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iceamericanoventi · 5 years

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Love Will Find a Way, Well, Eventually : 3. Bloom

“Is that it?”

Jinki raised his eyebrow to the man beamed like morning dew in front of him. He’s quite surprised with the visit of the younger. When he said he’ll stop by his café last time they met, he thought it was just formality of the courtesy talk.

“Nah, it would upset my stomach if I took more than coffee this early.”

“This is early for you?” Jinki glanced at his watch inevitably hearing such thing.

“My client and supplier abroad are still on the dreamland by this time,” he winked, makes Jinki chuckles behind the counter, “So how much do I owe you?”

“It’s on the house.”

Those round eyes immediately turned brighter, “You sure?”

“Positive.”

“Really?” He leaned further to his front, limb almost completely over the wooden surface. His neck stretched to the direction where Jinki’s making his order. Even from the back, Jinki still looks gallant, his back muscle subtly visible over his indigo cashmere.

“Cut it out before I change my mind,” he turned his back with cup of coffee in his hand, “Since this is early for you, do you mind if you have your coffee here instead for take away? Better for the environment.”

The blinding smile hypnotized Taemin on the spot, “Only if the boss sits with me.”

Another snorted came from Jinki, “Go pick your table then.”

***

“You seem happy this morning.”

Taemin put down the cup and support his head with his left hand on the table, while the right playing with the edge of the saucer.

“Me? Happy? We clearly didn’t know each other for a long time. This is the regular me.”

“Well, what I know is back then you were super grumpy during the whole dinner.”

Jinki brushed his hair back, the locks appeared so soft between his fingers. Taemin needs to suppress his urge not to feel it by his own hand.

“Sorry if my first impression disappointed you,” Jinki’s words halted for a moment, “My head was somewhere else.”

Minho has been texting him a lot since the next morning after they parted. He doesn’t like being accused as anything, but he doesn’t like it more when it’s actually true. He admits he was a bit rude, talking too cold to some people who weren’t at fault.

Even worse, the tall man bothering Jonghyun making the later had no options besides calling Jinki right after he finished with his shift at the hospital. And nagging Jonghyun is the worse.

“Kibum couldn’t stop wondering what the heck is going on with you during our ride home. He thought you’re on your period or something.”

“Maybe I was. Who knows?”

“Kibum was right when he said you’re a bit jokester.”

“It’s only me and you yet you keep talking about Kibum.”

“Jealous much?”

“Too early to talk about feeling. It would upset my stomach.”

Another smile adorn Jinki’s face, sending Taemin heartbeat to run faster than it’s supposed to be, “You’re interesting, Lee Jinki.”

“That’s what people said about me.”

At this rate, it’s hard for Taemin to not take Jinki’s friendly attitude as a light flirt. It seems he faced two different men. The dinner Jinki appeared like assassin in disguise, while the man before him idly looks like ball of sunshine. He sipped his coffee once more to cover his trembled lips.

“So how do I talk to you besides coming here to get my coffee?”

He expected the conversation would go this way, what else brought a busy designer like Taemin to the other side of the city, far for where his studio’s address – thanks to Choi TMI Minho – only to get a cup of cappuccino?

Besides Minho and Jonghyun, and some business partner of course, only several people has his number. Some family member doesn’t even know how to contact him besides the number of his shop. Jinki doesn’t like being disturbed. His time passed seven in the evening belongs for him, and for him only.

But something is unusual from Minho’s rants and excessive reminder to get closer with Taemin, at least try to give a chance for him. He figured that Minho must want to know Kibum better and Taemin won’t allow him to touch his precious best friend if he doesn’t get something in return.

“Ask Minho.”

“Don’t you think I haven’t tried? I can get coffee on the ground floor of my building, Jinki.”

“Bet I have better brew.”

“Of course, the owner is such a view. I didn’t put any sugar but I guess when I leave this place I need to check my blood sugar. I might get early symptoms of diabetes.”

“Stop blurting out some non-sense.”

“Not until you tell me your digits.”

“Are you always this aggressive? Should I be worried?”

“Only to certain people,” Taemin winked playfully to finish his sentence.

“I’ll ask your number from Minho later.”

“If you had three-days rule under your sleeve, you better cancel it right here right now, Sir.”

“I think it’s safe for me to start worried now.”

***

Jinki walked aimlessly between the bookshelves, checking some new novels to enjoy with one or two glasses of Bailey’s. Yesterday he was cleaning his apartment, taking half day off from his shop to finally realize he needs to hold yard sale by the end of the night because apparently he’s certified hoarder.

He has too many books. Some of the binds almost fell off, some of the cover even ripped, and some got coffee stain or maybe wine or some liquor he downed while reading the said books. After some deliberation, he opted to bring all the books to the shop and purchased some new one to accompany him at home.

Minho said, nobody reads book anymore at the coffee shop nowadays, but Jinki spat right on him for delaying the promotional strategy he promised a while ago because the photographer suddenly ought to go to Japan for some possible exhibition the next fall.

“Five at most, Jinki.”

He looked to his the small basket on his left hand, it’s been a while he went to real book shop, there are already seven books inside, “We’ll see.”

“What’s the point of moving everything to your shop then bring back another hundred home?”

“I am not that rich, Honey.”

“You aren’t. But you are not gonna give up a book when you already like it as well.”

“Wow. The perks of being boyfriends for five years.”

“Not a perk. An agony. You could buy some nice wallet or watch for me instead piling books on each corner of your place.”

“Ouch. I’ll buy you snow globe on the anniversary of our break up.”

“Oh, how sweet.”

“I am.”

“Whatever. Gotta go, some kids need their hero.”

“I need my hero as well.”

“Then stop shutting people down and take the courage. Live a little!”

“Yes, Dad.”

Jinki shoved his phone at his back pocket and continued touching and picking and putting it back to the shelf, repeating it several times until he reached the new arrival sections. He saw a book with a teal cover with a sketch of beautiful window in embossed silver ink on the middle of it, with small handwriting right below, About.

He peek his basket again, still less than ten, I’m good. Saw him dumping the book on top piles of the others, a staff walked closer to him.

“Hey, would you like to join our fan sign event?”

“What?”

“Ah yeah, the writer of that book is holding a fan sign at the moment. There would be some little reading as well. And everyone who purchases that book today, can join the fan sign for free.”

The girl sees how Jinki’s hesitating at the moment, half whispered, she showed him to the shelf on her right, “The book just released two days ago. It’s already on the best seller wall. It’s the fifth book of the writer that made it there. I’m sure you don’t want to miss this.”

“I’ll think about that,” he walked to the check out counter to pay all of his books. It’s three in the afternoon but the bookshop is crowded as much. While waiting by for his turn, he flipped the teal-covered book to check the summary written.

‘A flower would wither, inevitably, with or without care. When a tree is not teared down by an axe, reality might override some expectation, while it stays in her might, it’s eating herself from the inside. Since nobody know, nobody care. Just like flower, inevitably, it would wither. You said a mother would always stays, it’s about love. But rain smashed down the earth, flooding the land, vanishing some hopes. So much dread, but it’s about love as well.’

He saw the writer’s name, Key it says – which he’s much not familiar with. But what irked him is the commentary notes, he saw the name of the first author his grandfather introduced him: Key did it again. Same energy, some reflection, but different touch as always.

Interesting, he thought. Retreated from the line he picked his phone and texted his manager that he’s not returning back to the shop after his afternoon shopping spree.

***

Something inside his chest is racing, thumping with unnecessary rapid pace. His eyes glued to the figure appeared at the corner of the small stage arranged at the back part of the bookshop. He looks so soft with another oversize sweater wraps him, as if the article of clothes is specially made for him. The color burgundy is contrast with the skin peeking just right above his collarbones.

Some audience by the first three rows squealing at the smile he sports when he looks at their directions. The scene makes Jinki ducked his head quickly, afraid that the man would think him a creep. A creep who stalks people they barely knew with book shopping as their excuses, hiding among some late teenagers making a fuss over small wave from the man.

Jinki stretched his neck a bit, checking for empty seat he could sneak in. He found a place on the right side next to a pillar covered by some wooden shelves, a perfect hideout until his turn for the sign.

“Hi, everyone!” his voice is still as charming as Jinki remembered, “Thanks for coming today though it’s with very short notice, you are all here! I am impressed, but also grateful to the hill.”

He stops for a while to reach his copy of the book he’s going to sign this afternoon.

“Actually, it was scheduled to be released only next month, even if I finished it early. So, I bugged my editor to chase their tails to distribute it faster. Guess I am a very good dog person!”

Roar of chuckles fill the air by the joke, but mainly by the way he rolled his eyes when he’s talking about his publisher.

“Today I will read for you some pages which are my favorite from ‘About’. This book composed by questions we have about all the simple things happened around us. Or to us. About all the things we take for granted.”

From his seat, Jinki can clearly see how the man blushed when a girl took a picture of him but forgot to turn off the flash light.

“For the first time, I don’t have main character. The story isn’t specifically centered on particular people. I want to be as inclusive as can be for everything’s happened inside this book could occur to anyone despite their social status or their point of view toward life.”

He takes his glasses and gulped down some water prepared for him before he opens the book in his hand, and started reading.

“She just left. She yelled one night, screamed her lungs out, spat on my face, at one point made me believed words came out from her, that I am useless. Ungrateful and asking too much. I had enough of you, that’s how she ended the dreadful conversation. The following morning I saw a glass of milk on the table, fifty dollars slipped neatly underneath. Cinnamon rolls placed next to it, wrapped by blue napkin, a letter laid on the top of it. No, it wasn’t letter, it was not even one paragraph, and it’s written at the back of old supermarket’s receipt. I’m sorry I had to do this, it began. I would be a bad mother if I’m with you. We shouldn’t have been each other’s pain. Since then, I resent my mother for all bad lucks I encountered for the last ten years.”

There’s no single sound from the audience. Everyone’s drown to the sooth voice reciting some lines from his book. One girl at the back even took out her handkerchief and silently wiped her tears. He bit his lips, seems reluctant to continue reading the passage.

Jinki stunned by the words. The last sentence tastes too familiar.

***

Kibum can only stare to the man walked closer to him. He blinks, once, twice, but the scene didn’t falter. The man even smiled, waved his book to the dumbfounded author. So many questions popping inside his head, starting on how on earth such an aloof personality is bothered coming to an event like this.

“I am a fan. Starting today,” he put the book in front of Kibum just like previous people before he observed. But the eyes of the said man still wedged on Jinki’s face, “You okay? Last time I checked, I’m not a ghost, Kim Kibum. Or should I say, Key.”

He took the book anyway, head still shaking in disbelief, “That name is off limit. How did you get here?”

“Err.., by subway?”

Only chuckles blurted out before he starts writing on the first page, “I thought an alien abducted you here.”

“Well, that would be less boring.”

“This is awkward,” Kibum snorted, “But thank you for coming. I mean it.”

“My pleasure, Kibum. I’ll finish this as soon as possible.”

Kibum waved to him slightly too excited, eyes glued to Jinki’s back, following him to the seat he’s sitting by himself, away from the crowd. A staff needs to tap his shoulder lightly announcing another reader already waiting on his right. He quickly apologized and detached himself from Jinki’s direction.

Meanwhile, Jinki traced the fresh ink on his copy, simple smile reappeared when he read the cute handwriting.

‘Let me know if you like the story. Or not. Enjoy, Lee Jinki! J’

He looks to the small stage, secretly hoping the later turned his head his way so he can mouthed another thank you and leave better impression. But Kibum’s of course busy signing and chatting with his fans. Sometimes he cracked a little bit too loud an excuse himself for startling people around.

Jinki is still trying taking in the entire situation without being overwhelmed. When Minho said Kibum’s a writer, he didn’t expect it would be this famous. And the way he treats each reader, furtively gave him hope. A hope of something he didn’t understand yet for what. A hope he secretly wished it was only on his misshaped mind.

“Is my book that amazing I got a beautiful man flipping the pages or is that too boring you expected some twist on the next paragraph?”

Jinki looked up when a familiar voice approached him. He was too caught up with the story line, he didn’t realize the fan signing is all wrapped up and some staffs already started clean up the chairs. Kibum smiles sincerely, and without asking any permission he sits next to him, leaned closer to check until which part Jinki already reading. Little did he know, his perfume confiscated Jinki’s respiratory system, making it hard to balance his need of oxygen.

“Care to explain again what on earth brought you here?”

Jinki closed the book and rested in on his laps, “I was buying some books. It’s the time of the month. Not something I’m proud of, but I do judge a book by its cover. Literally. And when I saw yours, it goes to the cart immediately. And one of the staff told me I got a chance to have my book signed by the author.”

“I should call my graphic designer after this and treat him a dinner.”

“You should. I’m rarely this open complimenting people.”

Kibum burst into another long haul of laughter. He looked at Jinki once again, and still, shaking his head again for this is such a weird coincidence. He was a bit ill this morning when he woke up and was still not in the mood even he got better after some medicine Amber gave him. He almost calling his publicist to postponed the book signing until at least next week.

He thanked his hard headed manager to shove him more soup and vitamins while yelling him it’s impossible to cancel the book signing which he personally asked to be added on his schedule.

“What do you think so far?”

“It’s too soon to come up with some conclusion. I’ll save that for later. But the passage you read before, I like that a lot.”

Lots of people reading Kibum’s book, lots of people said they love it. What just rolled out Jinki’s mouth, though, painted him some contentment. For Kibum, what he grasped from Jinki’s attitude back on the restaurant showed him that Lee Jinki is very hard to please. Taemin was almost all over him during the dinner, but he didn’t budge. And befriended with the designer, he got to know that Taemin is a very charming person, no one actually wasn’t drown on his vibe.

“What are you doing after this Jinki?”

He was planning to stop by Jonghyun’s house and bought some egg breads on the way knowing it was his ex-boyfriend’s favorite. The later has been bugging him with endless texts saying he’s exhausted.

“Hmm, nothing. Mostly go back home and continue reading.”

“Do you want to grab some bites?”

Jinki thanked his grandfather words as much as he cursed it. He would never say no to that kind of questions.

“Relax, it’s not a fancy dinner which might turn you into cold asshole.”

“Hey. I might be cold but I’m not an asshole.”

“We’ll see.”

***

Kibum brought him to his favorite burger joint in a very nice neighborhood. It’s close to the hyped area near Hongdae, but secluded enough to actually able to get some order served without being annoyed by some line. Kibum decided to take away and enjoy the burger while walking around with I-already-sit-for-a-very-long-time as an excuse.

They talked about books, puppies – Kibum has two –, and some stupid stuffs they encountered while walking down alleys to alleys. It’s not weekend yet, but the street’s already filled by youngsters.

“These kids are supposed to sit on their desk studying for dear life!”

Kibum couldn’t hide his anger when a group of freshman walked passes them and nearly knocked him down butt kissing the pavement. Luckily, Jinki was there snatching his arm in flash.

“Let them be. Too much studying is such a waste, they’ll stress themselves. Nothing great about being depressed.”

“Was that the story of your life?”

“Maybe, the part of being depressed in such young age sounds familiar.”

The answer brought Kibum quiet. By the corner of his eyes he catches Jinki secured both of his hands on the pocket of his coat, face straight to the front trying not to give Kibum any chance to ask something related to that.

“What life without drama, then? Now tell me, why you insist on running specifically jazz café.”

“I love jazz and I love coffee. I have the opportunity to wed them, that’s what happened.”

“But you don’t seem happy talking about it.”

“I’m not a talker to begin with. So to incorporate happy feeling on my conversation is quite challenge.”

“I wonder how I’m the writer and not you,” Jinki raised his eyebrow in question, “You always have a way with words, you know?”

“A gift. When you’re raised to argue with your folks, you’ll manage.”

They walked side by side for the rest of the journey back to the main street, both are occupied with their own thoughts. The temperature dropped as the night goes by, but neither is bothered with it. Much to Jinki preference, he likes the comfortable silence.

Sometimes he glances to his side, Kibum always caught him looking but he said nothing. So he did the same when Kibum cocked his head to check on him.

“You sure you don’t want me to drive you home?”

Kibum asked the other man when he saw his car from a far.

“Nah, I’m good. Besides, I’ll be the end of your avid fans rant when they found out you drove back a newbie like me.”

Light slap landed on Jinki’s shoulder, “Stop it, will you?”

Jinki’s about to tease Kibum further, but seeing the man before him pouting like a toddler, all the will evaporated into the night sky and replaced with some funny feeling inside.

As they eased closer to Kibum’s car, Jinki hummed random song he listened to the radio blasted on the burger place which happened to stuck inside his head.

“I like that song.”

“The melody kinda stuck here,” he pointed to his temple which Kibum totally agreed with him.

“One last chance to get a ride from your new favorite writer.”

Kibum stands near the passenger door, waiting for Jinki to change his mind.

“Sounds amazing but I’m going to take the subway.”

“Your choice.”

He opened the backseat door to retrieve some of Jinki’s stuffs. He told him to leave the books in his car because he knew they will walk a lot and Jinki has at least four pounds of book in the paper back he handed back to the owner.

“Here you go. It was nice bumped into you, Jinki. Who knows you’re this, you know, remarkable.”

“I’m flattered.”

“Promise me you won’t hate me if you don’t like my book.”

“That won’t happened, I promise you.”

“A deal then.”

“A deal.”

Kibum decided that giving the other man a farewell hug is super awkward and would ruin the night. So he just nods and reaches the handle of the door, already missing the nice conversation he had even before he buckled his seatbelt.

“Kibum.”

“Yeah?”

“Umm, can I call you sometimes?”

Kibum’s smile never been this liberating.

***

It was posted on my AFF and I was thinking to cross posted it here. But, ofc, in a very very slower pace because I am that lazy yes, sloth is my spirit animal. If you’re interested to read the story, go check there. It’s already on chapter 7 lol! Thanks for reading this, I hope you like it! XOXO

#shinee fiction #shinee scenario #shinee fanfic #shinee #onew #jinki #jonghyun #kibum #key #minho #taemin #onkey #ontae #onho #jongho #taekey #minkey #LWFAWWE

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rk800downloading · 6 years

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“Save me” Chapter 6 - Connor x Reader

Disclaimer: PLOT PLOT PLOT as we leave pancake heaven and start on the dark road again :'D. Thank you all so much for you continued support! Reading your comments, watching the likes/reblogs/followers growing is such an amazing feeling, I hope you'll all stay with me as the story goes on! I love you all so much and I can’t wait to keep writing more you! Please enjoy!

Previous Chapters: CHAPTER 1 / CHAPTER 2 / CHAPTER 3 / CHAPTER 4 / CHAPTER 5

With a quick scan of your hand, you opened the door to your apartment.

Among everything else, you had nearly forgotten about your tiny home in the heart of downtown Detroit. It was a small sized apartment, perfect for you and your plants - which were definitely dead now. It was a house covered in your favorite colors, strange small collections, and your personality.

Hank had insisted that you return home before setting out for GOR - saying that you should tell your family where you were, and to get fresh clothes - muttering under his breath about finally returning Connor’s jacket because he felt Connor looked ‘less goofy’ with it on.

“Stay behind me.” Connor’s voice was sharp and his LED red.

“Whats-” You looked inside the door and immediately understood his alarm.

Your apartment had been destroyed.

Connor kept you back with his arm as he slowly walked in.

Everything you owned had been either been trashed, mutilated or broken - heads were cut off of your stuffed animals, your clothes had been shredded - even your plants looked as if they had been set onfire.

You stood in absolute shock.

“It’s clear.” Connor came to join you before making a quick call “Hank? Her apartment has been infiltrated, likely by GOR.” He walked over to the window where Hank’s parked car was visible “Yes. I will assist in helping recover as much as possible, and if it’s not too much I will send over her measurements as she will be needing clothing.”

“I guess I should have known.” You finally managed to say, crouching to examine the glass of your favorite, now shattered teacup - ignoring the fact that Connor knew your measurements.

“Although unfortunate, I’m glad you’ve been with us. I would hate to know what would have happened otherwise.” Connor lightly rested his hand on your shoulder “Is there anything I can do?”

You looked around at your home which now resembled a garbage dump, “Maybe look for anything not totally destroyed?”

Connor gave an enthusiastic nod “Got it.”

The two of you began recklessly digging through the wreckage; you in the kitchen while Connor explored the remnants of your room. The sound of shuffling and sorting echoed throughout.

“I am curious to know your state of mind.” Connor shouted from across the apartment.

Your interest was piqued “What do you mean by that?”

“As Hank drove, it occurred to me that there was a small chance that GOR would have come here looking for you. I had prepared new methods of comforting you, but it appears as if you do not need it.”

“I am pretty shocked right now, I think." you mumbled as you heard Connor’s footsteps approaching.

“You think?”

You wanted to cry, you wanted to scream. It felt like your world had fallen apart, but you wanted Connor to think you were strong.

You looked up to see his brown eyes staring at you as he held up a photo.

“This is my first time seeing a physical picture before. It is quite fascinating. What exactly is it a picture of?”

You smiled warmly as you gazed across the familiar sight “That's my family.”

“That's a large family.” Connor's eyebrows were raised in awe.

“I was an orphan,” you pointed to the picture “that's me, there.”

The picture was of your childhood from 10 years ago. Four adults and 20 children, including you, were lined up in front of the orphanage's humble gates. 'Rosewater Orphanage’ was painted on wood above in handwritten font.

“This information was not in your file,” Connor's eyes were as tender as his voice “but I feel satisfaction in learning new things about you by myself.”

Did he just refer to himself as an individual?

“You were a cute child. Who are the rest of these people?”

“These were the caretakers.” You pointed to the four adults “This was the owner, his name was George. He was so sweet!” You remembered how his eyes used to crinkle when he laughed.

“This was Ophelia.” You moved on to the next, pointing out an elderly woman “She was strict, but you knew it was out of love. Like, how Hank is with you.”

“Love?” you didn't have to look to know the expression on Connor's face “I will need time to process this information.”

“Don’t tell him I said anything about it.” You joked before continuing on, “This was Richard, the handyman. He taught me how to change a tire.”

“You talk very fondly of everyone.” Connor peered over your shoulder “and who's the last one there?”

“This was Tim, an android,”

“An android?” Connor's interruption was directed to the missing blue light in the picture.

“Yes, George had Tim’s LED removed.” You laughed “The kids were all too scared when he first came. They thought he was a robot.”

“Well in their defence, he is a robot.”

You rolled your eyes “You know what I meant.”

Connor looked through more pictures, treating each as if they were a precious treasure “Who adopted you?”

“I eventually got old enough to work. So I left by myself.” You sadly recalled the memory.

Connor’s LED blinked yellow, which you had learned often indicated deep thought “I once read in one of Hank's books a line that said 'Life is a circle of happiness, sadness, hard times, and good times’.”

You giggled at the thought of the quote being in Hank's literature “Are you saying that something really good will happen to me after all of this?”

His voice was confident “I will personally see to it that it does.”

“Are you programmed to say that?”

Connor smiled softly “I'm not programmed to say a lot of the things that I've said to you.”

Before you could respond you heard a quick tap at the door to see that Hank had left himself in.

“Knock knock, hope you’re not doing anything I wouldn’t do.” Hank surveyed the damage “You weren’t kidding about this place being trashed.”

Connor put down the pictures, giving the new arrival his full attention “I never ‘kid’ Lieutenant.”

“O-fucking-kay you never kid.” Hank grumbled to himself before placing a bag in front of you “I have no fucking idea why I was picked to choose women’s clothes, but here.”

You opened the bag to find surprisingly vogue athletic wear “I’m shocked- This is so fashionable!"

You thought you saw him blush “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Adding a new note to Lieutenant Hank Anderson’s file: is good at choosing women’s fashion.” Connor nodded to himself, his LED blinking rapidly.

Hank eyes shot daggers “Don’t you dare.”

“What is this…?” You interrupted their banter as you pulled out a bulky black garment.

“It’s a bulletproof vest.” Hank’s voice became serious “That GOR’s a shooter and honestly, who knows what else that sick fuck is capable of.”

That was true. What little you knew of GOR was warped and twisted - like how he exploited androids for their thirium - like how he exploited you.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Hank reminded you of an important question "why does putting human blood in red ice kill people?”

“Right, we never got round to talking about this.” Hank sighed “Connor, would you do the honours? You know I’m bad at this… scientific stuff.”

“Yes, that is true.” Connor grimaced as Hank punched his arm “The symptoms are close to that of mad cow disease,” he rubbed the spot of impact before continuing “When a cow eats the meat of another infected cow, it results in neurodegenerative disease - deforming their brain and spinal cord-”

“Is my blood infected?” you gasped.

“No, it is not the same cause, but rather the same effect. Basically, human blood has a neutral pH, but when it comes in contact with the hydrochloric acid, a component of red ice, which has a pH of 1.1, an acid-base reaction occurs where-”

“It fucks up the blood.” Hank simplified.

“Simply put,” Connor adjusted his tie “This ‘fucked up blood’ enters the drug user’s bloodstream. When the body tries to break down the DNA from the red ice, mutated nucleic acids are formed and then when the body tries to use that nucleic acid, it results in the body degenerating."

You blinked hard, trying to process the depth of the situation “So it doesn’t have to be just my blood?”

“No. That’s why we need to stop him, and you've got the memories to help us do it.” Hank finished for Connor as he gave you a small pat on the back.

“I’m surprised you managed to figure that all out at the crime scene.” you managed a weak smile.

Hank laughed despite the dark topic “Nah, I was just pissed off at the vampirism. Connor told me the rest later.” he placed the clothes from the bag in your hands “Go get changed kid.”

“I can assist you if you need help.” You looked over to find Connor smiling innocently.

“Yeah, you’d like that wouldn’t you.” Hank grabbed Connor’s collar, invoking deja vu “We’ll wait for you in the car.”

You returned Connor’s small wave goodbye as Hank dragged him away, leaving you behind in the mess of your possessions.

You changed into the hand-picked outfit, leaving the bulletproof vest for last - with the amount of straps and buttons this thing had, you knew it would be trouble.

You slung it over your head, fumbling with the straps while you took one last look at the trinkets you had hanging in your window. You looked at the dried roses on your counter, the broken jewellery box, the smashed clock that you had saved up to buy.

You felt heat building up in your eyes as you continued to struggle with the vest.

Why? Why did GOR have to destroy your home?

Why...?

"This-!” you ripped the vest off “fucking thing!” you threw it hard across the room, hoping it would break something even further, but instead a hand caught it.

You looked up to see Connor leaning against the door frame.

“I can’t get this damn thing on.” You quickly wiped away your tears of frustration.

“I said I would assist you if you needed it.” He sauntered over, placing it back over your head.

“Why aren’t you waiting with Hank?” You asked as he worked his way around you, deftly tightening the straps.

“I never listen when he tells me to wait.” His fingers ran over each button, securing it with a snap.

“You know that’s deviant behaviour, right?” You joked.

Connor pushed in the final clasp.

“I know.”

Next Chapter: CHAPTER 7

#detroit become human #detroit: become human #detroit: bh #detroit: connor #rk800 #rk800 connor #dbh #dbh connor #connor x reader #hank anderson #fanfic

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xxsanshinexx · 6 years

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Forget-Me-Not Pt IV

Characters: Junhui X Female Reader (featuring Seventeen)

Genre/Warnings: Mafia AU, Flower Shop AU, Fluff, Angst?

Words: 2,895

Summary: After the events of the previous day, you didn’t know what to think. All you knew was that you had to go to the flower shop. Junhui wouldn’t like it but against your best conscience you go, not expecting what was to come.

Previous II Next II Beginning

Soft sunlight flooded into your third story apartment. You couldn’t believe it was already morning, it seemed like you had just fallen asleep. Without even opening your eyes, you frowned and snuggled closer into what you thought was a pillow. A pillow would have gave way as you slammed your head down but instead a slight scoff was heard. Your eyes shot open and you were met with a black cotton shirt. A slight panic set in you and your eyes trailed upwards to see the owner of the shirt. You forgot Junhui was with you and had made his way onto your bed last night.

“Do you often headbutt your pillows?” He mumbled into you hair.

“I forgot you were here,” You said and closed your eyes trying to protect yourself from the harsh sunlight sweeping into the room.

He chuckled and your head bounced slightly from the vibrations, “How could you forget I was here?”

“I live alone dumbass,” You mumbled into his shirt, “You wouldn’t remember someone was with you if you just woke up either.”

“I’d always remember someone like you,” He smiled against the top of your head and you couldn’t fight the blush that spread across your cheeks.

You yawned and tilted your head up so you could look at him. That was probably a bad decision on your part. His hair was tangled and his eyes were dazed from sleep. He looked so content laying there that it sent your heart into a frenzy, and it only got worse once he sent you a lazy smile.

“I think I could get use to waking up like this,” He said.

You rolled your eyes and busied yourself by playing with the hem of his shirt, “Don’t get so used to it.”

He chuckled and took one of his hands off your waist. He laced it with the hand playing with his shirt giving you a teasing smile, “And why shouldn’t I?”

“Because,” You sighed and squeezed his hand, “We’re both in a shit spot right now.”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t do this,” He frowned.

You let out another sigh and dropped your hands, “Please tell me you’re just saying that to give yourself hope. I don’t think this is going to be possible…. At least not for a while.”

“I’m saying it,” He paused and brought his forehead down to press against yours, “because I believe it.”

“Junhui, you’ve only really known me for maybe a day?’ You said with a small frown, “How are you saying all this so confidently?”

“Because I am confident, in everything.” He said with a cocky grin.

You rolled your eyes, “You’re an idiot.”

“I prefer the term hopeless romantic.” His reply made you giggle and shake your head. He smiled at your response and wrapped his arms back around you. You had to admit it was something out of a story. His stare and the loving embrace. It made you sad to an extent.

“We’re both idiots,” You mumbled and he gave you a soft smile.

“Ah… well,” He said with shrug, “At least it’s both of us.”

“You’d rather it be both of us or neither?”

“Yes, that’d always be my answer,” He smiled and leaned down to place a quick kiss on the tip of your nose.

You couldn’t help yourself as you let out a little giggle, “You really just want to kiss me, huh?”

“It would be one of my greatest delights.”

You rolled your eyes at the overly sweet answer, “You need to try a little harder if you want me to swoon.”

“What more could I say?” He asked with a genuinely curious glint in his eyes. It wasn’t a question you knew the answer to either. The only response you could give him was a sly smile before you pushed yourself out of his arms. His groan could be heard throughout your entire apartment as you walked towards the bathroom.

“Y/N,” He pouted and you looked over to see him pressed up against your pillows. “You never give me a straight answer.”

You just gave him another smile before walking into your bathroom. It was hurting your brain as you tried to figure out what you were going to do. Was this whole Mafia ordeal really worth it? You knew how you felt about Junhui, that was the only thing that was clear. It was just the matter of if you were brave or careless enough to put yourself at risk over him. Were you really willing to die over this bright eyed boy?

After you had put yourself together for the day, you exited the bathroom. Junhui had yet to roll himself out of bed and was snoring soundly. You shook your head and began to fix yourself some breakfast. He was really like a child. You frowned though as you ate your bowl of cereal. If he was awake and alert he would’ve known what you were going to go do. He would’ve barricaded the door and threw a fit. You knew that you had to go down to the flower shop this morning. If you didn’t show up those guys that were after him would get suspicious that you weren’t there. It would get worse no matter how Junhui thought it would play out. You had that much common sense in you to know there was no better option, even if all you knew about the Mafia was from movies.

A sad smile made its way on your lips as you cleaned up your breakfast. Junhui was going to flip his shit when he found you gone. Crossing the room to be back besides the bed, you stared down at the sleeping boy. You wished you hadn’t fallen so fast for his charms. It would have made your life easier. With a gentle hand, you brushed back his hair from his forehead. A small smile made its way onto his lips and your frown deepened. Slowly, you brushed a kiss to his temple before you rose back up. The grin on his face just grew wider. You shook your head and made your way to the front door, looking back at him one more time. His eyes were slightly open but they were dazed as they stared at you. He could only watch as you slipped out the door with intentions to make things easier for the two of you.

The shop front made you want to break down sobbing. The glass wall that showcased all the seasons flowers was shattered beyond repair. Flowers that had been housed in the shop fronts display case now littered the floor, petals and stems smashed to no end. Even the counter tops were damaged in one way or another. Your family’s lives were lived throughout this shop and now it was smashed to ruin. It made the sadness in you vanish and a newfound anger bubble inside your veins.

You wanted nothing more than whoever had done this to your precious shop dealt with. Now you had wished you brought Junhui along, because he would surely be able to figure out how to find them. He’d probably know how to deal with them too. The thought left a bitter taste in your mouth as you stepped over a pile of glass. Junhui was a bright eyed, childish young man who had probably killed someone. You never thought of the possibility of your youthful love being a murder, but he was apart of a business notorious for it. There was some luck though he was just a mere spy.

“Um, excuse me, miss?” A voice piped up from behind you and you spun around to be greeted by two men. They both were of the same stature: tall, lean and from the way they held themselves you knew it could only mean trouble. One was very pale with beady black eyes and brown hair. The other had charming eyes, tanned skin and black hair cut in a rather sad fashion. You only knew they were who was after you because of the police uniforms they wore. If you had not known any better you would have thought they were real cops.

“Oh, hello,” You said willing yourself to be sad and pitiful rather than letting loose the intense anger that was boiling underneath your skin.

“I’m glad you could make it in time, Miss Y/N,” The charming eyed one smiled in a tempting way but his effects just passed right over you.

You made sure to put on a good show though, “I’m glad I could too,” You said with a small, shy smile.

“We have some questions regarding what could have happened here last night.” The beady eyed one got to straight to point and you had to admire his no shit attitude.

You frowned and looked around the shop, the sadness not faked one bit, “Ok…. I don’t know how much i’ll be able to answer though.”

“It’s perfectly fine,” the charming one smiled again, “Just do your best to answer truthfully.”

The beady eyed one started off the series of questions first, “What time did you lock up the shop last night?”

“Um around 6 p.m. I believe.”

“Was there anything suspicious happening during that day at the shop?” He asked and you shook your head.

“No, nothing that was out of the ordinary.”

“How about people? Was there anyone new in here yesterday?” He continued and you barely managed to contain your annoyance. You knew they were fake cops and you should treat them as such if you didn’t want to be found out.

“A few, but there wasn’t anyone who gave me chills or anything,” You answered and the two men frowned. They probably were going to get at questions regarding Junhui eventually. You would have to be surprised once they did. The charming one reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a rather bad photograph of Junhui. You knew they were going to get to this point and tilted your head in a rather convincing fake confusion.

“Do you know this man?” They asked together and you took a second to take in the picture before shaking your head. Of course you knew every slope and line of Junhui’s face but you couldn’t give that away to them.

“No I don’t,” You answered and frowned, “He may have came into the shop a while ago if anything... But I don’t remember him.”

“That’s alright ma’am,” He said and pocketed the photo again.

Your frown stayed on your face as you looked back up to the two men, “Who is he?”

“His name is Chin-mae,” The false name almost shattered your composure but you managed to keep it together, “We think he might be connected with all of this.”

“Oh I see,” You frowned and gave a little nod, “I’m sorry I can’t be of more help finding him.”

The beady eyed man had a horribly disguised snarl on his face, “It’s alright ma’am. We will be back later with paperwork and more questions.”

You were surprised at their unprofessional-ism. These two really didn’t know how to make convincing policemen. “Oh, alright. Um… if I have any questions or remember something who should I call?”

The two gave each other a silent look that you could only assume meant something bad, “Ask for Sungho and Jaeyoung at the police station. That should get you connected with the two of us.”

“For now,” The beady eyed one spoke and if you hadn't been so alert, you wouldn’t have noticed the edge of slyness in his tone, “Stay here. See if you can find anything that we missed so that when we can tie up as many loose ends as possible.”

They were up to something, you knew that as you nodded your head in agreement. “Ok, what time do you think you’ll be able to come back?”

“In the next couple hours,” The charming one smiled and the pair turned around to walk out the door without another word. Something bad was about to happen. You knew that for a fact as you watched the two men walk out the store front and around the corner. A rush of adrenaline pounded through your veins as you tried to walk as normally as possible to the back room. That’s where the backdoor was and hopefully nothing would be blocking your way of getting out. You casted a glance over your shoulder towards the front door and there you could see a man across the street. He was dressed in all black and was incredibly tall. Just from looking at him you felt a sense of dread. That's when you knew something bad was about to grab onto you.

Without a second thought, you quickened your pace towards the back door. As soon as you were about to lay a hand on the knob, the door burst open. You thought you were about to be killed or kidnapped but instead of someone like the man across the street, it was just Junhui. He looked crazed, with wild hair sticking up in all different directions and a panicked look in his eyes. No doubt you had scared the shit out of him this morning.

“Y/N!” He cried out in a whisper and snatched your hand in his, “You’re fucking crazy!”

“I know that already, jackass. We need to move,” You snarled to get the point across and took off out the backdoor. You dragged Junhui behind you as you ran along the back alley of the shop like you had done the day before.

“What the fuck were you thinking!” He huffed and came to run beside you, checking the area for anyone and anything.

“How to not get caught, Mr. I’m A Spy,” You growled and the two of you took a sharp turn that lead away from the flower shop.

“Don’t do shit like that without me!” He cried and pulled you to an abrupt stop, “You could have got yourself ki-”

He didn’t get to finish as a loud boom sounded. The two of you were thrown off your feet from the force of whatever had just happened. Junhui cradled you as you both were violently pushed to the ground. A horrible ringing sounded in your ears and your head lulled to the side. Faintly you could see flames in the distance with an enormous amount of smoke rising in the air. Sadness and anger hit you in violent waves and if it wasn’t for Junhui holding you, you would’ve ran back to the flower shop to kill them yourself.

“Y/N!” Junhui cried but it sounded like a faint whisper in your ear. You turned your head to look at him and he was scrambling to get the both of you off the ground.

“We need to go!” He yelled but again you could only faintly understand what he was saying. His tight grip on your wrist brought you back to reality and once again you both were running for your lives. The frantic look in Junhui’s eyes made you run faster, for you had never seen someone look that fearful in your life. When the two of you got to the unusually quiet street, a car you had never seen before skirted up to the sidewalk. It’s windows were all tinted and you couldn’t see who was behind the steering wheel.

“Get in Y/N,” Junhui ushered, throwing open the door and watching the street for any sign of life. Through your haze, you threw yourself into the backseat of the vehicle and Junhui jumped in right besides you. In the front seat were two men. The one had the wheel had a jet black mullet and eyes hidden behind red glasses. He oozed charisma and power but there was something about him that was off. The male besides him was quiet and you could see the faint reflection of metal in his hands. He made you feel more fear than the previous male. His styled black hair and dark blue suit was the epitome of regal but his face was so hard set it look like he was about to shoot everyone that got in his way.

“Step on it Minghao!” Junhui yelled as he slammed the door shut behind him.

“Don’t need to tell me twice, jackass!” The driver, Minghao, grumbled and the car sped off down the empty street. You couldn’t wrap your head around what was occurring and the massive headache that was forming wasn’t helping.

“Nothing is staying safe now Junhui,” The male in the passenger seat remarked as he looked out the rear view mirror.

“I know Wonwoo, I know,” Junhui sighed and reached across so he could hold you ever so gently. You didn’t mind and the men in the front seat didn’t seem to care enough to comment on it. Your life had gone from having a minor crack in it to becoming completely shattered.

Junhui’s soft voice mumbled ever so slightly in your ear, “It’ll be alright Y/N. We’ll figure something out.”

Because if Junhui was speaking the truth, he was terrified. They had found the one thing precious to him and he didn’t know how to hide you.

#This is probably my favorite chapter by far #let me know what you think #seventeen #seventeen au #seventeen story #seventeen drabble #seventeen imagine #seventeen series #junhui #junhui au #junhui story #junhui series #junhui drabble #junhui imagine #Flowershop Au #mafia au #forget me not #minghao #wonwoo

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Chapter 3-My Life With John Steinbeck--Crying for Burgess (Gwyn’s tale of a haunted yellow house)

In December, the 50th anniversary of Steinbeck's death, his papers will be unsealed. Perhaps there will be more surprises, revelations . Here is a fun one about a haunted yellow house from Gwyn Conger Steinbeck’s journal,hidden for 50 years!

Chapter 3 – CRYING FOR BURGESS

From the outside, the house looked almost like nothing, but behind the high walls and the fence was a house that was unique. It was built like a string of freight cars, and the inside was almost all glass. It was the first house I had ever seen that was a ‘His’ and ‘Hers’ house. In the living room were two built-in desks; in the bathroom, two built-in medicine closets. In fact, there was a ‘His’ and ‘Hers’ of everything in that house. John was in the process of cleaning it up, although he was not a domestic man, not by any means.

He was intrigued by the house. He told me he had found all kinds of weird wiring and things for lighting, and concluded that the former owners, the Johansens, must have held seances. Besides, he had unearthed yards and yards of black velvet gauze in a closet.

He showed me around and begged me to stay with him and help him fix it up. ‘I am very lonesome, and I am upset. I must work, and I need you,’ he told me. John had chosen the house because of its seclusion. He always liked a secluded atmosphere. He did not like people looking in windows.

The dining room, immediately off the living room, was solid glass. It made you feel as if you were in a garden because the fernbrakes were as high as five and six feet. A door led to several steps and a fishpond. Directly to the right of the dining room was a kitchen, then a small hallway and another door leading to the first bathroom. Next came a large room with narrow windows, very high-up windows. John turned that room into his library. As well as being almost fanatical, he was an avid reader. From the library, there was another passageway, again solid glass, with window seats. It was a quick passageway and this, too, led into the garden. It led into another bedroom, a pleasant room, again with high windows and a big bay window facing the garden. John wanted to turn this room into the master bedroom, which he did. Next to that was another, with a small kitchen. It was solid cement and only had one window, again facing the garden.

The kitchen did, however, have its exit door, which led to an area where there were once rabbit hutches. Apparently, the people slaughtered their rabbits because there were hanging hooks and butchering tables. Everything had been left in a state of disrepair. Mother called this room ‘Little Siberia.’ Outside of this area was a large gate that led into a vacant lot, a lot so overgrown with mattress vine that we could barely open it. John left it that way.

We started work. We painted, and we scrubbed. We burned weeds and tore out things. John and I did most of the painting ourselves. Mother visited, and she helped a little. Then we began the task of furnishing. I handled that while John worked in the garden in the mornings. He seemed at peace with himself during this time, although I know he was very restless. He knew I loved roses, so he went down to the Cannery and ordered a whole truckload of fish guts and had them turned into soil, spread everywhere. You do that, and you don’t have to fertilize for another seven years. And he built me a rose garden outside the guest house, directly opposite the room he turned into his ‘nest.’ He hired a Japanese gardener named Frank. John had been brought up around Japanese, and he felt they were good people to have work for you, which they are.

On the gate, John installed a big Mexican bell. The only way he would let anyone in was if they pulled the cord and rang the bell. It made a big noise.

We had a great sense of accomplishment cleaning up the house and painting it. It looked stunning in yellow and white. We bought furniture from Holman’s store, and the house began to turn from an old brown shack into a lovely, warm home. As you might imagine, we were extremely proud of what we had done. We were together – but not alone. We found out that the house was haunted!

I say that because many things happened in that house at 425 Eardley Street; strange and weird happenings. John was a mystic, as I said earlier, and he was interested in the unknown, and at the same time, he liked to scare people. He would get enjoyment out of sitting in the living room with guests, and suddenly the doorknob would turn, and the door would open. Everyone would get up and pour another drink. Furthermore, you could not keep that house locked up.

John did not believe in reincarnation, but he did acknowledge ghosts, and we certainly had them on Eardley Street. At night the place groaned and creaked, and nobody wanted to remain alone in that house. John would not stay alone there, either. Toby Street, John’s lawyer, later tried to live in that house and said it drove him crazy. Lewis Milestone, the director who did the movie Of Mice and Men, and who had come up to work on the script of The Red Pony, awoke in the middle of the night. He said afterward, ‘John, I hate to say this and I know you won’t believe it, but when I got up and looked out of the windows that garden was full of people!’ John laughed and said, ‘I believe you.’

I remember the time when a friend of John’s, Ellwood Graham, had painted a very modern painting of boats in the Monterey harbor. John loved it and bought it and decided to hang it above the living room fireplace. ‘Old Johansen won’t like that,’ I said. ‘Oh yes he will,’ he answered. We were having our morning coffee. John hung a big bulldog hook over the fireplace. I watched him as I sat on the hearthstone below. He hung the painting and stepped back to admire it. ‘It looks very nice there, don’t you think?’ he said. With that, there was a loud noise, and the bulldog hook was torn out of the wall. The painting crashed down and missed my head by the umpteenth of an inch. John laughed. ‘I’ll fix that old sonofabitch,’ he said. He went to the garage and came back with a spike a good four inches long, and drove it into the wall. ‘He won’t pull that out!’ he said, and rehung the painting. We admired it again and left the room.

Moments later, as we were in the kitchen, there was a terrible screeching noise. We rushed back into the living room. The nail had come out of the wall, and the painting was on the floor, its frame smashed. Needless to say, John moved that painting to another part of the room. I simply believe the former owner did not want anything modern around.There was another time when Mother was helping to clean up the lawn in the yard, because it was so overgrown with weeds. She had gotten mud on her shoes and took them off and tapped them against the wall. The wall tapped right back at her.

That’s the way the house was: if you touched anything and rapped – it rapped right back! Despite the ghosts, the noises, there was contentment in this house. The reason for that was because John was able to write again. His energy peak was usually from daylight onwards. When he worked, he worked damn hard. John was a man of great discipline, and he let nothing, absolutely nothing, interrupt him. His power of concentration was phenomenal.

Sometimes, after a morning’s hard work, perhaps he would come in from his ‘nest,’ and decide that we would have a love scene, a little matinee. There is nothing unhealthy in that, I assure you. However, when we began to make love we often ran into a funny situation because of the folks next door. They were migrants from Texas who worked in Cannery. No sooner would we start making love when they would put on a record, full force, and we would be lying in bed naked, listening to Roll Out the Barrel. We invariably broke up, and even if we were in bed at night, there it would go again, rolling out that damned barrel! All we could do would be to roll on our backs and kill ourselves laughing! But there were of course quiet, loving times when we shared each other’s body, like any couple in love, as we were.

While we were living in the haunted house, we found our famous rat – Burgess. One day John came home with a baby white rat. ‘I thought you might like this, darling, and at least save it from the guillotine and the snake pen for twenty-four hours,’ he said. ‘A boy came running into the lab and yelled to Ed that his mother told him to sell it because it bites everyone.’ It was a beautiful little rat, three months old. I took it in my hands. ‘Why, it’s darling,’ I said, ‘and looks like Burgess.’ I meant Burgess Meredith, that actor. So we named him Burgess. I don’t think Burgess ever forgave me for that.

The weekend we acquired the rat, Eli and Mollie Kazan visited us. They also decided the rat looked like Burgess. Loving animals is part of me, and it was something that John loved about me, too. Animals are very precious to me, as all life is precious. John had a special feeling for animals, too, especially dogs, as the world found out later in his Travels with Charley: In Search of America. He doted on Burgess; that rat loved him, and he loved the rat. Whenever we took a drive Burgess would perch on John’s shoulder. In the evening we would go down to the sea and see the sundown, and little Burgess would be with us. He would scramble out of the car and run down to the sea. John would say, ‘Come here, Burgess.’ Burgess would come. It was not, as some people might think, weird having a rat as a pet. It was fascinating.

But then sometimes John would do peculiar things with Burgess. John was a sadistic man, of many emotions, but being sadistic was one of his unattractive qualities. He would let people in and set Burgess loose and gain a great sense of enjoyment, watching women scream and pull up their legs. Once, he wanted to amputate Burgess’s tail because he felt that the reason people disliked rats was because of their raw tails. But I would not allow him to experiment. That was one time he let me have my own way. When we drove down to Los Angeles to visit mother and my stepfather, Burgess would ride all the way in the ‘funny box’ as John called the glove compartment. We checked into a hotel and John would do some kookie things like deliberately return to our room and let Burgess out of his cage and then go down the hall and wait for the maid to go into the room and listen to her scream. I, I might add, would run and hide!

The story of our pet rat Burgess does not end there. Months later, after we had been to New York, we returned to California. My mother and stepfather had taken care of Burgess while we were gone. One day they went fishing in Malibu to get John some fresh herring for breakfast. That day it rained, but Burgess remained on the porch in his cage. He was about four years old then, which is old for a rat, yet he was healthy as hell. But he caught pneumonia and the next day he began coughing blood, so Mother called a vet. ‘Lady,’ the vet said, ‘you’ve gotta be drunk. Your rat has pneumonia?’ ‘But it’s John Steinbeck’s rat,’ she persisted… ‘Yeah, yeah, goodbye lady.’

Mother called us at two in the morning and informed us, ‘I think Burgess is dying, and it’s our fault. We can’t get a vet.’ We got up and went to look at Burgess. John looked at our pet and said, ‘You poor little shit, I loved you so.’ He took Burgess and put it in Mother’s oven and put it to sleep. Then he sat there and cried. ‘There goes the last pure thing I ever loved,’ he said.

That was the only time in my life I ever saw John Steinbeck cry. He never cried for me. He never cried for his sons. He never cried for anybody. But he cried for a rat called Burgess. He came home, and he wept, and he wept, and he said again, ‘That poor little shit, that poor little shit.’ He was a brilliant man, but a strange man. Then there was the incident of the bird, which happened while we were living in the haunted house.

We had cleaned the house up, and the birds were coming into the garden to nest. One day, out of the blue, a mangy old cat appeared – an aged black cat with an ulcer on the side of its face. It began to kill the birds (animal instinct), and John became angry. He decided to trap the cat and give it to Ed Ricketts for the laboratory. I found him in the garden whittling away on several sticks of wood. ‘What are you doing?’ ‘Haven’t you ever seen a figure-four trap, you old nature lover?’ he snapped back. ‘Yes, I have.’ ‘Well, that’s how I’m going to catch that damned cat.’ ‘What will you use for bait?’ ‘I’m going to the Cannery for a big fish head.’ He did. He came back with a fish head a good eight inches or more, and solid meat, too. He laid the trap on the lawn. It held up a galvanized tub. When he had it fixed, he tried it; it was a like a hair trigger. It was tough balancing the fish head, but he did it.

Just before daylight, I awoke with John shaking me. ‘Call Ed and tell him to get here fast with the burlap sack.’ I did. Ed staggered out of bed and came to the house. The three of us stood by the tub listening to a helluva lot of noise and scratching.

‘Now Ed, you know how to catch him,’ said John. ‘You hold the sack, and I’ll lift from this side. Gwyn, you stand on the other side.’ It was quite a production, an MGM job. Next step, John raised the tub, and nothing happened. He lifted it a little further. Ed stood ready with the gunny sack open, and I crouched on the other side. One of us had to get him. Then, from out under the rise of about two and a half inches off the ground, popped a baby robin, all of two and a half inches, not even a fledgling. ‘Cheep! Cheep!’ It went, madder than hell. Ed and I began to laugh. Ed fell over on the lawn with the empty sack, and he and I convulsed in laughter. John’s reaction was different.

‘I don’t think it’s funny,’ he said, and stomped into the house. He was mad as hell, too, and when John was angry, he was angry. He did not speak to either Ed or me for a few days. Still, he did catch the cat. It was a battle, and in the process he was thoroughly scratched up. At the height of his successful cat-catching escapade, he pointed at me in one of his rages and said, ‘I told you! I told you I would catch that cat! I did!’

That was the way it always was with John. If something funny happened to him, or perhaps he had been the cause of it, or it was against him, he did not like it. If his friends or I fell, he became hysterical. Life with John was never dull.

We lived in the haunted house four months, and then John’s usual restlessness came back to life. He wanted me to go back east, to New York. He did not tell me, but he had found out – also unbeknown to me – that his old friends, except Ed Ricketts, were not his friends anymore; they resented his success. They should have welcomed it, been happy for him. Such is jealousy. I did not know this until many years later.

He also found out that Carol was moving back to the west coast, so we packed up and went to New York. John directed my mother and stepfather to sell the haunted house in Pacific Grove. Mother did, although John’s lawyers said it would not sell because it was too haunted. My mother did not care. She finally swelled enough courage and, standing in the house alone, said out loud, ‘Now listen here, Johansen, if you don’t behave I am going to burn your house down!’ From that time on there was no trouble, and the house was sold in seventy-two hours to an army captain.

John and I flew to New York, and we moved into a double suite at the Bedford Hotel. It faced the river. John liked that because he could stare at the river and it reminded him of the ocean at Monterey. Mother did not exactly approve of my going to New York with John, but she knew how much I was in love. And I was. She loved me, and whatever I wanted, she wanted.

We had not been in New York long when, one morning over breakfast, the news came over the radio: Pearl Harbor was under attack. John shot out of his chair. He was in complete horror. He wanted to go to war right then. ‘I told you we would have to get in it sometime. I told you!’ he blurted.

By this time, John had finished Sea of Cortez with Ed. Ed was a great influence on John until World War II ended. As I said earlier, they had this unique bond of friendship and respect between each other. And before Pearl Harbor, John had been living out the war in Europe. He ate, slept and dreamed it. The radio was never turned off. The idea of The Moon Is Down had been forming in his mind all during this period. So life at the Bedford went on as we were at war with Japan. But there were moments when the war did not exist. One of those involved our dear, dear friend Burgess Meredith, the actor. Burgess was a lieutenant, a liaison officer, and had a terrible crush on a young, beautiful singer at the St. Regis, where he billeted.

John and Burgess decided they would have a night on the town, which was alright with me because I never stopped John from having his night out with the boys before or while we were married. Men had to do that at times, even though they loved their wife, girlfriend or mistress madly. No woman should stop her man from having a night out with the boys. I never knew about John’s nights out with the girls. And he had them. But what I didn’t know, I didn’t have to worry about.

Burgess wanted to see his friend when she finished work, about one in the morning. He took John to her dressing room, and they invited her out to Reuben’s Restaurant for a sandwich. John, of course, was taking a back seat. After they had eaten, she said, ‘Let’s go to my apartment,’ which they did. She made them drinks, and Burgess naturally tried to make points with the Junoesque girl, who was somewhat on the tall side. She enjoyed the attention Burgess gave her, and besides, she was damned good looking.

Suddenly, the key turned in the lock and in walked a portly gentleman. As John explained to me later, it was clear that the singer was kept. Burgess’s mouth fell. After all, any man who has a crush on a girl thinks he’s the only one – and he is not. ‘I think we should leave,’ John said. ‘No, no, don’t go, finish your drink,’ implored the man. They told me they had another scotch and soda, which the man made while they sat looking on, saying nothing. They finished their drink and thanked the man. John said he was pleasant, but his face was cold, like ice. John and Burgess left but began to feel ill. They brushed it off as having too much to drink, so they started walking back to the Bedford. Just before daylight, I was met with two of the sickest-looking men you have ever seen. The ‘gentleman’ had given each a Mickey Finn!

All I could think of was Mutt and Jeff. John, six foot tall, and Burgess a foot smaller, looking smaller than ever. In they came and it was a fight to get to the bathroom. Of course, I had to mop up. I ran out to a nearby drugstore to get baking soda. Now how do you go to a drugstore first thing in the morning and say, ‘I’d like something to counteract a Mickey Finn?’ A Mickey makes you vomit, and you have diarrhea. The only thing I could also think of was to get a hen and boil it, and I made some strong chicken broth. Burgess was laid out on the couch, and John lay groaning in bed. Burgess had ruined the front of his uniform. I sponged it down and even washed their underwear. It was quite a scene.

John admired Burgess for he had a great sense of humor, and held his liquor well – which John could too – and the two of them raised hell together. Life with John Steinbeck was quite a combination of heaven and hell – I never knew where one started and the other left off.

I was never, ever bored with John; angry, yes, but how could you be bored with a man who always, always had something exciting to say, even if he made it up with his immense imagination – and often he did.

After the Mickey Finn episode with Burgess, John once again began to grow restless and moody, but I was used to that by now. I did not mind his moods; our lovemaking was passionate, morning, afternoon or night; John was a man of much strength, not only in his mind, but in his body. He decided we ought to rent a house at Snedens Landing, overlooking the Hudson River. It was an upscale area, and one of our neighbors was Burl Ives. It was twelve miles from Manhattan and ‘the action,’ as he said.

We moved into our retreat, as John liked to think of it. With us was our Willie, our sheepdog, who was just a puppy. Once more he had moved, and like everywhere else we lived, John had to have his personal ‘nest,’ and it had to be away from the house and the telephone. He did not like his nest to have a beautiful view. Many times John wrote in articles that he hated the idea, because he found himself staring out of the window and not concentrating on his work. His nest at Snedens Landing was in the woodshed.

‘I’m going to clean it out and move in,’ he said. He got a chair and a writing board, a place for his coffee cups, his pipes and his ashtrays. John always used an outsized writing board as his desk. He also liked directors’ chairs, camp chairs. He bought one from the army and navy store, and then he was ready to go to work. Usually, he had six or eight pipes, which he took good care of; he preferred one as a change from cigarettes. Whenever he bought anything, it was always the finest. He also bought a new record player and beautiful records. He loved classical music. His favorite composers were Beethoven, Bach, Monteverdi, some Ravel and quite a lot of Debussy and Stravinsky. Oddly enough, he also liked Prokofiev and Schoenberg. Sometimes, during a work week, he would listen to a symphony, stretch out, close his eyes and that would refresh him.

There is a particular story attached to the nest at Snedens Landing – skunks. A family of skunks moved in on John. One morning he came flying out of his nest yelling, ‘MY GOD! WHERE IS THE SKUNK?’ His face was an indescribable blue.Our house was then more or less in the woods. I didn’t know where the hell the skunk was until one morning when up at dawn. I looked out of the kitchen window, and there they were, Momma and Poppa Skunk with five baby skunks out for an early morning walk. When they finished, they went right back under the woodshed. I called John but he didn’t believe me. ‘Alright, let’s set the alarm for five-thirty tomorrow, you’ll see.’ We did. Out trotted the skunk family. He killed himself laughing. John thought he had an answer to that problem. He built a feed pen hoping the skunks would stay out while he worked. They did not. When the baby skunks were old enough they left, but by that time the heat and humidity rising from the Hudson River was too much, and John moved his nest into the guest room. He wasn’t mad about that situation; he wouldn’t have harmed the skunks for anything, and neither would I.

That period of my life with John was a pleasant one, the only way to describe it. During the shad season, we would take an afternoon walk and watch the fishermen on the shad run. John would wave at them with a handkerchief, and they would stop, and he would get his shad, so he could have his shad roe, which he adored. John’s friends then became my friends. There were wonderful people living nearby. They included Maxwell Anderson, the playwright, and his wife, Marg, and Burgess, who by then was wooing Paulette Goddard, the actress. Also close by were Henry Varnum Poor, the ceramicist and painter, and Kurt Weill, the songwriter, and wife, Lenya. Other neighbors we had then were Sally Lorentz, Pare’s wife, and Jack Radcliffe, who wrote for Readers Digest. Living next door to the Weills was another great actress, Helen Hayes.

There were plenty of dinner parties and barbeques, and show business and literary talk, and talk of the war in Europe and the Pacific. But John became restless and discontented as the summer progressed, and the humidity increased. John felt that the war would end before he had a chance to get in it.

After dinner together, when we figured it had digested, we used to walk down the stone steps into our octagon-shaped pool, and we would sit there until we were chilled to the bone and then run like hell for bed before we started to sweat again. John never thrived well in humidity. Does anyone?

Every evening, he sat and removed the mildew from his beautiful handmade Mexican boots, cursing the summer weather. By August he had become angry at Snedens Landing. ‘I want to go back to California,’ he said one day, without warning. When John made up his mind, that was it, believe me. It was packing time again.

Paper-Cloth available at spdbooks.org

#my life with john steinbeck #gwyn conger steinbeck #memoir #women's studies

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pengychan · 6 years

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[Coco] Down to Dust, Pt. 2

Title: Down to Dust Summary: Months after it all came crashing down, Ernesto’s to-do list is short: stay hidden, and wait for the Final Death. Héctor’s is even shorter: enjoy being with his family again. But life - or rather, the living - will get in the way even of the simplest plans. Characters: Hector Rivera, Imelda Rivera, Ernesto de la Cruz, the Rivera family in general, Miguel Rivera, Socorro Rivera.

[Part 1 can be found here. All parts up so far here.]

Día de los Muertos, again. Had it really been a year, and one year only? It felt like so much longer.

And yet I am still here. And will be here the next, and the next, and the next. Whether they get their hands on me or not, I’m going precisely nowhere.

Sitting at the edge of a canal, back against a crumbling brick wall - wouldn’t it be fun if the archway above him collapsed on him right now? Heavy things did have a tendency to fall on his head - Ernesto de la Cruz took another swig from the bottle and glanced up. It was something he tried not to do often, because each time he caught a glimpse of what had been his mansion, and it stung too much to ignore. There it was, bathed in light amidst the celebrations whose sounds - whose music - did not reach Shantytown. The show must go on, he’d told Héctor the previous year, and indeed it was going on… but without him.

I should be preparing myself for the Sunrise Spectacular right now. It is all wrong.

And instead there he was, hidden away and drinking himself into a stupor. He did not sing anymore, or even hum to himself; hardly any point in doing so without anybody to listen. He’d tried to sing once, to distract himself from the constant hammering of rain on the tin roof above his head, but it had felt as though the words had turned to ash in his mouth. Even a drink couldn’t wash that taste away. He’d never tried again since.

You play at your best with a public, Héctor had pointed out a long time ago, and it was true. Performing was what he’d loved the most, the one thing that drove him to do his very best, and now he had no public except for dogs the size of rats and rats the size of dogs. For a moment he wondered if Héctor was in his old mansion, celebrating with the rabble he’d lived with until the previous year, but of course he was not. He was certainly off to the Land of the Living to see his precious family, that insufferable sap, and stuff his face with the offerings that accursed boy must have laid out for him. Ernesto wondered if there was any chance either of them would choke.

Well, a man can dream.

The thought of the boy made him clench his hand around the bottle hard enough to almost snap a finger. Oh, if he'd left him to drown in his pool! But no, he had to go and help him, and and look how he'd thanked him. Not only he’d destroyed his reputation in the Land of the Dead, but he’d proceeded to do as much on the other side as well: word had spread, as more and more recently deceased arrived, that he’d managed to find proof that Héctor, and not him, had written the songs.

He had not talked about murder directly - that would be harder to prove - but the fact Héctor had gone missing in unexplained circumstances, along with the fact Ernesto played the guitar that had belonged to him, had been enough to convince most people that something must indeed have happened. Suspicion, speculation, and only a few stubborn fans arguing against it. It was almost worse than being proven a murderer, because at least that would put the matter to rest, allow people to start forgetting him. Instead, it seemed he was even more talked about than he’d ever been. Someone had even written a book, he’d heard people saying. It would be decades, maybe even another century or two or more, before all memory of him could finally fade from the Land of the Living, allowing him to finally pass on to… whatever awaited next. Maybe he would never be forgotten, after all: his name had become synonymous with imposter even among the living.

It’s not fair, he wanted to scream, glaring down at the bottle. I am the reason why you had all of those songs, the only reason. Héctor wanted to keep them for himself, he would have never shared them with the world. You would have never heard them if I hadn’t done what I had to do, what I had to do, what I had to--

You’re a coward!

No, Héctor was the coward, he was, he tried to run off home and leave me on my own, I couldn’t let that happen, everything was crumbling down to dust and I had to do something. He should have listened, if only he’d listened--

Héctor is the real musician! You're just the guy who murdered--

“SHUT UP!”

There was a sound of shattering glass, the yapping of worried alebrijes, the loud bangs of fireworks lighting up the night sky, and Ernesto barely heard any of it. He clutched at his head, eyes tightly shut, realizing only distantly that the low keening noise he was hearing came from his own mouth.

I can’t stand this. I’ll go insane if this keeps going and it will keep going because I cannot die, I cannot die, why won’t they let me die?

There was no answer, but he hadn’t expected any. All he got was yapping and barking, something pawing at him, trying to lick his hands and face. He tore his hands off his head to look down at his alebrijes, at the huge eyes full of concern. He opened his mouth to scream at them, but all that left him was a hoarse whisper.

“You’re supposed to be spirit guides. Tell me what to do.”

They looked up at him, ears pulled back, and whined. Ernesto sat back heavily with a sigh, and shooed them away when they tried to climb on his lap. “Come back when you’ve got a plan,” he muttered, watching them run off, and he didn’t even care how stupid that had to sound. He just made a face, reached for another bottle - the one he’d smashed had been still a quarter full and that was a shame, but he’d come prepared for that night - and brought it his mouth. He didn’t pause until half the contents were gone. Where to? He had no idea. None of the dead had a stomach or even an esophagus to speak of, but somehow whatever they drank didn’t drip down all over their ribs and it did its job when it came to getting them drunk, and that was what mattered.

He went through the bottle, watched the fireworks, went through half of another and then dozed off for a time. He was brought back to awareness by sunrise, and the annoyance of light shining on his eyes. He let out a grunt, blinking blearily, and reached to his left.

His hand closed on something that was not a bottle at all. His thoughts still scattered, he frowned and turned to look at what he’d just grabbed - a shin. He blinked at it for a moment before looking up at its owner; the mere act of tilting back his head caused the world around him to spin, and he stared for several long instants before his brain caught up.

“You’re not tequila,” he finally said, slurring the words.

“No,” Héctor replied, almost agreeably. “I am not tequila.”

***

He hadn’t meant to look for Ernesto - hadn’t even thought of him for a moment - until he had seen his mausoleum on their way back.

It had been a night to remember, it really had been; easily the best in the entirety of his life. Well, afterlife. Both, come to think of it. He’d tried for so long to come home to his little girl, and now he was standing by her side, and with his wife, looking upon the a much larger family than the one he’d left behind in Santa Cecilia so many years before. Imelda and Coco had told him about them, of course, but getting to see them was something else entirely… and watching Miguel playing, so happy and proud and passionate, not seeing them but knowing that they were there, had been the highlight of the night.

The only thing that had briefly stolen his thunder was little Socorro, as none of them except for Coco had met her yet. She was beautiful, and it reminded Héctor of Coco at her age; how fitting that she’d be named after her. He couldn’t wait to see her again the following year.

Leaving had been a bit painful, but the sun was about to rise and it was time to go. They had bid goodbye to each member of the family, and Héctor had taken a moment to take a look at the house - it had started out so small, with only him and an expecting Imelda, and it had grown with the family over time; it made him proud of what she’d achieved, with some sadness for not having been part of it - before they headed back.

He had entirely failed to notice the mausoleum when he’d arrived, eager as he was to be home, but he did see it then, and it caused him to pause. It was quite barren when it came to offers, for a mausoleum… and someone had hung a sign around Ernesto’s bust.

Forget you.

It had caused Héctor to pause, and Imelda had stopped right by him. She’d followed his gaze, and scoffed. “What he deserves,” she’d said, matter-of-factly, and that was it. They had headed back to the Marigold bridge, and Héctor had realized just then that he’d never told her - or anyone else - that he’d found Ernesto in Shantytown. It hadn’t been a conscious lie from his part: in the joy if being reunited with Coco he had simply… forgotten about it.

Forget you.

Except that he couldn’t now and, the moment they were back, he’d excused himself and headed to Shantytown on his own. He wasn’t sure why he wasn’t telling anybody just yet; maybe it was because he wasn’t sure he’d still find Ernesto there, after all. He might have gone away. If he wasn’t there, he’d just visit it to pay his respects to people long gone who had lived there, and then head back. To be entirely honest, part of him had been hoping to find no one.

And instead he’d found him almost right away, and without his alebrijes. He was asleep or maybe unconscious under an old arch by the canal, a coat on him and empty bottles spilled on the ground. One was shattered, and the broken glass had creaked under Héctor’s shoes.

Forget you, the sign at the mausoleum read, but it was plain to see from the pristine state of his bones - the ratty clothes and reek of alcohol couldn’t hide that - that he hadn’t been forgotten at all. Who he was, and what he had done, was widely known. He may be hated now, but not forgotten. Oh no. If anything, more people knew of him - of them both - than ever before.

Héctor had stared down at him for a few moments, and a familiar bitterness had begun rising in his throat, or lack thereof, again. It would have been easy to him throw into the canal: a swift kick was all it would take and well, now he had good shoes to make it all the more painful. He’d actually been very, very close to doing just that when Ernesto had stirred and, before Héctor could move or say anything, he’d blindly grasped his tibia.

Taken aback, Héctor could only stare as Ernesto blinked up at him. “You’re not tequila,” he said. Whatever Héctor had been expecting him to say, that was not it.

“No,” he agreed. “I am not tequila.”

Ernesto stared at him for a few moments, still holding onto his tibia, then he let him go to run a hand through dishevelled hair. He threw back his head - hitting the back of his skull against the old brick wall in the process, but he didn’t seem to even notice - and gave an unpleasant, braying sort of laugh. It sounded nothing like the easy laugh he used to have, even when blind drunk. But then again, he hardly looked like the man he’d been, too.

A shell. Take away his reputation, take away the lies, and this is what is left.

“Hah! Hey, hear… yes, hear this out. Why is… why is a condor like a… a…” Ernesto began, only to pause with a frown. He stared ahead for a few moments, clearly confused, then he snorted and made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “No, nothing. I don’t remember which one it was. But it was a good one. I thought it up, I think, a couple of months ago? Didn’t get to share it with anybody yet.”

Héctor raised an eyebrow. “You’re drunk,” he said. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembered a few instances when they'd both been that hammered. When they were young boys they would sometimes drink even though they were not allowed - no, they did it because they were not allowed to - and for the next few hours they could only lean on each other, talking gibberish and cackling like madmen. It often left them feeling nauseous but elated and very likely to do it again, two foolish children who thought they were only one step away from adulthood.

Unaware of his reminiscence, Ernesto snorted. “Oh, you’re ever so observant, amigo. No wonder it took you ninety years and a brat to figure out what killed you,” he added, and grinned at the fury that showed on Héctor’s face the next moment. The distant memory of the boys they had been faded away like a wisp of smoke. “Now that’s more like it. Have you come to finish the job?” Ernesto laughed again, still sprawled on the ground with his back against the wall. He spread out his arms. “Have you found a way to kill me for good, old friend?”

Héctor frowned. “You know that killing the dead is--”

“Impossible, yes,” Ernesto cut him off, sounding almost bored, and reached to grab a bottle that was lying right by him. He shook it and sighed when he found it empty. “I would know. I tried,” he added, matter-of-factly, and chucked it in the canal. He watched it sink with empty eyes. “Not like you’d put me out of my misery even if you could, am I right?” he added, and that got on Héctor’s nerves more than his previous jab did.

“I spent over ninety years on my own, trying to go home,” he snapped, and anger was back, red-hot and very much welcome. Over ninety times he had desperately tried to cross the bridge, over ninety times he had failed. The loneliness, the despair when he’d realized that his Coco was forgetting him, that he may never get to see again. The longing to see her again, just one more time, even if he never got to speak to her, oh please I am so sorry I left, let me see her just one more time. “You have been out here for one year. One . And you’re pathetic,” he added, kicking a bottle.

It fell, splashing what little was left of its contents on Ernesto’s trousers. He seemed not to take notice. “I’m fine,” he slurred. “Trying to forget things. No one else will forget me, so I figured I’d get a head start,” he added, causing Héctor to scoff.

“If it helps at all, I have been actively trying to forget all about you.”

“Have you? Thanks.”

“Oh, my pleasure,” Héctor muttered, voice dripping with sarcasm Ernesto entirely missed, or pretended to miss.

“Who else knows I’m here?”

“No one, as far as I know.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“There is only one liar here, and it’s not me,” Héctor retorted, and Ernesto laughed again, like he’d just heard the funniest of jokes.

“Hahahaha! ‘Not you’, sure. You’ll manage, you said.”

“What?” Héctor asked, taken aback. Ernesto closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the bricks before replying.

“When you tried to leave. I told you I couldn’t do it on my own, and you said I’d manage.”

Oh, Héctor thought. Right. He did remember saying that. “Because I was sure you could. I was not lying.”

“Pfft. Liar,” Ernesto mumbled, not opening his eyes. “You knew I couldn’t do it on my own. You were setting me up to fail.”

“Really? Why would I-- I only wanted to go home! I could have written more songs for you! All you had to do was to ask!” Héctor snapped, spreading his arms. “Letters were a thing! Didn’t you think of that for a moment? One time I don’t go along with your plans, and your first solution is murder?”

Ernesto said nothing.

“De la Cruz! I’m talking to you!”

No answer, and Héctor paused. He crouched down, and put a hand on his shoulder to shake him. “Ernesto?”

Ernesto’s head rolled over his other shoulder with a low snorting sound, and Héctor was more than slightly taken aback - but also absurdly amused - to realize he’d just fallen asleep. Or passed out. Considering how much he reeked of alcohol, the second option seemed more likely. Hammered as he was, he suspected he may very well not even remember that exchange when he woke up.

I can still kick him into the canal.

It was tempting, but in the end he decided to pass: it would wake him up, and Héctor found he didn’t care to hear a single word from him ever again. He’d hit rock bottom pretty hard, anyway, with no real chance of ever climbing out of the hole he’d dug for himself, and Héctor found that was enough for him. No need for kicking, no need to call the authorities; just leave it at that. He had better things to think about - he had a family to be with, and suddenly he felt like an idiot for being there, wasting his time, while he could be home with them.

I wasted too much time already. That’s enough.

With one last look at the wreck at his feet, Héctor turned and walked away, feeling somewhat lighter as he left Shantytown for the last time. For the next seven years, he scarcely - if ever - thought of Ernesto de la Cruz at all.

***

Seven years later

A week to Día de los Muertos, and I feel half dead already.

Manuel screwed the engine’s oil cap in place and climbed back inside the van with a sigh. It wasn’t unseasonably hot, but he’d been loading merchandise for the past hour. His back hurt, his shirt clung to his skin, he hadn’t slept decently in a week and he was facing a long drive to deliver that load to Santa Cecilia. He would have a couple of free days afterwards, though, and he held on that thought as he started the engine.

I haven’t checked the tires, he thought as he pulled out and began driving. When was the last time he had checked the pressure and wear? Longer than it should be, most likely, but the he’d be happier to eat a toad than to go back, climb down and sort it out. He was late as it was, and didn’t want to get chewed up over a late delivery. He would just drive without pauses and be done with it.

“And then I rest,” he muttered to no one in particular, reaching up to rub his eyes with one hand. They felt scratchy from the lack of sleep, and he wished he’d had another coffee before getting back behind the wheel.

But no can do, no señor. No time. Got to be thankful they don’t make me piss in a bottle to save time on bathroom breaks.

With a grimace, Manuel turned left at an intersection and just focused on driving. Forget the tires, they couldn’t be that bad. He would get that sorted as soon as he reached his destination.

Satisfied with that decision, Manuel turned on the radio - oh, Proud Corazón, he loved that one! - and began his drive towards Santa Cecilia.

***

“It’s Miguel! Miguel is back!”

“Why the surprised act every time? I always come back! Ooof! You got heavier!”

“I did not!”

Miguel laughed off Socorro’s protest and put her down, not without placing a kiss on her cheek that made her scowl in disgust. No sooner that he’d done that Dante was on him, front paws slamming against his chest, tongue lolling against his face. "Ah, good boy! Sit!" Miguel laughed, and Dante improvised what looked like a little dance on his hind legs before he flopped down on his back, all limbs twitching. Miguel's mother had to step over him to give him a hug, and then his father as well. He'd grown taller than him a couple of years back, but it still felt so odd to look down at him.

"Did you have a good journey, mijo?"

"Oh, yes. All was fine," Miguel said, returning their embrace. The guitar on his back made it a tad awkward, and he quickly got it off himself to put it down - just on time to get himself a rib-cracking hug from Abuelita.

“Ah, Miguel! You lost more weight, you did!” she muttered, cupping his cheek. “Have you been eating at all?”

Miguel laughed, and held her back. Of course he’d been eating, and it had only been three weeks since his last visit, but she never skipped that little scene. He was on the lanky side of lean, and that didn’t seem to change, no matter how much he ate. “You say that every time. I’d be a ghost by now!”

“A skeleton, more like. Oh, but I’ll feed you right, muchacho,” she grinned, pinching his cheek. “We heard you on the radio just yesterday! How come you don’t have a girlfriend?”

Miguel laughed again. “Busy, busy, busy. Got to study, too,” he said, and kissed her cheek. “Where are the others?”

“They went to pick up Rosa and her boyfriend at the train station,” Socorro informed him, making a face that spoke volumes of what she thought of that entire romance business. “He likes to work leather and Abuelita is already thinking of the shoes he could make.”

“Well, one must always think ahead,” Abuelita said, holding the door open. Miguel’s parents walked in, followed by Socorro and then Dante, who ran inside in leaps and bounds. His grandmother, however, paused to glance at him. “Are you coming in?”

“In a minute,” Miguel said, taking a good look at his house and smiling when his gaze fell on Héctor’s guitar and music. He was enjoying being off to study and stretching his legs as a musician, but he still came back every time he could… and of course, nothing on Earth could have kept him away from home on Día de los Muertos. There was still a week left, but he’d taken some time off so he could stay a while longer.

“Well, if you’re just going to stand there… oh, look who’s there! You’re looking for Socorro, aren’t you, niño?”

Miguel turned, and smiled when his eyes fell on the boy standing a few steps from him. He looked up at him from under a mop of thick black hair and smiled, holding up a small whiteboard he always had with him.

HELLO. IS SOCORRO HOME?

“Hello, Ezequiel,” Miguel said, smiling back. “She just went inside. Want us to call her?”

Ezequiel del Rio nodded, and his smile brightened. Predictably enough, Abuelita was all over him the next moment: she’d had a soft spot for that little boy since the very day Socorro had walked back in from school holding onto his hand, saying that he was her ‘bestest friend’. Miguel suspected that his mutism, along with the fact he was a foster care child, had something to do with it the fact Abuelita had looked at him and decided, right there and then, that she had a new grandson. And, to be fair, he did spend more time there than he did with his foster family.

Calling it family is a stretch, Abuelita had muttered in distaste once, well out of Ezequiel's earshot. Miguel suspected she was being too judgemental - Cheque looked happy and cared for - but he didn’t know enough about it to say much of anything.

“Oh, I’ll call her. She needs to go buy some bread at the market, too - you’ll go with her and make sure she doesn’t eat half of it on the way back, won’t you? Don’t even try that,” Abuelita cut him off with a wave of her hand when Ezequiel began scribbling down a reply on his whiteboard. “You can keep trying to take the blame all you want. I know it was her, the gordita. One only needs to look at you to know you don’t eat enough! When Miguel was your age, he was twice as tall,” she added, and Miguel’s smile turned sheepish.

“She exaggerates. She always does,” he told Ezequiel. He wasn’t really half the size he’d been, of course, though to be fair he was short of his nine years. He was about a year older than Socorro, but half a head shorter. However, Abuelita often said that he’d grow tall.

You’re sturdy, I can tell. You’ve got good bones, so when you hit your growth spurt you’ll hit it big. If you eat well, that is! Have another!

“Actually, tell you what,” Abuelita was going on. “I’ll call Socorro and give you both tamales, so that you’re not tempted.”

Ezequiel wrote quickly on the whiteboard before holding it up.

THANK YOU VERY MUCH.

Abuelita sighed. “Ah, look at you. Your smile could melt butter,” she muttered, and turned to walk inside; Miguel heard her calling for Socorro to come downstairs. He chuckled, and glanced at Ezequiel with a raised eyebrow.

“A smile that could melt butter,” he repeated, folding his arms. “Not bad at all, Cheque.”

The smile changed into something more similar to a grin, and Ezequiel wiped the whiteboard clean with his sleeve. I PRACTICED, he wrote, and showed it to him with a cocky tilt of his head. Miguel had to laugh. Little Cheque was wary of strangers, but much bolder with those he trusted… although not enough to talk. Even his sister had never heard a word from him.

“And what about that bread? Was it really all Socorro?”

Ezequiel shook his head and wrote again.

WE SHARED. I TOLD HER BUT SHE DIDN’T BELIEVE ME.

“You’re just too good at playing the angelic orphan, chamaco. You could turn to a life of crime and no one would believe a word of your confession,” Miguel said, causing Ezequiel to give a silent snicker just a moment before Socorro burst out of the door, a tamale in each hand and pigtails bouncing with each step.

“Hi, Cheque! Are you going to stay for dinner? Abuelita says you must stay for dinner, so that wasn’t really a question,” she informed him, and stuck the tamale directly into his mouth. That caused Ezequiel to nearly choke, but he didn’t protest. Miguel suspected Socorro could shove an entire beehive under his shirt, and he wouldn’t even get angry. Not that she would ever do something like that, considering that she’d taken him under her wing. One of her classmates had teased her about it once, saying that she must have picked a mute as her best friend because he couldn’t interrupt her, and Socorro had gotten in trouble for kicking him really hard in the shins.

“We’re going to the market,” Socorro announced, putting an arm around Ezequiel's shoulders while he pulled the tamale out of his mouth with one hand and clipped the whiteboard and marker back on his belt with the other. “Bread, bread and more bread. Do you want anything else?”

“No, I think I’m good. We both known Abuelita will start stuffing me the moment I step in,” he said, and Socorro made a face.

“Oh, the suffering,” she said with a sigh, and grasped Ezequiel's hand. “Come on! Let’s go!”

She was marching off the next moment, taking him with her, and when Ezequiel turned to look at him over his shoulder Miguel waved at them.

“See you later,” he called after them, and Ezequiel - who would never get to hit any growth spurt at all - waved back at him for the last time in that world, the half-eaten tamale still in his hand.

***

“Oh, listen to this one! This one if my favorite!”

Socorro skipped to the next song in the player, and it took her all of her willpower not to start dancing down the sidewalk. The only thing that kept her from doing that was that he was sharing the earbuds with Cheque, one each, so she had to keep walking by his side or else he wouldn’t be able to hear the music anymore. He liked listening to music and she was sure he would be good at dancing, because he was quick and nimble, but the only time she’d tried to get him to dance with her he’d frozen on the spot and she’d decided to drop the matter.

It was a warm day, but overcast, and it looked like it might rain. Socorro really hoped they would be able to get the bread and get back home before it happened. Miguel still had to tell her all the news - how was his first album coming along? What was it like being interviewed for the radio and all that? - and she wanted to show Cheque her new luchador mask. He could have her old one, and then they could have a proper match, unless Cheque decided to hold back. She had no proof, but she was almost positive that he went easy on her when they wrestled, and that was annoying because it took away all the fun of beating him.

There was small pull at her sleeve, snatching her from her thoughts, and she glanced aside to see he’d pulled out his whiteboard to write something on it.

IT’S MY FAVORITE, TOO.

Socorro grinned. “I knew you’d like it! Oh, and Miguel said he’s going to play some of the new songs he wrote for us! You’ve got to be there. And you’ve got to try the pan dulce Abuelita makes! Will you come over on Día de los Muertos?” she added. Most people would stay with their families that day, but she knew Cheque's fosterers didn’t put up an ofrenda or anything. And even if they did, there would be no picture of any of his relatives. His mother had left him in care when he was very little and she had been the only family he’d known. She had never come back for him.

Well, it doesn’t matter. Abuelita says we can be his family and I always wanted a little brother. He’s smaller than me, so he counts as a little brother.

As she’d expected, Cheque nodded with a smile. He had dimples on both cheeks, unlike her, and Socorro smiled back without knowing it was the last time she’d see them. “Great! I’ll tell Abuelita and mamá you’re coming,” she said, and then - to her eternal regret - she glanced across the street. “Oh! That’s Gabriela! I need tell her her dad’s new shoes are ready!” she exclaimed, and took the earbud out of her left ear, handing it to Cheque along with the player. “Here, you can listen meanwhile,” she added before speaking the words she’d wish to take back for a long time to come. “Wait for me here, I’ll be right back.”

And with that she was off, across the street and down the opposite sidewalk. She didn’t notice the van driving past her, a bit faster than it should have.

***

Finally. I thought this drive would never end.

Manuel let out a sigh of relief, and reached up to rub his eyes again. It had been a long drive and a hellish one to boot: he’d had to make several diversions and had even gotten lost a couple of times. But finally, there he was. He was almost there, and then he could rest.

It was with that thought that he pressed down on the gas pedal, just a little more, and put on the direction light to turn at the next intersec--

Bang.

Wha--?

The entire van rocked on one side as though hit by something, and Manuel tried to swerve, to keep control, but the van was thrown on one side. For a moment it was balanced on the right, one the verge of tipping over. The tire, he thought, oh Jesus Christ the tire… !

Then the van tipped over, the ground rushed up to meet him, and for a time - until he awoke in hospital three days later, both arms in casts and a surgical wound across his side - Manuel knew nothing more.

***

Later on, when replaying the scene in her mind - again and again and again, until her head hurt and she had no tears left to cry - everything happened in slow motion. In truth, it had all been so fast: when death came for Ezequiel del Rio, it was swift as a racing horse.

There was a bang not unlike that of a small firework going off, then a horrible screeching noise, and that was what made Socorro turn in sudden alarm. She saw the van that had just passed her by swerving violently and then tilting, balancing on the set of wheels on the right for a split second before it tipped over and hit the ground with a dreadful crash, flipping and rolling across the asphalt and towards the sidewalk.

And Cheque was there, earbuds in ears and his back to the street, focused on writing something on his whiteboard.

“CHEQUE!”

The scream left her before she even fully realized what was happening, and she tried to run, but it was much too late. He turned, but that came too late, too. She could only see his face one last time, eyes widening when he spotted the van hurling towards him, and then it was on him and he was gone.

Someone screamed, and maybe it was her or maybe some passerby, but it certainly wasn’t Cheque. Even at the very end, he did not make a sound.

The crash covered all other noise, and Socorro Rivera stopped dead in her tracks, her head suddenly wrapped in silence. She saw people running towards the wreckage, she felt someone’s hand on her shoulder trying to pull her back, but none of it caught her attention. All that she could stare at was the small whiteboard that had been thrown some distance away from the sidewalk, a crack in the middle. A black marker rolled slowly across the asphalt a few feet from it.

Then rain began falling, someone carried her away, and whatever Ezequiel had been writing was lost.

***

[Back to Part 1]

[On to Part 3]

#coco #hector rivera #ernesto de la cruz #miguel rivera #socorro rivera #coco spoilers #down to dust

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sassysweetstories · 6 years

Text

My Everything

Request: “Can you do an imagine with SHAWN MENDES where you are a famous model/singer/actress and you guys have been together for a while and had a daughter who’s only 3 names Nala and yeah you can choose from there XXX My names alana btw xoxox”

Ship: Shawn Mendes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: swearing, minor kissing, PURE FLUFF, etc.

Notes: none of these gifs are mine, credit to owners.

Tagged in all: @bailey-hoover @kiralivelove @thalia-prior-of-ravenclaw@anamcg317 @bellasett @queentiffanyyy @archer-whovian-violinist @beingmadinwonderland @princessisabelle19 @violence-and-velvet

Third P.O.V

[A few years ago]

Shawn sits to watch the blooper reals from his favorite movie of his favorite person, (Y/n) (Y/L/N). Wrapped like a burrito, he smiles when the gorgeous woman comes on the screen, looking nothing but angelic. How could one person look that beautiful? He thought to himself before smiling and giggling softly at the dialogue. The multifaceted angel started saying her line before coming to stop and cussing under breath. “Listen Jessica, you have the charisma of pen- so y-you caaaann fuck me. That’s not my line. Ugh, fuck me. Don’t fuck me but like fuck me.” The crew behind the camera burst out laughing along with the other actors. The video switches to another scene that he knew by memory since he’d watched it so many times. The scene starts off normally, a fighting one in which she runs from a guard but this time runs directly into a cardboard wall, smashing right through it.

All everyone can hear is a faint cackle from (Y/n) as she pulls herself from the rubble, wiping off the dust that covers the entirety of her body before saying, “And that’s why you don’t cocaine.” The crew and other actors are doubled over laughing so hard their faces are redder than the tomato’s Shawn absolutely despises. “Oh my god, I’m too old for this shit. I’m gonna break something, hahaha.” She says with a smile, trying hopelessly to not laugh before bubbling over while Shawn burst out damn near to tears. Though he’s seen the clip a thousand times at least, it never ceases to put a smile on his face. The next scene is one from one of her recent works where her characters girlfriend is trying to seduce her. (Y/n) turns over her shoulder to see the actress dressed in lingerie, gawking as she was suppose to before her girlfriend sauntered upstairs.

Quickly, (Y/n) got up from her chair and ran after her but in doing so, landed right on the floor before collapsing in another room. The crew is laughing so hard, they can barely contain themselves. “Ya know, for some long ass, giraffe legs I’ve been blessed with, you’d think they’d be more durable and sturdy. Ouch, I think I broke my ass cheeks.” Shawn burst out laughing, mimicking the giggles from the video. The bloopers continue until they run completely out. He makes his way over to Instagram and helplessly smiles at the first photo that pops up on his feed. (Y/n)’s in a beautiful gown that makes her look like a queen, one that nobody dare upset. Her strong gaze is powerful and terrifying, nonetheless. The next photo in the slide is an angle where she’s caught laughing and Shawn’s heart nearly falls. God, that smile is so beautiful. He likes the picture before looking at the next recent post. She’s with her best friend singing a familiar song. It takes him a minute to registrar that it’s his.

Sitting up with a jolt, he grins like a kid on Christmas before pulling his legs up to his chest to listen closely. “OH MY GOD, THIS IS MY FAVORITE SONG!” She screams before bopping back and forth with her best friend who giggles in delight. “THERE’S NOTHING HOLDING ME BACK!” They sing in unison. God, she’s a model, an actress and, a singer. What can’t this woman do? God, I’d do anything to meet her.. He watches them until the video ends and opts to watch it another time before his phone rings, pulling him away with a groan. “Hey Shawn,-” It’s Andrew, his manager. “I’ve got a new big thing for you.” Shawn loves Andrew but he was worried nonetheless. He hadn’t really wanted to do another shitty interview with another shitty person but forced himself to listen to the man. “You told me you wanted to get more into the acting industry so I found you a part. It’s an action, spy movie starring, wait for it-” He pauses before saying, “(Y/n) (Y/L/N) as your love interest!!” Oh. My. God. God is real.

Your P.O.V

[A few years later]

“Welcome to the show, (Y/n)!” Ellen says with a big smile as I sit across from her with a grin. “I’m so honored to be here! Thank you so much for having me.” She glanced down at her card before saying, “So, let me get this straight- You’re a full time model, a full time actress, whom by the way, is in not one, but two upcoming movies. A full time singer and has another album out AND not only that a full time mom. CONGRATULATIONS!” The crowd applauded loudly and I can’t help but rub my neck and blush at my accomplishments before saying, “Yeah, I haven’t slept in days.” Both her and the crowd laugh as I slouch a little to show how tired I am before I sit back up. “AND you’re married to Shawn Mendes, whom is a downright sweetheart and is also putting out his newest album as well!!” A picture shows up of him and when I look, I feel my heart swoon. “You alright, (Y/n)?” I blush and shake my head.

“Honestly. I’m just so smitten. I just love him so much.” Both Ellen and the crowd awe at my cute and corny behavior, making me even more red. “You guys are just too cute. But speaking of cute, your daughter Nala is so precious.” I turn over my shoulder to see my baby-girl grinning from cheek to cheek. She looks so much like me it’s crazy. “So tell us about her?” Ellen asks with a smile. “She’s so adorable. She actually has the most beautiful, big (Y/E/C) eyes and she knows it, uses it to her advantage. Since she’s been born, we’ve actually scheduled everything so that we’re always together, ya know both looking after her which is not good sometimes. If I say no to her, she’ll go right to Shawn. And I swear to god, she has him whipped.”

The crowd awes and laugh all in a span of a few seconds. “That’s so cute.” Ellen says before I continue. “Yeah, I remember this one time she asked me if she could have another cookie and I was like, “No, sweetheart. One is enough, okay?” And she nodded as if she understood before walking into Shawn’s office-” I pause as the audience laughs. “Some of you are ahead of me it seems. So she goes up to Shawn and bats her big (Y/E/C) eyes and he’s smitten. He will do anything for her at the drop of a pin.” Ellen giggles at the story, clutching her stomach as I continue. “And later that night, I caught them having milk with cookies. I sent Nala to bed and I pulled Shawn aside and was like, “What are you going? We can’t let her eat all the cookies in the house?” And he like looked down and then gave me his puppy dog stare. And I’m a sucker for brown eyes. And he says, “But hun, I can’t say no to her. You two look so similar and I never say no to you. It’d be wrong.” I just shook my head and went, “Damn. Our daughter has you whipped.”

Ellen took my hand with a smile. “That’s absolutely adorable. But I also can’t get over your wedding. Your anniversary is coming up though, right? But it’s more than that. He proposed to you and then you proposed to him, is that right?!” Hand still attached to hers, I cover my face, laughing. “Yeah, actually. Um, funny story. So, he proposed to me and it was incredible and perfect and romantic and everything a girl could dream of and I thought, it’s not fair that he doesn’t get a moment like that, ya know? So a few weeks later, I told him, “Hey, let’s have a big cool, very dressed up party!” And of course he was on board but I called some of his best friends and I told them about the plan and told them to take him out for the day so that I could decorate the house and everything. I got my friends involved and prior to the actual party, I bought a gorgeous ring for him and I was going to propose to him that night.”

The crowd awed again. “So, I called all of our closest friends and family from all over. Our managers, cousins, the whole nine yard. And then, halfway through the party, I pulled Geoff, one of Shawn’s friends aside and was like, “It’s go time.” I grabbed everybody’s attention and my heart was like in my chest-” Ellen smile went wider. “We actually have the video!” I put my hands up to my face, watching closely as my video self begun to speak. “I’d like to thank you all for coming here! Many of you traveled a very long distance and for that I am forever great-ful. But tonight is so much more to me than a party. Many of you know that I am engaged to this angel of a man and after Shawn proposed, I thought more about marriage than ever before. And I don’t think I tell you enough-” My video self says as I look up at Shawn. “But I love you more than anyone in the universe. I never thought that I would find someone as perfect as you, someone who makes me laugh as hard as you do and forget about the bad.

“When I’m with you, everything just stops around us and you’re the only person I see. The love I have for you is so much better than the movies I use to binge all the time as a kid. You bring out the best in me and make me a better person everyday. God, I love you so much it hurts. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to grow old with you. Laugh until my stomach hurt and I can barely breath with you. You are my everything. And not long after you proposed to me, I wanted you to be with the people that love you just as much as I do, feel the love I felt. So-” My video self gets down on her knees, heels and all. Shawn covers his mouth the way girls usually do when it comes to proposals, crying openly. The hundreds of cameras get it and it takes everything in me to not cry again at the memory. “Will you, Shawn Peter Raul Mendes, marry me?” He nods before shouting yes and then swooping me up in his arms with a thousand kisses. The crowd awes and some even cries at the video.

“That is just the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. Are you two even real? You’re whole family is perfect and adorable and as people tell me, legit goals.” Ellen raves again before saying “Since were speaking of couples. Why don’t we bring out the rest of the family?!” Before she could even finish, Nala ran out from behind stage and jumped into my arms, screaming. “MOMMY!” I can’t help but giggle and kiss her head before sitting back down. “Mommy, daddies waiting for you. He told me to tell you look bootyful.” The crowd laughs at her adorable voice. She gets off my legs and walks a few inches over to Ellen before taking her hand and pecking her fist. “It’s n-nice to meet you Mrs. Deverous.” She returns to my lap, smiling at the crowd before waving at Ellen. I giggle at the interaction before kissing her head softly. “You too look so much alike! Do you get that a lot?” She asks and before I can finish Nala is already talking.

“Y-Yeah, we du get that a lot but we’re both angels as daddy likes to tewl us. Can daddy come out?” Ellen nodded to her question. “Of course! Shawn Mendes, everyone!” Nala jumps off my lap and runs over to where Shawn entering, screaming. “DADDY!!” He squats before wrapping his arms around her. She giggles in delight and I am blown away by how handsome he is. That’s my husband. I stand up pull him into a warm kiss before he reluctantly pulls away to hug Ellen. When he sits, Nala kisses his cheek before sitting down in between us. “Daddy, you sit there and mommy can sit here.” Once we move to the spots that she wants us in, she glances up at us with big eyes before shimmying her shoulders in delight. “Oh yeah, she’s definitely ours. Your mommy does the shoulder shimmy a lot, right, baby-girl?” She nodded as a confirmation before looking at Ellen again. “I wust wanted to say that Mrs. Deverous, you look very bootyful tonight.”

She blushes and thanks Nala for the compliment before our daughter takes both Shawn and my hands, putting them on her small lap with an excited smile. “Can we tell them now? Pueeessse!” I look up at Shawn for confirmation. With his free hand, he tucks some of my hair out of my face, wrapping it around my ear. “This is the best place to tell them. I’m ready. Nala, would you like to do the honors?” Not even a second later, she screams. “I’M GETTING A BABY BROWTHOR!” Ellen and the crowd lose their minds, jumping with joy and some cry with happiness. She gets up to hug all of us and when I look back at Shawn, him and my daughter are all I see. I love them so much it hurts. They’re my everything.

(I hope you liked it!! Please comment below!)

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attemptingelizabeth · 3 years

Text

8.27.20

He fired up the truck with a roar. The fumes of gas or burning oil or some other chemical crawled into the cab. I fondled the window lever several times before straining clockwise. The window lowered, bringing the outside condensation onto the frame, droplets trying their best to push down into the crack. I traced my fingers along the seam of metal-window-metal until the droplets clung to my fingertips and trailed down to my elbow. I finally got to sit by the window instead of the middle. I hated the middle. I was acutely aware of dad’s shifting the long gear stick that rose up from the floor, right beside my leg. I was always having to move out of the way with every gear change. Mark seemed content and well-equipped to sit in the middle. Give him snacks and pop and he’d settle for just about anything.

The morning was warm enough but the humidity clung to my hair and somehow teased it out of a ponytail. I had been working on that hair for years. I had decided some time ago that I was going to have long hair like Pocahontas. It would be straight and sleek and shiny, moving across my face in the wind as I waved goodbye to my blonde love.

I can’t decide when I first became afraid of me. Maybe it’s when I found out they could break my heart. But sometimes I think it was much easier. Maybe it’s when I would see them staring at me as a little girl. Then when I sexually matured it seemed like this was just how life was for women - a constant fear of being alone.

We began our weekendly journey after stopping at the gas station for gas and supplies required to keep Mark from starving. He always got peach rings; dad always got circus peanuts. I got twizzlers and a butterfinger. It seems that once dad found out I liked butterfingers he was always buying them for me. One time when Mark and I stayed at grandpa and grandma’s for the weekend, I found several full-sized butterfingers in my purple duffle bag. They were deformed from melting and solidifying, but I still ate them all weekend after the healthy meals grandma served.

I tried to put my elbow on the door’s window frame like dad did but my arm wasn’t long enough. I could still extend my forearm out the window if I kept my arm straight. It seemed like dad wasn’t in the mood for taking the highway today. We drove through small towns, commenting on the people we passed. Dad always pointed out the fat people and we laughed at his stories of what they couldn’t do or what they were probably trying to do. We laughed as dad honked at every person mowing their lawn - they always waved back at us like they knew us. Most waved without even looking up.

We would sometimes stop at yard sales and look through other people’s discards. I always felt embarrassed for these people trying to sell obviously lame crap: old, ugly clothes that they obviously hadn’t worn in a long time, shoes that had been smashed flat by being in boxes, toys that were dirty and sun-bleached, lamps missing shades with nicks in the wood or chips in the paint. Garage sales all had the same smell. The stained books held onto it the best. Cobwebs clung to the cheap furniture. I tried to touch as little as possible while dad bargained with the owner over some broken fishing equipment or whatever was his current hoarding. All the videos and tapes were stuff we had never heard of.

Sometimes we would stop at the beach. Lake Michigan was the beach. It was as big and endless as the ocean. I would always trail behind Mark and dad, out of earshot. They were always finding, moving, dragging driftwood to the water or trying to build something with it. I liked walking in the freezingly cold stream water that reached out to the lake. I would inspect rocks and pick the best ones to go into my pocket for safe keeping. They were always so precious amongst the boring invaluable rocks. Months later I would inspect them all again and weed out the less precious ones. To make it home with me from the lake, just to end up with the white fake rocks by the house walkway. They start off like so many of my past relationships. I picked an unusual, beautiful stone that stands out amongst to many. Only to find that once it’s fully dry at my home later on, that it withholds the beauty that I once clung to. I am either trying to wet it again to see why I first loved it or I have grown sick of it’s appearance and thrown it into the midst of more bland rocks.

We get on the highway because it’s getting late and we’re probably running late. My dad is always late. The humidity has shrunk as the sun burns it from the atmosphere. My fingers trail in the wind as the lowering sun beats my eyelids and face. I like this; I don’t lower the visor or shield my eyes. The fields we pass wave like the trees on the side of the highway, doomed to a life of car noise. I put the sleeve of my sweatshirt on the door frame, grasping tightly to the other sleeve. Dad told me he accidentally lost a sock out of the window once. I rested my head on the sleeve on the window frame, my loose hair whipping back against the door. The wind dried my eyes, making them tear. I closed them as the wind pushed my eyelashes up and down sporadically. We pulled into the park where mom was waiting. Tiredly, Mark and I got our bags from the back and put them in mom’s van. We both slept as she drove us home.

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jayakrisy-blog · 6 years

Text

Meeting between friends

This one shot is based upon Steve and Tony and their meeting after civil war…after watching civil war I always wanted to write on stony ship…so this is my first ever try…so please forgive my mistakes….

☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺

As Tony stark was sitting in his workshop giving upgrade to his armour he thought of his life..it was nowhere less than a roller coaster ride. 45 at present and still getting betrayed by people he considered his own.

When he was adopted by Howard stark and became the rightful owner of stark industries his own father considered him nothing more than his creation…and a creation that was supposed to stand up to the perfection that was one supersoldier the captain america himself.

Since his childhood Tony admired Steve for his righteousness and stubborn attitude. He never knew that his idol who was supposed to be frozen in Antarctica would come back and destroy the only chance of family he had ever found.

He thought of his guardian Obadiah stane who took out his arc reactor and left him for dead…his girlfriend pepper whom he gave his company his loyalty and his everything just for her to break up with him because his nightmares from his superhero adventures were too much for her.

Then came the avengers who lived on his food in his house and left him just because captain did not agree with Iron man.

After avengers Tony thought of Steve who became good friends with him after their initial disagreement and differences in personality..the relief in eyes of steve when he saw that iron man was alive after falling from space….

The same steve who ridiculed him for hiding the secret about ultron which was not just his brain child but also Wanda’s magic…and the same captain who had hidden the secret of Tony’s mother and father’s death throughout these years they were pretending to be family…family is supposed to have your back…not like the avengers who never tried to understand Tony stark the genius, billionaire, playboy , philanthropist who was man having everything but nothing… Who tried to repent for all his mistakes and bring positive change in the world just to be betrayed by his own people. Tony had lost the faith on people but his iron will to do good for the people was still intact…he had resigned from active duty from avengers and concentrating on technology marvels.

Tony thought of the exact moment when the captain hurled his shield at his reactor and left him to die in the hydra base to save bucky as “ he was his friend…”

Tony’s mouth involuntary uttered the words, “so was I.” But then he thought that maybe only Tony considered Steve as his friend…his idol never returned the sentiments. Tears escaped the corner of his eyes ..due to threat of Thanos the team was back on duty and today they were returning to compound.

Tony wanted nothing to do with them. He was just done with the upgrades when Friday notified Tony that avengers were back.

Ever the actor Tony stark whose masks have masks made his way to the common floor. Steve with his gang were all standing there. As steve saw Tony he took a step forward but Tony stopped him.

“Rogers for you and your team I have done arrangements and since you all are under strict surveillance I demand the rent of this place for you all and your food will be charged by your active duty account.”

“If any of you wants to talk to me I am a busy man….I have millions of work pending so take an appointment. Whenever iron man is needed I will be following your commands as you are the leader of avengers. Here is your shield. Apart from avengers business I am not available to any of you.”

With that said Tony left the room. About one month passed like that and now Steve missed the easy comfort between him and Tony. Today he decided to talk to Tony.

He successfully caught Tony as he was returning from SI meetings. “We need to talk, ” said Steve.

“I am all ears,” replied Tony.

“Tony we were friends…what happened to you…stop acting so immature…we are family and you are ruining it by your petty attitude.” Pleaded captain.

Tony burst into laughs…“captain hypocrite you blamed me for ultron when you saw that Wanda mind controlled me in creating ultron but bucky was mind controlled when he murdered my family still he is faultless. You let Wanda in who played with our fears even Hulk was trapped by her but You all still hate Loki and Me for same thing. I tried to convince you to deal with accords together but you left me bruised and damaged in an abandoned hydra base of Siberia. I always adored you but you smashed your shield on my heart…you say avengers are family…tell me Rogers what kind of family blames only one person for everything wrong with universe… I don’t have any idea…so quit with your hypocrisy and let me live because being involved and trusting you guys again is worse than death for me. I am done with you all so let me live in peace and spare me. The guy who saw family in avengers died that day in Siberia…I am iron man and I only have eyes to do right with the world. I will stand with you professionally as your team member but do not expect anything anymore….I have nothing else to offer. With a gait in his walk and his masks back in place the iron man left the captain standing at his mercy…he was never going to look back again.”

Steve remembered their shared conversations…the nights they argued playfully and how Tony taught him the beauty of future…Steve had got his past back but lost all his chances in future…that was first time he realised that iron man was not just his friend he meant more to him…he was the person Steve was thinking of a future with…he was in love with Tony but his decisions had lead him to a place where he could never see Tony standing shoulder to shoulder fighting battles with him…to save one friend he had crushed the heart of other literally and metamorphically …and he was the only one to blame…a relation had come to its end after crossing its limits and chances of reconciliation was none..

☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺

Moral:- We only understand the importance of people in our life when they are lost….relations are precious always think how they will effect the life of others in the long run.

#stony #civil war #marvel #tony stark #steve rogers #oneshot

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annakie · 7 years

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In Cars, Part II

When last we left our person, she was unable to remember much about a Kia.

I was closing in on paying the Kia Spectra off when I got a huge bug in my brain in 2005 or so about getting a new, better car because I’d gotten a big raise at work and could afford it. I didn’t need a new car, but I wanted one. I spent a long time looking at cars when Stephen suggested that I look at the Acura RSX, as he was a mechanic at the time and really liked that car.

I fell in love instantly. This was the car I’d been looking for. Beautiful design, sleek interior, really speedy, especially in the RSX-S model, which only came in standard. I knew I had to have one.

So for months I waited for an RSX-S to go on the market, that I could afford (so, a few years old) in the color that I wanted (Pearl white with tan interior).

A couple of times I found one I could afford, in a color I could compromise on, only for it to be gone before I could get to the dealer, or contact the seller. Someone in the building that I worked in already had one (though not a -S, and in the wrong color), and every day I walked past it on my way into work, and took a moment to linger, and sigh.

I lost out on like the third near-perfect car in the last six months, and was close to giving up when mom had a brilliant idea, as she often does.

“Why don’t you look in San Antonio, and Houston, and, I don’t know, a five hundred mile radius, instead of just in Dallas?”

An hour later, I was e-mailing with a guy selling his 2003 pearl white RSX-S, with under 20k miles, and tan interior in Houston.

We settled on a price, pending inspection, I got the financing together, and bought a plane ticket on Wednesday. On Saturday, a friend drove me to the airport.

That plane ride was terrible. It was, by far, the worst turbulence I’ve ever witnessed. And there was a Southwest Photographer onboard who was supposed to take pictures for their in-flight magazine, who I doubt got anything good because a good 1/3rd of the cabin ended up using their doggie bags. The guy sitting in the middle seat next to me and I ended up making a pact.

“If you don’t barf, I won’t barf.”

He agreed. After a particularly gut-wrenching drop we clasped hands, for most of the rest of the 45-minute plane ride. When we got off the plane, we laughed, hugged and said goodbye. Sadly, he didn’t ask for my number.

But that’s ok. Acura guy, who was sad to let his RSX-S go but he and his wife were having another kid, met me at the airport, we went to the bank, I gave him money, he gave me keys and a car title, and I had a six hour drive back home, which is one of my fondest memories of many.

It had not only AC, but a tape deck and a 6-disc CD player and a sport-tuned suspension that put everything I’d ever driven in my life up to that point to shame.

That car was my baby. My precious. I named her Pearl. Not a thing did it need that I didn’t provide. I parked it in the back row of the parking lot at work where it was an unspoken but very strict rule that you always leave a space in between yourself and the next car over (there was an entire double row that was always sparsely populated ahead of us.) Every bit of scheduled maintenance was performed like clockwork.

Best memory: Aside from the initial drive home, I took several other trips in it around the state. Oh, and the several times dudes 10 years younger than me would stop me to talk about my car, and how much they wanted one, and ask to look at it, sit in it, etc. Every day I drove that car it brought me joy. It’s hard to pick just a thing or two.

I got my RSX-S in March of 2005. I paid it off by March of 2009.

If not for October 29th, 2009, I think I would have driven that car at least a full 10 years. Maybe I’d still be driving it today.

So there I was, a day like any other day, on the way to work. I was driving north up the 3-lanes each way major street near my house. At the second light, I always have a choice, to turn left or go straight. It takes roughly the same amount of time to get to the freeway I’m headed to either way. I usually split it about 50/50 with whether or not I turn, depending on what the cars in the left lane are doing, and if I’ll have to sit through the light an extra time.

That day, a lady in an old beater cut across 2 lanes, nearly hit me, and got in the left turn lane just in front of me.

I could have made the left turn if she hadn’t done that, but I was mad, and didn’t want to deal with her, and could make the light if I didn’t turn, so I didn’t. I went straight.

About a block later, a gigantic white mass appeared in front of me. A Dodge Ram. Who’s owner was talking on his cell phone, didn’t check for oncoming traffic properly, and pulled out of the residential neighborhood he’d been in, directly in front of me.

I had a split second to react, not nearly enough time, it happened really fast. I tried to head into the oncoming lane’s left turn lane, as it was clear, but the Ram couldn’t stop in time, and I ended up smashing the front-left side of my car into the driver’s side front tire area of his car.

I remember the crunch, and then white, then black, then screaming. Who’s annoying screaming is that? Oh it’s my screaming. Why am I screaming? Because pain. Also, because I don’t want to open my eyes. Because if I open my eyes, all of this becomes reality and then I have to face the damage that this idiot caused my car.

The second I opened my eyes, I knew it was a total loss. Like there was no doubt. Both the airbags had gone off. The windshield was a spider’s web. The car didn’t even have power anymore. I have pictures, it still pains me to look at them.

I still kept screaming, as the guy who hit me jumped out of his Ram (I didn’t hit his door at all) and, panicking, started asking me if I was all right.

I yelled at him that I didn’t know, furious, and also, because I just didn’t know. All I knew was I was going to be late for work and I didn’t have a car anymore.

Pearl was dead.

The ambulance arrived, and I was checked out, and after the adrenaline wore off I was not seriously hurt (except for a shoulder injury that sidelined me for a year, and still acts up.)

I’d almost always driven with the sunroof open, I loved a sunroof. Sadly, for me, as the battery was pretty much squished and kaput, my car was without power, the sunroof was open and it rained a good chunk of that day. The next day when I went to get my stuff out of my car, most of what had been left in it was ruined.

The other guy’s insurance accepted responsibility right away. I got a check for $12.5k (the adjustor said that she’d never seen such a perfect looking 6 year old car, except for you know, all the damage), and I had 7 days of rental car left.

I was in a daze, and in a lot of pain, and couldn’t find a damn RSX-S in Dallas, and was in no condition to do the fly-and-drive thing since, after trying it out in a friends car, realized I couldn’t even shift anyway with my injured shoulder.

I sobbed for a good ten minutes when I realized that I had to get an automatic.

I didn’t know what to get. I wanted to research and test drive and compare and find something I could love as much as I loved my RSX-S. But there wasn’t time.

“I love our Honda Accord,” Dad said. “It’s affordable and safe and speedy if you get the six cylinder and they have a sport model.”

In too much pain to argue or put much thought into it, I searched online for some nice Honda Accords with a V6 and a sporty look, and found a couple. I basically stumbled out of a Honda dealership with a gray 2007 Accord EX-L wth a spoiler and all the bells and whistles of that year on it.

That car was... okay. It was fine. It was whatever. I liked the V6, the leather trim. I hated the size. It felt huge. And then I’d soon realized that I got a 2 door and with my friends all in their 30′s nobody wanted to get in and out of that thing, with the seats being so low to the ground anyway. It was a huge car that only I ever rode in. I could probably count the number of times I had other people in that car with me on my fingers and toes. By far, my most frequent passenger would be Cebu. And when he started declining over the last year, it started to be a real problem for him to get in and out of, too.

All the bells and whistles in 2007 did not include Bluetooth. Nor any other way to easily connect it to say, a phone. I was OK with it, the 6-disc CD changer was fine, for awhile. And then I got really into podcasts, so in like 2014 I put in a cheapo after-market stereo system that had both a USB port for phone charging and bluetooth.

Two or three years ago, on my way home from work, a lady in a lane that was stopped / slow wanted into my much faster lane, didn’t properly check her mirrors, and sideswiped me. It was cosmetic damage, and it sucked, but wasn’t too hard to deal with.

Within a year or two after getting that Accord I started dreaming of getting rid of it and getting back into an Acura. Or at least something better, and smaller. Especially once I became unhappy with the stereo system and it started showing signs of wear. I had to put a new starter motor in it.

Every year or so, for about a month, for the last half-dozen years, I’d swear to myself it was time to get a new car. For various reasons, I never pulled the trigger, sighing and resigning myself to continue in a car who’s dark gray exterior felt like it influenced how I felt about it. Meh.

I had that car for eight years.

Since not long after I started my current job, my co-workers have been teasing me about getting a new car. Poking and prodding me about it. We work within a mile of an Acura dealership and several times they’ve joked about dropping me off there, and a couple times drove me through the parking lot. I always explained to them how financially, it wasn’t the right thing to do at the time. I had to be practical.

I wanted to be able to afford it. Especially in 2015 there was no way. I chose to travel that year. A lot.

In the last few months, my Accord has started getting worse. Making noises. rattles, suspicious groans. It also hit 100,000 miles. (It had 40k when I got it, I’ve put less than 8 on it every year.)

I’ve watched the KBB value depreciate. And several times in the last few months I’ve taken my car to the mechanic and looked at what was wrong with it.

I don’t know if I got a lemon of an Accord or what, but, tbh, the repairs were starting to stack up, both what I got fixed and what I hadn’t, plus the maintenance. I had enough.

Part three soon. I have some pictures to take.

#personal post tag thingy #cars

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recentanimenews · 4 years

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Bookshelf Briefs 9/2/20

Yay! Sean’s back!

Barakamon, Vol. 18 + 1 | By Satsuki Yoshino | Yen Press – I had thought this was something like an epilogue to the series, but it ends up being more of a hodgepodge—there’s a number of 4-koma strips, there’s interviews and yes, there is a short “years later” mini-chapter that assiduously avoids showing us Naru looking older, though it teases it. Instead, the majority of the book is an artbook, showing off color illustrations. And that’s the reason to get it as well, as you’re reminded that the art was also a big strength with this series. The pieces are very character oriented, showing Handa and company in a variety of poses and places, and it adds to the overall peaceful feel that we got from this series. I’ll miss it. Also, show us teenage Naru, you cowards. – Sean Gaffney

Goodbye, My Rose Garden, Vol. 2 | By Dr. Pepperco | Seven Seas – I never actually reviewed the first volume of this series—it came out in the height of COVID isolation, and I was bogged down in other things. It’s quite good, though, being a fairly tortured yuri drama without quite tipping over the edge into melodrama, although the reason it reads so well is that it balances on that edge quite nicely. Here we learn the story of Alice and how she became everyone’s favorite suspicious person, as well as the tie that binds her past with Hanako’s. As for the two of them as a couple, we aren’t there yet, and may not ever get there—it’s unclear if there’s a happy ending coming here. Nevertheless, you hope for one—these two need some good things happening to them. – Sean Gaffney

Goodbye, My Rose Garden, Vol. 2 | By Dr. Pepperco | Seven Seas – I really wish I liked this more. I like the setting—England in 1900—and two heroines who love books (and talk about Oscar Wilde and Sherlock Holmes!) and want to thwart society’s expectations of women while still being constrained by them. But everything just moves so fast! I found myself wishing this was a romance novel instead so it could have a little time to just breathe. They love each other, they find out secrets, Alice’s mom and fiancé conspire to get Hanako sent away, Alice finds her, more secrets are revealed. Nothing really lands with any emotional impact because it’s cruising right along and, in fact, comes to an end in the next volume. I will probably see it through to its conclusion but am overall kinda disappointed. – Michelle Smith

Horimiya, Vol. 14 | By Hero and Daisuke Hagiwara | Yen Press – This is the manga that never ends. It goes on and on, my friends. Given that the writer and publisher seem dedicated to avoiding the original ending of the webcomic, there’s not really much that can be done here except ‘everyday high school life’ shenanigans,’ to the point where I was for once reasonably pleased when Hori’s sadist/masochist tendencies come to the fore again, as she spreads a childish nickname for Miyamura just so that he’ll get mad at her. That said, despite the two being a seemingly close couple, at the end of the day Hori is still a horribly flawed character who needs constant validation and can’t trust her own feelings. She’s the most annoying and most interesting part of this. – Sean Gaffney

I Don’t Know How to Give Birth! | By Ayami Kazama| Yen Press – This is an excellent combination of biography, information, and comedy, as the author and her husband take us through the steps they took in order for her to have a child—more steps than you’d expect, as they eventually need in-vitro fertilization—and how she felt as she went through the process, ranging from “why am I doing this? My husband is the one who really wanted kids” to “I am getting in touch with my inner animal!” Scattered throughout are facts about preparing for nursing your child, Japan apparently not teaching expectant mothers how to push, and the lack of meds in their non-Tokyo hospital. All this is done in a fun way, with the author’s self-portrait having an arrow in her head. – Sean Gaffney

An Incurable Case of Love, Vol. 4 | By Maki Enjoji | Viz Media – Should you sacrifice your dream for love? Well, not if you’re in a romance manga, but it’s a question that’s thought about long and hard in this volume, as Nanase discovers that Dr. Tendo is getting an offer to study abroad so he can research a condition that killed someone he knew in his past. He is seemingly fine with abandoning it and staying with Nanase, but another patient with the same condition shows that he’s not as cool and collected as you’d expect. As with previous volumes, this strikes a good equal balance between the medicine and the romance, and there is also some lightness of tone, such as Nanase mistaking her lovesickness for a heart condition after the two spend the night together. – Sean Gaffney

A Man and His Cat, Vol. 2 | By Umi Sakurai | Square Enix – The more we see of Kanda’s late wife, the more we see how much her death has devastated him, and we are grateful for Fukumaru for being there. That said, Fukumaru is a big, awkward, untrained cat, so this inevitably leads to events like the cat breaking precious pictures and the like. The cat is also somewhat jealous of anything that gets in between him and his master. So it’s a nice mix of cute ‘the cat is destroying the house and acting like a cat’ antics and ‘the cat is basically the one thing keeping his owner away from despair.’ Kanda’s utter adoration of Fukumaru’s cuteness (made funnier by the fact that, to most everyone else, Fukumaru’s pretty goofy-looking) may be the best part of this. – Sean Gaffney

My Dress-Up Darling, Vol. 1 | By Shinichi Fukuda | Square Enix – Wakana has an unusual hobby—he admires and creates traditional Japanese dolls. In part because of this, he’s become a loner, but that changes after his popular high school classmate Marin discovers his talent with a sewing machine and convinces him to help her make a (sexy) cosplay outfit. Marin is passionate but not a skilled seamstress, so she hopes Wakana’s experience making doll clothing will be of some use. My Dress-Up Darling is rated “mature.” The first volume does include some risqué images and topics of conversation; however, it’s not overly explicit. Later volumes might become more so, but right now the story itself is surprisingly wholesome and the characters endearing. I’m really looking forward to reading more of the series and seeing Wakana and Marin’s relationship develop. But perhaps even more, I’m hoping to see Wakana follow Marin’s example and become more confident in himself and his interests. – Ash Brown

My Hero Academia SMASH!!, Vol. 5 | By Hirofumi Neda| Viz Media – The last volume of this series really does not stray from its mandate of ‘gags.’ We see 1-A and 1-B team up for a rescue exercise, the highlight of which is seeing that even the SMASH!! author thinks that Itsuka is a better Momo than Momo is. There’s some of Deku being such a hero fanboy that it’s hilariously creepy, and everyone participating in comedy training. (I was not prepared for Uraraka’s fantastic Aizawa impression.) There’s tanabata festivals, held back by a personality change in Bakugou (this actually comes up TWICE). And we end with a “years in the future” that isn’t really, with only Deku left to be the straight man. I’m happy this is ending now, but it was also a good deal of fun while it lasted. – Sean Gaffney

Snow White with the Red Hair, Vol. 8 | By Sorata Akiduki | Viz Media – As expected, ‘making the relationship public’ gets put on the back burner, mostly as reality is far too complicated for things like that to go smoothly. Instead we spend much of this volume transitioning into a new arc, featuring Shirayuki and Ryu going up north to snow country to study as herbalists there… with the added addition of Izana, who is traveling there incognito to annoy his brother and to study Shirayuki further. In between these things we get a story looking deeper into Obi, who I sometimes get the feeling the author would be more happy making the lead character. It adds up to a good solid volume of the series, though I suspect the next volume will set a better pace. – Sean Gaffney

Teasing Master Takagi-san, Vol. 9 | By Soichiro Yamamoto | Yen Press – The rule of thumb in this series is that Takagi is more readily able to admit her own feelings to herself than Nishitaka is to himself. His embarrassment and wariness of any action that he’s goaded to by Takagi leading to a “ha ha, so you like me!” moment drives whatever he does, and the moment he gets over this the series ends. (Mostly—the unlicensed next-gen series shows he never quite gets over it.) Takagi CAN occasionally be embarrassed—my favorite chapter in this volume, where they’re sending texts to each other, ends with her blushing—but for the most part is content to tease him every day and patiently lead him to a point where they can be a couple. It’s not happening anytime soon. – Sean Gaffney

To Be Next to You, Vol. 8 | By Atsuko Namba | Kodansha Comics (digital only) – On paper, To Be Next to You looks like standard shoujo fare. Nina Uemura is in love with her next-door neighbor, Kyosuke Tachibana, and to try to forget him, she started going out with a classmate. But when Kyosuke collapses with a fever on Christmas Eve, she bails on her boyfriend (Miyake-kun) to take care of him. Miyake-kun realizes that whatever happiness they can achieve together will always be vulnerable to being swept aside in an instant, and breaks off their relationship. What I love is how skillfully Namba-sensei has shown Nina’s maturation process throughout this series—she’s definitely not the same oblivious girl we encountered in volume one—and that we get little moments like Miyake-kun telling his friends what happened and them crying on his behalf. Between this and That Blue Summer, I have become a true Namba fan. I hope we get more from her soon! – Michelle Smith

By: Ash Brown

#Anime #News #Manga Bookshelf

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wherever-im-goin · 4 years

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10/3/19 : A new beginning

Greetings, everybody! Though it may come as a surprise to some, I have found that I am not ready to completely stop writing about my life and thoughts, and I figured that I could no longer write under the service blog since I was no longer in that program. I like the idea of a blog because it has connected me to many people who I have missed because they are far away as well as provided joy and reflection to those who were reading it. Therefore, I'll keep writing (hopefully every week) about the new things in my life as well as any reflections or thoughts I might want to share with the wide web. So, let's get to it!

I arrived home about two weeks ago (October 19th) and was picked up by my cousin, Zander, at the airport. Afterwards, we got milkshakes at Steak N Shake, and I told him funny stories about living in Sacramento. Life has been slow and fast at the same time somehow. I couldn't stay still (that's not my mourning style), so I've been working at my Aunt Karen's shop (Karen's Couture,340 S Main St, St Charles, MO 63301, https://karenscoutureboutique.com). Feel free to visit me anytime and buy some amazing merchandise ;) Meanwhile, I've been applying to a variety of jobs (postal service, recruitment, HR, history museums, medical receptionist, healthcare, community engagement, local government, legal courts, and the public library). FedEx has quickly gotten back to me and are planning to make me an offer, but I don't think I'll take it since it's not really what I'm passionate about. I applied for FedEx and many other jobs unrelated to my degree the day after returning from Sacramento, but now that it's been about two weeks, I have had some time to reflect on things. I think I purposefully applied for a job like FedEx because I knew I would be hired quickly. When I first returned from Sacramento, I wanted to move on very quickly and not think about what I was leaving behind and how that made me feel (my community mates and like someone smashed my heart with a sledgehammer). I felt FedEx would be a job where I would not be constantly challenged and filled with self-doubt because it would be very straight-forward with very little risk-taking involved. I felt so incredibly burnt-out and unwanted/incompetent when I first returned home, but I feel a lot better now. To put it simply, since I was fired from my last job, I wanted a job where I knew I would never be fired or my competence questioned so intensely/frequently.

I'm still hurting and filled with self-doubt, but I'm gradually healing from what happened. It's been harder to move on than I thought it would be, especially since I'm still so close with the ones I left behind in Sacramento. Even though me and my community members try to speak on the phone or Facetime whenever possible, I still acutely feel their absence. It hurts to see them moving on, even though I know and wish for them to do so. More than anything, I want to be back with them, growing closer and doing fun things together. I'm visiting them from December 13-15th for their regional Christmas party, and I'm excited to see everyone again, but I also know that I will have to leave again which will be enormously hard. After what has happened to me, my soul still feels very small, and my heart is still broken, but I also see a light shining brightly above me, always. There are many moments when I want to seek out revenge for the way I was treated. Maybe one day I will get my revenge, and people will lose something precious like I did, will hurt so deeply like I did. I find a part of myself wanting/needing wealth and power so that I can feel safe again. I want to ensure that I will never be hurt again and therefore should protect myself with what society says will elevate me, like money, a house, fame, success, and a cold heart and mute conscious. However, I know that is not right, and I want to keep living genuinely and being vulnerable because it hurts a lot more but it makes life way more beautiful than if I just shut out all my feelings and work on protecting myself. A house won't protect me. Neither will money. Life does not owe us anything, and there are no guarantees in this world, so I need to live accordingly.

I'm very easily slipping back into my life in St. Louis, thanks to all my friends and family who welcomed me with warm hugs and promises of retaliation against those who hurt me on my behalf (that German/Irish culture is showing, haha). Tonight, I had dinner with my Pa, a tradition that is held every Sunday at his house and very special to me (we order Imo's Pizza and drink Diet Pepsi while chatting about the newest episode of 60 minutes or our favorite family stories). My grandpa and great-aunt were so happy to see me, and it warmed my heart a little with gratitude that I was able to spend such precious time with them again. Something that I had worried about when I was in Sacramento was that something could happen to my Pa, great-aunt, or any other family member while I was gone. One of my greatest fears was that if something happened, I wouldn't be able to get home in time to say goodbye or help in any way. I was missing priceless moments with my family, and that bothered me. Now that I am back, that fear can be put to rest.

I've been trying to consciously do the activities that most brought me joy since I've been back. The first Thursday I was back, I went to Club Viva for salsa dancing and was welcomed back with a hero's welcome. There were many hugs and comforting words, which made my heart grow three sizes, like the Grinch (it's never too early to celebrate Christmas!) The club owner, Caesar, was so happy to see me and kept coming over all night to see how I was doing and to tell me how happy he was that I was here. My salsa/bachata/merengue/cumbia/cha-cha technique was a little rusty since I hadn't really been dancing in Sacramento, but otherwise, I had a great time dancing and hanging out with my salsa friends (plus I super duper missed their mojitos-best in all of St. Louis city, I tell ya). On Saturday night, I attended Club Viva's costume party as an angel and was forced by my friends to enter the costume contest (no, I didn't win, but Jessica Rabbit did). One of my friends, Kristine, was dressed as Mary Poppins, which was absolutely hilarious.

When I'm not at salsa, I'm spending time with my friends who I missed and who missed me A LOT. One night, me and my friend Hanna made our own pizzas from scratch (with dough from Trader Joe's) and watched the very artsy movie, Midsommar. On Wednesday nights, I've been carrying on the longtime undergraduate-graduate school tradition of getting pizza at Pickleman's and then sneaking into one of the buildings on Saint Louis University's campus to watch a movie on their nice projector screens with my cousin Zander. I'm hoping I can also keep my Saturday nights open for trivia at Fuzzy's Tacos to play trivia with my friend, Skylar.

Since being back, I've been invited and included in so many things which I'm very grateful for. On Halloween, I went to a party at Big Daddy's Bar on the Landing that was meant for Saint Louis University law students (I went with some of my friends who are currently students there). I dressed as the Virgin Mary, Mother of God, and I was given many compliments that night as well as many people bowing down before me and making the sign of the cross at me from across the bar (lol). I visited my friends, Liz and Kim's, new apartment, WHICH NOW HAS A TINY BEAUTIFUL KITTEN IN IT. His name is Desmond, and I've already decided that I would die for him a thousand times over. He was a stray and abandoned by his mom, but Liz found him, and then she and Kim adopted him. I held him until he fell asleep in my arms, and I felt my entire self melt with joy and contentment at experiencing such a beautiful moment. Liz is completely right when she says that Desmond is "great self-care". I'm very honored to be able to babysit him next month, so expect a lot of cute selfies of us on Facebook.

A fun, new development is that I am traveling to Budapest with my mom from November 10th-22nd! She is teaching a law class in Budapest and invited me to join her since I am currently unemployed. We will also be visiting Prague which everyone says is amazing, so I am really excited and open to this new experience. One thing that I've always been dying to see is the Sedlec Ossuary "Bone Church" which is a very old church made entirely of real human skeletons! I understand that some people may find this disturbing, but I also spent the day of my 21st birthday in the underground catacombs of Paris, so this is right up my alley. We are also interested in visiting the famous thermal baths and paying our respects at the memorials for those killed by the Fascists during World War II.

I'm also incredibly grateful for my opportunities to babysit so I can save up money for a dog or to buy souvenirs in Budapest. I've already babysat the twins and felt many years younger than I actually am-just by being around their childish wonder. At first, I was worried about what parents would think about me supervising their children since my last supervisor fired me on the grounds that I was incapable of keeping children safe, but it seems like that fear has been unfounded as evidenced by my flood of requests from parents all over St. Louis to babysit their children (insert emoji of me painting my nails).

Lastly, the name of my blog is "wherever I'm goin'" due to my love of the quote by Confucius that is "Wherever you go, go with all your heart." I love this quote because it speaks to the impermanence of life and how important it is to do whatever you do with all your heart. I've never really been one to do things with half a heart, but I think it's still a great quote for me to live by and remember as I continue on with my life...going wherever I will go.

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dailychapel · 5 years

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You are the glorious morning, You are refreshment and peace. You are the sounds as the dawn breaks, You are the rose that smells sweet. You are the Lord, my creator, You are the wonder of life. You are the great words of wisdom, I read them and fill up inside. You are the wonderful sunrise, You are restorer of hope. You are the air that we breathe now, You are the warm winter coat. You are the Lord, my creator, You are a love without end. You are all grace and forgiveness, I stand loved and free as your friend.

Psalm 134:1-3 NLT - 1 A song for pilgrims ascending to Jerusalem. Oh, praise the LORD, all you servants of the LORD, you who serve at night in the house of the LORD. 2 Lift up holy hands in prayer, and praise the LORD. 3 May the LORD, who made heaven and earth, bless you from Jerusalem.

Isaiah 28:1-29 NLT - 1 What sorrow awaits the proud city of Samaria--the glorious crown of the drunks of Israel. It sits at the head of a fertile valley, but its glorious beauty will fade like a flower. It is the pride of a people brought down by wine. 2 For the Lord will send a mighty army against it. Like a mighty hailstorm and a torrential rain, they will burst upon it like a surging flood and smash it to the ground. 3 The proud city of Samaria--the glorious crown of the drunks of Israel--will be trampled beneath its enemies' feet. 4 It sits at the head of a fertile valley, but its glorious beauty will fade like a flower. Whoever sees it will snatch it up, as an early fig is quickly picked and eaten. 5 Then at last the LORD of Heaven's Armies will himself be Israel's glorious crown. He will be the pride and joy of the remnant of his people. 6 He will give a longing for justice to their judges. He will give great courage to their warriors who stand at the gates. 7 Now, however, Israel is led by drunks who reel with wine and stagger with alcohol. The priests and prophets stagger with alcohol and lose themselves in wine. They reel when they see visions and stagger as they render decisions. 8 Their tables are covered with vomit; filth is everywhere. 9 "Who does the LORD think we are?" they ask. "Why does he speak to us like this? Are we little children, just recently weaned? 10 He tells us everything over and over--one line at a time, one line at a time, a little here, and a little there!" 11 So now God will have to speak to his people through foreign oppressors who speak a strange language! 12 God has told his people, "Here is a place of rest; let the weary rest here. This is a place of quiet rest." But they would not listen. 13 So the LORD will spell out his message for them again, one line at a time, one line at a time, a little here, and a little there, so that they will stumble and fall. They will be injured, trapped, and captured. 14 Therefore, listen to this message from the LORD, you scoffing rulers in Jerusalem. 15 You boast, "We have struck a bargain to cheat death and have made a deal to dodge the grave. The coming destruction can never touch us, for we have built a strong refuge made of lies and deception." 16 Therefore, this is what the Sovereign LORD says: "Look! I am placing a foundation stone in Jerusalem, a firm and tested stone. It is a precious cornerstone that is safe to build on. Whoever believes need never be shaken. 17 I will test you with the measuring line of justice and the plumb line of righteousness. Since your refuge is made of lies, a hailstorm will knock it down. Since it is made of deception, a flood will sweep it away. 18 I will cancel the bargain you made to cheat death, and I will overturn your deal to dodge the grave. When the terrible enemy sweeps through, you will be trampled into the ground. 19 Again and again that flood will come, morning after morning, day and night, until you are carried away." This message will bring terror to your people. 20 The bed you have made is too short to lie on. The blankets are too narrow to cover you. 21 The LORD will come as he did against the Philistines at Mount Perazim and against the Amorites at Gibeon. He will come to do a strange thing; he will come to do an unusual deed: 22 For the Lord, the LORD of Heaven's Armies, has plainly said that he is determined to crush the whole land. So scoff no more, or your punishment will be even greater. 23 Listen to me; listen, and pay close attention. 24 Does a farmer always plow and never sow? Is he forever cultivating the soil and never planting? 25 Does he not finally plant his seeds--black cumin, cumin, wheat, barley, and emmer wheat--each in its proper way, and each in its proper place? 26 The farmer knows just what to do, for God has given him understanding. 27 A heavy sledge is never used to thresh black cumin; rather, it is beaten with a light stick. A threshing wheel is never rolled on cumin; instead, it is beaten lightly with a flail. 28 Grain for bread is easily crushed, so he doesn't keep on pounding it. He threshes it under the wheels of a cart, but he doesn't pulverize it. 29 The LORD of Heaven's Armies is a wonderful teacher, and he gives the farmer great wisdom.

Luke 22:7-30 NLT - 7 Now the Festival of Unleavened Bread arrived, when the Passover lamb is sacrificed. 8 Jesus sent Peter and John ahead and said, "Go and prepare the Passover meal, so we can eat it together." 9 "Where do you want us to prepare it?" they asked him. 10 He replied, "As soon as you enter Jerusalem, a man carrying a pitcher of water will meet you. Follow him. At the house he enters, 11 say to the owner, 'The Teacher asks: Where is the guest room where I can eat the Passover meal with my disciples?' 12 He will take you upstairs to a large room that is already set up. That is where you should prepare our meal." 13 They went off to the city and found everything just as Jesus had said, and they prepared the Passover meal there. 14 When the time came, Jesus and the apostles sat down together at the table. 15 Jesus said, "I have been very eager to eat this Passover meal with you before my suffering begins. 16 For I tell you now that I won't eat this meal again until its meaning is fulfilled in the Kingdom of God." 17 Then he took a cup of wine and gave thanks to God for it. Then he said, "Take this and share it among yourselves. 18 For I will not drink wine again until the Kingdom of God has come." 19 He took some bread and gave thanks to God for it. Then he broke it in pieces and gave it to the disciples, saying, "This is my body, which is given for you. Do this to remember me." 20 After supper he took another cup of wine and said, "This cup is the new covenant between God and his people--an agreement confirmed with my blood, which is poured out as a sacrifice for you. 21 "But here at this table, sitting among us as a friend, is the man who will betray me. 22 For it has been determined that the Son of Man must die. But what sorrow awaits the one who betrays him." 23 The disciples began to ask each other which of them would ever do such a thing. 24 Then they began to argue among themselves about who would be the greatest among them. 25 Jesus told them, "In this world the kings and great men lord it over their people, yet they are called 'friends of the people.' 26 But among you it will be different. Those who are the greatest among you should take the lowest rank, and the leader should be like a servant. 27 Who is more important, the one who sits at the table or the one who serves? The one who sits at the table, of course. But not here! For I am among you as one who serves. 28 "You have stayed with me in my time of trial. 29 And just as my Father has granted me a Kingdom, I now grant you the right 30 to eat and drink at my table in my Kingdom. And you will sit on thrones, judging the twelve tribes of Israel.

Prayer for Others

Lord’s Prayer Our Father Who art in heaven. Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For Thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever. Amen

To God the Father, who loved us, and made us accepted in the Beloved: to God the Son who loved us, and loosed us from our sins by his own blood: to God the Holy Spirit, who spreads the love of God abroad in our hearts: to the one true God be all love and all glory for time and for eternity. Amen.

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xcdykmjf-blog · 5 years

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