#best breast pump 2016

[maxillness]

╰┈➤I Like You Best || Retired!NR6 x Hamilton!Reader

Warnings: 18+, unprotected sex, cheating, oral (f), choking, nipple play, secret relationship

Wordcount: 0.9k

The first time they went out, it was just as “friends”. She knew he wanted to anger Lewis, and she didn’t really care

Their “friendly” date turned into something much more, and quicker than they had thought

She knew Nico was married, but if he didn’t care, why should she?

By the end of the night, they were both laying in her bed, no thought of Vivian going through his mind

Ever since 2016, Lewis has been complaining and talking shit about Nico to her at ever chance he got

But was he really that bad when he made her feel like she was on cloud nine?

She walked into the restaurant, walking over to the table “You’re drooling a little bit” She chuckled, sitting down in the seat opposite to Nico

He snapped his eyes up to her face “How do you expect me not to when you wear that?” He asked teasingly

“Wore it just for you” She smiled softly

They both stumbled into her apartment, mouths on each others, scrambling to get jackets and shoes off of their bodies

They walked towards her bedroom, but didn’t get further than the couch

Nico’s hands were hot against her body as he pushed her dress up and over her body, throwing it to the floor

His lips trailed down her chest before going to one of her breasts, gently sucking on her nipple, his hand on the other

He lowered himself down her body, head now between her legs, kissing her bare thighs

“I do like you best with your head between my legs” She chuckled softly, leaning on her elbows, looking down at Nico who was now looking up at her

He pulled his head away, but only to remove her panties, throwing them to the floor somewhere as well

She was about to speak, but got interrupted by a moan when he placed his head back between her legs, his tongue working on her clit, his hands gripping her thighs tightly

He lowered his head further, his tongue lapping at her juices while his nose rubbed against her clit

His hums of satisfaction only giving her more pleasure and her moans louder, encouraging him to go faster

His name fell off of her tongue like a prayer, one hand tight in his hair, the other on the back of the couch, her hips grinding against his tongue and nose

“Nico, please” He whined, her eyes closed shut “‘M close” She whimpered softly, almost not audible

He let out a hum that sent her over the edge, his name rolling off her tongue in a loud moan, her body shaking

She panted heavily as she watched him pull away, wiping her arousal away from his mouth with the back of his hand

His hands went to his shirt, unbolting the buttons, revealing his pale chest

She looked at him mesmerised as his hands went to his pants, undoing the button and zipper before stepping out of them, positioning himself between her legs

Her arms fell around his shoulders, her nails digging into his back, certain to leave marks later

He pumped himself a few times before lining himself up with her entrance

“verdammt, ich liebe dich so sehr, ich wünschte, ich könnte für immer mit dir zusammen sein” Fuck, i love you so much i wish i could be with you forever. She didn’t understand shit of what he was saying, but was hot nonetheless when he grunted the words as he pushed himself into her, letting her adjust before he started moving

Her nails left red marks on his back as he sped up his hips, kissing her neck softly, not matching the roughness of his thrusts

One of his hands were wrapped around her throat softly, knowing she liked it while the other hand was supporting his body on the armrest behind her head

He grabbed a pillow from the floor that was grown carelessly and placed it under her hips, giving him the right angle to hit just the right spot, making her moan louder if that was even possible

“You’re gonna get a noise complaint tomorrow” He chuckled, his voice rough and his accent thick, but she was far too gone to care or even respond

She managed to whimper out his name in between moans as she clenched down around him, hinting to him she was close

“Just hold on a little longer, Schatz” He moaned softly, feeling her clenching

She nodded as best as she could, digging her nails harshly into his back, not caring if she broke through his skin

“Come for me, Liebling” He groaned slightly, and she didn’t need to be told twice as she came, her thighs shaking and clenching rapidly around him, sending him over the edge as well, his hips still as he came inside her

“You know you’re pretty, right?” Nico said as they were placed in the tub, her back against his front, his arms around her waist as she let out a soft hum in acknowledgment “But, you’re brother is prettier some times”

She knew he was teasing her, but she turned her head nonetheless, looking at him confused “I knew you were gay” She chuckled softly

“I fuck you once a week, and you still have the audacity to call me gay?” He asked, mocking offence

“You’re also married but fuck me once a week” She chuckled, kissing him softly

“Touché” He hummed, kissing her back softly

[trashboi413]

the story of "the wonderbread guy" (because tumblr pc wont let me reblog the post i made for some reason)

alright so buckle up kids, this is a long one that im mostly copiying from know your meme.

About Murrlogic1's Wonder Bread Fetish DeviantArt Commissions also referred to as DeviantArt Wonder Bread guy, is an internet personality who has commissioned animations of rich women shopping for many loaves of Wonder Bread. He has also commissioned artists to create pictures of women destroying forests and filling up their Hummers with gasoline. Murrlogic has been in conversation with artists and commentators on KiwiFarms and Reddit since 2016. Report ad

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📷 Origin On March 18th, 2016, Murrlogic1[11] uploaded one of their first images to DeviantArt[1] titled "A gated White Bread community" (show below). He describes the image in a post saying,Asami and Winter decide to create gender roles for themselves. Winter stays at home and does all the cooking and cleaning HOWEVER since that is a huge job she also has the authority to intimidate, abuse, and berate all the other slaves who do that anyway. Winter just wants extra brownie points. Meanwhile, Asami begins to treat Winter not as a person but as property as she frequently demands her to work around the clock nonstop to fulfill her every first world problem For instance, Asami has the food palette of a 5 year old. She refuses to eat anything that isn't spongy and soft like Bleached factory sliced Wonder bread. She also wants her white bread drenched in mayonnaise to help fulfill that stereotype of being a white supremicist who wishes to exterminate all the subhuman water benders (Korra being on that list.) Winter obediently begins production of hundreds of Wonder Bread Sandwich factories tirelessly pumping the air around them with copious amounts of Co2. Report ad

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He absolutely was not just a normal guy with a weird kink. This shit was his life pretty much. He had lots of talk about consumerism, slavery, and capitalism and why there were all good things. Almost to the point of a religion to him. He tried talking to me about his commission of a comic of, I believe, Asami cutting down a rainforest and industrializing it, and like weird undertone of loving sandwhiches. Everything he talked about in this aspect came down to sandwhiches with him. Spread In 2016 and 2017, murrlogic1 continued to commission thousands of dollars worth of art pieces involving Wonder Bread. For example, on September 30th, 2017, Murrlogic1 posted a commissioned work to DeviantArt[2] which featured two blonde-haired white women at a "$andwich Land" theme park and a "deforestation roller-coaster" (shown below).📷On March 3rd, 2018, Tumblr[3] user joyfulattic claimed to know and have spoken to murrlogic1 and wrote in a a post that: Report ad

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He has spent thousands of dollars if not more on commissions for Asami abusing Korra Asami owning a sandwich factory and slave labor Blonde women own sandwhich factories and cutting down large expanses of forests And the list goes on to other really strange stuff, but none of it inherently sexual The only time I’ve known something sexual was his commission for shadman, which was, to the best of my memory, him asking Shadman to draw Korra and Asami abuse porn with like focus on Korra having a limp dick, that’s the most I remember from the screenshots he showed of his conversation with shadman, which he did show off and talk about how unprofessional shadman was for refusing to draw his commission. The way he fucking talks is just something mind blowing to see a man this far stuck in his own little hole. On a more dark and serious subject, he has been fired from his job and possibly disowned from his family for this kinda stuff. He talked about assaulting, sexually assaulting, and insulting the race or sexuality of his coworkers. People caught on he was kinda fucked up, and emailed his boss over that stuff and got him fired. I got to watch as he complained about it and the entire forum that he was on talking about it blew up for a good solid 2 hours over how fucked up this guy is for thinking he did nothing wrong, and him insulting everyone. It was absolutely bonkers. Please do not give Murrlogic commissions, his money isn’t worth being associated with this man. Over all he is a very disgusting person and while it’s fun to point and laugh, he is really not someone who should be given the time of day.

Over the next few years, Murrlogic1 conducted AMAs both on Reddit[6] and DeviantArt[4] in which he discussed his attraction to the themes vaguely."My 1st job I had was at a job called Bounty Farm which was funded and supervised by an organization referred to as "Petaluma People Services Center."I met my now Ex-GF at this place. When I was finally ready to go to her old apartment in Rohnert Park and she let me touch her tits while we watched Howl's Moving Castle they reminded me of Wonder Bread since I was trying to pinpoint what the texture of breasts reminded me of the most and Wonder Bread came the closest."On March 8th, 2018, Scared Sheep revealed the Wonder Bread Guy to be Michael McKay of Santa Rosa California in a KiwiFarms[5] forum. Murrlogic1 then responded to the thread using the name Damien6.[10]

i should mention that shadman (known for drawing loli porn, and generally being a huge dick) refused his commision

[kriscynical]

I have finally thrown in the towel and gone back on Welbutrin.

If you're considering the need to go back on your meds, take this as a sign from the universe that yes, you do indeed need to and you have nothing to prove to anybody.

This turned into mental health word vomit nobody is going to care about so I'm putting it under a cut to save your dashes.

After having the health crisis in 2009 that left me with the permanent nerve damage I'm still dealing with followed by one of my best friends throwing me under a bus and gaslighting me about it, I started struggling with my mental health. When my middle sister passed away from breast cancer in January 2010 I destroyed myself trying to be The Strong One for my parents, letting my cup run so dry it cracked and broke.

I spent the next 7 years at the bottom of a hole, the last four or so on Welbutrin that helped quite a bit but not completely. My personal art output was absolute zero. I lost my 20's to it, basically.

I finally pulled myself out of it when I renovated the room across from my bedroom into my studio and got into Yuri on Ice in late 2016 because I had something to focus on, get excited about, and be inspired by. I pumped out 40 new pieces of art in 2017 because of it, I was getting regular interaction with people, my blog was growing again, and it was fantastic. I was an art machine. I came off of the Welbutrin in Spring 2016. I was happy for the first time in years.

Anybody still in the YoI fandom knows that well has been bone dry for a few years now; most of our crops withered if not died completely, and fandom policing bullshit made creating fanart for it far less desirable for me. I started slipping.

Then 2018 happened. My oldest sister passed away in February from liver failure. The day after we buried her ashes next to my middle sister in the family plot, we found out our dog, Sushi, had late stage lymphoma at only 9 years old. Her face had barely even begun to get a dusting of white. We lost her that July. I slipped some more. I came out of that year holding on to the edge of that hole by the tips of my fingers, but I was proud that I hadn't fallen back in completely.

Then 2020 happened. On March 13 my life upended and my sole focus became keeping my high risk parents safe from Covid, becoming their caregiver and doing absolutely everything for them that involved interacting with people or going out in public. In the last 14 months I've only gone to the pharmacy and chiropractor. That's it. We've been having our groceries delivered via a wonderful woman named Katelyn through Dumpling. Quarantine has aged me by at least five years at this point if the lines on my face are any indication.

Then my uncle was diagnosed with stage IV esophageal cancer over the summer and the traumatizing hell of trying to care for him here at our house -- on top of the added stress of having a CONSTANT parade of nurses, hospice people, and chaplains coming through the house because of it in the middle of a pandemic I was working so hard to protect my parents from -- was a body blow that included a dissociative episode. He passed away in October 2020.

I was finally able to get myself and my parents vaccinated through the county health department at the end of March 2021, which was a Thing all unto itself because of their system fucking things up.We got our second dose toward the end of April and a huge weight lifted off my shoulders, but the damage was already done.

My personal art output has been zero for almost two years at this point. The last piece of fan work I actually finished that wasn't for a client, zine, or gift was in October 2019, it didn't even get 200 notes, nobody seemed to care or even notice that I had been basically MIA online in the last two years (save for maybe three people), so I lost the sliver of motivation I still had left. Let me repeat that:

I haven't finished any personal artwork that wasn't for a client, zine, or gift since October 2019. It's now May 2021.

At the beginning of April I finally said fuck it, I give up, and emailed my doctor asking for a new script for Welbutrin. While I'm not as godawful miserable emotionally as I was back when I started taking it originally (although it's on its way down that road), I am back to being completely unmotivated to do much of anything let alone produce new art. I have ideas. I just don't have the motivation to sit down and execute them.

As I've said several times before, I have to create in order to feel worthwhile. Interaction with people online when I post my work helps me stay in a good place mentally because I'm human and humans need positive interaction and just a sense that we're seen and matter. It's a nasty spiral because once it started seeming that hardly anybody cared about my work anymore or even noticed when I disappeared, that finished the job of killing my motivation. I know art should be made for yourself but like I said, I'm human and I'm just being honest here instead of trying to bullshit anybody. What's the point of posting if it's seemingly just going into the void?

I'm tired of being in that rut of a mindset and languishing in that bad headspace, so I'm trying to help myself out of it before I hit the bottom of that hole again. I never want to go back there, but I'm damn close at this point.

At least the Welbutrin is making me lose weight because it's killed my appetite.

[atc74]

Soul to Souls - Ten

Warnings: Angst, flangst, blow job, fingering...so much sex, 

Summary: Since she was four years old, Annaleigh has seen the same boy in her dreams. For twenty-five years, she grows to love the boy that has now turned into a man. Dean Winchester just lost the only family he has ever known. The guilt drives him to work harder than ever before. He works to forget the pain, until he meets Annaleigh and she turns his world upside down. What she learns changes both of their lives forever, but what will he do when he discovers the truth? Will he accept it or run back to the only life he has ever known?

Pairing: Dean x OC Annaleigh

Word Count: 2349

Beta’d by: @amanda-teaches​​​​, @katehuntington​​​, thank you both for being my guides! Dividers and new cover art by the amazingly talented @talesmaniac89​​​​.

A/N: This was my very first series I ever wrote four years ago in September 2016 and I am so happy and proud to bring this back home. We’re halfway there folks, but we’ve barely gotten started!

Soul to Souls Master List

Annaleigh couldn’t take his demeaning attitude one more minute. Sam had pushed her too far this time. “No, Sam, I didn’t tell him jack shit. I thought it was your job as his brother to tell him the truth at last,” Annaleigh spat back with just as much attitude, and she had more where that came from, as she walked out of the room. She called back to Bobby over her shoulder. “I can’t be here right now, Bobby. Call me when dinner is ready, please.”  

She grabbed her phone out of her pocket and dialed Dean, hoping he would pick up. Finally, after what felt like forever, he answered. “Dean! Where are you? Please come back,” she pleaded with him.

“Way ahead of you, Red. I’m about 5 minutes out,” Dean’s voice was thick with the emotions he was trying to hide. “I’m sorry I took off like that. I just needed to clear my head, you know?” 

“I love you, Baby, just come home,” Anna told him before she disconnected. She waited on the porch for him and rushed down to greet him when he pulled up, throwing herself into his arms.

“Whoa!” He exclaimed as he took a step back, trying to keep his balance before they both went crashing to the ground. 

Anna grabbed his hand and led him back out to the shop, where Bobby and Sam wouldn’t be able to see them from the house. Driven by some force inside her, she pushed him back against the workbench, suddenly not able to keep her hands off of him. Maybe it was the confrontation with Sam, maybe it was the realization that Dean could have just left, but didn’t. He came back, and - to her - it spoke volumes. 

Craving all of him, Annaleigh couldn’t get it fast enough. She crashed her mouth to his as she ran one hand up his neck and the other gripped his shirt, pulling him to her. The kiss was fast and needy. She pulled away abruptly, dropping to her knees on the dirty shop floor, and opened his belt. Running her fingers along the waistband of his jeans, with one swift motion, she pulled them down to his ankles along with his boxers, his semi-hard length bobbing right in front of her eyes. She breathed in his scent deeply as she regarded him. God, he truly was beautiful, inside and out. Right now, she just wanted him in her, to feel whole with him once more. Slowly, she wrapped her small hand around his girth, pumping him a few times and, with another breath, swallowed as much as she could.

“Oh fuck, Red,” his voice, thick and gravely, trailed off as he growled. She continued working him over with her tongue and lips until he reached under her arms and pulled her up his long, hard body, his lips meeting hers, and moaned as he tasted himself on her tongue. “Not that I don’t love that, but I gotta be inside you.”

He continued his domination over her mouth as his hands worked to free her of her clothing. Dean decided he had removed enough for what he needed access to and grabbed her ass, hoisting her up. Wrapping her legs around his waist, he felt the wet heat of her pressed against him. He realized when he drove away after his confrontation with his brother, that all he really wanted was her, all of her.

He shuffled forward until her back hit the cold steel of the old van and, with one quick thrust, he entered her, filling her completely. His mouth left a blazing trail down her neck as he began to massage one breast, teasing and pulling her nipple while keeping his balance, his palm against the van, fingers outstretched. 

She held onto his strong shoulders for dear life as his hips continued their assault on hers. “Oh, God, yes! Right there, Dean,” she moaned into his neck. “Oh, Baby, faster, please, I need you.” 

His hand slipped from the side of the vehicle, allowing him to grab both of her hips with bruising force, leveraging their combined momentum to keep them upright. A slight shift in position was all it took for him to hit that sweet spot deep inside her, and in just a few more thrusts of his hips, she was coming all over him. Never slowing his movements, the fluttering of her tight channel triggered his own release he spilled into her. 

His breath was hot and heavy on her neck as he fought for air, and Anna swore for a minute that she heard him whisper he loved her. She leaned her head into his, relishing the feel of his skin on her, the pounding of his heart, matched with hers. The echo of Bobby’s voice pierced their bubble.

“Dinner’s ready, kids! Get yer asses in the house!” he yelled, but not close enough that he would catch them with their pants down, literally.

Anna laughed out loud as Dean put her down, kissing her once more. “God, I needed that,” they spoke at the same time, making them both chuckle. They quickly pulled themselves together, cleaning up as best they could, and walked back to the house for dinner with their arms around each other.

Sam saw them enter the kitchen first as he filled his bowl with chili. “You smell like sex,” he spat out.

“Gee, Sammy, you sound jealous!” Dean teased.

Annaleigh brushed past the boys to the stove to serve herself and Dean. After sitting down, she gave in to her hunger now that she was feeling better, and devoured two bowls along with a couple chunks of cornbread. After clearing the table, she started rummaging through the cupboards for dessert.

“What are you looking for, Red?” Dean asked as he wrapped her up in his arms from behind.

“Dessert. Chocolate; preferably hot fudge. Oh, and brownies! With ice cream,” she pondered aloud, continuing her search but coming up empty handed.

“Oh, is that all?” Dean gave a full belly laugh throwing his head backwards, bowing his back in just the right way, she felt his delicious cock as it pressed perfectly against her ass. 

“Come on, you are taking me to get all of that. Right now,” she said to him and gave a little wiggle of her hips to enforce her words.

Dean swallowed loudly. “Um, yeah, o-okay. So, yeah, ice cream, brownies, hot fudge. Copy that.” He reached for his keys and they were out the door, running for the Impala as fast as their legs would carry them.

“Are you freaking serious, Honey?” he asked, raising one eyebrow as he started Baby.

“Yes, Dean. I am very serious.” The rumble of her idling engine was making Anna want more, the feeling heady between her legs, then Dean took off and it got worse, or better; she couldn’t decide. 

“What has gotten into you today? Not that I am complaining, as I am clearly benefiting from your extreme horniness. But what gives, Red?” he asked, trying not to laugh as he continued driving.

“I feel better than I have all day. And, I can never get enough of you, Dean, you know that.” She slid over in the seat to be closer to him, to feel him next to her, to feel his heat seep into her skin where it met. 

Annaleigh leaned in and started kissing his cheek, running her tongue over his jaw and down his neck, stopping only to suck on that one spot she knew would get the reaction she was looking for.  

He moaned out a breath. “You know you could get us killed doing sexy shit like that while I’m driving?”

She slid away from him and pulled her shirt over her head. That was all the motivation he needed to pull off the main road and find a secluded spot. He put the car in park and launched himself at her, pushing her down onto the seat. 

He immediately attached his mouth to her breast and the already pert nipple, while his hands made quick work of removing her pants and tossing them somewhere in the back seat. 

“Oh yeah, Dean --” she whispered as she ran one hand through his hair, her other guiding his own that was slowly starting its ministrations between her legs. “- uhhhm, oh God, please, Baby. I need more.”

His mouth left her breast and trailed down her belly towards its final destination, where he whispered into her skin. “Tell me what you want, Red. Tell me how to make you feel good.”

“I want all of you. I need your tongue on me; I need your fingers in me. Dean, just do it, now. Please don’t make me beg,” she moaned, knowing she already sounded desperate for him.

He locked his eyes on hers as he sunk two fingers into her soaking pussy and ran the flat of his tongue from bottom to top, stopping to flick the tip over her clit before starting over again.

Anna writhed beneath him, arching her back, hopelessly seeking more. She placed one foot on the floor board and the other across the back of the seat to give him ample room to work her over. She couldn’t ever remember a time when she has been this needy before, taking him or being taken by him three times in less than twenty-four hours. When she said she couldn’t get enough right now, she meant it.

He felt her peaking and he moved faster, both his tongue and his fingers, now three deep inside of her, pumping in and out, curling on return. Her vision started getting blurry and her toes curled. The orgasm ripped through her so hard, she clenched her thighs together, trapping his head between them; she was surprised he could breathe. He just kept working her through her high, until she released her hold on his head and neck.

Anna reached down, grabbing his face and bringing it to hers for a deep kiss, her tang coating his tongue and lips. That was it for her, she lost what little control she had been clinging to. She grabbed him by the belt as he positioned himself upright in the seat. She didn’t even wait for him to completely remove his pants; throwing a leg over him and with one hand guiding him, she sank down on his rock hard member, impaling herself and screaming out with the pleasure it brought.

With his mouth on hers and the help of his hands on her hips, Anna rode him hard, bouncing up and down on his thick length until she hit her head on the roof of the car. Even then, it didn’t slow her down; she just tucked her face into his neck and kept going.

“Come with me, Baby. I am so close; I want to feel you,” she panted into his neck. She changed her rhythm, rolling her hips so that her clit was rubbing against his pubic bone and she felt that familiar coil twisting and tightening, with every roll. Dean dug his fingers into her hips and they both knew there would be bruises later. He was right on the edge with her.

“I’m right there, Honey. Just. One. More.” Their hips rocked against each other until finally the coils snapped, screaming the other's name as they came together.

They stayed like that, breathing heavily until they could see straight again. Annaleigh felt him start to go soft and she gingerly rolled off him and back into her seat. Dean pulled some napkins from the glove box and cleaned them both up. Satisfied they would pass as presentable in public, he kissed her gently. 

“I don’t know if you heard me earlier, but...” his voice broke as his forest colored eyes stared into her sapphire ones. “I love you, Annaleigh.” 

Her heart burst into a million pieces, but felt whole all at once, as she took in the look of admiration, of love, knowing it now reflected her own. As much as she wanted to reaffirm her love for him, she knew he hadn’t finished his sentiment. 

“I know this morning I said I didn’t know what it was that I was feeling, just that it ran deep. Then, after the blowout with Sammy and I took off, that’s when it hit me head on. I knew what I needed to feel better, to feel whole, and it was you. Once I realized it, I couldn’t get back to you fast enough.”

“Dean,” she murmured softly as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “I thought you did, and I am so happy to hear you say it, but I didn’t want to push you. I love you so much; you make me so happy.” She kissed him again, this one filled with more tenderness and love, less want and need, than the others they had shared today.

“Now can you do me a favor, my love?” she asked him.

“I will do anything for you, Red. You know that,” he answered quickly.

“Will you please find my pants and panties, then take me to get brownies and ice cream with hot fudge?” She couldn’t help but laugh.

He laughed right along with her. “Anything for you, my Queen. I am but your humble servant. Your wish is my command.” He bowed at the waist, as much as he could in the front seat of his beloved car while naked. 

“My very own servant!” Annaleigh joked. 

“I’d like to think of myself as more of a love slave,” Dean shrugged, throwing her clothes at her. 

After so much had been said, they dressed quietly, exchanging glances at each other as more skin was covered up. Baby’s engine roared to life and Annaleigh couldn’t disguise her elation as she entwined her fingers with Dean’s. The atmosphere in the car had shifted from heated, filled with lust, to satisfied and filled with more love than she could have ever hoped for.

Did you like it? The nicest thing you can do for a writer is reblog their work and tell them, and others, how much you like it!

Soul to Souls tags: @emoryhemsworth​​ @flamencodiva​​​ @iwantthedean​​​ @jensengirl83​​​​ @deanwanddamons​​​​ @smol-and-grumpy​​​ @kbl1313​​​ @waywardbeanie​​​​ @whatareyousearchingfordean​​​​ @princessmisery666​​​​ ​​ @shy-violet-soul​​​​ @lastcallatrockysbar​​​​ @winchesterxfamilybusiness​​​​ @fangirlxwritesx67​​​​ @squirrelnotsam​​​ @michellethetvaddict​​​

[malecsecretsanta]

Merry Christmas ninwrites!

For @ninwrites. I was so thrilled to get you for Secret Santa this year as your Malec fics are some of the very first that I ever read when I fell into Shadowhunters way back in 2016. You gave me so many great prompts this year that I really struggled deciding what to write, especially because I know we share so many common interests! Part of me wanted to write a sweeping sci-fi, and another part of me wanted to write a clever procedural, and then I know how much you love superheroes and I also love superheroes, so that could've easily happened ...

But in the end, I decided to strip everything down and write a story about second chances. About seemingly unrequited yearning and human connection and liminal spaces and time unravelling backwards and friends-to-almost lovers-to-strangers until serendipity intervenes. Of course, I went drastically over the word limit but this happens every year so I am no longer surprised.

Merry Christmas! I hope you enjoy this little microcosm of a story!

Tags: malec | rated: t | extended oneshot | human AU, roadtrip, friends-to-lovers-to-strangers-to-lovers, hurt/comfort, surrealism

Read on AO3

*****

saudade in the key of highways

saudade

/saʊˈdɑːdə/

noun

(especially with reference to songs or poetry) a deep emotional state of nostalgic or profound melancholic longing for an absent something or someone that one cares for and/or loves. Moreover, it often carries a repressed knowledge that the object of longing might never be had again. It is the recollection of feelings, experiences, places, or events that once brought excitement, pleasure, and well-being, which now trigger the senses and make one experience the pain of separation from those joyous sensations. However it acknowledges that to long for the past would detract from the excitement you feel towards the future.

"as we fall / into the common, suspended disbelief of love, you ask / will I still be / here tomorrow, next week, tonight you ask am I really here."

— Olga Broumas, Beginning with O; “Bitterness”

first chord

There is rhythm to this loneliness.1

The endless darkness. Passing headlights; the hum of the engine; the splutter of the heater fighting against the cold that claws and scratches at the windshield. The highway, deserted, is like a strange and eerie dream that travels on and on and never ends.

The rental car: new. Nondescript in its newness. Two hands on the wheel; the faded hum of the radio, a soft accompaniment to the bright beam of the headlights. The car has a cassette player, but no cassettes. It never has any cassettes.

There’s a gas station like a beacon in the distance: a faint glow of sodium yellow that slinks along the horizon but never draws closer, spilling light like fuel out across the open fields.

Alec prefers driving at night. There is never any need to ask for directions because he never passes anyone he could ask for directions; he might be the only car he’s seen in fifty miles.

The radio crackles, then laughs, ‘ we know it’s only November but nothing gets us in the mood for Christmas like -’  

Almost immediately, the signal drops, but the interluding white noise is familiar too. It fills the silence with unimportance, an invisible presence in the passenger seat who doesn’t require conversation or stops to stretch their legs, but is company enough for long drives across the country.

Moments on the road are filled like this: a hundred similar soundtracks for a hundred indistinct highways, their miles wearing down the tread on Alec’s tires and the lines of Alec’s palms, where he grips the steering wheel for hours without a break, in much the same way.

‘So if you’re listening at home, or you’re stuck on a late-night shift, or if you’re driving cross-country and need a pick-me-up, give us a ring and tell us about your favourite ever Christmas song!’ says the radio. ‘But to get us started, we have Marnie from Portland on line one -’

Alec punches the buttons on the radio until he finds a classic rock station. He taps the steering wheel, not to the beat of the song, but to dispel some of the restless energy that tingles in his fingertips.

A sign on the roadside passes him by at high speed; it tells him that he’s a hundred miles from nowhere in particular - but at the last intersection, a similar sign told him he was a hundred-and-one, and now he’s acutely aware of creeping ever closer to his destination.

It’s a destination he’s not sure he wants to reach. A destination he calls home.

There is rhythm to this loneliness . Alec is used to it: the anxious churning of his stomach, the longing for the road to continue beyond its end; the endless, perpetual, and pointless journey of back-and-forths.

One: drive across the width of the country. Indiana, Iowa, Nebraska, Oregon, again and again. A country of ochre-yellow wheat; plains and flatlands; tractors abandoned on the roadside.

Two: report to the local field office, where he’s given a desk too small for his long legs and a computer he doesn’t have a password to. Talk to the county sheriff who snaps at him, ‘ the FBI has no business out here, we can handle this on our own ,’ and then to the man who refuses to open his door wide enough for Alec to get a good look at his face, but whose eyes skip over Alec’s badge and land on the gun on his hip and he thinks the same thing as the sheriff.  

Three: avert his eyes from the body lying on the steel table in the morgue. Pretend that federal intervention was warranted, even though he knows this case is another crime of opportunity and the sheriff was right. The sheriff is always right. ‘ Waste of the FBI’s time, if you ask me. ’

Four: write up another field report that uses all the same words as the one before. Mail it back to Washington. Hopefully it will reach the Assistant Director before he does.

Then, five, begin the drive home.

Rinse. Repeat. Repeat again. Avoid his mother’s calls when he stops for the night at an interstate motel. Make excuses not to see his father when he’s in town. Pretend like he’s not bothered missing out on another promotion, because that would mean moving to a desk job and he likes being out in the field.

He likes driving. This is the mantra he repeats in his head rather than listening to the song on the radio.

There is rhythm to this loneliness .

The car’s engine rumbles on an empty stomach and Alec glances down at the fuel meter, ticking ever closer to the red with each passing and uncountable mile. The gas station in the distance begins to draw closer, finally allowing Alec to catch up, as its cluster of lights shift and reform into the familiar shape of civilisation.

Alec’s turn signal lights up the immediate stretch of highway with flashing orange and a click-click-click sound in the front seat of the car. There’s no-one behind him and no-one ahead of him, but he slows almost to a stop as he eases the car off the road and onto the crunch of hard-packed sand.

A single streetlamp overlooks the highway, casting a pool of unsettled yellow-white light across a phone booth that stands slanted upon the roadside. The gas station lingers a little further back: a small, stout building with a flat roof and a pile of browning-Christmas trees propped up out front. Its two gas pumps advertise diesel at a discounted price, but one of them appears to be out of order.

Beside the gas station, there is a diner; it’s old and clapped-out and almost empty at this time of night, but the bright light beaming through its windows in all directions is painful to look at. The movement of people inside is like a scene playing out in an old movie, stuck on repeat over and over again, the tape unable to skip forward. A repeated moment, and one which Alec has played his part in too many times to count.

Again, his stomach rumbles loudly and he guides the car to a stop before pulling up the handbrake.

He’s alone at the pumps. As he steps out of the car, the silence greets him; the wind falls and the road is swallowed up behind him by an encroaching night, compressing the universe into a single point. A single flicker in time.

Alec retrieves his service weapon from the glove box and clips it onto his belt, pats his chest for his badge tucked into his breast pocket, before drawing his overcoat tight around him. He won’t linger out here, not when it feels like something just out of sight is holding its breath and shifting in and out of bounds; he’s far too afraid of falling back into the passage of time.

Instead, he turns towards the diner; the bell above the door jingles the same as it always does. The TV in the corner is on mute but hums with static. The sound of plates clattering in the kitchen is enough to drown out his shoes on the chequered floor as the waitress looks up at him but doesn’t say hello.

Corner booths are best placed for people-watching and people-hiding and Alec, in his non-descript suit that matches his non-descript car, sinks onto the squeaky red-leather bench without being seen at all. He sighs heavily, rolling the stiffness out of his shoulder that has been bothering him for the last fifty miles.

There are scuffs on the leather and old coffee stains on the table, but he fishes his keys, wallet, and badge out of his pocket and tosses them on top of the menu; he already knows what he’s going to order and there’s no need to look. He’s been craving something greasy since he left Portland this morning, fuelled only by a cup of filter coffee from the machine in the motel lobby.  

Alec grinds the heels of his palms into his eyes, a soft groan catching in his throat. In the same moment, the lights overhead seem to flicker, although not for long. Must be a short circuit. The waitress rubbing down the bar doesn’t look up, focused too intently on a coffee-ring stain that isn’t really there.

Diners late at night are strange places. Liminal places. Places of beginnings and endings and threshold moments and tangled journeys, forever caught in that feeling of arriving or departing - but the longer one lingers, the more reality begins to distort.

Alec is not alone in the diner, but the diner is alone in the night that laps and recedes against the windows that look out over the parking lot. Beyond, the gas station hums with a familiar argon sound, bright and electric and not-quite-right in the dark and, behind that, the edge of the highway outlines this displaced moment.

There is nothing else. Alec’s eyes haven’t adjusted to the dark, and for all he knows of the endless fields of wheat that stretch out to the horizon, he cannot see them. The bell above the door chimes again and a young couple slips into the diner, their arms slung low around each other’s waists, giggling as they take up two stools against the bar. Three seats down from them, an old man in a trucker hat and a Chicago Bulls’ jersey is frowning at the TV above his head, trying to lip-read the late-night news anchor because there are no subtitles. In the far corner of the diner, a group of teenagers are tossing fries at each other and one of them makes a milkshake bullseye.

Alec doesn’t know why these people are here, in the middle of a late-night nowhere. He can’t remember the name of the last town he passed through, but it wasn’t more than a handful of houses and a couple of telephone poles kept upright by plywood and nails.

He glances back out at the parking lot, but his rental is the only car there. Strange.  

Strange, but not unexpected. He has learned not to question it, these fragments of unaligned reality, because soon enough he’ll be on his way again, a burger in his belly and bacon grease smeared across the corner of his mouth, and this diner will cease to exist as soon as he’s out of sight and over the ridge of the highway.

Perhaps it will appear again somewhere else. Perhaps he will come across this place again, another mile or two down the road, inhabited by a different group of late-night travellers who will watch him from the corners of their eyes but not say a word, because a lone man in a cheap suit is no more out of place here than they are at two in the morning.

The waitress brings over his burger and a side of fries, setting a mug down in front of him and filling it up with coffee from her pot. Alec nods at her in thanks and she blows a bubble of gum that pops across her mouth and sticks to her teeth, before she retreats behind the register and starts again on that stain.

Alec doesn’t waste any time tucking a napkin into his shirt collar. His tie is cheap and he doesn’t really care if he ruins it; there’s a spare in the bag in the trunk of his car anyway. He takes a large swig of coffee, and then a bite out of his burger, and ketchup and burger juice leak out through his fingers, splattering on the paper wrapper that covers his plate.

It tastes the same as it always does. His stomach growls loudly as he takes another bite and ketchup drips down his thumb.

Movement through the window catches his eye. He looks up and there, on the very edge of the light emanating from the gas station, is a man in the phonebooth next to the road. His back is to Alec but he’s gesturing wildly as he talks into the receiver, and the wind, now returned, billows through his long woollen coat.

A slice of tomato falls out of Alec’s burger with a distinct plop . He’s not sure why the man draws his attention, but Alec has long since learned to trust his gut - it’s an invaluable skill to have in the Bureau , his father would say. It will get you places. It will make people see you as someone they can trust to watch their back. You can’t buy that sort of loyalty, Alec.

The man is tall. He has dark hair and long legs and he grips the edge of the phonebooth with his free hand. He seems to be having a very intense conversation, unlike the hum of background noise that surrounds Alec now.

The man is an anomaly. He is not someone Alec has seen at a diner before - not a truant teenager or a trucker or a pair of lovers on a late-night tryst - and he doesn’t fit the narrative.

Alec wolfs down the rest of his burger, barely pausing for breath, and washes it down with a swig of coffee that burns slightly too hot. He leaves his fries untouched and throws down a twenty dollar bill, stuffing his badge and wallet into his pockets as he makes for the door.

The bell jingles a third time. Alec wipes the back of his hand across his mouth as he steps out into the cold, no doubt smearing ketchup across his chin. He knows his suit is creased and his shirt is rumpled from the drive, his hair upswept by the sudden gust of wind that threatens to knock him off his feet, and he can almost hear Jace laughing in his ear, alright, G-Man?

Alec passes by his car and heads straight for the phonebooth, but the closer he gets, the more he can hear of the man’s one-sided conversation.

“And there’s no way you can get a guy out here tonight?” the man is saying. “I can pay extra for the trouble. Uh-huh. Yes. Yes, it’s pretty urgent.”

Alec draws to a stop when the length of his shadow steps upon the backs of the man’s shoes. He shoves his hands into his pockets so as to appear as unthreatening as possible when the man inevitably turns around, but -

“I don’t see how a service can advertise itself as 24-hour and then not be available in an emergency,” the man says into the phone. He sounds stressed; there’s something about the cadence of his voice that rumbles through Alec’s chest and draws the hair on the back of his neck up on end. Something decades-old familiar. “The least you can do is give me the number for another rental service. A cab company. Something. Anything .”

The man turns away from the phonebooth, catching sight of Alec from the corner of his eye and holding up a finger as if to say hold on a minute , but he stops, whatever words on his tongue extinguished into roadside dust.

Alec’s eyes widen. He knows this man.

Fuck. He more than knows this man. He remembers the first time they met, the firm confidence of his handshake, the bright colours of his shirt, the way Alec thought, at the time, this man is going to change you .

It’s Magnus. Magnus Bane.

Alec never expected to see Magnus again. Not since -

Well, not since then .

“Magnus,” says Alec, like an exhale. And God , his mouth has not formed that name in years; he’s heard it, sometimes, inside his memories, but never beyond. “What are you -”

Magnus stares at him in disbelief, and Alec can hear the man on the other end of the phone line asking hey, are you still there? Hello? where Magnus holds the receiver away from his ear.

Something doesn’t make sense here, but Alec can’t put his finger on it. Not once has he met someone at a diner who he recognises. They’re all meant to be faceless people; people he could meet again a hundred times and still not recognise.

But Alec would recognise Magnus Bane with his eyes closed. It’s been years, and yet the feeling that floods his chest now, is -

An ache.

“Yes, sorry,” Magnus says suddenly, half-turning back to this phone call. His disbelief becomes a scowl. “No, it’s fine. I’ll call them myself. Thank you. Okay. Goodnight.”

The man on the other end of the line hangs up first and the dial tone echoes in the night for a moment, and then another, and then another.

Alec swallows thickly. He draws his hands out of his pockets and folds them behind his back, clenching his fingers in a tight grip where they can’t be seen.

Carefully, Magnus sets the phone down inside the phonebooth, and turns back to Alec, and then - he smiles.

“Alexander Lightwood,” he says, with a shake of his head. His smile grows broad, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “God, what are the chances? Any other night, and I’d think this was a figment of my imagination, but with the way today’s been going, I-” He stops himself and takes a half-step forward. “I haven’t seen you since -”

“Since before Quantico,” Alec interrupts. He knows he’s staring but he can’t help it. “Ten years. Yeah.”

Ten years, three months, and twenty one days. Alec has been counting. If he looked down at his watch, he would know the amount of time that has passed to the minute, to the second, in fact, but he’s not about to admit to that.

He never expected to see Magnus again, and yet -

He hoped.  

“Ten years, really?” Magnus remarks, folding his arms across his chest. Alec follows the movement with his eyes. “Yes, I suppose it must be. 1985, wasn’t it? Christ, that makes me feel old.”

He looks Alec up and down, focusing on Alec’s dust-scuffed shoes, and then on the gun that sits snug on his hip. The corner of his mouth lifts, and his smile becomes a little more genuine.

“I see it’s Special Agent Lightwood now, though. Congratulations.”

“Alec’s still fine,” Alec says quickly. “I mean - you can still call me Alec. That’s fine.”

“Alec,” says Magnus, sounding it out. He’s always held Alec’s name with a special sort of care, but now, he says it like he’s saying it for the very first time. “Alexander.”

Alec doesn’t know what to say. He stares at Magnus, at the space between them that is too large for strangers who have just met, and which belongs only to two people who once knew each other well.

Serendipity laughs at Alec now; it sounds like the dull hum of neon light in a desert. It sounds like a hundred unanswered phone calls stretching back years.

“Alec -?”

“Sorry, this is - this is weird, I’m being weird,” Alec blurts. “I didn’t, uh - I really didn’t expect to see you, especially - especially here . I mean-” He squeezes his fingers tightly behind his back to stop himself from talking with his hands. “What, uh, what are you doing out here? I thought you still lived in L.A.?”

Magnus rolls his eyes. “Where to start?” he says softly, “I had some car trouble. The tire blew like a mile back and I swerved off the road and hit the fence. It won’t start now, which is something of a mild nuisance - because apparently we’re so deep in the ass-end of nowhere that I can’t get a mechanic to look at it until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest - but not as much of a nuisance as the meeting I will definitely miss if I’m stranded out here for the next God-forsaken twenty-four hours.”

Alec’s eyes flick to the highway, as if he might be able to see a mile into the distance and find the 1970 Dodge Challenger that Magnus had, far too many years ago and long-since sold for scrap, wrecked upon the roadside. It is, of course, too dark to see much of anything.

“I don’t even know if I’ll be able to call a cab out here,” Magnus continues, his mouth drawn down into a frown. “And I’m far too old to be hitch-hiking. The thrill of climbing into a potential serial killer’s car lost its appeal some decades ago.” With a brush of his fingers, he flicks away hair from his temple and huffs. “I suppose if I started walking now, I might reach Salt Lake by, I don’t know, Friday morning at best.”

Alec’s eyes snap back to Magnus. “You’re heading East?” he asks, far too eagerly. “Are you coming home?”

Something minute pinches in Magnus’ expression at that word. Home . Alec doesn’t miss it.

Magnus shakes his head.

“No,” he says, and he looks away, but there’s nothing there to pretend to be looking at. “No, not quite. If I had the time to drop by and see everyone, I would, but - I’m due in Baltimore in four days for a meeting with our investors.” He smiles wryly to himself. “And I thought it would be, oh, I don’t know, meditative or something equally asinine to make the drive across the country myself, rather than fly. See the sights. Enjoy being off-grid. Which, in hindsight, was very, very stupid.”

“What are you gonna do?”

Magnus shrugs. “Wait, I suppose. There’s not much else I can do. My cell phone is out of battery and I used up the last of my change on the payphone, so it looks like I’m stuck here until tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Alec says awkwardly.

“Yeah,” agrees Magnus.

In the glow of the gas station, reality trembles, hollowing out the shadows on Magnus’ face and flickering across the back of Alec’s knuckles. The motion of coming and going calls Alec back to the road and he glances back at his rental car.

It makes sense to offer Magnus a lift. Alec is heading in that direction, and he has an empty passenger seat and a working heater in the car, and a Bureau credit card in his back pocket.

It makes sense, and yet, he still hesitates.

“Well,” Magnus announces, “I don’t want to keep you. I might as well see what sort of coffee this place has on offer if I’m to be stuck here until tomorrow. I don’t suppose I could interest you in a drink before you go -”

“I’m actually on my way back to D.C.,” Alec says, thumbing over his shoulder at the car. He wets his lower lip with his tongue. “Baltimore’s not that far of a detour, so I, uh. I could give you a lift. If you want.”

“If I want?” Magnus repeats.

Alec swallows and nods. “If you want.”

Magnus’ face softens and he smiles at Alec. “Well, I’m not going to say no, am I? Although I don’t think I’m going to get my deposit back on my car.”

He looks over Alec’s shoulder at the rental. His expression changes, and if Alec were a kind stranger offering a ride to a man in trouble in the middle of the night, perhaps he wouldn’t notice.

But they’re not strangers, and in Magnus’ eyes, there is something Alec can’t quite place. It seems a little wistful. A little sad.

He says, “I would like that very much, Agent Lightwood.”

interlude

It’s 1985 and a man stands on the edge of the sidewalk, watching as a car turns right at the end of the street and disappears. He waits, half-expecting it to come back, circling around the block and pulling up beside him, the window already rolled down, but it doesn’t.

Ten years pass, and it doesn’t, and the man has to live with it.

Empty spaces and hands on the steering wheel and loneliness and want . In the end, that’s what everything boils down to.

I want you to come back. I want to see you again. I wanted you to stay.  

This is the rhythm Alec knows well, played out in the key of highways.

I want something I still don’t have a name for.

second chord

The soundtrack to night-driving is a composition of three things: the car heater as it puffs out warm air; the rental wheezing in the cold, coughing and spluttering with seasonal flu; and the deep stretch of silence.

Usually, Alec welcomes the silence.  

In the passenger seat, Magnus shrugs out of his overcoat and tosses it into the backseat, scrubbing his hands together in front of his mouth as he wills circulation back into his fingers. His shirt, open at the throat, looks thin and flimsy and hardly warm enough for a Midwest winter, but the soft shimmer of the satin is devoid of the harsh shadows that cut across Alec’s chest like the black line of a seatbelt.

Alec forces himself to look away. Keep your eyes on the road, he tells himself. And think of something to say before he thinks you’ve forgotten how to talk entirely. He fiddles with the dial on the radio until he finds the company of static, but it morphs all too quickly into Wham!’s Last Christmas .

Alec grumbles below his breath.

“Still a Grinch, I see,” Magnus says with a smirk. “Where’s your festive cheer?”

Alec returns both his hands to the wheel. “It’s too early for Christmas songs,” he replies, “Thanksgiving was literally three days ago and it’s not even December yet.”

“Are you saying the dulcet tones of George Michael don’t do it for you?”

“I prefer Mariah Carey,” Alec mutters. It makes Magnus laugh.

Alec glances at him from the corner of his eye as Magnus begins tapping his finger to the beat of the song against the door handle.

Alec, too, feels restless, but in a different way. He can’t stop looking, stealing glances at Magnus in the rearview mirror. Perhaps he is a trick of the light. Maybe Alec has been driving too long without a break and now he’s seeing people from his past who shouldn’t be here - but are.

Nothing that happens on the road is real, after all.

He digs his fingernail into the skin of his thumb and begins picking.

He’s lived this moment before; he knows he has. Him and Magnus alone in the front seat of a car and Alec’s tongue heavy in his mouth with all the things he doesn’t know how to say, and all the things he couldn’t say ten years ago, because he wasn’t brave enough then.

Hell, he’s hardly brave enough now. He wonders if Magnus remembers any of it.

The space between them is too large for small talk. Conversations that begin with All I Want For Christmas Is You is overrated though, now that you mention it , or so, how is your mother?, or even do you remember the last day we saw each other? are not enough to bridge the gap carved out by a decade of silence.

The thought stretches Alec so painfully thin. He picks at his thumbnail until it begins to sting, then winces, and draws it to his mouth to soothe it with his tongue.

“So,” Magnus begins, in the same instance. He’s still drumming his fingers to the beat of the radio, but now he’s slightly out of time. “What are you doing all the way out here in Idaho?”

Alec could laugh. “I was in Portland,” he says, “Local P.D. request FBI consultation on a case, so. Yeah. Turned out they didn’t need my help.”

“And they made you drive all the way out there?” Magnus asks, and Alec nods. “Sounds grim.” He stops tapping and runs his index finger across the dark polish on his thumb in thought. “Are you still living at home?”

Alec clenches his hands on the steering wheel. “No, I - I moved,” he says. “Uh, not long after I graduated the Academy, actually, but only to D.C.”

“Ah,” Magnus remarks. He pauses for a moment long enough to become awkward. “Still close enough to see your mom on the weekends, though.”

Alec nods again. Close enough , yes , but he doesn’t say it out loud. Close enough for New England ghosts to haunt every intersection between the city and his parents’ big white house in the country whenever he makes the drive upstate.

In ten years, he’s barely moved fifty miles, and Magnus -

Well. The same cannot be said for Magnus.  

Magnus clears his throat, louder than the hum of the radio. “And your parents?” he asks. “Isabelle?” He scans the horizon, fixed on the markings in the road disappearing beneath the wheels of the car. “How are they? Well, I hope?”

“Same as always,” Alec shrugs. “Overbearing. Dad’s retired now, and Iz moved to New York for work last year. Max is in college, so mom’s started questioning him about his life choices instead of mine.”

“Only took thirty-five years,” Magnus chuckles. “How is your mom? Are you seeing them for the holidays?”

Alec makes a noise that amounts to yeah, something like that .

What he doesn’t say is this: his parents’ marriage has been strained a while now - not as many years as Magnus has been gone, but close enough - and Alec is thirty years too old to be used as ammunition, or worse, a bartering tool in a messy ending. The divorce is only a matter of time now.

If only the road continued on forever, he would not have to go back home for the holidays. He wouldn’t have to sit through another Christmas of icy silences and thinly-veiled insults and his mother trying to butter him up while his father does the same to Isabelle. He wouldn’t have to lie awake in his childhood bedroom and listen to his parents screaming at each other downstairs, all the while wishing for the tap-tap-tap of pebbles thrown against his window, begging for it to be open.

A lot has changed since Magnus last saw him, and Alec didn’t have to move across the country for that.

A lot has changed since Alec stood on the sidewalk and watched Magnus’ car turn the corner at the end of the street for the very last time and not come back.

A semi-truck appears in the distance: first, as a pin-prick of light, and then as two beams of headlights striking the highway and the growl of its engine. The whole car rumbles and Alec grips tight to the steering wheel as the headlights blind him and shapes dance across his eyes. The light bleaches through Magnus’ dark hair and streaks across the skin visible beneath the open collar of his shirt; he holds his hand over his brow and winces.

The truck is thunder: a brief jolt and a flash, and then it’s gone, an aftershock of red light disappearing in the rearview mirror.

For a while, there is only silence. A mile, maybe more. Long past the truck vanishing from view, its light fading into the dark; and it’s the sort of silence that is thick and heavy and awkward.

At the five mile mark, Magnus inhales and turns in his seat to look at Alec.

“So, the FBI,” he says, like he has an obligation to fill the quiet, because letting it stew is somehow worse. “What’s that like? Maryse must be proud.”

“Yeah,” Alec mumbles. “She is.”

“It suits you, you know? Alec Lightwood, Special Agent. Not that I didn’t always know that it would.”

Alec’s mouth twitches, a smile in another lifetime. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Magnus gestures with his hand. There are rings on his fingers that fail to catch the thin and distant light, but his fingers, long and slender, draw focus.

“You’re smart. Logical. Far too severe for your own good, which I imagine serves you well in law enforcement. You’ve always had a keen sense of justice,” he explains. His voice softens. “You know I’ve always thought that about you.”

Alec swallows thickly. “Magnus, you don’t have to -”

“And besides,” Magnus interrupts. “I always knew you’d look good in a suit.”

Alec looks down at himself. “What, even a suit off the rack?”

“Well, I didn’t want to say anything.”

Shakily, Alec laughs under his breath, but he relaxes his hands on the wheel and his knuckles fade from white back to pink. He lets the tense line in his shoulders fall flat.

“I don’t really have anyone to give me advice on what I should be wearing anymore,” he admits. “Or what colour ties match my -”

“Complexion?”

“Yeah. That.”

“Green. It’s dark green,” Magnus says. He smiles to himself, amused by something far back in time. “Do you remember that time when-”

“Yes,” Alec says. Yes, of course I remember. I haven’t forgotten a single thing . “Yeah. Yeah, I do. I still have that tie, the one you picked out for me that Christmas.”

“And the pocket square? They were a matching set -”

“Still the only pocket square I own,” says Alec.  

Magnus chuckles to himself, swiping his thumb across his lower lip in thought. The nostalgia becomes him; his expression softens with the memory of something fond.

The same cannot be said for Alec.

If only pocket squares could be metaphors for other things. For years gone by and silences that were once not this awkward and filled with jilted conversation. Or for a place once frequented but now abandoned; or a past that Alec still calls his now .

Alec is too clumsy at this; he doesn’t know how to step back into a space once occupied with ease, making smalltalk and laughing about Christmases in 1979 as if they were yesterday and they haven’t gone ten years without talking.

He’s not like Magnus; he couldn’t drop everything and leave it all behind. He didn’t get to move on. He had nowhere to go, trapped in this endless back-and-forth of travelling, always returning to the very same place once departed.  

interlude

On a postcard never sent:

What is worse: the separation, or the place where we will meet again, afterwards, that looks and feels like nowhere and is no longer familiar?

I miss you. I am afraid that I will no longer know you when I see you again.

third chord

Two motel room doors. Two identical rooms with identical twin beds and box-set TVs with only five channels and VCRs that don’t really work. Two sets of keys, although the weight of the fob in Alec’s hand feels more like brass than cheap white plastic.

He’s been here before: a shared dorm room, long, long ago. And then, after that, two houses on the same suburban street, sharing the same zip code. And then, finally, two cities, half a world apart.

He and Magnus, half a lifetime spent apart.

Alec did not notice the growing distance until it was too late; in hindsight, he’s not sure if that hurts more or less, to be blindsided by a farawayness he never saw coming. But here, now, there’s five-and-a-half feet of space between his shoulder and Magnus’, standing in front of their respective motel room doors, and happenstance has crossed their lines again.

Alec looks down at the key in his hand and then back up.

Beside him, Magnus casts a long and lonely shadow, thin and black as it stretches back into the dark. The wind ruffles his hair and plunders the pockets of his coat in an act of midnight robbery. The cold has chapped his lips already and he grumbles below his breath as he jams his key into the lock with frost-bitten fingers.

Alec doesn’t mean to be looking, but he is. He’s not sure he’s looked away since Magnus stepped out of that phone booth, as if slipping through a gap in time connecting two unrelated places that somehow ended up overlapped.

Magnus’ door clicks and he pushes it open with a soft, “aha!”, flipping on the light inside. The light tumbles out of the room - cheap, yellow, glaring - and Magnus bends down to grab his bag from his feet.

He pauses, then, in his open doorway.

“Well, then,” he says, looking at Alec with a half smile. “Until tomorrow, I suppose?”

“Yeah,” says Alec. He clenches the key in his palm until the metal digs into his fingers. If Magnus notices, he doesn’t let on. “Listen, Magnus. About what happened, when you left-”

“I’m glad, you know,” Magnus interrupts. “For whatever serendipitous force brought you to that gas station tonight. It’s good to see you. I mean it.”

“It’s good to see you too,” Alec replies. “I didn’t think - I didn’t think that day was going to be goodbye. I didn’t realise. If I’d known, Magnus ...”

“I didn’t either,” replies Magnus. His voice becomes softer. His eyes, too. Apologetic in a way that might take Alec years to unravel - or seconds. “But these things happen. You can’t stay stuck in one place forever, Agent Lightwood.”

Alec nods stiffly but says nothing.

Magnus offers him another smile, leaning heavily on his door frame.

“Alexander?” he asks, as if oblivious.

Alec squeezes the key tighter in his hand. “Yeah?”

A pause, then. Deliberate and weighted, and for a moment, Alec wonders if Magnus is going to answer the question that hasn’t been asked.

(Do you remember the day you left?)

(Let’s not talk about it. Let’s not talk. It’s in the past and we’re both different people now.)

But, instead:

“I’ll see you in the morning, Alec,” he says. “Goodnight. And thank you, again.”

The door closes and the light vanishes, and Alec is left suddenly in the darkness, gazing at the space once occupied. The night around him is cold. A whisper sets heavily upon his tongue but goes unspoken.

Everything always goes unspoken.

interlude

Somewhere between here and 1985, there is a man who doesn’t regret letting his feelings go unsaid. There is a man who moved on with his life; a man who doesn’t live in a moment years ago, with someone else’s hand playing idly in his hair.

There is a man who meets an old friend at a gas station in rural Idaho and it doesn’t hurt in a way he can’t ever explain.

Alec wishes that he knew him.

fourth chord

It’s always night, on the road.

As with endless highways and endless diners, other things begin to repeat themselves too. Alec prefers driving at night. It’s quiet; he can hear himself think; he can run red lights without being pulled over, without anybody in the world seeing him at all. He affords himself this one little thrill, the knowledge that the power to swerve off the road is clenched in his fists.

A fuel tanker passes the car on the opposite side of the highway, the sound of its exhaust like a fog horn parting thick cloud; for a moment, the low hum of the radio is wiped from existence. Alec eases the car over into the middle of the lane with the barest adjustment of the wheel, avoiding the spray of wet grit kicked up by the truck’s wheel arches. As the rumble fades, the melody of late-night jazz begins anew.

He glances sideways at Magnus in the passenger seat. His temple rests against the window and his eyes are closed but he’s not asleep; Alec can tell by the way he’s drawing his thumb in tiny concentric circles against his index finger again, as if deep in thought.

It was always a tell of his.

There is so much of him that hasn’t changed. So much of him that has crossed the threshold from Alec’s memory and fanned out into reality, and Alec is not quite sure where it all meets and blends together. Magnus is half a stranger and half a man ten years younger than he is now, with expensive clothes and the same aftershave and a twinkle in his eye and a strange, unspoken grief on his face whenever he thinks Alec isn’t looking.

But Alec is always looking.

There are memories in the footwell and on the dashboard and in the usually-unoccupied passenger seat of his rental car. Memories that Alec often revisits on other long and inconsequential journeys as a way to pass the time as the odometer climbs.

Magnus is always the main feature of those memories.

It’s 1978 and Alec is a junior in college and Magnus is stumbling into a lecture hall half-an-hour late with a thermos in his hand. He’s wearing the shortest shorts Alec has ever seen, and he’s slumping into the seat next to Alec, whispering in Alec’s ear that he’s so hungover he’s about to revisit Thanksgiving dinner.

Then, it’s 1981 and Magnus is trading secrets with Isabelle at a drive-in movie theater while Alec buys the popcorn; and he’s flattering Maryse’s cooking while leant across the kitchen island, chin in his hand; and he’s slamming the door to his and Alec’s shared dorm, before sneaking back in an hour later, only to find Alec waiting up for him with an apology at the ready.

It’s 1982 and he’s laughing. He’s giving Alec the grand tour of his mother’s home, three streets down from the house where Alec’s parents live. I can’t believe it took moving away to college for us to meet , he says to Alec. We’ve lived this close for so long and we didn’t even know.

It’s 1984 and he’s curling his hand over the back of Alec’s neck, feeling out the knobs in Alec’s spine. His breath is warm against Alec’s jaw as he whispers gentle words into Alec’s ear.

It’s 1985 and he’s packing up his car for the very last time.

Yesterday is tangled in Magnus’ hair. Memories twist time out of alignment and rearrange it into something, and someone, that Alec does not recognise. Ahead of them, in the distance, on the horizon, is a year from a decade ago.  

But here in the car, moonlight makes crosses on Magnus’ body. He is beautiful, still. Older, more refined, more improbable , but the composition of him is something that makes Alec’s heart ache as if he’s eighteen again and they’ve only just met.

The mole above his eyebrow is too familiar.

The lines around his eyes that appeared only after his mother passed. Alec remembers that summer well. He remembers listening to Magnus cry as he stood in Magnus’ kitchen doing the dishes that had been neglected for a week.

The map of his hands. A journey that Alec never took but longed for. Longed for and left to gather dust, like an atlas tucked away on the highest shelf of a bookcase.

In the dark, Magnus cracks open one eye, as if aware of being scrutinised. Alec turns his attention back to the road, but it is too late. He’s been caught.

“What is it?” Magnus asks, and his voice is smooth and rich and fills the car like music, even so shortly after waking. “Are we out of gas already?”

“No,” says Alec. “We’ll be fine for a while.”

“Hungry, then? We could stop for a late dinner. Or early breakfast. I’m not entirely sure what time it is, but I can always eat.”

Alec doesn’t reply, but he presses his mouth into a thin line.

Magnus’ eyes narrow. “What is it?”

“What’s what?”

Magnus scoffs. “You’ve always been many things, Alec, but able to lie to me is not one of them.” He laughs a little. “You think I’ve forgotten the look on your face when you’re trying not to spill your heart?”

No , Alec thinks. No, of course you haven’t. You should’ve, but you haven’t. You should’ve, because then at least one of us could say they moved on.

Alec exhales through his nose and flexes his fingers on the steering wheel. He glances in the rearview mirror, but there’s nothing behind them for miles. Much like pocket squares, perhaps that is a metaphor too.

“You never called,” he says, trying to sound casual.

Immediately, Magnus tenses. He shifts in his seat and sits up a little straighter, angling himself to look at Alec.

“I did,” he says, “At the start. You never answered.”

“You were in L.A. The time zones -”

“Oh, come on,” Magnus laughs. “You could’ve called me, you had my number. I know you did, because I wrote it down for you and left it on your bedside table, the day I moved.”

Alec squeezes his eyes closed; for a brief moment of respite, the road ahead of him vanishes. He thinks about letting go of the wheel at 90 miles per hour - not because he wants to, but because the thought of picking up the phone and hearing Magnus’ voice on the other end was always something that felt like driving his car into a ditch.

It’s the fear of impact. It’s the old hurt of being abandoned. It’s the longing to have run after Magnus’ car and asked to go with him that day in 1985. It’s all such a blur. Alec cannot sift between it all.

Magnus sighs heavily, knocking his head back against the seat. He looks at Alec from the corner of his eye and studies him at length.

“Maybe we should stop,” he says slowly. “The next town, find a diner. Get some food.”

“It’s fine. I’d prefer to keep driving,” Alec says, “If we keep stopping, you won’t make your meeting in time.”

Magnus frowns.

You clearly want to talk about it , Alec imagines him saying. Evidently, there are things that went unsaid.  

Magnus says none of those things. His phone begins to ring and it shatters the strange tension in the front seat, splitting it like a sudden burst of lightning. Magnus twists around and reaches into the backseat, rummaging through his bag. He returns with a cellphone in his hand, pulling out the antenna and flipping it open.

He meets Alec’s eyes in the rearview mirror as he presses it to his ear.

“Magnus, speaking.”

Magnus listens to the voice on the other end of the line and taps his fingers on his knee. He makes a low noise of disapproval to whomever he’s speaking.

“Yes, yes, Raphael, I know,” he says. “My battery died and I didn’t have a chance to charge it - do you know how much payphones cost? Do I look like the sort of person who carries change in his pocket?” A brief pause. “Don’t answer that.”

Alec reaches for the dial on the radio, intending to turn the volume down, but Magnus’ free hand darts out and swats his fingers away.

He mouths the word no and returns to his phone call, but Alec’s hand remains outstretched.

There’s a tingle in his fingertips, a short spark of static that leapt from Magnus to him, and he stares down at his hand as if he’s been burned.

And it makes Alec realise, oh.

So you’re lonely -lonely.

“I’ll be in Baltimore in four days. I ran into an old friend who offered me a lift,” Magnus continues into his phone. He listens to the other speaker for a moment, glancing briefly at Alec’s hand and frowning. “You’re lucky I phoned you at all after all that car trouble. It was a courtesy only.”

The radio briefly breaks into static before the song resumes again. Magnus begins drumming his fingers on his leg, listening intently to his phone call. He uhms and ahs and says something about investors and capital and shareholders and begins talking numbers that are too big for Alec to really understand.

He opens up the glove box and pulls out an old diner napkin that Alec shoved in there three states ago, and scribbles down a note, but he has to tap his pen against his thigh for the ink to flow.

Alec curls his hand into a fist and rests it on his thigh, but the tingle doesn’t go away. He listens to Magnus talk - this whole other person that Alec doesn’t know, but who he was clearly always meant to be - but all he can think about is how long he has gone without being touched.

Do you know? he thinks. Do you know that the last person who touched me was you? Do you realise at all?

interlude

Driving is like running. The rhythm of the road; the splattering of rain against the windshield; the thrum of a heartbeat as the speedometer tips over ninety. Clear head. Relentless motion.

Forward, forward, forward, always and forever. Try to keep up. Don’t stop. Keep going. Don’t look back.

fifth chord

The diner is the first sign of civilisation that Alec has seen in over a hundred miles - and it is the same diner as it always is, an eminent glow on the 3AM horizon that creeps closer and closer like a spaceship hovering over the fields and drawing circles in the wheat and the barley.

It draws circles around Alec too, this singular moment in time. This microcosm that exists in the form of red leather seats and bright, fluorescent light, and the same empty parking lot and abandoned phonebooth on the highway verge. The waitress changes; sometimes, the group of teenagers in the booth at the back is an old couple embarking on a long trip south before they get too old to make the drive; and instead of a man at the bar watching the baseball, every few miles there will be an off-duty sheriff nursing a cup of diner coffee.

In the end, it’s all the same. A small pocket universe that Alec has crossed a thousand times in a thousand different rental cars.

Perhaps the people in the diner do not exist outside of it. Perhaps they are like pictures on a TV screen that cease to be once the lights have gone off and the static has fizzled and died.

Perhaps they exist only because Alec and Magnus are passing through, creating the world around them as they go. The Midwest has that quality about it.

“I can’t remember the last time I ate diner food,” Magnus says as Alec holds the door open for him and the bell jingles above their heads. “L.A. is on a health kick right now. Everything is kale. Try ordering a steak at any restaurant within a half-mile of downtown and they’ll have the bouncer throw you out on the sidewalk with your drink still in your hand.”

“Not sure they know what kale is out here,” Alec murmurs, leading the way to a booth by the window. He slides onto the bench as Magnus slumps down across from him, dramatically throwing his head back and closing his eyes. “You’re probably safe here.”

Magnus cracks open one eye to look at Alec. Beneath the table, his toes nudge against Alec’s, and then he shifts so that their knees knock together too. He throws a grin at Alec and expects a volley.

Alec tucks a smile into the corner of his mouth and rolls his eyes. He feels fragile, but he’s always been good at acting like he’s not. He picks up the menu and pretends like he doesn’t already know it like the back of his hand.

The waitress approaches their table with a megawatt smile that only brightens when Magnus turns his focus on her, casting her in spotlight. She laughs, tucks her hair behind her ear, and asks where they’re from. Magnus says Los Angeles. The waitress tells him she has a dream of becoming a singer and moving out West, seeing Hollywood and all that .

Alec has never been, but there was a summer back when Alec was in college, where Isabelle decided to follow a boy to California, swept up in the promise of love and adventure and new opportunities. Jace and Alec had protested, their mother had expressly forbid it, but Izzy had gone anyway, and it had ended in heartbreak six months later, as these things always do.

“Everybody in L.A. is from somewhere else,” Izzy had told him, when she came home for Christmas and Alec picked her up at the airport, her life packed up into suitcases in tow. “I don’t know how to explain it. You’re drawn there because of all the - you know, all the sparkle. The glamour, Alec. But really, people there are just running away from somewhere else. Somewhere they don’t really want to be.”

“You don’t want to be here?” Alec had asked.

Izzy shook her head. “It’s not that. It’s more … you don’t realise what was good in the place you left until you’re somewhere else. But then you’re too far to phone, or it costs too much to get a plane ticket, or you just don’t want to give people back home the satisfaction of knowing that they were right.”

Back in the diner, the waitress scribbles down their order on her notepad, pours Alec a coffee, and then tells Magnus she’ll be right back with his seltzer water.

Alec can’t help himself. “Seltzer water,” he murmurs. “And you say you don’t fit in in Los Angeles.”

Magnus laughs. “I didn’t say that .”

The diner coffee is cheap and watery; the burger Alec gets has no bacon, but too many gherkins soaked in brine. The fries are soggy, left bathing in grease all evening, but the waitress brings them an extra portion at no extra charge, because she mistakes Magnus’ friendly conversation for flirtation. Her number is tucked on a napkin beneath the plate.

Magnus rolls his eyes as he shows Alec, but he’s too good a person to crumple it up and toss it to the side. Instead, he slides the napkin into the pocket of his jacket, a keepsake. A souvenir of someone else’s dreams for the future. In that sense, it almost seems precious.  

“What?” Magnus asks when he notices Alec staring. “What’s the matter?”

Alec turns his attention back to his food, pulling out a soggy gherkin from his burger and draping it across the edge of his plate. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it. I was just thinking.”

“Thinking?”

Alec’s eyes dart to the pocket of Magnus’ jacket and then away again.

“Alec,” Magnus gently scolds. His smile becomes sympathetic. “Just ask me what you want to ask.”

“Are you gonna call her?”

Magnus shrugs. “Probably not. But who knows. Sometimes the people you meet by accident re-enter your life further down the line and become important. I don’t know where her story might take her.”

“What about your story?”

“My story?”

Alec nods, but says nothing.

Magnus leans forward across the table. “You know my story, Alec.”

A man lights a cigarette at the table two rows behind them; he draws smoke into his lungs and it escapes through his nose, a thin grey stream falling upwards, towards the tiled ceiling. Alec watches him tap the filter on the ashtray in the middle of his table and a clump of ash disintegrates from the lit end; it lands silently, like snow. Like dust on the highway.

Magnus follows Alec’s line of sight and turns in his seat, glancing over his shoulder at the man. When he looks back, he has one eyebrow raised expectantly.

The smell of cigarette smoke fills the diner - acrid, bitter, and faintly earthy. It takes Alec back to college, to sitting out on the back porch of Magnus’ mother’s house before Magnus sold it because he couldn’t bear to look at it any more. He can picture the pack of Morley's tucked beneath Magnus’ thigh. He can still remember the way the unlit cigarette bobbed between Magnus’ teeth as he told his secrets to both Alec and the dark.

“I quit, you know,” says Magnus, in the present. “They say it’s bad for you.”

“I always told you it was.”

Magnus smirks at him and leans forward again, his elbows resting on the table. He steals a limp fry from Alec’s plate and pops it into his mouth. “I listened, didn’t I?” He nods over his shoulder towards the cigarette-smoking man. “What do you think his story is?”

“Huh?”

“What do you think his story is? Why is he here, alone at a diner in the back-end of Wyoming, past midnight in the depths of November? Smoking a cigarette? He must have a story.”

Alec’s never really thought about it. He’s always imagined the inhabitants of the diner as a backdrop, not as characters in their own story.

He looks harder at the man now: he’s older than both Alec and Magnus, salt-and-pepper hair thinning at the back. Once handsome, perhaps, but the years have stretched out his face and made his jaw sag. He’s wearing an ill-fitting suit, his shirt rumpled and his tie missing, the top button of his collar undone. He takes a deep puff of his cigarette, looks at it, and then extinguishes the lit end, grinding it into the ashtray.

“I don’t know,” Alec says slowly, looking back at Magnus. “Some sort of business trip?”

Magnus’ mouth lifts at the corners, drawing Alec in. “Perhaps, but I don’t think so. You see how he’s fingertips aren’t yellow? He’s clearly not a smoker, but he’s stressed enough to do it now.” Magnus reaches across the table and taps his finger against Alec’s fourth knuckle on his left hand. “And he’s not wearing a wedding ring, although looks like he was until recently. You see the mark?”

Alec steals a glance at the man, and then shuffles forward on the bench, so that he might drop his voice low and conspiratorial.

“Divorced, then?” he proposes.

“Maybe,” Magnus grins, “Or cheating, and he’s about to go back home and face his wife and pretend like his fishing trip with the guys from the office didn’t turn up much success, so they’re going to try again next weekend. He’s probably never fished in his life.”

Alec laughs then, loud enough to draw some attention. The sound is foreign in his mouth and a flush surges up the back of his neck as he sinks lower in his seat, hunching his shoulders and biting down on his smile.

Magnus looks delighted; in his eyes, Alec sees the reflection of the fluorescent lights above their heads, laid out like stars.

“You just made all that up from looking at him?” Alec asks.

Magnus beams at him. He reaches out and touches Alec’s fourth knuckle again. “Why, of course,” he says, and then he nods his chin towards the sheriff sat alone at the bar, making smalltalk with the waitress. “Now, how about him?”

sixth chord

The sun rises over the endless Nebraskan fields in shards of light.

Alec adjusts the rearview mirror. He will remember this moment later in figments of pale winter blue, snow-hazed pink, and November sky through the passenger window as Magnus gazes out across the passing countryside: a blank canvas for a painter to fill with bodies.

The color changes depending on where Alec chooses to angle the reflection of the mirror. Slightly to the left, and Magnus’ hands are stained in a pale wavering indigo, a purple so rare that it is only ever seen in the fleeting hour between twilight and sunrise. Move the mirror to the right, and that colour becomes orange, then gold.

Magnus swipes his hand across the condensation forming on the inside of the window, smearing colour across the landscape, but the story he might paint is hidden from view. Alec knows the start and he knows the middle - the brushstrokes the ones Alec remembers, but it’s the details that differ now -  and it’s the end of the story that is vague and undefined in sepia.

Alec thinks about cigarettes again. He wants to ask Magnus who it was that finally got him to quit. Or when exactly he started drinking seltzer water instead of shitty beer from Walmart, or decided that listening to the dial tone while waiting for Alec to pick up the phone was too much.

‘Let’s start the morning right with some ‘old but gold’ ,’ announces the radio. ‘ We’re going back twelve years to 1983 with this first track …’

Magnus makes a nose of protest in the passenger seat. The indigo has already faded from his hands, moving on to become something else, something more.

Faithfully by Journey begins to play. Alec recognises the song; in much the same way that a breath of fresh air on a cold winter morning can take him back to another place and another time, the first note paints a picture in his memories.

“This song played at Isabelle’s quincea ñ era,” he remarks. “D’you remember?”

“I remember,” Magnus says, tipping his head back against the seat and staring up at the roof of the car. He closes his eyes and basks in the light of the early morning sun. His smile grows gold. “That was the summer she dragged us all to see them in concert, wasn’t it? Jace had me make a tape for her, for the party. She played it on repeat all night.” Magnus pauses for a moment, letting his words sink in. “I also remember asking you to dance to this.”

Alec remembers that too. “Dad didn’t like that. He was pissed.”

”I’m not surprised. He tolerated me, at best. He was clearly jealous.”

Alec huffs on a laugh. “Jealous? How’s that, exactly?”

“Mhm, jealous,” Magnus reminisces. “Specifically of when I spun you around and dropped you on your ass in the grass and you laughed like I’d never heard you laugh before.”

Alec’s neck grows warm, a flush curling around his throat. He pinches at the skin between his thumb and forefinger where his hands both rest on the wheel.

“I was drunk,” he says, like an excuse. “I don’t remember much after that.”

That’s a lie. He was drunk, but he remembers being sprawled out across the grass and staring at the sky and laughing, until Magnus dropped down beside him, his hands planted either side of Alec’s head as he bent over him, and kissed him on the corner of his mouth. And he had laughed it off like it was nothing, pulling Alec back to his feet, but Alec spent the rest of the summer picking that feeling out of his teeth.

Magnus turns his head to gaze out the window again. The curve of his smile speaks of fondness, of a quieted sense of longing and looking back. He seems at peace.

“I was drunk too,” he says, after a beat, to the countryside.

And oh, Alec wants that. He covets that like he covets touch. To be able to look back and not feel all this … regret.

Isabelle’s fifteenth birthday was the first and only time they kissed. Magnus probably doesn’t even remember that night, not beyond the dancing, the beer, the spinning around and around in dizzying circles. There’s no way he would remember a kiss that wasn’t really a kiss.

Alec never once told him how he wanted to do it again.

That was the problem, in the end.

interlude

“You haven’t moved on?” says a man, once, in a bar. He’s tall and handsome, with curly blonde hair and large hands that Alec has imagined once or twice upon his chest, although it never makes his heart leap like it should.

His name is Andrew. He works in the building next door to the J. Edgar Hoover Building in Washington. They met at a coffee cart on the corner of the block, and this, now, is their third date.

Alec had thought it was going well.

“What?” says Alec, turning to look at Andrew, leant beside him at the bar. “What do you mean?”

“You haven’t moved on from whoever it is that you loved first,” says Andrew. He pulls his American Express from his wallet and passes it to the bartender to settle their tab, but they’ve only had one drink so far. “And you know, that’s okay. I get it. The first is always different, especially when it gets left unfinished. But I can’t see this working between us if you’re still in that place. You’re a good guy, Alec, but I deserve more than that.”

seventh chord

“Take the next left.”

Alec scowls at the road before turning to look at Magnus. He is bent over an atlas he found beneath the passenger seat - it’s not Alec’s and must’ve been left behind by whoever rented the car before him. The pages are dog-eared and coffee ring-stained, and Magnus’ finger is pressed against the thin line of the highway that divides Nebraska in two.

“What? Why? This is the quickest way.”

Magnus glances up, a look of mischief on his face. He grins at Alec.

“There’s something I want to see and we’ll be passing right by. Seems like a shame to miss it while we’re here.”

“What is it?”

Magnus’ tongue pokes out between his teeth as his smile broadens. He mimes locking his mouth with an invisible key, tucking it into his shirt pocket.

Alec huffs. “Magnus, we’re in Nebraska. All they have here is grass. And nothing. And more grass, and more nothing.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” Magnus folds the atlas up and sets it on his lap. He pats it with his hands. “What’s so wrong with a little spontaneity?”

“Uh, the fact that you have to be in Baltimore in three days? For an important meeting?” Alec says, gesturing with his flat palm at the road ahead. “You know I’m still on the clock, right? This is Bureau time you want to waste.”

“It’ll be an hour’s detour. We can afford it.”

“ Magnus .”

Magnus just grins at him. It’s the same grin that used to get Alec into so much trouble back in college; it leans against his doorframe with arms folded and a come-hither look in its eyes, and Alec has never been able to say no. Not to Magnus.

Magnus laughs. “Wow, they really did shove that stick right on up your ass at Quantico, didn’t they?”

Alec glares at him, but Magnus reaches out and pats Alec on the forearm, gently curling his fingers around Alec’s wrist. His touch, unfairly, is warm.

“Come on. The turning’s coming up,” he says. “Time to make a decision, Agent Lightwood. You don’t always have to play by the rules. Live a little.”

Alec rolls his eyes, but flicks the turn signal and merges into the outside lane, slowing as the turning approaches. Magnus beams at him and his laughter is buoyant, delighted as he claps Alec on the shoulder. His hand lingers, fingers pressing into Alec’s shirt, thumb against Alec’s pulse point.

Alec takes the turning.

He takes the turning and he wishes, only once, that Magnus might tell him exactly what those rules are. For a situation like this, he wonders, when you’re in the front seat of a car on an endless highway with a man you haven’t seen in years and who, once upon a time, you would’ve followed anywhere.

Although, in the end, not everywhere.  

A sign on the roadside welcomes them to Alliance, Nebraska, but instead of houses and street lamps, it’s grass that stretches for miles in every flat direction, endless swathes of frostbitten green. The road, now, is dirt and dust, and in the distance, a single white building and a cluster of standing stones appear as a landmark on the horizon.

Alec slows the car, but as the stones come into focus, he realises they’re not stones at all.

“Are those … cars ?” Alec asks, squinting into the distance. He looks sharply at Magnus. “Magnus, what -?”

Magnus holds up the atlas, his finger pressed against a roadside attraction labelled Carhenge .

“Please tell me that’s not what I think it is,” Alec says.

“Stonehenge replicated entirely out of cars, you mean?”

“Yes. That .”

“Well, it’s not as exciting as the World’s Biggest Ball of Paint , sure,” Magnus grins. “But when in Rome, Alexander. When in Rome.”

Alec pulls off the road, passing by the visitor’s sign that reads: Carhenge and Car Art Reserve. Welcome! The parking lot, little more than a field worn thin by tire treads, is scarred by muddy trenches that have frozen solid in the night and not yet thawed, and the rental’s suspension works hard to navigate them.

Alec huffs as he pulls up the handbrake and cuts the engine, but Magnus is already twisting in his seat to reach for his coat. He shoots Alec a cavalier grin as he opens the car door and tumbles out into the cold, and the blast of icy-cold air hits Alec square in the face.

Alec grimaces, but in front of the car, Magnus knocks his knuckles against the hood and gestures for Alec to follow him. Alec grumbles and pats himself down for his keys-wallet-ID-gun , before grabbing his own coat and shoving open the driver’s door.

The only other vehicle in the parking lot is a campervan, shiny and white and sparkling in the winter sunlight, either a midlife crisis or an early retirement investment. An older couple - a man and a woman - are standing in front of it, peering over a large DSLR camera. He’s in socks and sandals and she has binoculars looped around her neck, and if the weather was any warmer, Alec is sure they would both be in cargo shorts too.

“What attracts people to places like this?” Alec mutters, stuffing his hands into his pockets and turning up the collar of his overcoat as he hurries after Magnus. He hunches his shoulders, but the wind feels like it’s gusting through him, with nothing to stop or hinder it across the plains. “Why would you drive all the way out here to see … this ?”

“It’s not about the destination, it’s about the journey, Alexander,” Magnus teases, walking backwards so that he can face Alec. “Why do we do anything without purpose? Because it’s there, and because we can.”

Behind him, the large circle of cars stands out of the landscape, spray-painted grey to look even less like standing stones. Alec grits his teeth.

“It’s about those little moments that break up a long drive,” Magnus continues, nudging Alec’s arm. “Or making small and inconsequential memories that can be revisited whenever one needs something slightly absurd to fall back on. It’s something to do with another person, even if that person is insistent on being a grouch the entire time we’re here-”

“Alright, alright, I get it,” Alec grumbles. “Let’s just hurry up and look because it’s fucking freezing out here and I wanna get back in the car.”

Alec’s dress shoes sink straight into the mud as they traipse across the grass towards the circle of cars; the squelch-squelch-squelch of his feet is loud enough to be heard over the wind. Along the horizon, the sun is weeping yellow, low in the sky and sinking moment by moment towards sunset, and the shadows that stretch out lengthways from the stones-that-are-not-stones are long and warped.

Alec stops when his toes meet one such shadow and he looks up at the stack of cars towering over him. He tilts his head to the side, but it looks no better from an angle. Magnus steps away from him, meandering over towards an information sign.

“ ‘Carhenge is formed from vintage American automobiles, all covered with gray spray paint,’ ” he reads out. “‘ Built by Jim Reinders, it was dedicated at the June 1987 summer solstice in memory of his father. ’ Huh. How about that.”

“My dad would kill me,” Alec mutters.

“Oh, yes, mine too,” says Magnus. He bends down and squints at the smaller text on the sign. “‘ Carhenge consists of 39 automobiles arranged in a circle measuring about 96 feet in diameter.’ ”

“That seems excessive.”

“I think it’s strangely compelling, actually,” Magnus says. “There’s something about roadside Americana that has its own distinct charm. It’s a product of human eccentricities and I like that.”

“Oh yeah, and what are you seeing?” Alec says, gesturing with his hand. “Because all I see is a 15ft tall metal monstrosity.”

Magnus wanders back over to him, pressing up against Alec’s arm for the sake of warmth. He folds his arms across his chest, shoving his hands under his arms, and huffs out warm air that forms white clouds. He gazes up at the monolith above them.

“Well, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, Alexander,” he says. He frowns then, studying the twisted shapes of metal and fibreglass as if they’re some extraordinary work of art kept behind velvet ropes and a glass case and only allowed to be looked upon for a fleeting moment, and not an old car barely spared from rusting. “Michelangelo despised the roof of the Sistine Chapel, and yet it’s one of the most impressive feats of Renaissance art that still exists.”

“ Magnus ,” Alec presses.

“Mhm?”

Alec pauses. He studies Magnus’ face in profile: the line of his nose, the sharp cut of his jaw, the purse of his lips as he contemplates some deeper meaning that passes Alec by. High in his cheeks, the cold paints his skin red.

Alec thinks he understands a little, then. Nobody really comes to Alliance, Nebraska to see thirty-nine vintage cars spray painted grey and stacked together like some prehistoric monument from halfway across the world. There are other things worth looking at.

Alec shrinks down into the collar of his coat. “Michelangelo is overrated anyway,” he grumbles.

interlude

Here is the creation of a new memory: the orange-gold of a sunset, the cold metal of a rental car against the back of Alec’s thighs, and the warmth of a cheap coffee in his hands, steam rising and obscuring the face. The sky, shifting into navy, into darkness, into the pitting of stars as the temperature plummets and each breath becomes a plume of smoke rising heavenward.

Here, sat together on the hood of the car, Magnus touches him. Not an accidental brush of the fingers or a friendly hand on the arm while driving, but instead, Magnus tips his head to the side, letting his temple rest on Alec’s shoulder.

Here, Magnus’ whispered name crosses Alec’s lips. A question posed to the night, painful and tender and purple like a bruise (‘ what are you doing? ’), but Magnus doesn’t reply. He hums and turns his head and presses his nose to Alec’s coat.

Alec’s doesn’t dare move. Magnus’ hair tickles his jaw, and Alec wants to turn his head and press his nose there and breathe him in, but he doesn’t. Ten years ago, maybe. But not now.

So, he looks up, and he exhales as the last fragments of the sun shatter into a thousand tiny pieces. The night sky, in its infiniteness, mirrors the high plains of the Midwest: how endless, how deep, how black it all is, away from the city.

How less lonely it is with another body tucked against his shoulder. How much it hurts.

eighth chord

They find a cheap motel, afterwards, on the outskirts of the Alliance city limits. This time, there’s only one room left. One room with two twin beds made up in ugly floral sheets, and a TV without cable, and a minifridge, because that’s how it always is; how it’s meant to be; how it was, once, years ago.

Standing in the doorway of the room, Alec thinks back to their college dorm. He thinks about being eighteen and away from his parents’ home for the very first time - only one city over, but far enough, far enough to breathe - and Magnus crashing into that room, laden with boxes and a bright smile.

He thinks, aged eighteen, God, he’s the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen .

He thinks, aged thirty-something, that’s one thing that hasn’t changed.  

Magnus, in the present, slumps down on the bed furthest from the door with a heavy sigh and immediately toes off his shoes and flings off his coat. His suitcase is beside him on the bed, but Alec’s bag - Alec’s bag is still clenched tightly in his fingers.

He doesn’t move from the doorway. He can still feel Magnus’ head against his shoulder, Magnus’ weight against his side, and he’s not sure he’s taken a proper breath since; but then Magnus looks up and catches his eye and tilts his head as if to say, what next, Alexander?

He offers Alec a smile which Alec can’t return.

Alec swallows thickly and nudges the door closed with his hip. He pads over to the other bed, his feet sinking into the plush carpet and leaving tracks, and he sets his bag down on the very end of the mattress, and -

What next, Alexander?

There was never a what next . That’s the problem; it’s always been the problem. Alec, afraid to put a name to the feelings in his chest and step outside his comfort zone, and Magnus, unwilling to push him. This is the point they always reached: the touches, the glances, the wondering. The waiting for someone to do something. Around and around again, until Magnus couldn’t do it anymore.

This is always the point. The moment, repeated, just like the highway. Just like the diner.

Magnus exhales and cards a hand through his hair, combing it back against his head. He looks away from Alec, eyes drifting across the room until they settle on the cheap plywood door that leads to the ensuite.

“I’m going to take a shower,” he announces, and then he’s up, grabbing a towel off the bed and disappearing into the bathroom.

The shutting of the bathroom door is too soft and too careful, and Alec sinks down onto the end of his bed and rests his head in his hands. He closes his eyes and focuses on the outline of his badge in his jacket pocket, digging into his chest. The weight of his service weapon on his hip. The scratchy linen of the bed, the stains on the ceiling, the fuzzy TV as it cycles back and forth through the few sparse channels, even though the remote is on the bedside table and out of Alec’s reach.

He tries not to listen to the sound of rushing water through the walls.  

He goes to shower, after. When Magnus emerges from the bathroom with wet hair and a freshly-scrubbed face, there are no words exchanged as Alec passes him by.

The bathroom is small and full of steam, windowless and ventless and hot like a sauna and that’s definitely a fire hazard. Alec peels out of his suit and tugs the tie from his collar. His undershirt goes next, and then his belt, which hits the floor with a heavy clank. He stares at himself in the mirror but the reflection that stares back at him is blurred by condensation, and Alec’s finger is drawn to it, if only to leave a mark.

He wonders what Magnus would say if Alec told him of how he would write Magnus’ name in the steam on his mirror in the days after he left, standing in front of it to watch until it faded.

And it faded every time, until Alec stopped doing it.

He steps out of his pants and underwear, a puddle of creased suiting on the floor, and climbs into the shower, turning the dial up as hot as it goes. He stands beneath the spray until it scalds his skin pink, and then, once done, sits on the edge of the tub with a towel wrapped around his waist and finds himself craving a cigarette. He doesn’t smoke, not really. He just needs something to do with his hands.

When he leaves the bathroom, the TV is quiet and the light is off. A faint, electric glow escapes the bottom of the curtains, the same blue colour as the NO VACANCIES sign that overlooks the parking lot outside.

Magnus has his back to the bathroom door, his hands tucked beneath the pillow where he rests his head. He’s not asleep yet; Alec can tell from his breathing, not yet slowed. He will be able to count every long second that Alec spends staring at him, watching the rise and fall of his body beneath the covers, and he will be able to hear the moment Alec sighs and turns and leaves, padding across the room to his own empty bed.

Alec has lost count of the number of times he’s rolled over in the dark of a shuttered room that smells of mothballs and stale cigarette smoke, and reached for something that’s never been there. That hasn’t been there for years.

His mattress dips in the middle with the weight of one body. The pillow scratches at his cheek. He sets his service weapon on the bedside table, within easy reach, but hides his badge within the pocket of his jacket, out of sight but not quite out of mind. This is how it always is.

He listens to the rustle of blankets from the other bed and wonders, briefly, if Magnus has turned to look at him in the dark. He wonders what Magnus’ expression might be, and if Magnus stares at him now with the same sort of regret that Alec fails to hide.  

He is still in love with Magnus. He never stopped being in love with Magnus. This, too, is still the same.

interlude

In a wealth of human experience, the worst, by far, is what if .

ninth chord

Magnus taps his fingers against the car door, beating out an inconsistent rhythm. Alec knows it’s not a love song, but it could be something similar - a song about lost chances or maybe second chances. Sometimes, it’s difficult to distinguish between the two.

‘ THE PEOPLE OF IOWA WELCOME YOU ,’ reads a passing road sign, and it catches Magnus’ attention for a moment long enough to falter his rhythm. ‘ FIELDS OF OPPORTUNITIES. ’

There is little else to distinguish the crossing of the state line: the fields still stretch in endless directions, swathed in a fog the colour of glass. They set off late from the motel this morning because Magnus overslept and then insisted on breakfast, and refused to ask for the cheque until he had seen Alec consume something other than filter coffee.

He had offered to drive too, but Alec remembers what his driving is like: one arm propped on the wheel and the other fiddling with the radio, eyes barely on the road because, to Magnus, highways are straight lines from point A to point B and he has no time for speed traps or taking corners slowly or braking .

Alec, meanwhile, always has his hands at ten and two.

“Alexander, can I ask you something?”

Alec reaches for the dial of the radio and turns it down; this time, Magnus doesn’t try to stop him.

“I’m not stopping at another Carhenge,” Alec says. “Once is enough.”

Magnus rolls his eyes and continues tapping his finger against the car door.

“No,” he says, “No, I’ve seen my fill, I think.”

“But?”

Magnus smiles a little. “What makes you think there’s a but?”

“Because you haven’t said a word since I told you there’s no way in Hell you’re driving,” Alec chuckles. “And you’ve been thinking about something. I can tell. You do this thing with your hand -” He mimics the rubbing of his thumb and forefinger together, and then the touching of his ear. “And then you touch your ear. You used to have that piercing, remember? You’d always fiddle with it when something was on your mind.”

Magnus tugs gently at his earlobe. “I didn’t think I was so easy to read.”

“You’re not,” Alec smiles, “I’ve just known you too long. Or, uh. Knew you too long.”

Magnus hums at that. He begins spinning one of his fingers around his forefinger.

“Do you think I’ve changed? Since then?”

Alec shrugs. He’s never been that good of a liar, not in front of Magnus. And Magnus knows that; he told Alec as much, two days ago  “A bit. It would be weird if you hadn’t.”

“Hm,” Magnus considers. “You’ve changed, you know. And it’s like the strangest sense of deja-vu, because I know I know you, and yet there are these little details, these little things that seem slightly off. That I don’t recognise and I don’t know where they came from.” Abruptly, he stops fiddling with his ring and curls his fingers into the palm of his hand. He smiles wryly to himself. “And why should I? You don’t stay the same person your whole life.”

“I don’t think I’ve changed,” Alec murmurs, chewing on his lip. “I’m pretty much the same person I was back then.”

Magnus shakes his head, his smile fading. “That’s not true. I can see it in your face. You laugh more. You roll your eyes at me. Tell me no. You didn’t used to do that and I would drag you into so much shit , Alec. God, I was such a bad influence on you back then.” He pauses then, and his expression sobers. “But then, sometimes, when I catch you looking at me now, you seem ...”

He trails off, searching for the words with a flick of his hand. Alec doesn’t know what he means.

“I seem like what?” he asks.

“You seem so sad .”

Alec laughs in disbelief. “Sad? What - Magnus - I’m not sad, what do I have to be sad about?”

Magnus runs his thumb over his lower lip in thought. “That’s what I wanted to ask. Last night, in that motel room, I wondered - well. I wanted to ask if you resented me, after I left.”

Alec’s hands clench on the wheel. “If I resented you?” he repeats carefully. “Magnus, I didn’t resent you. Where’s this come from? What - what sort of question is that?”

“A genuine one,” says Magnus. “Just humour me a little. I want to know.”

Alec’s heart thumps in his chest. He forces himself to stay focused on the road. “Why are you asking about this now?”

“Why not two days ago when I found you at that gas station, you mean?”

No , Alec thinks. Not then. Before. Ten years ago, maybe.

Why didn’t you ask me then?

“Yeah,” Alec lies. “Something like that.”

Magnus frowns. “Do you not want to talk about it?” he asks.

“Do you?”

Magnus hesitates. He presses his mouth into a flat line and with his clenched fists, he taps his knuckles against the glass of the passenger window. The beat is one-two three-four , like a pair of heartbeats.

“I want to make sure you know why I had to go,” he says, eventually. “You understand that, right?”

“Right,” says Alec, unconvincingly.

Magnus huffs and leans his head into his hand, rubbing at his temple. When he continues, his words are addressed to the horizon and the straight line that leads them there and disappears into a singular point in time and space.

“I know I hurt you, Alec,” he says. “And I think you’re still hurt, in a way, because you’re both the most obtuse person I’ve ever met and yet the only person who I was always able to - who I can always see . And ... can I be honest here?”

Alec nods, but says nothing.

“Right, well,” Magnus continues. “How do I explain this? It’s … it’s frustrating . Sometimes. The way you keep looking at me out the corner of your eye like it causes you suffering to do so but you can’t help yourself. The way you didn’t pick up any of my phone calls, back then. The way we just … the way we just ended. Snuffed out like a candle.”

“But you’re the one who left , Magnus,” Alec interjects. “You’re the one who - it wasn’t me. I didn’t decide that.”

“I didn’t want to be stuck there. I wanted a career, Alec, I wanted to see what else there is ,” Magnus says, gesturing with his free hand to the open road and empty Iowan landscape. He sounds weary. “And there is so much else, so much more than a nice house in a nice neighbourhood with a white-picket fence and a dog and two-point-five kids. I couldn’t wait around for you to - I didn’t want to live the life my mom lived. She never left that place, not once. The same four walls, the same dead-end Middle American town until the end of her days. And that ... that was too small for me.”

He talks about getting out the same way painters talk about muses, the same way a traveler searches for God in the landscape: something they had to see before they died. A holy calling.

He always has.

Perhaps Alec is the ghost lingering at those New England intersections that keeps Magnus far and away from home. Alec, too afraid to cross over the threshold of a highway, destined to haunt the same small town for the rest of his life.

Too afraid to wander so far from home that he might not be allowed back. Too afraid to say something that he can’t recant, even if it’s the truth.  

Alec chews on the inside of his cheek. “Didn’t you ever ... didn’t you ever think about that sort of life? With the house, and the yard, and the dog?” he begins. “Just a little? Just a bit?”

Magnus shakes his head. “I didn’t want that,” he murmurs. “It’s not me. You know that. And after my mother passed and I sold the house, I - God, sometimes I would sit on the front porch and watch all the cars go by, passing through that town like it was nothing, like it wasn’t even a blip on their map, and I would think the world moves on without you . It doesn’t care if you don’t catch up. It doesn’t care if you’re - if you’re waiting for someone to say something they never want to say.”

He glances at Alec as he says it, and Alec realises then that he knows.

Magnus knows. Perhaps he’s known a while; perhaps he’s known since they were young that Alec loves him but refuses to say it. It is Alec’s worst kept secret, after all.

“I had to get out, Alec,” Magnus continues. “Sometimes I thought, if I stayed, I’d suffocate.”

I was suffocating too , Alec thinks. A gay man in the early 80s didn’t get to breathe . That’s just how it was.

Magnus, of course, already knows that. Alec would only be preaching to the choir if he said it aloud.

Instead, he mumbles, “I wanted to say it.”

“What was that?”

“I wanted to say it,” Alec repeats. He sinks his teeth into the inside of his cheek and wishes he could squeeze his eyes closed for just a moment - but there’s the road. There’s always the road. “I just - I couldn’t. Not then. But I wanted to say it. The thing you were waiting for. From me.”

Magnus’ mouth falls open a fraction, as if, somehow, he is surprised by such a revelation. Alec feels Magnus’ stare boring into the side of his face and he fights every muscle in his body not to turn and look back, because he knows exactly what he’ll find in Magnus’ eyes and he’s not sure he can stomach it.

He has looked at Alec this way before. Hell, a thousand times before. He’s trying to understand Alec - why here and why now, why are you finally saying something after all these years of pulling me along at the other end of a string, leaving me hoping and desperate and in love with someone who couldn’t ever say it back - but Alec is not that complicated.

He’s just scared. Scared of change. Scared of veering off the side of the highway that he has driven all his life, even though a part of him wants to know what it feels like. A part of him longs for the impact because, at least then, it will all be over.

And Magnus -

Magnus has always been so difficult to pin down, so close to chewing through his own foot to get away (and Alec had always hoped he’d never quite manage it, so that he might stay with Alec, forever, in some selfish vision of the future). It’s inside of him, that need to wander and see the world and meet new people and learn from them and be better and be something . The need to throw the roadmap out the window at high speed.

“Was that -” Alec begins, but clears his throat again. “Was that not enough? For you to stay, I mean?”

Magnus’ expression softens. His shoulders slump and his hand falls away from his temple and his mouth curves upwards at the corner and he says nothing. In his eyes, however, Alec finds an answer.

Sometimes, you cannot wait to be loved at someone else’s pace. Sometimes, you deserve more than that. I deserved more than that.

And maybe -

And maybe I’m still waiting.

interlude

Another postcard, this time purchased from a roadside gas station and then left crumpled in the glove box of a rental car:

I loved you then. I love you now. I still don’t know how to say it.

tenth chord

The day Magnus left was a Sunday. The beginning of August, 1985. The sun was bright that morning, harsh on the roof of Magnus’ new car as he piled boxes and suitcases into the trunk.  

Alec had not understood what ending meant until he was standing on the sidewalk and watching Magnus pack up his life into ten square feet. He had not understood that some endings aren’t peaceful or satisfying or tie up all the loose threads of a story tangled by the writer; some endings are excoriations. They leave you raw and wounded.

The realisation, now, is that letting Magnus go a second time will be a worse experience than the first. This time, Alec already knows what it’s going to feel like.

In the rental car, the heater works hard to circulate warm air into the front seat. The windshield wipers battle against the thick blanket of fog that has rolled in across Lake Michigan and which obscures the signposts for Chicago from view. Frost covers rural Illinois in a comb of silver, not quite yet snow, but soon. Soon enough, the country will be white and glistening in the low sunlight as far as the eye can see.  

Magnus has his coat draped over him like a blanket, his arms backwards through the sleeves and his head resting against the window. He hasn’t slept, but he’s been quiet for a while now, watching the world pass by with little commentary, save for when a song to which he knows the words plays on the radio.

On the side of the road, timber-frame houses disappear in and out of existence, reappearing in various states of disrepair. A barn, an old farmhouse, a disused gas station, a tiny church built on stilts that extends out over a frozen lake on a wooden walkway.

Magnus makes a noise of interest as they pass it by, turning in his seat to look back at it as it vanishes into the fog.

“Did you see that?” he asks. These are the first words he’s said to Alec in nearly a hundred miles. “That church.”

Alec glances in the rearview mirror but, as always, they are the only car on the road and the fog swallows up the passing seconds behind them. He’s not sure how long they’ve been on this road without a turning, nothing but an undeviated line for miles, and sooner or later, the end of the road is going to take them by surprise.

Alec takes his foot off the gas and presses down on the brake instead, and the car lurches to a near-stop. Magnus jolts forward in his seat, his seat belt cutting into his chest and stopping his momentum. He turns to stare at Alec, but Alec throws his arm over the back of his seat, knocks the gearstick into reverse, and spins the car into a three-point U-turn.

Magnus sits up in his seat, his coat slipping down from his shoulders and onto the floor.

“Baltimore not on the cards anymore?” Magnus asks, as Alec turns the car around and begins driving back the way they came. “Alec, what’s going on?”

Alec leans forward over the steering wheel, squinting out into the fog. The shape of the gas station reforms out of white cloud, and then, beside it, the shimmer of the frozen lake and the small church that sits atop it. A place for prayer amidst the smell of petrol fumes and gasoline and road dust.

A traveller’s chapel , Alec notes. It seems apt.

The church is small and squat and built of dark, gnarled wood, falling apart at the seams. From a distance, it seems almost black, but the need to pull off the road possesses Alec and he pulls into the parking lot of the gas station, before locking the handbrake.

Once parked, he turns to look at Magnus, both hands still clenched on the wheel. The radio crackles with white noise, interspersed with the tune of a Christmas song that Alec doesn’t recognise. Magnus reaches out and turns the volume down.

There’s never really been a need for words.

Alec unclips his seatbelt first. He doesn’t pat himself down for keys-wallet-ID-gun . He grabs his coat from the backseat and leaps out into the cold, and doesn’t look back when he hears the passenger door slam and Magnus follow after him, albeit at a distance.  

What Alec finds is this: the wind is brittle and the walkway that leads out over the lake creaks and groans beneath Alec’s weight, but doesn’t make a noise for Magnus. On the highway behind them, a truck rumbles past, but the fog is so deep that Alec cannot see it, save for the glow of its headlights. There is a small placard nailed to the outside of the church that reads: Visit Your Roadside Chapel and a big red arrow points down at the doorway.

Alec reaches for the doorknob and gives it a twist. Behind him, he can feel Magnus watching him, arms folded across his chest to ward off the cold, in silence. He says nothing to Alec, no witty remark about the FBI’s predilection for breaking and entering, no tired smile, no weary remark about how he’s tired of waiting, which they both know means far more than it seems.

The door to the church is not locked and it opens with a fair shove, and out spills the smell of damp wood and dust and old smoke. Magnus coughs lightly, wafting his hand in front of his mouth, but Alec steps inside.

The church itself is small and cramped, barely wider than the span of Alec’s arms from wall to wall, and the cold sweeps through the gaps in the walls, carrying with it the earthy smell of burning. There are no church pews, but a padded piece of wood for kneeling in prayer sits beneath a floor-to-ceiling cross, and bible verses are scratched into the plywood walls in a messy hand. Empty beer cans and extinguished cigarettes litter the floor, and cobwebs are strung like garlands above Alec’s head, which he reaches up to swipe away.

A row of candles stand where the altar should be. Soot still clings to the wicks, as if freshly extinguished.

Alec steps forward and his feet crunch on dried leaves that have blown in through the door. He lifts his foot and looks down and finds a crumpled receipt stuck to the sole of his shoe, grey with running ink and dozens of footprints that have come before Alec’s. The date on the receipt is fifteen years ago. It was issued in Dallas, Texas.

This is a space of comings and goings. Of passing throughs. The afterimages of a thousand travellers linger here like memories and, carved into the cross above Alec’s head, he notices the words: what is more important to the traveller, the journey or the destination?

The silence sings, or maybe it hisses, like the wind rustling through the endless miles of wheatfields between here and where they’ve come from.

What is more important to the traveller, the fact that we got lost along the way, or that we made it back here, in the end, and met again?

Alec looks back over his shoulder, and Magnus is there, standing in the open doorway, waiting. His nose is red with the cold. The light behind him casts him in the pale yellow of a winter twilight. He is watching Alec with an expression that Alec doesn’t understand.

“Magnus?” Alec asks, low and gentle.

“Yes?” he replies.

“Do you have a lighter?”

Magnus’ mouth tips upwards at the corner. “I said I quit, remember?” he says, but he reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a shiny, silver Zippo lighter, engraved with his initials. He places it in Alec’s outstretched hand, but his touch lingers against Alec’s wrist and the staccato of his pulse. “Here.”

Alec turns to the candles and flicks his thumb along the lighter. The flame is summoned into existence, its light dancing across Alec’s thumbnail as he lights the wick of the tallest candle.

He lights it for his mother, and then, once it catches, he lights another for Izzy, and then one for Jace and Max and his father. He recites the Catholic rotes his grandmother taught him beneath his breath, in Spanish, a whisper. Then, a prayer for Magnus, and for his mother too, wherever she might be.

And lastly, a prayer for himself, aged eighteen and away from home for the very first time. Aged twenty-three and in his graduation gown, Magus’ mortarboard on his head and Magnus’ arm around his shoulders, laughing in his ear. Aged ten years younger than he is now and standing on the sidewalk of his parents’ house, watching Magnus’ car pull away.

Magnus joins him at his side, his head bowed and his hands clasped in front of him. An inch of space exists between their shoulders, but, even now, Alec can feel the warmth of him through his coat.

Alec has missed this. He will miss it again, he’s all too sure, but maybe it’s okay to have it only for a moment.

Maybe that’s enough. Maybe it has to be.

“Alexander?”

“Yeah?”

“I meant what I said yesterday,” Magnus says quietly. He tugs on the sleeve of Alec’s coat and turns Alec to face him. His eyes are bright - not wet, but earnest - and drop to Alec’s lips before returning upwards. “That it’s not about the destination, it’s about the journey. You know that, right?”

He squeezes Alec’s arm. He wants Alec to understand something that still remains out-of-focus.

“What do you mean?” Alec asks.

“I am sorry for the way we left things,” Magnus says, “And I’m sorry that it hurt more than I realised it would. I really am. But it doesn’t have to end the same way this time. You can change the way you remember it. Make it mean something, something fond that you can look back on. You can make it good, if you want.”  

Alec frowns. They’re a day away from Baltimore. In forty-eight hours, Alec will be back home in D.C., and in a week, Magnus will return to L.A. and the life he has built there, where he drinks seltzer water and no longer smokes and talks a mile-a-minute on an expensive cell phone about investments and equity and big-ticket numbers, and is loved by Alec at a distance.

It’s not like the highway extends into the sea. All roads eventually end, and this one must too, amounting to nothing more than four days in a nondescript rental car with Christmas music playing on the radio, but -

This doesn’t have to end the same way this time.

“Doesn’t it?” Alec asks, unable to help himself.

Magnus shakes his head and lets go of Alec’s arm. He takes a step forward and lifts the last unlit candle, holding its wick to the flame of another until it catches.

“No,” he says. “No, it doesn’t.”

interlude

Nothing that happens on the road is real. This is what Alec tells himself between diners and gas stations and faded markings down the centre of the highway.

I can love you now, while the engine’s still running. And you might love me too, while the engine’s still running. Sometimes I think that you do, when I look at you from the corner of my eye.

In the distance, Chicago rises from the fog, lit up in one thousand pin-pricks of light. It makes the world glow in the colour of cities and concrete and it feels a bit like a dream after so long passing through nowheres.

If we drive far enough, we might make it back to the place we once called ‘now’. If we drive fast enough, maybe that day will end differently and you’ll stay.

The speedometer tips over ninety and the countryside blurs into rooftops and stop lights and traffic backed up across the bridge that spans the highway. Streetlights line the side of the road and pass across the rental car in flashes of strobe and yellow.

“I don’t want you to stay there,” says Magnus, in one such patch of light. Sometimes, it’s like he can read Alec’s mind. “I want you to write a different ending, Alec. I want you to want it.”

eleventh chord

Chicago is behind them as they cross into Indiana with the stroke of midnight, a dull orange glow that seems too bright for the eyes after so many repeated nights driving in near blackness.

Their destination is getting closer, and Alec eyes each passing road sign that counts down the miles to Cleveland, then Pittsburgh, then Baltimore, then home with a heaviness in his heart that beats a slow rhythm.

It’s the rhythm that he knows - that lonely beat that matches the roll of the odometer on the dashboard - and yet it seems too fast now, accelerating towards an end point at which he has a choice to make.  

He tries to match it, that rhythm. He tries to strike a chord with the bouncing of his leg in the footwell, with the tapping of his fingers on the steering wheel. He glances across at the passenger seat to see if Magnus is looking back at him, but he’s not - he’s staring ahead through the windshield and holding himself unnaturally still.

Alec wants to slow down below the speed limit; put his foot on the brake; stall the car. Drive it off the side of the road and into a ditch and then shrug and say, guess we’re stranded for another night ‘til the tow-truck can get here . And maybe that’s dishonest - or too honest, because the thought of spending the night in the car together, crowded around the heater as if it’s a bonfire keeping them warm, does something strange to Alec’s insides - but the relentless momentum if the car is no longer a balm on his nerves.

He can’t help but think about what lies in wait at the end of the road. Another goodbye. A polite smile and a parting hug and some kind and empty and wistful words; longing and loneliness and more of the same heartbreak, made worse by the fact he knows, now, what they could’ve had, if things had ended differently the first time.

Alec doesn’t want to leave this car; he wants to keep Magnus here forever, the two of them trapped in this rocking motion of roads and highways, where Magnus tells him over and over again that it doesn’t have to end and Alec believes him.

Alec wants to keep driving off the very edge of the continent and into the Atlantic Ocean. He wants to arrive in Baltimore and say, take me with you . He thinks about grabbing Magnus’ hand when he steps out of the car, and saying, don’t leave me behind this time. Take me with you. Take me somewhere that isn’t here. I’ve had enough of coming and going back to the same place as before. You’re right about that. You’ve always been right about me.

Magnus shifts in the passenger seat, clearing his throat.

“We should probably find a motel. It’s getting late,” he says. He doesn’t need to say it, because Alec is already thinking it: tonight is the last night. Tomorrow, Alec will be in his own bed, and Magnus, in some fancy hotel room paid for on a corporate credit card. “We both need a good night’s sleep. For tomorrow.”

“Right,” Alec echoes. He clenches his jaw. “Tomorrow.”

The air in the car is thick and heavy, so Alec reaches for the radio to try and suffocate his own thoughts. He skips through the stations until he finds one that sticks, and then turns up the volume. The voice of a man quoting late-night scripture fills the front seat:

‘So, flee youthful passions and pursue righteousness, faith, love, and peace, along with those who call on the Lord for a pure heart.’

Magnus exhales through his nose and runs his palms up and down his legs, digging his fingers into his thighs. His eyes catch Alec’s in the rearview mirror.

A decision, then. Alec has seen this look before.

“I really think we need to find a motel,” Magnus says again, more forcibly this time. “Let’s check the map. Can you pull over?”

“Huh?” says Alec, “Just switch the light on, it’s okay. I don’t mind. Pick somewhere that sounds good and tell me which exit I need to take.”

“Alec,” Magnus insists. “Pull over.”

Alec looks at him, confused. “What? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Really. I just need you to stop driving, please.”

“Okay, uh. Okay. Hang on, I’ll just -” The turn signal flashes and Alec steers the car off the side of the highway and onto the grassy verge. The tires sink into the mud and the car jostles them from side to side until, finally, coming to a stand still.

Magnus unclips his seatbelt and reaches for the glove box, retrieving the atlas from inside. He spreads it out on the dashboard between them, running his fingers down the page until he finds where they are, and then flicks on the cabin light above their heads.

The car becomes an island, then. The sky is clear and the road behind them is almost empty, and the world outside is completely black and they are floating in an endless void. And all that exists is Magnus leaning across the gearstick and grabbing Alec’s hand and pressing his fingertip to a point on the map and saying, “there.”

“There?” asks Alec, looking up at Magnus’ face. His voice is a whisper now. “What’s there? A motel?”

“A motel,” Magnus agrees, shifting forward on his seat, closer to Alec. His grip on Alec’s wrist is vice-tight, his rings cold against Alec’s skin. “What do you think?”

Alec pauses. There is an unasked question here, hidden in the silence between words. It’s a proposition and Alec wants to get the answer right.

But Alec also wants to kiss him. He can smell Magnus’ cologne, the aftershave patted onto the slope of his jaw in the bathroom of a cheap motel that morning. He can feel the heat of him. He can feel the flutter of Magnus’ pulse where Magnus’ thumb is pressed insistently against his skin.

He wants to kiss him and muster the courage he could never find before, and he wants to say fuck it . Give him that moment of undoing, or redoing, or whatever the fuck it is that he wants the last few years to have meant.

He’s pretty sure that’s what Magnus wants too.

“Alexander?”

Kiss me now while the engine’s still running.

“I don’t want this to end.”

“I know you don’t,” says Magnus. “I don’t either.”

“No. No, Magnus, you don’t know. You don’t - you can’t ,” Alec insists. “You can’t know because I never said anything. That’s the whole point. I never said anything, even though we both knew how I felt. We both knew. And despite all that, we still didn’t do anything about it because in the end, it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter. I loved you and I think you loved me and it didn’t matter.”

He and Magnus exist in a not-time. This place isn’t real; Alec can speak to these feelings and not be beholden to them in the morning, or at the end of the road, or wherever it is that they’re heading. Not if he doesn’t want to.

But he does want. He wants more than one man with a body can bear.

I loved you then but it didn’t matter. But it matters now because I can say it. Because we have circled around and found each other again after all this time and that -

That has to mean something.

Magnus’ hand relaxes on Alec’s wrist; his fingertips brush across the back of Alec’s knuckles, across the roadmap between them on the console. It is tentative and questioning and even now, still says, you can drive away if you need to.

Alec inhales deeply. He shakes his head.

He meets Magnus’ eyes on purpose.

“I was afraid that the next time you walked into my life, I wouldn’t know how we fit together,” he whispers. “I was worried that something inside of me, inside of you, would’ve changed, because things always change after this long, but - it hasn’t.”

Beneath Alec’s palm, Washington lies hidden. In the dark, the paper rustles.

“You haven’t, Magnus. Not when it comes to me.”

interlude

The radio sings, ‘It will never be the same, baby.

We will always be the same, baby.’

twelfth chord

Alec’s hand shakes as he fumbles with the key in the motel room door.

Magnus stands a half step behind him, his breath forming white clouds that float and dissipate over Alec’s shoulder. The smell of his aftershave carries. There’s a deliberate space left between their bodies, greater than the distance that has existed between them in the car for the last four days.

It’s the furthest they’ve been apart since Alec approached that phone booth back in Idaho.

“Fuck,” Alec mutters, as the key sticks in the lock and refuses to turn. His palm is sweaty and anticipation licks up the side of his throat where the collar of his shirt is too tight. “Sorry, just give me a sec-”

Magnus leans over his shoulder and takes the key from him, sliding it into the lock with ease. The door clicks, and then swings open.

This motel room is just like all the rest: two beds, one TV, the oddly stained carpet. Thin plywood walls. A single light that plunges the whole room into that low-res yellow of cheap nighttime lodgings.

Alec places both their bags on one of the beds, exhales, and then, when he turns back, Magnus is standing against the closed door. His head is tilted back, his chin aloft, and his arms are folded across his chest, the sleeves of his coat tight around his arms.

His eyes are dark and molten. Where Alec is an unlit cigarette, he is the match.

And that’s enough. All things end and all endings are terrible in their own way, and Alec doesn’t know why he shouldn’t lean into the inevitable if it’s something he can’t avoid.

He abandons the bags and steps towards Magnus, grabs him by the lapels of his overcoat, and kisses him.

Immediately, Magnus opens his mouth to Alec; the sound he makes into the kiss has the hairs on the back of Alec’s neck standing on end. They stagger back against the door with a thud , and Magnus grabs at Alec’s coat, shoving it from his shoulders, then pulling Alec’s shirt out of his belt, his hands slipping beneath Alec’s undershirt so that he can feel skin.

Something rattles around inside of Alec and maybe it’s his heart come loose at last. He kisses Magnus ever deeper for it; his chest aches; his heart aches. He should’ve kissed Magnus sooner, and yet it feels like this is the only moment in time and space where it’s meant to happen: some dingy motel in rural America where it’s just the two of them and Alec has made a choice where he refuses to let this separation be the same as the last.

They’ve never needed to speak. The span of time hasn’t changed the connection between them; Alec could be his twenty-three year old self; he could be his eighteen year old self; his self from five days ago, picking up the keys to a rental car in the backwoods of Oregon state - he would still be in love with Magnus, whether or not he has said it out loud.

Alec cups the sides of Magnus’ jaw and tilts his head back, deepening the kiss. Magnus’ tongue presses into his mouth, his hand flat against the small of Alec’s back, his fingers pressed against Alec’s spine. He pulls Alec closer until their bodies are flush.

And oh, it’s so easy for Alec to lose himself to the push and pull of it: the lick of Magnus’ tongue, the pliance of his mouth. His hands are so warm as they settle on the slope of Alec’s waist.

Alec feels like he’s standing in the middle of a highway, staring down the headlights of an oncoming truck, willing it to move first or be moved . His heart is pounding loudly in his chest. The light is so bright that he is blind to everything else.

Is this driving off the edge of the road or is this the impact?

The kiss leads to the bed. The bed leads to shucked clothes and kicked-off shoes and Alec tossing his badge and service weapon blindly onto the bedside table as Magnus kisses down his throat and the blood rushes to Alec’s head.

Magnus pins him back against the starchy motel pillows, one hand splayed on Alec’s chest - stay still, don’t move - while his other hand cups Alec’s hip and his thumb slips into the band of Alec’s underwear.

No. It is the destination.

Magnus runs his hands down the inside of Alec’s legs, his palms smoothing across Alec’s thighs. His eyes meet Alec’s as he presses his mouth against Alec’s knee.

Alec’s eyes fall closed.

He wants to say something about endings, to gasp, to whisper it. He wants to ask what happens next: if he is to leave Magnus on the side of the road in Baltimore tomorrow and never hear from him again; or if Magnus will fly back to Los Angeles in a week’s time and only look back on this moment as one of those pocket memories of his, something fond to warm him on colder nights.

Alec doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want to be an uncalled telephone number in Magnus’ diary again; he doesn’t want to stop here , with Magnus’ mouth slowly kissing up his inner thigh. He cannot let Magnus slip through his fingers a second time, so he reaches out and pulls Magnus towards him, up the length of his body, crushing his mouth against Magnus’ and swallowing Magnus’ untethered gasp. He kisses Magnus’ jaw, and then the side of Magnus’ neck, and then he presses his nose to Magnus’ shoulder and breathes him in.

He says nothing, but he has to screw tight his eyes to stop himself from doing something stupid, like letting a stray tear roll down his cheek and wet the pillow. Magnus wraps his arms around him and holds him tight, words whispered in Alec’s ear that he’s been waiting ten years to hear and which Magnus thinks must all be said in one night.

Alec is too old for messes of the heart like this, but maybe that’s the problem: how long they’ve delayed this particular end, to the point that neither of them know how to exist in a world after .

interlude

The final postcard never sent:

“The boy in the yellow shirt walks like there is all the room in the world. I am standing on the edge of what is an ending world.” 2

I read this in a book that Catarina leant me. I think it’s about us, or at least it’s about me, the first time I laid eyes on you.

Come to L.A.

thirteenth chord

Alec wakes up alone in the bed, his arm outstretched across the mattress, his hand palm-up to the ceiling. There is an ache in his legs, bruises scattered across his thighs like the shattered glass of a windshield spread across the road. The smell of sex hangs heavy both in the air and on his skin where sweat has dried and not been scrubbed away, and when he tries to speak, his voice is hoarse and raspy.

Beside him on the bed, the pillow is cooling - but not yet cold.

Disappointment curls in Alec’s gut, but in his head - well, that’s empty, devoid of the constant noise that has existed there for the past few days, if not years. He hasn’t noticed until now that it mimics the sound of a car engine, a forever rumble.

There is simplicity to the silence now. The carpet is cold when Alec’s feet hit the floor, a draught slicing beneath the bed. Magnus’ suitcase is gone from the other bed; his clothes gathered from the floor. The smell of his cologne has faded, replaced by the musty smell of floral bedsheets and mothballs and wallpaper that has absorbed the smoke of a hundred cigarettes.

The only evidence of Magnus being here is his absence.

His absence - and the way Alec’s mouth tingles when he brings his fingers up to touch his lower lip.

Alec brushes his teeth to the sound of the faucet running, water gushing down the drain. He splashes his face and dresses in the crumpled clothes from yesterday that still smell like the front seat of the rental car and shakes carpet fibres out of his overcoat where it still lies by the door.

Keys. Wallet. ID. Gun. He moves through the motions on autopilot, patting his pockets and then his chest as he mentally tallies up the parts of himself worth collecting - but then stops. Standing in the middle of the motel room with his bag in his hand, he turns to look at the unmade bed, the sheets kicked into a pile, a backdrop to a journey he has taken so many times before.

The difference, now, is in the details. It feels significant. It’s worth remembering.  

Crossing to the window, he throws open the curtains and sunlight streams into the room, flooding every dark corner. Alec squints against the light, raising his hand to his face to shield his eyes. A faint sheen of frost forms fractals on the outside of the glass and, beyond that, the roof of the rental car, the prelude to the first snow of winter.

Leant against the side of the car is Magnus.

Alec inhales deeply, his breath clouding upon the window. The cold draws down into his lungs - a sharp ache inside of him that he holds for a count - and then he exhales. Deflates. Sinks back into a rhythm that is both familiar and somehow different to the one he has known for so long, as if the world now beats in imperfect time.

Magnus is propped against the hood of the car with his eyes closed and his head tipped back to catch the sun, and he doesn’t stir when Alec shuts the motel room door behind him and the gravel of the parking lot crunches beneath his shoes. On the side of Magnus’ neck, there is a hickey bitten darkly into his skin. It’s the colour of rare indigo.

Alec doesn’t feel the need to avert his gaze now.

“Have you ever been on a roadtrip?” Magnus asks, opening his eyes when he feels Alec’s shadow cross his body.

Alec frowns at him as he bends down to grab Magnus’ suitcase, before tossing both their bags into the backseat. “Isn’t this a roadtrip?”

Magnus waves his hand aimlessly. “No, this is serendipity, Alexander. I’m talking about a comprehensive tour of all the worst diner coffee in the continental United States. Hiking in the Grand Canyon. Exploring the redwood forests of the Pacific Northwest.” He looks at Alec and smiles a coy smile, pushing away from the car. “You know, in Indiana, they have the World’s Largest Ball of Paint? I’d like to see that sometime. All the best roadside Americana that the country has to offer.”

Alec rounds the car to the driver’s door, opens it, but doesn’t get in. He leans his arms on the roof of the car and Magnus, on the other side, turns to face him.

“But Baltimore,” says Alec.

Magnus’ smile softens. “But Baltimore,” he agrees, across the span of the roof. He glances at his watch. “Providing we don’t hit gridlock outside the city, I should be right on time for my meeting and Raphael won’t have the pleasure of removing my head from my shoulders. You always were excellent at keeping me punctual.”

Alec smiles quietly, ducking his head. “Yeah, well, one of us had to live in the real world.”

He climbs into the car and Magnus follows, folding himself into the passenger seat and draping his coat across his lap. He buckles himself in and then leans back to look at Alec as Alec slots the key into the ignition.

“What?” Alec asks. He reaches up to touch his neck, in the same place where the bruise forms on Magnus’ throat, but can’t find any tenderness. “Is there something on my face?”

“No,” Magnus says gently. “No, not at all. I was just thinking that sometimes the real world is rather overrated. In my experience, the longer one can put off returning to it, the better.”

Alec turns the key and the car splutters into life. The heater blows warm air into the front seat, condensing upon the windshield, and when Alec reaches out to direct the flow of air downwards, Magnus covers Alec’s hand with his.

It’s a reflection of the night before, but without the urgency.

Magnus curls his fingers around Alec’s hand and brushes his thumb over Alec’s knuckles. Then, he brings Alec’s hand up to his mouth and presses his lips to Alec’s fingers, his eyes falling closed and his eyelashes casting feathered shadows on his face.

Alec holds his breath. He waits for Magnus to say something, to say so let’s not go back to the real world yet because I’m happy here , but he doesn’t.

Happy is too vague a concept. Not that Alec isn’t happy here, in this particular not-real moment, but it’s a feeling that belongs to strange, liminal motels and repeated diners. It is hard to grasp, and harder still to fathom how it might slip into the spaces occupied by a life back in the city at the end of the road.

Magnus sets Alec’s hand down on the gearstick between them, and settles back into his seat, kicking his feet up on the dashboard. He tips his seat back and rests his head against the window as Alec puts the car into reverse.

The road is quiet but not deserted. Alec knows that they will meet traffic before too long, but, for a moment, he imagines the highway stretching beyond the horizon and continuing into the sky, winter-blue and endlessly deep, leading above and beyond the curve of the Earth.

There’s a very thin dusting of snow on the hard shoulder, and the sun, shockingly bright, refracts off it with a white glare. It’s the sort of daylight that possesses Alec, that fills him up and makes him feel separate from his body.

If Alec rolled down the window, that daylight would spill in and flood the car, crisp and cold and foreign. But here in the warmth, he unspools a story in his half-awake mind: him and Magnus and the unending road. If they stop moving, they’ll die. If they stop driving, they’ll die. There was a Keanu Reeves movie about that recently , Alec thinks. It probably didn’t end well.  

“Do you mind if I smoke?”

Alec glances sideways at Magnus. “What happened to quitting?”

“Oh, I did,” says Magnus. He produces an unopened pack of Morley’s from the folds of his coat and inspects it curiously. “But I got this from the motel reception this morning on a whim and it feels like a waste otherwise.”

Alec rolls his eyes. “Right,” he says, but he cracks open the driver’s window and the cold rushes in. The wind ruffles through his hair, funneled by the cuffs of his jacket up the length of his sleeves and into his coat. A shiver ripples down his spine and he grimaces.

Beside him, Magnus pulls a cigarette out of the pack with his teeth and cups his hand around his lighter as he lights it, before holding it out to Alec.

“I haven’t smoked in years,” Alec says, but he takes the cigarette anyway and taps the lit end against the ashtray on the console. “You can’t laugh.”

Magnus lights a second cigarette, the clink of his lighter sharp, like metal. He draws in a deep breath, pulling smoke down into his lungs, and then exhales. The grey plume rises towards the roof, only to be sucked suddenly out of the open window.

Magnus coughs, clearing his throat, and takes the cigarette from his mouth, only to pull a face at it.

“Tastes like what I imagine licking the floor of that motel would be like,” he says, before stubbing the cigarette out in the ashtray. He frowns at the packet in his hand, before throwing it into the glove box. “Let’s stop at the next gas station. I need something to wash that out of my mouth.”

“Okay,” says Alec, unable to stop himself from smiling. His cigarette warms his fingers. His stomach growls at the thought of cheap diner coffee and a greasy bacon burger for breakfast. He presses his foot down on the gas and shifts the engine up a gear.

A passing road sign reads: Baltimore, 405 km . About a five hour drive.

Alec will miss this rental car.

interlude

In the dark of a motel on the night before, Magnus’ eyes are almost black. Alec studies him from across the pillow, their noses nearly touching. Magnus’ hand, splayed on Alec’s ribs, draws gentle circles into Alec’s skin, while Alec’s ankle lies tangled with both of Magnus’ legs.

Magnus’ body is warm. It’s rhythm is familiar in the way that it matches Alec: how he moves, how he breathes, how the sound of his heartbeat disturbs the silence of the motel room.

If Magnus were to speak, he would say, ‘something is only beautiful because it does not last forever .’ But he does not speak, so Alec cannot say back, ‘ that’s not true. You’ve always been beautiful .’

Instead, he leans forward and he kisses Magnus and he earns a soft groan for his troubles as Magnus curves into him like the other side of a parenthesis, ‘til now unpaired.

Magnus’ hand slides upwards, cupping the back of Alec’s head. His thumb caresses the shell of Alec’s ear and the soft hair above it.

He pulls himself against Alec’s chest, his other hand trapped between them, pressed over Alec’s heart.

He kisses Alec back.

outro

The woman in the apartment above Alec’s has Christmas lights in her window: red and green flash in alternating patterns and Mariah Carey’s faint warble can be heard from the sidewalk as Alec gazes up at his building and allows himself to watch, if only for a moment.

His bag is heavy on his shoulder and his suit is stiff across his back; the thought of a shower is calling him home, but he wants to linger outside a little longer. The cold is sharp against his face and draws a red flush to his cheeks. His breath escapes him in white clouds, tumbling upwards. Baltimore lingers on his skin with the memory of a parting kiss.  

He is, now, alone.

On his doorstep, his neighbour has left him an early Christmas card; she has done the same for the last few years, concerned for the young man who lives alone and never has his family visit once December comes around. As Alec unlocks his front door, he slips his finger beneath the seal of the envelope and tears it open, and the message inside is the same as it always is, wishing him and his loved ones well for the holidays.

He places the card on the sideboard by the door as he toes off his shoes, and wanders into his living room, dumping his bag on the floor as he goes.

The stillness in his apartment is strange: the air is musty, the windows unopened for nearly two weeks now, and while there’s no dust on his coffee table yet, the scattered paperwork and unwashed coffee mug are somehow disturbed by his presence.

There are dishes in his kitchen sink and his bed is still unmade; the space is exactly as he left it, and returning to it feels a little like disembarking an airplane after a long journey spent cramped in one mindset, and now having to reacclimatise to solid ground.

Alec is not sure why he expected his apartment to be changed. Even in some small way, like the rotating characters at a diner, or the different coloured carpet at each roadside motel, or the occupancy of his passenger seat by a man he thought he’d never see again, he hoped for something new. Something welcomed but unrecognised, symbolic of a new start or, perhaps, a second chance.

Oh. Maybe he’s the one a little changed, then.

It’s not about the destination , after all , he tells himself, reaching for the remote to turn the TV on for background noise. It’s about the journey.

Briefly, he wonders if this happens every time: if each successive back-and-forth across America wears him down just a little, like the treads on car tires, and it’s only now that he has changed enough to notice that he no longer fits into the routine once occupied with ease. In his footsteps, he brings the liminality of the road into his own apartment, the threshold moment between one state of being and the next.

And Alec is okay with that.

He locks his service weapon in the safe on his desk. Loosens his tie. Pulls a bent postcard from Carhenge, Nebraska, a receipt from a gas station just outside of Baltimore, and a nearly-full pack of Morley’s from his jacket pocket and sets them all on the coffee table, before throwing his coat over the back of the couch to take to the dry cleaners tomorrow.

His suit jacket goes next - two days old and creased around the elbows - and then his belt, a heavy thunk on the floor, before he pads into the bathroom and turns on the shower so that the water might have time to heat up before he gets in.

He strips down to his underwear and wanders back out into his living room, and it’s then that he notices the red flashing light on his answering machine: a voicemail.

He hits the play button - ‘ you have three unread messages ,’ says the disembodied voice - and he pours himself a glass of water as he listens first to Jace ramble on about not coming home for the holidays, and then to his mother discuss her plans to visit her solicitor next week.

Alec empties his glass and sets it in the sink to be washed later. He heads back to the bathroom, rolling the stiffness out of his shoulders, and the answering machine beeps to signify the final message.

‘ Alexander, it’s me. ’

Alec stops and turns to stare at his answering machine as if it might come alive in front of him.

‘ You’re probably not even back in D.C. yet, but - well ,’ says Magnus. ‘ I made it on time to the meeting, in case you’re interested. I’m never going to hear the end of it from Rafael, of course, and he’s never going to let me drive anywhere alone again, but it’s looking like we’ll be able to close a deal before Christmas. It sounds like I’m going to be back and forth between L.A. and Baltimore a lot next quarter.’  

In the background, Alec can hear the sound of people, of a bustling street, of taxi cabs blasting their horns as Magnus tries to hail one down.

‘ But I all that aside, this couldn’t wait and, I suppose, serendipity can only get you so far.’

Alec reaches for the handset, poised above the redial button, but then something in Magnus’ tone changes. In his words, Alec can hear the sound of his smile.

‘ How far is the drive from Los Angeles to Indiana?’ Magnus asks. ‘No, wait, how far is the drive from Baltimore to Indiana? I’ve been thinking a little more about the World’s Biggest Ball of Paint. Perhaps you’d like to see it with me.’

The beat of Alec’s heart shifts in its rhythm once again. He holds his breath. He imagines himself taking a step over that imaginary threshold.  

‘There are too many things I haven’t told you yet. ’

*****

“They have worries, they're counting the miles, they're thinking about where to sleep tonight, how much money for gas, the weather, how they'll get there - and all the time they'll get there anyway, you see.”

― Jack Kerouac, On the Road

[mobilemassagebytheo]

What Benefits Does Lymphatic Drainage Massage Offer?

Lymphatic drainage is a manual technique for relieving swelling and improving health by stimulating the flow of lymph (a clear fluid that circulates across the body through the lymphatic system). Lymph helps isolate disease-causing bacteria and returns captured fats and protein to the bloodstream, among other things.

The lymphatic system depends on the movement of smooth muscles to pass fluid through the lymph vessels, while the heart continuously pumps blood through the blood vessels.

The regular flow of lymph may be disrupted by health issues, causing lymph fluid to build up in a certain region of the body, usually the arms or legs, causing swelling. Lymphoma is the medical term for this disease.

Infections, cancer treatments that require the removal of lymph nodes, and any disease that affects the lymphatic system may cause lymphedema.

Lymphatic massage can help to minimize swelling and increase lymphatic circulation. Lymphatic massage is normally part of a decongestive lymphatic therapy treatment plan (DLT).

If you are looking for lymphatic drainage massage in Surrey, then you are on the right page. In this article are we are going to discuss benefits of lymphatic drainage massage and find out the best lymphatic drainage massage in Surrey. So stay tuned!

Types of Lymphatic Drainage

Doctors, physical therapists, and massage therapists use four different methods of lymphatic drainage, each named after the person who invented it:

Vodder: Depending on the part of the body being handled, a foundational procedure using a series of sweeping hand movements is used.

Földi: Circular hand movements are interspersed with moments of relaxation in this expansion of the Vodder technique.

Casley-Smith: A technique that uses circular hand gestures, but with the sides and palms of the hands instead of the palms.

Leduc: A technique in which the hands are said to "entice" (collect) lymph before guiding it to the wider lymphatic system for reabsorption.

Benefits

Lymphatic drainage has been shown to help with a variety of health issues, some more than others, according to research.

Lymphedema

Researchers reviewed six previously conducted studies involving the use of lymphatic drainage on women suffering lymphedema following breast cancer surgery in a 2015 study published in the Cochrane Database of Systematic Reviews.

Lymphatic drainage (two weeks of intensive care and six months of maintenance) was found to be equivalent to compression bandaging and exercise in women with post-mastectomy lymphedema in a 2015 report published in the Journal of Pain and Symptom Management.

 Orthopedics

Studies looking at the use of lymphatic drainage in people undergoing orthopedic surgery or recovering from an orthopedic injury did not produce the same findings.

 The effects of post-surgical rehabilitation with or without lymphatic drainage in adults recovering from complete knee replacement surgery were investigated in a 2016 study published in the Archives of Physical Medicine and Rehabilitation.

Rheumatoid Arthritis

Lymph circulation is improved in people with rheumatoid arthritis in the early stages of the disease, but it deteriorates as the disease progresses and the joints erode. Tissue swelling, as well as joint pain, changes in skin color, and loss of joint function, are normal in this stage.

Chronic Venous Insufficiency

Chronic venous insufficiency (CVI) is a condition in which the walls or valves of the legs' veins do not function properly, making blood flow back to the heart difficult. Lymphatic drainage has been suggested as a conservative treatment for CVI, and some evidence of its effectiveness has been found.

Fibromyalgia

According to a 2015 review of studies published in Manual Therapy, lymphatic drainage can help people with fibromyalgia. Fibromyalgia is a condition in which nerves in the skin become inflamed, resulting in tissue swelling and discoloration.

Lymphatic drainage was found to be more efficient than connective tissue massage in treating stiffness, depression, and quality of life in people with fibromyalgia, but not as effective as myofascial release in relieving fibromyalgia pain, according to a study of ten previously published studies.

So these are top benefits of lymphatic drainage massage. If you are looking for lymphatic drainage massage in Surrey, you should contact Mobile Massage by Theo. This is the best place for getting for lymphatic drainage massage in Surrey.

To know more about Mobile Massage by Theo click on https://www.tmobilemassage.com/lymphatic-drainage-massage-surrey.html

Thank you!

[backbackbackagaynbitch]

Taking the Chance (Dean Winchester x Reader)

Author’s Note: MY FIRST SMUT FIC! If I recall correctly, I wrote this as a Galentine’s Day 2016 fic exchange with @mrswhozeewhatsis, and I went all out lmao. It took so long to write because I was an spn fic writer noob and inexperienced irl lol. It’s 4 pages of filth so I hope you all enjoy. :3

WARNING: NSFW 18+ ONLY, vaginal sex, oral sex (both receiving), dirty talk.

---

If God was still around and not gallivanting all over the place, Dean was sure He would’ve sent him to Hell (again) for all the things he was thinking of doing to you, but was too much of a wussy to actually do them. Because at this point, all Dean wanted to do was bend you over the kitchen counter and make you come on his lips and mouth. Or maybe whisper obscene things in your ear while succumbing you to pleasure with his fingers.

Dean’s fingers gripped the doorjamb tighter as he watched you strutting around the kitchen, swaying that ass tantalizingly in your silky sleep shorts that left little to the imagination. He didn’t know what the hell you were doing in there this late at night, but if this was actually a sign from God telling him to just make a fuckin’ move, no matter how far-fetched it was, then he wasn’t going to complain.

Well, it seemed perfect, actually: You were both single, both experienced in the sack. You were a beautiful woman and he was a handsome guy. Oh, and it was Valentine’s Day tomorrow—what better way to start the day than to wake up next to a beautiful woman he had sex with the night before, a woman who was also his best friend, a woman who he’d completely, irrevocably fallen in love with. So yeah, the situation seemed perfect.

Now all he had to do was actually make a move.

And he didn’t know how to do that without being an asshole and offend you. But then it seemed like the image of you in those sleeping shorts was permanently branded into his brain, and he decided that no, he wasn’t going to back down from at least trying.

As soon as he could get his legs to move.

Fuck.

***

You weren’t excited for tomorrow. Like, when somebody said the words “Valentine’s Day”, the images in your head would immediately be of heat-shaped balloons, rose bouquets, and marriage proposals and other cheesy shit. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but your favorite kind of Valentine’s Day was waking up next to the person you loved and having a nice breakfast. Okay, and maybe some good V-Day roll in the hay.

And every time you imagined your perfect Valentine’s Day, it would always be one person beside you: that one person with the striking green eyes and plush pink lips and smatterings of freckles all over his perfect face. That one guy with the deep, sonorous voice that made places down there tingle with delicious curiosity. That man who had a body carved by the gods, the one that had you imagining doing such filthy things with, the one that had you practically salivating at the thought of it on top of you, grinding slowly into you… maybe underneath you as you rode him to high heaven… Damn. You were sure that the image left you with a damp spot on your underwear.

You sighed, moving to the fridge and bending down to rummage through it for the stash of chocolate you were hiding just for this particular day. Well technically it was for tomorrow, but then you figured you could just eat them sparingly tonight and scarf them down when the clock struck 12. And maybe have a glass (or a bottle) of wine with you while—

You felt warm hands on your hips, making you jolt upwards and almost hit your head on the roof of the refrigerator. You quickly pulled yourself out of it and spun around to face the person who made you jump out of your skin.

It was Dean. And the way he was looking at you was making you feel like helpless prey. Not that you were opposed to that analogy…

“Dean,” you managed to whisper, worried that your voice was shaking. “What brings you in the kitchen tonight?” Yeah, nice work, Y/N, really original.

You felt his hands return on your hips, fingers gripping you tight. The sensation made warmth crawl into your belly. Oh, the thoughts you were having…

Dean seemed to get closer, and your breath hitched at his proximity. “Was just supposed to get a beer. But then I saw you… in this,” you felt his fingers run down your thigh and catch on the hem of your thin sleep shorts before gliding over the tank top you were wearing. You felt your nipples harden underneath it when he brushed the underside of your breasts, your cheeks flushing at the knowledge that you weren’t wearing a bra and Dean could see every single thing that he was making you feel. And you didn’t care because you were probably soaking through your panties, and you just wished that Dean would either let you go so you could do something about this, or that he would just take the initiative and--

The kiss he placed on your lips was bruising, the force he put in it making your back hit the fridge, and you were certain you’d see bruises tomorrow morning.

Dean licked your bottom lip harshly, almost begging for entrance, and you immediately complied, your fingers winding in his hair as your tongues met. Each swipe of his tongue against yours or on the roof of your mouth had you slowly melting into a puddle on the kitchen floor. Your fingers tugged his hair, eliciting a muffled moan from his plush lips. They were softer than you’d ever imagined.

You pulled back to breathe, and said, “Dean… please,” as you ground down on his thigh that you didn’t notice had been wedged between your legs. “Please just—,”

“Please what, Y/N?” he whispered against your ear, voice deliciously rough. He ground his hips into yours and you could feel his hardness under the flannel pajama pants he was wearing. The thought of him hard for you was enough for you to let out a broken moan of your own.

“Please,” you pleaded, desperately grinding on him. “I need you, Dean, just please—,”

Without another word he hoisted you up into his arms and carried you out and into his room, kissing you senseless all the while. You paused for a bit when your back hit his bedroom door hard, worried that you might’ve woken Sam up, but when you heard nothing, you looked at each other for one second and were immediately at each other again.

You blindly groped behind you for the doorknob and almost snapped it off when you finally found it. Granted, it was probably a bad idea to open the door without telling Dean because you both almost fell in when it opened, but you righted yourselves without any further injury.

Dean set you down and immediately went for your tank top, breaking the kiss to yank it over your head and then throwing it behind him. With one glance to your bare breasts, he basically lost it, bending down enough to catch a pert nipple in his mouth, and sucked, making you release a loud moan and grip his hair for dear life.

He picked you up again and set you down none too gently on the bed, pressing a hard kiss to your lips before trailing them down, nipping at your skin as he went, on your throat, in the valley between your breasts, just above your belly button, and finally stopping when he came in contact with your shorts.

Dean looked up at you, breath labored, his eyes boring into you with a clear question: Are you sure? And why wouldn’t you be sure?

You nodded, and the green-eyed hunter wasted no time and just tugged it down, along with your panties. The next thing you knew, his face was between your thighs and his tongue was on your clit and—OH SHIT HIS MOUTH!

It was like he was setting fire to your very core with the way he lapped at your clit, moaning all the while and sending the vibrations through you, making you shiver and moan and grip his hair as he worked you over. Pretty soon you felt yourself cresting, getting closer and closer to the edge, and then Dean pursed his lips and sucked on your clit and you were gone, shouting his name with your release.

You were boneless, but still somehow managed to return Dean’s kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue, and the knowledge that he was wholly comfortable kissing you after that tore a broken moan from your lips.

You broke away from him, your fingers still in his hair, and said, “Your turn.” He acquiesced to being pushed down on the bed, stripping off his t-shirt before lying fully down on the memory foam mattress. You straddled his hips and leaned down to press a gentle kiss to his lips, doing as he did and trailing down just until his neck, where you nipped and licked and sucked until there was a nice purple bruise right at the junction of his neck and shoulder.

He groaned when you rotated your hips right over the bulge in his pants. You were still wet from your previous orgasm and you knew he could feel it. Dean’s delicious groans filled your ears as you ground down on him, moaning your pleasure to the ceiling.

After a few more seconds of torture for Dean, you raised yourself up on your knees slightly to pull his pants down. He helped, ending up sitting down and face-to-face with you as he kicked them off. You couldn’t help but steal a few more kisses before pushing him down forcefully.

You didn’t give him a chance to recover as you shimmied down his legs and took a second to marvel at his cock before taking him in your hand and pumping him gently, slowly, savoring all the groans and moans that tumbled from his mouth.

Leaning down you kissed a line from the base of his cock all the way to the tip, giving it a little lick before taking him in your mouth.

At that, Dean let out a punched-out groan and a yell of your name as you bobbed up and down. You could make out his knuckles, white with the grip he had on the bed sheets, hips fighting to keep still as you sucked and tongued him, one hand pumping what you couldn’t fit in your mouth because he was just that big.

“Ugh,” Dean groaned out, “Y/N, stop… Please…”

You immediately ceased, worried that you did something wrong. “What is it? Sorry, do you want to stop? We can stop if you’re not comfortable…” Wow, now you were rambling. Maybe you did do something wrong because if Dean was feeling good he wouldn’t have stopped you, right?

“No,” Dean said, sitting up and capturing your lips in another breathtaking kiss. “I don’t want to stop what we’re doing,” he was murmuring against your lips, dragging his teeth along your bottom lip; you let out a moan at the slight bite of pain. “It’s just that when I to come,” Dean slipped a finger in your wet heat and curled it towards himself, making you buck up against his hard cock, “I want to come inside you.”

You dropped your head back and moaned, bucking your hips up again.

When Dean flopped back down after giving you another kiss, you were a bit confused, expecting him to be the one taking the lead for your first time together. Said mad smirked, gripping your hips tightly as he said, “I want you on top, sweetheart. I wanna see those beautiful tits bounce while you ride me—OH, GOD, Y/N!”

You’d impaled yourself on his cock right then, and stayed still, trying to adjust to his size, wiggling a little bit and whimpering because you were so wet and your clit was singing, crying out to be stimulated and you just wanted to move. It didn’t help that you felt Dean twitch inside you, feel him shaking, trying to hold off on bucking up into you until you were comfortable enough to start moving. His grip on your hips was tight, but you didn’t mind—you liked having this effect on him, liked just how much you affected him.

You ground against him, slowly, experimentally, loving how well he fit inside you and how delicious he felt. Soon you were bouncing up and down his cock, the room filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin, breathy moans, near-screams, punched grunts, and heavy breathing.

“Dean…” you whimpered, thighs shaking as you felt your orgasm near. “Dean, please, I—I can’t—,”

“Hold on sweetheart.” Dean held you still and started thrusting up hard and fast into you, and you screamed your release within minutes, sure that your fingernails were going to leave marks on his shoulders.

Dean kept thrusting into you, aggravating your sensitive sex, making you wetter and you felt heat rise in your core again. The hunter helped you step over the precipice and into another orgasm, and this time he came with you, groaning your name into the crook of your neck.

You two stayed in that position for a while, waiting to come down from your respective highs. When you figured you could stand up without wobbling, you raised yourself up and scooted backwards until you flopped down on the bed. Dean, being the less jellied of the two of you from your excursions, stood up and grabbed the t-shirt he was wearing, coming back to you to clean up the mess you both had made. He got a peck on the nose for that afterwards.

“Go ahead, Y/N,” he called over his shoulder. “Just let me clean up, and I’ll be there in two shakes.”

So you went, flopping yourself down on Dean’s soft pillows and making yourself comfortable.

The last thing you registered before you conked out was a warm body sliding behind you, and Dean snaking his arm around your waist to pull you closer.

***

When Dean woke up he didn’t know what he was supposed to expect. Sure, a part of him hoped that he would wake up to your warm body tucked against his. It would’ve been greatly welcomed, especially after that amazing sex last night. But it looked like he spoke too soon.

Your side of the bed was cold, only a small depression in the mattress and your half of the covers drawn back were the only indications that you were ever in bed. Dean sat up and looked around the room, noticing that your clothes were gone, and his were folded up at the foot of the bed.

He mentally kicked himself for even hoping that you’d give him a chance for a relationship. After all, he’d broken the world several times, got so many people killed, and died once or twice himself—he couldn’t really fault you for not wanting him, despite what had transpired between you the night before.

Dean sighed, running a hand through his hair and staring at the space you’d slept in solemnly, thinking of how badly he fucked up and—

The door opened slowly, revealing a fully-clothed you, carrying a tray with two steaming mugs of coffee, a plate stacked high with pancakes, a container of maple syrup and one for butter, and two sets of forks and knives.

“Hey,” you said, carefully closing the door with your back and walking towards him. “Didn’t think you’d be up so early.” You placed balanced the tray on the mattress and carefully sank down on it. You took a mug and offered it to Dean, who was speechless at your gesture. “Why so quiet, Dean?”

“I—,” it was like his tongue didn’t want to function. “I just—… You weren’t here when I woke up, so I thought you… regretted what happened last night.”

To Dean’s surprise, you laughed. “What are you talking about, Dean? How could I regret that?” you said, picking up your mug and nursing it. “Last night was… It was fantastic.” Dean thought he was hallucinating, but he swore he could see you blushing. “I don’t think I’ll ever regret it.” You blew air into the coffee, trying to cool it down, doing anything to avoid looking Dean in the eyes.

Meanwhile said hunter had a huge grin on his face, relieved that you weren’t mad at him for suddenly coming on to you last night. And right now, you looked so adorable, clad in your sleep shorts and a t-shirt from the back of his dresser that had seen better days. He just couldn’t help but lean in and kiss the corner of your mouth.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Y/N,” he whispered, resting his forehead on yours and looking lovingly into your eyes.

The corners or your mouth quirked up in a smile and you pecked his lips with a murmured, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Dean.”

[lokisgame]

Blind Needing The Blind

A/N: back in 2016, when I did my first October Fic Fest as a baby writer, I enjoyed simple pleasures in fanfic, like shameless smut without even the tiniest hint of plot. Enjoy.

She turned off the lamp on her bedside table and the room was plunged into complete darkness. The blinds seemed heavier than usual, they must have been the sun blocking kind because no light from the outside got through them. The light in the bathroom was off, there was no gap under the door and it was a cold night so the windows were closed, the place was fairly quiet and the night was starless. She laid surrounded by complete silence and utter darkness. She met too many monsters in her life to be comfortable with that so she moved to do something about it, but Mulder put a gentle hand on her shoulder and stoped her. "Wait, do you trust me?" He asked softly, the darkness reduced him to the sound of his voice and the warm weight of his body beside her. Sometimes they had to share a room on a case, and some of those times the room had only one bed. It was against regulations, but it couldn't be helped. This was one of those times. The difference was that it was the first time since they became lovers, and so far they managed to keep things chaste and professional, or at least they tried their best. "Why?" she directed the question behind her. "I want to try something" he gently pushed her back to lie down, and she felt the weight of his body shift and the warmth of his breath on her face. "You know how depriving someone of one of their senses heightens others to compensate?" His hand traveled up her side as he spoke, sliding slowly under her loose top. "Like enhanced hearing in the blind?" she felt his lips hovering above hers, the tip of his nose played with hers, less than an inch between them, yet she couldn't see him in the perfect darkness "Or heightened sensitivity to touch, like reading braille for example." His lips brushed hers as he whispered "let me read you". He circled her nipple with his thumb nail and kissed her lower lip as she gasped. She let him pull her top over her head, then reached for his t-shirt, he took care of her satin shorts followed by his own flannel pants. They oriented around each other by touch and memory only, feeling around familiar paths. She felt him warm against her each curve, his mouth traced small kisses along her jaw to the hollow beneath her ear, where he buried his nose in her hair taking a deep breath, inhaling her scent "just tell me if this gets too much, there's no one here but us, you're safe" he assured her softly. He knew she wouldn't feel comfortable with any type of restraining, too many triggers gathered over the years, but this darkness cocooned them both equally. She could not see him and he couldn't see her, the playing field was leveled. Scooting closer and hooking one leg over hers, he cupped her breast and kissed a path from her neck to shoulder "I love how soft you feel" he mused moving beside her. "You're easy to please" she chuckled as she rubbed her thigh against his growing erection. She threaded fingers of one hand through his hair leaned in and inhaled him as well, pushing her breast into his palm in the process. His mouth closed around her other nipple as if it was offered, and she let go of him stretching out her arms over her head and arching her back, focusing on his soft lips and firm hand under her side pulling her closer into him. He nuzzled her chest before moving to her other breast, his hand wandered down her back, pulling her of the bed to lay on her side. He hooked her leg over his hip and caressed her back, her ass, the back of her thigh all the way to her calf and back up again. She wrapped herself around him and tried to hold him, but then his fingers found her entrance. "So wet" he teased and moved farther down her side, "I can smell you" he kissed and nibbled at soft curve of her waist and sharp bones of her hip. "I want to taste you" he growled and hooked her leg over his shoulder moving between her thighs, keeping her on her side. She was putty in his hands. She feelt the difference in their heights more acutely, his hands felt larger, fitting her curves better, her ass and her thighs seemed made for his hands. He moved around her with grace, angling her body to give her most pleasure. She felt his tongue licking and lips kissing down her abdomen and she leaned back opening herself to him, to his skilled tongue and fingers teasing her on the way down. He cupped her ass and ran his tongue through her folds eliciting a moan. "Yes, let me hear you" he urged her on and found her clit with the tip of his tongue. She rocked her hips to meet his mouth and he dug his fingers into her hip, pushing his tongue inside her. Her hand tangled in his hair and he took up a rhythm between tracing circles around her clit and dipping his tongue inside her opening, her moans and sighs raised in pitch and she began to swell and writhe against him. "Mulder" she gasped "more!" and he was ready for her. He pushed two fingers inside, hard, forcing her to lay on her back, licking and sucking on her clit and pumping fingers in and out, his other hand pressing on her abdomen keeping her from bucking under him. "Yes! Just there!" She praised him "like that" when he curled his fingers upwards and stroked her from the inside, by that time she was so wet her juices were running down his wrist, her scent was intoxicating and he was dry humping the edge of the bed in time with the rhythm of his hand. He blessed the darkness because the sight of her flushed and gasping above him would send him over the edge. He let his teeth graze over her swollen flesh and a sharp spasm gripped her body with a sharp intake of breath, her walls squeezed his fingers and he pumped them inside her letting her ride out the waves of orgasm rolling through her. He listened to her breathing calm and he climbed back up leaving a trail of open mouthed kisses all over. "That was amazing" she breathed as he reached her mouth and she reached for his lips to taste herself. She pulled him in and felt him still hard against her thigh. "Where did you learn such control" she mused smiling against his lips and with one fluid move she pushed him of her and straddled his hips "let's see if we can make you loose some of it" She placed her hands on the bed on each side of his head and began kissing him. Greedily at first, plunging her tongue deep into his mouth then gradually moved to sit up, forcing him to chase after each kiss. He raised to his elbows, then arms until she sat on his lap, feeling for pillows to stack them behind him. She took his face back in her hands and kissed his forehead sweetly, slower this time, letting her fingers trace his features. From his hairline, brows and temples, she kissed his cheekbones and ran fingers over his scratchy cheeks. She followed his nose with the tip of hers and her hands learned his jaw, fingers reaching his parted full lips. He bit on the pad of her thumb and closed his mouth around it sucking gently. She took this earlobe between her teeth and pulled at it in return, feeling his strong shoulders. Such strength hiding so much fragility, her perfect balance, her perfect opposite. He let go of her hand and ran his stubbled cheek and chin down the side of her neck, in turn nipping and soothing it with kisses. Wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer, he felt her rock her hips involuntarily and rub against him. "We both overestimate my control apparently" she breathed laughing at herself as she ran her fingernails around his nipples. She felt for his cock and steered him to run between her wet folds, spreading the moisture and making him groan. "You're not making it easier this way woman" and he lifted her by the waist and pushed inside her, burring himself to the hilt with one swift move making her gasp and throw her head back at the sensation of her swelling folds closing around him. They both froze for a moment, feeling control slipping and trying to hold on to it, postponing the inevitable. Enjoy the ride, it was their method. "You feel so good" she whispered in his ear and gasped, as he unexpectedly flicked his finger over her erect nipple, making her body sing like a fine tuned instrument. "Come for me" he replied simply, lifting her up and pushing inside her again, harder. She understood him, he was in no mood for sweet and slow teasing, he had his fill when he got her off the first time. Now he wanted her strength, his unbreakable partner, meeting him thrust for thrust. Panting, their rhythm frantic, dissolving into raw passion, hot breath on her neck, her clit rubbing against him with each move, his fingers digging into her side, his arm pulling her closer as she grabbed the headboard to keep them upright. Words failed them, thoughts scattered around them and white lights exploded under her eyelids as her second orgasm that night took over. Her walls spasmed around him and he let go with her name on his lips as all floodgates opened. She slowed down to a halt and wrapped her arms around him panting and exhausted, feeling his skin hot and slick with sweat, the scent of the two of them filling her head, holding on to each other in the darkness. He pulled her down and slipped out of her, feeling for tissues on the bedside table. He pulled a few and handed them to her. She cleaned herself up keepings the lights off, keeping the sweet darkness around them. He sighed and rested his head on her chest, pulling the sheets back over the both of them and snuggling into her warm embrace. Sometimes darkness could be their friend.

[mightyfineblog]

‘Stand By Me’ -3-

Ben Hardy x Reader

Ch. 3

Series Summary: You are moving in your boyfriend’s flat. As you unpack, you remember the long road you two have walked down from when you met to where you are now.

Chapter summary: Ben takes you to a restaurant where you get a little too impatient for his touch. On your way home, you remember the first breakup you had with him, due to his career.

Words (this chapter): 2k

Warnings:  public smut, m oral receiving, fingering, good stuff spiced up with fluff. Bigger Warning: Angst, breakup, hurt feelings and tears.

So here is it. Enjoy:

“I want to thank you all for coming in such a short notice. My girlfriend and I needed another excuse to gather the crew before my next big project.”

“That’s right Ben...” You stand up, placing your palm over his chest “We wanted to celebrate every little thing that makes us happy in life, and right now, it is us living together.”

All your friends clap as you two clink your glasses.

Dinner is going great, you are enjoying your friends’ company, with Ben by your side. In fact, there is a little something bugging you - your boyfriend’s handsy manners tonight. Not that you complain; you love the constant touch of him. Whether that be holding hands, rubbing your elbow as he takes your hand in his lap, or his right arm being glued to the small of your back, he never loses physical contact with your body.Tonight he seems to be more excited than ever. His hand slips gently over your knee, lifting your skirt up. When you notice his warm finger tapping over your skin, you curl the corner of your mouth, but say nothing.

As much as you love pure affection, you can’t help but take deeper than the usual breaths when he presses his thumb further up your thigh, extremely close to your core.

Turning your head to rest against his shoulder, you give him a stern look.

“What are you doing?”

“Don’t know what are you talking about, babe.” He gives you a cheeky smile and returns to his conversation.

His thumb glides even further up, fingers pushing your legs apart. As he starts to rub his palm over your hot inner thighs, you set your fork and knife down beside your plate.

He feels you tensing, your body stiffening every time he gives you a pinch and digs his nails into your skin, knowing just how very delicate that skin is. Ben knows very well that the slightest scratch leaves a mark on your inner thighs; obviously, he has decided to take advantage of that.

You clear your throat and look up sto find him smirking down on you. You try your best to keep still so the others won’t notice something is happening.

“Should be stay for coffee and desert, or shall we take it home?” Ben taunts.

“I don’t know, Benjamin. I quite like our friends’ company,” you stammer through gritted teeth, squeezing his arm though his shirt.

He lets out a chuckle and shakes his head. “Whatever you say, darling.”

At this moment, you realise what a big mistake you just made. He would only continue this little game of his. But you can handle it; you two have been through far worse times than teasing each other in public.

After a bit longer, you feel Ben’s grip tighten on your thigh, and his thumb brushing over your knickers. You can’t help but blush at the realisation of how wet you already are. Turning your head to rest on Ben’s shoulder, your hand flies to hold his neck. Bringing his head down to your lips, you whisper, “Careful.” He hums and pulls away, leaving your head to rest on his shoulder. His thumb continues to glide, drawing painfully slowly up and down your wetness for few more minutes.

“You look incredibly good tonight, baby. This little number does things to me,” Ben hovers to whisper in your ear. You shiver and take a deep breath.

“Can you wait until I get you home?” he coos at you.

“Ben.” You clear your throat. “You’re such a tease,” you hiss through gritted teeth as you grin at him.

“Yet, you love it,” he purrs behind your ear. Pressing two fingers directly at your entrance, he smirks.

“You’re dripping.” His other hand tucks some hair behind your ear, revealing your blushed cheeks to him. You shrug uncomfortably.

“I can’t wait.” You grip at his collar. “I need you now,” you let out with a strangled whimper.

He kisses your temple and stands up.

“Would you excuse us, everyone. Y/N’s not feeling very well.” He extends his arm to you. Taking it gracefully, you jump off your seat. Leading him to the bathroom of the restaurant, you can’t help but giggle, knowing his eyes are glued on your arse. He follows every step you make with such a naughty look in his eyes, biting his lip. “You’re such a delight for my eyes, doll.”

Shoving him into one of the bathroom cabins, you lock the door.

He turns you around and your lips crash, hungry for each other’s.

“Please me, baby. Turn around and just tease me baby.” His eyes undress you, as his hands move your hips.

You grab his hand and give him a wink. “Finish what you started first, boy,” you order him, as you push him down onto the toilet seat. Straddling his thigh, your hands slide from his chest up to his neck.

“Make me come,” you moan against his lips.

His hands push your skirt up, guiding you with long strokes.

You moan again and again as you finally feel your heat steadily build up. Speeding up, you muffle your moans on his lips.

“That’s it, come on my thigh. I’ve got you, petal.” He kisses gently on your neck as his hand finds your breast. Pulling your shirt down, he lets the cool air hit your already hardened nipple. Taking it between his fingers, he gently rolls and pinches it.

“Fuck..Mmso close...” your eyes roll to the back of your head.

“Let go,” he breathes as he nips on your earlobe.That’s just enough to make you come right there, right now. You explode on his thigh, the much needed release finally taking over.

“So good. You’re the best,” he kisses your lips as you come down from your high.

A few moments later, you come back to your senses and slide down to the floor.

Looking up at your boyfriend, you flicker your eyelashes at him. “Your turn.”

You unbuckle his belt and slide his trousers to his ankles.

“Stand up,” you quietly order him.

He does so and you take his half hard cock in your hand. He furrows his eyebrows at the view underneath him.

You smile before bringing your lips to his tip. You suck him off nice and slow.

Pumping your hand up and down on his hard length, you stare right up to him. He is quite the sight, flushed cheeks, eyes squeezed shut. His hand gently tugs at the back of your head.

“Baby. Ben. Please pass me some tissue,” you beg.

“Ben.” You tighten your grip on his erection.

“Mhm..yes,” he moans as his hand reaches sloppily over his shoulder.

“Fuck, I’m going to come,” he grunts.

“That’s it. I’ve got you, Benny.” Your lips suck on his tip as your fingers gently squeeze his balls in your palm.

“Fuck.” His head falls forward, as he shoots his white hot cream right up your throat. You close your eyes and swallow as much as you can. Pulling away, you hop back on your feet. Bringing the tissue to your mouth, you wipe what’s left at the corner of your lips.

He pulls his pants back up and brings you for a gentle kiss, tasting himself.

“Perhaps we should go back to dinner.”

You nod. “Let me just reapply my lipstick real quick. You go and wait for me at the table.”

From that point on, the night went pretty smooth.  With both of you being satisfied, you finally headed home - to your new home. During the car ride, you hold Ben’s hand.

“Do you remember our first official date?” you look up to him.

“I do, pretty damn right. I was driving you with that BMW I had just gotten.” He nods in reassurance.

“I’m so glad you got rid of it. I hated it,” you giggle.

“You said nothing about it back then.”

“I couldn’t. It was our first date. Plus, I was blinded by all reporters and camera flashes.”

“True. True.”

“But then it was a big time, because you had just gotten your part in Bohemian Rhapsody…”

“Hey now. The past doesn’t matter anymore, right?”

“What matters now is that we’re finally together.” He brought your hand to his lips and kissed your knuckles.

But, you delved into memories of the past. It had been an on and off year for you and Ben.

…

September 2016

Hammersmith, London, UK

“Can’t you just stay for a few more days?” You cross my arms together.

“You know I can’t.” He stands up from the cracking bed; shuffling around, he finds his underwear and trousers.

“But I need you,” you whine, spreading your naked body gloriously around on the grey sheets of the old mattress.

“It’s rehearsal time, baby. I can’t miss it.” He coldly answers.

“But I’ll miss you!”  You make my way to him, trying to help with his belt.

He sighs, letting you do it.

“We talked about this,” he sighs, his fingers rubbing his eyes.

You move my hand smoothly and firmly from his abdomen up to his chest.

“Baby.” He holds your wrist.

“But I’ll really miss you,”  you whimper.

“Come here.” He brings you up to his height, softly brushing some hair behind your ear.

“I don’t want you to be away for so long.” You bury your face in the crook of his neck.

“Me too, but it is what it is.”

You can’t help your feelings taking over. You can’t hold your burning tears as reality finally hits.

“You’re leaving me, aren’t you?”  You try keep my voice normal, but fail.

He hugs you tight. You can feel his hot body against yours; you can tell by his body language.

“I must choose work over…” he shakes his head and gulps, “I, I…” his words trail off.

“Why… Why do you have to do this to me?” You try to turn your sadness into anger.

“It’s life. It’s my work, it’s what earns me a living.” He pulls away, holding you by the shoulders, examining your state.

“It’s not my fault.” You shake your head and search his eyes. Even through blurry vision, you can see he is on the edge too.

“You knew what you were getting into, when we started dating.” He leaves and turns around taking a few steps forward.

At this point, you can’t think clear anymore. All you see is suffering over this damn man.

“It’s not my fault.” You sob with your head down.

“Why are you crying now?” He seems irritated.

His words cut through like a knife, tearing a million pieces apart within you, making you struggle for breaths ever more than before.

“B-ben. P-p-please,” you plead, through uncontrollable sobbing.

“Please. That’s all you say.” He tosses his arms in the air, pacing nervously around your small bedroom.

“Please. Don’t do this to me. Don’t leave me like that.” You try to touch him, but he turns his back and goes into the bathroom.

“Fuck!” You scream as you punch your fist into the wall. Yelping, you slide your back to the ground. Taking your face into your palms,you let it all out uncontrollably. You don’t even notice when Ben comes out of the bathroom, when you feel his touch on your head.

You grunt, “Don’t you touch me!”

He sits on his knees in front of you.

“Leave me alone.” You stand up and turn on your heel to the kitchen.

“Baby, please let’s not part ways like this…” he comes behind you as you struggle with shaking hands to hold a mug. The only response you give is to turn your head the other way, clearly not wanting to speak or see him. You sit on the couch with your knees up to your chin, forehead resting on them.

“There.” He places a cup of boiling tea in front of you, “Ginger and lemon. Your favourite.”

You don’t want to lift your head up, but hear him collect his things and shut the door behind him, the last words you hear from him -  “I love you.”

…

“The worst breakup I’ve ever had.” His thumb brushes your cheek.

“It definitely was. I was heartbroken.” You trail back to reality from your sour memory.

“But we made our way.”

“That’s all that matters at the end of the day.” You kiss his fingers.

“With your next big film around the corner, I can’t help but go back to those times. First it was ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’, then it was ‘6 Underground’… and now it’s ‘Recovery’…” your voice falls.

“Hey now.” He caresses your cheek once again. “We made it work at the end. Plus, filming doesn’t start for a few more weeks. We’ll continue unpacking tomorrow, okay?”

“Mhm,” you nod with a simple smile on your face.

“I’d love to wake up with you in my arms, knowing you’re home. We’re home.”

“As long as you stand by me, right?”

“Always.”

________

[iamwomanposts]

The engine makes two distinctive suction modes, which implies more individuals may discover accomplishment with it. Be that as it may, at $400, it's unreasonably costly for us to suggest for the vast majority, particularly on the grounds that protection normally doesn't cover it and it doesn't have any critical favorable circumstances over the more affordable Spectra S1.

We likewise tried the Philips Avent Comfort Double Electric Breast Pump. It has two highlights to prescribe it: It's little, and it incorporates a unit to change over the breast shield and assortment bottle into a manual pump (our second place manual pump)— an entirely splendid thought. Be that as it may, the pump itself is the most intense of any we tried—45 decibels from 3 feet away—and at any rate one analyzer thought that it was agonizing to utilize, squeezing the areolas. In addition, with just one size of breast shield accessible (with two potential sizes of silicone liner) it was the least adjustable of any twofold electric pump we attempted.

The Medela Symphony is a peaceful, powerful pump that can be utilized solely (which means, without additionally nursing a child legitimately) to keep up milk supply. In any case, as an over the top expensive emergency clinic grade pump normally accessible as a rental, it fell outside the extent of this guide.

The Medela Freestyle is a little, convenient, battery-worked pump. In any case, lactation specialists we talked with revealed their customers haven't had accomplishment with it over the long haul (one of our analyzers, who has utilized it outside the extent of testing for this guide, concurred), and at $340, it was too expensive to even think about considering given its detailed exhibition.

The Ameda Purely Yours Ultra and the Lansinoh Signature Pro Double Electric are two other well known twofold electric pumps that we looked into yet chose not to test. Both are respectably valued, yet the Spectra and Medela models we suggest were reliably better checked on. Also, Rakowski-Gallagher at the Upper Breast Side questioned these pumps' capacity to keep up milk supply over the long haul.

The inventive yet costly Naya Smart Breast Pump utilizes water, as opposed to air, to make its vacuum; the breast shields rub the breast with water (fixed in a different chamber from the milk) and the pump can be controlled by means of an application utilizing Bluetooth. "It feels increasingly like you're nursing a child as opposed to nursing a machine," organization fellow benefactor Janica Alvarez disclosed to The New York Times (parent organization of Wirecutter) in 2016. The California-based startup began selling the pump in mid-2016 however has battled to discover adequate financing. Despite the fact that in any event one early analyst found the water-suction technique unquestionably increasingly agreeable, and Rakowski-Gallagher at the Upper Breast Side disclosed to us she figures the pump could be a distinct advantage, we investigated all the remarks about the Naya on the Exclusively Pumping Mamas and Working Pumping Moms Facebook gatherings and discovered they were overwhelmingly negative, and included reports that the pump isn't especially calm, has an annoyingly brilliant charging light, and has parts that can spill. Despite the fact that the organization's methodology is engaging, at $650, we think the Naya is too expensive to even consider being the best pump for the vast majority, particularly on the grounds that it appears to have blended early audits, has a solitary rib size thus won't fit everybody, is commonly not secured by protection, and has frequently had huge transportation delays. Naya began taking requests for its Essential Breast Pump, a more affordable, stripped-down adaptation of its Smart Breast Pump that doesn't have a battery-powered battery or Bluetooth availability, similarly as we were completing this guide. We plan to contrast that pump and our flow most loved twofold electrics later on.

Manual pumps

We tried the Lansinoh Manual, which is a generally famous and broadly accessible manual pump. It offers various sizes of breast shield, which is an or more, and is genuinely modest. In any case, its suction was more hard to control than our top pick or second place. Lansinoh overhauled this pump a couple of years prior, and numerous online commentators (and one of our analyzers) who had utilized both favored the old model. Lactation experts we talked with additionally revealed to us that their customers hadn't had as a lot of karma with this more current model likewise with other manual pumps.

The Ameda One Hand Breast Pump and the Nuk Expressive Manual Pump are two other mainstream manual pumps we considered, however didn't test. We rejected them on the grounds that their audits were not as reliably solid as those of the Medela, Philips Avent, or Haakaa manuals. Two lactation specialists said they were not also worked for long haul use as our picks.

[quakerjoe]

23 things Donald Trump has actually said about women

Cast your mind back to when all you knew about Donald Trump was that he's a turbo-tanned, wealthy businessman with breathtakingly weird hair (he maintains it is not a wig…) who did the bit Alan Sugar does on the US version of The Apprentice. Oh, life was so much simpler then.

When it comes to women, much of what has tripped out of Trump's mouth hasn't exactly been great. But now, despite his derogatory views on women, Muslims, black people, and any other minority you might be able to think of, Trump is the 45th President of the United states of America . So, just in case you weren't feeling depressed enough, here are 23 real things Trump has actually said about women.

1. "I'm automatically attracted to beautiful women — I just start kissing them. It's like a magnet. Just kiss. I don't even wait. When you're a star, they let you do it. You can do anything. Grab 'em by the pussy. You can do anything." (Secret video recording, 2005)

2. "Look at that face. Would anyone vote for that? Can you imagine that, the face of our next next president? I mean, she's a woman, and I'm not supposed to say bad things, but really, folks, come on. Are we serious?" (About Carly Fiorina, his one-time Republican rival, 2015)

3. "[Arianna Huffington] is unattractive both inside and out. I fully understand why her former husband left her for a man- he made a good decision." (Twitter, 2012)

4. "Now, somebody who a lot of people don't give credit to but in actuality is really beautiful is Paris Hilton. I've known Paris Hilton from the time she's 12, her parents are friends of mine, and the first time I saw her she walked into the room and I said, 'Who the hell is that?'" (An interview with Howard Stern, 2016)

5. [About a 10-year-old girl] "I am going to be dating her in 10 years. Can you believe it?"(A leaked recording, 1992)

6. "All of the women on The Apprentice flirted with me— consciously or unconsciously. That's to be expected." (How to Get Rich, 2004)

7. "If Hillary Clinton can't satisfy her husband what makes her think she can satisfy America?" (Twitter, 2015)

8. [About his daughter Ivanka] "… she does have a very nice figure. I've said if Ivanka weren't my daughter, perhaps I'd be dating her." (ABC's 'The View', March 6, 2006)

9. [About his wife]"She's not giving me 100 percent. She's giving me 84 percent, and 16 percent is going towards taking care of children." (TIME, May 23, 2011)

10 . After Fox News presenter Megyn Kelly confronted Trump about his disparaging comments about women on live TV he called her "a bimbo" (Fox News, August 2015)

11. "Often when I was sleeping with one of the top women in the world I would say to myself, thinking about me as a boy from Queens, 'Can you believe what I am getting?'" (Think Big: Make it Happen in Business and Life, 2008)

12. "I have really given a lot of women great opportunity. Unfortunately, after they are a star, the fun is over for me." (ABC's 'Primetime Live', March 10, 1994)

13. [On women] "You have to treat 'em like shit." (New York magazine, Nov. 9, 1992)

14. "Rosie's a loser. A real loser. I look forward to taking lots of money from my nice fat little Rosie." He has also called Rosie rude, obnoxious, dumb, a pig, and pretty much every other insult you can think of. (About TV host Rosie O'Donnell who blasted Trump for having an affair and leaving his wife)

15. Trump blamed sexual assaults on women in the army on the fact that men and women were working together. "26,000 unreported sexual assaults in the military-only 238 convictions. What did these geniuses expect when they put men & women together?" (Twitter, May 7, 2013)

16. "Women are really a lot different than portrayed. They are far worse than men, far more aggressive … " (The Art of the Comeback, 1997)

17. "You know who's one of the great beauties of the world, according to everybody? And I helped create her. Ivanka. My daughter, Ivanka. She's 6 feet tall, she's got the best body. She made a lot money as a model—a tremendous amount." (The Howard Stern Show, 2003)

18. He compared Kristen Stewart to a dog and advised Robert Pattinson not to get back with her back amidst the couple's on/off relationship back in 2012. (Twitter, October 17, 2012)

19. "You're disgusting," to a breastfeeding motherwhen she asked for a medical break during a legal deposition so she could pump breast milk for her 3-month-old daughter. (New York Times, July 2015)

20. Trump reduced all women's significance to being "a young and beautiful piece of ass", when he told an Esquire journalist in response to his bad press: "You know, it really doesn’t matter what they write as long as you’ve got a young and beautiful piece of ass. But she’s got to be young and beautiful." (Esquire, 1991)

21. "Sarah Jessica Parker voted 'unsexiest woman alive' – I agree" wrote Trump in a Facebook post. "She said 'it’s beneath me to comment on the potential Obama charitable gift.' What’s really beneath her?" he continued. (Facebook, October 26, 2012)

22. He advised victims of sexual harassment in the workplace to get a new job. Not only did he stand up for Roget Ailes, the former head of Fox, following multiple sexual harassment allegations against him (Trump called Ailes a "very, very good person"), he shared his thoughts on what his daughter Ivanka should do if she were ever sexually harassed. "I would like to think she would find another career or find another company if that was the case," he told USA Today columnist Kirsten Powers. (USA Today, August 1, 2016)

23. And in an outrageous display of irony, he tweeted on International Women's Day this year that he had "tremendous respect" for women. Er... (Twitter, March 8, 2017)

Well, there we are then. The President of the United States, ladies and gentlemen.

https://www.cosmopolitan.com/uk/reports/news/a42442/17-things-donald-trump-has-actually-said-about-women/

[vilhelmsen96lynn-blog]

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At the kilometer 22 pen my spouse stopped as well as handed me the sport grains and also water. The Curry Village Mountain range Outlet or the Tuolumne Meadows Sport Shop (their labels are their areas) may likewise possess gels. Already, Gervais had actually created herself as one from the very best sporting activities psycho therapists in business, dealing with specialists with all the significant crew sporting activities, in addition to with best boxers and also big-wave users. All the stuff regarding camaraderie ... as well as close friends ... as well as like-minds ... as well as power from other runners ... spirit ... belt clasps ... and so on The Starting line from any nationality is an impressive mix from worried and thrilled energy. 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In 2015, the Association Athletes For Transparency (AFT), a company that may be parallelled to the CSC, developed the SHOL (Sporting activity as well as Wellness On-Line) Platform for ITRA. But I looked at that publication as well as I realized how very easy this would certainly be to administer, to earn a vegan diet fit to his rules. Transfer the whole combination to an 8 x 8 in baking recipe edged with paper or fridge freezer newspaper as well as expanded uniformly. The outcomes located no notable distinctions in relaxing power cost in between the 2 teams. Sune from Denmark sought some choices in Southern Sweden and also a handful of referrals are the different Skaneleden parts () Charts are accessible online as well as in the majority of bookshops and some sport shops. Discover your Roadway Distance runner Athletics outlet or outlet online at Bear in mind, merely at Roadway Distance runner Sports you get to test-run your footwears for 90-Days making sure they are actually ideal! 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I want to check out training strategies to get a tip from where to begin but after that I customize that to fit my timetable, my focus amount (very long terms in the week normally do not go well for me) and my health and fitness degree. Expert one meal a day like home plate Coach suggests through concentrating your energy about that one-time a time.

[article-research]

Breast Pump Market Size, Share, Growth Opportunity and Trends by Growing CAGR Till 2026

The global Breast Pump Market report offers a comprehensive assessment of the market for the forecast years. The report contains several segments and an analysis of the market trends and growth factors that are playing a vital role in the market. These factors encompass the drivers, restraints, and opportunities. This globe industry offers an outlook on the strategic development of the market in terms of revenue profits over the forecast period 2021-2026.

The key market players for the global Breast Pump market are listed below:

Philips Avent

Evenflo Feeding

Ameda AG

Medela AG

Tommee Tippee

Pigeon

Hygeia Health

NUK

Ardo Medical

Spectra Baby

Horigen

Canpol

Zhejiang Rikang Baby Products

Zhejiang Huilun Infant And Child Articles

Dr. Brown’s

Wuxi Xinzhongrui Baby Supplies

Others

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The Global Breast Pump Market Report is equipped with market data from 2016 to 2026. The report gives a market overview covering key drivers and risk factors. The report is bifurcated by top global manufactures mentioning sales, revenue, and prices as applicable. It also evaluates the competitive scenario of the leading players. The report expands to cover regional market data along with type and application. The report forecasts sales and revenue from 2021 to 2026. The detailed sales channel is also covered in the study.

 COVID-19 Impact Analysis on Breast Pump Market

The global pandemic COVID-19 has affected the Breast Pump market directly or indirectly. This study covers a separate section giving an explicitly clear understanding of the aftereffects of this pandemic. The detailed study highlights the probable outcomes of this global crisis on the Breast Pump industry. The impact study on production, supply-demand, and sales provides a holistic approach to the future.

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The data analysis in the report helps in understanding the anticipated Breast Pump market dynamics from 2021 to 2026.

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The market drivers, restraints, upcoming opportunities, and anticipated restraints cited in the report will assist in making an informed decision. 

To better understand the market scenario, the Breast Pump market is segmented as below:

By Types:

Manual Breast Pump

Battery-powered Breast Pump

Electrical Breast Pump

By Applications:

Hospital Grade Pump

Consumer Grade Pump

By Regions:

North America (U.S., Canada, Mexico)

Europe (U.K., France, Germany, Spain, Italy, Central & Eastern Europe, CIS)

Asia Pacific (China, Japan, South Korea, ASEAN, India, Rest of Asia Pacific)

Latin America (Brazil, Rest of L.A.)

The Middle East and Africa (Turkey, GCC, Rest of Middle East)

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[sebsticles]

Be Quiet! (pt. 2)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warning/s: Smut ahead! Word Count:  2016 Author: Sebsticles

PART 1

(PLEASE DON’T STEAL MY WORK. I SQUEEZED MY BRAINS OUT FOR THIS.)

Opening the door was not in the option anymore. you knew that he’s neither passed out nor dead on the bathroom floor. His moans caused you to want to hear more of Bucky that you even brushed off the fact that you still have tons of papers to read.

Bucky’s soft moans became louder and his breathing was hoarse and heavy. Your heart was pounding against your chest knowing that he was about to climax.

The sound of him reaching his edge has always been the most erotic sound you have ever heard in your entire life and although you have heard it many times when he’s in bed with you, listening to him fuck himself in your bathroom suddenly made your knees weak, and your panties wet.

He kept moaning and moaning until you heard him groan harshly as if he’s been frustrated all day long, and suddenly everything went quiet and still.

You didn’t make a move until your heard the toilet flush. Only then you scrambled back to your table just in time for you to go unnoticed when he came out of the bathroom.

While pretending to read the book in front of you, you tried your best to even out your breathing and ignore his presence even if you sensed him walking closer to you.

You felt his warmth as he hovered over you with his arms supporting his weight on your table. He rested his chin on top of your head and you quietly prayed that he can’t hear your heart pounding.

“Babe,” Bucky exhaled. “Let’s go do something.”

“Uh, I’m not done with studying yet,” your voice was strained hence, you cleared your voice. “Maybe later.”

He clicked his tongue to let his disappointment be known. His eyes scanned the book you were “reading” and sighed. “I can tutor you if you like.”

“This isn’t your field. Are you sure about that?” you tilted your head upwards to see him looking down at you, and for a split second there you saw his eyes flicked from your face to your exposed cleavage and to your face again. “Yes” he chirped and kissed your forehead.

From that moment on, you knew that it was hunger for some contact with you that’s making him want to tutor you.

Based from experience, you have concluded that horny-Bucky will cause a horny-you, so if horny-Bucky wants to get involved in your serious studying, horny-Bucky will do something that would trigger horny-you and forget all about studying.  

You know that that’s not a good thing, him interfering with your studying; however, you didn’t get the chance to complain or even refuse because he already grabbed your book and pulled you off your chair.

He took over your chair and told you sit on the bed, and then he started reading the book within the next five minutes. The room fell quiet once more.

You started to wonder if Bucky was going to memorize the whole chapter. And then you remembered. His photographic memory is top notch.

As soon as he finished imprinting the whole chapter in his mind, Bucky slammed the book shut and stood up. your eyes followed him when he started to walk towards you.

“Okay, babe. Let me give you a few rules,” he said as he began to unfasten his belt. Watching him do so made your lips dry and your breathing started to get rough. Shit. This was not part of the plan.

“All you have to do is recite all the things that I ask for you to say out loud.” He took off his shirt. “I will not accept mistakes, and if you do you will be punished. Do you understand?”

To nod was the only thing that you were able to do. You swallowed hard as your eyes roamed his naked body.

Without taking his eyes away from yours, He closed the space between the two of you as he knelt in between your legs. Your legs involuntarily spread themselves to fit Bucky perfectly and your arms wrapped around his neck to draw him closer.

He began to kiss you on the lips. At first it was chaste, but then his kisses reflected how hungry he was. His tongue swiped your bottom lip and you did not think twice to give him access to your mouth.

You felt his hand creeping into your shirt. He reached for your breast and began playing with your nipple.

A moan escaped from your mouth, a sound that made Bucky smile against your lips. He kissed you deeply one more time before pulling away.

The both of you took a few seconds to catch your breaths.

“Recite out loud the general probations of Rule 1960.” He exhaled.

General probations. That’s a piece of cake.

“Every employer shall establish in his place of employment…” As you began speaking, Bucky also began working down your neck; trailing kisses that sent shivers down your spine. Kisses that made you stutter, yet you still continued just to keep Bucky going.

Bucky, on the other hand, was enjoying every second, every bit of what’s going on. That’s because he thinks he’s hitting two birds with one stone. Him helping you get good grades while he gets laid.

He’s desperate to get laid, actually.

Well, how could anyone possibly blame him?  He’s in the same room with you for almost a day and yet you gave him none of your attention even if he’s been constantly making noises. You see, that’s not even the worst part because the worst part is when he already has to restrain himself from touching you and you added the pain of wearing the shortest shorts you own and a shirt that exposes most of your breasts.

And now, look at what you’ve done.

 The sound of your voice had become strained as soon as Bucky planted wet kisses on your tummy. Your shirt was pushed halfway up, just enough to cover your chest.

He bites. You gasp.

“Bucky!”

With his hair tousled from your fingers massaging his scalp, he looks up at you. “Oops? I’m sorry,” he wasn’t. “You may continue.”

You cleared your throat to regain your sense of control. Everything you were saying made sense and your brain was working fine until he pushed you, crashing your back on the mattress while your ass was on the edge of the bed. Fuck.

He repositioned himself, his head was now in between your thighs. The warmth of his breath ghosted over the thin fabric of your shorts and it was not long enough when you felt his tongue swipe the inside of your thigh.

Your brain was starting to become soup because of all kissing and the teasing Bucky has been doing to you, but you still kept going.

However, you ran out of words and then you realized you already finished the general provisions.

“Bucky, I’m done with the general provisions. What’s next?” your voice was shaky with anticipation.

“Hmm?” he hummed, a sound that sent vibrations to your core.

“Um, recite the,” kiss.

“the definition,” lick.

“of terms.” kiss.

Frustration was building in your chest and your pussy was starting to hurt. He hasn’t even touched you there.

He reached for your breast and gave it a light pinch, signaling you to begin talking. And so, with you eyes closed, you began to speak.

“the following terms shall mean as herein defined—Ohh.”

After he removed your shorts and almost ripped off your panty, Bucky had finally found his way to your clit and started sucking it mercilessly.

Your hips jolted at the sensation of his mouth sucking and his tongue licking and lapping all the juices that came out from you as if it was the most delicious drink he’s ever had in years.

It’s like he’s sucking the soul out of you from your vagina.

The words that came out of your mouth had become mostly heavy breaths and moans and Bucky was enjoying it as much as you did. You were close to the edge and then it came back to his mind that you still had to finish the definition of terms.

He disconnected from you completely and you almost cried.

“I think you should be reciting something.” He raised an eyebrow.

Gawking for a few seconds at his glistening lips and his tousled hair, you took in the sight of him while in between your legs before resuming.

Reconnecting his lips to your sensitive bud, Bucky’s back at it again with the intense sucking. It was as if he’s torturing you for torturing him.

Your sentences became more and more incoherent as you came closer your climax once more. But you wanted him inside you. No, you needed him inside you and come all over his cock.

You reached for him and grabbed him by the hair. Pulling him up on top of you so you could kiss him on the mouth.

The tangy taste of your juice blended with his saliva, making you taste yourself as you explored his mouth with your tongue.

Breaking the kiss for a brief moment, clothes were immediately discarded. Once Bucky was completely naked in between your legs, you had realized that he’s just as turned on as you are.

The mischief mixed with pride was seen in your eyes and Bucky felt the need to explain his massive erection that’s throbbing against your entrance. “Babe, I tried to avoid having sex with you, okay?” he kissed you. “But you look so hot today that even jerking off in the bathroom didn’t help a single bit.”

See, you’ve already forgotten about studying so you might as well indulge him. Right?

“Well then now that you got my attention,” you locked him in as you wrapped your legs around him. “Help yourself.” You smirked and he was more than happy to comply.

Moans escaped from your mouth as you took his length in. he waited for you to adjust to his size before moving his hips.

Slowly, he began pumping in and out until you tightened your legs around his waist, urging him to push in deeper.

“deeper and faster, babe,” you whispered in his ear “I want you to fuck me like that.”

This fueled his whole body, making him pump his dick faster into you, pounding into that spot that makes you see stars every time he hits it.

Your pussy clenched around him, “Bucky I’m,” you bit his shoulder while he still pounded into you. “Bucky I’m comi—” you didn’t finish your sentence as the wave of pleasure crashed into every part of your being.

Bucky still hasn’t come yet, so you clenched harder around his dick while he chased his own orgasm. After a few moments, his body tensed and you felt him cum inside you.

He slumped his body on you as you both waited for your breaths to even out and your hearts to slow down.

“so…” you started. “You really did jerk off inside the bathroom.”

“Yes, I did.” His voice sleepy and a bit raspy.

“I thought you passed out while pooping, actually so I listened through the door, and when I realized were jerking yourself, I couldn’t stop listening.”

“You did what?” he lifted his head from your chest to throw a questioning look at you.

“I listened to you fucking yourself,” you giggled. “It’s sexy, the sound of your moans.”

“huh. I always thought you didn’t like me making any sound while in bed so I try to keep it down as much as possible”

You frowned. “When did I ever do that?”

“I don’t know, I just thought so.” He rested his head on you once more. And the room fell quiet.

“Seems like I should get back to studying.” You suggested.

“I could help you with that.” Bucky’s smile was audible.

“Sure, you can.” You grinded your hips against his and you felt him getting hard again.

Bucky met your eyes that reflected the mischief in his. “Get ready for the next chapter, then.”

A/N: Thank you for reading this stupid smut fic. thank you. i really appreciate you taking time in reading this. thank you. until my next fic! :)

[easyhairstylesbest]

All of Queen Rania of Jordan's Best Fashion Moments

Franco OrigliaGetty Images

Since her husband, Abdullah II, became the King of Jordan in 1999, Queen Rania of Jordan has been hard at work. The Queen is best known for her advocacy in public health and education, as well as her supremely trendy sense of style. Throughout the years, Rania has proven that her sartorial tastes are impeccable. She has a penchant for monochromatic looks and pops of color, but also knows her way around a neutral palette. Read on for 63 of her best royal style moments here.

View Gallery 63 Photos

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April 17, 2019

Rania stepped out in a casual tank and pants combo during a tour of Jordan, and brightened it up with a coral jacket.

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March 29, 2019

For a visit to the Basilica of Saint Francis of Assisi, the Queen wore a collared navy midi dress, a trendy Louis Vuitton handbag, and added dainty silver earrings.

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March 29, 2019

While visiting French President Emmanuel Macron, Queen Rania wore this bold monochrome look, which features a pleated midi dress and a tailored leather jacket.

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October 14, 2018

The Queen stunned in a belted pinstripe midi dress for the state opening of Jordan’s Parliament.

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June 25, 2018

On a visit to the White House with her husband, Rania wore a flowy blush pantsuit with a matching purse and pumps.

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May 22, 2018

Rania wore a gorgeous grey-blue pleated turtleneck dress to her daughter Princess Salma’s graduation.

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March 21, 2018

Rania chose a tailored grey blazer, turtleneck, and crisp white pants for a visit to the Netherlands. Her suede heels and elaborate woven handbag were perfect complements to her neutral outfit.

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March 20, 2018

Queen Rania showed us that she isn’t afraid of a bold pop of color. Here, she wore a bright blue swing coat with statement buttons and a white neck scarf over her grey dress.

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November 11, 2017

For this look, Rania paired a simple white top with a brightly patterned pencil skirt and coral handbag.

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August 11, 2017

For the Sovereign’s Parade at the Royal Military Academy, the Queen chose a bright pink quilted princess coat and matching heels. She accessorized with a black purse and silver jewelry.

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May 21, 2017

Rania glowed at the Fashion for Relief event at Cannes, wearing a delicate white dress with lace details and simple jewelry. She posed for a photo with Princess Beatrice and Sarah, Duchess of York at the event.

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December 3, 2016

The Queen wore an elegant A-line gown with pink silk details to a gala in Germany.

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November 11, 2016

Rania chose a simple black blazer and pencil skirt, drawing attention to her intricate turtleneck, for the state opening of Parliament in Amman, Jordan.

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September 11, 2016

Queen Rania stepped out in a beautiful crimson and blue gown for the Celebrity Fight Night gala.

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June 2, 2016

Rania arrived at the Great Arab Revolt centennial wearing a deep teal dress with gold embroidery, turquoise drop earrings, a cream quilted clutch, and black heels.

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May 25, 2016

For Jordan’s 70th Independence Day, Rania chose a belted maroon top with an extravagant red and white detailed skirt, maroon heels and silver accessories.

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May 18, 2016

Rania wore a soft pink swing coat adorned with a floral detail and black kitten heels alongside the Queen of Belgium during a visit to Brussels.

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May 2, 2016

The Queen turned heads on the red carpet in a feathered gown dotted with delicate silver gems by Valentino at the Manus x Machina Costume Institute gala at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

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January 8, 2016

During a visit to London, Rania wore a hot pink pencil dress with a complementary belted coat and black pointed-toe heels.

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November 20, 2015

While in Spain, the Queen wore a black and white striped accordion skirt, a white blouse, and a mahogany wide belt.

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November 19, 2015

Here, Rania paired a trendy leather pencil skirt with a patterned blouse for a visit to the Prado Media Lab cultural center in Madrid, Spain.

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November 19, 2015

Queen Rania walked with Queen Letizia of Spain on the airport tarmac as she arrives in Madrid, Spain for a royal visit. Rania’s chic ensemble proves that even after a long plane ride, the royal is glowing. This look features a simple sky blue dress, a red and white woven wrap coat, and glittery heels.

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September 25, 2015

For the UN Foundation’s Gender Equality Discussion, Rania stepped out in an all-white ensemble, but it’s far from dull. The detail in her top, her snakeskin clutch, and her reflective pointed-toe heels make this a style to remember.

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August 26, 2015

Rania and her daughter walked the red carpet for the Medef Summer University Conference. The Queen wore a simple A-line dress and accented it with a Louis Vuitton bag and strappy heels.

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May 19, 2014

Here Queen Rania wore a black and white patterned top, a black midi skirt with a sheer overlay, and pumps.

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March 12, 2013

Rania and Camilla Parker Bowles pose for a photo during Prince Charles and Camilla’s royal tour in Jordan. Rania chose a bright blue and white knee-length dress adorned with a flower, and pearl drop earrings for the occasion.

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May 18, 2012

Queen Rania chose a classic flattering dress for a dinner at Buckingham Palace. The celebration was held in honor of Queen Elizabeth’s Diamond Jubilee, her 60th anniversary on the throne.

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May 18, 2012

Rania wore a white ruffled top with gold accents, paired with a fiery red pencil skirt, and her signature black pumps for an event at Windsor Castle in England. The royal was in town to celebrate Queen Elizabeth’s Diamond Jubilee.

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April 2, 2012

The Queen was glowing on a visit to the Royal Palace in Italy, wearing an embroidered double-breasted trench coat, peep-toe heels, and a sleek black purse.

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June 19, 2010

Rania stepped out in a purple gown—the color of royalty—paired with a tiara and sash for Crown Princess Victoria of Sweden and Daniel Westling’s royal wedding in Stockholm, Sweden.

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Sarah Madaus Sarah Madaus is the digital editorial fellow at Town & Country.

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All of Queen Rania of Jordan's Best Fashion Moments