time? If not, what are the differences?

I’m a professional pain in the ass, I wear whatever the fuck I want to.

15. You knew it was coming: Boxers, briefs or commando?

Briefs over boxers.

Speech 1. What does this character’s voice sound like? High-pitched, deep, hoarse?

Ghost like.

2. How does he normally speak? Loud, soft, fast, evenly? Does he talk easily, or does he hesitate?

Hauntingly.

3. Does the character have a distinct accent or dialect? Any individual quirks of pronunciation? Any, like, you know, verbal tics?

Christ.

4. What language/s does he speak, and with how much fluency?

English, Latin, sarcasm.

5. Does he switch languages or dialects in certain situations?

Latin works best for exorcisms or when speaking to demons.

6. Is he a good impromptu speaker, or does he have to think about his words?

I don’t have a fucking filter, deal with it.

7. Is he eloquent or inarticulate? Under what circumstances might this change?

You can’t show demons fear, it’s best to speak in full sentences.

Mental and Emotional 1. How intelligent is this character? Is he book-smart or street-smart?

Knowing how to not get yourself killed is the most important, but so is proper grammar.

2. Does he think on his feet, or does he need time to deliberate?

Not thinking things through gives you the best stories.

3. Describe the character’s thought process. Is he more logical, or more intuitive? Idealistic or practical?

Practical and logical.

4. What kind of education has the character had?

Too much.

5. What are his areas of expertise? What, if anything, is he interested in learning more about?

Writing, being a pain in the ass, and scaring Carter, falling in love with the one person who can’t love me back.

6. Is he an introvert or an extrovert?

People can stay the hell away from me.

7. Describe the character’s temperament. Is he even-tempered or does he have mood swings? Cheerful or melancholy? Laid-back or driven?

Christ, what do you think?

8. How does he respond to new people or situations? Is he/she suspicious, relaxed, timid, enthusiastic?

I want everyone to get the fuck away from me.

9. Is he more likely to act, or to react?

Do I look like fucking Leonardo Dicaprio to you?  Well... actually I do.

10. Which is his default: fight or flight?

Having a plane comes in handy.

11. Describe the character’s sense of humor. Does he appreciate jokes? Puns? Gallows humor? Bathroom humor? Pranks?

I hate comedy.  Life is a joke.

12. Does the character have any diagnosable mental disorders? If yes, how does he deal with them?

Hahahahahahaha.

13. What moments in this character’s life have defined him as a person?

Meeting Daisy.  Being bullied all through school.

14. What does he fear?

Happiness.  Love.

15. What are his hopes or aspirations?  

I want to work for Buzzfeed so I can get paid to write “250 Pictures of Oliver Spade That Make Me Question My Sexuality” and tag Austin in it.  I also hope to actually get possessed by a demon because, damn, that would be a story.  Maybe I’d believe it then.  Who knows.

16. What is something he doesn’t want anyone to find out about him?

I have no secrets.  I’m fairly certain everyone knows I’m in love with Daisy by now, except maybe her.  But oh well!!!!

Relationships 1. Describe this character’s relationship with his parents.

My dad’s cool, but don’t tell him that, he’ll get all lame and gushy.

2. Does the character have any siblings? What is/was their relationship like?

Only child, but I guess Brayden’s officially my brother now since his dad died.

3. Are there other blood relatives to whom he is close? Are there ones he can’t stand?

Nope.

4. Are there other, unrelated people whom he considers part of his family? What are his relationships with them?

Brayden- he’s my dad’s friend’s son.  We grew up together since one of our dads was almost always away.  I’ve brought him over to the dark side a little bit, but he’s still too normal most of the time.

Austin- my shy baby brother who no one is allowed to touch.  I see a lot of myself in Austin, the normal parts, and I’m so damn protective of that kid, I just know it’s gonna be the reason I die.

Daisy- she has somehow found a way to crack my darkness and I will never forgive her for that.

Carter- I scare the shit out of him.  It’s fun.

5. Who is/was the character’s best friend? How did they meet?

Daisy.  Met in middle school, and apparently that’s when I should’ve kissed her since that “ship’s sailed.”  I’m not bitter or anything.  I still love her.  But how?  Now that’s up to interpretation. 

6. Does he have other close friends?

Victoria, and it kills me to say it, but maybe Jordan.  Mainly because she hangs out with my friends and is a parasite I can’t get rid of.

7. Does he make friends easily, or does he have trouble getting along with people?

Hahahahahahaha.

8. Which does he consider more important: family or friends?

My friends are my family.

9. Is the character single, married, divorced, widowed? Has he been married more than once?

Single as fuck club president.

10. Is he currently in a romantic relationship with someone other than a spouse?

I am unworthy of love and unable to hypnotize one person into loving me, let alone more than that.

11. Who was his first crush? Who is his latest?

Daisy.  Daisy.

12. What does he look for in a romantic partner?

Daisy.

13. Does the character have children? Grandchildren? If yes, how does he relate to them? If no, does he want any?

Fuck, I hope not.  God help those kids.

14. Does he have any rivals or enemies?

Everyone.

15. What is the character’s sexual orientation? Where does he fall on the Kinsey scale?

Straight.

16. How does he feel about sex? How important is it to him?

No one dies a virgin, life fucks everyone.

17. What are his turn-ons? Turn-offs? Weird bedroom habits?

God is watching.  Ghosts are also watching.  

Beliefs 1. Do you know your character’s astrological (zodiac of choice) sign? How well does he fit type?

This is more Brayden’s thing than mine.  

2. Is this character religious, spiritual, both, or neither? How important are these elements in his life?

Gotta see it to believe it.  I use the Lord’s name in vain too much for a believer.

3. Does this character have a personal code of morals or ethics? If so, how did that begin? What would it take to compromise it?

I have none.

4. How does he regard beliefs that differ from his? Is he tolerant, intolerant, curious, indifferent?  

I don’t give a shit, everyone ends up in a box.

5. What prejudices does he hold? Are they irrational or does he have a good reason for them?

Look at me, I’m not one in the position to judge.

Daily Life 1. What is the character’s financial situation? Is he rich, poor, comfortable, in debt?

Money doesn’t buy happiness, otherwise maybe I’d be happy.

2. What is his social status? Has this changed over time, and if so, how has the change affected him?

Money isn’t real, it’s a piece of paper that we let define us all.

3. Where does he live? House, apartment, trailer? Is his home his castle or just a place to crash? What condition is it in? Does he share it with others?

Shitty dorm, or sometimes a haunted house with Carter.

4. Besides the basic necessities, what does he spend his money on?

I steal shit.

5. What does he do for a living? Is he good at it? Does he enjoy it, or would he rather be doing something else?

Currently looking for a job at Buzzfeed to bring Buzzfeed Unsolved back from the dead.

6. What are his interests or hobbies? How does he spend his free time?

Lets just say, if anyone at Walt dies, I’m gonna be the first suspect.

7. What are his eating habits? Does he skip meals, eat out, drink alcohol, avoid certain foods?

Forever drinking the pain away.

Associations Which of the following do you associate with the character, or which is his favorite:

1. Color?  

Matte Black.

2. Smell?

Decomposition.

3. Time of day?

Midnight.

4. Season?

Dead of winter.

5. Book?

Anything by Stephen King.

6. Music?

I prefer silence.

7. Place?

Hell.

8. Substance?

Weed.

9. Plant?

Venus fly trap.

10. Animal?

Sloth.

#i miss cyrus so i felt the need to do this in his pov #kid: Cyrus

[oh-beyond]

Idol’s life - Mid-Term Break Special

Chen was so stressed and busy, schedules on a daily basis, no joy, no rest, no nothing, SM getting into his private life way too much, overwhelmed, doesn’t have a moment to even breath, he was done… but meeting this foreigner unexpectedly will make his days more manageable.

Fluff but it’s Chen so he always tries to add a bit of spice to everything because… it’s this cheeky person he is.

Chen (Canon) x Reader

Masterlist

< ❤ A Valentine’s Day Special ❤  -  Surprise or surprised? >

Summary: Mid-Term break just before Jongdae heads back to Korea, you just had those days off completely from any distractions, he has plans and they ain’t just cuddles…

That shower went… well… if it wasn’t for that little incident… his balls just seemed to get in the way all the time, still avoiding direct look, you kept ignoring the fact that something there existed.

“Baby it hurts, and you don’t even want to cuddle, aren’t you the one who likes cuddles?”

“As far as I remember it was you who wanted cuddles, look at you now all greedy.”

“Jagi is so mean, you didn’t miss me like I did, I was lovesick and yet you-”

You went on your tiptoes quietning his constant whining with a kiss, as your faces were both wet the kiss was very refreshing and soft but also intense, the kiss was fully capable of you to open the shower door get out as Jongdae stood there mesmerised at how bold and good kisser you’ve gotten, he knew you loved him and missed him just as much, he just wanted to feel it… 

Constantly…

When he heard the door of the bathroom open again he turned the water off, he wrapped a towel around his waist hanging it low, he knew that worked wonders, especially as the v lines and his killer happy trail were showing.

You didn’t give much interest as he got out and kept putting your moisturising cream looking at the small circle you did in the mirror.

“Baby~~~”

“Hmmm, yes oppa, I will be late my parents are going to kill me, don’t distract me.”

“You did miss me didn’t you?”

You looked back at him his fringe over his forehead little droplets falling, his lips were very red from the steam, more droplets falling from his shoulders creating lines that you followed with your eyes shamelessly, you sighed loudly your shoulders shrugging when your eyes fell in them majestic v lines.

You set the cream jar on the counter top leaning on it to give it justice and keep eyeing him properly, your hands supported you but at some point and you really didn’t know when your fingertips were at his v lines feeling them as they met on his happy trail going back up feeling his toned torso.

“What are you doing Kim Jongdae?”

“I’m not doing anything, I just wondered if you missed me like I did.”

“What do you think?”

“I don’t think, just tell me.”

“I’m dizzy, I can’t talk right now oppa, what are you trying to do to me? Here I am wanting to run to my parent’s because you don’t know my mom she will call the police if I don’t show up, and now I am really wondering if that will ever happen today.”

Jongdae moved away with a satisfied grin, he went to the room and came back almost running with your phone in hand “call them, tell them you are with your oppa.”

“They will hate you.”

“No they won’t… I know I can win your mom’s heart really easily, I’m a pro with noonas” he said winking.

“Yah! Don’t you dare, not taking you near my mother anytime soon.”

“Please don’t go.”

“Listen, I have to, I promise I will call you, I just need to tell them.”

“Tell them what?”

“That I will be spending the nights out until you head back.”

Jongdae jumped on the bed excited “jagi? Really? All night and day and night and day and night?”

“How many days are those?” 

“I will be here for 4 days, 4 complete days, with all it’s 24 hours and a full nights which I am not playing to use for sleep” he said as he kept jumping and… the towel dropped, your face turning the other way because as sexy as he looked with the towel wrapped around his waist this view wasn’t as amusing.

“Oppa, please!”

“Omo! You are still not used to me naked? Yeah you haven’t really properly seen me have you?”

“Oppa I am leaving” you said avoiding eye contact, you did spend the night together but it was still all weird and new.

“Well let me tell you that I have memorised every single inch of you, like the palm of my hand” he said taking the towel securing it again on his waist.

“OK so bye, I’ll call you” you slipped your shoes on, moving to the door he hooked his fingers in your pants loops.

“Goodbye kiss first.”

“What happened to goodbye hug?” you teased.

“Give me anything, I’m all yours.”

You went on your tiptoes again he closed his eyes pushing his lips forward like a cute ducky, you placed 3 fingers on his lips and opened the door to leave.

“Baby~~~”

“Oppa, 1 hour, we’ll have breakfast together and I’ll show you around, I also cannot wait to come back. I’ll cuddle with my coat in the mean time, it smells like you now” you ruffled his hair and finally pecked at his lips before closing the door behind you.

Your parents took it better than expected, you showed them pictures and your mother was really pleased of how good looking Jongdae was, embarrassing questions followed that you ignored. Your father just simply asked if he had a job and if he had enough money to sustain himself, you were very confident in saying that he did, finally asking you not to get pregnant. Why were parents so extreme all the time?

You packed a few things and rushed back to the hotel, you noticed how fast you were going when you stopped at the door before knocking, you looked desperate, you felt desperate, you were so desperate to feel him again between your arms, but… you weren’t going to give it away that easily, you straightened yourself fixing your hair, you fanned yourself with your shirt blowing at your cleavage, you felt your cheeks that were burning… it was the coat’s fault, you cleared your throat and knocked lightly on the door, Jongdae didn’t answer after 3 times, so you decided to use the key card Jongdae gave you before leaving, you entered slowly and heard him snore, you went to the room and saw him face down, wearing only his boxers, his leg hanging on the edge of the bed, you took off your shoes and tiptoed your way to admire this view, you got out your phone and started recording him, he was drooling and he made cute nosies after every big snore, you couldn’t keep quiet it was just too cute and funny, he slowly rolled over his back opening his eyes scrunching his nose.

“Jagi?”

“Yes baby.”

“Baby? I like that, can I call you noona? We can play” he said scratching his head propping himself on one elbow for support.

“What’s with this noona thing? You are pervert” you said getting up he pulled you falling down next to him.

“You jealous?”

“Yes I am, if you like them so much go get yourself one.”

“I just want you tho, I missed you, you smell so good.”

“Yah! Move away, come on lets go out, I’ll show you around.”

“I just want you to show me around you.”

“Oppa, really you don’t want to see my city?”

“I just want to see you, all of you, all day.”

“You know I was wishing you said that, because I want you too, I am just playing hard to get.”

“So is it a plan the 4 days?”

“Caged with you all day and night, yes.”

“As much as I like your coat… just take it off.”

You sat taking your coat off pulling your shoes out, Jongdae didn’t waste his time and wrapped his arm around your chest peppering little kisses in your neck, you unbuttoned one button from your shirt and he immediately pulled the shirt revealing your back to him, he pulled and you unbuttoned another button, slowly teasingly…

“Take it off.”

“Why?”

“I’ll caress your back till you ask me to stop.”

And that was a deal you couldn’t refuse, you peeled yourself from the shirt and threw yourself in the mattress face down looking to his side, your arms at your chest.

“Just relax.”

Slowly you stretched your arms as you felt his fingers on your back skin, tracing lines as he hummed a song you never heard, you loved his high notes but when he used his low notes… it was heaven, the whole experience, the adoration in his touch,  just pleasing you, giving you attention, every now and then feeling his lips on you skin to distract you from the fact that he had unclasped your bra.

“Oppa~~~ I was wondering something”

“Hmm?”

“You know the way you like… I mean you look confident onstage, you look at the camera… and the fans… I mean direct eye contact.”

“Would you like me to stop doing that?”

“No no, I mean I just want to know how? Why the others are not like you?”

“The others are not me, I think if I am going to do this I might as well enjoy myself, it’s really my personality, it’s who I am.”

“Aha…”

“You are not convinced are you?” he asked stopping bringing his hand to your hair and caressing your cheek.

“But like… how can you dance to ‘Playboy’ and ‘Artificial Love’ so…”

“Do you like it?”

You hid your face in the mattress covering your face, you felt his weight leaving the bed, your toes curling when you heard ‘Artificial Love’ playing on his phone.

You turned around holding on your bra and he was just there, dancing freaking ‘Artificial Love’ in the hotel room wearing noting but grey boxers and god almighty you dared looking straight ahead and what did he have inside? A pair of socks? Because that size of balls wasn’t even possible.

“Oppa? What are you doing?”

He didn’t reply, concentrated look, frown in display looking extra delicious his hair over his forehead.

“Oppa?”

“No cane anywhere, I guess your leg would do.”

Your leg was being pulled as you held on your chest for dear life “OPPA!” He went on his knees and ground his crotch on your shin holding on your calf.

“Oh, oh, oh… but oh my god” you said trying to pull yourself from his grip but in vain, he stilled you in place.

‘거짓 미소 Artificial love 거짓 눈물 Artificial love 거짓 사랑 Artificial love 그게 바로 너의 너의 Love love oh oh No no oh oh’

“Stop it OMG I am going to have a heart attack, and aren’t your balls hurting now? Every time I touch you there you whine and make me feel like I have stabbed you.”

Jongdae got up from the floor placing his hands on the mattress, followed by his knees caging you underneath him, hoovering over you making you fall back in the mattress while you were still holding on your chest.

“They don’t hurt if touched properly.”

“I’m not listening, you filthy pervert” you said closing your eyes tightly placing your hands over your ears, he took the advantage of pulling your bra away.

When you opened your eyes in panic to protest his lips were on yours, all the tension from before was gone and you melted in his soft kiss feeling his chest pressed agains yours, being in the mattress helped deepening the kiss without struggle, so vocal, so loud, it was just a kiss but he was so consumed in making sure every inch of your mouth didn’t go untouched by his impatient tongue.

“Wait!” you pushed at his chest breaking the kiss “is this all we are going to do these 4 days?

“Nope, first thing is you see me… naked.”

“What?”

“Naked, I want you to see me, you need to know how I look right?”

“I’ve seen you all, you are always in boxers.”

“You haven’t seen this” he said taking your hand guiding it to his crotch.

“I don’t want to, it’s probably scary, why are they so big.”

“They, and it!”

“Stop stop, this is very uncomfortable.”

“Alright, so this is the deal, no cuddles, no hugs, no kisses, nothing, until you come and ask me to get naked and I see that you are properly looking down here.”

“Oppa!” You gasped covering yourself with the sheet, you were so annoyed but he looked just fine.

He took his phone and called ‘Minseok hyung’ that you heard him say, he was bubbly and happy and kept talking and talking…

You stayed in the bed covered only with the sheet, thinking… why was he so cool about this? He’s always been so clingy, he didn’t care? In theory what he was asking for wasn’t that bad… he was your boyfriend the guy you lost your virginity to just a few hours ago, you were being inconsiderate here, and why was he coming back with a smile, he was FaceTiming now, you heard 2 male voices, OMG…

“Say hi jagiya” he faced the phone at you meeting with cute Minseok and a very disturbed Junmyeon.

You covered your head with the sheet and hid, but they saw you, yes Minseok and Junmyeon had totally seen your exposed shoulders it looked like you were naked, and why were Jongdae and Minseok laughing? Junmyeon such a gentleman, he was shocked also by the fact that Jongdae was in his boxers, this was too much.

“Oppa~~~”

“I will leave you now my girl needs me.”

He did not just say that and in English so you could understand it, you started to cry, but why? Embarrassment or the overwhelming feeling that he was this open with his hyungs? You were officially the girlfriend of an SM idol.

“You called Jagi?” said Jongdae getting under the sheets with you.

You covered your chest in surprise “they saw me! I was not dressed”

“Nothing is showing, I wouldn’t let that happen.”

“But they will think…”

“That you are naked underneath the sheets? Yes they will, and that we spent the night together and it wasn’t sleeping? Yes they will, and they will be happy because they know how much I love you and I suffered when you were not with me” he wiped your tears away.

“But still…” you said getting close.

“Nah-ah-ah, nope none of that” he said moving away.

“Oppa~~~” you whined patting his crotch.

“Oh, alright” he moved closer again, you buried your face in his chest hearing your breaths getting louder.

“Oppa I’ve missed you so much, don’t get away from me, don’t ever do that, I need you close, just the thought of having to deal with you leaving again.”

“I love you” he said his voice and octave lower “oh! Jag-wow that was fast, I though it would take more time for oh, it’s ticklish.”

“Oppa will you explain to me why are your balls are so big?”

Incredible 4 days, nothing absolutely nothing but being in bed, room service visited 3 to 4 times and often it was left till food got cold in the corridor.

Today he was going back ad it was a bittersweet feeling as your lips were on his chest your forefinger feeling his mole in front of you, smiling to yourself as he traces circles in your back and kissed the crown of your head.

“What will happened when you go back baby?”

“Such a bad student, why did you have to fail?”

“I was heartbroken, I had a boyfriend that ignored me.”

“I am sorry, I won’t ever do that again.”

“Well now I can’t go back, how are we going to do this thing oppa?”

“I will try to do this every month, and summer holidays you are spending them in Seoul, and I will pamper you properly and spoil my girl, and get you nice things because I came empty handed this time in a rush, and you will learn Korean because my English is horrible and I’m sure you laugh at me, and if we are on tour you are coming with me, and you will be present in all concerts, and I will sing to you, and look at you when I grind on that cane.”

“Your EngUish is so cute tho oppa, and I would love you to grind on the cane looking at me only.”

“You will be in for some ride, be ready.”

“So we will be like Jongin and Krystal?”

“Pfffff, do you believe that? It’s a lie.”

“So my friend has a chance?”

“Are you serous? Nini? He is so shy it will never work, unless she can get his inner Kai out.”

“So different from you oppa, no shyness in you.”

“And that’s why I got the girl.”

“Oppa cuddle me tight again.”

“You are addicting, come here and give me a proper goodbye.”

___________________________

A/N: Can’t finish these series, I hope you can cope with all the feels ^_^ 

Thanks for reading, feedback always welcomed.

#exo #exo fluff #exo canon #exo fanfiction #exo fic #exo angst #exo fanfic #exo imagine #exo series #exo scenarios #kim jongdae #Jongdae #Jongdae fic #jongdae fluff #Jongdae series #Jongdae canon #jongdae fanfic #jongdae fanfiction #jongdae angst #jongdae imagine #jongdae scenario #Chen #Chen canon #Chen fic #Chen fluff #chen imagine #chen fanfic

[writermatthew]

An Interview with Arsonist Arthur Young

An experiment with format & honestly just something fun I wrote a few weeks ago. Enjoy!

I call the local Elite precinct on a Saturday evening. It’s the one in New York City, Elite capital of New England, and a bright-sounding young woman answers the phone. She asks what I’m calling about, and I say that I’m with a website that explores criminal history, and that I heard the Elite were in “possession” of a man that, by his own written word, would be delighted to be the subject of an interview by any company.

She tells me that she’s not the judge of these things and I leave my number, dejected but not hopeless. She has to contact a lieutenant, then the commissioner. I know that if it’s a no I won’t hear back from her, but if it’s a yes…

Three weeks later I’ve just about lost hope in this interview when I get a call from an unknown number. I pick it up, answer it, and the stern voice of what I picture to be an older gent answers the phone. I can almost see the bristle of his mustache, the greys building in his hair. He says:

“Friday at noon, not a minute later. You’ll meet our secretary, Annie Thurman, and she’ll guide you to a private office where you’ll interview Arthur Young under the supervision of one of our own. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I say, a bit meekly. He’s very curt, and I wonder if what I understand about this criminal from his faceless press release is wrong; is this man violent? Are they protecting me? Are they maybe protecting him? Do I have it twisted? Is it possible that they aren’t protecting either of us? I usher that thought away. The Elite wouldn’t be so powerful if they were that selfish.

I avoid pictures of Arthur Young where I can. I need to do basic research, but I try to stick to his personality. This is my first time interviewing a proper, dangerous criminal, and I want to be surprised by something. I think that appearance is the easiest thing to get away with not knowing - and the most fun.

I download an image blocker on my computer to avoid seeing Young’s face. I read his wiki page. I read the articles about his arrest. I read about the fires he’s set. Every page says similar things: erratic behavior, hotheaded, foolish mistake led to capture, lack of a true home. I picture him at first like Ted Bundy, then Dennis Rader, then Gary Ridgway, not because he’s a serial killer or a rapist, only because the official police articles imply that Young is a bullet waiting to shoot; that he was one fire away from any of these things.

I find myself wondering if this is true. I make a note to ask Young about it. Arsonists typically operate in fits and bursts. His crimes are consistent, a few a year, the furthest two crimes apart by only thirteen months.

I also find myself googling things like how to talk to a narcissist, how to talk to a sociopath, and finally how do the Elite restrain criminals. There are no hits for the last one. It makes sense. I can’t pretend I’m not a bit unnerved.

For the next few days I wonder where arson falls on the grand scale of horrible crimes. Young isn’t reported to have had any deceased victims. Does that make him a better or worse person? Was it intentional? If it was, does that matter? Property is like family to some people. There are some things you can’t get back.

I wake up on Friday at 8AM, jittery. I don’t know if it’s excitement or fear, and I think that exploring it too much might make me crack. I eat breakfast, down half a pot of coffee, try to watch an hour or so of TV, and at 9:30 I sort through my closet in a feverish panic. I have absolutely no clue what to wear. I don’t know if I’m dressing for an interview or for a meeting with a criminal. There’s no middle ground.

I end up wearing jeans, a button-up and a nice jacket. It’s not the fanciest I’ve ever been, but it’s nice, and I find myself thinking I wouldn’t mind that much if this got burned up.

At 10AM I drive to the street the precinct sits on, a surprisingly out-of-the-way nook with a few shops and an apartment building on the adjacent street. I settle in a sandwich shop and triple-check my questions for Young. I edit ones that sound too harsh toward the Elite, and I try to make ones that sound sympathetic toward Young sound a bit more neutral. It goes mostly well, but I don’t feel much better.

At 11:40AM I make the short walk down the road to the wide marble steps that lead up to the intimidating building the New York City Elite built as their HQ a hundred years ago. Annie meets me by the door.

“Are you here for the interview?”

“I’m Harper Reilly, yes.”

She guides me through the building, and it occurs to me that it’s way, way bigger inside than it looked outside, and it didn’t look small. I tell her that I’m going to need an escort out of here. She laughs, and I laugh, but I repeat the statement, and she assures me that she’ll make certain there’s someone on standby to guide me out.

We stop at a duo of heavy metal doors, one marked with a plaque that says Interview Room and one that says Observation. I ask her if this is an interrogation room and she says no. I step inside and I think to myself that she’s not telling the truth. It’s brighter than an interrogation room, but there’s a mirror-window on one side and the table and chairs are nailed to a floor I’m certain is just concrete painted to look like hardwood.

I sit in the chair with my back to the mirror and pull my stuff out of my bag. A notebook, a pen, and my phone, which I open to my recording app in preparation.

It’s only 11:49. I wait for eleven minutes exactly before there’s a soft knock on the door and a man wearing the subtly spangled jacket of the American Elite enters. The bright blue diamond on the cuffs of his sleeves glint in the light. He leans on his hands against the table.

He’s thirty-something, a little older than me, and mostly average looking. I could see him on the street and think nothing of it. His eyes are dark brown and his hair is sandy. He introduces himself as Steven.

“I’m going to be the officer on the other side of the mirror,” he says, gesturing over my shoulder. I don’t look, I know the one. “Me and the guy who’s going to bring Arthur Young in. If at any point you feel uncomfortable or threatened, yell, and if you feel that you can’t-”

He lays a small square on the table. There’s a glowing diamond in the middle. I watch the light shift and change in wonder.

“Put this in your pocket. You can reach in and press it and we’ll be in here in a snap with reinforcements on standby,” Steven says. He’s not helping my nerves, and his next instructions don’t help very much.

“Are you a mage?”

“No,” I say.

“You’re familiar with mage suppressants?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Arthur Young is wearing them. Don’t touch them. I don’t think that you would, but I feel like I should say it just to say that I did. He shouldn’t be able to do very much, and you should be safe, but remember the button, okay?”

I nod and wonder if I look as ill as I feel. Maybe I didn’t think this through. Arthur Young isn’t a serial killer, but arsonists aren’t exactly sound. Some of the articles referred to him as polite. I wonder if it’s a front for a murderous storm brewing beneath his skin.

Steven leaves, and I sit alone this time for about thirty seconds. There’s a knock and the heavy door swings open, and in steps a new Elite with Arthur Young in tow. Shock overcomes me.

He’s nothing like how I pictured. He’s not balding and he doesn’t have lousy facial hair, he’s not especially scrawny and I don’t get a strong whiff of cigarette smoke from him. The Elite shoves Young into the chair across from me with a muted grunt, and Young winces.

He’s about fifty, give or take, with a squarish face and wrinkles consistent with years of laughter. His eyes are a very pretty shade of medium blue, a bit droopy like a basset hound’s, framed by crows feet. There’s a practiced elegance to his hair, tamed blond waves dotted with flecks of silver-gold. He looks like he hasn’t shaved in a day or so, like he was rushed out of bed and given ten minutes to prepare. I eye his outfit, a cream patterned button-up and a pair of rumpled slacks. He has the appearance of a former surfer, carefree but vain, and ironically better for both of those things; he’s easy on the eyes.

I scold myself for thinking it.

“Arthur Young,” I say.

He answers in a faded Australian whirl.

“Awake and in the flesh.”

I hit record on my phone. He glances at it and smiles. I clear my throat.

“I’m Harper Reilly. I saw that you offered to be the subject of an interview, and I thought that I’d take you up on the offer. I have a few questions for you.”

Young shifts in his seat, glances at the door as it closes and the spare Elite disappears. There’s a thick metal collar around his neck and a matching pair of heavy cuffs on his wrists, both finely engraved and pulsing with faint blue light. Beneath the collar I can see pink skin with the shape of the collar’s edge pressed into it.

“You don’t have to be so formal, ma’am,” Young says, turning his blue-eyed gaze back to me. I click my pen and start scribbling. “I’m not a governor and I don’t think I’d want to be. Honestly, I just miss talking to people whose names don’t start with Officer or Lieutenant or, god forbid, Captain or Commissioner.”

I smile and he smiles too. I don’t know why.

“Well, I guess I should start at the beginning.”

“That makes sense,” Young replies, scraping his fingernail against the surface of the table.

QUESTION: “You grew up in Australia, then? What was your childhood like? Many criminal profiles indicate past traumas that influence present misbehavior.”

Young grins and shrugs. 

ANSWER: “I don’t think I was particularly traumatized. I grew up in Australia, yes, youngest of four. My father was a bit strict, would spank us a time or two. I just liked trouble. I’d get into fights at school and that sort of thing, all in good fun. My sisters never had an issue in school. I was always the problem child.”

QUESTION: “Did your pyromania start in school, then?”

ANSWER: “Do I have pyromania? I suppose I might. Yeah, it started in school. Most kids have an obsession with fire for a while, though, right? Mine just never really went away. I started with pieces of paper and leaves, moved onto LEGO sets and toothpick buildings, that sort of thing. The LEGO sets never really burned. Cardboard boxes burned really well, though. I tried to burn a Barbie once, but I felt sick after. I couldn’t do it.”

I blink. 

QUESTION: “Was it the smell?”

ANSWER: “What? No, no. I don’t mind the smell of anything burning. I just felt like a d---. Never did it again.”

QUESTION: “At what point did your pyromania evolve from ‘kid stuff’ to ‘illegal stuff?’”

ANSWER: “Don’t tell the officers, but I was about seventeen. I got bored of burning skateboards and marshmallows and ice lolly sticks, so I lit my neighbors shed on fire. I watched it go down from my bedroom window. It was a nice feeling. Kind of like when you watch someone cut things? You know those videos? It was fun. The neighbor never used the thing, anyway.”

QUESTION: “At some point you moved on from things people never used, though. Your record attributes the burnings of numerous houses and cars to you, along with a condominium and a government building.”

ANSWER: “Yeah. I burned down a house when I was, like, twenty, I think. And then when I was twenty four and twenty five. That’s when it started being a regular thing. I tried to make sure they didn’t have pets or things. I called the fire department a few times, it’s fun to watch them do their job. They don’t use those extinguishers as much as you’d hope, though.”

QUESTION: “The government building was the end of your run. Several people were severely burned. Was this an issue with authority?”

Young looks briefly pained, but he answers with a smile. 

ANSWER: “Ah, f--- the government. It was an ugly old building anyway.”

QUESTION: “And the people? They were the first in-patients at a hospital as a result of your fires.”

ANSWER: “One was a senator. Whatever.”

QUESTION: “Two weren’t.”

ANSWER: “I know. I understand they’re doing much better now that I’m in jail.”

I consider pushing the topic. Clearly these people left some sort of impression on Young, and he doesn’t seem any more than upset. It’s not anger. I can’t decipher the emotion.

QUESTION: “Forgive me for asking. What mistake led to your arrest?”

ANSWER: “Mistake? Is that what the articles say? Nah. I turned myself in.”

I splutter.

QUESTION: “You what? Really? Why?”

ANSWER: “Boredom, mostly. Little bit of self-preservation. Less likely to be, you know, electrocuted to death if I owned up to as much as I could.”

QUESTION: “They were going to give you the death sentence?”

ANSWER: “You don’t burn down a government building without pissing a lot of short-tempered people off. I think the death penalty was a pretty light consideration of them, to be honest. They could have spent the rest of my life torturing me. I got a second chance instead.”

I eye the collar with a lifted brow.

QUESTION: “Second chance.”

ANSWER: “Yes. I’m their inside source or something like that. I do this, tit for tat kinda thing. The tat is that I get to live in a decent house in the country with a lovely view while watching every single season of Law & Order from front to back. I’m the tit.”

QUESTION: “You’re the- what?”

ANSWER: “Bad phrasing? Oh well. Ask me about Carisi.”

QUESTION: “Why would I ask you about a fictional-”

ANSWER: “I got bored and read his wikipedia once. Ask me about him.”

QUESTION: “This interview is about you, Mr. Young. I’m sorry.”

ANSWER: “Damn.”

QUESTION: “So, um… what did you used to do outside of arson? Like, what was your job?”

ANSWER: “Oh, a lot of things. I went to uni to be a therapist, but it was understandably depressing, so I switched to construction. I’m not really strong enough to do that. So I switched again, and I became an insurance salesman for a while. Most boring job on earth, let me tell you. When I was about thirty I decided I hated that s--- and got a job as a grocer here in America. Got a managerial position after a few years. Got bored. Tried writing a book, didn’t work out. I considered working as a volunteer firefighter, but I didn’t want to get caught. Too predictable. So I got a job installing fire alarms.”

QUESTION: “That’s a legitimate job? And… unpredictable for an arsonist?”

ANSWER: “No, I know. It’s stupid looking back. But yeah, it’s a legit job. I worked in California for a bit, then Oregon, then Utah and Idaho and Tennessee. I ended up in Connecticut at one point, wound down to New Jersey, and here I am. How many times have you had a fire alarm screech in your ear?”

QUESTION: “Um, I dunno… a handful?”

ANSWER: “Lucky. They sound awful.”

QUESTION: “So… so you’ve had several jobs. Some of them mention alternate names, but are beyond a doubt linked to your face. There’s a Henry Jacobs, a Lewis Jonathan, an Artemis Bell…”

ANSWER: “The last one was a mild error in judgment, a little bit of a dare.”

He pinches his fingers together, leaving only a fraction of an inch.

I tilt my head, eye his bound hand then the lines of his scruffy face. I wonder if this is the most dangerous he’s ever been; dangerously cavalier, that is. He’s talking to me about his criminal history, his fake identities and various jobs and the fires he’s set. That’s what I keep coming back to. He’s an arsonist. He is dangerous, whether he looks it or not - and when I think about it he does look dangerous. There’s a spark in those blue eyes, muted only by the weight of his restraints.

I look at my sheet of questions. I only had a few, but most of them don’t seem relevant now. He drew a dozen more out of me, none of them planned, none of them true questions. I fumble, and he waits patiently, so I start to ask him one more thing.

QUESTION: “Do you regret-”

Then there’s a knock on the door and Steven enters, beckoning for me to follow. I must have used up all my time. I wasn’t aware there was a time lock, but that’s okay. I have more than enough content to satisfy myself and, hopefully, all of you. I end the recording on my phone, gather my notebook (which is riddled in shorthanded mess) and I rise to my feet.

Young watches me coolly, with a gentle smile, and I return it before ice trickles down my spine. He’s a criminal. I have to remember that. It’s a mask.

“Best of luck, Mr. Young,” I say politely, unsure what else to say. Goodbye isn’t right, because I’m not sure this is good. Young lifts a hand - I notice a burn in the center of his palm - and waves.

“See you.”

“I don’t think that you will,” Steven says, and Young shrugs and looks away.

“Force of habit,” he replies.

Steven guides me out of the precinct, still as confusing and maze-like as it was the first time. I hand him the diamond halfway through the walk. He pockets it. I wonder what would have happened if I pushed that button.

We pause just outside the front doors, exchange a glance, before he shrugs his shoulders and makes his way back inside. It’s all very anti-climactic, and I don’t know if I like it that way or not.

When I settle at home I start on this piece immediately. I’m a bit ashamed that I didn’t ask more relevant questions. I didn’t ask bad ones, but I meant to do more for you, and for me.

I decide that I’m going to interview him again, soon.

#my writing #ch: harper reilly #ch: arthur young #writing: firebrand

[the-vinedresser]

Confession #1

Told you I’d eventually do this — it’s story time.

So here I am, just studying for my final tomorrow morning. All of a sudden, Minus the Bear’s “Pachuca Sunrise” comes up for the millionth time this week and I skip it just like the other time. But this time I’m angry because why should I skip a song because some shitty guy ruined it for me. Why should I automatically register pain and hurt just from seeing the title and the cover art show up on my screen.

High school senior year (yikes). Wait but before that happened, my friend Rebecca told me that this boy Mike liked me during freshman year. She’s close to him, so it must’ve been true. And it was. But he got angry that she told me and didn’t do anything. I immediately looked him up on Facebook when I got home and to my surprise we were already friends. I guess I must’ve added him at some point. Being the new girl in a small town, I kind of lost track.

Fast forward to summer of junior year I start to grow feelings for this person I didn’t know because I am a vain human being and he showed interest in me at one point, so it shouldn’t change a few years later, right?

So I don’t know how but we started talking to each other through text. Someone must’ve set us up and exchanged our numbers. He was very charming through text. Super charming. He seriously knew how to use words which blows my mind even now just thinking about it. I would get so excited seeing his name light up on my phone even if it was a simple “hey.” He would playfully make fun of me, open up about stuff, was unapologetically witty and sharp. I kept wanting to meet in person at school and some days we did before class, but it was just awkward. The same witty person I would speak to didn’t transfer in real life. We would hug awkwardly sometimes. He was taller than I imagined and super lanky and his voice was very low. But I still enjoyed his mind so I was still smitten even though it felt unnatural to talk to him in person.

What started out as innocent conversations got not so innocent very quickly, as you can imagine. All of a sudden he was inviting me to his pool and the conversation would somehow end up with sexual innuendos. Red flags, right? Young Megan was so vulnerable back then. But more than that, she was excited about this new feeling of, well, excitement and infatuation.

I’m going to keep it blunt. We started sexting a lot and Snapchat was a bigger thing back so we exchanged photos once. I felt absolutely disgusting the morning after I sent those pictures. How did I get talked into doing that? But I figured he must’ve liked me because he always talked about hanging out. I didn’t know it back then, but the feeling I had was the realization that I’ve been exploited.

My friend at the time started receiving attention from him as well and was not hesitant to tell me. The bad news is it wasn’t out of concern, it was a competition now. I don’t do competition so guess who got hurt. She would tell me that he’s so gross while showing me the texts and they were different from what he sent me, but I would’ve liked to hear them directed towards me nonetheless. She was insecure about her body but he incessantly complimented her about it... and also invited her to his pool.

For the longest time I didn’t want to be near this friend. If I liked something at a store but I couldn’t wear it because it was a size extra small, she would try it on and buy it on purpose to somehow get back at me. I can’t be around ill-intentioned insecure people anymore. (Lol or so I thought. It still somehow happens.) Anyways, when my friends would get together during break in college I could never hang out if she was there and people definitely noticed.

So anyways back to this shitty excuse of a human being, I ended up caving. It was senior year, I was discontent and stressed and needed to rebel. I went over to his house one day after third period. We’ve been planning for a while but his parents were always home and same with mine. But that day ended up working out and a couple of his friends saw me sitting in the passenger seat when we pulled out of the parking lot.

I remember admiring his view. He had the most beautiful view that he didn’t seem to think was a big deal. I thought it was cute how he couldn’t keep still and would move around a lot when we would talk. Before we started he asked if I ever did anything with anyone before. I said I did a couple weeks ago. He was older and went to a different school. But secretly, yes, it was my first time. I ended up telling him a couple years later in college when I was home one break.

I wasn’t as nervous because I made it seem like I had the advantage. Before I used to think that it wasn’t bad for my first experience, but looking back at it now, oh it was. We did a lot of stuff, like 10 pornos in 10 minutes. He didn’t cum and was obviously flustered.

Afterwards. Oh man that part still kills me. We layed down on our sides and just looked at each other. He stroked my hair and kissed me while I commented on all the knick-knacks and collectibles he had in his room. We got up, he showed me the cool illusion in his bathroom mirror, and I saw mascara smeared all over my eyes. He drove me home and that was it.

Ok, actually that wasn’t just it. Freshman year he’d text me a lot. During the most convenient times when I was studying or at a party crossfaded. It was on my Snapchat story so he knew. I remember complaining to my friends that I just want him to leave me alone, while secretly enjoying the attention and the entertaining thought that I was so good in bed he wanted more. Like I said, super naive back then.

I ended up sleeping with him again one more time at the end of fall semester freshman year. The first time we drove out to the pond near my house just to hang out and talk. We went to a diner in Brewster, New York and talked about... I don’t quite remember.

The next time we met at the pond again and I brought a bottle of wine with me. I asked him if he wanted some and he declined. That’s when I told him he wasn’t my first and I think it made him happy but he also said it bummed him out because he wanted it to be special.

We started kissing awkwardly and I knew by then that the awkward kissing wasn’t just reserved to him, a lot of guys seemed to be good at that. After we made out for like 10 seconds we walk back to his car and hold hands. He joked about how his arm is so much longer than mine and he was right. It felt weird like my arm was being stretched to go lower, even though he was taller than me.

We go into the backseat of his car and it’s cramped. He’s a little more aggressive this time and I yelp at one occasion. He comes early. I’m bummed. He said wait wait it’s ok, jacks it a couple times and no more than 5 seconds later he’s ready to go again.

Afterwards the windows are all fogged up and it’s dark outside. I draw things on the window while i stroke his head, which is laying on my shoulder. He told me he didn’t want to hurt me like he did earlier ever again (the yelping part, not the emotional damage ha ha ha).

We got dressed, opened all the doors and he sprayed some air freshener and was convinced his mom was going to find out. He drives me home again with the windows open and it feels nice. I looked out the window all pensive and disappointed like my stupid 19 year-old self and he tells me how good it was for him. He asked me how it was for me, and I bluntly tell him it was just ok. He drops me off making sure to stop at the very bottom of my driveway so my parents don’t see.

At one point way back in senior year of high school I texted him what I really felt. I was angry with him for being stupid and he had to know. He responded saying something like he knows he’s an asshole, he doesn’t know why he is this way, his brother yells at him all the time for not understanding social cues and norms and for hurting people’s feelings all the time. To this day I still think what he told me was honest. Usually I’d call bullshit but it seemed like just a bit too much detail, which meant it had to be the honest truth.

I still hate him. Just now when I was studying I pictured him going off on one of his little nature escapades in the mountains and him falling off a cliff and dying.

I remember I was in Canada with my family in high school at some point and the sky was orange and beautiful and I was listening to that Pachuca Sunrise song and I was just thinking about being happy with him. Instead of enjoying family vacation. But the daydream made me a more pleasant person than what I usually am on family trips.

But now I hate him. He somehow convinced all these girls 2 years younger than us to sleep with him. My friends told me they hated him and didn’t like him and thought he was gross but I did not listen. Every one of my friend groups seemed to be aware of my weird obsession with him and told me stuff about his greasy hair and loud breathing.

I want to take up kickboxing because of him and the couple other shitty people in my life whom I resent. I feel like the idea of religion and Christianity was holding me back from experiencing these strong emotions. I don’t want to bring them to God because I haven’t let go of them and processed them myself yet. Doing it in partnership with God was something that didn’t work for me, I just kept pushing it away and saying I forgave them because I gave it all to God, when I really didn’t, no matter how hard I tried. Forgiveness is the right thing so I should do it. That’s what I kept reassuring myself.

I refuse to forgive until I understand what it actually is and soak in it for a little bit. People are shitty the end. I embrace the shittiness of life!!!