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definegodliness · 3 years

Text

University of Curiosity

End of summer. Bright days. Kind weather. I went to a school, a vast university offering countless of seemingly random programs and courses, designed to let people tap into their full potential. First day. Bit nervous. We were with a group of say fifty people. There were three mentors, and after a short introduction they split us up into smaller groups so we could talk and get to know each other. My group was full of creative people. Writers, poets, painters, musicians, the lot. We got along fine, but not all too long after being grouped together, one of the three mentors, our specific mentor, came into our communal room. We went silent, but he told us to just continue whatever we were doing. Then, he glanced over us, observing the group as a whole, then, all as individuals. I had forgotten he was even in the room, and time must have flown cause all of the sudden it was late dusk, but sudden as a lightning strike he spoke.

"All right, that's enough."

He split us into pairs and directed each pair toward a pod-like room with little more than a door, and one kingsized bed. I was paired with a girl with emerald eyes and long wavy honey brown hair. She was about my height, with broad shoulders and a strong build. Not toned, but soft. Stocky yet feminine. Cream skin. We dropped our belongings in the little space left around the bed and sat on it. She immediately came onto me. Which made me uncomfortable. The lighting started flashing, as if due to electric failure, and through our open door I could see into the other pod-like rooms where the other pairs already were fucking. I remember thinking, 'well, that's what you get.'

Meanwhile, honey brown hair girl was getting annoyed by my standoffishness, and the way I kept rejecting her. She had already dressed down to her underwear, dark purple lingerie, trying to get on top of me. She looked back at the open door, then at me, as if I were some of the worst kinds of puritan prudes, then jumped off the bed to close it. I took in her figure, her comely curved legs, round butt, and small breasts, wondering why I was making it so difficult. She glanced at me the same, as if saying: 'what the fuck, dude?'. I told her, apologetically, it had just been a while. Explaining the sitch. And she rolled her eyes fiercely, and pounced on me again. This time we kissed. And I decided it be best for me to, uncharacteristically, just give in.

I took over. A shift in dominance. Clutching her wrists as I splayed her on the bed, then letting my hands travel to her throat and chin. She wrapped her body around mine vice-tight. So tight I had to use all my strength to move. It was a kind of physical euphoria unknown to me. The lights started flickering again. Our door slammed open, but I didn't care. But then all of the sudden I had to stop. Startled, I looked at her cream skin. Around her wrists, around her chin and throat, where I had touched her so firmly, her skin had blackened as if smeared with ink, or coal.

We sat on the bed for a while, confused. She looking at her hands, me looking at her face. We felt no fear. It hadn't hurt her. It was just so weird. The black faded as if her skin absorbed it. All good again. She smiled at me.

We stood up. Facing each other. Both thinking the same thing. We interlaced fingers and pushed into each other as hard as we could. Her hands and arms gradually turned black again, smoking and sizzling. Mine turned bright white, emitting flashing light. And shadows and ball lightning shot from us, through the open door and across the communal room.

"Do you see that? Do you see that?!", I heard the voice of our mentor ecstatically exclaim. They must've been looking for this to happen. And he stood in the center of the communal room, looking at us through the open door. We were just standing then. She with the blackened arms, mine still bright white.

"Can you do that again?"

And I flung my arms forward, shooting great beams, pillars of light. As if in a dance. Honey brown haired girl watched me, her jaw dropped as the light traveled onward. I wanted her to join in dance with me. Clash the black and white and see what happens. But all of the sudden a grey haired man in a suit came barging into the room.

"All right, that's enough."

The lighting stopped flickering. And our hands and arms returned to normal instantly. I tried evoking the light again, but couldn't.

I woke up.

And instantly fell back to sleep.

I found myself wandering the university's offices, looking for our group's mentor to explain what just happened. But as I walked through the corridors, I came past a room where the grey haired man in the suit was speaking to other suits, saying it was time to fire the three mentors and end the program I was in. The program designed to let people tap into their full potential. I picked up the pace and frantically searched for that mentor to tell him and maybe find a way to prevent all this from happening.

Long story short, because the second dream is hazy: I didn't find the mentor, but ganged up with honey brown hair girl again. She had become my friend and study partner. Together we ended up at some kind of space observatory on a hill, after a little adventure full of sneaking past suits and professors, where we were able to get our hands on all documentation about the program. Our intention was to give all that stuff to our mentors, so they could continue the program independently. But I woke up at the moment we were sure we had everything.

And instantly fell back to sleep.

The new campus was on green fields amid a forest area. The last dream was a bit more social drama. Honey brown hair girl had a friend, who for no reason hated me, and hence annoyed the fuck out of me. I spent that dream trying to get my study partner continuing our adventure, but her friend kept dragging her away for trivial you're-not-giving-me-enough-attention matters.

Seeing the laissez-faire approach of the program, we both we're entirely confused what to do next. All we knew was that we had homework for the next day, but there wasn't a hint as to what that homework could be.

Now the drama part of the dream isn't very interesting. At one point I had enough of the friend, when honey brown hair girl was on the opposite side of a revolving door, and she kept blocking my way. I started pulling faces at her, first mocking her behind her back (very mature, I know, but I was fed up and had no intention to get physical). Then, when she noticed and turned around angry, I just kept doing it until ending with, ‘there, those are the ugliest faces I can pull’. She spat at me. And I was like, "seriously, during covid times?" She also stole my bike, but the other people, offended by her spitting, swiftly returned it to me. I didn’t see the friend after that. Finally I could go on, and through the revolving doors, to my study partner.

The triple dream ended when we discussed the homework. We agreed you had to figure out what to do for yourself, and all we had to fall back upon were our experiences during school time. That, and our own toolbox of skills. I told her I would write an essay about all that happened over the last period. And jokingly added it would be hard because so much had happened. Then, her eyes turned to the floor for a while, till she looked at me and answered:

"You think that's hard, but I have to write a poem about loving someone who loves someone else."

Sad eyes met mine. I fell silent.

I woke up for the last time before I could answer.

#dream #triple dream #dream diary

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springtimebat · 3 years

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The Autumn Meeting (Part 1/4)

Six suns peer down from perching clouds, leaving heavy, gilded dents on the heavens. They watch with amused, greedy eyes, their eyelids soft and rusted. They sit and wait for a hymn to be sung.

The city of tomorrow arrives in the early morning, on a thousand dying legs. The crow is beginning its call as the sun sets in the east, and the queen begins to cross the old town bridge just as the sky turns pitch black. The queen is young and full of life. Her hair is dark and wild. Her eyes are electric green. Naturally, the shadows clamber over each other, desperate to touch her skin. They claw at her footprints, grasp desperately at her diadem. The Queen places a shawl, a piece of midnight, careworn and devoid of stars, around her shoulders. She places galoshes on her feet. They snap against the cobblestones. The shadows attempt to bash her brain in. The queen pulls the shawl tighter around her neck and carries on. She must begin her quest before it's too late, before she misses her window. She pulls apart the ghoulish bonds restraining her and slips into the forest, the heavy frame of her home balancing on stilts behind her.

When the clock strikes the right time, three pilgrims meet deep inside the bowels of the forest to tell stories they stole off of wanderers backs. One is skull and bones, the second is more shark than man, the last is cast in iron and gilded armour, kept together with unsteady bolts and springs. The three are old, dear friends with different destinies that lead them to separate for months on end. Still, now they gather for a night in. They gather for the stories and for listening.

The forest is a protective shield, swarming with thistles, brambles and decaying pieces of junk. Years before, during the days of the dust, a king set up booby traps in the forest, hoping to capture some kind of beast. Now spikes and barbed wire festered among the moss, weary of a world full of colour beyond the tree trunks. The queen notices flashes of silver as she races through the trees; simply shadows against the bruised sunset and the sad oaks. Her feet dance around the puddles and quicksands. She flies through the grass and the rock until she comes across the meeting place from her stories. In a clearing stands a roaring fireplace and three men, huddled together like three fates. One stands up and hurls wood onto the fire, his back muscles tensing. He is a fish-man, with silver scales framing his brow and giant saucers for eyes. He wears the same strange uniform the Queen had seen him wear in an engraving once, all frills and ridiculous trimmings. The second man sits watching the third as they recite a poem. His body is masked by a suit of metal armour. Atop his helmet sits a boar’s head, its eyes closed, bored. The final man shakes their bones and clacks their teeth. He disguises his lack of skins with a cloak, similar to the Queen’s. He is standing by the fire, whistling a strange sonnet:

“-so the little girl set off to win back her foot. But the ogre’s own pair of feet were large and heavy. He was quicker than the little girl and it took her months and months of travelling to catch up-”

“Didn’t her parents worry about her?” Interrupts the fish man from his space at the mantle-piece, “Poor girl out on her lonesome.”

His friend groans and stamps his foot.

“She had no parents Abram. She was all on her lonesome to begin with and that’s how she lost her foot. Haven’t you been listening, you knucklehead?”

“Surely she has friends who would wanna know where she is...right? I mean, surely one of you guys would wanna know about my fins being cut up? Or my scales being punctured-”

“Enough! I have a story to finish Abram. Leave questions ‘till after the workshop.”

Abram lets out a tiny squeak but speaks no more. The skeleton grins in the firelight and begins again:

“The little girl carried on, always searching for her missing foot. She asked everyone she came across and slaughtered the many who tried to take her for their own, with their nets and their traps and their cages. By the time she finally found her foot she was covered in blood and guts and body parts. Still, she had found her foot and that’s what truly matters-”

“Where’d she find it Emil?” Abram asks, his eyes widening.

“I’m getting to that! Now where was I- oh right! The little girl, all alone and bloody in middle of a winter wood, found her foot on the low branch of a great oak much like these-” The skeleton waves his arms at the trees encasing the three storytellers, “The bone was still brand new, like a new pair of shoes elastic new. It had been left there many, many moons before by someone very tall.”

“What did she do then?”

“Well, she grabbed her foot from the oak tree and put it back, snapping it into place so to speak. Then she began the journey back home. As she did she thought to herself, “The ogre must have not needed the foot as much as I did.” The End.” Emil raises his skull to the sky, grinning proudly.

His friends give awkward coughs.

“What happened to the ogre?” Abram asks, frowning, “Surely something interesting happened to him.”

“Unimportant.” Emil growls.

The suit of armour gives a squeak and stretches his wiry arms. Emil rolls his head to the side in annoyance.

“What the girl did once she got home does not matter Gus. Not in the slightest. Don’t you understand what I was trying to get across? What I was trying to convey?”

“Not really.” Abram says, poking at the fire with a stick.

“The moral of the story, of the stanzas, was that quests of revenge, of bloodshed, are simply pointless. The journey is important and needed. All the other benign details are just...unnecessary!”

“It was good ‘till the ending. You just need to rework the ending.”

Emil scoffs, “Amateurs! Both of you! And Francis, Boris and Johnson and…all of the folding folk at the board up in the mountains! I cannot compromise my masterpiece with...amateurs!”

“I enjoyed it.”

The three men turn to see a young girl approaching their campground, her eyes an electric green, her pupils dancing. She has an amused smirk on her face. Her hair is a dangerous dark brown. Abram just stands there, blinking, confused. Emil turns his back on the visitor, muttering some obscenities about damned fairy folk under his musty breath. Gus on the other hand, recognises the queen immediately and falls to the ground in a bow, his chest plate and helmet clinking. The queen’s smirk grows into a grin and she pats the knight on the shoulder.

“I enjoyed the blood and the guts...and the body parts.”

“Yeah you would,” Emil growls, “You and your tasteless, tasteless people.”

Gus gasps and places himself in front of the queen, as if Emil’s words can pierce her skin. Emil simply laughs.

“Look at this old fool! This old, old fool! She doesn't care for you at all my boy! She looks at you as she looks at the bugs swarming around her feet. Learn that Gus! Learn these young girls only want to look at you in amusement and never want to settle down!”

“I want to settle down,” The queen replies, and she strides towards a chair the men have manufactured from fallen Autumn leaves, “I am going to settle down.”

“Ah see! I knew it! I knew you were that queen I’ve heard gossip about!”

“Gossip?” The queen’s eyebrows raise, “Gossip about me?”

“Oh yes. I’ve heard quite a lot of tall tales about you. Stories about you eating babies, stabbing your own knights with their own swords-” At that, Gus swallows and sits back down on the forest floor, shaking, “-stories of you charming snakes and cobras. Stories of you sleeping in their coils.” Emil stares at the queen, goading her to respond. The queen tuts and stretches her short, stubby legs. They were tired from hours of running as their owner searched the dark places. Her skin stretches and shifts in the firelight.

“I only ate one baby. The rest is just nonsense.”

“Hmmm. All the gossip came from your kind so I never took any of it seriously. Seeing you now makes me think it wasn’t so far fetched.”

The queen furrows her brow and rolls her eyes.

“Are you all telling stories?” She asks, focusing on the dirt beneath her leaf throne instead of the man in front of her, “ When I was little I read stories about you telling stories together. In an endless loop.”

The men fall silent. The queen sighs.

“I would like to join you all. For just one night.”

Emil growls. Abram roasts a marshmallow. Gus shivers in an invisible wind. His legs make a strange croaking sound and detach themselves from his waist, stumbling about on the rocky terrain.

“What are you queen of, exactly?” Emil asks.

“All sorts of things really.”

“Like what? What do you do? What are your day-to-day ac-tiv-teees?”

“I look after the lost ones most of the time.”

“The lost ones?”

“Folks made of time and sand. They come to us, my husband and I, full of regrets and sorrows. They lose themselves in our corridors and become our subjects. We transform their troubled minds into something sweet.”

“Sweet for the monarchy, one supposes, but not for everyone else,” murmurs Emil, picking at his cloak,“ I heard you two aren’t married already.”

“We will be soon.”

“Once your quest is complete, I’m guessing.”

“Yes. Once I return.”

“Do you take babies?” Abram asks, sitting cross-legged on the milkwood grass, “I heard you take babies.”

“Sometimes.”

Emil clears his throat, which makes his bones rattle in a very unattractive way. He then nods to Abram, who nods back. He turns to Gus, who by now is just a bunch of scraps flailing about in the mud. Gus’ head, however, has enough time to tilt his head back in agreement.

“Very well. You may join the club for a night. A single solitary night-”

“No baby eating!” Abram shouts from his corner. The Queen tuts and crosses her heart with a wicked finger.

“I promise. No baby eating.” She grins.

“-And you’ll be the last to go. No cuts!” Emil growls.

“Very well.” The Queen sighs and closes her eyes, listening to the whispers in the breeze.

Emil looks to his companions, sitting by the campfire as they always do, and shrugs.

“Now that…compromise has been met I suppose we can continue with the workshop.”

“Finally,” Abram mutters.

And as the four take their places in the storyteller’s guild, the woods begin to shiver with excitement.

The annual Autumn meeting was only beginning.

#creative writing #my story #a devil's palm story #fantasy #monsters #parallel worlds #cryptids #cryptidcore #weirdcore #oddcore #american gothic #surreal #southern gothic #character study #ongoing series #a rough draft #part one of four

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im-the-punk-who · 3 years

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Hey, I was wondering if you have a book rec

Okay so in full disclosure, I have a really hard time reading books. My brain sometime around six years ago just decided that wasn't its style anymore, so I don't read a TON. A lot of these aren’t going to be recent releases. However, here are a bunch of books I would absolutely recommend checking out! I tried to include a variety of genres but I have uh.....five bookshelves in my apartment so if you're looking for more of a certain genre let me know!

Theatre:

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead - Tom Stoppard

Waiting for Godot - Samuel Beckett

These are my two favorite plays - they're both absurdist, humorous, and have some fun things to say. They’re both by old white guys but like....I love both Tom Stoppard and Samuel Beckett DEEPLY and they have all of my love and respect.

Non-Fiction/Educational:

Why are all the Black Kids Sitting Together in the Cafeteria by Beverly Daniel Tatum - this is considered a 'classic' on the psychology of racism, and was particularly helpful for me as a white person in arming myself against 'reverse racism' thoughts and in dissembling my own prejudices. This is mostly a rec for other white folks, but Tatum also addresses 'having the courage to sit at the black table' as a way of claiming your own identity outside of the stereotypes the dominant society expects of you.

Daring Greatly by Brene Brown - Okay listen I just really REALLY love Brene Brown, she is a therapist most famous for her TED talk about Vulnerability and this is just...listen I really like to read this book when I am sad and feel like shit because it makes me feel strong. I reread this book at least once a year.

Imagined Communities by Benendict Anderson - This is an absolutely fascinating read on the rise of nationalism. It’s a bit dry and wordy, but the ideas and use of history as propaganda, spinning the story of a nation to pit it against or on the same side as other nations, and the ways in which these tactics shaped cultural history is just!!!! Amazing.

Gay New York by George Chauncey - This is just one of the most informative and interesting reads of queer history in New York that I’ve ever come across. It’s one of the ‘must reads’ of queer history and has so many interesting tidbits that I have to recommend it. It’s a bit old(published in 1994) but I still find it relevant and interesting to read.

Personal Fiction/Autobiographical Fiction

White Girls by Hilton Als - I went to a reading of this book when it first came out. It was so much fun and so eye-opening for me as a baby queer in NYC that I bought the book there. I wanna be really clear that Als does not pull punches and a lot of people don’t quite like it, but I love Als’ style of writing. The stories and essays in this book are amazing and funny and heartbreaking and informative of queer experience - particularly black queer experience - that I always feel like...honored? to experience through writing? This is one of those ‘you’re gonna suffer but you’re gonna be happy about it’ reads - it can be hard to face because of how very hard the pills are to swallow but like....gosh I just love this book and it’s interesting and hilarious and great.

Confessions of an Economic Hitman by John Perkins - this is my tin hat favorite. It hits....ugh. This is one of those books that came out and like every government agency freaked the fuck out over it. It’s an interesting look into the quote-unquote dark underbelly of capitalism; how and why countries manipulate each other through economic policies. Super interesting read with a nice style of prose.

The Know-It-All: One Man's Humble Quest to become the Smartest Person in the World by A.J. Jacobs Okay so full disclosure I have not finished reading this, but I’m far enough through to rec it. This book chronicles the author’s attempt to read the entire Encyclopedia Brittanica from front to back, and it is just as kooky and hilarious as it sounds. I am very incredibly and deeply offended this author stole both my schtick and my initials, thereby preventing me from doing this exact thing. I read through the phone book in its entirety when I was three. I had it in me. Anyway, this is basically the author just listing weird interesting facts he’s read about and connecting them to his daily life, but it’s a fun read, and you learn a lot of totally useless facts, which is absolutely my jam.

When Skatboards Will Be Free by Saïd Sayrafiezadeh - HI I LOVE THIS BOOK. I’ve read it maybe three times over. It’s so fun and interesting. You may notice that a lot of the books I rec are very absurdist in their humor, and this is no exception. This book is full of the dry wit and just weird goddamn shit you could only expect from the child of a revolution that never came. You want to read a book about someone who Went Through Shit? Read this book. It’s funny and heartbreaking and just. AHHHH. Seriously I cannot recommend this enough.

Hyperbole and a Half by Allie Brosch - FIGHT ME ON THIS. I love this book.....so much. Yes it’s technically a comic book but the stories are so INTERESTING and hilarious and full of exactly the dry absurdist humor I eat the fuck up. Also! Allie Brosch recently released a sequel of sorts called Solutions and Other Problems that I recommend without even reading it.

Poetry

Pansy by Andrea Gibson - IF YOU ARE NOT READING THE POETRY OF ANDREA GIBSON WHAT ARE YOU EVEN DOING WITH YOUR LIFE. I cried seven times reading this book. There are only like 14 poems. Please please read this to break your own queer heart :)

Bloodsport by Yves Olade - This is a tiny book full of absolutely devastating poetry. Most of it has to do with the grief of relationships, but like....gosh I love all of Olade’s stuff. (Also!! This is available as a pay-what-you-wish pdf!!)

Bright Dead Things by Ada Limón - This book focuses a lot on the author’s experiences of loss, and knowing that loss is going to happen. I’m completely devastated every time I read this.

Science Fiction/Fantasy

The Bartimeaus Sequence by Jonathan Stroud - So what if I am a dumb millennial I love this series. It’s another dry and deadpan humor, with weird additions and Stroud’s use of footnotes to absolutely crack me the fuck up means I gotta rec this. I just gotta. Four(I think?) books following the deeply unlikeable Nathaniel and his Djinn Bartimaeus, who just wants to eat humans and have a deeply enjoyable enemies to lovers plotline with his arch rival.

The Magic's Price Trilogy by Mercedes Lackey - Okay I know I’ve recced this before. I will rec it again. This was the very first series I ever read that featured a gay protagonist and I was. Devastated? Reformed? I latched onto Vanyel Ashkevron and I am never letting this depressed emo boy go. Try me, I bite. Seriously, this book was released in the 80s and yet it is still relevant, I still cry - god i LOVE this series SO MUCH. And, MERCEDES LACKEY actually invented unbury your gays, sorry I make the rule on that one. :) Also there are magic talking horses??????? Seriously please read this series I love it so much.

Fire Bringer & The Sight by David Clement-Davies - This is another series that was absolutely formative in my baby lexicon. These are books about magical animals and their inner societal workings and both books address the ideas of good, evil, darkness, compassion and good will, and destiny. I am obsessed with these books, they are some of the most interesting of the genre I’ve read, and so incredibly intricately written. LOVE these books.

Vampire Earth Series by E. E. Knight - The Witcher before it was cool. Sort of but like...there are schools of Cat, Bear, etc and it has COOL VAMPIRES I LOVE THSI SERIES. Basically, earth has been taken over by a race of alien ‘Vampires’ and follows a human involved in the resistance. The writing in this series is...wow. It’s so intricate and interesting and involved. I own the whole series because I love it so much, including the after-series hardback novels. I’m so messy and I love it.

Kindred by Octavia Butler - You know how people are like ‘YOU SHOULD READ OCTAVIA BUTLER!!’ ? You should absolutely do that. This novel is mindblowing and interesting and the pace and narrative are so so so interesting. Heartbreaking, god, horrific. Butler is an amazing writer and this novel, while my personal favorite, is not by any means the only of her books I would recommend. STORIES. STORIES!!!!!!!

Fiction

The Ballad of Barnabas Pierkiel: A Novel by Magdalena Zyzak - This book is so fucking good. It’s imaginative, funny, intelligent....it’s honestly one of the best fiction novels I’ve ever read. Again, dry, absurdist humor, this book sort of reminds me of Terry Pratchett’s style of writing.

The Call of the Wild by Jack London - This is a classic, a true classic. The social commentary of this book is so so good, London’s style flows and, personally, as a dog and animal expert, the anthropomorphisation of Buck and his fellow animals is just so well done. I love this book, it’s quite an easy read, and I reread it at least once a year.

Rolling the R's by R. Zamora Linmark - Okay. Okay okay!!!!!! I gotta take a deep breath about this one. This book is. Yuh. This is a bit younger leaning than the other fictions, focusing almost entirely on high school level characters, however the experiences and commentary is just so so good. Focusing on a diverse group of characters growing up in Hawaii in the 1970′s, this book addresses the intersectionalities of gender, sexuality, race, immigration, education, and how we define who we are. I’m obsessed.

A Separate Peace by John Knowles - A heartbreaking novel about war, innocence, adolescence, and how we hide from our truths. It’s...so good, this book hurts me a LOT okay. The prose is phenomenal, the story is poignant, and it feels like I’m ripping my own heart out with a fishhook every time I finish it.

The Toss of a Lemon by Padma Viswanathan - This is one of those books I half recommend because it’s so good, and half because of the deep wealth of knowledge it presents the reader. The author’s use of her own culture is just....goddddddddd. Intricate and interesting and so delicately included in the narrative that you can feel the love the author has for it. It’s a long read and it took me almost a month to get through reading every day, but god. It’s so soft and amazingly written I both wanted to read it all at once and take my time with it. This is another one that deals with the duality of humanity and how we connect with one another. Ahhhhhhhhh!!!!

P.S. Your Cat Is Dead by James Kirkwood Jr. - I love this book I love this book I LOVE THIS BOOK. It’s fucking hilarious, entertaining, I literally laughed out loud at every single chapter. Hilarious and poignant and surprisingly deep, this book literally follows the journey of a man in which literally everything that could go wrong does. It’s fucking hilarious.

I hope that helped and gave you some new books!!! <3

#long post #book recs #milo writes

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captainsassmanes · 4 years

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Just a Goodbye

My version for @pastelwitchling

“You’ve been an asshole lately. What’s going on?”

Michael froze with a fry to his lips, eyebrows knit together. “Nothing’s going on, asshole.” He tossed the fry at Max and they laughed. It had been a long road back, rebuilding their relationship but today, sitting together at the Crashdown, he felt content.

“Seriously though,” Max took a sip of his shake, eyes shifting over to watch Liz greet a new set of customers. “You’ve been more surly than usual. Snippy.”

Shrugging, Michael kept his eyes on his food. “I dunno. I guess I’ve been feeling, kind of, wound up?”

“Everything okay with Maria?”

Michael nodded, taking a bite of his burger and resisting the urge to spit it out. Everything tasted like nothing lately. “Yeah we’re fine.”

With a smirk, Max muttered, “romantic.”

The truth was something wasn’t sitting right anymore. The time he spent with Maria had always been quiet, no expectations, no fear, no nerves. He could just exist and laugh and breath. But lately it didn’t feel like enough.

“I’ve been wanting simple for a long time, you know? Someone not so tangled up in our extraterrestrial bullshit that they couldn’t just be with me. And Maria is perfect. I can just be myself. No pressure.”

“So, what’s the problem?”

Rolling his eyes, he stole Max’s shake and took a big gulp, ignoring the stink eye he got in return.

“Alex.”

“Alex?”

“Alex.”

“Why Alex? I thought you guys were friends?”

Michael scoffed, drawing designs in the green froth with the straw. “Can you just be friends with someone you love?”

“I’d never be able to be Liz’s friend after all this.” Michael looked up to witness Max’s dreamy gaze drift back to Liz who stuck her tongue out and winked back. “But I also can’t imagine not having her in my life so, I guess I don’t know…hey!”

Max wiped the milkshake Michael had flicked in his direction off his face.

“Thank you, Maxwell. Very helpful.”

“Well I don’t know! If you love Alex why the hell are you with Maria?”

“I just told you why!”

“You just told me why you decided to be with Maria in the first place. You didn’t explain why you’re still with her.”

“Oh, shut up, Deputy.”

They both chuckled and went back to their food, Michael mindlessly shoving one fry after another into his mouth while his mind raced. He thought he loved Maria; when they were alone, laughing and holding onto one another, he felt peaceful and was sure it was love. But in the rare moments he dared to compare it with his feelings for Alex…

“Write it down.”

Michael raised his eyebrows and looked around, confused. “Huh?”

“It’s how I coped when I loved Liz but couldn’t tell her. I wrote her love notes. Helped me deal for a while.”

Snorting, Michael said, “we’re not all Tolstoy, buddy.”

Tossing a fry at Michael’s forehead, Max muttered, “fuck off, I’m serious. Write him a note, explaining everything or apologizing or ending it or whatever you need.” He shrugged and took a bite of his burger. “I kept mine ‘cause, well, you know. But you could rip yours up or burn it, whatever dramatic choice you wanted to make.”

“You boys need anything else?”

“Yeah,” Michael smiled at Liz and rested his chin in his hand. “I’ve gotta know how you do it.”

She smiled and tilted her head, ripping their bill from her pad. “How I do what?”

“Deal with this cheesy motherfucker.”

**********

That night, he’d left the Pony a bit early, giving Maria a quick kiss and apologizing for not staying, offering some excuse about files to review or formulas to work on. He couldn’t even remember.

He sat in the airstream, crickets chirping loudly outside, with a tiny lamp illuminating the space. Bringing his knees to his chest, he rested his head against the cool aluminum and stared at the blank piece of paper, twirling his pen between his fingers.

Glancing towards the door, he remembered the first time he’d seen Alex in almost a decade, how beautiful he looked but the way he stood, obviously prepared for a battle. Michael grimaced when he remembered his words, a real Manes man.

How many times over the months, years, had he said the wrong thing? Made Alex feel small when he may have had the power to help him feel tall again. Crawling out of his too small bed, Michael opened up a box and pulled out his favorite photo. Alex looked so relaxed, even though he still carried too much weight for a seventeen-year-old kid. The years had only added to that pressure, made his shoulders slump a little more each day with the burden of this world and, at least, one other.

He kicked off his boots and shimmied out of his pants, crawling under the covers and grabbing the paper and pen once more, his favorite photo resting on the covers beside him.

********

It was a few days later that Max had shown up at the ass crack of dawn to pull Michael out of bed so they could surprise Isobel. He’d been doing that now and then, seemingly determined to make sure the three of them remained close, all feeling needed and loved.

Michael wasn’t complaining.

They’d picked up coffee and bagels from Bean Me Up and had a relaxing morning catching up and gossiping, enjoying the perfect weather.

“Did you end up taking my advice?” Max looked at Michael over his coffee once the inevitable subject of his romantic life was brought up.

Nodding, Michael sighed. “Yep. It wasn’t too bad if I do say so myself.”

“Fill me in please.” Isobel leaned back in her chair, long legs crossed and swinging playfully.

Michael pushed a hand through his hair and shook his head with a smile. “I guess I’m having a hard time letting Alex go? I’m happy with Maria but it feels like something changed.” He watched Isobel’s eyes soften and had to look away. “Our resident writer suggested I put pen to paper to move on.”

“Or not,” Max pushed Michael’s knee with his foot. “Could just help you process it all. Don’t have to make any final decisions.”

“Nah, I’m alright. I feel better about it already, I think.”

“He thinks,” Isobel smirked towards Max who nodded in agreement, eyebrows furrowed in false seriousness. “He thinks.”

“Ah, fuck you both.”

He laughed with his siblings as his heart sank.

********

Max dropped him off at the airstream a few hours later with the promise of a free beer at the Pony that night. He was surprised to find Maria sitting around the fire pit, eyes on a fire that sat extinguished.

“Hey. I didn’t know you were coming over.”

She nodded slowly; eyes fixed on his. “I lost my phone and thought it might be here.”

“Ah,” Michael said as he took the seat next to her. “You could have let yourself in, taken a look. You didn’t need to wait for me.”

“Oh, I didn’t.”

Something began to shift uncomfortably inside of Michael, realizing too slowly that something wasn’t quite right with Maria. “You okay?”

She smiled as tears welled in her eyes. “No, I’m not.”

Michael reached out for her, but she stood quickly and moved out of reach. He watched as she faced away from him, listened as she steadied her breath.

“A veteran move as you limp into frame, longing to be your crutch, I want to consume your pain.”

“Maria, wait- “

“So I loosen my belt, a familiar feeling, ten years later and my heart’s still reeling.”

“Maria, just stop and listen- “ but she continued, undeterred.

“Then you show up on my porch, floating down the stream, while I swim uphill, running out of steam.”

As Maria’s voice cracked, Michael held his head in his hands. He never meant for anyone to see what he wrote, let alone Maria. But there was something undeniable about hearing his words out loud. Something he couldn’t walk away from anymore.

“Lies upon lies, thighs upon thighs, of a woman’s touch but damn that guy.” He grimaced as Maria’s voice broke. She turned to face him, crumpled paper shaking in her delicate hands.

“The one who lifted my heaviest sighs with ease. Too much pride to beg; I’ll let my looks say please. So ignore my words, this is where I stand. You’re a pretty little liar, and I’m your man.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Michael’s heart ached at the look on Maria’s face and he wanted nothing more than to comfort her, to make that expression vanish.

“It’s just a poem, Maria.”

“For Alex.”

“It’s nothing. It’s a last goodbye.”

As a tear danced down her cheek, she shook her head. “You think that poem was a goodbye?”

Michael stood, legs feeling like jelly and out of his control. “I know it was. I wrote the damn thing.”

“When did you write it?”

He buried his hands in his pockets and stared at the sand covering his boots.

“Michael.”

“A couple days ago.”

Scoffing, she took the few steps to stand in front of him, taking hold of his face and forcing him to look at her. The paper in her hand left a small papercut on his cheek.

Her gaze was intense, making him feel naked, too exposed. He tried to pull away, but she just held on tighter. Michael felt his eyes fill, hands coming to her wrists in a silent plea.

“Fuck you, Michael.”

He nodded, finally able to avert his eyes. She dropped her hands and gently pressed the poem against his chest. He quickly covered her hand with his and their eyes met again, both crying and flayed open.

“I knew, Michael. I just kept hoping you’d grow to love me as much as you love him.”

Swallowing, Michael whispered, “I tried. I promise I tried.”

She nodded and leaned into his warmth, arms wrapping around one another and swaying slightly, a last dance in the quiet of the desert. Eventually, Maria pulled back and wiped her eyes, looking around at everything but Michael.

Clearing her throat, she took a step back and pulled her keys from her pocket. “Stay away from the Pony for a while, okay? I need time.”

He nodded and said, “yeah. Of course.”

She nodded in return and walked toward her truck, stopping with the door open and one foot inside.

“That,” she pointed at the paper in his hand, blowing gently with the breeze, “is not a goodbye. It’s a confession.”

Michael watched as she drove away, the dust clouding his view as she left.

He looked down at the paper, reading his poem through blurry eyes. Roughly wiping at his face, Michael carefully folded the paper and tucked it in his back pocket.

In something of a daze, Michael walked into the airstream, sitting on the edge of his bed with his phone in one hand, the photo in the other. He took a deep breath as he hit send, leg bouncing with nerves and a naïve sense of excitement as the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Alex. It’s Michael.”

“Hi. You okay?”

Michael smiled. “Yeah. I was just hoping you could come over. I wanna talk to you.”

His heart raced as Alex said nothing, the seconds ticking away with his pulse pounding in his ears.

“Uh, yeah, of course. What do you need?”

“You.”

#roswell new mexico #malex #malex fic #the poem fic #if rin asks she shall receive #poem belongs to Michael Vlamis #my fic

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iraacundus · 4 years

Text

STEALING

doyoung x reader - ceo!au

he had nothing to gain from stealing the snowman, he just wanted to feel totally alive, a feeling he didn’t get much anymore, he didn’t expect his employee to catch him

words: 5.7k

based on this poem i read in school (back when we had that whoo) - ‘stealing’ by carol ann duffy’

“Mostly i’m so bored i could eat myself”

----

It was two am and a cold as hell January morning. You had been lying for hours, trying to sleep but there was a storm outside. It wasn’t that you were scared of storms particularly, just that the wind was blowing so fiercely it would have unsettled the bravest of souls.

It was two twenty-six am when the blizzard finally stopped, the calm in the storm. It was the quiet that was unsettling now, you still couldn’t sleep. After tossing from side to side you decided to peak and see what damage the storm had done to the garden outside. You tugged part of your blinds apart ever so slightly and stared into the street where the snow looked perfect somehow. The blizzard had covered the footprints of anyone who had previously walked by. It had made the snowman that the kid from next door had made look just that little bit fatter, which was a comforting sight.

Your eyes snapped open once again at eight forty-six am, even though you were not quite sure when they had shut. You stood up and went to look out of your blinds again. You opened them mindlessly only to be taken aback. The slightly fatter snowman that had been there only hours before had disappeared. There was no sign of melting, it was much too cold, it just ceased to exist in the location it once had. Only a track in the snow was left. The only explanation that came to your mind was that someone had dragged the snowman away. You thought this to be a particularly strange occurrence. Because it was a strange occurrence. Somehow it didn’t stay in your brain long enough for you to care though.

You trudged through the snow in your boots all the way to the underground train station. The storm had been loud but there still wasn’t enough snow to merit a day off from work. Your headphones blared music loudly enough to drown out the sounds of the world around you so that when you took a seat down on the train you failed to notice the snowman thief, partly because he didn’t look like one. Mostly because you didn’t know what a snowman thief looked like. Partly because in real life people like him didn’t frequent trains. But one-hundred percent because you hadn’t seen the theft so how would you have known.

Work was work it dragged by, meeting after meeting. The only excitement in your day was when CEO Kim came to give you the sales files personally. He had never spoken a word to you on a non-work issue and he always had a sort of forced smile upon his face. Yet you still had the most massive crush on him. He was undeniably one of the best looking people you had ever seen... but that wasn't it. It wasn’t what drew you to him. He just did everything so carefully, like his life was controlled and like he had a purpose. It sounded strange but you just were enthralled by Doyoung’s sense of purpose. Maybe it was because it was something you had never had yourself.

“The spending needs to go down, current marketing costs are just unsustainable,” Doyoung summed up for you. You nodded, thanking him for the papers. You just had to make the full report and then, as always, you could leave for the day. But it turned out the marketing problem was huge, just as Mr Kim had said and by the time you had made it home it was ten forty-one pm. The kids from your apartment building had made a few new snowmen. Three to be exact. One was fat and short, the other tall and wobbly and the third seemed almost perfect. The smoothness of the snow all balled up was almost mesmerising to look at - so satisfying. However, you didn’t stop to gaze for long. It was just a snowman after all.

By the time you had made coffee, eaten what little leftovers you could find and showered it was nearing midnight. You took one last peek out your blinds to check there wasn’t another storm coming. You never trusted just the weather app. When you gazed out you saw no signs of a storm in the freezing air, however, there did seem to be a man in front of your house wearing a blue bobble hat. And that man did appear to be dragging the perfect one of the three snowmen towards the street.

You pulled harshly on your blind cable, pulling them upwards, allowing you to press the button and swing your window open to get a better look. You stuck your head out but you still couldn’t quite see the mans face. Fortunately, due to the fact he was lugging a large snowman, you reckoned his pace wasn't that quick. This allowed you time to throw a coat and wellies on before running down the back staircase and out of the front door almost tripping over your own feet. You hadn't cared much about the snowman before, but now witnessing the theft you felt oddly aggrieved by it.

You hurtled over to the man and stopped right in front of where he had taken a pause to check his phone for the time. This slight pause meant he had missed your headlong dash across the pristine white lawn.

“What the actual fuck are you doing?” you asked him not so politely, you didn’t take kindly to people who stole from children, even if it was just snow you had decided. You crossed your arms and made your best attempt at a reproachful look. One that the guy didn't even see.

“I’m taking this snowman,’ the guy replied without even looking up from behind the stolen object. He said it as if stealing a snowman at midnight was a perfectly fine thing to do. Which for the record it was not.

“That’s.. like seriously what the?” was all you managed to say back. You were not really sure how to deal with this situation but you really wanted to understand what the actual hell was going on. You wanted to say you were defending the kids but really it was just the most exciting thing that you had seen happen all year.

You stared at the snowman until you suddenly saw the man look up from his phone and look you dead in the eyes. Upon seeing his face you expected panic of some sort or even embarrassment followed by a sudden hasty explanation but his eyes just seemed blank. You had also expected some college or high school kid out on a dare but instead, you saw CEO Kim staring back at you. With eyes as dead as ever yet right at that moment, you could have sworn they had a small spark in them despite the lack of soul.

You were at a loss for what to do. On the one hand, you just had to know what was going on, you were so invested at this point. On the other hand, you didn’t feel like interrogating your boos on his rather interesting free time activities. It almost stopped you from saying something, you almost dashed back inside. They always say curiosity killed the cat. Still, you just had to find out. And defend the children of course.

“Why would you steal snow?” was the first question you asked him, quickly followed by, “Do enjoy the pain of children?” and then “what's wrong with you” all in succession as if you couldn’t decide what you wanted to know first.

“I’m bored.” was all he said. No one spoke for a few seconds. When you managed to talk yourself into looking him back in the eye you noticed the wild spark had gone. The purposeful mundane had returned to Kim Doyoung’s face and he honestly looked like a ghost. You suddenly realised how sad the man you saw every day really looked. It didn’t stop curiosity though, you needed a better answer.

“Most bored people like watch a movie or something.” you pointed out.

“And I steal worthless objects.” Kim Doyoung retorted. He had let go of the snowman but he didn’t leave or say anything else. He just continued to stare you down, only moving to blink and only blinking very occasionally. The silence was once again unsettling and the cold was really starting to get to you.

“Don’t steal from kids it's really not very nice,”

“I am not here claiming to be a model citizen,” he replied. He then said nothing more. You knew he probably never would so you turned on your heels and walked away, hoping he wouldn’t fire you tomorrow.

When you pulled the blind in your window down, you glanced out to see if he was still there, but the only thing left was footprints in the snow - he had taken himself back home and the snowman with him.

************************

When you sat down at work, to say you were nervous would have been a gross understatement. Even the simple sound of a stapler set you on edge. You were kicking yourself for confronting Mr Kim last night in such an extreme way. The apartment building you lived in was kind of pricey and finding any accommodation you could afford was difficult so you really couldn’t afford to lose your job.

So when you heard the footsteps coming towards you, the footsteps of whoever would deliver the key report information that day, you were praying to any god that it wasn’t CEO Kim, you also were praying that you didn’t get called to his office. When the footsteps stopped you didn’t dare look up to see who it was. It was only when the person cleared their throat you managed to drag your eyes up to look at them.

You had never been a particularly lucky person and that luck certainly didn’t seem to be starting today for when you looked up the dull eyes of Mr Kim looked right back at you. At this point all you could do not to run away was to repeat please don’t fire me over and over in your brain. Unfortunately, you came to the realisations that one or two of your please don’t fire me’s must have been said aloud as Mr Kim gave you a rather confused look.

“Why would I fire you, what you do or say in your free time is up to you, just as what I choose to do in my free time is up to me.” You had no clue what to reply to that so you settled for staring blankly at your shoes. “Anyhow, the marketing strategy seems to have improved slightly but it still needs work to fix the deficit. His face remained emotionless before he turned and walked away.

He was the strangest person you had ever encountered and you would have given all the money in the world to know what he was thinking and why he acted the way that he did but for that moment you were mostly satisfied with the fact that he hadn’t fired you. You started working on the report right away. Because while Mr Kim said what you did outside of work didn’t matter, you knew your work performance certainly did. He was a notoriously harsh man.

*****************************

The next time you saw him out of work was almost two weeks later. You had been out at a bar with your friends. It was one thirty-six as you strolled through the cold night air back towards your apartment. You were lost in thought until you saw someone approaching you in the opposite direction.

It was CEO Kim, yet this time he wasn’t dragging a snowman with him. Instead, in his arms, he had Shakespeare’s head. Not the real one, that was long rotted away buried deep under the earth, but a statue. Stealing a snowman that was one thing, the snow didn’t really belong to anyone you supposed. But this statue, you didn’t know where he got it from but it must have been acquired from an art gallery of sorts. To you that was a whole different ballgame, that wasn’t just messing around that was actual theft.

You didn’t know what to say to him when he stopped in front of you, his dull, lifeless eyes once again staring at you. The fact he hadn’t fired you earlier seemed to give you a surge of confidence as you decided to once again confront him about his odd dealings.

“Why did you steal the head?” you asked him.

“Why are you out so late?” he countered.

“I went to see some friends, why did you steal the head?” you refused to relent.

“I’m bored,” he said. It was the exact same answer as before. He frowned slightly, as he looked down at the statue in his hands. “You don’t understand a word I’m saying do you?.”

“I feel like what you’re saying is pretty self-explanatory, I just think that if you are bored you should maybe go out with some mates or join a sports team or something, instead of committing crimes.” Doyoung shook his head in response.

“That’s what I mean, you don’t get it,” he replied. He started to continue walking but he motioned for you to follow. You knew you should have just headed on back to your apartment but for some reason, you felt compelled to follow him. So you did. You fell into step alongside him.

“You see,” he began, “all those things you're suggesting, playing sports hanging out with friends, I don’t find them fun, they become onerous for me.”

“Maybe you need better friends then,” you suggested to which he laughed at. You had never seen a positive emotion on his face until that very moment. Which you decided was a very sad thing. “Maybe I don’t understand, you are young, rich, successful, you have all the things you need for a happy life.”

“And yet I don’t even really feel alive.” He looked down at you, “apart from when I’m stealing.” And you saw it again, the gleam in his eye as he spoke of his crime and he smiled at his Shakespeare head. Except it wasn’t his.

“It's illegal though,” you said. Doyoung shrugged slightly.

“Not what I do. Last time I checked snow didn’t belong to anyone, this head,” he said lifting it up slightly, “I stole from the COO’s office, the COO of my own company, who I pay so I don’t feel bad.” That relieved you slightly. Until that point, you had been afraid the police would come out of nowhere and arrest you as an accomplice to his crime.

After a while, he stopped walking. You realised you had stopped in front of a rather fancy house. Doyoung nodded to it.

“Would you like to come in?” he asked politely, it reminded you more of who you had once perceived Doyoung to be – the overly polite and cautious, pedantic boss. You were in two minds, this could go very badly, he clearly didn’t have a lot of morals so there was a small chance he may murder you. But you were also enthralled by him, you just wanted to find out more. So murder was a chance you somehow were willing to make. You also had a strange feeling that if he had to murder someone he wouldn’t pick you.

“Can you hold it?” he asked, referencing the statue as he placed it into your arms. It was heavier than expected but you only had to deal with the weight for a few moments before he opened his front door. The inside of Doyoung’s house was pristine. It looked like a showhome, but you didn’t know what else you had expected.

He set the statue down on his kitchen table. Before turning back to you.

“Would you like a drink?” he asked, once again very politely, “I’m going to make some tea, it's so cold outside.” You nodded.

“Yes, thank you,” you added, suddenly feeling like your politeness needed to match his, your previous need to confront him was lost.

Now you were inside you became acutely aware of how cold you were, you took a seat at Doyoung’s kitchen table, shivering ever so slightly. He seemed to notice this because as the kettle boiled he opened a separate cupboard to reveal a blanket. He took a few steps over to you before draping it carefully over your shoulders. You smiled at him in thanks. The smile replaced words that were not forming in your mouth. You reckoned this was because you realised where you were.

It was almost two am and you were sitting in your bosses kitchen. The same boss who happened to be both a snowman and statue thief. Yet weirdly you weren’t uncomfortable. Chilly yes, unsettled no.

“Here’s your tea,” Doyoung said, causing you to be drawn away from your thoughts. He sat down opposite you, moving his chair out very carefully, as not to scratch the floor. Your eyes narrowed.

“That’s what I don’t get,” you told him.

“What is?”

“How you can be so precise – about when you give me files, about how you order the office, your house and so on. But yet you also go out and steal meaningless things, and cause mini havoc.”

Doyoung shook his head, his eyes changed from bored to almost angry but not quite angry. You weren’t sure what emotion it was, but it was more than just bored.

“They aren’t meaningless. I live a privileged life, I have money and a good job. But I have nothing else – I can’t seem to find things that make me happy. To be honest I almost don’t feel at all. But stealing, stealing causes a rush in my veins, it allows me to capture a moment of happiness that someone else created. The snowman was made by children playing having fun, Shakespeare wrote about the most powerful loves. I don’t have any of those things so I steal them.”

You didn’t say anything back. You didn’t think you could. What do you say to someone so numb? You didn’t know. So you both sat there in silence drinking your tea. It was two twenty-three am. Fuck it you thought, before standing up abruptly. Doyoung barely looked up but that wasn’t going to stop you. You walked around the table to him, grabbed his arm and pulled him up.

“What are you doing?” he deadpanned.

“teaching you how to feel alive again, how to have fun.” You said, “I don’t care how long it takes, we will find something that makes you feel better than stealing does.”

“Impossible,” he said.

It was the challenge of the impossible that lead you and Doyoung to the middle of the city park long after it had closed. It leads to both of you standing before a rather large tree which you intended to climb.

“You’re kidding,” he said. You shook your head adamantly.

“Nope, there’s a good view, and even if there’s not maybe you could steal a leaf or two.” To which he chuckled. You smiled to yourself. It was already going to plan. You pushed up off the ground, ignoring the fact you were in your tights only as high heels hadn’t been optimum for this task. You pushed past any small pain, climbing from branch to branch, only checking now and again to ensure Doyoung was following.

You stopped at one of the larger branches probably twenty feet of the ground, it wasn’t super high but it was enough to feel dangerous, enough to see most of the park around you. You shuffled along the branch so that Doyoung would be able to sit next to you. And he did.

“Better than stealing?” you asked. Doyoung shook his head. “So you are not at all scared of falling?” you were incredulous.

“I don’t feel scared no.”

“So I cut my hand for nothing,” you sighed looking down at where the rough bark had torn the palm of your hand slightly. Doyoung’s eyebrows furrowed together,

“We shouldn’t have done it if you were going to hurt yourself.”

“Not a big deal,” you shrugged, “But it hasn’t worked so on to the next thing.” You motioned for him to start climbing down which he did, you followed on behind. Once you reached the bottom you started to walk back towards the city. Doyoung walked behind you, saying nothing.

You suggested many things and did many activities with him across the night, basketball in an abandoned court, pushing him in a shopping trolly, getting ice cream at four am in winter. But none of these simple things, that were just a bit wild for you, seemed at all interesting to him. So when you saw the sun peak up from behind the old firehouse you began to concede.

“Maybe you are right,” you said to him, as you sat in front of his house, back where you started. “Maybe you can’t feel apart from when you are stealing.” You looked at him sadly, but he wasn’t looking at you. “Please just don’t steal from my house in your future endeavours,” you asked, before standing up and smoothing out your dress. “But I wish you every happiness, Mr Kim.” You put your hand over his reassuringly. And then you walked away, you somehow couldn’t bring yourself to look back. Even when you heard him shout your name. Or maybe it was just the wind.

When you got home it was six twelve am and you just fell into your bed. You hoped that Mr Kim would forgive you from your absence at work. And you never got a phone call, so he seemed to have let you off the hook. Then it was the weekend so you didn’t have to face work until Monday. You were fine with that.

********************************

Monday came and you started filling out forms and replying to emails much like always. The day was exactly the same as it had always been. At least it was up until the time you usually received the report information. It was four minutes past the set time and nobody had arrived with the sheets of paper. This had never occurred in the three years you had worked for the firm.

You checked your watch one last time before getting up from your desk. You walked out to the front desk, suddenly realising you had no clue where Doyoung’s office was.

“Excuse me,” you said to the man on the front desk, “could you possibly tell me where Mr Kim’s office is?”

“I’m afraid he’s busy,” the man replied.

“It’s just this is important, I have to complete the company report every day and nothing has been brought to my desk,” you explained.

“Could I have your name and job title?”

“Y/n y/l/n Office Coordinator.” The man looked up suddenly.

“Oh right yes, I was just about to send someone to find you, Mr Kim has asked to speak to you, his office is on the fourth floor, speak to his secretary there.” You thanked him before hurrying off. Maybe this was it, he had finally decided to fire you. Once again you thought back to your past actions, kicking yourself for scolding your boss, what a stupid thing to do you thought.

The lift dinged open and you stepped inside. There was no one else in the lift so you took the moment to bang your head against the wall. The lift was somehow faster than you had expected because before you realised the doors had opened again. You were still banging your head against the wall as Doyoung stared into the lift at you, standing in the doorway.

He didn’t say anything but turned around and walked back to his office, and like you had the night he stole the Shakespeare head, you followed behind him. Followed into his office which was just as clean and minimalistic as his house had been.

“Please, have a seat,” he said, pointing towards the rather avant-garde chair opposite his desk, “I’m sorry the chair is so odd, marketing said it would impress people, yet it tends to have a rather opposite effect.”

You smiled slightly sitting down into the chair, you could see why it was unpopular, it was ridiculously uncomfortable. You crossed your legs over but assumed you just ended up sitting as awkwardly as you felt.

“Here’s your information,” Doyoung said to you after a while. You turned your head to face him, slightly confused.

“You aren’t firing me?” Doyoung shook his head.

“I already told you I would only fire you based on what you do inside the workplace. What you do at four am is up to you.” At this you visibly relaxed, it felt like dejavu. He was right, you had already had this conversation before. Doyoung looked at you intensely without ever looking away.

“Why did you call me here then?”

“I have something for you, one second,” he reached down into one of his desk draws and pulled out a small box. He pushed it across the table, opening the top for you. Inside was a silver bracelet with small moon charms on it. As you reached out to take the box your fingers brushed against his lightly.

“Did you steal it?” was the first thing you asked, which may have been slightly rude but you had to know. You couldn’t accept a gift if it was stolen. Doyoung laughed. Not just a small smile or chuckle like before but an actual laugh. You were confused more than anything. You couldn’t think of anyone who had actually ever spoken of him laughing.

“No, I didn’t steal it. I went to a jeweller and I bought it for you.” He said with a hint of what you thought might be a blush.

“Why?” you asked. He chuckled again.

“I might as well have stolen it, I’m under interrogation.” It was your turn to go red.

“I’m sorry,” you lifted the bracelet out of the box, looking at it, ‘it’s really beautiful.” Doyoung’s shoulder’s seemed to relax slightly.

“To answer your question, it’s a thank you, for helping me.”

“Well trying to help you at least,’ you joked, “I couldn’t get you to feel, none of my thrill-seeking activities were exciting enough clearly.”

Doyoung shook his head, he seemed conflicted about what he was going to say next. He didn’t talk for a minute or two – you didn’t mind, the silence was calming, not uncomfortable.

“When I told you I didn’t feel, I talked about why I stole Shakespeare’s head, do you remember?” He asked, leaning back in his chair, running his hand through his hair. You nodded.

“You said that Shakespeare was able to write about the greatest of loves, the kind of feeling you don’t experience.” Doyoung nodded.

“I think I felt that feeling, the excited one also in retrospect I think I had fun, but the Romeo and Juliet feeling, that’s the one I noticed.” He stood up from his seat and walked round to you, placing his hand on yours as you had his two weeks earlier. “It sounds stupid because it’s so simple, but this, this is making me feel alive.”

You were conflicted because what he felt, you could see yourself feeling it too, but right now, you knew it wasn’t what he needed.

“it’s not healthy,” you said to him, “what makes you happy should never be one singular person.”

“I know, but I don’t think that’s it. You only need one person to do CPR to bring them back to life, that one person doesn’t become the only thing you have. So I wanted to thank you, for making me feel alive – in a way that doesn’t require theft.”

You squeezed his hand.

“Would you be my friend?” Doyoung asked you, chewing on his lip. You broke out into a smile.

“I would love to be your friend Doyoung.”

*********************

You were meant to meet Doyoung and a friend of yours Jaehyun for a night out. It was nine o six when you stood outside the bar when you got a phone call from Jaehyun.

“I have to babysit my niece, it’s a family emergency,” he explained, “give my apologies to Doyoung.” You told him you understood and that you hoped it went okay. By the time you hung up the phone you turned to see Doyoung standing behind you.

You had been hanging out a lot with Doyoung over the past three months, introducing him to your friends as he told you about things he had done of his own accord also. You gleamed when you saw him standing in front of you. He was looking good, you had to admit.

“Jae had to cancel,” you told him.

“Just us then,” he smiled, placing his arm around your back carefully as you both walked into the bar. It wasn’t particularly busy because you had insisted you went out on a Tuesday because the drinks were cheaper. Doyoung had tried to disagree but you told him that he didn’t pay his employee’s enough for them to pass up on cheaper drinks.

You took a seat as Doyoung went to get you a drink, you had insisted you paid for your own one but he was trying to make a point after you had complained you were underpaid.

He came back only moments later with your drinks and sat down next to you.

“I haven't hung out with just you in ages,” he commented.

“I brought you back to life, my work was done,” you said sipping from your drink.

“You may not be the only thing that makes me feel happy,” Doyoung began, putting his drink back on the table, “But you’re the person that makes me the happiest.” He smiled slightly. “I’m sorry if that’s inappropriate to say. You shook your head.

“I want you to be happy, that’s why I helped you in the first place.”

“That’s just because you’re a nice person,” he laughed slightly sadly, “you didn’t know me.”

“I talked to you almost every day for three years even if it was just about work reports, I like to think I did know you, even if there wasn’t a lot to know back then.” Doyoung looked away. From then on your conversation drifted back to more normal things, work, gossip, holiday plans.

“I’m probably just going to watch Netflix for a week, I’m saving up right now so I won’t go away but I still want a week off,” you said.

“I’ll miss you at work because you’re my best office coordinator of course,” he added. You fiddled with your bracelet, It was weirdly awkward, something you had never felt between you and Doyoung before, usually, you got on great but today there was some unspoken tension.

“You still wear it,” Doyoung said, flicking one of the charms on your bracelet with a smile. You nodded.

“It’s really pretty,”

“So are you… shit sorry, I don’t know… I just kinda said it sorry…” You giggled slightly looking down at your feet, then back up at Doyoung. His inner conflict somehow made him look cute. You found yourself drawn to his lips. He leaned over and pushed a strand of hair out of your eyes, that had fallen as you looked down and up so quickly. But he didn’t pull his hand away again, instead he looked you straight in the eye. This time though his eyes were bright not dull, the sparkled despite the low light levels. It was the most beautiful thing you thought you had ever witnessed.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked ever polite, for no matter how much he wanted to kiss you, he would never put your friendship in jeopardy. You nodded and leaned closer to him as he did to you until your lips caught together. He kissed you slowly, almost like it hurt, like he was scared, yet you didn’t know what of. You pulled away, still leaving your hand on his cheek.

“What’s wrong?” you asked him. He just shook his head and pulled you back close, kissing you passionately, his hands lost in your hair. Almost forgetting you were sat in the corner of a bar.

“I love you,” he mumbled between kisses causing you to stop moving altogether, you didn’t pull back, your lips just froze. Doyoung leaned away and stood up, taking your hand in his pulling you up with him. You both walked out of the bar, you still stunned to even say anything. When you stood outside in the slightly warmer air, you did realise that you were just metres away from where you stood the night Doyoung stole Shakespeare.

“I love you,” he said louder this time, “and you don’t have to love me back or say anything but I had to tell you. You may not be the only thing that makes me happy but you know you’re the most important and you make me feel the most alive. I have never felt more alive than when we kissed just now. You are the kindest, most fun person, the only person who helped me, who could help me. I was one step away from grand theft auto when I met you… but Shakespeare was the last thing I stole.”

“It wasn’t the last thing you stole,” you said finally, placing both of your arms around Doyoung bringing him into a hug, “because you stole my heart,” you looked up at him, pecking him on the lips. “I never thought I would end up loving someone who steals snowmen… but here we are,”

“Here we are,” Doyoung agreed before kissing you again and this time you could feel him smile as you kissed you, and both your eyes were shut but you didn’t need to look Doyoung in the eyes anymore to see that he wasn’t the only thief anymore, because you had stolen his heart to.

#nct #nct imagines #doyoung #nct doyoung #doyoung imagines #doyoung scenarios #nct scenarios #nct reactions #kim doyoung

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jaggedheartstrings · 5 years

Text

Meet Me at the Gallows

When they were six and best friends, Bucky promised Tony that he’d take him on a date when they were old enough. Tony leaves for boarding school three days later.

Thirty years later they meet again.

The swings creaked when they both sat down. The swings were old. Had stood there for fifteen years, never completely breaking apart, only rusting and losing time as the world did everything to destroy them. Bucky thought it was quite poetic. Tony didn’t understand it. He’d never been that much interested in poetry. He preferred logic over pretty words.

Though, the smaller boy had always enjoyed Bucky reciting poems. Bucky had been doing it since he learned how to read. His mother had always been a fan of poetry, thus making him a fan, too. Bucky pushed his swing backwards as far as he could with his legs.

“It's unbranded and unclaimed, elusive and in vain. It ebbs and it flows, wishing away as it goes.” Bucky recited from memory. It’s one of his favorite poems. He glanced at Tony to notice him glancing at the ground with a wishful smile, looking older than he actually is. Bucky frowned; he spent almost every day with Tony, but he’d never seen this look on his face. Pausing his poem reciting, he asked, “everythin’ alright?”

“Yeah, always,” Tony answered with a small smile. He wrung his hands together in a gesture of nervousness. He sighed and rubbed his small face (a habit he’d possess for the rest of his life). Tony extended his hand towards Bucky, who immediately grabbed a hold of it. “What if someone tries to separate us? What if we can’t stay together?”

“My ma said that it’s a possibility. Life doesn’t usually favor the ones who live it.” Bucky felt Tony clutch his hand tighter in a move of fear or desperation, he wasn’t sure. “But even if life separates us, we’ll find our way back to each other. We always do.”

Tony smiled like he was in pain but neither of them commented on it.

It was the last he saw of him.

(continue reading or read on AO3)

Thirty years later and Bucky still hadn’t met Tony again. He knew of all the achievements the man had made (Steve said his stalking of Tony was insane and frankly psychopathic, Bucky didn’t agree. He just wanted to know where his childhood best friend was and what he was doing. Not that he’d told Steve he had actually known Tony Stark). He knew how the once scared of his own shadow little boy had grown into this larger than life persona, who influenced the world in a never before seen way.

So, now he was here. In the middle of Manhattan, sitting in the black car he had borrowed from Steve (who’s spy work had given them both enough money to rise out of the depths of poverty. Which Bucky also really shouldn’t know about), stalking the massive building in front of him. The so-called ‘Stark Tower’. Where Tony lived.

Bucky had been sitting there for three hours, and Steve was losing his cool. He’d called thirteen times and texted at least a billion messages (in reality it was only like 200). Bucky had left at seven in the morning, without telling Steve, took his car and parked himself in front of the large building with a cup of coffee. He’d been watching the door for ages and Tony hadn’t even come outside.

Steve was spamming his phone again. With a growl he turned it on and started slowly typing with his thumb. Steve was yelling now about how dangerous it was for Bucky to take the car because “you don’t even have two arms!” Which had pissed Bucky off. His wishful mood had gone from good to I-wanna-kill-you-right-now. Honestly? If Steve had been near him, he’d probably stabbed him.

Just as Bucky had gotten ready to call Steve a knock on the passenger side window startled him. He turned towards the window and just about had a heart attack. There was Tony Stark with his fancy suit and a pair of sunglasses. It did nothing to conceal his identity (his goatee was impossible to not recognize), but Bucky suspected that wasn’t the point. Tony pointed at the window and Bucky pressed the button on the console to open the window.

“Is there a reason you’ve been sitting here since seven am?” Tony asked and Bucky closed his eyes. Tony had changed so much, but for some ridiculous reason Bucky had hoped his voice hadn’t (which honestly was impossible). “Hey.”

“Uh, yeah there is,” Bucky grumbled out, his voice deep and hoarse. Tony frowned at him, like he was a stubborn piece of a puzzle, unwilling to go where he was supposed to. “I was waiting for you to come out,” which sounded a lot better in Bucky’s head. He couldn’t hide the grimace that was mirrored on Tony’s face. “That was not meant to sound so creepy.”

“I’m not sure I believe you,” Tony was looking at him kind of like he was deranged. Bucky supposed that was what it looked like.

“How about I start again?” Bucky smiled hesitantly. Tony gestured at him, all the while he was leaning on Steve’s car. “I- uh, so I have been meaning to talk to you for like forever, but then a lot of stuff happened and I kinda only had the courage to do this when I woke up today. And I left without telling my roommate and kinda stole his car, too.”

Tony stared at him like he’d lost it. “I’m sorry, but you seriously sound like you are mental.”

Bucky winced and tried again, “I don’t know how to phrase it, so it doesn’t sound insane, but I am so happy to see you again, Tony.”

Tony muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like ‘crazy psycho stalkers’, “I seriously have no clue what is going on, which usually doesn’t happen. Listen here, I have no clue who you are and if you don’t leave right now, I am going to call security.”

“What? No. Wait a minute. What do you mean you don’t know who I am?” What did Tony mean he didn’t know who he was? Had he forgotten…?

“Exactly that! I have never met you before in my life!”

“What do you mean? We were childhood best friends.” Bucky can’t help but look at Tony strangely.

“My childhood best friend didn’t have only one arm and I don’t even know your name.” Tony pointed out and suddenly it was so clear to Bucky what he meant. Of course Tony didn’t have any clue who he was. They hadn’t talked since they were six.

“I lost my arm when I was on my second tour.” Bucky watched Tony slightly lean back at his harsh tone. He still wasn’t okay with people discussing his arm. It had been years, but pain like that never really leaves. “And, my name is James Buchanan Barnes, but you always called me Bucky.”

Tony swallowed harshly and looked down. Then he recited from memory, “It's unbranded and unclaimed, elusive and in vain. It ebbs and it flows, wishing away as it goes.” He glanced at Bucky with eyes filled with years of memories and longing.

“Present and past, fleeting and fast. It whispers in the wind, to the oceans and back again.” Bucky recited, his words almost locking in his throat. The poem had only brought sadness as the years had gone by, but now the words felt like a whisper of promise.

“It echoes of battle cries where the red rivers once rose. Under moonlit skies, it witnessed the first breath and ashes' last cast.” Tony continued, his eyes shimmering as the sun casted around his face, caressing it.

“It heals the broken and bruised, has been abused and misused. Infinite and untamed, only time will remain.” Bucky finished the poem and opened his door. He stepped out and walked towards Tony. Suddenly his arms filled with a genius he hadn’t seen in thirty years; he couldn’t help the wet sob that escaped past his lips. Tony chuckled wetly; Bucky could feel the wetness of his tears on his shoulder. “Hi, doll. I told you we’d meet again.”

“Oh,” Tony whispered, his voice a fragile thing. “I had already lost hope.”

“We have a lot to talk about.” Bucky whispered in Tony’s ear, “but we have all the time in the world.”

#winteriron #buckytony #marvel #pre-slash

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bluebellhairpin · 5 years

Note

Hey Can I get an LOTR ship please? I’m 5’4”, my pfp is me. INTP-A. Bi/ace, I lean towards guys typically. I’m kinda a hopeless romantic but also a tsundere. My main interests are art, music, and forensic science! I’m straightforward and logical. I spend most of my time practicing music (mainly flute) or sketching. I’d usually never admit it but I need a lot of attention and I’m pretty touch starved. I have a problem taking anything seriously and I turn everything into a joke. Thanks!

A Lord of the Rings ship…

I ship you with…

Legolas!

Let me tell you he will have no problem waiting until you’ve warmed up to him. Once you have you better damn well watch out.

It’s almost like he’s around every corner waiting for you to give you a flower he stole from his fathers garden or reciting old elfish poems. He’s got a seat reserved for you next to him at dinners. He makes you you have the best place to stay at while in Mirkwood. It’s crazy.

Whatever you’re doing, I can almost guarantee he’s there watching from a distance or right over your shoulder. He find’s you so nice to be around that he just has to be with you. Practising music? He’ll help! Need someone to pose for your sketches? He’ll do it!

He so ready to be with you. It almost makes Thranduil smile, like “jeez son, you’re staring to be more dramatic then me.”

#nemo ships

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hermionesterrier · 6 years

Text

More Than Human: Chapter 9 Liveblog Pt. 1!

“Monday Broke My Heart” It really did :’(

The hilarious irony that BUTCH is the one with the defensive special power hehehehe

“We'll be moving," Blossom said. "We'll find you," Brick responded, and she went warm. HE'LL FIND HER JKHGFDSATLKGHFD!!!!

Someone please hit Butch.

"I hope Butch won't," Buttercup snarled. "I hope he gets punched in the sack." SAME!

Kiss With A Fist by Florence and The Machine very appropriately decides to come on my playlist right at this moment xD

BUTTERCUP YOU DON'T HAVE POWERS WTF ARE YOU DOING *FACEPALM*

Butch to the rescue....kind of xD

Butch is absolutely loving this

"I feel like I'm wearing some sort of girl armor," he remarked once they were in the air. "It's weird."

Butch, you fucking idiot!

BOOMER! I know Bubbles is your girlfriend but you grab BOTH girls with no superpowers

Why do people still live in Townsville? One of life's greatest mysteries...

*Cue musical montage of Brick looking like a heroic Greek God*

Oh Blossom...he'll never be the hero you want him to be.

"Oh, in that case," he said, then produced a really big gun from behind his back. "Buttercup has a point," Blossom said. "Where do you hide these things?" A serious question that needs an answer asap

Now Brick to the actual rescue!

Reds screaming at each other...well this feels more familiar xD

Awww it's really adorable how worried Brick is about Blossom. You'd think something like this would knock some sense into his thick skull but no ofc not!

Oh my fucking God Butch YOU DROPPED HER WTF DUDE

She stopped, then looked at Boomer. "I'll give you ten bucks," she said. Boomer immediately slugged his brother in the face. Buttercup later gave him an extra ten for the sound Butch made as he ate the asphalt.

I neeeeeed to know what Bubbles is working on *_*

He picked at a corner of his textbook cover, trying to straighten it and thinking of how easily she had smiled at Robbie. "I can't believe you did that. Without powers or anything. Jumped through glass, I mean. Up from seven stories. And then beat Mojo Jojo, on top of it." He could almost sense her relaxing beside him, her anger giving way to a slight confusion. "You're kind of a beast," he said, and she fidgeted. Brick is totally buttering her up and she is totally falling for it lmao

What a heartwarming father-son reunion xD

He turned on his most beatific smile and saluted. "Hi there, Professor Utonium. Nice to meet you. I'm, you know, Boomer. I'm here to see Bubbles." "Of course," the Professor said, and something curled in Boomer's stomach, something dark that screamed Danger and Doom and Death Will Soon Be Upon You.

R.I.P Boomer...you will be missed :')

I think the real question is what wouldn't he do to you, Boomer? :’) MWAHAHAHAHAHA

Oh man this face-off between Brick and Mojo is EVERYTHING holy shit

"You," Mojo Jojo said quietly, "have been such a disappointment." Brick's eyes flashed. Brick is totally triggered that the one who created him, the one Brick considers to be beneath him, the one who's wasting his talent and brain by staying in Townsville, is disappointed in HIM! You can tell how much this enrages Brick because, unconsciously, he's still looking for validation from Mojo. He wants Mojo to admit that he, Brick, is better than him and has put his talents to better use. He wants Mojo to admit that he's a failure. Basically it's a who's-more-Evil contest. That whole visit was an ego trip for Brick. It backfired. Obviously. Because even with everything he's achieved, Brick is a teenager craving his parents' validation of his life choices but still wanting to be free of them. You can’t have it both ways when your creators are a diabolical evil monkey and the Devil himself.

Poor Boomer AHAHAHAHAHAHA

"Shut up. You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen." The urgency in his voice made it obvious. Mitch meant it. Buttercup looked at the camera, her eyes soft, almost sad, but that smile was on her face, that tiny, scared, and yet deliriously happy smile that lit up her expression, made it almost shine in the dark. Mitch was right. She was... Just wanna point out that this whole scene is from Butch’s POV. He’s the one thinking all of this. One look at this happy, scared, in-love Buttercup and he agrees with Mitch 110%. She is the most beautiful girl Butch has ever seen. Not on a superficial oh-she’s-so-hot level, but more like on a deep I-see-your-soul level. Butch isn’t falling for Buttercup because she’s fucking hot (though obviously he knows she is), he’s falling for her because she’s beautiful and he knows her. He knows her and she knows him and they share a deep, quiet, comfortable and comforting connection that they don’t have with anyone else.

Butch stared at the screen, his jaw sore. He'd been clenching it; he hadn't even realized. It's always a ‘show, don't tell’ with the Greens AND I LOVE ITTTT

Butch is so thrown off by the Buttercup in the photos and videos. He's not used to a smiling and genuinely happy Buttercup and he feels left out that he wasn't a part of that. He's jealous, not just of Mitch because obviously he's jealous of Mitch and the fact that he and Buttercup dated, but he's jealous that he, Butch wasn't there during this time and that Buttercup might have shared a connection with someone else other than him. He's supposed to be her best friend, no one else. And he also wants this Buttercup. He wants that image of her smiling and being happy so yes, damn right, he's gonna keep staring at it until it leaves a permanent print on his brain.

I wonder if he keeps them though...

I love how surprised Brick is that Robin invited them to her party #introvert

Awww @ Brick missing Bubbles in class ❤

Blossom was already there, and she glanced up from her book as he came in. He tried to take his time getting over there. Keyword being "tried" ofc AHAHAHAHAHAHA yea sure Brick as if you didn't attend this class just to see her xD

"If it's free reading could we just leave?" one of the students asked. "Who was that? John? Stacy, hit John for me." There was a whack, followed by a subdued, "Ow." BAHAHAHAHAHAHA...JOHN IS ME THO

since feeling is first who pays any attention to the syntax of things will never wholly kiss you; It's a testament to how many times I've read this story that I now know this bit by heart. LOVE the choice of poem considering who's reading it *winks*

Brick is unrecognizable in this part of the chapter...his feelings for Blossom are intensifying and showing and that's terrifying him but at the same time he's not giving a single shit...so far.

"He started it!" Butch cried, pointing his knife at Boomer. "He made fun of Bubbles!" Boomer cried, pointing his knife at Butch. "You started it," Buttercup growled, pointing at Butch. "And you were the one being made fun of, not Bubbles,"

Ugh Reds are KILLING me this chapter

Brick racking his brain on how to ask her out and growing so desperate that he literally chokes on air bahahahahahaha

THE BOYFRIEND KILLING MACHINE OMG I AM LMFAOOO

IT IS SO A DATE I MEAN COME ONNNNN

Reds at their best and most adorable *_* I LOVE it when they forget themselves and actually get along. I'm in love with these scenes of them and how they're both completely loosening up in a way they never have around other people. THOSE TWO CONTROL FREAKS ❤

This story has made me wanna read Camus ngl

Oh my god I think this is the first time we ever see Brick laughing a real genuine full-on laugh like wow

She swallowed her bite, her guilt dissipating as she watched him take a bite for himself, from the other end of the slice. He nudged the plate towards her. "I don't mind," he said around the fork in his mouth, staring at the plate. His voice sounded odd, a little strained, even. "It's not a big deal. I don't mind sharing it with you." BUT IT IS A BIG DEAL HOLY SHIT I'M DYINGGGGG

BRICK OPENING UP. BLOSSOM OPENING UP. BRICK AND BLOSSOM ARE ON A FUCKING DATE AND I'M LOVING EVERY LITTLE TINY BIT OF IT!!!!

Seriously, the date scenes are my favorite Reds scenes. SEE WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU GET ALONG LIKE NORMAL PEOPLE YOU TWO CONTROL FREAKS!

"I beat Mojo Jojo up for candy," she said, a little breathlessly. "I let our dad steal toys for us when he was sleepwalking. I stole an expensive set of golf clubs for him." The candy episode is one of my faaaavorites!!

Oh my god, Blossom, you're supposed to be the smart one! OF COURSE HE'S FLIRTING WITH YOU! AND OF COURSE IT'S A DATE!

Brick trying so damn hard to look cool and casual as if his heart isn't light speeding waiting for her answer hehehe

"These are awesome, Buttercup," Mitch said, "Thank you, Mitch." After a pause, she added, "See? No wonder Mitch was the only guy I dated." A sudden, awkward silence fell over the room. Buttercup, seeming to have regretted her attempt at comedy, started to devour her snickerdoodle. Butch stared at her from the corner of his eye. Her customary smirk and hard expression had given way to uncertainty and she was clearly upset with herself. The laugh he forced sounded natural enough, and everyone turned to look at him. "Don't lie, you dyke," he said, still forcing a snicker. "Sorry to break it to you, Mitch, but you were just a beard." CAN WE JUST TAKE A MOMENT TO APPRECIATE THE BEST FRIEND THAT IS BUTCH BECAUSE HE JUST DOESN'T GET ENOUGH LOVE! Also also another instance of Butch reading people like a pro and being better at social situations than he’s ever given credit for.

I think Blossom is having an out-of-body experience xD

Brick? A gentleman? And worried about seat belts? Huh...?

OMG BOOMER'S BRAIN GOING ON OVERDRIVE DOMESTICATION SLOW DOWN DUDE AHAHAHAHAHAHA

"I'm fine. Fine. Just... my brain's being stupid." He smirked at her from behind his hand. "You know... just being myself." She settled back, a frown on her face. "I don't think you're stupid." He moved his hand away from his eyes and rested his chin on it. "Thank you for thinking that." THAT IS PROBABLY THE FIRST TIME ANYONE'S EVER SAID THAT TO BOOMER AND IT BREAKS MY HEART TO PIECES

Blues being one in the same *_*

Those two control freaks being spontaneous together ❤

Brick sure is a chivalrous date...who'd have thought xD

Aaaaand mood killed. Leave it to Brick to think of Blossom as "fucking icing on the cake". THIS IS WHY YOU'LL DIE ALONE!

So I decided to split this chapter’s liveblog into 2 parts because I obviously cannot stop rambling and this first part was big enough xD

Click here for more awesome ships to cry over!

#sbj more than human #jess reads mth

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boreothegoldfinch · 3 years

Text

chapter 5 paragraph xii

Before Boris, I had borne my solitude stoically enough, without realizing quite how alone I was. And I suppose if either of us had lived in an even halfway normal household, with curfews and chores and adult supervision, we wouldn’t have become quite so inseparable, so fast, but almost from that day we were together all the time, scrounging our meals and sharing what money we had. In New York, I had grown up around a lot of worldly kids—kids who’d lived abroad and spoke three or four languages, who did summer programs at Heidelberg and spent their holidays in places like Rio or Innsbruck or Cap d’Antibes. But Boris—like an old sea captain—put them all to shame. He had ridden a camel; he had eaten witchetty grubs, played cricket, caught malaria, lived on the street in Ukraine (“but for two weeks only”), set off a stick of dynamite by himself, swum in Australian rivers infested with crocodiles. He had read Chekhov in Russian, and authors I’d never heard of in Ukrainian and Polish. He had endured midwinter darkness in Russia where the temperature dropped to forty below: endless blizzards, snow and black ice, the only cheer the green neon palm tree that burned twenty-four hours a day outside the provincial bar where his father liked to drink. Though he was only a year older than me—fifteen—he’d had actual sex with a girl, in Alaska, someone he’d bummed a cigarette off in the parking lot of a convenience store. She’d asked him if he wanted to sit in her car with her, and that was that. (“But you know what?” he said, blowing smoke out of the corner of his mouth. “I don’t think she liked it very much.” “Did you?” “God, yes. Although, I’m telling you, I know I wasn’t doing it right. I think was too cramped in the car.”) Every day, we rode home on the bus together. At the half-finished Community Center on the edge of Desatoya Estates, where the doors were padlocked and the palm trees stood dead and brown in the planters, there was an abandoned playground where we bought sodas and melted candy bars from the dwindling stock in the vending machines, sat around outside on the swings, smoking and talking. His bad tempers and black moods, which were frequent, alternated with unsound bursts of hilarity; he was wild and gloomy, he could make me laugh sometimes until my sides ached, and we always had so much to say that we often lost track of time and stayed outside talking until well past dark. In Ukraine, he had seen an elected official shot in the stomach walking to his car—just happened to witness it, not the shooter, just the broad-shouldered man in a too-small overcoat falling to his knees in darkness and snow. He told me about his tiny tin-roof school near the Chippewa reservation in Alberta, sang nursery songs in Polish for me (“For homework, in Poland, we are usually learning a poem or song by heart, a prayer maybe, something like that”) and taught me to swear in Russian (“This is the true mat —from the gulags”). He told me too how, in Indonesia, he had been converted to Islam by his friend Bami the cook: giving up pork, fasting during Ramadan, praying to Mecca five times a day. “But I’m not Muslim any more,” he explained, dragging his toe in the dust. We were lying on our backs on the merry-go-round, dizzy from spinning. “I gave it up a while back.” “Why?” “Because I drink.” (This was the understatement of the year; Boris drank beer the way other kids drank Pepsi, starting pretty much the instant we came home from school.) “But who cares?” I said. “Why does anybody have to know?” He made an impatient noise. “Because is wrong to profess faith if I don’t observe properly. Disrespectful to Islam.” “Still. ‘Boris of Arabia.’ It has a ring.” “Fuck you.”

“No, seriously,” I said, laughing, raising up on my elbows. “Did you really believe in all that?” “All what?” “You know. Allah and Muhammad. ‘There is no God but God’—?” “No,” he said, a bit angrily, “my Islam was a political thing.” “What, you mean like the shoe bomber?” He snorted with laughter. “Fuck, no. Besides, Islam doesn’t teach violence.” “Then what?” He came up off the merry-go-round, alert gaze: “What do you mean, what? What are you trying to say?” “Back off! I’m asking a question.” “Which is—?” “If you converted to it and all, then what did you believe?” He fell back and chortled as if I’d let him off the hook. “Believe? Ha! I don’t believe in anything.” “What? You mean now?” “I mean never. Well—the Virgin Mary, a little. But Allah and God…? not so much.” “Then why the hell did you want to be Muslim?” “Because—” he held out his hands, as he did sometimes when he was at a loss—“such wonderful people, they were all so friendly to me!” “That’s a start.” “Well, it was, really. They gave me an Arabic name—Badr al-Dine. Badr is moon, it means something like moon of faithfulness, but they said, ‘Boris, you are badr because you light everywhere, being Muslim now, lighting the world with your religion, you shine wherever you go.’ I loved it, being Badr. Also, the mosque was brilliant. Falling-down palace—stars shining through at night—birds in the roof. An old Javanese man taught us the Koran. And they fed me too, and were kind, and made sure I was clean and had clean clothes. Sometimes I fell asleep on my prayer rug. And at salah, near dawn, when the birds woke up, always the sound of wings beating!” Though his Australo-Ukrainian accent was certainly very odd, he was almost as fluent in English as I was; and considering what a short time he’d lived in America he was reasonably conversant in amerikanskii ways. He was always poring through his torn-up pocket dictionary (his name scrawled in Cyrillic on the front, with the English carefully lettered beneath: BORYS VOLODYMYROVYCH PAVLIKOVSKY) and I was always finding old 7-Eleven napkins and bits of scratch paper with lists of words and terms he’d made: bridle and domesticate celerity trattoria wise guy = кpymoŭ пaцaн propinquity Dereliction of duty. When his dictionary failed him, he consulted me. “What is Sophomore?” he asked me, scanning the bulletin board in the halls at school. “Home Ec? Poly Sci?” (pronounced, by him, as “politzei”). He had never heard of most of the food in the cafeteria lunch: fajitas, falafel, turkey tetrazzini. Though he knew a lot about movies and music, he was decades behind the times; he didn’t have a clue about sports or games or television, and—apart from a few big European brands like Mercedes and BMW—couldn’t tell one car from another. American money confused him, and sometimes too American geography: in what province was California located? Could I tell him which city was the capital of New England?

But he was used to being on his own. Cheerfully he got himself up for school, hitched his own rides, signed his own report cards, shoplifted his own food and school supplies. Once every week or so we walked miles out of our way in the suffocating heat, shaded beneath umbrellas like Indonesian tribesmen, to catch the poky local bus called the CAT, which as far as I could tell no one rode out our way except drunks, people too poor to have a car, and kids. It ran infrequently, and if we missed it we had to stand around for a while waiting for the next bus, but among its stops was a shopping plaza with a chilly, gleaming, understaffed supermarket where Boris stole steaks for us, butter, boxes of tea, cucumbers (a great delicacy for him), packages of bacon —even cough syrup once, when I had a cold—slipping them in the cutaway lining of his ugly gray raincoat (a man’s coat, much too big for him, with drooping shoulders and a grim Eastern Bloc look about it, a suggestion of food rationing and Soviet-era factories, industrial complexes in Lviv or Odessa). As he wandered around I stood lookout at the head of the aisle, so shaky with nerves I sometimes worried I would black out—but soon I was filling my own pockets with apples and chocolate (other favored food items of Boris’s) before walking up brazenly to the counter to buy bread and milk and other items too big to steal.

Back in New York, when I was eleven or so, my mother had signed me up for a Kids in the Kitchen class at my day camp, where I’d learned to cook a few simple meals: hamburgers, grilled cheese (which I’d sometimes made for my mother on nights she worked late), and what Boris called “egg and toasts.” Boris, who sat on the countertop kicking the cabinets with his heels and talking to me while I cooked, did the washing-up. In the Ukraine, he told me, he’d sometimes picked pockets for money to eat. “Got chased, once or twice,” he said. “Never caught, though.” “Maybe we should go down to the Strip sometime,” I said. We were standing at the kitchen counter at my house with knives and forks, eating our steaks straight from the frying pan. “If we were going to do it, that’d be the place. I never saw so many drunk people and they’re all from out of town.” He stopped chewing; he looked shocked. “And why should we? When so easy to steal here, from so big stores!” “Just saying.” My money from the doormen—which Boris and I spent a few dollars at a time, in vending machines and at the 7-Eleven near school that Boris called “the magazine”—would hold out a while, but not forever. “Ha! And what will I do if you are arrested, Potter?” he said, dropping a fat piece of steak down to the dog, whom he had taught to dance on his hind legs. “Who will cook the dinner? And who will look after Snaps here?” Xandra’s dog Popper he’d taken to calling ‘Amyl’ and ‘Nitrate’ and ‘Popchik’ and ‘Snaps’—anything but his real name. I’d started bringing him in even though I wasn’t supposed to because I was so tired of him always straining at the end of his chain trying to look in at the glass door and yapping his head off. But inside he was surprisingly quiet; starved for attention, he stuck close to us wherever we went, trotting anxiously at our heels, upstairs and down, curling up to sleep on the rug while Boris and I read and quarrelled and listened to music up in my room. “Seriously, Boris,” I said, pushing the hair from my eyes (I was badly in need of a haircut, but didn’t want to spend the money), “I don’t see much difference in stealing wallets and stealing steaks.” “Big difference, Potter.” He held his hands apart to show me just how big. “Stealing from working person? And stealing from big rich company that robs the people?” “Costco doesn’t rob the people. It’s a discount supermarket.” “Fine then. Steal essentials of life from private citizen. This is your so-smart plan. Hush,” he said to the dog, who’d barked sharply for more steak. “I wouldn’t steal from some poor working person,” I said, tossing Popper a piece of steak myself. “There are plenty of sleazy people walking around Vegas with wads of cash.” “Sleazy?” “Dodgy. Dishonest.” “Ah.” The pointed dark eyebrow went up. “Fair enough. But if you steal money from sleazy person, like gangster, they are likely to hurt you, nie?” “You weren’t scared of getting hurt in Ukraine?” He shrugged. “Beaten up, maybe. Not shot.” “Shot?” “Yes, shot. Don’t look surprised. This cowboy country, who knows? Everyone has guns.” “I’m not saying a cop. I’m saying drunk tourists. The place is crawling with them Saturday night.” “Ha!” He put the pan down on the floor for the dog to finish off. “Likely you will end up in jail, Potter. Loose morals, slave to the economy. Very bad citizen, you.”

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