#between the sink and vent as to why the toilet was backing up/not flushing. and that Did fix it but. only temporarily bc the drain blockage

[vimbry]

I'm so siiick. in that I'm cool but also I've had the flu

[winter-soldier-vibes]

You Aren’t Somebody? (Bucky x Reader)

Bucky x reader

Word count: 2647

Summary: Bucky knows that the reader has struggled with an eating disorder before, but thought they were doing better. Little does he know, they had just gotten better at hiding it. Until one night, he catches her doing something she had promised she had stopped

Warnings: eating disorder, purging, angst, fluff

Tags @abitgryffindorky @buckys2thicc @thatfangirl42 @buckfics @barnesplums @mardema @stucky-on-spiderman @thundering-barnes

Main Masterlist

A/N: It’s finals week and I am running on energy drinks, reading fanfiction, and longgggg hot showers. But the semester is almost over, and then I have no obligations aside from my hobbies. I see the requests and I’m working on them I promise! I have a list of all the requests that I get, and I am working through them I PROMISE!!! Thank you all for all of your support.

A/N 2: This deals with heavy and dark themes of mental illness. The specific warnings are above. If you feel that in any way reading this will be harmful to your mental health and your journey, PLEASE skip it. I write from my own experience and I know what I would’ve wanted to hear in these situations, and writing/reading fics helps me feel comforted. This fic is based on one experience more specifically than most of my fics, so I apologize if it’s not exactly the same as your experience. This is what I would’ve wanted to hear. If you need or want someone to talk to, vent to, or get advice from, feel free to message me, really. I’m here! <3

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Bucky was standing in front of you, blocking the door. His piercing blue eyes were locked on you, your own refusing to meet his. 

He wanted answers that you were not ready to give.

“Y/n, please. I just want to talk about this”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Bucky.”

He looked you up and down. Your hair was in a messy bun, a few loose strands sticking to your tear stained cheeks. Your eyes were puffy, and your face was red, voice raspy. He took a deep breath. “You told me you would tell me if it was getting bad again.”

“You promised.”

You closed your eyes. He wasn’t wrong, you had promised. But that was because you never thought you’d see the day when you were purging again. You thought you had gotten over it. You really thought that this time you wouldn’t slip up.

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

You had been struggling with an eating disorder for a while. The cause, you weren’t quite sure. An innocent diet soon turned into a competition for yourself, but the end goal was never there. At first you had thought it was just about the weight and how you looked, but then you found that some of your behavior patterns were tied to your emotional ones. 

Stress was the major trigger, you had come to learn.

Whether it was a mission gone wrong, you getting injured, someone else getting injured, or even just basic social interactions you thought could’ve gone better, you found yourself inclined to comfort yourself with food. 

Until you panicked, which would lead you to the bathroom with music blaring and water running to cover up the noises of your retching. 

You hated it, and every time you told yourself it was the last time. But the more you did it, the more you felt the urge to do it. At first it was triggered by large stressors, but now smaller things could trigger you to want to throw up. You tried to keep it hidden, unaware of the true reasons for why you did it. You were able to help yourself sometimes, it wasn’t worth bringing anyone else into. 

You couldn’t explain it to yourself, so how were you supposed to explain it to anybody?

The best way that you had figured out how to describe it was that whenever you felt a negative emotion, you could soothe it in a physical way with food, especially with all the warm comfort foods that are known. But at the same time, that feeling lasted as long as you could taste, and you would feel guilty as you felt full. When you threw up, it felt like you were also throwing up the negative emotions. 

But when you said it out loud, it didn’t make sense. When people are sick and throwing up it’s one of the most uncomfortable feelings ever. Inducing it hurts sometimes, but it’s almost not as bad. Like you know it’s coming, and you’re in control of what’s happening and you could stop at any point. And there had been times where you could soothe yourself in other ways, and you knew your own physical limits. You knew when you had to stop for your own health.

Until you couldn’t stop.

Which is what led to you fainting on a mission after purging too much. Your electrolytes had bottomed out and you almost had a heart attack at an age no one should. Bucky, your boyfriend who was on the mission with you, had put it together when the first words out of your mouth upon gaining consciousness were “Is this a glucose drip?” while tugging at the IV.

He hadn’t been mad, not exactly. He wasn’t mad at you but he was furious with himself for not noticing, and for making you feel as though you couldn’t tell him. You assured him that you did trust him, but he wished you had come to him before you could’ve gotten yourself, and those on the mission, seriously hurt or killed. 

Nonetheless, you still didn’t know how to talk about it.

“Can you try to tell me about it?” he asked gently, running a hand through your hair. He held you to his chest, you unable to meet his eyes.

“It won’t make any sense,” you had said, tears glazing your eyes.

“I want to understand. Can you help me understand?”

You paused for a moment. “It’s a long story and I don’t know where to start. There’s so much going wrong.” you had said, tears beginning to streak down your face.

“I have all the time for you. And it doesn’t have to make sense, these things rarely do. I’m not here to judge you, I’m here to listen.”

And true to his word, he had. He had listened and held you while you tried to talk about what you could. He didn’t understand everything, he naturally had a ton of questions, but they weren’t for that moment. He had promised to help you the best that he could, and you had promised to try and tell him whenever you felt the urges get too strong. And if you couldn’t, to tell him after.

It was easier to talk to Bucky than anyone else. Not because he was your boyfriend, but because he seemed to understand you more than anyone else could. He had his own share of mental health struggles. Neither of you knew exactly what the other was going through, but you both understood that it was easy to feel alone and guilty even though you couldn’t control it. 

It was rough, but he was never mad. He was sometimes firm, and sometimes you had gotten angry with him. Only to later apologize to him with tears in your eyes. He was never mad with you. He understood that this was something internal. Upon research he had done and conversations he had had with Bruce, he understood that this had nothing to do with him. Some people thought eating disorders were about getting attention when it was one of the furthest things from the truth.

All he could do was love you and be there for you.

And to your surprise, talking about it did help.it took a long time, months, of long and hard conversations, panic attacks, slip ups, and really dark days. But it got to the point where Bucky felt that you were doing better, making an effort to tell you how proud he was and how much he loved you. 

And you were doing better, in a way. But you had been slipping up more recently, and you hadn’t told Bucky. You didn’t know how. After going the longest you’d ever had between slip ups, you found yourself retching over the toilet. You would have gone to Bucky but he had been away on a mission that was extended a few days. You couldn’t interrupt him because your feelings were too much to handle. People needed his help more than you did.

You were going to tell him, but he had been so tired when he had come back. He needed his time to relax, and it wasn’t the right time to tell him. And the next day when he was rested, you felt that it was irrelevant. Any negative feeling you had felt the day before had since past, and you didn’t see the point in bringing it up today. It would worry Bucky, he wouldn’t want to go on missions, and you weren’t going to do that to him. Besides, it was just one time.

Right?

You soon found yourself purging when Bucky wasn’t around. If he had gone out with Steve, if he was on a mission, or if he was down in the gym you found yourself taking more opportunities to give into your urges. It wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been, but you were spiraling. But at this point you had been slipping up so many times, you had been so secretive about it. 

It would kill Bucky inside to know that you were hiding this from him again. He would feel like you didn’t trust him. You trusted him with your life.

You just didn’t want to let him down. Not again, not when he had explicitly told you to come to him and you had been blatantly ignoring that.

You wanted to tell him, you did. But you couldn’t let him being so proud of you be based on a lie.

One day you were hunched over the toilet, legs sahking and tears streaming down your face from exertion. Bucky was away on a mission, so you didn’t even bother with the music or the water. What you hadn’t anticipated was him coming back hours earlier than he should’ve

The mission had gone much more smoothly than anticipated, which everyone was happy about. Bucky was glad he would get a few more hours with you. He had gone up to your shared room and let himself in, surprised to see you weren’t there. But then he heard you coughing from behind a closed bathroom door.

He felt like someone had punched him in the gut. You had been doing so well, what had happened?

He walked over to the door, knocking on it and calling out your name. He heard you muffle a small fuck before he knocked again.

“Y/n please, let me in.”

He heard the toilet flush and the sink turn on, you on the other side washing your face. You could feel the tears from exertion be replaced by ones of shame and embarrassment, biting your lip slightly. What the fuck were you going to tell him? 

When you finally turned off the water, you rubbed your face with a towel, sighing heavily into it. When you took it away, you looked long and hard at the doorknob. 

Bucky sighed on the other side of the door. “Y/n please. I’m not mad. We’ve been here before, I just wanna talk to you.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, taking a breath before you made your expression nuetral and opened the door. 

Bucky’s eyes immediately saddened when he took you in. your face was still red and there were tears in your eyes. You had tried to put up a front, he could tell that too. Sometimes you got angry with him because you didn’t want to be vulnerable. He was prepared because like he said - he’d helped you before.

Before he could say anything you crossed your arms. “You’re home early,” you said coldly.

“Y/n.” 

“How’d the mission go? Well, I assume.” you tried to slip past Bucky but he was blocking the door. 

Bucky took a deep breath. “Yeah, yeah, the mission went well.” He wanted to be gentle with you. “But how are you?”

You shrugged, trying to appear oblivious. “I’m fine,” voice wavering slightly as you looked away.

“Y/n please. You’re not fine. Can you tell me what happened?”

“The same thing that always happens” you said bitterly. “Something stupid comes up, I start feeling like shit about myself and I ignore it until I’m puking it up with everything else, alright? It’s the same story, different time, and now I have you looking at me all hurt just like I was worried about which is why I couldn’t tell you!” you exclaimed, eyes filled with anger and tears. Bucky looked at you as if you had just punched him in the face. He would’ve much preferred that you had.

“Y/n.”

You shook your head, trying to get through the door that he was blocking. “Bucky, just let me through the door, forget it.”

“Y/n just talk to me please, I -”

“JUST LET ME THROUGH THE GODDAMN DOOR.” You yelled, surprising Bucky. It had been a while since you had gotten this angry or defensive. But he stood his ground. Bucky was standing in front of you, blocking the door. His piercing blue eyes were locked on you, your own refusing to meet his. 

He wanted answers that you were not ready to give.

“Y/n, please. I just want to talk about this”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Bucky,” you said, feeling tears threatening to spill over. 

He took a deep breath. “You told me you would tell me if it was getting bad again.”

You closed your eyes and felt a pang in your stomach. “Bucky, I - “

“You promised,” he said, voice cracking.

You shook your head. “Why do I have to talk about this. It’s not like I’m hurting anybody” 

“You’re hurting yourself, y/n.” he said calmly.

You shook your head and narrowed your eyes slightly, tears falling. “That’s different Bucky, you know it is.”

“You aren’t somebody?”

You looked at him for a moment before a sob escaped your body, leaning on the counter for support as you brought a hand to your mouth. Bucky quickly came up behind you and pulled you into him, wrapping his arms around you. You started crying harder, embarrassed and ashamed. 

“I’m sorry Bucky, I didn’t know what else to do, I didn’t know how to tell you, I -”

“Hey it’s okay, it’s alright y/n, I’m here.” Bucky kept whispering reassurances in your ears, rubbing a hand up and down your back. 

After some time passed, you didn’t know how long, you were able to calm down enough to take some shaky breaths, hiding your red face in Bucky’s chest.

“When did this start happening again?” he asked softly

“I don’t know… few weeks at least, not really sure.”

He took a breath, trying to stay calm. A few weeks and he hadn’t suspected anything, and you were alone. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You were on a mission, I couldn’t interrupt that.”

“Why didn’t you tell me when I got back?” he pressed gently.

“You were so tired Bucky - ”

“Y/n.” he said more firmly.

You paused for a moment, knowing he wouldn’t take those answers. If they were truly the reason then you would’ve told him the next day or the day after, as soon as the opportunity came. There was more to why you waited, and Bucky knew that. 

“I didn’t want to disappoint you,” you whispered. 

You heard Bucky sigh. He was angry with himself, for not being approachable to you. All he wanted was to make you feel safe enough to come to him, and to hear that you hadn’t because you thought he had expectations for you crushed him. “Y/n, I told you you could tell me about this. When have I ever been disappointed or angry with you?”

“You haven’t. You were just so proud and I - I didn’t want to ruin that for you. I didn’t want to tell you that you were proud of a lie.”

“Hey, hey look at me.” Hesitantly you looked up to meet his eyes. “None of this was you lying. You put in the hard work day after day, and I told you I was here to support you. But I never did the work for you. You did that. I’m proud of you and I always will be because you’re a fighter. It’s okay to have bad days, it’s okay to slip up. It’s okay to need a little help too, and that’s what I’m here for. A slip up doesn’t erase all the hard work you’ve put in before. I’m proud of you for the progress you’ve made, and of the work you put in. This doesn’t change anything sweetheart.”

He pulled you back into his chest.

“I’ll always be proud of you.”

[ourpositivelatitude]

Everyday Life in a RV

Another beautiful day in Florida!  I ABSOLUTELY understand now why snow birds make their way to Florida to spend the winter.  The weather here is second to none!  While we arrived in Florida a little early and caught the end of summer temperatures (in November) with slightly high temperatures and incredibly high humidity, the weather has since leveled out and is practically perfect every day.  

When Mark and I planned this venture, we vacillated as to whether or not we would tow a vehicle.  We knew we “wanted” a vehicle and having one would be more convenient.  However, we ended up settling on getting fold-able electric bikes (e-bikes) and to be inconvenienced by having to run our errands in the RV between stops or on our e-bikes.  That has turned out humorous on more than one occasion.  

As an example, we had issues with the drain in the RV shower and worked on that problem tirelessly.  Let me rephrase, Mark worked on that problem tirelessly.  My “work” involved paying for my very first “pay” shower at a park in Oklahoma where I had to choose between three showers.  One had a tarantula guarding the inside of the front door.  Nope.  The second had a wolf spider guarding the shower floor.  Nopity, nope, NOPE!   The third was just right.  More accurately stated, it didn’t involve any intimidating spiders or snakes so I took it.  I don’t remember how much it cost, but I would have paid serious money for a decent shower that didn’t involve creatures that could kill me.  

Getting back to the shower repair -- Mark got parts at three different hardware stores that didn’t end up fitting/working.  So, we eventually fixed the RV in the Home Depot parking lot so we could return parts as necessary.  It was hot as bejesus that day, but Mark didn’t complain.  He took advantage of the return policy and got our shower back up and in running condition before we left the parking lot.  While I don’t mind doing my part, I’d be happy as to not have to pay for another shower anytime soon.  But let the record reflect, I’m a giver.

Between RV stop locations, we usually plan a grocery store venture and/or a Costco run.  While our fridge isn’t Costco worthy by any stretch of the imagination, we do buy Costco dog food for Riley and Duke (and red wine need not be refrigerated).  This particular stop we are at for a full month and while I’m not out of red wine (yet), we did need a few necessities.  

On Sunday after church service, Mark and I ventured over to the local Winn-Dixie (grocery store) on our e-bikes, which is approximately three miles from our RV for some necessities.  We both take our backpacks to carry groceries, but on this particular venture we needed a few more things than would fit in both of our backpacks.  For example, we NEEDED the half ham that was on sale for only $10 (love those post-Thanksgiving sales)!!  Also, diet Coke was on sale, buy two 12-packs get one for free!  Our backpacks were full of salad, coffee creamer and other necessities, so I convinced Mark it wouldn’t be a problem to bungee cord anything else down to the back rack on our bikes.  He was a willing participant as long as he could get his diet Coke.  This is a picture of Mark with the half of a ham and one pack of diet Coke.  While this picture doesn’t represent the “Clampett look” I was sporting with the other two diet coke 12-packs AND groceries, it does give you an idea of how humorous such a simple thing as grocery shopping can be.   

Much of the rest of any given day is like everyone else’s, EXCEPT looking for stuff.  We have such a small amount of space and we kept very few things.  However, nothing is more frustrating than knowing you have something and in 31 feet of space, you can’t find it.  Many times I’ll be looking for something, like the dog’s nail clippers.  I know I have one ... but where in the 42 bazillion little containers, cabinets or under storage compartments it is, I have no clue.  I’ve lost these dumb dog nail clipper thingies TWICE now.  I don’t know what is up with that, but I’ve noticed that on a rig this size, that tends to happen.  You know it exists.  You know it’s in your possession...somewhere.  You’ve seen it in the last few months, weeks and sometimes days ... but when it’s necessary to find it, it’s no where to be found.  Grrrr.  I’m blaming this problem on the size of the RV and praying it’s not my old age kicking into high gear.  

Learning how to live in 31 feet of space has been interesting, fun and challenging.  I love our little space in life.  It’s portable and I can take it to any place I’d like.  I can enjoy the outdoors in any state, any weather, any place I desire.  That’s pretty cool.  It’s also easy to clean and doesn’t take too long to clean.  It’s such a little space, cleaning is done in a breeze.  With two dogs though, cleaning needs to be done more often than one would hope (definitely an argument for getting rid of the dogs, but we all know that is never going to happen).  

I also get to spend a lot of time with my husband.  I like him.  I love him.  I enjoy his company.  I find him hysterical even in the every day humdrum of life.  So I enjoy having him around.  We also have our subtle ways of getting our own alone time.  It may involve a walk, a jog, a bike ride alone or sometimes its as simple as putting in ear buds as a signal that “I don’t want to interact”.  We are both independent, so just taking on a project is usually a signal to the other that we are “good” on our own.  None the less, it’s been a great experience for us both and we still enjoy each others company.

The other thing I get asked about quite frequently is the bathroom situation.  Yes, there is only one bathroom.  Its not a Jack and Jill bathroom with a Jacuzzi tub and a separate closet with a toilet.  It is a dry toilet with a small sink and stand-up shower, all in one small space - meaning one person can stand between the sink, toilet and shower.  There is a spray wand next to the toilet to fill the bowl with water and a foot pedal that is used for flushing.  The sink is small, like a doll house small, but large enough for the task of washing hands and face, and brushing teeth.  The shower is plenty big.  I’m 5 foot almost 2 inches and I can stand up in it.  Just kidding - my 6 foot husband can stand up in it, so it’s definitely functional (now that the drain has been fixed).  There is a vent in the ceiling with a push button exhaust fan and the toilet is like a regular toilet, except for needing to fill it with water yourself.  That’s the bathroom situation.  Nothing glamorous and generally no secrets. 

My husband and I don’t keep the same hours.  Meaning, it’s not all that uncommon for him to get up between 3:30-5:00 a.m..  At the same time, I’ll look at the clock, do a quick calculation in my head and then a happy dance over the 4 hours I still get to sleep.  When my husband gets up, he’s really respectful of the fact that most normal people are still asleep, including his wife and two dogs.  So he quietly relocates to the living room/dining room area and does his thing until the sun comes up.  We have levelers on the RV, so his movement is negligible.  

As soon as I stir, or when Mark gets stir crazy, he’ll take the dogs for a walk.  There is nothing subtle about that process as much as Mark tries to keep it contained.  Our 70 lb. black Labrador retriever, Duke, moves about the cabin like a bull in a china shop.  Between his wagging tail slapping against the cabinets and his incessant yawning, even the neighbors are ready for him to WALK ALREADY!  Riley, our 23 lb. Japanese Spitz isn’t all that cooperative either.  She gets a psychotic episode and is afraid to walk across the vinyl floor.  Yes, she’ll step out on it, and step back on her little piece of carpet, then back out on the floor and back on the carpet.  From underneath the comforter all I hear is Mark loudly whispering “Riley, come!” and the tap-tap-tap of Riley’s toenails on the vinyl floor several times until she drums up enough courage to make a break for it and hurriedly jogs across the four feet of vinyl flooring between her little piece of carpet and the door.  As my friend Wendy says, she was perfect until I got her.  

Everyday life in an RV is pretty much like everyone else’s everyday life,  with a few slight nuances.  Mark and I could have made different choices so as to not have to bungee cord our groceries to the back of bikes, live in a home that we sleep in and drive, live in such a small space, and/or waited until the dogs were gone to start this venture.  But for us we talked about the choices we were making in advance and collectively agreed while some things would be inconvenient, we would give it a whirl and see what we thought.  If we found we hated it down the road, we’d make a change.  So far, we don’t hate anything about it.  Quite this opposite.  We are super glad we took this journey and in the way we did.  

As I mentioned previously, we are transitioning to a “newer” journey.  We found the boat that we would like to live on and have an accepted offer on that boat.  Because there are still many steps in the process (it’s sooooooo different from buying a house) and too many things could go wrong that it would be premature for me to talk about the specifics of the boat.  However, in my next blog I’ll talk about the boat purchasing process and hopefully we’ll be far enough along in the process that I can reveal a thing or two about what I hope to be our new home.  Stay tuned....

Until we meet again,

Sherri (and by contractual obligation, Mark)

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Questions and Kisses

Well, I’ve jumped on the sutherelle bandwagon! I think my interpretation is slightly different to other people’s but hey, it’s not like we’ve got any canon to work from and variety is the spice of life, right?

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Summary: Sutherelle. Principal Private Secretary Belle helps prepare a nerve-wracked new Prime Minister for his first PMQ session, and they reflect on their long-standing relationship and where it might be going.

Rated: G

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Questions and Kisses

The first thing that Belle French heard as she walked towards the cabinet meeting room of Number 10 Downing Street was the sound of her boss losing his breakfast in the bathroom.

She paused outside the door and knocked politely.

“Sir, are you all right?”

She was answered by a low Scottish growl telling her to go forth and multiply in no uncertain terms, and Belle just smiled.

“You know I’m not going anywhere, sir.”

The growling stopped in favour of more retching, and Belle leaned against the wall. She felt like she was going to be here for a while, but they were on a tight schedule today and needed to get a move on.

An undersecretary walked past, looked at Belle, then the locked door, and then back to Belle with a worried expression.

“Is he all right?”

Belle nodded. “I’ll get him sorted out in time, don’t worry.”

She had been sorting out Robert Sutherland ever since she had arrived at the Houses of Parliament for her first day as a private secretary, more years ago now than she cared to remember. The irascible backbencher for Glasgow North had already seen off at least three secretaries, but Belle had stood her ground and within two weeks, they were firm friends and Sutherland had begged her to stay with him for the rest of his political career.

And Belle had done so. She had been by his side as he had risen through the ranks of the ministries, finally becoming party leader and now, after a fraught general election that had come down to the wire, Prime Minister.

She was Principal Private Secretary to the Prime Minister, one of the highest ranking positions in the civil service, and she was currently trying to get the man to come out of a bathroom.

She knocked again.

“Sir, you can’t stay in there all day, much as you would like to.”

“I can if I want.”

“No, you can’t, sir.”

There was no response, and Belle sighed. She was used to Sutherland’s anxiety and the associated nausea and petulance. No one who saw him in action in the Commons would ever believe that ten minutes prior he’d been a nervous wreck receiving a pep talk from his secretary, but Belle was well-known throughout parliament as the very essence of discretion and it was joked that she kept more government secrets than MI5.

“Sir. Sir. Mr Sutherland.” She smacked the door. “Bob! If you don’t get your arse out here now, then so help me…”

The undersecretary squeaked and ran away lest the Prime Minister suddenly appear and vent his anger.

The door opened and Sutherland peered around it.

“You never call me Bob.”

“I do when I want to get you out of small spaces. Come on, let’s get you freshened up and off to make your fortune on London’s golden streets, Dick Whittington.”

“I’m Prime Minister, not Lord Mayor.”

“Well, if you want me to stop purposefully using incorrect analogies then you might want to get out here and get ready for work.”

Sutherland glared at her and disappeared back inside the bathroom. Belle heard the toilet flush and the sink gurgling, and a moment later he came out. She looked him up and down.

“Have to say it, sir, you’re not looking great right now.”

“Thanks, I’m sure you look gorgeous after you’ve spent half an hour with your head in a toilet.”

“You look like you’ve been at a rave all night.”

“I have been. The rave in my head telling me that everything’s going to go horribly wrong.”

Belle could empathise. She’d always stayed in the background, content to be part of the invisible civil service machine that kept parliament running smoothly. She’d never been the public figurehead of all those interconnected cogs like Sutherland had to be.

“Come on, sir,” she said gently. “You need to look calm, professional and completely unruffled today of all days. I’m not letting you walk into that chamber looking like you do now. Did you shave this morning?”

Sutherland shook his head and held up a quivering hand. “I thought that scruffy would look better than missing an ear.”

Belle corralled him towards the stairs up to the Prime Minister’s private apartment, despite his protests that they had to leave in ten minutes. They weren’t very strong protests, probably because Belle knew that he didn’t particularly want to leave the safety of Downing Street to brave the House of Commons, but he had to keep up appearances.

She pushed him into the bathroom.

“Shirt off.”

“Are you propositioning me, Miss French?”

“Of course, sir, it has absolutely nothing to do with me not wanting to get shaving foam on your shirt.” She had already located all the various tools she required, and she was wondering if she really ought to know so much about her boss’s private life. On reflection though, he didn’t really have all that many others who knew him as well as she did. He had no family to speak of. He’d had a wife who’d left him on the same day he’d been appointed shadow Defence Secretary, and Belle hadn’t seen her since.

It had been Belle who’d listened to all his speeches as he practised them in front of the mirror in his office. It had been Belle who’d kept refilling his coffee when he’d been working on a draft bill that had to pass or else he’d be a laughing stock within his own party. It had been Belle who’d gone up to his Glasgow constituency with him and argued with his campaign manager until she was blue in the face, defending his corner and always getting her way like the force of nature Sutherland had always described her as.

It had been Belle who’d stayed up all night with him during the general election, watching the results roll in and watching the seats gradually change colour in their favour until the majority was there, slim but undeniable.

It had been Belle he’d hugged in joy at their victory, and Belle who’d hoped that he’d never let go of her.

She knew that it was a cliché, bosses falling for their secretaries and vice versa, especially when it came to politicians. She knew that if anything were to happen between them, then the press would have a field day speculating if a torrid affair with Belle was the reason for Sutherland’s divorce seven years ago.

She knew all that, and yet she still couldn’t help wanting it. For all he was her boss, he’d also become her closest friend and confidante; their relationship went both ways. The level of trust between them was such that she was now shaving his face in readiness for the first Prime Minister’s Questions session of the new government.

“I can’t do this,” Sutherland muttered as Belle finished up and he wiped off the cream.

“What can’t you do, sir?”

“PMQ’s.”

“You’ve done hundreds of PMQ’s sessions in your time, Mr Sutherland. I seem to remember one spectacular occasion whilst you were still a backbencher that got you a standing ovation from half the house. Including from the opposite party. The speaker nearly had a heart attack.”

“I know that! I’ve never done PMQ’s when I’ve been the PM before! It’s very different when you’re the one being bombarded with questions instead of the one doing the bombarding.”

“We’ve already drafted all your answers; you’re going to be fine.”

“I know that!”

“Also, I hate to be the one to state the obvious, but you were the one who wanted to be Prime Minister.”

“I know that!” Sutherland sighed, attempting to retie his tie for the fourth time before giving up and letting Belle do it. “Will you be there?”

“No, sir, I’ll be in your office dealing with your fan mail.”

“I don’t have any fan mail.”

“In that case, I’ll be in your office dealing with your hate mail.”

Sutherland scowled at her, and Belle gave him a benign smile as her phone chirruped.

“Car’s outside. Time to knock ‘em dead.”

X

As soon as he stepped into the chamber and took his place behind the despatch box, Sutherland’s nausea subsided. This was his home, after all. He’d been a politician for over twenty-five years, and the Houses of Parliament were more familiar to him than his own house in Scotland.

As the questions got underway, he relaxed further. Being on the other side of the chamber wasn’t so different after all. He glanced up at the gallery and almost had to double take when he saw Belle sitting there, grinning down at him. Of course she was there. She’d always been there when he needed her. When they had started out in the Commons, they were both practically alone in the quagmire of British politics; was it any wonder that they’d become such close friends and allies over the course of their careers?

Something pulled painfully in his heart. Belle had so much potential within the civil service, and he’d selfishly kept her with him instead of letting her spread her wings and move up into the upper echelons of top government departments. She could have been running the show by now. As it was, she was just running him. By dint of being his private secretary and answering directly to the Prime Minister, she ranked extremely highly in the service, but he couldn’t help thinking that she could have moved higher if he had let her go, rather than tying her career to his so closely.

She’d never expressed any desire to move on from him; she’d always seemed happy enough to stay by his side, but then again, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever actually asked her outright about her career plans.

By the time the session was over, his colleagues were congratulating him on a very successful first PMQ’s, Sutherland was beginning to wonder why he’d been worried in the first place, which was generally always his reaction after some important event that Belle had found him throwing up before. He was smiling as he made his way back to the Prime Minister’s office to find Belle waiting for him.

“I don’t know how you always manage to get to my office before I do, even if you’ve been at the other end of the building,” he said. “I’m beginning to think that the civil service has secret passages through the walls.”

“No, we’ve just mastered the art of teleportation,” Belle replied blithely. She smiled, hoping off her desk where she’d been perched and coming over to hug him.

“I told you it would be all right.”

“I know you did.” He didn’t want to let go. He felt safe in Belle’s arms. He always had done. Belle didn’t seem to be making any move to pull away, and he looked at her.

Her lips were so plump and kissable, her lipstick worn away where she’d been biting her lip, as nervous as he was in her own way, but far better at hiding it until after the fact. Her eyes were so very blue, and searching his face for something, anything, to tell her what she ought to do next.

Sutherland took the initiative, pressing his lips against hers and pulling her in close.

Belle melted against him, her hands coming up to run through his hair. Kissing her just felt so right, and he wondered why they hadn’t done it before. At least he didn’t feel as much guilt about keeping her with him now. She evidently wanted to be here just as much as he wanted her to be here.

She broke away, licking her lips, her eyes bright.

“That was…” Sutherland began. “Well, that was… Wow.”

“I quite agree, sir.”

“We’re kissing, please don’t call me sir.”

“As you wish.” Her smile was cheeky. “But you’ve always been sir to me. It’s ceased to have any connotations of authority and now it’s just a term of endearment. Sir.”

Sutherland kissed her again in an attempt to shut her up, but she pulled away, a giggle threatening to break free with every word that she spoke.

“Don’t forget that you’ve got the introductory meeting with the green belt protection committee at DEFRA at three. And then there’s…”

She tailed off under another kiss.

“Just let me enjoy this moment, Belle,” Sutherland pleaded. “I’ve been wanting to do that for God only knows how long.”

“I’ve been wanting you to do that for just as long. Maybe longer.” She gave a contented sigh, resting her head against his shoulder. “What happens now?”

“I have absolutely no idea.”

The thought of it didn’t worry him as much as he thought it perhaps ought to have done. Considering the amount of things he could panic about when left alone with just his own thoughts for company, he wasn’t panicking about this at all. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that this was Belle, and no matter what happened, Belle had always been there for him and had always told him that everything was going to be all right. Whenever Belle was around, Sutherland knew that everything would work out in the end, and even if it didn’t work out, then she would be there to help him pick up the pieces.

There were a lot of things that could go horribly wrong, and he had always been one to look for the clouds behind the silver linings. In his experience, it was best to prepare for the worst and that way, everything else that happened would be a nice surprise. Belle had often expressed incredulity at how someone as pessimistic and highly strung as he was had managed to become a major public figure whom, the polls kept saying, the voters actually trusted to bring them into a brighter future.

He’d always joked that he saved up his optimism for putting on show to the public so Belle only ever saw his more misanthropic side. She constantly saw him at his worst. Hell, just this morning she’d had to practically drag him out of the bathroom. Yet she was still here, still wanted to be here, content in his embrace. Part of him kept thinking that maybe this was all a very well-choreographed dream and he’d wake up back in Downing Street in a minute.

“I’d ask you out to dinner but I don’t think that it would be all that romantic an occasion,” he said.

Belle laughed. “Yes, what with secret service bodyguards and journalists looking for a scoop, I don’t think that it would be very intimate, and I’ve been working here long enough to know that the food in the House is absolutely atrocious. Dinner would be lovely, though.”

They both knew what she was suggesting, and it made sense. After all, Belle spent so much time in Downing Street that it was a second home to her; Sutherland had only been moved in for less than a month and Belle was already keeping a change of clothes in her office for when they’d been working so late she didn’t want to go home. The Downing Street Chief of Staff hadn’t been entirely in jest when he’d suggested setting up a camp-bed for her under the cabinet meeting table.

“There’s no vote tonight, so we should be able to get back fairly swiftly,” Sutherland agreed. “And if the worst comes to the worst, we can order in. I’m sure that it would make someone’s day, delivering to Downing Street. I could make someone famous as the person who delivered the Prime Minister’s pizza.”

Belle snorted, her shoulders shaking as she tried to muffle her laughter. Finally she composed herself and looked up at him.

“At any rate, we need to celebrate today’s success,” she said. “One session down, and hopefully several more to go.”

“Will you be there for them?”

Belle smiled, and went up on her tiptoes to kiss him again, firmly and deliberately.

“Of course I will.”

Even if their fledgling relationship didn’t go the distance, Sutherland knew that he could rely on Belle to have his back whatever the world of politics might throw at him.

There was a timid knock on the office door, and it briefly occurred to him that he had work to do and he probably ought to stop kissing Belle and get on with running the country, but he wanted to enjoy the moment for just a little while longer.

“Erm, Prime Minister… Oh.”

The door closed again as soon as it had opened, and Sutherland wondered if he’d succeeded in scarring an intern for life on their first day on the job, before deciding that it was a risk he was willing to take.

The country could wait a little while longer.

[diinofayce]

Shadows on the Horizon - 5

Pairing: Winter Soldier! Bucky Barnes x OFC! Layne Hardin | Word Count: 3.1k | Warnings: What happens when you drink too much alcohol in one go, a lil angst, a bit o’ fluff (for @suz-123 so she’ll stop yelling at me) | A/N: This is a sequel to my story Like a Whisper in the Night | Shadows on the Horizon Masterlist

Layne was floating in a thick cloud of nothing. Weightless and numb, held up by invisible hands as cotton filled her brain and mouth. Beneath the numbness was the pain, an empty deep void of pain, it threatened to swallow her whole. But it also promised nothing, it was a darkness that promised to swaddle her in the underwhelming sensation and keep her there, cocooned in the sadness and despair that she could turn into an icy knife and use to defend herself.

But then there was the physical pain. The pain that was caused by the fact that she felt like she couldn’t draw breath into her lungs. The dark void that she was falling into had become a lake and black water filled her lungs. All she could do was sputter and choke and cough, but she couldn’t draw air. Water was running from her nose and her mouth and no matter much she heaved she couldn’t get it out.

“Layne!”

The shout cut through the darkness and the fog.

“Jesus fuck. C’mon, Layne.”

She was being lifted, floating through the chasm of inky black…like Bucky’s aura…dark and thick and full of pain. But then there was a flash of light and the soft whirring of a vent fan and suddenly she was back in her bathroom at the Tower with someone forcefully shoving her face towards the toilet and foreign fingers invading her mouth and throat.

With a sharp clench of her gut she was heaving up whiskey and bile, sending it splashing into the toilet below her.

“There you go,” the deep rumbling voice behind her cooed.

“Buck?” Layne whimpered before her stomach clenched again and she was throwing up more.

“No, sorry,” Steve’s voice registered in her ears and she couldn’t help but feel the plummeting sensation of disappointment.

When her heaving started to show signs of black leaving her gut Steve clenched his jaw. “Friday, I need you to have Bruce bring activated charcoal to Layne’s room, stat.”

“Understood, Captain.”

“No, Steve,” Layne whined as she dry heaved a few times. Steve had her hair twisted in his large fist behind her neck as his other hand rubbed soothing circles in between her shoulder blades.

“Layne, that’s blood. You have alcohol poisoning,” Steve admonished.

“It’s fine. I’m fine,” Layne persisted as she threw up more black just in time for her apartment door to open again and slam heavily. She didn’t want to say that she’s had worse, didn’t want to admit that this wasn’t her rock bottom. 

Layne winced as Bruce barged in with a couple of bags of activated charcoal. He took one look at the situation before throwing two of the bags into the sink and ripping the third open with his teeth.

“Are you safe to sit back?” Bruce asked softly, his voice perpetually calm. Layne nodded and fell back on her butt, Steve moving with her so he wouldn’t yank on her hair.

Layne stared at the bag in his hand, the black goop rising from the torn top like black icing. But she could remember the taste, she had this once in the emergency room her senior year of high school. It didn’t taste like frosting at all. Dropping her jaw she let Bruce squeeze the charcoal into her mouth and with a heavy wince and swallow she forced the bitter gunk down her throat. Rolling her tongue around in her mouth as she tried to shake the taste free, but there was nothing quite like it and it stuck around in every corner of her teeth and in every pore of her tongue and cheeks.

She felt her stomach want to heave, want to eject the substance from her body but she forced it to stay down. There was no way she was going to let Bruce feed her another packet.

“What the hell, Layne?” Steve finally breathed and dropped her hair.

“I don’t understand, I didn’t drink any more than normal,” Layne answered drowsily, close to passing out again.

“You haven’t had anything to drink in nine months. You have a totally new liver by now,” Bruce said, pulling a penlight out of his pocket and shining it in Layne’s eyes. “Tolerance is totally gone.”

“Great, I trained that bitch up for years just to pussy out when I need her,” Layne grumbled, falling back against Steve’s chest.

“Are you going to throw up anymore?” Steve asked hesitantly, reaching forward to flush the toilet.

Layne shook her head slowly from side to side and Steve hooked an arm under her knees and one behind her back. “Well, then let's get you back to bed.”

Back in bed, Steve laid her on her side and braced pillows along her back. Bruce set a glass of water and some ibuprofen on her side table and a trash can next to her bed.

“Friday, alert both Dr. Banner and myself about any changes.” Steve murmured as Layne fell back into the inky blackness of sleep.

~*~

Layne wasn’t sure how long it had been since she had passed out again, her mouth still tasted bitter and dry from the charcoal and fuzzy from the dehydration of the alcohol. Groaning as she sat up she reached for the glass of water on her table and took the pills that sat out next to it, she was going to have to eat crow like crazy later. Looking out the window it had grown dark out and she fell back against her pillows, groaning when the fast motion made her head thrum and her stomach jilt.

She threw an arm over her eyes and took a deep breath trying to get the room to stop spinning. Why did she use to do this to herself? She never used to get hung over like this either…probably because she was usually sipping something alcoholic to keep the hangover at bay, but this was fucking terrible. She felt like death.

Suddenly, all the hairs on her arm stood on end and she sighed.

“Bucky quit skulking and come to bed,” Layne groaned, recognizing the feeling. But then the puzzle pieces all clicked into place and Layne sat up, wincing and pressing her palm to her forehead.

Her eyes swirled amber as her gaze darted across the room and settled in a corner that was a deeper black than the others. “Do Steve and Friday know you sneaked past them?”

“Steve fell asleep. He seemed distressed most of the day. The security here is not as good as they think it is,” the Soldier commented monotonously as he stepped forward from the shadows.

Layne’s eyes cooled, the black aura fading to be replaced by a face that Layne knew better than her own. The eyes still held a stranger, though, and her heart stuttered in her chest. He still wore his vest and tact pants from the mission and even though the obvious holsters were devoid of weapon, Layne knew Bucky - let alone the Soldier - well enough to know that there were at least four knives hidden on him somewhere and probably a gun of some sort.  

“Yeah, well, leave it to me to make a stressful situation for Steve even worse,” Layne mumbled and swung her legs out from under the comforter. Trudging over to her dresser where she had left behind a handful of clothes, she pulled the drawers open, wincing as the casters squeaked in the tracks from disuse. Digging she found an old extra large t-shirt, Coheed and Cambria printed on the on the front with 2016 tour dates on the back. They had run out of smaller sizes and so Layne had settled on an extra large because she refused to go to a concert and not buy a shirt from every band that played.

“Here,” she offered, holding it out to him.

The Soldier blinked at her and then looked down at the shirt in her hand. “I know Bucky doesn’t usually like short sleeves, I don’t know what you like. But it’s better than your bloody and sweaty vest. It should be loose enough to even keep your knife harness under it without Steve knowing it’s there. But please don’t rip it, I liked that tour.”

When he continued to stare at her Layne raised an eyebrow and shook it at him to take it, which he finally did while refusing to break eye contact. He looked down at himself and then back at her with a quirked eyebrow.

“Oh dear lord, I’ve seen it all before. Many times. You’re usually insatiable,” Layne huffed but turned her back to him.

The Soldier smirked as she turned away to pull her comforter off of her bed and he quickly removed his vest and sweat-stained undershirt and pulled the t-shirt on over his head. It had a lingering scent of clean linens, blackberry, and vanilla. Something inside of him stirred at the scent and before Layne could turn back to him with the comforter in her arms he took one more deep smell of the cotton.

Layne plopped down on her couch, pulling her comforter up around her.

“So the alert was about you?” the Soldier asked, still standing ominously in the corner.

“Yeah, it was stupid. Sit,” Layne commanded and without thinking the Soldier complied. Layne quirked an eyebrow but didn’t comment on it as she pulled the rest of the comforter up on the couch and threw it over his lap.

“What happened?” he asked a little awkwardly as he patted the down comforter over him, his brows knitting in confusion. He wasn’t used to people caring about him or for him, just what he could do for them.

“I think I almost choked to death on my own vomit. No big deal.”

Something inside of the Soldier froze, his blood feeling colder than every time he had been forced into they cryotanks. Taking subtle surveillance of the room he spotted sticking out from under her pillow a small clear bottle with a black label. Nothing was left in it, but he could only assume it had been alcohol. Whiskey, something whispered sadly across his mind.

The Soldier didn’t know what to say, he opened his mouth because he felt like he needed to say something. For once he actually needed to vocalize an opinion, but the one that was at the forefront of his mind wasn’t from him. It was from the other him and the Soldier didn’t feel like it was his place. He felt like he needed to yell at her, to grab her and shake her and tell her she was too important to be doing stupid stuff like that. He felt like he should feel betrayed because of a promise that was made that the Soldier wasn’t aware of. He felt like crying and apologizing for always causing someone emotional turmoil. But none of that was from the Soldier, so the Soldier stayed quiet.

“Why did you kick me out, Bucky?” Layne finally asked softly.

“I’m the Soldier,” he rasped.

“I know. You’re not the one that kicked me out, though. Even though, for the record, I’m never going to call you the Asset or the Soldier. That’s a weapon, a thing, not a person and that’s not who you are to me.”

The Soldier raised his eyes and locked them with Layne’s her eyes full of love and warmth and concern, everything that he had never seen except from the back of Bucky’s mind. But now it was him, she was still looking at him like he was her Bucky. He had watched her from the corners of Bucky’s mind for so long, watched as she tried to soothe the ghosts in his mind. Watched as Bucky loved her and watched her fight Hydra operatives without fear. She was strong and she was light and the Soldier is darkness. Bucky was terrified of the Soldier’s darkness polluting her, he wanted the Soldier far away from the light. Especially after he so brutally marked her with their most deadly weapon, the bruises on her neck taking on a sickly blackish purple as all the blood finally settled beneath her skin.

The Soldier flexed his vibranium fingers, the plates shifting and flexing, but she ignored the sound like it was so normal to her that she didn’t even notice.

Layne leaned forward, still keeping a respectable distance so she wouldn’t spook him. “Have you heard of Dissociative Identity Disorder?” Layne whispered like it was a secret.

The Soldier’s eyes dropped her mouth, where the dried cracks in her lips and the spaces between her teeth were stained back. Charcoal, he noted. He looked back up to her eyes and nodded slowly.

“Good,” Layne smiled softly. “I think that’s what this all is. I think Hydra took Bucky and they did terrible, horrible, painful things. They experimented on him and they hurt him so badly that he was begging to die.”

The Soldier was holding his breath, his eyes wide as he listened to the girl whisper secrets to him.

“I think you showed up. You took Bucky and you tucked him away, you protected him. You listened to what the men told you to do because it was better than listening to him hurt. You’re not a bad guy, Hydra are the bad guys. I think if you can give way to some of Bucky, if you can form a partnership with him, that no one would ever be able to hurt either of you ever again.”

“That’s not possible,” he rasped, his throat suddenly dry.

“Sure it is. When there is no threat, when there’s nothing that will hurt him, you listen to him. You take his lead. You let him kick me out because he said it was the right thing to do.”

“I hurt you, just like he said I would,” the Soldier bemoaned.

Layne raised her fingers to her throat and shrugged. “Superficial and my mistake. I came into your space spitting angry when you were probably already unsure of what was happening.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.” The Soldier’s eyes shot over to the empty bottle tucked into her bed and Layne followed his gaze.

With a soft frown, she sighed and shook her head. “No, I did that. I’m a grown woman who makes her own decisions. You keep enough guilt on your shoulders, don’t blame yourself for my choices too.”

The Soldier nodded slowly, but Layne knew that she wasn’t effective in her reasoning.

“You should sleep, you can have the couch if you’d prefer. Or you can head back to the other room, it might prevent the panic in the morning,” Layne said softly.

“I don’t sleep. I can’t. They’re all too loud.”

The Soldier’s brows were pinched and Layne tilted her head to the side, contemplating her options.

“Bucky has that issue sometimes. Do you want me to make them quiet?” Layne offered, holding her palm out towards him.

The Soldier looked between her and her hand and then he did the one thing that solidified in her mind that the Soldier had always been there. Watching, waiting, learning. He leaned forward slowly and rested his forehead in her palm. Layne always held her hand out for the offer, but in the end it was always up to Bucky to accept it.

As soon as the Soldier’s forehead touched her skin it was like a bucket of ice water was thrown over her head and all of the breath escaped from her lungs. She opened her eyes and looked over the dunes of white snow. Trees stood tall and strong against her back, blocking the worst of the wind, while in front of her stood a cabin. The windows were yellow with light and a thin trail of smoke rose from a smokestack. She felt the Soldier step up beside her before she saw him and watched him trudge his way silently through the powder toward the cabin.

She followed behind, her arms crossed in front of her chest for warmth that she wouldn’t find against the cold that didn’t really exist. He slid up to one of the windows and peeked inside, not seeing a threat he shivved a knife under the window and popped it open without a sound. Rising the pane slowly he slithered inside, which Layne couldn’t help but think was impressive due to his size. But then she heard the screams.

This was a memory she hadn’t seen before and so she braced herself for what she might find before walking straight through the wall into the cabin. A man sat in a kitchen chair, crying and pleading in Russian as his wife and two children knelt on the ground at the Soldier’s feet. The Soldier moved like a ghost behind them and placed his Sig Sauer to the back of the mother’s head. She let out a cry and the man begged harder, tears streaming down his face.

Layne stepped forward and rested her hand on the top of the gun. The Soldier looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. He reached up and pried his mask from his face, mouth open to speak but no sound coming out. Because that wasn’t part of the memory. The Soldier never spoke.

“Sh. It’s okay. Sleep.” Layne reached up and tapped him hard with her first two fingers in the middle of his forehead. The memory rippled around them like water before disappearing completely.

As the darkness surrounded them the Soldier’s gear melted away. Layne watched as the gun in his hand melted into the nothingness below them and when she looked back up there was her Bucky, in his red Henley and his favorite pair of black sweatpants.

“What are you doing, doll?” he asked, his voice sounding absolutely broken.

“It’s okay, James. I see you. I’ve always seen you.”

“He could hurt you.”

“You’d never hurt me. I trust you,” Layne reassured, just like she did the first time they laid together naked in her room together.

“I love you. It’ll be okay,” he promised.

“I know,” Layne smiled sweetly. “We’ll talk again soon, but you both need to sleep right now.”

With that, he faded into the black and Layne opened her eyes again, this time she was back on the couch. The Soldier’s head was tilted back on the back of the couch, his eyes closed and his chest rising and falling softly. Layne stood and grabbed one of her pillows, placing it on one end of the couch and then carefully lowered him down to it, covering him with the comforter.

She pulled the empty bottle out from under her pillow and sighed, her head was pounding twice as hard now from both the hangover and traipsing around in the Soldier’s head. Tossing it into the bin she crawled into her bed and pulled the sheet up to her chin. She stared at the Soldier’s face, watching him sleep until at some point sleep pulled her under again.

[sweetness47]

Lessons on How To…

Pairing Sam x reader

A/N: this is #spnkinkbingo hosted by @fanforfanatic

Square filled: Virginity

Warnings: Fluff, smut, fingering, public foreplay, basically all the good stuff…MATURE 18+ ONLY

Summary: The hunting life wasn’t something you were born into, but you made it your life after your family was killed by vamps. Sam, Dean and Cas took you in, training you to hunt, to fight. Sam seems to spend a lot of time around you, at times almost over protective. You’ve never experienced love or anything related to it, mostly because your house was pretty remote, and your brothers scared any potential interests away. You think Sam is just like your brothers, but you couldn’t be more wrong.

Exhausted after yet another successful hunt, a haunted house in Virginia with three vengeful spirits, you are sitting at the local diner with Sam and Dean. Dean sits across the booth, while Sam sits beside you. Sam, who once again decided to ‘help’ you fend off some stupid ghosts, when in fact you didn’t need any, reminded you so much of your brothers. You inwardly sighed, still missing those beasts after all this time, and the last thing you wanted was a constant reminder from a guy you thought was your friend. Plus it wasn’t just friendship you felt for him anymore, just in case his ‘over-protective’ nature wasn’t enough, you’d fallen in love with the man.

He read the menu over and glanced your way, but you pretended not to notice, because every time you looked into those mesmerizing pupils of his, your core practically melted while heat pooled between your legs. That man was walking sin, pure and simple, and you didn’t know how much longer you could hold back before you took him right here on the fucking table. But therein lay the other problem, you were rather inexperienced when it came to sexual encounters. You weren’t an idiot, you just never physically did the deed, although, if your body was any indication, you’d have no objections to Sam being your first.

The waitress came over to take orders. Dean, as usual, ordered a burger and fries, Sam ordered a chef salad. Then she turned to you. “And what can I get for you Hun?”

Sam, naked in my bed, with a side of whipped topping. That was your first thought. But as you turned to tell her flapjacks all three were staring at you incredulously, and you realized what had happened. Those thoughts hadn’t been just thoughts, they were said out loud instead of just inside your head. Excusing yourself from the booth, you muttered ‘flapjacks with whipped cream and strawberries’ to the lady before rushing to the washroom to die from embarrassment.

Your face must have turned 50 shades of burgundy, the level of horror felt at conveying your thoughts out loud went way beyond crimson. You went to the sink and ran cold water, cupping your hands to splash it on your face. The cold snapped you back to reality, and you wondered how you were ever going to live through the massive teasing from the guys the moment you walked out. There were no windows large enough to crawl through, and no people-sized vents either. Shit. Might as well write your eulogy now and flush your brain down the fucking toilet.

As you ran ideas through your head, you were dimly aware of the bathroom door opening and closing, and the lock being activated. Mentally preparing yourself to fend off some sicko, you spun around to face Sam, who had come to find you. Letting out a sigh of relief that it wasn’t a potential weirdo, you spoke first. “Hey. Why are you in the girl’s washroom? Get lost?” You tried to make a joke, hoping it hid your anxiety over what had happened.

Sam chuckled as he walked toward you. “Funny Y/N, really.” Your body was on instant alert as his body now stood directly in front of you, the scent of him had your hormones screaming for release. You shifted uncomfortably and backed up, only to find the counter. His head bent down and his lips brushed against yours. Your mind was singing Hallelujah as the connection continued, his mouth soft and warm, inviting you to mate with it, and you found your lips parting of their own free will, and your tongue dashing out to find his. His large hands found your waist, lifting you up to sit on the hand-washing station, bringing your legs around his hips. You could feel his protruding erection inside his jeans, rubbing against your wet heat, your panties now soaked with the evidence of your desire.

It wasn’t until his hand moved down into your panties, finding your sensitive area slick with want, that you stopped him. “Sam, I, well, I’ve never umm,” you weren’t sure how to tell him you were a virgin without him howling and doubling over with genuine laughter.

He stared at you, then it dawned on him what you were trying to say. “Y/N, are you saying you’ve never had sex before? Seriously?”

You could only nod. “Don’t laugh Sam. It’s really not funny. Between my over-protective brothers and my remotely located house, I never really got a chance to date. So it never happened. Then I started hanging with you guys and everyone assumes we’re an item, so I never got any dates at the bar either.”

Sam sighed. Then his hands were back on you, and a look of lust clouded those eyes of his. “Well, the first thing I’m going to give you is an orgasm. We won’t have the actual sex here, that we will take care of at the bunker. But you need to know what you’re in for.”

His mouth was on your again, more demanding this time. His hand found your panties and slipped a finger inside, massaging your clit, causing more liquid heat to pool down there. Then his finger, now soaked in your juices, slipped slowly inside your entrance, you gasped at the intrusion, but he just held it there, letting you get used to the feeling. Then he slipped a second inside, stretching you, inciting a moan from your lips, and then he started to move them. His fingers slowly withdrew, then pushed back in. Your fingernails dug into his shoulders as he worked his magic, the long thick digits driving you wild. You felt flushed as pressure began to build, your breath now coming in short gasps before you screamed Sam’s name, finding your first release while Sam rode out your waves with you.

After making you both presentable, you exited the washroom first, Sam sneaking out a few moments later upon hearing an ‘all clear’ whistle from you. Finding your seat once again, you set out to eat your now cold food, while Sam sat down to eat his salad. It wasn’t until you were half way through your meal that you noticed people looking at you, and Dean all but rolling on the floor with amusement. You sink low into the booth as your face once again resembles a tomato and you realize everyone in the diner heard your cries of pleasure. You brought your forehead down onto the table mumbling something about ‘killing you now’. You threw down some cash and went out to wait in the car.

Dean, thankfully, was wise enough to not say a word the entire ride back to the bunker. But his quiet chuckles could be heard even through the loud music blasting from the radio. Sam shot him a warning glance, and Dean held his hands up in mock defeat, but amusement could still be seen all over his handsome features.

You practically ran to your room once you were home, seeking some time alone away from Dean’s crude jokes at your expense. You threw your jacket on the floor and kicked off your shoes before flopping on the bed, fumbling through your nightstand for your novel. A knock on the door interrupted your silence, and you yelled for whoever it was to go away, you were done with the joking for the night.

Sam opened the door and closed it again, turning the lock before walking over to the bed and sitting down on it. He placed a hand on your shoulder, motioning you to face him, and you did. “Y/N, I like you, a lot, and I want to make love to you, that is if you’re willing to have me as your first partner.”

You stared in amazement at his words, not sure you’d heard them correctly. It wasn’t until his lips were on yours again did you respond, your fingers reaching up to play with his silky brown mane, then moving to undo the buttons on his shirt. He was reciprocating, his skilled hands making quick work of your shirt and your jeans. His fingers found the clasp of your bra, and within seconds your breasts were free of confinement. His hot mouth captured a nipple, suckling on the bud like a newborn babe. Your body bucked under his attention, heat gathering in your core as his assault moved back to your mouth as your panties made their way down your legs, exposing your wetness to his hands once again.

“Mmm, you’re so wet Y/N.” he whispered in your ear. He wrapped your legs around his waist, as his tip, dripping with pre-cum, and with painstaking patience, he began the journey inside your hot center. He stopped every few seconds, allowing your hole to stretch, to get used to the intrusion.

But you didn’t want to go slow. “Just do it Sam, please.” The words barely there, yet they found their way to his ears. He kissed you hard as his thick manhood forced its way inside, tearing through the barrier that was your virginity, pausing to make sure you were alright. Your core felt like it was on fire, but you nodded to him to continue. You knew there was more to come, and you wanted all of it. He began to pull out, only to thrust back inside, sending waves of wow-ness to every inch of your body. He picked up pace, finding a steady rhythm that rocked your world, as another orgasm ripped through, moans and cries becoming pleas for more. His own growling sounds responded to your pleas, his movements more demanding now, almost desperate.

A strangled cry escaped his lips as he came, his hot seed finding it’s way inside your belly, until it was everywhere, pouring from your vaginal entrance, mixed with your own slick. It soaked the bed under you, and you both got off the mattress to remove the sheets and wash them. Sam stopped, staring at the bed. “Holy shit! Are you sure you’re alright?” He was referring to the blood pool mixed in with the other fluids.

Giggling at his shocked expression, you said, “I’m fine genius. Let’s get that into the wash before it stains permanently and shower, perhaps not in that order.” you looked down, feeling a trail of stuff dripping along your inner thigh. Sam laughed again, picking you up and carrying you to the waiting tub.

@fanforfanatic @legion1993 @spnkinkbingo

[creativitytoexplore]

Divergent Memories by Tim Frank https://ift.tt/3h5c2nN Tim Frank tells a chilling science fiction tale of the Church's capacity to foster self-denial in service of its own ends.

The congregation, consisting mainly of young couples, some accompanied by their children, the rest single men, knelt in prayer as the priest's voice boomed from the altar to the nave. "Now," he said, placing his hand on the bible that was open at the Book of Proverbs, "I want you to access your memory chips and go to a place you dread the most - the hidden, the traumatic. Remember, we have analysed your chips meticulously and we can assure you there is nothing too disturbing recorded in them. And yet these memories must be confronted, held up to the light, because if we blot out the past we cannot truly live in the present. Well now, let us proceed, shall we?" Malcolm grabbed hold of his wife's hand and squeezed tight. She responded with a reassuring smile and briefly rested her head on his shoulder. They both closed their eyes and began to sift through memories on their memory chips. The chips were lodged in their skulls just behind their left ears. Now that he had been prompted, Malcolm knew exactly which memories to focus on. After all, these particular recollections had been haunting him since their inception. His mind was transported back in time until he arrived at a flashback where he was standing in a deserted toilet. The lavatory had five cubicles, three sinks and a large mirror, reflecting the light from the windows, creating a phosphorescent cube. Staring back at him in the mirror was a youthful Malcolm, maybe aged fifteen years old, wearing a school uniform - his tie twisted out of shape and one side of his shirt untucked. He could smell a cigarette burning from the far cubicle and plumes of smoke played against the ceiling before they were sucked into the air vent. As the smoke spread throughout the room, Malcolm's lungs became constricted and he began to wheeze. He approached the cubicle from where the smoke was emanating and found the door was ajar. He pushed it open gently with his foot. He revealed a young man, roughly Malcolm's age, holding a cigarette with a limp wrist, wearing thickly applied eyeliner and lip gloss. "Can you put the cigarette out? It's bad for my asthma." The kid stood and blew smoke in Malcolm's face who then fell into a coughing fit. The kid flushed his cigarette down the loo and then inspected himself in the mirror. He dabbed the edges of his mouth with a tissue. He glowed like a TV screen. "I'm Fred," he said, and turned to Malcolm resting his hand on Malcolm's shoulder. "I've seen you about," said Fred. "If you don't struggle, we can have some fun." Suddenly Fred grabbed him by the mouth and squeezed hard, forcing Malcolm's lips wide open. Fred forced himself on Malcolm, sticking his tongue down his throat and then grabbing his crotch. Fred began to unbuckle Malcolm's belt and then unzip his flies. "Stop!" said Malcolm, his voice reverberating around the church. He coughed and spluttered. He reached for his inhaler and drew on it a couple of times and his breathing eased somewhat. The rest of the people in the church, including his wife, continued to focus on their memories. The priest ushered Malcolm aside and said, "What is the problem, my child, can I help in any way?" "Father, you said these memories would be bearable and we must face them no matter what, but they are worse than I had imagined. Thinking back, I never realised just how taxing they were. May I could be excused from this process?" "I'm afraid not, my child, there are no shortcuts. Let me compromise with you, however. Meditate on the unfinished memories for now. But I want you to complete them at home and report back to me next Sunday." "OK, Father, that sounds fair. I'll try my best. Thank you for your understanding." Malcolm re-joined his wife just as she was surfacing from her dream-like state. Her eyes fluttered open and she took several soothing breaths. She turned to Malcolm and asked, "How was it for you?" "Honestly, I don't know where to begin," he replied. Malcolm looked around at the other people in the church. The gathering as a whole were clearly shaken by the afternoon's events - many were in tears, shuddering in grief. "Looks like I'm not the only one who has a lot to think about," Malcolm said. "Please can we go home now; I need a drink." As they were leaving, Malcolm spotted a man at the back of the church, roughly his own age, with an unkempt beard and a hoodie drawn over his head so only a portion of his face could be seen. Malcolm felt he knew the man from somewhere. As the congregation had poured out of the church and milled about on the front steps the man leant against a lamppost across the road analysing his untied shoelaces - waiting. "Will you stay here for a minute, darling?" Malcolm said to his wife, "I've just seen an old friend. I won't be long." "Sure, but why don't you bring him over and introduce us?" "Um, no, he's not that kind of friend." Malcolm crossed the street and he reached the streetlight just as it began to flicker into life. The stranger's eyes were shielded by shadows and without ceremony he placed a piece of paper in Malcolm's palm and said, "Come when you're ready but don't take too long - you only have so much time." "Who are you?" asked Malcolm. "And what's with all the mystery?" The man didn't answer he just walked away into the early autumn evening, his laces swinging loose, dragging across the pavement. Back by his wife's side, she said, "Everything OK?" "False alarm. Mistaken identity." But Elaine wasn't convinced. She stared over Malcolm's shoulder towards where the man had stood. "I hope you're not keeping secrets from me, Malcolm?" she said. Malcolm clenched the note the stranger had given him in his hand. He still hadn't read the contents. "I came here, Elaine; because you asked me. I'm trying." That night Malcolm was in the living room, seated cross-legged in his dressing gown on a leather upholstered armchair, swirling a finger of whisky around in a tumbler. Elaine came to the door and held on to the frame. "Are you ready to tell me what you saw today? Or are going to keep me in the dark as usual," she said. "Elaine, I don't even know myself. The truth is I couldn't finish the memory. It was too disturbing." "Well you must be able to tell me something. For example, that man with the beard. There was something not quite right with him." "I told you - I thought I knew him but I was wrong." "Fine, have it your way, get drunk, blast it all away but it's our marriage on the line." "Look, I'll tell you what I know, OK? The whole thing was just so surreal, as if it was otherworldly. So, there was this boy from school, this disgusting camp thing, a gay boy who came on to me in the school toilet. He did things to me, or he was just about to before I stopped the memory. I couldn't face what was about to happen. Clearly this is an event in my life the church feels I have to face. Now I'm going to finish my drink. I'll be up to bed soon." "I'm sorry, Malcolm, I don't know what to say. I guess..." "What?" "I guess it does explain a few things, about your recent actions." "Why you took me - forced me - to go to the church in the first place?" "I didn't force you. Malcolm, but it was necessary. You are the one who cheated on me, remember? I know you want this marriage to work and I know you love me. I really feel this is the best way. I want you to watch the rest of the memories for me, when you're ready, then we'll have an in-depth discussion about it with the priest. This is progress, trust me." As she went up to bed, Malcolm slumped down inside his chair, lolled his head back and let out a sigh. He placed his reading glasses on his nose and pulled out the piece of paper the man had given him earlier outside the church. It said, 'Don't trust anyone. Watch your memories and meet me at Queens Passage underground station when you can next week. I'll find you.' Malcolm struck a match, set the note on fire and let it burn out in a waste paper basket. Over the next few days, Malcolm toyed with the idea of watching the traumatic memories in full, but he decided he couldn't face the prospect. Finally, though, he decided what he had to do: face his past and meet the man who had given him the note. He knew this person had played a major role in his life - he felt it in his bones. It was a long journey to Queens Passage from Malcolm's House - full of rugged countryside flashing by and as the train thrust through dark tunnels, Malcolm fingered his memory card behind his ear. He looked up and down the train carriage, empty but for one man wearing a peaked cap, balancing a cane on his lap. Further along, in other carriages were a smattering of people he couldn't quite make out. The train was entering more built-up areas - council estates, high rise buildings, factories - but the stops were few and far between. "Come on," Malcolm said to himself, "you can't hide from this forever. Harden up and watch these memories. Then you can finish with them for good." He slid the chip into his skull, fished about for the correct memory then closed his eyes, ready to be transported. His body stiffened. The train came to a halt but Malcolm was so spellbound he didn't notice. A mother and her child of about three years old entered and sat opposite Malcolm, paying him no mind. The kid wore dungarees, had long hair, with his fringe dangling over his eyes. Malcolm began to swing his head from side to side in distress. The toddler turned his attention to Malcolm - peering up at his face, then he clambered down from his seat and grabbed hold of the hand rail beside Malcolm. "Cody!" barked his mum over the tumult of the train, as it entered another tunnel. "Leave that man alone and come sit beside me." Cody ignored her, drew a sleeve across his runny nose and tugged on Malcolm's trouser leg. By this point, Malcolm was banging his head against the window behind him in distress, sweat forming around his brow. Cody grabbed Malcolm's arm and pushed several times at it but Malcolm remained in his trance. Then, seeing the continuing anguish in Malcolm's face and hearing his strained breathing, he took hold of Malcolm's hand and bit down on it hard. Malcolm winced and his eyes sprung open. He looked around, trying to find his bearings and, with relief, he realised he had woken from his nightmare. Cody looked up at Malcolm with a curious half-smile. Malcolm inspected his hand. There were fresh bite marks lining the flesh above his thumb. "Sorry, mister," said Cody's mum, "Cody's so naughty, no boundaries." Malcolm lifted the boy onto his knee. "It's OK," he said rubbing his temples, "she was doing me a favour." "She? Oh no mister, Cody's a boy. We get that a lot. It's the hair, I guess, and his pretty eyes. The name doesn't help either," the mother chuckled. And as if swatting a deadly spider, Malcolm flung Cody aside, sending the boy sliding across the aisle. The boy howled in shock and horror as his mum raced over to tend to him. "What the hell is wrong with you mister?" said Cody's mum. She carried the boy on her hip and stepped off the train - the boy bawling his eyes out. Now, as if he was an apparition from an alternate time, sitting in the mother's place was a lean young man in a black tracksuit, clean shaven, hair buzzed close, staring at Malcolm intently. Malcolm knew him, he was sure of that, but he couldn't figure out how. "Come on now," said the man, wearing a grin. "Tell me you've connected the dots by now. You have watched the memories, haven't you? Otherwise we're all wasting our time." "It's you, Fred," Malcolm said, "It's you... from my memory. You're to blame. I'll - I'll tear you apart." "I understand your distress," said Fred. "But I'm here to show you you've been lied to. Your life is a sham and your rage is misplaced. I have my own memory chip that will relay the facts - no games, no schemes." "How did you find me?" "I've been following you for a while. I know all about you." "You're insane." "Maybe, but I know there's something you're searching for. Maybe I can provide the answer. Regardless, all I'm asking of you is to watch a few memories I've marked on my chip. It's that simple. What have you got to lose?" Fred held out a chip in the palm of his hand. Malcolm stared at it almost in disgust, as if it was a cockroach, then finally, in resignation, he took the chip and slipped it into the port behind his ear. It didn't take him long to slide into a hypnotic trance. He saw numerous doors lining either side of a cobble stone pathway. Malcolm saw a burgundy coloured door more finely in focus than the others. He manoeuvred his mind so it faced the door and then he stepped through the entrance. Before him was the toilet with him and Fred inside - it was the disturbing memory he had forced himself to watch just minutes ago. Malcolm wanted to turn and flee out of the door, lift his consciousness from the horrific thoughts, yet he stayed. He had come this far, suffered so much that he knew he had to see this burden through. Malcolm now experienced the scene through Fred's eyes and yet Malcolm could still vaguely recollect his own perception of the events that had transpired in the toilet. The light was different. Instead of there being an almost fake hyperreal luminosity filling the room, now it was drab and grey. It felt palpably authentic. As Fred was smoking, he eyed Malcolm up and down. Fred himself was different. No longer was he exhibiting the camp characteristics that Malcolm found so alienating. Instead Fred was slouched on the toilet, legs spread wide, taking long drags on his cigarette and squinting like Clint Eastwood as smoke stung his eyes. Fred got to his feet and stood face to face with Malcolm. Malcolm swooped in and landed a forceful kiss upon Fred's mouth, leaving his lips red raw. Malcolm slid off his tie, shrugged off his school jacket and began to unbutton his shirt collar. Fred stood and watched for a second or two. Suddenly, he hitched his shirt over his head in one clean movement and stood before Malcolm half naked. He waited for Malcolm to reveal his body. Finally, the two boys collapsed into another clinch. Malcolm stopped the memory card and he tuned into the present day. At first reality seemed blurred like looking through a kaleidoscope, but then life came into focus - the train, the cityscape blazing by outside in greens and greys. Before him was Fred, lost in his own world, staring just above Malcolm's head. "Where did you get this memory?" Malcolm said, jolting Fred out of his daze. "Those are my memories, that I recorded." "They're clearly forgeries, none of this happened." "No, Malcolm, what you've just seen is the truth. They're entirely real. The memories you think are genuine are manipulations created by your church." "What do you know about the church and what do you know about me?" "I know the most important secrets about you." "Well, I know who you are," said Malcolm, "and what you want. You raped me in the school toilets and now out of guilt you've doctored these memories to make it look like I wanted you." "I knew that was what the church would do. Listen to me Malcolm, and listen to me well - the church wants to make out you were raped, so you turn against yourself and suppress your desire for men. You're gay, married to a woman, and you're a member of a church that can't accept that. There has been a slew of whistle-blowers trying to bring light to this very dark situation, but your church is powerful and many victims have suffered. You're one of them." "Why on earth should I trust you?" "Malcolm, I did not rape you. I care about you and I'm here to help." "What do you want from all this? Do you want me to say I harbour feelings for you or something crazy like that?" "I guess what happened between us left a lasting impression and it's been with me, festering, all this time. I know you feel the same way." "What do you expect me to do with all of this? I'm married, I believe in God. I have a life." "Leave your wife and come with me. Let's get to know each other. No more lies, no more hiding." Malcolm's chest began to heave up and down and he became flush. He grabbed hold of the arm rests and blood seemed to drain from his hands as they whitened under the pressure. "This is too much," he said, looking around the carriage - anything to avoid Fred's searching glare. Malcolm rushed out of the train at the next stop, the sound of his footsteps throbbed through the tubular station that he shared with commuters and the rats scuttling along tracks. Malcolm had journeyed far and it was a long way home. But when he did reach home he burst through the front door, desperately searching for his wife, only to locate her perched on their bed, bare feet huddled beneath her, drinking a cup of green tea. "What is it, Malcolm?" she said, turning to him as she fumbled with her drink, spilling some over the rim. "Say something, you're worrying me." Malcolm was speechless. He had no memory chip inserted and his mind was left in its natural state - fragile and constantly fluctuating. However, amorphous strands of the two conflicting flashbacks set in the school toilets had left him in a state of utter confusion. "Elaine," he began, placing one palm on the duvet as if to steady himself. "There are many things racing through my mind and I really have no idea where to start." "Just speak." "OK. Is it possible that our church changed my memories when I gave them my chip to examine?" "What? No. No, and why on earth would you ask that? "Exactly, there's no reason other than..." "Other than what, Malcolm? Look, if you've found a memory that's disturbing, the church and I will help you through it." "I understand that, I do," Malcolm said, standing and then beginning to pace back and forth, picking up and inspecting the odd framed picture as he went. "But I have this one memory, a very disturbing one that just doesn't feel real." "Maybe it's something you want to believe isn't real because it's very traumatising. Why don't you tell me what it is and we can progress from there?" "There's no point. You'd have to see the alternative memory to judge which is the real one." "What other memory? Malcolm, what's going on?" "I met a man today, the man who confronted me at the church, remember? He gave me a chip that had a different version of events than were on my memory chip." "That makes no sense at all. Tell me honestly now, what were the differences in memories?" "I - I don't want to say it out loud," Malcolm said, reaching for his inhaler as his chest tightened. "You have to," said Elaine, sitting up and placing her drink to one side. "If we keep secrets and lose our faith in each other, in God for that matter, everything we have will be destroyed." "OK, OK, I'll tell you. I watched my memories this morning on the train. It portrayed me getting raped by another boy at school. It was the most awful, heinous thing. Then the man I met outside the church the other day, linked up with me on the underground. He said that I was given fake memories, implanted to cover up I'm gay." Elaine contemplated what Malcolm had said, and took a long pause before she replied. "Are you gay, Malcolm?" "Of course not, in no way," Malcolm said. "But if what he says is true and the memories he gave me are genuine then it implies something I've never contemplated." "Come on now, Malcolm, you can do better than that." "What's that supposed to mean?" "We said total honesty, didn't we?" "I don't think I can be any plainer with you." "Malcolm, I want a family and a god-fearing life in the suburbs. I could have had other men, but I chose you. Maybe because we met young and I didn't want to rock the boat, maybe because I believed you could look after me in a way no one else could. Anyway, it doesn't matter now, my decision has been made. But, I warn you, you can pretend you don't have another side to your nature, but I'm no idiot." "What does this all mean, Elaine? So, you're saying the church did plant memories and I'm homosexual? Because that's out of the question." "How can you be so deluded? Do you even know your own mind?" "I know who I am. Things are just confusing at the moment. I'm feeling lightheaded. I need water, please." "Ok, fine. That's enough for tonight. We can discuss this more with the priest at church tomorrow. I'm not giving up on us now. Take a throw, you're sleeping on the couch." The next day Malcolm left his memory chip on the living room table. Elaine wanted him to be a new man and this was the only way he could see himself doing it - separating himself from the chilling memory of being raped, whether it was real or not. When they reached the church, the priest invited each of the congregation to approach the front and reveal what they'd learnt during the past week while searching their memory chips. When it was Malcolm's turn to speak, he could feel the intense pressure to conform and confess his guilt. Without his memory chip, searching his mind felt like delving into a murky ocean. "You all seem to know what to say and truthfully, I don't. But I'll try. I love my wife beyond words but I have doubts and over the last few days these doubts have grown stronger because I don't know who I am anymore." Malcolm began to breath hard and he reached for his inhaler but it wasn't in his usual side pocket. Memories sifted to the surface of his mind. He saw images of wet flesh, blood and pubic hair. "I'm a good man," he stuttered, "but I can't remember who I used to be. How - how can I know who I am, if - if I can't remember anything?" He saw Fred by the exit and then Malcolm passed out. As his eyes opened tentatively, he realised he was prostrate on the ground surrounded by strange faces, whispering. His breathing had settled down into an even rhythm. He searched the circle of people for Fred, but he was gone. All he could see was a mass of bodies arched over him like hunters analysing their prey. Elaine said, "It's OK you've just had an asthma attack. You did great. I think you've really made a break through. We all do." "He was here," said Malcolm, breathlessly. "Fred, was here. I didn't invite him. I don't want him here, I promise." Elaine shushed Malcolm, "It's OK." The priest approached, handed Elaine a bottle of water to give to Malcolm. Then he laid a comforting hand upon Malcolm's shoulder after he was refreshed. "Are you OK now, Malcolm? Do you think he's ready for the news, Elaine?" "Yes, this is as good as time as any," said Elaine. "What news?" Malcolm said. Elaine's lips began to tremble as a tear fell from her eye and she said, "You're going to be a father." "What?" Malcolm said. "I'm pregnant, I'm going to have your baby." "I - I don't understand. I'm going to be a dad? But are you sure? How long have you known?" "A while." "Why didn't you tell me before?" "You weren't ready. I hope you are now. I hope you will continue with me to make a better marriage, and forget about the past." His mind was suddenly clear, as if his past was a figment of his imagination, as if it had never existed. He felt he could become whoever he wanted to be - a new man. He would conform, knuckle down and start with a clean slate. And wasn't being a family man what he really wanted anyway? And wasn't it what was most natural? It would certainly be easier. No longer would he be split, bisected by two memories. He would beat a new path.

[buckybabybaby]

Everything Backwards  (Chapter 4/12)

Summary: When you make-out with a ‘James’ on a night out, you don’t expect to see him again, so imagine your surprise the next day when it turns out he’ll be your new sort-off-flat-mate. As Nanny for Peggy & Steve’s three children, you’ve lucked out, but now the guy across the corridor is threatening to ruin it.

 This is the story of how it all works out.

Chapter 4 summary: Two week in, things go a little wrong…

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Reader (Gender Neutral) Slow Burn

Word count: 2003

Warnings: Bucky’s a bit awful, but only because Y/N is! Mention of illness?? People being rude to each other.

Previous: Chapter 3 

Everything Backwards Masterlist

Masterlist

With the horrendous aftermath of the last time you drank very fresh in your mind, you decide that this time when you meet your friends a late lunch is probably safer than anything involving alcohol. Yesterday was the last day of term for the children so their parent have taken them out to the cinema as a treat, giving you a free afternoon to do as you please with, and when you leave the house the sun is shining brightly. 

Today marks two weeks since you first met Bucky. Things have improved a little since that short exchange of words in the car after swimming; you two haven’t actually talked yet, mainly because he stays in his room most of the time, but he doesn’t look at you with so much contempt any more, and there was that incidence earlier in the week when he held the door for you as you struggled with shopping bags.

 A small start but one nonetheless. 

You sincerely hope that over the coming months you’ll get to the point where you can hold a proper conversation with him. Sometimes, during a mundane task like hoovering or hanging the washing on the line, you wonder what would have happened if you hadn’t kissed that night, and how much easier it’d be if you knew him only as Bucky and not James. 

Dwelling on things that can’t be changed isn’t healthy but you can’t stop yourself. That is why you need to see your friends, to get your mind off him and spend a couple of hours with people your own age who actually want to speak to you.

“Sarah, she’s the oldest, and is so intelligent it’s a little intimidating, but it’s not a surprise considering both her parents are professors at a top university.” You are aware you sound like a proud parent when talking about the children to Wanda and Natasha, but they seem to understand. “And the two little boys are an absolute delight.”

“So no runaways at bath time?”

“Thankfully not! And do you remember the family with the child that refused to take off the batman costume? These three are practically the opposite, I’m so relieved.”

Natasha grins. “And the room is better in this place? No rattly pipes or leaky windows?”

“Honestly, it’s a palace in comparison.” You shudder thinking back to that house. “Anyway, now I really need to tell you something I thought best to leave a secret but if I keep it to myself any longer I think I may explode.”

They both sit up straight at that, expectant.

“Okay, so there’s another room opposite mine which was an office but now one of Steve’s, Mr Rogers’, friends is staying there. He, the friend, he’s…” 

You stop, unsure how to explain, but it doesn’t take long for Natasha to half work it out.

“Is he hot? Single? Is he nice? Would it be awkward if you dated or amazing because he lives right across-” Wanda shuts her up by stuffing the rest of her cake into her mouth before turning to you.

“Basically all of that but with room to breathe.”

This is going to be the worst part of the conversation and you decide to get it over with as quickly as possible.

“It doesn’t matter what he’s like, it matters who he is. He’s Bucky.”

You’re met with twin looks of confusion and a joint answer.

“Who the hell is Bucky?”

“Oh right, of course. Bucky’s a sort of nickname, but you know him as James, as in James from the club, James who I kissed-”

Half the café turns to look at your corner booth as Wanda and Natasha scream at you. You shush them and attempt to hide behind your hair, giggling when they only quiet down slightly, looking half enthralled and half horrified.

Wanda recovers first.“Is that as awkward as I imagine?”

“More than you can imagine, let me assure you.”

You spend the next half hour filling them in. They react appropriately at all the right moments, both being outraged when you repeat what he said the first afternoon and sounding just as conflicted as you when you describe how sweet he is with the children.

“You really should have told us straight away.” Natasha laments you as she reaches for her coat and bag at the end of the meal. Wanda agrees.

“I’m sorry,” you whine, “but I really didn’t know what to say. Am I supposed to just text; 'hey, guess what, that guy who made out with me on Saturday night and then left without saying au revoir is now my sort of flatmate’?” You cringe as you say it, realising just how bad it sounds.

“Yes! That is exactly what you should have said. We could have helped!” Wanda replies.

You sigh. “Unless you have a time machine and can stop me from ever entering that club, there’s not much you can do. And anyway, it was much funnier to see your reaction in person! Even if we may never be able to come here again.” 

You place another coin to the tip on the table in compensation for making so much noise.

“Well now we know, I want minute to minute updates on anything else that happens between you and him, no excuses.” Natasha leaves no room for protest so you agree as you hug her and Wanda goodbye, assuring them you’ll keep them in the loop. 

It feels like a weight has been lifted as you stroll home. If nothing else, your friends knowing about your situation means at least next time Bucky passes your room flushed after working out, you’ll have someone to vent your frustration to.

It’s raining on Sunday. Tipping it down, actually, and you watch out your window as the water splashes off the sodden deck and shakes the hydrangeas in the border. You were supposed to go to the park with your friends today but the weather had other plans, along with the cold you’ve come down with. Michael had been ill this week, but insisted on still going to school so he didn’t miss the end-of-term fun, and the slight tickling in your throat from yesterday seems to have morphed into a full-on cold. 

Sitting up in bed, you reach for your lemon drink and sigh when you realise you’re all out. On your way back from refilling your mug you glance at the bath bomb sitting on your desk and decide that a hot bath might make you feel better, but the sight that greets you as you enter the bathroom nearly makes you cry. 

Clothes everywhere. They’re scattered all over, right across the floor and even the closed toilet lid, the red Henley in the centre of the chaos making it clear who’s responsible, but really, who else would it be? You can’t even get to the sink without treading on something and that makes you snap. When you’re ill your ability to deal with annoyances decreases significantly, and before you know it you’re storming back up the hall and bursting into Bucky’s room. 

You’ve never been in here before and you spend a few moments taking it in. What little there is to take in, that is. The walls are bare, the bed, whilst made neatly, is plain with just one blanket, and the only personal item you can see is a teddy sitting on a bookshelf in the corner. Shaking yourself mentally you turn to face Bucky. He’s sat at the desk that was originally in the room, pencil hovering over the page of what you assume is a journal as he stares at you questioningly. 

You realise you must look quite strange so you get straight to the point. “Move your stuff from the bathroom.”

“Huh?”

“Your things all over the floor meaning I can’t even enter that room. I mean is it so hard to just pick it up when you leave? And what where you even doing in there? There’s at least three whole outfits in that mess! I get that we have to share and there’s going to be some compromises but this isn’t acceptable.” 

You’re breathing heavily when you finish your rant and Bucky doesn’t look impressed.

“I’ll move it, no need to be such a bitch.”

“I’m not being a bitch! You need to know I make a special effort to keep that room tidy. I’m always sure I don’t leave so much as a tube of toothpaste out of the cupboard so it’s easier to keep everything separate and in order. The least you could do is not leave it looking like a suitcase exploded in there.” 

You follow him along the corridor, haranguing him the whole way. His body language is warning you from continuing but you’re on a roll. 

“This is laziness, pure and simple, and I’m not going to put up with it. What exactly is it you do all day that means you don’t have time to clean up after yourself? I’m aware you don’t go to work anywhere so there’s really no excuse.” 

You knew Bucky didn’t work but you hadn’t asked anyone why, trying to mind your own business, so you regret your words immediately. He rises in front of you, arms full of clothes and face stormy, and you have to force yourself not to take a step back. His expression changes slightly as he appears to deflate, his glare disappearing, instead looking you up and down with a smirk.

“Clearly, somebody needs to get laid.”

You gasp as your face heats up. “Excuse me?”

“I said, you need to get laid. Maybe you wouldn’t be so uptight and irrational if you did.”

“I’m not irrational! I just find you infuriating!” You sound slightly hysterical but you can’t help it, not when your whole body hurts and your fantasy that you and Bucky were starting to get along is shattering before your eyes. 

You’re close to tears and his next sentence sets you off.

“Right now, feelings completely mutual.” 

Sweeping past you he disappears back into his room. You cover your mouth with your sleeve as you sob, attempting to muffle the noise as tears roll down your face. Seconds later you remove your hand, not being able to breathe, and the small room is filled with the sound of your loud, gasping cries. As you slide to the floor you manage to close and lock the door behind you. 

Your tears aren’t slowing down, if anything they’re getting worse as you think over everything that just went on and wonder why you always do this to yourself. You didn’t mean what you said. It’s only because you’re ill. In your line of work you can’t afford to be unwell so when you are it’s incredibly stressful, and you tend to lose your temper at the tiniest things, like you just had. You bury your head in your knees as you continue to cry, absolutely miserable. 

Ten minutes later when you’ve stopped sobbing you rise from the ground and wash your face, wondering if it’s safe to leave yet as you’re no longer in the mood for a bath. Pressing your ear to the door you don’t hear anything so you quietly open it and tip toe to your room, frowning at the music from Bucky’s side of the passageway. 

You’ve never heard anything from his room, let alone the thudding beat currently seeping through his door frame and it makes you feel even worse. Wavering outside, you decide to apologise tomorrow when the dust has settled slightly, and when you hope you won’t feel so awful, either mentally or physically. You try to convince yourself you’re not putting it off because you’re a coward but it doesn’t work. 

Crawling into bed and grabbing the book off your bedside table, you sit back against the cushions and allow the rain and the words to lull you into a more peaceful state.

Chapter 5

A/n: I was going to split this into it’s two scenes and post them separately, but I though I should just get this over with. I promise after this Bucky will get a lot, lot nicer…

Tagging: @tieddown-withbattleshipchains @i-had-a-life-once @attorneyl @superwholockian5ever @scamandaaaamn @bohemianrhapsodaisychains @the-renaissance @davros2004

If I’ve forgotten you, or you want to be tagged/untagged, just ask!

[plumbersdubai-blog]

Drain Cleaning Service Dubai

Drain Cleaning Service is that important service which is required at every single home or restaurants. Because of some solid, grease, oil and soapy water and liquid makes a solid blockage which completely blocks the flow of drain line. Here we are going to discuss everything about Drain and its services. We will cover the following points:

1- What is Drain?

2- Why Drain gets the block?

3- How many types of drains?

4- How many types of Drain Cleaning?

5- How to Clean drain by yourself?

6- Who is offering Best Drain Cleaning Service in Dubai?

1- What is Drain?

A drain could be a primary vessel or passage for unwanted water or waste liquids to be flamed away, either to an additional helpful space, funneled into a receptacle, or run into sewers or stormwater mains as waste discharge to be discharged or processed.

2- What causes

drain blockage

?

Clogged drains are simply a part of the enjoyment of indoor plumbing. the great news is that you simply will troubleshoot the problems and stop them from happening once more, as well as chronic issues. however, to induce there, we’ll get into what causes drain clogs within the 1st place.

Most bathroom drain clogs result when dirt, skin flakes, and especially hair binds to soap scum on the walls of drain pipes. Over time, this muck accumulates and reduces water flow.

Clogged toilets are a nasty business. These chiefly happen once individuals attempt flushing down things that don’t dissolve or break apart in the water like:

feminine hygiene products

cotton-tipped swabs

dental floss

pre-moistened diaper wipes

Kitchen sink drains clog when cooking grease or oil cake onto drain pipe walls. Add detergent soap scum and un-dissolved food particles (such as rice that expands in water), and you’ve got a stubborn, gunky clog.

Venting allows air to enter the pipe as water drains away. Think of what happens after you place a straw into a glass of water. If you cowl the open finish of the straw along with your finger, you stop air from coming into the straw which creates a vacuum. after you elevate straw out of the glass, the water will not drain from the straw till you elevate your finger. once enough air is coming into the vent, then water and waste can drain properly. Your restroom, for instance, can swirl and empty quickly once it’s flushed. However, if the emission does not let enough air in, then you would possibly hear the sink gurgle after you flush the restroom. Also, keep in mind that emission permits sewer gases to flee and prevents them from building to dangerous levels within your home.

Type of Drainage

Drainage is of two forms

Surface drainage and

Subsurface drainage or underground drainage.

A) Surface drainage (Natural system of drainage):

It may consist of open ditches that are laid out by eye judgment, leading from one wet spot to another and finally into a   or river.

Open ditch drains: The format of ditches is normal. the tactic is to land that includes a uniform slope.

Field ditches: Field ditches for surface drains could also be either slim with nearly vertical aspects or formed with flat side slopes.   ditches have the benefits of being easier to cross with massive machinery.

Narrow ditches: slim ditches square measure most typical wherever massive farm machinery isn’t used.

B) Subsurface or underground drainage:

A subsurface or underground drainage will remove excess soil water. It percolates into themselves, just like open drains. These underground drains afford the great advantages that the surface of the field is not cut off, no wastage of lad and do not interfere with farm operations. On the opposite hand, they’re expensive to lie and don’t seem to be effective in slowly semipermeable clay soils.

Underground drains may be classified as:

Tile or pipe drain

Box drains

Rubble (coarse stones or gravels filled) drains

Mole drains and

Use of pumps for drainage.

4- How many types of Drain Cleaning?

There are numerous strategies related to the cleansing of drains, that are employed by skilled service suppliers.

Drain Cabling

Drain Cabling is additionally said as “Snaking”, and it includes the installation of an extended cable in the course of the system. The method is helpful within the review of drain pipelines through videos. Providing the cable assists in transporting the camera to varied sections of the emptying. Underground line detection

This is another sewer main repair methodology that’s enclosed by drain technicians within the cleansing of drains whereas service. It’s conducted for the electrical detection of the underground lines with the assistance of detector tools. The detectors generally come with an inductive signal transmission system that suggests that an underground line is present on an LCD display. Video sewer inspection

It is the foremost essential phase of drain improvement that involves the mounting of tiny cameras over the cables running through waste pipelines and recognizing any obstruction inside the sewer. The digital display monitor is mundanely positioned in an exceedingly van and used for witnessing waste flow within the pipeline. Plumbers can start working after the exact spot of obstruction is located and determined in the machine. Hydrojetting

It is the commonest technique used by Bathroom drain cleaning Dubai by repair technicians for the cleaning up of drain systems. Whether it comes to storm drains, water jetting sewers or rain drains, the effectuality of hydro jetting has been proven in clearing up obstructions in all such kinds of drains, irrespective of what reasonably size the pipeline comes with. Root Removal

The method needs the help of supremely skilled plumbers for avoiding needless losses. The roots of trees area unit a typical issue with sewer lines and lots of bathroom drain cleanup agencies facilitate take away tree roots that have broken and entered the plumbing pipes.

How to Clean drain by yourself?

A blocked up sink, shower or tub drain sends the majority running for either a bottle of caustic drain cleaner or a plumber’s telephone number. But wait. this might preferably be employment you’ll be able to do yourself while not chemicals or an enormous bill.

Boiling water.

Get a large pot and boil up as much water as it will hold. Now rigorously pour boiling water down the drain slowly, in 2 some stages in order that the recent water will work for a few minutes in between every pour. This is the simplest and fastest thanks to free a drain if it works, that typically it will with a satisfying swish.

Reach in. Remove the strainer that is part of the drain plug, then reach into the drain with your fingers (latex gloves would be a good idea here) and pull out any solids.

If you can not reach the clog together with your fingers, your next ally is that this low-cost plastic tool, Zip It, accessible reception improvement centers or online. This simple tool is versatile enough to permit you to push it down into the turns of the drain. It has teeth on all sides that when you’re in and you twist it, you’ll be ready to pull out all manner of drain offenders. Keep functioning at it, till you pull out the maximum amount as you’ll be able to. Now run the new water which ought to clear things up nicely.

Wet-dry vacuum.

If you’ve got one in all these, it simply would possibly facilitate your to clear the drain while not having to urge your hands dirty. First, set it to “wet” thus it vacuums liquids. cowl or shut the drain’s vent. build the tightest seal you’ll be able to with the hose finish of the vacuum over the drain. Get inventive with adhesive tape or variety. With the vacuum set to its most powerful setting. It is powerful enough to drag that clog right out of the drain. No guarantees here, however, it’s value an endeavor.

Baking soda and vinegar.

Measure out 1/3 cup bicarbonate and acquire the maximum amount of it down the drain as you’ll. Follow with 1/3 cup white vinegar. It’ll fizz up and create quite a show. permit it to take a seat for a minimum of AN hour. Or longer if in the slightest degree potential. within the morning following with a quart or 2 of boiling water.

Who is offering Best Drain Cleaning Service in Dubai?

Plumber Dubai:

Plumber Dubai has fully trained operatives staff to have experience with all types of Drain Cleaning Service Dubai from root ingress to heavily silted lines. We provide a 24 hour 7 days a week immediate response to emergency drain cleaning service Dubai and will quickly resolve any problems. We can arrange regular pre-planned drain cleaning maintenance programmers designed to reduce emergency drain repair call outs. Out cost-effective regular drain cleaning services can be tightly scheduled. Or simply arranged on a monthly visit to ensure your drain cleaning service Dubai is professionally maintained. The service includes sewer cleaning and drains unblocking as necessary.

Drain Cleaning Service Dubai: :خدمة تنظيف الصرف في دبي

Our plumbers are fully-trained for inspecting and clearing the Drain Cleaning Service Dubai. No job is too big or too difficult for the Drain cleaning professional team. A clogged drain is a true emergency. So it has to be done fast and it has to be done right. Priority Plumbing & Drains do both at an extremely affordable price. We will also clear your residential house main drain using our standard drain machine.

So, our expert plumbers have the proper equipment and expertise to solve any other clogged drain issue you may have. We’ll also do it fast; we’ll do it efficiently and leave the work area as clean as he found it.

Some other issues of drain cleaning service Dubai includes:

.  Clogged toilets

.  Clogged Sinks

.  Blocked Bathtubs

.  Clogged Showers

.  Clogged Floor Drains

.  Backed-up drains.

.  Plugged or clogged sinks, showers, and tubs.

.  Tree roots in drain pipes (underground).

OUR EXPERTISE:

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Whether it is your sink, tub, toilet or main sewer line, a clogged drain always brings things to a screeching. At best, you’ve got a fixture that you can’t use. At worst, you can’t use anything; no showers, no laundry, no dishes, no… well, you get the point. A clogged drain is not something you can wait on. You need fast professional service from a plumber Dubai you can depend on to be there when you need them. When you’ve been fixing clogged drains in homes and business throughout Dubai for as long as we have. You know there never just one solution to a problem. If your issue is as simple as a clogged tub, Plumber Dubai will provide you with a range of solutions. Our technician will educate you about your home’s plumbing, so you can understand how clogs happen and make the decision.

.  Cleaning of entire drainage systems and also sewage networks

.  Removal of all types of sludge, dirt, mud and also grease from pipes utilizing high-pressure water jetting machines and vacuum tankers

.  Washing, suction and also flushing drainage lines, bathroom floor drains, manholes, collection tanks, etc.

.  Cleaning of grease rooms and also pipes connected to the main collection pit

.  Clearing sewage accumulation into treatment areas

.  Removal of manure from farms with the use of tankers

.  Maintenance of pit holes with the support of mechanical equipment

[omgnsfwisnsfw-blog]

15: Don’t Need Your Sympathy

John slowly began to open his eyes. He had learned by now that it was much wiser to squint through the light the fluorescent tubes brought forth. He rolled on his side and faced the white cement wall. The shade of paint was just as unforgiving as the lights above him. He traced a finger on the groove of the wall. He guessed it was morning. The slot in his door would open and they would slide in breakfast. John rolled over and swung his legs off the bed. His bare feet touched concrete floor and the chill was a jolt to the system. He raised his arms into the air and stretched while omitting a long yawn. John listened for the footsteps. They weren’t there. Not normal for him to deviate from his routine but stranger things have happened. He usually woke up just in time for the morning shift to begin. He shrugged. That’s alright. He got up. Stripped off his underwear. Relieved himself. Brushed his teeth in the sink built into the same stainless steel toilet he just used. He sequestered the previous day’s dirty laundry in a closed container under his bed. He looked into the bin right next it to find a stack of carefully organized clothing, retrieved them, and put on his clean underwear, white jumpsuit, and slippers. Still nothing. What time was it? That’s okay. He made his bed. It had to be just right. He stripped the non standard linens and pillows he’d earned as some pittance for good behavior. He examined them meticulously. He would make sure that they didn’t need be laundered along with his previous day’s clothing. After the bed was made to his satisfaction, John stood around with his hands on his hips. He was getting a little agitated now. Most likely due to hunger. “Hello?” He said pointlessly. Nothing. His mind recalibrated the list for the day. What’s next? He’d been reading Papillion. It resonated with him. It was laying on the floor beside his bed. Henri had just arrived at Devil’s Island when … “That makes no sense.” John said to no one. There was a small television set suspended high above and bolted to the corner of the cell. He had specifically refused this amenity. There was no need for it. TV dulled the mind and while to some that would be a welcome respite, it would be a reminder of something that he could never have. Hey, here’s your 7-day weather forecast. Remember your umbrellas, folks. It’s gonna rain cats and dogs out there. Here’s Scott with the latest sports highlights. “Hey, Johnny. You like your new toy?” John froze. Fighting through paralysis he craned his head downwards toward the grate at the foot of his toilet. Maybe if he stayed quiet… “I heard you flush. I heard you chatting it up with yourself. How we ever going to get along if you don’t communicate with me, boy?” The bones in his hand cracked as he tensed up and in the relative silence, it was easily heard. “That’s alright. Baby steps. Now let’s settle this out right. You know I’m dead, Johnny. Government made sure of that.” Sick sputtering laughter seeped out through the grate. “I ain’t an apparition. That’d be fuckin’ silly, boy. And I’m not you. What a twist that’d be, wouldn’t it? I says we were alike but I’d rather die than be a big fuckin’ dummy like you. Self-fulfilling prophecy, right?” The television suddenly turned on. Just snow. “Oh oh oh, the show’s bout to begin. Hold your britches, though, cause I got a bone to pick with you. Why you lying to that fuckin’ dyke? I open up to you. I bare my soul to you and you go and say that you don’t reciprocate. That’s callous, friend. That’s beyond reprehensible. Hey hey, tell me something. You get a tingle in your johnson the other night? That fuckin’ airhead had a point.” More laughter. “Creep Away! What a hoot n’ hollar she is. Although to be fair I was never much in the way of toleratin’ a woman’s mouth. My old lady, she loved jokes too but that hammer was the best punchline she ever done told. Fuckin’ hilarious!” John just stared blankly at the vent. Channel 2. He turned his gaze to the TV. The voice in the grate bellowed. “I like this show. Look at these two dum dums. You. Oblivious to the goings around you. Whoever the fuck. Making this much effort for a fuckin’ piece of cooz. Witness the intrepid adventures of these ignorant sons of bitches and lament in their fuckery.” Hands on 6 and 10. After the events of Monday night, John would have assumed that the party was off. That was the worst of him thinking that. He was hoping that they would use the time to convalesce. He couldn’t figure it out but prim and proper Natalie Young got him. He remembered the first interaction. A little moment at work. When he rebuffed a handshake, her withdrawal wasn’t one of indignation. She instead waved with a smile and John waved back. Then she shook Mike’s hand. That was before the glowing smile Mike exhibited as they weaved closer and closer to her abode. This was good, he thought. Mike blamed herself for letting Carlos sneak his way into the match. John countered that he was put out of commission himself. Duggan and Carlos stayed true their word. His body  has been still aching from the tremendous effort it took to retain the television championship. He reiterated that they were a team and nothing would stop them. And now they could leave that in the rear view. John was starting to learn that the business had more benefits than just the obvious. He was starting to like some of the people he was meeting. There was Mike. There was Natalie. David texted with him every once in awhile and last time they debated on the effectiveness of the key lock. Mike read the exchange and her eyes seemingly glazed over but then she patted John on the back and acknowledged it with that warm grin. And while there was a twinge of resentment towards them, the new number one contenders to the tag team championships were still regarded highly by them both. And then there was that guy. As Mike yelled out one evening: the guy who likes to fuck. John didn’t get it. But he was kind enough. He was starting to see something that he never understood in the past. This was a brotherhood and now he was a part of it. Finally. “Hey.” Mike’s brows furrowed a bit as they looked up from fiddling with their phone. They looked mildly concerned. “You okay, bud? I can take the wheel for a while if you want.” It happened sometimes. John was right beside them, yet he seemed ten thousand miles away. They couldn’t help but wonder where he went, but perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to be wherever that was while driving. “Huh?” John liked driving. He was cautious at the power this car exhibited but at the end of the day, it did everything every other car he had driven, albeit a little better. Keep it between the lines. Use your left and right indicators. Be a courteous yet defensive driver. Eyes on the road.“I’m alright. You did all the driving last week. Only fair that I do my share.” “I don’t mind. You know me. Cars’re my fuckin’ life. Well, my life that ain’t wrestling.” They chuckled a bit, rolling their shoulders, one hand running idly along the edge of the crimson leather bucket seat. “You just seemed someplace else just then, thought you might be getting tired. We’ve been going a long time.” It would be a roadtrip of epic proportions and they’d packed for such- from Natalie’s place in North Carolina, they’d be making a serious trek for the opposite coast. The plan was to make good use of Route 66 to cut across the western half of the country, making a few stops at the vast assortment of quirky roadside attractions along the way. What fun is travel if you don’t make the most of it? “Just daydreaming, I guess.” The voice chortled, “Dreaming of me, Johnny. I dream of you every night. I thinks to myself: Is you as lovely as before?” “Might not want to while you’re driving if you can help it. I mean I know it’s a straight shot and there’s not much to look at but motherfuckin’ corn, but you never know what might jump outta nowhere. Deer, fuckin’ rabbits… kid cult members servin’ some fucking Lovecraftian bullshit… anyway. If you’re good, that’s cool, Just lemme know if you wanna switch.” John acknowledged that with a curt nod. More time passed in silence. These kind of silences were starting to seem okay. In these first road trips, they would grasp on something to discuss but now it seemed okay to just be in each other’s company. If something needed to be said, John and Mike would discuss it. “Been meaning to thank you for that whole arrangement you got for me. It was a nice touch.” “Aw, bud, you don’t need to thank me for stuff like that. It wasn’t no trouble. Like I said, the owner of the Vamp owed me a favor since I fixed his fuckin’ hearse. He said if we needed to use the place again during the day he’d let us do it for cheap, seeing as it’s a nighttime joint anyway. So we got that if’n you ever want to use the setting again.” He tapped a finger on the top of the steering wheel and shook his head. “Appreciate it. I think…”John sighed. “I think that took a lot out of me. I feel like something was going unchecked.” “It’s good to get stuff out like that sometimes though. Y’can’t carry that weight around forever or you’ll wind up getting fucking crushed.” They fiddled with the tattered brim of their ever present Mets cap and bit the inside of their cheek a bit, inwardly scolding themselves for the touch of hypocrisy. “Anyway. Speaking of which, you mind if I turn the camera on? We can talk about your match while you’re driving. If you don’t mind me fuckin’ sayin’ so, you really let Orianna have it. Not that she didn’t have it coming with the two-faced shit she was talking with her stupid little friend. I mean, we can wait till we stop if you’d rather do that.” “Good time as any.” Boisterous laughter intermixed with coughing. Coughing so harsh that John could hear the phlegm, “You know how much I love hearing you talk. Talk to me, Johnny. I’m all ears.” “No.” John had retreated to his bed. He sat as far away from the vent as could. The voice kept pulling his attention away from reality. “Ohhhh-wee, that’s the word I love to hear from you!” Mike framed John in the shot perfectly. In this sweltering heat, John and Mike alike had opted for matching NSFW tank tops. Just in time for the summer. Wear your own stuff. Sell, sell, sell. John’s biceps flexed as his white knuckle rigid style of driving was on full display. “Today is going to be a good day. I can’t speak for my partner but I had my fill of patriotic revelry Monday night. Mike?” “I have never in my fucking life seen a title belt explode like that. It was fucking GREAT.”John’s partner isn’t visible, being on the other side of the camera. However, her distinct voice, colorful language and all, is clearly audible. “That it was. We didn’t manage to get it done when it comes to the tag team title scene but Rome was not built in a day. NSFW is here to stay. And so is Natalie Young. I’m not going to repeat what she told us but someone had better watch out. But today, we got ourselves an old-fashioned ball to attend.” “Barbecue, bud. Not a ball. Remember? Miss Natalie said you try to wear somethin’ fancy and you’ll probably get barbecue sauce all over it… but knowin’ you, Mister Impeccable Fuckin’ Neatness, you’re not gonna get a drop on anything.” There’s a definite tone of fond amusement in Mike’s voice. “I swear it was. Nevermind that. Imagine the pageantry, Mike.” He cleared his throat. “So barbeque it is. Can’t wait to bite into a good ole’ veggie burger fresh from the grill.” “You’re such a romantic when it comes to fancy shit, you know that?” Though unseen, her smile is nigh audible in her tone of voice. “One of these days we’re gonna wind up in Vegas and it’s gonna be awesome. We can be a couple’a super swagtastic high rollers. But before that, oh my fuckin’ Christ. Pittsburgh to North Cacky-lacky, then all the way to Cally. This is the roadtrip legends are made of, Church. If we manage to make it coast to coast in this car without whaling on each other outta cabin fever, then nothing in this entire fucking world will ever tear us apart.” She laughed brightly. Obviously, any ill mood she had due to their loss had dissipated far before they packed up Alundra and hit the highway. “That’s right. Oakland, California. We got a long night in store for us but as my next challenger learned on Monday, I don’t make excuses. There is a new alliance to contend with and Mike? That’s great. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.” “That’s alright. Every Coke has to have its Pepsi, I guess. Don’t get us wrong, Nos. You’re a good guy. Fun dude. We had a lot of fun blowing up Garcia’s stupid fake belt with you, and we totally appreciate the donation to the Trevor Project you made for lettin’ you buy the dumb thing from us. But man, we gotta call you out on your suspect choice of friends.” John nodded as if that were his cue. “Orianna Johnson for one. Let’s focus on that. With Lavender out of the equation, it’s just you and me. You have yourself another opportunity for the Television championship. I wish I had the same excitement that I did before. I touted you as possibly the future of this industry. Sure, I questioned your commitment to this business. After all, you’re only eighteen-years-old. Believe me, Orianna: when you opened your mouth, you lived up to every stereotype one could conjure up with that dismissive statement.” He shook his head as if to show his disappointment in his challenger’s recent antics. “And understand that I am not being dismissive of your skill. There is clearly the potential to live up those initial observations I had of you. There were moments in that bout where you were less than a second away from grabbing that brass ring. And so if that were the gist of it, I’d say that I was looking forward to this and wave goodbye. Good luck and best wishes.” John paused. There was no wave. Because this match is no longer seemingly about that for John Bishop Church. “But you opened your mouth. Your friend and you chose not to make this about the television championship.” Mike piped up. She was trying to keep her interjections minimal: after all, this particular part of the story wasn’t hers. Still, she just couldn’t help herself. “You two stupid giggling little hyenas just had to go and make this personal. Big fucking mistake.” “Undeniably there is power in words. And I heard you loud and clear. You view me as a charity case. You view me as that feel good story on the evening news. He did it. He redeemed himself. Orianna Johnson, for all of the tape you supposedly watch, you missed one thing: This isn’t about redemption. I am taking what is mine. I am the Television champion purely through my ability. Ruthann Hunter did everything to remain where she was and as you hopefully learned, it wasn’t enough. The thing is, she met me in that ring as a warrior and she left a warrior. You exhibited that adversity turns you into a sobbing mess.” “Oh noooooo, I let everyone dooooown, boohoooooo. You know what, kid? You lost. It happens. As my awesome partner likes to remind me when I overthink, it’s not something you fucking dwell on long. You’re a fighter in a fucking fighter’s profession. Fucking act like it.” “And normally, I’d reprimand myself here. I’d tell my partner: this is too damn far.” John stopped as a semi-truck started to encroach in their space in the lane. He let the 18-wheeler past and continued. “You got a hell of a mentor, Orianna. And there is wisdom in his words. Although, I question the legitimacy of his training regimen if it truly involves baseless imitations and comedy routines that should have hit the cutting room floor. I’m so old. I’m so ineffectual. Ask yourself Orianna, did that scouting report amount to much of anything when this old man used you as a means to end the contest? You watch one tape and one tape only. The one where you failedeveryone.” “Sad, really. You come off as such a nice little thing. But you’re so fucking self absorbed that you don’t got no consideration for other people, except maybe your sidekick and, of course, your precious Ace King. Everybody else is fuckin’ dog shit, from your opponents to the poor Wal-Mart workers who had to fucking clean up after your ridiculous shenanigans.” “But it was just fun. Your new credo. I know that you wanted so much to come out with your new companions and make a formal declaration that you are the champion. You would have smiled and it would have been a confirmation of everything you said. I guess you could gloat about NSFW falling short in the tag match, I mean if you want to prove that you really don’t understand NSFW. After all, everything you said was without merit. You don’t know anything about me. You know what you read and watch and your comprehension is sorely lacking. I would wrestle all night if I could. And so would Mike McGuire. NSFW loves this business and we’d be the whole show given the opportunity. That’s what we train for after all.” John, dangerous in his mind, took a hand off the steering wheel and extended a fist to Mike. It came out of nowhere last night but Mike just did it after an intense workout in the ring. John looked at it and replicated the gesture. Beaming off camera, Mike’s hand juts into the shot and taps knuckles briefly with his fist before pulling back. “We play fucking hard. We work even fucking harder. And yeah. We got the opportunity? We’d do it all night long.” She paused. “You people know what I mean, get your minds out of the fucking gutter.” “The gutter, Mike. Lowest of the low, right? That’s where Orianna put me. You feel sorry for me? You would make it right for me? You’d physically assault someone for me?” He laughed at the audacity of her words, “I don’t want your help. I don’t want your sympathy. I want you in the ring one on one so I can show you that you haven’t learned a thing from your betters. I told you. You made this personal. You questioned my commitment. But worst of all, you doubted the convictions of my friends.” “Don’t you fucking DARE name drop me, kid. Not in that fucking capacity. I don’t doubt my partner… no, fuck that. I don’t doubt my BEST FRIEND for a goddamn second. I would NEVER hold anything like that against him and fuck you to Hell and back for saying so.” John’s mouth curved upwards slightly into his version of a smile. He liked that. A couple of months ago, he’d flinch at every F bomb she dropped. Now he knows exactly why she says what she does and he wouldn’t have it any other way. “You asked me something, Orianna. Was Natalie worth it? You had the gall to ask me if making sure a friend of mine didn’t get maimed by someone as seemingly two-faced as you was worth it. Maybe when you’re through having fun, you’ll see that is what being a friend is about. Consequences be damned. I’m not sure you understand that very well, though. You seem to be a pretty poor judge of character. What did you say? The man that is still the disputed champion of this company is just misunderstood. I think Natalie, Mike and myselfunderstand the cowardice he is capable of now. Maybe you’re still willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. Considering what company you keep. So Orianna Johnson, leave your theories behind. Leave your little pal behind. Stop playing TV star. Dry those tears. And prepare to face me one on one for the gold. Because I know that I am the current reigning and defending television champion and I intend to show what it takes to remain just that.” Mike gave a slight nod and a mouth of the word ‘nice’, something she always did when she was particularly impressed with something John said. She didn’t need to interject further: what was said, her friend’s own words, was a potent enough final blow. She clicked off the camera and flicked to her Google Maps app. “Another hour and a half or so. Should get to some fucking civilization soon, too.” She paused, slipping the phone in her pocket. She’d need to charge it once they got to Natalie’s. “Meant that, by the way, with all my fuckin’ heart. I think, maybe… you’re the best friend I’ve ever had.” John stammered. “Okay. I-I mean, I feel…” And he struggled a bit here. Get it out. “I get you.” Mike smiled, and nodded. It may as well have been an elaborate declaration. She got him too. “Fuuucccckkkkkkk youuuuuuuuu. Turn that garbage off. You believe that shit, Johnny? Best friends? I’m your best friend. I’m the best fuckin’ friend you’ve ever had. Fuck her. Fuck you. Fuck all of you.”Hysterical laughter now. “Listen, Johnny, can I confide something to you? Don’t tell no one. It’s our little secret.” And in a hushed whisper. “You were the sweetest piece of ass I’ve ever had.” The TV had turned off now and it was just John and the voice now. In a ridiculous thought at this point, he wished he had something to eat. Breakfast. Lunch. Anything. “And I hopes you understand something else. I mean, I know you feel the same. I love you, Johnny. We ain’t ever had much in what you call eye to eye contact. And you don’t seem very talkative. But that’s alright. You know me. We’re kindred souls. That’s what that dumb bitch never understood. She didn’t know when and when not to use her mouth. But Johnny, you sure did. Been so long since I seen you. Talkin’ is talkin’. That ain’t enough and we never got no proper goodbye before they pushed my Kentucky fried ass off the mortal coil. Lemme hold you in a loving embrace, what you say about that, Johnny?” “No.” John curled up in a fetal position on the bed. He could not look away from the vent though. “No? No! I pour my heart out to you and that's what you say? No, no, no. Johnny, you don’t seem to understand. You can’t fuck off with your flowers no more,” This snicker was the cruelest. It sounded feminine and quite familiar. “Tell me that fucking pathetic story again. Story time, Johnny. Tell me about how serene she looked.” “No.” “Whatever, fuck you. I’m here, boy. I’m here and I’m inside you. I made you feel every fucking inch of me once upon a time and you don’t ever dare forget it. You think you got a reprieve now. You got friends. You got your livelihood back. But Johnny, I got you by the balls and I ain’t ever letting go. Here I come. What you think about that? I don’t know what the fuck this is but I like it.” The voice was getting louder. It didn’t sound like it was on the other side of the wall anymore. “Funny thing is, I don’t feel bound to the rules of reality no more. Here I come, Johnny. And you don’t got nowhere to run. I love you so much.” The grate cover began to rattle. “You sorely been lackin’ my tender affection.” John’s eyes widened as a hand burst through the cover. First, the hand, and then the forearm covered in sludge, “Johnnyyyyy …” “Holy shit. Get a load of this gorgeous fuckin’ place. Oh, hey, Church, check it out, there’s Miss Natalie!”

[spiderfan22]

DAY THREE HUNDRED AND ELEVEN - 3/20/18

“UNTITLED HOTEL ROOM PLAY (SCENE 5 CONTINUED)” by DJS

The scene continues to play out between sisters Margo and Shara, with new revelations.

SCENE FIVE

The hotel room is dark, no lights on, and the curtains are closed. A little early morning sunlight peeks around the corners of the curtain. The only light we can see in the dark is the clock on the low dresser next to the bed. It reads 6:29.

The moment it switches over to 6:30 the phone in the room rings. Rings twice more before a body in the bed stirs, reaches over and answers it.

MARGO                     (clearing throat) Mm-yes? (Small pause.) I did, thank you. (Small pause.) Right, thank you. Thank you.

Margo hangs up. Switches on the lamp next to the bed.

She is in her middle thirties and looks like she would be someone’s older sister. Wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt of the university she graduated from.

She looks around blearily. Her suitcase open on the other bed, clothes spilling out of it. She stumbles to the bathroom. Switches on the light in there. She reacts to something she sees on the floor.

MARGO                     The fuck? Shara? (No response.) Shara. Shara Shara. Earth to Share—

SHARA          (off, sleepily) Uh? Huh?

MARGO         What are you doing on the floor?

SHARA          (off) Huh?

MARGO                     I’m saying, you slept on the bathroom floor—why? Why didn’t you sleep in the bed? Not that I heard you come in last night—I must have been really out. I took a Xanax, that’s why. They always just konk me. What time did you get in anyway? Wait sorry, can you—can I have the bathroom for a minute? You know.

SHARA                      (off) Yeah, uh. Sorry.

MARGOT                   No, no worries. Oh, and it’s good to see you huh?

SHARA                      Yeah…yeah.

They have an awkward hug in the bathroom before Shara comes out and Margo closes the door. We hear the toilet seat go up.

Shara is a decade younger than her sister, and has this frail quality that is most evident in her face, as if she were always on the verge of tears. She has slept in her clothes, gray slacks and a silky maroon blouse that she wore with a matching gray suit jacket. She used the jacket for a blanket last night and carries it limply in one hand.

She sniffs at the sight of the room. Looks at her roller suitcase parked by the door.

We hear the toilet flush and the water running in the sink, and then Margo emerges from the bathroom.

MARGO         Thanks.

SHARA          No problem.

Pause. Awkward for some reason.

MARGO         So you made it in alright.

SHARA          Yeah.

MARGO         What time did you get in?

SHARA          What time did my plane land you mean?

MARGO         No, you get to the hotel.

SHARA                      Uh, around 4:30 I think? (Short pause; her mind going blank for a sec, thinking.) Yeah, I don’t know, I wasn’t looking at my phone, but probably around then? (Another mind blank.) Actually I should charge it.

She finds her purse, digs out her phone and charger, then does a brief hunt for an outlet.

MARGO                     How was the flight down, smooth and everything?

SHARA                      Yeah, for the most part.

MARGO                     Not a long flight.

SHARA                      No. It was (Plugs phone in with a beep.) weird though.

MARGO                     Weird?

SHARA                      Yeah, the stewardess gave me a free drink.

MARGO                     She did? Well that was nice of her. Why?

SHARA                      I don’t know. I went to the bathroom at one point and when I came out it was obvious I had been crying, so. Maybe that had something to do with it.

MARGO                     Crying? Why, ‘cause of Mom?

Shara nods, leaning down by the wall to check her phone for messages and hiding her face.

                                   Shara. We’re gonna get her back.

SHARA                      (voice choked) I know.

MARGO                     That’s like, the whole point of this thing.

SHARA                      I know.

MARGO                     But I’m gonna need you a little more together than this if we’re gonna take these guys on. We have to go in there with a plan—which we have—but you also gotta be solid for me. Do you know what I mean? You have to have your head on your shoulders and be thinking clearly, rationally all the time. I can’t do this alone. Now we have the documentation; there’s nothing they can do legally, that is, to stop us from walking right out the door with her. It should just take showing them the papers—but if they give us any shit, or Mom starts to freak out—which she might—she might not want to go, she might not be in her right brain and realize we’re trying to help her, she might even fight us, which these people will seize on to say “Look, she wants to be here, you’re upsetting her”— The point is, if that happens I can’t have you falling to pieces—and I definitely can’t have you acquiescing to her. She can kick and scream all she wants, she can pull our hair, bite us, hit and scratch—we don’t give in. This is the woman that raised us, Shara. Okay? (No response.) Say okay. Acknowledge that you’re at least listening and you’ve heard me.

SHARA                      (after a pause—weakly) Okay.

MARGO                     You’re gonna pull yourself together? Get your shit together, same page on this?

SHARA                      Yeah. Yes.

MARGO                     Okay. Good. (Small pause.) Thank you Shara. I promise this is all gonna work out. In the end. (Beat.) Now, are you gonna tell me why you chose to sleep in the bathroom last night when there was a perfectly good bed to use?

During the following, Margo goes through her suitcase, sniffing clothes to see if they’re clean or not.

SHARA          It’s stupid.

MARGO         Explain it to me anyway.

SHARA                      (hesitantly) Well, sometimes beds, and rooms—there’s too much space. Like I feel really isolated, you know? separate? And it’s not just new places, but at home, I’ll go into the bathroom and sleep on the floor, with a blanket, usually by the vent, the heater, turn the heat up way and just—curl up.

MARGO                     You do this at your apartment.

SHARA                      I told you, it’s dumb, I’m dumb for even— I wish I didn’t have to do it, but—

MARGO                     No, no, it’s— But I’m just trying to understand. Like do you not feel safe? Are you worried about being broken in—?

SHARA                      Yes, but not really. I mean that’s not the main reason or anything.

MARGO                     It’s because your bed feels too big.

SHARA                      More the room itself. Rooms in general.

MARGO                     But isn’t your apartment tiny? You live in a studio—

SHARA                      Yeah, but there’s still the main space that’s pretty big and just, open—

MARGO                     So you hide in the bathroom.

SHARA                      It’s not hiding. I’m not—

MARGO                     Whatever. I don’t think it’s that weird. At least you shouldn’t be embarrassed by it. People do a lot of funny things—

SHARA                      It’s not funny either—

MARGO                     You know what I mean. I mean that people do things for themselves that may seem strange or unusual, right, to outside—to others—but for them it’s their way of coping. So, you know… don’t judge.

SHARA                      I didn’t say I was embarrassed, Margo.

MARGO                     I know, Shara. I’m agreeing with you.

SHARA                      Then why did you say the thing about me living in a studio apartment?

MARGO                     I don’t know, I was just trying to understand—

SHARA                      The building’s really old.

MARGO                     What does that have to—?

SHARA                      It makes sounds.

MARGO                     Yeah, older buildings, houses, they creak and stuff.

SHARA                      I wouldn’t take the elevator except the stairs are worse.

Pause.

MARGO                     Is everything okay, Shara? What about school, how’s that all going?

SHARA                      Okay. Pretty good.

MARGO                     Are you—do you still have that internship thing you’re doing?

SHARA                      It’s not an internship—

MARGO                     But the thing that you were doing, as like an assistant, working with the military guys who just came back from—

SHARA                      It’s almost over but yes. And I’ll be glad, too.

MARGO                     Glad?

SHARA                      When it’s over.

MARGO                     Why? I thought it was a great experience, chance to actually practice—

SHARA                      It is and it isn’t.

Pause. Margo stares at her.

Look, those guys can be really fucked up is all—not that it’s their fault, all the bad shit they’ve had to go through, experienced—but that doesn’t change that a lot of their outlooks on things now—like they just can’t relate anymore. They don’t have the tools. They lost the tools.

MARGO                     Which isn’t—but that’s what they’re in counseling for, right? To get better? That’s where you come in.

SHARA                      Right, but that doesn’t stop them from being scary. (Slight nervous pause.) And I have to dress—I have to dress up. Professional. I have to wear clothes like this that I hate, suffocating.

MARGO                     Well you look nice.

SHARA                      No I don’t. I don’t. But it’s not like I have a choice either. You have to dress nicer than your patients, you can’t look worse than your patients, otherwise they won’t take you seriously, they won’t listen. It’s about authority.

MARGO                     And you still want to do it?

SHARA                      Do what?

MARGO                     Be a therapist, work in the mental health field. Shara—

SHARA                      Well yeah, it’s what I’m going to school for, I’m in grad school for—

MARGO                     I know, I’m just, I’m wondering, is this the best path for you—

SHARA                      As opposed to what?

MARGO                     Nothing!

SHARA                      Right, there is nothing else, I don’t have anything. And you don’t just put all your time, my eggs all in one basket then throw it away. I mean do you even know what I pay in tuition a year?

MARGO                     Probably a lot, I can imagine—

SHARA                      You don’t. I’m going to be in so much debt it’s not even funny.

MARGO                     Yeah.

SHARA                      Why are we even talking about this?

MARGO                     You brought it up, Shara.

SHARA                      No, you brought it, you asked me about school.

MARGO                     For—to see how it was going, that’s all—

SHARA                      Plus you asked about the internship when I told you, last time we talked on the phone that it wasn’t going well, so you’re just pretending now—

MARGO                     What? Pretending—

SHARA                      That we didn’t already—that you didn’t know.

MARGO                     I—well, I remember that, I won’t deny. But I thought maybe things had changed, gotten better—

SHARA                      Why would they change? Why would they get any better?

MARGO                     I don’t know—familiarity? Your comfort level with the group therapy process?

SHARA                      Comfortable?? Margo these are guys that—who all they want is to kill each other. That’s all they know how to do, it’s their conditioning. And while that’s very sad, you can see—you’re sitting in a circle so you can look into everyone else’s eyes, and it’s like an enemy the way they stare back. And the meds only do so much—the meds only keep them from actually killing each other, not from wanting to—

MARGO                     This is what I was talking about.

SHARA                      What??

MARGO                     You can’t, it won’t work—we can’t do this if you’re gonna freak out this way. Mom—

SHARA                      I’m not.

MARGO                     You are. You can’t even talk about your job—

SHARA                      It’s not my job—

MARGO                     Without getting all—without losing it Shara!—

SHARA                      Then I’ll stop. (And she goes very still and sober.) I’ll stop.

Margo looks at her.

           Promise.

MARGO         You said you were okay.

SHARA                      I am. I am—I’m fine. I just had a bad day. Don’t you ever have bad days? It was a bad group is all. There was a lot of—a lot of yelling, more than usual and—and one of them, he called me a bitch—no. He called me a cunt. He called me a cunt. You stupid cunt, he said, you don’t understand anything, do you?

MARGO                     I’m sorry Shara. (Shara nods.) I’m sorry, that sucks. You don’t deserve that.

SHARA                      Yeah. (Pause.) But it’s what I want to do, so…

MARGO                     Yeah—

SHARA                      Guess I’ll just have to adjust, to that sort of, kind of— (With a sniff.) They just expect a lot from you, you know? People. They come to you to fix their problems, to make their problems go away, like it’s magic. You would, you want to—it’s not for lack of, of empathy or whatever. But now it’s you that’s got to take on whatever that is, whatever their—whatever’s stopping them. It’s like they do a hand-off, like in a relay—“oh, now you run with it, you finish the race.” Win or lose, it’s on you now. (Pause.) And it’s so easy—and, like, this is probably where Mom fell into the trap—but it’s so easy to just say, you know? Say the thing that you know they want to hear. Oh yeah, you’ll be totally better if you just do this. If you just read this book, if you just eat this only one food, if you start running, if you say this chant 10 times a day, if you stop caring about how you look, if you give in—if you give in—if you cut off from all your relationships, family, from the people who really care about you, you can promise anything you want, because it’s just words, right? Do you know what a placebo is?

MARGO                     Of course.

SHARA                      Well therapy can be a lot like one.

To be continued…

[emergencyplumberbirmingham]

Shower Repairs Westside, Birmingham

Many often do not think much of plumber and plumber services in Westside. This is due to many reasons such as the low prestige of the trade or the infrequent need of and contact with the Westside plumber. However, they provide a valuable service to society, allowing us to enjoy the comfort of our environment with a well functioning plumbing system.

Obtaining a plumbing license in Westside does not state specific guidelines. Currently Local  has general licensing guidelines for licensed plumbers in Westside.

General Requirements to Become a Plumber in Westside

In order to become a plumber in Westside who offers Shower Repairs, the person should apply for a plumbing license. This license is issued by Local city the person resides in. Therefore, each city within the state can have its own plumbing license requirements. However, all counties and cities within Westside agree that a plumber must have work experience as an apprentice. Before you can become licensed, your work experience would need to be completed under a plumber who is already licensed by Westside.

A plumber in Westside is a very important person who plays a very crucial role in the smooth running of a home or business premises. The supply of clean water and the proper disposal of waste from a building is the responsibility of the plumber.

10 Plumbing Tips From an Expert Plumber

People often have questions about installing CPVC pipe. They need new water lines and want to know if CPVC pipe is a good choice. Many want to know if it is really as easy to install CPVC plumbing as it looks. I mean, it requires no special tools and is really easy to put it together. You just glue it together, what could be easier?

Like most things in life, it's not quite that simple. The truth is, CPVC pipe is a perfectly good product and can be an excellent choice for water pipes, but you do need to know a few things to do it right. For starters, you need to be able to properly size the pipe in your system and you need to be able to design the piping layout efficiently. There are also some things you need to know about CPVC piping installations in particular.

Here are a few tips to help you get a good system.

Strap It Right

Strap CPVC every 4' horizontally and at least once between the floor and ceiling vertically. Use plastic support hooks and get the kind that hold the pipe a little off of the wood. CPVC expands and contracts like all plastic pipe and if it is fastened too tightly against the framing it can make a lot of popping and squeaking noises as time goes on.

Stay Away From Heat Sources

Don't run CPVC pipes too close to heat sources, such as can lights or flue vents. A good rule of thumb is to stay at least 12" away from these kinds of things.

Check All Products For Compatibility

Last of all make sure that any pipe dope or other chemicals that come into contact with any part of the piping system are approved and listed as safe for CPVC. Some chemicals can have a damaging effect on the plastic pipe, causing failures months and even years later. That doesn't mean CPVC is not a good product, just pay attention to what you use with it.

These tips should help your next CPVC project be a success!

Copyright 2008 Bryan Stevens

10 Plumbing Tips From an Expert Plumber

There are a lot of plumbers which advertise themselves as emergency 24 hour plumbers. And for good reason. They know that they can charge a lot more to customers who have a serious situation. If you look through your local business directory you are going to find a list of plumbers. A lot of them are going to be available 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. As such, an emergency plumber is really easy to find. It's in your best interest to call as many plumbers as possible so that you have some bargaining power if you suspect that one is giving you a particularly high quote.

Although some types of repairs can get complicated really quickly, these are usually the ones, which will cost the most if you hire a plumber. If you do it yourself, not only will your be saving money, but you'll have the satisfaction of knowing that you did all the work by yourself.

Why Is Plumbing Important in Westside?

Do you really need an emergency plumber? If you are building a swimming pool, you probably don't, but if the inside of your house starts to imitate a swimming pool, you most probably do.

There are undoubtedly jobs that require the services of a licensed plumber, such as when your toilet backs up into your tubs and sinks, or when you require putting in a new pipe line. However, there are jobs that require not just any plumber but an emergency plumber, such as when water uncontrollably runs out of your faucet and toilets starts flooding the house. However, they are at a premium. How do you know if there is a need for their services or not?

Do You Really Need An Emergency Plumber?

Before contacting any plumber, you would need to turn off the water supply, or if possible the waterline that supplies the fixture. This will prevent any further water damage. This would also most likely stop the flow of water. Once you've stopped the water flow, assess the situation. If the problem is an overflowing toilet, you will be all right until the morning, as long as you don't flush. You could also wait in the morning if you will be able to find alternatives, such as using the kitchen sink instead of the bathroom sink. You can then avoid paying for premium for calling in a 24-hour plumber during the night hours, or during holidays or weekend.

If you are calling an emergency service, always ask for the emergency plumber to call you first, so that you will be able to talk to the plumber personally and get a better estimate of cost.

So for the time when you wake up at night and the house starts to be like an indoor pool, don't panic. Stop the water flow, assess the situation, and if it is an plumbing crisis that need immediate action, call an emergency plumber to come out to your house.

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