#all i need now is silly juice and I have manifested as the man himself

[diaryofabeautyfiend]

Small Time Witch (23)

...haunted

Main Street is lined with cute little bars and restaurants. On most nights they were pleasantly crowded. You and Loki would frequent such establishments and you had gotten to know some of their patrons. After the snap, some of the little bars were shuttered. The ones that were still open were far less lively. People would gather to commiserate, to cry. Mostly people were tired of drinking alone.

At least twice a week you would ride your bike to Captain Kidd’s Inn and drain half a bottle of Jameson with the bar tender Jason. He lost his wife in the snap. You would usually stay until last call which happened to be whenever Jason felt like closing up. He would offer to take you home and you’d usually end up fucking.

There was absolutely nothing behind it. The two of you just needed to feel. Some nights it would be quick and dirty then he’d leave. Neither of you would say a word. Most of the time you didn’t even get undressed. On some occasions you would drink more then pass out in bed together.

You didn’t sleep in the master bedroom with him. You stayed in Thor’s massive bed where the two of you could sleep as far apart as possible. It was nice to feel the mattress sag with his weight. Occasionally you would sleep on his chest when you really needed it. He never pushed you away. Sometimes he would rest on your stomach and cry silently in the dark.

Anytime he spent the night, you dreamt of Loki. The first time it happened he didn’t say anything. He just looked displeased. When it happened more frequently he began to make comments. He mentioned how you stunk of whiskey or how he hated seeing you with another man. You never answered him. It was just a dream.

After the tenth time you decided to bite back. “You’re dead. You left me. You don’t have the right to be angry at me. Piss off, ghost.”

It took him a while but he finally summoned enough power to manifest a spectral version of himself. When Jason left Loki appeared. It was only for a moment. You didn’t trust your eyes. You threw back some water and headache medicine and retired to the couch.

A few days later you noticed the bedroom door was open. You only ever went in there to grab new clothes. You didn’t shower in your bathroom and you never disturbed the bed. When you left the room you always locked the door. When you went to close it you swore you saw him sitting in your chair in your reading nook. You felt too ashamed to go to the bar after that.

Jason texted to see if you would be around. You thought about ignoring him but couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You just said you needed some alone time. He said he’d be by later to check on you.

That’s what people did now. They checked on each other. At around 12:30 there was a knock on your door. It wasn’t Jason on the other end. It was Hilde.

You were pretty certain no one called her by her name. Everyone just called her Valkyrie. You were the only person who bothered to ask what it was. Thor randomly sent her to check on you. He couldn’t bear to look at you after the final failed attempt to right this tragedy. She didn’t mind driving out. It was a welcome escape for her from New Asgard.

It started with her bringing you food (which you didn’t need) then morphed into good friends drinking and laughing. She was the only one who made you laugh these days. Then it turned into sloppy drunken make out sessions to full on fucking.

You loved fucking her. She was soft and always smelled divine like salty sea air. She was an absolute wizard with her tongue and fingers. She taught you how to eat her pussy. You were an excellent student.

You stepped aside and let her in without a word. You pulled her to you by her belt and swallowed her tongue. She was always so hungry for you her Kærasta. From the little Norwegian Loki had taught you, you knew that meant girlfriend. Though you never put a label on it you supposed you were.

“You smell like the bartender” she said breathless.

“Sorry. Come shower with me. I’ll get rid of him” you smiled against her neck.

You pulled her towards the hall bathroom. Though not nearly as big as the master, Loki had to make sure Thor could fit comfortably in the shower. It was more than enough room for the two of you.

“Don’t you have a big bathtub in your bedroom?” You froze.

“Yeah. I don’t use it.”

“Can we tonight? I need to relax.”

“I haven’t since...Loki and I....”

“Sssshhh, Elskan. We don’t have to. I just thought it would be nice.” She slipped her hand into the waistband of your leggings and was pleased to find no panties underneath. You braced against the wall as she expertly teased your clit.

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt” you whispered.

“That’s my good girl.”

You rinsed a layer or two of dust out of the tub and fished a new sponge out of the cabinet. She undressed and pinned up her hair. Once the tub was filled, she slid into the spot that Loki usually occupied.

The tub was wide enough for her to spread her legs. You sat facing her and she pulled you in so your cunts were pressed up against each other.

You kissed again pressing as hard into her body as you could. She held you with one hand and tweaked your nipple with the other. Before long the pressure was too great and you had to move. You rode each other into your first of many climaxes that night.

You spent the rest of your bath soaping each other’s bodies and she washed your hair. When you got out you slicked each other with one of your oils and she braided your hair. The whole thing was so intimate. You loved pampering each other. Clearly you both needed the attention.

She pulled you onto the bed and felt your body hesitate. “Do you want to go to another room?”

“No. It’s ok. I just haven’t slept in this bed in ages.”

Her face split into a smile that was so sinful a fresh burst of wetness trickled out of your snatch. “Oh, Kærasta. You think daddy would drive all this way at this time of night to sleep?” She grabbed one of your nipples between her teeth and shook your breast like a dog. You giggled for the first time in forever. That’s when your water glass flew onto the floor and shattered.

“Shit. I wasn’t even near it.” You crawled across the bed to get to the door. You came rushing back in with a broom. She moved to help you, “No. Stay on the bed. I’ve got it. I guess he didn’t like that.”

“He who?” She looked around the room suspiciously.

“This is going to sound silly but, I think Loki visits. I know. I should seek help.”

“I wouldn’t exactly be surprised. It would piss him off royally to know that I was bedding his wife. We never really got along.” Her laugh was carefree and melodic. You were visibly upset. “Hey, Y/N. I’ll stop. I’ll hold you all night if you want. But, I think you need. A. Release.” She kissed her way down the column of your neck. You melted in her palm.

“I need both.” She laid you down on the bed and spread your legs. She licked her way up her thigh to your dripping pussy and slowly dipped in her tongue into your folds.

“You’re always so wet for me, Kærasta. Do you like it when daddy licks your pretty pussy?”

“Mmmm. Yes, daddy. I want your fist.”

“What my good girl wants, my good girl gets.” She massaged your opening with her thumbs inserting them and pulling you apart gently. She coaxed the muscles helping you relax. She flattened her tongue and pulsed it gently. The sensation was overwhelming. She eased in three fingers helping you to stretch more. You arched your back off the mattress.

“Fuck. Daddy that feels so good. I need more.” She buried her hand up to her wrist. It burned but it felt exquisite. You fucked back into her face and came harder than you had in a long time.

“I want to make you cum. Sit on my face” you said as she plunged her tongue back into your mouth.

You pulled her on top of you and hooked your arms around her to pull her thighs taught. You pulled her down and licked slowly around the opening then plunged in your tongue. She gasped and grabbed on to the headboard. You made slow concentric circles around her clit. Every now and then you’d suck a little making sure to get the hood too. Two fingers fucked deep into her cunt carefully manipulating the soft spongy button inside. You picked up the pace building a rhythm that had her moaning and cursing. You moaned back to encourage her. When her thighs started to shake you pulled her down harder so she could fuck your face bathing you in her juices.

You licked her until she relaxed. She slid off of you and down to the bed. You wiped your faces on a towel and wrapped your body around hers. For once you were able to make her relax and feel like a precious little spoon. She hummed and smiled in her sleep.

As you drifted off you felt Loki looming around you. You held Hilde tighter hoping the feeling would go away. It only grew stronger. Unable to rest you slid your arm from under her and went to the kitchen for tea. When you heard Loki’s voice you nearly dropped your cup.

“My lord! You don’t need to scare me like that! Am I dreaming again?”

He was sitting at the kitchen table staring at you longingly. He wished you could sit on his lap and kiss him until the steam came screaming from the kettle. It was an act that you preformed so many times that it seemed trivial. Nothing seems trivial anymore. “No. You are very much awake. Is this what you do now? You bring random people into our bed? Drink every night until you pass out?”

“Oh calm down. It’s Valkyrie. I like her. She makes me feel something. I mostly don’t feel anything like I’m not here.”

“Yes, I’m sure she’s thoroughly amused that she makes you scream her name in our marital bed.” He spat the words at you. All of the joy snapped from your face. It hurt him to see it.

Over the last few weeks he watched you split more and more as you straddled the world of the living and the world of the dead. He was doing no better. Hel was pushing him to make a decision whether he would ask you to join him or use your magic to separate from him. As much as he wanted to be with you, it wasn’t your time. To him you barely had the chance to live. You deserved to have babies and grow old with someone. He was doing the exact thing he promised he wouldn’t. He was selfishly keeping you all to himself. This night he decided to tell you about the spell.

“I’ve been thinking and I may know a way to fix all of this. There is a healer in New Asgard who trained under my mother. She is familiar with Freyr’s magic.”

“I know. Hilde told me about her. We’ve already come up with the spell.”

“Then why haven’t you done it?”

“Because when I do your magic will fade from the house, the grounds, our rings...me. I’m not ready to let you go.”

“I am not ready either but I think it’s time, Pet. We can’t go on this way. You feel empty because part of you is literally dead. I hate that I’m doing this to you:”

“I’m not ready. I’m still trying to figure out a way to bring you back.”

He sighed heavily, “I’m not coming back this time, Y/N. You know in your heart that I’m not. You need to move on. I want you to love and have children and grow old. We’ll be together again.”

You were completely offended. The girl you were when you met your husband was not the woman you were now. You were unbridled and a force magically. He helped you to become this woman. How could you put all of that away now just to have a white picket life?

Maybe another lifetime ago you wanted kids and barbecues in the back yard. This you wanted passion and madness. He was the Clyde to your Bonnie and his outlaw heart was yours forever. But, if he wanted to be free of you, that’s what he’d get.

He saw the fire burning in your eyes. He longed to know what you were thinking. You were seething but shook it off, gave him a sweet smile and said, “You’re right. I’ll go back to see the healer with Hilde tomorrow. I’m glad we had this talk.”

“You look angry. Please don’t be angry. I love you so much. I don’t want you to die, Y/n. I’m sorry I’m gone but you’ve barely lived. Please understand this. Can you say it back?” He was desperate to touch you, to connect one more time. “Norns, wife! Will you look at me and say you love me too?! Please!”

Your voice was cold and unfeeling, “I’m not your wife. I’m your widow. Goodbye, Loki.”

You didn’t look back to see if he left. Your heart felt like it was plunged into ice. You strode back into your bedroom and used your magic to fling open his closet doors and dresser drawers. You put all of his clothes into a pile. Hilde woke up to the sound and shook the last tendrils of sleep from her head.

“Kærasta, what are you doing?” She got out of bed and threw on a tshirt. You wouldn’t look at her. She followed you and the bundle of clothes down the hall to the yard where you set them. A fireball grew in your hands and you sent it sailing into the clothes. They went up with a whoosh. She wrapped her arms around your waist and watched with you until it burned out.

“Want to tell me what that was about?” she said against the shell of your ear.

“I think my dead husband just broke up with me.” You both laughed but your laughter faded into sobs.

“Come on. Let’s go back to bed.” She held your hand all the way down the hall. You both stripped and got back under the covers. She kissed your cheeks then your eyelids then your forehead. You finally fell asleep nestled into her body.

You felt Loki’s sadness all night. He looked on from your reading loft watching your chest rise and fall, your body being comforted by someone else. If his heart was beating he thought it may have stopped the moment you left the kitchen. It was evident by the way your mood so easily shifted that you needed to be released from this burden.

——————————————————————

Loki returned back to the underworld feeling more conflicted than he did earlier in the evening. His daughter was waiting for him eager to hear his thoughts on the matter at hand.

“Welcome home, Father.” She kissed his cheek and ushered him into a soft chair.

“It seems my darling wife is angry with me. Am I wrong? Should I have done things differently?”

Hel thought for several minutes opening her mouth to speak occasionally but closing it just as quick. “Shouldn’t she have chosen her fate, Daddy Dearest?” she cocked her head to the side awaiting his answer.

“Perhaps. It would have been the wrong decision.”

“How do you know? Why are you so afraid of her being here? Am I not a hospitable hostess?”

“Of course you are, my baby. I’m afraid...”he hesitated to say out loud what he feared the moment you put on those infernal rings. “I’m afraid she’ll regret being with only me for all eternity.”

“Pity you never got the chance to know what she actually wanted. When the ritual is performed tomorrow, I’ll give you a moment to touch her warm skin before you are split from each other. Savor it, Father.”

————-————————————————-—

You woke up feeling uneasy and unsure of yourself. Anytime you felt this way you called Steve. He had a knack for talking you off the proverbial ledge. You explained the conversation and how angry you were.

“If he gave you a choice, would you choose to put on that ring or live? You already wrote the spell right?”

“I had it as a back up in case I couldn’t bring him back.”

“So in both instances, you chose to live which is exactly what he is asking you to do. It seems like you’re not conflicted at all, my dear. Sounds like you are angry that you don’t have him anymore. You’re allowed to be angry, Y/N. I certainly am.”

You were quiet. You hadn’t thought about it that way. “Why do you always know what to say?”

He chuckled, “I know how that brain of yours works. Can I come with you? I’ll drive you back.”

You didn’t know how you would be after but knew you didn’t want to be alone. Hilde couldn’t stay away for too long. “I would love it if you came.”

Steve arrived in under an hour. This was his first time meeting Hilde. When he extended his hand she pulled him in for a hug. She smelled like you all warm and spicy. He didn’t ask but judging by her constant touching, he could imagine.

The drive up was quiet. Hilde kept a protective hand on your thigh the entire way there. When you first started hanging out you made her a playlist of your favorite Midgardian pop songs. You made her a new one every time she came to visit. The one she had blaring on the radio was your road trip mix. She sang at an obnoxious volume trying to get you to sing along. When “Shut Up and Drive” popped on you couldn’t help but laugh. You sang at the top of your lungs right back at her. For someone so ancient she certainly had the spirit of a twenty something woman.

When you arrived in New Asgard Thor met you with the healer. Maja was an old careworn. Her eyes were soft and knowing. She took you by the hand and lead you into her space. Thor was noticeably silent as she explained the task at hand. When she asked for your wedding rings Thor asked everyone to leave for a moment.

“I don’t think I have to ask how you are feeling, sister. I’m sure it’s the same way I feel. Hopeless.”

“I’m beyond that now. I’ve tried everything, Thor. I can’t bring him back.”

He sniffled and turned away from you so you couldn’t see him cry, “He’s the last of my family, Y/N. This just feels so...permanent.”

You wrapped your arms around his waist. He hugged you back and you both cried.

“What a sorry pair you two make.” Loki appeared in the room solid but glowing. You reached out your hand and he took it kissing his way up your arm.

“What? What is this, Brother?”

“Your niece sends her love. In a cruel twist of fate, the spell is only truly successful if both of the souls are near each other. The rings are a fine substitute but my darling daughter thought she would gift her new mother with one more moment.”

You felt like all the air was sucked out of you. He ran his hands over your skin trying to etch your warmth and softness onto his soul. He spoke to Thor but never took his eyes off of yours. Thor squeezed his little brother with all of his might. Loki never let your hand go.

When Maja and the others came back into the room they didn’t exactly look shocked but they were confused. Maja promised to explain later.

She had the two of you join hands just as before and you each held your rings. She spoke a language you didn’t understand and once again came the golden light. This time it receded from the two of you rather than the Yggdrasil. You began to feel him fading from you and you broke down. He pulled you towards his body and held you with all his might.

Once the ritual was almost completed Maja spoke to the two of you directly. “Once I say this last part, your soul will not be able to sustain itself here on Midgard. If there is anything left to say, now is the time.”

You looked into his eyes and cleared your throat, “You talked so much about how you were never enough. Not to your people your father or even your brother. You should know you are everything to me. All I can hope is that I’ve been enough for you. I will never stop fighting for us, Lok. In this life or the next, we will be together again. I swear it.”

He didn’t have a speech for you. No pearls of wisdom to send you off into the rest of your life. He held your face in his hands and kissed you for the last time. This was not a kiss of arousal but of love and the feverish need to consume you. His mouth tasted salty. You weren’t sure if was your tears or his. The two of you embraced while Maja continued. He pressed his lips to your ear and whispered “I love you” over and over again. Your cries were too loud to hear the final words. You felt the last shreds of him falling from your fingertips. On a breath of air he was gone.

Steve held you as you sank down to the floor. Thor and Hilde sat down with you. The three of them held you and cried along with you but all for very different reasons. Your rings, now unremarkable clippings of the Yggdrasil tumbled from your hand. Steve picked them up and put them in his pocket.

You didn’t stay around much longer. Thor retreated back home. You made him promise to come visit even though he would never step foot in your house again.

Hilde kissed you and said she would be back soon. “You will call me tonight and at least ten times a day until I see you again, Kærasta. Say yes.”

“Yes, I will. Thank you for being there today.” You offered her a weak smile and she kissed you again. You grabbed Steve’s hand and held it all the way home.

#marvel #marvel witches #loki laufeyson #loki x reader #mcu x reader #steve rogers fanfic #captain america x reader #steve rogers x reader #loki angst #valkyrie x reader

[hellsprite]

hi, I’ve had some wine, it’s 2am and I’m rewatching Phil’s Moving Out - Keep it or Yeet It video. Is this my favorite Phil video ever? Maybe! I laughed throughout this vid in a real way - not just like a hehe funnie :p but real, serious laughter. Here’s some notes.  

WE’re MOVING

Phil ‘discovering’ the basket of seemingly random but perfect for a video items is so dumb but at least he’s like “I knew it was there!!!!!!” love this growth

Like a shameful…………  lover

god i love phil

Vibrating Sloth, Put It On Your Back Like A Sloth Friend

Naked Man Apron — countdown to Phil saying 9-pack oh he said it

Koala souvenir pic, historic!

Spon Break

Okay we’re back, what’s next? OH. It’s THESE. It’s….. Like……. A Million….. photo booth photos……………………………………………. of me and Dan :)

Okay so this part where Phil acknowledges Dan’s sexiness is so cathartic like… YEAH!!! We know! You Know! Phil, you really know. And a line was crossed and we’re here now. Phil casually and jokingly mentioning that his bf is hot is something we have not seen outside of dailybooths and formsprings so uhhh yeah, I guess you could say I’m pretty happy.

god phil is also hot, btw

mad at these pajamas very mad, ew

Phil and Katya interact tiny hands challenge — i’m manifesting

Mysterious Hard Drive - Love this, can’t wait to see more

2 videos 1 picture

Okay

He’s concerned

OKAY

Okay listen, Phil really seems confused about what this video is, even after he sees Dan in the mirror, his face is still like scrunchy and puzzled but he also keeps filming and keeps talking like he absolutely knows there is nothing shady happening, because please. But I think he’s also like ‘but where am I if Dan’s there?’

And then he sees himself and he figures it out and hey, remember how Phil is really not a good actor? This ain’t acting. But it is very cute, A+ narrating and mystery solving.

I laughed so hard at that fucking styrofoam chair because i KNOW this is something they have mentioned in passing but like it’s not something that I think about on the regular so I can’t tell you when or where I heard them talk about it but anyway. When I saw it I was like, “OH THAT CHAIR HAAHAHAHA” like I was in on the joke. Love this.

omfg

person juice

FUCK that’s so god damn funny and dark person juice are you kiddin me

p.s. did I just google the word juice to make sure i was spelling it correctly because i looked at it too long? yes!

Chopsticks from the CHOPstick Challenge, another favorite video of mine.

Fan Edition CAH: oh we’re starting out with a gaping something ;). Pete Wentz and Harry Styles. Meaty Legs. The End!

I am dying over that crystal looking exactly like a lil chicken breast. I never noticed in videos and never read comments so this was news to me and the reports were TRUE AND WELL-RESEARCHED.

Okay. First of all, I need to know how old Phil was when he bought this gelly foot bath for his own MOTHER. Because I think it was probably only a year ago. Second of all, Queen Kath was like ‘...uhhhhhhhhh yeah no, thanks though’ which is absolutely correct.

I am laughing so hard at this foot bath, how silly!

Remember going on holiday????

Dan and Phil play suck and blow

Dan acting like there’s anyone else on earth in normal times, let alone during a pandemic.

“If you’re using the spa with a friend, why not ask them to pamper…..” Dan’s not having it, and I get that

Pause for maybe the only real ASMR moment Phil or Dan has ever inserted into their videos - not my thing particularly, but I appreciate the focus on the squishy sounds without the added and overdone harsh whisper mocking ASMR — hi, I’m hellsprite and I’m here to talk to you today about the dangers of ridiculing healthy and harmless coping mechanisms. In this essay I will —

Phil is having so much fun

Dan saying this is the most upsetting thing he has done or seen this year is a lie because he did see Phil in those fake beards and I for one have not forgiven that.

Blurred feet, unblurred feet — blurred feet sexier hehehehehe

Phil found his groove, and also just figured out what toenail clipper looks like????? WAIT

Does Phil not automatically know what a toenail clipper looks like? WHY Would he say, “I thought it was a hair clipper tee hee *giggle*” WHATTTT I am very confused by this. I could blindfold myself, touch a pair of shears in one hand an a toenail clipper in the other and know exactly which was which without hesitation. I’m mad again.

“WHY DID YOU BUY IT!!!!” — Dan, asking the real questions. Kath co-signs.

Okay we’re going around the apartment now and keeping or yeeting……… plants, basically.

Oh wait it’s not just plants, I’m so cynical!!!  Bye & Sign! Bye red puzzle (?) mirror! Bye Hulk! Bye Iron Man!  

Their peace lily does look glossy and perky and lovely.

Bye yoga ball!

Bye Entire Room of Boxes??? Do you know how much money I would pay to see inside of those boxes??????????????????? Like 10 bucks max!!! ugh

Quick reminder in the outro that Phil is very cute!!

#phan #i loved this video i laughed and laughed

[zuffer-weird-girl]

Could i request overhaul’s s/o avoiding him because she has laryngitis and doesn’t want to give it to him. But he wants to take care of her?

I had this shit daily in my childhood BEGONEDEMON

Overhaul/ Kai chisaki x sick!reader (2)

Hoarseness, Sore Throat, pain while swallowing, dry coughs, sniffling all the time and a possible fever?

Shit... is coming.

How, you wonder? Ever since you moved in with your boyfriend you had to get used to his neurotics cleaning habits, almost everyone in the base had to actually...

Ever single week, cleaning duty, suddenly a splash of blood on the wall or on the ground? "Chrono clean that up" "Yes sir."

Sometimes you felt pity over Kurono...

But your lucky self had the luxury of getting Laryngitis... worst of all? It was super simple to catch it! You know what that means, right?

"Why would you want to stay on another room?" Asked Chisaki not even bothering to look away from his paperwork but surprise evident in his voice and slightly hurt because c'mon he needs you to sleep.

"I-I need to get some stuff done that's all! I can't do it in our room, it will be messy" that would certainly convince him "It will only be for a couple of days, I swear."

He sighed, flipping another page "What exactly you're planning to do?"

"Uh... it's a secret?" Idiot! You damn idiot!

He finally looked at you, those golden eyes boring into your soul almost.

"(Y/N)." He spoke in an warning tone, almost telling you 'don't lie to me' just by only saying your name.

No, if you tell him you are sure he is going to be disgusted, and god prevents if he catches this from you.

"I-it's not a big de-" for your own luck you started to cough, just in front of Overhaul... Thankfully you were wearing a mask he gave it to you not long ago as well pressing your palm over it.

You returned your gaze to Chisaki who now was with a expression of concern; even with his mask on his face; but still jerked away with his chair even if you two weren't that close.

"Angel, are you okay? You're getting sick?"

"W-what me? Pfff! No, I just ended up choking while talking." You force a laugh to enfasis your lie "Silly me!".

Overhaul arked a brow and stared straight to your eyes.

"I don't think you could just gagged all of the sudden." He didn't think, he knew.

"Well, the way I'm clumsy as hell I wouldn't doub it." You spoke with a straight face to hide your own cold sweat of nervousness.

He only hummed sarcastically while standing up.

"A-ah! I just remember I had to put my clothes on the washer!"

"(Y/N), your laudry was done by Nemoto just yesterd-"

"I spilled juice over my shirt! My bad!" You laugh in a effort to hide the upcoming cough and the irritation on your throat while making your way out of his office.

"(Y/N) I don't think we already ended this discussion-"

"Had to go *cough* bye bye love you have a good work!" You close the door while almost running to a room that was still free for you to use.

Mimic entered shortly after in his office still staring at the door before directing his attention for his boss.

"Not wanting to barge myself into the issue Overhaul, but what the hell was that?" he pointed with his thumb at the door you just run out off.

Chisaki exhaled loudly, he picked his jacket and opened the door just a half before speaking to Mimic.

"Tell Chrono to go after (Y/N). I will be out for a couple of hours." And with this he closed the door.

====================================

"(Y/N) open this door already." Hari knocked once again calling for you.

You groaned in your pillow, he was in there for hours, and apparently wouldn't go away without you.

"No way Chrono, everyone in this building can catch this, and I don't think any of us would like a irritaded Overhaul."

"Point taken, but he will be more enraged when you don't follow his orders and get the fuck out of there."

"This is for the greater good. I will only get out of here when this fucking laryngitis go away..."

You could hear a faint scoff, surely he was running out of pacience, but this was better than seing Kai's face of disgust and pure of dissapointment on you for letting this happened.

Finally silent, just before you heard a faint couple of steps coming closer and probably stopping to speak with Chrono, then the white haired man manifested again.

"(Y/N) I'm serious get out of there or I will barge myself in it."

"You do know you can catch this too right?" You point it out angrily finally lifting your head from the pillow.

"...Would you feel more at ease if you don't already know I wear a mask that covers my entire face almost all the time?" He spoke in sarcasm and you finally tired of his persistence and lift yourself from the bed.

"Fine, what is it any-" you frooze when you saw not only Kurono, but Chisaki in your front staring at you with a brow arched up and his arms crossed.

"Dismissed Chrono." The man nodded and went off without much of a word.

Traitor. Fucking traitor.

As much as you wanted to close the door again and just burry yourself on the ground, you opted for going to pick your mask again with your gaze sticked to the ground in embarrassment.

Bold of you to assume he would let go that easy.

Chisaki grabbed your forearm spining you around to look at him. He doesn't say anything, just stares... waiting for you to talk first.

Better as well do that since you don't have much of choices.

"I-I'm sorry..." you said looking again at the floor.

It was silent until Chisaki let go of your arm and spoke in a rushed tune.

"Laryngitis, huh? The symptoms were evident, just wanted to make sure."

He entered the room and silently comanded that you followed after him. You sitted on the bed and prepared for the scolding as soon as he went to the entrance of the room to close the door.

"If you hided this any longer and if I was a complete fool; like you expected me to fall for all the stupids lies you told; you could've have got a infection." He spoke in a hushed tone as he made his way to a nightstand messing with some plastic bags.

"I'm-"

"Don't say another word." You flinched, and he noticed "Apologies, but don't say anything, it will only force your throat and cause more damage... Just stay quiet for now. If it is really important speak very quiet but do not whisper."

Well, that was... Unexpected.

You observe in silence while you layed down on the bed your boyfriend mumbling some incoherent words as he took off some little boxes and numerous bottles of water.

"Mimic is bringing a vaporizer to the room while Nemoto is making some tea, it will help your nose and your sore throat, then you've got to take some of the medices..."

You stared at pure adoration at Chisaki and couldn't catch much words he was saying after. A man who simply hated touch of other people, despises with his soul any sickness; including quirks which are his main goal to eradicate but whatever; was standing right in front if you and going out of his way to get you better.

Were you the angel he so called? This time you really thought it was the other way around...

"I swear, you must've have hitted your head to start acting this way, avoiding and being a pest for everyone in here..."

Okay, maybe a fallen one...

You giggled quietly making Chisaki ends his monologue to stare questionably at you but a hint of relieve of seing your smile.

"Care to explain what is so funny?"

You spoke so quietly that he couldn't catch a single letter.

"Wait a second my love." He went to a cabinet and picked a pen and a little block of notes and handed it to you.

"This way you won't have to force your voice."

You wrote it slowly just to tease for a bit before handing it to him. Kai greedily picked up the block of notes and immediately flushed pink at seing what exactly you spoke minutes ago.

Once again, thanks for the mask to hide his weakness.

"Seriously?" He showed it to you pointing with his other hand but a smile evident on his features.

You only shrugged and give him a more brighter smile.

He huffed, closing the block and outting on the nightstand while mumbling an "adorable idiot."

He looked at you for an instant, debating with himself if he should do it or not what he was thinking, making you curious and slightly anxious.

He slowed down his mask for mere second, kissing his own middle and indicator gloved fingers to touch your lips. A simple and silly action that once you did it to him, but it made your cheeks flush anyway.

Chisaki looked proud at himself as he slowy bringed his hand back and sitted besides your form.

"Don't ever doubt I love you as well my precious angel."

"Kai..."

Ah shit this time he listened and he could feel his heart crashing out of his chest.

A knocked on the door was heard and he got up to go in the direction at the entrance, causing you to miserably pout. He notice that arrogant bastard.

"It's probably your tea or vaporizer brat, I took the day off, better appreciate that instead of working in my cause I am here with you."

Even with his kinda rude words; but also affectionate tone of voice; you beamed happily knowing you got Overhaul all to yourself.

Yay! Thank laryngitis! You were useful for once!

Chisaki rolled his eyes in false annoyance as he made his way to the door.

You were gonna be the death of him, surely...

#overhaul x reader #chisaki kai x reader #overhaul scenario #fanfic overhaul #chisaki kai scenario #bnha characters x reader #bnha villains x reader #bnha characters #bnha villains #overhaul #chisaki kai #my writing #zuffer writings #request

[monsterb0yf]

Know a Piece of Peace

Pairing: N (Cha HakYeon) [VIXX] x Reader (male)

Word Count: 2.6 k

Genre: Fluff, fantasy, romance, mythology

Summary: He comes to you to steal, but instead he is gifted something much greater. 

a/n: really the gender of the reader isn’t important except for two lines in the story, so feel free to consider this gender neutral! I didn’t originally intend on doing this but the opportunity was there and i felt inspired by the other xreaders within the collab. 

Song: Shangri-La

VIXX PARALLEL Collaboration Masterlist

       When he comes to the garden, it isn't a surprise. You see his ascension, you see the thread of a story slowly unfurl itself from its coil. You saw his family point him to the heavens. You heard the commands he received in order to prove himself. A lowly man, with nothing and no one. The only way for such a human to prove himself is to climb the roots towards the heavens and claim the fruit of your tree. It has been attempted before, and you will surely see it again. Even so, you watch in bemusement as this determined man scales the ever daunting roots of the great tree. His tenacity is endearing. You hope to bring forth a blossom from the hard pit he currently is.

      You wait when he first arrives. It was a silly human tradition, to steal the fruit of gods in hopes of proving one's worth. You have no claim over what the humans culture is though. That was your sister's choice long ago. As the younger brother, you were kept to safeguard the Higher's blessings made physical. The petals fall about your grey robe. He's climbing up the stone steps. 

       "Welcome to my orchard, human. What do you seek?" He stops dead in his tracks at the sight of you at the top of the hill. Father's wind blows and your robe smacks your ankles, your hair flutters. The human blinks. 

       "Who. . .are you?" You step down the stairs. This man is barefoot and clearly scraped from his journey. On his back is a bag, assuredly not carrying much. On his face is unease. He seems too mystified to take his hands away when you hold them. 

       "I am the keeper of this garden. A spirit of the tree and its fruit and its blossoms themselves." He looks down at your hands, obviously perplexed. 

        "But-but the lady of the leaves-" 

       "My mother cares for your leaves. She cares for the Higher's leaves. She does not," you smile down at his innocent ignorance and confused face, "care for my trees." He stammers for response as you turn back and led him up the hill by one of the hands you took. They're strong and calloused. His life has been a hard days work. Never had a lover's caress, never a child who looks to him as a star gifted to earth, never a warm embrace of a parent. He is alone, and he is cold. You bring him to the warmth that is standing beneath your ever pink, ever blossoming tree. 

       "I- I expected a goddess or… or at least no body."

        "You expected an easier time stealing my fruit."

       The human looked affronted, opening his mouth and going to protest before realizing the truth. 

       "I don't steal," came his weak reply. You hum and reach up to grab a peach from the branches. Its flesh is soft, barely retaining its shape from the lightest of presses from your fingers. Its skin is pink and gold, divine in every manner of the term. The human goes wide eyed when you hold it before him. 

        "Then you expect to ask?" He is breathless staring at the fruit. He could take it and run. He could very easily snatch it from your loose grip and sprint back down the stone steps to the roots connecting you to earth, but he doesn't. He does lick his lips and gulp however. 

       "I will beg."

       Very . . . intriguing. 

       You take the hand that never left yours and guide him to the cliff edge, where you sit and watch the humans. You have him sit beside you. The peach rests on your lap. 

       "First, sit. Take a moment's peace with me." 

      "What is your name?" 

       "Hakyeon."

        You hum. With ease, you pull the peach apart into its halves. Juice drips onto your robe and hands. The air is tantalizing sweet.

       "Why do you come to beg for my fruit, Hakyeon?" You turn to him, folding your legs. The human avoids your eyes, looking down to the earth below. He cannot see the other humans as you can. 

      "Everyone said this was the only way." You take a bite of one of the halves, letting its sweet juice coat your lips. You know the story, yet you chose to listen anyway. 

       "The only way to get what?" Hakyeon pauses. The gaze that meets your eyes is open and sincere. The words are more honeyed when they are spoken from the human's soul. 

       "Love." 

       "How do you gain love from my fruits?" 

       "Your fruit can make the finest drink in the world. A drink from it would have anyone fall in love. Nothing is as sweet and as warm and as gentle as love and your fruit. Your peaches are love manifest." 

       You mull on that. Love manifest. Could your fruits be a home-like as a lovers embrace? As warm as an early morning waking up in sunlight and a partner's arms? You wouldn't know. No human has made it this far. No one has eaten gods' fruit except for you.

       "All I want is love. I have been shunned from everyone all my life. I want a place. I want, at the least, a friend." 

       You take half of the peach and bring it to Hakyeon's lips. He jerks back the first time, feeling himself unworthy of the gift. You insist, pushing again until his lips part and at least his tongue touches the sweet flesh. You can almost see the sparks he feels at the taste. The sweetest fruit to man or god. A flavor so pleasurable it as though death itself took delicious form. He takes a bite. Juice drips down his chin onto his dirty blouse and pants. You watch him chew, feel, in interest. 

        "How does love taste then, Hakyeon? Is this what you intended to feel?" He grabs your wrist and takes more. His eyes close and roll back in clear bliss. 

       "You don't need my fruit to sense love Hakyeon. We are all deserving. You are strong and beautiful. Your heart yearns for company, but you will not find it in shortcuts." You take the peach away, Hakyeon looking dazed. Your other hand reaches out, caressing his face. You wipe the juice from his chin, smear it across his lips and cheek. His face is soft, yet imperfect. His mortality give him beautiful imperfection. He has beauty marks, his eyes are dark, his skin is enticing. His voice is melodic as he asked for more. There is no mind in how close either of you are, you holding him close enough to mix breathes and count lashes. "There is love for you, but it is not my fruit." 

       "There is nothing down there for me. I will find no love there." 

       "What do you suggest then, Hakyeon?" Your conversation is in whispers at this point. The human leans forward. There is barely even a brush of lips to the touch, but it immobilizes you. A lover's caress. You have never had another being in such proximity. He pulls away just as easily as he had approached. There is a hair's width between you. His eyes don't ask like his voice does. 

        "Let me stay with you here?"

        "This is no place meant for mortal." His hand is in your hair and it's easy to relax into. 

        "I have been here only moments, and yet I have never felt as loved and safe as I am now. Allow me to stay." 

       "Hakyeon…" You feel naturally inclined for another kiss. You're both grasping onto one another as Hakyeon slowly falls back. He tastes like peaches, but smells purely of human. Of mother's pine and soil, of father's dry wind, of uncle's hot sun. He is sweat and he is earth and he is mortal. He is excitement.

       He is crackling embers on your skin and the laughter in your bellies as petals fall down upon your bodies. His smile is dazzling and is a nail in the coffin for the deal. The peaches and other humans never have this feeling. This pleasant tingle from your lips to the soles of your feet. Hakyeon had never tasted the fruit of the gods', and you had never tasted the emotions of men. He looks beautiful on the dirt, surrounded by the pink petals already since fallen. His skin was warm and welcoming, just as his smile, as his eyes, as his laugh. You take a petal and balance it on his nose, delighted by the simplest fact that it stays and looks ridiculous. 

       "You are a very special human, Hakyeon." 

       "You are a very charming spirit." 

       "Your humans ask of you at times," you mention offhand to the lover you lean against. Hakyeon's chest is not broad or stiff with muscle, but he is warm, and his hands are on you. That is all you can ask. The two of you are under the peach tree, as was often the case. You both leaned against the trunk and watched as the panther of night sky chase away the dog's day. A sky alight in colors from the shift of the time. It will get cold soon, yet you don't even bother to fix the robe of which barely covers your chest at this point. Hakyeon's hands were the cause. They liked to roam your chest, caress the perfect body of a god. He liked to lay on it too. Fall asleep under the stars and blossoms with his nose in your neck. For a human so alone, he is well versed in keeping good company. 

       "Do they?"

       "Yes. They question if you succeeded. If you died finding me." 

       "The old me died. I found you and became anew." You smiled up at him. 

       "At times, you sound like the god of love has visited you in your dreams." Hakyeon laughed and shook his head. 

       "No. No, my god of love is right here." He pulls you closer, more flush against his side. "You are devotion taken God like form." He pulls you in for a kiss, but the question falls from your lips. 

       "Do you miss them?" 

       "Miss who?" You reach up and run a thumb over his lips, pensive. 

       "The humans, your people. All you have here is me and the fruit. Don't you miss other mortal company?" He doesn't answer at first. He's looking at you. You know he heard you. He's simply contemplating. You give him the kiss he wanted, albeit more of a peck. 

       "I miss my brothers and sisters. That is all." He fixes the robe that has fallen off your shoulder. "I am happiest here though. I don't want to be without you." You bite your nails in thought. You'd never gone to humans. You've never left your garden. You are, however, willing to do anything to make this miserable man smile. 

       "Let us go down then. I will accompany you to your family." Father's breeze picks up and blows petals onto you both. Hakyeon looks shocked. 

       "No! You've never met humans and they can be terribly cruel and-and… and my family probably doesn't miss me anyway." You pull away from Hakyeon, pouting. By now, the stars have nestled into their places in the sky and it's cold on your bare skin. Not the matter at hand though. 

       "Hakyeon, if you miss them they surely return the feeling. And I am a god, nothing humans can do will hurt more than my feelings." 

       "My love-" 

       "Let us go Hakyeon. Let us both see your family once more and be merry with them." Hakyeon sighs and pulls you back in. Your face is in his chest as he rests his head on yours. 

       "We shall see."

       When your feet first reach the ground, you are amazed. The human realm is so large, so beautiful. There are giant rolling hills and beautiful golden fields of grain that stretch on into the horizon. Your breath catches in you throat and Hakyeon looks to you with a smile. Your appearance doesn’t fit in his human world. So clean and prim, such perfect appearance. He watches you carefully step, feeling the grass between your toes. How is this so different from your garden?! It takes a moment for Hakyeon to actually get you to focus on walking to his village with him and not looking at every bug and plant you see. You hug onto his arm and walk with him to the village. 

       Hakyeon chose today because of the festival. Harvest season. There would be a huge parade, humans in costumes, plentiful sweets and desserts. Easier to hide a god in a costume, Hakyeon claimed. 

       "No one even knows what I look like. You don't need such precautions." Hakyeon hushed you. 

       "Consider it part of the festivity, then. You'll just be celebrating as a human does." The village was busy, filled with music and people. You crushed Hakyeon's hand watching in excitement. He lead you away from the crowd though, to the vendors. A mask was lovingly put on your face for you, Hakyeon tying the string and then paying. The looking class showed your disguise to be a fox. It was darling. Black with yellow and red swirls and designs. It covered your whole face, only showing your eyes. You held onto Hakyeon's hand and he guided you through the crowd. 

       "May we dance?" He came to a halt, looking back to you.

       "What?"

       "I'd like to join! It seems delightful. Please, darling." Hakyeon looked between you and the path you both had been travelling before heaving a sigh.

       "One dance," he relented. He squeaked and stumbled as you pulled him along to the edges of the square. He took your hand in his once he regained balance. 

       "I step in with my left, you step in with your right." His foot came between your legs and you did as instructed. It was a kind of rocking motion, both stepping in to one another and then stepping out. The humans were full of conversation and laughter, full of merriment. All of them, except Hakyeon. He seemed at an unease, always looking around the two of you at the crowd. 

       "What distresses you, Hakyeon?" You spoke softly on a step in. 

       "Nothing."

       "Do you not enjoy dancing?" He sighed. He was looking resolutely at his feet. 

       "I do, deeply. I do not enjoy being seen though. Especially here." You looked about and saw not eyes on either of you. Everyone was about their own little world. 

       "No one is watching." 

       "And if they are? What if they see a mistake? Or question you as my partner? I am already a stranger to this village." His tone was tragic and expression forlorn. You stopped dancing, holding his face. He was such an anxious creature and he wore his fears on his wrist. You wanted to allay them. 

       "If you love to dance, do it. If you love me, savor me. Your mortal life is much too short to live fearlessly. Act as though you do when you are high off the sweetness of the peaches. Love, and love recklessly without fear of contrition." He blinked at you, softening as he always did. Your reassurances were the honey to soothe his aching heart. 

       "You are always so loving." 

       "As I said before, you are deserving of it." He stepped into you. The lanterns cast a familiar kind of glow on him. The kind during sunsets, where reds and blues and purples all take a shine to him and make him appear ethereal. His hands reach up and tilt your mask up, not all the way, just enough for your mouth to be exposed. It's a kiss, gentle but prolonged. All the sensations melt into one pleasant buzz and you are left with a permanently good impression of the humans. They are all fascinating and lovable, just one in particular captured your heart though.

#VIXX parallel collab #vixx #my writing #Cha Hakyeon #VPCollab #vixx fanfic #vixx N #N

[cryptidofthekeys]

.

#time for silly dumbass thoughts but theres some genuine undertones somewhere underneath it #what if I just like #fuckin took Chase's last name- #now dont get me wrong- i fuckin LOVE my last name- its really good #BUT- mm Brody go brrr #I could have it Chase Brody and KEEP my last name- kinda just like maybe mm... #a middle name? ...it'd probs sound stupid and i just dont realize it #but still #seriously thinking bout just manifesting myself into Chase Brody himself #already got s o many problems n so much shit to deal with #i got his cap and his outfit essentially except for the shirt #all i need now is silly juice and I have manifested as the man himself #ya really just think sometimes ya know? #...a-alright im done fjkdlhjgfdkls if anyone sees this #no you didnt <3 #Chase's Late Night Idiocy #probs delete later but lmao i just know I'll forget

[argotmagazine-blog]

Dancing On My Own

(Silvia...)

Yes, Mickey?

(How do you call your loverboy?)

Come 'ere loverboy!

(And if he doesn't answer?) Oh, loverboy!

(And if he STILL doesn't answer?) I simply say…

I was six years old the first time I draped my father’s after-shower wrap around my waist and lip-synched for my life. In the living room of my family’s single story, ranch style home in Walnut Creek, California, I performed to “Love is Strange.” The audience, comprised of my father, stepmother, and brother, laughed hysterically at my hijinks – oh how silly to see a boy wearing a skirt and singing the woman’s part of a song! At literally the same time RuPaul was gaining notoriety working the Atlanta Circuit Parties, I, at only six years old, was slaying the Bay Area suburb living room scene and living for it, Mama!

A year later, I performed live in an oversized sweatshirt dress and leg warmers on a leather ottoman stage. Another number from this genderfuck child prodigy that resonated with my home audience was my original drag parody based on a hit Crystal Gayle song “Donuts Make My Brown Eyes Blue.” Again, I was rewarded with laughter and applause. My family truly loved me, and I was beginning to know that I was born to be a performer.

Cut to a few years later: it was a dress-up day at school for Halloween and I had no idea what to be. My stepmother came in for the heroic rescue with a waist length straight brown wig, a bandanna, a peasant skirt, and a liberal application of lipstick and eyeshadow. I looked in the mirror and instantly fell in love with myself in what would now be considered a very problematic “fortune teller” Halloween look. I can’t even imagine the accent I spoke with. Suffice it to say, if repeated today that ensemble would most definitely result in a cancel culture call out.

Year by year, I learned that I was definitely different. As a “creative” child, I was prone to talking out of turn and disrupting the class. I did not know what “being gay” was, and I had certainly never seen an “out” gay person that I knew of. The closest thing to a drag queen I knew was my Grandmother, Beatrice. She was a Portuguese powerhouse that lived larger than life in an assortment of caftans, wigs, fur coats, costume jewels, fire red fingernails, and her ever-present cocktail of choice in her hand. I lovingly called her world’s cheapest screwdriver the “Popov and Donald” after its two main ingredients: Popov Vodka and Donald Duck orange juice. The constant, comforting refrain of clinking and tinkling ice surrounded her as she stirred it steadily with her nicotine stained index finger. With parents who blasted Elton John, Neil Diamond, Bette Midler, Barry Manilow, and let’s not forget the beginning of this story, the soundtrack to “Dirty Dancing” when I was but six years old, it would seem as if the Universe was surrounding me with the perfect, magical, organic tools I would need to live my best faggotty life. Yet, In the summer of fourth grade, it all coalesced into understanding that I was truly different. Not just a creative type but there was something else, something more that separated me from the rest of the kids around me. The person who taught me this was Mr. M.

Mr. M. was my summer school theater teacher. When I saw him, I could just tell that he had the same thing that I had. That thing – the one that made me different – it was in him too. I immediately recognized it, and it was beautiful, and it made me feel so good that I wasn’t alone. It was the first time that I truly could see that there were actually adults like me too. Mr. M. had created a 4th through 6th grade summer-stock follies masterpiece that combined the story of Rapunzel with the music from Hair. It was everything my queer little heart desired rolled into a masterpiece for the stage, dusted in fairytale glitter, and laid out like a prize before me. I was cast in the dream role I could have never imagined I needed. My character was “Jacques,” Rapunzel’s best friend, confidant, and (though unspoken) very, very flamboyantly gay hairdresser. I was obviously the comedic relief – and I knew that at the time – but I didn’t care. I loved the role and despite having no idea what camp meant at the time (and certainly wouldn’t have cared if I did). I knew that this part had been created just for me, to let me shine, and I was not going to let Mr. M. down.

My stepmom stepped up like a hero again and made me look like everything that a 10-year-old, fabulous hairdresser should look like. Remember that waist length wig from my fortune teller look? Well she lovingly cut off a little 6 inch snip and braided it into the back of my big ass, blown out hair. I didn’t know or care that this was being “gay,” but I knew that I had never in my life felt more right.

In what will be a surprise to no one, I can humbly confirm that I stole the show. The audience loved me, seeing this fabulous child, living his truth, loving himself and not being afraid to shine in all his homo-glory in only the fourth grade? I was years ahead of the world and it felt amazing. In fact, before the show, we had joked in my house about the mannerisms of being gay, the flouncy walk, the limp wrists, the sassy lisp. I genuinely loved them all so much that after the performance, I began to adopt these affectations officially into my daily life, from lisping from the breakfast table: “Plleathe path the theareal” to my bedtime prayers, “in Jethus name we pray, amen”.

And that’s the moment. The moment where things changed.

“Sit down here next to me,” my father asked as he patted the bed politely. He called in my stepmother. “We should probably talk.”

After everyone assembled, my father asked thoughtfully “Do you know what homosexuality is?”

“No,” I responded quietly. I could tell immediately from his tone that 1) I was whatever that thing was and 2) that it was absolutely not okay.

“Well, it’s when two men do the things together that only a man and a woman are supposed to do together,” he lectured me. “And it is very wrong. You know how you played that part in the play, and how you have been walking and talking that way since? That’s not okay anymore. That’s how these homosexuals really act. It’s okay to act like them and laugh at them as a joke, like in the play. But it’s completely unacceptable to do those things in real life. In fact, men who do those things, well, the Bible says that they are going to hell. Do you want to go to hell?”

I did not want to go to hell. I slowly shook my head turning red, the furnace of shame stoked hot inside me.

“Good,” he said finally. “Then it’s time to stop acting like that. Back to being normal from now on.” He said goodnight, kissed me on the forehead, clicked off my bedroom light and shut the door behind him.

10…9…8… I counted down in my head. When I got to one, I thought Okay, he can’t be by the door anymore. That’s when the tears started flowing.

I still didn’t truly understand what being a homosexual was, but now I knew that I could never be one. Not only would it upset my father, but Jesus too? Well, that was just too much pressure. I was going into the fifth grade and the one thing I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt was that I did not, under any circumstances, want to go to hell.

My life was never the same from that moment on. As a child, I certainly never saw a dress or wig again. I spent the next twenty-five years pretending that I was not who I knew I was inside, trying my best to hide the traits as I got older but still knowing I had a funny voice and walk. Within a few years, I knew deep, deep inside that I was definitively the very thing I had been mandated not to be. I hid it further by marrying a woman and pretending even harder for many years that I was just a regular ol’ straight guy, just bein’ straight and actin’ straight and livin’ my best straight life. You know, lying.

I dated only women in my adolescence and finally, at age 18, I started dating my best friend. I guess we “fell in love,” though it was honestly more a relationship born of co-dependence, self-preservation, and convenience - and married at 21. For fourteen years I “played house.” To be honest, it wasn’t terrible. I had married my best friend and technically she knew I was gay as she had actually been the first and only person I had come out to up to that point. We pretended like that conversation had never happened. I thought I did an amazing job playing this role of dedicated straight husband contrary to many of the reviews on my role when I finally came out.

Everyday was a mental battle of epic proportions. Imagine a voice in your mind that has one job to do all day every day, and that job is to remind you that you are living a complete lie. I struggled with mental health issues, doing everything I could to manifest destructive patterns and catastrophes so that I could distract myself from my terrifying inner demons. As each year passed, the voice got louder and more distracting. But now I was in too deep. What would even be the value in listening to the voice and taking action? Destroying my marriage, my life and for what? I didn’t even know if what was on the other side would be better.At least I was safe in my cocoon as long as I played the part.

Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I wasn’t prepared to come out, but I also knew I couldn’t keep ignoring the voice the way I had been. I just needed something to quiet the voice. At the same time, I was also looking for a new fitness regime to help get my weight under control. When I drove by Padme Yoga in Sacramento, CA on a drizzly October afternoon, it seemed like kismet. Yoga could help me with my fitness, but I had also heard lots of friends talk about how much it helped them quiet their minds. Perfect! I signed up for my first yoga class, and though I was scared shitless, I actually showed up. At the end of the class, the instructor came up to me and asked me if I enjoyed the class, which I told her I did. Then she said “Come back tomorrow, this practice will change your life.” So I did. And the day after that, and the day after that, and the day after that.

The weight came off of my waist and my thighs, but there was a different kind of weight coming off of my shoulders as well. I felt happier and more joyful. People seemed to want to be around me more and I felt more authentic. I just kept showing up and my teacher from that first class was right - my life was changing. Strangely enough, the voice about my hidden sexuality was a bit quieter but I had new voices as well - ones telling me that I was perfect the way I was in that moment and that in or out of the closet, I was exactly where I was supposed to be. I began to feel this love for myself I had not felt in a very long time; not because I was skinny or more energetic, but because I was doing exactly what I needed for myself.

One Friday evening in May 2014, as I laid in pigeon pose I began to sob. People say they “ugly cry,” well I beautifully cried as years of self hate, sadness, anger, frustration, lies, manipulation, and abuse just flowed from my eyes and onto my mat. 75 minutes later, I knew I was ready. I went home, and for the first time, I let my inner knowing speak for me. I came out, for good.

The journey since has not been easy, but it has been a necessary one and I have learned so much. The best part is, I have never once been alone since. Remember that little boy, the one who went to bed that night crying, scared, and afraid that he would never be the person he was meant to be? Well amazingly enough, he woke up the moment I stepped off my yoga mat that evening. He has been by my side ever since. In fact, he is sitting right here next to me as I write this, wearing his favorite gown, loving himself, feeling beautiful and accepted. He calmly, lovingly reminds me that neither of us needs ever feel alone again.

Xavier Bettencourt is a writer and comedian currently residing in Sacramento, CA. Known for his authentic and humorous storytelling voice and unique point of view, Xavier digs deep to speak his truth and tirelessly encourages others to do the same. Follow him on Instagram for more: @thecomedybear.

#humour #queer #childhood #theater

[fortey]

In the Deep Dark: Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Bumps in the Night

Sunrise from a Denny’s window is less beautiful than a sunrise should be.  Sara stirs a cold coffee with a tiny spoon while Cooper finishes some toast.  They never bothered getting a room, opting instead to while away the night in the company of drunks and unhappy Denny’s employees near a freeway offramp.  In over six hours of conversation they managed to not once address why they had come to Denny’s at all.

Cooper watches his wife; a bright, fearsome sun rising in the distance behind her, promising another scorching hot day.    She stirs incessantly, a manifestation of her nervousness.  Throughout the years it has taken on any number of forms, from nail biting to finger tapping to foot shaking.  Some kind of busy work to occupy herself with.  Watching her now he feels weak and foolish.  She is everything he has worth anything in the world. Money and things he has never felt a connection to, even as a child he was never one to bug for new toys when they were at the store or harass his parents to take him to McDonalds or buy candy. Treats were fine, but fleeting. His child’s mind had a rudimentary understanding of that, maybe because of what happened to his grandmother, it was hard to say.  What mattered were people.  Relationships.  Love. And he loves Sara.  But failed her.  Ran with her because it seemed the reasonable option in an unreasonable circumstance.

“I don’t believe in ghosts,” he says suddenly.  He doesn’t.  Hasn’t. It’s a silly notion.  If you die, what are your options?  An atheist says you stop existing.  Christian says you go to Heaven.  Hindu says you get reincarnated.  Who says you come back as a ghost?  Gypsies?  Druids? And why?  To hide flashlights? Make shadow puppets?  It’s idiotic.  If you survive death in some kind of non-corporeal form, what would you honestly want to do with your time?  It can’t be play jokes.  Haunt people. Be an asshole.  To what end?  

“Neither do I.”  She looks up at him, stops stirring her coffee.  He had never had a spiritual side, wasn’t religious, but never claimed to be an atheist either.  He simply had no belief system.  Sara had been raised Christian, attended a non-denominational church as a child, but had given up on it in her late teens when she felt their message had become obtrusive and conflicted.  Too many people were judgmental, self-righteous and arrogant.  She still believed in God, felt in her heart that there was a God, but Church was not the place to find him.  Church was where the oppressive tried to dominate the weak and confused. It was just another clique of people who condemned anyone who didn’t do as everyone else did.  It was a shame.  People with good intentions being twisted to something ugly.  Still, none of that accounted for ghosts.

“So what do you think it was?” she asks as she continues stirring.  She has two answers for that question herself.  One is “I don’t know,” not so much an answer as a cry for help.  The other, unfortunately, is a ghost.  The absurdity of it is almost funny.  Would be funny if she hadn’t have been so terrified the night before.  A moving shadow and a flashlight and nothing more. And she had never been so scared in her entire life.

“Ghost,” he says finally, sipping a glass of orange juice.  He knows it’s a dumb answer as well, but there’s not much to be done for it.  Not to say it is a ghost, it’s just the only thing either of them can think of.

“We bought a haunted house,” Sara says.  He doesn’t answer.  It is the stupidest thing he has ever heard made exponentially stupider by the fact it is what he thinks also.  A shadow. A rolling flashlight.  From these things he took his wife and ran away. His mission in life here, and now, is her happiness.  He has felt that since the moment he realized he wanted to be with her for the rest of his life.  They will have ups and downs because that is the way of the world, they will argue over how to spend their money, and what to eat for dinner, and how to properly make the bed because he never tucks the sheets in properly no matter how many times she shows him.  And none of that matters if she is happy.  Overall happy.  Which is all he ever wants.  So when they sit next to each other to watch a movie, or read together in bed, or shower together and end up so sweaty they need a second shower to clean up from the first shower, it’s for that reason.  Because he loves her.  And running away from a goddamn haunted house does not fit into that pattern at all.

“So do we call someone?” she asks, still stirring, making little figure eights.

“Ghostbusters?” he says, forcing a smile.  She shrugs and half nods.

“My cousin Laura married Ernie Hudson’s nephew,” she says.  He takes a moment with that before she laughs.  “He was Winston Zedmore.  Come on.”

“Not sure he can help,” Cooper says.  He wants this to be funny.  He wants to joke.  But it’s not. And he can’t.

“Well maybe someone can.  Someone must know about this stuff, for real.  If it’s really happening.”  It makes sense.  As much as it can.

“I can Google it, I guess,” he says.  The odds on that not turning up a million results ranging from Scooby Doo fanfic to actual torrents of the Ghostbusters movie are pretty slim, but there’s probably a forum somewhere with sincere people discussing the topic of ghosts and hauntings.  The only issue from there will be weeding out the people who are completely and utterly insane or bullshit artists.  So basically it’s a needle in a haystack situation.

“Unless you have a better idea,” Sara adds.  Cooper shakes his head.  Buying a new house comes to mind, but two in one week is a little excessive.  Maybe he could call the realtor, see if one of the construction workers who built the house died or something. Old houses are supposed to be haunted, not brand new ones.  It’s shit like this that killed the housing market.

“I got nothing.  Nothing but a time travelling flashlight and dancing shadows.  Everyone is going to think were crazy or potheads or something.”

“Potheads, honey?  Seriously?” She laughs openly now.  Cooper never really experimented with drugs, was always a bit more straight laced and nerdy than all that.  He drank underaged, that was big, but never tried pot until he was in his mid twenties.  He giggled at an episode of an old cartoon then fell asleep.  It was underwhelming in the extreme.

“I don’t know.  Meth addicts? LSD aficionados? “

“Exactly. Come on, we’ll find someone.  I’m tired as hell and I want to sleep in our bed in our house, so let’s get this fixed, OK?”  She stands, ready to go, and Cooper is a moment behind her, tossing some money on the table, finishing his juice.  

“What if it’s not fixable?” he asks.  The possibility has to exist.

“Try to be optimistic,” she suggests.  He rolls his eyes as they leave the restaurant.

“But really though, what if it isn’t?  Have you ever heard of this happening to someone?  For real?”  They stop at the car, looking at each other across the hood.  The world around them is slowly coming to life as the sun rises; cars filling the street, bird song filling the air.  And the heat is building.

“I don’t know, hon.  It’s scary. You’re scared, I get that.  I’m scared too.  And I feel stupid saying it’s a ghost and we should Google someone to help us but I can’t think of anything else and I doubt if we tell anyone they’ll be much more helpful.  Like you said, they’ll think we’re LSD fiends.”

“Aficionados,” he says, correcting her.  

“Brat. In the car, we’ve got Ghostbusters to Google.”

The drive back to the house includes the serenade of morning DJs proclaiming a potential new high temperature today and promising $103.10 for the first caller to correctly identify a snippet of song that for all the world sounds like a fart and an electric guitar riff.  No one gets it right by the time they get home.

“Now that’s going to haunt me, too,” Sara says as she pulls into the driveway of their new home.  The outside of the house looks perfectly normal.  Pretty, even.  It’s a nice house.  Grey brick, large windows, nicely landscaped yard.  Nothing is out of place, no ominous figures in the windows.  It doesn’t look haunted.

Inside the house is cold, the central air still humming along peacefully.  Sara opens some curtains quickly, letting light spill into the room while Cooper takes his laptop from the living room table and sits on the sofa.

“So we keep the door open and sit here in a nice, sunny room.  Ghosts hate shit like this,” Sara says.  Cooper signs into the computer and waits as it boots up.

“Is that like an official rule?”

“Evil stuff never happens in the middle of the day in movies,” she offers.  He nods.  He’s fairly certain that’s not true of a lot of movies, but it doesn’t matter. If they’re basing their plans on The Shining then they’re pretty much screwed all around.

Bringing up a Firefox window Cooper pauses, looking at Google’s homepage.  He stares.  Sara stares at him.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.  

“Not sure. What do I look for?  Ghost busters?”

“Paranormal researchers,” she says.  “You need to watch more TV.”  He types it in quickly, adding the city name as an afterthought.  14.5 million results.  

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” he says to himself.  She reads over his shoulder and frowns.

“Try that one,” she suggests, pointing to the first on the list.  GLIPA.  Great Lakes Investigators of Paranormal Activity.  According to their website they work across several states but cannot legally work in Canada.  Good to know.

The website loads quickly and features a dark city skyline and the group’s stylized logo.  Cooper skims the tabs on the site and chooses “about us.”  The background remains the same as the new page loads biographies of three people, complete with photos.  Cooper shakes his head.

“Jesus, they look like morons,” he says quietly.  Sara smacks shoulder.

“Be nice. They don’t all look like morons. Just that guy.”  She’s right and the first image, a man named Dennis Kolchak, does look quite moronic.  His photo is of a man in a long, pale trench coat and matching fedora, a cheap tie, and an overly groomed mustache and goatee combo.  He appears to be maybe in his mid 50s and his bio proclaims he is the lead investigator and a parapsychologist.  Below him are two assistant investigators and students, Timothy Best and Jennifer Locke.  Jennifer looks like a typical college girl, a skinny brunette with her hair in a pony tail and bookish glasses, while Timothy appears to have a faux hawk and a band t shirt.

“We cannot call these people,” Cooper says.  Sara reads over his shoulder, ignoring him.

“It says he’s done this for over 10 years.”

“I could make a website and say I’m Jesus,” Cooper counters.  Sara scowls, leaning forward and slamming his laptop shut. His protest is cut short by the look on her face.

“Cooper, I want to know what the fuck happened last night and so do you.  Your stubbornness is cute, I get that you don’t like change, I do.  It’s who you are and I love you no matter what but stop being so fucking…you.  Do you want to know what happened or do you want to shrug it off and just hope it never happens again and then, if it does, maybe try to deal with it later?” She’s in his face, her body still pressed against his, her gaze inescapable.  It is awkward in the extreme.  He doesn’t like disappointing her and she knows this, and he also deals poorly with direct confrontation.  Even eye contact is difficult to maintain in situations like this.  Still, he holds her gaze, returns it, his jaw set, teeth clenched.

“I want us to be safe.  I’m nervous. I feel like if these are the wrong people, then what? I don’t want to waste our time.”

“No more a waste than doing nothing,” Sara says.  She’s right, of course.  Infuriating habit she has.

“Fine. You call them.  I’m going to check our room.”  

Sara stares at him dumbfounded for a moment while he opens his computer again and punches in the password so she can get to the website.

“Why do you want to check our room?”  It’s a good question.  Valid. And the implication that he’s crazy is not lost on him.  It is crazy, isn’t it?  He feels that.  And at the same time, there’s a compulsion.  A need to be sure, despite there being no need for that surety.  Of course he’s sure.  He experienced what he experienced with her.  It was real.  Simple and terrifying and real.  Why venture to that room again?  

“Just a feeling.  Like I need to.  I think,” he answers, standing.  Her expression is worried and disbelieving.

“Just stay here.  Check when these people show up.  I’m sure you’re not missing anything you don’t need to miss.”

“If there’s something here, then it’s not like our bedroom is any more special than this room, right?”  he gestures around the living room to make his point.  As he does so the central air clicks on.  There is a brief moment as he’s about to turn and head towards the bedroom when he feels he’s made his point and before he even lifts his foot he stops.  The air thrums, bursts through the vents.  But the house was humming when they got in.

“Hon.” It’s all he can say.  Sara looks at him, sees his expression, reacts quickly. She takes the computer in one hand and stands.  The curtains rustle along the windows.  With a gust of chilled air, the front door swings closed.  The curtains sail along curtain rods, covering the open windows. The material is so thin, almost sheer, but the light is blocked.  The room becomes impossibly dark.  It’s not even noon and inside, night has fallen.

“Cooper!” The light of the computer screen is the only source of illumination in the room. In the white glow of the GLIPA website Sara grabs Cooper’s hand and they stand together.  The central air rages; icy gusts of wind bellow into the room. The sound from the bowels of the house is like an old steam engine chugging along, metal clanging and thumping. The couple stand together in stillness.

“Try the door,” he says.  She turns without question and grabs the knob, hisses as she pulls her hand away.

“Jesus, it’s freezing.”  She pulls her shirt away from her body, wrapping her hand in it and tries again. The knob makes a creaking sound but does not turn.

“I can’t open it.”  Her voice is rising to panic.  Cooper nods, takes a large amethyst crystal off of the living room bookshelf.

“Watch yourself,” he advises, hurling the heavy purple stone at the nearest window. The large pane of glass absorbs the blow with a dull thud.  The rock slides to the floor as though it were nothing more than rotten fruit.  His breathing is becoming faster, ragged. “Well, that didn’t work.”  She squeezes his hand tightly and they just stand in their dark living room.  The air blows on them like a blast chiller, the sounds from the basement are like basketballs being thrown at old garbage cans, loud and cacophonous.

Sara wraps her arms around Cooper as the sound rises, rages and shakes the house. Glasses in the kitchen shake free from shelves and smash to the floor, books tumble, paintings and pictures come loose from the walls as they hold each other.  Sara buries her face in Cooper’s chest as the bookshelf pulls away from the wall and smashes down, shattering the glass top coffee table.

The television screen blazes white then explodes outwards and Cooper holds Sara tightly, turning his back to the spray of glass, gritting his teeth as tiny shards dig into his back and legs.  The roar from the basement is like a train and suddenly it stops.

The silence that follows is total.  Sara shudders in her husband’s arms as they warily begin to loosen their grip on one another.  In the darkness with only the computer screen, now discarded on the floor, offering light, there is no way to survey the damage or to guess at why it stopped.

“We need to go,” Sara whispers, sobs.  Cooper nods, unsure of how to proceed.  The tinkle of broken glass in the kitchen causes him to stiffen.  It’s faint at first, like someone bumping a garbage bag with a broken glass in the bottom.  And then again.

Glass crunches.  More breaks but it is controlled this time.  It is not glasses falling from shelves or picture frames hurled from walls. It is a slow, purposeful crunching and cracking, pressure being applied to glass.

Crunch. The sound is like a footstep. Crunch. Another.  And another.  Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.  From the kitchen, growing closer, heading towards the hall.  Towards the living room.  In the darkness the hall and the kitchen are only blackness, an emptiness beyond a tiny globe of electronic, white light.

Crunch.

Sara pulls away from Cooper and grabs the doorknob again.  He can hear the hiss of her flesh when it touches, an almost squeal before she cries out and tries to pull her hand free.  There is a brief moment of resistance before an audible tear and she screams,  cradling her hand against her chest.  He takes her arm, ignoring the sound in the darkness and turns her hand in the light, sees where the layer of flesh has been ripped free, the palm of her hand and fingers raw and red from the extreme cold.

Crunch. Crunch.

In the hall now.  Footsteps. Something walking in the glass, slowly, tortuously slow.  Taunting. Cooper grabs the computer and leads Sara to a window, keeps himself between her and the hall as he pushes a new sofa out of the way and scrambles across the floor for the amethyst chunk. The black glass of the window reacts like a wall of rubber as he slams the stone into it again and again.

With a growl of frustration he turns his attention to the wall itself, slamming the rock between two windows gouging a chunk from the drywall.  Again and again the stone digs and gouges the wall, tearing free small chunks.

Crunch.

The steps stop at the entrance to the living room.  Cooper slams the rock into the wall a final time and turns, keeping himself and the rock between his wife and the sound.  In his other hand he raises the computer.  The soft, white light casts a dull glow over the entire room. And the doorway.

Crunch.

Cooper’s breath freezes in his lungs.  He stares, immobile.  The form in the doorway might look like a man if caught quickly, from the corner of your eye in passing.  It is assembled in a man’s shape; legs and arms and on top…a single, jagged pane of mirror.

The body is shattered glass of all kinds; dishes, glasses, windows and picture frames. The pieces jumbled together, lashed together with unseen bonds and assembled as a glittering, jagged mannequin. Its arms end in sharp points that reflect the light at a thousand angles.  And the single pane face only reflects the room back at them.

A glass foot crunches the rubble again, tiny shards breaking off and then scrambling back as though attracted by magnets.  The glass man points a long, thin shard of a hand at Cooper and trudges through the rubble of the living room.  Sara screams and Cooper throws the computer.  The glass man bats it aside and swipes, slicing though Cooper’s forearm. The rock crashes down into the glass man’s mirror visage, a face reflecting Cooper’s own terrified face, and it shatters.  All the glass shatters.  The windows in the living room explode inward with a terrible force, bathing the room in sunlight again as glass shrapnel pelts the couple.

Sara grabs Cooper’s arm and pulls, falling back out of a window onto the lawn.  She lands with a bit-off cry of pain and rolls to her side, tiny spots of blood beading across her back where glass has embedded.  Cooper lays on the grass next to her, staring up at their home.  The hot sun is welcome after the cold of inside.  The sky is cloudless.  It’s a beautiful day.  Their house is absolutely haunted.

#horror

[ethanwade-blog1]

Dean Wheat

The mind of man made me

        Dean Wheat sat arch-backed like a suited rainbow, his fingers rapidly typing quick-like and cheetahs. His work-space sat stacked upon several other floors, industrial and steel atop the heaven-scraper, tallest building in the city. He was the city’s greatest account man, handling documents with a genius’ pace, and the wealthy wit of a sinner. The company started low-level in the gasping gutters, motivation mutating in a way that pushed its’ pulse into a perfect pocket of the sweet city’s niche.

        Numbers upon numbers, the taxes and payroll were wound into the mechanistic mind of the city’s main mathematician. The vital vein company, Bog Boys, lived overseas in Great Manchester, soaking within the windward salt of the North Sea. Residual baby businesses were local fruit and barely thrived along the West Coast of the United States. Wheat slept in Oregon’s child, Portland, a creatively budding point.

        Each day, Dean Wheat awoke to the smell of ripened berries that he kept safe atop a pillow of rose petals above and behind his head in bed. He plucked them gently from the fragrant womb and placed them beneath his tongue. 7 each morning. He would stroll across his bushy carpet to a small locked drawer that he kept tucked in the shadowy corner of his room. It did not receive much light from the candles he kept constant and lit; tiny fire-heads flickering atop the wax. Licking his lips, he was hungry for the dessert of his morning. Grasping a key that hung round his neck, he sent the token into its necessary space, unlocked box. Treasure’s rest slept inside. Their snores were the ticking of tiny clocks that could not stop. Even if they had been immediately sentient, they would not have been able to stop themselves from tic-clocking for they were the vessels of society’s intention. If one clock were smashed, another would take its place like a begotten son of the eternal mother. He took them by the spoonful, using a grapefruit spoon. Tiny clocks the size of malted milk balls, scooped and tossed down his throat. Gears and cogs crushed and the tongue toggled the halted minute and hour hands, passing the uvula and sliding down his ribbed red throat. Clocks clicked inside of him while more were sent to join their punctual family. He belched and tattooed the walls with several different numbers. A spring got caught in his throat which he washed down with a smooth, beige clock juice that he had mixed himself the night before. Half clock, half Honey Bourbon. It whispered to him as it pursued his larynx.

        “I am your drug den while you trip the light fantastic.” Wheat completed his gaping gulps and suited himself in fine suede and powerful perfumes, petting his throat to allow a few 2’s and a brittle 9 further down into his intestines. He cracked another tiny clock open like a walnut. With time and constant slamming of jaws atop gears and crushing cogs, the innards of the clock molded into a genius wet sculpture, the shape of an abstracted thought that could not be seen.

        I suppose you shall gather sooner or later that Dean Wheat is a confused man, confounded by his own fragile mortality. He spends midnights atop the skyscraper to gather guidance from the city-clock-tower-mammoth that stands as stationary and erect as a confident volcano, craving her next eruption to spill influence from womb to the eyes of all. Time plagues his mind, stabbing him with the invisible daggers of daunting deadlines, the sky rising stacks of paper, staple and phone wire. Without a clock, his business would wither into palpating Pompeii, convulsing within the large nauseous memory of wasted flesh. All alone in the tone of time twisting, seemingly wasting for his mind may have been shut and clammed from the true happenings of heaven’s above and hell’s below. The kinds of intricacies, manipulations, revelations, temptations, and angelic architecture hid beneath phantom sheets, for all to feel instead of to see. What a headhunt this whole thing is. Dean Wheat hunts heads; hunts the willing head that has ability enough to understand that a financial intellect such as Wheat’s can be used to both save time and money. Morphed himself into a staple that glues the city’s money page with metal arms, a stagnating stubborn point.

        He needed more clocks, took to the corporate sidewalks, and ripped each one from the wrists of passersby. They were torn from the arms of rushed mothers, failure fathers, big boys, and young women. He neglected their expressions and tore into the tic-clocking, non-stopping. His inner form was manic and insane. His physical form was aesthetically suited in pinstripes and pleasing, but his malnourished mind that has binged too deeply into the cheetah city system was beginning to shine through his wide window eyes. The polished black shoes clicked quick, cheetahs.

        He reached the city’s mid-point. The pupil of the eye was the clock tower ticking. He hopped 180 degrees like a sticky spider, eyes on the face of time. High up in the heavens, passed thick layers of tar vapors and thin smog, he could see his meal through his own lens of craze. Atop the tower, digging his heels into window and glass. The harbored howls leapt from his inner physics and wrapped the city in megaphone screams. All could sense his hungering stench. The collective street’s head was held up to the tiny ape climbing the tower, his own power sifting with warps inside of his hell hands. He climbed higher atop the tower, the clock more mammoth than his own expanding dream of more, more. Women shot screams, neglecting the scars that it dealt to their children who now realize that mommy can be scared too, so it must be alright that I may be scared.

        Telekinetic explosions washed waves over the watching city. Dean Wheat spit balls of metal blood onto the crowd, his vomiting greed manifest and his escalator-form scaled the glass up to greatest grandfather ticker. He felt like a power digger, flower atop the tower. Luciferian flower flows mechanically needy. More fruit for my will to dissipate residual wax and woe. I will never stop, my insides are red and reaching to enchant the emerald waiting to break free from my within. The city slowed its silly cry. Dean had clawed Father Time’s body to the top and he salivated waterfalls, staining his face in the pink blood. He looked down below, to the entire city of which he was directly connected through his work in accounting. He helped them, bandaged their finances and protected their wallets with complex anti-bacterials.

        He chipped at the tower with trained teeth and satisfied his hunger, complete. The moon shone its silver bubble, having to follow its own time cycle. Every clock in town has been eaten. Foreign barges ship more in tomorrow. Goodnight, to kinetic fields off somewhere and organic. Good night, Dean Wheat.