#so i think i need to take this rejection as the last straw and finally cut ties with this organization for my own mental health

[queridaz]

i'm starting to think that the best thing to do for myself and my mental health is to actually not try to be in the latin american organization on campus

#they didn't accept me as part of the internal social committee even though i was literally in it last semester #and they never make me part of the ingroup no matter how hard i try (i've been trying for over a year) #and they're all already friends with each other and they're just v exclusionary without being outwardly/obviously so #and i feel worse when i'm around them which makes me be around them less which makes me part of the gang less which circles back around #so it's an endless cycle of me feeling like an outsider that doesn't belong + feeling like nobody wants me there + not getting to integrate #so overall i feel like it's just worse for me + damaging to my mental health and as much as i wish i could be part of it #i think i need to make the decision to step away for my own wellbeing which sucks sooooooo bad bc i want so badly to be a part of the group #but they make me feel AWFUL #so i think i need to take this rejection as the last straw and finally cut ties with this organization for my own mental health #which sucks SO BAD since they're the only irl connection i have to my culture here at uni since my parents and family are so far away #but that's life i guess. happy birthday to me‚ lmao #tea vents #tea talks

[taurusdaylight]

[2.03pm] kindness

kindness came in the form of jeno lee. almost always having a smile etched on his adorable face, it was baffling to the people around jeno how he kept up with such a bright disposition all the time. it was as though he had little to zero anger coursing through his veins. 

to some extent, it’s true that jeno rarely got angry. despite being a chronic overthinker, jeno’s not the type of person to let his emotions control him. instead, he’d mull over it for a bit. think about why he got upset over something, and if it was truly worth getting upset over. he would at most sulk a little, as evident by his pouty lips that would make an appearance every so often. 

case in point: jeno currently getting lectured by yours truly in the corner booth of a quiet café. looking down on the ground, jeno absentmindedly stirred the straw in his cup while you talked.

you huffed, “you should stop being so nice to others.” 

“i didn’t know how to reject him…” jeno replied softly, still not looking at you. “besides, it will contribute to our overall grade? it won’t take up much of my time anyway,” he quickly added, in hopes of making the situation better.

the both of you weren’t even talking about something extremely serious. you were simply nagging jeno for agreeing to help his groupmate finish his part of the project because he was apparently busy with other submissions. the first thought that came to your mind was, what about jeno? surely he had other things to do too. 

the thing is, jeno was a kind person inside out. it wasn’t only about looking kind. deep down, jeno was tender-hearted and the biggest sweetheart to ever exist. as much as you believed in being kind, you were also aware of your boyfriend’s inability to say no to others whenever they approached him for help. no matter how he dismissed it as something trivial, you still didn’t like how he would go out of his way to do something that was not even supposed to be his responsibility to begin with. most important of all, you disliked how others took advantage of his kindness that came second nature to him, which rendered him to be at their disposal even if it wasn’t exactly convenient for him at times. 

“we talked about this, jen.” you made a face at him, expressing your concern over this issue that repeatedly came up time and again. “i hate that other people are using you and you just let them.”

while jeno understood where your frustration was coming from, a part of him also felt wronged because he was simply trying to do something nice for others. why is it that he somehow managed to make you upset too? jeno felt like he couldn’t do anything right. 

jeno finally stopped playing with his straw and looked you in the eye. “i’m sorry, okay? i won’t do it again, just please don’t be upset with me,” he said in a desperate plea. 

“i’m not upset with you, so there’s no need to say sorry to me,” you assured him. one thing you learnt about jeno over the years was how his negative thoughts got to him more than he’d liked to admit. how he would willingly take the blame for something if it meant that it would keep the peace. thankfully, he simply needed a few words of affirmation for him to get out of his head. 

you grabbed jeno’s hand and gently squeezed it. “i just want you to know that it’s okay to put yourself first. you don’t always have to think about others when you’ve got so much at hand. sometimes… just sometimes… it’s okay to be selfish too!” 

your lips curled upwards into a bashful smile. “even i feel bad asking you for help. i don’t like to trouble you but i know you wouldn’t say no even if i did, especially not to me.” you were ashamed to admit that, but you could swear from the bottom of your heart that you only turn to jeno as a last resort because you didn’t want to be like one of those people who only went to him when they needed something. 

“what?” jeno pouted even more. “but i like doing things for you. i’m your boyfriend, i’d hate it if you went to anyone else for help.” 

“it’d make me feel useless,” he muttered. 

you were quick to respond. “hey! don’t say that… you’re not useless at all.”

“anyway, don’t change the subject. after this project, please say no if you don’t have the capacity to help others, including me! if your worry is not knowing how to reject others, you could start with me. we are already so close, i won’t take it to heart if i asked you for help and you said no. let alone acquaintances who barely know you. baby steps, okay?” you looked at jeno expectantly. 

jeno’s expression turned into one that was half a frown and half a smile, you could tell that he was feeling conflicted about it. “like you said, i could never say no to you, baby…” 

you tried to bite back the small smile that made its way onto your face because of the nickname so that jeno would take you seriously. “so, you‘d do something about this?” 

“only for you, yes.” jeno’s face broke into a wide smile as he tightened his grip on your hand. 

“you’re supposed to say no!” you replied jokingly in order to play off the shyness that came with jeno’s affectionate gesture. “you’ve failed the first test, i thought you were better than this…”

an incomprehensible noise left jeno’s mouth. “i’m so confused right now… so do i say yes or no?”

you sighed, well aware of how this was going nowhere given jeno’s innocence that sometimes made him come off a little… naive. like the time you told him that you were going to teach him something to tell your parents in your native tongue and he obediently repeated after you, only asking what it was later on (it was a curse word, and you were glad he asked before the actual meeting with your parents). 

“nevermind… the next time someone asks you for help, just tell me. i’ll make sure they’d never want to ask a favour from you ever again.”

jeno’s eyes widened in shock, “o-okay.”

“i’m just kidding. but seriously, i’d help you reject them so you don’t have to,” you said with a smile. 

“thank you,” jeno said sincerely, “i know you mean well, and i appreciate you looking out for me.” 

at his words, you leaned over the table to give jeno a peck on his right cheek, on the spot just slightly below his beauty mark. he laughed quietly, his smile uncontrollably becoming wider by the second.

the both of you were so immersed, it was fortunate that the café was empty enough for the moment to remain intimate. better yet, the owner was preoccupied with his tasks, not sparing a single glance at the direction of your table. 

between soft giggles and shy smiles, you and jeno indulged in each other’s loving company until the sun fell, its golden rays penetrating through the glass window situated next to your table. 

#jeno timestamps #jeno drabbles #jeno imagines #jeno scenarios #jeno x reader #jeno fluff #nct timestamps #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct #nct dream #nct jeno #jeno #lee jeno

[i6keis]

teach me

haitani rindou x reader

warnings: just rin teasing u :P

i havent posted for a while ???? so hello hehe

is the tokrev fandom still alive? 😭

“teach me how to ride a motorcy—“

“no.” rindou straight up shut you off with no hesitation. his face devoid of any emotion as he lays down comfortably on your lap, your fingers gently stroking his messy locks.

“why not?” a pout formed in your face, clearly upset with the fact that your boyfriend just turned down your offer when in fact he rarely does that.

to be completely honest, it was not a problem for rindou to teach you, he in fact can do that anytime as long as you can and want to.

but the thing is, this man already reached miles away overthinking about the possible outcomes of your innocent request. he already thought of your constant rejections to his offers to ride with him since you already know how to drive yourself.

and he didn’t want that, not even a bit. he wants you to keep relying on him when you need someone to pick you up or just to randomly take you anywhere. but then again, he wouldn’t admit that, at least not within your range.

“just because.” he answered, his eyes still closed to avoid looking at your face that he knew he wouldn’t be able to last resisting. “and what’s the point anyway? it’s not like you’re buying yourself a motorcycle. can’t even buy herself a bottled water”

upon hearing that, you feigned an offended expression with matching hands on the chest. “excuse me?” you scoff at him earning a hearty laugh from the male below you.

“kidding. but come on, why are you suddenly asking for things like this?” he now opened his eyes, orbs staring right up you with a sulky expression hiding behind it.

he was hoping you would get his message and just drop the subject but knowing you, you’re a passionate one who never backs away from anything especially after you’ve made up your mind about your desire to do something.

“rin, please. just wanna learn a new hobby” with pleading eyes, you looked at your boyfriend in hopes of him finally giving in and agreeing to teach you.

it was true in all means. there’s not a concrete reason for you to suddenly want to learn it, just want to try something new is all. so you’ve felt unfair how your boyfriend is depriving you of that. petty it is.

“what can i earn from doing it?” he challenged, close to setting aside his worries and just giving you what you’ve been wanting since the past hour.

“hmmm.” you pretended to think, already has an offer in mind, your index finger tapping your chin continuously. “what about a kiss?”

you caught sight of the obvious scrunch of his face in disgust. “not even worth my time at all,” he joked, earning a smack on his chest from you.

“i’m asking ran then.” you’ve fired your last bullet, looking at the man on your lap with a cocky smirk knowing this would be his final straw.

“like hell you would. he won’t even agree knowing there’s a high chance of a ‘brokencycle’ at the end,” he replied smugly.

you gently moved his head away after hearing that because of how lightly he had placed it on your lap, crossed your arms over your chest, and let out an "i hate you" while rolling your eyes.

he laughed for the nth time of the day. you're on the verge of concluding that this guy's true preferred pastime and means of amusement is to annoy the hell out of you, and you could just be correct.

rindou adjusted himself in a sitting position, twisting his body lightly to have a good look at you, amusement still evident in his eyes. 

out of nowhere, the blonde (w blue highlights) haired guy suddenly leaned in giving you a quick peck on the lips, his arms engulfing you tight as he looked at you intently. 

because of the close proximity you have with him, you didn’t miss to get a good huff of his manly scent that you oh so love a lot. suddenly, the feeling of annoyance you once have are slowly fading away, your attention now fully set on him.

“okay, fine. i’ll teach you,” he whispered, fully aware that, given your proximity to one another, you would be able to hear him clearly.

upon hearing that, you let out a tiny scream and mentally jumped up and down in victory. so he can’t resist me after all, you thought.

“but,” your mini victory party was cut short as the guy, who is still tightly pressing you against his chest, spoke. you looked at him in confusion, already sensing something fishy and you suddenly had the urge to back away. 

“but?”

“i’ll teach you in one condition,” 

despite being reluctant, you slowly nodded at him to let him know it was okay to go on.

“you’ll pay for the g-a-s” rindou made sure to give emphasis to each letter as he spelled it out. if it weren't for the realization you had after hearing what he just said, you could have laughed at the expression he had on his face.

“on a second thought, i think i’m good with you being the driver. don’t you think so too, rindou?”

#[ ʕ⁎̯͡⁎ʔ༄ : i6keis’ fics ] #imagines #tokyo revengers headcanons #rindou haitani #tokrev imagines #haitani x reader #haitani brothers #rindou x reader #tokyo revengers scenarios #tokyo revengers fluff #rindou fluff #haitani fluff #tokrev hcs #rindou imagines #tokyo revengers x reader

[scaranation]

{ time is money }

Pairing: Yandere!Pantalone x F!reader

Type: oneshot

(unedited)

A certain love struck harbinger would be willing to go any length simply to spend more time with you - even if it meant bribing and manipulating his way through your friends.

“10,000 mora.” The harbinger’s voice was cold, ringing crisply in the damp cathedral. The poor Snezhnayan villager was knelt at his feet, shivering - if not in cold, then in fear.

“10,000 mora to cancel all your plans with her. I’ll sweeten the deal even more - 50,000 mora to cut all contact and move regions. I’ll even fund your emigration.” Pantalone laced his hands together, and watched as the confused villager struggled to find words.

“I- of course, I’ll do it. P-please don’t hurt my family…”

Pantalone smirked, bringing out a contract and watching meticulously as the person before him signed it. Once his fatui underlings ushered the terrified civilian away, the harbinger was once again alone in the cathedral - or at least, he was, until a skirmisher burst in.

“Your orders have been carried out, sir. All parties agreed to cut contact with her.”

“Good.” Pantalone crossed out the list he’d compiled of every person you’d interacted heavily with - a rare smile gracing his face. It had always seemed as though you were too busy to meet him. Everyone said that money couldn’t buy happiness, but it could buy time - and what greater joy was there than to spend time with you? Now that all the distractions were out of the way, Pantalone mused, there was nothing for you to do but crawl into his awaiting arms.

-

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can make it. I-I have to go.” Your friend turned as paler than the snow of Dragonspine when they saw you at the door of their cottage, backing away.

“It’s just fishing! We haven’t talked in ages!” You stuck your foot in the door as your friend attempted to close it, fingers tightening on the frame.

“I’m sorry, I really can’t. Something came up, thanks for understanding - bye!”

The door slammed shut with a staccato thud, a sense of finality that bore its weight into you. Why did it feel like everyone was avoiding you these days? Did they truly tire of you already?

It hadn’t been long since you’d moved to Snezhnaya and joined the fatui. You’d quickly made new friends - including one who went by the name of Pantalone. He was sweet, and down to earth, whilst being the most polite person you’d ever met. Even after revealing that he was a harbinger, he still insisted that you continue to visit him - which you happily did so, always taking care to stop by his office for a chat at least once a week.

That’s right. Pantalone. He hadn’t left you yet, had he? It seemed that lately, everyone had been going out of their way to avoid coming into contact with you. But not him. He was as kind and as understanding as ever. The one constant in your life amidst a flurry of people leaving. The one you could trust.

Before you’d even realised what you were doing, you had come to a stop outside his office. Your feet had taken you there of their own accord - perhaps it was just your natural inclination to seek comfort from the one person who’d stayed. You knocked on the door, and to no avail.

There was no answer from inside the harbinger’s office.

That was the last straw, for you - was Pantalone ignoring you as well? Tears pricked your eyes, making the floorboards swim in your vision as you sank down to the ground in dismay.

What was going on? Were you really that dislikable…?

Suddenly, a pair of black boots appeared in your vision. It felt as though those boots were the only thing you needed to see - in that moment, just the idea of having a reprieve from constant social rejection was enough to send serotonin rushing through your veins.

“Why are you crying?” Pantalone’s voice was soft and warm as he knelt down, taking off his glove to gently tilt your chin up. His hair was windswept, and dusted with a light coating of snow - he’d probably just gotten back from an errand. Exactly, it was just an errand - he would never leave you. The thought comforted you, as you sank into his touch.

“It feels like everyone hates me.” You mumbled as Pantalone sat down and pulled you into his lap, gently thumbing away your tears.

“Why so? I can’t see a single reason why anybody could dislike you. You’re so perfect, you know.”

“Everyone’s been avoiding me, and they’re all… leaving me.”

“Do you want to know something, dear?” Pantalone paused to discard his harbinger coat and drape it over your shoulders, tenderly doing up the clips beneath your chin.

“What?”

“The kinds of people who leave you are the people who you were better off without in the first place. I’ve learned that myself as well… And one thing you should remember is that I will never, ever leave your side.” The harbinger pulled you closer as you sniffled, your eyes clearing.

“Thank you, Pantalone… I… You’re really the only one I have.” A surge of warmth bloomed in your chest as you wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned into him - feeling him hug you back in response.

What you didn’t see, however, was the grin spread across Pantalone’s face as he murmured sweet nothings into your hair. What you didn’t know was the feeling of victory that permeated his veins.

Time really was money, and Pantalone had just bought yours.

#genshin imagines #genshin x reader #genshin oneshots #fatui x reader #fatui harbingers #genshin x you #fatui x you #pantalone x reader #pantalone x you #pantalone imagine #yandere pantalone

[worriedvision]

You hurt their feelings during an argument - Tighnari, Kaeya and Wanderer

Gender neutral reader, angst. Kaeya and Tighnari is an established romantic relationship, whereas the Wanderer could be platonic or romantic. Angst ending, reader strikes them where it hurts. Ofc the statements made are not what I think of the characters (the hurtful ones), it's more thinking about what would hurt them.

--

Tighnari:

You were fed up with the amount of letters Tighnari wrote for you, explaining he wouldn't be able to make the date he arranged. Of course, he had apology gifts as well, but you admit you were missing him. When you were with him, a forest ranger after his attention would conveniently need to talk to him about something.

You were the same species as your boyfriend, and your jealous side really didn't like this. You knew he tried his best to stop these advances, and the forest ranger dialed it back.

But it still wasn't enough.

"Pardon?" Tighnari asks, confused at the statement you made the moment he managed to get to bed.

"You heard me! I have a limited time frame to get a mate that can satisfy my needs." The words left without any thought, only bringing more confusion and worry to him.

"I don't...I love you, I know due to work I haven't been able to spend time with you." Tighnari explains calmly, yawning.

That yawn seemed to be the straw that broke the camels back.

"But you have plenty of time to claim that forest ranger who needs your attention all the time?" You huff. "I don't deserve this, I could get someone. I deserve better than a man who takes too much time to make things real."

You storm out, leaving Tighnari with the now broken promise to stay with him. You voiced you weren't worried about the possibility of his job taking a lot of time, so what caused such a sudden change that you didn't want him anymore.

Truth be told, he was insecure about that. He couldn't bear to think of that, that you fell out of love with him when he still very much loved you. That night, he couldn't sleep. He couldn't stop thinking of you not coming home, and when you didn't return the next morning he has to haul himself out of bed to get to work. Until you return, if you do, he wouldn't be able to sleep unless it was from passing out.

Kaeya:

He was drinking with you on a night, and he kept being approached by people. He didn't know exactly what to tell these people, you are right next to him and not being shy in holding back affection, asking him for a date. He grows more awkward with these people since you both started to date, something you didn't like. Swayed by the booze you had in your system, you drag him home, Kaeya waving goodbye to his drinking buddies.

He pulls you close when you close the front door, him wanting to hug you and take in more love.

Unfortunately, you had other plans. You shove him away, irked at him suddenly being unable to reject people like he used to.

"What's wrong, my love?" Kaeya purrs, slowly getting up to walk towards you once more. "Did something happen?"

"Yeah, you wanted to partake in the multiple people who hit on you!" You accuse, Kaeyas eye losing its light at your statement.

"...Is that really what you think of me?" You hear him tear up, only then do you realise your words.

You open your mouth to speak, but Kaeya shrugs it off before going to sleep. When you try to kiss his cheek when you see him in the morning, hoping to apologise for your hurtful words, he leans away before leaving with a bag.

Entering the bedroom once again, you see a letter.

--

'Im leaving you.

Please take the time you need to pack up your belongings. When you are done, put your copy of the keys through the door after locking up.'

Wanderer:

He was slowly starting to get out of his box. He finally, after so long, felt like he could build lasting relationships that wouldn't be taken away from him through means he had no control of.

So when your work got dangerous, one of the first friends who stayed with him through the negative aspects of him, he decided to take care of any enemies he could see ahead of you.

You, of course, knew rather quickly it was him and you weren't happy.

He insisted on protecting you, and he emphasised how important you were to him while explaining he didn't want to lose you.

"Well thanks to your abnormal clinginess, I lost a valuable lead!" You yell, Wanderer now looking away awkwardly.

"...Can I help you with this job?" He asks, feeling the rejection from a mile off.

"You can help by leaving me alone. I swear, you make it worse when you help!" You huff, Wanderer now processing your harsh statement.

He doesn't dignify you with words, simply leaving as you still didn't realise how hurt he was. He refuses to create friendships, understanding that he had a tendency to feel the need to help those he cares for. No matter how Nahida tried to explain to him that helping friends can be good, it would be a case of asking before doing so, Wanderer doesn't socialise outside of his mandatory socialising. He severs his ties with you, and he takes drastic measures to stop people from getting close to him.

Even if you want to apologise to him, he won't hear a word of it.

#gender neutral reader #genshin impact imagines #angst #tighnari #tighnari x gender neutral reader #tighnari x reader #kaeya x reader #kaeya x gender neutral reader #wanderer #wanderer + reader #wanderer + gender neutral reader

[osiris-iii-bc]

The thing that should not be [Terzomega One Shot]

I finally made it with a Terzo/Ghoul. What’s your opinion on POV fics? I used to write a lot of it in my past fandoms but here I see rarely this kind of fics. Thank you @van-goghs-smoking-skull for your help 🌹

Genre: slash, explicit, oral sex, sex, Terzo POV, young Terzo, sub Terzo, dom Omega, first time with Omega/a Ghoul.

Pairing: Terzo x Ghoul (Omega)

Rating: Nc17 (explicit but not properly smut)

Words: 2.943

Summary: Terzo is the 20 year old last heir of Papa Nihil and he’s definitely not having fun at his father’s birthday party. Luckily, a big Ghoul is around to save the night…

>>> Wattpad | AO3 | or down here 👇🏻

The first time we met, the big Ghoul and I, was in the hallways of the Ministry, shortly after the new summoning, but there was nothing more than a few distracted glances. I had seen him walking along with the other Ghouls, standing out for his size; their black robes covered every inch of their bodies, including their faces, making them look like nothing more than disturbing moving shadows.

The last time was a few days ago, and besides the looks, there was also the insolence of a mouth that was too big and too dirty to keep a few of their thoughts to themselves. 

It had been a coincidence that I happened to be passing by just in time to hear my name, followed by a somewhat ungentlemanly "I'm surprised none of us has fucked him yet."

The reply was even less gentle, “Just give me some time and my cock will end up deep in that throat.”

It must have been a group of Ghouls, judging by the voices, but from the cloister colonnade, I couldn't see them. A few more steps, and they were all there, gathered, chatting among themselves, some smoking with the cigarette passing under their masks. It was hard to tell who had spoken, but one of them, the tallest and most recognizable of the group, had stared at me a bit too interested while still laughing at what was said, even though it was impossible to imagine his expression under the mask.

I had noted that tone, knowing it would come in handy sooner or later.

Birthday parties are all dramatically the same and all equally boring, especially when it's your father's birthday. Or at least, I'm just in a phase of chronic dissatisfaction, as Copia would say.

Suddenly, a nearby, deep and familiar voice draws me to a small sofa that I only see from the back.

"...and so you're going on tour."

There is a girl with him, but I can't understand what they're talking about. I only catch a few phrases about music, and as I drink, I move a little closer. Just out of curiosity.

"Yes, in a few weeks." I hear him say, almost disinterested. 

"And is there a chance you'll take me in your suitcase?"

"I'm sorry, but I don't think you'd fit."

I almost want to laugh and clench the straw between my lips. I'd like to see the girl's face, but I only see her leave, probably after trying to hide her disappointment with all the self-control that a rejected woman can muster.

"You really know how to disappoint a woman." I say out of honesty, because I would have expected anything from him except for him to turn down someone like her.

He shrugs, not even surprised to see me there.

"If I listened to all those who flirt with me, I'd probably have little monsters scattered all over the world, which has probably already happened."

I raise an eyebrow, feeling my head a bit heavy for the few drinks I had. For now, it's still a nice feeling, but I've never been able to stop in time to leave it that way. Somehow, it's as if I need to create a balance just for the sake of destroying it with my own hands.

"I understand."

"Do you?"

I shrug, while I feel him watching my lips tighten around the straw.

I hear Sister Imperator calling me, and we both turn to her. "I think I have to go."

"You'll stay here, later?" That isn't really a question. It's an invitation, if not an order, and I quickly decide that I really like his orders tonight. "I'll make up for that incident in the cloister."

"See you later, then." I tell him as I boldly clench the straw of a now-empty cocktail between my teeth and move toward who I have always called mother.

After a night spent watching the others participate in the party, drinking and staring at the tips of my shoes as if in a catechism lesson, even the prospect of starting a conversation with Primo about his passion for succulents would seem interesting to me. Fortunately, my first brother doesn't have enough time to waste on me, so Copia approaches me, a cigarette between his lips and the rest of the pack still in his hand.

"Want something to drink?" he yells in my ear, as if the loud music gives him the right to think I've gone deaf.

"Do I look like someone who needs a drink?"

He nods convincingly. "Absolutely!"

"Then I'll go get it myself, at least it'll get me moving a bit. It's a real pain in the ass here."

"I haven’t seen you having fun lately!" He rolls his eyes before muttering something to himself, probably about what a creepy presence I am in his life. I hope that with alcohol around there's some action at least.

There isn't, or at least I don't get to know about it, as someone far more interesting than a drink blocks my way.

"Are you having fun?" 

The first time we saw each other, I must have had a really strange expression. It must have been at least five years ago and it was the first time I ever saw a real demon so close, but he hasn't changed at all, and I'm almost curious to know how he sees me now. Not that I expect him to understand concepts like age and physical change.

"Yes, yes."

"Shall we find a quieter spot, what do you think?"

I don't have the clarity to say no, and with a bit of luck, maybe I won't even remember it later.

I've seen him drink continuously during the party, but he seems as clear-headed as if what he's been drinking was fresh water. Either he holds his liquor well, or he knows how to mask it. Or maybe he's not a twenty-year-old jerk who collapses like an idiot after the third glass and makes a spectacle of his worst self.

I nod with a head that's a bit too heavy, then gesture for him to lead the way, only to stop him soon after.

"Wait a moment." I tell him, and I move away, looking for Copia.

When I find him, I only whisper, "Don't look for me… I'll be back in a while." making sure no one else overhears. He looks at me as if to say 'don't mess things up' - the way I have noticed everybody has started to look at me lately, as if they were ready to bet on me causing new trouble every step I take - and then reluctantly nods. I bite my lip, and the Ghoul takes his time to scrutinize me from head to toe as I approach him again.

When I don't want to feel utterly miserable, I seek refuge in Copia's reassurance. I revert to feeling at least ten years younger, shedding the darkness that has accumulated in recent years, especially when the hassle of being the last Papa's heir began to manifest. You need to start building your reputation very early, and I'm not exactly inclined to miss the fun of my youth for something that will likely happen in twenty or thirty years from now.

In all probability, later tonight or tomorrow I'll rest my head on Copia's shoulder, having him telling me that I'm a dickhead but that's ok, that the way to equanimity is a long and hard one, and I'll believe him.

The Ghoul raises a champagne bottle toward me, then hands me a glass as we sit on the secluded couches.

"To make it up to you." he explains, filling my glass like a seasoned gentleman. There's nothing to make up for, I'd tell him if I had the necessary courage, if you want, I can blow you right here.

We spend some time with a few words and many glasses that empty too easily, my stomach flaring up unsure if for the alcohol or who knows what else.

As I drink, I dare to throw a few interested glances at him, running my eyes up and down his frame, catching any relevant detail, even if it's hard to find them in a figure so covered up like his. The rings on his fingers, the shape of his shoulders, how he tilts his head when laughing… Anything can help me understand why him. And he does the same.

He talks about what he does, the music he likes to play, and worlds I've never seen.

Maybe I'll take you there. It always seems like he's about to say. Maybe we'll just stay there. Or maybe it's just me who wants to hear it from him.

I listen to him, barely hearing his deep voice, muffled by the mask he wears, and the party becomes just a confused cloud of lights and distant voices.

The mask is a testament to his past, his condition as a demon bent to the laws of a world not his own. Esoteric symbols stand out on his uniform; I focus on one of them, Omega. I decide on the spot to call him that from now on, aware that in the absence of an identity, everyone must have given him a different name.

How important it is for us humans to name everything. Perhaps that's our problem.

Omega, a guest who can't stay in his place and also the only one who manages to distract me.

We find ourselves drinking straight from the bottle, and I understand less than half of the things he tells me, but it seems to be okay with him. However, I can feel his hands lightly touching me while talking, so discreet that it surprises me. His are distracted caresses barely hinted at, words that say without saying, and I, who speak that language, immediately think of making it clear to him.

"Let's go to the bathroom?"

And I don't know if it's me or him who says it, but the fact is I get up, and he follows me.

Once inside, I let out a deep sigh that actually has nothing of the malice it seems. My ears already relax due to the newfound silence.

"I have to say you saved me from a boring night."

"You too."

I look at him through the mirror, and he does the same, at a comfortable distance from me.

"Really? Wasn't there anything more valuable than my company?"

He shrugs, then approaches, casting a glance at the door.

"It depends on how the evening might end..." he says with a very calm tone, getting closer until he's right behind me, but he doesn't touch me.

I almost want to laugh, but I let it stay just a little smile and I leave him there to enter one of the cabins and wait.

It doesn't take long before he follows me. He tries to enter, but he holds himself against the doorframe and dares to stretch only his head.

"Is there room for me too?"

I look away, tilting my head and shrugging, leaving it up to him to find out. And he does.

Perhaps my Ghoul doesn't like to give empty words, so he strokes my neck in a way I already know, and there's no need to even apply pressure for me to slowly slide down the wall to end up on my knees in front of him, putting into practice what he has fantasized about with his friends.

Too bad that this time there are no witnesses to prove how true to his word he is.

When he takes it out, I reluctantly admit that what they say about the Ghouls is indeed true. Me, a mere human, must accept and accommodate Mother Nature's wishes.

While I admire him, an involuntary "damn" escapes me, to which he responds with an avoidable "seems so.", but I decide to smile anyway. And then I begin.

I partly watch him and partly keep my eyes closed, relishing the weary satisfaction that comes from having the power to grip a man - human or not, as they apparently work the same - just by slipping into his underwear.

At some point, he stops me, and I understand that he wants to get serious; I stand up, and he immediately seizes my hips with those huge, hot hands. I've always thought of myself as not being a good catch for a woman, let alone a man, from this perspective... I have slender hands and long fingers, which I happen to know many appreciate, but they are minuscule in comparison to his; he probably doesn't even feel my touch.

From the way he's gripping me, it really seems like my entire body can fit completely between his hands.

He turns me around with expertise, and I let him.

I have too many thoughts in my head to properly think about how to move for him. Thoughts that I really shouldn't have in a situation like this, but I also know that this thing won't empty me at all; rather, it will fill my head even more than it already is.

As I gasp against the icy wall, I feel his face in my hair and his breath on my neck, escaping the mask he still has on.

"I like it like this."

Me too, sometimes.

I want to think about what a better person I could be, but instead, I let myself get screwed in a restroom by a Ghoul without saying a word, looking at the white tiles faintly mirroring my panting face while I moan and bite on the sleeve of my habit that still covers me, but not enough to grant me a decency I never really had. He has already said enough about me, and I remained silent even then. Maybe I deserved it. Sure I do.

When he thrusts, I feel it perfectly, almost too much. I feel it so much that I open my eyes wide and gasp, scratch the wall, and stiffen in a way that must amuse him. He grins in my hair and doesn't stop. Thank you.

At this point, I don't even know if this is actually his way to make amends, or if he has forgotten it along with the tenth glass he downed and changed his plans in the meantime.

In the following minutes, there are no words, and I'm grateful for that. I don't understand where one can find the strength to talk in a moment like this, when all you feel is your skin burning with flames that are only yours, and every breath seems like it's never enough.

Then it's just a warm breath on the skin, and what seems like a caress on my hips that now belong to him. At least for a while. Then I can't help but bend over in a way he doesn't seem to appreciate, or maybe he only takes it as a chance to pull my hair and tilt my head back, almost resting it on his shoulder, before pressing my chest back against the wall.

That's how I come, with one hand around my throat and the other resting on my hip, feeling my legs tremble and losing their strength as his thrusts get faster and stronger; I slide my tongue on my lip, hungrily savoring what's left of his flavor and all I can think of is how proud Asmodeus must be of me, while I ignore all the Clergy’s advice by letting those last drops of pleasure shake me and the voice dies in my throat in that last groan, while everything seems to turn white for a couple of seconds.

He holds me, saying nothing, with his huge hand holding himself on the wall, near my head, and the other firmly on my chest, pressing my back against him, and I can't say if that's a caring gesture or he just doesn't want me to fall on his feet.

I take my pack of Marlboros from my pants, which I've just put on, covered by my cassock, with hands still trembling a bit.

"Wanna smoke?" I ask, offering him one while I already have one between my lips.

"Nah." he mutters, as he gets dressed as well, as far as pulling up the zipper of his pants can mean "getting dressed."

I lean against the wall while he takes his time to straighten every fold in his Ghoul uniform, and I have strange thoughts.

"I was thinking about where we shouldn't be."

"Oh, yeah?" he asks, not at all impressed.

"What we shouldn't have done..."

Encounters between humans and hellish creatures are not forbidden, but highly discouraged. Nobody can say what the true intentions of an entity born and raised in Hell may be, and it's always dangerous to form that kind of bond with subordinates, especially ones who don't feel feelings in the same way as humans. It is something to play with carefully.

"I only think about what we shouldn't be and we'll never be, so don't get ahead of yourself."

I shrug, also unimpressed. The cigarette is still unlit, and I don't think I'll smoke it.

"So disappointing is really your specialty." I joke, approaching him in this bathroom that now seems too big. I offer it to him, and he looks at it a bit strangely. "But keep this one." I tell him, and I like to think he's smiling under the mask. The fact is that he accepts it.

You keep it, so next time, I'll come back to get it. 

And we'll smoke it together.

#the band ghost fanfiction #the band ghost #young terzo #papa emeritus terzo #terzomega #omega3 #omega ghoul #copia #papa emeritus lll #bottom terzo #Dom omega

[spring-picnics]

𝐢'𝐦 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮

𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝟕𝟎𝟎 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬

𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭. {𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐚 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞}

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏

“Another successful campaign.” Eddie’s voice booms across the room as you, Dustin, Mike and Lucas all share around high fives.

Once the night finishes, the gang filter into Steve’s car. You don’t know how you’ve managed to make it to the passenger seat, but you pray that nothing will go wrong. Your relationship with Steve has been so fragile lately. Somehow, in the course of a few weeks, your whole dynamic has shifted.

Steve had been… distant. The late night calls and daily check-ins have dwindled into messages from Dustin and Robin that Steve didn’t have time to give. It’s a shitty excuse and you both know it, but at this point, you would rather not bring it up; confrontation is not your strong suit.

One by one, each kid gets dropped off, and the loud background noise that has been anchoring you, is silenced. Finally, the only two people left are you and Steve.

“We need to talk.”

Your heart is definitely slipping beats, but this is your Steve. The same Steve that buys you ice-cream when you cry, who watches your mini fashion shows, who fought a demogorgon for you.

“I’m sorry Steve, but we can’t fix this unless you tell me what’s wrong.” How was fighting a horde of demodogs easier than this?

Steve’s foot is shaking and you can tell that something is off.

“I… it’s not your fault, you didn’t do anything.” The words can barely come out. They keep mixing up in his head, but he knows that he has to do this.

“Steve you won’t even look at me.” Your whisper acts as a final straw. And when he finally turns around to face you, you’re breathless.

His eyes are glistening and wet in the moonlight. His lips are red and slightly bloody. His face is warm and flushed, and you don’t know how to feel.

“I need you not to say anything or.. or do anything for the next few minutes. To just let me finish,” Steve breathes out.

You nod and completely tune in. First you look at him with reassurance, and then you leave your hands out for him to hold, hoping that you could somehow comfort him.

Steve reaches for you and then continues. “Do you remember what I told you about Nancy and the six nuggets.” He looks up to you giving him a gentle nod.

“I used to think that my dream was to have a family with Nance, but I, I realised it’s you.” Your reassuring look is replaced with confusion as Steve fumbles on. “I mean, sure Nancy was there, but you were too. All along, you were playing with the little Harringtons and driving with me out front and changing the radio channel to whatever you wanted, and I can’t believe that it took me this long to figure it out, but I’m,” he sighs heavily before looking right at you, “I’m in love with you.”

And the confession hits you like a ton of bricks. Steve Harrington, your Steve Harrington has been hiding from you, not because he was mad or didn’t want you, but because he is in love with you. And now, your Steve Harrington is about to cry with the weight of your rejection on his shoulders, because you haven’t said anything for several minutes. His eyes are threatening to spill tears and he can’t stop rambling when you finally kiss him.

When you eventually stop to take a breath, Steve looks up at you with wonderment. You can see the whole night sky in his brown eyes while stares at you and then places his hand behind your neck, so he can go back in for more.

Finally, after the realisation that you need to go home, you question Steve: “So, will you pick me up this Friday at 7?”

As you get out of the car, Steve gently whispers, “for a date?”

You smile at him and lean back in for one last embrace.

“For a date.”

@spring-picnics

#sunny.writes #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #Steve Harrington x you #stranger things imagine #st4 #stranger things #stranger things x reader #steve stranger things #stranger things season 4 #stranger things s4 #stranger things fluff #stranger things angst #Steve Harrington angst #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x fem!reader

[sammyboyimagines]

Hey sweets✨ how ya doing?

Got a request with Steve Harrington.

Based on the lyrics of the song Yad by Erica Lundmoen "don't fill your void with me" and "If you want me, change your self!" ALSO Steve in S1.

Steve has broken up with Nancy and he feels such a mess. So tommy promised him that he'll forget her if he start using women for his own pleasure. So he does that, Take them home and acts like nothing happened the next day. Still, he won't stop thinking of her, till he meet the reader. She's a completely different person than all the other women he has met, different personality (a baddie), different style than skirts and dresses like the divas. She's a skater girl and a whole beauty without make up. So when he approach her for the one night stand, she rejects him. He won't give up on trying to have her into his pants and she won't stop the rejection as she knows that he just want to use her to forget his ex. After he'll be a pain in the ass, she'll blow up and tell him

"if you really want me, earn me. Change your self!" So Make him obsessed with the reader, changing his self into someone better to impress her, a really different steve that will completely forget Nancy and fall in love with the reader✨

Earn Me

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!Reader

Summary: Steve is desperate for a distraction after breaking up with Nancy, and the reader refuses to be a rebound. Steve has to make a change before he can gain her favor. 3.6k words

Warnings: swearing, misogyny from Tommy H., angst, arguing, use of the words (whore, slut, etc), excessive flirting from Steve, pet names, brief mentions of the words: sex, one-night stand, bang, etc.), and suggestive comments.

//hi darling, I am so sorry this took so long but I did enjoy writing this for you! I think I stayed on par with the request, let me know if anything needs to be changed! also not edited very well so there could very well be typos!

The loud music blaring from inside the house provided a muffler to whatever Nancy was shouting at him about. "What are you even saying right now?" he yelled back, observing her angry expression as she rolled her eyes and grabbed his hand. She ushered him through the house to the bathroom. The furious look on her pretty face had him concerned.

"What's going on? Talk to me, Nance." His hands found her slim waist. Her breath smelled like liquor. What the hell was in that punch? 

"This is all bullshit. We pretend to be this amazing couple. We pretend like nothing's wrong, it's bullshit and you know it! We killed her, Steve. We killed Barb and you are just ignoring all of this and acting like it's okay. It's bullshit!" Nancy shoved Steve away from her. She was undoubtedly under the influence but Steve felt hurt nevertheless.

"What are you talking about? Wait! Come back-" Nancy fled the scene, abandoning the red cloth she tried to wipe her shirt with as well as the cup she spilled all over the bathroom floor.

Steve was shattered, absolutely heartbroken. He truly believed that he could pick up the pieces with Nancy, but this was the final straw. Bullshit? Is that what she thought it was?

"Relax man, these things just happen. She was kinda a bitch anyway.." Tommy slung his shoulder around Carol. "Don't talk about Nance like that. You didn't know her like I did." Steve was quick to defend her, no matter how deep his cuts were from last night.

"You're turning into such a sap for her, dude! Just forget about her!" Tommy laughed, pressing a heavy kiss onto Carol's forehead. 

"But how? She's the only one I'm interested in.." he felt hopeless. The prettiest girl in Hawkins had called their love bullshit. How would he ever recover?

"Jesus you're so dramatic. Just find some other slut who'll throw herself at you. Trust me. You're Hawkins' sweetheart! They'll line up around the block for a night with King Steve." Tommy assured him, his misogynistic confidence fueling Steve's own self-esteem.

"Really? I shouldn't look for another relationship?" That's all Steve wanted, but if his best friend was so confident that he should be using other women, maybe he should follow his advice.

"Of course, stupid! Do you think I bagged this beauty from sweet gestures? No, I've been a player since the 7th grade." Tommy nuzzled into Carol, who was just watching the conversation unfold. If there was one thing Carol aspired to be, she wanted to be in the know about every drama occurring at Hawkins.

"I just feel like such an asshole! She trusted me to help her with her issues. I just tried to push them away so we could be...normal." Steve was beating himself up about it. He'd pray for each day to go faster so he could hang out with Tommy and Carol and forget his worries.

"Dude, it's not your fault she had all that baggage. I promise a little distraction is just what you need. Bang a few girls, go to parties, teenager stuff. Do that, and you'll forget about her in no time." Tommy was full of confidence, as per usual. He was actually pretty arrogant but Steve would rather hang out with them than get to know anyone else.

That's just what Steve did. He'd woo a girl from whatever class he was in, take them to his house and use them for his own pleasure. Each time, his mind would be so clouded with lust that he'd forget about his ex Nancy. But with each morning after, his one-night stand would be gone, yet the memory of Nancy would slowly creep back into his mind.

He was very torn up about it. "I miss her so much, man. I should have talked to her before this happened. Now I'm probably ruining my chance with her even more by banging every girl in Hawkins." He sighed, his head resting against the table in the cafeteria. 

"God, she's not even that pretty! If anything, she's the whore. Do you know who I saw her roaming around with? That Byers guy with the missing brother." Steve groaned, banging his head gently.

"Figures she'd move on. He's always been nice to her. I should have known she'd go home with him." he mumbled with clenched teeth and fists.

"So? Just forget about her." he couldn't. He couldn't forget her smile that would brighten his day when he teased her for her timidness around him. He couldn't forget how she bravely helped him fight off whatever the hell that monster was. It was too much to simply forget. But there was no shame in trying. Especially when it felt this good.

"Hey.." a voice made Steve turn in bed to see his one-night stand still lying in his bed. "Oh, hi J...Janice." he winced when the woman sat up with a furrowed brow. "Who the fuck is Janice? My name is Amy!" she snatched her clothes from the floor.

"God, you're such a manwhore, how many girls have you had this week?" she was humiliating him, but he didn't care. "Get the hell out." he rubbed his forehead, trying to stave off a piercing headache.

Skip to lunch, he was sitting with Tommy and Carol, more defeated than ever. "It won't fucking work! I've tried everything!" he looked at Tommy, who was laughing his ass off.

"You need a different type of girl. You're been going after the prissy type. I got one for you." He points to a girl wearing a black leather jacket and acid-wash jeans. "That one, she looks friendly." he snorts. "Go for it, dude!" he chuckles. Tommy expected you to be a tougher shell to crack.

Steve wandered over. "Hey, I'm Steve." he leaned his head on his hand. "And you are?" he flashes you a smile, you can tell he's full of himself. "Y/n." you were working on some math homework before your next period. 

"S-uh, Studying? You don't look like the academic type." Steve was at a loss for words from the moment he sat down. Your simplicity yet complicity made him puzzled. The way your jeans hugged your legs perfectly as the leather jacket hung around your shoulders bunched up at the arms. You weren't prissy and perfect. There was hardly a splash of pink or baby blue adorning your figure. It shocked him.

"Are you trying to tell me I look stupid, Harrington?" you already set a nickname for him. He was taken aback. "No! No, I'm just saying-"

"Save it, I'm kidding." you chuckle, your eyes finally leaving your paper to look at him. He was blown away by your gorgeous, hypnotizing eyes. Most girls at Hawkins wore makeup and shiny, frilly outfits. This was different for him, and he couldn't be more shocked.

"Could you be my tutor? I really need help with my math stuff. I've got a test coming up." Steve lied, a foolproof way to get in your pants under the disguise of an innocent meetup. 

Here's the thing. You weren't as mean as people thought you were. "Sure, you positive you want me to tutor you? I'm not a genius, you know.." you close your books to talk to him.

"I'm positive, sweetheart. You're the exact person I want to tutor me." Steve was running low on things to say. His mouth was very dry as he felt like he was running out of air just talking to you.

"Alright, Steve. Come by my place at 6, and we'll work on whatever you have." you offered him your address on a napkin before standing up. "By the way, don't call me sweetheart." you smile and walk off. Steve retreats back to the table where Tommy and Carol sat. "So? How'd it go?" He smirked at them. "I'm going over to her house tonight to 'study'." He chuckled smugly. What he didn't know, was that you were onto him from the moment he sat down next to you. He was using you for nothing more than your body. A toy for him to use and then abandon.

But you didn't want to come to any conclusions just yet. So, when Steve knocked on your door at 5, you let him in without a fuss. "Come in. I was thinking, maybe we could study for a couple hours, then you can go home. I don't want to rob your whole night." The truth was, you didn't want to spend most of your night cooped up with Steve doing stupid math equations.

"No, don't worry about it. I'd rather spend time with you than anyone." he was really flirtatious. "Uh huh," you replied awkwardly. You'd rather step on glass than spend time with Steve Harrington.

You sat in your small living room with Steve doing homework. Your parents were gone for the week. They take vacations without you sometimes. "Maybe we could take this to the bedroom?" he suggests. You were growing more suspicious with every word that came out of his mouth. "Uh yeah, sure." you brought the stacks of papers to the desk in your bedroom. 

Steve sat on the edge of your bed. "Come sit, sweetheart, we can do some flashcards." a trick he used on Nancy all the time. You sigh and sit on your bed with him, his leg touching yours, reluctantly pulling out the flashcards. "Are you sure you're -learning anything? I feel like this is very one-sided-" his hand touched your thigh.

"Don't feel so insecure. You're doing absolutely amazing, baby. I am learning so much." he chuckles, looking into your eyes. "Why don't we take a little break? You've been working so hard." His other hand wrapped around your shoulders, his voice close to your ear.

You gently squirm. "Harrington, if you're gonna flirt with me, I'm gonna kick you out. Let go, or I'll let you fail that test." You weren't too angry, but Steve got the message anyway. "Sure thing, we should work for another hour and then I'm gonna head out." he was a tad bit hurt by that, but he wanted to play the long con. Each time he'd look at your face, it was like being caught in a trance. His urge to leave you high and dry went away with each nice gesture thrown his way. He came to the realization that he'd never really dated anyone who didn't care about his popularity. You treated him like a normal guy. It bugged him.

That's what he told Tommy the next day. "She's very genuine. Maybe I should back off? She doesn't seem interested in me." He shrugs, a little discouraged by your standoffish manner. "Dude, she's staring at you right now. She's totally into you!" he laughs. The statement made Steve whip his head around to look at you.

Just like he said, you were gazing at him with those pretty eyes. Except, you didn't look away. He wasn't sure how to react. He tossed a wink at you before turning back around. "She's not like other girls. It's strange.." he was intrigued by you. "Yeah, she's a fuckin' weirdo." He chuckled at Tommy's words.

This tutoring had gone on for weeks, and Steve was so close to breaking the walls you put up from the moment you met him. "So Steve, what did you want to work on today? I also made dinner if you want some." you smile at him from your bed. "Well, I was thinking we could work on a different subject.." he sat next to you. "Uh-yeah! What did you have in mind?"

He placed a hand on your thigh. "Well, I'm just having such a hard time in Anatomy right now and I'd really appreciate a real-life model-" you cut him off.

"Steve, no. How many times have you done this? Like 3 times! I don't want to be a rebound.." you heard of his breakup with Nancy. Who hadn't? Steve sighed and pulled out his math homework. "Worth a try."

Your brain was exhausted. "Why don't we have a break and eat dinner?" you were desperate to get away from his disgusting flirting. You saw right through him, he only wanted to be here for the sex. And you weren't going to be a lousy rebound for the most popular guy at school.

You sat across the table from Steve, your eyes never leaving your plate of food. "Thank you for teaching me so much, Y/n. I actually passed a test because of you. I owe you.." he smiles, a fake expression masking his true intentions.

"I'm so glad! You really had no clue what you were doing. You're not the best student, but it's been fun.." you felt awkward. Steve's foot nudged yours, making you look up from your meal. His leg moved against yours. 

"I could repay you, y'know? I have an...unorthodox method of payment." he insinuated. Anger boiled inside you until you couldn't hold it in anymore. You slammed your fists on the table. "Get the fuck out, Steve. I'm so tired of your flirting! I'm not gonna be some worthless rebound so you can forget about Nancy! Why can't you act like you're interested in me? Why act like I'm worthless except for my body?" you ranted, Steve's eyes were wide open.

"Wha-I'm not using you!" you scoffed at his lies. "You have been flirting with me since you sat down next to me at lunch. I've rejected you each and every time! You clearly want me for sex! Just leave if you don't care about me or my help. I do care about you, but if you really want me, earn me. I'm not easily won like other girls you've had. You need to change yourself! I'll give you a chance if you show me you're a good man and not some manwhore trying to forget about his ex. Don't fill your void with me! How about actually trying to date someone?!" you threw your arms up in anger.

Steve was speechless. How could a quiet dinner lead to this? 

"Just get out, take your stuff. You're welcome to talk to me in school, but I know you have that stupid reputation to uphold. Wouldn't want to taint it with my presence. You seem so interested in me but you haven't even shown me an inch of attention at school. I hope you fail that fucking test. Get the hell out of my house."

Steve left in a hurry, muttering quick apologies that fell off his tongue naturally. He made his way to his car, feeling almost...sad.

He had to win you over.

"Are you seriously going after her? I mean, look at her! She doesn't exactly fit in.." Tommy cringes when Steve tells him that he's gonna try and win you over. He was upset when you kicked him out. He hadn't felt that way since Nancy. Steve didn't want to mess it up like he did last time. 

He'd see you in the hallway, looking as beautiful as ever despite rejecting him and breaking his heart all over again. Thinking he was crazy, he talked to a few of his friends and heard the same thing. "She's no good for you." but that made him want you even more. 

The chase was exhilarating. Each time he'd try to talk to you, he'd get nothing but a shrug and a tiny smile. But those interactions kept him going, the thought that he was slowly chipping away at the walls you rebuilt after the big fight.

It took a couple months for you to even have a deep conversation with him. In that time, he had dropped Tommy and Carol, as they called him weak and fragile for falling for you so hard. He couldn't help it! Each time he looked at you, he'd fall deeper into the obsession that was you. Your little smiles when he made a joke, your beautiful eyes looking up and down his frame, your eyebrow rising when he said something you didn't like. He wanted it all, bad and good.

"Hey Y/n, I got these for you." he showed up at your locker in the morning to surprise you with flowers. "I cut them myself...from someone's garden on my street. I'm sure they won't mind." he scratched the back of his neck in embarrassment. He'd never been this desperate. You laughed, actually laughed at his remarks for the first time in weeks. It was music to his ears. He found himself smiling wide enough to make his cheeks hurt. You both were officially best friends at this point, with him visiting every week, driving you to and from school, etc.

"Thank you, Steve. These are gorgeous. Is there a special occasion?" you lean against your locker, smelling the freshly cut flowers. Steve could hardly focus. Between your sweet smile and the idea of you finally accepting him, he could barely breathe.

"No, I just thought I'd get you something. You deserve it." you could tell he was trying his hardest. "I'll walk you to class." his arm was linked around yours before you could protest. Not that you would have...

"Thank you, by the way. For helping me with my classes, it was really sweet of you." Steve could hardly remember Nancy anymore because you had surrounded his every thought, and he loved it. "Has anyone ever told you how good you look in blue?" he points to your outfit. 

"Wow, really laying it on thick, huh?" you laugh, sitting next to him in class. "What? I can't compliment a pretty girl?" he smiles and asks you for a pencil, something he did every day for the past month of reinventing himself. 

The following month, December, went by fast. Steve drove you home every day so you didn't have to take the bus. "Steve, it's really bad out there. I don't think you'll make it home without sliding into a ditch or something.." you glanced out the window at the blizzard outside. It had started on the way home, and after your weekly tutoring session, it had piled up fast. 

"I'm sure I'll be fine! I'll be careful." he put his coat on and grabbed his book bag. You grab his arm. "I can't let you. It's too dangerous! If you die, I won't have my ride to school each morning!" you tease., making him chuckle. He liked how you teased him. It was nice to see you coming out of your shell again. He was blushing at how your hand squeezed his bicep to prevent him from leaving.

"Okay, if you insist! I'll stay, sweetheart." the name slipped out, making the both of you stop in your tracks. "Sorry, I don't know why I said that.." he was praying he didn't push any boundaries. 

"No, it-it's okay. I liked it.." you fumbled with the sleeves of your hoodie. "Really?" He asks breathlessly. Your mouth felt dry as you looked into his deep brown eyes. 

"You've changed, Steve. A lot." You laughed, helping him take his coat off, and set his stuff down. "I think you've really put in the effort to become a better person. You're nicer to people. I think it's sweet." you decide to make dinner since nobody would be going anywhere.

"You think it's sweet?" he runs a hand through his messy hair and follows you into the kitchen. He really did change over the few months after your rejection. "Yeah, you're actually a pretty good friend now." you smile, shuffling around the kitchen. Steve felt his stomach drop.

Friend?

Steve had fallen head over heels for you, and in that time, he had been giving you gifts and showing up for you, anything he could do to prove he was a better man. He stood back, leaning against the kitchen counter and watching you cook. He admired your focused face when you tried to remember how much of a certain ingredient you needed.

"So about that. Do you think I'm a good man?" he asks, making you frown. "Yeah, of course, you are. Steve, you were always a good man, just misguided. Stupid Tommy and Carol.." you sigh. "I wanted you to change because you needed to realize how blindly confident you were. You would have been thinking about Nancy for years. One-night stands won't cut it. And I was not about to be a rebound, a replacement for her." Steve nods, sighing to himself. He hated the thought of you being a rebound for his ex.

"You didn't deserve that, any of it. I'm so sorry for being such a jackass." he was hoping you could forgive him. "Don't be! You've changed and that's what matters." you held his cheek, the gesture making his heart beat impossibly faster. "And I think you deserve a second chance." he felt high on your presence. His brain was barely functioning. 

"Really? You think so?" he watched your face for even a fraction of doubt. There was none. "Let's start over then. Y/n, would you like to have a dinner date here tonight while we watch Christmas movies? It would be our first date." he bites his lip in anticipation. You chuckle and stir the food on the stove. 

"Sure, it's a date." Steve could barely hear you because of the excitement rushing through his veins. "Could you say it again? It sounds so satisfying." he smiles. You rolled your eyes at his antics. 

"I'll go on a date with you! You're so stupid." your laugh quickly turns into a small gasp as his hands grasped your waist. "Sorry, you just looked really cold." he chuckles, teasing you when you shiver under his grip.

"You're an idiot, Steve Harrington," you mumble. He buries his face in your neck and breathes in your sweet perfume. 

"You're beautiful, Y/n L/n." he smiles against your skin.

//anon i am so incredibly sorry my wifi just stopped working late Sunday night when I was going to post it!

#steve harrington #stranger things #reader insert #steve harringtonxreader #stranger things netflix #imagine #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #netflix

[bisluthq]

The whole email breakup thing always sounded ridiculous to me but since it allegedly came from a friend of Pat's, I gave it the benefit of the doubt. But yeah no that's insane, no normal person would end a 6.5 rs/engagement over email. Imo she'd planned months before for the music video to be filmed in the UK so as to be able to spend Easter break with Joe, bc both of them knew that Joe would be working until May and according to what Tree put out at the time, he'd be joining Taylor on tour after that. So I do think the MV was shot in the UK as part of an original plan to spend Easter together there. But imo from the moment she stood on that stage in Glendale on opening night and saw tens of thousands of ppl all but worshipping her, and Joe could not even be arsed to at least care about this massive career milestone, she came to the painful realization that it was time to go, and she planned to do it in person when they would see each other in the UK for Easter. So during those first weeks of tour I imagine that (aside from being extremely happy and excited for tour) she pondered how to go about it and the logistics etc yk, mentally preparing herself for it, probably going back and forth on doing it or not. Clearly she ultimately decided it had to happen this time for real, they'd been unhappy for months and I do think Joe taking another last minute job and not giving a single fuck about Eras was a final straw. So she knew it was Over over during those first weeks of tour and imo that's why she was crying during CP in Glendale N2. Anon mentioned that maybe she was apprehensive about doing it in person bc they could end up fucking and she needed to end it for real, but I don't think that was even an issue for her bc imo late stage Swiftwyn sex was like those scenes in Blue Valentine where the couple clearly has fallen out of love but they still try to have sex to get off and let out frustration but neither of them are really into it and lowkey hate it and yeah idk it's devastating to watch lol it's so fucking sad. At that point imo Swiftwyn were very unhappy and in a "you do you and I'll do me" MO so it tracks that Joe didn't see it coming right, cos they'd sorta gotten familiar/used to the unhappinness. Imo if she hadn't broken it off and instead insisted on getting married, he would've done it and they would've continued to leave unhappily and/or gotten divorced eventually, so Joe must've defs been relieved that she ended it. If they'd had kids before shit started to go down at the end of 2021, I do think they would've married for the bebé and would've probs gotten divorced once the bebé/bebés became adults a la Scott and Andrea.

I 1000% agree that she was involved emotionally with Matty since at least January of this year. Idk if I think it got to the point of actual physical cheating yk I tend to think that maybe not since her and Joe respected each other so much but she does historically cheat when she's desperate to get out of a rs so who knows 🤷🏻‍♀️ she was miserable and Matty was there all head over heels for her and ofc the attention was appealing after she'd felt so rejected/unnapreciated by her partner for months. I am SO so curious about that 1975 collab song that was scrapped from Midnights 👀👀 I wonder if it's telling of how far back (second half of 2022 maybe) the affair with Matty goes, and if she left it out of the album bc she was still trying to save her rs with Joe. I really do think that, in spite of everything, Taylor fought VERY hard to fix their issues and solve their problems, like I really do think she gave it her all trying to save it but ultimately it became clear that it was unsalvageable. When they first became a couple they both thought their lives would be going in completely different directions (she thought her peak as a pop star was gone and she would move to more BTS stuff and live a calmer life in North London with him, he thought his acting career would take off after The Favourite and CWF and he'd become some Nic Hoult/Paul Mescal etc.) than where they both are today, and so they became very incompatible to the point where all the love they had for each other wasn't enough to keep them in love together.

I love u but this is a fucking dissertation dude I’m not gonna read all this but I’m sure ur right because your takes are always on point so I’m posting for people with a longer attention span than me and I’m gonna text just now to check you’re ok lmao because dissertations about Joever are usually a sign one isn’t 😂🙈🤷🏻‍♀️

[wonusite]

was going through some asks on your blog n i think fu nonny talking about mingyu fucking you in front of another guy just woke up an exhibitionism kink in me 😩 LIKE I JUST CAME UP WITH A SCENARIO but this time you're the one jealous 👀 buckle up this is gonna be a long ask heh

imagine it's a reallyyy busy day and you're with gyu at his office but unlike every other time you're there he can't take care of you at the moment. at first, you're okay with it, until you notice one of his coworkers keeps coming in and out of his office to give him files and check in on him.

of course it wouldn't normally bother you but they keep adding subtle flirty remarks whenever they come in like "the new suit looks great on you, mr. kim," "your tie got undone, do you need help with that?" and "i'm going to take a break, we could get some coffee together," and gyu, being the most loyal man just brushes them off but you still can't help the feeling of envy bubbling within you especially since they don't even acknowledge you sitting right in the room

the last straw was when they came in again to give files and before they exited, asked him out to dinner as a celebration after completing the huge workload. meanwhile, you've been waiting for him at the side to finish because you both already had something planned for the night. just the two of you. you feel some relief after he rejects them but something blooms in you when they ignore you on the way out again. you're needy but you want to be straightforward this time so you walk up to gyu at his desk and just blurt out "daddy fuck me"

he obviously gets caught off guard but softly tells you to wait but you just kneel down and sit under his desk. he knows where this is going but he doesn't have the power in him to stop you so he just places a hand on your head and asks you "is my princess going to suck me off? want to make daddy feel good?" and all you do is nod cutely and play with his belt and mingyu has actual hearts in his eyes for you. he helps you take him out of his pants and you immediately go down on him, quite literally worshipping his cock. he goes back to work but makes sure to let you know how good you're making him feel every now and then.

suddenly, the coworker comes back to tell gyu they're done with their part and they can wait for him before going home. he's about to dismiss them and tell them there's no need until he notices they way you suck harder at their words. that's when it clicks what your motivations were. ever the exhibitionist, wanting to let the world know you only belong to each other, he tells them "alright." you find out they knew about your presence when you hear them ask "where was the girl sitting here earlier?" and gyu literally feels you smile around his dick and replies that you went to the restroom.

after they leave you go even harder, desperate to have his cum in your mouth and he finally does with the prettiest moans, all because of you ♥ he pulls you up and puts you on his lap, reaching down to feel how wet you got just from sucking him. he then stands up to set you on his desk but not before putting all the files and papers to the side (as much as he loves you, he doesn't want to ruin a whole day's worth of work). after you worshipped his cock, he returns it to you tenfold. he fucks you with his fingers, eats you out like a man starved then finally sheathes himself into you. you already had a plan: to be as loud as possible hoping it'll reach the coworker, wherever they are and mingyu, knowing you, only enables you, whispering into your ear "you can be louder, it's just the two of us here," despite knowing the latter part isn't completely true.

the night ends with you covered and filled with gyu's cum with him constantly reassuring you that you're the only one he looks at ♥. (imagine if the coworker went to his office again in the middle of that heh 🤭).

whoever sent this in i love u so much 🫰🏼

no bc just imagine daddy!gyu fucking you with a big ass smirk on his face bc let’s face is that man LOVES when u get jealous. he’ll fuck u full of his cum until you can’t take it anymore 😫😫😫

#u rlly popped off w this one #thank u for blessing us w ur brilliant ask #🐶 nonny #nalani.thotz

[luveline]

jade baby hi!!! i’m sorry it took me so long to send you this but i’m finally done gathering my thoughts on part 2 of june baby!! it’s a long one, sorry <3

You smile wide, wide enough to open the yawning gap in his chest all over again. Tonight when he goes home he'll have to close it like he has to so often lately after seeing you. Pretend his feelings for you – whatever they are – are smaller, less terrifying.

that was such a lovely imagery!! the way i actually pictured eddie getting home and grabbing a needle to stitch the gap back together 😭😭

He grins at you. "Thought I'd brave the great outdoors without any armour." You nod like it isn't all nonsense to you and maybe it isn't, maybe being friends with him is clueing you in to all his fantastical lingo. He likes you more for it either way, especially when you say, "You need a healing potion. It's freezing."”

and

“I know," you mumble ruefully. A tad theatric. He must be rubbing off on you.”

the fact that the way he speaks is starting to rub off on her!! being around each other for so long that they start picking up each other’s lingo and mannerisms!! having a shared language 🥺🥺🥺

eddie knowing her enough to realise that if he doesn’t make eye contact she won’t reject the cookie, paying enough attention to get these eating habits of hers – like subtly getting her to share a sandwich with him even if she wasn’t planning on having one at all, and she knows he knows it. making her a double cream oreo that she cherishes like a rich meal and being pleased with himself knowing that HE MADE HER so happy. and baby junie enjoying the cream-heavy side of her own cookie just like her mom was my last straw. i love them so much 😭

He shrugs and takes another pull of milk to think of a way to say, Well, when you’re tired you get nonsensical, and it’s charming how confident you are but hard to follow without offending you. Is there a way to say that without offending you? Or worse, without revealing every wretched feeling he has for you?

when she just starts rambling about cats meowing and being manipulators and eddie is just enchanted by how nonsensical and adorable it sounds!! the “and you’re still going!” literally filled me with so much joy. also

He doesn’t think there’s a way to tell you that won’t involve unveiling his new and shiny feelings for you, feelings that don’t seem to want to slow, or abate, or moderate themselves. Honestly, he doesn’t want them to. He wants you to be happy. He wants to take care of you. It's embarrassing in its intensity. 

i love that both of these shows how aware eddie is of his own feelings and all his worries are around showing it off too much. like he knows he’s already in love but it’s waiting for her to catch up

eddie poorly impersonating kermit the frog BUT using his own voice to say "She is… the smartest, most prettiest, loving little girl in the whole world." i- im in love with him and WITH YOU FOR WRITING HIM

also the “I’d only like her more if she was green!” and the “mr. Frog was my father” made me snort too. i don’t think I tell you enough how funny you are, jade dear. but you’re so funny!! i always catch myself holding back a laugh in the middle of the night when I’m reading your works!!

You are so brave, junebug. You're the bravest little girl I've ever met. That's why me and your mom decided you were Juniper the Brave, and you proved us both right." 

oh my god i was so distressed reading that part – which just shows what an amazing writer you are, honestly. i love having eddie always calling her “juniper, the brave” or “juniper, the loveliest”. it’s such a small thing but so in character for him and i love it so much. ALSO when he says “me and your mom” it sounds like he’s her parent 😭😭😭😭 you’re sick (ily) for writing it like that

“Do you think she'll throw up if I make her some dinner?" you ask, the kind of question you don't usually get to ask someone else. A luxury to defer judgement.

i really like both hers and eddies definition of luxury is ultimately having someone by their side. eddie defining having her to wash his hair as a luxury. her saying that having someone to choose something for her is a luxury

when she’s apologising to him saying that he “didn’t sign up for this” and all he does is look to baby junie and say something around “your mom has no idea how much i like you both” 😩😩😩😩 cause yeah he didn’t really sign up for any of this but caring about people doesn’t come with a full detailed contract right!! you just love them and would gladly go out of your way for them.

Junie doesn't cry so much as whine. You press kisses that are more for you than her into her hair and on her forehead, jogging your knee. She's fine. She's okay, and she's here in your lap, and there's nothing to panic over now. 

and

The relief to see her happy can't be understated. You hop in at the same time and clean her off, wash her hair, and bedeck her tiny features in big big kisses.

i honestly had to take a break and cry a little after reading that cause. junie is so loved. so so so loved!! 🥺🥺

"I think he likes me," you tell Junie. […] "He kissed me," you whisper, leaning down. "I don't know about you, junebug, but I only kiss the people I care about. For a long time, that's been a really short list." You bump your nose against hers. 

JUNIE BEING HER LITTLE CONFIDENT!! also, the “i think he likes me” makes her sound so young – but then again, it makes her sound just like her age. and the parallel between “I only kiss the people I care about” and “It’s the same, you know? Doing things for the people you care about.”!!! you’re sick i love you

He might be the nicest boy on this whole damn planet. You look at him thoughtfully. How come we always end up here? At the kitchen table? He looks right. Too right. He looks like he’s meant to be here, smiling and talking to your baby in hushed, fond tones, airplaning roasted broccoli towards her mouth. 

crying cause the kitchen table is something so personal. i always feel like the kitchen is like the heart of a house. and having her acknowledging how right it seems having eddie being part of their lives, like he’s meant to be in their kitchen table 😩😩😩 that was so lovely!!

“Yeah, you vex me. Infuriate me. I’ve been a mom for two years and I can’t get her shoes on without a fight, and you’ve been-“ You stop dead, stutter, and quickly adjust what you'd been saying like it has been a slip up of the tongue rather than a thought you shouldn't entertain. 

no cause this part went completely over my head on my first read and now i get it and AH. also i thought it was such a lovely acknowledgment and reassuring from eddie to say that she had no one to teach her how to be a parent, she had to learn all by herself and all he does is copy her

EDDIE CALLING THEM HIS TWO FAVOURITE GIRLS 😭😭😭 WANTING TO WEAR MATCHING SHIRTS 😭😭😭 you can’t do that 😭😭😭

You bring your hand to his cheek. A sorry and a thank you at the same time. "I don't want to be back in Hawkins before dark." I really want to spend more time with you. “I’ll crawl”

I’LL CRAWL. and he does!! i love him <3

You don't know what possesses you – though you're starting to wonder if it can be called possession at all, more like a hunger that won't let things lie – to do it, but you bring the cupcake up to his face and hold it so he can take a bite. 

that description, a hunger that won’t let things lie, oh my god. that was amazing. so good!! you’re insane!!

i was so sure that that ask i sent you right after part 1 was the longest I’ve ever sent you but this one is so much bigger i’m sorry </3 but i can’t help but point out every little lovely detail in your writing cause it honestly always strikes me with the warmest feeling of a soft and tender love. it’s something so honest and real, and it always stays with me. i keep going back to it and reminding myself of my favourite bits. your playlist for june baby is also keeping me company these last few days, I’ve been listening to it while doing some chores and it’s lovely. thank you for sharing your writing with us, i love it and i love you 💌 - lu (again, sorry for this long ask) <3

thank you lu for taking the time to compile the parts that you liked this is genuinely such a treat for me to read your commentary and see what you liked !!! please don't apologise ive already read this like three times beaming, you're too kind (as always) love you love you!! thank you for everything you do!! ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

#jade's asks #ily

[clickonmedotexe]

Rex is shoved against the wall by a blur of shadows, hands wrapping around his wrists and throat before he even realizes what's going on. In a second he's pinned down and the pressure on his windpipe is getting harsher while he thrashes against the hold.

"How dare you touch her. I'm going to kill you."

He knows the voice, having possessed the speaker's body once back when he himself was part of the very virus which had tormented him the last few weeks.

Mason Paines, the friend of Thursday - of course he would've heard about their earlier run in. Except Rex thought Thursday had him better under control. Maybe she sent him to find Rex after deciding the demonic ghostly beast gutting him wasn't enough.

"Wasn't- me-" Rex chokes out. He kicks at Maso but the other isn't fazed in the slightest. He's stronger than Rex, both physically and because the burning rage lends him some extra strength, enough that Maso's certain he can pop his head off if he just pushes harder.

"I know you threatened her before, you slimy revolting pervert. I'm going to mangle you and feed you the parts I chopped off until you choke on them, Rex, I'll make what Alice did to you look like a walk in the fucking park." Maso is squeezing his throat harder, ignoring Rex's frantic attempts to escape.

He can't wrench his hands free and his kicks do nothing. He tries to knee Maso in the stomach, manages to do it once (Maso doesn't blink), and the second time is blocked by Maso's shadow which has wrapped around his body protectively, shielding him from further attacks.

"I was- possessed-" The older man is turning purple, black spots crowding over his vision as his head pounds painfully, demanding to be given oxygen. He's either going to faint or die and neither of those sound particularly fun right now - especially after all the restarts he just went through while Vir took his body for a joyride.

"I don't care." Maso leans in, glaring at Rex with a bottomless hatred - he won't be satisfied until he's certain Rex has suffered as much as he's done to Thursday. Even if it wasn't him. Maso can't bring himself to care. Right now Rex is the face of everything bad that had ever happened to his friend. All the injuries, the rejections, the pain, the abandonment and the tortures she's faced, Maso turned away from the instigators as best he could to focus on damage control instead but the more times she got attacked the more resentment built up inside of him until finally it had to snap.

Rex was the last straw.

Even if he wasn't the one to leave her for dead or maim her with a chainsaw or even cut her tongue out, he was far from innocent and Maso doubts it really matters if he's hurting Rex for allegedly being forced to torture Thursday to death, or if he's hurting him for all the times he did actually torture Thursday's friends, possessed innocents and ruined friendships with his manipulation.

"You deserve to die, you motherfucker. You deserve to have everything taken away from you - especially that family you brainwashed into loving you. Fuck you. I'm going to flay you alive, I'm going to tear you into a million little pieces and set them on fire you fucking asshole, I hate you so much! Who do you think you are, ruining everyone's lives? I'm going to tear your dick off and make you eat it, you perv-"

Mason Paines.

Maso has gotten angrier with every word, bitter tears of frustration and rage welling up in his eyes as he slams Rex into the wall repeatedly with each threat. Rex is too weak to fight back and with how he's rapidly losing consciousness, he thinks he might've imagined the voice if it weren't for how Maso paused too.

Put him down. Let me take a look.

Maso grits his teeth, but obeys. He yanks Rex forward and kicks him to the ground. Rex falls and starts hacking for air immediately, wheezing out of his now bruised windpipe.

"He's disgusting, Icarus. No one does anything about him because they're either too scared or too enamored by him. He needs to- to die!"

Hush. The voice commands and reluctantly Maso falls silent, deciding to stand there and glare at Rex instead. There's someone else standing in the room with them, their presence as thick as fog even though Rex can't see the speaker. He can hear their voice in his head and out loud, and he knows that whoever this is is far from the demons and entities he's met before. They aren't even like the god who had possessed him earlier and changed him to his whim.

This presence is older, powerful. It feels as if for the first time he's in the same room with Capital G God.

Except Maso is talking casually to 'God' and there's no singing choir of celestials accompanying them.

If Rex squints hard enough, he might be able to make out a ever shifting figure shining in blue standing above him, but looking at it felt wrong, like he's glimpsing into another plane of reality.

Rex Sovereign. The voice says. Another broken soul spreading pain and Despair where it goes. I am surprised Calypso has not taken interest in you.

Maso scoffs. Rex has no idea what they're talking about.

"I t-told you." He rubs at his throat, which hurts terribly. "I didn't touch Thursday. It wasn't my idea, for fucks sakes. Just listen to me."

You have hurt many people. You're a parasite. Where you go, you attempt to lay ownership in people's lives, for better or for worse. Yet your courage is all a lie. In reality, you are so very afraid.

Rex suddenly realizes how exposed he is. He can't hide from this being who is looking directly at him. Not his mask. At him.

In an instant it can see everything. Every insecurity he ever had, every moment of weakness, every scar on his soul and what story came along with it.

He instinctively tries to hide but there's no place he can go to shield himself from the humiliation of being on display.

You fear you are as unlovable as you were made to believe when you were young, so you attempt to gain people's affections through manipulation and lies, you crave intimacy so you look for it in the wrong places because you cannot bear losing control. You believe yourself to be strong but you cannot bend so you are brittle. The slightest pressure would snap you in half. If others found out the truth about you, you would hide in shame as you have done from the ones you claim to be your family.

Rex says nothing, hands curled into fists. He wants to deny it but no words come out in his defense.

You have changed. There is hope inside of you, which is your saving grace. You are lucky I did not stumble upon you sooner or you would no longer be as you are. I will be back for you, Rex Sovereign. Go to your family. Do not lay a hand on a single person in the meantime or I will take you away from your loved ones in an instant. You won't have the chance to say goodbye.

The being turns to address Maso.

I will take a look at your friend. Do not hesitate to call me again if you require assistance.

Maso nods and watches as Icarus fades away, gone from their current perception but around in case of anything. He glances down at Rex who looks like someone put him through the wringer several times.

"I guess my threats are useless now in light of Icarus'." Maso says dryly. He's still mad, even if he's better at controlling it now. "Don't go near Thursday again. Don't even look at her."

Rex purses his lips, exhausted and annoyed. He gets up, making sure to stay far enough away from Maso in case the other tries to jump him again and shoots him a bitter look.

"Tell her it wasn't me, it was Vir. And I tried to warn her. If she'd have run like I told her to, maybe she could've found help before it attacked her."

Maso scowls darkly.

Rex doesn't say anything else. He just turns and heads back to his Office, like Icarus suggested he do.

Maso watches him go for a moment, scoffs and heads off as well. He figures he should let Thursday know about what happened and make her aware of Icarus' intentions to visit.

#drabble #＜/error＞ #neverendingparable #celestial cataclysm

[princesssarisa]

Character ask: Cordelia (King Lear)

Favorite thing about them: Her kindness, love, compassion, and forgiveness, which have rightly led many critics to describe her as Christ-like, combined with her pride, dignity, stubbornness, and courage that make her more than just a standard ingénue.

Least favorite thing about them: Hmm... Maybe "No cause, no cause." While I do like that she wholeheartedly forgives her father, it's another thing to imply that he did nothing wrong. He did! But then, to remind him of that fact probably wouldn't be wise in his frail mental condition, and when he's already so humbled and ashamed that he implies he's willing to let her kill him.

Three things I have in common with them:

*I'm very honest.

*I sometimes have trouble putting my feelings into words.

*I'm close to my father.

Three things I don't have in common with them:

*I've never been rejected by my father. (Though I have an irrational, autism-based fear that I might be rejected someday, by everyone I care about, which is probably why I have more trouble sympathizing with a daughter-rejecting character like Lear than I'm supposed to.)

*I don't have sisters.

*I'm not royalty.

Favorite line:

The speech that gets her banished:

"Good my lord,

You have begot me, bred me, and loved me:

I return those duties back as are right fit.

Obey you, love you, and most honour you.

Why have my sisters husbands, if they say

They love you all? Haply, when I shall wed,

That lord whose hand must take my plight shall carry

Half my love with him, half my care and duty.

Sure, I shall never marry like my sisters,

To love my father all."

Her lament for Lear's suffering as she watches him sleep:

"O my dear father! Restoration hang

Thy medicine on my lips; and let this kiss

Repair those violent harms that my two sisters

Have in thy reverence made!...

Had you not been their father, these white flakes

Had challenged pity of them. Was this a face

To be opposed against the warring winds?

To stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder?

In the most terrible and nimble stroke

Of quick, cross lightening? to watch - poor perdu! -

With this thin helm? Mine enemy's dog,

Though it had bit me, should have stood that night

Against my fire; and wast thou fain, poor father,

To hovel thee with swine, and rogues forlorn,

In short and musty straw? Alack, alack!

'Tis wonder that thy life and wits at once

Had not concluded all."

brOTP: Lear in their final scenes together, after he's humbled and realizes her love and goodness.

OTP: Her husband, the King of France.

nOTP: Lear, Goneril, or Regan.

Random headcanon: She's yet another character I can imagine as being on the autism spectrum. Her refusal to lie or to play a role to please others, her inability to express her deep love for her father in words, the seemingly cold and clinical talk of duty with which she attempts to express it, and her resistance to social expectations that contradict each other (i.e. that her father and king demands that she love him above all else, yet she knows that when she marries, her husband is supposed to come first) all make sense in this way. Especially because she implies that these aren't deliberate choices – she claims that she "cannot heave [her] heart into [her] mouth," that her tongue is less "rich" than the love within her, and that she "lacks the art" of dishonest flattery.

Unpopular opinion: I think her death is necessary. It's tragic, of course, but I don't find it agonizingly cruel and unfair. All the misery and bloodshed over the course of the play take place because of Lear's mistakes, so from a poetic standpoint, he can't live happily ever after with Cordelia the way he did in earlier versions. He needs to lose her and then die of grief (or of delusional joy as he hallucinates her reviving, depending on how you read his last lines). Of course I would never view the fates of real people in this way, only fictional characters; and I understand that in viewing her death this way, I'm treating her as something of a Woman in the Refrigerator, saying that she needs to be sacrificed for poetic justice on Lear. But Lear is the main character, and from the start Cordelia is defined by her relationship with him. So I can accept her death as a plot device to both figuratively and literally break Lear's heart, and I don't find it quite as upsetting as other people do.

Song I associate with them: None to speak of.

Favorite picture of them:

This painting by John Rogers Herbert.

This illustration by Arthur Rackham.

This painting by William Frederick Yeames.

This painting by Ford Madox Brown of her lament over the sleeping Lear.

This painting by James Barry of her death.

Anna Calder-Marshall mourned by Laurence Olivier as Lear in the 1983 TV Film. (Very interesting casting, because Calder-Marshall had played Cathy in the 1970 film version of Wuthering Heights, while Olivier had played Heathcliff in the classic 1939 version.)

Phoebe Fox at the Almeida Theatre, 2012.

Romola Garai with the Royal Shakespeare Company, 2007.

Natalie Simpson with the Royal Shakespeare Company, 2016.

Florence Pugh in the 2018 TV film.

#character ask #king lear #cordelia #william shakespeare #ask game #fictional characters #tw: death

[casicroaks]

Tiffany Valentine has two things in her mind: love and murder. The origins of the brains behind the infamous Lakeshore Strangler and the string of broken hearts she left along her way to Chicago, interwoven with the development of the tempestuous relationship between her and a certain Charles Lee Ray.

CHAPTER 9

[ CHAPTER 1 // CHAPTER 2 // CHAPTER 3 // CHAPTER 4 // CHAPTER 5 // CHAPTER 6 // CHAPTER 7 // CHAPTER 8 // CHAPTER 9 // CHAPTER 10 // CHAPTER 11 // CHAPTER 12 // CHAPTER 13 // CHAPTER 14 // CHAPTER 15 // CHAPTER 16 ]

NEW YORK, 1976

I wiped my nose, sniffing and licking my upper lip, and had a long sip of my cherry coke, enjoying the funny tickling of the bubbles in my throat. Time was passing far too slowly. I still had a couple hours before I could punch in to my night job. I bounced my leg, staring at the clock on the little diner’s wall, hoping that would make it move faster.

“Hey, can you change the channel?” I asked, turning to the sweaty guy behind the bar.

He shot me a glare and shook his head no. A bunch of people had congregated around the TV, silently watching the Memphis procession of sobbing fans. I had already checked the couple magazines and newspapers by the bathroom door for any update on the current news I was following, the one of a serial killer in Los Angeles and the one about Paul Michael Glaser and Cher’s possible affair. Everyone else was too busy with the king’s funeral. As if he hadn’t been dying for the last few years already.

Having nothing better to do, I went over an interview with Lynda Carter about her recent marriage. ‘She thought of herself as a loner –till love freed her’ , I read under a photo of her, with her piercing blue eyes staring straight at me. Good for her, I thought. Not that I was ever a big fan of Wonder Woman anyway.

When I arrived in New York, back when I was fourteen, I was mostly surprised with how dirty and noisy and stinky it was –not at all like in Love Story or in An Affair To Remember. Despite that, I wasn’t daunted. A city is just a city, and it wasn’t like I had never been to Newark before. I had to admit, though, I had been way out of my depth. I was so entranced by the sights and the movement of the crowds that I wasted quite a few hours just walking around. By the time the sun was setting, I was still out and had nowhere to stay. I tried at a couple of hotels, but they all either told me to scram or asked me where my parents were. And there I was, thinking I looked so grown up. Not wanting to risk it, I just said they were waiting for me right outside, and I simply left for the next hotel, trusting that they would ask fewer questions. Regardless, most of the nicer hotels were pretty damn expensive, too much for what I had brought, and it was already pitch-black outside when the city lights were turned on, a dazzling sight that I had to force myself to ignore to focus on getting somewhere I could sleep for the night.

Two hours till seven. I stirred the straw in my glass, the ice cubes spinning and tinkling, trying my best to drown the depressing sounds of the crying from the TV.

It hadn’t gone as I had expected. After hours of walking, I had finally found a smaller hotel, a grimy little place a few blocks away from the chaos of Times Square, and there they didn’t ask any questions. Nobody seemed surprised by the sight of me, the only teenager there; even better, I thought, once I got in my tiny room and sat on the lumpy cot, and counted my money yet again just to make sure how many days I had to stay there. I wasn’t gonna get comfy there or anything. All I needed was a good steady job, and then I could leave and find somewhere nicer.

Next day, after some breakfast and a visit to Central Park, I looked for a job. I tried asking at a couple bars, at a laundromat, at a hair salon, at a tobacconist. I was hoping the 'take-no-for-an-answer' approach would help me. They all either rejected me and threatened to call the cops if I didn’t scram, or told me they could give me a try, but that I wouldn’t be getting any payment until the beginning of next month. I was needing some cash fast, but I wasn’t that desperate yet. I went back to the hotel, counted my money again, and wondered if I should avoid eating for a while.

The following day I didn’t have breakfast, but I did have a consolation strawberry milkshake after hours of asking if there was an open position for me at any shop I passed by, including the store where I had bought the milkshake. On my way back to the hotel, I was mugged. I was too startled to do anything –it all happened so fast I didn’t even have time to take my switchblade from my bra. The mugger ran off with my backpack and everything I had stuffed in my pockets. I was left with the clothes on my back and a couple dollars I had saved in my underwear along with my switchblade. The money wasn’t enough for another night at the cheap hotel. It was barely enough for a bus ride back to Hackensack.

I had considered going back home. I quickly changed my mind. Then I considered calling my mother. I didn’t. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

And after that, it’s all a haze. I remember some scattered things, like walking up and down the avenues all night, and sleeping very little, if at all. Trying to make the little money I had last longer, looking for places with cheaper food. Asking for jobs, and getting one, and then being cheated out of my pay, and smashing things at the workplace out of sheer rage, and being taught that that way I would get caught by the police very, very soon. I was still underage. If I was caught, if someone found out I had run away from home, I would be taken back. Or, what might be worse, nobody would claim me and I would be thrown into an orphanage, or wherever else unclaimed children were dropped.

And the noise of sirens –God, all the damn time, but especially at night. If the cops were really doing their job, they wouldn’t need to be lighting up the roof every single night the entire night, you know. Not that I slept much anyways, of course, but there was a point in which I was living with headaches from the sheer racket these sirens made.

Yes, New York wasn’t what I had expected. I sighed, finishing my glass of coke and leaving the mourners at the diner to their pathetic little endeavor. Maybe I should have really reigned my expectations, back then. But hell, I was fourteen, for crying out loud! I was barely more than a kid. Beyond what I had told myself back then, and how well it had turned out, I did take a big fucking risk. I forced a smile, sticking my chin in the air, letting the little evening sunlight hit my face as the sky began to clear. 

The past was the past. And, right then and there, I was happy enough.

Backstage, girls with glitter all over their faces, with lashes as long as my fingers, were dressing up, zipping up, shaving armpits, ironing ponytails, spraying hair, mending rips and hiding holes in stockings. There were also stockings hanging from wires from where little lightbulbs flickered, and piles of used brushes able to supply any wig store, and piles of dirty Q-tips next to lipstick-stained cigarettes, and fallen sequins covering the concrete floor. Men came in to talk with a few of them. I had to assume they were friends or family of the girls.

“Don’t they ever knock?”

“Good thing we’re decent.”

“Hi, Sal.”

Sally turned to me over her bony shoulder, flashing a million-watt smile. She was easily the prettiest of all of us, with her glittering eyes, long swan neck and graceful movements, like a ballerina.

“Hey there, Val.”

I smiled back at her, shimmying behind her to move to the other side of the dressing room’s narrow hallway.

Val. Right, that was what I was called now. Val. Short for Valerie, for Valentine, or maybe just for Val, I hadn’t decided yet. Whatever it was, when I decided I was really gonna stay in New York and as far away from Hackensack as possible, it felt appropriate to give myself a new name.

And part of that new identity was to stay a blonde, as I realized the color was becoming too dull in a nearby mirror. I ran my fingers through my hair, forgetting I was holding my cigarette, dropping ashes on my head before it jumped away and onto the floor. Before I could even bend over and pick it up, a couple rookie goody girls hurried in and stomped on it, almost stepping on my hand.

“Watch out!”

“What’re you doing on the floor anyways?”

Their heels destroyed the cigarette, reducing it to ashes and crumpled paper.

“You owe me a cigarette,” I grumbled at the new girls. I didn’t know their names, and they probably didn’t know mine. Every three months or so there was a changing of the guard, and a batch of fresh meat to replace the old. Only three or so were older than a year, and that included me. Me, I had had this job for about two years, give or take. In comparison, I was practically a veteran.

A goody girl’s job is not particularly demanding: you just wander around with your tray of treats, waiting for someone to call you over for a purchase. Most of the time, people knew the price of the goods already; some, the famous or rich ones, would put the bill to their name, and eventually pay it directly to whoever it was that supplied us. I’m not gonna pretend I had any deep knowledge of how it worked, but as far as mule work was concerned, it wasn’t bad. Biggest downside, beyond the wandering hands of customers, was the pay: barely enough to make a living, paid every Monday morning, meant to last you a week. Thing is, for most goody girls, this was just a side hustle. They had other jobs, usually, and better paying. I had only that measly wage to pay for meals; my other job was solely to pay for the ghastly room back at Hotel Broslin.

“Anyone got a cig?” I asked, pushing my pin curls away from my face.

When I had first arrived in New York, I had to stay over at churches a few times, to have somewhere to sleep a bit before the job hunt continued. Eventually, luck would have it that I found a bar in Hell’s Kitchen that would not pay me immediately, but that at least would give me a place to stay till I found somewhere else. There, in the little crummy hotel beside the corner bar, I lived next door to the scum of the Earth: junkies and hopheads, cripples and veterans, washed-up failed artists, and a wide assortment of whores, like big-city versions of Dee and the girls of Hackensack. They worked where they lived, to my dismay. Not that my own living situation was particularly better. It was always messy, dirty, with magazines and newspapers and underwear and makeup and all sorts of junk left around. I did my best to tidy up every Thursday or so, but it never lasted. No wonder I was rarely there. It was only marginally better than sleeping in the bathroom stalls at the Playhouse.

“Hey!” I turned around and raised my voice. “Does anyone have a goddamn cigarette?”

Working at the Playhouse is better than most bars, or so I’ve heard from the other employees. It was a rather notorious nightclub in Manhattan at the time, one of the best, the kinda places where you could rub elbows with celebrities. By that time, I already recognized several usual customers; big names, the types that were surrounded by groupies, but also smaller-scale ones, the local heavy-hitters, the names on the marquees on Broadway. The people I envied the most. They dripped glamour, strutting through the front doors, wearing the latest designer fashion, glitter all over their faces, flashing bright smiles and fat wads of cash. They were showgirls, big-name groupies, models, muses, all of them living in close proximity to the stars. Back when I had taken the job, I had thought it would bring me closer to them. But, being quite honest, after all this time, it only made me notice even more just how worlds apart we really were. After all, the clubbers always seemed to have so much fun. Even if they weren’t, they certainly looked like it. Me, I was working, and this was the best chance I got at meeting someone who might just pluck me out of obscurity. That job was my life. It was my hope.

Two years later, and it was as if I had popped out of my mother’s womb fully formed and wearing the sparkly halter top and hot pants uniform, balancing the tray on the tip of my fingers. At the end of the shift, a glamorous dead-end job is still a dead-end job.

“Hey, baby,” said one of Roy’s friends, pulling me closer by the strap of my tray. Roy was one of those regulars I already knew to avoid. This guy, though, I didn’t have quite figured out yet. “What’d you got for me today?”

“The menu doesn’t change,” I said with a little shrug. Jess had told me I had to stop being so cold to the patrons. It was easier said than done when most of the time they seemed less interested in what they could buy and more interested in what they could get. “Ludes, grams, pills, angel dust… Whatever you like, I got it.”

“I can see that,” he grinned, pushing his crotch against my thigh. I went into autopilot, giving him the same old poker-faced, closed-mouth smile I had down to an art. “What do you recommend?”

“It depends on what you’re in the mood for,” I said, looking down at the cellophane bags in my tray, avoiding his stare. “What mood you’re chasing.”

“I want a nice high,” he said, and the hand he had safely placed on the strip of skin between my shorts and my top went down, down to grab my ass.

I grit my teeth, my smile faltering, hoping he didn’t notice. “Speed’s the thing,” I said, quickly selecting a bag.

“Is it good?”

“Oh, yes, it’s very good.”

“If I buy a couple,” he said, squeezing harder. “Would you take it with me?”

“Well, I’m on the job—”

“Don’t worry about that, pretty,” he insisted, taking out a few dollars. “I can make it up for you.”

“Thank you, mister, for your interest,” I said, grinning wider, feeling the strain on my cheeks, and finally trying to pull myself away. “But I’m afraid I can’t—”

“Why not?” he said, pulling me back in. “Just a taste, what’s so wrong with that?”

“I’ve already told you, I’m on the job—”

“Don’t be such a stuck-up, it’ll only be a few minutes,” he said, losing his smile. “You’ll have fun—”

“I’m sure I will,” I nodded, and I broke away from him. “But I’m afraid I can’t, not during work hours—”

“You lying bitch,” he called, raising his voice while I scurried away. “You fucking tease!”

I exhaled, wondering if Jess could hear him, whether I would have to go through another of her lectures. Easy for her to boss the rest of us around, when she wasn’t the one on the dance floor, getting felt up and shouted vulgarities at.

“God, Val, what did you tell him to get him all worked up?” Suzy asked me with a frown. Her tray was almost empty already.

“I didn’t tell him anything,” I replied. “Though I should have…”

“Don’t give me that shit. You should be used to it by now,” she huffed. “Did you at least get a sale?”

“How could I, with his hand down my pants?” I said. “Besides, what do you even care? You just want me to deal with the worst.”

“It’s not my fault they seek you out,” she said, raising her nose up high, plastering the smile back to her face and going towards a group that was calling her. Suzy always got the nicer customers, the ones that would tip the best and ask about her family’s health. Nobody gave a shit about how I was doing. If I was lucky, they just paid me for the dope and went on their merry way.

After wandering around for a while, making myself available, I managed to make a few sales to some models who were celebrating a birthday. Out the corner of my eye I saw one of the freshly hired goody girls, looking uncomfortable, sitting on the knee of Roy’s handsy friend, firmly restrained by his arm around her waist, forcing a smile as he said something in her ear.

If it had been up to me, the guy could have already said goodbye to his hand.

A couple hours passed. The Playhouse became more crowded, the music louder, the lights brighter. The nightclub operated between six in the afternoon to six in the morning, unless there was a particular holiday being celebrated or the place booked up for some rich patron’s party. Around eleven to one was when it was the most packed. We had around three or four birthdays, which meant some nice big groups, all wanting an extra something to make the most of the night. The grams were the best-sellers, along with the ludes –or the ‘biscuits’, funnily enough, as some people had called them when asking me for it. The dance floor was where people chased the high, and on the seats around it was where they would drink, make deals, make up, make out, do whatever they felt comfortable with doing in public, all peppered with a few downers. The mezzanine I tried to avoid, as well as the basement, where the private parties were had. I had only been down there a few times in my two years working the Playhouse, but the stories I heard weren’t too pretty. Most people just came for a good time, though, so I couldn’t really blame them, I suppose. Everyone’s got their own definition of a good time, after all.

I looked back down at the tray. The cellophane bags shimmered and glowed under the colorful lights of the dance floor. I picked one and pocketed it, knowing I was shielded from Jess and the other goody girl snitches, among all the patrons dancing and having fun. Even as an employee, one could manage to have a good time at the Playhouse if you knew how.

I gulped some ludes, and wished I had something to down them with. As a goody girl, drugs were both your business and your helpers. Taking too many got you a paycheck cut and a scolding, but if you could get away with it, it was really worth it. Apart from feeling closer to my Cesar there, that might have been part of the reason why I stayed so long at my job at the Playhouse. Where else would I get that sort of perks?

Despite everything, that job was the highlight of my day. The rest of the day I was either working the corner bar or just killing time, walking around the city, window shopping and people watching, day dreaming and making up scenarios in my mind of what I’d do once I managed to settle down. It had been quite a few years since I had arrived in New York, but to me my situation was still temporary. It had to be. There had to be something better than what I had –and I was getting tired of being patient.

Laurie laughed out loud, loud enough for me to hear above the thumping disco music. She was stroking the blond curls of a handsome young sports star that had come for a bachelor party. I stared at them out the corner of my eye. I knew why Laurie did that –how she made her extra money. There were so many regulars there making out, dancing close to their partners, barely waiting to get to the mezzanine where other patrons were just straight-up fucking, openly and without any shame. At first, I had told myself I had no right to judge others. Then, after a while of working here, I had to admit to myself that it bothered me –it really did. These customers, and these employees, the other goody girls and the busboys who worked as waiters, they all hooked up with whoever, without even knowing their names. From where I was standing, I could see Laurie’s little golden cross hanging from a chain on her neck. It was almost funny: surely her mother wouldn’t like a nice Christian girl like Laurie to get into these kinds of situations. And I had a feeling that no guy would really date someone like Laurie, behaving like some piece of cheap goods, if she kept that up.

I know how that sounds. I had been called a prude more times than I can count. It’s not that I don’t like sex (Cesar knew I had no hang-ups regarding that), it’s just that I just can’t understand why someone would willingly do it with someone they knew nothing about. Where was the actual love? Did these people really think that little about their futures, about what others would say about them, having sex with a whole bunch of people at once? Did not one of them wish they had a steady partner, someone they cared enough about to want to remain faithful? I imagined it must become pretty lonely after a while, jumping from bed to bed with someone new each time. You never really connect with someone. It’s just like a game they played to pass the time.

I made my way to the bar, needing a drink. Even in my own thoughts I was sounding like my mother.

Regardless of the open display of debauchery at the Playhouse, I much preferred to be there than anywhere else. Anywhere but Hotel Broslin. Any day now, I told myself, any day now I would have the chance to move out of Hell’s Kitchen and have a better spot to lay my head. A few months ago, I had finally told Cesar my living state, after a while of refusing to grovel for his pity, hoping he would do something about it –welcome me in his home, share his space, at the very least rent me a room at some ritzy hotel where I could feel comfortable. But he didn’t even seem to listen to me. Maybe I just wasn’t clear enough, maybe I didn’t fully convey what the situation was. There were cracks on the dirty white paint that covered the walls and the moldings of the musty little room, as if the whole place was gonna come crumbling down. The walls of the tiny shared bathroom were covered in rotting mold. There was a bricked and blocked fireplace, dooming us to chronic colds during the winter, since the damn little window was broken and nobody did anything to fix it. You could barely own anything, since the tenants lived by the concept of what’s-yours-is-mine, so any time I had anything of value, next day it would go missing. Arguing with them would inevitably end with petty revenge gestures, like even more theft, at best, and full-on aggravated assault at worst. And the days went on and on, and they don’t end. I got to looking forward to the occasional fights breaking out at the bar. At least that gave life some excitement.

I had to fall in love, I had told myself back then, sitting on the steps of the building and watching the old women smoking and watching their kids. I had to think about someone else, so I could stop feeling sorry for myself. If I fell in love with someone, I reasoned, then that might give me a chance to get away from that shithole.

I could picture it oh so clearly. I’d stumble on the street with a handsome accountant, or a desk jockey would accidentally drop his coffee on me during his lunch break, and he’d kindly offer to buy me a meal and a new shirt as an apology. We would make small talk, and he’d tell me all about his humdrum life, and how disappointed he was with modern dating, and how much he just wanted to settle down and find a nice girl he could care for. I would make up some story so he would think I was just another small-town girl in a big pond, or however the saying went. Then, he would give me his phone number and we would fix to meet again. We would go dancing, and he’d pay for my drink. We would have dinner, and I’d laugh at his jokes. He’d kiss my cheek and we would make plans to meet again soon. We would have our first kiss on the little bridge over the stream at Central Park. We would walk hand in hand, my head on his shoulder, and we would talk and talk till night came. He would be good looking, but not too much so other girls would try to take a bite at him. He would be nice, but not a pushover. He’d be protective and a bit on the jealous side, which would mean that he truly loved me. He would never ask about my life back at Hackensack. If he wanted to, I’d never ask him about his life before we met. Of course, I would have loved to meet his parents, maybe have Christmas and Thanksgiving at their place. But it wasn’t necessary. I just needed him, whoever he was. These fantasies kept me sane.

Jack was the closest thing I had available, back then –so I clinged to him like he was my lifeline. We met once I finally had saved up some money for myself, and I decided I would celebrate by visiting Coney Island, which I had been wanting to do for a really long time. I had gone to an amusement park back once, when I was barely more than a baby, before Bri had been born. I don’t have any memory of it, but we had a couple photos at home that proved it had happened. Anyways –I had to choose carefully which rides I would go on at the Astroland amusement park, since I obviously didn’t have enough money to try them all. And, out of all of them, the one which seemed like I would get the most out of my couple of bucks was the bumper cars.

There, I literally bumped into him. He was this tall, scraggly kid around my age, who kept crashing me and pushing me around. Once I realized it was definitely not an accident or at random, I pushed back –and Jack seemed to find that pretty fun –so we spent a good while chasing the other among the crowd, bumping the other and laughing and flipping the other off. When he was told he had to leave, I got off as well, and followed him around for a while. Turned out he was a runaway like me, and made some money of his own by playing guitar and singing in a street corner. I liked him well enough: he wasn’t very handsome, but he was fun enough to hang around with, and he liked me back. I’m not an idiot, though. I knew he didn’t really just like me as a friend, and on some level, I knew it would do me well to give in to his flirting… But I just wasn’t sure he was the sort of guy I wanted to commit to. Jack had no long-term plans, no steady job, and it seemed to be pretty clear he just wanted me as a quick one-time fling. Me, I never believed in random hookups and one-night stands, unlike everyone else around me. Still, I held some hope that Jack wouldn’t be like that, and that he would understand that what I wanted was real love. So I humored him, and went on dates with him, and tried to convince myself that he was actually a pretty sweet guy, and that he cared for me. I didn’t want to call him my boyfriend, though. I made a huge effort to fall in love with him, but until it actually worked, I didn’t want to give either of us false hope. Not like he cared. All he was really interested in was making out in the back row of the movie theater, taking advantage of the fact that I felt devastatingly lonely. But we never went any further than that. All over-the-clothes stuff: the one time Jack got a bit too bold, and tried to get his hand under my skirt, after I had clearly told him not to try any shit like that, I pulled out my switchblade and chopped one of his fingers off as a warning. He screamed, and panicked, and ran away, and didn’t want to see me for a whole week. Next Monday he showed up at our usual spot, and we went to watch The Texas Chainsaw Massacre .

I thought Jack was pretty lonely, too. It had given me some hope: a guy must either like you a lot or be, indeed, pretty fucking lonely to keep going out on dates with a girl who hacked a finger off his hand.

It had been a long time since I last saw Jack, I thought, back to the present, as I downed my rum and coke. As far as I knew, he could very well still be cawing and howling for pennies in some street corner. A part of me was still curious to know whether we could have had something real, beyond just some teenage canoodling. I knew I had been willing to give him a chance. But it was stupid to keep my mind in the past. What had happened happened, and there was nothing I could do to change that.

“Would you look at that. Kenny and Leanne are making quite a scene…”

It appeared like Jamie had thought the same as I had, flanked by Ernie and Colin, as usual. The three of them were busboys, a pretty fancy title for the male waiters at the Playhouse. Most of them were gay, young, handsome and shrewd, and apart from their official jobs they also worked as either secret lovers of closeted celebrities, or boy toys of unhappily married rich women. He made a gesture to the bartender, and soon enough they were all having quick tequila shots.

“Let them have their fun,” Colin said. “I heard Leanne just had an abortion.”

“Did she, now?” Jamie said with a snort.

“Yeah, let’s just hope she doesn’t start leaking blood all over the dance floor.”

“Which one is it?” Ernie asked. “Her third one already?”

“Now I’m no doctor,” Colin said, raising his eyebrows. “But I don’t think her innards must be in good shape after all that scrambling around.”

“Come on, give us your professional opinion, mama,” Jamie said to me with a smile, leaning against the bar. “You ever had an abortion, Val?”

I made a gesture to the bartender for another rum and coke. No more than three –otherwise my pay would really feel it. “No, not as of yet.”

“Would you?” Colin asked me. “Or would you keep it?”

“I don’t know,” I huffed, tossing them each a little packet of ludes. The bartender knew by this point not to tell, and so it was a good spot to do business among employees. “It depends on whether their father wanted to raise the baby with me.”

“Oh, so you think of yourself as a family woman, Val?”

The three of them laughed.

“Hey, you’re sort of a film buff,” Ernie said, turning to face me. “Aren’t you, Val?”

“Depends on the sort of film,” I replied.

“You seen the latest Bond flick?”

“No, hadn’t had the time,” I lied.

“Pity. Well, me and the girls went to watch it last Friday,” Jamie began explaining. “And it’s, you know, what you’d come to expect—”

“But we did have so much fun…!” Ernie said.

“Yeah—”

“I mean, it was better than the previous one,” Jamie said.

“Roger Moore looks much better here, to boot,” Colin added.

“I really liked Live And Let Live ,” Ernie butted in. “I thought he looked his best there. You seen that one, Val?”

I shook my head, giving in and smiling a bit. They had noticed me being rather down lately, and even though they could get on my nerves from time to time, I was thankful for their efforts to distract me, at least for a few minutes.

“ Golden Gun was better, though,” Colin said with a smirk. “Christopher Lee… Good God, he could give Moore a run for his money.”

“Yes, but you know, it gets a bit tiresome after a while, all these movies. Bondy Goes To Africa , Bondy Goes To Russia , Bondy Does Debbie , Bondy’s Family Reunion , you know, it’s –it’s just too much,” Jamie said. “One of these days they’re gonna send him to space and fight aliens for queen and country.”

“Oh, I’d love that,” Colin admitted.

“They would do it. I don’t know how anyone can take that man seriously, he’s a clown.”

“A scrumptious clown,” Colin pointed out.

“A sharp-dressed clown—” Ernie said dreamily.

“—Stays a clown regardless,” Jamie insisted. “It’s a lot, I can’t keep up, it’s too much for me. You know I’m slow. Give me simple pleasures.”

“If clowns looked like that,” Ernie sighed. “You know I’d run away with the circus in a heartbeat.”

“Well, you’re in luck,” Jamie said, waving at Elliot, one of the patrons I knew he liked the least, and shoving the tray in Ernie’s hands. “Your turn on the trapeze, honey.”

Cesar never took me to the movies. We didn’t really go anywhere. I had suggested going to the cinema many times, but he always said he’d rather do something else. Me and Jack, we did use to mostly watch horror movies, like those I managed to sneak in on theaters back in Jersey, the ones I rarely got to catch on TV –my parents never allowed me to stay up late to watch a scary movie. I also had the chance to finally watch the Marilyn Monroe movies that TV wouldn’t play, especially Gentlemen Prefer Blondes and The Prince And The Showgirl , my favorite one of hers. I hated The Seven Year Itch , though, despite how striking Marilyn looks in it. Got to say, her movies are much tamer than what I had expected, especially thinking about what my mother often said about her. Jack always said he wouldn’t even think of going to see these chick flicks if it wasn’t for me. I like to think that, deep down, he found them as fun as I did.

“You just got to watch it, Val,” Ernie said, giving me a hand squeeze. “There was this one guy with metal teeth, fighting sharks—”

“Duty calls,” Jamie said, giving Ernie a little kick in the butt. “Get moving!”

“Would you give it to Mr Bond, James Bond, Val?” Colin asked me.

I’d only watched one of the Bond movies, so I knew I wasn’t particularly wild about Roger Moore. “… I do like a man who can make me laugh.”

Needing a stronger pick-me-up, and some stability to do it without dropping the precious grams, I went backstage for a moment. I saw Gin rubbing the shoulders of a sobbing newbie, a curly-haired, freckled teen about my age, with a red slap-mark on her cheek. Another of the many girls that come to New York, bask in the lights, and get lost in the dark. I know, because I’ve seen them, holding these types of temporary jobs at the Playhouse. Me, I was with Cesar; that helped me not to get kicked out. Without him, I would have become just like them.

The Sunday shift was done, my tray had been returned to Jess, and I changed back into my civilian clothes. It was time to ring Cesar’s bell. He had his office on the third floor, above the club’s mezzanine. He had these big one-way windows from which he could oversee everything that went on down, like a warden at the grooviest jail imaginable. And his office was just like an extension of him: dark and moody, but tasteful and rich. Black wood walls, big silver mirrors, dead animal rugs, and a few stuffed parrots thrown in for good measure, all which I had affectionately nicknamed. And, on the tiger-print chair behind a massive old desk, you could find Cesar himself, on a good day. Most days I wasn’t so lucky.

“Hey,” I called his secretary who guarded the big double-doors to his office. She was this skinny, mousy lady whose name I always forgot. “Is he in?”

“Just missed it, blondie,” she said, without looking up from her thick Russian novel. “He just left.”

Again. Missed it again. It just couldn’t be, I thought. Since the secretary wasn’t very interested in my snooping, I pressed my ear against the office doors, and listened carefully. He usually liked to play music while he worked on whatever he worked, as one of the owners of the place. But it was dead silent on the other side.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” the secretary asked me.

“You’re gonna wreck your eyesight with those bricks, y’know.”

“Yeah, you just worry about the neon lights below, why don’t you,” she grumbled, licking a finger and passing a page.

I huffed and leaned against the iron-wrought stair railing, counting my change down to the pennies. Barely enough for a taxi. And I was starving…

Luckily, I was always great at improvising.

“Ricky, sweetface!” I called the valet, with a big friendly grin, once I got back down to the parking lot, hopping my way over the concrete ramp to where he was standing. When I finished my shift early, I could share a smoking break with him, watching the rich folks coming out and climbing into long, shiny, expensive cars. I so wished I had a car of my own, my own freedom to go anywhere I wanted.

“Oh, no—”

“Hey, why the long face? Are you not happy to see me?”

“Listen, Val, you’re pushing your luck…” he said, stepping back. “And I’m not gonna keep putting my neck in the line for your little joyrides.”

I raised my eyebrows. “And I was just coming here to say hello to you… Golly, I didn’t know that was how you really felt about me.”

Ricky sighed. I sniffed, wondering if I should deploy the waterworks so early in the conversation, or if it would be a better bet to just play it safe with the usual.

“I like you, Val, it’s just that…” Ricky just stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I’ve already got a mean big cut in my pay because of last time’s accident, and… You know, I can’t afford to lose this job.”

“Who says you’re gonna?”

“Who do you think they’re gonna blame, if they find another car’s been missing?”

“Don’t they got security ‘round here?”

Ricky laughed. “You think that you’d be able to keep it up as you’ve been doing, if there was any security ‘round here?”

I shrugged. “They can only blame me.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’ve told my boss,” he grumbled, looking away. “And he’s not buying it, believe it or not.”

I grit my teeth: I’d wish it didn’t come to this, but his sympathy had dried out and it seemed it was the only thing that would make him give up the keys. I fumbled in the tiny pocket of my jean shorts and fished out a purple cellophane bag, my last one. At the sound of it Ricky immediately perked up.

“You think your boss would understand, if you shared a treat with him?”

He didn’t say yes right away, like he usually did. Maybe Ricky really did feel that strongly about his crappy valet job. In the end, though, he couldn’t refuse me. He huffed but relented, and grabbed the four-gram bag, and tossed me a ring of keys he selected at random.

“Hey, I wanna pick the one!”

“Beggars can’t be choosers, Val,” he replied, opening the bag, licking the tip of his finger and giving it a taste. “And you gotta bring it back before two.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know—”

“And you better not get in any trouble, young lady.”

What a fucking killjoy. I kindly smuggled him some, and that was how he treated me? As if I was some sort of idiot?

“Not a scratch,” I smiled. “Thanks, Ricky dear.”

I had my eyes set on a beautiful blue Eldorado, but the keys ended up belonging to a black Cadillac Fleetwood. Good enough. I got in, felt the shape and give of the wheel, got comfortable in the driver’s seat, adjusted the rearview mirror to my height, and smiled at my little pleased reflection. Once that was done with, I raided the glovebox, where I always found either chewing gum or a few bucks I could pocket. This time, the loot was a half-finished packet of Chiclets, fourteen bucks with sixty-five cents, and a beautiful little collection of tapes. Half of them, I didn’t know, but I did recognize a few names.

“ Dreamboat Annie ,” I read out loud with a smile, having made my choice. “Isn’t that a lovely surprise.”

One of the good things I had discovered in New York was the music: back in Hackensack, my music tastes were dictated either by Heath or by the radio we had at home. Back home, at the mall, I would look at the record sleeves and wonder what they sounded like, sometimes listening to a couple if the clerk felt like allowing it. Now, I could pay my own concert tickets, and expand my musical palate a lot more, picking what I wanted to listen to, finding out about great new bands –even if I always ended up going to these gigs on my own. At the Playhouse, of course, there was a constant stream of the latest top-charting dancing music. Out of it, there were buskers like Jack singing in the street, and radio being played constantly in hotels and apartments, and nobody really cared if you or others complained about the noise. It was a lot –very loud, all the time –but every once in a while you found little gems, like a good tape of music in the car you were going to take for a spin.

I popped a square of gum in my mouth, checked the gas, and drove the Cadillac out the parking lot. As soon as I hit the streets, I started the music and turned it all the way up.

“ Cold late night, so long ago, ” I hummed along, tapping my hand on the steering wheel. “ When I was not so strong, you know— ”

Downtown was always a bit less busy around that hour. That allowed me to get out of Manhattan and away from the nightlife bustle, beyond the bridges and the tunnels and onto the quieter areas. I stepped on the gas. The humming of the Cadillac’s engine became a roar.

I wanted, so badly, to have a car of my own. Preferably a brand-new one I could put miles and miles in, memories and adventures and that could feel mine. You got a car of your own, and you can go anywhere, do anything you want to do. You could do anything and, at the first sign of things going south, you could escape somewhere new. And, if life got you down, if the routine was draining the life out of you, you could take a trip far away and have a nice change of pace. Sometimes I fantasized about it, during my daydreams: I’d hotwire a nice sturdy ride, take all my money, leave New York and go west, in search of better fortune. But then the limits of my imagination caught up with me, and I remembered that I didn’t know how to do much of anything, and that a successful life in New York had been just as much a pie-in-the-sky pipe dream as any wish of finding anything on the opposite coast. Besides, I knew I didn’t want to go through it all again on my own. If I was gonna leave everything behind, at the very least I wanted someone else to leave everything else behind with. Making new friends had always been difficult; finding someone I could really trust almost always felt like a matter of sheer luck.

And, besides, I had the strong suspicion Cesar wouldn’t leave everything for me.

A new song began. I went slow for a while at first, as slow as I could without going below the limit, just to make sure I found the right, perfect moment in which the green lights lined up, and I could race through the streets, for as long as possible. If I could run at once without braking, going faster and faster and catching, out the corner of my eye, that little needle moving right on the dashboard, without losing the beat on the stereo, pressing my heel harder against the accelerator, feeling the rumbling of the engine strain –I could reach an exhilaration so real, so pure, no coke rush had managed to replicate yet.

It was a sense of true freedom, only comparable to that long breath of relief I gave after killing Heath, back at Hackensack.

“ But I go crazy on you… Crazy on you, ” I sang at the top of my lungs, the wind in my hair, my heart beating faster. “ Let me go crazy, crazy on you, oh— ”

Every now and then, I gave in to my curiosity and counted how long it had been since I last spent any time with Cesar. It was always far too long, especially with how slowly time passed between my work shifts. And I would get stupidly scared, and spiral down a rabbit hole of fears about him not loving me anymore. On the empty streets by the docks, going south along the Hudson, I never had to think about that. There was never any fear for me behind a steering wheel.

It had been eighteen days since we last had a date. Eighteen days without seeing him at all.

I dug my heel in. The car wasn’t used to these speeds: it shook and rumbled my seat, and I rocked my head, adrenaline pumping faster, my heart climbing up my throat. The flash of a red light quickly trailed over the windshield. It was a tiny distraction –I didn’t let it bother me. The green lights turned red, one by one, warning me that the fun was running out. I still had plenty gas. I grit my teeth and told myself that I could stop whenever I wanted to, and that if I wanted to keep going, I might just do that. Depending on where I drove, it could take up to half an hour, sometimes even longer, before I got a patrol blaring behind me. Guess they had bigger fish to fry.

I closed my eyes and counted to ten –taking in a deep breath –focusing on the speed and the metallic rumble in my palms. The adrenaline was pumping –the engine was going higher –and the music was louder, sharper, becoming louder than my thoughts…

The sirens were louder, though. Eventually they caught up with me, like they always did. I played a bit, stopping and going when the cop got too close, then stopping and going again, just to mess with them. Finally, the guy got to the Cadillac window, knocked on it, and tried to talk to me. I shrugged. The music was still too loud for me to listen to him anyways. He knocked louder on the window, losing his patience. I rolled it down with a sigh. Those were the rules of the game. Once the cops got a real look at me, the fun was over.

I got out, he sat me in the back of his car, and drove us off to the station.

“Hey, Val.”

“Hey, Jimmy,” I greeted the man at the reception.

“Got caught again?” he said, looking up from his crosswords and clicking his tongue. “Better luck next time.”

“Aren’t you a joker,” I grumbled as I was dragged into the deputy’s little office. “You know,” I said, pulling at the cop’s shirt collar. “You should really have some magazines around—”

“You think?” the guy sighed. I nodded, still chewing my gum. “Thanks for the suggestion. Did you find your license?”

I shut my eyes, tilted my head back, and thought for a minute. “Oh, right. It’s in the pocket of my other jacket…”

“You don’t say—”

“Would you look at the hour,” I exclaimed, turning to the clock on the wall. “I think it’s time I make that phone call I’m entitled to by law.”

The cop sighed again, but let go of my arm. I blew him a little kiss, sat on his desk and picked up the phone, quickly punching in the number. Meanwhile, he watched me, leaning against the doorframe, smoking his cigarette and probably wondering why he didn’t get any more exciting cases than my silly little speeding incidents. They all knew by that point that I was completely harmless, just another kid with a taste for speed, so they didn’t worry much about me. Not that they would let me scot-free without paying the fine, it goes without saying. Thankfully, I had a loving benefactor who had my bail covered.

Silence on the wire. I took a deep breath, drumming my chipped red nails against the desk, wondering if I had maybe caught him while in the bathroom. Wouldn’t that be unfortunate. I let it ring for a little while longer, then hang up, and dialed the same number, chewing faster on the gum that had already become rather flavorless.

“I never noticed it before,” I said to the cop, pointing at a plushie that was haphazardly sat on top of a file cabinet beside the desk. “But what’s the teddy bear for?”

The cop looked up at me. “For children who’ve been in traumatic situations. It helps them open up.”

I picked it up with my free hand, and gave it a hug. It was pretty battered and worn down. Still, it felt comforting to hold something soft for a while. I pressed the side of my face against the phone, as hard as I could, until all I could hear was the beeping of the machine.

“Please, please, please…”

I had to be patient. Cesar had always replied before, no matter how long I had to wait. He wouldn’t let me down.

He knew why I did these sorts of things. I smiled to myself, holding the teddy a little tighter. Cesar was surely playing with me, like I did with him.

He wouldn’t leave me hanging like that. Not him.

Once upon a time, in the winter of nineteen-seventy-four, Jack and I had arranged to go to a late-night showing of old horror movies. It was an actual reputable movie theater for once, not far from a cute little French restaurant I’ve always wanted to go with him, but that we could never really afford. It was a nicer neighborhood than our usual, so I had made an effort to doll myself up this one time, wearing the best dress I owned, a recent purchase I had found at a thrift shop and which I was really proud to have managed to fit to my body with just a little travel sewing kit. I waited for him in the dark lobby, for as long as I could stay, before I was kicked out by one of the employees who yelled at me for loitering. Some minutes passed, during which I began wondering if I had gotten to the right place and time. And there was this awful freezing wind outside, that made my teeth rattle and my knees shake like Jello…

But I had decided to wait for Jack a little longer. There was no way of knowing what had happened to him, if he was alright, if the cold had made it difficult for him to be there on time… I was making up excuses, of course, but he had been avoiding me so much lately, I just had to tell myself that I needed to wait it out for a little longer. Jack had promised me he would meet me there, and I believed him. I had to believe that he still felt something for me. If Jack had had enough with our chaste relationship, then it would stand to reason that we would have split back when he got a little too bold and I stabbed his hand, right? If he had kept seeing me after that, it surely meant he still felt something for me, right?

Time passed, and my fingers, nose and chin were turning into ice. My coat was barely enough to keep me warm while walking, let alone standing still in the middle of the street. I was thinking about sneaking back inside the lobby, maybe buying something so they wouldn’t kick me out so quickly, when an elegantly-dressed couple came out of the nearby restaurant.

“Ursula, stop acting like a child—”

For a while I couldn’t do anything but just had to stare at her. Ursula was this tall, statuesque lady, with long blond hair, a perfect tan and big blue eyes. She stood perfectly still, all dressed in white, with this white fur coat on her shoulders. The man in a matching white suit, covered in a black overcoat, was yelling something, but the woman was so striking I could barely tear my eyes off her. When I finally did, though, it was when she disappeared inside a taxi, and the man was left with a cigar between his teeth, struggling to light it while chewing on his rage. Didn’t I know what that was like… I took my lighter out my coat pocket and helped him out.

“Thanks,” he grumbled. Then, he shot me a look.

I must have seemed to him like a little bird lost in the cold, skinny-legged and shivering. I lit my own cigarette, truly hoping I didn’t look as upset as I felt. A moment passed. A long black car braked in front of us, obviously the sharp-dressed man’s ride.

“Are you busy right now?” he asked me suddenly.

I blinked back to reality. “Uh… I was about to head home.”

“Got something to do, back home?”

His interest was sorta nice. I simply shrugged. “Not really—”

“Then you’re not busy,” he said, opening the door and climbing inside. He looked back at me and made a gesture. “Get in.”

I frowned. “What? Why?”

“Would you rather do nothing, back home?”

It was a good argument. And I was not looking forward to going back to the hotel and cry myself to sleep after being stood up by Jack. In the end, having no better options, I got in the car.

“I’m warning you now, no funny business,” I told him immediately. I was bored, but I wasn’t stupid. “I got a switchblade, and I’m not afraid to use it.”

He laughed. He had a nice, warm, well-rehearsed laugh. I smiled along, just a bit, and finally got a good look at him. Apart from the nice laugh, he had a nice movie-star smile, polite and charming. When he didn’t smile, though, and glanced at me just out the corner of his eye, that was when he looked like a real dreamboat: with his high cheekbones and his heavy-lidded eyes and perfectly arched brows, and the old-fashioned, carefully neat hair and mustache of a classic heartthrob, a sort of Clark Gable type. It didn’t really give him a youthful air, that must be said, but I sorta liked that in him. He wore that outdatedness better than anyone else I knew before or since.

I had a feeling he was famous. By the look of his tailored clothes and silver watch, he was definitely rich. Still, until I found out his name, it would do me good to pretend I knew who I had the pleasure of sharing a car ride with.

“Where are we going?” I asked him once the car was already crossing the avenue. “A royal ball?”

He smiled. “You’ll see.”

The man in the white suit gazed out the window thoughtfully, apparently no longer interested in me for the moment. I imitated him, pretending I didn’t care much about him either. That was my first time I was in such an expensive-looking car, with custom leather seats and tinted windows. It was nice and warm in there, and quite honestly, if the man just had the driver take us around for a few blocks for the next hour, I would have considered that a successful outing. Especially when, after a few minutes, we went through the streets where my hotel was, and I remembered where I was supposed to go after this little date.

He looked away from the window then, shifting his focus to his cigar, brushing off some nonexistent ashes from his lapels. I saw what he was avoiding. There were the whores, dupers, junkies, all the creatures of the night living on the last link of the food chain, walking the streets, fighting for scraps. It felt sorta sickening to know I was there, too. I thought about how I used to have a home, and a family, and a place where I was comfortable, at the very least. But then I had to come here, so convinced that there were only good things ahead of me, and saw no way out, only night after night of working to make enough to earn some extra money… But now I was looking at it all from the perspective of a rich man’s car. Through the tinted windows, New York looked so different. Faces became blurry, dark, while the lights became dimmer and the colors, no longer blinding, were easier to appreciate. It really was beautiful, in its own special way. At the very least, it wasn’t the bore that was Hackensack. At the very least, the city was alive.

I hadn’t gone to a club before. First of all, I didn’t have the money; second of all, I didn’t have the intel; third of all, and most importantly, I didn’t think I had anything to wear. But if this sharp-dressed man thought otherwise, then I was clearly wrong. And, whatever I had in mind about what a real club was like, it was nothing like what I encountered that night.

We got out of the car and onto what almost seemed like another movie theater entrance, with a long line of people wrapped in their trendy coats, waiting to be let in. He, he was allowed to come in without waiting in line. The doorman smiled at him nervously –oh, he was a famous guy alright –and the man in the white suit gave him some bucks. When the big heavy double doors opened to you, and you went through a dark hall with walls covered in curtains, already hearing the thumping bass notes of the music being played just a few feet ahead, you were coming into another world entirely. He handed his overcoat to another man standing on a booth on the side of the hall, and I followed suit.

It was as if Coney Island had moved upstate. There was music, and lights, and gorgeous people laughing and dancing half-naked and having a good time… Working at the Playhouse was hell, in a certain way, as I learned later on. But damn if it wasn’t a dazzling place. Red, purple and pink dyed everyone’s bodies in the most glamorous way, and everyone was so beautiful it was unreal. And the music, it was unlike anything I had heard before –well, almost. Closest thing I could imagine was the music in the background of the porn movies being played in the theaters around that same block, in the trashiest part of Manhattan, where I had tried for a job selling tickets and candy a couple times. It excited those rich folks, Jamie had told me, to find a little shimmering pearl in that dump. Still, what was sleazy and in bad taste in those movies, there, at the Playhouse, was just another part of the bigger picture. Yeah, it was sleazy, it was more than a little skeevy, how people were just dancing all over each other on the mezzanine, going further than just making out, watching over the regular people on the dance floor; but nobody batted an eye at it, nobody seemed to even care. It was just something in the background, like the potted palm trees and the faux marble columns.

Whatever discomfort I felt at first was soon washed away with the first drink. The man in the white suit asked for two rum and cokes at the bar, and we laughed as we ducked the kicks of the two tipsy women gyrating on the counter.

“Come,” he said, leaning towards me, his mustache tickling my ear, so I could hear him over the music. “Let’s dance.”

I gave him a panicked look –I didn’t know how to dance, especially not how these people did; best I knew what to do was the watusi. Still, I couldn’t say no. I made an effort to remember all the teachings of Dee and the girls at Heath’s house parties, all their tips on how to at least pretend you knew what you were doing, while observing the dancers around us, trying to get an idea of how to copy them. Luckily, the beat was more than clear, serving as a sort of metronome to help me stay in the groove. And, even more luckily, the man in the white suit was a really good dancer, good enough for the both of us.

While we danced, as I let my body move along to the music, swaying and imitating the rest of the dancers, I found myself unable to stop staring at him. Everyone looked gorgeous, everyone was dressed so glamorous, and the place was glittering and enchanting… But none came close to him, dressed so sharp, looking like a million bucks. He shot me a wink every once in a while, making me giggle. What I was wanting most was to move closer to him, lay my head against his shoulder, like the girls used to do with their dance partners at Heath’s house parties. We knew so little about each other, though. As entranced as he had me, I had to remind myself I wasn’t a random floozy desperate to throw herself at the first man who gave her a drop of attention. I had to have some self-respect, for God’s sake, I told myself, looking away, feeling my face becoming warm.

And yet… Just as I thought that, he rested his hand on my hip –and I didn’t hate it –and I smiled to myself, allowing him to pull me just a tiny bit closer, enough so I could feel his breath against my nape again, if only for a second. His hand held me tighter. For a moment I felt a tightness on my chest as well, as if I had trouble breathing. All the while I kept dancing, feeling his body dancing behind mine, with much more planned movements. You don’t get that good at dancing unless you practice. I looked up, over my shoulder, at him, backlit by the colorful shifting lights. I couldn’t quite see his face, but I was sure he was smiling. He already had me clinging to him, after all. If this had all been a game, he had won without me even noticing.

Soon I forgot all about Jack, and the movie date, and the cold of winter. Right then and there, I was dancing with a beautiful man, in a heavenly place, where everyone was happy. And I was happy too.

“You’re good at this,” I told him, leaning towards him with a smile.

“And you’re better than I thought,” he smiled back.

I wondered if I was dreaming. Maybe I had passed out on the street outside the cinema, and I was having one last dream before dying, buried in the snow, like that one tale about the matchstick girl. But everything felt so real. I had another drink, then another, and we kept dancing for hours, and after a certain point I didn’t feel so out of place anymore. Maybe we were all weirdos who had found this one place, where we could be free. There were no places like that in my little suburb in Hackensack, as far as I knew. If my mother even knew what I was doing, the way the man in the white suit was looking at me, as if he wanted to eat me whole…

But I was too happy to feel guilty. It was a delight to be desired. I wouldn’t have stayed with Jack for the last few months if he didn’t give me something back, for all that tongue-kissing and light petting. And this guy, clearly a man of wealth and taste –he saw something in me. He wasn’t like the drunkards at the corner bar next to the hotel. He wasn’t a creep on the street. He didn’t try to cop a feel, he didn’t yell unwelcome catcalls, he kept his distance, but he didn’t stay too far away. For the time being, he just wanted to dance with me. Time would tell if we did anything else, later on.

“Another drink?” he offered me, when we made our way back to the bar.

“I think I’ve had quite enough for the night,” I said, feeling wonderfully exhausted. “Especially with how empty my stomach is…”

He looked me up and down. I wiped my brow, and wondered if I was too sweaty.

“You haven’t had dinner yet, have you?”

I shook my head.

“Well, what would you say if we go back to my place?”

My first instinct was to laugh, probably out of sheer giddiness from all that drinking and dancing. Immediately after, my reaction was to get serious.

“Oh –I’m not that type of girl, mister,” I said.

And yet I second-guessed myself, wondering if it wouldn’t do me good to give in, just this once –to accept his advances, even though I was still, technically, dating Jack… Well, we never actually defined our relationship, though, right? We had kissed, we had gone on some dates, but he never really liked me calling him my ‘boyfriend’… We were, as Heath would have called it, ‘messing around’. Would I be a cheater if I went along with this other man, an obviously better option? Wouldn’t Jack do the exact same thing? Most importantly, was I doing something wrong, if I gave in for such shallow reasons?

“Alright. I can respect that,” the man in the white suit said with a little smile, leaning back in his seat. “What type of girl are you, then?”

“A hungry one.”

“You can get something to eat here,” he said, pointing at the bar. “You can get anything you want, anything you need, at the Playhouse.”

“Even a job?” I asked tentatively.

He laughed. “Even a job.”

The man in the white suit took out a little card from the inner pocket of his jacket, and handed it to me between two manicured fingers. I took it, and pressed it against my cheek. It was still warm.

We sat down at one of the booths around the dancefloor. A very handsome shirtless guy in glittery hot pants approached us, and gave the man in the white suit a smile. He barely seemed to notice I was there. They exchanged a couple words, and in a matter of minutes the Stretch Armstrong lookalike was back with a little dish of deviled quail eggs. I devoured them whole, to the man in the white suit’s amusement.

“Feeling better?”

I nodded. He laughed, snapped his fingers, and soon the dish was refilled –as if by magic. I laughed, wondering if I was high on something.

“Is it so wrong that I don’t know your name?” I asked him with my mouth full. “I’m guessing you’re some sort of big shot celebrity…”

“Not at all,” he said, lighting a new cigar. “I’m the owner of the place, actually.”

“You own this club?”

“Co-own,” he corrected himself. “But yes, everyone here knows me.”

“Everyone except me,” I corrected him.

He chuckled. “You’re right. Name’s Cesar. What’s yours?”

“Val.” It was the nickname Jack had given me. I had only told them I was Valentine, since I didn’t want to give them my first name –just in case he sold me to the cops or something. So, Val it was.

“Short for Valerie?” he asked.

I smiled for a moment, about to say, yeah, whatever. But I thought it would be better to keep him guessing. “… I haven’t decided yet.”

Cesar quirked his eyebrows. “Intriguing. Who are you, apart from Val?”

“I’m a waitress,” I admitted. “But I’m not gonna be that for much longer.”

“Really? You got a better job offer?”

“Let’s say things are looking up,” I said with a little shimmy of my shoulders, waving the little card he had handed me.

Cesar laughed. “You’re probably going to start as a waitress here at the Playhouse, though, realistically speaking.”

“Will I have to wear that uniform?” I asked him, pointing at the guy who had brought me the deviled eggs.

“No,” Cesar said, holding my hand and turning it to point at a girl carrying a little cardboard tray around, like the people who sell candy and cigarettes at old-timey theaters in movies. “That uniform.”

It was sorta revealing, but it showed off the girl’s curves quite well. That was, most likely, its main purpose. “I think it’ll look pretty nice on me.”

“I know it will.”

“Do I have to sign anything?” I asked. “Fill a card with my personal info, and all that stuff?”

“Not at all. It doesn’t matter who you are,” he said, stretching his arms over the sides of the booth. “Who do you want to be?”

I considered his question for a brief moment. “I wanna be like… Like Marilyn Monroe. I want to be wanted, and loved. You knew it when you saw her, that she was something special. She was never super respected by the other big, famous stars… But people, the actual people who saw her and watched her movies and paid attention to her, they always adored her. She was always adored.”

“So, you want to be adored?”

“Yes. More than anything,” I said, bringing my hands together, as if in a prayer. “I want to be loved.”

I had only discovered Marilyn once her death made the news. Up to that point I thought only old and sick people died, not beautiful young starlets like her. I remembered perfectly this color picture of her in a magazine at the dentist, with her blue eyes, a white fur coat, platinum blonde hair perfectly curled in a way that seemed almost natural, and a beauty mark just beside her gorgeous red lips. I had ripped the page from the magazine, and took it home with me. I think that was the first time I truly fell in love.

“After all,” I said, picking some sticky stray hairs off my face. “What else is the purpose of life, but loving?”

Cesar raised his perfectly groomed eyebrows. “You really believe that?”

“Sure!” I replied. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“Some people believe life is for living, actually.”

“But just living is such a bore,” I frowned. “Have you ever been kissed, like, a really good kiss? The sort of kiss that knocks the air right out of you?”

He smiled that gentle smile of his. “No, not in a while.”

“Well, that’s the sort of stuff that makes life worth living, I say. Anything can go wrong, you can have a shitty life, but if you got someone back home at the end of the day who can make you feel loved, then…” I smiled back at him. “Then I think that really makes life worth living.”

Cesar gazed at me for a while, all of his focus centered on me. It was as if he was inviting me to fall in love with him.

“You’re something,” he said finally. “You’re really something.”

“I am?”

He smiled and leaned forward, and gave me a little kiss on the forehead. It burned like a cigarette stub. It felt like being marked. I wished it would leave a mark. Then, I would be able to see it every time I looked in the mirror, and remind myself it had all been real.

From there on, with the card he had given me, I was redirected to Jess, the woman in charge of the busboys and the goody girls. She asked me a few questions, to which I lied all my answers, of which she seemed to be fully aware. With the more formal matters out of the way, she told me the work hours, what the pay would be for my first couple months, and then she took me aside and showed me a sample of the tray. Then, it was just a matter of being there on time, and bearing the harassment of a certain type of regular, and staying on Jess’ good side when I accidentally lost a cellophane bag…

“ Who is it? ”

I gasped and left the teddy bear on my lap. “Cesar, sweetface! It’s me—”

“ Val? ” his familiar voice asked. “ Don’t tell me— ”

“Yes, I’m afraid I’m in a bit of a pickle,” I chuckled, twirling the telephone cord around my finger. “Same station as always.”

“ Good Lord, Val… ”

“I’m sorry.”

“ No, you’re not, ” he said. “ Val, right now I’m… God… ”

I kept silent, pushing the chewed gum against the back of my teeth with the tip of my tongue. The cop at the office, still standing by the door, coughed and scratched his stubbly cheek. A telephone ringed somewhere at the station, and someone called for someone else to answer. Some perp behind bars yelled something in a drunken slur. I had spent a couple nights at a police station before, back when I hadn’t met Cesar yet. I wasn’t looking forward to repeating that experience.

“ … I’ll be there in ten, ” he finally said. “ And we’re going to have a serious conversation, you and me. ”

With that, Cesar hung up. I hung up too. Bringing the teddy closer to my chest, sinking my chin on its soft head, I clicked my wedges against the metal legs of the desk. I just had to wait for him to pick me up. He was really angry, angrier than usual. But it was alright, I thought with a smile. At least it had worked. I had managed to get in touch with him, and I was gonna see him again.

I waved at Cesar when I saw him, coming through the doors of the cophouse, but he just glared at me, not even trying to mask how pissed he was. I said hello to him –and he grabbed my arm, pulling me out of the building, out on the grimy streets and into his car.

“Tell me, Val,” Cesar said to me, with a deep sigh. “Are you proud of yourself?”

I crossed my arms. “I was just having a little fun—”

“Is that what you call this desperate plea for attention?”

“What else is there for me to do?” I said, raising my voice. “You’re never at your office when I try to get to you! When was the last time we actually went on a date?”

Cesar just sighed again and rubbed his temples. “It’s only been two weeks—”

“Eighteen days, actually,” I corrected him.

“Oh, so now you’re counting…”

There was a tense silence. Cesar was always annoyed with having to pick me up from the station, for some reason. By this point, I would have assumed he’d take it in stride.

“Only two weeks…” I repeated, clicking my tongue, and turned to look at him. “You really didn’t miss me, huh?”

His expression softened. “Of course I did.” He circled my shoulders with his arm, and planted a kiss on the top of my head. “Of course I do. I love you. Why else would I come and pick you up every single time you pull this nonsense?”

“Then why do we never meet up?” I insisted. “Why do I have to do this, to get a moment alone with you?”

We arrived at his East-side penthouse in a matter of minutes. Cesar’s apartment was like a movie set. With the exception of the bathroom and the kitchen, the whole place was covered with a light purple carpet. It was full of beautiful, extravagant plants, all in gigantic pots that you could stub your toe in if you weren’t careful. There were huge paintings hanging from the tall walls, all with thick elaborate frames. It was such a pity that it was always so dark in there, the curtains permanently drawn over the large windows that overlooked the city. It was much like being in a museum, I guessed: the lamps had sculptures underneath, there were exotic stuffed birds decorating the top surfaces of various cabinets and dressers, and every piece of furniture seemed like a work of art.

The bedroom was the most beautiful room of the penthouse. His king-sized bed rested on a platform, also carpeted, surrounded by a semicircle of wardrobe doors covered in mirrors, flanked by black lacquered side tables; and there were more shiny brass lamps, and an amazing fur bedspread, and inside all those hidden closets there were little lights so he could see which tie he was picking out. It was state-of-the-art, and it was the perfect mix of eccentric and tasteful –or so I had to imagine. I didn’t have much experience with modern, expensive homes, beyond what I saw in décor magazines.

“Have you had dinner yet?” I asked him, taking off my heels. “We could have dinner together.”

Cesar had an enormous kitchen in his penthouse, but it was completely empty. It was the only thing that I honestly truly hated from his place: an empty kitchen was unnatural, unsettling. All the food we had at his apartment was delivered by fine restaurants, but it didn’t change the fact that we never had an actual homecooked meal. Rich people just don’t need that, I assumed.

“I’ll order something from Dorsia,” he said, taking off his jacket and reaching for the phone.

“Alright,” I said quietly, running my hands over the soft fur bedspread, wondering how you washed something like that. You’d have to probably send it to a dry-cleaners. That made me realize that he didn’t have a washing machine in his apartment, either. It truly was just somewhere to sleep, fuck, smoke and drink. I liked Cesar’s penthouse, of course, but it would hardly be somewhere you could call a home.

Once he hung up the phone, he let out a deep breath and laid on his back over the bed, rubbing his eyes. I leaned back against the headboard, feeling pretty hungry already, hoping the delivery was quick.

“You’re not wearing the clothes I got you,” he said rather sadly, glancing up at me. “What was wrong with them?”

I looked down at my outfit –my red sailor shorts and my denim top. “Nothing was wrong… I just feel more comfortable in these,” I answered with a shrug.

Cesar often gave me lots of gifts. A few of our outings recently had been shopping trips, where he took me along with him to Columbus Circle, letting me choose some things too. Most of the time he preferred to pick my clothes himself. When I tried to argue, he said that he knew what fashionable girls wore, and that he had a friend who worked in Paris who told him what the latest trends were, so I should value his opinion. I always ended up letting him –that seemed to make him happy.

“One of the other goody girls, Nancy, has these totally groovy pink sunglasses…” I said, taking the white-framed ones I was wearing, all scratched and smudged, and spinning them in my hand. “I’m thinking that maybe I’m feeling down lately ‘cause of these stupid, blue-tinted glasses I got.”

He chuckled. I always liked to make him laugh.

“I could get you something better than pink sunglasses,” he said, stroking my arm. “I could get you Oscar de la Renta.”

I smiled at him in agreement, though I had no idea what those would look like. It wasn’t like it mattered, anyway. Ever since Cesar started wooing me and giving me things, I had to be creative and find ways to ‘repurpose’ them, shall we say. I couldn’t exactly have them lying around in the room I shared at Hotel Broslin: the couple times I did, they disappeared without a trace the moment I took my eyes off them. For a while, without any place of my own to store his increasingly expensive little tokens of affection, I found myself forced to resell some of these gifts at a pawn shop at Hell’s Kitchen. With the money I got, I bought clothes I would actually wear, and since I had a little extra, I could also pay for my movie theater trips, concert tickets, and eventually my small doll collection –which, thankfully, none of my roommates ever seemed interested in stealing from me. After a while, whatever he gave me and I didn’t quite like (which, truth be told, was a good amount of the clothes he gave me, since apparently the fashionable women in Paris hated miniskirts and t-shirts) I quickly resold. For some time I’d considered storing the gifts in my little rusty locker at the changing room of the Playhouse –until I remembered that I couldn’t quite trust my coworkers to not try and pick the lock. Later on, I discovered that a roof panel of one of the bathroom stalls at the Playhouse could be pushed up and removed, and that it could serve as a pretty good hiding place. For lack of a safe, I kept my gifts and my valuables there, where only I would know where to find them. It was a rather sad thing, of course, that most of Cesar’s presents were too bulky or precious for me to keep; since he didn’t ask about them afterwards, however, I thought that he might suspect, on some level, what I was doing with the stuff. Sometimes I wondered if Cesar knew about it. He rarely mentioned these gifts again –but now that he did, he seemed genuinely disappointed.

One time, I did wear the jewelry he gifted me: a gorgeous golden chain necklace. I got mugged as soon as I set foot on the street. So, it only made sense to make such decisions.

“You know, Sally’s just told us she’s now a live-in girlfriend, meaning, she’s living at her boyfriend’s place,” I said. Her boyfriend once came over to the changing room, and she had us meet him. He was a nerdy type, with thick glasses and a couple nervous ticks. Once both of them were out of sight, Laurie joked that he must be filthy rich for a knockout like Sally to even look his way –and I had to agree. “Isn’t that nice? That way they can keep in touch, maybe even have breakfast together, spend more time in each other’s company—”

“You can be straightforward, Val, and just say what you want.”

“Alright,” I said, getting off my back and standing over him on the bed. “I want to move in with you.” At the very least that way I could put that beautiful kitchen to good use.

Cesar nodded, still smiling, though he didn’t seem very happy.

I pouted. “What? What is it?”

“I don’t know, darling. I think we’re good just as we are.”

That wasn’t the first time I had heard that. Heath and Cesar were like night and day, but still I managed to find ways in which they were exactly alike.

He must have noticed my pouting, because he laughed and stroked my hair.

“You’d get tired of me,” he said. “If you saw me every day.”

“I don’t think I could ever get tired of you.”

Cesar kissed me. I sighed, and kissed him back, finally comforted in his embrace, losing the tension I had been building up during the day.

“But wouldn’t it be great?” I asked him. “If we could go back to each other, by the end of every day?”

Cesar let out a deep sigh. “I wish you understood, Val, my darling… Life is so easy for you. That’s what I like about you. You are who you are, you just… Do what comes naturally,” he said with a chuckle. “Even if what comes naturally is getting a speeding ticket every couple of weeks.”

I giggled. He pinched my chin.

“You don’t know how important you are to me,” he said softly. “How alive you make me feel.”

I stroked his smoothly-shaven cheek, and leaned forward for another kiss. “I wish I could see myself through your eyes.”

Cesar smiled gently, cupping my head in his hands, and turned my face to the mirrors around the bed. I smiled, too. We made a handsome couple. He was a lot more elegant than I was –he fit his surroundings perfectly, as if Cesar himself came included with the penthouse –while I looked more like the sort of girl you’d find walking back from a cheap club in the early hours of the morning –but in the dim light of his bedroom, my badly-chopped, clumsily-bleached hair seemed intentional, almost high-fashion, and my makeup was dramatic enough to sell the illusion that I was some sort of actress, waiting for the next shot.

“I have something for you, Val,” he said, and planted a little kiss on my shoulder. It had turned into a familiar enough sentence for me to know what came next.

“Is it an apology gift?” I joked. “For the eighteen days without a word?”

“Sure,” he laughed, standing up and opening one of the mirrored walls of his wardrobe. “Take it however you’d like.”

I grinned, even though I knew he didn’t like it when I grinned that big. Cesar told me I shouldn’t grin too big and show my teeth –he said I look rather threatening like that. When I smiled with my mouth closed, lips shut, he said, I seemed mysterious and seductive. So that’s what I did. But, looking at his present, I couldn’t really help myself. Even if I didn’t have a chance to keep the gift, the fact that Cesar thought of me at some point during these two weeks without seeing each other, and that he took the trouble to find a present he believed I would like, told me all about how, despite not having the time for me, I was still in his mind.

“Close your eyes,” he told me. “And don’t peek.”

I laughed, and covered my face with one hand. He took the other, running his fingers through my palm, and left it on top of what felt like a cardboard box.

“Can I see?”

“No, not yet,” he said. “I want you to guess.”

The cardboard surface was pulled away, and my hand was left hovering for a moment, before he gently pushed it down a few inches, for it to land on something smooth and silky.

“A scarf?” I suggested.

“No…”

I bit my lower lip, now grabbing the gift with both hands, feeling a sleeve, a line of seams, a fold…

“Oh –a dress!”

I opened my eyes and let out a loud gasp. It was this shimmering silver dress, made out of some unusual metallic fabric. Standing up on the bed, I picked it by the shoulders, taking it out of the box, and pressed it against me, waving the long skirt in the air, marveled at the soft billowing movement it had.

“Cesar, it’s… It’s divine!”

“And it’s the genuine thing,” he commented, showing me the little label on the neck. “It definitely wasn’t cheap.”

I jumped to him, hugging him and pushing him down on the bed, covering his face with kisses.

“Be careful –don’t want to rip it on accident—”

“It’s absolutely gorgeous… I’m gonna care for it with my life.”

Where I would wear it, I wasn’t sure; how I was gonna smuggle it into the bathroom stall at the Playhouse, I knew even less, but I wasn’t gonna worry about that right then. Cesar rarely managed to really get me and what I liked. Anything he gave me was, of course, very much welcome; and, especially when we went out shopping, once in a blue moon, it really made my week to see his glad little smile as I twirled around for him. That didn’t change the fact that I neither had any good excuse to wear these, nor that I didn’t quite feel like myself in these long flowing dresses or high-buttoned blouses. That silver dress was something else. It wasn’t precisely in my wheelhouse either, but it was close enough for me to want to try. Most importantly, I could see myself in it. I could go out to dinner with Cesar in it, look truly head-turning gorgeous, for once. And it was clear that, judging by the way it was wrapped and by how he presented it to me, he did find it to be some special thing. I hugged the dress, feeling the smooth fabric under my fingers, before I handed it back to Cesar for him to fold it back carefully into the box.

The buzzer ringed. The food had arrived. He put on one of his old beloved Tom Jones records while I served portions of Waldorf salad and broiled broccoli into silver dishes, and we sat in the conversation pit in his living room, eating by the small coffee table.

“Cesar… I don’t want you to think I’m not thankful for everything you’ve done for me, because I am,” I said, after a few minutes during which I just stuffed my face with slices of rare Porterhouse steak. “But I’ve been thinking… And I’d like another job.”

“What’s wrong with the Playhouse?”

“Nothing, nothing! It’s just wonderful, working there, it’s just that…” I bit my lip and shrugged. “I’ve been just a waitress for so long, I had hoped I’d be something else by now.”

“Oh… Right,” Cesar said with a smile. “The next Marilyn.”

I let out a little squeal, bouncing on the sofa. “You remembered!”

“Of course I did,” he said, and kissed my temple. “But aren’t you adored enough by now?”

“I am… It’s just that I really wish I could do something else, you know. I just want something more out of life. My mother used to say, ambition can move mountains.”

It wasn’t exactly what she used to say, but it never hurt to appeal to her authority to make a point.

“You think you’re ambitious enough?” he asked me. “It’s a pretty cutthroat industry, my dear.”

“I’m ready,” I said, turning serious for a moment. “For anything.”

He glanced at me and laughed. “So, what’s stopping you, then?”

I looked down at my chipped nail polish. “I’ve been going to auditions for a while now… With no results. Not even one little call. So, I thought, you know, maybe what I need is a little help. Everyone could do with a little help every once in a while, right?”

Cesar nodded. “Aha… What sort of help are you needing?”

“Acting classes, maybe?” I suggested, bringing my knees against my chest. “That could be a good start.”

“I’ll get you some acting classes, then.”

“And an agent?”

He laughed again. “Sure, Val. I know a dozen that would love to work with you.”

“You’re the best there ever was, is and will be,” I declared, giving him a tight hug and a kiss. “You’ll see, I’ll be a star. And you’ll be credited as the brilliant man who gave me my first chance.”

He patted my arm, still chuckling. The music kept playing. I gave him another kiss and sighed, still hugging him. We were so different, Cesar and I. And still, somehow, we made it work.

“Come on. Let’s go dancing,” I said, standing up and doing a twirl. “Let’s dance the night away.”

“I’m tired.”

“Then don’t be,” I shrugged. It wasn’t like he didn’t have ways to shake the exhaustion off. “Where can we go, where we can be seen and envied?”

“Please, darling, not tonight. Tomorrow night, we’ll go anywhere you like.”

I plopped down on the couch, giving a long deep sigh. Cesar circled my legs with his arm and kissed my knee, his own little way of apologizing.

“Then, what’re we gonna do?” I grumbled. “I always want to see you, but you just want to spend the night in. Why can’t we go out, have fun, do stuff?”

“Don’t you work two jobs?” he asked me back. “How come you aren’t all beat by now?”

I shrugged again with a smile. “A waitress’ life is dull, you know… I just want a change of pace.”

“You’re that bored?” Cesar chuckled, resting his chin on my knees. “I think I might have some board games lying around.”

I laughed. “Yes, I’m very much bored. And I don’t know how you’re not bored either! Working all day, with all your business stuff—”

“That business stuff is what keeps the lights on, darling.”

My smile wavered. “Is that really it? Just that you’re tired?”

“I promise you, Val, once this deal I’m making is done with, we will do whatever you want.”

“That’s not what I’m asking… What I wanna know,” I said, leaning forwards, resting my arms on his shoulders. “Do you promise me you won’t get tired of me?”

“How could I be tired of you? The way you always keep me on my toes…”

I didn’t laugh. I just stared at him, waiting for him to answer.

“I’m going to tell you something, Val,” he finally said, holding my hands and pulling me closer. “In my line of work, you’ve got to spend a lot of time worrying. You know, who’s going to swindle you, who you can trust, that sort of stuff. It really drains you. But then I get a moment of peace –and you know the first thing my mind goes to?”

Slowly, a smile returned to my lips. He stroked my cheek with the back of his soft hands.

“It’s you, you and your beautiful, young face. You, fresh and bright and full of promise, you who hasn’t been brought down by the blows of life yet.”

Each time Cesar called me beautiful it was like it was the first time all over again. It always caught me by surprise, making me giggle like a schoolgirl, still finding it hard to believe that someone like him, who surely had met so many stunning actresses and models, somehow saw me as comparable to them. I held his hand, pressing it against my cheek, and kissed his knuckles.

“You say you’re afraid I’m going to get tired of you. You know what I say to that?” he smiled. “I say, I couldn’t quit you even if I wanted to. You’re addictive. You see, Val, that with you… I am a better man. I am what you want me to be, what you wish I was. I am who you see when you look at me.”

I furrowed my brow, not completely sure I followed, before chuckling and having a bite of carrot cake. Cesar seemed happy. That was what mattered.

“Stay over,” he said, after one more kiss, as he embraced me.

I hugged him back. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

We made out for a while. If it had been up to me, we would have kept cuddling right there in the living room –but I guess that, if you got a bedroom as stunning as he did, then it would no sense not to use it. Cesar picked me up –not hard at all for him to do so, with how tall he was –and I squealed and laughed, holding onto the back of his neck, all the way back to the bed.

Back when I had just started working at the Playhouse and learning the ropes, being a goody girl by night and waiting tables at the corner bar by day, I was unusually patient. I knew Cesar was the co-owner of the place, after all, so I told myself I shouldn’t worry too much. When I learned his office was in the same building, I decided to pay him a little visit, and once I was there it really dawned on me just how rich and successful he was. He told me we would go out for dinner that night, and when I told him I had work, he just laughed and told me to wait for him by the Playhouse’s bar around ten. So I did that, and he showed up in his best suit, and he took me out of the dancefloor and into his car, and we went to have an amazing lobster dinner. It was truly out of a dream. I had to keep pinching myself to believe it.

And what I liked the most about Cesar, beyond all the wining and dining, beyond all the gifts that began showing up at the changing room with a white rose and a little card with ‘for Val’ written on it, was how he always kept his distance. It was as if I had forgotten that guys can be able to be decent towards the girls they were interested in. The most he ever did was rest his hand on my hip, or place it gently on my back. Once he kissed my hand before we parted ways, and it was like a romance novel, like I was a princess. This sort of sweet courtship lasted about four whole months. By that point I was already head over heels for him, and absolutely convinced that Cesar was mad about me, too. It was just the sort of love I had been dreaming of, caring and tender, but he always left me wanting more –a deeper kiss, a tighter embrace.

One night, we had drinks and dinner in his office: he told me stories about his childhood, about his mother, about his first job managing the books of a club in Brooklyn, how he met the other owners of the Playhouse, how he amassed his wealth one penny at a time, and so on and so forth. I didn’t care much about any of that, but I liked watching Cesar talk, how his body became animated. I thought that, right there and then, it would be when he would tell me how much he wanted me, how much he loved me: but he didn’t. Instead, he wiped his lips with a napkin and asked me if I wanted to dance. We hadn’t danced together since that first night that he brought me here.

We walked down the stairs, hand in hand, onto the dance floor. I swear I couldn’t look away from him. From all my time watching customers dancing the latest moves to the most popular songs, I already had a better grasp on how to move to the music. And, similarly, I think Cesar knew that I was now much more comfortable with him, comfortable enough for him to hold me closer. When a slower song came on, I had leaned my head against his shoulder, feeling his warmth, the smell of his heady cologne, the silky smoothness of his clothes. Everything about him was enveloping and soft and welcoming, like a cocoon. I was as comfortable as I could ever be.

“ Will I have to wait forever…? ” I remember the singer crooning as I closed my eyes, allowing him to hold me closer. “ Will I have to suffer and cry the whole night through…? ”

Then, Cesar offered to drive me home, like he always did at the end of a date. I always refused, since that would mean telling him where I lived, and even though I knew he would still love me just the same, even if he saw my place at Eighth Avenue and my living conditions, I didn’t want our relationship to be tainted by something as ugly as pity. This time, however, I accepted; I did give him a fake address, but it wasn’t about that –it was just because I wanted to spend a little longer with him, before the spell was broken and I had to return to my dull old life.

It was there when my patience reached its breaking point. While in his car, I had asked him, straight-out, if he loved me. Taken by surprise, Cesar told me that he found me charming, that he had a lot of fun with me. I asked him if that meant that he loved me. He seemed uncomfortable at first, and for a moment I was afraid that I had it wrong, that I had thought I had seen something in him he never really felt. But then, then Cesar brought me closer and he kissed me, a real kiss, and I knew that I had been right all along. I asked him to make the night last a little longer –and he did. We went to his penthouse, which I visited for the first time.

We spent a beautiful night together. I only had Heath to compare it to, to his frantic grabbing and breathing. But Cesar was so, so different. He was gentle and tender, patient and careful, and when he ran his hands over me it was almost with a sense of awe. That was exactly what I had been wanting. It felt perfect. There, lying under the white satin sheets of his bed, I felt I had become perfect. Not a grubby teenage runaway, but the virtuous love of a true gentleman, like the protagonists of the Avon bodice-rippers and Harlequin romance paperbacks I used to skim over at Heath’s house parties and that I borrowed from my coworkers. Like it was the first step towards my happy ending. From then on, there would only be good things in my future, only love and devotion. Because, against all odds, Cesar loved me.

It was like vindication. Proof that it was worth it to wait so long for the right one to come along.

I had smiled to myself, back then, watching Cesar’s relaxed face, lost in dreams of his own, his spotless and somewhat hairy body moving ever so slightly with each breath he took, unbelievably real in front of me. He was at peace, with the trace of a smirk in his lips. Me, I felt about to burst into a joyful explosion of confetti and glitter. I couldn’t stop myself from leaning forward and smooching his head, like Cesar had done with me months ago. I got out of bed, jumping and shaking my arms in excitement, doing a little dance, silently celebrating my triumph. I explored the apartment, searching for something to make breakfast with, finding out that the place was as if he had just moved in. No matter, I had thought, sitting beside him on the bed, watching him sleep for a few minutes more. We’d have breakfast when he woke up. We’d have coffee, and maybe give it another go, and later I’d have a bath in the amazing bathroom of his penthouse and later, later we might have a walk in Central Park if the day was nice, and we’d have our first official kiss as a couple on the little bridge over the stream, and we would walk hand in hand, my head resting on his shoulder, and I’d say something funny and he’d laugh and give me a kiss. And he would never ask me about my life at Hackensack. And he’d fill any awkward silences with his own stories of success and achievements, and all the interesting things he did before meeting me, and all the interesting things we’d do together as a couple. I could picture our entire life together from my little warm spot in his bed. All my wishful fantasies were just a little bit closer to becoming real, close enough for me to reach out and feel them, just as I could feel his soft breathing on my face.

I didn’t want to wake Cesar up, but I couldn’t keep still either. I needed to move, to dance, to jump around, to sing. Finally, after some deliberation, I decided I’d take a quick walk to calm myself down, maybe even buy us some coffee and pastries, and then come back up to his apartment and surprise him with breakfast in bed. So I got dressed, shot him one last smile, and tiptoed my way out of the penthouse.

There was a buzzing feeling in my hands and feet. I smiled at everyone, waved at them like a madwoman, not caring what they thought of me. The world was a beautiful place that morning, and I was excited for what would come. And I was a little kid again, skipping through Central Park. Now that I had a new boyfriend, one that was crazy about me, who loved me just as much as I loved him, it was as if I was on top of the world. New York felt like my very own personal property. I had it all, and what I didn’t have, I’d soon get.

Twirling my switchblade, I could have chopped my fingers right off and still laugh it off like no big deal. Like El Zorro, I carved a little cross, the T for Tiffany, on every tree I saw. There was this one very, very old tree, near the lake by Cherry Hill, where many other couples had carved their initials. I ran the tip of my fingers over the grooves and dents on the wood, feeling the rough bark of the tree and the markings of the love of dozens and dozens of couples over the years. First time I had seen it, I was convinced that eventually me and Jack’s names would end up added to it. Luck had it other way. I spent a moment finding an empty spot on the trunk, and when I found a nice enough one, I carved my T, then a C, then another little cross between the two letters, and finished it off with one big heart around it.

Once I got out of the park, I found a nice place to buy some coffee and grab a bite. I was waiting in line when I caught a glimpse of the clock behind the clerk, and realized I was late for my shift at the bar. For a moment I was worried, but then I thought, I could miss one day at work. Not every day you found yourself such a catch. I wanted to celebrate.

When I left the café with my purchases, I realized I didn’t remember where Cesar’s apartment was. I was so happy, though, I could simply chuckle and told myself I would have many more chances to have breakfast with Cesar, my new boyfriend. Having a bite off the pastry I had chosen, I walked the streets that suddenly didn’t seem so grey and dour anymore –everything was bright in the morning sunshine, stretched in front of me under the big blue sky.

Wandering around in the smitten daze I was, I came across a payphone. I still had some spare change in my pocket. I would have called Cesar, and told him what had happened, just so he wouldn’t worry, just so he wouldn’t think I would love him and leave him, if I knew his number. But we would meet again later that day –so there was no need to waste my pennies on that. Instead, after finishing the pastry and gulping down the coffee, I decided there was a call I needed to make.

In retrospect, I should have thought it over. Normally, I know I would. But I was on cloud nine –nothing could touch me, nothing could hurt me from where I was. At the time, it sounded like a perfectly reasonable thing to do. I pushed a couple quarters in, and dialed the number I still remembered by heart.

“Hi, mom… It’s me, Tiffany,” I said, almost calling myself Val again. “I hope everyone’s doing alright back at home. I know it’s been a while, and that I should have called sooner…”

I laughed, hoping she wouldn’t be too bothered by it. Just then I remembered this one time, a very long time ago, that I heard my mother laughing at something she heard on TV. It almost scared me, how similar my laugh sounded to my mother’s.

“… Anyway, you don’t have to worry about me anymore. I met this guy, Cesar, and he’s my boyfriend now. He’s a dream come true. He really loves me, and he cares for me. He’s a real gentleman… I wish you could meet him.”

A few seconds passed, in which I couldn’t think of anything else to say. Every now and then I had considered calling my mother back home, just to have someone to either complain about some bad luck or to gloat about some little triumph. I had always managed to reign that first impulse. Now that I had something I really, really wanted to tell her about, I had forgotten about everything else I had also been itching to tell her since I ran away to New York.

“I just wanted to tell you that. I’m doing well. I’m happy. And… Well, I… I hope you’re happy for me,” I said, lowering my voice. “I’m sending kisses to you and Bri. And to dad, too.”

I tried to think of something else, but it seemed like that was a good enough way to finish my call. I hung up. And, lighting my first cigarette of the day, I smiled, thinking about how relieved she would be when she learned that I was finally in good hands.

#childs play #tiffany valentine #chucky series #fanfiction

[frustrated-researcher-diary]

#2 Small progress

As I wrote in my previous entry, last week I was unmotivated and a little bit sad. From this perspective, this week I made some small improvements. On a desperate (of many) attempts to snap out of this mood, I looked on Youtube for videos on how to find my motivation back: some might say that this is a stupid thing to do, but I was really grasping at straws. Anyhow, I found this:

As the expert said in the video, our drive to get things done can be compared to a carriage driven by two horses: high ideals and appetite. The former motivates us to accomplish tasks - no matter how boring or daunting they might be - because we deem them important and meaningful. The latter pushes us solely out of stimulation and curiosity. To be motivated, a good combination of the two is required. This also applies when it comes to being a researcher. I surely have many high ideals, but for so long I lacked in "the appetite department."

In this week, however, I figured out that I need to exploit my competitiveness. I have always been a competitive guy. And I get a thrill when an opponent loses, or I see somebody's face clearly surprised by something I did that they did not believe I was capable of, or when I simply refute what my inner voice is telling me ("You will never make it, you are just wasting your time, etc").

So, this week I set my mind to get something done (presentations for a tutorial) and prove to my inner voice that I can actually finish things within a deadline and complete them. And I managed to do it, finally! Now I need to keep pushing and apply this way of thinking also for the other tasks that I was assigned. I really want to show myself that I have a shot as a researcher.

On a side note, here are some of the thoughts I collected during this past week:

1) As a researcher, I need to become irreplaceable. I must continuously develop a new set of skills and knowledge my bosses do not have (either because it would take so much for them to cover them, or because they simply do not want to cover them out of lazyness). Most importantly, I do not always need to explain every nook and cranny of my discoveries. Otherwise, the bosses could simply absorb what I know (and so I become replaceable again) and ask for more.

2) Contrary to my well-radicated belief, I did not become a post-doc out of charity of my own bosses. I was proposed a post-doc because they thought they could exploit me so that they too can make progress. I may be on good terms with them, but they are still my bosses. I must not fall under the illusion that I no longer need to impress them and deliver.

3) Being a post-doc is uncharted territory for me, but the same goes for my bosses. This is the first time that they had a PhD student who then went on to pursue an academic path. They surely know how to conduct scientific research, but this may not apply to manage a new workforce. Without a shadow of doubt, their suggestions are extremely valuable, but believing everything they say and taking it as truth may be a terrible mistake.

D.

Ps: next week I want to prepare another presentation for an upcoming tutorial, correct a paper to submit it for a conference, make some progress on a code, implement some changes on a paper that was rejected (see entry #1), and go back reading new papers to get updated. I wrote this so that I could check next week if I kept my word.

#phd life #research scientist #postdoc #university #Youtube

[viewmonster-deactivated20230122]

🌹✂️👑🔫🔧 pick who you want and go to town my friend. smile

(rubbing my hands together evilly) you SHOULDNT have

ok im gonna do a under the cut thing so it doesnt get super long... oc emoji asks are here just so the link is above the cut LOL. ill be randomly generating an oc for each of these ^_^

🌹 ROSE - do they like valentines day? have they been confessed to before? have they confessed to anyone before?

for this one i got kazim! so lets talk about him. i think he would like valentines day because he considers himself something of a romantic... ever since he picked up guitar he's probably fantasized about serenading someone beautifully on valentine's because he is that kind of guy LOL. despite this though i think he has been confessed to before but hes rejected a lot of people because he is very dead set on finding ~The One~... but perhaps maybe one day he will confess to benji instead of being a bit of an idiot about it........

also obligatory valentinos day joke. lol

✂️ SCISSORS - what is the "last straw" for them to cut someone out of their life? how easily do they let go of people?

for this one iiits sun! hmm. i think for sun he's the type of person who tries really really hard to see the good in everybody. it'd probably take someone a reeally long time for them to reach the point at which he'd cut them out of his life completely. this isnt to say that he is against the idea of cutting people out-- he just very rarely does it or wants to do it... i think the final straw would be a sort of "straw that broke the camels back" situation, where hes finally had enough of trying to see the good in somebody, or he'd be urged by someone close to him to cut someone else out as it's probably the best course of action. as a result he's not very good at letting go of people easily. he sees all of his relationships as really important no matter how inconsequential, and he looks back on even the worst of people fondly.

👑 CROWN - what does your oc want to be remembered as? why?

for this one weve got mariam... hm. i think she's unsure as to what she does want to be remembered as, but she knows well that she doesn't want to just be remembered as simply a smart person. for a lot of her life people (especially her family) have rarely looked into her other qualities that arent her intelligence, and despite her being passionate about things that would be considered "smart" she resents purely being represented as someone whos just that and nothing else. i'd say she wants to be remembered more as a caring and passionate person than anything else.

🔫 PISTOL - do they trust people easily? how easily will they turn their back to someone? have they been backstabbed before? will they betray someone if given an ultimatum?

for this question we have valentino! ohoho. valentino is not someone who trusts easily in the slightest. he keeps his guard way up around new people-- being in a business like his its only natural i suppose. anastagio and the rest of la banda di fiori are really the only people who have fully earned his trust, and thats taken a very long time for them. i think its easier for him to betray somebody than it is for him to make friends quite frankly-- the only person hes sure he wouldnt ever betray the trust of is anastagio i think. he is... not a very easily trusting person to put it lightly LOL

🔧 WRENCH - are they good at fixing relationships? or do they tend to avoid doing so?

and last but not least we have connie! i think connie is not someone who notices very much if there is something that needs fixing in a relationship.... which she is trying to get better at because she knows communication is important. in the past, though, she was punished and outright ignored by her parents when she tried to bring up how she wanted to have a better connection with them, which left her unable to develop such skills very well. she obliviously let lots of things slide and has trouble being assertive in the past, but nowadays she works to fix things when they go wrong.

thank you for the ask! enjoy your fucking essay FJKHDGJF

#answered #callistoprime #astigmatismposting