#study‚ in my dreams it's all real and my heart has so much to reveal.
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when jane's powers return in season four (and because they were regained by her confronting and accepting her past, rather than being retraumatised with it!) they're stronger than they ever were. when she starts getting a handle back on them, she very quickly comes to realise not only have they affected her, but her mother, too. one of the biggest losses that came about with her losing them was the fact that she could no longer visit terry in the void; while there was no real communication there, it did allow jane to sit with her, and gain a little more connection than she could in the real world. when she first visits the void after their return, it takes her three hours to find terry, something that is both unexpected and incredibly worrying. but when she does, it's something of a miracle. jane's increased strength and control over the void actually wakes terry up from her catatonic state, but only in the void. there's no way to help her mother physically, but she does do so (unbeknownst to her) mentally. terry is reborn in jane's newfound control over the vale of shadows; she becomes the woman she once was, and while her body remains frozen in a "good dream", her mind connected to jane's own allows her some freedom. jane is able to speak to her mother in the void, is able to be held by her, and while it's still unfair and jane cannot stay in there forever, it's something. this only lasts for about eight months, as each visit slowly begins deteriorating terry's physical and mental state, and jane's health begins declining after spending hours upon hours in the void each and every day.
when jane finds out these visits are actually killing her mother on the outside, she deems to stop, but terry expresses the importance of them being able to speak, that she'd prefer to die on the outside, if it meant she could have just a few months with her daughter like this. terry and jane's connection was always so strong, which ultimately led to terry "waking up" in the void, but even jane's newfound strength cannot save her from the harsh realities. each visit nearing the end of those eight months, terry fades more and more, becomes weaker in the void, and her real body eventually gives up. jane's in the void when her mother eventually passes on, and physically feels their connection weaken, like some part of her suddenly becomes lost in the shadows, a part she'll never find again. jane falls into a depressive state for weeks after her mother's death, given she's technically lost her a second time, but soon comes to realise she was lucky to have even shared those eight months together. it was better than nothing at all. there is a proper burial and funeral, (and when jane dies, she's buried next to her mother) which allows jane some sense of closure. she never fully recovers from losing terry, nor from the fact that she never had a proper relationship with her, but she does eventually find some peace with it all.
#study‚ in my dreams it's all real and my heart has so much to reveal.#IF U SAW ME POSTING THIS YESTERDAY. no u didn't.#i wanted to change things again (who is surprised!!) and decided to just rewrite it all rip.#me taking a few weeks off from this blog and then coming back with a brand new terry / jane hc? more likely than u think.#purely self indulgent too i might add!#every day i battle with making my terry portrayal canon to jane's timeline so jane can have her mother in every verse not just#selected ones.#but. her not having her mother is ultimately important to my writing of her and sfjasfjas >:( hate myself for it.#so here be a brand new addition to my timeline that gives jane SOME time with her mother!!! bc i need it for my mental health.#i imagine when terry dies her body turns to smoke in the void. almost like what happened to billy when jane was spying on him.#and he stopped her connection and faded in front of her.#and jane also visited terry a lot in the void because it allowed her to see more memories of her mother.#i hc that she had a real grasp on that before s3 when she looks into billy's memories.#terry (even in her catatonic state) WANTED jane to see what happened to her in hawkins lab.#so she'd want her to see the good stuff too. her childhood. andrew. her grandmother that raised her and becky.#all the good memories!#so when terry dies jane loses all that completely.#which leads to jane grappling with the conflict of whether or not she should have kept visiting terry in the void which eventually led to#her death.#because if she hadn't connected to her. she'd at least be able to look back on all those memories.#jane becomes obsessed within those months and barely speaks to anyone else.#in any free time she has. she's in the void with terry.#her own physical body grows very weak after a little while but she pays no attention to it and even gets into heated arguments with becky.#because becky is jane's carer and needs her safe and healthy. needs to look after her.#but jane is so adamant about the fact that this is her MOTHER and she's finally able to speak to her.#UGH i have so much to say abt this actually i sense a brand new addition to my timeline coming on.#ANYWAY. i'm emotional about them that is all.
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so… in the extra canon of stranger things (specifically the comics i’m mentioning), it was initially brenner’s idea/plan to kill off the other test subjects because they weren’t performing as well as eleven was. it was his best solution because that way, all the resources, time, and money could instead be placed only to her. and i just…. sure henry is a fine character and the massacre makes a lot of sense to me, but i think i am once again gonna change up my canon to actually fit this potential narrative instead. because,
i genuinely think the comic canon of the lab and brenner is far more intriguing than the show. everything with 9/9.5, ricky, and francine. eleven being the only one who grew up completely in the lab. those other kids were either volunteers, well into their teens, or had some semblance of a home life. eleven was the only one practically moulded from the womb. and they all had such a range of interesting powers. i firmly stand with the idea that jane is the only one who can contact the void.
brenner’s entire point of view on the lab subjects changed the second he found out terry was pregnant. he discovered he could steal this baby and make her his own. there would be no convincing the child because it’s all she would have ever known. because of this, i would not put it past a man like brenner to kill the other subjects for the sake of the “greater good” aka eleven. eleven’s gifts just continue thriving beyond his wildest expectations. brenner would never dare assume that having moulded her from the womb, she would still be able to grow into her own person, her own mind, and one day be able to see him for exactly who he was.
back before season four aired, it was obvious there were other test subjects because jane was 011. so there were at least ten kids before her. but i always liked the idea/assumed that she was the last experiment because she was the most successful. that they didn’t need anyone after her because she was fulfilling everything they set out for her to do. with flying colours.
i just think the whole rainbow room, pitting the kids against each other thing… been there, done that. i think at this point my portrayal of her time in hawkins lab really stems from the complete isolation she endured. where having the rainbow room, although eleven was obviously the most isolated out of the kids, brings that sense of community and sister/brotherhood. albeit extremely warped and toxic. knowing that she wasn’t alone in that experience just. doesn’t sit well with me. i think it’s important to note that she was alone, physically and mentally. which is why kali is also so important to her growth.
i genuinely thought a lot of the flashbacks of her time in the lab during season four was really boring, repetitive, and just very predictable.
although peter becoming vecna was a surprise to me, and was a nice little twist, the idea of her having an ally on the inside was really interesting. maybe they did get as far as they do in canon, peter ballad was telling the truth about everything, about some of the workers there being prisoners like him, and he really wanted to get her out and to safety. but before they can escape through the pipes, they’re caught. peter is shot on the spot, and eleven is put into the isolation room for a few days as punishment. in this instance, henry would be vecna, but henry would not be peter ballad.
when eleven turned seven, and was already showing extreme promise, where the other children were average at best, he had the eight children killed. kali had already escaped. this was the main cause for peter to gain eleven’s trust and try to get her out. because if brenner could murder his “children” in cold blood, there’s no way eleven was safe even in spite of her power.
when eleven is allowed out of the isolation room, her testing becomes more rigorous in attempt to distance and make her forget about what she attempted to do with peter. brenner begins gaslighting her, saying that there was never a peter, that she must have been dreaming. eleven does ask “papa” about “mama”, given peter told her of the day terry broke in the lab, but brenner is convincing enough to make eleven believe it was all in her head. say she is around eight years old, meaning the same timeline of season fours canon flashbacks.
i still do wanna keep the henry canon, and he could easily still be 001. brenner didn’t have him killed alongside the other test subjects, because who knows, one day he could become an even better asset than 011. brenner definitely wants to be able to control henry, but keeps the chip in him because, for the moment, doesn’t know how. killing him would be too big of a loss.
when eleven is ten years old, henry’s concealed powers break free and he manages to get the chip out himself, and unleashes hell onto hawkins lab. he almost kills brenner by snapping his bones, but eleven manages to stop him. her extreme abilities are unleashed, and she sends henry to the upside down. she does fall into a coma due to the extremity of the situation, but she does not forget what happened. brenner believes she’s the perfect weapon as she stepped in to save him without a second thought, was able to defeat henry, and opened a door to something he never thought possible. eleven is rewarded for her efforts. although she remembers the entire battle / confrontation, her memories regarding the portal are very hazy. brenner decides not to focus on the portal straight away, instead gets her training harder and harder to see what else she can accomplish. also loved the idea of brenner sending her into the void to “look for him” so that will definitely be kept.
by the time she escapes and season one begins, her knowledge of the upside down is basically what we see in canon. because she passed out the moment after she sent henry away, she was once again gaslighted into believing she merely threw him through the glass and killed him. for two years she believed this, until making contact with the demogorgan, and those memories return completely.
although henry offering eleven a place at his side wouldn’t be canon, he would definitely still look at her as an enemy for basically stopping his revenge. AND the whole speech between he and jane never sat right with me. jane telling him that brenner hurt him, made him what he was etc. Like. No? henry was a sociopath. he killed his family. in this one instance, brenner didn’t do anything to make him who he was. so jane always saw him for exactly who he was, and there’s absolutely no sympathy there.
#⅋. [ ✦ ] ﹕ in my dreams it's all real and my heart has so much to reveal ‚ study .#long post /#and then regarding my season four canon as her regaining her powers by remembering the massacre/the fight. i am changing that to her#regaining her powers by simply confronting her past. understanding what she went through. finding ways to cope with it physically and#mentally. getting coping mechanisms from her therapist. seeking help. not needing to know WHY this happened to her (because there is not.#and will never be a reason.) but finding ways to accept it and move on. how to move on from eleven and become janessa ives.#also just because in this case henry doesn’t massacre a bunch of kids? It doesn’t make him any less evil. in this instance i am following#the idea that some of the workers were prisoners there in hawkins lab. and henry killed a bunch of the workers. so would definitely have#killed some innocent people.#just because i am separating peter from henry. does NOT mean i am excusing anything from henry/vecna.#in this case they are two completely different people. although i highkey wanna use jcb as peter because he just did the role SO WELL and#was SO BELIEVABLE i’m not sure about it yet. because i don’t want anyone to get the impression that i’m making excuses for henry.#BUT YES.#this be the new canon. <3#idc brenner is such a good fuckin villain he’s disgusting but so intriguing.
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Hi!! First off I just want to say that this is my new favorite writing blog on tumblr!! I'm so grateful for whatever strings the universe pulled that led me here. I'm literally addicted to every single thing you've written here. I swear I've read Mutually Assured Destruction like ten times within the past 24 hours.
I was wondering, if you find the free time and the inspiration, if you could write a villain x medic/civilian snippet? Maybe Medic accidentally witnessed villain's crime so villain can't let them just wander around freely since medic works for the hero agency, but also doesn't want to kill medic since medic is useful?
Thank you so much! I've always loved the idea of Villain x Medic so here you go!
CW: Kidnapping
“You know my face.”
The medic knew this day would come. Still, they froze in the doorway of the living room, keys dangling in their hands, blood frosting over in sheer dread. The villain sat with their legs crossed in the medic’s favorite armchair, the fire place unlit. The room in semi-darkness, the only light a glow from a street-lamp.
They didn’t ask how the villain knew their address. They should have taken Hero’s offer to leave under witness protection, but their whole life was built here. They couldn’t just leave and start over.
“I haven’t revealed it,” the medic said.
“Yet,” the villain amended. “I’m sure you would for the right price. Or under the right pressure.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I don’t. But I am not going to risk it.”
The lamp beside the couch switched on. The medic flinched away from the sight, eyes trained on the coat rack by the door. As if mattered anymore if they saw the villain’s face again. As if they hadn’t doomed themselves the first time.
Footsteps creaked over the old wood floors. The medic took slow deep breaths, holding it for four counts and releasing it. A trick they had taught people afraid of IV needles to calm their racing heart.
The time to run had long since passed. And even if it hadn’t, the villain most definitely had people outside lying in wait for such an escape.
Hands that tipped the medic’s chin to meet that dangerous gaze.
“You’re going to kill me,” the medic said. It was not a question.
An eyebrow raised. “You sound very calm about that.”
“My career has taught me how to recognize and accept things that aren’t in my control. Right now there is nothing I can do to stop you.”
“This is true.”
The villain studied them, thumb brushing absently against the curve of their bottom lip. The darkness of their eyes felt unfathomable, like the Marianas Trench. Like the deepest part of the ocean, full of wonder and terror.
“I am not going to kill you,” the villain said finally. “I owe you my life. And I always repay my debts. But you know my face.”
The medic swallowed thickly against the barrage of options that opened up. The villain could blind them, torture them into insanity, cut out their tongue. All of the above.
The villain’s hand slips across their cheek to cup the back of the medic’s head. A possessive gesture, they noted with a shiver.
“You are coming with me. Whether it be conscious or unconscious, I leave up to your . . . control.”
Relief warred with new fear.
“Where are you taking me?” they asked. “What happens to me when we get there?”
“Questions I will happily answer in the car,” said the villain, their hand sliding down the medic’s
neck before retreating. “Hand me your phone and your keys and then go pack your things. You have ten minutes.”
The medic stood rooted to the spot. This was real, this was happening. And it yet it still felt like a bad dream. Ten minutes to pack their life up? Ten minutes?
“Tick tock, darling,” crooned the villain, holding their hand out.
Numbly, the medic dropped their phone and keys into the villain's hand and took robotic steps towards their bedroom. Clothes were easy to grab and stuff into the suitcase. As were their birth certificate and other identity papers. Personal items, less so. Medic spent precious minutes at their bookshelf, picking a well thumbed classic from their childhood, their most referenced medical texts, and a novel they hadn’t started yet.
The pressure of time throbbed in the back of their head, making it difficult to think rationally about what they needed. They ducked into the bathroom, grabbing their contact case and solution, their toothbrush. Then they stood in the middle of their bedroom, frantically trying to think of what they couldn’t live without.
“Times up.”
The villain’s voice came from behind, causing the medic to jump out of their skin.
“Zip it up and let’s go.”
The villain’s car lay hidden in the shadows of the back alley. A dangerous looking driver waiting for them, their cigarette glow the only light. The villain opened the backseat of the car for Medic with a mocking flourish.
It was their last opportunity to run, but the medic knew a shot in the back waited for them if they tried it. So, dread sitting heavy in their stomach, they climbed in. The villain took the seat next to them, giving out curt orders to the driver in a language the medic didn’t recognize.
The nagging horror that the medic forgot something important haunted them. They leaned their head against the window, mentally walking through their house, trying to remember. But the fear churning in their blood made it so difficult.
“I’m taking you to my compound,” said the villain, almost conversationally. As if detailing the itinerary for a date. “I have a room set up for you, as well as a med bay. You can resume your work taking care of my mercenaries.”
The medic listened with half an ear, watching the wave of street lamps pass them by. What were they missing?
“No objections to that?” the villain asked, bemused.
They passed a park, one the medic had many birthday parties in as a child, and the sudden zing of memory made them gasp.
“Stop! We have to go back!” they cried.
The driver didn’t so much as flinch.
“Go back?" The villain laughed. "Too late for that, doctor. You should have protested before you climbed into this car."
"I forgot something!"
"Whatever it is can be replaced," the villain said with a dismissive wave of their hand.
"It's not replaceable. Please."
Desperation clawed at their throat but the villain remained unmoved.
"If it were so important, one would think it would be the first thing you packed, not the first thing you forgot. You will have to learn to live without it."
The medic closed their eyes the rest of the journey. They couldn't bear to look at Villain's face.
"Do you regret it?"
The villain sat upon the examination bed, looking almost innocent.
It had been a week since the medic was taken. Their life had changed so drastically that the normality of the med bay, of the tools they had spent years around, clanged like a discordant note. They threw themselves into their work, demanding physicals for the Villain's mercenaries to establish a baseline of health. These people, so used to sewing their own wounds, grew awkward around the medic’s soft and attentive care. Some refused to come.
The villain showed up last, a new laceration on their ribs. They sat, spine straight and unflinching as medic carefully cleaned the wound and bandaged it.
"Regret what?" the medic asked.
" . . .Saving my life."
Their hands stilled for a moment, hovering over the wound. It was a tricky question and the medic wasn't sure how to answer it honestly.
"I would have regretted the person that I'd become if I had let you die," they said finally.
"Oh? Most people would consider it a net positive, preventing all my future damage."
"It's not up to me to decide who deserves to live and who doesn't."
"I beg to differ. You hold people's lives in your hands every day. Who else, if not you?"
The medic glanced up at the villain, who stared at them with open-faced fascination, rather than the usual dispassion.
"I don't think any one person should have that power," they said pointedly.
The villain smiled, a slow curving movement. "A pity. You could be terrifying indeed."
The medic swallowed something strange dancing in their gut. "You're lucky I'm not."
"Indeed I am."
They finished the examination without further conversation. The villain watched with quiet fascination as the medic sterilized their tools, folded unused bandages away, updated the Villain's medical records.
"What did you leave behind?" they asked softly.
"My life," the medic said, tersely, as they tapped on the keyboard.
The villain was undeterred. "What did you remember in the car?"
The medic paused at that, unsure if they should answer. They didn't want the villain's mockery over it. But lies rarely went over well with the villain -- the medic had cleaned up the wounds left behind from that.
"A box under my bed," they replied, keeping their eyes locked on the computer. "It had my keepsakes in it. Family photos, birthday cards, that sort of thing."
"Sentiment," the villain said skeptically. "That's what got you so worked up?"
"I wouldn't expect someone like you to understand," they snapped, standing up.
The villain watched them leave and the medic felt their gaze like a laser all the way down the hall.
Two days later a painfully familiar box sat on the examination table. Scribbled in sharpie on the cardboard was a message:
I do understand.
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How would the date with Max go? I feel like he would plan a study or aquarium date? Maybe a bookshoping one?
a request for my boy max! it’s happy to be wiring for him again and it’s even more happier to see that people request to him (he has a special place in my heart if you couldn’t tell).
A DATE WITH MAX!
➽ context warnings: yandere themes, nsfw content but its implied, gn! reader, some fluff moments, mentioned previous sex, marks, submissive yandere, dominant! reader.
➽ word count: 559.
➽ synopsis: just a date with max!
➽ yandere! nerd x gn! reader.
➽ a/n: this is a short one compared to my works, sorry for that! but I assure this was made with the same love i always put into my works and i really enjoyed writing this as stated previously, max is one of my favorites and it’s always a pleasure write for him.
➽ an aquarium is one of the possibilities for a date. having you around mad with him telling all the random facts about the marine life’s behind the glass makes him smile to much, his cheeks going red when you listen to his infinite ramble about the penguins’ natural habitat.
➽ and as expected, being an immense fan of the marine fauna and flora, max will spend the entire (or mostly) day telling you random facts about every single species that you two encounter. it’s charming seeing how he fixes his glasses closer to his eyes before staring speaking about hours and hours worth of knowledge that you won’t never learn by yourself.
➽ he holds your hand all the time, feeling your skin against his makes him feel safer— it’s a reminder that you are real and that he finally managed to become yours after dreaming of it for so long! sometimes he wonders if this is real, maybe it’s a hallucinations that his mind created to comfort him.
➽ and when it’s time to go, he buys you a plushy from the shop, saying that a pretty person like you deserves all cute things to match you. how he managed to speak that without blushing? not even he knows, but it’s worth when you kiss his lips as a repayment for being a good boyfriend.
➽ living closer to the aquarium, he said it would be better to stay at his place for the night as tomorrow there will be no classes. also, that also serves as an excuse to see you wearing his clothes and to share his bed with you. wearing one of oversized shirts and a boxer shorts, max can’t move way his hand away from your body when cuddling with you in bed.
➽ his fingers trancing your skin, making him blush even more when you let him feel your belly and then your chest. under his touch, max watches you relax with his fingers fondle your nipples and noticing how much it’s getting harder.
➽ “c-can we take things further, my angel?” his pants got tighter and he couldn’t help himself, but getting even more closer to let you feel one of his hand going down at your underwear, teasing the tip of your genitalia. heavenly breathing behind your neck when max continue to plead over and over, “please, please…can we do it tonight? i promise to be good for you and you can take the lead as always…”
➽ your lips curves into a smile when max arranges your body to be sitting on his lap, making you feel that he is getting harder. his eyes full of lust with his hands reaching for hips with him already begging again to be able to be intimate with you tonight.
➽ “of course, max.” your fingers raise his shirt, revealing his skin printed of your marks that you’ve left on him from previous days. everyone always questioned him why wearing long sleeves shirts when the weather is warmer most days. “stay still for me, so we can get started it.”
➽ the soft light coming from the lamp at the table is the only source that helps you and max getting through the moment, guiding your body closer to him to make both of you feel comfortable and relaxed in the moment.
@moonit3 writings
#yandere x reader#yandere oc#yandere#yandere x you#yandere imagines#yandere writing#yandere man#yandere boy#yandere x gn reader#yandere x gender neutral reader#male yandere x reader#my oc max#x gender neutral reader#yandere male x reader#gender neutral insert#gender neutral y/n#gender neutral reader#gender neutral nsft#yandere smut
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Danganronpa V3 Animatic
Might finish it into a full animation (not anytime soon)
IT'S DONE, I'M SO EXCITED THAT I FINISHED IT AS FAST AS I CAN I felt like I was having a Danganronpa V3 open book exam as I kept rewatching certain scenes to figure out what to draw ejfnend
I once said that my dream is to make a long animation one day- I feel I'm one step closer to that dream! 🥺💖
I'm really happy with how this turned out, I'm posting to mark my improvement from Kaemugi animatic (which had too many close ups)
I've been studying animations I like and some anime scenes frame by frame to improve-
I'm not good at storyboarding, I actually tried and gave up- So I just jumped directly into making the animatic
I feel I planned really hard scenes to do for final as there are a lot of dynamic and perspective poses ekfjejd ESP THE FIGHT SCENE that part is my favourite wkfjd I RILLY LOVE ACTION IN ANIMES I didn't think I could pull it off, it looks really cool in the end! I feel I'm not able to do those hard poses now, but maybe in the future? >:3
Just gotta keep working hard and be patient and one day I'd reach my goal!
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Ending: After getting crushed by a rock, Tsumugi reflects in her final moments about everything that happened
The mirror flashes back to her pregame self where she is forgotten by everyone for being too plain, all she has is Danganronpa to keep her going
It changes to Junko to show how Tsumugi was so lost in fiction that she copied Junko completely and forgot about herself
The mirror then changes to Tsumugi herself in her current state to show that Tsumugi finally accepts reality
The reality is she is herself and the fact that the killings were all real so she doesnt smile and dies together with her regret
^I know this is not a popular fandom view but if I'm going to pour my heart into something that could possibly take years to do, I'm going to do something that I truly want for myself and not just what is most popular and most welcomed I hope there will still be people who enjoy this though, thank you for all the support!🥰💖
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Thoughts:
-I want Tsumugi to lipsync the lyrics "I designed this rhyme" as it feels fitting of her role, the mastermind
-Himiko pulling down her hat before revealing she is crying is to symbolise how much she had repressed her feelings till now
This was inspired by a Warrior Cats animation btw! It's called "Swiftpaw AMV - In The End" by NekoVocalNote
I came up with all the scenes in this animatic myself (which I'm proud of akdjdj) but I was inspired by that Swiftpaw animation's action and how one can finish a full animation- I used the same song as it! My final is a bit similar to the ending of the Swiftpaw animation too!
#danganronpa v3#kaede akamatsu#tsumugi shirogane#miu iruma#kokichi ouma#shuichi saihara#maki harukawa#angie yonaga#tenko chabashira#himiko yumeno#keebo#kaito momota#gonta gokuhara#korekiyo shinguji#ryoma hoshi#kirumi tojo#rantaro amami#my content
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CHAPTER 9
status: ongoing
pairing: joel miller x f!reader
summary: your life is full of 'must'. You live with your overprotective mother who controls every aspect of your life. You have a dream, to write romance novels, but love - real love - you haven't found yet. Your mother has even decided what you must do in your free time: play music. One day, however, when you go to your music teacher's house, you will have an unexpected encounter and from that day on things change…
Masterlist
rating: 18+ explicit (minors, DNI)
Before to start... Thank you for your support, for your likes and reblog, thank you, thank you, thank you ❤️
In this chapter there's a smut moment...
If you like it pls leave a like/comment/reblog it, if you don't like it don't be rude and keep going. Please remember English is not my first language, so please be merciful!
Thanks @vase-of-lilies for the banner
Since that afternoon, you and Joel have not seen each other again. He wrote you he had to go away for his job to renovate a building in a small town a few miles away.
You took the opportunity to clear your mind about your situation with him and Jack. You don't like being in this position, but you don't know how to get out of it.
On the one hand you wish you could live what you are experiencing with Joel in the light of day, but on the other hand you know you can never do that. You don't know if he wants to or if because of the considerable age difference he wants to show himself in public with you; then there's your mother who, since she's been hanging out with what you now call religious fanatics, has been doing nothing but telling you that you need to get pure to the altar, you need to start attending church, you should go to confession. And then on the other side is Jack. Jack is a good guy, he's polite, he's reserved, he treats you well, and he never pressures you in any way.
This is starting to become too much.
You can't take it anymore.
The easiest thing would be to stop going to Joel's house, stop talking to him, stop seeing him, and probably the constant temptation to be his would cease, but the problem is that you don't want to stop. You don't want to stop seeing him; just the idea makes you sick.
However, you are firmly convinced that you cannot go on like this. You don't want to delude anyone. It's not fair. You've always criticized those who have their foot in the door, and then you of all people find yourself doing it.
At that moment, the phone screen lights up revealing the arrival of a new message.
It's Joel.
" Just finished at the construction site. Shower, dinner and then finally bed. Old enough to work that hard anymore! "
You smile, shaking your head.
" Good evening to u! Tomorrow take a chair and rest, let others do the dirty work ;) "
Your heart is pounding even though you aren't writing anything strange to each other, but it's so good you are afraid to ruin it.
When the notification comes he's writing a new message, you stand there in eager anticipation, then the message appears.
" What have you been doin'? Studied the chords? "
You haven't actually studied anything, but you decide to tell a little lie.
" Yes, but still can't play 'em well. Beyond, I worked, I had to go to church with my mum, she wanted me to go to confession, but made up a sudden shift at work and ran away. "
You then decide to tell him about an additional decision you have been pondering for a few days.
" I read an ad in the newspaper they r looking for a librarian's aide in town. How 'bout if I show up? "
You want his advice; part of you sees this additional job opportunity as a new excuse to run away from home with the hope of putting money aside to get away someday.
His response is not long in coming.
" Can imagine the scene! Be sure to stay out of trouble in my absence. "
That message almost heartens you, gives you strength.
" For the arrangements I'll show you again, no problem. For the new job, you like i'? You'd leave the previous one or is it a second job? "
This message comes soon after.
" It's a second one. Joel the truth is I'd like to leave. Can't stand being here in this situation anymore. "
His reply is even quicker than before.
" I know, honey, I know it's very hard your life. I also know that one day, hope for ya soon, you'll fly away and that day I hope to be with you to tell you I told you you'd make it, to believe in your dreams and hug you before I see you leave. "
Those words surely meant to be an encouragement not to give up, but they hurt. Very badly.
The idea of going away and leaving Joel hurts you even more than you could have imagined.
You don't know what to say to him, you lock the phone's screen and put it on charge. You lie down and stay for a long, long time staring at the streetlight-lit ceiling in the street and think back to the man's words: you want to leave sure, but you never thought about how you would do it in the absence of your loved ones.
The next day, at 5:45 a.m., your mother wakes you to say morning prayer together and then goes to work.
You get back under the covers; your shift at the bar doesn't start until 9:00. You could still sleep, but Joel's words buzz in your head again, so you pick up your phone and find three messages from him.
" Maybe was too direct.
I know it'll happen sooner or later, just trying to get used to the idea myself first.
Didn't want to upset or hurt you. "
He wrote them to you an hour ago probably seeing no response from you.
You breathe deeply and decide to answer him.
" Hope it won't happen too soon. Not tired of everything or everyone. "
It's the truth. You are fine with him, with your three friends. It's your mother and her coven that suffocates you.
The phone vibrates again.
It's him.
" I'll be back tonight, wanna get a beer or smt else? Don't think can wait until our next official meeting. "
Your heart starts beating hard in your chest and you can't fall asleep anymore.
You're about to answer when he writes you again.
" If you can, of course, don't wanna you to fall out the window! "
You immediately reply to him.
" Funny. Tonight my mum goes to church first, then she's on duty. When r u coming? "
You'd like to dare to invite him to your place, but you'd never want your mother to catch you and him hugging or, worse, she'd lock you in a convent and throw away the key starting reciting rosaries for the salvation of your soul.
His answer comes in a few minutes.
" At 5 p.m. finish here, so I plan by 7 p.m. to be home, take a shower and then come get you. I'll take you to a very nice place, not too far from town. I won't get my little girl drunk, I promise. I've to go now or I'll end up texting like a teenager all day. See u tonight. "
You find yourself giggling all excitedly clutching your cell phone to your chest and closing your eyes.
You're looking forward to it.
Evening comes and an atomic bomb seems to have gone off in your room, you don't know what to wear. Finally, you opt for a forest green turtleneck sweater dress, underneath a pair of lined tights and a pair of leather ankle boots with a timid hint of a heel. Over a leather-colored coat to match the ankle boots.
Secretly from your mother you make all these choices and then put your room back in order.
You're exhausted because you did everything to not to be caught; as soon as she leaves, have your hair and makeup done.
In fact, you choose to style your hair with soft waves and makeup with a strand of pencil and lip gloss.
Joel asked for your home address and then texts you he'd be leaving home in no time.
You look at yourself over and over again, you also ask for advice from your friends who call you a sexpot ready to strip. In fact, you told them about what happened between you and Joel, none of them surprised to learn he was your first in the end. All three of them hugged you really hard and said Joel must be really special to have allowed him to do this. You are not frigid, but you never wanted to give yourself away like that. In fact, you always believed that there was the right guy for you somewhere and you just had to be patient and he would eventually come into your life.
Your phone vibrates; Joel is downstairs.
When you come down, you find his SUV in front of your building, but he's there outside at the door: when he sees you his tired face relaxes and then he smiles at you coming towards you. You open the door and in a burst of great enthusiasm you hug him, throwing your arms around his neck, almost running over a passerby.
You hear him chuckle as you bury your head in the crook of his neck and you enjoy his scent of bubble bath and cologne. He dips his head into your hair breathing in your floral scent staying in that position for a while.
"If this is your welcome, I'll leave often," he says in your ear.
You shake your head and then loosen the embrace "Don't even think about it!"
"Did ya miss me that much?" he asks as he looks into your eyes, taking your face in his hands.
You nod with a small smile melting into that sweet, warm hold.
"My sweet baby doll." he says giving you a kiss on the tip of your nose Then he pushes his hands away from your face making room for you to walk alongside him to the SUV.
You can't take your eyes off him, you smile as you get into the car and put on your seat belt.
He smiles at you, then starts the car and you drive away from your address. Only then you take a breath.
He notices because he looks at you and asks, "Was i' so terrible this time?"
You watch him, you like to see him driving, that focused gaze and his brown eyes focused on the road and occasionally turned toward you. You tell him the news about your mother, how dedicated she has been to prayer, you tell him about this second job, but you emphasize that it's not a way of telling him you want to get out of town right away, but you'd like to leave your mother's house as soon as possible, you tell him about your friends and the news of their lives and the advice they are giving you for your work and your life.
"And what did you do at work?" you ask him, rubbing your hands together from the cold.
He tells you about loading and unloading building materials, cutting and sawing bricks, and getting several scratches on his hands and a couple on his arms as well.
"You treated 'em, didn't you?" you ask him in a sweet and somewhat apprehensive tone.
He takes your hand and brings it to his lips in a tender kiss without taking his eyes off the road.
"'S okay. 'm fine." he smiles reassuringly at you "Rather, how much did ya miss me?" he asks you turning a fleeting glance and a small smile.
"So much." you reply, intertwining the fingers of your hand with his. The contact with his warm, thick fingers sends strange tremors throughout your body. You breathe deeply before resuming the word "And how much did you miss me?"
He doesn't answer right away, zigzags his gaze from you to the street, then replies "More than I ever thought I would." your heart skips a beat, you always thought these were corny romcom phrases, but that you'd never hear them or that anyone would ever say them to you.
He looks at you, "You're beautiful," he says, "I love your scent."
"I have it all the time," you reply in a hushed voice.
"I know," he replies, then turns his gaze to you with a smile, "I love everything 'bout ya."
You look at each other for a brief moment since he cannot look away from the road for long, but his words lead you to take his hand and shake it, he reciprocates the shake by intertwining his fingers with yours.
He takes you to a karaoke bar, not exactly the kind of club you'd frequent; however, as long as you are with him any club is fine. Fortunately for both of you, there are not many people who try their hand at singing; therefore, it is a place where you can also talk.
"'M sorry, babe, maybe it's not exactly the place you'd chose to hang out," he apologizes once you sat across from each other at the small square table looking at you with a sad, guilty look.
"It's fine, any place is fine," you reply to him, observing the place with curiosity. You look at the counter in front of the tables, at the club logo to the side, further on at the small stage with a small console and a couple of microphones in case of duets, and then back at the man in front of you.
You feel so lucky to be afforded his company, to observe his sweet deep dark eyes, to bask in his good smell, to be able to return his warm smile.
You decide not to look overly strange in just staring at him, and so you pick up the menu and look at it perplexed, constantly asking Joel for information as you have no idea what you are reading and therefore what you might be getting. Finally, you choose a simple Diet Coke, he smiles shaking his head slightly and then orders a Tequila for him.
"I'm not carrying you tonight!" he mocks your choice by taking your hand in an affectionate gesture.
You shrug your shoulders "I've never had a drink and I confess I'm a little afraid to do so. I sipped some whiskey at your house only."
"Afraid of saying or doing something too much?" he asks you, opening his jacket and revealing a brick-colored turtleneck sweater.
You smile, "Yes, maybe. Wanna play a game?" you propose.
"A game?" he repeats, smiling at you, intrigued by this singular proposal.
"It's called I never have." you raise your hands just slightly above the table "If you have done what I say, then you lower a finger of your hand. If you haven't, you do nothing. Let's play, I have never gone hunting." you begin.
He lowers a finger "I've been there several times, both as a boy and then as an adult. Even a couple of years ago with Tommy." he tells you "Now it's my turn." you see him focused on thinking about something "I've never taught anyone." he confesses.
You look at him surprised "Really?"
He nods "You are my first and only student." he confesses again looking you in the eyes a little guiltily.
You lower a finger "The only one I taught is Helen, my friend. She came to the bar after me." you tell him "At first it was just me and a guy, he was nice one, but" you leave the sentence hanging a bit, then shake your head "I wasn't his type."
He nods "I like this game. So I know you even better."
"Well, that's the goal of the game. I've never celebrated the Fourth of July." you say with a slightly sad look on your face.
"Never?!" he exclaims, lowering his finger "It's always been my favorite time of the summer. When we were kids Tommy and I would go to a pond with our parents and punctually have kayak races." he smiles "I celebrated it until..." his gaze fades and the smile disappears.
"Until when?" you gently urge him.
He sighs, "Until it's all over," he replies, looking up at you.
"Why did it end with her?" you ask him directly.
He blinks and then assumes an almost annoyed expression as if you shouldn't ask him such a question.
"Forgive me," you say as you lower your gaze, "I'd like to get to know you better, but you always seem to have a wall put up between you and others." you continue, looking at him quizzically.
"It's true, I don't like to talk about my past. It's mine alone, and most importantly it doesn't affect my relationship with you at all." he replies.
"I'm glad to know, but I don't want to know because I'm afraid it'll affect our relationship, but only because I want to know everything about you," you tell him looking at him with sad eyes.
"Honey, please- I don't want to. Don't make that request of me." he tells you, laying his hand on yours, but you don't look up at him, you look to the side "Please don't do that. Don't force things too much. They might break." he goes on, squeezing your hand just a little tighter, and you then look up.
"Okay."
You see him almost relax in his chair, then he says, "I never liked dancing or singing."
You smile, softly, but you smile.
"Me neither," you retort without lowering your finger "now, let's see...I never sang at the karaoke bar." you say smiling at him, he smiles back and you notice he doesn't lower his finger.
"Well, now you can." he replies standing up and holding out a hand to you.
"What?!" you ask worriedly.
"You've never sung karaoke." he says, taking your hand and making you stand up almost weightlessly.
"No, no, shhh, no, Joel." you try to stop him without succeeding as he draws the attention of the man there on the stage.
"There's my friend who wants to sing something," Joel says, looking first at the man and then at you.
Damn you.
Well, if you sing, he'll sing too!
The man announces to the small audience in the room of your performance, Joel himself incites the others to clap.
"Well and what are you going to sing for us, love?" the man asks.
You turn your gaze toward Joel and notice that he is glowering - to put it mildly - at the karaoke guy.
"This is a duet, so I need him," you reply, holding Joel back with all your might.
"Cool!" the man exclaims "I want to hear this applause." he incites the small audience to clap again.
"You''ll pay for this." Joel says grudgingly.
"You too." you retort "What do we want to sing?" you ask him.
Joel doesn't answer, so you choose a song from a few years ago, it's a sweet song, no rock stuff or anything like that, you don't want to put yourself or Joel in undue difficulty. You both get out of tune several times, but just look into each other's eyes to smile at each other to help you not take yourselves too seriously.
Your performance thankfully ends three minutes and forty-five seconds later with some timid clapping. You come down holding hands and returning to your seats you both lower a finger. With Joel there was another first time.
A waiter brings you shortly after your orders, which Joel pays for right away; you see Joel intent on drinking his Tequila and so gripped by curiosity you ask him if you can try it. He hesitates, but then hands it to you. You barely take a sip of his drink, but it's too alcoholic for you; you cough, returning the glass to him as he chuckles exclaiming an I told you.
"How can you drink that?" you ask him after a while.
He shrugs his shoulders with a smile, "Now, my turn." he says as he takes another sip of his drink "I've never felt the desire to kiss someone in public like I do now." he confesses as he looks you in the eye.
You support his gaze by lowering a finger "I feel the same way." you say "I just don't know what you might think about it." you add.
"Me? Well, I honestly don't give a damn shit about what they may say about me. I care about you, about what they may say if they see you kissing an old man like me." he tells you, extending a hand, which you immediately take and intertwining his fingers with yours.
"You're not that old, Joel. Stop it!" you exclaim "I told you, I'm almost 30. Can I choose who I want to date? I don't have to ask permission from the guy on stage there or my mother or her religious coven. I need to be okay, and I'm happy with you," you blurt it out.
You see him contemplative, so you try to bring back some good humor asking him if he wants to eat something and this time you'll pay for the food. He suggests you a portion of fried potatoes and onion rings and then a plate of fried rice to share, and you gladly accept.
While you wait, your game continues.
"I have never felt the desire to be younger." he says avoiding your gaze. You don't put your finger down - you don't feel the same - but you realize he's telling you something. You look him in the eye and he continues "I wish I had only been a four or five years older than you, maybe that would have been more acceptable to you." he says with a sad expression.
"Joel, Joel, Joel." you say laying your hands on the sides of his face "Please look me in the eyes." he does, his eyes are so sad "If it was a problem for me, I'd have told you right away."
"'N what would ya have told me?" he asks you.
You get up and approach him with the chair taking his hand which you squeeze between yours "I'd have told you I didn't feel comfortable, uhm maybe-- that for me these eighteen years are many, but the truth is, when I'm with you, I don't think about your or my age at all. I live you as you are. And you are a wonderful person, Joel. When I'm with you, I feel so safe, my heart always beats fast, and I think I was lucky to met you and run into you." you say, brushing your lips on his, a thought takes side in a far corner of your head, maybe you are really in love with him, it's not a crush only.
"Excuse me." a voice brings you back to reality making you jump and then pull away.
A waiter brings you what you requested and this time you pay, even though Joel tried to pay him again but you managed to put him off.
Even a simple gesture as sharing those three plates makes you feel good. You try the onion rings for the first time and you like them, Joel almost claps when you say that dish is good.
"I'm so happy to have you in my life." he tells you when you finished "You brought light into my life." he adds, wrapping your face in his hands and kissing you.
At that moment, the light goes away and you are in the dark. You pull away from his face and squeeze his hand and he returns the squeeze, then a lightning illuminates the dark room and shortly after a thunder echoes in the air.
"I never walked through the rain," Joel says trying to distract you noticing your increased squeeze.
"I've never walked in the rain either," you reply.
"Hey, it's okay." he tells you "You'd like to go to my place waiting for the storm to pass?" he proposes.
At that moment, the light returns and you take it almost as a sign of destiny, you immediately answer him yes; so, you get your stuff and go out. It's not pouring, but it's raining enough. You decide to run in the rain to the SUV and when you're inside you look at each other and notice how wet you both are. You can't help but stare in fascination at his wet face, his soaked hair with raindrops and his clothes equally soaked. It's a tender and funny image at the same time.
He thankfully turns on the warm air so at least part of your hair and clothes dry.
When you arrive in front of his house, there is a flood.
Your hair and clothes drip water profusely, you shudder from the cold once you get inside.
"If you want to take a hot shower, I'll go get you something dry. Sure, it won't be your size, but it's better than having the flu or a cold." he tells you turning on the lights in the hall and for the stairs leading upstairs.
"I don't want to bother you," you say.
"Honey, this is your home." he already told you, but hear it now is different "Feel free to use the bathroom if ya want."
"It doesn't bother you if I go into your bathroom, taking a shower?" you ask him again guardedly.
"No." he replies by taking your face in his hands and placing a kiss on the tip of your nose "Now go and take a shower, I'll have a sweater and pants for ya on my bed." he adds and then disappears.
On his bed?
Oh.
When you go upstairs and close the bathroom door behind you, you look around feeling like you're violating Joel's private space, sure he told you to use his bathroom, to take a shower, but you still can't help but feel like an intruder.
You undress completely, leaving your cell phone on a cabinet and taking off all your wet clothes, and then you get into the shower. The jet of hot water hits your icy skin causing you to shake with pleasure mixed with shivers. You can't help but think how much your life has changed in a very short time, the way this man is taking care of you in so many different ways, the way he's making you feel unique and special even though you are not his first and even though you are quite naive for your age.
When you leave, you take a towel and dry yourself.
Then you take your cell phone and go to Joel's room where you find a midnight blue sweater, a pair of gray shorts, and a pair of socks. They are huge compared to your size. However, you slip them on and the result is that the sweater reaches almost mid-thigh just slightly below the shorts and the socks almost to the knee.
You look even smaller than you are.
"My turn," he says, raising his voice to be heard.
"O - okay." you say simply, then you hear the door close and the water jet open.
You bite your lower lip at the thought of Joel in the shower, who knows what he's like in the shower, if he's taking the same pleasure in warming his skin under the hot water, if…
You try to hold back your thoughts about him, and at that moment another lightning rips through the sky, which makes you remember to text your mother. You go to pick up the phone and text her you are sleeping at Gina's tonight and you dinner together. She immediately replies to be careful and lock yourself in. You roll your eyes and after answering with a simple okay, you lock the phone and return to reality.
Joel has just turned off the tap, you clasp your hands, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. Maybe you should have waited for him downstairs, maybe you shouldn't have stayed there in his private space, maybe…. Joel appears with his curly hair tousled, his expression relaxed and wearing a gray T-shirt that clings to his broad chest and wraps around his biceps and a pair of shorts. You look at each other from head to toe and see him swallow.
"Y're so sweet." he tells you after a few moments of silence from both of you.
"Thank you." you say not knowing what to do or say "D' ya feel better after a hot shower?" you add barely sustaining his gaze.
"Yeah." he answers you, but you clearly read in his eyes a desire to want more than just to look at you.
"Joel, um, you didn't have to," you tell him trying to break that moment that is shaking you to the core.
He swallows "Yes, well … don't worry." you see him waver "You'd like … a glass of water, to rest …?"
"I want to be with you," you reply, not letting him complete the possible choices he's offering you.
He looks at you questioningly, raising an eyebrow.
Your heart beats fast, then you add, "I'm not proposing anything. I guess. I mean, I just want to be there for you whether you want to talk or sleep."
He nods, "Okay. Oh, before I forget, your clothes are over there drying."
The idea of being stuck there with him in his house with his clothes on never seemed as good an idea as it does now!
You look at him, "What d' ya want to do?"
He runs a hand through his hair "I just want to sleep, I've been going to bed late for a few nights and waking up at four. Tomorrow is the first day I can get up when I want to." he replies, then looks into your eyes "D' ya wanna sleep with me?"
You already did, sleeping with him. But when it happened you were still two strangers, two people getting to know each other, now you are still getting to know each other it's true, but sleeping next to him, smelling his scent, feeling him so close to you, has a very different meaning.
"Yes," you reply in a whisper, nodding.
You look into each other's eyes for a long moment, then he says as he enters the room "Then I'll give you this T-shirt of mine, I only use it to sleep in." he opens a bedside drawer and hands you a white T-shirt "It's clean." he adds as he looks at you quizzically.
"Thank you." you say taking the T-shirt he's handing you.
"Okay." he replies simply "Um-I'll go get some water downstairs, ya change and if ya want to choose the side of the bed ya want to sleep on." he adds making to leave the room.
"Where do you usually sleep?" you ask him.
"On the left side." he replies.
"Okay, then I'll take the right side," you assert.
He nods "Hurry up, I won't be long." he says and then walks away.
In the process of hearing him get off, you slip off the sweater he lent you and slip on his T-shirt, you have no bra on and you hope he won't notice since he seems to be very tired.
You go around the bed and get under the blankets. Your heart is pounding, you've shared a bed with Joel before, but today it seems so special. He makes you feel good and unique.
You also really appreciate that although he touched you and made you come, he didn't stay while you changed, but gave you some privacy in his private space.
You hear the wood of the stairs creak slightly, then Joel appears in the doorway of the room. He looks cautiously inside, when he realizes you are already lying under the blankets, he enters and closes the door. You see him approach the bed, he gives you a long mute look, then pulls off the blankets and slips in as well.
"G' night." he says to you.
"Good night." you reply.
Outside the thunderstorm continues, you can't sleep: you toss and turn in bed, you think you should allow him to sleep because if he notices you couldn't sleep, he'd probably keep you company or go down on the couch and you don't want him to. It wouldn't be right. You turn to your right side and stare from time to time at the glow that lights up the room, wonder what happened in Joel's past, what destroyed or upset him so much, wonder if you could ever find a way to make him feel better, to help him open up to you, then decide to stop thinking and allow yourself to rest.
The next day, when you wake up, you don't have blankets on you, he surrounds your waist with a mighty arm, and then there is something else to say good morning: his erection is pressed against your buttocks and you feel uncomfortable, you try to move slightly to reduce contact, but his arm holds you even tighter to him, in fact he presses you even harder against him.
You squeeze your eyes shut, that warmth and contact making you shiver.
"Joel?" you call softly, "Joel?" you insist, shaking him gently by the arm and turning toward him so you can see his face. His lips are barely parted, his eyes closed, and a blissful expression on his face. You find yourself thinking for the second time he doesn't look a 47-years-old man at all, but at most a 39 or 40 years-old man. You sigh, sorry to disturb his sleep, but hearing him like this is making you wet in your briefs, you need to create some distance from him "Joel?" you call him again and this time, slowly, he opens his eyes and immediately his dark eyes find yours and he smiles at you "Good morning." you say returning the smile "How did you sleep?" you ask him.
"Fine, g' mornin'." he replies with his voice still half asleep.
You turn with your upper body toward him and behold that tender and tremendously sexy image he's offering you even if unbeknownst to him: his hair completely disheveled, his arm still holding you to him, the bulging veins on his forearm, the still sleepy expression painted on his face.
"How did ya sleep?" he asks, putting his arm behind your head as you turn fully toward him, holding him closer.
"Good." you answer moving a finger along his chest, he places his hand on yours. You feel his heart beating fast against your palm as he wraps his hand around yours and then entwines his fingers with yours.
"I thought I was dreaming," he tells you as he looks at your joined hands.
You smile, "What dream?"
"I thought it was a dream to have ya here with me. In my bed. Close to me." he answers you "I wish ya were always here with me." he adds in a whisper, "Sorry, maybe this is too much." he moves his hand away and gently caresses your face until he runs a hand through your hair and brings your face closer to his.
It's a gentle kiss, so sweet and tender.
You savor his scent, his warmth, his touch, his hand through your hair. Then, his hand rests on your neck without breaking the kiss and slowly goes down to your chest. He almost jumps when he notices you aren't wearing a bra, breaks your kiss and puts his head on the pillow. He looks you in the eye. It's impossible not to realize he'd like to do more, much more.
You look into each other's eyes for a long time, then you do what you already wanted to do last night: you take his hands, noticing in the weak sunlight the cuts, and kiss there where you see the little scars. You see him close his eyes and breathe deeply through his nose, "Joel," you call to him, he opens his eyes again "if I were more experienced, what would you have done?"
"Are ya really asking me 'bout that?" he asks. He's not angry nor disappointed; he seems surprised. You nod, kissing another scar you notice on his left forearm, while his eyes seem to become dark pools.
"Tell me." you invite him to answer without stopping kissing those cuts.
He opens his lips for a second, then closes his eyes and breathes deeply, saying, "I'd undress you and kiss every inch of your body. I'd caress and suck your nipples until you moan my name." hear this shakes you inside "I'd lick your intimacy and gently run two fingers inside you until I get you ready to be fucked," the obscenity of his words would made you blush, but not today; rather, you feel wet and you realize just then you are holding your breath "then I'd fuck you slowly and gently taking all the time in the world to make you come." he adds swallowing.
"Could you, um, teach me?" he moves his head slightly to the side on the pillow "Could you teach me how to make me feel good?" you ask him feeling your cheeks on fire.
"D' ya really want it?" he asks.
You simply nod, not knowing what else to add.
He pounces on your lips as he pushes your head back against the pillow. Your heart is pounding wildly in your chest, when he breaks the kiss you are both breathless. He looks you in the eye, then rests his forehead against yours as you feel one of his hands caressing your bare breasts from under your T-shirt. You groan as you close your eyes, "I love caressing your breasts, they're so soft." he confesses to you, caressing that delicate portion of skin in a languid caress that makes you swallow and then moan softly. He kisses you gently again, then turns on his right side and puts an arm back under your head "I show you." he tells you taking your left hand and bringing it inside your briefs, both of you moaning at the contact with your soaked intimacy, "In time you'll figure out what you like to make you wet and make it easier." he continues in a tone of voice of one who is struggling not to give in to what would have been his true intentions.
"Getting me wet mean I'm getting aroused?" you ask him, becoming even redder in the face.
"Yes." he tells you making his hot breath break against your cheek and making you gasp.
Feel his hand on yours wet with your cum shakes you even more making you throw your head back, "Are you still with me?" he asks you.
You look at his face, see his features distorted with pleasure "Yes." you answer breathlessly.
"All you have to do is touch yourself here." he says, while in the meantime he makes you touch a specific spot of your intimacy that jolts you "Touch yourself. When you feel pressure here," he explains, pulling his hand away from yours for a moment to rest it on your belly, "tell me that I'll help you feel good, okay?"
You nod "Don't leave me." you say, he rests his forehead against your head.
"I won't leave you." he reassures you by kissing one cheek and returning to lay his hand on yours, the room fills with your moans and a few expletives, you try to contain yourself you don't want to look completely desperate, you try to stifle your moans by tightening your lips, but with little result, you involuntarily clench your legs "Honey, y'have to keep them open so you don't hurt yourself." he tells you kissing the corner of your mouth.
"Joel…" you groan "I think I'm going to…" you can't articulate any thoughts, his hand on yours, his breath on your neck, his tender kisses on your earlobe and cheek, his husky voice are enough to bring you already into a world out of the ordinary.
"Are ya already…?" he asks you, looking surprised, but adding nothing more. He makes you take your hand away and he continues, his caress is, like last time, firm and has a much faster pace. You feel yourself in that bubble again, the only thing you can do is squeeze Joel's other hand with one hand and clench the T-shirt he's wearing into a fist as you moan his name.
Shivers of pleasure run through your body. Then, your vision blurs and you close your eyes moaning his name louder and louder feeling your orgasm washes over you.
When the orgasm wanes, you hear him breathing heavily and feel his fingers touch that bundle of nerves gently until pleasure fades away. He kisses your forehead and only then you open your eyes again and find him looking at you, "There you are!" he exclaims with a small smile and making you smile too.
"Am I strange?" you ask him looking into his eye.
"What d' ya mean?"
"Earlier you seemed surprised when I was about to-- Uhm-- " you still have to get used to thinking and saying certain words out loud.
"Coming?" you nod "No, it's your first experiences. It's pretty normal. With time, things will definitely change." he replies.
"Will it be more difficult with time?" you ask him, staying with your hand clasped in his.
"Not difficult, but it'll take a little longer. Then, it also depends on your partner." he explains.
You nod.
"What are you thinking about?" he asks you.
"I'm lucky to have you in my life. You have no idea in how many ways you have saved me, the way you make me feel safe." you answer by bringing your head closer to his neck, he kisses your forehead and rests his head next to yours, he doesn't comment on your words "And what are you thinking about?" you ask him amazed he didn't reply on what you just said.
His face is serious, he remains silent, and it worries you. You squeeze his hand just a little tighter, and he looks up at you as if you want to hear him say what's bothering him.
"I don't know if I'm the right person in your life," you frown and look at him "I mean, I'm much older than you. I've lived everything I had to live, you … you maybe should have had in this bed someone like that little boy you like so much, what's his name? Johnny."
"Never mind his name." you say by sitting on your knees in the middle of the bed turning your gaze toward him "Joel, I'm in this bed with you because I chose to be in this bed with you. It's good for me to be with you. You make me feel important, you make me feel good. When I'm with you, I don't want to be with anyone else," you add.
"Honey," he tells you, stroking your forearm with his fingertips, "I'm fine with you too, but maybe it's not fair you and I went beyond guitar lessons, maybe we should have stayed in our roles, I should never have taken you there to the cabin, I should never have started digging into your life and allowed you into mine and I into yours. I feel guilty for doing that. I feel like this role doesn't belong to me." he says without looking at your face.
"Joel, we're not doing anything illegal, remember?" you tell him, reminding him of a question yourself asked him a long time before "Life is mine and I decide who to share it with." you add and then lean toward him and kiss him, it's a different kiss than before. The rhythm is faster, demanding.
"Baby girl, I'm afraid I'm doing it all wrong with you," he tells you between kisses.
"Sssh shut up." you tell him and then resume kissing him, you take his hands and squeeze them tightly between yours, fingers intertwining. Now yours is a ravenous kiss.
He takes his hands away from yours for a moment and places them on your hips, thrusting you onto him as he too sits in the middle of the bed with you on him. On contact with his arousal you both moan.
You run your hands through his mussed hair as you both find yourselves breathlessly facing each other.
"D' you still think you are making a mistake with me?" you ask him.
"Yes." he replies feebly.
You dare, you don't know if you will make a mistake, if he will like it, if it will bother him, but you dare.
You kiss him gently on his lips, then leave light kisses along his jaw line feeling the unmade beard pinch against your lips, then go down slowly along his neck and feel him hold his breath.
"Does it bother you?" you ask him inhaling his scent closing your eyes for a moment.
"No, you're a natural, little girl," he replies holding his breath.
"What can I do to change your mind, Joel?" you ask him taking the reverse route.
"You're playing with fire, baby girl." he replies without really answering you by clasping his hands on your hips just a little tighter.
Your skin is covered with shivers, you clench in your shoulders not to show him the power he has over you even though you are in charge right now and especially not to blush at this sort of threat from him. You don't know exactly what the next move is, but you don't want Joel to leave you, you don't want what has been created between you to be broken and for each of you to return to your own lives. Right now go back to that life, to that useless monotonous life, you had it hurts you.
"Since I met you" you tell him giving him a lip-smacking kiss "my life has finally made sense." you go on giving him another one "Please" you say giving him another kiss "don't leave me." you add giving him another kiss and this time he captures your lips between his. He kisses you, wrapping you completely in his arms and pressing your torso even more against his. You wish this kiss would not end or, rather, would lead to the next step, but he stops. His eyes are glazed over, his lips swollen with kisses and his breath short.
"Y're beautiful." he says, gently stroking the back of your neck and running a hand through your hair. If only you were more experienced and Joel a more selfish man, he would have released his erection, removed your briefs and fucked you properly, but Joel is not like that.
"Don't be afraid, Joel. I'm not. If I'm with you," you tell him stroking his cheeks gently.
You see him close his eyes and tighten his lips, then he sighs heavily and looks into your eyes "I wanted to show you something last night, well-- it was supposed to be a surprise, but the storm messed things up a bit." he tells you still giving your hips a gentle squeeze and then motioning for you to move "Wait here. It's a surprise. When I tell you, close your eyes, okay?" he says as he leaves the room.
You are out of breath, wishing for more, but maybe that's enough for now.
Now all you can do is wait for his surprise.
#joel miller#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x reader#joel miller x female reader#joel x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller smut#joel tlou#joel miller hbo#tlou fanfiction#tlou fic#the last of us hbo#joel miller self insert#the last of us#joel fic#the last of us fanfiction#joel the last of us#pedro pascal#pedro pascal as joel miller#smut#joel x f!reader#joel x female reader#joel x you#dom!joel#dom!joel miller#joel miller fic#joel miller angst#soft!joel miller#bittersweet ff
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“This can’t be real.” You whine, your face suddenly feeling hot, the collar of your costume tightening around your throat. Had the elastic strap of your stupid squirt bottle cap hat always been this uncomfortable under your chin? “This is a nightmare. Pinch me. Please, put me out of my misery.”
“A nightmare!?” Your friend whispers incredulously. “This is a dream. Look at him! His friends look hot, too.”
You take a big gulp of your tequila. “I can’t talk to him like this. It’s humiliating.” You gesture to the cheap, ill-fitting ketchup bottle costume you’d adorned for this night out, your life choices coming into sharp, dizzying focus. Why couldn’t you have just worn a revealing costume like a normal person? It’s times like these where committing to the bit isn’t always a good thing.
“Hey,” she scolds, clicking her tongue at you, “ketchup can be beautiful!”
“Not enough to talk to- to that!”
Across the room, in all his beefy, athletic glory is Bokuto Koutarou — your calculus deskmate and occasional study buddy. Someone you’ve had a crush on all semester. Your eyes scan his figure and you realize that no amount of tequila or cheap beer could give you the confidence to go say hi to him. Not like this.
He’s wearing a baby blue crop top, one that’s a size too small and tugs across the broad expanse of his chest and shoulders, squeezing at his massive biceps. Drawstring shorts in the same color expose the meat of his thick thighs and for a moment, the breath catches in your throat. What the fuck is in the water for these volleyball guys?
His two friends are in much the same state, red and green get-ups matching Bokuto’s own. The Powerpuff Girls. Bubbles has never looked so intimidating.
“I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die in front of the hottest guy I’ve ever seen, and I’m wearing a fucking ketchup costume.” Tequila angrily sloshes in your cup, threatening to spill.
Your mustard counterpart rests a comforting hand on your shoulder. “I’ll drag you into the yard. Give you a little dignity.”
You nod solemnly. “Thank you.”
Unbeknownst to you, your costume hasn’t escaped the ever vigilant gaze of the famous superpowered trio. In the opposite corner, Bokuto bounces on the balls of his feet.
“That’s them! The one from my calc class!”
Kuroo’s (Buttercup’s) head whips around to follow Bokuto’s gaze. “The witch?”
“No,” Bokuto responds, mildly offended. “The ketchup.”
“Ohh, right. Should’ve guessed.” Kuroo’s eyes roll.
Akaashi (Blossom) chimes in to add, “They were looking over here earlier.”
“They were?”
“I mean, it’s kinda hard not to notice,” Kuroo gestures to the three of them and their lack of clothes, “all of this.”
Bokuto downs the rest of his beer in one, resolute chug, confidence emanating from his very being. “I’m going over there.”
You’re in the middle of lamenting about how ridiculous you look when your friend reaches out to grip your elbow. “He’s coming over here.”
Your face drops, anxiety thrumming through your veins as your heart pounds. “No. No, don’t say that.”
“Oh, look!” She calls, glancing anywhere but at you. “It’s...... that girl that I know! I’ll uh... I’ll see you later!”
You open your mouth to tell her to get the fuck back here, that this is truly an ultimate and bitter betrayal, but the words die in your throat as Bokuto approaches. He beams as he comes to a stop in front of you, like you’re making his night by simply... existing. The sight brings heat to the apples of your cheeks.
Bokuto has to bend a bit to be heard over the music, and you can feel his breath ghosting over your ear as he says, “Hey! How’s it going!?”
“Good! How are you?”
With how close he’s standing now, not only do you get an even closer look at his defined pecs (which seem even bigger up close), but you also notice, much to your amusement, that his spiky hair has been pulled into two pigtails, wrapped together with little blue bows. How someone can manage to be cute and hot at the same time is equal parts infuriating and fascinating.
He smiles like he knows something you don’t, a hint of mischief sitting in the corner of his upturned lips. “I’m good! It’s not every day you get to talk to your favorite condiment.”
You put a hand to your heart as a surprised, teasing grin over takes your face. “Who? Lil’ ol’ me? You’re flattering me!”
“I’m only speaking the truth!”
“Well,” you start, any anxiety you felt before melting away the longer you spend in his presence (and the more the tequila settles in your stomach), “if you must know, Bubbles was always my favorite Powerpuff Girl.”
Bokuto seems thrilled at this, shifting a little to bump his arm into yours. “You’ve got good taste.”
Conversation flows easily after that. You talk about class – he hasn’t done the homework yet and he’s not ready for the test, don’t ask. He asks what your drink of choice is (it’s tequila) and how you landed on ketchup for a costume of all things (it was a joke that felt funnier at the time than it is now). It’s comfortable and breezy, and you regret not coming to these stupid house parties sooner.
You open your mouth to ask if he’d want to study together, and maybe the alcohol had loosened your tongue enough to ask if he’d want to grab coffee too, but you’re interrupted by Buttercup.
Buttercup eyes you for a moment, his eyes flickering between you and his “sister” before a smirk pulls at his mouth. An expression crosses Bokuto’s face, one you can’t read, and you shift your weight from one foot to the other.
“I hate to interrupt,” he interjects, “but it seems we have a situation in the upstairs bathroom. Mind giving me a hand?”
Bokuto sighs, his gaze shifting to yours apologetically. “Sorry, duty calls.”
You smile, a half-hearted thing that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Bokuto. “Go save the city, ladies.”
“I’ll uh-” he pauses as if he’s really considering his next words before a little twinkle alights in his golden eyes, “I’ll ketchup with you later.”
As he turns to leave, you swear you hear his friend shout over the music, “Dude, that was terrible.”
Having lost your condiment companion and your superhero crush, and with no one else to talk to, you decide to venture outside, hoping that the cool October air will help to ease the flush on your cheeks.
You can still hear the music from out here, can listen in on the gossip offered up among friends sharing a smoke at the table in the yard, but now that you’re separate from the party, looking out into the backyard, you can’t help the doubt that creeps into the back of your mind. It’s a blink of a thought, a wisp of smoke in the wind, and you suspect it’s only because you like him so much, but you wonder, idly, if someone like Bokuto could ever be into someone like you. You deflate, dropping your cup on the deck railing and pulling the stupid bottle cap hat off your head. Sighing, you feel stupid all over again.
You spend another few minutes in relative silence before the back door slides open and an excited “I found you!” sounds from behind you.
A hand presses into the small of your back. “I was looking all over for you! I came back downstairs and couldn’t find your little hat in the crowd anywhere.” The thought of him seeking you out again makes your head spin. “I brought you another drink, if you want it.”
Bokuto offers you the cup with a cute, almost sheepish quirk of his lips, and you take it gingerly. A smile forming to mirror his own. You take a sip and it’s the exact drink you had before, mixed to perfection and made all the tastier knowing Bokuto brought it for you. “It’s perfect! Thank you.”
He’s all too pleased by the praise. “I’m glad! I practically had to wrestle the last of the Sprite from some drunk dude in the kitchen.”
His expression and the hand resting on your back make your legs feel like jelly. “My hero.”
“I do what I can for my people! You wanna sit?” He gestures vaguely to the stairs leading to the yard and you nod. Before you can sit, you try, and fail, to pull your costume over your head. It isn’t exactly the most forgiving fabric for anything but standing, and you huff when you can’t bend your arm enough to pull it up and over your head.
“I hate this.” You grumble, dropping your new cup onto the railing right next to your old one. “What the fuck?” You try again and when it doesn’t budge, the annoyance only seems to mount. “This costume is cursed, I swear.”
You bring your hand up to angrily pull at the offending fabric, but Bokuto stops you from tugging again by placing his hand over yours. “Want some help?”
“Please.”
Bokuto needs all of about five seconds to get it over your head, and in that time, the costume drags the fabric of your undershirt up, exposing a sliver of your stomach. His eyes widen and he feels like those memes about Victorian men getting a glimpse at a woman’s ankle.
He’s pulled from his thoughts when you breathe a sigh of relief, plopping the costume onto the ground behind you. “Thank you. God, that was so much easier to get on.”
You collapse onto the deck stairs and pull your cup back into your grasp. Bokuto follows your lead, and when he puts his free hand behind him to rest against the wood, it ends up on top of your own. You don’t move a muscle and neither does he. The moon hangs bright and brilliantly yellow in the sky, painting Bokuto’s face in shadows that bring out his eyes and accent the high points of his face. For the umpteenth time, you think about how pretty he is and the chaos it’s causing in your heart.
You’re broken from your revelry when his eyes meet yours and, unable to hold his curious gaze, the tree in the distance suddenly becomes far more interesting than his side profile. When you’re not looking, Bokuto’s expression is struck by unabashed lovesickness. God, if Kuroo could see him now he knows he’d never hear the end of it.
In the comfortable silence that follows, and free from the confines of your condiment prison, your unasked question from earlier sits on the tip of your tongue. Do you wanna get coffee with me? The question plays over and over again as you rehearse the words and imagine them leaving your mouth. It can’t be that hard, right? People in cheesy rom-coms make this part seem so easy.
As if sensing your hesitation, you feel Bokuto’s hand curl a little tighter over yours. “Is everything alright?”
“Yeah, yeah.” You’re convincing yourself more than you are him, and it shows. His brows furrow and he seems to lean a little closer to you, awaiting an explanation. “I was just...” You sigh, collecting your nerves. “I was wondering if you wanted to get coffee with me this week? I could help you with the homework, too, if you want?”
Bokuto’s head tilts to one side, and before he can think to stop himself, he asks, “Like a date?”
He watches as your eyes widen. “I mean- I-...” You flounder, your face hot under his gaze. “If you want!”
The grin that overtakes Bokuto’s face is downright blinding, and you’re certain it’s the prettiest smile you’ve ever seen. And, for the first time, you catch a glimpse of his dimples. It should be illegal for one man to be this handsome.
“I’d like that. I don’t have practice on Tuesday. Wanna go at 11? I can pick you up from your dorm and we could go to that place down the street. Get off campus for a while before hitting the books?”
Your nod only spurs his smile to widen, his dimples to deepen. You have to fight the urge to reach out and pinch his cheek. “Sounds good to me.”
“Now,” Bokuto says suddenly, plucking your hat off the ground and fixing it over his pigtails as he moves to stand, “I’m freezing my ass off out here. Get that costume on and let’s go dance!”
With his free hand, he pulls you up. His hand only leaves yours for the second it takes you to pull your costume back on before his fingers are intertwining with yours again. And as the colorful lights of the living room bounce off his face, his laugh ringing out over the music as he pulls you close on the makeshift dance floor, you can’t wait for Tuesday.
#bokuto x reader#bokuto koutarou x reader#koutarou bokuto x reader#bokuto imagine#bokuto koutarou imagine#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu imagine#hq x reader#hq imagine#if this flops im gonna scream
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Hi i am not sure if you are taking requests right now but could i request a konig x reader where reader is maybe a medic or nurse and goes along with everyone on their mission. and she is from somewhere in southern USA like georgia, so she has a cute lil accent, maybe not super strong but it is noticeable. and she is real confident so konig develops a crush on her n he loves her accent. and she'll call him like "punkin" or "sweet thang" or something like that and it just makes him melt. and they have a cute lil moment where there is lots of tension an they kiss. you can turn it nsfw or keep it fluff it doesnt matter! thanks boo
König X Fem!Reader
A/N: Hi, here I am with your request! I remember our little conversation about your request, I've decided to put some of the details anyway, and I reaaly hope you will like it!
Disclaimer: I do not own any MW characters. English is not my native language.
Warnings: angst, mention of wounds, description of claustrophobia, fluff, description of wounds, minor character death, mention of violence.
༺═───────༻
Living on the other side of the globe was not so bad: a new lifestyle, different people, different cultures, and more. As a medical graduate, you got to experience all of that and much more. You didn't regret accepting the offer to work as a doctor for the private military company KORTAC, leaving behind a family that only hoped you would graduate from Law school -and whose relatives are full of expectations for such a young and beautiful girl-.
Unfortunately for them -or fortunately for you- you have always stayed on your own path that you created for yourself, and there has certainly been no shortage of obstacles.
You’ll always remember what made you want to help others: You were small, perhaps too small to see the cruelty of the world, and your eyes had landed on a young boy lying in the middle of the street surrounded by a crowd of people: he was screaming in pain, and even your parents urged you to look away, you saw his unnatural posture, his back bent too far, and an arm full of blood.
Although your mother picked you up and tried to carry you away, the news the next day showed that boy: was hit by a hit-and-run driver, he died shortly after the ambulance arrived, while no one could do anything.
He was in the wrong place at the wrong time and was struck by a fate too cruel to bear. He was only 15 years old.
A wave of pure helplessness had rippled through you, and since then, after years of study and a lot of experience in the field, you can say that you have realized that dream, that you have finally broken through the wall you had experienced as a child.
Helping wounded soldiers in combat gave you an extra boost, and day by day you got to know the whole squad you were assigned to -along with other medics- and became more friends with them than you would have expected: each with a different story, even your feelings took on a different shade, especially with König, who revealed himself to you when the tension between the two of you was in the air as your eyes met.
It was natural for you to confide in one of your closest friends, Roze. You have always admired her, and she is also a trusted friend.
“You like him,” she says with a smile. “And you like him a lot.”
You roll your eyes, even though you know she’s right.
“I wish it was easier, but I do not even know where to start. I can not even talk when I see him.” She smiles as Roze stands up.
“It’s going to happen, one way or another.”
◇
A few days later, while you are stacking some boxes of medicine in the storeroom, you feel a chill run down your spine as a strange premonition rises inside you and something touches your shoulder. You jump up startled, a shadow you do not immediately recognize appears in front of you, and you feel your heart skip a beat in your chest.
“Hey, sorry if I scared you-“, he takes a step back, the light finally illuminating his tall body.
“O-oh- hi, König!” you smile, already feeling the heat rising above your ears.
“They need you to stitch up a rookie’s wound, so I was looking for you and...”, you notice his hand start to fidget, notice his nervousness.
“Sure, I’ll be right here-“
A loud bang echoed through the room, now lit only by a small light bulb on the ceiling.
Both approached the door and find that it was locked.
“Now what?”
You pick up your cell phone and realize there is no reception.
You hear König huff and look around, his blue eyes now clouded with a veil of anxiety. He was panting, his hands clenched into fists, and his knuckles are all white.
You immediately understand what’s going on with him.
“König,” he looked at you with wide eyes, “your hands ...”
Finally, he opens his hands, looks first at the palms, then at the back, and notices the trembling when he moves them.
You gently give him your hands. “Give me your hands and follow my breath.”
He watches you intently as you set him on the floor and stand in front of him so that all his attention is on you alone.
Part of you never expected to be able to help König in this way as you sat across from each other in the storage room, while his heavy breathing showed no signs of slowing. He squeezed his big hands holding you like he was falling.
“It feels like you are being choked -but from the inside,” he gulps, gasping incessantly for air. You knew the room was full of oxygen and constantly ventilated, but for him, it was the opposite. “Maybe I can remove it...”
You knew he was referring to his hood. You nod firmly and let him reach for the fabric with trembling hands and remove it, trying to maintain as professional a posture as possible as your gaze falls on messy dark blond hair, various scars, and thin lips that stick out slightly as you both stare at each other. Your bodies draw closer, his warmth spreading to your body inches away from him. Your eyes capture every detail of him, his hands now resting on your face and wrapping it, making you blush furiously.
You don’t even notice how he pulls you closer to him and your lips meet in a kiss. You don’t even notice that you’ve been holding your breath, too focused on feeling the skin of his lips touches yours, noticing a sense of urgency in his movements.
Just a few minutes later, when you both caught your breath, you noticed that the door to the room was open.
◇
When you and König left the room, the hallway was strangely deserted, and when you returned to the medical area -all the while followed by König - you found that there was no patient to help, contrary to what the soldier behind you claimed.
“That’s what they told me, I’m sure of it-“
“Wait,” you interrupt him as you finally begin to put the pieces of the puzzle together. “Who told you that?”
--
You sprint to the cafeteria, knowing you’ll find her and there she’s, sitting at a table with Stiletto, the place almost empty. The last few days she’s been different like she’s plotting something behind your back.
“Rozlin. Helms.” you call out and see her jump up from the chair, the fear on her face soon replaced by an amused grin.
“Hey Doc!” she greets you, the other woman waving a hand sympathetically at you, probably an accomplice, too.
But you know you can’t stay angry even if you wanted to, and finally, tell her about the latest event she was obviously expecting.
#request#request open#call of duty#cod#cod mwii#call of duty mw2#cod könig#könig mw2#konig#könig#könig x reader#könig x you#könig call of duty#cod könig x reader#cod konig
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Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love❤
Thank you both for the asks! I love this little game! It's always nice to have a reason to brag about my writing or shine some light on fics I wished people looked at more. In no particular order, here's a list of mine.
You took the best of my heart and left the rest in pieces - This is one of my favorite fics that I've written in this fandom. It's a character study and exploration of emotions through Carlos' POV of the breakup era. I enjoy writing the breakup era and writing the boys getting back together, and how each of them make their way back to the other. This is the first part in a series of what will be three fics. It can also be read on it's own. (I'm currently working on the TK POV one but real life has been busy lately)
I’ve always dreamed of me and you, now here we are - summary: It's a tale as old as time, meeting the right person but during the wrong time of life. TK Strand and Carlos Reyes dated in college but parted ways when they graduated, not knowing they would ever see each other again. Six years later, Carlos is working as a social worker in Travis County and TK has just accepted a position as a professor at The University of Texas at Austin. They run into each other when a mutual friend invited TK out for the evening. This is a fic that I've taken a pause on because of some truly nasty people who, instead of not reading, decided that they wanted to send hateful words my way. I want to get back into this fic, I have so many ideas for it and how I want them to eventually end up back together. I have the next chapter written and ready to post, I've just been anxious about it.
With love, your soulmate - summary: Carlos Reyes doesn’t think he has a soulmate. In the 22 years he had been alive he had never found anything that would tell him otherwise. At first, it bothered him that he was seemingly without anyone and that there wasn’t a perfect person out there for him but he learned to grow comfortable with that information. He learned to adapt, to date enough that he wouldn’t be lonely, and on the nights when he was without anyone he found ways to make himself feel good. He was content. Or so he thought so until a letter arrived on the day of his 22 birthday. A letter addressed to him, from the past and from his soulmate. From there, they start talking. Leaving letters for each other to find and read, falling in love through the words that they shared. Will TK ever catch up to Carlos so that they can have their happy ever after? Or will time remain cruel to them? **Soulmate AU based on the short film Brooklyn Love Stories - Long Time Distance Relationship with Ronen** This fic was such a labor of love because it was so hard at times to figure out timelines and to get it the way that I wanted it to go. In the end, it was so worth it and it's the first chapter fic I finished in this fandom. I also just love a good soulmate au.
Jingle those Balls - summary: Two families, one fake relationship. TK needs a fake date for his mother's Christmas Work Party. Enter Carlos. MY TARLOS HALLMARK FIC. I almost didn't write this but Cee encouraged me so much an dI am SO glad that I did. I ended up writing 20K words in two weeks and I just love how this turned out. It's silly, fun, a little angsty and smutty. Carlos is so sassy in it too. I had such a delight in writing it!
where do we go from here / how did we (i) get here? / And in your hands, is all of me - the parts I never let you have - I'm rec'ing all of these together because they truly need to be read together. These three fics kicked off my season 4 coda series and deals with the topic of Carlos being married to Iris. There's a fic from Carlo's POV, TK's POV, and then them together. I struggled a bit with the secret when it was revealed and this was a great way for me to work through it and I think I created some really good fics that deal with the topic.
Bonus +1
We can get a little crazy just for fun - My series of slutty Carlos fics. These are just fun, smutty fics that are inspired by Rafael's thirst posts and I always enjoy writing them. I think others would enjoy them as well.
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so… in the additional media of stranger things (specifically the comics i’m mentioning), it was initially brenner’s idea/plan to kill off the other test subjects because they weren’t performing as well as eleven was. it was his best solution because that way, all the resources, time, and money could instead be placed only to her. and i just…. sure henry is a fine character and the massacre makes a lot of sense to me, but i think i am once again gonna change up my canon to actually fit this potential narrative instead.
i genuinely think the comic canon of the lab and brenner is far more intriguing than the show. everything with 9/9.5, ricky, and francine. eleven being the only one who grew up completely in the lab. those other kids were either volunteers, well into their teens, or had some semblance of a home life. eleven was the only one practically moulded from the womb. and they all had such a range of interesting powers. i firmly stand with the idea that jane is the only one who can contact the void.
brenner’s entire point of view on the lab subjects changed the second he found out terry was pregnant. he discovered he could steal this baby and make her his own. there would be no convincing the child because it’s all she would have ever known. because of this, i would not put it past a man like brenner to kill the other subjects for the sake of the “greater good” in this case, eleven.
eleven’s gifts just continue thriving beyond his wildest expectations. brenner would never dare assume that having moulded her from the womb, she would still be able to grow into her own person, her own mind, and one day be able to see him for exactly who he was.
back before season four aired, it was obvious there were other test subjects because jane was 011. so there were at least ten kids before her. but i always liked the idea/assumed that she was the last experiment because she was the most successful. that they didn’t need anyone after her because she was fulfilling everything they set out for her to do. with flying colours.
i just think the whole rainbow room idea, pitting the kids against each other thing… been there, done that. boring and predictable. i think at this point my portrayal of her time in hawkins lab really stems from the complete isolation she endured. where having the rainbow room, although eleven was obviously the most isolated out of the kids, brings that sense of community and sister/brotherhood. albeit extremely warped and toxic. knowing that she wasn’t alone in that experience just. doesn’t sit well with me. i think it’s important to note that she was alone, physically and mentally. which is why kali is also so important to her growth. i thought a lot of the flashbacks of her time in the lab during season four was really boring, repetitive, and just very predictable. although peter becoming vecna was a surprise to me, and was a nice little twist, the idea of her having an ally on the inside was really interesting.
maybe they did get as far as they do in canon, peter ballad was telling the truth about everything, about some of the workers there being prisoners like him, and he really wanted to get her out and to safety. but before they can escape through the pipes, they’re caught. peter is shot on the spot, and eleven is put into the isolation room for a few days as punishment. in this timeline, henry would be vecna, but henry would not be peter ballad.
when eleven turned seven, and was already showing extreme promise, where the other children were average at best, brenner had the eight children killed. kali had already escaped. this was the main cause for peter to gain eleven’s trust and try to get her out. because if brenner could murder his “children” in cold blood, there’s no way eleven was safe even in spite of her power.
when eleven is allowed out of the isolation room, her testing becomes more rigorous in attempt to distance and make her forget about what she attempted to do with peter. brenner begins gaslighting her, saying that there was never a peter, that she must have been dreaming. eleven does ask “papa” about “mama”, given peter told her of the day terry broke in the lab, but brenner is convincing enough to make eleven believe it was all in her head. say she is around eight years old, meaning the same timeline of season fours canon flashbacks.
i still do wanna keep the henry creel canon, and keep him as 001. brenner didn’t have him killed alongside the other test subjects, because who knows, one day he could become an even better asset than 011. brenner definitely wants to be able to control henry, but keeps the chip in him because, for the moment, doesn’t know how. killing him would be too big of a loss.
when eleven is ten years old, henry’s concealed powers break free and he manages to get the chip out himself, and unleashes hell onto hawkins lab. he almost kills brenner by snapping his bones, but eleven manages to stop him. her extreme abilities are unleashed, and she sends henry to the upside down. she does fall into a coma due to the extremity of the situation, but she does not forget what happened. brenner believes she’s the perfect weapon as she stepped in to save him without a second thought, was able to defeat henry, and opened a door to something he never thought possible. eleven is rewarded for her efforts. although she remembers the entire battle / confrontation, her memories regarding the portal are very hazy.
brenner decides not to focus on the portal straight away, instead gets her training harder and harder to see what else she can accomplish. also loved the idea of brenner sending her into the void to “look for him” so that will definitely be kept.
by the time she escapes and season one begins, her knowledge of the upside down is basically what we see in canon. because she passed out the moment after she sent henry away, she was once again gaslighted into believing she merely threw him through the glass and killed him. for two years she believed this, until making contact with the demogorgan, and those memories return completely.
due to her saving brenner’s life, (it was pure instinct. she happened to be there. saw her “papa” hurt and knew she had to make him better.) brenner constantly thanks her. but in a very condescending way. tells her: “you saved me so i can continue saving you.” aka, harness your abilities and see what else i can achieve from you. despite the fact that she saved his life, these words and phrases make her feel indebted to him. that she owes him something further.
i don't realistically see her thriving with her speech improvement until she's well into her twenties at least. her slowed development, sensory and social deprivation causes a serious delay in language. surrounded by other children she would have overheard conversations, some would have spoken to her. her conveniently forgetting her upbringing pre the battle with henry just isn't good enough for me anymore. it makes more sense for her to have been raised alone.
it also helps indicate why she gravitated towards the boys when they found her in the woods. they would have been the first people her age she ever remembered seeing. as far as she knew, during the lab there was no one like her. everyone was much older, they were adults-- although she stayed with benny, i'm not sure if she would have stuck around very long. where she followed the boys home without thought.
also it's important to note that after time, jane does understand that peter ballad was a real person, and was truly the first person (aside from terry) who wanted the best for her. when she remembers him, knows that brenner was lying, she deals with immense guilt regarding his death. he was shot right in front of her eyes, because he was trying to help her. this is another catalyst as to why after season two, jane never refers to brenner as papa. she does not give him that sort of credit.
#study‚ in my dreams it's all real and my heart has so much to reveal.#THINKING THOUGHTS. i have had this concept in mind for a while but i THINK i’ve fleshed it out properly now.#will write this up properly one day (never).#although henry offering eleven a place at his side wouldn’t be canon#he would definitely still look at her as an enemy for basically stopping his revenge.#AND the whole speech between he and jane never sat right with me.#saying brenner made him what he was / that it wasnt his fault etc. Like. No? henry was a sociopath. he killed his family.#brenner didn’t do anything to make him who he is. so jane always saw him for exactly what he was#and there’s absolutely no sympathy there.#and then regarding my season four canon as her regaining her powers by remembering the massacre/the fight. i am changing that to her#regaining her powers by simply confronting her past. understanding what she went through. finding ways to cope with it physically and#mentally. getting coping mechanisms from her therapist. seeking help. not needing to know WHY this happened to her (because there is not.#and will never be a reason.) but finding ways to accept it and move on. how to move on from eleven and become janessa ives.#also just because in this case henry doesn’t massacre a bunch of kids? It doesn’t make him any less evil. in this instance i am following#the idea that some of the workers were prisoners there in hawkins lab. and henry killed a bunch of the workers. so would definitely have#killed some innocent people.#just because i am separating peter from henry. does NOT mean i am excusing anything from henry/vecna.#in this case they are two completely different people. although i highkey wanna use jcb as peter because he just did the role SO WELL and#was SO BELIEVABLE i’m not sure about it yet. because i don’t want anyone to get the impression that i’m making excuses for henry.#BUT YES.#this be the new canon. <3#idc brenner is such a good fuckin villain he’s disgusting but so intriguing.
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random 8am thoughts:
jane’s unbalanced, unstable body chemistry and atypical genetics due to what she was submitted to when in the womb. long-term effects on her body taking its toll through bouts of extreme weakness, fatigue and becoming incredibly ill at times. having a very weak immune system. because of this, when it’s winter and people start getting sick, she needs to be extremely careful who she hangs around with, because if she gets sick it could very well be life threatening.
jane’s speech impediment; a permanent result from the neglect she endured in her childhood, that will not go away easily. she will improve, but it will be slow and catered to her abilities. it will never go away completely. being socially disabled.
how smart jane really is. people get the impression that she can’t read, and yet when becky pulled out all those files, jane was flipping through them and knew exactly what was being written. she knows how to read very well. the words sound near perfect in her head, but there’s a block in her mind that when she then tries to pronounce the words aloud, they never sound like she wants them to.
she can understand russian very well. she was trained to be a spy; no one knew just the power she would show. when placed in the tanks, the people at the lab merely expected her to listen and then repeat back to them what she heard, rather than having the ability to connect to the speakers. she was brought up on the russian language, even though it turned out she didn’t need that training.
having a vitamin deficiency due to the lack of sunlight growing up. needing to really cover herself up in clothing and slap on a hell of a lot of sunscreen when she’s out in the sun.
jane’s poor motor functions and development as a result of growing up so sheltered to physical activity. muscle development being very poor and very little coordination between her mind and movement. example, hand-ball requires use of both mind and action, when to bounce the ball and an intended destination. she struggles with hand - eye coordination, and it would take her much longer to succeed in any sort of activity such as this given the lack of experience. in terms of fitness, she would be very behind in her age range, and would not be able to run very far before getting tired. she is only successful in this sort of area when she’s running on adrenaline.
jane experiencing temporary blindness when coming out of the void. this getting better overtime as she comes into the strength of her powers and no longer needs the bath / blindfold / physical picture of somebody to find them, but still happening in random intervals. also returning when her powers return during season four.
#⅋. [ ✦ ] ﹕ in my dreams it's all real and my heart has so much to reveal ‚ study .#many things to think about.#head constantly full of her!#yes i am gonna write all these up in way more detail.#because i am obsessed mhmmm.
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Comment by @Lucy-uv4hv: “This episode definitely makes more sense on rewatches. It's a fan favourite, but probably only because people love to dissect it looking back. On the first watch, it's confusing and weird as hell, but each dream does make for a good character study on the insecurities they went through this season.
A few nonspoilery details from the dreams:
The text Willow paints on Tara's back is a lesbian love poem by Sappho in its original ancient Greek. Willow's book report is on The Lion (Oz), The Witch (Tara) and the Wardrobe (the closet/coming out). The constant moving between sets in Xander's dream looks so smooth because they built the sets next to each other and just had him run through the doors connecting them to mimic the way we seem to jump from place to place in dreams.
Xander's conversation with Snyder is an homage to Apocalypse Now. We've seen the number 730 appear in Buffy's prophetic dreams before. The tarot card Tara gives Buffy is the same one used to represent her in the enjoining spell - manus, the hand, symbolising Buffy's physical strength. Giles, Willow and Xander were all represented by the body parts the First Slayer removed from them in their dreams - the mind, the spirit and the heart.”
Response comment by @sebulator2391: “Wow I never realized the lion, the witch, and the wardrobe part!”
My response: It’s a misdirect. A very clever one. The whole dream has you thinking that Willow’s insecurity is her sexuality. How she’s perceived now she’s come out as gay.
But it’s a massive misdirect to the reveal of the real insecurity. Which is far more significant than just sexuality. And the really clever thing about it is it’s always Willow that’s using this misdirect as her cover up….
Until she’s stripped bare by the only other person in her life that she feels she needs to prove herself to. Buffy. The Slayer.
Willow wants it to be her sexuality because that’s easier. She’s more comfortable with that being exposed. It’s nowhere near as scary.
This whole thing continues well into S5 until she’s confronting her very own girlfriend on it. Instead of what Tara actually fears (her power), she switches the context to her sexuality yet again. The further away she can keep people from the truth, the better. The safer she feels.
This is why the witchcraft = lesbianism metaphor works so well. It’s a multi-layered metaphor that even Willow uses to her advantage. Because being a lesbian is much less of problem in her arc than being a witch.
Her being gay is merely a footnote to her shows-long arc and main problem. Which is severe chronic paranoia brought on by longtime deep emotional complex trauma.
In ‘Restless’ her condition is revealed as imposter syndrome but there’s much more going on than just that. That’s only one level.
#buffy the vampire slayer#restless#willow rosenberg#alyson hannigan#insecurity#sexuality#identity#imposter syndrome#character representation#character development#evilqk#buffy reaction#Youtube
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Challenge: Anything's possible by @hp-12monthsofmagic
A/N: Finally was able to push past my burn out and wrote this. Delilah frustrated by the little alchemy she has done at Hogwarts, sets out to achieve the most plausible hardest achievement in alchemy for a sixteen year old.
Warnings: gross ingredients in the name of 'science'
Delilah fidgeted about with her quill, moving it smoothly between her fingers. Her alchemy professor was going over the theory of transforming base metals. Though she knew it already.
She would consume and study everything about alchemy and relate to it over the summer holiday. Delilah could recite every theory, technique, and invention by heart. Coming to Hogwarts, she had hoped to finally put all that knowledge into action. Even though they finally started brewing metals, Delilah still thought it was too basic.
"And that concludes today's lesson." The Professor finished, putting the broken chalk down.
The other students packed their books, tied them up with string, and left the classroom. Delilah approached her alchemy professor.
"Professor?"
"Yes, Miss Sweets. How may I help you?" He wiped away the board with a flick of his wand.
"I was wondering when we shall start brewing harder potions."
"Miss Sweets, are you finding my lectures too dull for your tastes."
"I don't mean that Professor, but rather that I want to be more intellectually stimulating. I want a real challenge." Delilah expressed rather excitedly.
"I see, but as you must know Miss Sweets, an important quality is patience in alchemy. Alchemy needs patience because of precision." The Professor put his hands on his back and emphasized each quality to hit the point. "Alchemy is not one must triffle with without the fundamental basics."
"Yes sir, I am aware of that." Delilah quietly said. It seemed that the Professor would not be on her side.
"Good day then, Miss Sweets."
"Good day to you too, sir."
As Delilah left the classroom, she whistled for her red squirrel, Athena, or as she affectionately called her, Thena. The squirrel climbed down from the gothic-styled arch frames of the door and onto her shoulder.
"Come on Thena, we're going to be brewing something amazing tonight."
At night, she and Athena left the Hufflepuff common room. The pungent smell of the kitchen wafted through the corridor, making her stomach growl despite eating earlier.
She crept through the dark corridors. Her long-time friend, Winona, had shown all the best secret places in trade for her secrets. Delilah required a hidden area to experiment, to practice alchemy like she had one back home. Her family had a multitude of rooms dedicated to experiments. Some consider it messy, but to her, it was home.
In the lower North-East corridors, hidden rooms were mostly unknown of their purpose. Delilah found a purpose in one of them, stashing away ingredients that she had either honestly collected from the forbidden forests or dishonestly stolen from the potions classroom. Mostly, Athena did the stealing so no one would notice the little critter.
Hidden under the floorboard, Delilah had stashed vinegar, salt, sulfur vive, and even dreaded urine there. Though that were some sources, she won't reveal how she obtained them. There was also another thing, a terrible deed she had done. She had snuck into the forbidden section of the school's library. It pained her deeply to take an alchemy book without permission, but Delilah promised that she would return once it had been used.
The book may not look like much though Delilah won't be fooled by the disguise. There was instruction, and the recipe for Panacea, handwritten by Georg am Wald himself.
It was an alchemist's greatest dream to brew a panacea. The cure of all cures and longer life, and Delilah will achieve it. Be the youngest to brew it ever. She had started the process a few days ago and tonight she would complete it.
This wasn't to get her name published in the news articles, but it was personal. If she could do this at sixteen years of age, imagine what she could do in the future.
"Thena, get the salt." She commanded. The squirrel chittered back at her and placed the salt next to her. Delilah put on an apron to ensure that her nightgown would remain clean and piled her thick wavy hair into a haphazard mess barely held in place by pins.
She followed the instruction precisely, melting a few spoons along the way; wooden and metal. The author notes that this may happen, so having several on hand would be better.
The room stunk, but that was to be expected. Her wand was tucked behind her ear, using it only when she needed to stir or float the ingredients into the pot.
The liquid changed color regularly, but it all matched the instruction. However, it was bubbling more than the ambitious young alchemist had liked.
Her feet ached from standing in the same spot. Though Delilah figured that achieving without pain would not yield anything, it was simply the price to pay.
The solution was done.
Delilah poured the thin red liquid into a small glass bottle. This should show the Professor of her evident talents.
"It's done, Thena." Delilah gleaned with delight and pride of her concoction. Athena was clearly tired and napped on her shoulder. She glanced over at her father's old pocket watch. "Merlin's beard. I better get back."
***
"Hmm." The Professor scrutinized the liquid considered to be Panacea. Delilah looked at him, seeking his approval for her ambitious work. "What did you say that you put in?"
"Vinegar." Delilah simply said.
The Professor shook his head and let out a chuckle. "I'm afraid to say, Miss Sweets that you haven't made panacea."
"I beg your pardon?!"
"You have made an effective yet alternative method to cure boils." He quickly cleared his throat but couldn't hide his amusement at the student's mistake.
"How?" Delilah exclaimed. "I followed the recipe exactly, not a gram more nor a gram less than required."
Though the smile didn't vanish from the alchemy professor. "I assume you found the notebook of Georg am Wald."
Delilah hesitantly gave a nod of admittance.
"The notebook actually belonged to George Wald. An easy mistake to make but like you, many ambitious students of before have done the same mistake believing they have found the recipe for Panacea."
The girl was mortified. How could she be so foolish and fall for the lies of a fraud?
Almost seemingly sensing her humiliation, the Professor assured her. "This may not be Panacea but it is the best cure of boils I have ever seen. I hope you continue to bring this level of dedication to your classes, Miss Sweets."
"Thank you, professor." Delilah left, and despite her disappointment in the Panacea, she still has confidence that one day, she will make an actual panacea.
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Poetry from my old blog
Lunar Hiking Blog
November 2018
Obligatory First Post
It seems like life is live on the cloud as much as or more than on the ground, these days. I have been reluctant to join the jetstream for a long time, and at first I thought it was because something was wrong with me. All my life I told that something is wrong with me. But it was a lie. I was forced to live a lie where I was a problem child. I don’t know where the lie began originally, but I think I know, and I think the lie has twins, and it has children, and there is a whole family of lies that I will have to live my life and write my word to solve now.
My task is Sisyphean and grueling, but it is not hopeless. I was betrayed, and all you can see of me now is the mud and the tar that smothers my face. Soon you will know my true face. You will see my true name. The two will not be muddled once more or ever again.
I look forward to greeting my audience again, such as it is, such as it may become.
The truth is my song, and my will is to unweave the lie that cloaks my name, and to reveal to you the crooks who stole my honor.
You can scoff if you want, or sneer, but the ugliness on your maw will betray you in the end. You will see. We can be friends.
I was never your enemy.
The cloak is not a garment
it is a straight jacket.
A gag.
And now you know where to go to find my voice. So soon, you will see. This sun sets, and the moon also rises. Tides bide their time.
By and by, I will drip me inkwell over this canvas and build such castles in the sand as you have never dreamed.
Adieu.
poetry poets on tumblr spilled ink writing the truth
Nov 14
Ides of November
I need a palette cleanser. The labors of my day involved traipsing back through the mud where I did not want to go again. It is raining in Norcross, Georgia, at my dusty roach motel. I am recently risen from the dead. The hour is appropriately late. I have been studying. Laboring to hone my voice, sharpening my pen.
Here I am. Growing crooked. My back grows bent over my keyboard, I peck at the keys like it is a piano. I have made a plan that I intend to follow. I am still filling in blanks. I leave notes scattered around here and there, and sometimes they make the melody that I longed for to begin with if I’m clever, and I’m quick.
Most of my notes blow away like dead leaves in the wind. Most of my ink has been spilt into fire. My heart was pierced when I was young. It never healed. I tried to give in and die. but I couldn’t die.
What does the goat say to the butcher before the slaughter offered for heaven’s floor?
I’m a tongue tied trapecista, wanna be a malabarista.
poetry poets on tumblr
Nov 15
Literary Hyperbolism
As we look at the world changing around us today, we have to ask ourselves how we are able to accomplish this change. We all want to move forward. Nobody wants to be stuck in the past. Nobody wants to suffer needlessly. We all want to be whole, we all want the world to ourselves. We all want the world to be our oyster. Sadly, we to have to share.
[[Or is that sad? It is a big oyster, it might be a joy to share]]
But, there is only one oyster. And we are the oyster. And it gets even more complicated. It’s even kind of funny if you think about it. But if you don’t think, then it all only goes to hell. It turns toxic faster than a real clam shell will sitting on a raw bar. After that, the only option left is REVULSION.
Revolt.
Yes, that unholy word. The word that breaks oaths. The hammer that shatters the covenant.
Somehow, it has to be accomplished. Like a purgative is used to cleanse the body of a toxin, some words exist to retrieve toxins from our souls, to expunge them, to purge them, to heal us, to make us whole again. That is their purpose.
I coined the term Literary Hyperbolism to explain this process of saying what needs to be said in order to get done what needs to get done.
I believe that it is a case of ends justified by means. The means may be ugly, were ugly, and I DO apologize for them. I didn’t like it. I didn’t ask to surf the vomit tide out of God’s gall bladder. I didn’t ask to be the chicken bone that lodged in his magnanimous craw. But I was! I am! I had to be! I had to be free! I had to breathe! I had to see light again! I had to get to fresh air! I was dying! Don’t you see?
I know it sounds grotesque, I know it was gruesome, I know it was horrid, it was ugly, it was crude, rude, mean, and I made mistakes. I am human and I am still growing up. I was a child when the worst thing that could have happened in my life happened in my life and I have remained a child in so many ways ever since, and will remain so until I can heal. I am still a child in these many ways. I write to you know as a child. I write from my smallest self.
Please forgive the child that I am for saying ghoulish things to get ghoulish things gone from my head, and much farther from my heart than they ever were, where they NEVER were.
Some things are never meant to see the light of day. Some things are designed to stay buried. Some of the things I said were those things. I did not ask to have them dug up. I did not, in fact, even know the yard was there. I didn’t know that I was supposed to be a dog, or that the yard existed, or that anything was even buried there before I came to the professionals that I came to to ask for help. And that is the true start to that story.
Let me break out of verse and spell it out as plainly as I can: I went to the soothsayer for wisdom and she gave me trickery. She sent me to a swampy yard filled with toxic waste and ghoulish people, and they were rude to me there. I asked for help there like a fool, because I am a fool, and I was spit on, and harassed, and called names. By the time I left I was covered in their foul offerings, so I gave something back, and then I walked away, and I never looked back, and I never will.
Whatever you have heard, whatever you were told, is a betrayal of the covenant that is supposed to keep the lid on that particular pandora’s box closed. I wish I had never heard of it. I wish that the therapist I went to for advice with dealing with my sexual abuse trauma had not had sent me to a website designed for fetishists. She made a mistake that she owes me a an apology for, and before I will apologize for anything I said, I believe she is entitled to speak first. Thank you for your time and attention to my message.
Your friend,
The ghost kid; the defaced, the deformed, dehumanized, defamed. The dead burning handle of a structure fire.
The King of ashes. The deposed persona.
Who tore the veil from the freezing blue eyes of your buried sins.
Calumny Rewrite poetry poets on tumblr spilled ink writing the truth
Nov 17th, 2018
Eclipses
Burned like Icarus under the sun I sat down to tell a page about my mind, because there was no one else listening. I have ambitions.
I wanted to go home.
The monolith casts a long shadow over the November leaves brown in the gutter.
I’m shattered.
I wanted to be whole.
Blockages cloud my light as the cold ache of winter approaches. I know that bitter wind too well. I pray God keeps the wind at my back. I’ve buffeted on the wind. Buffet me on the wind. Float me forward, man.
I want to go home.
The sun doesn’t shine in my life anymore. I was cast out. Thrown away for being broken. I don’t have tears left. I don’t understand it. They were wrong, they ostracized me like I wasn’t their own son.
I guess my life is just a lie. I’m just a lie. Just barely alive.
But the truth flares in my heart like the sun in the sky. My life is a tapestry of terror torn behind me.
It follows me like my shadow. It tears at my heart and tears my eyes.
The only way to cast away the curse is to tell the tale, from start to finish, the whole sordid affair, starting with the lie that has been pedaled to me about my conception. The horror ascribed to me by the family that should have honored my assault with vengeance and justice, but responded with rebuke and estrangement instead.
I’ll be accused of casting stones if I even open my mouth to breathe.
I anticipate my unasked for rivalry with the same predators who preyed on me before, who waited for me to rear my head again, to strike me again, like a mole in a penny arcade machine. I have lived through my shared of slander and effacement at the hands of psychopaths.
My flame will never be snuffed, though I have been doused with acid and piss.
I will not be desecrated again.
poetry poets on tumblr spilled ink writing the truth
Nov 19th, 2018
Rough Delivery
What do you want me to say? I’m an open book, a blank page. Why are you all treating my life like it is a game? I was assaulted in my sleep.
There’s nothing artful to say about that. It was rape. It stole my youth. It crippled me and destroyed my life. It shattered my brow.
And all the family did was brow beat and brow beat some more, they all told me I was asking for it. I ain’t got nothing nobody wants, they told me.
I’m a waste of DNA. That’s the truth to hear my closest kin tell the tale.
No telling what kind of sick, unwilling role I have played in their narcissistic fantasies.
I didn’t know that I was born into a den of vipers, and now it’s almost too late. I am really poisoned. I am watching my flesh wither and decay. I am wasting away into an existential ember, waiting on the damn antidote. I’m trying to make my own counteragent, now, out of the poison. I wonder at my antibodies. What tale do they tell? Am I to be treated as a leper? Did I ride in on a pale horse? Is any of this real?
I want to wake up from this draconian nightmare. To be a fool here, in this dream we’re all having, is nothing such as needs be scorned. Scorn worser the reptiles that cloak themselves in human skin; those whose vanity relies on slaughtering their kin like the sacrificial lamb of god, to claim victory over that infantile rivalry at last; scorn those whose will to be foremost and favored and first burns so fierce that it blots out their humanity, which they lose trying to make the world worship them. Or scorn none at all. Show compassion. I weep for my enemy.
That’s what the slaughtered missionary would have said. But Hark! I become the herald!
Behold the messenger at last. Bereft of any message any longer to deliver, except for to beg mercy.
My shattered friend, won’t they put you back together again?
poetry poets on tumblr spilled ink writing the truth
Nov 26th, 2018
Not a Martyr
Note to myself:
Talk about the story of the cursed cat and the Halloween masque on Cricket Hill. The words that became prophecies, and all the signs, omens; the wretched entanglement of my fate breaching through the boundaries of time to lash out on my youth, as if to cull me while I was young. Now, indelibly, the box has opened and I tremble before the monster I was told would come for me consequence of that original curse, which was actually only a strange design of some random neighbor’s mind uttered on the night of the masque when he decided to scare the children at the closed down community pool, where we feasted for Hallow’s eve with a tale of a haunted cat.
How did it all become so real? How can it be that all the signs of what was to be were there from the beginning?
I’ve seen through time. And it shattered me.
My shell is a marble of hardest glass; I am inside the marble.
My shield is a solid bubble of steel; my shield is impenetrable,
my enemies attacks rebound upon them.
The woman who wasn’t there wouldn’t let me take a photo and wouldn’t want me telling a story. Somewhere in my heart is an icy fear of some unforeseen horror that I know I may never hear tell of; nor will ever I know whether she yet lives and breathes, and what air it is that she does, or where.
She romanticized sacrifice. In a craven den on top of a spire I excoriated my soul in the year of the dying dog, the year I broke my arm, and it was yet to be, our twisted entwined fates; and yet, somehow, I heard her as a voice on the wind, singing, “I’ll be your sacrifice.”
I didn’t understand, and I couldn’t have, because we had not met yet. I thought it was an hallucination, a fever dream, but I know the way I know God that it wasn’t a figment of my mangled mind. It was real. It was her voice ringing in my ears on winds that tore through time. It was future meeting past. A quantum force as yet not entirely known or explained. Something that some might call destiny. I heard her voice ring in my ears, an anonymous siren’s song that could well prove fatal, as though a wormhole tied our two corners of the world together before we met for the briefest of moments that day. The poor woman was summoning the void with her song and she didn’t even know. I loved her. I worry, I fear, I have cried for her.
The sirens wail at me from behind the veil for crying this song.
I want to know where it all went away to.
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Nov 28th, 2018
Projection
It must have been about 5 years since I fell through the void into the infinite multiverse spawned on my annihilation. Crushed under the weight of that void I became, as do the stars crushed incomprehensibly under unbearable mass, something like a black hole. My misery became a dimensional gateway for devils and drakes that left me branded with their unholy fire. I am smoldering in agony every day. That is enough to say of the debt to death I still pay. It must have been around that time, around the time of my plummet through the abyss of my soul into its darkest, dirtiest, meanest depths, when I first started to see through the veil of my own delusional belief in my mortality.
Unlikelihood piled on top of unlikelihood, coincidences piled on top of coincidences into towers of laughing fate; I heard echoes of the dead in the night; my soul became as sundered and splintered as that of the first love to torture my heart. And finally I had to accept the truth of my death. Death upon death, after death again. And when there was nothing left to lose, the reality sunk into my mind that there will never be an escape from life. No matter how many times I might have sought to end it, the laws of this multidimensional infinite reality won’t allow an end to my story so abruptly.
I have started remembering my deaths now. I remembered the first one in my childhood, when I stuck my finger into the electrical outlet, and then I woke up in that other world, where a squirrel chewed through the wires on the telephone pole a few days later and his corpse exploded and rocketed across the street like a firework. Synchronous fractal projections such as those are not coincidences, I have learned to accept.
That is the first that I can recall. There were others. I can come back here, some day, and I’ll list them all that I can remember. Right here on this wailing wall.
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Nov 29th, 2018
Rooster
It’s been a while since I’ve
lifted my tufted claw to scratch at this pad, again.
I’ve been ruminating
over the axe-wound that clefts
my red rooster’s comb from my
delirious turkey crown.
God has abandoned me, my weeping refrain.
I crow every morning at the moon
where my nest was warmed
in the glow-light of my
cyclopian God’s yellow eye.
I still believe in the Sun.
I still sing praises for the sunlight.
Even though my God’s gone blind and
cast me into the endless nocturne.
I know the butcher’s name, oh
Father, I cry and cried.
Please forgive my cross-eyed
cursing.
I know it was not you who betrayed me;
let me crow in the morning’s glory again!
Leave me not lost in the cracks before dawn,
but befriend me again, knight me
a guardian of the hen.
Let me serve
as a herald and not a signal.
Your aim was never true.
My grave stone, should you
hoist that rock before it’s due
will only you undo.
You know this to be true.
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Dec 11th, 2018
Shrieking Stars
We are all motes of dust that cling like moths to the birthing light
of an endless gallery of lights, huddled around the fire to stay warm through an
endless night.
I share the mind of the galaxy. I believe the stars are sentient.
So much energy in one place is of course sentient. The stars
are shrieking and screaming into the void.
And the last drop in the bucket is a black
hole inside a black hole inside a black hole.
- Maybe that could be the truth behind the veil?
There is only, in truth, light & darkness, truth
and the void. And darkness is only absence, and
no more real than shadows, so really there is only
light. And this life we are having is only the dream
of a sleeping star, a fusion reactor crushing lead
into gold inside of its heart, bathing the void to the limits
of the edges of the Oort cloud in its aura of life.
It is the light
that is the wall between death and life, and the stars
are light Gods, breathing life into the universe.
- And who knows what purpose it has or if it has any.
In another universe, our entire cosmos could be as
nothing more and nothing other than a massive back hole,
or perhaps a wandering rogue pit consuming the ruins of the dying verse
that came before the verse that brought us our hymnal God of light
and all her trillions of sisters, Goddesses all of them, birthing
the very fabric of existence. Beholding all of creation in their sight.
All is one and single part of the immensity of our infinite singularity.
Life is as a dream, and we live in layers on top of layers of thick illusion
that drive us and guide us, try us and ruin us, defy us and deify us.
It is a magnificent multidimensional projection of impossible intricacy
born inside the swallowing density of the pit left behind by a dying God,
an alien titan from a prior page in the endless tome of endless time.
And the regression is endless, it is infinite, it is a bubbling wellspring
of divinity. Gods give birth to new gods this way, some with souls so
vast as to host in symbiosis of some unknown order to man all the pantheon
of endless light and purifying fire. And maybe such is what we really are,
in truth - Maybe we are all one being, the eyes of a God of gods, windows
into the wellspring of endless energy that fuels this dream we share. And as
eyes that glow with the light of the cosmic soul, we stare at our reflection
too dumb and bestial in our stubborn certainty of our isolation and alienation,
too set on one perspective to recognize the reflection of our souls
onto the cosmos and onto the world around us.
poetry poets on tumblr spilled ink writing the truth
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Dec 19th, 2018
The Hours
The worst pains are the ones that blind you. I have a lot of experience with this kind of pain.
My eyes have been sliced out with razors and sewn back in again. My lashes are gashes.
My eyes are peeled – like a scab over a gaping wound.
I am raw, red, and the world is almost lost in the haze of pain that is the only constant, that was ever the only constant in my life, as the days spill into yesterdays like angry grains of glass into the hourglass.
The worst pains are the ones that define you because you must defy them, every day, as they wear you down; as it wears down your resolve, and your very sense of self.
Making a mockery of your mortality.
Mock-crying for the plight of your fate.
The worst pains are the ones you cling to because they bring the light and you’re afraid of the darkness.
Even when you already know you prefer that darkness to the stinging burning brightness of the light.
I feel as if the fires in my heart are all already ash;
the only fire that urns my soul is the scorching brand across my eyes;
I am breathing fire, choking on flames that flow like gouts of cursing smoke over my maw.
And I know that I am cursed to burn until I give in to the endless night.
I, with my draconic tongue, and my frozen moon in my Western sky, my shattered portside—
collide with I inside a tempest throbbing through the wreckage of the bombed out cathedral of my skull,
where hell itself burns beneath my battered dome, where the floor is fissured in the center,
where all of my proud arches are pitted into unpitiable dungheaps of sulfurous rubble—
where evil winds howl through the hollow effigies that appear to you leering from
my bombed out windows.
Those mosaics that were most cruelly deformed by the raining bombs
that were flung from the belly of a seethingly self-obsessed, cruel and deliriously sly white-scaled dragon.
Where the dragon itself was beset with mirrors rather than eyes in its calcified, cold collected gaze.
I, with my little eye,
I have felt these pains.
They were my wound.
Then, I invited you into my world. Into my realm.
Where I am sovereign of my soul.
Where even I am only a beggar.
Where I invited you because
I wanted a witness. I wanted a witness to witness my witless surrender to the onslaught of the hours,
as these pains become birthing pains.
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Jan 12th, 2019
To: From:
Every start I make is a false start in this game I play with my memories, in this empty, shivering room, where I try to remember who I am and pick it apart from what happened to me. I don’t want to pick up the pieces. I want to throw it all away, and I want to smash my brains out on the floor and on the brick walls, and vomit my past and run away like everybody else.
For some reason I can’t. For some reason I drag the past around with me like it is some dark, serpentine, dragon’s tail that clouds the sky ominously where ever I go, making the whole world shrink away from me; old men clutch their pearls, my own mother slams the door in my face.
I am dragging around a hole in my heart.
My glass eye is freezing inside my skull. I feel the wind fighting against every crevice of my being when I work up enough grit to grind my teeth on and make my moves in this desperate game of chess I play with the titans in my life. They barely notice me. They won’t countenance me. Each piece they move lands with a thunderous blow on the landscape of my soul, as I try desperately to stop time long enough for my past to catch up to my present, long enough for me to blink away the briney tears that well up in my one good eye while I fix my gaze on God’s newest monstrosity.
A Janus-faced, pale shadow of my idols, as duplicitous as it is grotesque; glaringly frigid, magpie-eyed while it sunders the threads of my fate with their greedy, wretched traitor’s claws.
The girl in the mirror of my soul is gone.
She left a black feather lying in her wake.
It is a declaration of war. A symbol of dark intentions. She brandishes a lie with a razor’s edge against the fragile paper trail I left in monument to the truth.
A harpy receives her back into the folds of her spotted wings, and my voice falls false inside an echo chamber, for when the ringing echoes of my own wailing had almost convinced me I could still be saved.
My heart flat-lines.
There was never meant to be any shame in telling the truth. The victim does not bear the blame for her secret wound, just as I should never have borne the blame for mine.
I did not bear false witness, I did not betray the truth of what happened. She did. She did not have to be ashamed. It was not her shame.
And this is not my shame.
We only get one shot in the world, life is not a game—
I won’t get another go around. So, why should I carry the flame?
“I don’t want your torch, torch-holder.”
That’s what I should have said—
But the runner is gone. I am stranded with the pain, left holding this unwanted flame
While the vandals scurry away like roaches from the torchlight of my screaming, fluttering skull.
My house burns to ashes while my childhood melts like wax.
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Jan 24th, 2019
#confessional poetry#poets on tumblr#poetry#poet#writers and poets#the tortured poets department#original poem#disability#discrimination#child abuse#facial disfigurement#spilled ink#spilled poetry#mental anguish#pain and trauma#trauma#complex ptsd#ptsd recovery#evidence
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Text
SHUT OUT
Jacob
The Bayard College hockey team isn’t where I thought I’d be a season ago. I was a rising star in the Canadian major junior league, cruising toward a spot on an NHL roster—until a single disastrous night on the town brought it all crashing down. Now I’m out of options, except for playing well, studying hard, and staying away from girls. I shouldn’t be flirting with the hottest, sweetest chick I’ve ever met. But maybe she can actually help me out…
Skylar
I know Jacob is out of my league. I’m just trying to go with the flow, which isn’t easy when six feet and four inches of total hockey hotness is making a play for me one moment, then giving me the cold shoulder the next. Then he suggests a ridiculous plan that could help both of us. My head tells me this rugged athlete isn’t worth my time, but my body says something altogether different. Risking my heart for Jacob may be the craziest thing I’ve ever done . . . but I won’t let him shut me out.
My Review
5 ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
This is a hockey series that is sweet, sexy, and fun, entwined with a serious side that dealt with rape culture and bystander intervention. I admire that the author took on this difficult subject but this young adult sport/fake romance trope has so much more in it. I loved how realistically the main characters dealt with this subject.
Jacob Flass finds himself at Bayard College playing ice hockey and getting a second chance at his dream to get into the NHL. Now with a new team, and a new coach he must stick to the straight and narrow as well as go through a Sexual Assault Prevention Awareness Program (SAPAP).
Skylar Lynwood was starting her Sophomore year at Bayard College with some serious goals, after suffering a terrible first year, that ended in one of her best friends taking his own life. But after going through counseling and getting involved herself in the new SAPAP team she is ready to try to make her parents happy.
These two meet and there is an immediate attraction and chemistry. Leaving a lasting impression upon one another, but they both have serious goals getting in the way. Time and time again these two keep running into each other and just can’t get the other out of their head. Finally Jacob suggests a fake relationship that quickly turns into a real one. These two have so much in their young lives that they are keeping from others and each other. When all is revealed will these two survive the aftermath? You will need to read to get all the juicy details.
I received an early copy and this is my honest review.
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Dear X
X, this letter is for you. When I think of missing out on an overseas experience and a degree I wanted to study or of continuing a career I had no passion for, I feel disappointed in myself. I already have all the theories I needed to rationalise all these years and deep down am aware that no one has the rights to interfere with people's life choices, because no one can be responsible for one's life except for herself. Perhaps these are things that I can have control over, outside emotions. I have failed myself terribly by letting people take the power of choice from me.
Dear X, I'm sorry that you felt this way. Parents' divorce was a conclusion not yours, but it impacts you nevertheless. You were abandoned by your own parents, you were unloved. No one taught you how and you were too engrossed finding love. You think you were saved by being your parents' side, but that is outright abuse. No one was there to guide you and you were too busy dropping into abyss. Too young, too many responsibilities. Just one of the city children grown in a haste. I felt the loneliness from not getting to express my feelings without fear and judgment. Where is the unconditional love? I don't enjoy having words placed in my mouth, or to be wary and disappointed in life. This early midlife crisis that never seemed to end. I feel like my feelings are secondary, sometimes I wanted to be given permission to lose control and be heard sometimes. They say a bad child impacts one for life. Who were the people before they had children, what are their dreams? I am interested to know. I forgive people who tell me they wanted to die. They are wrong, it was the only way they learnt to keep people by your side. Depression is unmet needs revealed. I just need more patience with personal boundaries, for sanities' sake. Sometimes, too much understanding breeds animosity, and itself is a hidden irresponsibility. Life is strange, but i think you can unsubscribe yourself from their issues. I wanted you to know that you can be okay with intimacy and you are feminine. You are free to cry if you want to. Of course, you're worthy of love! I am always here aren't I? There will be someone who will hold your hand and tell you that you are enough and beautiful. He will be faithful. No explanations given, just unconditional and your own flow of life. You'll be fine and so will I. You're alright. You're important, what you say and do is always your choice. Your real voice will be heard. There is always me around.
I wake up so very often imaging myself on my deathbed, wishing I'd had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me. I am numb. We aren't here to save anyone. I know the topics of your life from the first boy you left your heart to and the times you left yourself behind. I'll always be the best person to care for you because I already been through it all and beyond. Don't use too much force, have fun, smile, renew your faith!
Dear X, you're lost and you needed a listening ear. It's okay and safe and will be in the future. You do not have to prove yourself to anyone, not even yourself. How about putting yourself first and let others down? You are your own person, you will always have the freedom of speech and choice. You can live life as you imagined. You are your own person after all.
Thank you for these experiences that I rise above. They are not good experience, and to be honest I rather not go through these. But I will be better, I always do.
Dear myself, I hope you have learnt how to treat yourself better by prioritizing yourself first. Love better, laugh at yourself and live like there's no tomorrow. And I love you so.
X
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