#and i needed ALL of the pew-pew juice for myself | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sweetsouthernbelle97 · 3 months

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I sat in the confessional, biting my lip, waiting for the small wooden door to slide open. My thoughts wandered to my pastor the man who heard my secrets, he was odd for a pastor, tall and built like a wrestler, muscles straining against his cassock when he preached. Once I saw a glimpse of a tattoo beneath his white collar, a secret I had kept since that day. On several occasions pastor Ryan had been the subject of my wet dreams. I flushed and jumped when the little door slid open.

His voice was soothing and reassuring, “Good evening, God bless and please begin when you feel comfortable.” He said. I swallowed hard, determined to confess my sins, “Father forgive me for I have sinned. It’s has been three weeks since my last confession. I have strange dreams father… dreams about someone I cannot be with.” My voice shook and I paused to gather my courage. “Take a deep breath my child, no judgment will come from me, I am simply here to help you bear your burdens and manage them.” He said softly. I blushed, “You wouldn’t choose to help me carry this burden father. I’ve been dreaming of being fucked by my pastor. Of him shedding his cassock and wielding his thick sword to fight my dark desires.” I whispered the words, laced with lustful desires, the crotch of my thin leggings darkened by my juices, a soft moans escaping my lips.

He chuckled softly, clearing his throat, “My child, these dark desires, tell me more about them so I can help you bear this burden before God.” He said this quietly. I shivered, “Father I dream of being spread across the alter, bent over the pews, tied to a cross as my pastor uses my tight little body for his own pleasure.” I struggled to breath the words out, feeling a small yet powerful orgasm ripping through me, I moaned, louder than intended and slumped over, breathing hard.

The confessional door opened and there stood Pastor Ryan Tyler, the very man I fantasized about. I swallowed hard and flushed, refusing to look up at him, “I’m sorry, I need to go.” I tried to push past him but a large hand locked onto my bicep. “Margaret, there’s no need to run from me.” He said, looking down into my eyes, “You are a very beautiful young woman, and ten years ago before I joined the church I would have ravished you without a second thought. Sadly I am now abstaining from scenes like the ones you so vividly described.” His voice shook as he spoke. I felt tears welling in my eyes, disappointment and shame swirling through me. My head dropped and I cried, softly, silently. He sighed heavily, “Come to my office Meg.” He placed a strong hand at the small of my back and guided me to his small office in the back of the church.

He sat me in the plush chair across his desk and settle into his own chair, crossing his arms and watching me, his eyes and face unreadable. I shivered, tears still falling. He groaned softly, “Meg, I’m going to very honest with you, more honest that I am even with myself. You were the first woman in ten long years that has made me ache to break my celibacy. Your curves, your beauty, your sweet personality, they all drew me in. Those vivid scenes you described are similar to my own, though I, in my past life, enjoyed much darker bedroom activities. Seeing you cry and feel ashamed is breaking my heart. You have nothing to be ashamed of Meg, I quite honestly feel the same way about you.” He stood slowly, a large bulge in his tight black pants.

I moaned at the sight, my pussy pulsing, the crotch of my leggings dampening more. He chuckled, it was a dark chuckle, his eyes no longer light and free but darker and intense. I whimpered as he came around the desk, approaching my chair, “You are so beautiful, and I’m so tempted Mag, so tempted to give you what you want.” He said, tracing a finger over my lower lip. I trembled under his touch and the words fell from my mouth, “Please.” A single solitary word, borne from my desperate need. He straightened, staring at me, thinking, before starting to unbutton his black shirt.

I sat in shock in the chair as the shirt came open, falling off his shoulder and down his arms. Beneath the cloth were intricate tattoos of gang signs, and slurs, in vibrant colors scattered from his hips to his shoulders and down his arms. “I wasn’t always a pastor Meg, I ran a gang of bikers for most of my 20s, did a very short stint in prison for robbery, and then found God.” He said the words easily, as my jaw hung, drooling a bit at the sight before me. He chuckled, unbuckling his belt, sliding it free from its loops before snapping it together making me jump, “You’ve been a very bad girl, maybe I should have you recite the Lord’s prayer while I spank that pretty little ass.” He smirked, a look that was especially sinful on a priest.

He reached down, taking my hand, “Aren’t you going to shed a few layers? I’ve peeked your cleavage in those short little dresses you wear on Sundays, once you flashed me with a very sexy pair of red lace panties.” He said pulling me to my feet. I flushed, embarrassed but incredibly turned on, “What did you mean when you said you felt the same way?” I asked quietly, curious. He smiled softly, looking devilishly handsome with his pants unzipped and hugging his hips, “Little one, let me return the favor and tell you in explicit detail exactly what I’m going to do to you on top of this desk, in Oh, about ten minutes.” He growled the words, leaning forward, pressing me into the wall, grinding his hips against mine.

I gasped softly, locking eyes with him as he began to speak, “I’m going to strip those clothes off you, put you on my desk on your back, eat that juice little cunt I could smell in the confessional, and then once you’ve screamed on my fingers and tongue I going to put you on your hands and knees, fuck that pretty mouth with my cock for a while before I grab your hair and stuff myself in your tight little pussy and fuck you senseless like the little slut you are. Lastly I’m going to fill your womb with cum.” He finished, tugging my ear with his teeth before kissing me hard.

I moaned into his mouth as he pulled me to the desk, dragging my leggings down and my top over my head, unsnapping my bra and pushing me back. His soft hands spread my legs and held them wide open as he settled between them, feasting first with his eyes and then his mouth, sucking my clit and lips, pressing two long fingers into me and stroking my g-spot until I screamed and thrust into his face as I came. He stood, laughing, face glistening with juices, “You taste divine little girl, roll over, onto your hands and knees.” He groped my ass when I got comfortable, the sting of the belt making me cry out in surprise, several more strikes coming, leaving my bottom red, hot and stinging. “Oh so pretty little one, nice and red from my belt. A suitable punishment for teasing me. Now, open that mouth and stick out your tongue.” He moved around to his side of the desk, his proud 9 inch cock on display.

I did as he said immediately, being rewarded with his hard cock resting on my tongue and pressing into my mouth and down my throat. I sucked greedily and sloppily, saliva dripping onto the desk and floor. He threaded his fingers into my hair and held tightly as his thrusts increased, fucking my throat. “You’re too good at this to be a virgin, I hope you don’t practice on other boys little one, I’d hate to go back to prison for murder.” He said, and the words made my body melt. He thrust one last time before pulling out of my mouth and kissing me.

I trembled as he moved behind me, hands massaging my ass, “Little one, are you ready?” He gripped my hips, the thick head resting against me. I looked back into his eyes, “Yes father.” My voice was husky and he smirked, laughing before bottoming out in one thrust. I screamed, the sound echoing out into the lofted ceiling of the church. The skin slapping thrusts rang loudly, squelching sounds mixed with panting and groaning as my pastor fucked me over his desk.

He slammed into me, almost snarling, “I’m going to fill you up Meg, after that it’ll be a little too late to say you’re not interested. See, I never got over the whole owning my woman thing from the Biker gang, so once I fill your womb you’re gonna be mine, forever.” He pulled my hair, bucking into me again. I panted, struggling to breath, “Yours, f f… forever.” And cried out as another orgasm wracked my body, he thrust deep, pumping his hot sperm into me.

He held me in his arms on the small couch in his office, I was wrapped in his coat, still dripping cum. “Are you sure little one, I felt like I went a bit too far. Ten years is a long time to not feel a woman around me.” He stroked my hair, concern showing in his eyes. I snuggled against him, “I’ve wanted you to do tat to me since the first Sunday you served here. Admittedly I never thought it would happen, but I’m very, very glad it did. I have no problem with being your little slut Ryan, as long as you never stop being the man you are, both the pastor and the prisoner.” I kissed him softly, my mind already imagining the scenarios. He chuckled, “Don’t worry Meg, once we figure out the dynamics of whose house to use we can break out my old BDSM kit. I can’t wait to tie you to my bed and have my way with you.” He nibbled my neck, nuzzling softly, “You still have to come to church on Sunday, and be my beautiful little tease.” He kissed me and held me tighter as I drifted to sleep.

I sat in the front pew, listening to the sermon from the handsome man behind the pulpit. My dress was simple and low cut, but stretchy enough to accommodate my swelling breasts and growing belly. The pastor finished his sermon and prayed, coming down to my side, a hand resting on my belly, “How’s my little girl and our baby?” He asked, kissing my lips softly, uncaring of what the congregation saw or said. He helped me up and we made our way to his office, where our bundle of joy was made, and then out to the car. A pastor and his princess.

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a-is-for-abel · 3 years

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“It’s a very odd sensation, standing over your own grave.” prompt from @givethispromptatry

Crows barked, throaty and dry, from their perch high in the gnarled branches of the tree at the head of the cemetery. The letters etched into the granite before him shined and the heavy mist settled over his shoulders, oppressive and thick.

He counted the crows in the tree, a rhyme coming to mind as the black winged birds called into the fog. "One for sorrow, two for mirth, three for a funeral… Four-- Four for..."

A funeral… His brow furrowed. The name on the gravestone drew him back in and he eyed the letters. Bells from the steeple of a church coughed in the distance.

"It's a very odd sensation, standing over your own grave." He turned to see a man leaned against a tall gravestone, a lit cigarette in his fingers. "But you seem to be taking it rather well."

The man flicked a lick of hellish embers off the end and took a long drag. Smoke trailed from his lips and curled over his salt-flat empty eyes. "Say, you haven't died before have you? That'd make this a bit awkward-- See, I don't really do the whole doing someone else's do-over. Those contracts tend to get a little messy, if you know what I mean."

Dressed sharply in a suit jacket and trousers to match, the man didn't stand out quite that oddly against the backdrop of a graveyard. However, with no procession, he was out of place without the rest of the mourners to stand shoulder to shoulder with.

It was even harder not to notice the way he stood a little too tall, a little too pale, and a little too thin...

And the eyes--

He couldn't remember having ever seen eyes like that. Though, he also really couldn't remember how he had gotten here either.

The man frowned, cigarette dangled from his lips. "You're not very talkative are you. That's gonna make this a little hard if you don't at least start asking some questions."

"Who are you?" he asked, voice hoarse.

"Ah, there it is-- Everyone always starts with that one. Never a 'where am I, how'd I get here', it's always the who are you?" The man shrugged. "I got a lot of names, kid. Just make one up, it'll probably be better that way."

Paul. It was the first name that came to mind, risen like the valleys of weathered hands and deep-set wrinkles the name brought with it.

"Paul?" The man hissed, eyes scrunching as he flicked the cigarette onto the ground and ground it out with the toe of his dress shoe. "Wow, you're real bad at this. Look, I'll settle for something like, uh-- How's Paal sound? Good? Great."

Even as Paal dismissed it, he tried to latch onto the name Paul and the hands that came with it. Somehow, he knew those hands had shown him how to hold a chisel and carve with the grain and not against it. That they had smoothed down his hair and lain flat against the crown of his skull as the other drew a new line against the door jamb, and he had childishly smiled at the inch gap that had grown between it and the old one below.

"Well, now that we got names out of the way--" Paal reached into his coat and pulled free a scroll. "Let's get down to business."

The parchment unfurled with a dry cough, ink dripped over the page and rearranged itself into letters that shimmered, ruddy and wet.

"So, for starters, my contracts are pretty straightforward. I don't do all that funny business the others do." Paal pointed to the second line. "The overall payment is going to be your eternal soul, of course. The only exception I'll make here is if you can name something of equal value and I also deem said thing of equal value. Now, don't get all excited. Not a lot of things add up to a human soul. Unless you'll be trading someone's else's soul as your payment. Simple math and all of that."

His eternal soul? He looked at the cross atop the gravestone and wine-dipped stained glass and the pulpit of a church flitted to the forefront along with it.

"We on the same page here? You look a little lost?" Paal asked, tilting his head.

"Sorry, I just--" He furrowed his brow. "Am I dead?"

Paal pointed to the grave. "Is that your body in there?"

"I--" He looked at his hands. "I think so."

"I wouldn't say I'm a genius myself, but I think we can both put two and two together here."

He grit his teeth. "Right…"

"Fantastic-- Now, onto the good stuff." Paal pointed further down the parchment. "So, in exchange for said eternal soul, I grant you a few things. First off, you get to get up on your own two feet and walk out of that grave. A pretty good deal, right?"

"Deals go two ways."

"See, now you're catching on--" Paal pointed at him and then tapped the next line on the scroll. "Alright, so it's pretty damn expensive to bring a soul back to life. Maker's got an idea in mind and tampering with that's always gonna cost you a little extra."

"Do you mean money? I don't exactly..." He held his hands out, the empty state of his pockets hopefully obvious.

Paal laughed. "Money? What the hell am I going to do with money? No, no, no-- I need a favor."

"A favor?" He asked, eyes narrowing.

"Yeah! A favor. something pretty simple, actually. But to get that body back and with all your precious little memories intact, you gotta do something to pay for that. More than just signing off your soul, that is."

"And who exactly am I paying back?"

Paal grimaced. "You're asking questions you really don't want the answers to, kid."

"Fine." He rubbed at his jaw. "What's the favor then?"

"Bounty hunting. Or collecting, I guess?" Paal gestured vaguely. "Whatever-- Basically, a few folks deferred on their contracts and I need to collect on their souls a little early."

"How early is early?" he asked, squinting.

"Well, I'd say I'm a pretty generous dealer. I give you about how much worldly time you should've had-- Had things not gone absolutely shit for you." Paal held up a finger. "So, in this case, I'd be collecting these souls well before they croak from becoming all ripe and old like they normally would've."

"So, I get my life back..." He chewed the inside of his cheek and glanced at the cross on the gravestone. "Is that it?"

"Is that it?'" Paal mocked and then grinned. "Look at you, already driving a hard bargain."

"You wouldn't have come to me if my soul wasn't worth something."

"Did you come to that astonishing conclusion all by yourself?" Paal said flatly.

He glanced over the demon.

Or devil... Or whatever hellish equivalent he was supposed to be. The lack of the classic horns or even a tail made it hard to pin any kind of fiendish charm to him. Besides the eyes and the pallor of someone who's never seen the light of day, he looked rather ordinary...

And his memories, few and far between-- muddled even-- like he was reliving them from underwater-- As unreliable as those memories were, he still remembered sitting upon a pew in a sun-washed room, a pastor at the head of the church, attesting how the devil would always wager in ways that would seem fair and just, but never were.

"What else do I get?"

"Greedy, aren't you? Fine." Paal rolled up the scroll part way and pointed at a line halfway down. "You can't die. At least while you're contracted under me to collect souls. If you call on me and I deem the request reasonable enough I can and will help you. Think of it like, uh-- Praying to a guardian angel. Except I'm absolutely nothing like that and I'll actually show up."

"And collecting on these contracts? What does that entail?"

"Killing them, for starters." Paal said simply. "I can't exactly grab their souls when they're still kicking around like that. And a lot of them have found ways to sort of, eh-- protect themselves from me. But you're just a bag of bones, maybe a little bit juiced up when I'm done with you, but you'll be human enough."

He didn't feel like picking that last aside apart too much. "So, you want me to kill for you?"

"Yes."

"How exactly?"

Paal flicked his hand and the scroll snapped out of sight with a thwick. Reaching into his jacket, he pulled free a revolver. Six-shot, shined, scarred with engravings up and down the muzzle and wrapped around the barrel. Handle a bone-white ivory, pale and unblemished.

Paal held it out to him. "With this."

Dropped into his palms with little fanfare, he cradled it, as if a newborn lamb. He glanced up from the gunmetal shine after a beat. "I can't shoot."

"Oh, you won't have to. You just have to aim." Paal formed his fingers into a mock-gun and pointed it at his forehead before mouthing ‘pow'. "It does all the hard work for you. Unless you're into that kind of thing, then by all means I'll take the training wheels off of it and let you do the trigger pulling."

"No…" he swallowed, careful to keep the muzzle pointed away from himself. "Training wheels is fine."

"Fantastic. Do we have a deal then? All of this--" Paal gestured to the whole of him. "--for the meager, one time price of doing a simple chore for me."

He stared flatly.

"And your eternal soul after you've lived a long and happy life, but that's just semantics," Paal laughed, waving him off.

He tilted the gun in his palms and glanced down at his pockets. It wouldn't exactly fit very well… "Is there a holster?"

"Oh, right--" Paal patted his chest and fished around in his suit jacket before drawing out a belt. "Here. It's a bit used, but at least it's already worn in, right?"

Mottled stains scattered the edges of the leather belt and where intricate markings had been stamped and tooled into the holster itself.

"Thanks…" he said, pinching it between two fingers while trying to find a good way to hold the pistol with his other hand.

"Woah, don't sound too grateful there, champ," Paal said. "You'd think I wasn't about to do you the biggest favor of your life."

He paused in his inspection of the holster and gave Paal the flattest look he could muster.

"Get it?" Paal's grin dropped. "Not a funny guy then… Noted."

Finally, managing to holster the gun he slipped the belt around his waist and fumbled with the buckle before fastening it. "How exactly do we seal the deal?"

"Eager, are we?" Paal held out his hand. "Just shake my hand and that's it. None of that writ in blood nonsense."

He wrinkled his nose.

Paal flexed his fingers and held his hand out further. "Look, if you really need me to draw up a traditional contract and give you a copy, I can do that too, but it's dreadfully boring and I do enough paperwork as it is. I mean, what do you have to lose, honestly? You're already dead. I'm just offering you a second chance… and a little bit of revenge."

"Revenge?"

"No one ends up dead in a ditch with a pack of dogs eating their face without being fucked over somewhere along the road."

"I don't…" He knitted his brow. "It's hard to remember."

"Oh, it'll be like that for a bit. It gets better once we get everything settled. Trust me though, you've got quite the bone to pick with someone back up there. And I for one would love to see how it all pans out."

"This is a form of entertainment for you," he said flatly, eyeing the still outstretched hand.

"What's the harm in mixing business and pleasure?" Paal smirked. "Plus it'll be fun to see what you do."

"Can you not bring back the memories now?"

Paal tutted. "That's quite expensive, and we haven't made a deal yet."

"How do I know I even want to go back then?"

"Does it even matter who you were before if you get a re-do?"

He looked at the name on the gravestone. "Won't they recognize me?"

"Oh, no-- Uh, see, you're not going back into your original body." Paal grimaced. "I can only repair so much and those dogs really did a number on you."

"Great…"

"Don't worry though, I got a good one picked out for you. Close enough to be uncanny even. Just some little differences, barely noticeable."

He grimaced.

"Don't you humans love taking leaps of faith? What's with all the hemming and hawing? What happened to all that stupid recklessness?"

"Not all of us are stupid."

Paal groaned. "I would get stuck with the biggest coward this side of the Mississippi."

'Look, it's lil' yellow-bellied Bern!'

'Just take it from him. He's not gonna do shit-- He'd flinch at a fly if it looked at him wrong.'

'Pa said he's soft. That his own daddy made him like that.'

He blinked, flinching and scrunching up his eyes at the sudden, sharp jab that needled at his skull. "I'm not a coward."

"Then take my hand."

His head pounded, and if he really was dead he wondered why he could still feel that out of everything. If the sweat pricked along the back of his neck was more memory than actual sensation, or if the way his tongue had grown heavy in his jaw was all made up too. He eyed Paal's hand and the discolored fingernails, the sheet white skin, the odd scarring along the knuckles and on the palms.

'Leave and don't you ever come back here. And if I ever see you again, you'll be begging the devil to take your soul from me first.'

He grit his teeth, fingers curling into fists.

The voice bit across his cheek like knuckles, like blood on his tongue and smattered across his hands. It curled like snake oil and melted wax, like the dust settled over the rafters of an ever empty church and like floorboards stained with drying flecks of rust.

He reached for Paal's hand and Paal grabbed his wrist instead, wrapped his fingers around him and squeezed, hard enough he twisted with the motion. Paal didn't budge, no matter how he pried at him, and the hand burned-- Burned the way laying your palm across a sheet of ice stung and wormed its way deeper and deeper the longer you left it there.

He stumbled as Paal released him, clutching at his wrist and hissing. "What the hell?"

"Part of the contract. It'll fade in a second."

The burning stopped and when he let go of his wrist, a coiling band of white took its place. Sat snugly, flat and lined with black, was an ivory snake wrapped three times about his wrist. The head of the serpent rested along the heel of his thumb, eyes a nearly translucent blue. It faded, still standing out against his skin, more like an impossibly pale tattoo and less like the actual snake it was a moment ago. His arm ached dully with it, like he had come in from a long frigid day, and his fingers cramped as the feeling returned to the very tips of him.

"Oh, right-- You'll be needing bullets." Paal grabbed his hand and dropped a freezing piece of metal into it.

More followed as Paal fished around in his suit jacket for them. At the fourth one Paal paused. "What was that little rhyme you were doing before I arrived? I rather enjoy that one. The ending is always my favorite."

He watched where the bullets settled in his palm. The casings a blood-red ebony and the bullet itself the shade of bone.

"And four for birth…" Paal dropped another bullet. "Five for heaven..." Another. "And six for hell," Paal said with a smirk, manually curling his hand around the bullets and patting it. "Now keep track of those, they're not exactly easy to make."

He didn't tell Paal that he didn't finish the poem, that there was still one more line that needed to be said to complete it. Instead, he pocketed the bullets.

"Walk with me a sec--" Paal grabbed his shoulder and nudged him forward.

They meandered along the lines of graves, passing headstones that varied in shape and size, some cared for, with flowers and candles and even worn sepia photos left at their feet. Others were less fortunate. Grown over, dulled, and abandoned.

They stopped before one with a less modest headstone. A large stone cross jutted up from the top and an angel carved above the name of the soul that was laid to rest below their feet.

"You know, I really do think this is the start of a great partnership..."

He raised a brow.

"Marcus J. Bern--" He flinched at the name, not expecting it to fall from Paal's mouth so casually. "It's been a pleasure doing business with you."

He hesitated, shoulders drawing up, hand coming to rest on the gun at his hip. "Uh, you too…?"

Paal smiled, like he found that amusing. And he hadn't noticed how sharp his teeth looked until he was staring the oversized canines dead in the face.

"Now--" Paal said, placing his hands on his shoulders, dusting them off before squeezing lightly. "This might hurt a bit."

"What--"

Paal shoved him.

He fell and fell and the earth swallowed him whole.

Dirt and silt and death surrounded him. Impossibly endless and vast, the grave didn't catch him as it should have. And the chill that bit at his limbs gnawed feverishly, right down to the core of him until he felt a yell clog up with the hallowed ground packed against his tongue. Further and further he descended, gut flipping and twisting with him, until he thought this would be his new forever. That Paal had lied to him, and he would simply be doomed to free fall for the rest of eternity, until all returned to dust as it had once emerged and longer still.

Light broke up the darkness overhead and he reached for it, arm outstretched. The white snake coiled around his wrist writhed and burned at the first touch of it and dripping with pale ichor, his veins stood out a ghastly silver against him. A venom coursed through him as it wound further and further down, closer and closer to where his heart had thrummed to life and kicked against his ribs in a fevered fit. He clutched at his chest as the ground-- as something-- hurtled towards him.

Breath slammed into him with a rattling gasp and his eyes shot open.

Blinded, he blinked and squinted against the grace of a new day, trembling and shaking where he had woken upon the dirt. The cross of the gravestone cast a merciful shadow over him and he could see the tangled fingers of the tree beyond it.

Raucous caws chorused above him. A murder of crows dotted the grey sky overhead, having flighted from their perches high in the dead limbed oak.

One, two, three, four, five, six--

"And seven for the devil, his own self..." he muttered, hand falling to his hip and the gun now holstered there.

#writeblr #creative writing #writing #prose #prompt fill #original work #my writing #fiction #demons #gothic vibes #this is technically me testing out these two for a longer novel idea #the prompt just happened to fit really well #its a bit long but it got away from me #hell's comin' with me #making that the official tag for this i guess in case i ever expand on the two of them and the world etc #thank you for the prompt!!

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7r0773r · 3 years

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Heavy by Kiese Laymon

Inside Concord Missionary Baptist church, I loved the attention I got for being a fat black boy from the older black women: they were the only women on earth who called my fatness fineness. I felt flirted with, and like most fat black boys, when flirted with, I fell in love. I loved the organ’s bended notes, the aftertaste of the grape juice, the fans steadily moving through the humidity, the anticipation of somebody catching the Holy Ghost, the lawd-have-mercy claps after the little big-head boy who couldn’t read so well was forced to read a greeting to the congregation.

But as much as I loved parts of church, and as hard as I tried, I couldn’t love the holy word coming from the pulpit. The voices carrying the word were slick and sure of themselves in ways I didn’t believe. The word at Concord was always carried by the mouths of the reverend, deacons, or other visiting preachers who acted like they knew my grandmama and her friends better than they did.

Older black women in the church made up the majority of the audience. But their voices and words were only heard during songs, in ad-libbed responses to the preacher’s word and during church announcements. While Grandmama and everyone else amen’d and well’d their way through shiny hollow sermons, I just sat there, usually at the end of the pew, sucking my teeth, feeling superhot, super bored, and really resentful because Grandmama and her friends never told the sorry-ass preachers to shut up and sit down somewhere.

My problem with church was I knew what could have been. Every other Wednesday, the older women of the church had something called Home Mission: they would meet at alternate houses, and bring their best food, their Bibles, notebooks, and their testimonies. There was no instrumental music at Home Mission, but those women, Grandmama’s friends, used their lives, their mo(u)rning songs, and their Bibles as primary texts to boast, confess, and critique their way into tearful silence every single time.

I didn’t understand hell, partially because I didn’t believe any place could be hotter than Mississippi in August. But I understood feeling good. I did not feel good at Concord Missionary Baptist church. I felt good watching Grandmama and her friends love each other during Home Mission. (Be, pp. 54-55)

***

You were on your way back from Hawaii with Malachi Hunter while LaThon Simmons and I sat in the middle of a white eighth-grade classroom, in a white Catholic school, filled with white folk we didn't even know. These white folk watched us toss black vocabulary words, a dull butter knife, and pink grapefruit slices back and forth until it was time for us to go home.

We were new eighth graders at St. Richard Catholic School in Jackson, Mississippi, because Holy Family, the poor all-black Catholic school we attended most of our lives, closed unexpectedly due to lack of funding. All four of the black girls from Holy Family were placed in one homeroom at St. Richard. All three of us black boys from Holy Family were placed in another. Unlike at Holy Family, where we could wear what we wanted, at St. Richard, students had to wear khaki or blue pants or skirts and light blue, white, or pink shirts.

LaThon, who we both thought looked just like a slew-footed K-Ci from Jodeci, and I sat in the back of homeroom the first day of school doing what we always did: we intentionally used and misused last year's vocabulary words while LaThon cut up his pink grapefruit with his greasy, dull butter knife. "These white folk know here on discount," he told me, "but they don't even know."

"You right," I told him. "These white folk don't even know that you an ol’ grapefruit-by the-pound-eating ass nigga. Give me some grapefruit. Don’t be parsimonious with it, either."

"Nigga, you don’t eat grapefruits,” LaThon said. “Matter of fact, tell me one thing you eat that don't got butter in it. Ol’ churning-your-own-butter-ass dying laughing. "Plus, you act like I got grapefruits gal-low up in here. I got one grapefruit."

Seth Donald, a white boy with two first names, looked like a dustier Shaggy from Scooby-Doo, but with braces. Seth spent the first few minutes of the first day of school silent-farting and turning his eyelids inside out. He asked both of us what "gal-low" meant.

"It's like galore," I told him, and looked at LaThon. "Like grapefruits galore."

LaThon sucked his teeth and rolled his eyes. "Seth, whatever your last name is, first of all, your first name ends with two f's from now on, and your new name is Seff six-two because you five-four but you got the head of a nigga we know who six-two." LaThon tapped me on the forearm. "Don't he got a head like S. Slawter?" I nodded up and down as LaThon shifted and looked right in Seff 6'2's eyes. "Every thang about y’all is erroneous. Every. Thang. This that black abundance. Y'all don’t even know."

LaThon's favorite vocab word in seventh grade was "abundance," but I'd never heard him throw "black" and "that" in front of it until we got to St. Richard.

While LaThon was cutting his half into smaller slices, he looked at me and said Seth six-two and them didn't know about the slicing "shhhtyle" he used.

Right as I dapped LaThon up, Ms. Reeves, our white homeroom teacher, pointed at LaThon and me. Ms. Reeves looked like a much older version of Wendy from the Wendy restaurants. We looked at each other, shook our heads, and kept cutting our grapefruit slices. “Put the knife away, LaThon, she said. *Put it down. Now!"

"Mee-guh," we said to each other. "Meager," the opposite of LaThon's favorite word, was my favorite word at the end of seventh grade. We used different pronunciations of meager to describe people, places, things, and shhhtyles that were at least eight levels less than nothing. "Mee-guh," I told her again, and pulled out my raggedy Trapper Keeper. "Mee-guh."

While Ms. Reeves was still talking, I wrote "#1 tape of #1 group?" on a note and passed it to LaThon. He leaned over and wrote, "EPMD and Strictly Business." I wrote. #1 girl you wanna marry?" He wrote, "Spinderalla + Tootie." I wrote, "#1 white person who don't even know?" LaThon looked down at his new red and gray Air Maxes, then up at the ceiling. Finally, he shook his head and wrote, "Ms. Reeves + Ronald Reagan. It's a tie. With they meager ass."

I balled up the note and put it in my too-tight khakis while Ms. Reeves kept talking to us the way you told me white folk would talk to us if we weren't perfect, the way I saw white women at the mall and police talk to you whether you'd broken the law or not.

I understood how Ms. Reeves had every reason in her world to think I was a sweaty, red-eyed underachiever who drank half a Mason jar of box wine before coming to school. That's almost exactly who I was. But LaThon was as close to abundant as an eighth grader could be. (Meager, pp. 65-67)

***

When I came back from playing ball at the Greenbelt rec center during spring break, you made me read back over sentences I’d written in my notebooks back in Mississippi. You said I asked a lot of questions about what I saw and heard in my writing, but because I didn’t reread the questions I didn’t push myself to different answers. You said a good question always trumps an average answer.

“The most important part of writing, and really life,” you said, “is revision.” (Contraction, p. 85)

***

When I got in the house, you brought your belt across my neck. Earlier in the day, Ms. Andrews, one of your friends who was a teacher at my school, told you Coach Shitzler said I was in a sexual relationship with a white girl. You heard this “news” on the same day you watched a gang of white police officers try to kill a chained black man they later claimed had “Hulk-like” strength.

I did not know Rodney King, but I could tell by how he wiggled, rolled, and ran he was not a Hulk. Hulks did not beg for mercy. Hulks did not shuffle from ass whuppings. Hulks had no memories, no mamas. I wondered what niggers and police were to a Hulk. I wondered if all sixteen-year-old Americans had a little Hulk in them.

I knew, or maybe I accepted, for the first time no matter what anyone did to me, I would never beg anyone for mercy. I would always recover. There was physically nothing anyone could do to me to take my heart, other than kill me. You, Grandmama, and I had that same Hulk in our chest. We would always recover. At some point during my beating, I just stopped fighting and I let you hit me. I did not scream, I did not yell. I barely breathed. I took my shirt off without you telling me. I let you beat me across my back. It was the only beating in my life where watching you beat me as hard as you could felt good. (Hulk, pp. 96-97)

***

I listened to the Coup and read everything James Baldwin had written that summer. I learned you haven’t read anything if you’ve only read something once or twice. Reading things more than twice was the reader version of revision. I read The Fire Next Time over and over again. I wondered how it would read differently had the entire book, and not just the first section, been written to, and for, Baldwin’s nephew. I wondered what, and how, Baldwin would have written to his niece. I wondered about the purpose of warning white folk about the coming fire. Mostly, I wondered what black writers weren’t writing when we spent so much creative energy begging white folk to change. (Already, pp. 143-44)

***

I’d never given much weight to the idea of present black fathers saving black boys. Most of the black boys I grew up with had present black fathers in the home. Sure, some of those fathers taught my friends how to be tough. But I can’t think of one who encouraged his son to be emotionally or even bodily expressive of joy, fear, and love. I respected my father but I never felt that I needed him or any other man in the house to show me how to become a loving man. I knew, truth be told, that a present American man would likely teach me how to be a present American man. And I couldn’t imagine how those teachings would have made me healthier or more generous. (Seat Belts, p. 200)

#Kiese Laymon #book quotes

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noodlecupcakeswritings · 4 years

Text

A Test of Faith - Chapter 4 (A Priest AU) Kylo RenxOC)

Father Ren has been tasked with looking after the new arrival Sister Cora. Is it lust in the air or a test from God?

Look, this fic is pure fucking depraved priest kink porn. There is no plot. Just porn. I have no excuse. And sorry for starting yet another fic when I already have ongoing ones…but I couldn’t get this idea out of my head. Thanks to @ohiobluetip for inspiring this one, she’s a babe and you should check out her work.

Please leave comments, kudos and reblogs if you like it. Let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist.

Warnings: NSFW, DUB CON/NON CON, Forced blowjobs, Oral sex, Confessional sex, Face fucking, Crying, Dirty talk, Sinning, comparison of cum to the holy sacrament...

Chapter 4

Cora Ardmore

The sun was high and there was a comforting cool breeze as The Bishop and I walked through the abbeys gardens. Whilst Snoke was old, he still insisted on going for a daily walk with some company. I was happy to aid him and take it slow for him. It offered me a chance to speak with him privately, to tell him about Father Ren. Snoke had the power to cast him out of the church if he wished. Hopefully, he would believe me. We stopped under the shade of the apple tree’s, Snoke seemed a little out of breath. “I apologize for not catching up with you sooner Sister, I hope you have settled in here well,” Snoke spoke. “It's quite alright your excellency. This is already starting to feel like home.”

“Good, Im glad to hear it. And did Father Ren offer you much help and guidance upon your arrival?” I knew I should tell him; it was practically on the tip of my tongue when we were interrupted by none other than Ren himself. He kneeled before Snoke and kissed his ring out of respect before rising again. “Father we were just talking about you,” Snoke smiled. I avoided Ren’s gaze, looking anywhere but at him. Guilt ate away at me. I’d had my chance to say something and now it was gone. But I would get another chance tonight in the confessional with Father Hux. And there would be no way Ren could interrupt a confessional.

“Good afternoon, Sister,” Ren greeted me, smiling softly. I returned the pleasantry's only to avoid questioning from Snoke. It burned to be in Ren’s presence, reminded me of my sin, how weak I had been. Yet the more I thought about what we had done…how good his fingers had felt inside of me…heat spread across my cheeks and between my legs. So caught up in my thoughts, I didn't realize that Snoke and Ren were looking at me as if they’d just asked me a question. “Sister?” Snoke asked. I needed to make up an excuse and fast; I needed to remove myself from this situation quickly. “Sorry, your excellency. I’m not feeling well. Perhaps it's the heat. Please excuse me,” I muttered.

“Of course, Sister. Father Ren will accompany me from here. Rest,” Snoke replied. I kneeled to kiss his ring, feeling Ren’s gaze on me the entire time. I could only imagine the sinful thoughts running through his head. Getting to my feet, I hurried off to my quarters, closing the door behind me and leaning against it for a few moments. Closing my eyes, I took a few deep breaths, trying to think of anything but Ren's fingers. Like a woman possessed, I squeezed my breasts through my habit, gasping at the sensation. Ren’s hands were so big, he’d cover them easily. No, I would not be tempted. I forced my hands back down to my sides, my gaze falling to the cross on my wall. God would be ashamed of me for succumbing to these sinful desires. I just had to last till tonight where I would confess my sins and Ren’s.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Night had fallen, and the abbey was silent and still. The candles flickered, casting shadows across the pews. I closed the door of the confessional behind me and waited. Father Hux should be next door, ready to release me from the burden of my sins. There was only silence. Perhaps he was running a little late. The door in front of me burst open and there blocking any chance of escape was Father Ren. I was a rabbit trapped in a fox's lair. Rising from my seat, I had to think quickly. I could either try to force my way out or I could scream. But Ren would overpower me easily. I opened my mouth to scream, but Ren was quicker. He forced himself on me, covering my mouth with his hand. My eyes filled with tears as he closed the door behind him, trapping me in here with him.

“If I take my hand away, will you scream?” He asked, his tone hushed. I shook my head, accepting my fate. His body pressed up against mine, sandwiching me between him and the wall. Having him this close again was dizzying. Cautiously Ren takes his hand away only to replace it with his lips, kissing me hard and possessive, like he wants to claim me. Finally he pulls away, allowing me to breathe. Cupping my cheek, he wipes away my tears with his thumb. “W-where's Father Hux?” I asked. “I convinced him I would take over his duties for tonight. He doesn’t get to have you all to himself, not when you're mine.” He thought Hux, and I were together? No, he thought, we would have done something. Ren was so blinded by his lust for me he didn't want me near another man.

“Father…there's nothing between Father Hux and I,” I stated. “Because you're mine.” His hands moved up to my shoulders and pushed me down on to the wooden bench. Ren towered over me, looking over me as if he were deciding what to do next. Unbuttoning his cassock at his waist, he reached inside and pulled out his large, fully hard cock. I averted my gaze to the floor, refusing to look at it. In the tight confines of the confessional it was closer than I would have liked. Father Ren grabbed a handful of my veil and hair, forcing me to look at it. With his free hand, he traced my lips with the head of his cock. “Prove it. Prove your mine,” he demanded.

Fresh tears rolled down my cheeks. What choice did I have? Opening my mouth, he forced me down onto his cock. Ren shuddered at the feeling of my warm wet mouth around his cock. Tightening his grip on my habit, he pushed me further down, making me choke and gag around the head of his cock as it hit my throat. He groaned at the feeling, holding me there for a few moments before finally pulling me off and allowing me to breathe. “Such a beautiful mouth Sister, God clearly intended for it be used like this,” Ren spoke, his voice lower and breathier. I wanted to shake my head at him, but before I had the chance, he pushed his cock back into my mouth. I whimpered, the sound muffled. Ren gently rocked his hips against my face, fucking my mouth.

“Perhaps I have found heaven in your mouth, Sister, or maybe I’ll find it between your legs.” He grunted. Another heat had settled between my legs. I was sickened by how my body was reacting to him using me. Ren’s thrusts became harder, now fucking my throat. The sound of me gagging was so obscene and far too loud. If someone walked past, they would surely hear it. Ren didn't seem to have the same fear as me, moaning and cursing with every movement of his hips. His hips suddenly stilled, and he gasped as a warm salty liquid coated my tongue. Pulling his cock from my mouth, he gripped my jaw, making me look up at him. “Swallow my cum, Sister, swallow it like you would the holy sacrament,” Ren ordered with a smirk. Swallowing the substance caused my body to shudder. The taste was not pleasant. “Show me it's all gone,” He directed.

I opened my mouth for him once more, for him to inspect. Satisfied that I’d swallowed his sin he released his grip on my jaw. Ren tucked himself away before getting on his knees before me. “Does it ache again, Sister? Between your legs?” He asked. “N-no, Father.” I lied. I knew I should have put up more of a fight, but instead I remained still. Ren lifted my skirt and pushed my legs open. He pressed his nose to my clothed heat, inhaling my scent. Ren hummed hungrily as if it were something good cooking in the kitchens. The ache was turning into a throb, desperate for his touch. He pulled my panties off, inspecting them with a soft smirk. “Your wet, Sister. You can pretend you didn’t want to suck my cock all you want but heres all the evidence I need that you liked it.”

Ren pulled me forward more before diving between my legs. His tongue ran up from my hole to my clit, moaning at my taste. I too moaned at the feeling of his tongue. “I knew you’d taste good. As sweet as honey,” He mused. “Please Father. M-more, please.” I pleaded. The ache was too much to bear anymore; I needed him regardless of right and wrong. Ren smiled before lapping at my juices once more. His tongue circled my clit, forcing a loud moan from me. I covered my mouth with my hand, afraid of being caught whilst my other hand fisted his hair, pressing him closer. I felt him smirk against me, groaning at my taste. The sounds he made were loud, hungry and desperate. “Father…oh…Father we could be caught,” I warned, my voice shaky.

I didn't want him to stop, but I also didn't want to be caught. Sound carried easily in this confined space. Ren slipped two fingers into me, making me forget about my anxieties. Yes, this is what I needed. If he was worried about being caught he didn't show it, forcing louder moans from me as he curled his fingers. My thighs were shaking, my stomach muscles getting tighter as that feeling built again. “Please, Father,” I begged again. Ren continued, not showing any signs of slowing. A few more flicks of his tongue across my clit and I was cumming apart at the seams for him. Every single one of my nerve endings were singing with pleasure as he worked me through my orgasm. I gasped and whined his name, my hips bucking for more.

Ren cleaned me up with his tongue before sucking his fingers clean once more with a satisfied groan. His lips were shiny with spit and my juices. He put my skirt back into place and pulled me to my feet. “I have found heaven between your legs, Sister,” he concluded. He kissed me, making me taste myself on his tongue. One of his arms locked around my waist, pulling me flush against him. “I want more. I want all of you. Please, Sister, let me have you,” Ren implored. “Not tonight, Father. We’ve already risked so much in here. Please let me go.” I hoped I didn't sound as afraid as I felt. I needed him to release me. My strength had failed me once more, and I wanted to be as far away from him as possible.

For a moment I thought he wouldn't let me go, but his grip on me loosened gradually. Relief filled me, and he allowed me to leave the confessional first. I didn't run until I knew I would be out of sight. Perhaps a confessional had not been the best course of action. Perhaps the only way we could be relieved of our sins was through punishment.

Taglist: @sweetfictionalworld, @sweetsec-93, @cltex84, @jana-banana-fana, @dark-night-sky-99, @warriorqueen1991, @blackredrose27, @jynzandtonic, @ellelaconiwrites. @bestblondebuddy

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touchmycoat · 4 years

Note

Humble author, I’m in love with your songxiao bachelor au and would like to request anything to do with it in these trying times of combined university he’ll and coronavirus 😩 I’d even love to hear you talk about the writing process, how you came up with it, your thoughts about it, how progress on it goes, I would be over the moon with emojis about it, bless you for writing this incredible au 🔥🔥🔥

HAHAHAHAH YOU SHALL BE JUICE THAT FUELS MY WRITING WINGS TOMORROW. I APPRECIATE THE ENTHUSIASM SO DAMN MUCH FAM.

once upon a time i read Fahye’s amazing Captive Prince Bachelor AU, so when i saw the prompt in the moon frost fest prompt bank i knew i had to snatch it. i love my working class heroes, people know this, and i wanted that gentry-laborers contrast that was so visible in CQL to be apparent in this fic too

but i did not consciously embark on this long-ish fic journey!! i should’ve planned for it but i kinda fucked myself over ‘cause i know i have a tendency to not finish fics over 10k that have parts published already ugh

BUT I’M REALLY EXCITED ABOUT THE CHAPTER 2 INTERLUDE. It’s a listicle of a listicle. I JUST GOTTA SIT MY ASS DOWN AND WRITE IT.

my writing process included consulting @trixree on what the fuck the bachelor actually is ‘cause to this day i still kind of don’t know (despite their phenomenal, highly cryptic explanation). i’ve watched a great number of very stressful clips on youtube though!!!! all i know is that it!! stresses me out!!!

the moment i wrote that opening scene w the interns & nhs tho i knew i was fucked ‘cause that’s the register of Extra™ i wanna keep the whole fic at, but def need a longfic to pull off ahahahahahha and i’m back to my “can’t finish shit” problem

BUT ANYWAYS. damn dude, university hell is painful as hell. i’ll get that chapter 2 and 3 churning for you, but in the meantime, for a laugh, have the original draft of the SL + WWX early morning conversation:

“Shot list.”

“Unless it’s actually a list of people to shoot, like pew pew, I don’t want it.”

“Coke.”

“I ordered cocaine, you selfish bastard.”

“Promotion.”

That gave Wei Wuxian pause, and Song Lan smiled wanly.

“XYZ quit yesterday—congratulations, you’re the new Director of Photography.”

“…No I’m not.”

“…”

“Not until you say it right.”

“Wei Wuxian. I haven’t slept in close to fifty hours—”

“Say it right, Song-xiong, or I’ll quit key grip right now. You know I’m not bluffing, I’ll go straight back to my porn set job tonight you know I will.”

“…Wei Wuxian.”

“Go on.”

“Congratulations, you’re the DP.”

“No, Song-xiong, congratulations to you on your DP. How does it feel, getting DP’d?”

#you're amazing #anon #thank you this cheered me up VERY much eheheheheeh #i don't know why my brain just hates finishing half-published things smack it into shape for me please and thank #asks

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whatadaze · 5 years

Note

you brought up the church and now I’m hurting because there is a possibility it would happen and i’m getting emotional just by thinking about it. Would you consider writing something involving the church (the scene you think we’ll get tomorrow or if that’s too sad maybe something happy instead) you’ll have my eternal gratitude

for the first time in a long time, my writing juices are flowing

noah wasn’t at school yesterday, and he didn’t show up today. liv would know because she waited outside his last class and gijs told her he hadn’t seen him all day.

she hated the lingering glance gijs sent her way,

almost like he knew,

and she especially hated the sinking feeling in her chest when she thought about noah all alone, isolating himself just like before.

but this time, she doesn’t want to go to his place. she doesn’t know what she’d do if she was faced with morris again. she lost the courage she had when she confronted him on saturday but all she wants to do in this moment is to see noah.

and then the conversation pops up in her head.

“i used to come here a lot when i was a kid. to be alone.”

and she might be wrong.

he might be home, or wandering the streets.

but if there’s even a slight chance he’s there, liv is willing to check.

*****

liv doesn’t get there until a little past seven, but she can make out the light shining underneath the church doors.

she takes a deep breath before slowly pushing open the door, and her heart jumps when she sees him.

noah, sitting on the church pew, his head bowed, almost like he’s in prayer.

but as liv approaches him, she realizes he’s not praying, and instead sketching—his notebook on his lap and his hand moving feverishly over the page.

and as her footsteps grow louder, his hand stills.

for a second, liv stops breathing,

frozen in place as she watches him.

“what are you doing here?” he finally asks, his voice dry and void of emotion.

“we need to talk,” she says. “and you weren’t at school. i thought you’d be here.”

liv takes a hesitant seat beside him, leaving a good bit of room between them.

“so talk.”

“i don’t know what your brother told you, and i know you’re mad-”

“i’m not mad, liv,” he says, finally facing her.

and his eyes tell her that his words are true.

he’s not mad.

she doesn’t see any trace of anger in his blue, blue eyes.

but she does see sadness, frustration, and confusion,.

“noah,” she says, her voice cracking.

and it’s noah that scoots a little closer, setting his notebook to the side and waiting for her to continue.

she grips the edge of the pew, her knuckles turning white.

that’s what she focuses on—

her white knuckles,

the way her ring shines under the dim light,

and her steady breaths—

as the story of what happened finally unfolds.

*****

it takes noah a few minutes before he finally responds.

“i’m sorry,” he says softly, his voice shaking.

he can’t seem to look at her anymore, his brows furrowed as he stares at the ground.

liv finally closes the small distance that’s left between them and hesitantly places her hand on top of his.

he doesn’t move it away, and she can feel his body relax slightly under her touch.

“it’s my fault,” he says, anger now laced in his voice. “i should’ve been there. i should’ve-”

“noah, stop,” she cuts in, using her other hand to turn his face.

liv locks her eyes with his.

“do you want me to blame myself for what happened?” she asks.

he immediately shakes his head, confusion and anger returning in his eyes.

“of course not, liv.”

“then don’t blame yourself, either. alright?”

her lips form a sad smile as she begins to stroke his hand with her thumb.

“what happened happened,” she tells him. “and it fucking sucked, and it will suck for a while. but it’s not my fault, and it’s not your fault. it’s your brother’s. he…what he did is a crime that is punishable by law.”

she lets out a bitter laugh.

“and he was fucking dumb enough to leave evidence,” she tells him. “but i’ve talked to ralph, esra, and the girls. i’m going to the police, noah. i know he’s your brother but-”

“i want you to go,” he says. “what he did…i don’t want him to do that to someone else, liv.”

she nods in agreement.

“and if anything, the only thing i’m sorry for is not trusting you,” she says. “because i should have that night. i trusted morris’s words over yours, and that’s the only thing i regret.”

noah sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “no, liv. i…i didn’t prove myself to be trustworthy. i didn’t deserve your trust so don’t ever apologize for that, okay? please.”

she bites her lip, watching noah lose himself in his own thoughts. she wonders what he’s thinking about, but remains silent.

“i came here because i didn’t know where else to go,” he finally says, breaking the silence. “i didn’t want to be at home with…”

he shakes his head.

“and then i thought of this place.”

he looks up at the tall ceiling.

“it’s funny,” he says softly. “i’ve been coming here since i was little, but now when i’m here, all i think about is you.”

her heart leaps at his words, and all she can seem to do is scoot even closer, letting her arm brush against his.

“we’ll be okay, right?” he asks, his voice almost a whisper.

liv smiles, a real smile, and rests her head on his shoulder.

“yes,” she says. “we will be.”

***

*CUE SUFJAN*

i added all my fics to ao3 and you can find this one here!

#skam nl #skamnl #liv x noah #skamfic

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aliypop · 4 years

Text

Be With The Stars

Wordcount: 2,179

A/n: So here’s a rewritten version Of how Alana became a smuggler and met han!

"Cantina... I've never been to one of those.." she whispered to herself, walking in she saw so many people of so many different planets that she couldn't help but stare in aw from taking it all in,

"Your kind isn't welcomed here,"

Alana looked at the waitress a bit angry at what she just said to AL-1 "She's with me, " she never did understand the hatred towards droids they were the kindest things ever, at least that's what she knew her AL-1 to be,

"You cheated!"

"You lost the game, and you lost your -"

" I wanna play.." Alana said sitting at the table of what looked like a group of roughings, thugs, and well mostly smugglers, but the person that stood out to her the most was a man wearing the most obnoxious colored cape she had ever laid eyes on in her life with a bright neon shirt to match it, her eyes were already studying the deck of cards although it wasn't like she had never played the game before,

"Why would a beautiful girl like yourself want to pla-"

"Deal me in.," she smirked, tossing her tiara in the pot, "A Nabooian tiara.. nice steal there," Alana looked at the young man confused by what he meant as a nice steal when it was, in fact, her own,

"Y-yeah stole it from the queen!" Alana smirked looking around the table,

"The queen is dead, anyways what's your name," he said trying to change the subject, there was something about this girl that had a mystery to her,

"Um... Lana Corge Clargo .." she stuck her hand out smiling,

"Call me Lando," he smirked kissing her hand, a waitress walked by winking at Lando, "Get her a Jawa Juice," he whispered, Alana was excited already making friends, and she had just landed on the planet, playing the game Alana began to learn more about Lando, he believed in luck, smooth-talking, and lots of flirting,

"So Clargo.," he smirked the two were the only ones left playing,

"Yes Lando.." she smiled shifting through her cards, she had already won 2 matches, but this one was for the big win, "Ever won a big bounty before," he asked as her head shot up from her cards," No.." she ignored his question,

"Why not go on an adventure.. go see the Galaxy.."

"-23!" she slammed the cards down on the table, taking everything in the pot since, after all, she did win, but the thing that struck out to her the most was a pair of golden Corellian spike dice, "I could take the Naboo Impulse out for a spin.," she replied to him, Lando looked at her, his eyes wide from what she had just said, every smuggler just about knew the existence of the coaxuim carrying machine that used to be named the Corellian Fury,

"So you're Clargo's daughter," Lando smirked, "Well why didn't you say so.," he laughed as Alana rolled her eye's, "Because .. wait you know my dad," she blinked at him Lando nodded as the two walked out of the Cantina,

"By the way, I like Corge better.."

"Y-You do?" she stuttered, Alana was new to this and very naive to the ideas of adventure, but she knew that this would work out for her in the long run, or so she had hoped, "It'll catch on quick," he winked, walking back to his ship, it was spacious bigger than a few ships she had ever seen,

"So why Tatooine of all places to run away to," he asked flipping the switches on, as she found her ways into his assortments of capes and cloaks, " Moisture farming sounded pretty nice," she shrugged her shoulders,

"And not the limelight of Royalty," he said as she poked her head out from the closet, "Pretty soon they'll be guards waiting for ya.."

"I left that life when I got here okay!" she sat in the co-pilot seat as Lando stared at her, "What's wrong.." she asked looking up at him naive eyes looking at ones with more experience, " L3.. is not gonna be happy about this.." he mumbled to himself, Alana looked out the from the ships window seeing the stars, but this time it was different, they shined brighter than what she was used to, her eyes wide filled with the galaxy in them, Lando couldn't help a bit but to smile,

"I take it you've never seen the stars before?"

"I have just not like this," she then turned to look away from her wondering child-like eyes fading away, "It's different when you choose to adventure rather than someone choose them for you," she laughed, looking around,

Months had passed, and Lando and Alana had begun to understand each other or at least he had liked to think so, "Is everything okay.. you haven't been yourself since Bespin," she asked not wanting to get on his bad side, she cared about the gambler, but she didn't know why maybe it was their long talks at night or the way he would try to sweet-talk her, whatever it was she couldn't explain it and she didn't know-how,

"I don't want to talk about it, Lana,"

"I thought you could trust me," she mumbled,

"Lana in this business you can't trust anyone," he laughed,

" You're too vulnerable to be a smuggler, You'll never be.." he stopped talking as Alana looked at him brows furrowed "Never be good at it.." she growled leaning closer towards him, her heart shattered at what he was implying,

"That's not what I was going to say.." he rolled his eyes at her, "But you're so quick to think with your heart and not with your head!" he leaned closer towards her, his hand around her waist pulling her more towards him, soft lips landing onto hers as she kissed him back, hands in his hair, pushing herself away from him,

"I can't do this.."

"Do what.."

"I can't like you, I know you don't believe in me, and that's fine I don't need you!" she laughed at him, "I can do this myself, "

"Fine, but don't come crawling back to me!" he laughed, "I never wanna see on my ship again!"

"I never wanna see it again!"

Lana was back on Tatooine with her droid, and so far things were going good for her when she wasn't on the run from bounty hunters and stormtroopers or smuggling spice for the Hutt mob and making runs for Voss, instead, she spent her time in the Cantina playing Sabacc and drinking Jawa Juice,

"Why the long face Corge.." the bartender asked, pouring her another drink, "You're in your prime, you're doing great, Hutt trusts you.." he smiled as she smirked a bit,

"Yeah, I just want something more than just that though, an adventure ain't worth anything if you can't share it with someone.." she laughed,

"No one interest you," walking in was a Wookiee and a disgustingly handsome young man with a blaster on his hip, something about him, gave her an odd feeling, she just didn't know where to pinpoint it,

“You know, sometimes I amaze even myself,” he smirked, he was charming and handsome, probably twenty-two at most,

"That's what you think," Lana mumbled under her breath, not caring if he heard her, his brown curls glowing like an angel, he must have been Corellian she could tell by how cocky he was,

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the legendary Lana Corge.." his eye's met in her direction, "Or the missing daughter of Na-"

PEW!

"Do you believe all rumors to be true Mr,"

"Solo, Han Solo," You've got good aim there.." he smirked lost in her eyes already, Chewie by his side, while her droid was right by hers, he looked like troubled, and she secretly loved it, she could tell he was new to the business, and she felt no remorse for him,

"Trust lightly.." she smirked, "AL-1 let's go-",

"Did you learn that from Lando.," he smirked, watching her stop in her tracks, her eyes were wide when he spoke the name, " What's it to you kid," she asked turning around to face him, "I should be calling you kid.," he mumbled, knowing that she heard him, walking away as he grabbed her by the wrist, " Let me go you nerf herder," she grumbled twisting her wrist out of his grasp, " let’s get one thing straight, I take orders from just one person.. me,” He whispered in her ear as she glared at him,

"Oh, that really scares me.." pushing past him as she began to walk back to her ship, she had always loved it, the beautiful seats, the soft Nabooian touches, and her father's lucky dice a rusting gold color from all the times he used them, holding a small bottle of spice in her hand as she looked at her droid she couldn't help but smile,

"We still got it.." her droid speaking back at her, a smile on her face, starting up the ship, "Something's missing.." Han said, looking around for his prized smuggled possession, he was looking for the small bottle of spice that was in his vest pocket fuming with anger as Chewie laughed at the slight idea of who might have stolen the bottle, racing outside the Cantina, he had seen a ship, it looked much like the Corellian Fury, and he was sure that it was,

"This damn ship! AL-1 hand me a tool!" Alana shouted under the control pannels as she hit her head "This ship is farkled," she mumbled under her breath, tired of the fact she had to fix up again, Han sat there listening to the younger woman cuss a slight smile on his face,

"Strong words there princess.." Han smirked watching her brows furrow, "The spice where is it, I know you have it somewhere," he began to walk towards her,

"I don't know what you're talking about." she shrugged, "You've got the wrong girl," laughing as she stood up, "And if I did do you know how much it's worth for Jabba to have it," she asked looking at Han,

"Of course I do, that's why I need it!" he shouted as Alana gave him a sly smile,

"Then why did you lose it," she asked getting closer to him,

"I didn't lose it, you took it," he growled, "And I want it back." cornering her against a wall, "You don't understand how important this is to me." Alana rolled her eyes, leaning under Han's arms to get back to fixing her ship, "If it's so important you should have hidden it better Mr. Solo, " biting her bottom lip as she winked at him, "Even if I did have it, it doesn't mean that I'd give it back to you!" she squeaked feeling the hard wall of the ship against her back, "Is that so.." he whispered, his hand now on her hip. Alana grabbed him by the wrist before he could get it. She began to like how clever he was, very much a street smarts kind of guy and she knew she liked it,

I should kill you," he gave her his most charming smirk,

" But you won't.. " she chuckled,

"Whys that sweetheart," he asked her leaning in closer towards her,

"You like me because I'm a scoundrel, there aren't enough scoundrels in your life.." Alana said pulling him by the collar, watching his eyes get wider by the second Han stood there almost frozen thinking as if he might have just met his match, and from what he witnessed he did,

"I think it's time for you to head back to your ship Mr.Solo," she smiled looking up at him her back still pressed to the wall, "Now if you excuse me-"

The taste of wine and strong remains of blood was stuck on the rough lips of Han Solo, Alana knew that deep inside she was enjoying the kiss, but she couldn't let him win just yet, she knew what he was doing and she was one step ahead of him, Han could taste the lingering remains of Jawa Juice on her breath, with the feel of lips smoother than any Nabooian fabric he'd ever heard of, hands resting on her waist finding the bottle,

"Not so fast Mr. Solo we've only just met.." she laughed, pulling away, "Maybe I could come with you," she whispered, "This is gonna be a big bounty, and I want in,"

"Listen, kid, I fly solo," Han smirked looking down at her, as she looked up at him, "Besides You'll get hurt.." he added on, seeing she wouldn't listen,

"Bruises add character besides you need a good luck charm.."

"You think you're a good luck charm,"

"I'm experienced, and besides you'll need me, I'm quick on my feet and I never get caught-" the two stopped talking as they heard laughter,

"Shut it Furball!"

"Shut it you sack of wires!"

#star wars #landocalrissian #han solo #alana mabecorge #fanfiction #hanxoc

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pilgrimguyanne · 5 years

Text

Arriving in Santiago

I'm sitting outside the cathedral listening to the bells chime midday. I've already been to mass this morning, in English(!) and just this minute I have no desire to move. So I don't.

I arrived in Santiago yesterday just in time. I couldn't get down from the bunk bed until the roomies were awake, and so headed out at 7:30. The cafe near the albergue had no tostadas which, despite my dislike of toast (sliced white bread) and butter I actually have come to enjoy. So I have a zumo de Naranja (fresh squeezed orange juice, not just OJ) and two magdalena and start walking. The first sign says 15.966 km, and so I do the math, 5 km per hour would get me to Santiago at about 11:40. I'm walking without my ankle supports, which are too dirty to seriously consider wearing.

I found the entry into Santiago from the Camino Primitivo extremely disappointing, and so I've come to temper my expectations in this regard. The Camino Portugues was very good, but the Camino Ingles is absolutely beautiful. Of the three entrances I've made into Santiago, it is easily my favourite. I have taken no pictures, or rather very few, because I was so concentrated on walking, on getting to Santiago in time for mass, and getting stamps along the way.

But I soon find there are about zero bars along the way and, though I've promised myself a breakfast break around 8.5 km, there is no bar to make this a reality. I stop and fill up on water and March on.

Unlike the Portugues and Primitivo, which start relatively empty and then are filled with pilgrims in the last 100km, the Ingles, being only 113 km officially, never has this issue. So it's a quiet walk, and my counting to 100 and the click clack of my walking sticks against asphalt and earth give me nice rhythm. At 7,77 km there is a sign for a bar, but it's 300m off route, which means a 600m detour. I start but decide against it. Thankfully, shortly after is he only bar on this stretch, and when I enter I find my two Italian friends from the night before. They are finishing up, and rush off to get to Santiago in time to get souvenirs to be blessed during the mass.

I eat and run. Well walk. My feet and legs are being very good and although as I write this they refuse to do anything difficult, yesterday they were anxious to prove their worth, and carried me without complaint to Santiago.

Because life is poetry, the last people I meet before getting to Santiago are the first people I met on the road to Neda, when we started 6 days earlier. The couple I had eaten with the day before. We are happy to see each other, just 2.5 km shy of Santiago.

The people in the surrounding neighbourhoods cheer us on, "Buen Camino!" One old lady is nearly in tears when she sees us, and her caregiver reassures her, reassures us, that the road isn't that much longer. Just before Santiago is a church- an open church in Spain!!- advertising the last stamp on the Camino. I go in, since I still need one more stamp for the day. But the stamp guy has a questionnaire of sorts that he must fill in, and he has never heard of Trinidad and Tobago or the Caribbean and keeps asking me if it's in Spain. Eventually he agrees to let me write my own entry in his book, but this flusters both, and takes much longer that expected. I forge ahead.

I know that I can't go into the pilgrim mass with my backpack, but my hotel, El Seminario Mayor (no I didn't win a lotto, they have pilgrim rooms) is next to the cathedral and also the church of St Francis, where the pilgrims' mass is celebrated while the cathedral is being refurbished. I fly into the reception and ask them to take my things in the luggage room, promising to return after the mass. They check my reservation and point me to secret passage way via the hotel gardens and back door, which lands me in the cathedral.

I really wish I could say the mass was particularly inspiring. From what I understood of the homily, I quite liked it, and I could sing the parts of the mass in Latin and Spanish. But the very disappointing thing about these masses sometimes is that they are for many a tourist attraction, a novelty, and in front of me is a restless 9 or 10 year old who distracts everyone around her. Still, it is good that she was there.

In the pews ahead, I see my Italian friends, and my roomie from the night before, and the first night in Neda. After mass, we are pleased to be reunited one last time and then we say goodbye to one another forever. I leave the church and stop for lunch, empanada and ice cream. Then it's time to head to the cathedral. On the way there, I see my other Italian friends, and they invite me once more to walk on to Finesterre with them. It's tempting, but I don't have enough time, and the slowest pilgrim has finished her Camino. Later on,when I go for my Compostela, I meet he other Italian couple from days 1 and 5, the guy limping from his damaged tendons (oops!), and once I have done that and get dinner, one of the Chinese boys, and then his brother and his mother, wave me from the door of the restaurant. I am happy to see them all again, to see that they have all made it. The 83 year old German will arrive today.

Later on, as I am buying souvenirs, I see a tee shirt saying, Camino de Santiago, you'll never walk alone. I don't buy it, because I don't like slogan on clothes, but the sentiment is right. This was my Camino Solo, but I didn't really walk alone.

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bloojayoolie · 5 years

Photo

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But what I won't have you do is drag my name and say I take other artist work all that art on my fucking It's also shady how your coming for me now cause I'm popular and not when it happened I also got intouch with instagram and told them your followers are Harassing and sending racial slurs I am a real artist I draw everything by hand and from my head so everything on my page is my ideas and yes I will Look dude I took down your work I never sold any of your drawings btw stats n to I'm sorr taking your work and are my own ideas so don't go around throwing my name and saying everything are my page yIresouw artist but what I don't respect is you having people like I said bully My appearance and that is never right ou as an page belongs to me and me only I true L also don't like bow your having people bullying me and calling Racist names I can get you in trouble for that Hope you see this and I hope re worked ad lot of you cause you were harassing me and being racial in my inbox and post now leave me alone d did block a we can work this out I'm not a horrible or mean person 38% 12:42 ,12:42 All the DMs and messages that she left in Hoy 10:44 AM I don't need to defend myself from a clown artist my instagram Lol you can screenshot but not answer anywho fuck you followers are You and all racist and bully's own you stupid art and ou e is mine so I don't aive a fuck about what you have to say and I'm popular because of my talent I didn't need you work Also stop lieing and saving a sold vour art I didn't i sold all of art and that skeleton one never got sold can visit my You Also none of you work is in my shop that's all mine ea el tumblr Anywho this will blow over and I'll still be popular for more proves quiere enviarte un mensaje. quiere enviarte un mensaje 17302 sequidores 202 publicaciones 17302 seguidores 202 publicaciones a partir de ahora? Solo sabrá que viste su solicitud si eliges "Permitir a nartir de abora? Solo samA OUe viste su solicitud si eliges "Permitir Rechazar Permitir Rechazar Permitir She is selling other people art too: ww C Seauis SandWorm And Beetle Juice Print us$12.00 Foviar measaind veriedue mpute loalesck Envio gratuito 25sem 1Me gt spond Efis amannal Ald love te y n Cemprar ahora ichter things ton That bina Adadir al carro and im nerd rd say we might be check out your Etsy to se No lo deles eseana. Solo hay 5 disponbles yy (o. està en el carro de otras 2 personas Indormación del articula 3760 reqroduccione Artiqulo hesho a mano a Traduk a espatol Alade un comentario WALE Artist Traces & Sells a Smaller Artist's Work. When Asked For Credit Blocks The Original Artist. Starts Harassing Original Artist in DMs When Called Out

#funny #lol #humor #memes #meme #memehumor #dank memes #funny pics #rolf #lmao #Being Alone #Club #an

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collateralfiction · 5 years

Text

Bailey

My head rested against the black couches, my legs pulled underneath me and my body jittery from all sorts of emotions. This morning was nothing short of rocky. Waking up for this dreadful day had to be the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do and just to be dealt with results of something that wasn’t supposed to happen in the first place doesn’t sit too well with me. My phone vibrated from its position on my lap and I looked down to see that it was a simple message from Ryan, telling me that he stood outside of his apartment door and he happened to forget his keys. My stocking covered feet trailed down the dim hallway until I reached the door and unchained the multiple locks before pulling it back slightly so Ryan could enter. He was dressed down in an all-black sweat suit ensemble as if he didn’t have a funeral to be attending, his brothers’ at that. “We need to leave in at least an hour,” I mumbled, trailing slowly behind him.

“I know. I just need to take a quick shower and throw on my dress pants,” he said somberly. I knew for a fact this was taking a toll on him and the fact that I couldn’t do anything to lessen the blow, only made my heart break further. We might not have been in the best of space at the moment but without a doubt, my care and feelings for him were still alive and present and I would do the most to just see a smile on his face after everything he’s been experiencing these past few weeks.

“Have you eaten?” I slept the night over, his request, and although he didn’t want to talk about much, it was the comfort that mattered to him and I knew it. He didn’t have to tell me. We woke up at the same time and I had immediately got dressed so I wouldn’t feel the need to procrastinate and find any reason not to show my face. By the time I was dressed, he was dressed in sweats and had told me he had something to do. I don’t know what he was doing this early in the morning, but I didn’t question it either. What’s done in the dark must come to light one way or another. I leaned against the doorframe and crossed my arms over my chest.

“Nah. I can’t eat,”

“You should though,” I said.

He didn’t fight with me. “Can you make me something light?” he requested, taking off his jacket.

“Sure,” I complied, taking strides towards him. I grabbed his face in my hands and made sure that he was looking at me. “Look, I’m here for you and I hope you know that. You shouldn’t have to go through this alone, okay?” I said.

“Thank you,” His voice was vulnerable and nothing but sincere. He pecked my lips lightly. “I know we got shit to work out but not right now,”

“I understand,” I left him to get ready while I trailed into the kitchen and began to make him a simple Eggs and Cheese combo. The apartment was the quietest it had ever been in such a long time. This was just proof that Riley dying wasn’t supposed to happen. I sighed with exhaustion as I leaned against the counter, attempting to collect my thoughts. Ryan’s food was already made and waiting for him to eat so the only thing I found myself doing now is being consumed in my thoughts without a thing to distract myself with. I don’t know how long I was staring off into space, but it was long enough for Ryan to be completely dressed in his ensemble for the day. I handed him his plate of food and he offered a small smile before sitting opposite of me.

“My mother sends her regards,” I said, breaking the silence.

“I’ll call her on the way to thank her,” he mentioned.

“You don’t have to. She understands what you’re going through,” I mumbled. Taking a swig of his Orange Juice, he said that he would do so anyhow, out of respect. It didn’t take long for Ryan to finish his meal and by the time he was done, his anxiousness seemed to have gone up tenfold. He could barely remain still as he constantly found himself doing something out of nothing. I just believed that the reality of the situation has finally sunk into his brain and he has no choice but to come to terms with it this morning for real. “Have a seat, Ryan. You’re making me anxious now,” I frowned, watching him literally pace back and forth. “Please?”

Heaving loudly, he finally sat beside me like I told him to do in the first place. “I don’t know why but I feel like I’m the one who has blood on their hands even though I didn’t pull the trigger,” he confessed causing me to tense. That mindset had to be what was fucking with him or else he wouldn’t have been acting this way. I actually felt bad that he was carrying around this type of guilt. No one should quite honest… unless they have a legit reason for their thinking which I don’t believe Ryan has. I just think he believes that he should have done more, rightfully so in some aspects.

“I’m not going to sit here and let you feel down about yourself like this, Ryan,” I mumbled. He rested his head on my lap and my fingers immediately started to massage his scalp, careful not to fuck up his newly done braids though. “You can’t walk around like this, it isn’t healthy, and I doubt this is the last thing you need to be doing. Riley wouldn’t like it. Yes, he might be gone, gone too soon, but that doesn’t mean you stop living your life, baby. And don’t hold onto this guilt nor feel like you need to retaliate, promise me?” I said seriously. I done seen one too many times how retaliation quickly turns sour and how avenging for someone doesn’t actually work. For the sake of Ryan and being the only existing child left, I would hope he had enough sense to realize it wasn’t worth it.

“I’m done with this shit,” he grumbled, closing his eyes tightly.

“As in this illegal shit?” I questioned, rubbing his ears softly. It always seemed to soothe him and put his mind at ease for a while and it did.

“Yeah. I don’t know when but it’s a dub for alla this shit,”

“I’m glad to hear that,” I whispered.

“It still don’t take away the fact that my brother is gone,” he said softly.

“Get on your knees,” I ordered.

His eyes popped open. “What?” he questioned. “Bailey, this ain’t the time,” he snapped.

“Oh my God, I’m talking about praying,” I said, pushing him off of me. I sat in the front of the coffee table, waiting for him to follow my lead which was quite hesitantly. Although Ryan didn’t attend church religiously like most folks, I knew he had a relationship with God somewhere and regardless if Riley was killed already, Ryan needed to restore his faith that everything would be alright and pan out the way they should. I grabbed ahold of his warm hand, lightly brushing the back of his hand with my thumb. Once I saw that his eyes were closed and his body eased from its tense position, I spoke the most sincere, truthful and needed words of the moment out loud. “Dear heavenly father, we come to you for guidance and strength during this rough period of our lives. We know that nothing happens without a reason…” Although I was the one speaking, my mind was in a different place and the words seemed to have flew out of my mouth so naturally.

Ryan’s grip on my hand grew tighter and I could hear his breathing as a clear indication that his emotions were getting the best of him. I quickly finished up and at the same time we both uttered an “Amen,” I opened my eyes and his eyes were already on me and for a second, I thought that he was going to cry. But he didn’t, of course. “Thank you,” he expressed.

“Don’t mention it,” Within the next fifteen minutes or so, I was hurriedly putting on my heels to match with my attire and sliding into my black coat. I grabbed the keys off the kitchen counter before Ryan could and proceeded to lead the way out the apartment, towards and down the elevator and out front to where his car was parked. Getting in with ease, I started the car up and made my way down to the infamous church that was only a few miles away; it would only take twenty minutes to get there anyhow. When we arrived, there were a few people standing outside already and I concluded that some must have been inside as well since that’s where everyone was heading to. The ceremony didn’t start for another hour, but we were here. Ryan was being quite the gentleman today as he walked around to open my side of the door and grab my hand as I stepped down from the large truck. We were occasionally stopped as we continued our brisk strides towards the double doors.

“Hold up,” he said. “Go inside. Let me talk to the pastor,” he said, nodding in the direction of the tall, dark skin man. I nodded and pecked his cheek before entering into the grand church. Down each row were white flowers arranged in a specific manner that was probably Ms. Chalmers’ idea. My lips curled into a small smile at a portrait of Riley near the pews. I remember that photo because I was the one to take it in the first place. A hand was placed on my lower back. I quickly turned around and smiled lightly upon realizing it was Ryan. “Come on, let’s go sit,” I followed beside him and continued to look around the spacious area. Everything was done to perfection and that wasn’t a surprised at all.

“Look how many people came out,” I said softly, sitting in the first row with him by my side.

“I know. It feels good,” he said, looking down at his phone. It would constantly ring throughout the morning, but he didn’t have the energy to answer any. Now he was tackling that challenge of going through the plethora of messages he has.

“Mr. Chalmers, will you be speaking during the eulogy section?” a deep baritone voice asked causing us to look up abruptly. Ryan paused for a moment then turned to look at me.

“Are you?” I wasn’t going to talk because I knew that would lead to a floodgate of tears and I wasn’t trying to do that today.

“Y-yeah, I am,” he said hesitantly. I smiled inwardly.

“Wonderful,” the pastor smiled, walking away.

“You’ll do fine,” I said reassuringly, knowing that he needed it the most right now.

“You’re too supportive,” he said, wrapping his arm around me tightly. “I don’t deserve it,”

“Yes, you do,” I said, resting my head on him.

“I promise after this I’m going to change, for real. I’m going to quit this shit with your pops, find something else to do to make guap and be a better boyfriend to you. You deserve more and I’m sorry if I made you feel any less than what you actually are,”

“You mean that?” I questioned skeptically. I mean, this isn’t the first time I’ve heard Ryan say these words before. He said he was going to quit and hadn’t, so that obviously killed off the chance of him looking for an alternative way of making money and as far as him being a better boyfriend, he’s tried and I take great notice of his effort but when things get too tough, it’s like he reverts back to his mentality leaving us at square one. I don’t want that anymore.

“Yes,” he said confidently. “I’m going to try just for you, baby,” I smiled weakly. There were so many things I could have said in that moment but refrained because the timing was wrong and I didn’t want to upset him. “You don’t believe me?” he questioned but it was much more of a statement.

“I need to see actions, Ryan,” I grumbled.

“And you will,” he said defensively. I left him without a rebuttal to his statement, but one was so close from leaving my lips. Two hours had passed, and all guest had arrived, the ceremony had started, and my eyes were so close to shedding tears, especially seeing Ms. Chalmers break as soon as the pastor began to talk; she was so strong up until now. Ryan’s posture was rigid the whole time, but he was anxious, he couldn’t keep his knee still even if he wanted to. It was my job as the caring and supportive girlfriend to show him that even at a time like this, I had his back and I would make sure that he would be fine. I rubbed his knee softly to stop with the erratic movements. He stopped and began to crack his knuckles irritably. It was hard trying to pay attention to the funeral when Ryan’s erratic behavior seemed to overpower anything else. Maybe he was nervous to talk? That had to be it. Family members, friends and members of the church were giving their eulogies and Ryan was last in line to do so. Ms. Chalmers would talk as well but as closing sentiments.

“Calm down, baby, okay? You got this,” I said quietly, not wanting to disturb anyone. He nodded, although I doubt my words actually were acknowledged.

He stood up and trailed towards the copper colored podium that stood a few feet away from the golden encrusted casket, all expenses paid out of Ryan’s pocket. They opted to have a closed casket, only because looking at a lifeless face would be too painful to handle. I couldn’t have agreed anymore. “Bailey, come here,” Ms. Chalmers said, gaining my attention. She sat a few seats away from me, three spots away from where Ryan was. It was hard seeing them not talk even in the closest of space but at a time like this, I wish they were. I sat down beside her, and she immediately wrapped me in her arms as if I was a little kid. It was much needed though. I was the support system for Ryan during this time but who was the support system for me?

My eyes locked with Ryan as he took in a deep breath. “I don’t think I’ve ever lost anyone as close to me as my younger brother. We did have our rare occasions when we didn’t get along, but we soon realized the bigger picture and what was important. Riley was always someone you wanted to keep near you. He exuded happiness and positivity, and everyone needs that in their life. I remember before he died, he wanted to play a one on one basketball game with me. We had put a serious bet on this one. If I’d win, he’d have to prank mama and take full responsibility. I always joke and say mama liked him better anyhow,” He wouldn’t joke, he actually meant that. “,,,He probably wouldn’t have gotten in any serious trouble but still. And if he won, he wanted me to attend college. Nothing trivial like what I wanted but that was just the type of person Riley was. He was literally preaching for everyone to do better and I was not an exception from his words,”

Silent tears spiraled out of my ducts as I listened, and I knew mama had to be affected by his words. A little over ten minutes later, Ryan was coming to a close. “In his short twenty-two years of life, I think I will always remember him in a good light as he would anyone else and for that, I think I’ll turn over onto a new leaf and do better like he would have wanted. Rest in peace, Riley,” he expressed, taking a seat away from the podium and rubbing at his eyes. He was crying? Ms. Chalmers did the unexpected and gently stood up and went to console her last living son.

“Wow,” I mumbled, lightly brushing the tears away. There was no way anyone could have denied that, that hug was long overdue. I just wonder if that would change anything in these upcoming months.

Adrian

A good three hours of sleep is all that I received last night, well this morning. My mind was preoccupied and unlike others, I can’t sleep off my issues and deal with it at another time. I just can’t. I know one person who slept peacefully and that was Bailey. Well, at least it seemed like she did. Her body was resting comfortably on me with her legs thrown on top of mine. I know I prided myself on maintaining some sort of distance with Bailey, but it was harder done than said and I can admit when I’m in over my head, this being a perfect example. I can’t front either about having feelings for Bailey and she probably already knows that without me coming straight out about it. The only issue is that I can’t act on it either at a time like this. Leaning my head against the headboard, my mind began to wander in so many different directions and it was too early -7:04 to be exact- to be thinking this hard. But I have to. Austin is my main concern and although I can’t take him away from his mother, I don’t condone her actions at all, and my voice will be heard and she can’t pull that I’m his mother card with me because it doesn’t mean shit to me anymore.

Reaching towards my nightstand for my phone, I looked at the most recent message that harbored my lock screen and sighed. I didn’t have a problem with Caiden bringing back Austin. The problem I had resulted in why there was ever a need for him to bring Justine here. None of her shit is here, all that is left is the dusk and fire particles. So, her having a need to be here is beyond me. But maybe this is what needed to happen. When she’s here, we’ll clear the air and I’ll make myself super clear to her. Then, all ties could be chopped, and I’ll do what I feel like is necessary and she can depend on Lonnie for all I care. Speaking of Lonnie, I had half the mind to body him, but he wasn’t the one I was truly coming after at the moment. It was Ryan.

I can’t even bring myself to harm kids so what the fuck is he doing?

I could feel my blood rising just from thinking about it.

“Relax,” Bailey murmured without bothering to look up at me. I licked my lips and stared down at her beautiful face. No funny shit but she was gorgeous, even when she was nagging me. It at least showed that she genuinely cared. It was ironic though, especially since I was the one to put her in this predicament in the first place. Damn, she has a big heart. I wrapped her up in my embrace tightly and sighed.

“We’ll leave as soon as Caiden and ‘em arrive,” I said.

“That means Justine is coming here?” she asked, still keeping her eyes closed.

“Unfortunately. but her ass ‘bout to get an earful,”

“For Austin’s sake, don’t do it in front of him,” she advised. The last time Austin overheard Justine and I’s argument, it didn’t end too lightly. I had to talk to him for over an hour and explain in basic ass terms what was going on and that it doesn’t concern him nor is there really a problem. To say the least, Austin is too smart to believe it was just nothing and a senseless argument. So, I have to tread lightly when I approach Justine and I have to act as if nothing is wrong either. That’s going to be the hard part.

“I won’t,” I huffed. “What he thinks of his mother is all on him. But he will know when he gets older,”

“That’s different. Just don’t taint his image of her so young,” she said.

“She already did that shit,” I said. She finally opened her eyes to look up at me and sighed. “How’d you sleep?” I questioned.

“Fine. You know, I actually slept. Unlike you,” she scoffed.

“I slept. Three hours, that’s good and enough in my book,” I chuckled, running my fingers through her soft hair.

“You need eight hours of sleep to qualify for a good night’s rest,” she said knowingly.

“I don’t know anyone who gets that much sleep on a regular,”

“I try,” she retorted.

“Hm… you feel like fixing me something to eat though?” I eased in.

“Um, not really. But why don’t you cook for me?” she said seriously, although she held a smile on her face.

“I could try,” I said, watching as she rolled off of me and curled into the comforters like a cocoon.

“Go do that then,” she giggled.

“I should toss your ass off the bed,” I grumbled, swinging my long legs off the bed. I stood, stretched and stuffed my phone in the pocket of my sweats. “Come downstairs and keep me company,” I yanked the comforters off of her body which immediately caused her to jump and try to reach for the shit. “Nah, come on now,”

“Adrian, I’m tired!” she whined. I sucked my teeth and scooped her up, throwing her over my shoulder. “If you make me hit my head,” she fussed.

“Or what?” I retorted, carrying her down the steps carefully.

“That’s for me to know and for you to find out,” she retorted.

“Corny,” I chuckled, finally reaching the kitchen. I sat her down on the counter and she frowned instantaneously, tugging on my sweatshirt. I didn’t even have to ask what she meant by that, so I slipped the sweatshirt off my body and handed it over to her. No one told her to walk around in practically nothing, but I wasn’t complaining. “For breakfast, we gon’ eat Apple Jacks. That’s my shit,” I said, watching Bailey’s face that was filled with nothing but amusement. I wasn’t a chef nor could I cook a full course meal but cereal was invented for a reason and I was going to take advantage of it. In three minutes flat, I had made Bailey and I both a bowl with the sugary cereal and we were both eating without any complaints. That’s what I liked about Bailey, she didn’t feign for the extravagant shit, probably because she was used to it but still.

“Why are you staring at me, creep!?” Bailey chuckled, probably thinking I was thinking negatively by the way she was slurping the leftover milk or the fact that she was doing that to begin with but that wasn’t even why I was staring; I didn’t even know I was.

“On some real shit, do you think we could have worked out?” I found myself asking, pushing the bowl to the side. She looked at me funnily before a small smile played on her lips.

“I think so,” she said quietly. “Especially knowing how you treat people you care for. I think it’s a great quality any girl would admire,”

“But I’m asking you,”

“Well yes, I do. I don’t think I got that in my last one,” Her face pulled into a sulky frown before her gaze dropped down onto the empty bowl. Knowing that I have feelings for her, I couldn’t exactly act as if I was oblivious to her emotions. She fell in love with the wrong dude.

“Look, it’s alright knowing you fell for the wrong one. No one is judging you off that. The important thing is knowing that you deserve better. You know your worth so don’t allow anyone to make you believe you’re less than that,” I said, cupping her face in my hands. She smiled briefly before puckering up her lips to kiss me. Licking my lips, I pressed mine to her and slickly slid my tongue in her mouth causing a moan to slip past as she grabbed onto my torso, pulling me much closer than before. Our tongues massages against each other’s before I pulled back and bit into her bottom lip. Without moving too far away from her, I pecked her swollen lips. “I have feelings for you and even though shit is all wrong, I needed to get that off my chest,”

Her mouth opened as if she was getting ready to say something but instead, a high-pitched voice was heard in the vicinity. She sighed and hopped off the stool, pushing me back slightly. That’s not what I expected from her and it’s not like I expected something grand either but no response? “Uncle Adrian!” Austin yelled.

While Bailey went to the left, I trailed towards the right, bumping right into Austin. Plastering a smile on my face, I picked him up and threw him into the air as if he was twenty pounds. “What’s up, nephew?” I chuckled. “You gain some weight out there?” I teased, tickling him. I placed him down on his feet and ruffled his hair.

“I don’t know. I need muscles, fat man,” he teased, poking my stomach.

“You got jokes, huh?” I chuckled. “I still get girls though,”

“I do too,” he said. “Wait till I go back to school,”

Shaking my head, I told him to go upstairs to find Bailey. I knew Justine was around somewhere and she was avoiding me. She knew what she did wrong, there was no way she couldn’t have. I wasn’t going to chase after her and since I knew for certain that she was the one that fucked up, she was going to come to me and explain the bullshit she caused. After Austin grabbed something to eat and trekked up the stairs in a hurry, I traveled outside and sat down near the pool. From the view from inside, I was able to easily spot Justine. I was getting angered by her procrastinating and not facing me head on.

I didn’t care how long it took, I wasn’t leaving till she came out here and fessed up to her wrongdoings. There were many ways I can allow this to fold out. I could pretend like I don’t know shit, or I could be blunt as fuck. Either way, this shit is getting revealed today. From the screen of my phone, it was exactly an hour later when her ass decided to stroll outside. She looked like shit. I could tell she had been crying and doing all that extra shit that usually sucks me in to feeling guilty for her. But today? That’s all lost. I don’t feel shit for her. None. I decided to ease my way into this conversation rather than being blunt as possible. Only reason is that I know I have a temper problem and I’m actually trying to get somewhere with this conversation. Also, I want to see if she’ll be woman enough to admit she was in the wrong before I do.

For a split second, my mind went to Bailey and August and what their encounter must be like right now. But she could handle that on her own.

“Enjoyed your trip?” I couldn’t help the sarcastic tone I was using. One thing between Justine and I, it was easy to tell when something wasn’t right, whether that was vocalized or not. We might not know exactly what is wrong with each other, but we knew something was. Then there were times when we knew what was wrong and could come out with it automatically.

“I’m sorry, Adrian,” she wept, her eyes brimming with more tears.

“Sorry? For what? Justine doesn’t do anything wrong,” I chuckled bitterly, my jaw clenching soon after.

“Please don’t make me say it,” She sat down on the opposite chair as I and began to fiddle with the multiple rings on her fingers.

“You know, Justine, I don’t even have to make you say it because I know already,” I keep my voice low and steady, but I was sure that she heard everything that I said. She avoided my eyes, something she barely did and that said a mouthful right there. “I might not have been quick to find out or even notice such a thing but damn, sis, that’s how you do your own family?” I snapped. She opened her mouth to talk but now looking at this situation, I didn’t give a fuck what she had to say. I didn’t care for any explanation she could come up with and lie to me about. I had something to say and that’s what I seek in talking about. “But as you know, everything comes full circle somehow, someway. I’m not too sure if you know this but I received a letter from your boyfriend, Lonnie right?”

“I wasn’t trying to get back with him, Adrian. You have to believe me, it was all for Austin,”

“Just like you put Austin in harm’s way?” I questioned. “You wasn’t doing shit for Austin,”

“It was a foolish mistake! I didn’t mean any harm, I thought I was doing something good,”

“When you knew Lonnie’s intentions? Really? Justine don’t play dumb with me. I don’t feel not one ounce of sympathy for you and your actions disgust me. It’s one thing to fuck with me, out of all people too but Austin, Justine? Your own son? Type of mother are you?!” I gritted. I knew exactly what would make her tick and I used it to my advantage when the time calls for it. She always had this paranoia that she wasn’t doing well as a mother, especially being so young when she did have Austin and not being independent enough to raise him but turns out, she wasn’t. Having me question her mothering skills would obviously upset her. In a flash, her face turned red and she was jumping out of her seat and had the audacity to smack me on my face. My fists were itching to knock her out but if Austin was to ever walk out and see what was happening, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. Clenching my jaw, I waited until the slight tinge of pain to surpass before towering over her 5’5” frame.

“You get upset at my jab? Out of all fucking things!?!” I yelled, making her cringe. “It’s fucking hilarious how you clown mama at being a deadbeat and your ass is just like her! Naw, scratch that. Mama never allowed for her own flesh and blood to get abused nor did she let some sick ass nigga coin her into going against her own family, you fucking bitch!” I yelled and before I knew it, Justine was attempting to swing at me, again, but was restrained by Caiden who forcefully pulled her back.

“You’re no fucking better!” she hollered, moving wildly to escape Caiden’s grasp. I looked at her, unfazed by her theatrics.

“Listen, I don’t care what the fuck you gotta say, whether it’s the truth or some excuse. All I know is that you would have never told me and that’s fucked up. Your man is the one who told me your bullshit actually. I guess he ain’t have your back like you thought he would. But I did, not anymore though. Remember that! But what I do have to say is very clear and blunt. Just like anyone not trustworthy, I’m cutting you off. I don’t want any contact whatsoever with you. I’m not helping you unless it involves Austin and last but not least, you gotta get the fuck up outta my crib. I don’t think you no longer have the best interest for Austin, so I advised mama to watch him while you get your shit together. No money, no job, no family and you barely have a son. Good luck!” I said with rage. “I hope Lonnie can help you,” I said sarcastically. That wasn’t even the icing on the cake.

She was still squirming in Caiden’s grip. But I had one last thing to say. “Oh, I forgot. He’s dead so you have no one,” I chuckled with a smirk. The anger that exuded through her pores in only a few seconds. I saw all sorts of emotion flash through her; anger, hurt, sadness – all that draining shit. If it wasn’t for Caiden, she probably would have attacked me, but I didn’t care. In that hour time frame Justine was avoiding me, I had Justin check up on Lonnie because I had plans for him but when he arrived, there was police tape all over his brownstone and from someone, he found out that he was killed. I didn’t have a person who could possibly have done this, but we obviously had the same intentions. It would have been an honor to kill him, but someone already beat me to the punch and I’m okay with it.

“You killed him!” she shouted, not even in a questioning tone.

“Before you get upset, are you mad that Lonnie is no longer or are you disappointed that you followed behind him, allowed him to hurt Austin and lost it all?!” I questioned. The only person her mind should be worried about is Austin and I doubt that’s where her head is at. But I’m not surprised, not after what’s been revealed to me. “You don’t have any shit here so you can go,” I dismissed, walking away without answering any of her questions. Her loud screams and questions were constantly thrown at me as I kept my head held high and walked back inside. She probably thought that I killed Lonnie, but I wasn’t going to answer that for her. I wasn’t going to bother myself with the hassle of going out of my way for someone ungrateful.

Climbing up the stairs four at a time, due to my long legs, I looked in every room trying to locate Austin or Bailey. It took me a while before I spotted them downstairs in the indoor basketball court. She was doing great at distracting Austin and that was something I was happy about. I didn’t even need to tell her to make sure he was straight; she did it with no hesitation. “Pass,” I spoke. Austin’s eyes light up quickly and he threw the basketball my way in a hurry; it had been a minute since I actually played a game of basketball with my nephew. My life has been so chaotic the past three years and obviously, I missed out on a lot. Bailey caught my attention as she went to go grab the other ball that had rolled off the court. “Stay over there real quick and get the ball for me,” I yelled. She looked over her shoulder and rolled her eyes.

“Okay,” With ease, I flicked my wrist and allowed for the Spalding ball to flee from my grasp and make a swoosh sound through the white nets.

“That was soooo cool!” Austin exaggerated. “Let me try!”

“That was nothing, Austin. Look what I can do,” Bailey retorted, pushing me out of the way. When Austin wasn’t looking, I smacked her ass, which resulted in a surprised and loud yelp. She had thrown on this yoga ensembleand her shit was looking good. I couldn’t help myself. “Watch, Aussie. I’m going to put your uncle to shame!” And that she did. Standing behind me by at least four feet, she made a perfect shot and was too happy that she just had to brag about being shorter and further back than me and she still made it. For the next two hours, I was surprised no one came down to interrupt this moment or even think about bothering me. Maybe it was for the fact that the truth was finally revealed or something, but I was fine with that.

Things were changing and I had to accept that. Once Austin claimed that he was too tired, we retreated to the benches and sat down. Bailey had long been out of the game, finding solace on the bench as her vision bounced between Austin and I. “You feel safe around me, Austin?” I questioned.

“Yeah and you’re fun too,”

“Fun?” Bailey asked sarcastically.

“No one asked you, B,” I chuckled, Austin laughing along with me. “You like mama, right?” I said in reference to my mother.

“Yeah, I do,” he smiled. It was amazing how kids were so pure and clueless to what was actually happening around them. I love Austin, no doubt, but the day he finds out just half the shit I do, all hell will break loose. It’s not my job to tell him but he’s going to start having questions; hell, he has questions now.

“Would you mind staying with her for a while?” My mother was the next best choice for Austin. She might have been complete shit to Justine and I growing up, but she’s been trying to right her wrongs for a long time now with Austin and I slightly don’t blame her. But I know for a fact, she would never let anything happen to Austin. I wasn’t the one who spoke to my mother about the arrangements, G did, but I’m sure she knows everything now. There’s a chance she probably feels like she had something to do with this madness and there’s a chance that she doesn’t want to mend things any longer with Justine and if that’s true, so what? Austin is what matters, right? I just know that Justine ain’t gone be staying in my crib, Lonnie’s or my mother. She can go back to her Brownstone but with what money to pay her bills? She has no job.

I don’t think Caiden gon’ want to fuck with her either, not that I blame him.

“Uh, like a sleepover?” he questioned. I nodded. “I want to! She has the best cookies,”

“The cookies you know you aren’t supposed to be eating,” I chuckled. “So, it’s settled. You know, G? Well, he’s going to pick you up soon, alright? So, I want you to go get together a few things you want to bring along with you,”

“What about my mommy?”

“Justine has something important to do; don’t worry,” I said, ruffling his hair. He had that unconditional love for his mother and that was great for his age, but I still couldn’t help but think how that will soon be changed once he gets older.

“Okay,” he shrugged. By then, he had traveled away from Bailey and I and went upstairs. More than likely, he was going to find his mother but the chance of that happening was slim to none.

“You ready to go?” I turned my head to the left to look at Bailey.

“Ready when you are, babe,” she smiled faintly.

“Babe?” I smirked. “That’s boyfriend status words,”

“Oh, shut up!” she giggled.

Bailey

We were back into the cozy and secluded penthouse, away from all distractions. Adrian expressed clearly that we were going to ambush Ryan tonight and although he wouldn’t give me any more details other than that, that was probably all I truly wanted to know. From Adrian laying it all out on the table to Justine to him placing Austin with his mother, I believed he did what he felt was necessary at this point. Adrian had a lot on his shoulders, but he was carrying on like it was nothing and that was truly admirable under these circumstances. It was just fucked up that everything seemed to be coming apart at the seams. Not to mention August’s shenanigans when he came back. That’s a story for another day. “Adrian!” I yelled. This penthouse was entirely too big for me. You could really get lost and it would take days for someone to find you. I heard his voice, but it was really faint which meant he must have been in the back or outside. Licking my lips, I went towards one of the balconies and found him sitting down with a freshly rolled blunt in his hand. “What a surprise,” I chuckled, stepping across the threshold.

He looked up at me for a brief second and then back down at the chaotic streets of New York. There was a big elephant in the room… one that shouldn’t be here in the first place, but I failed to respond to him when he had first admitted it.

I have feelings for you and even though shit is all wrong, I needed to get that off my chest…

I was never expecting to hear him ever admit the littlest bit of feelings for me. I mean, I’m sure he knows how I feel about him, and he has for the longest but it’s always different hearing a male express the same feelings for you, and I think I would have been better off not knowing his feelings. It just makes everything more complicated. It makes leaving difficult, especially knowing there’s nothing we can do about these emotions, once again. Adrian confirming my thoughts would have been a wonderful thing under a different scenario, but I truly don’t know how to feel about them. And the lack of response I didn’t give him probably had him feeling a certain way. “You’re not mad at me, right, Adrian?” I asked sweetly, draping my arms around his neck from behind. I kissed behind his ear before trailing them down his neck.

“About what?” he stated huskily. His voice was so deep right now. That meant one thing in particular…

I came around and straddled his lap. “Earlier….when you confessed to liking me,” I mumbled, locking my hands behind his neck.

“It’s whatever, B. I just needed to say it before you left,”

“You know I like you too. Were you waiting for me to say that?” I asked.

“I was expecting a different response or something, but it never came,”

“I was too shocked to comprehend and speak,” I explained. “It wasn’t something I was expecting from you. I didn’t mean any harm in not responding quickly enough. Sorry if I hurt your feelings, baby,”

“Hurt my feelings? You got my life fucked up,” he said, taking a hit from his blunt. He soon pressed his lips to mine, opened his mouth slightly and the cloud of smoke he just had was released into my mouth. Moving back some, I exhaled the smoke and went back to pressing my lips against his. I felt his hands slide down my body until they were rested perfectly against my waist. He slipped his warm tongue inside my mouth. Our kiss was nothing short of passionate and lust filled and as he continued to dominate the kiss, I felt him pick me up and my legs instinctively wrapped around him. Coming up for air due to the lack of oxygen, Adrian continued his quick and long strides to the master bedroom. I was quickly thrown onto the bed, him following soon after.

My clothes and his were quickly discarded in a haste motion, our hands groping every inch of our body. Once I was fully unclothed, sporting my birthday suit, he leaned away from me and stared at my body intensely. It was a different type of stare that had me feeling something different in my stomach and feeling the need to look away, but I couldn’t. “What?” I found myself saying, licking my lips.

“Nothing, gorgeous,” I blushed and pulled him towards me by his neck. Our lips intertwined with one another in a hurry as I felt myself loosing up underneath him. His lips moved from mine, down my neck until reaching my chest where he fondled with my nipples. His lips were wrapped around the left one while he squeezed and pinched the right one. I bit down on my bottom lip hard, attempting to suppress the moan that so badly wanted to be let out. Trailing his kisses further down my body, he pulled my legs apart even more and just like before, they were tightly wrapped around his waist. I sucked in a harsh breath as soon as he was near my other set of lips.

Instead of going straight in for the kill like he usually does, he decided to take his time. He kisses started from the inside of my thigh on both of my legs. By the biting, sucking and kissing he was doing, I’m sure he left a reminder for me. When he was through with the teasing, his lips finally made contact with my other set. His lips trailed up my slit until reaching my clit. He aggressively sucked on my pearl as if his life depended on it, causing my back to arch involuntarily. My hands were glued to his hair that I was so happy he decided not to cut. “Oh, fuck!” I cursed as soon as his long tongue slid into me. He locked his arms around my waist to prevent me from running. His tongue moved in a repeated motion; up, down, side to side. I was able to follow his pattern until the strokes of his tongue became too much for me to handle and he decided to switch it up. I started to convulse, and my hands gripped the crème colored sheets as Adrian brought me to ecstasy and back.

I laid back on the bed in complete bliss as Adrian positioned himself at my entrance. He gripped my hands in his and with such force, he filled me up in one swift motion, a loud yell erupting from my mouth. He gave me only a few seconds to become adjusted before he slowly began to rock into me. His bottom lip was tucked into his mouth as his chest flexed with every movement he did. As he continued to swivel his hips into me, I slowly began to match his rhythm. His strokes were mean. They were long and deep, and he made sure that he was hitting my spot. My back remained arched the rougher he got, and my yells, obscenities and moans were only elevated. He knew exactly what he was doing to make me react this way and I loved it because it showed that he was actually catering to my body rather than trying to get a quick fuck.

Every word he would utter would be said so huskily and it only caused my center to drip even more. “Stop doing that shit, goddamn,” he grunted, smacking my thigh.

“No,” I said breathlessly, continuing to clench my walls around his shaft. He smirked mischievously so I automatically knew something was about to happen. He flipped me over on my stomach, while he was still inside of me, and resumed pounding into me relentlessly. My head was literally buried into the pillows with my back still managing to be arched, despite the slight pain I was feeling but I was too aroused to say anything about it.

“Throw it back, Bailey,” he demanded, smacking my ass. Sex with Adrian is always tiring. No matter how many times you cum, he’s still ready for the next go-round, new positions, rougher movements and I was thoroughly impressed by that. As soon as I began to do as said, his hands found home in my naturally curly hair and between my legs. I threw my head back, feeling my body pulse and that feeling in the pit of my stomach begin to form. With a few more strokes to my core, we were both climaxing and soon we collapsed onto the bed breathing wildly. Knowing Adrian like the back of my hand, I knew this wasn’t the end of this.

“I wanna try something,” I said lowly.

“Sexually?” he questioned. I giggled and nodded. “Shit, I’m all for it,” he said with much enthusiasm. I ordered for him to lay back as I slid down on his shaft but, facing away from him. Reverse cowgirl. I never done it before, but I figured it would be the same as facing him the other way. I wanted this to be something that he would remember forever. I leaned forward and grabbed onto his legs as I slowly bounced up and down on his dick. I twirled my hips on him and threw it back in a sync manner while looking over my shoulder. The look of pleasure that graced his face was perfect to me. I slowly turned around to face him and leaned near his ear. “You like this, daddy?” I whispered, sucking on his neck shortly after. From the corner of my eyes, his eyes popped open and he titled his head to look at me.

“Daddy, huh?” he questioned, licking his deep pink lips.

“Always have been,” I smirked.

“Well damn, lemme give you this daddy dick right here,” he chuckled, gripping my waist. “How you want it this time?”

“Rough as fuck,”

“Rough is my middle name, baby girl,”

“He’s not here, Adrian,” I muttered, sitting down at the familiar black table. Of all places I could have ever found myself being in, I was at the one place I rather steer clear of. But here I was, in Ryan’s apartment. After Adrian and I were finished, we both got cleaned up and decided to hit the pavement running. Apparently, Adrian had Justin and Brian scope out his crib for the two days we were back in New York and thought that this would be the perfect night to actually get shit done and over with it. Adrian believed having me here would shock the hell out of him and cause the perfect distraction, but I disagreed. Knowing that I haven’t seen him in a while is going to undoubtedly bring out old emotions that were supposed to be buried a long time ago, but I should expect the unexpected, however. Biting down on my bottom lip, I tried my best to muffle my laughter as he raided Ryan’s fridge.

“He’ll be back in like ten minutes. Chill,” he grumbled. “Does this nigga even eat? Where the fuck is his food?”

“He doesn’t cook so there’s no need for him to have food when he knows he can’t make nothing of it,” I said. “Oh, did we really have to wear all black as well?” I questioned. We were in matching black Timberlands, black pants and I wore a black shirt while he decided on a black sweater instead. Was it wrong that he looked so sexy right now? Or was this the wrong time to be admiring how attractive he is?

“Yeah. You thought we was about to roll up on this nigga with pink shirts and a cupcake?” he retorted, slamming the fridge and grabbing his semiautomatic.

“You’re not going to use that, right?” I asked, referring to the gun.

“Maybe, maybe not. We’ll find out soon though,” he grumbled. With a long and exhausted sigh, I leaned back into the chair as my knees bounced irritably. There was no telling what could happen as soon as Ryan walked through that door and that terrified me. “Relax, this shit will go down smoothly. You’ll be safe, that’s for sure,” was Adrian’s last words before I heard the door open, indicating someone, Ryan most likely, was entering into the apartment. I looked over at Adrian quickly and he had this wicked grin on his face; he was about to set it off.

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thegreyreylo · 6 years

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Velvet & Corduroy

Behind the heat of a grease grill and through a serving window, I watched a pair of soulmates story unfold. If I hadn’t seen it myself, I never would have believed anyone who told me their story. It’s just goddamn impossible to think someone can find their other half at the mere age of eight. On my first day at this wretched job, the gruff and pragmatic owner huffed at me to keep an eye on his son. “The boy ain’t careful enough.”

Oh, how this was true. Each Sunday, as I was sprayed with scalding bits of oil and nursed the burns on my wrist, I watched Adam begin to be pulled into Miriam’s gravity. I would argue that maybe it was her family’s coveted new car, a 1954 Hudson Hornet, that caught his eye first, or maybe it was the way she was dressed. Her tailored, velvet church dress contrasted harshly with his secondhand button-down and corduroy work pants, but that was their only difference. Each child’s eyes shined with excitement as Adam proudly poured her a small glass of juice from behind the glittering counter. All the while, Miriam beamed back with the brightest smile and a look of new found freedom in her eyes. I have no idea what they could have been talking about at nine years old. However, both kids laughed with an inconsequential joy that the world had never been blessed to see before. If I hadn’t known better, I would’ve bet they grew up together in their own imaginary world.

A woman and man watched this exchange, mere feet behind the pair, wearing carefully-composed expressions and their Fifth Avenue best. You could never lie and say that they weren’t Miriam’s respective parents, as the straight nose was clearly from the bitch and dimples were the sire’s. Poised smiles couldn’t hide the disgust and annoyance of seeing their lineage enjoying anything working-class or something they hadn’t picked out for her. This moment only lasted briefly though, as my first cooked order was brought to their booth straight across from me by the owner. With grease splatters on his apron, Adam’s father elbowed his son and returned to the kitchen.

“Her parents come in after mass every week and the husband works on Wall Street. I can’t afford complaints when half of the business district comes here for their bacon.” The man snarled under his breath as he cranked the heat up on my pan, “Don’t you fuck the bacon up either, new kid. It needs to be crispier next time.”

At this point, I was still stupid enough to give my unsolicited opinion. “They are just kids, no harm in it.”

Oh, but they grew. It became less dismissible at seventeen, as my fingers began to ache during the winter. Miriam became a fixture at the last seat of the counter every afternoon and was only a few strides from my greased serving window. Her signature grin was not lost with age, unlike her satin and velvet church dresses which were replaced with wool and cashmere prep school uniforms. After growing into his official hand-me-down diner uniform, Adam was repeatedly scolded for wasting time with her, but that never stopped him from loitering at her end of the counter as he scrubbed invisible bits with a rag.

At this point, it wasn’t just gravity that kept these two clung together. She never came to the diner for my oily food or the cracked leather bar stool, we all knew that. Each time Miriam crossed the checkered tiles of the dated diner, her chest heaved like it was the first real breath of air she’d had all day. There was a routine for what would happen after Miriam had arrived for the day. Her posture loosened as she propped herself against the polished counter and fished out their two broken milkshake glasses. But you couldn’t see the light in her eyes until Adam, whose smile was always the widest for Miriam, emerged. Adam’s hand would slide into the back of the glass shelf for the silver flask. It would disappear in a flash; each chipped glass was filled with ice and whatever fashionable drink was in at that moment. The teasing, the banter, the squabbling that always ensued as they sipped their concoctions bothered the other cooks endlessly. “Will they ever shut up?”

I might not be as young as them, but I had always guessed that they would always be at each other’s throats. Why wouldn’t they? It was as natural as breathing for them. But it was so much more than teenage squabbles. They would lean on one another. Miriam was the firm and steady hand that guided Adam through finding out he was going to be a father after a foolish weekend with a girl he didn’t even know. On that disastrous day, as Adam’s father shattered two plates in the wee hours of the diner’s day, Miriam went up to bat for Adam. The shouting, the screaming, the crying was nothing compared to the newfound respect my boss had for the girl.

He might have been exhausted from working a double shift to pay for the baby’s hospital bill, but Adam didn’t shirk his duties; to neither the diner nor Miriam. Today, Miriam was rambling about the conflicts of going off to college with her shiny new potential fiancé. Her mother had made it clear that past Sunday to the entirety of the diner that it was unacceptable to think about continuing her education in the fall with a proposal in the horizon. That woman had spat the word proposal so fiercely in Adam’s direction, I wouldn’t be surprised if her neck was permanently fractured. I made sure to burn her meal that day and received my own reprimanding, but my disgust with this mistreatment was shared by Adam.

“Miriam, don’t settle and just be that asshole’s housewife,” Adam huffed in between polishing their freshly-cleaned glasses that afternoon.

Her dark eyes rolled as the eggs in my pan crackled against the heat. “I’m not settling, Adam.” Armed with a mischievous grin, he managed to snap her polished hand with the damp rag, and her instantaneous squeal disrupted the tiny diner. “Hey, piss off waiter boy! And stop calling him an asshole.”

Oh, but he never did stop calling him an asshole. Working the night shift was necessary sometimes to pay the bills, but I never knew that the night could bring Miriam to the diner as well. By the look on Adam’s face, he didn’t either. At 22, her smile wasn’t so wide anymore, but maybe that was because of the blooming shades of purple and yellow skin that swelled around her right eye and cracked lip. I remember the way the cast iron burned my palm as I instinctively clutched the handle in a fist.

“Miriam.”

Adam’s voice was full of such malice and anguish as her name slipped from his lips. It was undeniable what had happened to her. Her silk night gown and robe were ripped at the shoulder and sprinkled in droplets of her blood. It was the first and last time I ever saw fear in her eyes as she looked at Adam. Her diamond-clad left hand clutching the tiny palm of a small boy whose own eyes bore the shadows of a kid in desperate need of sleep.

“Hi, Adam.”

My shift was supposed to end at midnight, but I waved off the late night cook. It took half an hour to settle the little one enough for him to fall asleep on the cracked leather of her parents usual booth, Miriam carefully smoothing the child’s hair with trembling fingers. Their conversation was in the most hushed tones, as to not wake him. “That asshole, I’ll fucking kill him. I’ll kill him.”

“Adam, don’t.”

“Miriam, please. He’s an asshole, please don’t try to justify this.” Adam’s hands shook as well, but for different reasons. Miriam sighed and the diner was still as she lightly skimmed the straight nose of her son’s face. “I’m not justifying anything, I promise. I just don’t have a lot of options right now. My parents, my mom… I don’t have a lot of options, ok?”

“Of course you do. You’ll stay with me.”

A small smile crossed Miriam’s face, but only for the briefest moment, “You have your own daughter to look after.”

The rest of the conversation was too faint for me to hear over the popping grease of the bacon for the couple at the counter. The whispered words brought light back to each of their eyes between heavy sighs and flushing cheeks. At some point, Adam began nodding and wringing his hands as Miriam collected herself from the booth and placed a dusting kiss on her son’s forehead. “I’ll go get our things, it won’t take me long. I’ll be back before he wakes.”

I pray every Sunday in the aged and scuffed pews of my church that my children will never experience what Adam and Miriam had to. It was a foolish, reckless, thankless type of relationship. The type of yearning that didn’t need to be spoken out loud to be heard, to be seen. It would have never been their time, nor would the world have allowed it. If only they had taken the resistance more seriously, maybe it wouldn’t have ended this way.

Miriam didn’t come back before the boy woke. She didn’t even make it back to beat the sun. Adam carefully approached the young child, so obviously running off the instincts any father who’d spent many mornings soothing a grumpy kid would have. It was almost noon by the time they came for him. Miriam’s straight nose and dimples were unmissable, but it was two separate faces carrying them into the diner with the police in tow.

Miriam’s mother’s expression was detached as she to stared openly at Adam for a moment before she collected the child in her arms and whisked out the door with one of the officers underfoot. Adam’s protests fell on deaf ears as one of the officers held him back with a stiff arm, and Miriam’s father began to speak. His tone was professional and words kept minimal, but he didn’t have to say much before Adam’s legs gave out and he collapsed on to the stool behind him. With one hand, her father gripped his shoulder the same way he did each Sunday as he handed Adam his tip and the brigade left the diner.

I don’t know how long it took me to find my bravery and leave my stove. I had never stood behind the counter before, but from here I could see how well hidden their chipped glasses were from the rest. My voice did waver in the way my heart did as I asked what I needed to know from him, “Where is she?”

Lifting his eyes from the blank stare he had been casting at the crumpled hands in his lap, “She’s dead.”

It was instinctual what happened next. With a shaky hand, I filled each their milkshake glasses with ice and the clear liquid from the polished flask hidden on the shelf. It was a type of detached numbness where you feel like you are moving through the sludge of every bit of grease the stove has ever had in its cast iron pans. Slow moving or not, we drank in silence until the flask was bone dry and the burns on my hand failed to hurt me.

Now, it was Adam who burned.

I genuinely can’t believe that I wrote my own short story! It was an insane process getting to this point and i’m really excited to share it with the people who encouraged me to write in the first place. Please let me know what you think! My ask box is always open and i’m nervous as hell that this is actually out in the world now.

I also must give a HUGE shout out to @you-are-my-destiny-reylo because she was my fabulous editor and biggest fan during this process. It genuinely never would have happened without her - so go give her some love!

I love you guys!

-thegreyreylo

#reylo #original short story #original #reylo au fanfic #reylo fanfic #fanfiction #rey x kylo ren

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legendofzeldaalinktothepast · 3 years

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Pathetic, Clinging Poetry - Chapter 11 (of 25)

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

She told me I could be perfect, but I just kept missing my chance. I wore my skirt, sat on the pew, kept my eyes and voice low; but in the end, I was still sick.

Pearl's heart was still racing in her chest as she closed the door behind herself, and her hands trembled slightly from what she'd just done. Sliding a note beneath Jasper's door was probably the most cowardly thing she could have done -- but it was also the only thing she could bring herself to do, in all honesty.

"You good?" Amethyst asked, noticing the uneasy expression on Pearl's face.

"Y-yes, just nervous." Pearl said, making her way back over to Amethyst's bed. "I really hope Jasper doesn't take the note the wrong way..."

"If she does, that's her problem." Amethyst said, placing a comforting hand on Pearl's back. "I read it over a million times and can tell you for sure that you're doing the right thing. You're being the bigger person and that's hard as fuck, so I gotta admire that."

"Alright..." Pearl took a deep breath. "You're right. If she doesn't want to mend things after reading this letter, well... At least we can't say I didn't try."

"That's the spirit!" Amethyst grinned and gave Pearl a reassuring pat. "Now come on, let's do something to get our minds off all this bullshit. That sound good?"

"I think that would be nice..."

"Sweet! What are you up to doing? Wanna go hang out with Dot and Garnet?" Amethyst suggested.

Pearl sadly shook her head. "I'm sorry... But I don't know if that's what I need right now."

"You don't need to be sorry." Amethyst said. "How about... another walk through the park?"

"I think I'd rather stay home, if I'm going to be honest -- even though that probably doesn't make sense, since the source of my anxiety is, well, here." Pearl blushed and fidgeted in her seat. "Sorry to be so boring; I guess I just don't really know what I need."

"I swear, you apologize so much I could make it a drinking game." Amethyst teased. "You don't have to be sorry, okay?"

"Hey, I'm only being polite!" Pearl huffed.

"I know, I know, but you don't need to. You're allowed to say no to things and set your own boundaries." Amethyst said.

"It's a tough habit to break, I suppose." Pearl sighed.

"I can't blame ya." Amethyst ran her fingers through her hair as she tried to come up with another idea. "How about... another art collab?"

Pearl's heart leaped at that suggestion. "Excellent idea! But..." Her expression fell. "I already gave my poetry book to Rose, so I unfortunately don't have anything on hand that you could base your painting on, I'm sorry..."

"That's it, I'm getting the vodka." Amethyst rolled off of her bed, leaving Pearl utterly confused until she'd realized what had happened. "I apologized again, didn't I?" she chuckled and cupped a hand over her mouth.

"Damn right you did, so I'm officially making this a drinking game." Amethyst reached under her bed and dragged out a half-full bottle of vodka; Pearl was tempted to question why she had that stored under her bed of all places, but decided against it, realizing this was Amethyst. She popped off the cap and took three sips straight from the bottle. "There. One for each unnecessary apology you've given me so far. So you better stop if you don't wanna give me alcohol poisoning." Amethyst teased.

Pearl couldn't help but burst into laughter. "Alright, alright, fair enough." she said. Her gaze still lingered on the bottle in Amethyst's hands... "Could I try some of that? I've never had the opportunity to try alcohol before..."

"That doesn't surprise me. Here ya go." Amethyst said, handing the bottle over to Pearl.

Pearl wiped the rim of the bottle off with her shirt before taking a sip. She immediately cringed and shook her head. "Blegh! I guess I wasn't really missing out; this is awful!"

"What are you talking about? It barely tastes like anything." Amethyst cackled.

"It smells like a permanent marker and burns like vinegar. Its only redeeming quality seems to be that it gets you drunk." Pearl said.

"That's fair." Amethyst shrugged. "I guess it's not the best drink for beginners, anyway."

"Sorry, but I guess it's not my thing." Pearl said with a wink.

Amethyst raised an eyebrow as she took the bottle from Pearl again. "I know you did that on purpose. Bitch." she said as she took another sip.

"Sorry, but I don't know what you're talking about!" Pearl responded in a fake-innocent tone, holding in her own laughter. "Sorry to disappoint you, Amethyst! You'll have to forgive me!"

"You little shit!" Amethyst burst into laughter and gave Pearl a playful shove, before taking two more sips of vodka.

"That was technically three apologies, you know." Pearl teased.

"Eat shit, I'm only counting the S word." Amethyst snorted. "Anyway, before you decided you wanted to murder me, I came up with an idea for our little art collab that we can actually do without your notebook."

"Oh? Go on." Pearl said, the smile on her face still lingering from screwing around with Amethyst's little drinking game.

"Just ooone sec!" Amethyst said, jumping to her feet and heading over to her closet. As she waited, Pearl eyed the bottle of vodka again. 'Hmm...' She reached for it again, wiping off the rim once more, and took another sip just to make sure it was as bad as she thought it was one minute ago. 'Yep, still gross.' she mentally remarked, placing the lid back on the bottle and setting it aside.

Amethyst returned with a heavy book in her hand, dropping it down on the bed. "Sometimes when I can't think of anything to paint, I just open up a book to a random page and base my painting off of the very first word I see. So I was thinking maybe both of us could do the same word! So we're still technically collaborating."

"Ohh, I see! That's a clever way to get your creative juices flowing." Pearl nodded. "In that case, since we're trying out something new today... May I suggest something as well?"

"Go for it."

"What if we switched things up a little bit? As in you try writing a poem, and I give painting a shot!" Pearl said. "It might be a little bit easier for me -- I hold myself to such a high standard when I write, but since I'm new to painting, I won't be quite as critical of myself."

"Oh yeah, that sounds fun!" Amethyst said. "I mean, my poem will probably turn out like shit, but I think it'll still be fun!"

"I doubt that; you have such a creative mind, I'm sure you could convey it in words just as well as you do in painting!"

"Pfft, well, let's hope so." Amethyst said. "But first things first; let's get our topic!"

Amethyst laid the heavy book down on the bed and flipped it open to a random page; she placed her finger on a random spot and read aloud the first word she saw. "Butterfly!"

"That's perfect!" Pearl clasped her hands together. Butterflies were carefree and colorful just like Amethyst's paintings, and if she was going to attempt a new medium of art, there was no better subject than this.

The two of them both began to set up their materials; Pearl laid out a canvas and a palette of paint on the floor, while Amethyst sat at the desk with her feathered pen and college ruled notebook. As Pearl reached for the paint brush, she heard the sound of heavy footsteps in the hallway and felt a lump in her throat as she was reminded of the note she'd left for Jasper. Not wanting to think about that whole situation again, she cleared her throat to speak. "It's funny, I was never too afraid of bugs when I was a child... But butterflies were the one bug that did frighten me." Pearl said, dipping her brush into the sky blue puddle of paint and spreading it across her canvas.

"Really?" Amethyst said. "You had no problem taking care of that centipede at Peridot's apartment, but those girly little butterflies freak you out?"

"Well, I'm not afraid of them anymore!" Pearl clarified. "I guess it I wasn't so much that I was afraid of them, though; I was more... uncomfortable with how delicate they were. My sister once told me their wings were so fragile, they'd break if I touched them. She... was probably just teaching me to be careful, now that I look back on it, but the thought of hurting such a beautiful thing made me want to cry, so I ended up feeling nervous whenever they were around."

"Damn. And here I was throwing worms at girls on the playground who bullied me." Amethyst snorted; Pearl could see from the corner of her eye that she was writing something down as she talked. "I feel kinda bad about that, though. Those poor worms didn't deserve to be chucked at those assholes."

Pearl burst into laughter. "The more you tell me about your childhood, the more I feel like we probably wouldn't have gotten along. It's a good thing we met as adults rather than kids, isn't it?"

"Yeah, guess so. I was kinda awful, so I would've hated me too." Amethyst smirked.

"I didn't mean it like that; I just meant that we were very different..." Once she decided to move on to the next color, Pearl dipped her paint brush into the plastic cup of water, watching the little blue clouds of paint as they fogged up the water. "I was such a goody-two shoes, always focused on being ladylike and polite... You seemed to be so rowdy and carefree, like every kid deserved to be."

"Uh..." Amethyst leaned back in her chair, tilting her head back to look at Pearl. "I mean this in the nicest possible way, but uh... isn't that kinda... how you still are?"

Pearl couldn't help but feel a slight twinge of annoyance. "How is that...?"

"Like I said earlier, you apologize a lot. And you're always sitting with your legs crossed, always looking so dainty, always wanting to clean up after me and Jasper... Almost feels like you'd apologize for breathing too much." Amethyst tapped her fingers on the desk, looking as if she somewhat regretted bringing it up. "And like, there's nothing wrong with apologizing a lot or wanting to be polite and stuff. But I dunno... I guess it seems kinda unhealthy sometimes. I don't want you thinking you gotta be a doormat. Is that shitty of me?"

Pearl bit her lip. "I... I guess you may have a point, but..." Pearl trailed off, absentmindedly swirling her brush around in the water.

"Sorry, I guess I kinda said it in a douchey way..." Amethyst mumbled. "I put you in a weird position. We can, uh, drop the subject if you wanna. Kinda lose my filter when I'm tipsy..."

"I think we should..." Pearl had to restrain herself from punctuating that sentence with a "sorry".

A silence fell between the two that wasn't quite awkward, but not quite comfortable either; instead of making more attempts to converse, Pearl decided it was best to just focus on finishing up her painting. The more she tried to perfect it, however, the more of a sloppy mess it became. That alone was driving her insane, but she put all of her willpower into not worrying about it, simply focusing on relaxing and enjoying herself -- but neither of those seemed to be happening. Paint smudged in places she wanted to be more uniform, and the once vibrant colors mixed into a bunch of murky greys and browns; by the time she was finished (or as finished as she could get), tears had begun to spill from her eyes.

"Okay, I think I got a decent poem down!" Amethyst announced after a few moments of silence, causing Pearl to jump in surprise; she dramatically placed her pen down on the table, turning her body towards Pearl. "How bout you, P?"

Pearl didn't respond, simply staring at the hideous painting lying before her and feeling a wave of shame wash over her.

"...P?" Amethyst said, standing up from her desk and bringing her notebook with her.

Pearl burst into tears and buried her face into her hands. Biting her lip, Amethyst cautiously pushed her chair in and approached her. "Aw geez... I'm sorry, Pearlie. Is this because of what I said earlier? It was stupid, I should have-"

"It's not just that." Pearl sniffled, wiping her face on her sleeve. "Just... the combination of everything that happened today. Not know how Jasper will react to my note, hearing you two fight earlier... And to top things off, my painting is hideous! I'm sorry to be so negative, it's just... so much right now..."

"Aw... Pearl..." Amethyst said, sitting down on the floor beside her and wrapping one arm around her waist. "It's gonna be alright. Everything is gonna be alright soon! But you know... rules are rules..." she continued, her hand slowly reaching over for the bottle of vodka. Confused by Amethyst's words, Pearl looked up from her hands and saw what Amethyst was doing. She tried to hold back her laughter, but that only lasted a for second. "Amethyst!"

"Hey, you're the one that said the 'S' word!" Amethyst teased, winking at Pearl as she unscrewed the cap and took a sip straight from the bottle. "Anyway, show me that painting already! I'm sure it's cool as all fuckery!"

"Ah, alright..." Pearl took a deep breath, still working on calming herself down. She hesitantly handed the canvas over to Amethyst.

"Aww, Pearlie! Are you serious? This is cool as fuck!" Amethyst said, her eyes widening.

"Come on, you don't have to pity me..." Pearl smiled awkwardly.

"I'm not, dude! It's actually awesome!" Amethyst said. "Like, the smudgies kinda make it look like the butterfly was splashing around in the mud. It's a rowdy girl, like me!"

Pearl couldn't help but smile. "Aw... I guess that's one way to look at it, isn't it?"

"And I like that her wings are a little wonky. You know nobody's really symmetrical, right? I got one hand that's bigger than the other!" Amethyst held both of her hands out to Pearl. "See? Lefty's bigger!"

Pearl let out a slight giggle. "I guess that's true, huh? And if this butterfly has a lot in common with you, it certainly must be beautiful like you..."

"Hell yeah it is!" Amethyst said, taking another sip of the vodka. "So don't be so hard on yourself. It's your first time painting, so you're obviously not gonna be Picasso, but that doesn't mean it's not good!"

"I guess so..." Pearl said, sniffling and wiping her face again. "Thank you for being so kind. And hey, why are you drinking again? I didn't even say sorry!"

"You did just now." Amethyst winked. "I predicted the future!"

Pearl burst into laughter. "You really are something, aren't you?"

"You want another try?" Amethyst asked, holding the bottle in Pearl's direction. "No pressure, though; I just don't wanna be greedy."

"Ah... sure!" Pearl said, hesitantly reaching for the bottle again. If Amethyst was going to be drunk, she might as well join her; while she wasn't what anyone would consider an experienced drinker, she did know being drunk wasn't very fun to do alone. She took a hesitant sip, this time not caring enough to wipe off the bottle. "I'm going to be honest, I might have to try a few different kinds before I get into this whole drinking thing..."

"That's fine; you don't even have to get 'into' drinking at all if you don't wanna." Amethyst leaned back against the bed. "Anyway, wanna see my poem?"

"Of course!" Pearl said, feeling somewhat silly; she'd almost forgotten about Amethyst's poem altogether. 'Wonder if the alcohol is already kicking in.' she mentally noted, not entirely sure how much she'd have to drink before actually feeling anything, or how quick it would be.

"Here ya go!" Amethyst handed the notebook over to Pearl; her handwriting was small and a bit sloppy, Pearl noticed, but not so much that it was illegible. She'd even drawn an outline around the poem and surrounded it with little doodles of butterflies.

i can feel their wings pounding on my ribs banging to get out, searching for light. when i was little, people would tell me i had butterflies in my belly. but these little things have furry antennae and mostly come out at night. if butterflies mean i'm nervous, what does it mean when there's moths instead?

By the time she'd finished reading the poem, Pearl was smiling from ear to ear. "Oh my goodness, Amethyst, that is adorable!" Pearl exclaimed, hugging the notebook against her chest. "You have such a creative mind -- you really should do this more often!"

"Aw, thanks." Amethyst said with a slight blush on her face. "You sure you're not just saying that to flatter me?"

"Certainly not! You really do have so much potential -- sure, you're undeniably a beginner, and it could use a little tweaking here and there, but that could be said about any poem on the face of the earth!" Pearl said; her dampened mood from earlier seemed to have vanished into thin air. "Trust me when I say that I love it. I like that you chose to go with a metaphorical meaning of butterflies; I almost feel silly for taking such a literal route, now."

Amethyst gave Pearl a playful nudge. "Nothing wrong with being literal. Sometimes the metaphors get old, and you want a piece of art that just tells you like it is." Amethyst gestured to the painting. "And that, right there, is a sweet butterfly that's going right on my wall as soon as it dries."

"Ame..." Pearl teared up again, pulling Amethyst into a tight embrace. "Thank you so much..."

Amethyst returned the hug, caught slightly off guard by the sudden affection but certainly not bothered by it. "Hey, just telling the truth..." she said, gently rocking her back and forth. "And hey... I'm sorry about the thing I said earlier."

"You don't have to be." Pearl reassured.

"Yeah, but still..."

The conversation trailed off, but their hug didn't. For the time being, Pearl was perfectly content staying right where she was in Amethyst's arms. Part of her felt like she should let go soon to keep from being awkward, but... she simply couldn't bring herself to.

"You're wonderful..." she whispered. Her long fingers grazed against Amethyst's spine, and she heard her draw in a soft breath at the touch. Pearl's heart pounded in her chest as she slowly pulled away from the hug, her gaze melting right into Amethyst's dark irises. Her eyes slowly moved downward to her plump lips; she noticed the faintest hint of sparkle left from lipgloss that she'd probably put on earlier that day. A sudden rush of bravery sprung up in Pearl and she pressed her lips against Amethyst's.

The kiss lasted for no more than a second, and felt so... foreign. Definitely not what Pearl had expected; it had been so long since she'd last kissed someone, she'd almost forgotten what it felt like. As she pulled away, she saw the dazzled look in Amethyst's eyes. "When did you get so brave?" she slurred, tracing a finger along Pearl's jawline.

"H-hah, I guess... Must have been the alcohol..." Pearl blushed, her gaze going right back down to her hands.

"Pfft. You had like, two super tiny sips of it, girlie. That’s not even enough to get a hamster buzzed." Amethyst teased. "Probably just gazebo."

"You mean placebo."

"Yeah, gazebo."

Pearl rolled her eyes, still unable to wipe the amused grin off of her face. "Alright, you’re the expert.” she teased. Her expression softened a bit before she continued. “But, um... was that okay? I-I should have asked first, I shouldn’t have assumed you’d..." Pearl trailed off, her cheeks burning with shame and refusing to look into Amethyst's eyes.

"Lemme see if this answers your question." Amethyst said. She leaned forward and tilted Pearl's head back up so they were facing each other, kissing her once more. Relief and excitement washed over Pearl as she melted into the kiss and wrapped her arms around Amethyst, tugging her even closer.

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wickedbananas · 6 years

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How to Use Instagram Like a Beauty Brand

Posted by zeehj

Does your brand’s activity on its social accounts impact its search rankings? Maybe. Maybe not. But does it matter anyway?

I shouldn’t have to convince you that investing in a social media for your company is worth it; even in light of Facebook’s recent data breach, we are so reliant upon our social profiles for real human interaction that leaving them is not a real option. In fact, the below statistics from Pew Research Center’s 2018 Social Media Use Survey indicate that we’re not going to give up our social media profiles any time soon.

Humans are social creatures. It makes sense that we love being on social networking sites. We crave interaction with fellow humans. We’re also highly likely to trust the recommendations of our friends and family (Nielsen) and those recommendations often influence our purchasing decisions. We ask our loved ones for advice on where to put our dollars in myriad ways, all at different price points:

What coffee shop do you like to go to?

Which mascara is that?

What are you reading right now?

Where’d you get that tie?

What neighborhoods are you looking to move to?

What schools are you looking to send Anna to?

Yes, those same searches occur online. They also frequently occur in tandem with testimonials from the people in our lives (depending on how thorough we want or need to be).

So if you have a thing that you want to sell to a group of people and you’re still not pursuing a social strategy, I don’t understand what you’re doing. Yes, it’s 2018 and I still find myself trying to persuade clients to proactively use (the right) social networks to promote their brand.

For the sake of this piece, we’re going to focus on organic usage (read: free, not paid advertising) of Instagram. Why just Instagram? 35% of US adults say they use Instagram as of 2018, up from 28% in 2016. This was the greatest growth across top social networking sites reported by Pew Research Center. Additionally, its 35% usage puts it at the third most popular social networking platform, behind only Facebook and YouTube.

Other good news? It may be easier for brands’ posts to appear in users’ Instagram feeds than on their Facebook feeds: Facebook still wants to prioritize your family, friends and groups, while The New York Times reports that Instagram is updating its algorithm to favor newer posts rather than limit the accounts in your feed.

So should every brand have an Instagram? Maybe? But notice I’ve been primarily using the word “brand,” not “company” or “business.” That’s deliberate. Companies (only) provide customers with a service or sell a product. Brands provide customers (followers) with an identity. (If you want to dive further into this, I highly recommend this presentation by former Distiller Hannah Smith.)

The best companies are brands: they’ve got identities with which consumers align themselves. We become loyal to them. We may even use the brands we purchase from and follow as self identifiers to other people (“I’m a Joe & the Juice kind of guy, but not Starbucks,” “I never use MAC, only NARS,” “Me, shop at Banana Republic?! I only go to Everlane!”). Not every company should be on Instagram — it doesn’t make much sense for B2Bs to invest time and energy into building their company’s presence on Instagram.

Instagram is not for your consulting firm. And probably not for your SaaS company, either (but prove me wrong)!

It’s for celebrities. It’s to show off your enviable trip. It’s for fashion blogs. Sneakerheads. Memes. Art. Beauty brands. It’s really great for beauty brands. Why? Instagram is obviously great for sharing pretty photos — and if you’re a beauty company, well, it’s a no-brainer that you should have an active account. And it also has incredible built-in features to organically promote your posts, engage customers, and sell products with actual links to those products on your photos.

So, if you’re going to use Instagram, do it right. If you want to do it right, do it like a beauty brand.

First things first: Why do beauty companies’ IG posts look better?

Glossier

Onomie

Milk

Let’s get the obvious out of the way: each account features beautiful models, pretty sceneries, and cosmetics in clean packaging. That said, it’s not just the subject of the IG photos that matters: each of these IG accounts’ photos have been curated and edited together, so that their photos look cohesive when you view them in IG’s grid format. How do they do that? Let’s look at three posts from these accounts.

Glossier

Onomie

Milk

It’s hard (for me) to pick apart precisely why these photos are aesthetically pleasing — and it doesn’t help that I’m neither a photographer, nor a designer. That said, here is my rudimentary, non-designer take on why these photos look great together:

#1: Their subjects are beautiful (duh)

#2: There are limited primary focal points, and tons of negative space (though the medicine cabinet and floral arrangement photos are arguably “busy”)

#3: Their hues are complementary (pinky-pearlescent-pastels, anyone?)

There’s a lot of pink. And white. And pastels. And more pink. And then, occasionally, pops of color (think: a new violet lipstick shade).

Color schemes remain consistent across Onomie’s, Milk’s, and Glossier’s photos — these beauty brands don’t suddenly change their color palettes from one photo to the next. In fact, they are most likely implementing the same Instagram filters for each photo, or at least editing the color balances so that the photos complement each other. They are deliberately catering to Instagram’s 3x3 grid photo format (or 3x4, or 3x5, depending on your screen size). While many users do see IG posts in their “feeds” when they open the app, users are still motivated to look at IG accounts’ for a number of reasons: IG profiles are the only place where you can add hyperlinks on Instagram, and is also where accounts can pin stories for users to revisit.

But how on earth do they do it? They may have professional photographers, or graphic designers they can beg to normalize their color balances across photos. However, I don’t think that most companies necessarily need this mastery in-house in order to have an Instagram profile that looks good to mere mortals.

What I can assure you is that they plan, plan, plan out their posts in advance. In order to do this effectively, of course, you need the right tools. Here’s your starter pack of IG apps:

VSCO

Freemium phone app

Enables you to edit photos like a master — VSCO goes way beyond a small set of filters

Has its own community and image feed within the app, separate from IG

VSCO can’t post directly to IG (yet), but you can easily download any edited photo

Planoly

Freemium desktop tool and phone app

Can visualize your photos in a grid format with your other IG photos

Built-in analytics

Can schedule and post directly to IG, with captions and hashtags

Unum

Free

Offers some photo editing tools

Can drag and drop photos to plan out how they will appear alongside your other uploads, in grid format

Can post to IG, but no scheduling features

This may sound like a lot of work, and for non-designers in particular it’s pretty challenging. That said, the fruits of your labor can be used again and again. In fact, that’s precisely what these beauty brands do on IG: if they’re featuring a product (again, hello lipstick shades), they show off that product’s different colors, on different skintones. Basically, rinse and repeat with your IG photos: this repetition is great for those with sparse content calendars, and still looks great.

Okay, but they’re not popular just because of their looks, right? Why are beauty brands on IG so damn popular?

Yes, looks matter. IG is a visual platform. Sorry not sorry. And yes, we’re talking about beauty brands that have budgets to advertise their accounts and products on IG, which also contributes to their popularity. However, that’s not the whole story.

They use hashtags and photo tags.

Hashtags

Just like on Twitter (and Facebook, to a degree), hashtags are a natural way to boost exposure and get “discovered.” That’s largely because IG users can also follow hashtags, in the same manner as following a handle. And, just like on Twitter, it matters which hashtags you use. IG also allows users to add up to 30 hashtags per post — and yes, this can look spammy, but if you’re using IG like a beauty brand, you’ll separate your caption from your hashtags with periods-used-as-line-breaks or as a separate comment after you post.

So, where should you begin hunting for hashtags? Unfortunately, the Cambridge Analytica debacle has extended to Facebook’s other properties, including Instagram. It seems like one direct response to this is to limit the number of API calls we can make of IG. This means awesome services like websta.me can’t serve up the same amount of information around hashtags as they once did.

That said, Tagboard is one option for content and social media marketers to use. I like to use it to suss out hashtag intent (in answering whether this the right hashtag to use for this post). *Readers: if you’ve got tools you love to find hashtags on IG, add them in the comments below for us, please!

Otherwise, your best bet (as far as I know) is to search for hashtags directly in Instagram’s Discover area, under Tags. There, you can see how many times those hashtags have been used (what’s popular?) and then click through to see what photos have been tagged.

Photo tags

Beauty brands also take advantage of photo tagging on their posts when they can: if they are featuring a celebrity (like the magnificent Tracee Ellis Ross), they can tag her IG directly onto this post. Not only does this let Tracee (or, more likely, her social media manager) know, but depending on her settings this photo now shows up under her tagged photos on her profile — for her fans to discover.

Similarly, if you’re a business selling products and you’ve been approved for shopping on IG, you can also tag your products in your photos so that users can click through directly to their product pages. This is a no-brainer. Just do it.

They talk to their followers.

We already know that it’s best practice to engage and respond to followers on social media (within reason), and IG is no different. Onomie, Milk and Glossier all have downright spirited conversations in their photos’ comments sections by prompt fellow ‘grammers to participate in a few ways. They:

Host contests for product giveaways, which is an easy way to grow their followers on Instagram while also attracting new, potential customers.

Ask their followers questions (“which are your faves?”) or simply prompt them to react to a photo (using emojis in the comments).

Share company and product news with their followers, and also answer questions their followers pose in response to that news.

They add stories.

IG’s “Stories” feature is another great tool that Onomie, Milk, and Glossier all use. They’re like IG posts, but ephemeral (they only last 24 hours) and do not live in your main feed: users can access these stories from the top of their IG feeds, and from the account’s main icon. In some cases — especially brands selling products — these accounts may choose to “pin” evergreen stories to their IG profiles, so that users can access them beyond the 24-hour lifespan.

Stories are an excellent way to gather additional insights from followers (outside of comments) because you can run polls (with clickable elements) to collect simple data (“Should our next product help alleviate dry or oily skin?”). What’s more is that, depending on users’ notification preferences, stories automatically push notifications to followers’ phone screens. This means that even if a user is not using the app, they will be notified of new, temporary content.

If your brand (or your client) isn’t taking advantage of IG’s great marketing tools, it’s time to stop waiting and get ‘gramming. Especially if your target audiences are using the platform, there is no reason not to test out all the ways it allows you to engage its community.

Share your favorite IG tools, tips, and accounts below, so that other Moz readers can get inspired. And if you’re passionate about marketing, come join our team, and help me convince more awesome brands to take over Instagram. (JK. Kinda.)

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